HEARTSEASE, or BROTHER'S WIFE

By Charlotte M. Yonge

PART I

 And Maidens call them Love in Idleness. 

 --Midsummer Night's Dream

CHAPTER 1

 There are none of England's daughters that bear a prouder presence. ***** And a kingly blood sends glances up, her princely eye to trouble, And the shadow of a monarch's crown is softened in her hair. 

 --ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

The sun shone slanting over a spacious park, the undulating ground hereturning a broad lawn towards the beams that silvered every blade ofgrass; there, curving away in banks of velvet green; shadowed by thetrees; gnarled old thorns in the holiday suit whence they take theirname, giant's nosegays of horse-chestnuts, mighty elms and stalwartoaks, singly or in groups, the aristocracy of the place; while in thebackground rose wooded coverts, where every tint of early green blendedin rich masses of varied foliage. 

An avenue, nearly half a mile in length, consisted of a quadruple rangeof splendid lime trees of uniform growth, the side arcades vaulted overby the meeting branches, and the central road, where the same lights andshadows were again and again repeated, conducting the eye in diminishingperspective to a mansion on a broad base of stone steps. Herds ofcattle, horses, and deer, gave animation to the scene, and nearthe avenue were a party of village children running about gatheringcowslips, or seated on the grass, devouring substantial plum buns. 

Under a lordly elm sat a maiden of about nineteen years; at her feeta Skye terrier, like a walking door-mat, with a fierce and drollcountenance, and by her side a girl and boy, the one sickly and poorlyclad, the other with bright inquiring eyes, striving to compensate forthe want of other faculties. She was teaching them to form that delightof childhood, a cowslip ball, the other children supplying her withhandfuls of the gold-coated flowers, and returning a pull of theforelock or a bobbed curtsey to her smiling thanks. 

Her dress was of a plain brown-holland looking material, the bonnet shehad thrown off was of the coarsest straw, but her whole air declaredher the daughter of that lordly house; and had gold and rubies been laidbefore her instead of cowslips with fairy favours, they would well havebecome her princely port, long neck, and stately head, crowned with abraid of her profuse black hair. That regal look was more remarkable inher than beauty; her brow was too high, her features not quite regular, her complexion of gypsy darkness, but with a glow of eyes very large, black, and deeply set, naturally grave in expression, but just nowbeaming and dancing in accordance with the encouraging smiles on herfresh, healthy, red lips, as her hands, very soft and delicate, thoughof large and strong make, completed the ball, threw it in the littleboy's face, and laughed to see his ecstasy over the delicious prize;teaching him to play with it, tossing it backwards and forwards, shakinghim into animation, and ever and anon chasing her little dog to extractit from between his teeth. 

Suddenly she became aware of the presence of a spectator, and instantlyassuming her bonnet, and drawing up her tall figure, she exclaimed, in atone of welcome:

'Oh, Mr. Wingfield, you are come to see our cowslip feast. '

'There seems to be great enjoyment, ' replied the young curate, looking, however, somewhat pre-occupied. 

'Look at Charlie Layton, ' said she, pointing to the dumb boy. 'That ballis perfect felicity, he had rather not play with it, the delight is merepossession. ' She was turning to the boy again, when Mr. Wingfield said, not without hesitation--'You have not heard when to expect your partyfrom Madeira?'

'You know we cannot hear again. They were to sail by the next packet, and it is uncertain how soon they may arrive. '

'And--and--your brother Arthur. Do you know when he comes home?'

'He promised to come this spring, but I fancy Captain Fitzhugh hasinveigled him somewhere to fish. He never writes, so he may come anyday. But what--is anything the matter?'

'I have a letter here that--which--in Lord Martindale's absence, Ithought it might be better--you might prefer my coming direct to you. Icannot but think you should be aware'--stammered Mr. Wingfield. 

'Well, '--she said, haughtily. 

'Here is a letter from my cousin, who has a curacy in the Lake country. Your brother is at Wrangerton, the next town. '

'Arthur is well?' cried she, starting. 

'Yes, yes, you need not be alarmed, but I am afraid there is someentanglement. There are some Miss Mosses--'

'Oh, it is that kind of thing!' said she, in an altered tone, her cheeksglowing; 'it is very silly of him to get himself talked about; but ofcourse it is all nothing. '

'I wish I could think so, ' said Mr. Wingfield; 'but, indeed, MissMartindale, ' for she was returning to the children, 'I am afraid it is aserious matter. The father is a designing person. '

'Arthur will not be taken in, ' was her first calm answer; but perceivingthe curate unconvinced, though unwilling to contradict, she added, 'Butwhat is the story?'

Mr. Wingfield produced the letter and read; 'Fanshawe, the curate ofWrangerton, has just been with me, telling me his rector is in muchdifficulty and perplexity about a son of your parishioner, LordMartindale. He came to Wrangerton with another guardsman for the sakeof the fishing, and has been drawn into an engagement with one of thedaughters of old Moss, who manages the St. Erme property. I know nothingagainst the young ladies, indeed Fanshawe speaks highly of them; but thefather is a disreputable sort of attorney, who has taken advantage ofLord St. Erme's absence and neglect to make a prey of the estate. Themarriage is to take place immediately, and poor Mr. Jones is in muchdistress at the dread of being asked to perform the ceremony, withoutthe consent of the young man's family. '

'He cannot do it, ' exclaimed the young lady; 'you had better write andtell him so. '

'I am afraid, ' said Mr. Wingfield, diffidently, 'I am afraid he has nopower to refuse. '

'Not in such a case as this? It is his duty to put a stop to it. '

'All that is in his power he will do, no doubt, by reasoning andremonstrance; but you must remember that your brother is of age, and ifthe young lady's parents consent, Mr. Jones has no choice. '

'I could not have believed it! However, it will not come to that: it isonly the old rector's fancy. To make everything secure I will write tomy brother, and we shall soon see him here. '

'There is still an hour before post-time, ' said Mr. Wingfield; 'shall Isend the children home?'

'No, poor little things, let them finish their game. Thank you forcoming to me. My aunt will, I hope, hear nothing of it. Good evening. '

Calling an elder girl, she gave some directions; and Mr. Wingfieldwatched her walking down the avenue with a light-footed but decided andcharacteristic tread, expressing in every step, 'Where I am going, thereI will go, and nothing shall stop me. '

'Nonsense!' she said to herself; 'Arthur cannot be so lost to the senseof everything becoming. Such pain cannot be in store for me! Anythingelse I could bear; but this must not, cannot, shall not be. Arthur isall I have; I cannot spare him; and to see him shipwrecked on a low-breddesigning creature would be too much misery. Impossible--so clear-headedas he is, so fastidious about women! And yet this letter spokedecidedly. People talk of love! and Arthur is so easy, he would lethimself be drawn on rather than make a disturbance. He might be ensnaredwith his eyes open, because he disliked the trouble of breaking loose, and so would not think of the consequence. Nothing could save himso well as some one going to him. He can read a letter or not as hechooses. Oh, if papa were at home--oh, if Mr. Wingfield were but PercyFotheringham--he who fears no man, and can manage any one! Oh! if Icould go myself; he heeds me when he heeds no one else. Shall I go? Whynot? It would save him; it would be the only effectual way. Let me see. I would take Simmonds and Pauline. But then I must explain to myaunt. Stuff! there are real interests at stake! Suppose this isexaggeration--why, then, I should be ridiculous, and Arthur would neverforget it. Besides, I believe I cannot get there in one day--certainlynot return the same. I must give way to conventionalities, and be ahelpless young lady. '

She reached the house, and quickly dashed off her letter:--

'My Dear Arthur, --I hope and trust this letter may be quite uncalledfor, though I feel it my duty to write it. I used to have some influencewith you, and I should think that anything that reminded you of homewould make you pause. 

'Report has of course outrun the truth. It is impossible you should beon the brink of marriage without letting us know--as much so, I shouldtrust, as your seriously contemplating an engagement with one beneathyour notice. I dare say you find it very pleasant to amuse yourself; butconsider, before you allow yourself to form an attachment--I will notsay before becoming a victim to sordid speculation. You know what poorJohn has gone through, though there was no inferiority there. Think whatyou would have to bear for the sake, perhaps, of a pretty face, but of aperson incapable of being a companion or comfort, and whom you would beashamed to see beside your own family. Or, supposing your own affectionsuntouched, what right have you to trifle with the feelings of a poorgirl, and raise expectations you cannot and ought not to fulfil? You aretoo kind, when once you reflect, to inflict such pain, you, who cannothelp being loved. Come away while it is time; come home, and have themerit of self-sacrifice. If your fancy is smitten, it will recoverin its proper sphere. If it costs you pain, you know to whom you havealways hitherto turned in your vexations. Dear Arthur, do not ruinyourself; only come back to me. Write at once; I cannot bear thesuspense. 

'Your most affectionate sister, 'THEODORA A. MARTINDALE. '

She made two copies of this letter; one she directed to 'The Hon. ArthurMartindale, Grenadier Guards, Winchester;' the other, 'Post-Office, Wrangerton. ' In rather more than a week she was answered:--

'My Dear Theodora, --You judged rightly that I am no man to trifle, or toraise expectations which I did not mean to fulfil. My wife and I are atMatlock for a few days before joining at Winchester. 

'Your affectionate brother, 'ARTHUR N. MARTINDALE, '

CHAPTER 2

 She's less of a bride than a bairn, She's ta'en like a colt from the heather, With sense and discretion to learn. 

 A chiel maun be patient and steady That yokes with a mate in her teens. Woo'd and Married and A'

 JOANNA BAILLIE

A gentleman stood waiting at the door of a house not far from theWinchester barracks. 

'Is my brother at home, James?' as the servant gave a start of surpriseand recognition. 

'No, sir; he is not in the house, but Mrs. --; will you walk in? I hope Isee you better, sir. '

'Much better, thank you. Did you say Mrs. Martindale was at home?'

'Yes, sir; Mr. Arthur will soon be here. Won't you walk in?'

'Is she in the drawing-room?'

'No, I do not think so, sir. She went up-stairs when she came in. '

'Very well. I'll send up my card, ' said he, entering, and the man as hetook it, said, with emphasis, and a pleading look, 'She is a very niceyoung lady, sir, ' then opened a room door. 

He suddenly announced, 'Mr. Martindale, ' and that gentleman unexpectedlyfound himself in the presence of a young girl, who rose in suchconfusion that he could not look at her as he shook her by the hand, saying, 'Is Arthur near home?'

'Yes--no--yes; at least, he'll come soon, ' was the reply, as if shehardly knew what her words were. 

'Were you going out?' he asked, seeing a bonnet on the sofa. 

'No, thank you, --at least I mean, I'm just come in. He went to speak tosome one, and I came to finish my letter. He'll soon come, ' said she, with the rapid ill-assured manner of a school-girl receiving her mamma'svisitors. 

'Don't let me interrupt you, ' said he, taking up a book. 

'O no, no, thank you, ' cried she, in a tremor lest she should have beenuncivil. 'I didn't mean--I've plenty of time. 'Tis only to my home, andthey have had one by the early post. '

He smiled, saying, 'You are a good correspondent. '

'Oh! I must write. Annette and I were never apart before. '

'Your sister?'

'Yes, only a year older. We always did everything together. '

He ventured to look up, and saw a bright dew on a soft, shady pair ofdark eyes, a sweet quivering smile on a very pretty mouth, and a glowof pure bright deep pink on a most delicately fair skin, contrasted withbraids of dark brown hair. She was rather above the ordinary height, slender, and graceful, and the childish beauty of the form or face andfeatures surprised him; but to his mind the chief grace was the shy, sweet tenderness, happy and bright, but tremulous with the recent painof the parting from home. With a kindly impulse, he said, 'You must tellme your name, Arthur has not mentioned it. '

'Violet;' and as he did not appear at once to catch its unusual sound, she repeated, 'Violet Helen; we most of us have strange names. '

'Violet Helen, ' he repeated, with an intonation as if struck, notunpleasingly, by the second name. 'Well, that is the case in our family. My sister has an uncommon name. '

'Theodora, ' said Violet, pausing, as if too timid to inquire further. 

'Have you only this one sister?' he said. 

'Six, and one brother, ' said she, in a tone of exulting fondness. Ashort silence, and then the joyful exclamation, 'There he is!' and shesprang to the door, leaving it open, as her fresh young voice announced, full of gratulation, 'Here's your brother. '

'Guileless and unconscious of evil, poor child!' thought the brother;'but I wonder how Arthur likes the news. '

Arthur entered, a fine-looking young man, of three-and-twenty, dark, bright complexioned, tall, and robust. He showed not the leastconsciousness of having offended, and his bride smiled freely as if atrest from all embarrassment now that she had her protector. 

'Well, John, ' was his greeting, warmly spoken. 'You here? You lookbetter. How is the cough?'

'Better, thank you. '

'I see I need not introduce you, ' said Arthur, laying his hand on thearm of his blushing Violet, who shrank up to him as he gave a shortlaugh. 'Have you been here long?'

'Only about five minutes. '

'And you are come to stay?'

'Thank you, if you can take me in for a day or two. '

'That we can. There is a tolerable spare room, and James will find aplace for Brown. I am glad to see you looking so much better. Have yougot rid of the pain in your side?'

'Entirely, thank you, for the last few weeks. '

'How is my mother?'

'Very well. She enjoyed the voyage extremely. '

'She won't concoct another Tour?'

'I don't think so, ' said John, gravely. 

'There has SHE, ' indicating his wife, been thinking it her duty to readthe old Italian one, which I never opened in my life. I declare it wouldtake a dictionary to understand a page. She is scared at the variety oftongues, and feels as if she was in Babel. '

John was thinking that if he did not know this rattling talk to be aform of embarrassment, he should take it for effrontery. 

'Shall I go and see about the room?' half-whispered Violet. 

'Yes, do;' and he opened the door for her, exclaiming, almost before shewas fairly gone, 'There! you want no more explanation. '

She is very lovely!' said John, in a tone full of cordial admiration. 

'Isn't she?' continued Arthur, triumphantly. 'Such an out-of-the-waystyle;--the dark eyes and hair, with that exquisite complexion, ivoryfairness, --the form of her face the perfect oval!--what you so seldomsee--and her figure, just the right height, tall and taper! I don'tbelieve she could be awkward if she was to try. She'll beat everycreature hollow, especially in a few years' time when she's a littlemore formed. '

'She is very young?'

'Sixteen on our wedding-day. That's the beauty of it. If she had been aday older it would have been a different thing. Not that they could havespoilt her, --she is a thoroughbred by nature, and no mistake. '

'How did your acquaintance begin?'

'This way, ' said Arthur, leaning back, and twirling a chair on oneof its legs for a pivot. 'Fitzhugh would have me come down for afortnight's fishing to Wrangerton. There's but one inn there fit to puta dog to sleep in, and when we got there we found the house turned outof window for a ball, all the partitions down on the first floor, andwe driven into holes to be regaled with distant fiddle-squeak. SoFitzhugh's Irish blood was up for a dance, and I thought I might as wellgive in to it, for the floor shook so that there was no taking a cigarin peace. So you see the stars ordained it, and it is of no use makinga row about one's destiny, ' concluded Arthur, in a sleepy voice, ceasingto spin the chair. 

'That was your first introduction?'

'Ay. After that, one was meeting the Mosses for ever; indeed, we had tocall on the old fellow to get leave for fishing in that water of LordSt. Erme's. He has a very pretty sort of little place out of the townclose to the park, and--and somehow the weather was too bright for anysport, and the stream led by their garden. '

'I perceive, ' said John. 

'Well, I saw I was in for it, and had nothing for it but to go throughwith it. Anything for a quiet life. '

'A new mode of securing it, ' said John, indignant at his nonchalance. 

'There you don't display your wonted sagacity, ' returned Arthur coolly. 'You little know what I have gone through on your account. If you hadbeen sound-winded, you would have saved me no end of persecution. '

'You have not avoided speculation as it is, ' John could not help saying. 

'I beg to observe that you are mistaken. Old Moss is as cunning a foxas ever lived; but I saw his game, and without my own good-will he mighthave whistled for me. I saw what he was up to, and let him know it, butas I was always determined that when I married it should be to pleasemyself, not my aunt, I let things take their course and saved the row athome. '

'I am sure she knew nothing of this. '

'She? Bless you, poor child. She is as innocent as a lamb, and onlythinks me all the heroes in the world. '

'She did not know my father was ignorant of it?'

'Not she. She does not know it to this day. ' John sat thinking; Arthurtwirled the chair, then said, 'That is the fact. I suppose my aunt had anice story for you. '

'It agreed in the main with yours. '

'I was unlucky, ' said Arthur, 'I meant to have brought her home beforemy aunt and Theodora had any news of it. I could have got round themthat way, but somehow Theodora got scent of it, and wrote me a furiousletter, full of denunciation--two of them--they hunted me everywhere, soI saw it was no use going there. '

'She is much hurt at your letter. I can see that she is, though shetries to hide her feelings. She was looking quite pale when we camehome, and I can hardly bear to see the struggle to look composed whenyou are mentioned. '

This evidently produced some compunction, but Arthur tried to get ridof it. 'I am sure there was nothing to take to heart in it--was there, John?'

'I don't know. She had burnt it without letting any one see it; and itwas only through my aunt that we learnt that she had received it. '

'Well! her temper is up, and I am sorry for it, ' said Arthur. 'I forgetwhat I said. I dare say it was no more than she deserved. I got oneof these remonstrances of hers at Wrangerton, on the day before, andanother followed me a couple of days after to Matlock, so I could nothave that going on for ever, and wrote off to put a stop to it. But whatdoes his lordship say?'

'Do you wish him to forgive or not?' said his brother, nearly out ofpatience. 

'Of course--I knew he would, he can't leave us with nothing to live on. There's nothing to be done but to go through the forms, and I am quiteready. Come, what's the use of looking intensely disgusted? Now you haveseen her, you don't expect me to profess that I am very sorry, and "willnever do so no more. "'

'I say nothing against her, but the way of doing it. '

'So much trouble saved. Besides, I tell you I am ready to make whateverapology my father likes for a preliminary. '

His brother looked vexed, and dropped the conversation, waiting to seemore of the bride before he should form an opinion. 

It was seeing rather than hearing, for she was in much awe of him, blushed more than she spoke, and seemed taken up by the fear of doingsomething inappropriate, constantly turning wistful inquiring lookstowards her husband, to seek encouragement or direction, but it was abecoming confusion, and by no means lessened the favourable impression. 

'The next morning Arthur was engaged, and left her to be the guide tothe cathedral, whereat she looked shy and frightened, but Mr. Martindaleset himself to re-assure her, and the polished gentleness of his mannersoon succeeded. 

They stood on the hill, overlooking the town and the vale of Itchen, winding away till lost between the green downs that arose behind theircrested neighbour, St. Catherine's Hill, and in the valley beneathreposed the gray cathedral's lengthened nave and square tower, itslesser likeness, St. Cross, and the pinnacles of the College tower. 

'A very pretty view, ' said Mr. Martindale. 

'The old buildings are very fine, but it is not like our own hills. '

'No, it is hard on Hampshire downs to compare them to Cumberlandmountains. '

'But it is so sunny and beautiful, ' said the bright young bride. 'Seethe sunshine on the green meadows, and the haymaking. Oh! I shall alwayslove it. ' John heard a great deal of happiness in those words. 'I neversaw a cathedral before, ' she added. 

'Have you been over this one?'

'Yes, but it will be such a treat to go again. One can't take a quarterof it in at once. '

'No, it takes half a lifetime to learn a cathedral properly. '

'It is a wonderful thing, ' she said, with the same serious face; then, changing her tone to one of eagerness, 'I want to find Bishop Fox'stomb, for he was a north-country bishop. '

John smiled. 'You are perfect in the cathedral history. '

'I bought a little book about it. '

Her knowledge was, he found, in a girlish state of keen interest, andnot deficient, but what pleased him best was that, as they entered andstood at the west door, looking down the whole magnificent length ofnave, choir, and chapel, the embowed roof high above, sustained onmassive pillars, she uttered a low murmur of 'beautiful!' and there wasa heart-felt expression of awe and reverence on her face, a look as ofrapt thought, chased away in a moment by his eye, and giving place toquiet pensiveness. After the service they went over the building; butthough eager for information, the gravity did not leave her, nor did shespeak at once when they emerged into the Close. 

'It is very impressive, ' said John. 

'I suppose you have seen a great many cathedrals?'

'Yes, many foreign ones, and a few English. '

'I wonder whether seeing many makes one feel the same as seeing one. '

'How do you mean?'

'I do not think I could ever care for another like this one. '

'As your first?'

'Yes; it has made me understand better what books say about churches, and their being like--'

'Like?'

She changed her sentence. 'It makes one think, and want to be good. '

'It is what all truly beautiful things should do' said John. 

'Oh! I am glad you say so, ' exclaimed Violet. 'It is like what Annetteand I have wondered about--I mean why fine statues or pictures, oranything of that kind, should make one feel half sad and half thoughtfulwhen one looks at them long. '

'Perhaps because it is a straining after the only true beauty. '

'I must tell Annette that. It was she that said it was so, ' said Violet;'and we wondered Greek statues gave one that feeling, but I see it mustbe the reason. '

'What statues have you seen?'

'Those at Wrangerton House. Lord St. Erme is always sending caseshome, and it is such a festival day to go up and see them unpacked, andCaroline and Annette go and take drawings, and I like to wander aboutthe rooms, and look at everything, ' said Violet, growing talkative onthe theme of home. 'There is one picture I like above all, but that is asacred subject, so no wonder it should have that feeling in it. '

'What is it?'

'It is a Madonna, ' she said, lowering her voice. 'A stiff old-fashionedone, in beautiful, bright, clear colouring. The Child is reaching out toembrace a little cross, and his Mother holds him towards it with such asad but such a holy face, as if she foreboded all, and was ready to bearit. '

'Ah! that Ghirlandajo?'

'That is the name!' cried Violet, enchanted. 'Have you seen it?'

'I saw Lord St. Erme buy it. '

'Do you know Lord St. Erme?' said Violet, rather awe-struck. 

'I used to meet him in Italy. '

'We wish so much that he would come home. We do so want to see a poet. '

John smiled. 'Is he never at home?'

'O, no, he has never been at Wrangerton since his father died, twelveyears ago. He does not like the place, so he only comes to London whenhe is in England, and papa goes up to meet him on business, but he istoo poetical to attend to it. '

'I should guess that. '

'I have done wrong, said Violet, checking herself; 'I should not havesaid that. Mamma told us that we ought never to chatter about hisconcerns. Will you, please, not remember that I said it?'

As far as the outer world is concerned, I certainly will not, ' said Johnkindly. 'You cannot too early learn discretion. So that picture is atWrangerton?'

'I am so glad you liked it. '

'I liked it well enough to wish for a few spare hundreds, but it seemsto have afforded no more pleasure to him than it has given to me. I amglad it is gone where there is some one who can appreciate it. '

'Oh, said Violet, ' Matilda knows all about the best pictures. We don'tappreciate, you know, we only like. '

'And your chief liking is for that one?'

'It is more than liking, ' said Violet; 'I could call it loving. It isalmost the same to me as Helvellyn. Annette and I went to the house forone look more my last evening at home. I must tell her that you haveseen it!' and the springing steps grew so rapid, that her companion hadto say, 'Don't let me detain you, I am obliged to go gently up-hill. 'She checked her steps, abashed, and presently, with a shy but verypretty action, held out her arm, saying timidly, 'Would it help you tolean on me? I ought not to have brought you this steep way. Matilda saysI skurry like a school-girl. '

He saw it would console her to let her think herself of service andaccepted of the slender prop for the few steps that remained. Hethen went up-stairs to write letters, but finding no ink, came to thedrawing-room to ask her for some. She had only her own inkstand, whichwas supplying her letter to Annette, and he sat down at the oppositeside of the table to share it. Her pen went much faster than his. 'Clifton Terrace, Winchester, ' and 'My dear father--I came hereyesterday, and was most agreeably surprised, ' was all that he hadindited, when he paused to weigh what was his real view of the merits ofthe case, and ponder whether his present feeling was sober judgment, orthe novelty of the bewitching prettiness of this innocent and graciouscreature. There he rested, musing, while from her pen flowed adescription of her walk and of Mr. Martindale's brother. 'If they areall like him, I shall be perfectly happy, ' she wrote. 'I never sawany one so kind and considerate, and so gentle; only now and then hefrightens me, with his politeness, or perhaps polish is the right word, it makes me feel myself rude and uncourteous and awkward. You saidnothing gave you so much the notion of high-breeding as Mr. Martindale'sease, especially when he pretended to be rough and talk slang, it waslike playing at it. Now, his brother has the same, without the funnyroughness, but the greatest gentleness, and a good deal of quietsadness. I suppose it is from his health, though he is much better now:he still coughs, and he moves slowly and leans languidly, as if he wasnot strong. He is not so tall as his brother, and much slighter in make, and fairer complexioned, with gray eyes and brown hair, and he lookssallow and worn and thin, with such white long hands. '

Here raising her eyes to verify her description, she encountered thoseof its subject, evidently taking a survey of her for the same purpose. He smiled, and she was thereby encouraged to break into a laugh, sogirlish and light-hearted, so unconscious how much depended on hisreport, that he could not but feel compassionate. 

Alarmed at the graver look, she crimsoned, exclaiming, 'O! I beg yourpardon! It was very rude. '

'No, no, ' said John; it was absurd!' and vexed at having checked hergladsomeness, he added, 'It is I rather who should ask your pardon, forlooks that will not make a cheerful figure in your description. '

'Oh, no, ' cried Violet; 'mamma told me never to say anything against anyof Mr. Martindale's relations. What have I said?'--as he could not helplaughing--'Something I could not have meant. '

'Don't distress yourself, pray, ' said John, not at all in a banteringtone. 'I know what you meant; and it was very wise advice, such as youwill be very glad to have followed. '

With a renewed blush, an ingenuous look, and a hesitating effort, shesaid, 'INDEED, I have been telling them how very kind you are. Mammawill be so pleased to hear it. '

'She must have been very sorry to part with you, ' said he, looking atthe fair girl sent so early into the world. 

'Oh, yes!' and the tears started to the black eyelashes, though asmile came at the same time; 'she said I should be such a giddy younghousekeeper, and she would have liked a little more notice. '

'It was not very long?' said John, anxious to lead her to give himinformation; and she was too young and happy not to be confidential, though she looked down and glowed as she answered, 'Six weeks. '

'And you met at the ball!'

'Yes, it was very curious;' and with deepening blushes she went on, thesmile of happiness on her lips, and her eyes cast down. 'Annette was togo for the first time, and she would not go without me. Mamma did notlike it, for I was not sixteen then; but Uncle Christopher came, andsaid I should, because I was his pet. But I can never think it was sucha short time; it seems a whole age ago. '

'It must, ' said John, with a look of interest that made her continue. 

'It was very odd how it all happened. Annette and I had no one to dancewith, and were wondering who those two gentlemen were. Captain Fitzhughwas dancing with Miss Evelyn, and he--Mr. Martindale--was leaningagainst the wall, looking on. '

'I know exactly--with his arms crossed so--'

'Yes, just so, ' said Violet, smiling; 'and presently Grace Bennet cameand told Matilda who they were; and while I was listening, oh, I was sosurprised, for there was Albert, my brother, making me look round. Mr. Martindale had asked to be introduced to us, and he asked me to dance. I don't believe I answered right, for I thought he meant Matilda. 'But, 'said she, breaking off, 'how I am chattering and hindering you!' and shecoloured and looked down. 

'Not at all, ' said John; 'there is nothing I wish more to hear, or thatconcerns me more nearly. Anything you like to tell. '

'I am afraid it is silly, ' half-whispered Violet to herself; but therecollection was too pleasant not to be easily drawn out; and at her agethe transition is short from shyness to confidence. 

'Not at all silly, ' said John. 'You know I must wish to hear how Igained a sister. '

Then, as the strangeness of imagining that this grave, high-bred, morethan thirty-years-old gentleman, could possibly call her by such aname, set her smiling and blushing in confusion, he wiled on hercommunications by saying, 'Well, that evening you danced with Arthur. '

'Three times. It was a wonderful evening. Annette and I said, when wewent to bed, we had seen enough to think of for weeks. We did not knowhow much more was going to happen. '

'No, I suppose not. '

'I thought much of it when he bowed to me. I little fancied--but therewas another odd coincidence--wasn't it? In general I never go into thedrawing-room to company, because there are three older; but the day theycame to speak to papa about the fishing, mamma and all the elder oneswere out of the way, except Matilda. I was doing my Roman historywith her, when papa came in and said, we must both come into thedrawing-room. '

'You saw more of him from that time?'

'O yes; he dined with us. It was the first time I ever dined with aparty, and he talked so much to me, that Albert began to laugh at me;but Albert always laughs. I did not care till--till--that day when hewalked with us in the park, coming home from fishing. '

Her voice died away, and her face burnt as she looked down; but a fewwords of interest led her on. 

'When I told mamma, she said most likely he thought me a little girl whodidn't signify; but I did not think he could, for I am the tallest ofthem all, and every one says I look as if I was seventeen, at least. Andthen she told me grand gentlemen and officers didn't care what nonsensethey talked. You know she didn't know him so well then, ' said Violet, looking up pleadingly. 

'She was very prudent. '

'She could not know he did not deserve it, ' said the young bride, readyto resent it for her husband, since his brother did not, then againexcusing her mother. 'It was all her care for me, dear mamma! She toldme not to think about it; but I could not help it! Indeed I could not!'

'No, indeed, ' and painful recollections of his own pressed on him, buthe could not help being glad this tender young heart was not left topine under disappointment. 'How long ago was this?'

'That was six weeks ago--a month before our wedding-day, ' said she, blushingly. 'I did wish it could have been longer. I wanted to learn, how to keep house, and I never could, for he was always coming to takeme to walk in the park. And it all happened so fast, I had no time tounderstand it, nor to talk to mamma and Matilda. And then mamma cried somuch! I don't feel to understand it now, but soon perhaps I shall havemore quiet time. I should like to have waited till Lord Martindale camehome, but they said that could not be, because his leave of absencewould be over. I did wish very much though that Miss Martindale couldhave left her aunt to come to our wedding. '

John found reply so difficult, that he was glad to be interrupted byArthur's return. He soon after set out to call upon Captain Fitzhugh, who had been at Wrangerton with Arthur. 

From him more of the circumstances were gathered. Mr. Moss was theperson universally given up to reprobation. 'A thorough schemer, ' saidthe Irish captain. As to the Miss Mosses, they were lady-like girls, most of them pretty, and everywhere well spoken of. In fact, Johnsuspected he had had a little flirtation on his own account with some ofthem, though he took credit to himself for having warned his friend tobe careful. He ended with a warm-hearted speech, by no means displeasingto John, hoping he would make the best of it with Lord Martindale, forafter all, she was as pretty a creature as could be seen, one that anyman might be proud of for a daughter-in-law; and to his mind it wasbetter than leaving the poor girl to break her heart after him when ithad gone so far. 

Arthur himself was in a more rational mood that evening. He had at firsttried to hide his embarrassment by bravado; but he now changed histone, and as soon as Violet had left the dining-room, began by an abruptinquiry, 'What would you have me do?'

'Why don't you write to my father!'

Arthur writhed. 'I suppose it must come to that, ' he said; 'but tell mefirst the state of things. '

'You could not expect that there would not be a good deal ofindignation. '

'Ay, ay! How did you get the news? Did Theodora tell you?'

'No; there was a letter from Colonel Harrington; and at home they knewthe circumstances pretty correctly through a cousin of Wingfield's, whohas a curacy in that neighbourhood. '

'Oh! that was the way Theodora came by the news. I wish he had let alonetelling her, --I could have managed her alone;--but there! it was not inhuman nature not to tell such a story, and it did not much matter how itwas done. Well, and my aunt is furious, I suppose, but I'll take care ofher and of my lady. I only want to know how my father takes it. '

'He cannot endure the notion of a family feud; but the first step mustcome from you. '

'Very well:--and so you came to set it going. It is very good-natured ofyou, John. I depended on you or Theodora for helping me through, but Idid not think you would have come in this way. I am glad you have, fornow you have seen her you can't say a word against it. '

'Against her, certainly not. I have made acquaintance with her thismorning, and--and there is everything to interest one in her:' and then, as Arthur looked delighted, and was ready to break into a rhapsody--'Hersimplicity especially. When you write you had better mention her entireignorance of the want of sanction. I cannot think how she was kept insuch unconsciousness. '

'She knows nothing of people's ways, ' said Arthur. 'She knew you wereall abroad, and her own family told her it was all right. Her father isa bit of a tyrant, and stopped the mother's mouth, I fancy, if she hadany doubts. As to herself, it was much too pretty to see her so happy, to let her set up her little scruples. She did just as she was told, like a good child. '

'O Arthur! you have undertaken a great responsibility!' exclaimed John. 

But Arthur, without seeming to heed, continued, 'So you see she is quiteclear; but I'll write, and you shall see if it is not enough to satisfymy father, before he sets us going respectably. '

'I can't answer for anything of that sort. '

'Something he must do, ' said Arthur, 'for my allowance is not enoughto keep a cat; and as to the ninth part of old Moss's pickings andstealings, if I meant to dirty my fingers with it, it won't be to become by till he is disposed of, and that won't be these thirty years. '

'Then, he let you marry without settling anything on her!'

'He was glad to have her off his hands on any terms. Besides, to tellyou the truth, John, I am convinced he had no notion you would ever comehome again. He knew I saw his game, and dreaded I should be off; so heand I were both of one mind, to have it over as soon as possible. '

'I only hope you will make her happy!' said John, earnestly. 

'Happy!' exclaimed Arthur, surprised, 'small doubt of that! What shouldprevent me?'

'I think you will find you must make some sacrifices. '

'It all depends on my father, ' said Arthur, a little crossly, and takinghis writing-case from another table. 

He was so well pleased with his performance that, as soon as he wasalone with Violet, he began, 'There, I've done it! John said it couldnot be better, and after the impression you have made, no fear but hewill pacify the great folks. '

She was perplexed. 'Who?' said she; 'not Lord and Lady Martindale? Oh!surely I have not done anything to displease them. '

'You must have been ingenious if you had. '

'Pray, do tell me! Why are they to be pacified? What is the matter? Dothey think they shan't like me? Ought I to do anything?'

'My little bird, don't twitter so fast. You have asked a dozen questionsin a breath. '

'I wish you would tell me what it means, ' said Violet, imploringly. 

'Well, I suppose you must know sooner or later. It only means that theyare taken by surprise. '

Violet gazed at him in perplexity, then, with a dawning perception, 'Oh!surely you don't mean they did not approve of it. '

'Nobody asked them, ' said Arthur, carelessly, then as she turned away, covering her face with her hands, 'But it is nothing to take to heartin that way. I am my own master, you know, you silly child, and you hadplenty of consent, and all that sort of thing, to satisfy you, so youare quite out of the scrape. '

She scarcely seemed to hear. 

'Come, come, Violet, this won't do, ' he continued, putting his arm roundher, and turning her towards him, while he pulled down her hands. 'Thisis pretty usage. You can't help it now if you would. '

'Oh! Mr. Martindale!'

'Ah! you don't know what I have saved you. I was not going to see allthat pink paint worn off those cheeks, nor your life and my own wastedin waiting for them to bring their minds to it. I have seen enough ofthat. Poor John there--'

'How?--what?' said Violet, with alarmed curiosity. 

'She died, ' said Arthur. 

'How long ago? What was her name?'

'Helen Fotheringham. She was our old parson's daughter. They waitedeight years, and she died last summer. I see he wears his mourningstill. '

Violet looked aghast, and spoke low. 'How very sad! Helen! That wasthe reason he looked up when he heard it was my name. Poor Mr. JohnMartindale! I saw the crape on his hat. Was that what made him so ill?'

'It nearly killed him last year, but he never had lungs good foranything. First, my aunt set my father against it, and when he gave in, she had a crabbed decrepit old grandfather, and between them they werethe death of her, and almost of him. I never thought he would rallyagain. '

'Only last year?' exclaimed Violet. 'O dear! and there have I beentelling him all about--about this spring. I would not have done it, ifI had known. I thought he looked melancholy sometimes. Oh! I wish I hadnot. '

'You did, did you?' said Arthur, much amused. 'You chatterbox. '

'Oh! I am so sorry. I wish--'

'No, no, he only liked you the better for it. I assure you, Violet, he almost said so. Then that was what made him lay such stress on yourbeing an innocent little victim. '

'Would you be so kind as to explain it to me?' said Violet, in suchserious distress that he answered with less trifling than usual, 'Thereis nothing to tell. I knew how it would be if I asked leave, so I tookit. That's all. '

'And--and surely they didn't know this at home?'

'The less said about that the better, Violet, ' said Arthur. 'You are allright, you know, and in great favour with John. He can do anything withmy father, and I have written. We shall be at home before the endof another month, and set going with a decent income in London. Ahouse--where shall it be? Let me see, he can't give me less than £1000 ayear, perhaps £1600. I vow I don't see why it should not be £2000. Johnwants no more than he has got, and will never marry now, and there isonly Theodora. I was always my aunt's favourite, and if you mind whatyou are about we shall have our share of the old sugar-planter's hoards, better than the Barbuda property--all niggers and losses. I wash myhands of it, though by rights it should come to the second son. '

Neither understanding nor heeding all this, Violet interrupted bygasping out, 'Oh! I am so grieved. '

'Grieved!--say that again. Grieved to be Mrs. Arthur Martindale?'

'O no, no; but--'

'Grieved to have found such a fool as to risk everything, and runcounter to all his friends for the sake of that silly little ungratefulface?'

She was coaxed out of vexation for the present; but she awoke the nextmorning with a feeling of culpability and dread of all the Martindalefamily. 

John could not understand her altered manner and the timid bashfulness, greater than even at their first meeting. In fact, the history of hisgrief inspired her with a sort of reverential compassion for him, and the perception of the terms on which she stood, made her laughof yesterday seem to her such unbecoming levity, that upon it sheconcentrated all her vague feelings of contrition. 

When he came as before, to borrow some ink, as she gave it to him herhand shook, and her colour rose. After standing musing a little while, she said, mournfully, 'I am very sorry!'

'What is the matter?' said he, kindly. 

'I am so vexed at what I did yesterday!'

'What do you mean?'

'For laughing, ' said she, in a tone of distress. 'Indeed, indeed, I didnot know, ' and though she averted her face, he saw that the crimsonhad spread to her neck. He did not at once reply, and she went onincoherently. 'I did not know--I could not guess. Of course--I wonderedat it all. I knew I was not fit--but they never told me--O, I am so muchgrieved. '

Most soothingly did John say, coming towards her, 'No, no, you need notdistress yourself. No one can blame you. '

'But Lord Martindale'--she murmured. 

'He will look on you like a daughter. I know I may promise you that. Yes, indeed, I have no doubt of it, my dear little sister, ' he repeated, as she looked earnestly at him. 'I have told him how entirely youdeserve his kindness and affection, and Arthur has written, such aletter as will be sure to bring his forgiveness. '

'Ah!' said Violet, 'it is all for my sake. No wonder they should beangry. '

'Don't fancy that any one is angry with you. We all know that you wereignorant how matters stood. '

'But I should have done the same if I had known. I could not have helpedit, ' said Violet. 

'I know, ' said John, 'no one could expect it of you. Arthur told me atonce that you were free from any shadow of blame, and no one thinks ofimputing any. '

'But are they very much displeased?' said poor Violet. 

'Of course, ' said John, after a little consideration, 'it was a shockto hear of such an important step being taken without my father'sknowledge; but he is very anxious there should be no estrangement, and Iam sure he will behave as if things had gone on in the usual course. Youmay have great confidence in his kindness, Violet. '

She was somewhat reassured, and presently went on--'I don't wonder theyare vexed. I know how much beneath him I am, but I could not help that. Oh! I wish Matilda was here to tell me how to behave, that every one maynot be ashamed of me and angry with him. '

'Don't be frightened' said John, 'you have pleased two of the familyalready; you know, and depend upon it, you will make them all like youin time as much as I do. '

'If YOU can overlook that laugh!' said Violet. 

'I could say I liked you the better for it, ' said John, pleasantly;'only I don't know whether it would be a safe precedent. It has madeus feel well acquainted, I hope. Don't make a stranger of me, ' hecontinued, 'don't forget that we are brother and sister. 

'I'm sure, '--and she broke off, unable to express herself; then added, 'Lady Martindale! I was frightened before at the thought of her, but itis much worse now. '

'You must not frighten yourself. You will find out how kind she iswhen you come to know her, and soon get over your first strangeness andshyness. '

'And there is your sister, ' said Violet; 'Theodora--I do long to seeher. Is she most like you or your brother?'

'Remarkably like him. She always makes children very fond of her, ' headded, pausing to find something safe and yet encouraging; 'but Idon't know half as much of her as Arthur does. We have not been as muchtogether as I could wish. '

'I see now why she never wrote, ' said Violet, with some shame, and yetglad to have it accounted for. 'But she will be sure to help me, andtell me how to behave. She will want them to be able to bear me for hissake. '

Without much reply, he applied himself to his letter, feeling that hecould hardly give an impartial judgment. It had been a great effort tocome to visit the bridal pair, but he found himself rewarded in a way hehad not expected by the new pleasure given him by her engaging ways, herfreshness and artlessness rousing him from long-continued depression ofspirits. 

After some pondering, she suddenly looked up, and exclaimed, 'Well, I'lltry!'

'Try what, Violet!'

'I'll try to do my very best!' said she, cheerfully, though the tearsstill were in her eyes. 'I know I shall make mistakes, and I can neverbe like a great lady; but I'll do the best I can, if they will only bearwith me, and not be angry with him. '

'I am sure you will do well, with such resolutions. '

'One thing I am glad of, ' added she, 'that we came here just now. Thatold cathedral! I did not think much before--it was all strange and new, and I was too happy. But I shall never be so thoughtless now--or if Iam! O, I know, ' she exclaimed, with renewed energy, 'I'll buy one ofthose pretty white cups with views of the cathedral on them. Did you notsee them in the shop-window? That will put me in mind if I am going tobe careless of all my resolutions. '

'Resolutions so made are likely to be kept, ' said John, and shepresently left the room, recollecting that her store of biscuits neededreplenishing before luncheon. She was putting on her bonnet to go toorder them, when a doubt seized her whether she was transgressingthe dignities of the Honourable Mrs. Martindale. Matilda had lecturedagainst vulgarity when Arthur had warned her against ultra-gentility, and she wavered, till finding there was no one to send, her good sensesettled the question. She walked along, feeling the cares and troublesof life arising on her, and thinking she should never again be gay andthoughtless, when she suddenly heard her husband's voice--'Ha! whitheraway so fast!' and he and Captain Fitzhugh overtook her. 

'I was going into the town on an errand. '

'Just the moment I wanted you. There's a cricket match in the CollegeMeads. Come along. '

And with her arm in his, Violet's clouds vanished, and she had norecollection of anxieties or vexations. The summer sky was overhead, theriver shone blue and bright, the meadows smiled in verdure, the wholescene was full of animation, and the game, of which she knew nothing, was made charming by Arthur's explanations. Nearly an hour had passedbefore she bethought herself of suggesting it was almost time to gohome. 

'Presently, ' said Arthur, 'let us see this fellow out. '

Another ten minutes. 'Would you look at your watch please? There's yourbrother waiting for his luncheon. '

'O, ay, 'tis nearly time, ' and he was again absorbed. She thought hewould not be pleased if she went home alone, nor was she sure of theway; so she waited in much annoyance, till at length he said, 'Now, Violet, ' and they walked briskly home, all that she had endured passingentirely out of her mind. 

She rejoiced to find Mr. Martindale unconscious that it was not far fromtwo o'clock. He said he had been glad of time to finish his letters, and Arthur, as his eye fell on one of them, asked, 'What is Percy doingnow?'

'He has been in Anatolia, going over some of the places we saw together. He has made some discoveries about the Crusades, and is thinking ofpublishing some of his theories. '

'Did I not hear of his writing something before this?'

'Yes; he sent some curious histories of the eastern Jews to somemagazine. They are to be published separately, as they have beenvery successful; but I am glad this book is to be what he calls"self-contained. " He is too good to be wasted upon periodicals. '

Violet, curious to know who was this literary correspondent, glancedat the letter, and read the address, to 'Antony Percival Fotheringham, Esquire, British Embassy, Constantinople. ' She started to find itwas the surname of that lost betrothed of whom she thought with anundefinable reverent pity. 

All speculations were put to flight, however, by the entrance of theluncheon tray, containing nothing but slices of cold mutton and breadand butter. With a grievous look of dismay, and lamentable exclamation, she began to pour out explanations and apologies, but the gentlemenseemed too intent on conversing about Mr. Fotheringham either to hearher or to perceive anything amiss. 

She remembered black looks and sharp words at home; and feelingdreadfully guilty at having failed immediately after her resolutions, she retreated to her room, and there Arthur found her in positivedistress. 

'Oh, I am so much concerned! It was so wrong to forget those biscuits. Your brother ate nothing else yesterday at luncheon!'

'Is that all?' said Arthur, laughing; 'I thought something had happenedto you. Come, on with your bonnet. Fancy! John will actually walk withus to St. Cross!'

'Let me first tell you how it happened. There are a couple of ducks--'

'Let them be. No housekeeping affairs for me. Whatever happens, keepyour own counsel. If they serve you up a barbecued puppy dog, keep acool countenance, and help the company round. No woman good for anythingmentions her bill of fare in civilized society. Mind that. '

Violet was left imagining her apologies a breach of good manners. Whatmust Mr. Martindale think of her? Silly, childish, indiscreet, giggling, neglectful, underbred! How he must regret his brother's having such awife!

Yet his pleasant voice, and her husband's drawing her arm into his, instantly dispelled all fear and regret, and her walk was delightful. 

She was enchanted with St. Cross, delighted with the quadrangle of graybuildings covered with creepers, the smooth turf and gay flowers;in raptures at the black jacks, dole of bread and beer, and at thesilver-crossed brethren, and eager to extract all Mr. Martindale'sinformation on the architecture and history of the place, lingering overit as long as her husband's patience would endure, and hardly able totear herself from the quiet glassy stream and green meadows. 

'If Caroline were only here to sketch it!' she cried, 'there would benothing wanting but that that hill should be Helvellyn. '

'You should see the mountain convents in Albania, ' said John; and shewas soon charmed with his account of his adventures there with Mr. Fotheringham. She was beginning to look on him as a perfect mine ofinformation--one who had seen the whole world, and read everything. All that was wanting, she said, was Matilda properly to enter into hisconversation. 

Another day brought letters, inviting Arthur to bring home his bride fora fortnight's visit, as soon as he could obtain leave of absence. 

CHAPTER 3

 Who is the bride? A simple village maid, Beauty and truth, a violet in the shade. She takes their forced welcome and their wiles For her own truth, and lifts her head and smiles. They shall not change that truth by any art, Oh! may her love change them before they part. She turns away, her eyes are dim with tears, Her mother's blessing lingers in her ears, 'Bless thee, my child, ' the music is unheard, Her heart grows strong on that remembered word. 

 FREDERICK TENNYSON

'Here we are!' said Arthur Martindale. 'Here's the lodge. ' Then lookingin his wife's face, 'Why! you are as white as a sheet. Come! don't be asilly child. They won't bite. '

'I am glad I have seen Mr. John Martindale, ' sighed she. 

'Don't call him so here. Ah! I meant to tell you you must not "Mr. Martindale" me here. John is Mr. Martindale. '

'And what am I to call you?'

'By my name, of course. '

'Arthur! Oh! I don't know how. '

'You will soon. And if you can help shrinking when my aunt kisses you, it will be better for us. Ha! there is Theodora. '

'O, where?'

'Gone! Fled in by the lower door. I wish I could have caught her. '

Violet held her breath. The grand parterre, laid out in regularly-shapedborders, each containing a mass of one kind of flower, flamingelscholchias, dazzling verbenas, azure nemophilas, or sober heliotrope, the broad walks, the great pile of building, the innumerable windows, the long ascent of stone steps, their balustrade guarded by sculpturedsphinxes, the lofty entrance, and the tall powdered footmen, gave herthe sense of entering a palace. She trembled, and clung to Arthur's armas they came into a great hall, where a vista of marble pillars, orangetrees, and statues, opened before her; but comfort came in the cordialbrotherly greeting with which John here met them. 

'She is frightened out of her senses, ' said Arthur. 

John's reply was an encouraging squeeze of the hand, which he retained, leading her, still leaning on her husband's arm, into a room, where anelderly gentleman was advancing; both her hands were placed within hisby her supporters on either side, and he kissed her, gravely saying, 'Welcome, my dear. ' He then presented her to a formal embrace from atall lady; and Arthur saying, 'Well, Theodora! here, Violet, ' again tookher hand, and put it into another, whose soft clasp was not ready, norwas the kiss hearty. 

Presently Violet, a little reassured by Lord Martindale's gentle tones, ventured on a survey. She was on the same sofa with Lady Martindale; butinfinitely remote she felt from that form like an eastern queen, richly dressed, and with dark majestic beauty, whose dignity was ratherincreased than impaired by her fifty years. She spoke softly to the shystranger, but with a condescending tone, that marked the width of thegulf, and Violet's eyes, in the timid hope of sympathy, turned towardsthe sister. 

But, though the figure was younger, and the dress plainer, somethingseemed to make her still more unapproachable. There was less beauty, less gentleness, and the expression of her countenance had somethingfixed and stern. Now and then there was a sort of agitation of themuscles of the face, and her eyes were riveted on Arthur, excepting thatif he looked towards her, she instantly looked out of the window. Sheneither spoke nor moved: Violet thought that she had not given her asingle glance, but she was mistaken, Theodora was observing, and forminga judgment. 

This wife, for whose sake Arthur had perilled so much, and inflictedsuch acute pain on her, what were her merits? A complexion of liliesand roses, a head like a steel engraving in an annual, a face expressingnothing but childish bashfulness, a manner ladylike but constrained, anda dress of studied simplicity worse than finery. 

Lady Martindale spoke of dressing, and conducted her meek shy visitorup a grand staircase, along a broad gallery, into a large bed-room, intowhich the western sun beamed with a dazzling flood of light. 

The first use Violet made of her solitude was to look round in amaze atthe size and luxury of her room, wondering if she should ever feel athome where looking-glasses haunted her with her own insignificance. Shefled from them, to try to cool her cheeks at the open window, and gazeat the pleasure-ground, which reminded her of prints of Versailles, by the sparkling fountain rising high in fantastic jets from its stonebasin, in the midst of an expanse of level turf, bordered by terracesand stone steps, adorned with tall vases of flowers. On the balustradestood a peacock, bending his blue neck, and drooping his gorgeous train, as if he was 'monarch of all he surveyed. '

Poor Violet felt as if no one but peacocks had a right here; and whenshe remembered that less than twelve weeks ago the summit of her wisheshad been to go to the Wrangerton ball, it seemed to be a dream, and sheshut her eyes, almost expecting to open them on Annette's face, and thelittle attic at home. But then, some one else must have been the fabricof a vision! She made haste to unclose them, and her heart bounded atthinking that he was born to all this! She started with joy as his stepapproached, and he entered the room. 

'Let us look at you, ' he said. 'Have you your colour? Ay, plenty of it. Are you getting tamer, you startled thing?'

'I hope I have not been doing wrong. Lady Martindale asked me to havesome tea. I never heard of such a thing before dinner, but I thoughtafterwards it might have been wrong to refuse. Was it!'

He laughed. 'Theodora despises nothing so much as women who drink tea inthe middle of the day. '

'I am so afraid of doing what is unladylike. Your mother offered mea maid, but I only thought of not giving trouble, and she seemed soshocked at my undoing my own trunk. '

'No, no, ' said he, much diverted; 'she never thinks people can helpthemselves. She was brought up to be worshipped. Those are her WestIndian ways. But don't you get gentility notions; Theodora will neverstand them, and will respect you for being independent. However, don'tmake too little of yourself, or be shy of making the lady's maids waiton you. There are enough of them--my mother has two, and Theodora aFrench one to her own share. 

'I should not like any one to do my hair, if that is not wrong. '

'None of them all have the knack with it you have, and it is lucky, forthey cost as much as a hunter. '

'Indeed, I will try to be no expense. '

'I say, what do you wear this evening?'

'Would my white muslin be fit?'

'Ay, and the pink ribbons in your hair, mind. You will not see my aunttill after dinner, when I shall not be there; but you must do the bestyou can, for much depends on it. My aunt brought my mother up, andis complete master here. I can't think how my father'--and he went ontalking to himself, as he retreated into his dressing-room, so that allViolet heard was, 'wife's relations, ' and 'take warning. '

He came back to inspect her toilette and suggest adornments, till, finding he was overdoing them, he let her follow her own taste, and wasso satisfied with the result, that he led her before the glass, saying, 'There. Mrs. Martindale, that's what I call well got up. Don't you?'

'I don't mind seeing myself when I have you to look at. '

'You think we make a handsome couple? Well, I am glad you are tall--notmuch shorter than Theodora, after all. '

'But, oh! how shall I behave properly all dinner-time? Do make a sign ifI am doing anything wrong. '

'Nonsense!'

'I know I shall make mistakes. Matilda says I shall. I had a letter fromher this morning to warn me against "solecisms in etiquette, " and totell me to buy the number of the "Family Friend" about dinner-parties, but I had not time, and I am sure I shall do wrong. '

'You would be much more likely, if you had Matilda and her prig of abook, ' said Arthur, between anger and diversion. 'Tell her to mind herown business--she is not your mistress now, and she shall not teach youaffectation. Why, you silly child, should I have had you if you had notbeen "proper behaved"? You have nothing to do but to remember you are mywife, and as good as any of them, besides being twenty times prettier. Now, are you ready?'

'Yes, quite; but how shall I find my way here again?'

'See, it is the third door from the stairs. The rest on this side arespare rooms, except where you see those two green baize doors at theends. They lead to passages, the wings on the garden side. In this onemy aunt's rooms are, and Miss Piper, her white nigger, and the other isTheodora's. '

'And all these opposite doors?'

'Those four belong to my father and mother; these two are John's. Hissitting-room is the best in the house. The place is altogether too bigfor comfort. Our little parlour at Winchester was twice as snug as thatovergrown drawing-room down-stairs. '

'Dear little room! I hope we may go back to it. But what a view fromthis end window! That avenue is the most beautiful thing I have seenyet. It looks much older than the house. '

'It is. My father built the house, but we were an old county family longbefore. The old Admiral, the first lord, had the peerage settled on myfather, who was his nephew and head of the family, and he and my AuntNesbit having been old friends in the West Indies, met at Bath, andcooked up the match. He wanted a fortune for his nephew, and she wanteda coronet for her niece! I can't think how she came to be satisfied witha trumpery Irish one. You stare, Violet; but that is my aunt's notionof managing, and the way she meant to deal with all of us. She hasmonstrous hoards of her own, which she thinks give her a right to rule. She has always given out that she meant the chief of them for me, andtreated me accordingly, but I am afraid she has got into a desperatelybad temper now, and we must get her out of it as best we can. '

This not very encouraging speech was made as they stood looking from thegallery window. Some one came near, and Violet started. It was avery fashionably-dressed personage, who, making a sort of patronizingsweeping bend, said, 'I was just about to send a person to assist Mrs. Martindale. I hope you will ring whenever you require anything. Theunder lady's maid will be most happy to attend you. '

'There, ' said Arthur, as the lady passed on, 'that is the greatestperson in the house, hardly excepting my aunt. That is Miss AltisidoraStandaloft, her ladyship's own maid. '

Violet's feelings might somewhat resemble those of the Emperor Julianwhen he sent for a barber, and there came a count of the empire. 

'She must have wanted to look at you, ' proceeded Arthur, 'or she wouldnever have treated us with such affability. But come along, here isTheodora's room. '

It was a cheerful apartment, hung with prints, with somewhat of aschool-room aspect, and in much disorder. Books and music lay confusedwith blue and lilac cottons, patterns, scissors, and papers coveredwith mysterious dots; there were odd-looking glass bottles on themantel-shelf with odder looking things in them, and saucers holding whatViolet, at home, would have called messes; the straw-bonnet lay on thefloor, and beside it the Scotch terrier, who curled up his lips, showedhis white teeth, and greeted the invaders with a growl, which becamea bark as Arthur snapped his fingers at him. 'Ha! Skylark, that is badmanners. Where's your mistress? Theodora!'

At the call, the door of the inner room opened, but only a little darkdamsel appeared, saying, in a French accent, that Miss Martindale wasgone to Miss Gardner's room. 

'Is Miss Gardner here?' exclaimed Arthur. 

'She is arrived about half an hour ago, ' was the reply. Arthur utteredan impatient interjection, and Violet begged to know who Miss Gardnerwas. 

'A great friend of Theodora's. I wish she would have kept further offjust now, not that she is not a good-natured agreeable person enough, but I hate having strangers here. There will be no good to be got outof Theodora now! There are two sisters always going about staying atplaces, the only girls Theodora ever cared for; and just now, Georgina, the youngest, who used to be a wild fly-away girl, just such as Theodoraherself, has gone and married one Finch, a miserly old rogue, thatscraped up a huge fortune in South America, and is come home old enoughfor her grandfather. What should possess Theodora to bring Jane herenow? I thought she would never have forgiven them. But we may as wellcome down. Here's the staircase for use and comfort. '

'And here is the hall! Oh!' cried Violet, springing towards it, 'thisreally is the Dying Gladiator. Just like the one at Wrangerton!'

'What else should he be like!' said Arthur, laughing. 'Every one whokeeps a preserve of statues has the same. '

She would have liked to linger, recognizing her old friends, andstudying this museum of wonders, inlaid marble tables, cases of stuffedhumming birds, and stands of hot-house plants, but Arthur hurried heron, saying it was very ill-contrived, a draught straight through it, sothat nothing warmed it. He opened doors, giving her a moment's glimpseof yellow satin, gilding and pictures, in the saloon, which was nextto the drawing-room where she had been received, and beyond it thedining-room. Opposite, were the billiard-room, a library, and LordMartindale's study; and 'Here, ' said he, 'is where Theodora and I keepour goods. Ha!' as he entered, 'you here, Theodora! Hallo! what's this?A lot of wooden benches with their heels in the air. How is this? Haveyou been setting up a charity school in my room?'

'I found the children by the wood were too far from school, so I havebeen teaching them here. I came to see about taking the benches out ofyour way. I did not expect you here. '

'I was showing her our haunts. See, Violet, here's my double barrel, andhere are the bows. I forget if you can shoot. '

'Matilda and Caroline do. '

'You shall learn. We will have the targets out. Where's the light bowyou used to shoot with, Theodora?'

'It is somewhere, ' said Theodora, without alacrity; 'no, I remember, Igave it to Mr. Wingfield's little nephew. '

'Unlucky! Yours will never do for those little fingers. ' Theodoraabruptly turned to Violet, and said, ' She must be tired of standingthere. ' Violet smiled with pleasure at being addressed, thanked, anddisclaimed fatigue. 

'She is of your sort, and does not know how to be tired, ' said Arthur. 'I wondered to hear your bosom friend was here. What brings her aboutnow?'

'If you call her my bosom friend, you answer the question, ' was theproud reply, and it provoked him to carry on the teasing process. 

'I thought she was not THE friend, ' he continued; 'I ought to havecongratulated you on THE friend's capture. A goldfinch of the SouthAmerican breed is a rare bird. '

Theodora drew up her head, and impetuously heaped some school-bookstogether. 'Have you seen the pretty caged bird?'

'Never. '

In a soft tone, contrasting with the manner of his last sayings, Arthurinvited his wife to come out on the lawn, and walked away with her. She was surprised and uneasy at what had taken place, but could notunderstand it, and only perceived he would prefer her not seeming tonotice it. 

It was all the strange influence of temper. In truth, Theodora's wholeheart was yearning to the brother, whom she loved beyond all others;while on the other hand his home attachments centred on her, and he hadcome to seek her with the fixed purpose of gaining her good-will andprotection for his young bride. But temper stepped between. Whether itbegan from Theodora's jealousy of the stranger, or from his annoyanceat her cold haughty manner to his wife, he was vexed, and retaliated byteasing; she answered coldly, in proud suffering at being taunted on asubject which gave her much pain, and then was keenly hurt at his toneand way of leaving her, though in fact she was driving him away. Shestood leaning against a pillar in the hall, looking after him with eyesbrimming with tears; but on hearing a step approach, she subdued allsigns of emotion, and composedly met the eye of her eldest brother. Shecould not brook that any one should see her grief, and she was in nomood for his first sentences: 'What are you looking at?' and seeing thepair standing by the fountain, 'Well, you don't think I said too much inher favour?'

'She is very pretty, ' said Theodora, as if making an admission. 

'It is a very sweet expression. Even as a stranger, it would beimpossible not to be interested in her, if only for the sake of hersimplicity. '

Theodora glanced at Violet's dress, and at the attitude in which she waslooking up, as Arthur gathered some roses from a vase; then turned hereyes on John's thoughtful and melancholy countenance, and thought withinherself, that every man, however wise, can be taken in by a fair face, and by airs and graces. 

'Poor thing, ' continued John, 'it must be very trying; you don't seeher to advantage, under constraint, but a few kind words will set her atease. '

He paused for an answer, but not obtaining one, said, 'I did not knowyou expected Miss Gardner to-day. '

She surprised him, by answering with asperity, prompted by a secondattack on this subject, 'I can't help it. I could not put her off, --whatobjection can there be?'

'Nothing, nothing, --I meant nothing personal. It was only that I wouldhave avoided having spectators of a family meeting like this. I amafraid of first impressions. '

'My impressions are nothing at all. '

'Well, I hope you will make friends--I am sure she will repay yourkindness. '

'Do you know that you are standing in a tremendous draught?' interruptedTheodora. 

'And there's my mother on the stairs. I shall go and call them in; comewith me, Theodora. '

But she had turned back and joined her mother. 

He found Violet all smiles and wonder: but she relapsed into constraintand alarm as soon as she entered the drawing-room. Miss Gardnerpresently came down, --a lady about five or six and twenty, not handsome, but very well dressed, and with an air of ease and good society, as ifsure of her welcome. As Violet listened to her lively conversation withLord Martindale, she thought how impossible it was that she should everbe equally at home there. 

The grandeur of the dining-room was another shock, and the varieties ofcourses revived her remorse for the cold mutton. She sat between LordMartindale and John, who talked to her as soon as he thought shecould bear the sound of her own voice, and, with Arthur opposite, hersituation was delightful compared to the moment when, without eitherof her protectors, she must go with the imperial Lady Martindale toencounter the dreaded aunt. 

When the time came, Arthur held open the door, and she looked up inhis face so piteously, that he smiled, and whispered 'You goose, ' wordswhich encouraged her more than their tenor would seem to warrant. 

Warm as it was, the windows were shut, and a shawl was round Mrs. Nesbit's tall, bending, infirm figure. Violet dared not look up at her, and thought, with mysterious awe, of the caution not to shrink if shewere kissed, but it was not needed, Lady Martindale only said, 'My aunt, Mrs. Arthur Martindale, ' and Mrs. Nesbit, half rising, just took herhand into her long skinny fingers, which felt cold, damp, and uncertain, like the touch of a lizard. 

Violet was conscious of being scanned from head to foot--nay, lookedthrough and through by black eyes that seemed to pierce like a dart frombeneath their shaggy brows, and discover all her ignorance, folly, andunfitness for her position. Colouring and trembling, she was relievedthat there was another guest to call off Mrs. Nesbit's attention, andwatched the readiness and deference with which Miss Gardner replied tocompliments on her sister's marriage; and yet they were not comfortablecongratulations, thought Violet; at least they made her cheeks burn, andTheodora stood by looking severe and melancholy; but Miss Gardner seemedquite to enter into the sarcastic tone, and almost to echo it, as if tohumour the old lady. 

'Your sister acted very sensibly, ' said Mrs. Nesbit, with emphasis. 'Very good management; though Theodora was somewhat taken by surprise. '

'Yes, I know we used her very ill, ' said Miss Gardner; 'but people haveunaccountable fancies about publishing those matters. Mr. Finch wasin haste, and we all felt that it was best to have it over, so it wastalked of a very short time previously. '

'Speed is the best policy, as we all know, ' said Mrs. Nesbit; and Violetfelt as if there was a flash of those eyes upon her, and was vexed withherself for blushing. She thought Miss Gardner's answer good-naturedlyunconscious:

'Oh, people always shake together best afterwards. There is not theleast use in a prolonged courtship acquaintance. It is only a field forlovers' quarrels, and pastime for the spectators. '

'By the bye, ' said Mrs. Nesbit, 'what is become of your cousin, Mrs. George Gardner's son?'

'Mark! Oh, he is abroad. Poor fellow, I wish we could find something forhim to do. Lady Fotheringham asked her nephew, Percival, if he could notput him in the way of getting some appointment. '

'Failed, of course, ' said Mrs. Nesbit. 

'Yes; I never expected much. Those diplomats are apt to be afraidof having their heels trodden upon; but it is a great pity. He is soclever, and speaks so many languages. We hope now that Mr. Finch maysuggest some employment in America. '

'Highly advisable. '

'I assure you poor Mark would be glad of anything. He is entirelysteadied now; but there are so few openings for men of his age. '

An interruption here occurring, Miss Gardner drew off to the window. Theodora sat still, until her friend said, 'How lovely it is! Do youever take a turn on the terrace after dinner?'

Theodora could not refuse. Violet wished they had asked her to jointhem; but they went out alone, and for some moments both were silent. Miss Gardner first spoke, remarking, 'A beautiful complexion. '

There was a cold, absent assent; and she presently tried again, 'Quitea lady, ' but with the same brief reply. Presently, however, Theodoraexclaimed, 'Jane, you want me to talk to you; I cannot, unless you unsaythat about Percy Fotheringham. He is not to be accused of baseness. '

'I beg your pardon, Theodora, dear; I have no doubt his motives werequite conscientious, but naturally, you know, one takes one's owncousin's part, and it was disappointing that he would not help to givepoor Mark another chance. '

'That is no reason he should be accused of petty jealousies. '

'Come, you must not be so very severe and dignified. Make some allowancefor poor things who don't know how to answer Mrs. Nesbit, and say whatfirst occurs. Indeed, I did not know you were so much interested inhim. '

'I am interested in justice to the innocent. '

'There! don't annihilate me. I know he is a very superior person, thepride of Lady Fotheringham's heart. Of course he would have recommendedMark if he had thought it right; I only hope he will find that he wasmistaken. '

'If he was, he will be the first to own it. '

'Then I am forgiven, am I? And I may ask after you after this longsolitary winter. We thought a great deal of you. '

'I needed no pity, thank you. I was well off with my chemistry and theparish matters. I liked the quiet time. '

'I know you do not care for society. '

'My aunt is a very amusing companion. Her clear, shrewd observation islike a book of French memoirs. '

'And you are one of the few not afraid of her. '

'No. We understand each other, and it is better for all parties that sheshould know I am not to be interfered with. Positively I think she hasbeen fonder of me since we measured our strength. '

'There is a mutual attachment in determined spirits, ' said Miss Gardner. 

'I think there must be. I fancy it is resolution that enables me to gofurther with her than any one else can without offending her. '

'She is so proud of you. '

'What is strange is, that she is prouder of me than of mamma, who is somuch handsomer and more accomplished, --more tractable, too, and making afigure and sensation that I never shall. '

'Mrs. Nesbit knows better, ' said Miss Gardner, laughing. 

'Don't say so. If John's illness had not prevented my coming out lastyear, I might have gone into the world like other girls. Now I see theworth of a young lady's triumph--the disgusting speculation! I detestit. '

'Ah! you have not pardoned poor Georgina. '

'Do you wish for my real opinion?'

'Pray let me hear it. '

'Georgina had a grand course open to her, and she has shrunk from it. '

'A grand course!' repeated Jane, bewildered. 

'Yes, honest poverty, and independence. I looked to her to show thetrue meaning of that word. I call it dependence to be so unable toexist without this world's trash as to live in bondage for its sake. Independence is trusting for maintenance to our own head and hands. '

'So you really would have had us--do what? Teach music?--make lace?'

'If I had been lucky enough to have such a fate, I would have been avillage school-mistress. '

'Not even a governess?'

'I should like the village children better; but, seriously, I wouldgladly get my own bread, and I did believe Georgina meant to wait to beof age and do the same. '

'But, Theodora, seriously! The loss of position. '

'I would ennoble the office. '

'With that head that looks as if it was born in the purple, you wouldennoble anything, dear Theodora; but for ordinary--'

'All that is done in earnest towards Heaven and man ennobles and isennobled. '

'True; but it needs a great soul and much indifference to creaturecomforts. Now, think of us, at our age, our relations' welcome wornout--'

'I thought you were desired to make Worthbourne your home. '

'Yes, there was no want of kindness there; but, my dear, if you couldonly imagine the dulness. It was as if the whole place had been pottedand preserved in Sir Roger de Coverley's time. No neighbours, noclub-books, no anything! One managed to vegetate through the morning bythe help of being deputy to good Lady Bountiful; but oh! the evenings!Sir Antony always asleep after tea, and no one allowed to speak, lesthe should be awakened, and the poor, imbecile son bringing out thedraught-board, and playing with us all in turn. Fancy that, by wayof enlivenment to poor Georgina after her nervous fever! I was quitealarmed about her, --her spirits seemed depressed for ever into apathy!'

'I should think them in more danger now. '

'Oh! her Finch is a manageable bird. Her life is in her own power, andshe will have plenty of all that makes it agreeable. It is winning ahome instead of working for it; that is the common sense view--'

'Winning it by the vow to love, honour, and obey, when she knows shecannot?'

'Oh, she may in the end. He is tame, and kind, and very much obliged. Mydear Theodora, I could feel with you once; but one learns to see thingsin a different light as one lives on. After all, I have not done thething. '

'If you did not promote it, you justify it. '

'May I not justify my sister to her friend?'

'I do no such thing. I do not justify Arthur. I own that he has actedwrongly; but--No, I cannot compare the two cases. His was silly and badenough, but it was a marriage, not a bargain. '

'Well, perhaps one may turn out as well as the other. '

'I am afraid so, ' sighed Theodora. 

'It has been a sad grief to you, so fond of your brother as you were. '

'Not that I see much harm in the girl, ' continued Theodora; 'but--'

'But it is the loss of your brother! Do you know, I think it likely hemay not be as much lost to you as if he had chosen a superior person. When the first fancy is over, such a young unformed thing as this cannothave by any means the influence that must belong to you. You will findhim recurring to you as before. '

Meanwhile, Violet sat formal and forlorn in the drawing-room, and LadyMartindale tried to make conversation. Did she play, or draw? Matildaplayed, Caroline drew, she had been learning; and in horror of a requestfor music, she turned her eyes from the grand piano. Was she fond offlowers? O, yes! Of botany? Caroline was. A beautifully illustratedmagazine of horticulture was laid before her, and somewhat relieved her, whilst the elder ladies talked about their fernery, in scientific terms, that sounded like an unknown tongue. 

Perceiving that a book was wanted, she sprang up, begging to be toldwhere to find it; but the answer made her fear she had been officious. 'No, my dear, thank you, do not trouble yourself. '

The bell was rung, and a message sent to ask Miss Piper for the book. Asmall, pale, meek lady glided in, found the place, and departed; whileViolet felt more discomposed than ever, under the sense of being aconceited little upstart, sitting among the grand ladies, while such aperson was ordered about. 

Ease seemed to come back with the gentlemen. Lord Martindale took herinto the great drawing-room, to show her Arthur's portrait, and theshow of the house--Lady Martindale's likeness, in the character of LallaRookh--and John began to turn over prints for her, while Arthur devotedhimself to his aunt, talking in the way that, in his schoolboy days, would have beguiled from her sovereigns and bank-notes. However, hiscivilities were less amiably received, and he met with nothing but hitsin return. He hoped that her winter had not been dull. 

Not with a person of so much resource as his sister. Solitude with herwas a pleasure--it showed the value of a cultivated mind. 

'She never used to be famous for that sort of thing, ' said Arthur. 

'Not as a child, but the best years for study come later. Education isscarcely begun at seventeen. '

'Young ladies would not thank you for that maxim. '

'Experience confirms me in it. A woman is nothing without a few yearsof grown-up girlhood before her marriage; and, what is more, no one canjudge of her when she is fresh from the school-room. Raw material!'

Arthur laughed uneasily. 

'There is Mrs. Hitchcock--you know her?'

'What, the lady that goes out with the hounds, and rides steeple-chases?I saw her ride through Whitford to-day, and she stared so hard into thecarriage, that poor Violet pulled down her veil till we were out of thetown. '

'Well, she was married out of a boarding-school, came here the meekest, shyest, little shrinking creature, always keeping her eyelids cast down, and colouring at a word. '

Arthur thought there was a vicious look at his bride's bending head, buthe endured by the help of twisting the tassel of the sofa cushion, andwith another laugh observed, 'that all the lady's shyness had been usedup before he knew her. '

'Then there was Lord George Wilmot, who ran away with a farmer'sdaughter. She made quite a sensation; she was quite presentable, andvery pretty and well-mannered--but such a temper! They used to be calledGeorge and the Dragon. Poor man! he had the most subdued air--'

'There was a son of his in the Light Dragoons--' began Arthur, hoping tolead away the conversation, 'a great heavy fellow. '

'Exactly so; it was the case with all of them. The Yorkshire farmershowed in all their ways, and poor Lord George was so ashamed of it, that it was positively painful to see him in company with his daughters. And yet the mother was thought ladylike. '

Arthur made a sudden observation on John's improved looks. 

'Yes. Now that unhappy affair is over, we shall see him begin lifeafresh, and form new attachments. It is peculiarly important that heshould be well married. Indeed, we see every reason to hope that--' Andshe looked significant and triumphant. 

'Much obliged!' thought Arthur. 'Well! there's no use in letting oneselfbe a target for her, while she is in this temper. I'll go and see what Ican make of her ladyship. What new scheme have they for John? Rickworth, eh?'

He was soon at his mother's side, congratulating her on John's recovery, and her looks were of real satisfaction. 'I am glad you think himbetter! He is much stronger, and we hope this may be the period whenthere is a change of constitution, and that we may yet see him a healthyman. '

'Has he been going out, or seeing more people of late?'

'No--still keeping in his rooms all the morning. He did drive one day toRickworth with your father, otherwise he has been nowhere, only takinghis solitary ride. '

'I never was more surprised than to see him at Winchester!'

'It was entirely his own proposal. You could not be more surprised thanwe were; but it has been of much benefit to him by giving his thoughts anew channel. '

'He likes her, too, ' said Arthur. 

'I assure you he speaks most favourably of her. '

'What did he say?' cried Arthur, eagerly. 

'He said she was a lady in mind and manners, and of excellentprinciples, but he declared he would not tell us all he thought of her, lest we should be disappointed. '

'Are you?' said Arthur, with a bright, confident smile. 

'By no means. He had not prepared me for so much beauty, and suchpeculiarly graceful movements. My drawing days are nearly past, or Ishould be making a study of her. '

'That's right, mother!' cried Arthur. 'What a picture she would make. Look at her now! The worst of it is, she has so many pretty ways, onedoes not know which to catch her in!'

Perhaps Lady Martindale caught her aunt's eye, for she began to qualifyher praise. 'But, Arthur, excuse me, if I tell you all. There is nothingamiss in her manners, but they are quite unformed, and I should dreadany contact with her family. '

'I never mean her to come near them, ' said Arthur. 'Though, after all, they are better than you suppose. She has nothing to unlearn, and willpick up tone and ease fast enough. '

'And for education? Is she cultivated, accomplished?'

'Every man to his taste. You never could get learning to stick on me, and I did not look for it. She knows what other folks do, and likesnothing better than a book. She is good enough for me; and you must taketo her, mother, even if she is not quite up to your mark in the ologies. Won't you? Indeed, she is a good little Violet!'

Arthur had never spoken so warmly to his mother, and the calm, inanimatedignity of her face relaxed into a kind response, something was falteredof 'every wish to show kindness;' and he had risen to lead his wife toher side, when he perceived his aunt's bead-like eyes fixed on them, and she called out to ask Lady Martindale if Lady Elizabeth Brandon hadreturned. 

The young ladies came in late; and Arthur in vain tried to win a lookfrom his sister, who kept eyes and tongue solely for Miss Gardner'sservice. 

At night, as, after a conversation with his brother, he was crossing thegallery to his own room, he met her. 

'Teaching my wife to gossip?' said he, well pleased. 

'No, I have been with Jane. '

'The eternal friendship!' exclaimed he, in a changed tone. 

'Good night!' and she passed on. 

He stood still, then stepping after her, overtook her. 

'Theodora!' he said, almost pleadingly. 

'Well!'

He paused, tried to laugh, and at last said, rather awkwardly, 'I wantto know what you think of her?'

'I see she is very pretty. '

'Good night!' and his receding footsteps echoed mortification. 

Theodora looked after him. 'Jane is right, ' she said to herself, 'hecares most for me. Poor Arthur! I must stand alone, ready to support himwhen his toy fails him. '

CHAPTER 4

 They read botanic treatises And works of gardeners through there, And methods of transplanting trees To look as if they grew there. --A. TENNYSON

Theodora awoke to sensations of acute grief. Her nature had an almosttropical fervour of disposition; and her education having given her fewto love, her ardent affections had fastened upon Arthur with a vehemencethat would have made the loss of the first place in his love painful, even had his wife been a person she respected and esteemed, but when shesaw him, as she thought, deluded and thrown away on this mere beauty, the suffering was intense. 

The hope Jane Gardner had given her, of his return to her, when heshould have discovered his error, was her first approach to comfort, andseemed to invigorate her to undergo the many vexations of the day, inthe sense of neglect, and the sight of his devotion to his bride. 

She found that, much as she had dreaded it, she had by no means realizedthe discomposure she secretly endured when they met at breakfast, andhe, remembering her repulse, was cold--she was colder; and Violet, who, in the morning freshness, was growing less timid, shrank back into aweof her formal civility. 

In past days it had been a complaint that Arthur left her no time toherself. Now she saw the slight girlish figure clinging to his arm asthey crossed the lawn, and she knew they were about to make the tour oftheir favourite haunts, she could hardly keep from scolding Skylark backwhen even he deserted her to run after them; and only by a very strongeffort could she prevent her mind from pursuing their steps, whileshe was inflicting a course of Liebig on Miss Gardner, at the especialinstance of that lady, who, whatever hobby her friends were riding, always mounted behind. 

Luncheon was half over, when the young pair came in, flushed withexercise and animation; Arthur talking fast about the covers and thegame, and Violet in such high spirits, that she volunteered a history oftheir trouble with Skylark, and 'some dear little partridges that couldnot get out of a cart rut. '

In the afternoon Miss Gardner, 'always so interested in schools andvillage children, ' begged to be shown 'Theodora's little scholars, ' andwalked with her to Brogden, the village nearly a mile off. They set offjust as the old pony was coming to the door for Violet to have a ridinglesson; and on their return, at the end of two hours, found Arthur stillleading, letting go, running by the side, laughing and encouraging. 

'Fools' paradise!' thought Theodora, as she silently mounted the steps. 

'That is a remarkably pretty little hat, ' said Miss Gardner. Theodoramade a blunt affirmative sound. 

'No doubt she is highly pleased to sport it. The first time of wearinganything so becoming must be charming at her age. I could envy her. '

'Poor old pony!' was all Theodora chose to answer. 

'There, they are leaving off, ' as Arthur led away the pony, and Violetbegan to ascend the steps, turning her head to look after him. 

Miss Gardner came to meet her, asking how she liked riding. 

'Oh, so much, thank you. '

'You are a good scholar?'

'I hope I shall be. He wants me to ride well. He is going to take meinto the woods to-morrow. '

'We have been admiring your hat, ' said Miss Gardner. 'It is exactly whatmy sister would like. Have you any objection to tell where you boughtit?'

'I'll ask him: he gave it to me. '

'Dressing his new doll, ' thought Theodora; but as Violet had not beenpersonally guilty of the extravagance, she thought amends due to her forthe injustice, and asked her to come into the gardens. 

'Thank you, I should like it; but will he, will Mr. --will Arthur knowwhat has become of me?'

'He saw you join us, ' said Theodora, thinking he ought to be relieved tohave her taken off his hands for a little while. 

'Have you seen the gardens?' asked Jane. 

'Are not these the gardens?' said Violet, surprised, as they walked onthrough the pleasure-ground, and passed a screen of trees, and a walktrellised over with roses. 

There spread out before her a sweep of shaven turf, adorned withsparkling jets d'eau of fantastic forms, gorgeous masses of Americanplants, the flaming or the snowy azalea, and the noble rhododendron, inevery shade of purple cluster among its evergreen leaves; beds of rarelilies, purely white or brilliant with colour; roses in their perfectionof bloom; flowers of forms she had never figured to herself, shaded bywondrous trees, the exquisite weeping deodara, the delicate mimosa, the scaly Himalaya pines, the feathery gigantic ferns of the southernhemisphere. 

Violet stood gazing in a silent trance till Arthur's step approached, when she bounded back to him, and clinging to his arm exclaimed, sothat he alone could hear, 'Oh, I am glad you are come! It was too likeenchanted ground!'

'So you like it, ' said Arthur, smiling. 

'I did not know there could be anything so beautiful! I thought thepleasure-ground finer than anything--so much grander than Lord St. Erme's; but this! Did you keep it to the last to surprise me!'

'I forgot it, ' said Arthur, laughing to see her look shocked. 'It is notin my line. The natives never have any sport out of a show-place. '

'It is simply a bore, ' said Theodora, 'a self-sacrifice to parade. '

'To the good of visitors, ' replied Miss Gardner, smiling, to Violet, who, fearing her own admiration was foolish, was grateful to hear hersay, 'And in that capacity you will allow Mrs. Martindale and me toenjoy. '

'Did not I bring you to make the grand tour!' said Theodora. 'Come, prepare to be stifled. Here are all the zones up to the equator, ' andshe led the way into the conservatory. 

Arthur's protection and his satisfaction in Violet's pleasure set her atease to enter into all the wonders and beauties; but he did not know oneplant from another, and referred all her inquiries to his sister, whoanswered them in a cold matter-of-fact way that discouraged her fromcontinuing them, and reduced her to listening to the explanationselicited by Jane Gardner, until a new-comer met them, thus greetedby Arthur--'Ah! here is the authority! Good morning, Harrison. Mrs. Martindale wants to know the name of this queer striped thing. '

He bowed politely, and Violet, as she bent and smiled, supposed theywere too familiar for the hand-shake, while he went on to name theplant and exhibit its peculiarities. Her questions and remarks seemedto please him greatly, and while he replied graciously with much curiousinformation, he cut spray after spray of the choicest flowers andbestowed them upon her, so that when the tour was completed, andhe quitted them, she said, with smiling gratitude, 'It is the mostexquisite bouquet I ever saw. '

'A poor thing, 'was the proud humility answer, 'but honoured by suchhands!'

'Well done, Harrison!' ejaculated Arthur, as soon as he was out ofear-shot. 

'Who is he?' asked Violet, still blushing; then, as the truth dawned onher, 'can he be the gardener? I thought him some great botanist allowedto study here. '

'Pray tell Miss Piper, Theodora, ' said Arthur. 'If it goes round to him, Violet will never want for flowers. '

'It is so exactly what he considers himself, ' said Jane. 

'Except his being allowed, ' said Arthur. ''Tis we that are there onsufferance. '

Miss Piper was seen advancing on the same walk, and Violet wasuncomfortable, dreading to see her treated as an inferior; but to hergreat satisfaction, Arthur addressed the little lady in his cordialmanner, and Theodora congratulated her on being out of doors on thisfine evening. 

'Mrs. Nesbit wished me to ask Mr. Harrison for a frond of the newTrichomanes, ' said Miss Piper. 

'You will find him somewhere near the forcing-house, ' said Theodora;'but pray don't hurry in. I am going to my aunt's room, and you shouldgo and look at the Japan lilies, they are fine enough to make even meadmire them. ' Then running after her to enforce her words, 'mind youstay out--be quite at rest till dinner-time--I have scarcely been withmy aunt to-day. I am sure a walk will do you good. '

The kind solicitude went deep into the affections of the lonely littlewoman. Violet longed for anything like such notice; then, in a statebetween wonder, delight, and disappointment, went to her room to attempta description of the fairy land which she had been visiting, and toenjoy the splendours by thinking how much it would gratify her motherand sisters to hear of her sharing them. 

Mrs. Nesbit greeted Theodora with exclamations on Miss Piper'stardiness, and she explained in the authoritative way which she aloneventured to use towards her aunt; then, in a tone of conciliation, spokeof the garden and the beauty of the Japan lilies. 

'Harrison grows too many; they are losing their rarity, and look like aweed. '

'They are hardy, are they not?' said Theodora, maliciously. 'I shall getsome for my school garden. '

'That is your way of making everything common, and depreciating all thatis choice. '

'No, ' said Theodora, 'I would have beauty as widely enjoyed and ashighly appreciated as possible. '

'And pray, if all privileges are extended to the lower classes, what isleft to the higher orders?'

'Themselves, ' said Theodora, proudly. 'No, aunt, we only lower ourselvesby exclusiveness. It is degrading to ourselves and our tastes to makethem badges of vanity. Let them be freely partaken, we shall be firststill. The masses cannot mount higher without raising us. '

'A levelling theory, ' said Mrs. Nesbit. 

'No, exalting. Has Latin and Greek made Harrison a gentleman? Can evendress in better taste make Pauline look as much a lady as Miss Piper?'

'There is a good deal in that, ' said Mrs. Nesbit. 'Even Lady ElizabethBrandon cannot hide her good blood, though she does her best to do so. '

'And so does Emma, ' said Theodora. 

'Foolish girl, ' said Mrs. Nesbit, 'I would have given anything to seeher attractive. '

'Too late now!' said Theodora, with a look of repressed scorn andtriumph. 

'Too late for ARTHUR, ' replied Mrs. Nesbit, with emphasis. 'And you'llnever, never succeed in the other quarter!'

'Young people always have those fancies. I know what you would say, butJohn is not so young now. It is just the time of life when men take aturn. Depend upon it, now he has had his boy's romance, he is not goingto play the disconsolate lover for the rest of his life. No! that girlshall never be Lady Martindale. '

'Well, I shan't dispute' said Theodora; 'but--'

'Believe when you see, said Mrs. Nesbit. 

'And so you mean it to be Emma Brandon, ' said Theodora, with the samesarcastic incredulity. 

'Let me tell you there are things more unlikely. John thinks much ofLady Elizabeth, and is just one of the men to marry a plain quiet girl, fancying she would be the more domestic; and for yourself, you wouldfind Emma very accommodating--never in your way. '

'No indeed, ' said Theodora. 

'Nothing could give your mother more pleasure. It is more than everimportant now. What have you seen of Arthur's piece of wax? He seems tohave been playing with her all day long. '

'Yes, poor fellow, ' said Theodora, sighing. 'However, it might have beenworse. I believe she is an innocent child, and very ladylike. '

'There is an instance of the effect of your dissemination notions! Thiswould never have happened if every country attorney did not bring up hisdaughters to pass for ladies!'

'I am glad she is nothing outwardly to be ashamed of. '

'I had rather that she was than for her to have the opportunity ofworming herself into favour! Those modest airs and her way of peeping upunder her eyelashes seem to make a great impression, ' said Mrs. Nesbit, with a sneer. 

'Really, I think she is simple and shy. '

Mrs. Nesbit laughed. 'You, too! What has she to do with shyness? She hashad her lesson; but you are like the rest! Your mamma actually proposingto take her likeness, but I told her it was not to be thought of. Therewill be plenty to fill her with presumption. '

'And papa--what does he think?' said Theodora, who was wont to obtainthe family politics from her aunt. 

'Oh! men are sure to be caught by a pretty face, and they cannot makeenough of her. I thought your father had more sense, but since John hashad his ear, everything has been past my management. I cannot bear tosee Arthur's cool way--but no wonder. There will be no end to theirexpectations, treated as they are. '

'Then papa means to do something for them?'

'I cannot tell. He may do as he pleases. It is no affair of mine. Theycannot touch my property. Your father may try how he likes supportingthem. '

'He will then?'

'He cannot help it, after having invited them here. '

Theodora could no longer bear to hear Arthur thus spoken of, and beganto read aloud, relieved in some degree by finding Arthur was not tosuffer poverty. If he had been persecuted, she must have taken his part;now she could choose her own line. However, the world must not supposethat she disapproved of his wife, and she was grateful to the unmeaningwords amiable and ladylike, especially when she had to speak to Mr. Wingfield. He observed on the lady's beauty, and hoped that the affairwas as little unsatisfactory as possible under the circumstances, towhich she fully agreed. They proceeded to parish matters, on which theyhad so much to say to each other, that Violet thus reflected--'Ah! it isjust as Mr. Martindale used to sit with me in the window at home! She isgoing to give up all her grandeur for the sake of this good clergyman!How good she is! If she could only like me one little bit. '

For the present this mattered the less to Violet, as she wasextremely happy out of doors with her husband, who took up her time soexclusively, that she scarcely saw the rest, except at meals and in theevening. Then, though less afraid of 'solecisms in etiquette, ' she madeno progress in familiarity, but each day revealed more plainly how muchtoo lowly and ignorant she was to be ever one of the family. 

Mrs. Nesbit was always formidable and sarcastic, alarming her the morebecause she could not understand her irony, though conscious it waslevelled against her; Lady Martindale always chilling in condescendingcourtesy, and daily displaying more of the acquirements that frightenedViolet by their number and extent; Theodora always gravely and coldlypolite and indifferent. Miss Gardner was her great resource. Herpleasant manners and ready conversation were universally liked, and morethan once she dexterously helped Violet out of a state of embarrassment, and made a connecting link, through which she ventured to talk to theother ladies. 

With the gentlemen she was happier. Lord Martindale was kind in manner, and she improved in the power of speaking to him, while John was, as sheknew, her best friend; but she saw very little of him, he lived apartfrom the family, often not meeting them till dinner-time, and she beganto understand Arthur's surprise at his doings at Winchester, whenshe found that his usual habits were so solitary that his father wasgratified if he joined him in a ride, and his mother esteemed it afavour if he took a turn in the garden with her. 

The parish church was so distant that the carriage was always usedto convey thither the ladies, except Theodora, who ever since herfourteenth year had made it her custom to walk early to the school, andto remain there in the interval between the services. It was believedthat she enjoyed a wet Sunday, as an occasion for proving herresolution, now so well established that no one thought of remonstrance, let the weather be what it might. The first Sunday of Violet's visithappened to be showery, and in the afternoon, Lord Martindale had goneto John's room to dissuade him from going to church a second time, when, as the door stood open, they heard Arthur's voice in the gallery. 

'Hollo! you are not setting out in these torrents!'

'Do let me, please!' returned the pleading note. 

'Why, the avenue is a river, and you are not a real goose yet, youknow. '

'We never did miss church for weather, and it is further off atWrangerton. '

'Nobody is going, I tell you. It is not in common sense. You are as badas Theodora, I declare. '

'I don't mean to be wilful!' said she, piteously; 'I won't go if youtell me not, but please don't. I have no Sunday-book, and nothing to do, and I should feel wrong all the week. '

'To be sure you can't smoke a cigar, ' said Arthur, in a tone ofcommiseration; 'so wilful will to water! Now for an aquatic excursion!'

Their steps and voices receded, and the father and brother lookedamused. 'A good honest child!' 'She will do something with him afterall!' and Lord Martindale (for Arthur had made too broad an assertionin declaring no one was going) followed them down, and showed positivelypaternal solicitude that Violet should be guarded from the rain, evensending to Pauline for a cloak of Miss Martindale's. 

It was early when they reached the village, and Lord Martindale, sayinghe must speak to a workman, took them through a pretty garden to ahouse, the front rooms of which were shut up; they entered by the backdoor, and found themselves in a kitchen, where a couple of labouringpeople were sitting, in church-going trim. While Violet shook off therain, and warmed herself at the fire, Lord Martindale spoke to the man;and then opening a door, called her and Arthur to look. 

There were several rooms, without trace of ever having been inhabited, and not looking very inviting. The view of the park, which Violet wouldfain have admired, was one gush of rain. 

'This might be made something of, ' said Lord Martindale. 'It was builtat the same time as the house. There was some idea of Mrs. Nesbit'sliving here; and of late years it has been kept empty for poor John. '

He broke off. Violet wondered if it was to be her abode, and whetherthose empty rooms could ever be as pleasant as the parlour atWinchester; but no more passed, and it was time to go into church. 

After this, Lord Martindale pressed to have their stay prolonged; whichArthur could not persuade his wife to believe a great compliment to her, though she was pleased, because he was, and because she hoped it wasa sign that she was tolerated for his sake. Personally, she could havewished that his leave of absence might not be extended, especially whenshe found that by the end of the next two months it was likely that theregiment would be in London, so that she had seen the last of herdear Winchester lodging; but she had so little selfishness, that shereproached herself even for the moment's wish, that Arthur should notremain to be happy at his own home. 

It was a great loss to her that Miss Gardner was going away, leavingher to the unmitigated coldness and politeness of the other ladies. Shegrieved the more when, on the last morning, Jane made positive advancesof friendship, and talked affectionately of meeting in London. 

'My home is with my sister, and we shall be delighted to see you. Youwill be fixed there, no doubt. '

'Thank you. I cannot tell; but I shall be so glad to see you!'

'And I shall be delighted to introduce you to my sister. I know you willbe great friends. What a season it will be! Two such sisters as Mrs. And Miss Martindale making their appearance together will be somethingmemorable. '

Violet blushed excessively, and made some inarticulate disavowals. Shefelt it presumption to let her name be coupled with Miss Martindale's, and there was a sense of something dangerous and wrong in expectingadmiration. 

Miss Gardner only smiled encouragingly at her youthfulness. 'I will notdistress you, though I look forward to what I shall hear. I shall feelthat I have a right to be proud of you, from priority of acquaintance. '

'You are very kind; but, please, don't talk so. It is bad, I know, forme. '

'You are very right, I quite agree with you. No doubt it is the wisestway; but so very few feel as you do. I wish more were like you, or, indeed, like Theodora, who is positively displeased with me for speakingof her making a sensation. '

'Oh! of course she does not care, ' said Violet. 'So very good as sheis. '

'Appallingly so, some people say, ' returned Jane, with a peculiar look;'but, I know her well, though she was more my sister's friend thanmine. '

'Then you have known her a long time?'

'All her life. We used to meet every day in London, when she and mysister were two madcaps together, playing endless wild pranks. We usedto tell her she ruled the governesses, and no one could control her--norcan--'

'But she is very good, ' repeated Violet, puzzled. 

'Ah! she took a serious turn at about fourteen, and carried it outin her own peculiar way. She has worked out a great deal for herself, without much guidance. She has a standard of her own, and she will notacknowledge a duty if she does not intend to practise it. '

'I don't understand, ' said Violet. 'I thought if one saw a duty one musttry to practise it. '

'I wish all the world went upon your principles' said Miss Gardner, with a sigh. 'I am afraid you will find many not half so consistent withtheir own views as yourself, or Theodora. '

'Oh! of course one must fail, ' said Violet. 'One cannot do half onemeans, but Theodora seems so strong and resolute. '

'Ay, no one has been able to cope with her, not even Mrs. Nesbit; who, as a kindred spirit, might have had a chance!'

'Mrs. Nesbit has had a great deal to do with her education?'

'I dare say you have found out the real head of the family. I see youare very acute, as well as very guarded. '

'Oh dear! I hope I have said nothing I ought not, ' cried Violet, in afright. 

'No, indeed, far from it. I was admiring your caution. '

Violet thought she had done wrong in betraying her dislike; she knew nothow; and trying to ascribe all to shyness, said, 'It was so strange andnew; I have never been out till now. '

'Yes, if you will allow me to say so, I thought you got on admirably, considering how trying the situation was. '

'Oh! I was very much frightened; but they are very kind--Mr. Martindaleespecially. '

'Poor Mr. Martindale! I wish he could recover his spirits. He has neverheld up his head since Miss Fotheringham's death. He is an admirableperson, but it is melancholy to see him spending his life in that lonelymanner. '

'It is, indeed. I often wish anything would cheer him!'

'All the family are devoted to him, if that would comfort him. It is theonly point where Lady Martindale is not led by her aunt, that she almostworships him!'

'I thought Mrs. Nesbit was fond of him. '

'Did you ever hear that Percy Fotheringham once said of her, "Thatwoman is a good hater"? She detested the Fotheringham family, and Mr. Martindale, for his engagement. No, he is out of her power, and shecannot endure him; besides, he is a rival authority--his father listensto him. '

'I suppose Mrs. Nesbit is very clever. '

'She has been one of the cleverest women on earth. She formed her niece, made the match, forced her forward into the very highest society--neverwere such delightful parties--the best music--every lion to be metwith--Lady Martindale herself at once a study for beauty, and adictionary of arts and sciences--Mrs. Nesbit so agreeable. Ah! youcannot judge of her quite, she is passee, broken, and aged, and, poorthing! is querulous at feeling the loss of her past powers; but thereused to be a brilliance and piquancy in her conversation that has becomesomething very different now. '

Violet thought it most prudent only to remark on Lady Martindale'svaried accomplishments. 

'She has carried them on much longer than usual. People generally givethem up when they marry, but she has gone on. I am not sure whether itwas the wisest course. There is much to be said on both sides. And Ihave sometimes thought Theodora might have been a little less determinedand eccentric, if she had not been left so much to governesses, and ifher affections had had more scope for development. '

Theodora came in, and Violet blushed guiltily, as if she had beentalking treason. 

Miss Gardner's object in life, for the present, might be said to be topick up amusement, and go about making visits; the grander the peoplethe better, adapting herself to every one, and talking a sort ofsensible scandal, with a superior air of regret; obtaining histories atone house to be detailed at another, and thus earning the characterof being universally intimate. The sentiments of the young bride ofMartindale had been, throughout her visit, matter of curiosity; and eventhis tete-a-tete left them guess work. Theodora's were not so difficultof discovery; for, though Jane had never been the same favourite withher as her more impetuous sister, she had, by her agreeable talk andshow of sympathy, broken down much of the hedge of thorns with whichTheodora guarded her feelings. 

'I have been talking to Mrs. Martindale, ' Jane began, as they wentup-stairs together. 'She is a graceful young thing, and Georgina and Iwill call on her in London. Of course they will be settled there. '

'I don't know, ' said Theodora. 'A notion has been started of his leavingthe Guards, and their coming to live at the cottage at Brogden. '

'Indeed!' exclaimed Miss Gardner. 

'It is not settled, so don't mention it. I doubt how it would answer toset Arthur down with nothing to do. '

'I doubt, indeed! I have seen a good deal of families living closetogether. '

'Nothing shall make me quarrel with Arthur, or his wife. You smile, but it needs no magnanimity to avoid disputes with anything so meek andgentle. '

'You can't judge of her; a girl of sixteen in a house full of strangers!Give her a house of her own, and she will soon learn that she issomebody. As long as your eldest brother is unmarried, she will expectto be looked upon as the wife of the heir. She will take offence, andyour brother will resent it. '

'And there will be discussions about her, ' said Theodora. 

'Depend upon it, 'tis easier to keep the peace at a distance. Fancy thehaving to call for her whenever you go out to dinner. And oh! imaginethe father, mother, and half-dozen sisters that will be always stayingthere. '

'No, Arthur has not married the whole family, and never means them tocome near her. '

'There are two words to that question, ' said Miss Gardner, smiling. 'Quiet as she seems now, poor thing she has a character of her own, Ican see, and plenty of discernment. To be so guarded, as she is, at herage, shows some resolution. '

'Guarded! has she been saying anything?'

'No, she is extremely prudent. '

'Inferring it, then, ' exclaimed Theodora. 'Well, her expectations mustbe high, if she is not satisfied; one comfort is, the Brogden scheme isonly John's and papa's. My aunt can't bear it, because it seems quite togive up the chance of John's marrying. '

'Well, Georgina and I will do the best we can for her. I suppose youwish it to be understood that you approve. '

'Of course: you can say everything with truth that the world cares for. She is pleasing, and amiable, and all that. '

'She will be extremely admired. '

'And her head so much turned as to ruin all the sense there may be init! I hate the thought of it, and of what is to become of Arthur when hewakes from his trance. '

'He will find that he has a sister, ' said Jane, who had learnt that thiswas the secret of consolation; and, accordingly, a softer 'Poor Arthur!'followed. 

'And will you write, dear Theodora?'

'I don't promise. I hardly ever write letters. '

'And you will not send your love to poor Georgina?'

'I forgive her for having pained and disappointed me. I hope she willbe happy, but I am very much afraid she has not gone the right way to beso. '

'Am I to tell her so?'

'I dare say you will, but don't call it my message. If she makes a gooduse of her means, I shall try to forget the way she obtained them. '

'I only hope, with your notions, that you will not get into a scrapeyourself. I'm a little afraid of that curate. '

'We both know better, ' said Theodora. 

Jane departed, and Violet felt as if she had a friend and protector theless. She was sitting forlorn in the great drawing-room, waiting forArthur, who was trying horses; presently Theodora came in, and withsomething of compassion, said, 'I hope you have an entertaining bookthere. '

Oh yes, thank you, "La Vie de Philippe Auguste". I like it very much; itis as amusing as "Philip Augustus" itself. '

'James's novel, you mean?'

'Have you read it?'

'His novels are exactly alike, ' said Theodora, leaving the room, butchecked by the thought that it would be merciful to take her into herroom. 'No, nonsense, ' said second thoughts; 'I shall have nothing butchatter ever after, if I establish her coming to me when Arthur isout; and if this cottage scheme comes to pass, she will be marching upwhenever she has nothing better to do. Give an inch, and she will takean ell. '

She was interrupted by a diffident, hesitating call, and, lookingback, as she was mounting the stairs, beheld Violet, who changed theappellation into 'Miss Martindale. '

'Well!' said she, feeling as if her citadel were in jeopardy. 

'Would you--would you be so very kind as to lend me a Frenchdictionary?'

'Certainly; I'll give you one in a moment, ' said Theodora; with solittle encouragement as would have deterred a person bent on gainingthe entree. Violet stood meekly waiting till she brought the book, andreceived it with gratitude disproportionate to the favour conferred. 

CHAPTER 5

 Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, And I must know it, else he loves me not. --King Henry IV

Miss Gardner's departure threw the rest of the party more together, and Theodora did not hold herself as much aloof as before. Indeed sheperceived that there were occasions when Arthur seemed to be returningto his preference for her. She had more conversation, and it often fellon subjects of which the bride had no knowledge, while the sister washappy in resuming old habits. Sometimes Violet was entertained; but oneday when they were riding, the talk was going on eagerly on some subjectof which she knew nothing, while they rode faster than she liked, andshe fancied she was insecure in her saddle. Twice she timidly calledArthur; but he was too much absorbed to attend to her, without a degreeof scream, which she did not feel would be justified. Each moment shegrew more alarmed and miserable, and though at last, when he perceivedthat she wanted him, he was off his horse in a moment and set all torights, she completely forgot her distress, --the charm had been broken, she was no longer his first thought. 

The sensation of loneliness often returned during the next few weeks;there was no real neglect, and she would not so have felt it if she hadnot depended on him alone, and so long enjoyed his exclusive attention. His fondness and petting were the same, but she perceived that he foundin his sister a companionship of which she did not feel capable. But toTheodora herself, whenever she succeeded in engrossing Arthur, it seemeda victory of sisterly affection and sense over beauty and frivolity. 

Arthur was anxious to know the family politics, and resumed the habit ofdepending on his sister for gathering intelligence from Mrs. Nesbit. Onher he bestowed his complaints that his father would not see things ashe wished, and with her talked over his projects. In truth, he could notbear to disclose to his wife the footing on which he stood, --lookingon her as a mere child, sure to be satisfied, and not requiring to beconsulted. 

Theodora gave him tidings of the proposal that he should settle inthe village, and finding him undecided, threw all her weight into theopposite scale. She sincerely believed she was consulting his happinessand the harmony of the family by speaking of the irksomeness of livingthere with nothing to do, and by assisting him in calculating how largean income would be necessary to enable him to keep hunters, go fromhome, &c. , without which he declared it would be intolerable, andas there was little probability of his father allowing him so much, continuing in his profession was the only alternative. 

Violet saw them in frequent consultation, and once John said somethingto her of his hopes of seeing her at Brogden; then, finding her inignorance, drew back, but not till he had said enough to make herrestless at hearing no more. She would, of course, have preferred livingin the country; but when she figured to herself Arthur always withTheodora, and herself shut up in the little parlour she had seen in therain, she grew extremely disconsolate. 

One morning, unable to read or sit quiet under these anticipations, shewent out to dispel them by a turn among the flowers, and a conversationwith the peacock. At the corner of the lawn, she heard Arthur'svoice--'Exactly so; two thousand is the very least. Ha, Violet!' as heand Theodora emerged from a shady alley. 

'Oh, I did not mean to interrupt you, ' said Violet, confused; 'I onlycame out for some fresh air. '

'Unbonneted, too, do you want to get roasted brown?' said Arthur. 

'I never am burnt, ' said Violet; 'but I will not be in your way, I'llgo. '

'Nonsense, ' said he, drawing her arm into his. 'Come in good time, ' andhe yawned, tired of the discussion. 'Ha, Mr. Peacock, are you there?'

'He always follows me, ' said Violet. 'Miss Piper showed me where hisfood is kept, and I can almost get him to eat out of my hand. '

Theodora walked off, thinking there was an end of her brother's sense, and Violet looked after her rather sadly, thinking, while exhibiting toArthur her friendship with the peacock, 'he consults her, he onlyplays with me. Perhaps it is all I am good for; but I wish we were atWinchester. '

As Theodora went up-stairs, she saw her eldest brother standing at thesouth window of the gallery. He called to her, saying, 'Here's a prettypicture, Theodora. '

In front of the sparkling crystal arches of the fountain stood Violet, bending forward, and holding out her hand full of grain to invite thebeautiful bird, which now advanced, now withdrew its rich blue neck, as in condescension, then raised its crested head in sudden alarm, itstrain sweeping the ground in royal splendour. Arthur, no unpicturesquefigure in his loose brown coat, stood by, leaning against the standof one of the vases of plants, whose rich wreaths of brightly colouredblossoms hung down, making a setting for the group; and while Violet byher blandishments invited the peacock to approach, he now and then, withsmiling slyness, made thrusts at it with her parasol, or excited Skylarkto approach. 

'A pretty scene, is it not?' said John. 

'Like a Sevres china cup, ' Theodora could not help saying. 

'Fountain and peacock, and parasol for shepherd's crook, forming aFrench Arcadia, ' said John, smiling. 'I suppose it would hardly make apicture. It is too bright. '

Theodora only answered by a sigh, and was turning away, when John added, 'I am glad she has him at last, I was afraid she had a long solitarymorning while you were out with him. I saw you walking up and down solong. '

'He was talking over his plans, ' said Theodora, with an assumption ofsullen dignity. 

'I have been wishing to speak to you about that very thing, ' said John. 'I think you may be in danger of putting yourself between him and hiswife. '

It was a new thing to her to hear that this was a danger, but, in anoffended manner, she replied, 'I can hardly be accused of that. Heceases all rational talk about his most important concerns to go tochild's play with her. '

'But why keep her out of the rational talk?'

'That is his concern. He knows what she is capable of, I suppose. '

'I doubt whether he does, ' said John; 'but I don't want to interferewith his behaviour, only to give you a caution. It is natural that youshould wish to have him what he was before. I knew his marriage was agreat blow to you. '

'I knew he would marry, ' said Theodora, coldly; for she could not bearcompassion. 'It is the common course of things. '

'And that the wife should be first. '

'Of course. '

'Then would it not be better to bear that in mind, and make up your mindto it, rather than try to absorb his confidence?'

'He is not bound to consult no one but that child. You would not drivehim back to her if he came to you for advice. '

'I should not pass her over; I should assume that her opinion was to berespected. '

'I can't be untrue. '

'Then try to make it valuable. '

'He wants no help of mine to make him fond of her!' cried Theodora. 'Does not he dote on her, and make himself quite foolish about hercomplexion and her dress!'

'That is a different thing. She cannot be always a toy; and if you wantto do the most inestimable service to Arthur, it would be by raisingher. '

'Trying to educate a married sister-in-law! No, thank you!'

'I don't see what is to become of them, ' said John, sadly. 'He willbe always under some influence or other, and a sensible wife might doeverything for him. But she is a child; and he is not the man to formher character. He would have spoilt her already if she did not take hisadmiration, for mere affection; and just at the age when girls are mostcarefully watched, she is turned out into the world without a guide! Ifhe ceases to be happy with her, what is before them? You think he willfall back on you; but I tell you he will not. If you once loosen the tieof home, and he seeks solace elsewhere, it will be in the pursuits thathave done him harm enough already. '

'He has given up his race-horses, ' said Theodora. 

The luncheon-bell interrupted them; but as they were going down, Johnadded, 'I hope I have said nothing to vex you. Indeed, Theodora, I feelmuch for your loss. '

'I am not vexed, ' was her haughty reply, little guessing how, in herpursuit of the brother who had escaped her, she was repelling andslighting one who would gladly have turned to her for sisterlyfriendship. His spirits were in that state of revival when a mutualalliance would have greatly added to the enjoyment of both; but Theodorahad no idea of even the possibility of being on such terms. He seemedlike one of an elder generation--hardly the same relation as Arthur. 

'So, Lady Elizabeth comes, ' said Lady Martindale, as they entered theroom. 

'Is she coming to stay here!' asked John. 

'Yes; did you not hear that we have asked her to come to us for theWhitford ball?'

'Oh, are we in for the Whitford ball?' said Theodora, in a tone ofdisgust that checked the delighted look on Violet's face. 

'Yes, my dear; your papa wishes us to go. '

'What a bore!' exclaimed Theodora. 

'Yes, ' sighed Lady Martindale; 'but your papa thinks it right. '

'A necessary evil--eh, Violet?' said Arthur. 

'I hope you don't mind it?' said Violet, looking anxiously at him. 

'Ah, you will enjoy it, ' said her ladyship, graciously regarding herfolly. 

'Oh, yes, thank you, ' said Violet, eagerly. 

'Have you been to many balls?'

'Only to one;' and she blushed deeply, and cast down her eyes. 

'And so the Brandons are coming to stay! For how long, mamma?' proceededTheodora. 

'From Wednesday to Saturday, ' said Lady Martindale. 'I have been writingcards for a dinner-party for Wednesday; and your father says there aresome calls that must be returned; and so, my dear, will you be ready bythree?'

'You don't mean me, mamma?' said Theodora, as nobody answered. 

'No; you are a resolute rebel against morning visits. You have noengagement for this afternoon, my dear?'

Violet started, saying, 'I beg your pardon; I did not know you meant me. Oh, thank you! I am very much obliged. '

'I suppose you will not go with us, Arthur?'

He looked as if he did not like it, but caught a beseeching glance fromhis wife, and was beginning to consent, when Theodora exclaimed, 'Oh, Arthur, don't; it will be such a famous opportunity for that ride. '

'Very well; you know where my cards are, Violet!'

'Yes, ' she answered, submissively, though much disappointed, and indread of the drive and of the strangers. 

'Really, I think you had better go, Arthur, ' said John, greatlydispleased at Theodora's tone. 'It is the sort of occasion for doingthings regularly. '

'Indeed, I think so, ' said Lady Martindale; 'I wish Arthur would go withus this once. I doubt if it will be taken well if he does not. '

'You will find no one at home. His going won't make a bit ofdifference, ' said Theodora, who now regarded keeping him as a matter ofpower. 

'Surely your ride might wait, ' said her mother. 'No, it won't, mamma. Itis to see that old man, Mary's father. '

'What Mary, my dear?'

'The scullery-maid. I want to speak to him about her confirmation; andthe only way is over Whitford Down--all manner of leaping places, so wemust go without Violet. '

Violet feared there was little hope for her, for Arthur looked muchinvited by the leaping places, but John made another effort in herfavour, and a great one for him. 

'Suppose you accept of me for your escort, Theodora?' Every one lookedastonished, Lady Martindale positively aghast. 

'Were you ever on Whitford Down, John?' said Arthur. 

'Why, yes, --in old times; I know the place, I believe. '

'You talk of knowing it, who never hunted!' said Arthur. 'No, no; youare a great traveller, John, but you don't know the one horse-track onWhitford Down that does not lead into a bog--'

'Theodora does, I dare say. '

'Yes, I know it, but it is too far for you, John, thank you, and not atall what would suit you. I must give it up, if Arthur prefers playingthe disconsolate part of a gentleman at a morning call. '

'Do you really dislike going without me?' asked Arthur, and of coursenothing was left for Violet to say but, 'O, thank you, pray don't staywith me. Indeed, I had much rather you had your ride. '

'You are sure?'

'O yes, quite. I shall do very well' and she smiled, and tried to makea show of ease and confidence in his mother, by looking towards her, andasking upon whom they were to call. 

Lady Martindale mentioned several ladies who had left their cards forMrs. Arthur Martindale, adding that perhaps it would be better to leavea card at Rickworth Priory. 

'Is that where Lady Elizabeth Brandon lives?' asked Violet. 

'Yes, ' said Lady Martindale. 'It belongs to her daughter. Lady Elizabethis a highly excellent person, for whom Lord Martindale has a greatregard, and Miss Brandon is one of Theodora's oldest friends. '

'Hum!' said Theodora. 

'My dear, she is a very nice amiable girl--just your own age, andadmirably brought up. '

'Granted, ' said Theodora. 

'I cannot see that Emma Brandon wants anything but style andconfidence, ' proceeded Lady Martindale, 'and that I believe to beentirely poor Lady Elizabeth's fault for keeping her so much inretirement. That German finishing governess, Miss Ohnglaube, whom wewere so sorry to lose, would have been the person to teach her a littlefreedom and readiness of manner. I wish we could have kept her a littlelonger. '

'I told Lady Elizabeth about her, ' said Theodora; but Lady Martindale, without hearing, said she must go to her aunt, and renewing injunctionsto Violet to be ready by three, left the room. 

'You did not astonish her weak mind with the ghost story?' said Arthur. 

'With its cause. '

'You would not have thought, Violet, ' continued Arthur, 'that we had aghost in the north wing. '

'What was it?' said Violet. 'You don't mean really?'

'Only a Turk's-head broom, with phosphorus eyes, and a sheet round thehandle, ' said Theodora. 'It had a grand effect when Arthur stood onthe second landing-place, and raised it above the balusters--a sort ofbodilessness rising from vacancy. '

'Didn't she faint?' said Arthur. 

'No, I was afraid she would, and then it would have been all over withus; but I dragged her safe into the school-room, and there she was sohysterical that I nearly relented. '

'Then was it all in play?' said Violet. 

'In earnest, ' said Arthur. 'It was the only way of getting quit ofmademoiselle. '

'That lady who used to talk metaphysics and sing!' said John. 'Iremember the lamentations at her not choosing to remain. Why was shevictimized?'

'There was no help for it, ' said Theodora. 'She considered the bookof Genesis as a "sehr schone mythische Geschichte", and called thePatriarchs the Hebrew Avatars. '

'Theodora! You don't mean it!' exclaimed John. 

'I do, but I had my revenge, for, after the Turk's-head adventure, shenever slept without my Bible under her pillow. If by broad daylight shewould have renounced the Avatar theory, I really would have forgivenher, for she was very good-natured, and she admired "the high Romanfashion" so much, I was half afraid she might follow it herself if wetormented her much more. '

'But why keep it to yourself! I can hardly believe it possible! Why playthese tricks instead of telling all?'

'I did tell Aunt Nesbit, but Miss Ohnglaube was always reading Jean Paulwith her and mamma; they were in raptures with her, and my aunt onlysaid I was too well instructed to be misled. '

'How old were you?'

'About fifteen. '

'It is beyond belief. Why could you not tell my father?' said John. 

'I hardly saw him--I never spoke to him. '

'Was not I at home!'

'Yes, shut up in your room. I never thought of speaking to you. All Icould do was to be as restive as possible, and when she did not care forthat, there was nothing for it but playing on her German superstition. So Arthur told her some awful stones about whipping blacks to death, anddeclared West Indian families were very apt to be haunted; but that itwas a subject never to be mentioned to mamma nor my aunt. '

'And having paved the way, we treated her to the Turk's-head, ' concludedArthur. 'I would do it again to hear her sigh and scream, and seeTheodora acting as coolly as if she was in daily intercourse with thedefunct nigger. If mademoiselle had not been frightened out of hersenses, her self-possession would have betrayed us. '

'I could not act fright, ' said Theodora. 

'And this was the best plan you could devise for getting rid of aninfidel governess!' said John. 

And as they dispersed, he stood looking after his sister, thinking thatthere was more excuse for her inconsistencies than he had yet affordedher, and that, in fact, she deserved credit for being what she was. Hisaunt had done even more harm than the ruin of his happiness. 

Theodora triumphed, and carried Arthur off, but Violet found the realityof the expedition less formidable than the anticipation. She knew hermother would have enjoyed seeing her well dressed, and setting forthin that style; the drive was agreeable, and Lady Martindale kind andgracious. Alone with her, she lost much of her dread, and felt betteracquainted; but all froze up into coldness when they came home. 

The ladies at Rickworth had not been at home; and as they did not arriveon the Wednesday till Violet had gone to dress, she had time to frightenherself by imagining an heiress on the pattern of Lady Martindale, andan earl's daughter proportionably unapproachable. Her trepidation wasincreased by Arthur's not coming in, though she heard guests arriving, and when at last he appeared, it was so late, that he desired her to godown and say he was 'just ready. '

It was a serious thing to encounter alone that great saloon full ofstrangers, and with cheeks of the brightest carnation Violet glided in, and after delivering her message to Lord Martindale, was glad to findherself safely seated on an ottoman, whence she looked for the chiefguests. In the distance, beside Lady Martindale, sat a quiet elderlylady in black; Theodora was paying a sort of scornful half-attentionto a fine showy girl, who was talking rather affectedly; and, thoughtViolet, no one but an heiress could wear so many bracelets. 

Her survey completed, she became conscious that a small, fair-haired, pale girl was sitting near her, looking so piteously shy anduncomfortable, that she felt bound to try and set her at ease, andventured an observation on the weather. It was responded to, andsomething about the harvest followed; then, how pretty the country, and, thereupon, Violet said it only wanted mountains to be beautiful. 

'Ah! when one has once seen a mountain one cannot forget it. '

'Never!' said Violet. 'I miss Helvellyn every morning when I look out ofwindow. '

'Do you know the Lake country?' said the young lady. 

'My home--my old home--is within sight of the Westmoreland hills. Haveyou been there?'

'Mamma and I once spent a month there, and enjoyed it exceedingly. '

'Oh! and did you go up Helvellyn!'

'Yes, that we did, in spite of the showers; and what a view we had!'

They were surprised to find that dinner had been announced. Violet wasplaced next to Mr. Martindale, and was able to ask the name of her newacquaintance. 

'Miss Brandon, you mean. ' 'O no, not Miss Brandon, but that light palegirl in the lilac worked muslin, who was talking to me!'

'I saw you talking to Miss Brandon. '

'Could it be? She looked all astray and frightened, like me!'

'That description answers to Emma Brandon, ' said John, smiling. 

'Who would have thought it! I should never have begun talking to herif I had guessed who she was. I only did it because she looked souncomfortable. I hope it was not being forward. '

'Not in the least. You know you are at home here, --it was a greatkindness. '

'Do you like her?' said Violet. 

'I believe she is a very good kind of girl, and her mother is one of ouroldest friends. They are very excellent sensible people, and do a greatdeal of good in their own parish. '

'And only think! She has been in Westmoreland! She has seen Helvellyn!'

Violet was the only person who ever spoke to John in that heartyconfidence of sympathy in rejoicing; and quite refreshed by her brightlooks, he led her into a history of an ascent of Helvellyn, which had, until this spring, been the great event of her life. 

On coming into the drawing-room, Miss Brandon shrank up to her mother'sside. Violet wished she had a mother to protect her; and not daringto place herself among the great ladies, stood in the group of youngerones, with whom Theodora was keeping up a cold formal converse. Countryneighbours thought much of being asked to Martindale; but the partiesthere were of the grandest and stiffest. Moreover, every one had to givetheir friends a description of the bride; and the young ladies were moreinclined to study her appearance than to find conversation, regardingher as an object of curiosity, as well as with some of their generaldread of the house of Martindale. 

After an awkward ten minutes, Lady Martindale came towards her, andsaid, 'My dear, Lady Elizabeth Brandon wishes to be introduced to you. '

'To me!' and Violet followed her, blushed and bent, then found her handcordially shaken, and a most comfortable voice addressing her. Room wasmade for her on the sofa, between Lady Elizabeth and her daughter, andshe was supremely happy in talking about her own dear lake country. Arthur smiled, and looked well pleased to see her in such company; andMr. Martindale came and talked to Lady Elizabeth all the evening. 

Violet expected Theodora to monopolize Miss Brandon the next morning, but Theodora had reasons of her own for not breaking her habit ofspending the morning in her own occupations. She knew Lady Elizabeth tobe perfectly guiltless of manoeuvring; but from the time she had becomeconscious of Mrs. Nesbit's designs on Rickworth, first for Arthur andnow for John, it had been her decided purpose to give no colour forthrowing the heiress in their way by any friendship of hers; and asshe considered Emma one of the dullest and most silly girls of heracquaintance, it was very pleasant to be justified in neglecting her. 

The office of companionship to the younger visitor fell to Mrs. Martindale. She showed off the peacock, and they wandered happily inthe gardens, most amiably received by Mr. Harrison, who delightedin displaying his treasures, and almost overwhelmed Violet with hisgraciousness, when she shyly asked if he could spare her a few of hiswhite roses for her hair. 

Miss Brandon groaned and sighed about the ball, declaring it herdetestation; she should be tired to death; she hated dancing; and aboveall, there was the nuisance of dressing. 

'Oh! I am sorry you don't like it, ' said Violet, 'but that is the waywith all sensible people. '

'No; mamma says it is not being sensible, but because I don't dancewell, and she wishes I did. '

'I am glad of that. My mamma does not think it foolish. '

'Do you like dancing, then?'

'That I do, ' cried Violet, making a few steps; 'I only wish I mightdance with him still!'

This was the only difference of opinion--on school-teachingbooks--heroes, historical and fictitious--on the "Bridal ofTriermain"--and Wordsworth's Waggoner, their sentiments accordedexactly. Perhaps Emma's mind was the more formed and cultivated, butViolet's was the more discerning and diffident in judgment. 

Emma took the first opportunity of pouring out to her mother a perfectrapture about Mrs. Martindale, dwelling on her right views, and all thatshowed she had been well brought up. 

'She is a sweet-looking creature, ' said Lady Elizabeth, 'and I do hopeshe is all she seems. Lord Martindale has been telling me how entirelythe marriage was her father's doing, and that she was perfectly ignorantand innocent, poor thing. '

'She looks as if she could never do anything wrong. Mamma, I hardly knowwhether you would like me to make friends with her, but I could nothelp it, and she said such nice things that I knew you would like her. I never could get on with any one before, you know, but, from the momentshe came blushing in, and spoke to me in that sweet low voice, I felt asif I most be fond of her--before I made out who she was--and even then Icould not like her less. '

'She is so unaffected and unassuming!' said Lady Elizabeth. 'I littleexpected Arthur Martindale's marriage to have turned out so well. '

'I don't wonder at his falling in love at first sight! I don't see howhe could help it. I am sure I should!'

'I think you have, said Lady Elizabeth, smiling. 

'Wasn't it charming, mamma? Theodora never came near us all themorning, and very soon got out of my way in the afternoon, so we were socomfortable!'

'Take care what you say about her, my dear. '

'Oh, yes. We never spoke of her at all. I wonder what Mrs. Martindaledoes here! It is a dreadful place, and they are all one more statelythan the other, '

'Not the sons. '

'Oh! poor Mr. Martindale is worse than stately. There's something inthat gentle melancholy tone of his that is so different from otherpeople--and he looks so refined and thoughtful. He frightens me morethan any of them!'

'I hope he is in rather better spirits. I have had a good deal of talkwith him this evening. Indeed, his father told me he had been roused byall this affair about his brother. But, Emma, my dear, you have notrung all this time! Here am I almost dressed. I shall have to fulfil mythreat, and leave you to come down alone. '

It had to be fulfilled. Emma left insufficient time for her maid to tryto set out her soft light scanty hair, to make her satin and gauze lookanything but limp and flabby, and to put on her jewels, in the vain hopeof their making her seem well dressed. Whatever was ordained for her towear, Emma always looked exactly the same. She opened her door at thesame moment as Violet advanced into the gallery, her tall taper figurearrayed in bridal lace, not much whiter than her long neck and roundedarms, a wreath of roses around her dark tresses, brilliant flowersin her hand, her soft eyes bright with pleasure, and her beauteouscomplexion deepened by bashfulness. 

Emma could not repress her delight. 'Oh!' she exclaimed, 'you can'tthink how beautiful you are!'

'Isn't she?' said a proud, playful voice. 'Thank you;' but seeing Emmadisconcerted, Arthur hastened down-stairs. 

'Oh, I didn't know he was there!'

'Never mind!' said Violet, among her blushes. 'I'm glad he was. He likedit. '

'I could not help it, ' said Emma. 'You are so like a story! I can hardlybelieve you are real!'

Violet felt familiar enough to prove herself substantial by a playfulpinch. 'But look here! See what I found on my table. '

'One of those serpent bracelets. It is very pretty!'

'Was not it kind of Lord Martindale?'

'You have to thank him for it! Oh! dreadful!'

'I don't mind speaking to him. It is so kind. "Mrs. A. Martindale, fromher affectionate father, " the direction said. Oh! it is so very, very pleasant that he should be so kind to me. Is not it a beautifulcreature! Look at its scales and its crown, and eyes. Arthur says theyare sapphires. '

'Yes, I never saw a prettier one. '

'I wish Annette could see it, and all at home. Is it not like a creaturein a fairy tale?'

'Like Zelinda's singing serpents?'

'Just like them. Do you know, I sometimes think I have got into a fairytale. Everything is so beautiful and so bewildering, and unlike what Ifancied. '

'Because you are so like a fairy princess yourself. Are you sure youhave not a talisman ring!'

'I think I have, ' and Violet pulled off her glove. 'There--thatforget-me-not--the first ring I ever had. From the day he gave me thatit has all been so strange, that now and then I have been almost afraidto awake, for fear it should not be true. But may I look at that diamondbutterfly of yours? It shines as if it would flash in the dark. '

'Never mind mine. Stupid things that came as heir-looms, and have nopleasure belonging to them. The only thing I do care for is this'--andshe drew out a locket from within her dress. 'There, that is my father'shair, and that is my little brother's. They both died before I canremember; and there is dear mamma's nice pepper-and-salt lock roundthem. '

Theodora swept by in black lace, her coronal of hair wreathed with largepearls, and her lofty air like the Tragic Muse. 

'Comparing ornaments! Worthy of such a friendship, ' thought she, asshe held back, and made them go down before her, Emma glad to hold byViolet's arm for protection. 

Mrs. Nesbit was in the drawing-room talking to Lady Elizabeth, and withher keen piercing eyes watching John, who was reading the newspaper bythe table. She was pleased to see him lay it aside, look up, and smile, as the two friends entered, but she could have beaten them both, the onefor her insignificance, and the other for her radiant loveliness; andshe was still further provoked to see Miss Brandon sit down as nearher mother as possible, while Violet went up to him to show him herbracelet. She stood by him for some little time, while he was examiningand praising it, and congratulating her on the choice bouquet thatHarrison had bestowed on her, but surprised to see her eyes castpensively down, and a grave look on that fair young face. He littlesuspected that she was saddened by the contrast between her joys and hissorrow and ill health, and thought it unkind to speak of her delight toone so far removed from it. 

Theodora began to indulge in a hearty grumbling. 

'Well, my dear, ' said Mrs. Nesbit, 'you will only show yourselves there, and go home. Miss Brandon is not more inclined to Whitford balls thanyou are. '

'No, I am rather surprised at having dragged Emma so far, ' said LadyElizabeth. 'I hope they will both find it turn out better than theyexpect. You must teach them, ' and she looked smilingly at Violet. 

Mrs. Nesbit was extremely annoyed at the quantity of notice Violet hadlately received, and was the more resolved to put her down. 'No one canexpect them to like country balls, ' she said. 'One attends them as aduty, for the sake of the neighbourhood; but as to pleasure in them, that is only for the young ladies of the place on the look-out for themilitary. '

She had fulfilled her purpose of making every one uncomfortable, exceptone--namely, Violet. John looked at her, and perceived she was tooinnocent and clear in conscience to understand or appropriate the taunt, so he thought it better to leave the field open to Lady Elizabeth's calmreply, 'Well, I used to enjoy country balls very much in my time. '

Arthur evaporated his indignation by shaking his foot, and murmuring, not so low but that his sister heard it, 'Old hag!'

Lord and Lady Martindale came in together, and Violet's blushinggratitude was so pretty and bright that it made Lord Martindale smile, and silence it by a kiss, which perhaps surprised and gratified her morethan the bracelet did. 

Lady Elizabeth begged to have her in her carriage; and growing intimatein the sociable darkness, she found out that the mother was as loveableas the daughter, and was as much at home with them as if she had knownthem for years. 

The evening exceeded even Violet's anticipations, though her one formerball had been such as could never be equalled. Lord Martindale wishedevery one to know how entirely he accepted his new daughter, so he gavehis arm to her, and presented her to the principal ladies, while shefelt herself followed by her husband's encouraging and exulting eye. Itcertainly was a very different thing to go into society as Miss VioletMoss or as Mrs. Arthur Martindale, and there was a start of fear as thethought crossed her--was her pleasure pride and vanity?

She was chiefly sorry that she could not see Miss Brandon enjoy herself:all that could be extracted from her by the most animated appeal wasa resigned smile, and a little quizzing of some of the sillier youngladies. She professed, however, that she had never disliked any ball solittle, since she had the pleasure of watching Mrs. Martindale, hearinghow universally she was acknowledged to be the prettiest person present, and telling Arthur all that was said of her. 

Miss Brandon and Arthur had for some years past kept at a respectfuldistance, each in dread of designs of the other; but now they were fastresuming the childish familiarity of tone of the ancient times, whenthe rough but good-natured, gentlemanlike boy had been a companion muchpreferred to the determined, domineering girl. They danced a quadrille, and talked a great deal of Violet. Emma began to think much better ofhis capacity. 

As to Theodora, she was talking, laughing, dancing, and appearing sofull of spirits, that Violet could not help venturing a remark, that shesurely liked it better than she expected. 

'Not at all, ' was the answer; 'but if one is to make oneself absurd, itis as well not to do so by halves. '

So far was she from doing so by halves, that when her mother was readyto go home, she was engaged so many deep, that it was settled she shouldbe left with Arthur and Violet. She danced indefatigably till morningshone into the room, and was handed into the carriage by a gentlemanwho, it was the private opinion of her young chaperone, had, likeArthur, fallen in love at first sight. Poor man! it was a pity he couldnot know about Mr. Wingfield; or she could almost suppose that Theodoradid not care so much for Mr. Wingfield, after all. 

The drive home was very amusing. Violet was so tired that it was atrouble to speak; but she liked to hear the brother and sister discussthe ball, and laugh over the people; and leant back in her corner socomfortably, that she only dreaded the moment of rousing herself to walkup-stairs. 

Theodora never stopped talking all the way, sprung nimbly out of thecarriage, ran up the steps, and admired the morning sky; and Violetbelieved she did not go to bed at all, for it seemed a very short timebefore the distant notes of the singing class were heard; yet she lookedas fresh and blooming as ever when they met at breakfast, and did notflag in any of her usual employments. 

The other ladies were capable of nothing but loitering; and it was a dayfor making great advances in intimacy. Most delightful was that firstfriendship, as they wandered arm-in-arm, talked gravely or gaily, andentered more and more into each other's minds. Theodora held aloof, despising their girlish caressing ways, and regarding the intimacy withthe less toleration because it was likely to serve as a pretext to Mrs. Nesbit for promoting her views for John; and though the fewest wordspossible had passed between him and Miss Brandon, she found that Mrs. Nesbit was building hopes on the satisfaction he showed in conversingwith Lady Elizabeth. The visit ended with a warm invitation to Mr. AndMrs. Arthur Martindale to come and stay at Rickworth before they leftthe country. 

CHAPTER 6

 Is it that they have a fear Of the dreary season near, Or that other pleasures be Sweeter even than gaiety? --WORDSWORTH

Were they to leave the country? This was still under consideration. The next fortnight made some difference in Theodora's wishes respectingBrogden Cottage. Violet becoming less timid, ventured to show that shetook interest in poor people; and Theodora was pleased by finding herable to teach at school, and to remember the names of the children. Especially her sweet looks and signs gained the heart of little CharleyLayton, the dumb boy at the lodge--the creature on whom Theodorabestowed the most time and thought. And on her begging to be shown thedumb alphabet, as the two sisters crossed fingers, they became, for oneevening, almost intimate. 

Theodora began to think of her as not only harmless, but likely to beuseful in the parish; and could afford to let Arthur have her fora plaything, since he made herself his confidante. She withdrew heropposition; but it was too late. Arthur had declared that he could notlive there without £2500 a year, and this his father neither could norwould give him. The expense of building the house, and the keeping up ofsuch a garden and establishment, did not leave too much available of thewealth Lady Martindale had brought, nor was the West Indian propertyin a prosperous state; the demand was preposterous; and Theodora foundherself obliged to defend poor Violet, who, her aunt declared, must haveinstigated it in consequence of the notice lavished upon her; while, asTheodora averred with far more truth, 'it was as much as the poor thingdid to know the difference between a ten-pound note and a five. ' Twelvehundred pounds a year, and the rent of a house in London, was whathis elder brother would have married upon; and this, chiefly by John'sinfluence, was fixed as the allowance, in addition to his pay; and ashis promotion was now purchased for him, he had far more than he hadany right to expect, though he did not seem to think so, and grumbledto Theodora about the expense of the garden, as if it was consuming hispatrimony. 

How the income would hold out, between his carelessness and herinexperience, was a question over which his father sighed, and gave goodadvice, which Arthur heard with the same sleepy, civil air of attention, as had served him under the infliction many times before. 

John gave only one piece of advice, namely, that he should consign afixed sum for household expenses into his wife's hands; so that he mightnot be subject to continued applications. 

On this he acted; and subtracting to himself, wine, men, and horses, thefull amount of his bachelor income, he, for the first time, communicatedto Violet the result of the various consultations. 

'So the upshot of it all is, that we are to have a house somewhere inBelgravia, ' he began. 

'That is near Lord Martindale's London house, is it not?'

'Yes; you will be in the way of all that is going on. '

'Do we go there next month?'

'I suppose so. '

'Oh! I am glad. '

'Are you? I thought you liked being here. '

'Yes, yes, of course, that I do; but it will be so pleasant to be athome, and to have you all to myself. '

She repented the next moment, as if it had been a complaint; but he wasgratified, and called her a little monopolist. 

'Oh, I don't mean to be troublesome to you, ' said she, earnestly; 'Ishall have so much more to do in our own house, that I shall not missyou so much when you are out; besides, we can have Annette to stay withus. '

'We'll see about that. But look here, ' laying a paper with some figuresbefore her; 'that's all my father leaves me for you to keep house with. I put it into your hands, and you must do the best you can with it. '

'You don t mean to put all that into my hands!' exclaimed Violet inalarm. 'What a sum!'

'You won't think so by the end of the year; but mind, this must do; itwill be of no use to come to me for more. '

'Then is it little?' asked Violet. 

'See what you think of it by and by; you won't find it such an easything to make both ends meet. '

'I will write and ask mamma to tell me how to manage. '

'Indeed, ' said Arthur, with sharpness such as she had never seen in himbefore, 'I beg you will not. I won't have my affairs the town talkof Wrangerton. ' But seeing her look frightened, and ready to cry, hesoftened instantly, and said, affectionately, 'No, no, Violet, wemust keep our concerns to ourselves. I don't want to serve for theentertainment of Matilda's particular friends. '

'Mamma wouldn't tell--'

'I'll trust no house of seven women. '

'But how am I to know how to manage?'

'Never mind; you'll get on. It comes as naturally to women as if it wasshooting or fishing. '

'I wonder how I shall begin! I don't know anything. '

'Buy a cookery book. '

'Aunt Moss gave me one; I didn't mean that. But, oh, dear, there's thehiring of servants, and buying things!'

'Don't ask me: it is woman's work, and always to be done behind thescenes. If there's a thing I mortally hate, it is those housekeeperbodies who go about talking of their good cooks. '

Violet was silenced, but after much meditation she humbly begged foranswers to one or two questions. 'Was she to pay the servants' wages outof this?'

'Your maids--of course. '

'And how many are we to have?'

'As many as will do the work. '

'A cook and housemaid--I wonder if that would be enough?'

'Don't ask me, that's all'

'I know you don't like to be teased, ' she said, submissively; 'but oneor two things I do want to know. Is James to be in the house?'

'Why, yes; he is a handy fellow. We will have him down for Simmonds togive him some training. '

'Then ought we to have two maids or three?'

He held up his hands, and escaped. 

That morning John, happening to come into the drawing-room, found Violetdisconsolately covering a sheet of paper with figures. 

'Abstruse calculations?' said he. 

'Yes, very, ' said she, sighing, with the mystified face of a childlosing its way in a long sum. 

He did not like to leave her in such evident difficulties, and said, with a smile, 'Your budget? Are you good at arithmetic?'

'I can do the sums, if that was all, but I don't know what to set outfrom, or anything about it. Mamma said she could not think how I shouldkeep house. '

'She would be the best person to give you counsel, I should think. '

'Yes, but--' and she looked down, struggling with tears, 'I must notwrite to ask her. '

'How so!'

'Arthur says the Wrangerton people would gossip, and I should not likethat, ' said she; 'only it is very hard to make out for myself, and thosethings tease Arthur. '

'They are not much in his line, ' said John; 'I don't know, ' he added, hesitating, 'whether it would be of any use to you to talk it over withme. There was a time when I considered the management of such an income;and though it never came to practice, mine may be better than no notionsat all. '

'Oh, thank you!' said Violet, eagerly; then, pausing, she said, with asweet embarrassment, 'only--you can't like it. '

'Thank you, ' replied he, with kind earnestness; 'I should like to be ofuse to you. '

'It is just what I want. I am sure Arthur would like me to do it. Yousee this is what he gives me, and I am to buy everything out of it. '

'The best plan, ' said John; 'it never answers to be always applying formoney. '

'No, ' said Violet, thoughtfully, as she recollected certain home scenes, and then was angry with herself for fancying Arthur could wear suchlooks as those which all the house dreaded. 

Meanwhile John had perceived how differently Arthur had apportioned theincome from what his own intentions had been. He had great doubts of thepossibility of her well-doing, but he kept them to himself. He advisedher to consider her items, and soon saw she was more bewildered thanhelpless. He knew no more than Arthur on the knotty point of the numberof maids, but he was able to pronounce her plan sensible, and her eyesbrightened, as she spoke of a housemaid of mamma's who wanted to betterherself, and get out of the way of the little ones, 'who were alwaysracketing. '

'And now, ' said John, 'we passed over one important question--or is thatsettled otherwise?--your own pocket-money!'

'Oh! I have plenty. Arthur gave me fifty pounds when we went throughLondon, and I have twelve left. '

'But for the future! Is it included here?'

'I should think so. Oh!' shocked at the sum he set down, 'a quarter ofthat would be enough for my dress. '

'I don't think Miss Standaloft would say so, ' said John, smiling. 

'But Arthur said we must economize, and I promised to be as littleexpense as possible. Please let me write down half that. '

'No, no, ' said John, retaining the pencil, 'not with my consent. Leaveyourself the power of giving. Besides, this is to cover all the sundriesyou cannot charge as household expenses. Now let me mark off anotherhundred for casualties, and here is what you will have for the year. Nowdivide. '

'Surely, two people and three servants can't eat all that in one week. '

'Fires, candles, ' said John, amused, but poor Violet was quiteoverpowered. 

'Oh, dear! how many things I never thought of! Mamma said I was tooyoung! These coals. Can you tell me anything about them?'

'I am afraid not. You are getting beyond me. If you wanted to know thecost of lodgings in Italy or the south of France, I could help you; but, after all, experience is better bought than borrowed. '

'But what shall I do? Suppose I make Arthur uncomfortable, or spend hismoney as I ought not when he trusts me?'

'Suppose you don't, ' said John. 'Why should you not become an excellenthousewife? Indeed, I think you will' he proceeded, as she fixed her eyeson him. 'You see the principle in its right light. This very anxietyis the best pledge. If your head was only full of the pleasure of beingmistress of a house, that would make me uneasy about you and Arthur. '

'Oh! that would be too bad! Mamma has talked to me so much. She said Imust make it a rule never to have debts. She showed me how she paysher bills every week, and gave me a great book like hers. I began atWinchester. '

'Why, Violet, instead of knowing nothing, I think you know a greatdeal!'

She smiled, and said something about mamma. 'I don't say you will notmake mistakes, ' he continued, 'but they will be steps to learn by. Yourallowance is not large. It seems only fair to tell you that it may notbe sufficient. So, if you find the expenses exceed the week's portion, don't try to scramble on; it will only be discomfort at the time, andwill lead to worse. Go boldly to Arthur, and make him attend; it is theonly way to peace and security. '

'I see, ' said Violet, thoughtfully. 'Oh, I hope I shall do right. Onething I should like. I mean, I thought one ought to set apart somethingfor giving away. '

'That is one use in reserving something for yourself, ' said John, in hiskindest manner. 'Of the rest, you are only Arthur's steward. '

'Yes, I hope I shall manage well. '

'You will if you keep your present frame of mind. '

'But I am so young and ignorant. I did not think enough about it when Iwas married, ' said Violet, sorrowfully, 'and how it seems all to comeon me. To have all his comfort and the well-being of a whole housedepending on such as I am. '

'I can only say one thing in answer, Violet, what I know was the bestcomfort to one who, without it, would have sunk under the weight ofresponsibility. ' His whole countenance altered, his voice gave way, adistressing fit of coughing came on, the colour flushed into his face, and he pressed his hand on his chest. Violet was frightened, but itpresently ceased, and after sitting for a few moments, exhausted, withhis head resting on his hand, he took up the pencil, and wrote down--'Asthy day, so shall thy strength be'--pushed it towards her, and slowlyleft the room. 

Violet shed a few tears over the paper, and was the more grieved whenshe heard of his being confined to his room by pain in the side. Shetold Arthur what had passed. 'Ah! poor John, ' he said, 'he never canspeak of Helen, and any agitation that brings on that cough knocks himup for the rest of the day. So he has been trying to "insense" you, hashe? Very good-natured of him. '

'I am so grieved. I was afraid it would be painful to him. But what wasthe responsibility he spoke of?'

'Looking after her grandfather, I suppose. He was imbecile allthe latter part of his life. Poor John, they were both regularlysacrificed. '

John took the opportunity of a visit from his father that afternoon totell him how much good sense and right feeling Violet had shown, andher reluctance to appropriate to herself what he had insisted on asabsolutely necessary. 

'That is only inexperience, poor girl, ' said Lord Martindale. 'She doesnot know what she will want. If it is not confidential, I should like toknow what she allows herself. '

John mentioned the sum. 

'That is mere nonsense!' exclaimed his father. 'It is not half as muchas Theodora has! And she living in London, and Arthur making such apoint about her dress. I thought you knew better, John!'

'I knew it was very little, but when I considered the rest, I did notsee how she could contrive to give herself more. '

'There must be some miscalculation, ' said Lord Martindale. 'There is notthe least occasion for her to be straitened. You thought yourself theallowance was ample. '

'That it is; but you know Arthur has been used to expensive habits. '

'More shame for him. '

'But one can hardly expect him to reduce at once. I do think he issincere in his promises, but he will be careless, even in ordinaryexpenditure. I don't say this is what ought to be, but I fear it willbe. All the prudence and self-denial must be upon her side. '

'And that from a girl of sixteen, universally admired! What a businessit is! Not that I blame her, poor thing, but I don't see what is tobecome of them. '

The conversation was not without results. Lord Martindale, some littletime after, put into Violet's hand an envelope, telling her she mustapply the contents to her own use; and she was astounded at finding it acheque for £100. He was going to London, with both his sons, to choose ahouse for Arthur, and to bid farewell to John, who was warned, by a fewchilly days, to depart for a winter in Madeira. 

Violet was, during her husband's absence, to be left at Rickworth;and in the last week she had several other presents, a splendiddressing-case from Lady Martindale, containing more implements than sheknew how to use, also the print of Lalla Rookh; and even little MissPiper had spent much time and trouble on a very ugly cushion. Theodoradeclared her present should be useful, and gave all the household linen, for the purpose of having it hemmed by her school-children;--and this, though she and Miss Piper sat up for three nights till one o'clock tohasten it, was so far from ready, that Captain and Mrs. Martindale wouldhave begun the world without one table-cloth, if old Aunt Moss had notbeen hemming for them ever since the day of Arthur's proposal. 

Theodora was weary and impatient of the conflict of influence, andglad to be left to her own pursuits, while she thought that, alone withViolet, Arthur must surely be brought to a sense of his mistake. 

Violet's heart bounded at the prospect of a renewal of the happy days atWinchester, and of a release from the restraint of Martindale, and thedisappointment of making no friends with the family, --Mr. Martindale wasthe only one of them with whom she was sorry to part; and she had seencomparatively little of him. Indeed, when the three gentlemen set out, she thought so much of Arthur's being away for a week, that she couldnot care for John's voyage to Madeira, and looked preoccupied when heaffectionately wished her good-bye, telling her to watch for him in thespring, --her house would be his first stage on his return. Then, as hesaw her clinging to Arthur to the last moment, and coming down with himto the bottom of the long steps, he thought within himself, 'And by thattime there will be some guessing how much strength and stability thereis with all that sweetness, and she will have proved how much there isto trust to in his fondness!'

There was not much time for bewailing the departures before Emma Brandoncame to claim her guest; and the drive was pleasant enough to makeViolet shake off her depression, and fully enjoy the arrival atRickworth, which now bore an aspect so much more interesting than on herformer drive. 

The wooded hills in the first flush of autumn beauty sloped softly downto the green meadows, and as the carriage crossed the solid-looking oldstone bridge, Violet exclaimed with transport, at a glimpse she caughtof a gray ruin--the old priory! She was so eager to see it that she andEmma left the carriage at the park gate, and walked thither at once. 

Little of the building remained, only a few of the cloister arches, andthe stumps of broken columns to mark the form of the chapel; but thearch of the west window was complete, and the wreaths of ivy hid itswant of tracery, while a red Virginian creeper mantled the wall. All wascalm and still, the greensward smooth and carefully mown, not a nettleor thistle visible, but the floriated crosses on the old stone coffinlids showing clearly above the level turf, shaded by a few fine oldtrees, while the river glided smoothly along under the broad floatingwater-lily leaves, and on its other side the green lawn was repeated, cattle quietly grazing on the rich pasture, shut in by the gently risingwoods. The declining sun cast its long shadows, and all was peace, --theonly sounds, the robin's note and the ripple of the stream. 

Violet stood with her hands resting on Emma's arm, scarcely daring tobreak the silence. 'How lovely!' said she, after a long interval. 'OEmma, how fond you must be of this place!'

'Yes, it is beautiful, ' said Emma, but with less satisfaction thanViolet expected. 

'It is worth all the gardens at Martindale. '

'To be sure it is, ' said Emma, indignantly. 

'It puts me in mind of St. Cross. '

'But St. Cross is alive, not a ruin, ' said Emma, with a sigh, and sheasked many questions about it, while showing Violet the chief points ofinterest, where the different buildings had been, and the tomb ofOsyth, the last prioress. Her whole manner surprised Violet, there was areverence as if they were actually within a church, and more melancholythan pleasure in the possession of what, nevertheless, the young heiressevidently loved with all her heart. 

Turning away at length, they crossed the park, and passed through thegarden, which was gay with flowers, though much less magnificent thanMr. Harrison's. Emma said, mamma was a great gardener, and accordinglythey found her cutting off flowers past their prime. She gave Violet abouquet of geranium and heliotrope, and conducted her to her room withthat motherly kindness and solicitude so comfortable to a lonely guestin a strange house. 

Not that the house could long seem strange to Violet. It was anatmosphere of ease, where she could move and speak without feeling onher good behaviour. Everything throughout was on an unpretending scale, full of comfort, and without display, with a regularity and punctualitythat gave a feeling of repose. 

Violet was much happier than she had thought possible without Arthur, though her pleasures were not such as to make a figure in history. Therewere talks and walks, drives and visits to the school, readings anddiscussions, and the being perfectly at home and caressed by motherand daughter. Lady Elizabeth had all the qualities that are better thanintellect, and enough of that to enter into the pursuits of clevererpeople. Emma had more ability, and so much enthusiasm, that it was wellthat it was chastened by her mother's sound sense, as well as kept underby her own timidity. 

It was not till Violet was on the point of departure that she knew thesecret of Emma's heart. The last Sunday evening before Arthur was tofetch her away, she begged to walk once more to the Priory, and haveanother look at it. 'I think, ' said she, 'it will stay in my mind likeHelvellyn in the distance. '

Emma smiled, and soon they stood in the mellow light of the setting sun, beside the ruin. 'How strange, ' said Violet, 'to think that it is threehundred years since Sunday came to this chapel. '

'I wonder' said Emma, breaking off, then beginning, 'O Violet, it is thewish of my heart to bring Sundays back to it. '

'Emma! but could it be built up again?'

'Mamma says nothing must be done till I am twenty-five--almost six yearshence. Not then, unless I am tame and sober, and have weighed it well. '

'Restore it?--build a church?'

'I could have a sort of alms-house, with old people and children, and wecould look after them ourselves. '

'That would be delightful. Oh, I hope you will do it. '

'Don't think of it more than as a dream to myself and mamma. I could nothelp saying it to you just then; but it is down too deep generally evenfor mamma. It must come back somehow to God's service. Don't talk of itany more, Violet, dearest, only pray that I may not be unworthy. '

Violet could hardly believe a maiden with such hopes and purposescould be her friend, any more than Prioress Osyth herself; and when, half-an-hour afterwards, she heard Emma talking over the parish andSunday-school news in an ordinary matter-of-fact way, she did not seemlike the same person. 

There were many vows of correspondence, and auguries of meeting nextspring. Lady Elizabeth thought it right that her daughter should seesomething of London life, and the hope of meeting Violet was the onething that consoled Emma, and Violet talked of the delight of making herfriend and Annette known to each other. 

To this, as Lady Elizabeth observed, Arthur said not a word. She couldnot help lecturing him a little on the care of his wife, and he listenedwith a very good grace, much pleased at their being so fond of her. 

She wished them good-bye very joyously, extremely happy at having herhusband again, and full of pleasant anticipations of her new home. 

PART II

 There's pansies for you, that's for thoughts. 

 --Hamlet

CHAPTER 1

 How far less am I blest than they, Daily to pine, and waste with care, Like the poor plant, that from its stem Divided, feels the chilling air. --MICKLE'S Cumnor Hall

Arthur and Violet arrived at their new home in the twilight, whenthe drawing-room fire burnt brightly, giving a look of comfort. Thefurniture was good; and by the fire stood a delightful little low chairwith a high back, and a pretty little rosewood work-table, on whichwas a coloured glass inkstand, and a table-stand of books in choicebindings. 

'Arthur, Arthur, how charming! I am sure this is your doing. '

'No, it is John's; I can't devise knick-knackeries, but he is a thoroughold bachelor, and has been doing all sorts of things to the house, whichhave made it more tolerable. '

'How very kind he is! The books--how beautiful! Just what I wanted. That one he lent me--he talked to me of that. This Emma has--I saw yoursister reading that, and wished to see more of it. But I can't look atthem all now; I must see Sarah, she was to bring something from home. '

A Wrangerton face had great charms, though it was starched and severe, without one smile in answer to the joyous greeting, 'Well, Sarah, I amglad you could come. How are they all?'

'Thank you, ma'am, Mr. And Mrs. Moss, and the young ladies, and Mr. Albert, are all very well, and desires their love, ' replied a voicesolemn enough for the announcement that they were all at the point ofdeath. Violet's spirits would have been damped but for the sight of thetable spread with parcels directed in dear familiar writing, and shewas pouncing on them when Sarah began her grave requests for orders, andViolet felt her own ignorance and incapacity growing more patent everymoment as questions about arrangements beset and tormented her on everyside. At last she was left to enjoy the out-spreading of the preciousgifts, the devices characteristic of the kind hands that had preparedthem, and all her own private possessions--a welcome sight. 

It was a happy evening, and the days that followed were full of pleasureand occupation--in settling her treasures and making purchases. When sheseated herself in her own carriage, she thought now indeed it wouldbe delightful to show herself to her mother and sisters. She had norelation in London but an uncle, a solicitor, fond and proud of her, but too sensible to wish to frequent her house. He gave her a silvertea-pot; and being asked to dinner now and then on Sunday was all theattention he required. Her brother Albert did, indeed, sometimes cometo town on business; and Violet, after many hopes, was, one evening, charmed at seeing him make his appearance. Arthur asked him to stay todinner, after which they were going to a party. 

Albert, a spruce, good-looking youth, had been too grand to make friendswith so young a sister; but, now that she was a person of consequence, his tone was different. He talked his best, and she had a perfect feastof Wrangerton news--showed him all her presents, and enjoyed the thoughtof Annette's smile at hearing of her little Violet stepping into hercarriage for a party at a countess's. 

Arthur said London was empty, but Violet thought her visitorsinnumerable, and, as the autumn advanced towards winter, had manyinvitations. She enjoyed going out; her shyness had nearly worn off;and she was everywhere received so as to make Arthur, proud and pleased. Indeed she had doubts whether she was not growing too gay, and if it wasright to pay so much attention to her appearance. She asked Arthur, andwas laughed at for her pains. 

However, Violet was not without her troubles from the first. She wasvery much afraid of Sarah, and never spoke to her without shrinking backinto Miss Violet, and being conscious that it was mere presumption inher to try to order one so much wiser than herself. The cook, a relationof Miss Standaloft, was much more smooth and deferential, full ofresources, which seemed to come from Mrs. Martindale herself; and thoughthe weekly bills always exceeded her reckonings, so many things werewanting, as Mrs. Cook observed, just getting into a house. The firsttime of having any guests at dinner, Violet was in much anxiety, butall went off to general satisfaction until the bills came in on Mondaymorning. The cost was beyond her calculations, exceeded her week'sportion, and devoured the savings of the days when they had not dined athome. Invitations had been sent out for another party, and Violet triedto bring it within bounds; but the cook was civilly superior--'It wasalways so in the first families, such as she was accustomed to, but ifMrs. Martindale liked to have things in a different style--'

She knew Arthur would consent to no external change, and all she coulddo was to look at the price of all she ordered, reject sundry expensivedelicacies, and trust to living on the relics of the feast for the restof the week; but, behold! they scarcely served for one luncheon, and onMonday the bills had mounted up in an inexplicable manner. There were nosavings left, and she made up the deficiency from her own resources. Athird party was impending, and she strove more resolutely for frugality. 'Well, ma'am, if you choose, it must be so; but it was not what I wasused to in the families such as I have lived in. '

But Violet was firm, whereupon the cook harassed her with contrarieties;and late hours and London air had so far told upon her that shecould not shake off her cares cheerfully. She knew all would turn outill--tormented herself--brought on a headache, and looked unwell whenthe evening came. The cook sent up the dinner with just enough want ofcare to keep her in such continual apprehension that she could hardlyattend to the conversation. 

'You did not make such a good hand of it to-day, ' said Arthur, when theguests were gone; 'that soup was ditch-water, and--'

Violet was so worn out that she burst into tears. 'Hey? What's thematter now? I said nothing to cry for. '

She tried to speak, but the tears would not let her. 

'Well, if you can't bear to be told everything is not perfection, Idon't know what is to be done. ' And Arthur, in displeasure, took up acandle and walked off to smoke a cigar in his sitting-room down-stairs. 

Her tears were checked by consternation, and, earnest to be forgiven, she followed; then, as he turned impatiently, said, in a tremblingpleading voice, 'Dear Arthur, I've done crying. I did not mean to becross. '

'Well, that's enough, never mind, ' said he, not unkindly, but as if inhaste to dismiss the subject, and be left to the peaceful enjoyment ofhis cigar. 

'And you forgive me?'

'Forgive? nonsense--only don't begin crying about nothing again. There'snothing more intolerable than for a woman to be always crying, wheneverone speaks to her. '

''Twas not so much that, ' said Violet, meekly, 'as that I was vexedat the dinner not looking well, and it won't, without spending suchquantities of money!'

'Quantities--what do you call quantities?'

She named the cost of the last dinner, and he laughed at her horror;then, when she was going to prove that it was disproportionate to theirmeans, he silenced her:

'Well, well, never mind; we are not going to give any more dinners justyet; but when we do, have done with pinching and squeezing. Why, youdon't look fit to be seen after it. '

'I'm only tired. '

'Ay, with worrying. Go to bed and to sleep, and forget it all!'

She was consoled for that time; but the perplexity continued. She stroveto reduce the ordinary expenditure, but Arthur had a fashion of bringinghome a friend to dinner without notice; and she underwent indescribablemiseries, while reflecting on her one chicken, or five mutton chops; andthough something was sure to be extemporized by the cook, the result wasthat these casual guests were as expensive as a banquet. She venturedto beg Arthur to tell her when he was going to ask any one, but he wasvexed, and said he liked to bring home a man by chance; there need benothing out of the common way, and a dinner for two was a dinnerfor three. Poor Violet thought, 'Ah! this is not like the time atWinchester. It is my own fault, I am not companion, enough. '

She began to grow tired of going out in the evening; late hours triedher; she felt listless and unwell; and her finances could not supportthe dress expenses, but when she tried to excuse herself, she foundArthur determined on taking her out, though he had previously grumbled, and declared he only went for her sake. When she looked pale and languidhe seemed annoyed, in a way that gave her the impression that he valuednothing but her beauty. She believed he found home dull, and her notwhat he expected. 

The truth was, perhaps, that Violet's spirits were naturally not strong, and she was scarcely equal to the cares that had come on her. She missedthe companionship of the large family at home; and a slight degree ofindisposition or of anxiety was sufficient to set her tormenting herselfwith every imaginable fear and grief; above all, the dread that he wasnot pleased with her. 

She believed herself to have strictly adhered to the rule of payingfor everything at once; but she was dismayed by a shower of bills atChristmas, for things ordered by the cook without her knowledge, severalof which she disowned altogether; and several that her memory and 'greatbook' both declared she had paid; though the tradesmen and the cook, through whom the money had been sent, stoutly denied it. She wasfrightened, paid the sums, and so went the last remains of LordMartindale's present. 

Sure that the woman was dishonest, yet not knowing how to prove it;afraid to consult Arthur on the household concerns, that he detested;and with a nervous dread of a disturbance, Violet made arrangements forconveying no more payments through Mrs. Cook; and, for the rest, thoughtshe must go on as she could, till the time should come, when, near theend of May, she reckoned on having her mother with her. She would repairher mistakes, make her feel herself mistress in her own house, and helpher to all she wanted to know, without fear of Wrangerton gossip. Thathope strengthened and cheered her in all her troubles; and oh! supposeAnnette came too!

Poor Violet! the first time she referred to her mother's coming, Arthurlooked annoyed, gave a sort of whistle, and said, as if searching for anexcuse, 'Why, they never could spare her from Wrangerton. '

'O, that they would, ' said Violet, eagerly; 'or if not mamma herself, atleast, I am sure, Matilda would come to me, or Annette. '

'Whew!' again whistled Arthur; 'I don't know whether that will do. '

'Arthur!'

'There will be my mother close by, and Lady Elizabeth. No, no, you won'twant to have any one up from there. '

'May I not have my own mamma?' pleaded poor Violet, urged into somethinglike pertinacity. 

But Arthur cut her short; his great dislike to what he had to say makinghim speak the more ungraciously: 'I don't want to vex you, Violet, butonce for all we must come to an understanding. You must not expect tohave your family here. They are good sort of people, and all that styleof thing, '--he faltered at her looks of imploring consternation, andtried to work himself into anger in order to be able to finish. 'Itis of no use looking wretched, I tell you, you must put it out of yourhead. They belong to a different set altogether, and it won't do anyway. There now, don't go and be nervous about yourself; Theodora shallsee to you, and you'll do very well, I have no doubt. '

With these words he hastily quitted her, that he might not witness thedistress he had occasioned, though he had not the least idea what hisrefusal was to her. 

The sense of her own helplessness and inexperience, and the prospect ofillness, without mother or sister, were lost in the more overpoweringsorrow at his unkindness. How could he love her if he denied her this atsuch a time, and in such a manner?' He is ashamed of my family! ashamedof me! He is disappointed in me! I can't make it pleasant to him athome. I am not even good-tempered when I am not well, and I am not halfas pretty as I used to be! Oh! if he had but married me for anythingbut my prettiness! But I was not worth vexing every one for! I am only aplague and trouble! Well, I dare say I shall die, now there is no oneto take care of me, and then, perhaps, he will be sorry for me. Just atlast, I'll tell him how I did mean to be a good wife, and tried all Icould. '

But then poor Violet fell into a maze of terror. She roused herself anddried her tears on hearing some one approaching. It was James, bringingin a parcel. It contained a beautiful and costly silk dress. After thefirst glance she pushed it from her, and her grief burst forth again. 'Does he think that can make up to me for my mother? How silly he mustthink me! Yet he is kind and tries to please me still, though I am sotroublesome! Dear, dear Arthur!'

She took it back upon her lap, and tried to admire, but her heart failedher; and she could not look at it till the sound of his entrance revivedher; she felt as if she had been injuring him, and recalling her smiles, met him with what he thought delighted gratitude. 

He was relieved to find the late subject blown over, and only wishing tokeep it out of her mind, he invited her to take a walk. 

Violet had begun to dread his walks, for he was a loiterer, apt to gofurther and stay out longer than he intended, and she could not bearto tease him by hints of fatigue; but to-day she could not demur atanything he asked, and she only observed that they had better not gofar, as they had an engagement for the evening. 

At first the air and his attention did her good; but when she sawCaptain Fitzhugh approaching, she knew that Arthur's arm was the onlyfurther use she should have of him, and there would be an endlesssauntering and talk about horses or fishing, while he would all the timefancy himself going home. 

The consequence was, that she was obliged to go at once to bed on comingin, and was declared by Arthur to have been very silly never to havementioned her fatigue; while Sarah, bestowing grim and sour looks uponthem both, attended on her with the most assiduous and minute care. Arthur was greatly concerned, and very unwilling to go to the partyalone, but Violet persuaded him, and he promised to return early; thenfound the evening pleasant, and never knew how time went, while she waslying awake, imagining that something dreadful had happened to him, andmourning over her grievances. 

The effects of that over-fatigue did not pass away, and she was forcedto give up all evening engagements. He meant to be kind, but was tooignorant and inconsiderate not to do her as much harm as good. One dayhe almost overwhelmed her with attentions, the next left her to herself. He offered to refuse all invitations for her sake, but it ended inher spending more than half her evenings alone; and when the horse waswanted for him in the evening, she lost her drive. Very soon she fellout of the habit of going out, for now that she was no companion for hislong rambles, he found other ways of disposing of his afternoons; andshe was still so countrified as to dislike and dread walking alone, even in the quiet Belgravian regions, so that she was always relieved todecide that the gray mist was such as could do no one any good, or thatshe really was not well enough for a walk. 

She did not know the use of change of scene, and the bracing effectof resolution, --she had no experience of self-management, and hadnot learnt that it was a duty not to let herself pine. Though mostconscientious, she had not yet grown up to understand religion as apresent comfort. To her it was a guide and an obligation, and as suchshe obeyed its dictates, to the best of her power, but only as anobedient child, without understanding the immediate reward in thislife, namely, confidence, support, and peace. It is a feeling generallybelonging to an age beyond hers, though only to be won by faithfuldiscipline. She was walking in darkness, and, by and by, light mightcome. But there was one omission, for which she long after grieved; andwhich, though she knew it not, added to her present troubles. 

All heart and hope had been taken from her since she had been forbiddento see her mother and sister. The present was dreary, the futurenothing but gloom and apprehension, and she had little to distract herattention. She strove hard to fulfil what she knew were duties, herhousehold concerns and the readings she had fixed as tasks; but theseover, she did not try to rouse her mind from her cares; nor had sheperhaps the power, for her difficulties with the cook were too much forher, and it was very trying to spend so many hours of the dingy Londonday and long evening in solitude. 

Her amusing books were exhausted, and she used to lie forlorn on thesofa, with her needlework, hearing the roar of carriage-wheels, and, her mind roaming from the perplexities of her accounts to her sadforebodings and her belief in Arthur's coldness, till her heart seemedready to break, --and her tears gathered, first in solitary drops, thenin floods. She had no one to cheer her spirits, to share her hopes andfears. Her plans and employments were tedious to her husband, and hemust not be troubled with them, --and so, locked up within herself, theyoppressed her with care and apprehension. In letter-writing there wasonly pain; she could not bear to be supposed unwell or unhappy, and, above all, dreaded saying what might lead to an offer from her motherto come to her. Her letters became mere comments on home news; she wroteless frequently, feared they would think her grown too fine to care forthem, and then wept and sobbed with home sickness. There was a littlemore comfort in writing to Rickworth, for she expected the Brandonsearly in May, and her only hope was in Lady Elizabeth for care andcounsel: for as to Arthur's dependence, his mother and sister, she feltas if the fear and restraint of their presence would be unbearable. 

Her husband never guessed how she languished. In his presence she wasa different creature, forgetting her griefs in the one wish of pleasinghim. No matter what she had been undergoing in his absence, his knockraised her spirits, in a moment life darted into her limbs and colourinto her cheeks. She had no notion of complaining. Her mother had alwaysbeen silent, though often with greater cause for remonstrance; and poorViolet, imagining herself a burden, would not for the world have madeherself more troublesome than she could help. Her whole desire was towin a smile, a fond word, a caress, and she sat watching as if thosewere life to her; her cheeks burning with eagerness so much that Arthurlittle guessed how wan they were in his absence. 

The colour was heightened by warm rooms, for Arthur was of a chillyrace, and could not understand how oppressive the close atmosphere ofLondon was to one used to mountain breezes. He would come in shivering, and be provoked to find her sitting by the smallest of fires; tillshe learnt that their estimate of heat was so different, that the onlysafety was in keeping the room like an oven. The folding doors into theback drawing-room had a trick of opening of their own accord; and thetrouble given her by this draught-trap, as Arthur called it, can hardlybe estimated, especially one windy week in March, when he had a cold. 

She had never been wont to think seriously of colds but when it came tocoughing and feverishness all night, and Arthur, with his hand on hischest, persisted that it was all in his throat and told her to send fora blister, she grew alarmed, but this only displeased him. He disdainedher entreaty that he would remain in bed; and said women always made afuss about nothing, when she timidly suggested sending for 'some one. '

For three deplorable days he sat over the fire, with a distaste foreverything, while she did her utmost to make him comfortable, andwhen she failed, thought it her own fault, reproached herself forher inefficiency, and imagined that he was going to be as ill as hisbrother, and that she should be of no use to him. How hard on him tohave such a bad wife! She could not even entertain him while he was keptindoors--for she could not find anything to talk about, so long was itsince she had been out, or read anything amusing. 

However, on the third afternoon, he brightened up, found the soup good, talked and laughed, and declared that if to-morrow was fine, he shouldbe out again. And the next day she was so delighted to find hiscough was gone--more quickly than he had ever known so severe a colddepart--that it was not till he was out of the house that she rememberedthat she was condemned to solitude for many hours. 

Here was quarter-day, bringing fresh confusion, in those inexplicablehousehold expenses, and a miserable sense of wastefulness, andunfaithfulness to her charge. She thought of John's advice, to make herhusband attend, if she found her means insufficient; and set herself todraw up a statement of the case, to lay before him; but she grew moreand more puzzled; the cook's dishonesty weighed on her, and her fearsof taking any measures increased. Her calculations always ended indespairing tears. 

She was lying on her bed, recovering from one of these almost hystericalfits, when she was roused from a doze by a knock at her door; andstarted up, trying to hide that anything had been the matter, as Sarahcame in, and said, with a tone of authority, 'Mrs. Finch and Miss Gardner, ma'am! but I will say you are not wellenough to see them. '

'O no, Sarah, I am quite well, I was only asleep. '

'You had better not go down, ' sternly repeated Sarah. 'You had muchbest lie down, and have your sleep out, after being kept awake till twoo'clock last night, with Captain Martindale not coming home. And youwith the pillow all awry, and that bit of a shawl over you! Lie youdown, and I'll set it straight. '

But Violet was on her feet--the imputation on Captain Martindale had puther on her mettle. 'Thank you, I don't want anything; I am going downdirectly. '

Sarah shook her head, and looked significantly at the glass; and there, indeed, Violet perceived that her eyes bore traces of recent weeping;but, still, she would do anything rather than own her tears. 'My headaches a little--that makes my eyes heavy, ' said she. 'It will do me goodto see Miss Gardner. I knew her at Martindale. '

But when Violet found herself in the presence of Miss Gardner, and ofa tall fashionable lady, she did not like the recollection that she hadbeen talked of as a beauty. 

She was glad to meet Miss Gardner, but Mrs. Finch's style was dashingand almost boisterous, and her voice quick and loud, as she seized onher hand, exclaiming, 'I want no introduction, I have heard so much ofyou! I know we shall be excellent friends. I must hear of Theodora. Youknow she is the greatest ally I have on earth. When did you hear of herlast? When are they coming to town! I would not miss Theodora's firstappearance for all the world. '

Violet felt overpowered by the torrent; but thought it was givingno right impression of her husband to look disconsolate, and exertedherself to be cheerful, and answer. 

But they would speak of Martindale, and oblige her to expose herignorance. She did not know when the family were coming to town, nor hadshe heard when Mr. Martindale's return might be expected. 

If Miss Gardner had been alone, she thought she might have got onbetter; but the quieter elder sister hardly put in a word, so unceasingwas the talk of the younger; whose patronage became oppressive, when shebegan on Mrs. Martindale herself; told her she was lazy, taking too muchcare, and growing nervous: and even declared she should come some day, take her by storm, and carry her out for a drive in the park. 

Poor Violet felt as if to be shut up in the carriage with this talkinglady would kill her outright; begged she would not take the trouble;but only met with smiles, and declarations that Theodora would scold herwell when she came. 

The next afternoon Violet listened with dread to the sounds of wheels, and was not at all inclined to blame a headache, which was sufficientexcuse for sending down thanks and refusal. On the following, she hadjust made up her mind that the danger was over for that day, when heralarm was excited by a thundering knock, and in walked her brother. 

'Well, Violet, I have caught you at home. I'm come to town about LordSt. Erme's business--go back by the mail train. Are you dining at home?Can you give me a dinner?'

'Oh, yes!' said Violet; but fears came over her of Arthur's not beingpleased, especially supposing he should bring back any one with him. Andtherewith came dismay at finding herself giving no better welcome to herown brother, and she eagerly asked for all at home. 

'In a high state of preservation. And how are you? You don't look quitethe thing. '

'Oh, yes, I am, thank you. '

'And how is Martindale?'

'He would not call him so to his face!' thought the wife. 'Oh! I wish hewould sit anywhere but in Arthur's chair, and not fidget me with playingwith that horrid little piece of watch-chain!' 'He is very well, thankyou. He had a bad cold last week, but it is quite gone now. I hope hewill soon come in. '

'I am not sorry to have found you alone. I want to hear something ofthese relations of yours. '

'Oh! I shall be sure to say something wrong!' thought she, and as thebest thing to put forward, announced that they would soon be in London. 

'And they are not high with you? I hear fine accounts of theirgrandeur, --they say the lady and her daughter are eaten up with pride, and think no one fit to speak to. '

'Miss Martindale has the plainest ways in the world. She will doanything for the poor people. '

'Ay, ay, that's the way with fine ladies, --they like to be condescendingand affable. And so you say they receive you well? make you one of thefamily--eh?'

Violet hoped it was not wrong to utter a faint 'yes. '

'Does Martindale's sister write to you?'

'No; she does not write letters much. But I told you how very kind theyare--Mr. Martindale, his brother, especially. '

'Ay!' said Albert, 'he disconcerted our calculations. He seems to havetaken out a new lease. '

'He is a great deal better. '

'But he has no lungs left. His life can't be worth a year's purchase, bywhat the governor heard. He would never have let Martindale have you onsuch easy terms if he had not looked on you as good as her ladyship. '

Such shame and disgust came over Violet that she felt unworthy to siton John Martindale's chair, and moved to the sofa, trying to change thesubject; but Albert persisted in inquiries about Mr. Martindale's age, health, and the likelihood of his marrying, till she could no longer bewithout the perception that not only had her husband been to blame fortheir marriage--her father's part had been far worse. 

Albert hoped the old lord was coming down handsomely and tried to makeher tell their income. She was glad not to know and he began calculatingit from their style of living, with such disregard to her feelings, asmade her contrast his manners with those of the true gentlemen to whomshe was now accustomed, and feel sadly that there was reason in herhusband's wish to keep her family at a distance. There was no checkingor silencing this elder brother; she could only feel humiliated byeach proof of his vulgarity of mind, and blame herself, by turns, forchurlishness to him, and for permitting conversation Arthur would somuch dislike. 

Why would not Arthur come and put a stop to it! It was not the firsttime she had waited dinner for him in vain, and though she tried to makeAlbert think she liked it, she knew she was a very bad dissembler. 

When she at length ordered in dinner, the conversation changed toWrangerton doings, the Christmas gaieties, jokes about her sisters andtheir imputed admirers, and a Miss Louisa Davies--a new-comer, aboutwhom Albert seemed to wish to be laughed at himself. But poor Violethad no spirits even to perceive this, --she only thought of home and thefamiliar scenes recalled by each name. What a gulf between her and them!In what free, careless happiness they lived! What had her father donein thrusting her into a position for which she was unfit, --into a familywho did not want her, and upon one to whom she was only a burthen! Athome they thought her happy and fortunate! They should never guess ather wretchedness. 

But when the time for Albert's departure came, Violet forgot hisinconvenient questions, and would have given the world to keep him. He was her own brother--a part of home; he loved her--she had feltinhospitable to him, and perhaps she should never see him again. 

When he recurred to her pale looks and languid manner, and expressedconcern, it was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears, andtelling all her griefs; and she could not control the rapid agitatedtones that belied her repeated assurances that nothing was amiss, andthat he must not give a bad account of her and alarm her mother. 

She could hardly let him go; and when he bade her goodbye, there wasa moment's intense desire to be going with him, from this lonely room, home to her mother and Annette, instantly followed by a horror at such awish having occurred, and then came the sobs and tears. She dreaded thatArthur might be displeased at the visit; but he came home full ofgood humour, and on hearing of it, only hoped she had good news fromWrangerton, and said he was glad he had been out of the way, so that shehad been able to have her brother all to herself. 

Her fears of the effect of Albert's account of her were better founded;for two mornings after, on coming down to breakfast, she found a letterfrom her mother to exhort her to be careful, assuring her that she needhave no scruple in sending for her, and betraying so much uneasiness asto add to all her terrors. She saw this in one glance; for she knewthat to dwell on the tender affectionate letter would bring on a fit ofweeping, and left it and the dreadful consideration of her reply tillArthur should be gone, as he was to spend the day in fishing with afriend in the country. He had come home late last night, and was not yetdressed, and she waited long, gazing at the gleams of sunshine on thesquare gardens, thinking how bright this second day of April must beanywhere but here, where it was close and oppressive, and wonderingwhether Helvellyn was beginning to lose his snow; then, as Helvellynbrought the sensation that led to tears, she took the newspaper, andhad read more than she cared for before Arthur appeared, in the state ofimpatience which voluntary lateness is sure to produce. 

She gave him his tea as quickly as she could, but all went wrong: itwas a horrid cold day, ALL east wind--there was a cold wind coming insomewhere. 

'The back drawing-room window! I'm sorry I did not see it was open. '

'What makes you go to shut it?' said he, hastily marching across theroom, and closing it and the doors. 'I shall be gone in a moment, andyou may let in a hurricane if you like. Have you seen my cigar-case!'

'It was on the ledge of your wardrobe. '

'Some of your maids have been and hid it. '

'I told Sarah never to put your things away. I think I could find it. '

'No, don't go, I have looked everywhere. '

As he never found things, even when before his eyes, this was notconclusive; and she undertook the search in spite of another careless'No, no, don't, ' knowing it meant the contrary. 

She could not find it in his dressing-room, and he looked annoyed, again accusing the maids. This made her feel injured, and though growingexhausted, as well she might, as she had not even begun breakfast, shesaid she would look in the sitting-room. He half remonstrated, withoutlooking up from the paper, but she hoped to be gladdened by thanks, hunted in all his hiding-places in vain, and found she must give it up, after a consultation with Sarah, who resentfully denied all knowledge ofit, and told her she looked ready to drop. 

Dolefully coming into the hall, she saw Arthur's black travelling-bag. Was it for more than the day? The evenings were bad enough--but adesolate night! And he had never told her!'

'I suppose you have not found it?'

'No; I wish I could!'

'Never mind; it will turn up. You have tired yourself. '

'But, Arthur, are you not coming home to-night?'

'Didn't I tell you? If I can't get away by the seven o'clock train, I thought of sleeping there. Ten o'clock, I declare! I shall miss thetrain!'

She came to the head of the stairs with him, asking plaintively, 'WhenDO you come home? To-morrow, at latest?'

Perhaps it was her querulous tone, perhaps a mere boyish dislike tobeing tied down, or even it might be mere hurry, that made him answerimpatiently, 'I can't tell--as it may happen. D'ye think I want to runaway! Only take care of yourself. '

This was in his coaxing voice; but it was not a moment when she couldbear to be turned aside, like an importunate child, and she was going tospeak; but he saw the wrong fishing-rod carried out, called hastily toJames, ran down-stairs, and was gone, without even looking back at her. 

The sound of the closing door conveyed a sense of utter desolation toher over-wrought mind--the house was a solitary prison; she sank on thesofa, sobbing, 'Oh, I am very, very miserable! Why did he take me fromhome, if he could not love me! Oh, what will become of me? Oh, mamma!mamma!'

CHAPTER 2

 What is so shrill as silent tears? --GEORGE HERBERT

Arthur came home late in the afternoon of the following day. The doorwas opened to him by his brother, who abruptly said, 'She is dying. Youmust not lose a moment if you would see her alive. '

Arthur turned pale, and gave an inarticulate exclamation ofhorror-stricken inquiry--'Confined?'

'Half-an-hour ago. She was taken ill yesterday morning immediately afteryou left her. She is insensible, but you may find her still living. '

Nothing but strong indignation could have made John Martindale thuscommunicate such tidings. He had arrived that day at noon to find thatthe creature he had left in the height of her bright loveliness wasin the extremity of suffering and peril--her husband gone no one knewwhither; and the servants, too angry not to speak plainly, reportingthat he had left her in hysterics. John tried not to believe the half, but as time went on, bringing despair of the poor young mother's life, and no tidings of Arthur; while he became more and more certain thatthere had been cruel neglect, the very gentleness and compassion of hisnature fired and glowed against him who had taken her from her home, vowed to cherish her, and forsaken her at such a time. However, he wassoftened by seeing him stagger against the wall, perfectly stunned, thengathering breath, rush up-stairs without a word. 

As Arthur pushed open the door, there was a whisper that it was he, too late, and room was made for him. All he knew was, that those aroundwatched as if it was not yet death, but what else did he see on thoseashy senseless features?

With a cry of despair he threw himself almost over her, and implored herbut once to speak, or look at him. No one thought her capable even ofhearing, but at his voice the eyelids and lips slightly moved, and alook of relief came over the face. A hand pressed his shoulder, and aspoon containing a drop of liquid was placed in his fingers, while someone said, 'Try to get her to take this. '

Scarcely conscious he obeyed, and calling her by every endearing name, beyond hope succeeded in putting it between her lips. Her eyes openedand were turned on him, her hand closed on his, and her features assumeda look of peace. The spark of life was for a moment detained by thepower of affection, but in a short space the breath must cease, theclasp of the hand relax. 

Once more he was interrupted by a touch, and this time it was Sarah'swhisper--'The minister is come, sir. What name shall it be!'

'Anything--John, ' said he, without turning his head or taking in whatshe said. 

The clergyman and John Martindale were waiting in the dressing-room, with poor Violet's cathedral cup filled with water. 

'She does not know him?' asked John, anxiously, as Sarah entered. 

'Yes, sir, she does, ' said Sarah, contorting her face to keep back thetears. 'She looked at him, and has hold of his hand. I think she willdie easier for it, poor dear. '

'And at least the poor child is alive to be baptized?'

'O, yes, sir, it seems a bit livelier now, ' said Sarah, opening a foldof the flannel in her arms. 'It is just like its poor mamma. '

'Is it a girl?' he inquired, by no means perceiving the resemblance. 

'A boy, sir. His papa never asked, though he did say his name should beJohn. '

'It matters little, ' said John, mournfully, for to his eye there wasnothing like life in that tiny form. 'And yet how marvellous, ' thoughthe, 'to think of its infinite gain by these few moments of unconsciousexistence!'

At the touch of the water it gave a little cry, which Sarah heard with astart and glance of infinite satisfaction. 

She returned to the chamber, where the same deathly stillness prevailed;the husband, the medical men, the nurse, all in their several positions, as if they had neither moved nor looked from the insensible, scarcelybreathing figure. 

The infant again gave a feeble sound, and once more the white featuresmoved, the eyes opened, and a voice said, so faintly, that Arthur, as hehung over her, alone could hear it, 'My baby! O, let me see it!'

'Bring the child, ' and at the sound of those words the gleam of lifespread over her face more completely. 

He could not move from her side, and Sarah placed the little creatureupon his broad hand. He held it close to her. 'Our baby!' again shemurmured, and tried to kiss it, but it made another slight noise, andthis overcame her completely, the deathly look returned, and he hastilygave back the infant. 

She strove hard for utterance, and he could hardly catch her gaspingwords, 'You'll be fond of it, and think of me. '

'Don't, don't talk so, dearest. You will soon be better. You are better. Let me give you this. '

'Please, I had rather lie still. Do let me. ' Then again looking up, asif she had been losing the consciousness of his presence, 'Oh! it isyou. Are you come? Kiss me and wish me good-bye. '

'You are better--only take this. Won't you? You need not move; Violet, Violet, only try. To please me! There, well done, my precious one. Nowyou will be more comfortable. '

'Thank you, oh no! But I am glad you are come. I did wish to be a goodwife. I had so much to say to you--if I could--but I can't remember. Andmy baby; but oh, this is dying, ' as the sinking returned. 'O, Arthur, keep me, don't let me die!' and she clung to him in terror. 

He flung his arm closer round her, looking for help to the doctors. 'Youshall not, you will not, my own, my darling. '

'You can't help it, ' sighed she. 'And I don't know how--if some onewould say a prayer?'

He could only repeat protests that she must live, but she grew moreearnest. 'A prayer! I can't recollect--Oh! is it wicked? Will God havemercy? Oh! would you but say a prayer?'

'Yes, yes, but what? Give me a book. '

Sarah put one into his hand, and pointed to a place, but his eyes weremisty, his voice faltered, broke down, and he was obliged to press hisface down on the pillows to stifle his sobs. 

Violet was roused to such a degree of bewildered distress and alarm atthe sight of his grief, that the doctors insisted on removing him, andalmost forced him away. 

There had been prayers offered for her, of which she knew nothing. 

The clergyman was gone, and John had despatched his melancholy letter toLord Martindale, when he heard the steps on the stairs. Was it over!No, it was only one of the doctors with Arthur, and they did not come tohim, but talked in the back drawing-room for some moments, after whichthe doctor took leave, repeating the words in John's hearing, thatArthur must compose himself before returning to her--agitation wouldbe at once fatal. Arthur had thrown himself on the sofa, with his facehidden in his hands, in such overpowering distress, that his brother'sdispleasure could not continue for a moment, and he began to speaksoothingly of the present improvement. 

'It cannot last, ' said Arthur. 'They say it is but a question of minutesor hours, ' and again he gave way to a burst of grief, but presently itchanged to an angry tone. 'Why was I never sent for?'

John explained that no one knew whither to send. He could hardly creditthis, and his wrath increased at the stupidity of the servants; itseemed to relieve him to declaim against them. 

'Then you left her well?'

'Of course I did. She had been searching over the house for thatabominable cigar-case of mine, which was in my pocket all the time! Ishall never bear to see it again, ' and he launched it into the fire withvehemence. 'I suppose that upset her! Why did I not prevent her? Foolthat I was not to know it was not fit for her, though she chose to doit. But I never took care of her. '

'She is so very unselfish, ' said John. 

'That was it. I thought women always looked out for themselves. I shouldhave known I had one not like the rest! She had never one thoughtfor herself, and it is killing her, the sweetest, loveliest, best--myprecious Violet! John, John! is there nothing that can be done for her?'cried he, starting up in a tumultuous agony of grief, and striking hisfoot on the floor. 

'Could we not send for her mother? Brown might set off at once to fetchher. '

'Thank you, but no, it is of no use. No railroad within forty miles ofthe place. She could not be here till--till--and then I could not seeher. ' He was pacing the room, and entangled his foot in Violet's littlework-table, and it fell. Her work-box flew open, and as they stooped topick up the articles, Arthur again wept without control as he took up alittle frock, half made, with the needle hanging to it. The table-drawerhad fallen out, and with it the large account-book, the weekly bills, and a sheet of paper covered with figures, and blotted and blisteredwith tears. The sight seemed to overwhelm him more than all. 'Cryingover these! My Violet crying! Oh! what have I been doing?'

'And why? What distressed her?'

'It was too much for her. She would plague herself with these wretchedhousehold accounts! She knew I hated the sound of them. I never lether bring them to me; but little did I think that she cried over themalone!'

'She was cheerful with you?'

'Was not she?' I never saw that dear face without its sweet smile, come when I would. I have never heard a complaint. I have left her toherself, madman as I was, when she was unwell and anxious! But--oh! ifshe could only recover, she should see--Ha! Sarah, can I come?'

'Yes, sir, she is asking for you; but, if you please, sir, Mr. Hardingsays you must come very quiet. She seems wandering, and thinking you arenot come home, sir, ' said Sarah, with a grisly satisfaction in dealingher blow home. 

John tried to rectify the confusion in the work-box with a sort ofreverential care; not able to bear to leave it in disorder, whether itsmistress were ever to open it again or not, yet feeling it an intrusionto meddle with her little feminine hoards of precious trifles. 

'Poor Arthur!' said he to himself, 'he may fairly be acquitted ofall but his usual inconsiderateness towards one too tender for suchtreatment. He deserves more pity than blame. And for her--thank Heavenfor the blessing on them that mourn. Innocent creature, much will bespared her; if I could but dwell on that rather than on the phantomof delight she was, and my anticipations of again seeing the look thatrecalls Helen. If Helen was here, how she would be nursing her!'

John saw his brother no more that evening--only heard of Violet 'asbarely kept alive, as it seemed, by his care. ' Each report was suchthat the next must surely be the last; and John sat waiting on tillhis servant insisted on his going to bed, promising to call him if hisbrother needed him. 

The night passed without the summons, and in the morning there was stilllife. John had been down-stairs for some little time, when he heard themedical man, who had spent the night there, speaking to Arthur on thestairs. 'A shade of improvement' was the report. 'Asleep now; and if wecan only drag her through the next few days there may be hope, as longas fever does not supervene. '

'Thank Heaven!' said John, fervently. 'I did not venture to hope forthis. '

But Arthur was utterly downcast, and could not take heart. It was hisfirst real trouble, and there was little of the substance ofendurance in his composition. That one night of watching, grief, andself-reproach, had made his countenance so pale and haggard, and hisvoice so dejected and subdued, that John was positively startled, as heheard his answer--

'I never saw any one so ill. '

'Come and have some breakfast, you look quite worn out'

'I cannot stay, ' said he, sitting down, however. 'She must not miss me, or all chance would be over. You don't mind the door being open?'

'No, indeed. Is she sensible now?'

'Clear for a minute, if she has my hand; but then she dozes off, andtalks about those miserable accounts--the numbers over and over again. It cuts me to the heart to hear her. They talk of an over-strain on themind! Heigh-ho! Next she wakes with a dreadful frightened start, andstares about wildly, fancying I am gone. '

'But she knows you, ' said John, trying to speak consolingly. 

'Yes, no one else can do anything with her. She does not so much as hearthem. I must be back before she wakes; but I am parched with thirst. Howis this? Where is the tea?'

'I suppose you put in none. Is this the chest?'

Arthur let his head drop on his hand, helpless and overcome, as thislittle matter brought home the sense of missing his wife, and theremembrance of the attentions he had allowed her to lavish upon him. His brother tried the tea-chest, and, finding it locked, poured out somecoffee, which he drank almost unconsciously, then gave his cup formore, sighed, pushed his hair back, and looked up somewhat revived. Johntended him affectionately, persuading him to take food; and when he hadpassively allowed his plate to be filled, his appetite discovered thathe had tasted nothing since yesterday morning, and therewith his spiritswere refreshed; he looked up cheerfully, and there was less despondencyin his tone as he spoke of her sleep towards morning having been lessdisturbed. 

'The child woke her with a squall, and I thought we were undone, butno such thing. I declare nothing has done her so much good; she had himbrought, and was so happy over him, then went off to sleep again. '

'This is a great relief, ' said John. 'From your manner, I dreaded to askfor him, but I hope he may be doing well. '

'I am sure I hope so, or it would be all over with her. I believe boththeir lives hang on one thread. To see her with him this morning--I didnot know such fondness was in women. I declare I never saw anything likeit; and she so weak! And such a creature as it is; the smallest thingthat ever was born, they say, and looking--like nothing on earth butyoung mice. '

John could not help smiling: 'That is better than yesterday, when Icould scarcely believe he was alive. '

'What! did you see him?'

'When he was baptized. '

'Was he? What did you call him?'

'You sent word to name him John. '

'Did I? I had not the least recollection of it. I forgot all about himtill he made himself heard this morning, and she wanted to know whetherhe was boy or girl. '

'A son and heir, ' said John, glad to see the young father able to lookgratified. 

'Well, it is the best name; I hope she will like it. But, hollo, John, where did you drop from?' as it suddenly occurred to him to besurprised. 

'I came home on some business of Fotheringham's. I landed earlyyesterday, and came up from Southampton. '

'A fine state of things to come to, ' sighed Arthur. 'But you will not goaway?'

'Certainly not till she is better. '

'Ah! you were always fond of her; you appreciated her from the first. There is no one whom I should have liked so well to have here. ' Then, with a pause, he added, in a tone of deep feeling: 'John, you might wellgive me that warning about making her happy; but, indeed, I meant to doso!' and his eyes filled with tears. 

'As far as affection could go, you have done so, ' said John, 'or youcould not have recalled her to life now. '

'You little know, ' said Arthur sadly; 'Heaven knows it was not want ofaffection; but I never guessed what she underwent. Sarah tells me shespent hours in tears, though she would never allow them to be noticed. '

'Poor Violet! But what could be her trouble?'

'Her household affairs seem to have overpowered her, and I never wouldattend to them; little thinking how she let them prey upon her. Inever thought of her being lonely; and her sweet, bright face, anduncomplaining ways, never reminded me. There never was any one like her;she was too good for me, too good to live, that is the truth; and now Imust lose her!'

'Do not think so, Arthur; do not give way. The getting through thisnight is more than could have been hoped. Happiness is often the bestcure; and if she is able to take so much pleasure in you, and in thechild, it is surely a hopeful sign. '

'So they said; that her noticing the child made them think better ofher. If she can but get over it, she shall see. But you will stay withme, John, ' said he, as if he clung to the support. 

'That I will, thank you. I could not bear to go. I can sleep in BelgraveSquare, if you want my room for her mother. '

'We shall see how it is by post-time. I tried whether it would rouse herto tell her I would write to Mrs. Moss, but she took no heed, and theold nurse looked daggers at me. '

He was interrupted; Violet had awakened in an alarming fit of trembling, imploring to be told why he was angry, and whether he would ever comeback. 

So glimmered the feeble ray of life throughout the day; and when thepost went out, the end was apparently so near, that it was thought invain to send for Mrs. Moss; whom Arthur shrank from seeing, when itshould be too late. He was so completely overwhelmed with distress, that in the short intervals he spent out of the sick-room, it was hisbrother's whole work to cheer and sustain him sufficiently to performthose offices, which Violet was incapable of receiving from any oneelse. 

It was no wonder he broke down; for it was a piteous sight to see thatfair young mother, still a child in years, and in her exhausted state ofwavering consciousness, alive only through her fond affections; gleamsof perception, and momentary flashes of life, called forth only by herhusband, or by the moanings of the little frail babe, which seemed tohave as feeble and precarious a hold of life as herself. The doctorstold John that they were haunted through the day by the remembrance ofher face, so sweet, even in insensibility, and so very lovely, when thesound of her babe's voice, for a moment, lighted up the features. Theiranxiety for her was intense; and if this was the case with strangers, what must it not have been for her husband, to whom every deliriousmurmur was an unconscious reproach, and who had no root of strengthwithin himself! The acuteness of his grief, and his effectiveness as anurse, were such as to surprise his brother, who only now perceived howmuch warmth of heart had been formerly stifled in a cold, ungenial home. 

Sustained from hour to hour by his unremitting care, she did, however, struggle through the next three days; and at last came a sounder sleep, and a wakening so tranquil, that Arthur did not perceive it, till hesaw, in the dim lamp-light, those dark eyes calmly fixed upon him. Thecry of the infant was heard, and she begged for it, fondling it, andmurmuring over it with a soft inarticulate sound of happiness. 

'You purr like an old cat over her kitten, ' said Arthur, longing tosee her smile once more; and he was not disappointed; it was a bright, contented, even joyous smile, that played on the colourless features, and the eyes beamed softly on him as she said, 'Kiss him, papa. '

He would have done anything for her at that moment, and another brightlook rewarded him. 

'Does mamma know about this dear little baby?' she said, presently. 

'Yes, dearest, I have written every day. She sends you her love;' and asViolet murmured something of 'Dear mamma--'

'Do you wish to have her here?'

'No, indeed, I don't wish it now, ' said Violet; 'you do make me so veryhappy. '

She was returning to her full self, with all her submission to hiswill, and in fact she did not wish for any change; her content in hisattention was so complete, so peaceful, that in her state of weaknessthere was an instinctive dread of breaking the charm. To lie still, her babe beside her, and Arthur watching her, was the perfect repose offelicity, and imperceptibly her faculties were, one by one, awakening. Her thoughtfulness for others had revived; Arthur had been giving hersome nourishment, and, for the first time, she had taken it with arelish, when it so chanced that the light fell for a moment on his face, and she was startled by perceiving the effects of anxiety and want ofsleep. In vain he assured her there was nothing the matter. She accusedherself of having been exacting and selfish, and would not be comforted, till he had promised to take a good night's rest. He left her, atlength, nearly asleep, to carry the tidings to his brother, and enjoyhis look of heart-felt rejoicing. Never had the two very dissimilarbrothers felt so much drawn together; and as John began, as usual, to wait on him, and to pour out his coffee, he said, as he sat downwearied, 'Thank you, John, I can't think what would have become of mewithout you!'

'My father would have come to you if I had not been here. '

'Where's his letter?--I forgot all about it. Is there none fromTheodora?'

'No; I suppose she waited for further accounts. '

Arthur began reading his father's letter. 'Very kind! a very kind letterindeed, ' said he, warmly. '"Earned so high a place in our regard--hersweetness and engaging qualities, "--I must keep that to show her. Thisis very kind too about what it must be to me. I did not think he hadappreciated her so well!'

'Yes, indeed, he did, ' said John. 'This is what he says to me. "Neverhave I seen one more gentle and engaging, and I feel sure she would havegained more on our affections every day, and proved herself a treasureto the family. "'

'That is right, ' said Arthur. 'He will get to know her well when theycome to London! I'll write to him to-morrow, and thank him, and say, noneed for him to come now! "Hopes his grandson will live to be a comfortto me!"' and Arthur could not help laughing. 

'Well, I am not come to that yet!'

'He is much pleased at its being a son, ' said John. 

'Poor little mortal!' said Arthur, 'if he means to be a comfort I wishhe would stop that dismal little wail--have one good squall and havedone with it. He will worry his mother and ruin all now she takes morenotice. So here's Mrs. Moss's letter. I could not open it this morning, and I have been inventing messages to Violet from her--poor woman! Ihave some good news for her now. It is all about coming, but Violet saysshe does not want her. I can't read it all, my eyes are so weak! Violetsaid they were bloodshot, ' and he began to examine them in the glass. 

'Yes, you are not equal to much more nursing; you are quite done for. '

'I am!' said Arthur, stretching. 'I'm off to bed, as she begged me; butthe worst is over now! We shall do very well when Theodora comes; andif she has a taste for the boy, she and Violet will make friends overhim, --good night. '

With a long yawn, Arthur very stiffly walked up-stairs, where Sarahstood at the top waiting for him. 'Mrs. Martindale is asleep, sir;you had best not go in, ' said she. 'I have made up a bed in yourdressing-room, and you'd best not be lying down in your clothes, buttake a good sleep right out, or you'll be fit for nothing next. I'll seeand call if she wants you. '

'Thank you, Sarah; I wonder how long you have been up; you will be fitfor nothing next. '

'It don't hurt me, ' said Sarah, in disdain; and as Arthur shut hisdoor, she murmured to herself, 'I'm not that sort to be knocked up withnothing; but he is an easy kind-spoken gentleman after all. I'll neverforget what he has done for missus. There is not so much harm in himneither; he is nothing but a great big boy as ought to be ashamed ofhisself. '

The night passed off well; Violet, with a great exertion ofself-command, actually composed herself on awaking in one of her nervousfits of terror; prevented his being called; and fairly deserved all thefond praise he lavished on her in the morning for having been so good achild. 

'You must not call me child now, ' said she, with a happy little pride. 'I must be wiser now. '

'Shall I call you the prettiest and youngest mamma in England?'

'Ah! I am too young and foolish. I wish I was quite seventeen!'

'Have you been awake long?'

'Yes; but so comfortable. I have been thinking about baby's name. '

'Too late, Violet; they named him John: they say I desired it. '

'What! was he obliged to be baptized? Is he so delicate? Oh, Arthur!tell me; I know he is tiny, but I did not think he was ill. '

Arthur tried to soothe her with assurances of his well-doing, and thenurse corroborated them; but though she tried to believe, she was notpacified, and would not let her treasure be taken from within her armstill Mr. Harding arrived--his morning visit having been hastened by adespatch from Arthur, who feared that she would suffer for her anxiety. She asked so many questions that he, who last night had seen her tooweak to look up or speak, was quite taken by surprise. By a littleexceeding the truth, he did at length satisfy her mind; but after thisthere was an alteration in her manner with her baby; it was not only themere caressing, there was a sort of reverence, and look of reflectionas she contemplated him, such as made Arthur once ask, what she could bestudying in that queer little red visage?

'I was thinking how very good he is!' was her simple answer, andArthur's smile by no means comprehended her meaning. 

Her anxious mind retarded her recovery, and Arthur's unguarded voice onthe stairs having revealed to her that a guest was in the house, led toinquiries, and an endless train of fears, lest Mr. Martindale should beuncomfortable and uncared for. Her elasticity of mind had been injuredby her long course of care, and she could not shake off the householdanxieties that revived as she became able to think. 

Indeed there were things passing that would have greatly astonished her. Sarah had taken the management of everything, including her master; andwith iron composure and rigidity of demeanour, delighted in teasing himby giving him a taste of some of the cares he had left her mistress toendure. First came an outcry for keys. They were supposed to be in abox, and when that was found its key was missing. Again Arthur turnedout the unfortunate drawer, and only spared the work-box on John'stestifying that it was not there, and suggesting Violet's watch-chain, where he missed it, and Sarah found it and then, with imperturbableprecision, in spite of his attempts to escape, stood over him, and madehim unlock and give out everything himself. 'If things was wrong, ' shesaid, 'it was her business that he should see it was not owing to her. '

Arthur was generally indifferent to what he ate or drank, --the reaction, perhaps, of the luxury of his home; but having had a present of somepeculiar trout from Captain Fitzhugh, and being, as an angler, aconnoisseur in fish, many were his exclamations at detecting that thosewhich were served up at breakfast were not the individuals sent. 

Presently, in the silence of the house, John heard tones graduallyrising on the stairs, till Arthur's voice waxed loud and wrathful 'Youmight as well say they were red herrings!'

Something shrill ensued, cut short by, 'Mrs. Martindale does as shepleases. Send up Captain Fitzhugh's trout. '

A loud reply, in a higher key. 

'Don't tell me of the families where you have lived--the trout!'

Here John's hand was laid upon his arm, with a sign towards his wife'sroom; whereupon he ran down-stairs, driving the cook before him. 

Soon he came hastily up, storming about the woman's impertinence, andcongratulating himself on having paid her wages and got rid of her. 

John asked what was to be done next? and was diverted with hiscrestfallen looks, when asked what was to become of Violet. 

However, when Sarah was consulted, she gravely replied, 'She thought ashow she could contrive till Mrs. Martindale was about again;' and thecorners of her mouth relaxed into a ghastly smile, as she replied, 'Yes, sir, ' in answer to her master's adjurations to keep the dismissal asecret from Mrs. Martindale. 

'Ay!' said John, 'I wish you joy of having to tell her what revolutionsyou have made. '

'I'll take care of that, if the women will only hold their tongues. '

They were as guarded as he could wish, seeing as plainly as he did, howfretting over her household matters prolonged her state of weakness. It was a tedious recovery, and she was not able even to receive a visitfrom John till the morning when the cough, always brought on by Londonair, obliged him reluctantly to depart. 

He found her on the sofa, wrapped in shawls, her hair smoothed backunder a cap; her shady, dark eyes still softer from languor, and theexquisite outline of her fair, pallid features looking as if it was cutout in ivory against the white pillows. She welcomed him with a pleasedsmile; but he started back, and flushed as if from pain, and his handtrembled as he pressed hers, then turned away and coughed. 

'Oh, I am sorry your cough is so bad, ' said she. 

'Nothing to signify, ' he replied, recovering. 'Thank you for letting mecome to see you. I hope you are not tired?'

'Oh, no, thank you. Arthur carried me so nicely, and baby is so goodthis morning. '

'Where is he? I was going to ask for him. '

'In the next room. I want to show him to you, but he is asleep. '

'A happy circumstance, ' said Arthur, who was leaning over the back ofher sofa. 

'No one else can get in a word when that gentleman is awake. '

'Now, Arthur, I wanted his uncle to see him, and say if he is notgrown. '

'Never mind, Violet, ' said Arthur. 'Nurse vouches for it, that the childwho was put through his mother's wedding-ring grew up to be six feethigh!'

'Now, Arthur! you know it was only her bracelet. '

'Well, then, our boy ought to be twelve feet high; for if you had notstuffed him out with long clothes, you might put two of him through yourbracelet. '

'If nurse would but have measured him; but she said it was unlucky. '

'She would have no limits to her myths; however, he may make a show inthe world by the time John comes to the christening. '

'Ah!' said Violet, with a sweet, timid expression, and a shade of redjust tinting her cheek as she turned to John. 'Arthur said I should askyou to be his godfather. '

'My first godchild!' said John. 'Thank you, indeed; you could hardlyhave given me a greater pleasure. '

'Thank you, ' again said Violet. 'I like so much for you to havehim, --you who, ' she hesitated, unable to say the right words, 'who DIDIT before his papa or I saw the little fellow;' then pausing--' Oh, Mr. Martindale, Sarah told me all about it, and I have been longing to thankyou, only I can't!' and her eyes filling with tears, she put herhand into his, glancing at the cathedral cup, which was placed on themantel-shelf. 'It was so kind of you to take that. '

'I thought you would like it, ' said John; 'and it was the mostecclesiastical thing I could find. '

'I little thought it would be my Johnnie's font, ' said Violet, softly. 'I shall always feel that I have a share in him beyond myfellow-sponsors. '

'O, yes, he belongs to you, ' said Violet; 'besides his other godfatherwill only be Colonel Harrington, and his godmother--you have written toask your sister, have you not, Arthur?'

'I'd as soon ask Aunt Nesbit, ' exclaimed Arthur, 'I do believe one caresas much as the other. '

'You must send for me when you are well enough to take him to church, 'said John. 

'That I will. I wish you could stay for it. He will be a month oldto-morrow week, but it may wait, I hope, till I can go with him. I mustsoon get down-stairs again!'

'Ah! you will find the draught trap mended, ' said Arthur. 'Brown set towork on it, and the doors shut as tight as a new boot. '

'I am often amused to see Brown scent out and pursue a draught, ' saidJohn. 

'I have been avoiding Brown ever since Friday, ' said Arthur; 'when hemet me with a serious "Captain Martindale, sir, " and threatened me withyour being laid up for the year if I kept you here. I told him it washis fault for letting you come home so early, and condoled with him onyour insubordination. '

'Ah! Violet does not know what order Sarah keeps you in?' retorted John. 

'I am afraid you have both been very uncomfortable!'

'No, not in the least, Sarah is a paragon, I assure you. '

'She has been very kind to me, but so has every one. No one was ever sowell nursed! You must know what a perfect nurse Arthur is!'

Arthur laughed. 'John! Why he would as soon be nursed by a monkey asby me. There he lies on a perfect bank of pillows, coughs whenever youspeak to him, and only wants to get rid of every one but Brown. Nothingbut consideration for Brown induces him to allow my father or PercyFotheringham now and then to sit up. '

'A comfortable misanthropical picture, ' said John, 'but rather too true. You see, Violet, what talents you have brought out. '

Violet was stroking her husband's hand, and looking very proud andhappy. 'Only I was so selfish! Does not he look very pale still?'

'That is not your fault so much as that of some one else, ' said John. 'Some one who declares smoking cigars in his den down-stairs refresheshim more than a sensible walk. '

'Of course, ' said Arthur, 'it is only ladies, and men who have nursedthemselves as long as you have, who ever go out for a constitutional. '

'He will be on duty to-morrow, ' said Violet, 'and so he will be obligedto go out. '

'And you will write to me, Violet, ' said John, 'when you are ready? Iwish I could expect to hear how you get on, but it is vain to hope forletters from Arthur. '

'I know, ' said Violet; 'but only think how good he has been to write tomamma for me. I was so proud when he brought me the letter to sign. '

'Have you any message for me to take?' said John, rising. 

'No, thank you--only to thank Lord and Lady Martindale for their kindmessages. And oh'--but checking herself--'No, you won't see them. '

'Whom?'

'Lady Elizabeth and Emma. I had such a kind letter from them. So anxiousabout me, and begging me to let some one write; and I am afraid they'llthink it neglectful; but I turn giddy if I sit up, and when I can write, the first letter must be for mamma. So if there is any communicationwith Rickworth, could you let them know that I am getting better, andthank them very much!'

'Certainly. I will not fail to let them know. Good-bye, Violet, I amglad to have seen you. '

'Good-bye. I hope your cough will be better, ' said Violet. 

He retained her hand a moment, looked at her fixedly, the sorrowfulexpression returned, and he hastened away in silence. 

Arthur followed, and presently coming back said, 'Poor John! You put himso much in mind of Helen. '

'Poor Mr. Martindale!' exclaimed Violet. 'Am I like her?'

'Not a bit, ' said Arthur. 'Helen had light hair and eyes, a fat sort offace, and no pretence to be pretty--a downright sort of person, not whatyou would fancy John's taste. If any one else had compared you it wouldhave been no compliment; but he told me you had reminded him of her fromthe first, and now your white cheeks and sick dress recalled her illnessso much, that he could hardly bear it. But don't go and cry about it. '

'No, I won't, ' said Violet, submissively, 'but I am afraid it did notsuit him for us to be talking nonsense. It is so very sad. '

'Poor John! so it is, ' said Arthur, looking at her, as if beginningto realize what his brother had lost. 'However, she was not his wife, though, after all, they were almost as much attached. He has not gotover it in the least. This is the first time I have known him speak ofit, and he could not get out her name. '

'It is nearly two years ago. '

'Nearly. She died in June. It was that cold late summer, and her funeralwas in the middle of a hail-storm, horridly chilly. '

'Where was she buried?'

'At Brogden. Old Mr. Fotheringham was buried there, and she was broughtthere. I came home for it. What a day it was--the hailstones standing onthe grass, and I shall never forget poor John's look--all shivering andshrunk up together. ' He shivered at the bare remembrance. 'It put thefinishing touch to the damage he had got by staying in England with herall the winter. By night he was frightfully ill--inflammation worse thanever. Poor John! That old curmudgeon of a grandfather has much to answerfor, though you ought to be grateful to him, Violet; for I suppose itwill end in that boy of yours being his lordship some time or other. '

The next morning was a brisk one with Violet. She wished Arthur not tobe anxious about leaving her, and having by no means ceased to think ita treat to see him in uniform, she gloried in being carried to her sofaby so grand and soldierly a figure, and uttered her choicest sentence ofsatisfaction--'It is like a story!' while his epaulette was scratchingher cheek. 

'I don't know how to trust you to your own silly devices, ' said he, laying her down, and lingering to settle her pillows and shawls. 

'Wise ones, ' said she. 'I have so much to do. There's baby--and there'sMr. Harding to come, and I want to see the cook--and I should not wonderif I wrote to mamma. So you see 'tis woman's work, and you had betternot bring your red coat home too soon, or you'll have to finish theletter!' she added, with saucy sweetness. 

On his return, he found her spread all over with papers, her littletable by her side, with the drawer pulled out. 

'Ha! what mischief are you up to? You have not got at those abominableaccounts again!'

'I beg your pardon, ' said she, humbly. 'Nurse would not let me speakto the cook, but said instead I might write to mamma; so I sent formy little table, but I found the drawer in such disorder, that I wassetting it to rights. Who can have meddled with it!'

'I can tell you that, ' said Arthur. 'I ran against it, and it came togrief, and there was a spread of all your goods and chattels on thefloor. '

'Oh! I am so glad! I was afraid some of the servants had been at it. '

'What! aren't you in a desperate fright? All your secrets displayed likea story, as you are so fond of saying--what's the name of it--where thehusband, no, it was the wife, fainted away, and broke open the desk withher head. '

'My dear Arthur!' and Violet laughed so much that nurse in the next roomforeboded that he would tire her. 

'I vow it was so! Out came a whole lot of letters from the old love, acolonel in the Peninsula, that her husband had never heard of, --an oldlawyer he was. '

'The husband? What made her marry him?'

'They were all ruined horse and foot, and the old love was wounded, "kilt", or disposed of, till he turned up, married to her best friend. '

'What became of her?'

'I forget--there was a poisoning and a paralytic stroke in it. '

'Was there! How delightful! How I should like to read it. What was itsname?'

'I don't remember. It was a green railway book. Theodora made me readit, and I should know it again if I saw it. I'll look out for it, andyou'll find I was right about her head. But how now. Haven't you faintedaway all this time?'

'No; why should I?'

'How do you know what I may have discovered in your papers? Are youprepared? It is no laughing matter, ' added he, in a Blue Beard tone, and drawing out the paper of calculations, he pointed to the tear marks. 'Look here. What's this, I say, what's this, you naughty child?'

'I am sorry! it was very silly, ' whispered Violet, in a contrite ashamedway, shrinking back a little. 

'What business had you to break your heart over these trumpery butchersand bakers and candlestick makers?'

'Only candles, dear Arthur, ' said Violet, meekly, as if in extenuation. 

'But what on earth could you find to cry about?'

'It was very foolish! but I was in such a dreadful puzzle. I could notmake the cook's accounts and mine agree, and I wanted to be sure whethershe really--'

'Cheated!' exclaimed Arthur. 'Well, that's a blessing!'

'What is?' asked the astonished Violet. 

'That I have cleared the house of that intolerable woman!'

'The cook gone!' cried Violet, starting, so that her papers slid away, and Arthur shuffled them up in his hand in renewed confusion. 'The cookreally gone? Oh! I am so glad!'

'Capital!' cried Arthur. 'There was John declaring you would be indespair to find your precious treasure gone. '

'Oh! I never was more glad! Do tell me! Why did she go?'

'I had a skrimmage with her about some trout Fitzhugh sent, which Iverily believe she ate herself. '

'Changed with the fishmonger!'

'I dare say. She sent us in some good-for-nothing wretches, all mud, andvowed these were stale--then grew impertinent. '

'And talked about the first families?'

'Exactly so, and when it came to telling me Mrs. Martindale was hermistress, I could stand no more. I paid her her wages, and recommendedher to make herself scarce. '

'When did it happen?'

'Rather more than a fortnight ago. '

Violet laughed heartily. 'O-ho! there's the reason nurse scolds if Idare to ask to speak to the cook. And oh! how gravely Sarah said "yes, ma'am, " to all my messages! How very funny! But how have we been living?When I am having nice things all day long, and giving so much trouble!Oh dear! How uncomfortable you must have been, and your brother too!'

'Am I not always telling you to the contrary? Sarah made everything lookas usual, and I suspect Brown lent a helping hand. John said the coffeewas made in some peculiar way Brown learnt in the East, and neverpractises unless John is very ill, or they are in some uncivilizedplace; but he told me to take no notice, lest Brown should think itinfra dig. '

'I'm afraid he thought this an uncivilized place. But what a woman Sarahis! She has all the work of the house, and yet she seems to me to behere as much as nurse!'

'She has got the work of ten horses in her, with the face of a death'shead, and the voice of a walking sepulchre!'

'But isn't she a thorough good creature! I can't think what will becomeof me without her! It will be like parting with a friend. '

'What would you part with her for? I thought she was the sheet-anchor. '

'That she is; but she won't stay where there are children. She told meso long ago, and only stayed because I begged her for the present. Shewill go when I am well. '

'Better give double wages to keep her, ' said Arthur. 

'I'd do anything I could, but I'm afraid. I was quite dreading thegetting about again, because I should have to lose Sarah, and to dosomething or other with that woman. '

'What possessed you to keep her?'

'I wasn't sure about her. Your aunt recommended her, and I thought youmight not like--and at first I did not know what things ought to cost, nor how long they ought to last, and that was what I did sums for. Then when I did prove it, I saw only dishonesty in the kitchen, andextravagance and mismanagement of my own. '

'So the little goose sat and cried!'

'I could not help it. I felt I was doing wrong; that was the terriblepart; and I am glad you know the worst. I have been very weak and silly, and wasted your money sadly, and I did not know how to help it; andthat was what made me so miserable. And now, dear Arthur, only say youoverlook my blunders, and indeed I'll try to do better. '

'Overlook! The only thing I don't know how to forgive is your havingmade yourself so ill with this nonsense. '

'I can't be sorry for that, ' said Violet, smiling, though the tearscame. 'That has been almost all happiness. I shall have the heart to trymore than ever--and I have some experience; and now that cook is gone, Ireally shall get on. '

'Promise me you'll never go bothering yourself for nothing another time. Take it easy! That's the only way to get through the world. '

'Ah! I will never be so foolish again. I shall never be afraid to makeyou attend to my difficulties. '

'Afraid! That was the silliest part of all! But here--will you haveanother hundred a year at once? and then there'll be no trouble. '

'Thank you, thank you! How kind of you! But do you know, I should liketo try with what I have. I see it might be made to do, and I want toconquer the difficulty; if I can't, I will ask you for more. '

'Well, that may be best. I could hardly spare a hundred pounds withoutgiving up one of the horses; and I want to see you riding again. '

'Besides, this illness must have cost you a terrible quantity of money. But I dare say I shall find the outgoings nothing to what the cookmade them. ' And she was taking up the accounts, when he seized them, crumpling them in his hand. 'Nonsense! Let them alone, or I shall putthem in the fire at once. '

'Oh, don't do that, pray!' cried she, starting, 'or I shall be ruined. Oh, pray!'

'Very well;' and rising, and making a long arm, he deposited them on thetop of a high wardrobe. 'There's the way to treat obstinate women. Youmay get them down when you can go after them--I shan't. '

'Ah! there's baby awake!'

'So, I shall go after that book at the library; and then I've plenty totell you of inquiries for Mrs. Martindale. Good-bye, again. '

Violet received her babe into her arms with a languid long-drawn sigh, as of one wearied out with happiness. 'That he should have heard myconfession, and only pet me the more! Foolish, wasteful thing that I am. Oh, babe! if I could only make you grow and thrive, no one would ever beso happy as your mamma. '

Perhaps she thought so still more some hours later, when she awoke froma long sleep, and saw Arthur reading "Emilia Wyndham", and quite readyto defend his assertion that the wife broke open the desk with her head. 

CHAPTER 3

 But there was one fairy who was offended because she was not invited to the Christening. --MOTHER BUNCH

Theodora had spent the winter in trying not to think of her brother. 

She read, she tried experiments, she taught at the school, sheinstructed the dumb boy, talked to the curate, and took her share ofsuch county gaieties as were not beneath the house of Martindale; butat every tranquil moment came the thought, 'What are Arthur and his wifedoing!'

There were rumours of the general admiration of Mrs. Martindale, whenceshe deduced vanity and extravagance; but she heard nothing more tillJane Gardner, a correspondent, who persevered in spite of scanty andinfrequent answers, mentioned her call on poor Mrs. Martindale, who, she said, looked sadly altered, unwell, and out of spirits. Georginahad tried to persuade her to come out, but without success; she ought tohave some one with her, for she seemed to be a good deal alone, and nodoubt it was trying; but, of course, she would soon have her mother withher. 

He leaves her alone--he finds home dull! Poor Arthur! A moment oftriumph was followed by another of compunction, since this was not adoll that he was neglecting, but a living creature, who could feel pain. But the anticipation of meeting Mrs. Moss, after all those vows againsther, and the idea of seeing his house filled with vulgar relations, hardened Theodora against the wife, who had thus gained her point. 

Thus came the morning, when her father interrupted breakfast with anexclamation of dismay, and John's tidings were communicated. 

I wish I had been kind to her! shot across Theodora's mind with acutepain, and the image of Arthur in grief swallowed up everything else. 'Iwill go with you, papa--you will go at once!'

'Poor young thing!' said Lord Martindale; 'she was as pretty a creatureas I ever beheld, and I do believe, as good. Poor Arthur, I am glad hehas John with him. '

Lady Martindale wondered how John came there, --and remarks ensued onhis imprudence in risking a spring in England. To Theodora this seemedindifference to Arthur's distress, and she impatiently urged her fatherto take her to him at once. 

He would not have delayed had Arthur been alone; but since John wasthere, he thought their sudden arrival might be more encumbering thanconsoling, and decided to wait for a further account, and finish affairsthat he could not easily leave. 

Theodora believed no one but herself could comfort Arthur, and wasexceedingly vexed. She chafed against her father for attending to hisbusiness--against her mother for thinking of John; and was in charitywith no one except Miss Piper, who came out of Mrs. Nesbit's room redwith swallowing down tears, and with the under lady's-maid, who couldnot help begging to hear if Mrs. Martindale was so ill, for MissStandaloft said, 'My lady had been so nervous and hysterical in her ownroom, that she had been forced to give her camphor and sal volatile. '

Never had Theodora been more surprised than to hear this of the motherwhom she only knew as calm, majestic, and impassible. With a suddenimpulse, she hastened to her room. She was with Mrs. Nesbit, andTheodora following, found her reading aloud, without a trace of emotion. No doubt it was a figment of Miss Standaloft, and there was a sidelongglance of satisfaction in her aunt's eyes, which made Theodora soindignant, that she was obliged to retreat without a word. 

Her own regret and compassion for so young a creature thus cut offwere warm and keen, especially when the next post brought a new anddelightful hope, the infant, of whose life John had yesterday despaired, was said to be improving. Arthur's child! Here was a possession forTheodora, an object for the affections so long yearning for somethingto love. She would bring it home, watch over it, educate it, be all theworld to Arthur, doubly so for his son's sake. She dreamt of putting hischild into his arms, and bidding him live for it, and awoke clasping thepillow!

What were her feelings when she heard Violet was out of danger? Forhumanity's sake and for Arthur's, she rejoiced; but it was the downfallof a noble edifice. 'How that silly young mother would spoil the poorchild!'

'My brothers' had always been mentioned in Theodora's prayer, frominfancy. It was the plural number, but the strength and fervency ofpetition were reserved for one; and with him she now joined the nameof his child. But how pray for the son without the mother? It waspositively a struggle; for Theodora had a horror of mockery andformality; but the duty was too clear, the evil which made itdistasteful, too evident, not to be battled with; she remembered thatshe ought to pray for all mankind, even those who had injured her, and, on these terms, she added her brother's wife. It was not much from herheart; a small beginning, but still it was a beginning, that might beblessed in time. 

Lord Martindale wished the family to have gone to London immediately, but Mrs. Nesbit set herself against any alteration in their plans beingmade for the sake of Arthur's wife. They were to have gone only in timefor the first drawing-room, and she treated as a personal injury theproposal to leave her sooner than had been originally intended; makingher niece so unhappy that Lord Martindale had to yield. John's stay inLondon was a subject of much anxiety; and while Mrs. Nesbit treated itas an absurd trifling with his own health, and his father reproachedhimself for being obliged to leave Arthur to him, Theodora suffered fromcomplicated jealousy. Arthur seemed to want John more than her, Johnrisked himself in London, in order to be with Arthur and his wife. 

She was very eager for his coming; and when she expected the return ofthe carriage which was sent to meet him at the Whitford station, shebetook herself to the lodge, intending him to pick her up there, thatshe might skim the cream of his information. 

The carriage appeared, but it seemed empty. That dignified, gentlemanlypersonage, Mr. Brown, alighted from the box, and advanced withaffability, replying to her astonished query, 'Mr. Martindale desired meto say he should be at home by dinner-time, ma'am. He left the trainat the Enderby station, and is gone round by Rickworth Priory, with amessage from Mrs. Martindale to Lady Elizabeth Brandon. '

Theodora stood transfixed; and Brown, a confidential and cultivatedperson, thought she waited for more information. 

'Mr. Martindale has not much cough, ma'am, and I hope coming out ofLondon will remove it entirely. I think it was chiefly excitement andanxiety that brought on a recurrence of it, for his health is decidedlyimproved. He desired me to mention that Mrs. Martindale is much better. She is on the sofa to-day for the first time; and he saw her beforeleaving. '

'Do you know how the little boy is?' Theodora could not help asking. 

'He is a little stronger, thank you, ma'am, ' said Brown, with muchinterest; 'he has cried less these last few days. He is said to beextremely like Mrs. Martindale. '

Brown remounted to his place, the carriage drove on, and Theodoraimpetuously walked along the avenue. 

'That man is insufferable! Extremely like Mrs. Martindale! Servants'gossip! How could I go and ask him? John has perfectly spoilt a goodservant in him! But John spoils everybody. The notion of that girlsending him on her messages! John, who is treated like something sacredby my father and mother themselves! Those damp Rickworth meadows! Howcould Arthur allow it? It would serve him right if he was to marry EmmaBrandon after all!'

She would not go near her mother, lest she should give her aunt thepleasure of hearing where he was gone; but as she was coming down, dressed for dinner, she met her father in the hall, uneasily asking aservant whether Mr. Martindale was come. 

'Arthur's wife has sent him with a message to Rickworth, ' she said. 

'John? You don't mean it. You have not seen him?'

'No; he went round that way, and sent Brown home. He said he should behere by dinner-time, but it is very late. Is it not a strange proceedingof hers, to be sending him about the country!'

'I don't understand it. Where's Brown?'

'Here's a fly coming up the avenue. He is come at last. '

Lord Martindale hastened down the steps; Theodora came no further thanthe door, in so irritated a state that she did not like John's cheerfulalacrity of step and greeting. 'She is up to-day, she is gettingbetter, ' were the first words she heard. 'Well, Theodora, how are you?'and he kissed her with more warmth than she returned. 

'Did I hear you had been to Rickworth?' said his father. 

'Yes; I sent word by Brown. Poor Violet is still so weak that she cannotwrite, and the Brandons have been anxious about her; so she asked me tolet them know how she was, if I had the opportunity, and I came roundthat way. I wanted to know when they go to London; for though Arthur isas attentive as possible, I don't think Violet is in a condition to beleft entirely to him. When do you go?'

'Not till the end of May--just before the drawing-room, ' said LordMartindale. 

'I go back when they can take the boy to church. Is my mother in thedrawing-room? I'll just speak to her, and dress--it is late I see. '

'How well he seems, ' said Lord Martindale, as John walked quickly onbefore. 

'There was a cough, ' said Theodora. 

'Yes; but so cheerful. I have not seen him so animated for years. Hemust be better!'

His mother was full of delight. 'My dear John, you look so much better!Where have you been?'

'At Rickworth. I went to give Lady Elizabeth an account of Violet. Sheis much better. '

'And you have been after sunset in that river fog! My dear John!'

'There was no fog; and it was a most pleasant drive. I had no ideaRickworth was so pretty. Violet desired me to thank you for your kindmessages. You should see her to-day, mother; she would be quite a studyfor you; she looks so pretty on her pillows, poor thing! and Arthur iscome out quite a new character--as an excellent nurse. '

'Poor thing! I am glad she is recovering, ' said Lady Martindale. 'Itwas very kind in you to stay with Arthur. I only hope you have not beenhurting yourself. '

'No, thank you; I came away in time, I believe: but I should have beenglad to have stayed on, unless I made room for some one of more use toViolet. '

'I wish you had come home sooner. We have had such a pleasantdinner-party. You would have liked to meet the professor. '

It was not the first time John had been sensible that that drawing-roomwas no place for sympathy; and he felt it the more now, because he hadbeen living in such entire participation of his brother's hopes andfears, that he could hardly suppose any one could be less interested inthe mother and child in Cadogan-place. He came home, wishing Theodorawould go and relieve Arthur of some of the care Violet needed inher convalescence; and he was much disappointed by her apparentindifference--in reality, a severe fit of perverse jealousy. 

All dinner-time she endured a conversation on the subjects for which sheleast cared; nay, she talked ardently about the past dinner-party, forthe very purpose of preventing John from suspecting that her anxiety hadprevented her from enjoying it. And when she left the dining-room, she felt furious at knowing that now her father would have all theparticulars to himself, so that none would transpire to her. 

She longed so much to hear of Arthur and his child, that when John cameinto the drawing-room she could have asked! But he went to greet hisaunt, who received him thus:

'Well, I am glad to see you at last. You ought to have good reasons forcoming to England for the May east winds, and then exposing yourself tothem in London!'

'I hope I did not expose myself: I only went out three or four times. '

'I know you are always rejoiced to be as little at home as possible. '

'I could not be spared sooner, ma'am. '

'Spared? I think you have come out in a new capacity. '

John never went up his aunt without expecting to undergo a penance. 

'I was sorry no one else could be with Arthur, but being there, I couldnot leave him. '

'And your mother tells me you are going back again. '

'Yes, to stand godfather. '

'To the son and heir, as they called him in the paper. I gaveArthur credit for better taste; I suppose it was done by some of herconnections?'

'I was that connection, ' said John. 

'Oh! I suppose you know what expectations you will raise?'

John making no answer, she grew more angry. 'This one, at least, isnever likely to be heir, from what I hear; it is only surprising that itis still alive. '

How Theodora hung upon the answer, her very throat aching with anxiety, but hardening her face because John looked towards her. 

'We were very much afraid for him at first, ' he said, 'but they nowthink there is no reason he should not do well. He began to improve fromthe time she could attend to him. '

A deep sigh from his mother startled John, and recalled the grief of hischildhood--the loss of two young sisters who had died during her absenceon the continent. He crossed over and stood near her, between her andhis aunt, who, in agitated haste to change the conversation, called outto ask her about some club-book. For once she did not attend; and whileTheodora came forward and answered Mrs. Nesbit, she tremulously askedJohn if he had seen the child. 

'Only once, before he was an hour old. He was asleep when I came away;and, as Arthur says, it is a serious thing to disturb him, he cries somuch. '

'A little low melancholy wailing, ' she said, with a half sob. But Mrs. Nesbit would not leave her at peace any longer, and her voice camebeyond the screen of John's figure:--

'Lady Martindale, my dear, have you done with those books! They ought tobe returned. '

'Which, dear aunt?' And Lady Martindale started up as if she had beencaught off duty, and, with a manifest effort, brought her wanderingthoughts back again, to say which were read and which were unread. 

John did not venture to revert to a subject that affected his motherso strongly; but he made another attempt upon his sister, when he couldspeak to her apart. 'Arthur has been wondering not to hear from you. '

'Every one has been writing, ' she answered, coldly. 

'He wants some relief from his constant attendance, ' continued John;'I was afraid at first it would be too much for him, sitting up threenights consecutively, and even now he has not at all recovered hislooks. '

'Is he looking ill?' said Theodora. 

'He has gone through a great deal, and when she tries to make him goout, he only goes down to smoke. You would do a great deal of good ifyou were there. '

Theodora would not reply. For Arthur to ask her to come and be godmotherwas the very thing she wished; but she would not offer at John'sbidding, especially when Arthur was more than ever devoted to his wife;so she made no sign; and John repented of having said so much, thinkingthat, in such a humour, the farther she was from them the better. 

Yet what he had said might have worked, had not a history of thecircumstances of Violet's illness come round to her by way of Mrs. Nesbit. John had told his father; Lord Martindale told his wife; LadyMartindale told her aunt, under whose colouring the story reachedTheodora, that Arthur's wife had been helpless and inefficient, had donenothing but cry over her household affairs, could not bear to be leftalone, and that the child's premature birth had been occasioned by afit of hysterics because Arthur had gone out fishing. No wonder Theodorapitied the one brother, and thought the other infatuated. To writeto Arthur was out of the question; and she could only look forward toconsoling him when the time for London should come. Nor was she muchinclined to compassionate John, when, as he said, the east wind--ashis aunt said, the London fog--as she thought, the Rickworthmeadows--brought on such an accession of cough that he was obliged toconfine himself to his two rooms, where he felt unusually solitary. 

She went in one day to carry him the newspaper. 'I am writing toArthur, ' he said, 'to tell him that I shall not be able to be in Londonnext Sunday; do you like to put in a note?'

'No, I thank you. '

'You have no message?'

'None. '

He paused and looked at her. 'I wish you would write, ' he said. 'Arthurhas been watching eagerly for your congratulation. '

'He does not give much encouragement, ' said Theodora, moving to thedoor. 

'I wish he was a letter writer! After being so long with them, I don'tlike hearing nothing more; but his time has been so much engrossed thathe could hardly have written at first. I believe the first letter helooked for was from you. '

'I don't know what to say. Other people have said all the commonplacethings. '

'You would not speak in that manner--you who used to be so fond ofArthur--if you by any means realized what he has gone through. '

Theodora was touched, but would not show it. 'He does not want me now, 'she said, and was gone, and then her lips relaxed, and she breathed aheavy sigh. 

John sighed too. He could not understand her, and was sensible thathis own isolation was as a consequence of having lived absorbed inhis affection and his grief, without having sought the intimacy of hissister. His brother's family cares had, for the first time, led him tothrow himself into the interests of those around him, and thus arousedfrom the contemplation of his loss, he began to look with regret onopportunities neglected and influence wasted. The stillness of his ownroom did not as formerly suffice to him; the fears and hopes he hadlately been sharing rose more vividly before him, and he watched eagerlyfor the reply to his letter. 

It came, not from Arthur, but in the pointed style of Violet's hardeststeel pen, when Matilda's instructions were most full in her mind;stiff, cramped, and formal, as if it had been a great effort to writeit, and John was grieved to find that she was still in no state forexertion. She had scarcely been down-stairs, and neither she nor thebaby were as yet likely to be soon able to leave the house, in spiteof all the kind care of Lady Elizabeth and Miss Brandon. Violet madenumerous apologies for the message, which she had little thought wouldcause Mr. Martindale to alter his route. 

In fact, those kind friends had been so much affected by John's accountof Violet's weak state, under no better nursing than Arthur's, that, as he had hoped, they had hastened their visit to London, and were nowsettled as near to her as possible, spending nearly the whole of theirtime with her. Emma almost idolized the baby, and was delighted atArthur's grateful request that she would be its sponsor, and Violet wasas happy in their company as the restlessness of a mind which had notyet recovered its tone, would allow her to be. 

In another fortnight John wrote to say that he found he had come hometoo early, and must go to the Isle of Wight till the weather was warmer. In passing through London, he would come to Cadogan-place, and it wasdecided that he should arrive in time to go with the baby to church onthe Tuesday, and proceed the next morning. 

He arrived as Violet came down to greet her party of sponsors. Neverhad she looked prettier than when her husband led her into the room, her taper figure so graceful in her somewhat languid movements, and hercountenance so sweetly blending the expression of child and mother. Eachwhite cheek was tinged with exquisite rose colour, and the dark liquideyes and softly smiling mouth had an affectionate pensiveness farlovelier than her last year's bloom, and yet there was something painfulin that beauty--it was too like the fragility of the flower fading underone hour's sunshine; and there was a sadness in seeing the matronlystamp on a face so young that it should have shown only girlhood'sfreedom from care. Arthur indeed was boasting of the return of thecolour, which spread and deepened as he drew attention to it; but Johnand Lady Elizabeth agreed, as they walked to church, that it was thevery token of weakness, and that with every kind intention Arthur didnot know how to take care of her--how should he?

The cheeks grew more brilliant and burning at church, for on beingcarried to the font, the baby made his doleful notes heard, and whentaken from his nurse, they rose into a positive roar. Violet looked fromhim to his father's face, and there saw so much discomposure that herwretchedness was complete, enhanced as it was by a sense of wickednessin not being able to be happy and grateful. Just as when a few dayspreviously she had gone to return thanks, she had been in a nervousstate of fluttering and trembling that allowed her to dwell on nothingbut the dread of fainting away. The poor girl's nerves had been socompletely overthrown, that even her powers of mind seemed to besuffering, and her agitated manner quite alarmed Lady Elizabeth. She wasin good hands, however; Lady Elizabeth went home with her, kept everyone else away, and nursing her in her own kind way, brought her back tocommon sense, for in the exaggeration of her weak spirits, she had beenfeeling as if it was she who had been screaming through the service, andseriously vexing Arthur. 

He presently looked in himself to say the few fond merry words that wereonly needed to console her, and she was then left alone to rest, nottranquil enough for sleep, but reading hymns, and trying to draw herthoughts up to what she thought they ought to be on the day of herchild's baptismal vows. 

It was well for her that the christening dinner (a terror to herimagination) had been deferred till the family should be in town, andthat she had no guest but John, who was very sorry to see how weary andexhausted she looked, as if it was a positive effort to sit at the headof the table. 

When the two brothers came up to the drawing-room, they found her on thesofa. 

'Regularly done for!' said Arthur, sitting down by her. 'You ought tohave gone to bed, you perverse woman. '

'I shall come to life after tea, ' said she, beginning to rise as signsof its approach were heard. 

'Lie still, I say, ' returned Arthur, settling the cushion. 'Do you thinkno one can make tea but yourself! Out with the key, and lie still. '

'I hope, Violet, ' said John, 'you did not think the Red Republicans hadbeen in your drawers and boxes. I am afraid Arthur may have cast theblame of his own doings on the absent, though I assure you I did my bestto protect them. '

'Indeed he did you more justice, ' said Violet, 'he told me the box wasyour setting to rights, and the drawer his. It was very honest of him, for I must say the box did you most credit. '

'As to the drawer, ' said Arthur, 'I wish I had put it into the fire atonce! Those accounts are a monomania! She has been worse from the dayshe got hold of that book of hers again, and the absurd part of it isthat these are all bills that she pays!'

'Oh! they are all comfortable now, ' said Violet. 

'And what did you say to Arthur's bold stroke!' said John. 

'Oh! I never laughed more in my life. '

'Ah ha'' said Arthur, 'it was all my admirable sagacity! Why, John, thewoman was an incubus saddled upon us by Miss Standaloft, that this poorsilly child did not know how to get rid of, though she was cheating usout of house and home. Never were such rejoicings as when she found theOld Man of the Sea was gone!'

'It is quite a different thing now, ' said Violet. 'Nurse found me sucha nice niece of her own, who does not consume as much in a fortnightas that dreadful woman did in a week. Indeed, my great book has somesatisfaction in it now. '

'And yet he accuses it of having thrown you back. '

'Everything does that!' said Arthur. 'She will extract means of tiringherself out of anything--pretends to be well, and then is good fornothing!'

'Arthur! Arthur! do you know what you are doing with the tea?' criedViolet, starting up. He has put in six shellfuls for three people, anda lump of sugar, and now was shutting up the unfortunate teapotwithout one drop of water!' And gaily driving him away, she held up thesugar-tongs with the lump of sugar in his face, while he laughed andyielded the field, saying, disdainfully, 'Woman's work. '

'Under the circumstances, ' said John, 'putting in no water was the bestthing he could do. '

'Ay, ' said Arthur, 'a pretty fellow you for a West Indian proprietor, toconsume neither sugar nor cigars. '

'At this rate, ' said John, 'they are the people to consume nothing. There was such an account of the Barbuda property the other day, that myfather is thinking of going to see what is to be done with it. '

'No bad plan for your next winter, ' said Arthur. 'Now, Violet, to yoursofa! You have brewed your female potion in your female fashion, and maysurely leave your betters to pour it out. '

'No, indeed! How do I know what you may serve us up?' said she, quiterevived with laughing. 'I won't give up my place. '

'Quite right, Violet, ' said John, 'don't leave me to his mercy. Lasttime he made tea for me, it consisted only of the other ingredient, hot water, after which I took the law into my own hands for our mutualbenefit. Pray what became of him after I was gone?'

'I was obliged to have him up into my room, and give him his teaproperly there, or I believe he would have existed on nothing butcigars. '

'Well, I shall have some opinion of you when you make him leave offcigars. '

'Catch her!' quietly responded Arthur. 

'There can't be a worse thing for a man that gets bad coughs. '

'That's all smoke, Violet, ' said Arthur. 'Don't tell her so, or I shallnever have any peace. '

'At least, I advise you to open the windows of his den before you showmy mother and Theodora the house. '

'As to Theodora! what is the matter with her!' said Arthur. 

'I don't know, ' said John. 

'In one of her moods? Well, we shall have her here in ten days' time, and I shall know what to be at with her. '

'I know she likes babies, ' said Violet, with confidence. She had quiterevived, and was lively and amused; but as soon as tea was over, Arthurinsisted on her going to bed. 

The loss of her gentle mirth seemed to be felt, for a long silenceensued; Arthur leaning against the mantel-shelf, solacing himself witha low whistle, John sitting in meditation. At last he looked up, saying, 'I wish you would all come and stay with me at Ventnor. '

'Thank you; but you see there's no such thing as my going. Fitzhugh isin Norway, and till he comes back, I can't get away for more than a dayor two. '

'Suppose, ' said John, rather doubtingly; 'what should you think ofputting Violet under my charge, and coming backwards and forwardsyourself?'

'Why, Harding did talk of sea air, but she did not take to the notion;and I was not sorry; for, of all things I detest, the chief is stickingup in a sea place, with nothing to do. But it is wretched work going onas we do, though they say there is nothing the matter but weakness. Iverily believe it is all that child's eternal noise that regularly wearsher out. She is upset in a moment; and whenever she is left alone, shesets to work on some fidget or other about the house, that makes herworse than before. '

'Going from home would be the best cure for that. '

'I suppose it would. I meant her to have gone out with my mother, butthat can't be anyway now! The sea would give her a chance; I could rundown pretty often; and you would see that she did not tire herself. '

'I would do my best to take care of her, if you would trust her to me. '

'I know you would; and it is very kind in you to think of it. '

'I will find a house, and write as soon as it is ready. Do you think theend of the week would be too soon for her? I am sure London is doing herharm. '

'Whenever you please; and yet I am sorry. I wanted my father to haveseen the boy; but perhaps he had better look a little more respectable, and learn to hold his tongue first. Besides, how will it be taken, hergoing out of town just as they come up?'

'I rather think it would be better for her not to meet them till she isstronger. Her continual anxiety and effort to please would be too muchstrain. '

'Very likely; and I am sure I won't keep her here to expose her to MissMartindale's airs. She shall come as soon as you like. '

Arthur was strengthened in his determination by the first sound that methim on going up-stairs--the poor babe's lamentable voice; and by findingViolet, instead of taking the rest she so much needed, vainly trying tostill the feeble moaning. He was positively angry; and almost as if thepoor little thing had been wilfully persecuting her, declared it wouldbe the death of her, and peremptorily ordered it up-stairs; the nurseonly too glad to carry it off, and agreeing with him that it was doingmore harm to its mother than she did good to it. Violet, in submissivemisery, gave it up, and hid her face. One of her chief subjects forself-torment was an imagination that Arthur did not like the baby, andwas displeased with its crying; and she felt utterly wretched, hardlyable to bear the cheerful tone in which he spoke! 'Well, Violet, weshall soon set you up. It is all settled. You are to go, at the end ofthe week, to stay with John in the Isle of Wight. '

'Go away?' said Violet, in an extinguished voice. 

'Yes; it is the very thing for you. I shall stay here, and go backwardsand forwards. Well, what is it now?'

She was starting up, as the opening of the door let out another scream. 'There he is still! Let me go to him for one minute. '

'Folly!' said Arthur, impatiently. 'There's no peace day or night. Iwon't stand it any longer. You are half dead already. I will not have itgo on. Lie down; go to sleep directly, and don't trouble your head aboutanything more till morning. '

Like a good child, though choking with tears, she obeyed the firstmandate; and presently was rather comforted by his listening at the footof the stairs, and reporting that the boy seemed to be quiet at last. The rest of the order it was not in her power to obey; she was too muchfatigued to sleep soundly, or to understand clearly. Most of the nightwas spent in broken dreams of being separated from her child and herhusband, and wakening to the knowledge that something was going tohappen. 

At last came sounder slumbers; and she awoke with an aching head, butto clearer perceptions. And when Arthur, before going down to breakfast, asked what she wished him to say to John, she answered: 'It is very kindof him--but you never meant me to go without you?'

'I shall take you there, and run down pretty often; and John has beenused to coddling himself all his life, so of course he will know how totake care of you. '

'How kind he is, but I don't'--she broke off, and looked at the littlepinched face and shrivelled arms of the tiny creature, which she pressedmore closely to her; then, with a hesitating voice, 'Only, if it woulddo baby good!'

'Of course it would. He can't be well while things go on at this rate. Only ask Harding. '

'I wonder whether Mr. Martindale knew it was what Mr. Hardingrecommended! But you would be by yourself. '

'As if I had not taken care of myself for three-and-twenty years withoutyour help!'

'And all your party will be in town, so that you will not miss me. '

'I shall be with you very often. Shall I tell John you accept?'

'Tell him it is very kind, and I am so much obliged to him, ' saidViolet, unable to speak otherwise than disconsolately. 

Accordingly the brothers agreed that Arthur should bring her to Ventnoron Saturday, if, as John expected, he could be prepared to receive her;placing much confidence in Brown's savoir faire, though Brown was beyondmeasure amazed at such a disarrangement of his master's methodicalhabits; and Arthur himself gave a commiserating shake of the head as heobserved that there was no accounting for tastes, but if John choseto shut himself up in a lodging with the most squallingest babby increation, he was not the man to gainsay him; and further reflected, thatif a man must be a younger son, John was a model elder brother. 

Poor Violet! Her half-recovered state must be an excuse for her direconsternation on hearing it was definitively settled that she was to becarried off to Ventnor in four days' time! How arrange for Arthur? Wherefind a nursemaid? What would become of the baby so far from Mr. Harding?The Isle of Wight seemed the ends of the earth--out of England! Helplessand overpowered, she was in despair; it came to Arthur's asking, indispleasure, what she wanted--whether she meant to go or not. Shethought of her drooping infant, and said at once she would go. 

'Well, then, what's all this about?'

Then came tears, and Arthur went away, declaring she did not knowherself what she would be at. He had really borne patiently with muchplaintiveness, and she knew it. She accused herself of ingratitude andunreasonableness, and went into a fresh agony on that score; but soona tap at the door warned her to strive for composure. It was Sarah, andViolet felt sure that the dreaded moment was come of her giving warning;but it was only a message. 'If you please, ma'am, there's a young personwants to see you. '

'Come as a nursery maid?' said Violet, springing up in her nervousagitated way. 'Do you think she will do?'

'I don't think nothing of her, ' said Sarah, emphatically. 'Don't you goand be in a way, ma'am; there's no hurry. '

'Yes, but there is, Sarah. Baby and I are to go next Saturday to theIsle of Wight, and I can't take old nurse. I must have some one. '

'You won't get nobody by hurrying, ' said Sarah. 

'But what's to be done, Sarah? I can't bear giving the dear baby to astranger, but I can't help it. '

'As for that, said Sarah, gloomily, 'I don't see but I could look afterMaster John as well as any that is like to offer for the present. '

'You! Oh, that would be nice! But I thought you did not like children?'

'I don't, but I don't mind while he is too little to make a racket, andworrit one out of one's life. It is only for the present, till you cansuit yourself, ma'am--just that you may not be lost going into foreignparts with a stranger. '

Sarah had been nursing the baby every leisure moment, and had, duringthe worst part of Violet's illness, had more to do with him than theregular nurse. This was happily settled, and all at which Violet stilldemurred was how the house and its master should be provided for intheir absence; to which Sarah replied, 'Mary would do well enoughfor he;' and before Violet knew to which she must suppose the pronounreferred, there was a new-comer, Lady Elizabeth, telling her that Arthurhad just been to beg her to come to her, saying he feared he had hurriedher and taken her by surprise. 

Under such kind soothing Violet's rational mind returned. She ceased toattempt to put herself into a vehement state of preparation, and beganto take so cheerful a view of affairs that she met Arthur again inexcellent spirits. 

Emma Brandon pitied her for being left alone with Mr. Martindale, butthis was no subject of dread to her, and she confessed that she wasrelieved to escape the meeting with the rest of the family. The chiefregret was, that the two friends would miss the constant intercoursewith which they had flattered themselves--the only thing that madeLondon endurable to poor Emma. She amused Violet with her lamentationsover her gaieties, and her piteous accounts of the tedium of parties andballs; whereas Violet declared that she liked them very much. 

'It was pleasant to walk about with Arthur and hear his droll remarks, and she liked seeing people look nice and well dressed. '

'Ah! you are better off. You are not obliged to dance, and you are safe, too. Now, whenever any one asks to be introduced to me I am sure hewants the Priory, and feel bound to guard it. '

'And so you don't like any one, and find it stupid?'

'So I do, of course, and I hope I always shall. But oh! Violet, Ihave not told you that I saw that lady again this morning at theearly service. She had still her white dress on, I am sure it isfor Whitsuntide; and her face is so striking--so full of thought andearnestness, just like what one would suppose a novice. I shall take herfor my romance, and try to guess at her history. '

'To console you for your godson going away?'

'Ah! it won't do that! But it will be something to think of, and I willreport to you if I make out any more about her. And mind you give me afull account of the godson. '

Arthur wished the journey well over; he had often felt a sort ofsuperior pity for travellers with a baby in company, and did not relishthe prospect; but things turned out well; he found an acquaintance, andtravelled with him in a different carriage, and little Johnnie, lulledby the country air, slept so much that Violet had leisure to enjoy theburst into country scenery, and be refreshed by the glowing beauty ofthe green meadows, the budding woods, and the brilliant feathery broomblossoms that gilded the embankments. At Winchester Arthur came to herwindow, and asked if she remembered last year. 

'It is the longest year of my life, ' said she. 'Oh, don't laugh as if Ihad made a bad compliment, but so much has happened!' There was no timefor more; and as she looked out at the cathedral as they moved on, sherecollected her resolutions, and blamed herself for her failures, butstill in a soothed and happier frame of hope. 

The crossing was her delight, her first taste of sea. There was a freshwind, cold enough to make Arthur put on his great-coat, but to herit brought a delicious sense of renewed health and vigour, as she satinhaling it, charmed to catch a drop of spray on her face, her eyes andcheeks brightening and her spirits rising. 

The sparkling Solent, the ships at Spithead, the hills and wooded banks, growing more defined before her; the town of Ryde and its long pier, were each a new wonder and delight, and she exclaimed with such ecstasy, and laughed so like the joyous girl she used to be, that Arthur felt oldtimes come back; and when he handed her out of the steamer he entirelyforgot the baby. 

At last she was tired with pleasure, and lay back in the carriage inlanguid enjoyment; fields, cottages, hawthorns, lilacs, and glimpses ofsea flitting past her like pictures in a dream, a sort of waking trancethat would have been broken by speaking or positive thinking. 

They stopped at a gate: she looked up and gave a cry of delight. Sucha cottage as she and Annette had figured in dreams of rural bliss, gable-ends, thatch, verandah overrun with myrtle, rose, and honeysuckle, a little terrace, a steep green slope of lawn shut in with laburnum andlilac, in the flush of the lovely close of May, a view of the sea, agreen wicket, bowered over with clematis, and within it John Martindale, his look of welcome overpowering his usual gravity, so as to give him anair of gladness such as she had never seen in him before. 

CHAPTER 4

 The inmost heart of man if glad Partakes a livelier cheer, And eyes that cannot but be sad Let fall a brightened tear. Since thy return, through days and weeks Of hope that grew by stealth, How many wan and faded cheeks Have kindled into health. --WORDSWORTH'S Ode to May

'I say, ' called Arthur, standing half in and half out of the Frenchwindow, as Sarah paced round the little garden, holding a parasolover her charge, 'if that boy kicks up a row at night, don't mind Mrs. Martindale. Carry him off, and lock the door. D'ye hear?'

'Yes, sir, ' said the unmoved Sarah. 

'Stern, rugged nurse!' said Arthur, drawing in his head. 'Your boy oughtto be virtue itself, Violet. Now for you, John, if you see her at thosefigures, take them away. Don't let her think what two and two make. '

'You are like one of my little sisters giving her doll to the other tokeep, ' said Violet. 

'Some folks say it is a doll, don't they, John?'

'Well, I will try to take as much care of your doll as she does ofhers, ' said John, smiling. 

'Good-bye, then! I wish I could stay!'

Violet went to the gate with him, while John stood at the windowwatching the slender girlish figure under the canopy of clematis, as shestood gazing after her husband, then turned and slowly paced back again, her eyes on the ground, and her face rather sad and downcast. 

That pretty creature was a strange new charge for him, and he dreadedher pining almost as he would have feared the crying of a child leftalone with him. 

'Well, Violet, ' said he, cheerfully, 'we must do our best. What timewould you like to take a drive?'

'Any time, thank you, ' said she, gratefully, but somewhat plaintively;'but do not let me be a trouble to you. Sarah is going to hire a chairfor me to go down to the beach. I only want not to be in your way. '

'I have nothing to do. You know I am no great walker, and I am glad ofan excuse for setting up my carriage. Shall we dine early, and go outwhen the sun is not so high?'

'Thank you! that will be delightful. I want to see those beautifulplaces that I was too tired to look at on Saturday. '

Sarah's rounds again brought her in sight; Violet crossed the grass, and the next moment was under the verandah with the little long-robedchrysalis shape in her arms, declaring he was growing quite good, andgetting fat already; and though to John's eyes the face was as muchas ever like a very wizened old man, he could not but feel heartfeltpleasure in seeing her for once enjoying a young mother's exultation. 

'Poor thing!' said he to himself, as she carried the babe upstairs, 'shehas done too much, thought too much, felt too much for her years. Lifehas begun before she has strength for the heat and burthen of the day. The only hope is in keeping those overtasked spirits at rest, guardingher from care, and letting her return to childhood. And should this workfall on me, broken down in spirits and energy, with these long-standinghabits of solitude and silence? If Helen was but here!'

He was relieved by Violet's reappearance at dinner-time, full of smiles, proud of Johnnie's having slept half the morning, and delighted with"Mary Barton", which, on his system of diversion for her mind, he hadplaced in her way. She was amazed and charmed at finding that he coulddiscuss the tale with interest and admiration. 

'Arthur calls such books trash, ' said she. 

'He reads them, though. '

'Yes, he always reads the third volume while I read the first. '

'The best way. I always begin at the end to judge whether a book isworth reading. '

'I saw a French book on the table; are you reading it?'

'Consulting it. You are welcome to it. '

'I think, ' she said, timidly, 'I ought to read some history and French, or I shall never be fit to teach my little boy. '

'I have a good many books at home, entirely at your service. '

'Thank you, thank you! I thought last winter if I could but have read, Ishould not have minded half so much. '

'And why could you not?'

'I had finished all my own books, and they cost too much to hire, sothere was only a great Roman History that Arthur had had at school. Icould not read more than thirty pages of that a day, it was so stupid. '

'And you read those as a task! Very wise!'

'Matilda said my education was incomplete, and she feared I should befound deficient; and mamma told me to make a point of reading somethingimproving every day, but I have not begun again. '

'I have some work on my hands, ' said John. 'I was with PercyFotheringham eight years ago in Syria and Asia Minor. He has gone overthe same places a second time, and has made the journals up into a bookon the Crusaders, which he has sent from Constantinople for me to getready for publication. I shall come to you for help. '

'Me! How can I?' exclaimed Violet, colouring with astonishment. 

'Let us enjoy our holiday first, ' he replied, smiling. 'See there. '

A low open carriage and a pair of ponies came to the gate; Violet wasenchanted, and stood admiring and patting them, while John looked onamused, telling her he was glad she approved, for he had desired Brownto find something in which Captain Martindale would not be ashamed tosee her. 

They drove along the Undercliff, and her enjoyment was excessive. To oneso long shut up in town, the fresh air, blue sky, and green trees werecharms sufficient in themselves, and when to these were added the brightextent of summer sea, the beautiful curving outline of the bay endingin the bold Culver Cliffs, and the wall of rocks above, clothed inpart with garland-like shrubs and festoons of creepers, it was to hera perfect vision of delight. There was an alternation of long pauses ofhappy contemplation, and of smothered exclamations of ecstasy, as if eyeand heart were longing to take a still fuller grasp of the beauty of thescene. The expression her face had worn at the cathedral entrance wason it now, and seemed to put a new soul into her features, varied by thebeaming smiles as she cried out joyously at each new object-the glidingsails on the water, the curious forms of the crags, or the hawks thatpoised themselves in the air. 

The flowers, too! They came to a lane bordered with copse, blue withwild hyacinth. 'Oh! it was so long since she had seen a wild flower!Would he be so kind as to stop for one moment to let her gather one. Shedid so much wish to pick a flower for herself once more!'

He drew up, and sat, leaning back, watching her with one of his smilesof melancholy meaning, as she lightly sprang up the bank, and divedbetween the hazel stems; and there he remained musing till, like avision of May herself, she reappeared on the bank, the nut-bushes makinga bower around her, her hands filled with flowers, her cheek glowinglike her wild roses, and the youthful delicacy of her form, and thetransient brightness of her sweet face, suiting with the fresh tendercolouring of the foliage, chequered with flickering sunshine. 

'Oh! I hope I have not kept you waiting too long! but, indeed, I didnot know how to turn back. I went after an orchis, and then I saw someSolomon's seal; and oh! such bluebells, and I could not help standingquite still to feel how delicious it was! I hope that it was not long. '

'No, not at all, I am glad. '

There was a moisture around the bright eyes, and perhaps she felt alittle childish shame, for she put up her hand to brush it off. 'It isvery silly, ' she said. 'Beautiful places ought not to make one ready tocry--and yet somehow, when I stood quite still, and it was all so green, and I heard the cuckoo and all the little birds singing, it would comeover me! I could not help thinking who made it all so beautiful, andthat He gave me my baby too. '--And there, as having said too much, she blushed in confusion, and began to busy herself with her flowers, delighting herself in silence over each many-belled hyacinth, eachpurple orchis, streaked wood sorrel, or delicate wreath of eglantine, deeming each in turn the most perfect she had ever seen. 

John let her alone; he thought the May blossoms more suitable companionsfor her than himself, and believed that it would only interfere withthat full contentment to be recalled to converse with him. It waspleasure enough to watch that childlike gladsomeness, like studying anew life, and the relief it gave him to see her so happy perhaps openedhis mind to somewhat of the same serene enjoyment. 

That evening, when Brown, on bringing in the tea, gave an anxious glanceto judge how his master fared, he augured from his countenance that thechange of habits was doing him no harm. 

In the evening, Mr. Fotheringham's manuscript was brought out: Johncould never read aloud, but he handed over the sheets to her, and sheenjoyed the vivid descriptions and anecdotes of adventures, furtherillustrated by comments and details from John, far more entertainingthan those designed for the public. This revision was their usualevening occupation, and she soon became so well instructed in thosescenes, that she felt as if she had been one of the travellers, and hadknown the handsome Arab sheik, whose chivalrous honour was only alloyedby desire of backsheesh, the Turkish guard who regularly deserted on thefirst alarm, and the sharp knavish Greek servant with his contempt forthem all, more especially for the grave and correct Mr. Brown, piningto keep up Martindale etiquette in desert, caravanserai, and lazzeretto. She went along with them in the researches for Greek inscription, Byzantine carving, or Frank fortress; she shared the exultation ofdeciphering the ancient record in the venerable mountain convent, thedisappointment when Percy's admirable entrenched camp of Bohemondproved to be a case of 'praetorian here, praetorian there;' she listenedearnestly to the history, too deeply felt to have been recorded for thegeneral reader, of the feelings which had gone with the friends to thecedars of Lebanon, the streams of Jordan, the peak of Tabor, the caveof Bethlehem, the hills of Jerusalem. Perhaps she looked up the moreto John, when she knew that he had trod that soil, and with so true apilgrim's heart. Then the narration led her through the purple mountainislets of the Archipelago, and the wondrous scenery of classic Greece, with daring adventures among robber Albanians, such as seemed toostrange for the quiet inert John Martindale, although the bold and gaytemper of his companion appeared to be in its own element; and in truthit was as if there was nothing that came amiss to Percival Fotheringham, who was equally ready for deep and scholarly dissertation, or forboyish drollery and good-natured tricks. He had a peculiar talent forlanguages, and had caught almost every dialect of the natives, as wellas being an excellent Eastern scholar, and this had led to his becomingattached to the embassy at Constantinople, where John had left him onreturning to England. He was there highly esteemed, and in the wayof promotion, to the great satisfaction of John, who took a sort ofaffectionate fatherly pride in his well-doing. 

The manuscript evinced so much ability and research, and was so fullof beautiful and poetical description, as not only charmed Violet, but surpassed even John's expectations; and great was his delight indwelling on its perfections, while he touched it up and corrected itwith a doubtful, respectful hand, scarcely perceiving how effectivewere his embellishments and refinements. Violet's remarks andmisunderstanding were useful, and as she grew bolder, her criticismswere often much to the point. She was set to search in historicalauthorities, and to translate from the French for the notes, workwhich she thought the greatest honour, and which kept her mind happilyoccupied to the exclusion of her cares. 

Fresh air, busy idleness, the daily renewed pleasure of beautifulscenery, the watchful care of her kind brother, and the progressiveimprovement of her babe, produced the desired effect; and when thepromised day arrived, and they walked to the coach-office to meetArthur, it was a triumph to hear him declare that he had been thinkingthat for once he saw a pretty girl before he found out it was Violet, grown rosy in her sea-side bonnet. 

If the tenor of John's life had been far less agreeable, it would havebeen sufficiently compensated by the pleasure of seeing how happy he hadmade the young couple, so joyously engrossed with each other, and fullof spirits and merriment. 

Violet was gladsome and blithe at meeting her husband again, and Arthur, wholesomely and affectionately gay, appearing to uncommon advantage. Hespoke warmly of his father. It seemed that they had been much together, and had understood each other better than ever before. Arthur repeatedgratifying things which Lord Martindale had said of Violet, and, indeed, it was evident that interest in her was the way to find out his heart. Of his mother and sister there was less mention, and John began togather the state of the case as he listened in the twilight of thesummer evening, while Arthur and Violet sat together on the sofa, and heleant back in his chair opposite to them, his book held up to catch thefading light; but his attention fixed on their talk over Arthur's news. 

'You have not told me about the drawing-room. '

'Do you think I am going there till I am obliged!'

'What! You did not go with Lady Martindale and Theodora? I should liketo have seen them dressed. Do tell me how they looked. '

'Splendid, no doubt; but you must take it on trust. '

'You did not see them! What a pity! How disappointed Theodora must havebeen!'

'Were there not folks enough to look at her?'

'As if they were of any use without you. '

'Little goose! I am not her husband, thank goodness, and wishing him joythat gets her. '

'O, Arthur, don't! I want to hear of Lady Albury's party. You did go tothat!'

'Yes, my mother lugged me into it, and a monstrous bore it was. I wishyou had been there. '

'Thank you, but if it was so dull--'

'Emma Brandon and I agreed that there was not a woman who would havebeen looked at twice if you had been there. We wanted you for a specimenof what is worth seeing. Fancy! it was such a dearth of good looks thatthey were making a star of Mrs. Finch! It was enough to put one ina rage. I told Theodora at last, since she would have it, there wasnothing in the woman but impudence. '

John glanced over his book, and perceived that to Arthur there appearedprofanation in the implied comparison of that flashy display of beautywith the pure, modest, tender loveliness, whose every blush and smile, as well as the little unwonted decorations assumed to honour hispresence, showed, that its only value was the pleasure it gave to him. His last speech made her tone somewhat of reproof. 'Oh! that must havevexed her, I am afraid. She is very fond of Mrs. Finch. '

'Out of opposition, ' said Arthur. 'It is too bad, I declare! ThatGeorgina was well enough as a girl, spirited and like Theodora, onlyTheodora always had sense. She was amusing then, but there is nothing sodetestable as a woman who continues "fast" after marriage. '

'Except a man, ' observed John, in a tone of soliloquy. 'She has grownso thin, too!' continued Arthur. 'She used to be tolerably handsome whenshe was a fine plump rosy girl. Now she is all red cheek-bone and longneck! We are come to a pretty pass when we take her for a beauty!'

Oh! but there is your sister, ' said Violet. 'Do tell me how she likesgoing out. She thought it would be such a penance. '

'All I know is, that at home she is as sulky as a Greenland bear, andthen goes out and flirts nineteen to the dozen. '

Arthur!' came the remonstrating voice again, 'how you talk--do you meanthat she is silent at home? Is she unhappy? What can be the matter withher?'

'How should I know?'

'Has not she said anything about baby?'

'Not she. Not one of them has, except my father. '

'I thought she would have liked to have heard of baby, ' said Violet, in a tone of disappointment; 'but if there is anything on her spirits, perhaps she cannot think about him. I wonder what it can be. It cannotbe any--any--'

'Any love affair! No! no! Miss Martindale may break hearts enough, butshe will take care of her own, if she has one. '

'Is she so much admired?'

'Of course she is. You do not often see her style, and she talks andgoes on at no end of a rate. '

'I remember how she grew excited at the ball, after disliking theprospect. '

'Is this mere general admiration, ' asked John, 'or anything moreserious?'

'Upon my word, I cannot say. There is no earnest on her part. She willrattle on with a poor fellow one night as if she had eyes for no oneelse, then leave him in the lurch the next. She cares not a rush for anyof them, only wants to be run after. As to her followers, some of themare really smitten, I fancy. There was Fitzhugh, but he is an old hand, and can pay her in her own coin, and that sober-faced young Mervyn--itis a bad case with him. In fact, there is a fresh one whenever she goesout--a Jenny Dennison in high life--but the most bitten of all, I takeit, is Lord St. Erme. '

'Lord St. Erme!' exclaimed both auditors in a breath. 

'Ay. She met him at that breakfast, walked about the gardens with himall the morning, and my mother wrote to my aunt, I believe, that she wasbooked. Then at this Bryanstone soiree, the next night, Fitzhugh was inthe ascendant--poor St. Erme could not so much as gain a look. '

'So he is in London!' said Violet. 'Do tell me what he is like. '

'Like a German music-master, ' said Arthur. 'As queer a figure as everI saw. Keeps his hair parted in the middle, hanging down in long lankrats' tails, meant to curl, moustache ditto, open collar turned down, black ribbon tie. '

'Oh! how amazed the Wrangerton people would be!'

'It is too much to study the picturesque in one's own person inEngland!' said John, laughing. 'I am sorry he continues that fashion. '

'So, of course, ' continued Arthur, 'all the young ladies are ravingafter him, while he goes mooning after Theodora. How the fair sex mustsolace itself with abusing "that Miss Martindale!"'

'I wish he would be a little more sensible, ' said John. 'He really iscapable of something better. '

'Where did you know him?'

'At Naples. I liked him very much till he persecuted me beyond endurancewith Tennyson and Browning. He is always going about in raptures withsome new-fashioned poet. '

'I suppose he will set up Theodora for his muse. My mother is enchanted;he is exactly one of her own set, music, pictures, and all. Thesecond-hand courtship is a fine chance for her when Miss Martindale isungracious. '

'But it will not come to anything, ' said John. 'In the meantime, herladyship gets the benefit of a lion, and a very tawny lion, for hersoirees. '

'Oh! that soiree will be something pleasant for you, ' said Violet. 

'I shall cut it. It is the first day I can be here. '

'Not meet that great African traveller?'

'What good would Baron Munchausen himself do me in the crowd my motheris heaping together?'

'I am sure your mother and sister must want you. '

'Want must be their master. I am not going to elbow myself about and besquashed flat for their pleasure. It is a dozen times worse to be in amob at home, for one has to find chairs for all the ladies. Pah!'

'That is very lazy!' said the wife. 'You will be sorry to have missed itwhen it is too late, and your home people will be vexed. '

'Who cares? My father does not, and the others take no pains not to vexus. '

'O, Arthur! you know it makes it worse if you always come to me whenthey want you. I could wait very well. Only one day above all you mustcome, ' said she, with lowered voice, in his ear. 

'What's that?'

John could not see how, instead of speaking, she guided her husband'shand to her wedding-ring. His reply transpired--'I'll not fail. Whichday is it?'

'Friday week. I hope you will be able!'

'I'll manage it. Why, it will be your birthday, too!'

'Yes, I shall be so glad to be seventeen. I shall feel as if baby wouldrespect me more. Oh! I am glad you can come, but you must be good, andgo to the soiree. I do think it would not be right always to leave themwhen they want you. Tell him so, please, Mr. Martindale. '

John did so, but Arthur made no promises, and even when the day came, they were uncertain whether they might think of him at the party, or assmoking cigars at home. 

CHAPTER 5

 Her scourge is felt, unseen, unheard, Where, though aloud the laughter swells, Her secret in the bosom dwells, There is a sadness in the strain As from a heart o'ercharged with pain. --The Baptistery

Theodora had come to London, hating the idea of gaieties, liking nothingbut the early service and chemical lectures, and shrinking from themeeting with her former friend. She enjoyed only the prospect of thecomfort her society would afford her brother, depressed by attendance ona nervous wife, in an unsatisfactory home. 

No Arthur met them at the station: he had left a message that he wastaking Mrs. Martindale to the Isle of Wight, and should return early onTuesday. 

Theodora stayed at home the whole of that day, but in vain. She wasbusied in sending out cards to canvass for her dumb boy's admission intoan asylum, when a message came up to her sitting-room. She started. Wasit Arthur? No; Mrs. Finch was in the drawing-room; and at that momenta light step was on the stairs, and a flutter of gay ribbons advanced. 'Ha! Theodora! I knew how to track you. The old place! Dear oldschool-room, how happy we have been here! Not gone out? Any one wouldthink you had some stern female to shut you up with a tough exercise!But I believe you always broke out. '

'I stayed in to-day, expecting my brother. '

'Captain Martindale? Why, did not I see him riding with your father?Surely I did. '

'Impossible!' exclaimed Theodora. 

'Yes, but I did though; I am sure of it, for he bowed. He had that sweetpretty little mare of his. Have you seen her, Theodora? I quite envyher; but I suppose he bought it for his wife; and she deserves all thatis sweet and pretty, I am sure, and has it, too. '

Theodora could not recover from the thrill of pain so as to speak, andMrs. Finch rattled on. 'She was not in good looks when I saw her, poorthing, but she looked so soft and fragile, it quite went to my heart;though Jane will have it she is deep, and gets her own way by being meekand helpless. I don't go along with Jane throughout; I hate seeing holespicked in everybody. '

'Where is Jane?'

'Gone to some charity sermonizing. She will meet some great folks there, and be in her element. I am glad to have you alone. Why, you bonny oldGreek empress, you are as jolly a gipsy queen as ever! How you will turnpeople's heads! I am glad you have all that bright red-brown on yourcheeks!'

'No self-preservation like a country life and early rising, ' saidTheodora, laughing. 'You have not kept yourself as well, Georgina. I amsorry to see you so thin. '

'Me! Oh, I have battered through more seasons than you have dreamt of!'said Mrs. Finch, lightly, but with a sigh. 'And had a fever besides, which disposed of all my fat. I am like a hunter in fine condition, no superfluous flesh, ready for action. And as to action--what are youdoing, Theodora?--where are you going?'

'I don't know. Mamma keeps the cards. I don't want to know anythingabout it. '

Georgina burst into a laugh, rather unnecessarily loud. 

'Just like you! Treat it as you used your music! What can't be curedmust be endured, you know. Well, you poor victim, are you going toexecution to-night?'

'Not that I know of. '

'Famous! Then I'll tell you what: there is going to be a lecture onMesmerism to-night. Wonderful! Clairvoyante tells you everything, past, present, and to come! You'll detect all the impostures; won't it be fun?I'll call for you at eight precisely. '

Theodora thought of Arthur, and that she should miss the tidings ofhis child; then recollected that he had not afforded her one minute'sgreeting. She would show him that she did not care, and therefore madethe agreement. 

Cold and moody she came down to dinner, but her heart was beating withdisappointment at not seeing Arthur, though a place was preparedfor him. Mrs. Finch was right; he had been with his father all theafternoon, but had not supposed the ladies to be at home; an explanationwhich never occurred to Theodora. 

He came in a few minutes after they had sat down; he was heated byhis hasty walk from his empty house, and his greeting was brief anddisconcerted at finding himself late. His mother made her composedinquiries for the party at Ventnor, without direct mention of the child, and he replied in the same tone. His cordial first intelligence hadbeen bestowed upon his father, and he was not disposed to volunteercommunications to the sister, whose apparent gloomy indifferencemortified him. 

He had not sat down ten minutes before word came that Mrs. Finch waswaiting for Miss Martindale. Theodora rose, in the midst of her fatherand brother's amazement. 'I told mamma of my arrangement to go withGeorgina Finch to a lecture on Mesmerism, ' she said. 

'Mesmerism!' was the sotto voce exclamation of Lord Martindale. 'But, mydear, you did not know that Arthur was at home this evening?'

'Yes, I did, ' said Theodora, coldly; mentally adding, 'and I knew he hadbeen five hours without coming near me. '

'Who is going with you? Is Mr. Finch?'

'I have not heard. I cannot keep Georgina waiting. '

It was no place for discussion. Lord Martindale only said--

'Arthur, cannot you go with your sister?'

Arthur muttered that 'it would be a great bore, and he was as tired asa dog. ' He had no intention of going out of his way to oblige Theodora, while she showed no feeling for what concerned him most nearly; sohe kept his place at the table, while Lord Martindale, displeased andperplexed, came out to say a few words to his daughter, under pretextof handing her to the carriage. 'I am surprised, Theodora. It cannotbe helped now, but your independent proceedings cannot go on here as athome. '

Theodora vouchsafed no answer. The carriage contained only Mrs. Finchand Miss Gardner. Lord Martindale paused as his daughter stepped in, gravely asking if they were going to take up Mr. Finch. Georgina's laughwas not quite what it would have been to a younger inquirer, but it didnot tend to console him. 'Mr. Finch! O no! We left him to the societyof his port wine. I mean to test the clairvoyante by asking what heis dreaming about. But there is no fear of our coming to harm. Here'ssister Jane for a duenna, and I always find squires wherever I go. '

Lord Martindale sat at home much annoyed, and preparing a lecture forhis wilful daughter on her return. Sooth to say, Theodora did not findany great reward in her expedition. The sight was a painful one; andher high principles had doubts whether it was a legitimate subject forencouragement. She longed all the time to be sitting by Arthur's side, and hearing of his little boy. How young and gay he looked to be afather and head of a family! and how satisfying it seemed to have hisbright eyes in sight again! She looked so thoughtful that Georginaroused her by threatening to set the poor clairvoyante to read hermeditations. 

When Theodora came home, she would have gone straight up to her ownroom, but her father waylaid her, and the first sound of his voice awokethe resolution to defend her freedom of action. Perhaps the perceptionthat he was a little afraid of the rebuke he was about to administeradded defiance to her determination. 

'Theodora, I wish to speak to you. I do not wish to restrain yourreasonable freedom, but I must beg that another time you will not fixyour plans without some reference. '

'I told mamma, ' she answered. 

'I am not satisfied with the subject you have chosen--and I do not quitelike what I see of Mrs. Finch. I had rather you made no engagements forthe present. '

'I will take care, ' said Theodora: 'but when mamma does not go out, I must have some one. I will do nothing worthy of disapproval. Goodnight. '

She walked off, leaving Lord Martindale baffled. That evening seemed togive its colour to the subsequent weeks. It was a time of much pain toTheodora, estranging herself from her brother, fancying him prejudicedagainst her, and shutting herself up from her true pleasures to throwherself into what had little charm for her beyond the gratification ofher self-will. 

She really loved Georgina Finch. There was the bond of old associationand girlish friendship, and this could not be set aside, even though thepair had grown far asunder. Perhaps the strongest link had been theirlikeness in strength of expression and disregard of opinion; but it nowseemed as if what in Theodora was vehemence and determination, was inGeorgina only exaggeration and recklessness. However, Georgina had atrue affection for Theodora, and looked up to her genuine goodness, though without much attempt to imitate it, and the positive enthusiasmshe possessed for her friend was very winning to one who was alwayspining for affection. Therefore Theodora adhered to her intimacy throughall the evidences of disapproval, and always carried the day. 

Georgina was well-born, and her sphere was naturally in the highercircles, and though her marriage had been beneath her own rank, thiswas little thought of, as she was rich, and by many considered veryhandsome, fashionable, and agreeable. Mr. Finch was hardly ever seen, and little regarded when he was; he was a quiet, good-natured old man, who knew nothing but of money matters, and was proud of his gay youngwife. She had her own way, and was much admired; sure to be in everyparty, and certain to be surrounded with gentlemen, to whom she rattledaway with lively nonsense, and all of whom were ready to be her obedientsquires. Her manners were impetuous, and, as well as her appearance, best to be described as dashing. Some people disliked her extremely; butshe was always doing good-natured generous things, and the worst thatcould be said of her was, that she was careless of appearances, and, asArthur called her, "fast". Theodora knew there was sincerity and warmthof heart, and was always trusting that these might develop into furtherexcellences; moreover, she was sensible of having some influencefor good. More than one wild freak had been relinquished on herremonstrance; and there was enough to justify her, in her own eyes, forcontinuing Georgina's firm friend and champion. 

She had no other friendships; she did not like young ladies, and wasstill less liked by them; and Jane Gardner was nobody when her sisterwas by, though now and then her power was felt in double-edged sayingswhich recurred to mind. 

However, Theodora found society more intoxicating than she had expected. Not that her sober sense enjoyed or approved; but in her own county shewas used to be the undeniable princess of her circle, and she could notgo out without trying to stand first still, and to let her attractionsaccomplish what her situation effected at home. Her princely deportment, striking countenance, and half-repelling, half-inviting manner, weremore effective than the more regular beauty of other girls; for therewas something irresistible in the privilege of obtaining a bright lookand smile from one whose demeanour was in general so distant; andwhen she once began to talk, eager, decided, brilliant, original, andbestowing exclusive and flattering attention, for the time, on thefavoured individual, no marvel that he was bewitched, and when, the nextnight, she was haughty and regardless, he only watched the more ardentlyfor a renewal of her smiles. The general homage was no pleasure to her;she took it as her due, and could not have borne to be without it. Shehad rather been at home with her books, or preparing lessons to send toher school at Brogden; but in company she could not bear not to reignsupreme, and put forth every power to maintain her place, though in hergrand, careless, indifferent manner, and when it was over, hating anddespising her very success. 

Arthur had thawed after his second visit to Ventnor; he had brought awaytoo much satisfaction and good humour to be pervious to her moody looks;and his freedom and ease had a corresponding effect upon her. Theybecame more like their usual selves towards each other; and when heyielded, on being again exhorted to stay for the soiree, she deemed it aloosening of the trammels in which he was held. He became available whenshe wanted him; and avoiding all mention of his family, they were verycomfortable until Theodora was inspired with a desire to go to a lastappearance of Mademoiselle Rachel, unfortunately on the very eveningwhen Violet had especially begged him to be with her. 

If he would have said it was his wedding-day, there could have been nodebate; but he was subject to a sort of schoolboy reserve, where he wasconscious or ashamed. And there were unpleasant reminiscences connectedwith that day--that unacknowledged sense of having been entrapped--thatimpossibility of forgetting his sister's expostulation--that disgustat being conspicuous--that longing for an excuse for flying into apassion--that universal hatred of everything belonging to the Mosses. He could not give a sentimental reason, and rather than let it beconjectured, he adduced every pretext but the true one; professed tohate plays, especially tragedies, and scolded his sister for setting herheart on a French Jewess when there were plenty of English Christians. 

'If you would only give me your true reason, I should be satisfied, 'said she at last. 

'I love my love with a V, ' was his answer, in so bright a tone as shouldsurely have appeased her; but far from it; she exclaimed, 'Ventnor! Why, will no other time do for THAT?'

'I have promised, ' Arthur answered, vexed at her tone. 

'What possible difference can it make to her which day you go?'

'I have said. '

'Come, write and tell her it is important to me. Rachel will not appearagain, and papa is engaged. She must see the sense of it. Come, write. '

'Too much trouble. '

'Then I will. I shall say you gave me leave. '

'Indeed, ' said Arthur, fully roused, 'you will say no such thing. Youhave not shown so much attention to Mrs. Martindale, that you needexpect her to give way to your convenience. '

He walked away, as he always did when he thought he had provoked afemale tongue. She was greatly mortified at having allowed her eagernessto lower her into offering to ask a favour of that wife of his; who, nodoubt, had insisted on his coming, after having once failed, and couldtreat him to plenty of nervous and hysterical scenes. 

Him Theodora pitied and forgave!

But by and by her feelings were further excited. She went with hermother to give orders at Storr and Mortimer's, on the setting of somejewels which her aunt had given her, and there encountered Arthur in theact of selecting a blue enamel locket, with a diamond fly perched on it. At the soiree she had heard him point out to Emma Brandon a similarone, on a velvet round a lady's neck, and say that it would look wellon Violet's white skin. So he was obliged to propitiate his idol withtrinkets far more expensive than he could properly afford!

Theodora little guessed that the gift was received without one thoughtof the white throat, but with many speculations whether little Johnniewould soon be able to spare a bit of flaxen down to contrast with theblack lock cut from his papa's head. 

There was nothing for it but to dwell no more on this deluded brother, and Theodora tried every means to stifle the thought. She threw herselfinto the full whirl of society, rattling on in a way that nothing buthigh health and great bodily strength could have endured. After herdiscontented and ungracious commencement, she positively alarmed herparents by the quantity she undertook, with spirits apparently neverflagging, though never did she lose that aching void. Books, lectures, conversation, dancing, could not banish that craving for her brother, nothing but the three hours of sleep that she allowed herself. If sheexceeded them, there were unfailing dreams of Arthur and his child. 

She thought of another cure. There was another kind of affection, nothalf so valuable in her eyes as fraternal love; it made fools of people, but then they were happy in their blindness, and could keep it tothemselves. She would condescend to lay herself open to the infection. It would be satisfying if she could catch it. She examined each of herfollowers in turn, but each fell short of her standard, and was repelledjust as his hopes had been excited. One 'Hollo, Theodora, come along, 'would have been worth all the court paid to her by men, to some of whomArthur could have ill borne a comparison. 

CHAPTER 6

 Thy precious things, whate'er they be, That haunt and vex thee, heart and brain, Look to the Cross, and thou shall see How thou mayst turn them all to gain. --Christian Year

All went well and smoothly at Ventnor, until a sudden and severe attackof some baby ailment threatened to render fruitless all Mr. Martindale'skind cares. 

Violet's misery was extreme, though silent and unobtrusive, and John wassurprised to find how much he shared it, and how strong his own personalaffection had become for his little nephew; how many hopes he had builton him as the point of interest for his future life; the circumstancesalso of the baptism giving him a tenderness for him, almost a right inhim such as he could feel in no other child. 

Their anxiety did not last long enough for Arthur to be sent for; afavourable change soon revived the mother's hopes; and the doctor, oncoming down-stairs after his evening's visit, told John that the childwas out of danger for the present; but added that he feared there weremany more such trials in store for poor Mrs. Martindale; he thoughtthe infant unusually delicate, and feared that it would hardly strugglethrough the first year. 

John was much shocked, and sat in the solitary drawing-room, thinkingover the disappointment and loss, severely felt for his own sake, andfar more for the poor young mother, threatened with so grievous atrial at an age when sorrow is usually scarcely known, and when she hadwell-nigh sunk under the ordinary wear and tear of married life. Shehad been so utterly cast down and wretched at the sight of the child'ssuffering, that it was fearful to imagine what it would be when therewould be no recovery. 

'Yes!' he mused with himself; 'Violet has energy, conscientiousness, high principle to act, but she does not know how to apply the sameprinciple to enable her to endure. She knows religion as a guide, not asa comfort. She had not grown up to it, poor thing, before her need came. She wants her mother, and knows not where to rest in her griefs. Helen, my Helen, how you would have loved and cherished her, and led her toyour own precious secret of patience and peace! What is to be done forher? Arthur cannot help her; Theodora will not if she could, she is leftto me. And can I take Helen's work on myself, and try to lead our pooryoung sister to what alone can support her? I must try--mere humanitydemands it. Yes, Helen, you would tell me I have lived within myself toolong. I can only dare to speak through your example. I will strive toovercome my reluctance to utter your dear name. '

He was interrupted by Violet coming down to make tea. She was now happy, congratulating herself on the rapid improvement in the course of theday, and rejoicing that John and the doctor had dissuaded her fromsending at once for Arthur. 

'You were quite right, she said, 'and I am glad now he was not here. Iam afraid I was very fretful; but oh! you don't know what it is to see ababy so ill. '

'Poor little boy--' John would have said more, but she went on, withtearful eyes and agitated voice. 

'It does seem very hard that such a little innocent darling shouldsuffer. He is not three months old, and his poor little life has beenalmost all pain and grief to him. I know it is wrong of me, but I cannotbear it! If it is for my fault, why cannot it be myself? It almost makesme angry. '

'It does seem more than we can understand, said John, mournfully;'but we are told, "What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt knowhereafter. "'

'When all the other young things--lambs, and birds, and all--are sohappy, and rejoicing in the sunshine!' continued Violet; 'and childrentoo!' as some gay young voices floated in on the summer air, and broughtthe tears in a shower. 

'Don't grudge it to them, dear Violet, ' said John, in his gentlest tone;'my dear little godson is more blessed in his gift. It seems to accordwith what was in my mind when we took him to church. I do not knowwhether it was from my hardly ever having been at a christening before, or whether it was the poor little fellow's distressing crying; but thesigning him with the cross especially struck me, the token of sufferingeven to this lamb. The next moment I saw the fitness--the cross givento him to turn the legacy of pain to the honour of partaking of thePassion--how much more for an innocent who has no penalty of his own tobear!'

'I have read things like that, but--I know I am talking wrongly--italways seems hard and stern to tell one not to grieve. You think it verybad in me to say so; but, indeed, I never knew how one must care for ababy. '

'No, indeed, there is no blaming you; but what would comfort you wouldbe to think of the Hand that is laid on him in love, for his highestgood. '

'But he wants no good done to him, ' cried Violet. 'He has been good andsinless from the time before even his father or I saw him, when you--'

'We cannot tell what he may need. We are sure all he undergoes is sentby One who loves him better than even you do, who may be disciplininghim for future life, or fitting him for brighter glory, and certainlygiving him a share in the cross that has saved him. '

His gentle tones had calmed her, and she sat listening as if shewished him to say more. 'Do you remember, ' he added, 'that picture youdescribed to me this time last year, the Ghirlandajo's Madonna?'

'Oh, yes, ' said Violet, pleased and surprised. 

'She does not hold her son back from the cross, does she, though thesword was to pierce through her own heart?'

'Yes; but that was for the greatest reason. '

'Indeed, it was; but He who was a Child, the firstborn Son of Hismother, does not afflict your baby without cause. He has laid on him asmuch of His cross as he can bear; and if it be yours also, you know thatit is blessed to you both, and will turn to glory. '

'The cross!' said Violet; adding, after some thought, 'Perhaps thinkingof that might make one bear one's own troubles better. '

'The most patient person I ever knew found it so, ' said John; and withsome hesitation and effort, 'You know about her?'

'A little, ' she timidly replied; and the tears flowed again as she said, 'I have been so very sorry for you. '

'Thank you, ' he answered, in a suppressed tone of grateful emotion, for never was sympathy more refreshing to one who had long mourned inloneliness. 

Eager, though almost alarmed, at being thus introduced to the melancholyromance of his history, Violet thought he waited for her to speak. 'Itwas dreadful, ' she said; 'it was so cruel, to sacrifice her to those oldpeople. '

'Was it cruel? Was it wrong?' said John, almost to himself. 'I hope not. I do not think I could have decided otherwise. '

'Oh, have I said anything wrong? I don't properly know about it. Ifancied Arthur told me--I beg your pardon. 

'I do not think Arthur knew the circumstances; they have never beenmuch talked of. I do not know whether you would care to listen to a longstory; but I should like you, as far as may be, to understand her, andconsider her as your sister, who would have been very fond of you. '

'And do you like to talk of it?'

'That I do, now, ' said John; her delicate, respectful sympathy soopening his heart, that what had been an effort became a relief. 

'I should be so glad. Baby is asleep, and I came down to stay with you. It is very kind of you. '

'You are very kind to listen, ' said John. 'I must go a long way back, tothe time when I lost my little sisters. '

'Had you any more sisters?' said Violet, startled. 

'Two; Anna and another Theodora. They died at four and two years old, within two days of each other, while my father and mother were abroadwith my aunt. '

'What was their illness, poor little things?' anxiously asked Violet. 

'I never knew. We all of us have, more or less, a West Indianconstitution; that accounts for anything. '

'How old were you? Do you remember them?'

'I was five. I have no distinct recollection of them, though I was veryfond of Anna, and well remember the dreariness afterwards. Indeed, I moped and pined so much, that it was thought that to give me youngcompanions was the only chance for me; and the little Fotheringhams weresent for from the parsonage to play with me. '

'And it really began then!'

'Yes, ' said John, more cheerfully. 'She was exactly of my own age, butwith all the motherly helpful kindness of an elder sister, and full ofpretty, childish compassion for the little wretched solitary being thatI was. Her guarding me from the stout riotous Percy--a couple of yearsyounger--was the first bond of union; and I fancy the nurses called hermy little wife, I know I believed it then, and ever after. We were agreat deal together. I never was so happy as with them; and as I was afrail subject at the best, and Arthur was not born till I was nine yearsold, I was too great a treasure to be contradicted. The parsonage wasthe great balance to the home spoiling; Mr. And Mrs. Fotheringham weremost kind and judicious; and Helen's character could not but tell on allaround. '

'Was she grave?'

'Very merry, full of fun, but with a thoughtful staidness in her highestspirits, even as a girl. I saw no change when we met again'--after apause: 'No, I cannot describe her. When we go home you shall see herpicture. No one ever reminded me of her as you do, though it is notflattering you to say so. If the baby had been a girl, I think I shouldhave asked you to call it by your second name. Well, we seldom spenta day without meeting, even after I had a tutor. The beginning of ourtroubles was her fifteenth birthday, the 10th of July. I had saved upmy money, and bought a coral cross and a chain for her; but Mrs. Fotheringham would not let her keep it; she said it was too costly forme to give to any one but my sister. She tried to treat it lightly; butI was old enough to perceive her reason; and I can feel the tinglingin all my veins as I vowed with myself to keep it till I should have aright to offer it. '

'What did she do?'

'I cannot tell; we did not wish to renew the subject. The worst ofit was, that my aunt, who hears everything, found this out. Sheinterrogated me, and wanted me to give it to Theodora, a mere baby. Ifelt as if I was defending Helen's possession, and refused to give it upunless at my father's command. '

'I hope he did not order you. '

'He never said a word to me. But our comfort was over; suspicion wasexcited; and I am afraid my aunt worried Mrs. Fotheringham. Nothingwas said, but there was a check upon us. I was sent to a tutor at adistance; and when I was at home, either she went out on long visits inthe holidays, or there was a surveillance on me; and when I did getdown to the parsonage it was all formality. She took to calling me Mr. Martindale (by the bye, Violet, I wish you would not), was shy, andshrank from me. '

'Oh! that was the worst, ' cried Violet. 'Did not she care?'

'I believe her mother told her we were too old to go on as before. Theywere all quite right; and I can now see it was very good for me. WhenMr. Fotheringham died, and they were about to leave the parish, I spoketo my father. He had the highest esteem for them all, was fond ofher, knew they had behaved admirably. I verily believe he would haveconsented at once--nay, he had half done so, but--'

'Mrs. Nesbit, I am sure, ' exclaimed Violet. 

'He was persuaded to think I had not had time to know my own mind, andought not to engage myself till I had seen more of the world. '

'How old were you?'

'Nineteen. '

'Nineteen! If you did not know your own mind then, when could you?'

John smiled, and replied, 'It was better to have such a motive. Myposition was one of temptation, and this was a safeguard as well as acheck on idle prosperity. An incentive to exertion, too; for my fatherheld out a hope that if I continued in the same mind, and deserved hisconfidence, he would consent in a few years, but on condition I shouldneither say nor do anything to show my feelings. '

'Then you never told her?'

'No. '

'I should not have liked that at all. But she must have guessed. '

'She went with her mother to live in Lancashire, with old Mr. And Mrs. Percival, at Elsdale. There she lost her mother. '

'How long did it go on before Lord Martindale consented?' asked Violet, breathlessly. 

'Five years, but at last he was most kind. He did fully appreciate her. I went to Elsdale'--and he paused. 'For a little while it was more thanI can well bear to remember. '

'You gave her the cross?' said Violet, presently. 

'On her next birthday. Well, then came considerations. Old Mrs. Percivalwas nearly blind, and could hardly move from her chair, the grandfatherwas very infirm, and becoming imbecile. His mind had never been clearsince his daughter's death, and he always took Helen for her. She waseverything to them. '

'And they would not spare her?'

'She asked me what was to be done. She put it entirely in my hands, saying she did not know where her duty lay, and she would abide by mydecision. '

'Then it was you! I can't think how you could. '

'I trust it was not wrong. So asked, I could not say she ought to leavethose poor old people to their helplessness for my sake, and I could nothave come to live with them, for it was when I was in Parliament, andthere were other reasons. We agreed, then, that she should not leavethem in her grandfather's lifetime, and that afterwards Mrs. Percivalshould come to our home, Brogden, as we thought it would be. Indeed, Violet, it was a piteous thing to hear that good venerable old ladyentreating my pardon for letting Helen devote herself, saying, she wouldnever have permitted it but for Mr. Percival, for what would become ofhim without his granddaughter--hoping they would not long stand inour way, and promising us the blessing that Helen enjoys. We could notregret our decision, and to be allowed to stand on such terms with eachother was happiness enough then; yet all the time I had a presentimentthat I was giving her up for ever, though I thought it would be theother way; the more when the next year I had the illness that has mademe good for nothing ever since. That made it much easier to me, for Ishould have led her such a life of nursing and anxiety as I would notinflict on any woman. '

'Surely she had the anxiety all the same?'

'There is a good deal spared by not being on the spot. '

'How can he think so! said Violet to herself. I can't imagine how shelived as long as she did. 'Did you not see her at all when you wereill?' she said. 

'Yes, we had one great treat that winter when I was at the worst. It wasone of my father's especial pieces of kindness; he wrote to her himself, and sent Simmonds to fetch her to Martindale. '

'And were you able to enjoy having her?'

'It was inflammation on the chest, so all my senses were free. She usedto sit by me with her sober face, at work, ready to read and talk tome, and left sayings and thoughts that have brought refreshment at everysuch time. It was indeed a blessing that she could come that first timeto teach me how to bear illness. '

'How long did she stay?'

'Only three weeks, for her absence only showed how little she could bespared; but she left an influence on that room of mine that it has neverlost. '

'How solitary it must have been when you were recovering. '

'I had her letters. I will show you some of them some day. She used towrite almost daily. '

'And it was when you were getting better that you took the great journeyin the East?'

'Yes; Percy had just left Cambridge, and was ready to take the care ofme on his hands. Those two years went pleasantly by, and what a happyvisit it was at Elsdale afterwards! You can't think how this talkingover our travels has brought it back. As long as Mrs. Percival lived wedid pretty well. She made Helen take care of herself, and I could go andstay there; but after her death the poor old man grew more childish andexacting. I once tried staying at the curate's, but it did not answer. He could not bear to have her out of his sight, and had taken an unhappyaversion to me, fancying me some old admirer of his own daughter, andalways warning her against me. '

'How distressing! How wretched! It would have killed me long before! Howdid she bear it? I know it was patiently, but I cannot understand it!'

'Her letters will best show you. It was the perfect trust that it wasgood for us; but what she underwent in those last three years we neverknew. Her brother was at Constantinople. I could not go to Elsdale, and there was no one to interfere. We could not guess from her cheerfulletters how she was wearing herself out, bearing his caprices, giving upsleep and exercise. I knew how it would be the first moment I met her, when I went to Elsdale to the funeral; but it was supposed to be onlyover-fatigue, and her aunt, Lady Fotheringham, took her home to recover. She grew worse, and went to London for advice. There I met her, and--andthere she herself told me she had disease of the heart, and could notlive a year. '

Violet gave a sort of sob. 

'She held up to me that cross--that first gift--she bade me think ofthe subjection of wills and affections it betokened. Little had we oncethought of that meaning!'

'And then?' asked Violet, with face flushed and hands clasped. 

'Lady Fotheringham took her to Worthbourne. '

'Could you be with her?'

'Yes. One of the especial subjects of thankfulness was that I was wellenough to stay with her. She was perfectly happy and contented, chieflyconcerned to soften it to me. It was as if she had finished her work, and was free to enjoy, as she sank into full repose, sunsets, hoarfrosts, spring blossoms, the having me with her, her brother'sreturn--everything was a pleasure. I can hardly call it a time of grief, when she was so placid and happy. All the wishing and scheming was over, and each day that I could look at her in her serenity, was only tooprecious. '

'Was there much suffering?'

'At times there was, but in general there was only languor. She used tolie by the window, looking so smiling and tranquil, that it was hard tobelieve how much she had gone through; and so peaceful, that we couldnot dare to wish to bring her back to care and turmoil. The last timeshe was able to talk to me, she showed me the cross still round herneck, and said she should like to think it would be as much comfort toany one else as it had been to her. I did not see her again till I wascalled in for her last look on anything earthly, when the suffering waspassed, and there was peaceful sinking. '

Violet was crying too much for words, until at last she managed to say, 'How could you--what could you do?'

'My illness was the best thing that could happen to me. '

'How sorry you must have been to get well. '

He replied, 'Her wings were grown, To heaven she's flown, 'Cause I had none I'm left. '

'Those lines haunted me when I found myself reviving to the wearyuseless life I spend here. '

'O how can you call it so?' cried Violet. 'How could Arthur and I dowithout you?'

There was a sound up-stairs, and she started to the door, ran up, butcame down in a few moments. 'He is awake and better, ' she said. 'Icannot come down again, for Sarah must go to supper. Good night; thankyou for what you have told me;' then, with an earnest look, 'only Ican't bear you to say your life is useless. You don't know how we lookto you. '

'Thank you for your kind listening, ' he answered. 'It has done me agreat deal of good; but do not stay, ' as he saw her evidently longing toreturn to her child, yet lingering in the fear of unkindness to him. 'Iam glad he is better; you and he must both have a good night. '

John was indeed refreshed by the evening's conversation. It haddisclosed to him a new source of comfort, for hitherto his grief hadnever known the relief of sympathy. His whole soul had been fixed onone object from his boyhood; the hopes of deserving Helen had been hisincentive to exertion in his youth, and when disabled by sickness, hehad always looked forward to a new commencement of active usefulnesswith her. It had been a life of waiting: patient, but without presentaction, and completely wrapped up in a single attachment and hope. Whenthat was taken from him he had not failed in faith and submission, buthe had nothing to occupy him or afford present solace and interest; hehad no future save lonely waiting still, until he should again rejoinher who had been his all on earth. 

However, the effort made to reconcile his brother with the family hadproduced an unlooked-for influence, and enlarged his sphere of interest. At first came languid amusement in contemplating the pretty youngbride, then liking and compassion for her, then the great anxiety in herillness, and afterwards real affection and solicitude for her and herchild had filled his mind, and detached him from his own sorrows; and henow became sensible that he had, indeed, while trying to serve herand his brother, done much for his own relief. What she said of theirdependence on him was not only a pleasure to him, but it awoke him tothe perception that he had not been so utterly debarred from usefulnessas he had imagined, and that he had neglected much that might haveinfinitely benefited his brother, sister, and father. He had lived forhimself and Helen alone!

He tried to draw out Helen's example to teach Violet to endure, and indoing so the other side of the lesson came home to himself. Helen'slife had been one of exertion as well as of submission. It had not beenmerely spent in saying, 'Thy will be done, ' but in doing it; she hadnot merely stood still and uncomplaining beneath the cross, but she hadborne it onward in the service of others. 

CHAPTER 7

 Sweeter 'tis to hearken Than to bear a part, Better to look on happiness Than to carry a light heart, Sweeter to walk on cloudy hills, With a sunny plain below, Than to weary of the brightness Where the floods of sunshine flow. --ALFORD

One morning John received a letter from Constantinople, which he hadscarcely opened before he exclaimed, 'Ha! what does he mean? Given uphis appointment! Coming home! It is just like him. I must read you whathe says, it is, so characteristic. '

'You must have been provoked at my leaving you all this time in doubtwhat to do with our precious tour, but the fact is, that I have beenmaking a fool of myself, and as the Crusaders are the only cover myfolly has from the world, I must make the most of them. I give outthat my literary affairs require my presence; but you, as the means ofputting me into my post, deserve an honest confession. About six weeksago, my subordinate, Evans, fell sick--an estimable chicken-heartedfellow. In a weak moment, I not only took his work on my hands, butbored myself by nursing him, and thereby found it was a complaint onlyto be cured by my shoes. '

'Shoes! exclaimed Violet. John read on. 

'It was a dismal story of an engagement to a clergyman's daughter; herfather just dead, she reduced to go out as a governess, and he havinghalf nothing of his own, mending the matter by working himself into alow fever, and doing his best to rid her of all care on his account. Ofcourse I rowed him well, but I soon found I had the infection--a bad fitof soft-heartedness came over me. '

'Oh!' cried Violet, 'he gives up for this poor man's sake. '

'I thought all peace was over if I was to see poor Evans enacting theenamoured swain every day of my life, for the fellow had not the graceto carry it off like a man--besides having his business to do; or, if heshould succeed in dying, I should not only be haunted by his ghost, but have to convey his last words to the disconsolate governess. So, oncalculation, I thought trouble would be saved by giving notice that Iwas going home to publish the Crusaders, and sending him to fetch hisbride, on whose arrival I shall bid a long farewell to the Grand Turk. Ifancy I shall take an erratic course through Moldavia and some of thoseout-of-the-way locations, so you need not write to me again here, northink of me till you see me about the end of August. I suppose aboutthat time Theodora will have finished the course of severe toil reservedfor young ladies every spring, so I shall come straight home expectingto see you all. '

'Home; does that mean Martindale?' said Violet. 

'Yes. He has never looked on any place but Brogden as his home. '

'You don't think he repents of what he has done?'

'No, certainly not. He has seen what a long engagement is. '

'Yes; I almost wonder at his writing to you in that tone. '

'He banters because he cannot bear to show his real feeling. I amnot anxious about him. He has £300 a year of his own, and plenty ofresources, --besides, the baronetcy must come to him. He can afford to doas he pleases. '

'What a noble character he must be!' said Violet; 'it is like a story. How old is he?'

'About nine-and-twenty. I am glad you should see him. He is a veryamusing fellow. '

'How clever he must be!'

'The cleverest man I know. I hope he will come soon. I should like tohave a little time with him before my winter migration. We have notmet since he was obliged to return, a fortnight after her death, when Ilittle expected ever to see him again. '

This prospect seemed to set John's mind more than ever on Helen, as ifhe wanted to talk over her brother's conduct with her, and was imaginingher sentiments on it. 

He spoke much of her in the day, and in the evening brought down amanuscript-book. 

'I should like to read some of this to you, ' he said. 'She had so fewevents in her life at Elsdale that her letters, written to occupy mewhen I was laid up, became almost a journal of her thoughts. I copiedout some parts to carry about with me; and perhaps you would like tohear some of them. '

'Indeed, I should, thank you, if you ought to read aloud. '

He turned over the pages, and seemed to be trying whether he could bearto read different passages; but he gave up one after another, and nearlyhalf-an-hour had passed before he began. 

'February 20. It was the winter after her coming to Martindale. '

'This morning was a pattern one for February, and I went out before thebrightness was passed, and had several turns in the walled garden. I amafraid you will never be able to understand the pleasantness of such amorning. Perhaps you will say the very description makes you shiver, but I must tell you how beautiful it was. The frost last night was notsharp, but just sufficient to detain the dew till the sun could turn itinto diamonds. There were some so brilliant, glancing green or red indifferent lights, they were quite a study. It is pleasant to think thatthis pretty frost is not adorning the plants with unwholesome beauty, though the poor little green buds of currant and gooseberry don't likeit, and the pairs of woodbine leaves turn in their edges. It is doingthem good against their will, keeping them from spreading too soon. Ifancied it like early troubles, keeping baptismal dew fresh and bright;and those jewels of living light went on to connect themselves with theradiant coronets of some whom the world might call blighted in--'

It had brought on one of his severe fits of coughing. Violet was goingto ring for Brown, but he stopped her by a sign, which he tried to makereassuring. It was worse, and lasted longer than the former one, andexhausted him so much, that he had to rest on the sofa cushions beforehe could recover breath. At last, in a very low voice, he said, 'There, it is of no use to try. '

'I hope you are better; pray don't speak; only will you have anything?'

'No, thank you; lying still will set me to rights. It is only that thesecoughs leave a pain--nothing to mind. '

He settled himself on the sofa, not without threatenings of a returnof cough, and Violet arranged the cushions, concerned at his trying tothank her. After a silence, he began to breathe more easily, and said, 'Will you read me the rest of that?'

She gave him the book to find the place, and then read--

'The world might call them blighted in their early bloom, and deprivedof all that life was bestowed for; but how different is the innerview, and how glorious the thought of the numbers of quiet, commonplacesufferers in homely life, like my currant and gooseberry bushes, whohave found their frost has preserved their dewdrops to be diamonds forever. If this is too fanciful, don't read it, but I go rambling onas the notions come into my head, and if you only get a laugh at mydreamings, they will have been of some use to you. '

'How beautiful!' said Violet; 'how you must have liked receiving suchletters!'

'Yes; the greatest blank in the day is post time. '

He held out his hand for the book, and found another passage for her. 

'I have been thinking how kindly that sentence is framed: "Casting allyour care on Him. " All, as if we might have been afraid to lay beforeHim our petty perplexities. It is the knowing we are cared for indetail, that is the comfort; and that when we have honestly done ourbest in little things, our Father will bless them, and fill up ourshortcomings. 

'That dressmaker must have been a happy woman, who never took homeher work without praying that it might fit. I always liked that storyparticularly, as it shows how the practical life in the most trivialround can be united with thus casting all our care upon Him--the beingbusy in our own station with choosing the good part. I suppose it is asa child may do its own work in a manufactory, not concerning itself forthe rest; or a coral-worm make its own cell, not knowing what branchesit is helping to form, or what an island it is raising. What a mercythat we have only to try to do right from moment to moment, and notmeddle with the future!'

'Like herself, ' said John. 

'I never thought of such things, ' said Violet. 'I never thought littlematters seemed worth treating in this way. '

'Everything that is a duty or a grief must be worth it, ' said John. 'Consider the worthlessness of what we think most important in ThatPresence. A kingdom less than an ant's nest in comparison. But, here, I must show you a more everyday bit. It was towards the end, when shehardly ever left her grandfather, and I had been writing to urge her tospare herself. '

Violet read--

'You need not be afraid, dear John; I am quite equal to all I have todo. Fatigue never knocks me up, which is a great blessing; and I cansleep anywhere at the shortest notice. Indeed, I don't know what shouldtire me, for there is not even any running up and down stairs; and asto spirits, you would not think them in danger if you heard how I talkparish matters to the curate, and gossip with the doctor, till grandpapabrightens, and I have to shout an abstract of the news into his ear. Itis such a treat to bring that flash of intelligence on his face--and ithas not been so rare lately; he seems now and then to follow one of thePsalms, as I read them to him at intervals through the day. Then forpastime, there is no want of that, with the two windows looking outdifferent ways. I can't think how you could forget my two beautifulwindows--one with a view of the back door for my dissipation, and theother with the garden, and the varieties of trees and the ever-changingclouds. I never look out without finding some entertainment; my lastsight was a long-tailed titmouse, popping into the yew tree, and settingme to think of the ragged fir tree at Brogden, with you and Percy spyingup, questioning whether golden-crest or long-tailed pye lived in thedome above. No, no; don't waste anxiety upon me. I am very happy, andhave everything to be thankful for. '

'"My mind to me a kingdom is, " she might have said, ' observed John. 

'She might indeed. How beautiful! How ashamed it does make one ofoneself!'

So they continued, he choosing passages, which she read aloud, tillthe evening was over, when he asked her whether she would like to lookthrough the book?'

'That I should, but you had rather I did not. '

'Yes, I do wish you to read it, and to know Helen. There is nothingthere is any objection to your seeing. I wrote them out partly forPercy's sake. Your reading these to me has been very pleasant. '

'It has been so to me, I am sure. I do not know how to thank you; only Iam grieved that you have hurt yourself. I hope you are better now. '

'Yes, thank you; I shall be quite right in the morning. '

His voice was, however, so weak, and he seemed so uncomfortable, thatViolet was uneasy; and as Brown lighted her candle in the hall, shepaused to consult him, and found that, though concerned, he did notapprehend any bad consequences, saying that these attacks were oftenbrought on by a chill, or by any strong excitement; he had no doubt thiswas occasioned by hearing of Mr. Fotheringham's intended return; indeed, he had thought Mr. Martindale looking flushed and excited all day. 

Never did charge appear more precious than those extracts. She had anenthusiastic veneration for Helen, and there was a youthful, personalfeeling for her, which made her apply the words and admire them far morethan if they had been in print. As she dwelt upon them, the perceptiongrew on her, that not only was it a duty to strive for contentment, butthat to look on all trials as crosses to be borne daily, was the onlyway to obtain it. 

Helen's many homely trials and petty difficulties were what came toher chiefly as examples and encouragements, and she began to makeresolutions on her own account. 

Yet, one day, when Arthur was expected and did not come, she conjuredup so many alarms, that it was well that consideration for her companionobliged her to let him divert her mind. 

The next day John led her to the beach, and set her to find raresea-weeds for his mother. The charm of the pursuit, the curling tide, the occasional peeps at Johnnie as he was paraded, serene and sleepy, in Sarah's arms, made time speed so fast that she was taken by surprisewhen voices hailed them, and she beheld Arthur and his father. 

No wedding-day being in the case, Arthur had gladly put off his comingon a proposal from his father to accompany him, see John's menage, andbe introduced to his grandson. 

Much more warmly than in former times did Lord Martindale greet hisdaughter-in-law, and quickly he asked for the baby. In spite of thedoctor's prognostications, the little fellow had begun to mend, and helooked his best, nearly hidden in hood and mantle, and embellished byhis mother's happy face, as she held him in her arms, rejoicing in thewelcome bestowed on the first grandson. 

Violet had never been so comfortable with Lord Martindale. There was theadvantage of being the only lady, and he unbent more than he ever didat home. He had come partly to see what was to be the next arrangement. Five weeks of London had been almost too much for Lady Martindale, withwhom it never agreed, and who had found a season with her unmanageabledaughter very different from what it had formerly been, when her auntarranged everything for her; and the family were about to returnhome. Arthur was to bring his wife to Martindale as soon as his leavebegan--but this would not be for a month; and his father, concerned tosee her still so delicate, advised him not to think of her return toLondon in the hottest part of the year, and proposed to take her andthe baby home with him. John, however, declared that he should preferstaying on at Ventnor with her; the place agreed with him, and he likedthe quiet for finishing Percy Fotheringham's work besides, it suitedArthur better to be able to come backwards and forwards. The only doubtwas whether she was tired of his dull company. 

Arthur answered for her, and she was well satisfied, thinking it a greatescape not to have to go to Martindale without him, but afraid Johnwas giving up a great deal to her, when she must be a very tiresomecompanion; at which Arthur laughed, telling her of John's counter fears, and adding, that he had never seen his brother in such good spirits inall his life--he was now actually like other people. 

Lord Martindale also feared that John found his undertaking wearisome, and talked it over with him, saying it was very kind of him, very goodfor Arthur's wife; but was she society enough? 'Would he not like tohave Theodora to relieve him of the charge, and be more of a companion?'

'Thank you, ' said John, 'we shall be very glad to have Theodora, if shelikes to come. It is a very good opportunity for them to grow intimate. '

'I'll send her next time Arthur comes. '

'But you must not think it an act of compassion, as if Violet was onmy hands. She is a particularly agreeable person, and we do very welltogether. In fact, I have enjoyed this time very much; and Theodora mustnot think herself obliged to come for my sake, as if I wanted help. '

'I understand, ' said his father; 'and of course it will depend on whatengagements they have made; but I should be very glad she should be morewith you, and if she saw more of Arthur's wife, it might detach herfrom those friends of hers. I cannot think how it is Theodora is notdisgusted with Mrs. Finch! It is a comfort, after all, that Arthur didnot marry Miss Gardner!'

'A great one!'

'This girl has simplicity and gentleness at least, poor thing, 'continued Lord Martindale; 'and I am quite of your opinion, John, that marriage has improved him greatly. I never saw him so free fromnonsense. Strangely as it has come about, this may be the making of him. I only wish I could see her and the poor child looking stronger. I willsend your sister, by all means. '

So Lord Martindale returned, and proposed the plan to his daughter. Atfirst, she was flattered at being wanted, and graciously replied, 'PoorJohn, he must want some variety. '

'Not exactly that, ' said her father. 'They are so comfortable together, it is a pleasure to see them. I should like to stay there myself, and itis a very agreeable scheme for you. '

'I was considering my engagements, ' said Theodora. 'Of course, if I amreally wanted, everything must be put aside. '

'John desired you would not think it an act of charity, ' said herfather. 'He says he finds her a most agreeable companion, and you needonly look upon it as a pleasant scheme for all parties. '

'Oh, ' said Theodora, in a different tone. 

'He said you were not to put yourself out of the way. He would bevery glad of your company, and it will be very good for you all to betogether. '

'Oh! then I don't think it is worth while for me to go, ' said Theodora. 'I am much obliged to John, but I should only interfere with his courseof education. '

'Not go?' said her father. 

'No, there is no occasion; and I wish to be at home as soon as I can. '

'Well, my dear, you must decide your own way, but I thought you would beglad of the opportunity of being with John, and I should be glad, too, that you should see more of your sister. She is a very engaging person, and I am sure you would find her a more satisfactory companion than Mrs. Finch. '

After this speech, Theodora would have suffered considerably rather thanhave gone. 

'They will soon be at Martindale, ' she said, 'and I cannot stay longeraway from the village. '

'I wish at least that you would go down as I did for a day with Arthur. You would enjoy it, and it would give them all pleasure. Indeed, I thinkit would only be a proper piece of attention on your part. '

She made no answer, but the next time Arthur was going, she instantlystopped all her father's arrangements for her accompanying him, bysaying she was going to a lecture on electricity; then, when LordMartindale began asking if Arthur could not change his day, shemajestically said, 'No, Arthur would not disappoint Mrs. Martindale onmy account. '

'If you would go, Theodora, ' said Arthur, eagerly, 'Violet would notmind waiting. She would be specially pleased to show you the boy. It isvery jolly there. '

The first time he had spoken to her of his three months' old son. If shehad not been in a dire fit of sullen jealousy, it would have softened asmuch as it thrilled her, but she had the notion that she was not wanted, except to do homage to the universally-petted Violet. 

'I cannot spare a day. '

So Arthur was vexed, and the frost was harder. John had not muchexpected Theodora, and was more sorry for her sake than his own. Thelast month was still better than the first, the brother and sisterunderstood each other more fully, and their confidence had becomethoroughly confirmed. The baby had taken a start, as Sarah called it, left off unreasonable crying, sat up, laughed and stared about witha sharp look of inquiry in his dark eyes and tiny thin face, soridiculously like his grandfather, Mr. Moss, that his mother could nothelp being diverted with the resemblance, except when she tormentedherself with the fear that the likeness was unpleasing to Arthur, ifperchance he remarked it; but he looked so little at the child, that sheoften feared he did not care for him personally, though he had a certainpride in him as son and heir. 

Violet herself, though still delicate and requiring care, had recoveredher looks and spirits, and much of her strength, and John walked andconversed more than he had done for years, did not shrink from thesociety of the few families they were acquainted with, and seemed tohave derived as much benefit from his kind scheme as the objects of it. In fact his hopes and affections were taking a fresh spring--the effectsof his kindness to Arthur and Violet had shown him that he could beuseful to others, and he thus discovered what he had missed in hisindulged life, crossed in but one respect--he saw that he had sethimself aside from family duties, as well as from the more active onesthat his health prohibited, and with a feeling at once of regret andinvigoration, he thought over the course that lay open to him, and soonbegan to form plans and discuss them with his ever ready listener. Hisforeign winters need no longer be useless, he proposed to go to Barbudato look after his mother's estates--indeed, it seemed so obviousthat when he once thought of it he could not imagine why it had neveroccurred to him before; it would save his father the voyage, and whenhe and Violet began to figure to themselves the good that could be donethere, they grew animated and eager in their castles. 

That month sped fast away, and their drives were now last visits to theplaces that had charmed them at first. Their work was prepared for Mr. Fotheringham's inspection, and Violet having copied out her favouritepassages of Helen's book, returned it on the last evening. 'I don'tthink I half understand all she says, though I do admire it so much, andwish I was like it. '

'You will be, you are in the way. '

'You don't know how foolish I am, ' said Violet, almost as if he wasdisrespectful to Helen. 

'Helen was once seventeen, ' said John, smiling. 

'Oh, but I have no patience. I fret and tease myself, and fancy allsorts of things, instead of trusting as she did. I don't know how to doso. '

'I know how weakness brings swarming harassing thoughts, ' said John;'it is well for us that there are so many external helps to patience andconfidence. '

'Ah! that is what shows how bad I am, ' said Violet, despondingly. 'I never keep my mind in order at church, yet I am sure I was moreunreasonably discontented when I was not able to go. '

'Which shows it is of use to you. Think of it not only as a duty thatmust be fulfilled, but watch for refreshment from it, and you will findit come. '

'Ah! I have missed all the great festivals this year. I have not stayedto the full service since I was at Rickworth, and what is worse, I donot dislike being prevented, ' said Violet, falteringly; as if she mustsay the words, 'I don't like staying alone. '

'You must conquer that, ' said John, earnestly. 'That feeling must neverkeep you away. Your continuance is the best hope of bringing him; yourleaving off would be fatal to you both. I should almost like you topromise never to keep away because he did. '

'I think I can promise, ' said Violet, faintly. 'It is only what mammahas always had to do; and, last Christmas, it did keep me away. I didthink then he would have come; and when I found he did not--then I wasreally tired--but I know I could have stayed--but I made it an excuse, and went away. ' The tears began to flow. 'I thought of it again when Iwas ill; and afterwards when I found out how nearly I had been dying, it was frightful. I said to myself, I would not miss again; but I havenever had the opportunity since I have been well. '

'It is monthly at home, ' said John. 'Only try to look to it as a favourand a comfort, as I said about church-going, but in a still higherdegree--not merely as a service required from you. Believe it is arefreshment, and in time you will find it the greatest. '

'I'll try, ' she said, in a low, melancholy voice; 'but I never feel asgood people do. '

'You have had more than usual against you, ' said John; cares for whichyou were not prepared, and weakness to exaggerate them; but you willhave had a long rest, and I hope may be more equal to the tasks of dailylife. '

They were interrupted by tea being brought; and the conversationcontinued in a less serious style. 

'Our last tea-drinking, ' said John. 'Certainly, it has been verypleasant here. '

'This island, that I thought so far away, and almost in foreign parts, 'said Violet, smiling; 'I hope it has cured me of foolish terrors. '

'You will bravely make up your mind to Martindale. '

'I shall like to show Johnnie the peacock, ' said Violet, in a tone as ifseeking for some pleasant anticipation. 

John laughed, and said, 'Poor Johnnie! I shall like to see him there inhis inheritance. '

'Dear little man! I hope his grandfather will think him grown. I am gladthey did not see him while he was so tiny and miserable. I am sure theymust like him now, he takes so much notice. '

'You must not be disappointed if my mother does not make much of him, 'said John; 'it was not her way with her own. '

Then, as Violet looked aghast, 'You do not know my mother. It requiresa good deal to show what she can be, beneath her distant manner. I neverknew her till two years ago. '

'When you were past thirty!' broke from Violet's lips, in a sort ofhorror. 

'When I was most in need of comfort, ' he answered. 'There has beena formality and constraint in our life, that has not allowed theaffections their natural play, but indeed they exist. There have beentimes when even I distrusted my mother's attachment; but she could nothelp it, and it was all the stronger afterwards. Madeira taught me whatshe is, away from my aunt. '

'I do hope it is not wrong to feel about Mrs. Nesbit as I do! I am readyto run away from her. I know she is spying for my faults. Oh! I cannotlike her. '

'That is a very mild version of what I have felt, ' said John; 'I believeshe has done us all infinite harm. But I am hardly qualified to speak;for, from the time she gave up the hope of my being a credit to thefamily, she has disliked me, said cutting things, well-nigh persecutedme. She did harass Helen to give me up; but, after all, poor woman, Ibelieve I have been a great vexation to her, and I cannot help beingsorry for her. It is a pitiable old age, straining to keep hold of whatused to occupy her, and irritated at her own failing faculties. '

'I will try to think of that, ' said Violet. 

'I wonder what powers she will give me over her West Indian property;I must try, ' said John; 'it will make a great difference to myopportunities of usefulness. I must talk to my father about it. '

'How very kind Theodora is to poor little Miss Piper, ' said Violet. 

'Yes; that is one of Theodora's best points. '

'Oh! she is so very good; I wish she could endure me. '

'So do I, ' said John. 'I have neglected her, and now I reap the fruits. In that great house at home people live so much apart, that if they wishto meet, they must seek each other. And I never saw her as a child butwhen she came down in the evening, with her great black eyes looking solarge and fierce. As a wild high-spirited girl I never made acquaintancewith her, and now I cannot. '

'But when you were ill this last time, did she not read to you, andnurse you?'

'That was not permitted; there might have been risk, and besides, asArthur says, I only wish to be let alone. I had not then realized thatsympathy accepted for the sake of the giver will turn to the good of thereceiver. No; I have thrown her away as far as I am concerned; and whenI see what noble character and religious feeling there is with thatindomitable pride and temper, I am the more grieved. Helen walked withher twice or three times when she was at Martindale, and she told me howmuch there was in her, but I never tried to develop it. I thought whenHelen was her sister--but that chance is gone. That intractable spiritwill never be tamed but by affection; but, unluckily, I don't know, 'said John, smiling, 'who would marry Theodora. '

'Oh! how can you say so? She is so like Arthur. '

 John laughed. 'No, I give up the hope of a Petruchio. '

'But Mr. Wingfield, I thought--'

'Wingfield!' said John, starting. 'No, no, that's not likely. '

'Nor Lord St. Erme!'

'I hope not. He is fancy-bit, I suppose, but he is not her superior. Life with him would harden rather than tame her. No. After all, strangely as she has behaved about him, when she has him in sight, Isuspect there is one person among us more likely to soften her than anyother. '

'Arthur?'

'Arthur's son. '

'Oh! of course, and if she will but love my Johnnie I don't much careabout his mamma. '

CHAPTER 8

 In glowing health, with boundless wealth, But sickening of a vague disease, You know so ill to deal with time, You needs must play such pranks as these. --TENNYSON

In spite of herself, Theodora's heart bounded at the prospect of havingArthur's child in the house. She visited the babies in the village, andmultiplying their charms by the superior beauty of Arthur and his wife, proportionably raised her expectations, but, of course, she betrayednone of her eagerness, and would not give up one iota of her course ofvillage occupations for the sake of being at home for the arrival. 

Nevertheless, she returned across the park, through burning sunshine, atdouble-quick pace, only slackened on seeing a carriage, but it provedto be her aunt, who was being assisted out of it, and tottering up thesteps with the help of Lady Martindale's arm, while Miss Piper, comingdown to give her assistance, informed them that the party had arrivedabout an hour before. The two gentlemen had gone out, and Mrs. ArthurMartindale was in her own room. 

Trembling with eagerness, Theodora followed the tardy steps of hermother and aunt as they mounted the stairs. As they entered the gallery, a slender figure advanced to meet them, her apple-blossom face allsmiles, and carrying a thing like a middle-sized doll, if doll had everbeen as bald, or as pinched, or as skinny, or flourished such sparearms, or clenched such claw-like fingers. Was this the best she couldgive Arthur by way of son and heir? Yet she looked as proud and exultingas if he had been the loveliest of children, and the little wretchhimself had a pert, lively air of speculation, as if he partook hercomplacency. 

Lady Martindale gave her stately greeting, and Mrs. Nesbit coldlytouched her hand; then Theodora, with some difficulty, pronounced thewords, 'How are you?' and brought herself to kiss Violet's cheek, buttook no apparent notice of the child, and stood apart while her mothermade all hospitable speeches, moving on, so as not to keep Mrs. Nesbitstanding. 

Theodora followed her aunt and mother, and as soon as the baize door wasshut on them, Violet hugged her baby closely, whispering, 'No welcomefor the poor little boy! nobody cares for him but his own mamma! Nevermind, my Johnnie, we are not too grand to love each other. '

Theodora in the meantime could not help exclaiming, 'Poor child! It isjust like a changeling!'

'Don't talk of it, my dear, ' said Lady Martindale, with a shudder andlook of suffering. 'Poor little dear! He looks exactly as your poorlittle brother did!' and she left the room with a movement far unlikeher usually slow dignified steps. 

'Ah!' said her aunt, in a tone between grief and displeasure; 'here's apretty business! we must keep him out of her way! Don't you ever bringhim forward, Theodora, to revive all that. '

'What is the meaning of it?' said Theodora. 'I did not know I ever hadanother brother. '

'It was long before your time, my dear, but your mamma has neverentirely got over it, though he only lived nine weeks. I would not havehad the recollection recalled on any account. And now John has broughtthis child here! If he was to die here I don't know what the effect onyour mamma would be. '

'He is not going to die!' said Theodora, hastily; 'but let me hear of myother brother, aunt. '

'There is nothing to hear, my dear, ' said Mrs. Nesbit. 'How could thegirl think of bringing him on us without preparation? An effect ofJohn's spoiling her, of course. She expects him to be made much of; butshe must be taught to perceive this is no house of which she can makeall parts a nursery. '

'Let me hear about my brother, ' repeated Theodora. 'How old would he be?What was his name?'

'His name was Theodore. He never could have lived, ' said Mrs. Nesbit:'it was much as it was with this child of Arthur's. He was bornunexpectedly at Vienna. Your mamma had a dreadful illness, brought on byyour father's blundering sudden way of telling her of the death ofpoor little Dora and Anna. He has not a notion of self-command orconcealment; so, instead of letting me prepare her, he allowed her tocome home from the drive, and find him completely overcome. '

Theodora better understood her mother's stifled sympathy for Violet, andher father's more openly shown feeling for Arthur. 

'We were in great alarm for her, ' continued Mrs. Nesbit, 'and the poorchild was a miserable little thing, and pined away till we thought itbest to send him home to be under English treatment; and your fatherchose to go with him to see John, who was in a very unsatisfactorystate. '

'And mamma did not go?'

'She was unfit for the journey, and I remained with her. It was afortunate arrangement of mine, for I knew he could not survive, andanxiety for him retarded her recovery, though we had hardly ever let hersee him. '

'Then he died?--how soon?'

'At Frankfort, a fortnight after we parted with him. It was a dreadfulshock to her; and if it had happened in the house, I do not think shewould ever have recovered it. Was it a fortnight? Yes, I know it was;for it was on the 3rd of September that I had your papa's letter. We were going to a party at Prince K--'s, where there was to be acelebrated Italian improvisatrice, and I would not give her the lettertill the next morning. '

Theodora stared at her in incredulous horror. 

'It threw her back sadly; but I did my utmost to rally her spirits, andher health did not suffer so materially as I feared; but she has strongfeelings, and the impression has never been entirely removed. Shescarcely ventured to look at Arthur or at you. How could your papa havelet this child come here?'

'Is he like poor little Theodore?' said the sister. 

'Only as one wretched-looking baby is like another. This one is not abit like the Martindales; it is exactly his mother's face. '

'Is he buried here?'

'Who--Theodore? Yes; your papa came home, and managed matters his ownway, sent off all the governesses, put John under that ignorant oldnurse, and began the precious intimacy with the Fotheringhams, that ledto such results. I could have told him how it would be; but I believe hedid repent of that!'

'Did John know about Theodore?'

'No; his sisters' death had such an effect on him that they kept theknowledge from him. You had better never mention it, my dear; andespecially, ' she added, somewhat pleadingly, 'I would not have the partyat the Prince's transpire to your papa. '

Theodora felt her indignation would not endure concealment much longer. She called Miss Piper, and hastened away, the next moment findingherself vis-a-vis with John. 

'Are you just come in?' said he, greeting her. 

'No, I have been with my aunt. How are you now?'

'Quite well, thank you. I wish you could have come to Ventnor. You wouldhave enjoyed it very much. '

'Thank you. '

'Have you seen Violet?'

'Yes, I have. '

'And the little boy?'

'Yes. '

'I can't say he is a beauty, but you who are such a baby fancier willfind him a very animated, intelligent child. I hope all fear is overabout him now; he has thriven wonderfully of late. '

Perverseness prompted Theodora to say, 'The baby at the lodge is twicethe size. '

John saw there was no use in talking, and shut himself into his room. The next instant Sarah appeared, with the baby on one arm, and a pile ofclothes on the other. 

No one was in sight, so Theodora could gratify her passionate yearningsfor her brother's babe; justifying herself to her own pride, byconsidering it charity to an overloaded servant. 

'Let me have him. Let me carry him up. '

'Thank you, ma'am, I'll not fash you, ' said Sarah, stiffly. 

'Let me! Oh! let me. I have often held a baby. Come to me, my precious. Don't you know your aunt, your papa's own sister? There, he smiled atme! He will come! You know me, you pretty one?'

She held him near the window, and gazed with almost devouring eyes. 

'He will be handsome--he will be beautiful!' she said. 'Oh! it is ashame to say you are not! You are like your papa--you are a thoroughMartindale! That is your papa's bright eye, and the real Martindalebrow, you sweet, little, fair, feeble, helpless thing! Oh, nurse, Ican't spare him yet, and you have to unpack. Let me hold him. I know helikes me. Don't you love Aunt Theodora, babe?'

Sarah let her keep him, mollified by her devotion to him, and relievedat having him off her hands in taking possession of the great, bare, scantily-furnished nursery. Theodora lamented over his delicate looks, and was told he would not be here now but for his mamma, and the Isleof Wight doctor, who had done him a power of good. She begged to hear ofall his wants; rang the bell, and walked up and down the room, caressinghim, until he grew fretful, and no one answering the bell she rang againin displeasure, Sarah thanking her, and saying she wished to have himready for bed before his mamma came up. 

After her public reception, Theodora would not be caught nursing him insecret, so hastily saying she would send some one, she kissed the littleblue-veined forehead, and rushing at full speed down the back stairs, she flew into the housekeeper's room; 'Jenkins, there's no one attendingto the nursery bell. I wish you would see to it. Send up some one withsome hot water to Master Martindale directly. '

As fast she ran back to her own room, ordered off Pauline to help MasterMartindale's nurse, and flung herself into her chair, in a wild fit ofpassion. 

'Improvisatrice! Prince's parties! this is what it is to be great, rich, horrid people, and live a heartless, artificial life! Even this silly, affected girl has the natural instincts of a mother, she nurses her sickchild, it lies on her bosom, she guards it jealously! And we! we mightas well have been hatched in an Egyptian oven! No wonder we are hard, isolated, like civil strangers. I have a heart! Yes, I have, but it isthere by mistake, while no one cares for it--all throw it from them. Oh!if I was but a village child, a weeding woman, that very baby, so thatI might only have the affection that comes like the air to the weakest, the meanest. That precious baby! he smiled at me; he looked as if hewould know me. Oh! he is far more lovable, with those sweet, little, delicate features, and large considering eyes, than if he was a great, plump, common-looking child. Dearest little Johnnie! And my own brotherwas like him--my brother, whom my aunt as good as killed! If he hadlived, perhaps I might still have a brother to myself. He would betwenty-eight. But I mind nothing now that dear child is here! Why, Pauline, I sent you to Master Martindale. '

'Yes, ma'am; but Mrs. Martindale is there, and they are much obliged toyou, but want nothing more. '

Indeed Violet, who had been positively alarmed and depressed at first, at the waste and desolate aspect of the nursery, which seemed so faraway and neglected, as almost, she thought, to account for the death ofthe two little sisters, had now found Sarah beset on all sides by offersof service from maids constantly knocking at the door, and Theodora'sown Pauline, saying she was sent by Miss Martindale. 

Violet could hardly believe her ears. 

'Yes, ' said Sarah, 'Miss Martindale has been here herself ever so long. A fine, well-grown lassie she is, and very like the Captain. '

'Has she been here?' said Violet. 'It is very kind of her. Did she lookat the baby?'

'She made more work with him than you do yourself. Nothing was not goodenough for him. Why, she called him the most beautifullest baby she everseen!'

'And that we never told you, my Johnnie, ' said Violet, smiling. 'Are yousure she was not laughing at you, baby?'

'No, no, ma'am, ' said Sarah, affronted; 'it was earnest enough. She wasnigh ready to eat him up, and talked to him, and he look up quite 'cute, as if he knew what it all meant, and was quite good with her. She wasready to turn the house upside down when they did not answer the bell. And how she did kiss him, to be sure! I'd half a mind to tell her of oldnurse telling you it warn't good for the child to be always kissing ofhim. '

'No, no, she won't hurt him, ' said Violet, in a half mournful voice. 'Let her do as she likes with him, Sarah. '

Violet could recover from the depression of that cold reception nowthat she found Johnnie did not share in the dislike. 'She loves Arthur'schild, ' thought she, 'though she cannot like me. I am glad Johnnie hasbeen in his aunt's arms!'

Violet, as she sat at the dinner-table, understood Lord Martindale'ssatisfaction in hearing John talking with animation; but she wonderedat the chill of manner between her husband and his sister, and began toperceive that it was not, as she had supposed, merely in an occasionalimpatient word, that Arthur resented Theodora's neglect of her. 

'How unhappy it must make her! how much it must add to her dislike!they must be brought together again!' were gentle Violet's thoughts. And knowing her ground better, she could venture many more steps towardsconciliation than last year: but Theodora disappeared after dinner, andViolet brought down some plants from the Isle of Wight which John hadpronounced to be valuable, to his mother; but Mrs. Nesbit, at the firstglance, called them common flowers, and shoved them away contemptuously, while Lady Martindale tried to repair the discourtesy by condescendingthanks and admiration of the neat drying of the specimens; but herstateliness caused Violet to feel herself sinking into the hesitatingtremulous girl she used to be, and she betook herself to her work, hoping to be left to silence; but she was molested by a very sharp, unpleasant examination from Mrs. Nesbit on the style of John'shousekeeping at Ventnor, and the society they had met there. It wasplain she thought he had put himself to a foolish expense, and somethingwas said of 'absurd' when cross-examination had elicited the fact ofthe pony-carriage. Then came a set of questions about Mr. Fotheringham'sreturn, and strong condemnation of him for coming home to idle inEngland. 

It was a great relief when John came in, and instantly took up thedefence of the ophrys, making out its species so indisputably, that Mrs. Nesbit had no refuge but in saying, specimens were worthless thathad not been gathered by the collector, and Lady Martindale made allbecoming acknowledgments. No wonder Mrs. Nesbit was mortified; she wasan excellent botanist, and only failing eyesight could have madeeven prejudice betray her into such a mistake. Violet understood thecompassion that caused John to sit down by her and diligently strive tointerest her in conversation. 

Theodora had returned as tea was brought in, and Violet felt as if shemust make some demonstration out of gratitude for the fondness for herchild; but she did not venture on that subject, and moving to her side, asked, with somewhat timid accents, after Charlie Layton, the dumb boy. 

'He is very well, thank you. I hope to get him into an asylum nextyear, ' said Theodora, but half-pleased. 

'I looked for him at the gate, and fancied it was him I saw with a broadblack ribbon on his hat. Is he in mourning?'

'Did you not hear of his mother's death?'

'No, poor little fellow. '

Therewith Theodora had the whole history to tell, and thawed as shespoke; while Violet's deepening colour, and eyes ready to overflow, proved the interest she took; and she had just begged to go to-morrowto see the little orphan, when Arthur laid his hand on her shoulder, and told her he had just come from the stables, where her horse was inreadiness for her, and would she like to ride to-morrow?

'What will suit you for us to do?' said Violet, turning to Theodora. 

'Oh, it makes no difference to me. '

'Tuesday. It is not one of your schooldays, is it?' said Violet, appearing unconscious of the chill of the answer; then, looking up toArthur, 'I am going, at any rate, to walk to the lodge with Theodora tosee the poor baby there. It is just the age of Johnnie. '

'You aren't going after poor children all day long, ' said Arthur: andsomehow Violet made a space between them on the ottoman, and pulled himdown into it; and whereas he saw his wife and sister apparently sharingthe same pursuits, and on friendly terms, he resumed his usual tone withTheodora, and began coaxing her to ride with them, and inquiring afterhome interests, till she lighted up and answered in her natural manner. Then Violet ventured to ask if she was to thank her for the deliciousgeranium and heliotrope she had found in her room. 

'Oh no! that is an attention of Harrison or Miss Piper, I suppose. '

'Or? probably and?' suggested Arthur. 'How does that go on?'

'Take care, ' said Theodora, peeping out beyond the shadow of his broadshoulder. 'Tis under the strictest seal of confidence; she asked myadvice as soon as she had done it. '

'What! has she accepted him!' said Violet. 'Has it come to that?'

'Ay; and now she wants to know whether people will think it odd andimproper. Let them think, I say. '

'A piece of luck for her, ' said Arthur; 'better marry a coal-heaver thanlead her present life. '

'Yes; and Harrison is an educated man though a coxcomb, and knows shecondescends. '

'But why are they waiting!' asked Violet. 

'Because she dares not tell my aunt. She trembles and consults, andwalks behind my aunt's chair in the garden, exchanging glances withHarrison over her head, while he listens to discourses on things withhard names. The flutter and mystery seem to be felicity, and, if theylike it, 'tis their own concern. '

'Now I know why Miss Piper told me Miss Martindale was so considerate, 'said Violet. 

What had become of the estrangement! Arthur had forgotten it, Violet hadbeen but half-conscious of it, even while uniting them; Theodora thoughtall was owing to his being at home, and she knew not who had restoredhim. 

Indeed, the jealous feeling was constantly excited, for Arthur'sdevotion to his wife was greater than ever, in his delight at beingwith her again, and his solicitude to the weakness which Theodora couldneither understand nor tolerate. She took all unclassified ailments asfine lady nonsense; and was angry with Violet for being unable to teachat school, contemptuous if Arthur observed on her looking pale, andirate if he made her rest on the sofa. 

John added to the jealousy. Little as Theodora apparently regarded him, she could not bear to be set aside while Violet held the place of thefavourite sister, and while her father openly spoke of the benefit hehad derived from having that young bright gentle creature so much withhim. 

The alteration was indeed beyond what could have been hoped for. Thefirst day, when his horse was led round with the others, it was supposedto be by mistake, till he came down with his whip in his hand; and nottill they were past the lodge did Theodora believe he was going tomake one of the riding party. She had never seen him take part in theirexcursions, or appear to consider himself as belonging to the youngerportion of the family, and when they fell in with any acquaintanceArthur was amused, and she was provoked, at the surprisedcongratulations on seeing Mr. Martindale with them. 

Lord Martindale was delighted to find him taking interest in mattersto which he had hitherto scarcely paid even languid attention; andthe offer to go to Barbuda was so suitable and gratifying that it waseagerly discussed in many a consultation. 

He liked to report progress to Violet, and as she sat in thedrawing-room, the two brothers coming to her with all their concerns, Theodora could have pined and raged in the lonely dignity of her citadelup-stairs. She did not know the forbearance that was exercised towardsher by one whom she had last year taught what it was to find othersbetter instructed than herself in the family councils. 

Violet never obtruded on her, her intimacy with John's designs, thinkingit almost unfair on his sister that any other should be more in hisconfidence. 

So, too, Violet would not spoil her pleasure in her stolen caresses oflittle Johnnie by seeming to be informed of them. She was grateful forher love to him, and would not thrust in her unwelcome self. In publicthe boy was never seen and rarely mentioned, and Theodora appeared toacquiesce in the general indifference, but whenever she was secure ofnot being detected, she lavished every endearment on him, rejoiced inthe belief that he knew and preferred her enough to offend his dotingmamma, had she known it; never guessing that Violet sometimes delayedher visits to the nursery, in order not to interfere with her enjoymentof him. 

Violet had not yet seen the Brandons, as they had been making visitsbefore returning home; but she had many ardent letters from Emma, describing the progress of her acquaintance with Miss Marstone, the ladywho had so excited her imagination, and to whom she had beenintroduced at a school festival. She seemed to have realized all Emma'sexpectations, and had now come home with her to make some stay atRickworth. Violet was highly delighted when, a few days after theirreturn, her friends were invited to dinner, on the same evening that Mr. Fotheringham was expected. The afternoon of that day was one of glowingAugust sunshine, almost too much for Violet, who, after they had riddensome distance, was rather frightened to hear Theodora propose to extendtheir ride by a canter over the downs; but John relieved her by askingher to return with him, as he wanted to be at home in time to receiveMr. Fotheringham. 

Accordingly, they rode home quietly together, but about an hour after, on coming up-stairs, he was surprised to find Violet in her eveningdress, pacing the gallery with such a countenance that he exclaimed, 'Ihope there is nothing amiss with the boy. '

Oh, nothing, thank you, he is quite well, ' but her voice was on theverge of tears. 'Is Mr. Fotheringham come?'

No, I have given him up now, till the mail train; but it is not verylate; Arthur and Theodora can't be back till past seven if they go toWhitford down, ' said John, fancying she was in alarm on their account. 

'I do not suppose they can. '

'I am afraid we took you too far. Why are you not resting?'

'It is cooler here, ' said Violet. 'It does me more good than staying inmy room. '

'Oh, you get the western sun there. '

'It comes in hot and dazzling all the afternoon till it is bakedthrough, and I can't find a cool corner. Even baby is fretful in such ahot place, and I have sent him out into the shade. '

'Is it always so?'

'Oh, no, only on such days as this; and I should not care about itto-day, but for one thing'--she hesitated, and lowered her voice, partlypiteous, partly ashamed. 'Don't you know since I have been so weak andstupid, how my face burns when I am tired? and, of all things, Arthurdislikes a flushed race. There, now I have told you; but I could nothelp it. It is vain and foolish and absurd to care, almost wicked, andI have told myself so fifty times; but I have got into a fret, and Icannot leave off. I tried coming here to be cool, but I feel it growingworse, and there's the dinner-party, and Arthur will be vexed'--and shewas almost crying. 'I am doing what I thought I never would again, andabout such nonsense. '

'Come in here, ' said John, leading her into a pleasant apartment fittedup as a library, the fresh air coming through the open window. 'I waswishing to show you my room. '

'How cool! Arthur told me it was the nicest room in the house, ' saidViolet, her attention instantly diverted. 

'Yes, am I not a luxurious man? There, try my great armchair. I am gladto have a visit from you. You must come again. '

'Oh! thank you. What quantities of books! No wonder every book one wantscomes out of your room. '

'I shall leave you the use of them. '

'Do you mean that I may take any of your books home with me?'

'It will be very good for them. '

'How delightful, ' and she was up in a moment reading their titles, buthe made her return to the great chair. 

'Rest now, there will be plenty of time, now you know your way. Youmust make this your retreat from the sun. Ah, by the bye, I have justrecollected that I brought something for you from Madeira. I chose itbecause it reminded me of the flowers you wore at the Whitford ball. '

It was a wreath of pink and white brier roses, in the feather flowersof Madeira, and she was delighted, declaring Arthur would think itbeautiful, admiring every bud and leaf, and full of radiant girlishsmiles. It would exactly suit her dress, Arthur's present, now worn forthe first time. 

'You are not going yet?'

'I thought I might be in your way. '

'Not at all; if I had anything to do, I would leave you to the books;but I have several things to show you. '

'I was wishing to look at those drawings. Who is that queen with thecross on her arm?'

'St. Helena; it is a copy from a fresco by one of the old masters. '

'What a calm grave face! what strange stiff drawing!--and yet it suitsit: it is so solemn, with that matronly dignity. That other, too--thoseapostles, with their bowed heads and clasped hands, how reverent theylook!'

'They are from Cimabue, ' said John: 'are they not majestically humble inadoration?'

Between, these two hung that awful dark engraving from Albert Durer. 

'These have been my companions, ' said John. 

'Through all the long months that you have been shut up here?'

'My happiest times. '

'Ah! that does, indeed, make me ashamed of my discontent andingratitude, ' sighed Violet. 

'Nay, ' said John, 'a little fit of fatigue deserves no such harshnames. '

'When it is my besetting sin--all here speaks of patience andunrepining. '

'No, no, said John--'if you cannot sit still; I have sat still too much. We have both a great deal to learn. '

As he spoke he unlocked a desk, took out a miniature, looked atit earnestly, and then in silence put it into her hand. She wasdisappointed; she knew she was not to expect beauty; but she had figuredto herself a saintly, spiritual, pale countenance, and she saw that of around-faced, rosy-cheeked, light-haired girl, looking only as if she wassitting for her picture. 

After much doubt what to say, she ventured only, 'I suppose this wasdone a long time ago?'

'When she was quite a girl. Mrs. Percival gave it to me; it was takenfor her long before. I used not to like it. '

'I did not think she would have had so much colour. '

'It was a thorough English face: she did not lose those rosy cheeks tillwant of air faded them. Then I should hardly have known her, but thecountenance had become so much more--calm it had always been, remindingme of the description of Jeanie Deans' countenance--I cannot tell youwhat it was then! I see a little dawning of that serenity on the mouth, even as it is here; but I wish anything could give you an idea of thatlook!'

Thank you for showing it to me, ' said Violet, earnestly. 

After studying it a little while, he restored it to its place. Hethen took out a small box, and, after a moment's hesitation, put intoViolet's hands a pink coral cross, shaped by the animals themselves, andfastened by a ring to a slender gold chain. 

'The cross!' said Violet, holding it reverently: 'it is very kind of youto let me see it. '

'Would you like to keep it, Violet?'

'Oh!' she exclaimed, and stopped short, with tearful eyes. 

'You know she wished some one to have it who would find comfort in it, as she did. '

'No one will prize it more, but can you bear to part with it?'

'If you will take it, as her gift. '

'But just now, when I have been so naughty--so unlike her!'

'More like her than ever, in struggling with besetting failings; you arelearning to see in little trials the daily cross; and if you go on, theserenity which was a gift in her will be a grace in you. '

They were interrupted: Brown, with beaming face, announced 'Mr. Fotheringham'; and there stood a gentleman, strong and broad-shouldered, his face burnt to a deep red, his dark brown hair faded at the tips toa light rusty hue, and his irregular features, wide, smiling mouth, andmerry blue eyes, bright with good humour. 

'Ha, Percy! here you are!' cried John, springing towards him with joyfulalacrity, and giving a hand that was eagerly seized. 

'Well, John, how are you?' exclaimed a hearty voice. 

'Arthur's wife:' and this unceremonious introduction caused her to befavoured with a warm shake of the hand; but, much discomfited at beingin their way, she hastily gathered up her treasures, and glided away asJohn was saying, 'I had almost given you up. '

'I walked round by Fowler's lodge, to bestow my little Athenian owl. Ibrought it all the way in my pocket, or on my hand, and I put him inTom Fowler's charge while I am here. I could not think what fashionableyoung lady you had here. How has that turned out?'

'Excellently!' said John, warmly. 

'She is a beauty!' said Percival. 

'She can't help that, poor thing, ' said John: 'she is an admirablecreature; indeed, she sometimes reminds me of your sister. '

Then, as Percy looked at him, as if to be certain he was in his senses, 'I don't expect others to see it; it is only one expression. '

'How are you? You look in better case. '

'I am wonderfully well, thank you. Has your romance come to asatisfactory denouement?'

'The happy pair were at Malta when I started. '

'And where have you been?'

'Oh! in all manner of queer places. I have been talking Latin with thefolks in Dacia. Droll state of things there; one could fancy it Britain, or Gaul half settled by the Teutons, with the Roman sticking about them. But that's too much to tell, I have heard nothing from home this age. How is Theodora? I am afraid she has outgrown her antics. '

'She is not too much like other people. '

'Are you all at home, and in "statu quo"?'

'Yes, except that my aunt is more aged and feeble. '

'And Master Arthur has set up for a domestic character. It must be aftera fashion of his own. '

'Rather so, ' said John, smiling; 'but it has done him a great deal ofgood. He has more heart in him than you and I used to think; and home isdrawing it out, and making a man of him in spite of himself. '

'How came she to marry him?'

'Because she knew no better, poor thing; her family promoted it, andtook advantage of her innocence. '

'Is she a sensible woman?'

'Why, poor child, she has plenty of sense, but it is not doing herjustice to call her a woman. She is too fine a creature to come early toher full growth--she is a woman in judgment and a child in spirits. '

'So, Arthur has the best of the bargain. '

'He does not half understand her; but they are very much attached, andsome day she will feel her influence and use it. '

'Form herself first, and then him. I hope Mark Gardner will keep out ofthe way during the process. '

'He is safe in Paris. '

'And how have you been spending the summer?'

'I have been at Ventnor, getting through the Crusaders, and keepinghouse with Violet and her child, who both wanted sea air. '

'What's her name?'

'Violet. '

'Well, that beats all! Violet! Why, Vi'let was what they called the oldblack cart-horse! I hope the child is Cowslip or Daisy!'

'No, he is John, my godson. '

'John! You might as well be called Man! It is no name at all. ThatArthur should have gone and married a wife called Violet!!'

Meanwhile Violet was wondering over the honour she had received, caressing the gift, and thinking of the hopes that had faded over ittill patience had done her perfect work. She did not remember her otherpresent till she heard sounds betokening the return of the riders. Sheplaced it on her head, and behold! the cheeks had no more than their ownroseate tinting, and she was beginning to hope Arthur would be pleased, when she became aware of certain dark eyes and a handsome face set injet-black hair, presenting itself over her shoulder in the long glass. 

'You little piece of vanity! studying yourself in the glass, so that younever heard me come in? Well, you have done it to some purpose. Wheredid you get that thing?'

'John brought it from Madeira. '

'I did not think he had so much taste. Where have you bottled it up allthis time!'

'He forgot it till there was an opportunity for wearing it. Is it notpretty? And this is your silk, do you see?'

'Very pretty, that's the real thing. I am glad to find you in good trim. I was afraid Theodora had taken you too far, and the heat would knockyou up, and the boy would roar till you were all manner of colours. '

'I was hot and tired, but John invited me into his nice cool room, andonly think! he showed me Helen's picture. '

'He has one, has he? She was nothing to look at; just like Percy--youknow he is come?'

'Yes, he came while I was in John's room. He is not at all like what Iexpected. '

'No, ladies always expect a man to look like a hero or a brigand. Shehad just that round face, till the last when I saw her in London, andthen she looked a dozen years older than John--enough to scare one. '

'See what he gave me. '

'Ha! was that hers? I remember, it was that my aunt kicked up such adust about. So he has given you that. '

'Helen said she should like some one to have it who would find as muchcomfort in it as she did. '

'Comfort! What comfort do you want?'

'Only when I am foolish. '

'I should think so; and pray what is to be the comfort of a bit of corallike that?'

'Not the coral, but the thoughts, dear Arthur, ' said Violet, colouring, and restoring the cross to its place within her dress. 

'Well! you and John understand your own fancies, but I am glad you canenter into them with him, poor fellow! It cheers him up to have some oneto mope with. '

CHAPTER 9

 P. Henry. --But do you use me thus, Ned; must I marry your sister? Poins. --May the wench have no worse fortune, but I never said so. 

 --K. Henry IV

Arthur met the new-comer, exclaiming, 'Ha! Fotheringham, you have notbrought me the amber mouth-piece I desired John to tell you of. '

'Not I. I don't bring Turks' fashion into Christian countries. You oughtto learn better manners now you are head of a family. '

Theodora entered, holding her head somewhat high, but there was adecided heightening of the glow on her cheek as Mr. Fotheringham shookhands with her. Lord Martindale gave him an affectionate welcome, andLady Martindale, though frigid at first, grew interested as she askedabout his journey. 

The arriving guests met him with exclamations of gladness, as if he wasan honour to the neighbourhood; and John had seldom looked more cheerfuland more gratified than in watching his reception. 

At length came the names for which Violet was watching; and the presenceof Lady Elizabeth gave her a sense of motherly protection, as she wasgreeted with as much warmth as was possible for shy people in the midstof a large party. Emma eagerly presented her two friends to each other, and certainly they were a great contrast. Miss Marstone was sallow, withthin sharply-cut features, her eyes peered out from spectacles, her hairwas disposed in the plainest manner, as well as her dress, which wasanything but suited to a large dinner-party. Violet's first impulse wasto be afraid of her, but to admire Emma for being attracted by worththrough so much formidable singularity. 

'And the dear little godson is grown to be a fine fellow, ' began Emma. 

'Not exactly that, ' said Violet, 'but he is much improved, and so brightand clever. '

'You will let us see him after dinner?'

'I have been looking forward to it very much, but he will be asleep, andyou won't see his pretty ways and his earnest dark eyes. '

'I long to see the sweet child, ' said Miss Marstone. 'I dote on suchdarlings. I always see so much in their countenances. There is the germof so much to be drawn out hereafter in those deep looks of thought. '

'My baby often looks very intent. '

'Intent on thoughts beyond our power to trace!' said Miss Marstone. 

'Ah! I have often thought that we cannot fathom what may be passing in ababy's mind, ' said Emma. 

'With its fixed eyes unravelling its whole future destiny!' said MissMarstone. 

'Poor little creature!' murmured Violet. 

'I am convinced that the whole course of life takes its colouring fromsome circumstance at the time unmarked. '

'It would frighten me to think so, ' said Violet. 

'For instance, I am convinced that a peculiar bias was given to my owndisposition in consequence of not being understood by the nurse andaunt who petted my brother, while they neglected me. Perhaps I was nota prepossessing child, but I had deeper qualities which might have beendrawn out, though, on the whole, I do not regret what threw me early onmy own resources. It has made me what I am. '

Violet was rather surprised, but took it for granted that this wassomething admirable. 

'Your dear little boy, no doubt, occupies much of your attention. Training and instruction are so important. '

'He is not five months old, ' said Violet. 

'You cannot begin too early to lead forward his mind. Well chosenengravings, properly selected toys, the habit of at once obeying, thechoice of nursery songs, all are of much importance in forming thesedear little lambs to the stern discipline of life. '

'You must have had a great deal to do with little children, ' saidViolet, impressed. 

'Why, not much personally; but I believe Emma has sent you my littleallegory of the "Folded Lambs", where you will find my theoriesillustrated. '

'Yes, Emma gave it to me--it is very pretty, ' said Violet, looking down. 'I am too stupid to understand it all, and I have been hoping for Emmato explain it to me. '

'Many people find it obscure, but I shall be delighted to assist you. I am sure you will find some of the ideas useful to you. What were yourdifficulties?'

It made Violet so very shy to be spoken to by an authoress in publicabout her own books, that she was confused out of all remembrance of thewhole story of the "Folded Lambs", and could only feel thankful that theannouncement of dinner came to rescue her from her difficulties. She wasnot to escape authors; for Mr. Fotheringham took her in to dinner, LadyMartindale assigned Miss Brandon to John; but Arthur, with a droll look, stepped between and made prize of her, leaving John to Miss Marstone. 

Violet trusted she was not likely to be examined in the "Track of theCrusaders", of which, however, she comprehended far more than of the"Folded Lambs". Presently her neighbour turned to her, asking abruptly, 'Who is that next to Theodora?'

'Mr. Wingfield, the clergyman here. '

'I know. Is he attentive to the parish!'

'O yes, very much so. '

'Does Theodora take to parish work?'

'Indeed she does. '

'What, thoroughly?'

'She goes to school twice a week, besides Sundays, and has the farmchildren to teach every morning. '

'That's right. '

'And she is so kind to the children at the Lodge. '

'Let me see, they were afraid the boy was deaf and dumb. '

'Yes, he is, poor little fellow, and Theodora teaches him mostsuccessfully. '

'Well done! I knew the good would work out. How tall she is! and shelooks as full of spirit as ever. She has had a season in London, Isuppose!'

'Yes, she went out a great deal this spring. '

'And it has not spoilt her?'

'O no!' cried Violet, warmly, feeling as if she had known him all herlife, 'she is more eager than ever in her parish work. She spares notrouble. She got up at four one morning to sit with old Betty Blain, that her daughter might get a little rest. '

'That head and brow are a fine study. She has grown up more strikingthan even I thought she would. Curious to see the difference betweennatural pride and assumed, ' and he glanced from Theodora to her mother. 'How well Lady Martindale preserves! She always looks exactly the same. Who is that chattering in John's ear?

'Miss Marstone, a friend of Miss Brandon's. '

'What makes her go about such a figure?'

'She is very good. '

'I trust, by your own practice, that is not your test of goodness?'

'I should not think it was, said Violet, blushing and hesitating. 

'What crypt did they dig her out of? Is she one of the Marstones ofGothlands?'

'I believe she is. She has two sisters, gay people, whose home is withan uncle. She lives with a lawyer brother. '

'Sam Marstone! I know him! I pity him. So Emma Brandon is come out?Which is she?'

'She is next to Arthur, on this side the table where you cannot seeher. '

'What sort of girl is she!'

'Oh!' said Violet, and paused, 'she is the greatest friend I have in theworld!'

He looked surprised, laughed, and said, 'So I must ask no morequestions. '

Violet felt as if she had spoken presumptuously, and said, 'LadyElizabeth has been so very kind to me. Emma is my baby's godmother. '

'And John its godfather. '

'Yes. Did he tell you so?'

'Ay! he spoke as if it was very near his heart. '

'He has been--O, so very--I believe he is very fond of baby, ' hastilyconcluded Violet, as her first sentence stuck in her throat. 

'I am heartily glad he has something to take interest in. He looksbetter and less frail. Is he so, do you think?'

'O yes, much better. He hardly ever coughs--'

'Does he get those bad fits of cough and breathlessness?'

'Very seldom; he has not had one since the day we heard you were cominghome, and that, Brown thought, was from the excitement. '

'Ay! ay! he seems stronger every way. '

'Yes, he can bear much more exertion. '

'Then I hope he will be stirred up to do something. That's what hewants. '

'I am sure he is always very busy, ' said Violet, displeased. 

'Ay? Cutting open a book was rather arduous. If he was not at his besthe left it to Brown. '

'No! no! I meant going over parchments; writing for Lord Martindale;'she did not know if she might mention the West Indian scheme. 

'Ho! there's something in that. Well, if he comes to life after all, there's no one so capable. Not that I am blaming him. Illness anddisappointment broke him down, and--such a fellow seldom breathed. If Ihad not had him at Cambridge it might have been a different story withme. So you need not look like his indignant champion. '

'I don't know what Arthur and I should have done without him, ' saidViolet. 

'Where's the aunt? I don't see her. '

'She never comes down to dinner, she is only seen in the evening. '

There was a sound in reply so expressive of relief that Violet caughtherself nearly laughing, but he said, gravely, 'Poor woman, then she isgrowing aged. '

'We thought her much altered this year. '

'Well!' and there was a whole sentence of pardon conveyed in the word. Then, after an interval, 'Look at John and his neighbour. '

'I have been trying to catch what they are saying. '

'They! It is all on one side. '

'Perhaps, ' said Violet, smiling, 'it was something about chants. '

'Yes. Is it not rare to see his polite face while she bores him withthat kind of cant which is the most intolerable of all, and he quietlyturning it aside?'

'Is it cant when people are in earnest?' asked Violet. 

'Women always think they are. '

'How are they to know?'

'If they hold their tongues'--a silence--Well!'

'Well, ' said Violet. 

'Where's the outcry?'

'Did you mean me to make one!'

'What could you do but vindicate your sex?'

'Then you would not have thought me in earnest. '

He made a funny pleased face and a little bow. 

'The truth was, ' said Violet, 'I was thinking whether I understood you. '

'May I ask your conclusion?'

'I don't exactly know. I don't think you meant we should never talk ofwhat interests us. '

'When they know when to hold their tongues, perhaps I should have said. '

'O, yes, that I quite think. '

Another silence, while Violet pondered, and her neighbour continued hismalicious listening to Miss Marstone, who spoke in a key too audible forsuch a party. Presently, 'He has got her to the Royal Academy. Shehas gone forthwith to the Prae-Raffaelites. Oh! she is walkingPrae-Raffaelitism herself. Symbols and emblems! Unfortunate John!Symbolic suggestive teaching, speaking to the eye! She is at itding-dong! Oh! he has begun on the old monk we found refreshing thepictures at Mount Athos! Ay, talk yourself, 'tis the only way to stopher mouth; only mind what you say, she will bestow it freshly hashed upon the next victim on the authority of Mr. Martindale. '

Violet was excessively entertained; and, when she raised her eyes, afterconquering the laugh, was amazed to find how far advanced was the statedinner, usually so interminable. Her inquiries after the Athenian owlled to a diverting history of its capture at the Parthenon, and theadventures in bringing it home. She was sorry when she found LadyMartindale rising, while Mr. Fotheringham, as he drew back his chair, said, 'How shall you get on with Prae-Raffaelitism? I should like to sether and Aunt Nesbit together by the ears!'

Certainly it was not convenient to be asked by Emma what made her lookso much amused. 

She felt as if it would be much pleasanter to show off her babe withoutthe stranger, and was glad to find that Miss Marstone had fallen intoa discussion with Theodora, and both looked much too eager to beinterrupted. 

So Violet fairly skipped up-stairs before her friends, turning round tospeak to them with such smiling glee, that Lady Elizabeth dismissedall fears of her present well-doing. Emma fell into raptures over hergodson's little cot, and quoted the "Folded Lambs", and "Pearls of theDeep", another as yet unpublished tale of her friend's, to teach hismother how to educate him, and stood by impatiently contemning thenursery hints which Violet was only too anxious to gather up from LadyElizabeth. 

'And are you not charmed with her!' said Emma, as they went down-stairs. 

'I have seen so little of her, ' replied Violet, embarrassed. 'Why doesshe dress in that way?'

'That is just what I say, ' observed Lady Elizabeth. 'I was sorry to seeher in that dress this evening. '

'Mamma does not like it, ' said Emma; 'but Theresa feels it such aprivilege not to be forced to conform to the trammels of fashions andnonsense. '

'She does everything on high principle, ' said Lady Elizabeth, as if shewas trying to bring her mind as usual into unison with her daughter's. 'She is a very superior person, and one does not like to find fault withwhat is done on right motives; but I should be sorry to see Emma followthe same line. I have always been taught that women should avoid beingconspicuous. '

'That I could never bear to be, mamma, ' said Emma; 'but Theresa is of afirmer, less shrinking mould. '

Lady Elizabeth repeated that she was a very superior person, but wasevidently not happy in her guest. 

Miss Marstone was holding earnest tete-a-tetes all the evening, butViolet having sheltered herself under Lady Elizabeth's wing, escaped theexpected lecture on the allegories. 

When the Rickworth party had taken leave, Mr. Wingfield, the last guest, was heard to observe that Miss Marstone was an admirable person, atreasure to any parish. 

'Do you wish for such a treasure in your own?' said Mr. Fotheringham, bluntly. 

The curate shook his head, and murmuring something about Brogden beingalready as fortunate as possible, departed in his turn: while Arthurejaculated, 'There's a step, Wingfield. Why, Theodora, he was setting upa rival. '

'Who is she?' said Theodora. 'Where did Emma pick her up?'

'Emma was struck with her appearance--'

 The gentlemen all exclaimed so vehemently, that Violet had to repeatit again, whereupon Mr. Fotheringham muttered, 'Every one to his taste;'and Arthur said there ought to be a law against women making themselvesgreater frights than nature designed. 

'So, it is a fit of blind enthusiasm, ' said John. 

'Pray do you partake it?' asked Percy. 'How do you feel after it?'

'Why, certainly, I never met with a person of more conversation, ' saidJohn. 

'Delicately put!' said Arthur, laughing heartily. 'Why, she had evenbegun lecturing my father on the niggers!'

'I would not be Lady Elizabeth!' said Mr. Fotheringham. 

'Those romantic exaggerations of friendship are not satisfactory, 'said John. 'Emma is too timid to be eccentric herself at present; but agoverning spirit might soon lead her on. '

'That it might, ' said Theodora, 'as easily as I used to drag her, inspite of her terrors, through all the cows in the park. I could be worseto her than any cow; and this Ursula--or what is her outlandish name, Violet?'

'Theresa; Sarah Theresa. '

'Well, really, ' said John, 'it is not for the present company tocriticize outlandish names. '

'No, ' said Arthur, 'it was a happy instinct that made us give my boy agood rational working-day name, fit to go to school in, and no choiceeither to give him the opportunity of gainsaying it, like Emma's friend, and some others--Sir Percival that is to be! A hero of the Minervapress!'

'No, indeed--if I was to be Sir Anything, which probably I never shallbe, I would hold, like my forefathers, to my good old Antony, which itwas not my doing to disregard. '

'Which earned him the title of Lumpkin, by which only he was known tohis schoolfellow!' said Arthur. 'If you ask after Fotheringham, theyinvariably say, "Oh, you mean old Lumpkin!" So much for romantic names!'

'Or imperial ones, ' said Percy. 'Did not you tell me Theodora camestraight from the Palaeologos who died in the West Indies? I alwaysconsidered that to account for certain idiosyncrasies. '

Theodora was called away to assist Mrs. Nesbit up-stairs; and as Violetfollowed, she heard the aunt observing that Percival Fotheringhamwas more bearish than ever; and that it was intolerable to see himencouraged in his free-and-easy manner when he had thrown away all hisprospects. 

'For poor John's sake, ' began Lady Martindale. 

'For his own, ' interrupted Theodora. 'He has every right to be at homehere, and it is an honour to the place that he should be so. '

'Oh, yes, I know; and he will be expecting your father to exert himselfagain in his behalf. '

'No, he will be beholden to no one, ' said Theodora. 

'I do wish his manners were less rough and eccentric, ' said LadyMartindale. 

'Presuming, ' said Mrs. Nesbit; 'in extremely bad taste. I never was moresensible of our good fortune in having missed that connection. There wasnothing but their being of a good old family that made it by any meansendurable. '

At this hit at her brother's wife, Theodora was going to speak, but sheforbore, and only wished her aunt good night. It would not be repressed, however; she stood in the gallery, after parting with the elder ladies, and said, loud enough for them to hear, 'I hate good old family, and all such humbug! She was a noble, self-devoted creature; as much above the comprehension of the rest ofthe world as her brother!'

'Did you know her well?' said Violet. 

Theodora's tone instantly changed. She was not going to gratify childishcuriosity. 'I never had the opportunity, ' she said, coolly. 'Goodnight. '

Violet was disappointed; for the tone of enthusiasm had given her amoment's hope that they had at last found a subject on which they couldgrow warm together, but it was evident that Theodora would never so havespoken had she been conscious of her presence. 

The next morning as Arthur and his wife were going down to breakfast, hesaid, 'We shall see some rare fun now Theodora and Fotheringham have gottogether. '

Theodora, with her bonnet on, was, according to her usual Sundayfashion, breakfasting before the rest of the party, so as to be in timefor school. John and his friend made their appearance together, andthe greetings had scarcely passed, before John, looking out of window, exclaimed, 'Ah! there's the boy! Pray come and see my godson. Come, Violet, we want you to exhibit him. '

Arthur looked up with a smile intended to be disdainful, but which wasgratified, and moved across, with the newspaper in his hand, to leanagainst the window-shutter. 

'There's John without his hat--he is growing quite adventurous. Verypretty Violet always is with the boy in her arms--she is the show one ofthe two. Hollo, if Percy has not taken the monkey himself; that's a passbeyond me. How she colours and smiles--just look, Theodora, is it not apicture?'

If he had called her to look at Johnnie, she must have come; but shewas annoyed at his perpetual admiration, and would not abet his makinghimself ridiculous. 

'I must not wait, ' she said, 'I am late. '

Arthur shrugged his shoulders, and turned to his paper. 

She put on her gloves, and took up her books. Percy meeting her, as shecame down the steps, said, 'I have been introduced to your nephew. '

'I hope you are gratified. '

'He has almost too much countenance, ' said Percy. 'There is somethingmelancholy in such wistful looks from a creature that cannot speak, justas one feels with a dog. '

'I am afraid he is very weakly, ' said Theodora. 

'I am sorry to hear it; it seems like a new life to John, and thatpretty young mother looks so anxious. Do you see much of her?'

'Not much; I have not time to join in the general Violet worship. '

'They are not spoiling her, I hope. It does one good to see such achoice specimen of womankind. '

'There, don't come any further; I must make haste. '

'Like all the rest, ' she thought; 'not a man but is more attracted byfeminine airs and graces than by sterling qualities. '

On coming out of church, in the afternoon, John, looking at thebeautiful green shady bank of the river, proposed a walk along it; allthe party gladly acceded, except Theodora, who, not without a certainpleasure in separating herself from them, declared that there was achild who must be made to say her hymn before going home. 

'Can't you excuse her for once?' said Lord Martindale. 

'No, papa. '

'Not if I beg her off publicly?'

'No, thank you. There is a temper that must be overcome. '

'Then flog her well, and have done with it, ' said Arthur. Deigning noreply, she pounced upon her victim as the procession of scholars cameout of church, 'Come, I am waiting to hear you say it. "How doth thelittle--"'

The child stood like a post. 

'That is a Benson, I am sure, ' said Mr. Fotheringham. Theodora told himhe was right, and went on exhorting the child; 'Come, I know you can sayit. Try to be good. 

'"How doth--"'

'You know I always keep my word, and I have said I will hear you beforeeither of us goes home. '

'"How doth--"'

'If you please, papa, would you go on? I shall never make her do it withyou all looking on. '

She sat down on a tombstone, and placed the child before her. Afteran hour's walk, there was a general exclamation of amusement andcompassion, on seeing Theodora and the child still in the samepositions. 

'She will never say it at all now, poor child, ' said Violet; 'shecan't--she must be stupefied. '

'Then we had better send down the tent to cover Theodora for the night, 'said Arthur. 

'As if Theodora looking at her in that manner was not enough to driveoff all recollection!' said John. 

'It is too much!' said Lord Martindale. 'Arthur, go, and tell her it ishigh time to go home, and she must let the poor child off. '

Arthur shrugged his shoulders, saying, 'You go, John. '

'Don't you think it might do harm to interfere?' said John to hisfather. 

'Interfere by no means, ' said Arthur. 'It is capital sport. Theodoraagainst dirty child! Which will you back, Percy? Hollo! where is he? Heis in the thick of it. Come on, Violet, let us be in for the fun. '

'Patience in seven flounces on a monument!' observed Mr. Fotheringham, in an undertone to Theodora, who started, and would have been angry, butfor his merry smile. He then turned to the child, whose face was indeedstupefied with sullenness, as if in the resistance she had forgotten theoriginal cause. 'What! you have not said it all this time? What's yourname? I know you are a Benson, but how do they call you?' said he, speaking with a touch of the dialect of the village, just enough to showhe was a native. 

'Ellen, ' said the girl. 

'Ellen! that was your aunt's name. You are so like her. I don't thinkyou can be such a very stupid child, after all. Are you? Suppose you tryagain. What is it Miss Martindale wants you to say?'

The child made no answer, and Theodora said, 'The Little Busy Bee. '

'Oh! that's it. Not able to say the Busy Bee? That's a sad story. D'yethink now I could say it, Ellen?'

'No!' with an astonished look, and a stolid countrified tone. 

'So you don't think I'm clever enough! Well, suppose I try, and you setme right if I make mistakes. "How doth the great idle wasp--"'

'Busy bee!' cried the child, scandalized. 

By wonderful blunders, and ingenious halts, he drew her into promptinghim throughout, then exclaimed, 'There! you know it much better. Ithought you were a clever little girl! Come, won't you say it once, andlet me hear how well it sounds?'

She was actually flattered into repeating it perfectly. 

'Very well. That's right. Now, don't you think you had better tell MissMartindale you are sorry to have kept her all this time?'

She hung her head, and Theodora tried to give him a hint that theapology was by no means desired; but without regarding this, hecontinued, 'Do you know I am come from Turkey, and there are plenty ofladies there, who go out to walk with a sack over their heads, but Inever saw one of them sit on a tombstone to hear a little girl say theBusy Bee. Should you like to live there?'

'No. '

'Do you suppose Miss Martindale liked to sit among the nettles on oldFarmer Middleton's tombstone?'

'No. '

'Why did she do it then? Was it to plague you?'

'Cause I wouldn't say my hymn. '

'I wonder if it is not you that have been plaguing Miss Martindale allthe time. Eh? Come, aren't you sorry you kept her sitting all this timeamong the nettles when she might have been walking to Colman's Weir, andgathering such fine codlings and cream as Mrs. Martindale has there, andall because you would not say a hymn that you knew quite well? Wasn'tthat a pity?'

'Yes, ' and the eyes looked up ingenuously. 

'Come and tell her you are sorry. Won't you? There, that's right, ' andhe dictated as she repeated after him, as if under a spell, 'I'm sorry, ma'am, that I was sulky and naughty; I'll say it next Sunday, and makeno fuss. '

'There, that will do. I knew you would be good at last, ' said Percy, patting her shoulder, while Theodora signified her pardon, and theyturned homewards, but had made only a few steps before the gallop ofclumsy shoes followed, and there stood Ellen, awkwardly presenting abunch of the willow herb. Theodora gave well-pleased thanks, and toldher she should take them as a sign she was really sorry and meant to dobetter. 

'And as a trophy of the force of Percy's pathetic picture of MissMartindale's seven flounces among the nettles on Farmer Middleton'stombstone, ' said Arthur. 

'You certainly are very much obliged to him, ' said her father. 

'And most ungratefully she won't confess it, ' said Arthur. 

'I despise coaxing, ' said Theodora. 

'The question is, what you would have done without it, ' said John. 

'As if I could not subdue a little sprite like that!'

'You certainly might if it was a question of physical force, ' saidPercy, as he seemed to be measuring with his eye the strength ofTheodora's tall vigorous person. 

'I spoke of moral force. '

'There the sprite had decidedly the advantage. You could "gar hergreet, " but you could not "gar her know. " She had only to hold out; andwhen Miss Martindale found it time to go home to dinner, and began togrow ashamed of her position, the victory was hers. '

'He has you there, Theodora, ' said Arthur. 

'I don't know what he is driving at, ' said Theodora. 

'I am trying to find out whether Miss Martindale has the power ofconfessing that she was in a scrape. '

'That you may triumph, ' said Theodora. 

'No, not for the sake of triumph, but of old times, ' he answered, in alower, more serious tone. 

Theodora's face softened, and drawing nearer, she asked, 'How are oldtimes to be satisfied by such an admission?'

'Because then candour used to boast of conquering pride, ' said Percy, now speaking so as to be heard by her alone. 

'Well. It was becoming a predicament, and you rescued me veryingeniously. There, will that content you?' said Theodora, with one ofthe smiles the more winning because so rare. I am perfectly ready to ownmyself in the wrong when I see it. '

'When you see it, ' said Percy, drily. 

'I was wrong just now not to confess my obligation, because Arthurteased and triumphed; but I don't see why you all treat me as if I waswrong to set myself to subdue the child's obstinacy. '

'Not wrong, but mistaken, ' said Percy. 'You forgot your want of powerto enforce obedience. You wanted victory, and treated her with the samedetermination she was treating you with. It was a battle which had thehardest will and could hold out longest. '

'And if I had conquered she would have gone away angry with me, onlyhaving yielded because she could not help it. You softened her and madeher sorry. I see. She really is a good child on the whole, and I daresay I shall do something with her now. '

'Is old Benson alive?'

And a long conversation on village matters ensued. Theodora was happierthat evening than she had been for more than a year. That home-thrust ather pride, astonishing as it was that any one should venture it, and thesubmission that followed, had been a positive relief. She thought thepleasure was owing to the appeal to old times, recalling happy daysof wild frolics, sometimes shared, sometimes censured by her grown-upplayfellow; the few hours with his sister that had influenced her wholelife; and the lectures, earnest, though apparently sportive, by which hehad strengthened and carried on the impression; that brief time, also, of their last spending together, when his sorrow for his sister wasfresh, and when John was almost in a hopeless state, and when she hadbeen the one of the family to whom he came to pour out his grief, andtalk over what his sister had been. 

It was a renewal of happiness to her heart, wearied with jealousy, tofind one to whom old times were precious, and who took her up wherehe had last seen her. His blunt ways, and downright attacks, were arefreshment to a spirit chafing against the external smoothness andrefinement of her way of life, and the pleasure of yielding to hisarguments was something new and unexampled. She liked to gain the brightapproving look, and with her universal craving for attention, she couldnot bear not to be engrossing him, whether for blame or praise, it didnot matter; but she had the same wish for his notice that she had forArthur's. 

Not that she by any means always obtained it. He was in request withevery one except Mrs. Nesbit. Even Lady Martindale took interest in hisconversation, and liked to refer questions about prints and antiques tohis decision, and calls on his time and attention were made from everyquarter. Besides, he had his own manuscript to revise, and what mostmortified Theodora was to hear Violet's assistance eagerly claimed, as she knew her way better than John did through the sheets, and couldpoint to the doubtful passages. Never was work more amusing than this, interspersed with debates between the two friends, with their drollcounter versions of each other's anecdotes, and Mr. Fotheringham'squizzings of John, at whom he laughed continually, though all thetime it was plain that there was no one in the world whom he so muchreverenced. 

The solitary possession of her own mornings was now no boon to Theodora. She was necessary to no one, and all her occupations could not driveaway the ever-gnawing thought that Violet attracted all the regard andattention that belonged to her. If the sensation went away when she wasdown-stairs, where Percy's presence obliged her to be amiable againsther will, it came back with double force in her lonely moments. 

One day, when they had dispersed after luncheon, her father came in, inquiring for Violet. He was going to Rickworth, and thought she wouldlike to go with him. He wished to know, as otherwise he should rideinstead of driving; and, as she was up-stairs, desired Theodora to goand find out what would suit her. 

'Papa, too!' thought Theodora, as with some reluctance she for the firsttime knocked at her sister's door, and found her with the baby. 

'How very kind!' said she. 'I should be delighted, but I don't knowwhether Arthur does not want me. Is he there?'

'I think he is in the library. '

'If I could but go down! But I must not take baby, and Sarah is atdinner. Should you mind holding him for one minute?'

Theodora held out her arms, but Johnnie, though usually delighted tocome to her from Sarah, turned his head away, unwilling to leave hismother. He did not quite cry, but was so near it that she had to do herutmost to amuse him. She caught up something bright to hold before him, and was surprised to see it was a coral cross, which Violet, in changingher dress, had laid for a moment on the dressing-table. The coincidencewas strange, thought Theodora. 

Violet was coming back, and she would have laid it down, but Johnnie hadgrasped it in his little fingers. As his mother appeared, his merriestsmile shone out, and his whole little person was one spring of eagernessto return to her. 

'Little man! Is he glad to come back to his mamma?' Violet could nothelp saying, as he nestled joyously on her neck; but the cold face ofTheodora made her sorry that the words had escaped her, and she began toexpress her thanks. 

Theodora was stooping to pick up the cross, and a concerned exclamationpassed Violet's lips on observing its fall. 

'It is safe, ' said Theodora. 'I beg your pardon, I took it up to amusehim. '

'Thank you, ' said Violet. 'I am sorry I seemed vexed. There's no harmdone; but I was frightened, because it was Helen's. '

'Helen's' exclaimed Theodora, extremely amazed. 'Did John give it toyou?'

'Yes, a little while ago, ' said Violet, colouring. 'He--'

But Theodora was gone, with bitterer feelings than ever. This girl wasabsorbing every one's love! John had never given her anything that hadbelonged to Helen; he had never even adverted to his engagement, whenshe almost adored her memory! She had never supposed him capable ofspeaking of his loss; and perhaps it was the hardest blow of all to findViolet, whose inquiries she had treated as mere curiosity, preferred tosuch confidence as this. She did not remember how she had once rejectedhis sympathy. She forgot whose fault it was that she had not been in theIsle of Wight; she laid it all on the proneness of men to be interestedby sweetness of manner, and thought of herself as a strong-mindedsuperior woman, who could never be loved, and who could only sufferthrough her woman's heart. 

Yet she could not entirely harden herself as she intended, while combatswith Percy cast brightening gleams across her existence. She thoughtshe should again settle into the winter's life of hard work andindifference, which was on the whole most comfortable to her. 

When the party should be broken up, Percy was to be the first to depart;he was going to publish The Crusaders, take a lodging in London, andthere busy himself with literature while awaiting the fulfilment of apromise of further diplomatic employment. Arthur and Violet were also toreturn home after paying a visit at Rickworth, and John would soon aftersail for Barbuda. In the meantime he was much engaged in going overaccounts, and in consulting with his father and the man of business. 

One morning, towards the end of September, he came down to Violet in thedrawing-room, looking much flushed and extremely annoyed. 

'Well, ' he said, 'I have often declared I would never let my aunt have adiscussion with me again. I have been obliged to submit to this. I hopeit will be the last. '

'About the West Indian property, ' said Violet. 

'Yes. She does give me power to act for her; but it is dearly bought!I wish I had never asked her! Every subject that she knew to be mostunpleasant to me has she stirred up! How a woman of her age can go onwith her eyes fixed on these matters I cannot guess. I am sure it is awarning what one sets one's heart upon!'

'You are quite worried and tired. Oh! it has made you cough! You hadbetter lie down and rest. '

'I want you to put me into good humour, ' said he, half reclining on thesofa. 'I feel as if I had been under a nutmeg-grater! What do you thinkof her taking me to task for having Fotheringham here, for fear heshould marry Theodora! I wish there was any such chance for her; butPercy has far too much sense!'

'Why, how could Mrs. Nesbit think it? They are always disputing!'

'I should not take that as a reason for thinking it impossible. ButPercy knows her far too well. No, it is only one of my aunt's fancies. She has set her hopes on Theodora now; but it is of no use to talk ofit. I don't want to dwell on it. It is too pitiable to be angry about. What are you reading?'

Violet was as glad to talk to him of her book as he was to lose thethought of his vexatious conversation, which had been even more annoyingthat he had chosen to tell her. 

Mrs. Nesbit had taken occasion to speak of the reversion of an estate, which she said she wished to go to augment the property of the title;and now she should have no hesitation in bequeathing it to him, providedshe could see him, on his side, make such a connection as would be forthe consequence of the family. 

John tried silence, but she drove him so hard that he was obliged toreply that, since she had begun on the subject, he had only to say thathe should never marry; and, with thanks for her views, the disposal ofher property would make no difference to him. 

She interrupted him by reproaches on a man of his age talking romanticnonsense, and telling him that, for the sake of the family, it was hisduty to marry. 

'With such health as mine, ' replied John, quietly, 'I have long made upmy mind that, even if I could enter on a fresh attachment, it would notbe right. I am not likely to live many years, and I wish to form no newties. You will oblige me, ma'am, by not bringing forward this subjectagain. '

'Ay, I know what you are intending. You think it will come to Arthur andhis wife; but I tell you what, Mr. Martindale, no attorney's daughtershall ever touch a sixpence of mine. '

'That is as you please, ma'am. It was not to speak of these matters thatI came here; and if you have told me all you wish with regard to theproperty, I will leave the papers for your signature. '

She was above all provoked by his complete indifference to the wealth, her chief consideration throughout her life, and could not cease fromreproaching him with absurd disregard to his own interest, at whichhe very nearly smiled. Then she revived old accusations, made in theearlier days of her persecution about his engagement, that he wascareless of the consequence and reputation of the family, and had allhis life been trying to lower it in the eyes of the world; otherwisewhy had he set himself to patronize that wife of Arthur's, or why bringPercy Fotheringham here, just to put his sister in the way of marryingbeneath her? And when he had answered that, though he saw no probabilityof such an event, opinions might differ as to what was beneath Theodora, she took the last means that occurred to her for tormenting him, bypredicting that Arthur's sickly little child would never live to growup--he need not fix any hopes on him. 

He escaped at last, leaving her much irritated, as Theodora presentlyfound her. She began to complain bitterly of the ingratitude of hergreat-nephews, after all her labours for the family! John treating herwhole fortune as if it was not worth even thanks, when she had beenready to settle the whole on him at once, as she would have done, since (and she looked sharply at Theodora) he was now free from thatFotheringham engagement; for none of that family should ever have ashare in her property. 

Theodora looked, if possible, more indifferent than John, as sheanswered, 'John could not want it. I always thought you meant it for Arthur. '

'Arthur! as if you did not know he had forfeited all claim upon me!'

'His marriage is a reason for his needing it more, ' said Theodora. 

'It is of no use to speak of him. No, Theodora, you alone have acted asI could wish; and if you continue to deserve my regard--'

'Don't say that, Aunt Nesbit, ' said Theodora. 'I shall act as, I hope, may deserve regard; but I don't want anybody's fortune, and if you leftme yours it would be very unfair, and I certainly should give at leasthalf of it to Arthur. I give you fair warning; but I did not come totalk of such hateful things, but to read to you. '

That afternoon Mrs. Nesbit wrote a letter to her lawyer, and surprisedMiss Piper by asking if that puny child up-stairs had any name but John. 

CHAPTER 10

 Unschooled affections, strong and wild, Have been my playmates from a child, And strengthening in the breast unseen, Poisoned the fount within. --Thoughts in Past Years

The morning of the next day had been fine, and was spent in shooting byArthur and Mr. Fotheringham; but the latter came home in time to ridewith John, to make a call on some old friends, far beyond what had longbeen John's distance. 

The afternoon closed in a violent storm of wind and rain, which droveArthur indoors, and compelled Violet to resort for exercise to thegallery, where she paced up and down with Johnnie in her arms, watchingfor the return of the others, as each turn brought her to the endwindow. As Lord Martindale came up-stairs, he paused at the sight of theslender young figure--her head bent over her little one. Perhaps he wasthinking what might have been, if his own children had ever been as muchto their mother; for when Violet turned towards him he sighed, as heroused himself, and asked whether she saw John coming. Then joining her, he looked at his grandson, saying, 'He is improving very fast. How likeyou he grows!'

'Poor little fellow, he was not at all well yesterday, and I began tothink of asking whether I should send for Mr. Legh. '

'Whatever you do, beware of doctoring!' was Lord Martindale's ratherhasty answer. 'Of doctoring and governessing!--I have seen enough ofit, and I resolved my two youngest should run wholesomely wild, never bedosed, and never learn a lesson till they were six years old. '

'But this poor little man is really delicate, and I have no experience, 'pleaded Violet. 

'Depend upon it, my dear, ' said Lord Martindale, with sorrowful emotionin his voice, as he saw the little fair head resting caressingly on herneck, 'you are doing more for him than all the physicians in England. You must not tease him and yourself with fretting and anxiety. '

'I know it is my duty not to be over-anxious, ' said Violet, with herheart full, as she clasped her hands close round her tiny treasure. 

'You must not, ' said his grandfather. 'It was the notion that mine couldnever have enough teaching or doctoring-as if that was what they wanted!Some system or other was always being tried on them, and they were neverleft to healthy action of mind or body, till the end was that I lostmy two pretty little girls! And poor John, I never saw a morewretched-looking child than he was when I took him to Dr. --. '

'And what was his advice?'

'His advice was this. "Throw away lessons and physic. Give him otherchildren to play with, make him wear a brown holland pinafore, andlet him grope in the dirt. " I believe it saved his life! I begged Mrs. Fotheringham to let him do just like her children, little thinking whatwas to come of that. ' Then catching himself up, as if fearing to giveViolet pain, 'Not that I should have regretted that connection. Shewas all that could be wished, and I judged by personal merits. ' Hehesitated, but spoke warmly, as if applying the words to Violet. 'Theiryouth was my only objection from the first. Nothing would have rejoicedme more than their marriage. '

'O, yes, ' said Violet, 'he says so much of your kindness. ' She fearedshe had said too much, but Lord Martindale caught at her words. 'Has heever adverted to that affair!'

'Sometimes, ' said Violet, shyly. 

'What! Actually spoken of poor Helen! I am heartily glad to hear it. Howis he bearing it? Does he speak calmly?'

'Yes, calmly and cheerfully, as if he liked to dwell on the thought. '

Lord Martindale laid his hand on her arm, and said, gratefully, 'Youhave done him a great deal of good. '

Seldom had she been more gratified, but at that moment a dripping figureburst on them, and Theodora's voice impetuously exclaimed, 'Violet!you must know something of babies! What shall I do for the child at thelodge? She will die if something is not done quickly. '

She was in an agony of breathless agitation; the motherless baby at thelodge had been taken violently ill, the parish doctor was not at home, and she feared that Mr. Legh could not arrive from Whitford in time!

Violet shared in her distress, and gathering from her description thatit might be such an attack as Johnnie's at Ventnor, longed to be onthe spot, and tried to believe the rain lessening enough for her to go. Theodora seized on her proposal, but Lord Martindale interfered. 'Howcan you be so thoughtless?' said he, in a far more decided manner thanusual. 

'The child's life depends on it!' said Theodora, vehemently. 

'Pshaw!' said Lord Martindale, 'Violet has her own life and her child'sto think of. '

'Then you won't come!'

'I am afraid I ought not, ' said Violet, mournfully. 

Theodora flung away in passionate despair and contempt, and was rushingoff, when Violet pursued her, and implored her to listen one moment, andshe could not let go her last hope. Violet offered some medicine thathad been prepared for Johnnie--which she was sure could at least do noharm, and she could give some advice. Perhaps she mingled it with toomany excuses and lamentations at being forced to stay at home; at least, Theodora thought her fanciful, rejoicing in the self-importance ofimaginary ill-health. 

'Why! there's the carriage!' she exclaimed, as it drove down the avenue. 

'Yes, it is gone for John, ' said Theodora, bluntly. 

'Where is he?'

'At the Goldingsby turnpike. He took shelter there, and Percy came backto order the carriage to fetch him. Percy is gone on to Whitford for Mr. Legh. '

'What a pity! I could have gone to the lodge in the carriage. '

Theodora was provoked that her impatience had made her miss this chance:so, without answering, she ran down the steps, and was almost whirledalong the avenue by the wild wind that roared in the branches, tearingthe leaves from the trees, and whirling them round and round. She hardlyfelt it--her whole soul was set upon the little orphan; the misery ofwatching the suffering she could not relieve, joined with passionateresentment at her father and sister-in-law, who she fancied made lightof it. Only Mr. Fotheringham, when stopping at the lodge on his way, hadshown what she thought tolerable humanity. He had shared her concern, consoled her despair, suggested asking counsel of Mrs. Martindale, andfinally rode off five miles to Whitford in quest of the doctor. 

Violet's advice proved not to be despicable; the measures sherecommended relieved the little one, and by the time Percy and theapothecary made their appearance, it was asleep on Theodora's lap, andMr. Legh pronounced that it was in a fair way to do well. She wished shecould have watched it all night, but it was late, and Mr. Fotheringhamstood waiting at the door. So she laid it in the cradle, gave herdirections to the old woman who had charge of it, and resumed her browncloak and hood, in which she walked about in all weathers, withoutumbrella, for which, as for parasols, she had a supreme aversion. 

Mr. Legh wished to prevail on her to let him drive her home, but shewould not hear of it. Percy put up his umbrella, and offered to shelterher, but she held aloof. 

'No, no. Where did you get that elegant cotton machine?'

'I borrowed it at the turnpike. '

'And rode home with it on Arthur's mare?'

'Of course I did. I was not going to get wet through. '

'But how did you get her to let you carry it. She objects to his takingout his handkerchief. '

'I am not going to be beaten by a mare, and she soon found that out. '

'What have you done with her?'

'I took her home, and came back again. I wonder what Arthur will say tome for taking his gallant gray on to Whitford. I must get up a patheticappeal to the feelings of a father!'

'Well, I did not recollect you had the gray, or I would have told you totake my horse. However, there's no harm done, and it saved time. '

'Whoo--h!' as the gust came roaring down furiously upon them, peltingfiercely with rain, flapping and tearing at Theodora's cloak, like thewind in the fable, trying to whirl her off her feet, and making vehementefforts to wrench the umbrella out of Percy's hand. A buffet with windand weather was a frolic which she particularly enjoyed, running onbefore the blast, then turning round to walk backwards and recoverbreath to laugh at him toiling with the umbrella. Never had she lookedbrighter, her dark eyes, lately so sad and soft, now sparkling anddancing with mirth, her brown cheek glowing with fresh red from the rainand wind that had loosened her hair, and was sporting with a longblack tress that streamed beyond her bonnet, and fluttered over herface--life, strength, and activity in every limb, and her countenancebeaming with sportiveness and gaiety, the more charming because souncommon. It was a rare chance to catch Theodora at play. 

'Ha! you'll be beat! You will have to shut up the miserable inventionunknown to our forefathers. '

'Not I. I shall not give up the distinction between man and beast in therain. '

'Man! Why even ants carry parasols. '

'That is in the sun. Parasols belong to an epoch of earliercivilization. Vide Ninevite carvings--Persian satraps!'

'So you reduce yourself to a Persian satrap!'

'No; it was reserved for modern times to discover the true applicationof the umbrella. Were you rational enough to come back in the carriage?'

'No, indeed. To do justice to Violet, she would have come down in it, ifI had not forgotten to tell her of it. '

'I am glad you do her justice for once. '

She would not answer, and took advantage of another combat with the windto cover her silence. 

'Theodora, ' said he, abruptly, 'I cannot help it; I must say it!'

'Well?'

'I do not think you feel as you ought towards your brother's wife. '

'John has told you this?'

'No; I have observed it. You had set your affections on Arthur; andthinking he had thrown himself away, you do not resist the commonpropensity to hate a sister-in-law. '

'You like to provoke me, ' said Theodora; 'but, ' and her voice trembled, 'it is unkind to bring this up--the pain and grief of my life, when Iwas happy and forgetful for once. '

'Far, far from unkindness. It is because I cannot bear to see youunhappy. '

'I trusted no one saw that. '

'I have known you too long, and thought of you too much, not to begrieved at the sight of your forced spirits and suppressed sorrow. '

It would have angered her from another; from him it touched her to findhow closely and kindly he had watched her. 

'I cannot help it, ' she said. 'He was my all. '

'Have you striven with it?'

'Of course I have. I have lived in a tumult of occupation, but--'

'But you have not conquered yourself, and grappled with the serpentsthat poison your life. '

'Pray what do you call those serpents?'

'If you look them in the face, I believe you will find they are prideand jealousy. '

'You like to find generic names, ' said Theodora, trying for a coldsmile. 

'Because it is safer to know and crush a venomous beast than to dallywith it. '

'If I find there are such serpents, I will crush them and thank you. '

'No other woman would so have answered, ' cried Percy, exultingly. 

'Because, ' said she, her throat swelling, 'no other man is true anddownright friend enough to warn me honestly. '

'Theodora, Theodora, you are a grand creature, nearly thrown away forwant of breaking in. '

'Too true, ' said she, sadly. 

'I must say it. Will you let me? Will you trust yourself and yourhappiness to me? It has been the vision and hope of my solitude to seeyou what you might be! the flaws in that noble nature corrected, itsgrandeur and devotedness shining forth undimmed. Together we would crushthe serpents--bring out all that is excellent. '

'I think there might be a chance for me with you, ' said she, in an oddsort of tone. 

'You mean it?' he exclaimed, trying to see her face, but her hoodflapped over it. 

'I do. You appreciate me. '

She let him walk beside her, and hold the umbrella over her; but nota word was spoken till they were ascending the steps, when she said, 'Don't tell papa till night. I do not choose to look foolish. '

'Good luck to thee, umbrella!' said Percy, holding it on high, ereclosing it. 'Thy sea-green dome has been a canopy of bliss. Honour tothy whalebones!' Then, in a very different manner, 'Oh! Theodora, couldyou but guess how you have mingled in every scheme or wish of mine; howoften I have laughed myself to scorn for dreaming, as if there could beany chance!'

'Ah! what an uproar my aunt will make!' exclaimed Theodora, somewhatexultingly. Some one crossed the hall, and she ran away, but steppedback from the foot of the stairs, laid her hand on his arm, and with aface inexpressibly sweet and brilliant, said, 'We shall get on very welltogether. We need have no nonsense. But I did not know how happy you hadmade me. '

She escaped again; she would not have said thus much if she had notknown there could be no reply, for Lady Martindale was sailing down thegrand staircase. 

She met him no more till dinner, when he was silent, and she talkativeand flighty, so that Violet suspected there had been a quarrel. 

The next morning, the first tidings were that John had a cold and wasconfined to his bed by cough and pain in the chest; while something toowas said of his having been kept up late at night talking. Theodorapaid a visit to the sick child in the early morning, and after breakfastaccompanied Violet to the lodge, where Violet found the poor littlething nursed with more goodwill than skill by its old aunt and Theodora, took it into her own motherly arms, gave it food and medicine, andhushed it to sleep so successfully, that Theodora respected what shecalled the feminine element. 

The two sisters walked back happily together; but at the door LordMartindale met them, exclaiming, 'Where have you been, Theodora? Comehere. '

Violet wished to be certified that John was not worse, but could find noone but Mr. Fotheringham, who, with a little twist of the corner ofhis mouth, assured her that there was no cause for uneasiness on thataccount. 

Some time had gone by; she was writing letters, while Percy stood in thedeep window, reading the newspapers, and making a great rustling withthem. Suddenly Arthur entered, exclaiming, 'Well, Violet, here is a piece of news! Guess!'

'That is the way people always tell wedding news. '

'Right. Now then for the victims. '

'Your sister? What really? And who? Oh, not Lord St. Erme?'

'The very antipodes, as Harrison would say! Guess again. '

'Help me, Mr. Fotheringham, ' she began; but Arthur, with a tremendousstart, exclaimed, 'Hollo! if that is not a shame! How I wish I had saidwhat a shocking bad match it is!'

'You think so, do you?' said Percy, advancing, and heartily shakingArthur's ready hand. 

'Oh! that is your look-out, ' said Arthur, shrugging his shoulders. 

'But, do you really mean it?' said Violet, looking from one to theother, as Percy's hand seemed to claim the same welcome from her. 

'Indeed, I do, ' said Percy, earnestly. 'O, how glad John will be!' washer congratulation. 

'So, I must say nothing about the gray, ' proceeded Arthur. 'What is itsome one says about Cupid's steeds? I vow I will call her Psyche, if itis only to make Theodora savage!'

'Where is your father?' said Percy. 

'With John. That was where I heard it. ' Then, as Percy was leaving theroom, 'Well, you are a bold man! I hope you mean to kill the cat on thewedding-day. That is all. '

'I am obliged for your experience, ' said Percy. 

'If you make her like this one by the end of a year--'

'O, hush, Arthur!'

Percy hastened from the room. Violet could not recover from herastonishment. 'Could Lord Martindale actually have consented?'

'Makes no difficulty at all. He has grown wiser since poor John's time. I have taught him one may be trusted to choose for oneself. '

'But your aunt?'

'Ah! there is nothing she hates like a Fotheringham; but she has not thepower over my father she once had. She will have to take up with us forvery spite. But what they are to live on I do not know, unless my fatherkeeps them. '

'I thought he was heir to a baronetcy. '

'Yes; but there is a half-witted son of old Sir Antony in the way, whowill keep Percy out of the property for the term of his natural life, aswell as if he was a wise man. '

After luncheon, Violet had a message from John to ask for a visit fromher. She found him on the sofa in the sitting-room, apparently oppressedand uncomfortable; but he looked brightened by her entrance, and pleasedwhen she offered to stay and read to him. 

'The very thing I have been figuring to myself as most agreeable. Idon't want to talk or think. I have been overdoing both. '

So she had to repress her curiosity, and give him the repose of herpleasant reading, till he dropped asleep; and after waiting some time, in the fear of awakening him, she gently left the room, and had time foranother visit to the lodge, where she fell in with the lovers, and foundthem disputing about the cotton umbrella. Percy announced that he shouldgive his own in exchange, and retain it for ever, as a trophy of whatcould be accomplished with both horse and woman. Theodora was a littlecross. If he wished to keep it out of sentiment, that was all very well;but to give it the turn of glorying over her was displeasing. He wantedto make her confess that she had submitted to its shelter. 

'No, you only walked by me, and held it up. '

'I appeal to you, Mrs. Martindale. Is not that the popular view of beingunder an umbrella?'

Theodora would not speak, and Violet thought him wrong in teasing her. Silence ensued, but ended in his saying, as they came to the steps, 'Well, Theodora, shall I restore the umbrella as a hated object?'

'No, no, ' said she; 'do what you please with it, only don't talknonsense about it. '

Then, when Violet was gone, --'You must not triumph over me, Percy; Icannot bear it. If it is pride, have patience with me. '

'I should have asked you to forgive me, ' said Percy, affected by thetone of humility. 

'No, no, indeed!' said Theodora, smiling; 'but I warn you, my serpentis dealt with more safely by treading on it than by irritating it, ' andthere was an indignant gleam in her dark eye. 'Now I am going to tell myaunt. '

'I would wish you well through it; but I believe you are eager for thebattle. Only let me say one thing, Theodora--be forbearing, or you willbe fostering the enemy. '

'I can deal with her, ' said Theodora. 

But she was met in a manner she had not expected. Mrs. Nesbit beckonedher to her side, laid her hand on hers, and peered up in her face withwitch-like eyes, that disconcerted her usually ready speech, and calledup a blush. 

'I see, ' said Mrs. Nesbit. 'I do not blame you for the fault of yourfather and brother. I knew how it would be. '

'Has mamma told you?' said Theodora. 'Papa promised that I should be thefirst to tell!'

'Your mamma does not know what will mortify her so extremely. '

'Then how have you heard it?'

'I have seen it. I knew what you had to tell from the instant youentered. And your father has given you his consent?' raising her hand, as if to say, 'I give up all hopes of him. '

'Yes, he highly approves. '

Here Lady Martindale came into the room. 

'You need not be vexed, my dear, ' began Mrs. Nesbit. 'It will not bemade public, and there will be no harm done. '

'What will not, dear aunt? you alarm me. '

'This foolish affair into which Lord Martindale and John have drawn thispoor child. '

'Aunt! aunt!' cried Theodora, 'you do not know what you say. It is ofmy own free will--uninfluenced. I would choose him, and hold fast to himthrough worlds of opposition. '

'Yes, yes; we understand all that, ' said Mrs. Nesbit, with acontemptuous accent; 'but as it cannot be at once, you will soon haveenough of that overbearing temper. At twenty, there is plenty of time toget over such an affair, and form a more suitable connection. '

'Never!' cried Theodora. 

'What, my dear!' said astonished Lady Martindale. 'You engaged, and youhave not told me!'

'Only since yesterday, mamma. He spoke to papa only this morning. '

'But who is it? Nothing that your aunt disapproves, I trust, my dear. '

'Percy Fotheringham, ' said Theodora, standing firm, and exulting indefiance; but her aunt continued that same provoking disregard. 

'Yes, you see it is of no use to oppose her. For my part, I think herpapa has acted wisely in permitting the engagement. Contradiction wouldembellish her hero; while, left to him, she will soon find him out. I donot concern myself, for Miss Martindale can get over a little matter ofthis kind. '

'It is of no use to make protestations, ' said Theodora; and she leftthe room much more annoyed than she could have been by the violentopposition for which she was prepared. Cool contempt was beyondeverything irritating, especially where reply was impossible, andargument undignified. 

Mrs. Nesbit continued to behave as if the engagement did not exist, and Violet could not suppose her informed of it. Lady Martindale lookedmelancholy and distressed, especially after having been with John, whom, however, she declared to be better, and desirous of seeing his sister. Theodora went to him, but remained a very short time. 

Violet ventured in with his mother, to wish him good night, and hethanked her warmly for having read him to sleep. 'When I am laid upagain, you will know where to find a nurse for me, ' added he to hismother; a speech which obtained for Violet a positively cordial andaffectionate good night from Lady Martindale. 

Though mending, he did not leave his room the next day, as it was dampand chilly; and he again asked for Violet's company in the afternoon, since he supposed she was not thinking of going out. 

'O, no; no one does, except Theodora. I saw something brown half-wayacross the park, which must be either her cloak, or the old cow-man'sworst round frock. '

'And Percy not in attendance?'

'No; he and Arthur are lingering at luncheon, talking about the Austrianarmy. When did you hear about this?'

'As soon as I came in. He marched into my room, sat down, and said, "There! I've done it. " I thought he had broken the knees of Arthur'sgray, till he explained--"No; I have taken your sister on my hands. "'

'So you were watching them all the evening!'

'Yes; I was very anxious as to how my father might view it. '

'I suppose that hurt you more than the rain?'

'Excitement, as Brown would say. Perhaps it might. We talked long andlate, and afterwards I fell into the old strain of thought. From whatPercy tells me, his sister must have influenced Theodora far more than Ithought possible. To her he ascribes her religious tone. If he is right, my mistake in neglecting her has been worse than I supposed. '

'Then this is all the better! Do you remember saying you despaired of aPetruchio?'

'It is on the Petruchio principle that he takes her, and avowedly. Nonebut Katharina was ever so wooed or so won!'

'That is very much to her honour. '

'If she realizes his being in earnest. She would make one doubt whethershe has any earnest. Yesterday evening she so treated, the subject thatI was on the point of saying, "Reply not to me with a fool-born jest. "And how do you think she answered my father, when he asked her if sheknew what she undertook? As my namesake said, "I shall wash all day andride out on the great dog at night. "

'Was not that a sort of shyness?'

'I would fain hope so. If I had ever seen anything like deep earnestfeeling I should be satisfied. Yet Percy declares, I trust he may beright, that she has the very strongest affections, and much tendernessof character. He says her nature came straight from the tropics, andmust not be judged by sober English rules. '

'If you had seen her distress about the child at the lodge!'

'Ah! he said those tears settled the matter, and showed him that shehad the woman's heart as well as the candour that would conquer herwaywardness. It sounds a little too like a lover's self-justification. '

'Do you think so?' said Violet. 'You do not know what she is with thedumb boy, and with Johnnie. '

'I was just going to have instanced her neglect of Johnnie. '

'I assure you, ' cried Violet, eagerly, 'that is only because she doesnot like me. You cannot think how fond she is of him. When I am outof the way she goes to the nursery and pets him till Sarah is almostjealous of his fondness for her. '

'I have no patience with her, ' exclaimed John. 

'I thought you would have been glad. '

'I do not like Percy to make a mistake, and get his feelings trifledwith. He deserves a wife like himself. '

'Did you hear of Arthur's advice to him?'

'To kill the cat on the wedding-day. That might answer if it were to beat once; but it is a cat with nine lives, and I do not think she willbear to have it killed before the wedding-day. '

'Then it is not to be soon?'

'No, my father thinks her not fit for a poor man's wife, and cannot giveher more than £5000, so they must wait till they can begin on an incomeequal to yours. '

'And I suppose that will be when he gets some appointment. '

'And there is the Worthbourne estate as a provision for the future, sothat there is no imprudence. For my part, I regret the delay; Theodorawould shine if she had to rough it, provided always she was trulyattached to her husband. '

'She would bear poverty beautifully. '

'But it is not a thing to advise. I am accused already of being romanticand imprudent, yet I would urge it on my father if I saw them desirousto hasten it. I do not understand them, and perhaps I am unreasonable. Ido not like his happiness to be in such perverse hands, yet I am uneasyat the delay. It suits my aunt's predictions, and they are far too aptto come true. I feel them like a spell. She always foretold that Helenand I should never marry. And it cannot be denied that she has greatinsight into character, so that I am alarmed at her declaring this willnot come to good. If not, I have no hope for Theodora! She will eitherbe hard and unfeminine, or turn to worldliness, and be such another asmy aunt. She has it in her. '

'You are taking to horrid predictions yourself. '

'Well, I acknowledge her capabilities, but there has been wofulmismanagement, and my father feels it. '

'I was surprised at his consenting so readily. '

'He has once been too much grieved to be led to act against his ownjudgment again. He thinks very highly of Percy, and is glad Theodorashould be in safe keeping; she was so wilful this last season in Londonas to make him very uneasy. '

Mr. Fotheringham came in, and Violet was going, but was claimed forsome more work upon the Crusaders, and told that Arthur was gone out toinspect his gray. 

Arthur found the weather better than it appeared from indoors, andstrolled into the park to indulge in a cigar. Ere long he perceived thebrown waterproof cloak, and throwing away the end of his cigar, calledout, 'Halloa! a solitary ramble. Have you given Earl Percy the slip?'

'You do not expect him to be always philandering after me?'

'There's a popular delusion with regard to lovers. '

'We are not such ninnies. '

'But seriously, Theodora, what can induce Fotheringham to have you?'

'I expected you to ask what induced me to have him. '

'That in its own time! Tell me, first, why he takes you. '

'The same reason that you took Violet. '

'As if you and Violet were to be named together!'

'Or you and Percy!'

They laughed, and Theodora then spoke with deep feeling. 'It doessurprise me, Arthur, but it is the more pleasure. He has known me all mylife, and sees there is less humbug in me than in other women. He knowsI have a heart. '

'That scientific discovery is his reason. Now for yours. '

'Because he understands me. '

'So your partnership is founded on a stock of mutual understanding!I devoutly hope it is; for my notion is that Percy will stand nononsense. '

'Of course not. '

'It remains to be proved how you will like that. '

'I am not given to nonsense. '

Arthur whistled. 

'That means that I will not yield when I am not convinced. '

'And he will make you. '

'He will never be unreasonable, ' exclaimed Theodora. 

'It does not follow that you will not. '

'That is unjust. I yield where duty, good sense, or affection make itneedful. '

'Oho! Affection! That is like other people. Now I see some hope of you. '

'Did you think I would have had him without it?'

'Certainly, it is the only explanation. You will not find being wife toa scrub of an attache the same thing as being Miss Martindale. '

'I am glad of it. My mind revolts at the hollowness of my present life. '

'Well done!' ejaculated Arthur. 

'I do, ' said Theodora, vehemently. 'Ours has never been a home; it wasall artificial, and we had separate worlds. You and I amalgamated best;but, oh! Arthur, you never cared for me as I did for you. The miseryof my life has been want of affection. Any one who loved me could haveguided me at will. You doubt! You don't know what is in me! How I feltas if I would work night and day at my lessons, if they were ever to beheard by mamma! I remember once, after a day's naughtiness, lying awake, sobbing, and saying, again and again, half aloud, "I would be good ifthey would love me!"'

'No one would have thought such fancies were in a wild colt like you. '

'I would not have had them guessed for worlds. Then came that one gleamof Helen. It was a new life; but it could not last. She went back, and Icannot say things in letters. She told me to talk to John, but he was ofno use. He has always despised me. '

'I don't think you are right there. '

'He would help me in trouble, but I am nothing to him. You were all Ihad, and when you gave yourself away from me I was left alone with theheart-ache, and began to think myself born to live without love. '

'In spite of the lovers you had in London?'

'You know better. That was the Honourable Miss Martindale. What did theyknow of the real Theodora?'

'Poor critturs, what indeed! They would have run far enough if theyhad. '

'I knew it. It is the soft, gentle, feminine mould that attracts men. '

'Another curious discovery. '

'I cannot change my nature. But when he comes, superior to them all, understanding my true self, seeing me high-spirited and cold-mannered, but able to look into me, and perceive there is warmth andsoundness--oh! is not that a new well-spring of happiness!'

'Yes, he is as much out of the common run of folks as you are. You'll goas well together as Smithson's pair of piebalds. I am satisfied; I onlywanted to know whether you cared for him, for you don't "act as sich. "'

'I can't talk stuff. I managed pretty well with papa, but I could notbear it with John. He began to praise Percy, which made me ready tocry, and that provoked me: besides, I know he does not believe in me. Hecares for Helen's brother far more than for his own sister, and doesnot think me good enough for him. I saw he thought I should trifle, andmeant to give me a lecture; and I could not stand that, you know, so Igot away as fast as I could. '

'John does not lecture as you might expect, if you give him his fullswing. He is the best and kindest fellow in the world. '

'I know how Percy looks up to him. The only thing I don't like is, thatI believe one cause of Percy's attachment is my being his sister. '

'I tell you, Theodora, if you are so outrageously jealous, you willnever get through the world in peace. '

'I shall have no reason for jealousy. '

'And for fear he should, had you not better give a hint to Wingfield?You are turning the poor fellow's head with your confabulations overthe dirty children, and you'll have him languishing in an unrequitedattachment. '

'He understands me too well, ' said Theodora. 

'You reckon a great deal on understanding! And you put yourselves to thetest. Why don't you marry out of hand, and trust to the fates?'

'We have talked it over, ' said Theodora. 'As to our income being equalto yours, that is nonsense. We have no expensive habits; but Percy says£450 a year is too little, so we shall wait for the appointment, or tillhe has made it up to £700. But I own I did not expect such ready consentfrom papa. '

'Ha! You would have liked a little opposition? You would sing adifferent song if he had set his face against it. It is very knowing ofmy aunt to take the line she does. '

'I wish my aunt was twenty years younger!'

'That you might fight it out, eh!'

'One comfort is, she will never leave me her money now! But I mustgo in, and send Miss Piper for a walk with Harrison. My aunt must berepaying herself on her. '

'Then I shall take another cigar, to get the damp out of my throat. '

'You wretch, you like to boast of it!'

'Ah! you don't know what Percy learnt in Turkey. '

'I know he always abominated smoking. '

'Perhaps he'll let you think so till you are married. '

'For shame, Arthur! That's the way you served your wife. '

'Not I. She is duly grateful to me for only smoking at fit times andplaces, wherein I don't resemble her precious brother. '

Arthur thus reported this conversation to his wife. 'I met Theodora inthe park. She is as remarkable an article as ever I saw. '

'What do you think?--is she really attached to him?'

'I know as little as she does. '

It was determined that the secret should be strictly kept; it was theone point on which Lady Martindale was anxious, being thereto promptedby her aunt. Theodora declared she had no one to tell, and Mr. Fotheringham only desired to inform his uncle and aunt, Sir Antony andLady Fotheringham. He was now going to pay them a visit before settlingin his lodgings in London. Theodora's engagement certainly made herafford to be kinder to Violet, or else it was Percy's influence that insome degree softened her. She was pleased at having one of her favouritehead girls taken as housemaid under Sarah's direction, her only doubtbeing whether Violet was a sufficiently good mistress; but she had muchconfidence in Sarah, whose love of dominion made her glad of a youngassistant. 

The party was now breaking up, Violet in high spirits at returning home, and having Arthur all to herself, as well as eager to put her schemes ofgood management into practice. The sorrow was the parting with John, whowas likely to be absent for several years. 

Before going he had one last conversation with his sister, apropos tosome mention of a book which she wished to send to London to be returnedto Miss Gardner. 

'Does Violet visit her?' he asked. 

'There have been a few calls; Jane Gardner has been very good-natured toher. '

'Is that cousin of theirs, that Gardner, still abroad?'

'Yes, I believe so. '

'I hope he will stay there. He used to have a most baneful influenceover Arthur. Theodora, if by any chance it should be in your power, youought to do your utmost to keep them from coming in contact. It may be avery superfluous fear, but your intimacy with those ladies might be themeans of bringing them together, and there is nothing I should so muchdread. '

'Surely Arthur may be trusted to choose his own friends. '

'You don't know what happened in their school days! No, you were tooyoung. It was discovered that there was a practice of gambling anddrinking wine in the boys' rooms, and Arthur was all but expelled;but it turned out that he had been only weak, and entirely led by thisfellow, and so he was spared. Percy could tell you many histories ofGardner's doings at Cambridge. Arthur's worst scrape since he has beenin the Guards was entirely owing to him, and it was evident he still hadthe same power over him. '

'Arthur is no boy now. '

'I doubt, ' said John, half smiling. 

'No one can make the least charge against him since his marriage. '

'It has done much for him, ' answered John, 'and she has improvedwonderfully. Theodora, now that I am going away, let me once moretell you that you are throwing away a source of much happiness bydisregarding her. '

'Her romantic friendship with Emma Brandon is a proof that she cannothave much in common with me. '

'There is one thing you have not in common with either, ' exclaimed John, 'and that is an unassuming temper. '

'Yes, I know you all think me prejudiced. I do not want you to go awaymisunderstanding me, ' answered Theodora. 'She has good principles, sheis amiable and affectionate; but there are three points that prevent mefrom esteeming her as you do. She has a weak fretful temper. '

'I am sure you have seen no sign of it. '

'It is just what is never shown; but I am convinced poor Arthur suffersfrom it. Next, she thinks a great deal of her appearance; and, lastly, she is fond of power, and tries to govern, if not by coaxing, byweakness, tears, hysterics--all the artillery of the feeble. Now, awoman such as that I can pity, but cannot love, nor think a fit wife formy brother. '

'I can't tell, I don't know, ' said John, hesitating in displeasure andperplexity; 'but this once I must try whether it is of any use to talkto you. Her spirits and nerves are not strong, and they were cruellytried last spring; but Arthur only saw her cheerful, and never guessedat the tears she shed in secret, till we found her papers blisteredwith them, when her never complaining and letting him go his own way hadalmost cost her her life! and if you knew her, you would see that thetendency to over-anxiety is the very failing with which she struggles. Iwish I could make you see her in her true light. '

'I cannot help it, John, ' said Theodora, 'I must speak the truth. I seehow it is. Men are not clear-sighted in judging of a pretty woman ofengaging manners. They are under a fascination. I don't blame you--it isexactly the same with papa and Percy. '

'Indeed?'

And for the last time baffled, John parted with his sister in muchanxiety and disappointment, such as made it repose to turn to that othergentle, open-hearted, confiding sister, whose helplessness and sympathyhad first roused him from despondency and inaction. 

He begged her to write to him; an honour and a pleasure indeed; and nowthere was no fear of her letters being such as that she had sent him atMartindale. He declared the correspondence would be a great pleasure tohim--he could not bear to think of hearing of those in whom he took somuch interest only at second-hand; and besides, he had been accustomedto pour out his mind so much in his letters to Helen, that he felt thewant of full and free confidence. His letters to his mother werenot safe from the eye of his aunt, and neither his father nor Mr. Fotheringham could be what a lady correspondent would be to a man of hischaracter, reflective, fond of description, and prone to dwell on thedetails of what interested him. 

So the time of his departure came, whereat Arthur lamented, vowing itwas a horrid bore that he could not live in England, and hoping thatBarbuda would patch him up for good; while Violet made arrangements forhis convenience and pleasure on the voyage, such as no sister had eversupplied for him before. 

CHAPTER 11

 So she had prayed, and He who hears, Through Seraph songs the sound of tears, From that beloved babe had ta'en The fever and the beating pain, And more and more smiled Isobel To see the baby sleep so well. --E. B. BROWNING (Isobel's Child)

On a bright cold afternoon the next spring, Theodora was setting outfor a walk, when she saw a carriage driving up the avenue, and Arthuremerging from it. Joyously she sprang forward--'Arthur! Arthur! this ispleasant. How glad I am. This is like old times. '

'Ay, I thought you would be ready for me. I have had a cold, and I amcome home to shake off the end of it. '

'A cold--not a bad one, I hope?'

'Not very. I wanted Violet to come too, but the boy is poorly. '

'Oh! I hope there is not much the matter?'

'Only teeth, I believe. He is desperately fretful, and she can't attendto anything else. '

'Well, I hope you are come for a good long visit. '

'I can stay a week. '

'That's right, it will do you good. I was just going to write to you. Ihave a great mind to go back with you, if I shall not be in the way. '

'Not at all. It will be famous having you; but what makes you come? Togratify Fotheringham?'

'I have many reasons. I've got Charlie Layton elected to the Deaf andDumb Asylum, and I must take him there. '

'I'm not going to take him! 'Tis enough to have to carry about one's ownbabies, without other people's. '

'We'll settle that, ' said Theodora. 'Will you walk with me! There is noone at home, and I am stupefied with reading French novels to my aunt. Such horrid things! She has lost her taste for the natural, and likesonly the extravagant. I have been at it ever since luncheon, and atlast, when the wretches had all charcoaled themselves to death, I cameout to breathe fresh air and purity. '

'Where's the Piper!'

'Piper no longer. Have you not heard?'

'Not a word since Percy announced that my aunt and Harrison had come toa split about the orchids. '

'You have great things to hear. Harrison got a magnificent appointment, as he calls it--situation is not grand enough--to some botanic gardens;splendid salary. Nothing hindered the wedding but Miss Piper's dread ofmy aunt. It was not only that she could not tell her, but she could notface her after it was told, though I offered to undertake that. So theupshot was, that for very cowardice she preferred stealing the match andtaking French leave. It was a silly piece of business; but I could nothelp that, and they were accountable to no one. I promised to announceit to my aunt when the deed was done, and satisfied the poor littlewoman's conscience by undertaking to be my aunt's white nigger till shebought another. '

'If that's not self-devotion, I don't know what is, ' said Arthur. 'Itrust she has got one. '

'She comes to-morrow. '

'How was the wedding managed?'

'Harrison came with his license from Whitford, and I walked forth withsal volatile in one hand and salts in the other, administering them byturns to the fainting bride. I dragged her all the way by main strength, supported her through the service, and was very near giving her away bymistake, for there was no one else to do it but old Brand. He and I arethe witnesses in the register. I received her hysterical farewells, andHarrison's elegant acknowledgments; saw them into their fly, andcame home, trusting to Providence that I could inform my aunt withoutbringing on a fit. '

'After surviving the news of your engagement she may bear anything. '

'Ah! there she takes refuge in incredulity. Now this was a fact. Sothere was nothing for it but to take a high tone. I gave the history, and told my own share; then, in the style of Richard II, when Wat Tylerwas killed, declared I would be her companion; and, after some bandyingof words, we settled down peaceably. '

'One thing amazes me. How did you get Wingfield to do it? I had plagueenough with the old parson at Wrangerton, and I should have thoughtWingfield harder to manage. '

'They had no consent to ask--no one could forbid the banns. He soonsaw the rights of it, ' said Theodora, unable to prevent herself fromblushing. 

'You talked him over, eh?'

'Arthur, you are looking at me as if you wanted to put me out ofcountenance. Well, you shall hear the truth; it is safe with you, and noone else knows it. It is my chief reason for wishing to go to London. '

'Ah ha!'

'Yes, you were right in warning me. He must needs think I worked in theparish for his sake; and one fine day, as I was walking home, he joinedcompany, and before I knew where I was he was making me an offer. '

'And learnt what disdain means, if he did not know before. '

'No, ' said Theodora, gravely, and blushing deeply. 'I recollected yourwarning, and saw that if there had not been something like encouragementhe would not have forgotten the distance between us. This wedding hasoccasioned conferences; besides, Percy was exacting at Christmas, and Ihad rather tried to tease him. I thought, living close by, Mr. Wingfieldmust have known the state of the case, and that I need not be on myguard; so that, having so far taken him in, I thought it right to tellhim I was afraid he had not been fairly used, for I had trusted to hisknowing I was engaged. So we parted amicably; but it is a great bore, for he is much more cut up than I expected, poor man. He went from homethe next Monday, and is but just come back, looking disconsolate enoughto set people wondering what is on his spirits, and avoids me, so as toshow them. It would be the best possible thing for me to get out of theway till it is blown over, for I have no comfort in parish work. It hasbeen a relief to be always shut up with my aunt, since that was a reasonfor not going into the village. '

'Then you will stay till the family migration?'

'I don't think there will be any this year. Papa talks about bad times, and says the season in London is too expensive; and mamma was worriedand tired last year, and did not enjoy it, so she will be glad to avoidit and stay with my aunt. '

'And, you being no longer a subject for speculation, there's no object. '

'Yes; I am glad to have ended that hateful consciousness. '

'Well, Violet will do her best for you. '

'I don't want her to trouble herself; I only want house-room. '

'And a change after a month's white niggering. '

'That's another reason. My aunt has grown so dependent on me, that thisnew lady will not have a fair chance if I am at home; and if I don'tbreak the habit, I shall never call my time my own again. '

In fact, Theodora had been suffering under a fit of restlessness anddissatisfaction, which made her anxious to change the scene. The school, her great resource, was liable to be a place of awkward meetings. Shewas going to lose her dumb charge; and with Percy and Arthur both at adistance, there was no excitement nor relief to the tedium of home. Thethorough self-sacrificing attendance on her aunt had been the sole meansleft her of maintaining the sense of fulfilling a duty. 

The unexpected arrival of her favourite brother was as a reward. Herspirits rose, and she talked with gaiety and animation, delighted tofind him claiming her company for walks and rides to be taken in hisholiday week, and feeling as if now the prediction had truly come topass, that he would be relieved to come to her from the annoyances ofhis home. 

Every one seemed glad to see Arthur--even Mrs. Nesbit. In the courseof the evening something was said about a dinner party for the ensuingSaturday, and Lady Martindale asked if he could stay for it. 

'Saturday? Yes; I need not go back till Monday. '

'I wish Violet could have come, ' said Lord Martindale. 'I am glad youcan give us a week; but it is a long time for her to be alone. I hopeshe has some friend to be with her. '

'Oh, she wants no one, ' said Arthur. 'She begged me to go; and I fancyshe will be rather glad to have no distraction from the child. I amonly in the way of her perpetual walking up and down the room with himwhining in her arms. '

'Ah! it is an unlucky affair, ' said Mrs. Nesbit, in her sarcastic toneof condolence; 'she will never rear it. '

She seemed, in her triumph, to have forgotten that its father waspresent, and his impatient speech had certainly not been such as tobring it to mind; but this was too much, and, starting, he hastilyexclaimed, 'Children always do make a fuss about their teeth!'

'I do not speak without the authority of medical men, ' said Mrs. Nesbit. 'I don't blame your wife, poor thing. '

What do you mean? cried Arthur, colour and voice both rising. 

'I am surprised your brother kept it from you, ' said she, gratified attorturing him; 'you ought to have been informed. '

'Tell me at once, ' said Arthur. 

'Only this, Arthur, ' said his father, interposing: 'when first thedoctor at Ventnor saw him he thought him very delicate, and told Johnthat he would hardly get through the first year without great care. '

'He has all but done that!' said Arthur, breathing more freely; 'he willbe a year old on the third. '

'Yes; afterwards the doctor thought much better of him, and John saw nooccasion to make you and Violet more anxious. '

'Then it all goes for nothing!' said Arthur, looking full at his auntwith defiance, and moving to the furthest end of the room. 

But it did not go for nothing. He could not shake off the impression. The child's illness had never been so alarming as to stir up hisfeelings, though his comfort had been interfered with; and there wererecollections of impatience that came painfully upon him. He knew thatViolet thought him more indifferent to his child than he really was;and, though she had never uttered a complaint or reproach, he was surethat he had hurt and distressed her by displeasure at the crying, andby making light of the anxieties, which he now learnt were but too wellfounded. 

Arthur's easiness and selfishness made him slow to take alarm, but whenonce awakened there was no limit to his anxiety. He knew now what itwould be to lose his first-born. He thought of the moment when the babehad been laid on his hand, and of the sad hours when that feeble cry hadbeen like a charm, holding the mother to life; and his heart smotehim as he thought of never hearing again the voice of which he hadcomplained. What might not be happening at that moment? As grisly atrain of chances rose before him as ever had haunted Violet herself, andhe thought of a worse return home than even his last. Yet he had neverdesired her to let him know whether all was well!

He could not sleep, and in the morning twilight he sought out writingmaterials, and indited his first letter to his wife:--

'Dear Violet, --I hope you and the boy are well. I have not coughed sinceI left London. I come home on Monday, if all goes well, and Theodorawith me. She has made the place too hot to hold her. 

'Yours ever, 'A. N. MARTINDALE. 

'P. S. Write and say how the boy is. '

Having hunted up a servant, and sent him with this missive to the earlypost, Arthur's paternal conscience was satisfied; and, going to bedagain, he slept till breakfast was half over, then good-humouredlylistened to exclamations on his tardiness, and loitered about the restof the morning, to the great pleasure of his sister. 

The companion, Mrs. Garth, the highly recommended widow of a marineofficer, arrived in the afternoon; and Arthur, meeting her on thestairs, pronounced that she was a forbidding-looking female, and therewas no fear that she would not be able to hold her own. 

Rejoicing in newly-recovered freedom, Theodora had a long ride with him;and having planned another to a village near a trout-stream, where hewanted to inquire about lodgings for his indefatigable fishingfriend, Captain Fitzhugh, she was working hard to dispose of her dailyavocations before breakfast the next day, when Arthur knocked at herdoor. 'Good morning, ' he said hastily. 'I must go home. My little boy isvery ill. '

'Is he? What is it?'

'A bad fit of croup. He was better when the letter went. My poor Violet!She has called in further advice; but it may come back. Do you like tocome with me?'

'If you like to have me. '

'Only be quick. I must be gone by the ten o'clock train. You must beready to start by nine. '

'I'll be ready at once, ' said Theodora, hastily ringing for Pauline, andrushing upon her preparations. She could not bear to part with him inhis grief, and thought, in case of the child's severe illness or death, that he would be in need of her comfort when he had his wife on hishands. She would not take Pauline--she would not be dependent, andtrouble their small household with another servant; but Charles Laytonshe could not leave, and having given orders to pack up her things, sheflew off down the avenue to desire his aunt to prepare him. 

Up and down, backwards and forwards, giving directions to every one, shehurried about till her father summoned her to breakfast. 

'I am glad you are going with him, my dear, ' he said, as he went downthe steps with her. 'We shall depend on you for hearing of the littleboy. '

That genuine cordial approbation was so pleasant that the thoughtcrossed her, 'Was she going to be a blessing to her family?'

'Good-bye, Arthur, ' said Lord Martindale, warmly pressing his hand. 'Ihope you will find him better, and Violet not doing too much. Give mylove to her. '

Arthur was moved by his father's unwonted warmth, and leaned back in thecarriage in silence. Theodora watched him anxiously, and did not speakfor some time. 

'Had there been any tendency to croup before?' she asked at last. 

'Tender throat, I believe; Violet always was anxious. I wish I had notcome away; it is too much for her alone! Ha! what are we stopping fornow?'

'To pick up Charles Layton. '

'You'll make us miss the train. '

'No, here he is. He shall be in nobody's way. I'll put him into thehousemaid's charge in Belgrave square. '

And with her eyes and fingers she encouraged the poor child as he waslifted up to the box. 'There, I've not stopped you long. '

'What shall you do with him on the railroad!'

'Take him with us, of course. '

'I won't have him going in a first-class with me. '

'Then I shall go in a second-class with him. '

Here it occurred to her that this was a strange way of fulfilling hermission of comfort, and she would fain have recalled her words, but onlysat silent till they came to the station, where, without any furtherquestion, they were all three lodged in the same carriage, wherepresently a county neighbour entered, attracted by the sight of Arthur. Theodora was provoked, feeling for Arthur, and thinking it was thestranger's presence that hindered her from resuming the task of cheeringhim, but she was more annoyed when Arthur plunged into a huntingdiscussion. 

She sat working up the scene which awaited them, the child justexpiring, his mother in hysterical agonies, and she herself displayingall her energy and resources, perhaps saving Johnnie's life--at anyrate, being her brother's stay and support when his wife gave way. 

His silence and anxious looks returned as they drove from the station, and she could think of nothing to say but the old hope that the baby wasbetter. As they stopped, he threw open the carriage-door, and springingout, impatiently rang. 

'Child better?' were his hurried words to James. 

'Yes, sir. '

Before even this brief answer was spoken, Arthur was halfway upstairs. No one was in the drawing room; he dashed up to the bed-room; that, too, was empty; he climbed on where he had never been before, and opened thenursery-door. 

There sat Violet on a low chair by the fire, with the little boy on herlap. With a cry of joy she rose; and in another moment was standing, almost unable to speak, as she saw Johnnie, looking much surprised, butwell pleased, to find himself in those strong arms, and his soft facescrubbed by the black whiskers. 

'He is pleased! He is smiling. You know papa, don't you, my Johnnie?'cried the happy Violet. 

'And he is all right again?'

'So much better to-day! We trust the cold is gone. Does he not breathesoftly and freely? If only there's no return to-night. '

'Was there last night?'

'Indeed there was. It was too dreadful!' said Violet, leaning againsthim, and lowering her voice. 'Once Sarah and Mr. Harding both thought itwas all over, and I never dared to expect to see those eyes come back totheir own dear look at me! O, Arthur, when I thought if I could but oncehave seen him in your arms! I never thought to be so happy as this!' andshe caressed the child to hide the tears of thankfulness. 'I'm glad youweren't there. '

'My Violet, why!'

'You could not have borne to have seen and heard, and now you won't haveit to remember. At least, I trust not! Think of their once wanting me togo away, saying it was not fit, and that I was of no use; but you knewbetter, Johnnie. You held mamma's finger tight, and when you came toyourself, your sweet look and smile were for her! And at last he wentto sleep over my shoulder, as he likes best; and I felt each one of hisbreathings, but they grew soft and smooth at last, and after two goodhours he woke up quite himself. '

'And you! Sitting up all night! You are not fit for such things. How didyou get through it?'

'I don't know; I hardly remember, ' said Violet. 'Your letter was such apleasure! and oh! I had help. '

'What, Harding--'

'I did not mean that, though he was very kind. No, I meantthoughts--verses in the Bible, ' said Violet, hanging her head, andwhispering, 'I don't mean at the worst. Then one could only pray hemight not suffer so much; but things his uncle had helped me to, didcome so comfortably while he was asleep. Don't you remember saying I hadno troubles for Helen's cross to comfort me in!'

'And did it?' said Arthur, half smiling. 

'Not itself, you know; but it helped to put me in mind to be sure thatall he was going through would somehow be a blessing. I could bear itthen, and not be angry, as I was last year. Dear little fellow, it is asif he would put me in mind himself, for the only thing like play he hasdone to-day has been holding it up, and pulling its chain. '

'There! go to your mother, Johnnie, ' said Arthur, giving him back. 'Sheis a rare one, I tell you, and you understand each other. He does notlook much amiss either. He really is a very pretty little fellow!'

No wonder Arthur made the discovery, as he for the first time remarkedthe large wistful dark eyes, the delicately fair skin, which the heatof the fire had tinged with soft pink, on the cheeks, the shapely littlehead, with its flaxen waves of curl; and the tiny, bare, rosy feet, outstretched to enjoy the warmth. Very small, tender, and fragile helooked, and his features had an almost mournful expression, but therewas something peculiarly engaging in this frail little being. 

Violet was charmed with the tribute of admiration: indeed, she hadhardly known whether she might hope for Arthur's return, though she hadfelt as if her heart would break if her child should die without hiscoming. The winter, though cheerful, had been spent in endeavoursagainst her want of faith and hope, and this hard trial in the springhad brought with it a comfort and beginning of resignation that provedthat her efforts had not been in vain. 

Very happy she was as, Sarah coming up, she prepared to go down withArthur, who now remembered to inform her of the arrival of 'Theodora andher dummy. '

These two personages were waiting in the drawing-room, Theodora in anexcited state of anticipation and energy, prepared for a summons to takecare of the baby, while Arthur was supporting his wife in hysterics. 

Long she waited and listened; at last there was an opening of doors, then what she fancied the first shriek, and she started, alarmed, inspite of being wound up, but it sounded nearer--much too like abona fide laugh, the very girlish sound she had condemned--Arthur'svoice--Violet's gaily answering! They came in, full of smiles, Violetwith outstretched hands, and warm unconstrained welcome. 'How kind ofyou to come! I'm sorry you have been so long alone, but I did not knowit, ' said she, kissing her sister-in-law, and giving a kind silentgreeting to the dumb boy. 

Disconcerted at her waste of preparation, Theodora stood for a moment, fancying Violet triumphant in having spoilt Arthur's holiday by whatmust have been an exaggerated trifle. She was almost ready to make noinquiry for Johnnie, but 'conventional instinct' prevailed, and hisparents were so full of him, and of each other, that it set them offinto an eager conversation, such as made her, in her present mood, believe herself neglected for the sake of Arthur's weak, tyrannical, exacting idol. She resolved to take Charles at once to her father'shouse. If it would not have been an insult to her brother, she wouldhave slept there herself. She surprised the others by rising from herseat, and taking up the boy's cap. 

'Oh!' exclaimed Violet, 'I had forgotten him, poor little fellow. I willtake him to Susan to have some tea. '

'Thank you, I am going to take him to the maid at our house. '

'O, pray do not, ' said Violet, imploringly; 'there's plenty of roomhere, and we can see about him so much better. '

'I had rather, ' persisted Theodora. 

'But see, it is getting dark. The lamps are lighted. You can't go now. '

'I shall not lose my way, ' said Theodora, taking by the hand the poorboy, who seemed unwilling to leave the fire and Mrs. Martindale's kindlooks. 

'Now, Arthur! you wont let her go!' said Violet, distressed. 

'What's the row?' said Arthur. 'Setting out on your travels again, Theodora!'

'Only to take Charlie to Belgrave-square. '

'I sha'n't come with you. '

'I can go by myself. '

'Nonsense. You have rattled the poor child about enough for one day. Stay at home like a rational woman, and Violet will see to him. '

The dumb child gazed as if he read their faces, and was begging toremain; he gladly allowed Violet to take his hand, and she led himaway, inviting Theodora to come and give her own directions about him toSusan, the girl from Brogden. 

So sweet was the manner, so kind the welcome, and so pretty thesolicitude for her comfort, that pride and prejudice had much difficultyin maintaining themselves. But Theodora thought that she did not likeblandishments, and she was angry at the sensation of being in theinferior situation of Violet's guest, at a moment of its being sosignally shown that she could not permit Arthur to enjoy himself withouther. To get home again as fast as possible was her resolution, asshe merely unpacked the articles for immediate use, and after a hastytoilette, returned to the drawing-room. 

Arthur and Violet were in earnest conversation. She fancied herselfan interruption, and did not second their attempts to make it general. Violet had received a letter from John, and was offering it to Arthur, who only yawned. 

'Five sheets! He writes an abominably small hand! You may tell me whatit is about. Niggers and humming-birds and such cattle, I suppose. '

'He has been to see the bishop. He wants a chaplain to live in the housewith him to teach the negroes, and have the church when it is built. '

'No chance of his coming home, then?'

'No, he is so well and busy. Percy Fotheringham is to send out someplans for the church--and only think! he has told Percy to come and askme about Mr. Fanshawe--don't you remember him?'

'The curate at the chapel at Wrangerton?'

'I once told John of his wish for missionary work, so Percy is to seeabout it, and if it will do, send him to Lord Martindale. Percy calledyesterday, but I could not see him; indeed, I had not time to read myletter; and oh, Theodora, I am so glad you are come, for he wants allmanner of infant school pictures and books for the picaninnies, and itis just the commission you understand. '

The hearing of John's letter read, so far from mollifying Theodora, renewed the other grievance. At home, it was only by chance that sheheard of her eldest brother's plans, even when matured and submitted tohis father; and she now found that they were discussed from the firstwith Violet, almost requiring her approval. The confidential ease andflow made it seem unlike John's composition, used as Theodora was tohear only such letters of his as would bear unfriendly inspection, entertaining, but like a book of travels. It was a fresh injury todiscover that he had a style from his heart. 

Theodora was in a mood to search for subjects of disapproval, but thecheerful rooms, and even the extemporized dinner, afforded her none; theonly cause of irritation she could find was Arthur's anxiety when thelamplight revealed Violet's pale exhausted looks. She had forgotten herfatigue as long as there was anything to be done, and the delight of thearrival had driven it away; but it now became evident that Arthur wasuneasy. Theodora was gloomy, and not responding to her languid attemptsat conversation, thinking there was affectation in her worn-outplaintive voice. 

As soon as the tedious dinner was over, Arthur insisted on her goingat once to bed, without listening to her entreaties that, as it wasTheodora's first evening, she might lie on the sofa and hear them talk. She turned back at the door to tell Theodora that there was a new reviewon the table, with something in it she would like to read, and then letArthur take her up-stairs. 

'Ah!' thought Theodora, 'tormenting him about the child does notsuffice--she must be ill herself! It is even beyond what I expected. When she had brought him home she might have let him have his evening inpeace; but I suppose she is displeased at my coming, and won't let himstay with me. She will keep him in attendance all the evening, so Imay as well see what books she has got. "The West Indies"; "TheCrusaders"--of course! "Geoffroi de Villechardouin"--Percy's name init. Where's this review? Some puff, I suppose. Yes, now if I was a sillyyoung lady, how much I should make of Percy because he has made agood hit, and is a literary lion; but he shall see the world makes nodifference to me. I thought the book good in manuscript; and all thecritics in the country won't make me think a bit better of it or of itsauthor. However, I'll just see what nonsense they talk till she choosesto release Arthur. '

What would have been her displeasure if she had known that Arthur waslingering up-stairs giving his wife a ludicrous version of her adventurewith Mr. Wingfield!

After a time the drawing-room door opened, but she did not heed it, meaning to be distant and indifferent; but a browner, harder hand thanArthur's was put down on the book before her, and an unexpected voicesaid, 'Detected!'

'Percy! Oh, how are you?' she exclaimed. 

'I am very glad you are come; I came to inquire at the door, and theytold me that you were here. How is she, poor thing?'

'She is gone to bed; Arthur thinks her knocked up. '

'It is well he is come; I was much concerned at her being aloneyesterday. So little Johnnie is better?'

'Like Mother Hubbard's dog. '

'The croup is no joke, ' said Percy, gravely. 

'Then you think there was really something in it?'

'Why, what do you mean? Do you think it was humbug?'

'Not at all; but it was such a terrific account, and alarmed poor Arthurso much, that it gave one rather a revulsion of feeling to hear herlaughing. '

'I am very glad she could laugh. '

'Well, but don't you think, Percy, that innocently, perhaps, shemagnified a little alarm?'

'You would not speak of little alarms if you had seen Harding thismorning. I met him just coming away after a fearful night. The childwas in the utmost danger, but his mother's calmness and presence of mindnever failed. But I'll say no more, for the sound wholesome atmosphereof this house must cure you of your prejudices. '

Arthur came down dispirited; and Percy, who had thought him anindifferent father, was pleased with him, and set himself to cheer hisspirits, seconded by Theodora, who was really penitent. 

She could not be at peace with herself till she had made some amends;and when she had wished her brother good night, found her way to thenursery, where her old friend Sarah sat, keeping solemn watch over thelittle cot by the fire. One of her sepulchral whispers assured the auntthat he was doing nicely, but the thin white little face, and spare handand arm, grieved Theodora's heart, and with no incredulity she listenedto Sarah's description of the poor little fellow's troubles and sweetunconscious patience, and that perfect trust in his mother that alwayssoothed and quieted him. It appeared that many nights had been spentin broken rest, and for the last two neither mother nor nurse hadundressed. Sarah was extremely concerned for her mistress, who, shesaid, was far from strong, and she feared would be made as ill as shewas last year, and if so, nothing could save her. This made Theodorafeel as if she had been positively cruel, and she was the more bent onreparation. She told Sarah she must be over-tired, and was told, as ifit was a satisfactory answer, that Mrs. Martindale had wished her to goto bed at six this morning. However, her eyes looked extinguished, andTheodora, by the fascinating manner she often exercised with inferiors, at last persuaded her to lie down in her clothes, and leave her to keepwatch. 

It was comfortable to hear the deep breathings of the weary servant, and to sit by that little cot, sensible of being for once of substantialuse, and meaning that no one ever should know it. But she was againdisconcerted; for the stairs creaked, the door was softly opened, andArthur stood on the threshold. The colour mantled into her face, as ifshe had been doing wrong. 

'The poor maid is worn out; I am come for the first part of the night, 'she said, in a would-be cold whisper. But his smile and low-toned 'Thankyou, ' were so different from all she had ever known from him, that shecould hardly maintain her attempt at impassibility. 

'I thought Violet would sleep better for the last news, ' said he, kneeling on one knee to look at the child, his face so softened andthoughtful that it was hardly like the same; but recovering, he gave abroad careless smile, together with a sigh: 'Little monkey, ' he said, 'he gets hold of one somehow--I wish he may have got through it. Theodora, I hope you will have no alarms. Violet will take it very kindof you. '

'Oh, don't tell her. '

'Good night, ' and he leaned over her and kissed her forehead, in agrave grateful way that brought the tears into her eyes as he silentlydeparted. 

Her vigil was full of thoughts, and not unprofitable ones. Her bestfeelings were stirred up, and she could not see Arthur, in this newlight, without tenderness untainted by jealousy. Percy had brought herto a sense of her injustice--this was the small end of the wedge, and the discovery of the real state of things was another blow. Whilewatching the placid sleep of the child, it was not easy to hardenherself against its mother; and after that first relenting andacknowledgment, the flood of honest warm strong feeling was in a way toburst the barrier of haughtiness, and carry her on further than she byany means anticipated. The baby slept quietly, and the clock hadstruck two before his first turn on the pillow wakened Sarah, though athunder-clap would not have broken her slumber. She was at his cradlebefore he had opened his eyes, and feeding and fondling hushed his weakcry before it had disturbed his mother. Theodora went to her room ongood terms with herself. 

She had never allowed late hours to prevent her from going to the earlyservice, and as she left her room prepared for it, she met Violet comingout of the nursery. Theodora for once did not attempt to disguise herwarmth of heart, and eagerly asked for the little boy. 

'Quite comfortable--almost merry, ' answered Violet, and taking the handstretched out in a very different way from the formal touch with whichit usually paid its morning greeting, and raising her eyes with hergentle earnest look, she said, 'Dear Theodora, I am afraid you don'tlike it, but you must let me this once thank you. '

Theodora's face was such that Violet ventured to kiss her, then found anarm round her neck, and a warm kiss in return. Theodora ran down-stairs, thinking it a discovery that there was more beauty in those eyes thanmerely soft brown colour and long black lashes. It was a long timesince her heart had been so light. It was as if a cold hard weight wasremoved. That one softening had been an inexpressible relief, andwhen she had thrown aside the black veil that had shrouded her view, everything looked so bright and sweet that she could hardly understandit. 

The whole scene was new. She had been seldom from home, and only as avisitor in great houses, whither Lady Martindale carried formality; andshe had never known the charm of ease in a small family. Here it wouldhave been far more hard to support her cold solitary dignity than inthe 'high baronial pride' of Martindale. She was pleased to see how wellArthur looked as master of the house, and both he and his wife were somuch delighted to make her welcome now that she would allow them, that it seemed extraordinary that a year and three quarters had passedwithout her ever having entered their house. Violet was, she owned, acaressing, amiable, lovable creature, needing to be guarded and petted, and she laid herself open to the pleasure of having something to makemuch of and patronize. 

After breakfast, Violet installed her in the back drawing-room, promising that she should there be entirely free from interruption, but she had no desire to shut herself up; she was eager to see littleJohnnie, and did not scruple to confess it. He was their chief bond ofunion, and if she was charmed with him now, when feeble and ailing, howmuch more as he recovered. Even at his best, he was extremely delicate, very small, thin, and fair, so that face and arms, as well as flaxenhair, were all as white as his frock, and were only enlivened by hisdark eyes. He was backward in strength, but almost too forward inintelligence; grave and serious, seldom laughing, and often inclined tobe fretful, altogether requiring the most anxious care, but exceedinglyengaging and affectionate, and already showing patience and obedienceto his mother that was almost affecting. Their mutual fondness wasbeautiful, and Theodora honoured it when she saw that the tenderness wasjudicious, obviating whines, but enforcing obedience even when it waspain and grief to cross the weakly child. 

Moreover, Theodora was satisfied by finding that she had diligently keptup the Sunday-school teaching of the little Brogden maid; and as to herhousehold management, Theodora set herself to learn it; and soon beganto theorize and devise grand plans of economy, which she wanted Violetto put in practice at once, and when told they would not suit Arthur, complacently answered, 'That would not be her hindrance. '

Violet wrote to John that if he could see Theodora and Percy now, hewould be completely satisfied as to their attachment and chances ofhappiness. 

CHAPTER 12

 I saw her hold Earl Percy at the point With lustier maintenance than I did look for Of such an ungrown warrior. 

 --King Henry IV

As soon as Violet could leave her little boy without anxiety, the twosisters deposited Charles Layton at the Deaf and Dumb Asylum, withhopes that a few years' training there would enable him to become MissMartindale's little page, the grand object of his desires. 

Their next and merriest excursion was to Percy's lodgings, where he hadvarious Greek curiosities which he wished to show them; andTheodora consented to come with her brother and sister in a simplestraightforward way that Violet admired. 

His rooms were over a toy-shop in Piccadilly, in such a roar of soundsthat the ladies exclaimed, and Arthur asked him how much he paid fornoise. 

'It is worth having, ' said Percy; 'it is cheerful. '

'Do you think so?' exclaimed Violet. 'I think carriages, especially lateat night, make a most dismal dreary sound. '

'They remind me of an essay of Miss Talbot's where she speaks ofher companions hastening home from the feast of empty shells, ' saidTheodora. 

'Ay! those are your West-end carriages, ' said Percy; 'I will allowthem a dreary dissatisfied sound. Now mine are honest, business-likemarket-waggons, or hearty tradesfolk coming home in cabs from treatingtheir children to the play. There is sense in those! I go to sleepthinking what drops of various natures make up the roar of that greathuman cataract, and wake up dreaming of the Rhine falls. 

 "Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, And a river flows down the vale of Cheapside. "

Eh, Mrs. Martindale?'

Violet, who always received a quotation of Wordsworth as a compliment tothe north, smiled and answered, 'I am afraid with me it would end in, "The stream will not flow, the hill will not rise. "'

'Pish, Violet, ' said her husband, 'how can you expect to feel like poetsand lovers? And halloo! he is coming it strong! "Poems by A. "; "TheWhite Hind and other Poems"; "Gwyneth: a tale in verse"; "Farewellto Pausilippo", by the Earl of St. Erme. Well done, Percy! Are youcollecting original serenades for Theodora? I'll never betray where theycame from. '

'It is all in the way of trade, ' said Percy. 

'Reviewing?' said Theodora. 

'Yes; there has been such an absurd amount of flattery bestowed on themthat it must provoke any reasonable being. It really is time to putforth a little common sense, since the magazines will have it that earlswrite better than other people. '

'Some of the verses in Lord St. Erme's last volume seem to me verypretty, ' said Violet. 

'There, she is taking up the cudgels for her countryman, ' said Arthur, always pleased when she put herself forward. 

'Which do you mean?' said Percy, turning on her incredulously. 

'I like those about the Bay of Naples, ' she answered. 

'You do not mean these?' and he read them in so good-humoured a tonethat no one could be vexed, but marking every inconsistent simile andword tortured out of its meaning, and throwing in notes and comments onthe unfaithfulness of the description. 

'There! it would do as well for the Bay of Naples as for the farm-yardat Martindale--all water and smoke. '

Arthur and Theodora laughed, but Violet stood her ground, blushingly butresolutely. 

'Anything so read would sound ill, ' she said. 'I dare say it is allright about the faults, but some parts seem to me very pretty. Thisstanza, about the fishermen's boats at night, like sparks upon thewater, is one I like, because it is what John once described to me. '

'You are right, Mrs. Martindale, ' said Percy, reading a second time thelines to which she alluded. 'They do recall the evening scene; MountVesuvius and its brooding cloud, and the trails of phosphoric light uponthe sea. I mark these for approval. But have you anything to say forthis Address to the Mediterranean?'

He did not this time mar the poem in the reading, and it was not needed, the compound words and twisted epithets were so extravagant that no onegainsaid Arthur's sentence, 'Stilts and bladders!'

'And all that abuse of the savage north is unpardonable, ' said Theodora. 'Sluggish torpid minds, indeed, frozen by skies bound in mist belts! Ifhe would stay at home and mind his own business, he would not have timeto talk such nonsense. '

'Now, ' said the still undaunted Violet, when the torrent of unsparingjest had expended itself, 'now it is my turn. Let me show you one shortpiece. This--"To L. "'

It was an address evidently to his orphan sister, very beautiful andsimple; and speaking so touchingly of their loneliness together anddependence on each other, that Mr. Fotheringham was overcome, and fairlybroke down in the reading--to the dismay of Violet, who had littlethought his feelings so easily excited. 

'Think of the man going and publishing it, ' said Theodora. 'If I wasLady Lucy, I should not care a rush for it now. '

'That is what you get by belonging to a poet, ' said Arthur. 'He wearshis heart outside. '

'This came straight from the heart, at least, ' said Percy. 'It is good, very good. I am glad you showed it to me. It would never do not to becandid. I will turn him over again. '

'Well done, councillor, ' cried Arthur. 'She has gained a verdict forhim. '

'Modified the sentence, and given me some re-writing to do, ' said Percy. 'I cannot let him off; the more good there is in him, the more itis incumbent on some one to slash him. Authors are like spaniels, etcetera. '

'Hear, hear, Theodora!' cried Arthur. 'See there, he has the stickready, I declare. '

For in truth Arthur would hardly have been so patient of hearing so muchpoetry, if it had not been for the delight he always took in seeinghis wife's opinion sought by a clever man, and he was glad to turn foramusement to Percy's curiosities. Over the mantel-piece there was a sortof trophy in imitation of the title-page to Robinson Crusoe, a thickhooked stick set up saltire-wise with the green umbrella, and betweenthem a yataghan, supporting a scarlet blue-tasselled Greek cap. Percytook down the stick, and gave it into Theodora's hand, saying, 'It hasbeen my companion over half Europe and Asia; I cut it at--'

'By the well of St. Keyne?' suggested the malicious brother. 

'No, at the source of the Scamander, ' said Percy. It served us in goodstead when we got into the desert of Engaddi. '

'Oh! was that when the robbers broke into John's tent?' exclaimedViolet. 'Surely you had some better weapon?'

'Not I; the poor rogues were not worth wasting good powder on, and agood English drubbing was a much newer and more effective experiment. I was thenceforth known by the name of Grandfather of Clubs, and Brownalways manoeuvred me into sleeping across the entrance of the tent. I dobelieve we should have left him entombed in the desert sands, if John'sdressing-case had been lost!'

'What a capital likeness of John, ' said Theodora. 'Mamma would be quitejealous of it. '

'It belonged to my sister, ' said Percy. 'He got it done by an Italian, who has made him rather theatrically melancholy; but it is a goodpicture, and like John when he looked more young-mannish and sentimentalthan he does now. '

A hiss and cluck made Violet start. In a dark corner, shrouded by thecurtain, sat Pallas Athene, the owl of the Parthenon, winking at thelight, and testifying great disapproval of Arthur, though when hermaster took her on his finger, she drew herself up and elevated herpretty little feathery horns with satisfaction, and did not even objectto his holding her to a great tabby cat belonging to the landlady, butwhich was most at home on the hearth-rug of the good-natured lodger. 

'I always read my compositions to them, ' said Percy. 'Pallas actssapient judge to admiration, and Puss never commits herself, applaudingonly her own music--like other critics. We reserve our hisses forothers. '

'How do you feed the owl, Percy?'

'A small boy provides her with sparrows and mice for sixpence a dozen. I doubted whether it was cruelty to animals, but decided that it wasdiverting the spirit of the chase to objects more legitimate thanpocket-handkerchiefs. '

'Ho! so there you seek your proteges!'

'He sought me. I seized him fishing in my pocket. I found he had nobelongings, and that his most commodious lodging-house was one of thehuge worn-out boilers near Nine-Elms--an illustration for Watts's Hymns, Theodora. '

'Poor little creature!' said Violet, horrified. 'What will become ofhim?'

'He is doing justice to the patronage of the goddess of wisdom, ' saidPercy. 'He is as sharp as a needle, and gets on in the world--hasdiscarded "conveying, " and promoted himself to selling lucifers. '

'A happy family theirs will be, ' said Arthur. 'Cat, owl, and two rivalpages!'

So, having duly admired all, curious books, potteries, red and black, tiles and lachrymatories, coins, scraps of ancient armour, a stuffedbee-eater, and the bottled remains of a green lizard that had been a petat Constantinople--and having been instructed in the difference betweenvarious Eastern modes of writing--the merry visit closed; and as the twosisters went home they planned a suit of clothes for the owl's provider, Theodora stipulating for all the hard and unusual needlework. 

CHAPTER 13

 I am ashamed that women are so simple To offer war when they should kneel for peace, Or seek the rule, supremacy, and sway, When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. 

 --Taming of the Shrew

It was an early season, and Theodora had not been a fortnight at herbrother's before numerous arrivals necessitated a round of visits, towhich she submitted without more than moderate grumbling. The first callwas on the Rickworth ladies; but it was not a propitious moment, forother visitors were in the drawing-room, and among them Miss Marstone. Emma came to sit by Violet, and was very anxious to hear whether she hadnot become intimate with Theresa. Violet could not give a good accountof herself in this respect; their hours did not suit, and they had onlytwice met. 

'And is she not delightful?'

'She is a very superior person' said Violet, looking down. 'Do you knowher sisters? I liked one of them. '

'We shall have to call on them, but they are mere ordinary girls--nocompanions to Theresa. She laments it very much, and has had to make aline for herself. I must come and tell you about it some morning. It isnonsense to meet in this way and think of conversation. 

Theodora had, in the meantime, had the exclusive attention of MissMarstone. 'So Emma is constant to the Prae-Raffaelite, ' said Theodora, as they drove from the door. 'What is all this about the Priory?'

'Did Miss Marstone talk about that?' said Violet, aghast. 

'She said something about a restoration. What! is it a secret?'

'I suppose she thought you must know it, since I did. I was muchsurprised by her beginning about it to me, for when Emma first mentionedit to me, Lady Elizabeth seemed vexed, and begged me never to hint atit. '

'So Emma wants to make restitution. Well done, little Emma! I did notthink it was in her. '

'It has been her darling scheme for years; but Lady Elizabeth has madeher promise to wait till she is five-and-twenty, and not to considerherself pledged. '

'How like Lady Elizabeth! One respects her like an institution! I hopeEmma may hold out, but she has a firebrand in her counsels. I am gladyou are not infatuated. '

'I am sure I don't know what I think of Miss Marstone. I cannot likeher; yet I want to admire her--she is so good. '

'Let her be as good as she pleases; why should she be silly?'

'Oh! she is very clever. '

'When good and clever people are silly, they are the biggest simpletonsof all. '

'Then I don't think I quite know what you mean by silliness. '

'Not turning one's sense to the best advantage, I suppose, ' saidTheodora. 'That Miss Marstone provokes me. If her principles were notright I should not care; but when she has sound views, to see her goon talking, with no reserve, only caring for what is out of the way, itmakes one feel oneself turned to ridicule. How can Lady Elizabeth endureit?'

'I don't think she likes it, but Emma is so fond of her!'

'Oh! as to Emma, her poor little imagination is dazzled. It isprovidential that she has four years to wait! Unless, indeed, there isa reaction, and she marries either a broken-down fox-hunter or a popularpreacher. '

Violet's horrified protests were cut short by the carriage stopping. Inreturning, they called at Mrs. Finch's house, to inquire when the familywere expected to return from Paris. They had arrived that morning, andViolet said she would make a short visit, and then go home and send thecarriage back, but Theodora preferred walking home. 

As they were announced, Mrs. Finch started up from a gilded sofa onwhich she had been reclining, reading a French brochure. Her dress wasin the excess of the newest Parisian fashion, such as even to Londoneyes looked outre, and, as well as her hair, had the disordered lookof being just off a journey. Her face had a worn aspect, and the colourlooked fixed. Theodora, always either rigidly simple or appropriatelysplendid, did not like Violet to see her friend in such a condition, andcould almost have shrunk from the eager greeting. 'Theodora Martindale!This is delightful! It is a real charity to look in on us to-day! Mrs. Martindale, how are you? You look better than last time I saw you. Letme introduce you to Mr. Finch. '

Mr. Finch was a little dried-up man, whose ceremonious bow put Violetin mind of the Mayor of Wrangerton. Bending low, he politely gave her achair, and then subsided into oblivion; while Miss Gardner came forward, as usual, the same trim, quiet, easy-mannered person, and began to talkto Violet, while Mrs. Finch was loudly conversing with Theodora. 

The apartment was much in the same style as the lady's dress, full ofgilding and bright colour, expensive, but not producing a good effect;especially as the sofa had been dragged forward to the fire, andtravelling gear and newspapers lay about untidily. Altogether there wassomething unsatisfactory to the feelings of both Theodora and Violet, though Mrs. Finch was very affectionate in her impetuous way, and MissGardner gently kind to Violet, asking many questions about her littleboy. 

Violet soon took leave, and Mr. Finch went down with her to thecarriage. 

'That is a fresh complexion that does one good to see!' cried Mrs. Finch, when she was gone. 'I am glad to see her in better looks andspirits. '

'She understands the art of dress, ' said Miss Gardner. Theodora was onthe point of making a sharp answer. It was the consequence of havingonce allowed her brother's wife to be freely canvassed, and she was gladthat an opening door checked the conversation. 

There entered a tall fashionable-looking man, with a glossy brownmoustache, and a very hairy chin, but of prepossessing and gentlemanlikeappearance. He leant over the sofa, and said a few words in a low voiceto Mrs. Finch, who answered with nods, and a display of her white teethin smiles. Raising himself, as if to go, he said, 'Ah! by the bye, whois that pretty friend of yours that I met Finch escorting down-stairs? Amost uncommon style of beauty--'

'That was Mrs. Martindale, ' said Miss Gardner, rather in haste. 

'Arthur Martindale's village maid? Ha! Jane, there's jealousy; I thoughtyou told me--'

'Georgina!' exclaimed Jane, 'you should have introduced Mark to MissMartindale. '

As Theodora moved her stately neck she felt as if a thunder-bolt hadfallen; but the gentleman's manner was particularly pleasing. 

'It is Jane's concern, ' said Mrs. Finch, laughing. 'I leave you to inferwhy she checks his communications. '

'There is nothing more awkward than "You told me so, "' said Mr. Gardner, 'since the days of "Who is your next neighbour, sir?" I may be allowedsome interest in the matter, for your brother is an old school-fellow ofmine. '

'Come!' exclaimed Georgina, 'if you stay dawdling here, my letter won'tbe written, and my vases won't come. Fancy, Theodora, such deliciousSevres vases, big enough to hold the Forty Thieves, sky blue, withmedallions of Mars and Venus, and Cupids playing tricks--the loveliestthings imaginable--came from Versailles--absolutely historical. '

'Lauzun is supposed to have been hidden in one, ' said Mr. Gardner. 

'I vowed I would have them, and I never fail. Mark has been through fireand water for them. '

'And I suppose they cost--' said Theodora. 

'The keep of half-a-dozen starving orphans, ' said Mrs. Finch, triumphantly. 'Ay, you may look, Theodora; but they are my trophies. '

'I wish you joy of them, ' said Theodora. 

'So you shall, when you see them; and that she may, off with you, Mark, or the post will go. '

'My cousin is a despot, ' said Mark, moving off, with a bow to Theodora;Mrs. Finch, following, spoke a few words, and then shut him into theother room. 

'Poor Mark'' said Jane, in the interval. 'We have brought him home. Hehas had a little property left him, and means to clear off his debts andmake a fresh beginning. His poor mother is so delighted!'

'The coast is clear, ' said Mrs. Finch, returning. 'Now, Theodora, is ittrue that you are going to be married?'

Point blank questions did not excite Theodora's blushes; and shecomposedly answered, 'Some time or other. '

'There! I knew it could not be true, ' cried Jane. 

'What is not true?' said Theodora. 

'Not that you are going to have the curate!' said Mrs. Finch. 'Jane, Jane, that has brought the rouge! Oh! I hope and trust it is not thecurate. '

'Certainly not, ' said Theodora, in a grave deliberate voice. 

'That's a mercy!' said Mrs. Finch. 'I had not the slightest confidencein you. I always reckoned on your making some wild choice. Oh! by thebye, do tell me where Percy Fotheringham is to be found. I must have himat our first party. What a charming book that is!'

'Even at Paris every one is full of it, already, ' said Jane. 'I feelquite jealous of you, Theodora, for knowing him so well, when we, hiscousins, never saw him at all. '

'Cousins in royal fashion, ' said Theodora, glad that the blush had begunfor Mr. Wingfield. 'What is the exact connection?'

'You explain, Jane; it is past me. I am content to count kindred withthe royal beast. '

'Lady Fotheringham, his uncle's wife, is sister to Mark's mother, myuncle's wife, ' said Jane. 'There! I trust that is lucidly done. '

'That is all, is it?' said Theodora. 

'Enough for the sending of a card. Tell me where, if you know. '

Theodora named the place. 

'Does he show off well? Mark says he has claws--'

'I have known him too long to tell how he appears to strangers, ' saidTheodora, as the colour mounted again. 

'Do you see much of him?'

'He comes to Arthur's house. '

'You have ventured there?' said Jane. 'It was hard not to be able tocome for the season otherwise. '

'I came up to bring the dumb boy to the Asylum. I am staying on becauseI like it. '

'Do you mean to go out with her?'

'When she goes, I do so too, but I am not come for the season. Mybrother's regiment is ordered to Windsor, and perhaps I may stay to bewith her. '

'She has more manner than last year, ' said Jane: 'she is greatlyimproved in looks. You will believe me, Theodora, all I said to Markonly referred to her paleness. '

'It won't do, Jane, ' said her sister; 'you only make it worse. I see howit is; Theodora has found out that her sister-in-law is a pretty littlepet of a thing that does her no harm, and you have got into the wrongbox by flattering her first dislike. Yes, yes, Theodora, we know Jane ofold; and never could get her to see the only safe way is to tell one'smind straight out. '

'I don't see it established that I did not tell Theodora my realmind, ' said Jane, quietly; 'I always thought Mrs. Martindale pretty andelegant--'

'Self-evident, ' said Georgina; 'but if I had been among you, would notI have told Theodora the poor child was cowed by her dignities, and Mrs. Nesbit and all the rest? Oh, I would have made much of her, and broughther forward. She should have been my queen of Violets: I would have doneit last year if that unlucky baby had not come in the way. '

'And now she does not need patronage, ' said Jane. 

'No; and now Theodora has found her out for herself--a better thing, 'said Mrs. Finch. 'You look all the better for it! I never saw you lookso bright or so handsome, Theodora! You are a happy girl!'--and therewas a sigh. Some interruption here occurring, Theodora took her leave, and walked home. She felt ruffled by her visit, and as she came indoors, ran up-stairs and knocked at her sister's door. The room looked cool andpleasant, and Violet was lying down in her white, frilled dressing-gown, so freshly, purely, delicately neat, and with so calm and sweet a smile, that the contrast marked itself strongly, and Theodora thought no oneever looked more innocent and engaging. 'I hope you are not tired?'

'Oh, no; I only thought it wiser to rest, thank you. '

'I came to tell you that Georgina Finch wants us to go to a party nextTuesday week. There's nothing to prevent it, is there?'

'I know of nothing; but Arthur will say--'

'We are to bring Percy. I meant to have told them of our affair; butI did not think they deserved it just then. I am glad he is no realrelation to that Mr. Gardner. '

'Was it Mr. Gardner who met me going down-stairs?' said Violet, with anunpleasant recollection of having been stared at. 'Is he their brother?'

'No; their cousin. I wonder what you think of them?' said Theodora, hastily throwing aside her bonnet and gloves, and seating herself. 

'Miss Gardner is very good-natured and pleasing. '

'Those words are made for her. But what of Georgina?'

'I hardly know her, ' said Violet, hesitating. 'This is only the secondtime I have seen her; and last year I was so unwell that her livelinesswas too much for me. '

'Overpowering, ' said Theodora. 'So people say. It is time she shouldsteady; but she will not think. I'm provoked with her. I did not likeher looks to-day, and yet she has a good warm heart. She is worth adozen Janes! Don't prefer Jane to her, whatever you do, Violet!' Thenbreaking off, she began earnestly: 'You see, Violet, those are my oldestfriends; I never could care for any girl but Georgina, and we havedone such things together as I never can forget. They had greatdisadvantages; a set of wretched governesses--one worse than the other, and were left entirely to their mercy. My education was no pattern; butit was a beauty to theirs, thanks to my father. I do believe I was theonly person with any serious notions that Georgina ever came in contactwith, in all her growing up. Their father died just as she was comingout, leaving very little provision for them; and they were shifted aboutamong fine relations, who only wanted to get rid of them, and gave themto understand they must marry for a home. '

'Poor girls! What a miserable life!'

'Jane knew she was no beauty, and took to the obliging line. She fawns, and is intimate and popular. I never liked her silkiness, though itcreeps into one at the time. Georgina had more in her. I wish you couldhave seen her at eighteen. She was such a fine, glowing, joyous-lookinggirl, with those bright cheeks, and her eyes dancing and light hairwaving, and exuberant spirits that no neglect or unkindness coulddaunt--all wild gaiety, setting humbug at defiance, and so good-natured!Oh! dear, it makes one melancholy!'

'And what made the change?'

'She had a long, low, nervous fever, as they called it; but I have neverknown much about it, for it was when we were all taken up with John'sillness. She was very long in recovering, and I suppose her spirit wasbroken, and that the homelessness grew unbearable; for, whereas she hadalways declared for honest independence and poverty, the next thing Iheard of her was, that she had accepted this miserable money-making oldwretch!'

'Perhaps she liked him. '

'No, indeed! She despises him, and does not hide it! She is true! thatis the best of her. I cannot help caring for Georgina. Poor thing, Ihate to see it! Her spirits as high as ever, and with as little ballast;and yet she looks so fagged. She was brought up to dissipation--and doesnot know where else to turn. She has not a creature to say a word theright way!'

'Not her sister?' said Violet. 'She seemed serious and good. '

'No one can tell what is the truth in Jane, ' said Theodora; 'and hersister, who knows her best, is the last person to be influenced by her. Some one to whom she could look up is the only chance. Oh, how I wishshe had a child! Anything to love would make her think. But there wassomething in the appearance of that room I cannot get over. '

'The confusion of arriving--'

'No, nothing ever could have made it so with you! I don't know what itwas, but--Well, I do think nothing else prevented me from telling themabout Percy. I meant it when I said I would stay after you; and theytalked about his book, and asked if I saw much of him, and I faced itout, so that they never suspected it, and now I think it was cowardly. I know! I will go at once, and write Georgina a note, and tell her thetruth. '

She went, and after a little interval, Violet began to dress for a partyat the house of a literary friend of Lady Martindale's, where they wereto meet an Eastern grandee then visiting London. As she finished, shebethought herself that Theodora had never before had to perform agrand toilette without a lady's maid; and going to her room, foundher, indeed, with her magnificent black tresses still spread over hershoulders, flushed, humiliated, almost angry at her own failures indisposing of them. 

'Don't I look like an insane gipsy?' said she, looking up, and tossingback the locks that hung over her face. 

'Can I do anything to help you?'

'Thank you; sit down, and I'll put all this black stuff out of the way, 'said Theodora, grasping her hair with the action of the Tragic Muse. 'I'll put it up in every-day fashion. I wish you would tell me what youdo to yours to get it into those pretty plaits. '

'I could show you in a minute; but as it is rather late, perhaps youwould not dislike my trying to put it up for you. '

'Thank you--no, pray don't; you will tire yourself. ' But it was spokenwith none of the old disdain, and left an opening for coaxing. 

'I used to be thought a good hand with my sisters' hair. It will be sucha treat if you will only let me try, ' said she, emboldened to strokethe raven tresses, and then take the comb, while Theodora yielded, wellpleased. 'On condition you give me a lesson to-morrow. I am not tobe maid-ridden all my life, ' and it ended with 'Thank you! That iscomfortable. You came in my utmost need. I am only ashamed of havingtroubled you. '

'Don't say so. I am so much obliged to you for letting me try. It ismore like being at home with you, ' murmured Violet, turning away; buther voice as well as the glass betrayed her tearful eyes, and Theodora'ssensation was a reward for her pride having slumbered and allowed her toaccept a service. 

Mr. Fotheringham came to dinner that he might go with them to the party. As they were drinking coffee before setting out, Mrs. Finch's invitationwas mentioned. 

'You had better leave your card for her, Percy, ' said Theodora. He madeno answer. 

'Will you dine with us first and go?' said Violet. 

Thank you; I do not mean to visit them. '

'No!' exclaimed Theodora. 'They are connections!'

'The more cause for avoiding them. '

'I have promised to introduce you. '

'I am afraid you reckoned without your host. '

'Ha!' cried Arthur, 'the lion is grown coquettish with fine feeding. Heis not easy of leading. '

'She is my greatest friend, ' said Theodora, as if it was conclusive; butPercy only answered, I should be very sorry to believe so, ' set down hiscup, and began to read the paper. She was the more irritated. 'Percy, 'she said, 'do you really not intend to go to the party!'

'Certainly not. '

'Not to visit a relation of your own, and my most intimate friend, whenit is my especial desire?'

'You do not know what you are talking of, ' he answered, without raisinghis eyes. 

'Percy!' exclaimed Theodora, her pride and affection so mortified thatshe forgot that Arthur was looking on with mischievous glee, 'have youany reason for this neglect?'

'Of course I have, ' said he, reading on. 

'Then let me hear it. '

'You force it from me, Theodora, ' said Percy, laying down the paper:'it is because I will not enter into any intercourse I can avoid withpersons whose conduct I disapprove. '

Violet coloured and shrank closer to her husband. Theodora's face andneck turned almost crimson, and her eyes sparkled, but her voice onlyshowed unmoved disdain. 'Remember, she is my FRIEND. '

'You do not know her history, or you would not call her so. '

'I do. What is there to be ashamed of?'

'I see, you know nothing of the prior attachment, ' said Percy, notwithout anger at her pertinacity. 

'A boy and girl liking that had been long past. '

'O it had, had it?' said Percy, ironically. 'So you approve her marryingan old rogue and miser, who had heaped up his hoards by extortion ofwretched Indians and Spaniards, the very scum of Mammon, coming to thetop like everything detestable?'

'I never heard his money was ill-gotten. '

'Those who spend don't ask whence gold comes. And you justify herkeeping the old love, this cousin, dangling about her house all thewinter till she is the talk of Paris!'

'I don't believe gossip. '

'Can you deny that he is in London in her train?'

'He has come into some property, and means to turn over a new leaf. '

'Ay, and a worse leaf than before. '

'How can you judge of his resolutions?'

Arthur laughed, saying, 'I'd not bet much on Mark Gardner's. '

Much to Violet's relief, the carriage was announced; the gentlemenwalked, and Theodora talked of indifferent matters fast and gaily. Percyhanded Mrs. Martindale out, and gave her his arm, leaving Theodora toher brother. 

It was a small select party, almost every one known to Theodora; andshe was soon in eager conversation at some distance from Violet, who wassorry for Percy, as he stood in silence beside her own chair, vexationapparent on his honest face. 

'Who is that talking to Theodora?' he presently asked. It was a smalllight-complexioned gentleman, whose head and face, and the whole styleof his dress and person, might have made him appear a boy of seventeen, but for a pale moustache and tuft on the chin. Theodora looked veryanimated, and his face was glowing with the pleasure of her notice. 

'I cannot tell, ' said Violet; 'there is Arthur, ask him. '

Percy was moving towards Arthur, when he was caught by the master of thehouse, and set to talk to the Oriental in his own language. Violet hadnever been so impressed by his talents as while listening to his fluentconversation in the foreign tongue, making the stranger look delightedand amused, and giving the English audience lively interpretations, which put them into ready communication with the wonder at whom they hadhitherto looked in awkwardness. Theodora did not come near the group, nor seem to perceive Violet's entreating glances; and when the Easternprince departed, Percy had also disappeared. Violet was gratified bythe ladies around her descanting on his book and his Syriac, and wishedTheodora could hear them. 

At that moment she found Theodora close to her, presenting Lord St. Erme to Mrs. Arthur Martindale! After so much dislike to that littleinsignificant light man for being the means of vexing Percy, to find himthe poet hero, the feudal vision of nobility, the Lord of Wrangerton!What an adventure for her mother to hear of!

It was a pleasant and rather pretty face when seen near, with very goodblue eyes, and an air of great taste and refinement, and the voice wasvery agreeable, as he asked some question about the Eastern prince. Violet hardly knew what she answered. 

'I met him yesterday, but it was flat, ' he said. 'They had a man therewhose Syriac was only learnt from books, and who could not understandhim. The interpreter to-night was far more au-fait--very clever heseemed. Who was he?'

'Mr. Fotheringham, ' said Theodora. 

'The Crusader? Was it, indeed?' said Lord St. Erme, eagerly. 'Is hehere? I wish particularly to make his acquaintance. '

'I believe he is gone, ' said Violet, pitying the unconscious victim, andat once amused, provoked, and embarrassed. 

'You know him?'

Violet marvelled at the composure of Theodora's reply. 'Yes, my eldestbrother was his travelling companion. '

'Is it possible? Your brother the "M" of the book?' exclaimed the youngEarl, with enthusiastic delight and interest. 'I never guessed it! Imust read it again for the sake of meeting him. '

'You often do meet him there, ' said Theodora, 'as my sister can testify. She was helping him to revise it last summer at Ventnor. '

'I envy you!' cried Lord St. Erme; 'to go through such a book with sucha companion was honour indeed!'

'It was delightful, ' said Violet. 

'Those are such delicious descriptions, ' proceeded he. 'Do you rememberthe scene where he describes the crusading camp at Constantinople? Itis the perfection of language--places the whole before you--carries youinto the spirit of the time. It is a Tasso unconscious of his powers, borne along by his innate poetry;' then pausing, 'surely you admire it, Miss Martindale?'

'O, yes, ' said Theodora, annoyed at feeling a blush arising. The Earlseemed sensible of a check, and changed his tone to a sober and rathertimid one, as he inquired after Mr. Martindale. The reply was left toViolet. 

'He has never been so well in his life. He is extremely busy, and muchenjoys the beauty of the place. '

'I suppose it is very pretty, ' said Lord St. Erme. 

'Nothing can be more lovely than the colour of the sea, and thewonderful foliage, and the clearness. He says all lovers of fine sceneryought to come there. '

'Scenery can hardly charm unless it has a past, ' he replied. 

'I can controvert that, ' said Theodora. 

With much diffidence he replied: 'I speak only of my own feeling. Tome, a fine landscape without associations has no soul. It is like anunintellectual beauty. '

'There are associations in the West Indies, ' said Theodora. 

'Not the most agreeable, ' said Lord St. Erme. 

'There is the thought of Columbus, ' said Violet, 'his whole character, and his delight as each island surpassed the last. '

'Now, I have a fellow-feeling for the buccaneers, ' said Theodora. 'Bertram Risingham was always a hero of mine. I believe it is anancestral respect, probably we are their descendants. '

Violet wondered if she said so to frighten him. 

'"Rokeby" has given a glory to buccaneering, ' he replied. 'It is theoffice of poetry to gild nature by breathing a soul into her. It is whatthe Americans are trying to do for their new world, still turning toEngland as their Greece. '

'I meant no past associations, ' said Theodora, bluntly. 'John carrieshis own with him. '

'Yes; all may bear the colour of the imagination within. '

'And of the purpose, ' said Theodora. 'It is work in earnest, no matterwhere, that gives outward things their interest. Dreaming will never doit. Working will. '

Their conversation here closed; but Theodora said as they went home:'What did you think of him, Violet?'

'He looks younger than I expected. '

'He would be good for something if he could be made to work. I long togive him a pickaxe, and set him on upon the roads. Then he would see thebeauty of them! I hate to hear him maunder on about imagination, whilehe leaves his tenantry to take their chance. HE knows what eyes Percyand John see things with!'

'I am glad to have seen him, ' said Violet, reassured. 

'He desired to be introduced to you. '

'I wonder--do you think--do you suppose he remembers--?'

'I don't suppose he thinks anything about it, ' said Theodora, shortly. 

CHAPTER 14

 I am not yet of Earl Percy's mind. 

 --King Henry IV

'Violet, ' said Theodora, the next morning, 'I want to know if Percy saidmore to Arthur than to us?'

She spoke with deepening colour, and Violet's glowed still more, asshe answered: 'Arthur asked him, and he said he would not BEGIN anacquaintance, but that there was no occasion to break off the ordinarycivilities of society. He accused her of no more than levity. Yes, thosewere Arthur's words. '

'I am going to get to the bottom of it, ' said Theodora; 'and giveGeorgina a thorough lecture. '

She departed; and Violet sat down to her letters, with little Johnniecrawling at her feet; but in a few minutes she was interrupted by theentrance of Mr. Fotheringham, asking for Theodora. 

'She is gone out. She could not rest without an explanation from Mrs. Finch. '

'A proper farrago she will hear, ' said Percy. 'I found I could settle tonothing, so I thought it best to come and have it out. '

'I hope she will soon come in. '

'Don't let me interrupt you. Go on with your letters. --Ha! littlemaster!'

In his present temper, play with the baby was the most congenialoccupation, and he made the little fellow very happy till he was carriedoff for his midday sleep. Then he tried to read, but seemed so uneasy, that Violet wondered if it would be intermeddling to hint at Theodora'sreal views. At last, as if he could bear it no longer, he abruptly said, 'Mrs. Martindale, do you know anything of these people?'

'Very little, ' she answered. 'Theodora was telling me about themyesterday, before you came. I believe she only likes them for oldacquaintance' sake. '

'Is it true that she used to go out with them last year?'

'I believe that she did sometimes. '

'At least, I hope that will not happen again. '

'No, I should not think it would. I am sure Theodora does not entirelyapprove of Mrs. Finch. '

'She defended her through thick and thin. '

'You shocked her with the suddenness of what you said. She cannot forgetthe having been happy together as children; but she thinks as you do, and disliked the marriage very much. Before you came, she had beenlamenting over Mrs. Finch. '

'Then, it was pure perverseness!'

'If I said so, I wonder what you would answer, ' said Violet, with abright, arch look. 

'I should hear reason, ' said Percy, roughly, as if to repel thesweetness; yet it had a mollifying effect, and he presently spoke withless irritation and more regret. 

'She suspects no evil, and cannot understand any imputation on herfriend. She fancies I speak from report, but I have known this fellow, Mark, all my life. His mother is a sister of my Aunt Fotheringham. Theywanted me to hunt up an appointment to get him out of the young lady'sway. '

'Before her marriage?'

'Ay. When I was last in England, there was a great to-do at thediscovery of an engagement between this youth and Miss Georgina. Isuppose, considering her bringing-up, she was not much to be blamed. Iremember my aunt thought the poor girl harshly dealt with. '

'O, that must have been the cause of the nervous fever Theodoramentioned. She said she knew no particulars. '

'She has not been openly dealt with, ' said Percy. 'They do not dare tolet her see their doings. '

'So the poor thing was tormented into this marriage?'

'No torment needed. The elder sister did try to warn her that it couldnot turn out well. I should think the old rogue had found his punishmentfor his extortions. Fine stories I could tell you of him in SouthAmerica. Now, am I not justified in keeping clear of them? Let Theodorasay what she will, it does not make it right for me to put myself in theway of those great extravagant dinners and parties of theirs, where theywant me for nothing but a show-off. '

'I am sure Theodora will think with you, when she is cooler, and nottaken by surprise. '

The clock struck. 

'There, I have an appointment!'

'I wish you could wait for luncheon. She must come then. '

'What are you going to do this evening?'

'I am sorry to say that we dine out; but to-morrow is Sunday, and youwill be sure to find us at home. '

He went, and one o'clock came, but no Theodora. Violet had waited tenminutes for luncheon before she returned. 

'I did not know how late it was, ' said she. 'I wish you had begunwithout me. '

Then, throwing her bonnet into a chair, and cutting some cake, sheproceeded: 'Such hours as they keep! No one but Jane was up when I came, so I went to her room, and told her I would hear the rights of it. '

'Were you satisfied?'

'Georgina has been foolish and unguarded, and the world is veryill-natured. I hate it altogether, from beginning to end, ' saidTheodora, with an impatient gesture. 'Most decidedly, ' she added, 'Georgina never ought to have married. I forced it from Jane thatshe had never cared for any one but this Mark. The discovery of hisextravagance and misconduct was the real overthrow of my poor Georgina. It was that which brought on her illness; the family were very unkind;and at last weakness and persecution broke down her spirit, and she wasready to do anything to escape. '

'Poor thing! poor thing!'

'She had nothing to fall back upon. Oh, if I had but been there! If Ihad but known it at the time!'

'Well, and now?' said Violet, anxiously. 

'The having Mr. Gardner there now? Really, I don't think she deservesall this abuse. The other matter is entirely passed away. Mr. Finchlikes him, and they understand each other fully. Coming to them detacheshim from his former habits, and gives him the best chance. His mother isso relieved to know he is with them. If Jane saw anything in the leastamiss, she says she would be the first to take alarm, and I do trust herfor that, for the sake of appearances. '

'I suppose it is a question of appearances, ' said Violet, with thediffident blushes of her eighteen years. 

'Is she to throw away the hope of rescuing her cousin, to save herselffrom spiteful tongues?' cried Theodora. 'Not that I suppose LadyFotheringham means to be spiteful, but Percy hears it all from her, andwe know very well that good ladies in the country have a tendencyto think every one good-for-nothing that lives in London or Paris, especially their relations. That is all nonsense. If Percy goes bygossip, I don't. I go by my own observation, and I see there is nothingat which to take exception. I watched her and Mr. Gardner together, andI do declare there was nothing but ease and frankness. I am sure he wasmore inclined to pay that sort of attention to me. He really is veryentertaining. I must tell you some of his stories. '

'Percy has been here, ' said Violet. 

'Has he?'

'He waited till twelve, and then was obliged to go. '

Theodora kept silence for some minutes, then said: 'If he thinks to makeme give my friends up, he is much mistaken! You know I had written toGeorgina last night. Well, she thought I had come to be congratulated;and if you had but seen the greeting--the whole manner--when she met me!Oh! you would know how impossible it is not to feel for her, with allone's heart!'

'Yes, yes. I suppose you could not say anything about this to her. No, of course not. '

'Not of course at all, if I could have had her alone, but Jane was thereall the time. It was a pleasure to see the contrast between her mannerand Jane's. There was soul in her, real hopes I should be happy, whileJane seemed only to think it tolerable, because I might end in beingan ambassadress. I will see her again before the party, and draw my ownconclusions. '

'Does she know that Percy will not go?'

'I know no such thing. '

She was too proud to ask what had passed in Violet's interview with him, and indeed was ready to take fire at the idea of their affairs havingbeen discussed with her. 

She strove to believe herself the offended party, but her conscience wasnot easily appeased, though she tried to set it at rest by affectionatecare of Violet, and was much gratified by Arthur's stopping her afterViolet had gone up-stairs at night, to beg her to stay, while he was atWindsor with his regiment. 

'Thank you, for making me of use, ' she said. 

'I shall come backwards and forwards continually, ' said Arthur, 'but shemust not be alone; I shall be very glad if you can stay, or I shall bedriven to have one of the Mosses here. '

'Oh, no, no! I shall be most happy to stay. I will take every care ofher. '

'Thank you, Theodora; good night. You have got to know her better now, 'he continued, lingering as on that first night to gain some word ofcommendation of her. 

'Much better, ' said Theodora cordially. 'One cannot help growing fond ofher--so gentle and engaging. '

She was pleased with his satisfaction; and while she owned Violet'ssincerity and sweetness, considered her one of those soft dependentbeings formed to call forth tenderness from strong and superior spirits, and gloried in being necessary to her: it almost restored her balance ofcomplacency. 

On Sunday afternoon Violet stayed at home with little Johnnie, and thevacant place in the seat at church was filled by Mr. Fotheringham. Manythoughts floated through Theodora's mind; but whether the better or theworse would gain the advantage seemed rather to depend on chance than onherself. Perhaps she was not yet conscious what were her besetting sins, and thus the conflict was merely a struggle between her feelings for herfriend and for her lover. 

Arthur walked home with an acquaintance; but Theodora turned from Percy, and threw herself into eager conversation with Lady Elizabeth. 

On entering the house, as Violet was not in the drawing-room, Theodorawas going up-stairs, when Percy said, in a tone of authority, 'How longdo you intend to go on in this way!'

'In what way?'

'Do you wish to keep all our disputes as a spectacle for Arthur'sedification?'

Colouring with shame and displeasure, she sat down with a sort of 'Iam ready' air, and took off her walking things, laying them downdeliberately, and waiting in complete silence. Did she wish to embarrasshim, or did she await his first word to decide what line she shouldtake?

'Theodora, ' he said at length, 'when I spoke last night, I did not knowhow early your acquaintance with this lady had begun, or I should haveshown more regard to the feeling that arises between old companions. Iam afraid I gave you some unnecessary pain. '

This was unexpected; and she could not at once harden herself indispleasure, so that though she spoke not, her countenance wasrelenting. 

'Did Mrs. Martindale mention what I told her yesterday!'

'No; she only said you had been here while I was gone to satisfy mymind. '

'And did you?'

'I should never have defended Georgina's marriage if I had known thewhole; but the rest of what you have heard is slander. '

'That is what I came to explain;' and Percy repeated the history hehad before given to Violet, adding a warning of the same kind as John'sagainst placing Arthur in Mr. Gardner's way. 

'The point is, ' said Theodora, 'what construction is to be placed on thepresent state of things? You and Lady Fotheringham, who have notseen them, take one view; I, who do see them, and who know Georginaintimately, take another, in which I agree with her husband and with theelder sister, who lives with her. '

'Intimately! When you had no idea of this first affair!'

'Such follies are not to be published. '

'You WILL defend them!' cried Percy, impatiently. 

'Am I to sit quiet when I hear injustice done to my oldest friend?'

'I wish that unhappy friendship had never begun!'

A silence broken by her coolly saying, 'Well, what is to come of allthis?'

Percy walked about the room and said, 'What do you mean?'

With a provoking air of meekness she said, 'I only want to know what youexpect of me. '

Excessively annoyed, he sharply answered, 'To be a reasonable woman. '

'Well?' said Theodora, with the same submissive voice. He had recoveredhimself, and with no further show of temper, he sat down by her, saying, 'This is folly. We had better say what we mean. You feel strongly withregard to your old playfellow; I cannot think well of her; but whilethis is matter of opinion, it is childish to dispute. Time will showwhich is the correct view--I shall be glad if it is yours. The eldersister is a steady amiable person, whom my aunt likes, and that is intheir favour. I do not wish you to break with an old friend while weknow of no positive charge against her, though I should think therecould be little to attract you. For me it is another matter, and I willnot. '

'You will not adopt my friends?'

I will not be talked into it. '

'I do not understand your principle, ' said Theodora, but withoutasperity. 'Why do you decline an acquaintance to which you do not objectfor me?'

'The beginning has been made in your case, and I know it is oldaffection, not present approval. You can't be hurt by one like her. Butfor my part, knowing what I do of them, I will enter on no acquaintance;it is a line of which I have resolved to keep clear. She would thinkherself patronizing a literary man. '

'Oh! you could not submit to that!' cried Theodora--'never. Stay away, Ibeg of you. '

'It is for no such nonsense, ' said Percy. 'But thinking of them as Ido, I cannot receive from them the favours which rich folks considerinvitations to poor ones. My connection with them makes it all the moreundesirable. I totally disapprove their style of conduct, and will notseem to sanction it by beginning an acquaintance, or appearing at theirgrand dinners and parties. If I had known them before, the case might bedifferent. '

'I will say no more. You are quite right, ' said Theodora, well able toappreciate the manliness of his independence. 

She thought over several times the way of communicating to Mrs. Finch, Percy's rejection of her invitation, and made some attempts at seeingher, but without success, until the night of the party. Violet had anundefined dread of it, and was especially glad that her husband was ableto go with them. It was one of the occasions when he was most solicitousabout her appearance; and he was well pleased, for she was in very goodlooks, and prettily dressed with some Irish lace, that to Theodora'samusement she had taken off Miss Marstone's hands; and with hisbeautiful wife and distinguished-looking sister, he had his wish ofdisplaying woman as she should be. 

The room was full, but Violet saw few acquaintance; as Mrs. Finch, withmuch display of streamer, flounce, jewellery, and shoulders, came tomeet them with vehement welcome, and quite oppressed Violet with herattention in finding a seat for her on the sofa. 

With a nod and look of gay displeasure at Theodora, she said, 'So, youhave brought me no Crusader, you naughty girl! Where's your Red CrossKnight?'

'He would not come, ' said Theodora, gravely. 

'You dare own it! Where's your power? Ah! you will say it was idleness. '

'I will tell you another time, ' said Theodora, blushing inconveniently, and Violet, as she felt her cheeks responding, fancied Mrs. Finch mustknow why. 

'You won't confess! No, you never tried. If you had once set your mindon it, you would have accomplished it. I always cite Theodora Martindaleas the person who cannot be resisted. '

'You see your mistake, ' returned Theodora. A gentleman here greeted her, then claimed Mrs. Finch's attention, and evidently by his desire, sheturned to Violet, and presented him as her cousin, Mr. Gardner, an oldfriend of Captain Martindale. 

Violet acknowledged the courtesy, but it was in confusion and distress. 

'I am delighted to make your acquaintance, ' was his address. 'Is CaptainMartindale here? I have not seen him for years. '

'He is in the room, ' said Violet, looking round for him, hoping eitherthat he would come, or that Mr. Gardner would go in search of him, butthe conversation continued, though she answered without knowing whatshe said, till at last he moved away to communicate to Mrs. Finchthat Arthur Martindale's pretty wife had nothing but fine eyes andcomplexion. 

Theodora was satisfied to see a very slight recognition pass betweenMr. Gardner and her brother, who was intent on conducting to Violetan officer newly returned from the West Indies, where he had metJohn. After a pleasant conversation, the two gentlemen moved away, andpresently the place next to her was taken by Miss Gardner, with civilinquiries for her little boy. 

'We are so vexed at not seeing Mr. Fotheringham! Georgina is furious. Wereckoned on him as the lion of the night. '

Violet had no answer to make, and Jane continued. 'I have taken Theodorato task. Fame makes men capricious, and he is very odd; but I tell hershe ought to have more influence, and I seriously think so. Do you not?'

'I believe he convinced her, ' said Violet, wishing the next moment torecall her words. 

'Indeed! I am curious. '

'I believe he thinks it better--fashionable life--' faltered Violet. 

'He might have made an exception in favour of such near connections!Why, we shall be related ourselves, Mrs. Martindale. How charmed I shallbe. '

Violet turned a bracelet on her arm, and could make no response. 

'It is strange enough that we have never met Percival Fotheringham, 'said Miss Gardner. 'He is an eccentric being, I hear, but our dearTheodora has a spice of eccentricity herself. I hope it will be for thebest. '

'He is an admirable person, ' said Violet. 

'I rejoice to hear it. I had some doubts. The dear girl is so generous, of such peculiar decision, so likely to be dazzled by talent, and sowarmly attached to her eldest brother, that I almost feared it might nothave been well weighed. But you are satisfied?'

'O, yes, entirely so. '

'I am relieved to hear it. In confidence I may tell YOU, it is said inour OWN family, that there is a rough overbearing temper about him. Icould not bear to think of dear Theodora's high spirit being subjectedto anything of that kind. '

'He is abrupt, ' said Violet, eagerly; 'but I assure you the better he isknown, the more he is liked. My little boy is so fond of him. '

'I am glad. No doubt you have every means of judging, but I own I wassurprised at such ready consent. You were behind the scenes, no doubt, and can tell how that determined spirit carried the day. '

'Lord Martindale gave his consent most readily and gladly, ' saidViolet; but Jane was only the more convinced that Mrs. Martindale was asignorant as ever of family secrets. 

'It was best to do so with a good grace; but I did think our dearTheodora might have looked higher! Poor Lord St. Erme! He wouldhave been a more eligible choice. The family must have been muchdisappointed, for she might have had him at her feet any day lastsummer. '

'I do not think he would have suited her. '

'Well! perhaps not, but an easy gentle temper might. However, it cannotbe helped! Only the long engagement is unfortunate--very trying to bothparties. I have seen so few turn out well! Poor Pelham Fotheringham! Itis a pity he should stand between them and the baronetcy. '

'Is he Sir Antony's son?'

'Yes; it is a sad affair. A fine tall youth, quite imbecile. He is hispoor mother's darling, but no more fit to take care of himself than achild of five years old. A most melancholy thing! Old Sir Antony oughtto set him aside, and let Percival enjoy the estate. Indeed, I shouldthink it very probable he would do so--it would be greatly for thehappiness of all parties. '

'I think it would, ' said Violet. 

'Percival can do anything with the old people, and they will be sodelighted with the Martindale connection! Perhaps it is an understoodthing. Do you know whether it is?'

'I should not think so. I never heard anything of it. '

'Has Theodora ever been introduced to the uncle and aunt?'

'Never. '

'Good old folks, exceedingly primitive. Very kind too, and a fineold-fashioned place; but, oh, so dull! All their ideas are of theseventeenth century. It will be a severe ordeal for poor Theodora, butif Lady Fotheringham, good old soul, is pleased with her, I shall expectgrand consequences. '

Violet was glad that Miss Gardner was asked to dance. Presently Arthurreturned to her side. 'Tired, Violet?' he asked. 'Slow work, is not it?They have a queer lot here. Scarcely a soul one ever saw before. '

'I was thinking so. Are there not a great many foreigners? I saw someimmense moustaches. '

'Ay. Percy would think himself back in Blue Beard's country. There isthe King of the Clothes Brushes himself polking with Mrs. Finch. Can'tyou see?'

'No! I wish I could. '

'An economical fellow! Every man his own clothes brush--two expensessaved at once, to say nothing of soap, an article that mayhap he doesnot deal in. '

'Oh! hush! you will make me laugh too much. Where 's Theodora?'

'Dancing with Gardner. He seems inclined to make up to her, unless it isa blind. '

'He said he used to know you at school. '

'Yes, scamp that he is. I had rather he had never turned up again. Heis not worth Theodora's quarrelling about. I hear she is chattering awaylike fun. Have you had any one to speak to?'

'Miss Gardner came to me. She seemed to think Sir Antony might settlehis property on Percy instead of on his son. Do you think there is anychance of it?'

'I wish he would. He could not do a wiser thing. But of course it isentailed--there's always a provision of nature for starving the youngerbranches. What does she say to Percy's absence!'

'I fancy she guesses the reason, but I don't know. '

'He is a lucky fellow, I know!' said Arthur, 'to be safe in his bed athome! This evening is a bore, and I wish the whole set were furtheroff, instead of deluding Theodora! I'll get her away when this dance isover. '

'Ha!' cried Mrs. Finch, suddenly stopping in front of them, anddisengaging herself from her partner, as she breathlessly threw herselfdown beside Violet. 'So there's Captain Martindale, after all! Howexemplary! And my poor Mrs. Martindale, that I told Jane and Mark totake such care of, left deserted to her husband's mercy!'

'Suppose she wished for nothing better, ' said Arthur, good-humouredly. 

'I can't allow such things. Such a monopoly of our Guardsmen aftertwo years' marriage is beyond bearing! What would they say to you inFrance?'

'We don't follow French fashions, ' said Arthur, his gay tone making hisearnest like jest. 'I am going to take my ladies home. I shall see forthe carriage, Violet. '

'Mrs. Martindale will learn my maxim--Never bring a husband to anevening party. There is nothing so much in the way. '

'Or that would be so glad to be let off, ' said Arthur, going. 

'You don't mean to take them away? That is the climax of all yourcrimes. Quite unallowable. '

'Many things unallowable are done, ' said Arthur; 'and I don't allow herto be over-tired. '

'"Barbare", ' began Mrs. Finch, but with a bow, as if it was acompliment, he was gone in search of the carriage. She sat for a momentsilent, then said, 'Well, I must forgive him. I never thought to see himso careful of anything. How happy Theodora seems in your "menage". Quitea different creature; but perhaps that is from another cause?'

Violet made a little attempt at a laugh. 

'I am glad of it, ' said Mrs. Finch, heartily. 'It is a horrid stiffplace for her at home, is it not? And I am delighted she should escapefrom it. How she got consent, I can't imagine; and Theodora has notionsof her own, and would do nothing without. '

'Lord Martindale has a very high opinion of Mr. Fotheringham. '

'I am not surprised. I read that book--a wonder for me, and wasperfectly "eprise". But I did not think a genius with empty pocketswould have gone down at Martindale; and he is a bit of a bear, too, theysay, though perhaps Theodora likes him the better for that. '

'Perhaps she does. '

'I hope he is worthy of her. He is the great pride of the old folks atWorthbourne. One heard of Percy's perfections there morning, noon, andnight, till I could have hated the sound of his name. Very generous ofme to ask him here to-night, is it not? but I wish he would have come. Iwant to judge of him myself. I could not bear all not to be perfect withTheodora. '

There was little occasion for Violet to speak, Mrs. Finch always keptthe whole conversation to herself; but she could not but perceive thatthough the exaggeration and recklessness of style were unpleasing, yet it really was frank and genuine, and Theodora's declaration thatGeorgina was far preferable to Jane was less incomprehensible. 

The evening was over, much to her relief; but there remained Theodora'sbold undertaking to tell Mrs. Finch of Percy's refusal to visit her. Any one else would have let the subject drop, but Theodora thoughtthis would be shabby and cowardly, and was resolved not to shrink fromwarning her friend. 

She found Georgina looking over some cards of invitation, with an air ofgreat dissatisfaction, and almost the first words that greeted her were, 'Have you a card for Lady Albury's party?'

'Yes; I heard Violet ask Arthur if he should be at home for it. '

'Very strange! We left our cards, I know, yet they never asked us totheir party this week, and now seem to have missed us again. I wishedparticularly to go, for one is sure to meet all that is worth seeing, your knight among the rest. They are prim, strait-laced, exclusivepeople themselves; but it is a house worth going to. '

'I did not remember that you knew them. '

'Oh! yes, we did; we used to be there pretty often when we lived with myUncle Edward; and it is not that they do not think my poor old mangood enough for them, for we went to their parties last year. So, Mrs. Martindale has a card, you say!'

Theodora's colour rose as she said, 'Georgina, I am going to say whatno one else will tell you. It is not your marriage, but you must takecare--'

The crimson of Mrs. Finch's cheeks, and the precipitation with which shestarted to her feet, would have disconcerted most persons; but Theodora, though she cast down her eyes, spoke the more steadily. 'You mustbe more guarded and reserved in manner if you wish to avoid unkindremarks. '

'What--what--what?' cried Georgina, passionately; 'what can the mostill-natured, the most censorious, accuse me of?'

'It is not merely the ill-natured, ' said Theodora. 'I know very wellthat you mean no harm; but you certainly have an air of trying toattract attention. '

'Well, and who does not? Some do so more demurely and hypocriticallythan others; but what else does any one go into company for? Do youexpect us all to act the happy couple, like Captain and Mrs. Martindalethe other night? You should have brought your own Percy to set us theexample!' said she, ending with a most unpleasant laugh. 

'Georgina, you must not expect to see Percy. He has rigid notions; healways avoids people who seek much after fashion and amusement, and (Imust say it) he will not begin an acquaintance while you go on in thiswild way. '

'So!' exclaimed Georgina. 'It is a new thing for the gentlemen to beparticular and fastidious! I wonder what harm he thinks I should do him!But I see how it is: he means to take you away, turn you against me, theonly creature in this world that ever cared for me. Are not you come totell me he forbids you ever to come near me!'

'No, no; he does not, and if he did, would I listen?'

'No, don't, don't displease him on my account, ' cried Mrs. Finch. 'Goand be happy with him; I am not worth caring for, or vexing yourselfabout!'

The tears stood on her burning cheeks, and Theodora eagerly replied, 'Have no fancies about me. Nothing shall ever make me give up my oldestfriend. You ought to know me better than to think I would. '

'You are so unlike those I live with, ' said Georgina sadly, as an excusefor the distrust. 'Oh, you don't know what I have gone through, or youwould pity me. You are the only thing that has not failed me. There isJane, with her smooth tongue and universal obligingness, she is the mostselfish creature in existence--her heart would go into a nutshell!One grain of sympathy, and I would never have married. It was all herdoing--she wanted luxuries! O Theodora, if I had but been near you!'

'Hush, Georgina, this is no talk for a wife, ' said Theodora, severely. 

'I thought you pitied me!'

'I do, indeed I do; but I cannot let you talk in that way. '

'I never do so: no one else would care to hear me. '

'Now listen to me, Georgina. You say you rely on me as you do on no oneelse; will you hear me tell you the only way to be happy yourself--'

'That is past, ' she murmured. 

'Or to stand well in the opinion of others! I am putting it on lowgrounds. '

'I know what you are going to say--Go and live in the country, and setup a charity-school. '

'I say no such thing. I only ask you to be cautious in your manners, tomake Mr. Finch of more importance, and not to let yourself be followedby your cousin--'

Again Georgina burst into her 'thorn crackling' laugh. 'Poor Mark! Ithought that was coming. People will treat him as if he was a dragon!'

'I know you mean no harm, ' repeated Theodora; 'but it cannot be right toallow any occasion for observations. '

'Now, Theodora, hear me. I dare say Jane has been telling you some ofher plausible stories, which do more harm than good, because no oneknows which part to believe. There was some nonsense between Mark and mewhen we were young and happy--I confess that. Perhaps I thought he meantmore than he did, and dwelt upon it as silly girls do, especially whenthey have nothing else to care for. Then came the discovery of all hisdebts and scrapes, poor fellow, and--I won't deny it--it half killed me, more especially when I found he had been attached to some low girl, and avowed that he had never seriously thought of me--he believed Iunderstood it as all sport. I was very ill. I wish I had died. Therewas no more to be done but to hate him. My uncle and aunt Edward werehorridly savage, chiefly because I hindered them from going to Italy;and Mrs. George Gardner thought I had been deluding Mark! Then LadyFotheringham asked us, and--it was dull enough to be sure, and poorPelham was always in the way--but they were kind comfortable folks. LadyFotheringham is a dear old dame, and I was in dull spirits just then, and rather liked to poke about with her, and get her to tell me aboutyour brother and his Helen--'

'Why, Jane said you were dying of low spirits!'

'Well, so I was. I hated it excessively sometimes. Jane is not entirelyfalse in that. The evenings were horrid, and Sundays beyond everythingunbearable. I confess I was delighted to get away to Bath; but there--ifJane would but have helped me--I would, indeed I would, have beenthankful to have gone back to Worthbourne, even if I had had to play atdraughts with Pelham for the rest of my days. But Jane was resolved, and all my strength and spirit had been crushed out of me. She would noteven let me write to you nor to Lady Fotheringham till it was too late. '

'Well, that is all past, ' said Theodora, whose face had shown moresympathy than she thought it right to express in words. 'The point is, what is right now?'

And you see it is folly to say there is any harm or danger in my seeingMark: he never had any attachment to me seven years ago, nor any othertime, and whatever I felt for him had a thorough cure. I am not ashamedto say I am glad he should be here to give him a chance of marrying afortune. That is the whole story. Are you satisfied?'

'Satisfied on what I never doubted, your own intentions, but no further. You ought to abstain from all appearance of evil. '

'I am not going to give my cousin up to please Lady Albury--no, nor allthe Fotheringhams put together! You used to say you did not care forgossip. '

'No more I do, but I care for a proper appearance. '

'Very well--hush--here he comes!

HE was Mr. Gardner, and whether it was that Mrs. Finch was more guarded, or that her pleading influenced Theodora's judgment, nothing passed thatcould excite a suspicion that anything remained of the former feelingbetween the cousins. It was in truth exactly as Mrs. Finch said; forwhatever were her faults, she was perfectly frank and sincere, clingingto truth, perhaps out of opposition to her sister. Mark was not a mancapable of any genuine or strong affection; and as Theodora rightlyperceived, the harm of Georgina's ways was not so much what regardedhim, as in the love of dissipation, the unguarded forward manner withall gentlemen alike, and the reckless pursuit of excitement. There wasa heart beneath, and warmth that might in time be worked upon by betterthings. 

'It is a great pity that people will drop her, ' she said to Violet. 'Themore she is left to that stamp of society, the worse it is for her wholetone of mind. '

Violet agreed, pitied, and wished it could be helped; but whenever theymet Mrs. Finch in company, saw it was not wonderful that people did notlike her. 

Mr. Gardner was, on the contrary, a general favourite. Every one calledhim good for nothing; but then, he was so very amusing! Violet couldnever find this out, shrank from his notice, and withdrew as much aspossible from his neighbourhood; Emma Brandon generally adhering closelyto her, so as to avoid one whom she viewed as a desperate designer onthe Priory. 

It was in parties that Violet chiefly saw Emma this spring. Theodora'spresence in Cadogan-place frightened her away; and, besides, hermornings were occupied by Miss Marstone's pursuits. Lady Elizabethmade no objection to her sharing in these, though sometimes not fullyconvinced of the prudence of all the accessories to their charities, and still less pleased at the influence exercised by Theresa over herdaughter's judgment. 

Emma's distaste to society was now far more openly avowed, andwas regarded by her not as a folly to be conquered, but a mark ofsuperiority. Her projects for Rickworth were also far more prominent. Miss Marstone had swept away the veil that used to shroud them in thedeepest recess of Emma's mind, and to Violet it seemed as if theywere losing their gloss by being produced whenever the friends wantedsomething to talk about. Moreover, Emma, who was now within a few monthsof twenty-one, was seized with a vehement desire to extort her mother'sconsent to put them at once in execution, and used to startle Violetby pouring out lamentations over her promise, as if it was a cruelthraldom. Violet argued that the scheme was likely to be much betterweighed by taking time to think. 

'It has been the thought of my life! Besides, I have Theresa's judgment;and, oh! Violet, mamma means it well, I know; but she does not know whatshe asks of me! Think, think if I should die in the guilt of sacrilege!'

'Really, Emma, you should not say such dreadful things. It is not yourdoing. '

'No; but I reap the benefit of it. My grandfather bought it. Oh! if itshould bring a curse with it!'

'Well, but, Emma, I should think, even if it be wrong to hold it, thatcannot be your fault yet. You mean to restore it; and surely it mustbe better to keep it as yet, than to act directly against your mother'swishes. '

'I don't mean to act against her wishes; but if she would only wishotherwise!'

'Perhaps it is the best preparation to be obliged to wait patiently. '

'If it was for any good reason; but I know it is only because it wouldbetter suit mamma's old English notions to see me go and marry in anordinary way, like any commonplace woman, as Theresa says. Ah! you wouldlike it too, Violet. It is of no use talking to you! As Theresa says, the English domestic mind has but one type of goodness. '

Violet did not like to hear her dear Lady Elizabeth contemned; but shehad no ready answer, and humbly resigned herself to Emma's belief thatshe was less able to enter into her feelings than that most superiorwoman, Theresa Marstone. 

CHAPTER 15

 Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice. 

When Arthur went with his regiment to Windsor, the ladies intended tospend their evenings at home, a rule which had many exceptions, althoughViolet was so liable to suffer from late hours and crowded rooms, thatLady Elizabeth begged her to abstain from parties, and offered more thanonce to take charge of Theodora; but the reply always was that they wentout very little, and that this once it would not hurt her. 

The truth was that Theodora had expressed a decided aversion to goingout with the Brandons. 'Lady Elizabeth sits down in the most stupid partof the room, ' she said, 'and Emma stands by her side with the air of amartyr. They look like a pair of respectable country cousins set downall astray, wishing for a safe corner to run into, and wondering at thegreat and wicked world. And they go away inhumanly early, whereas ifI do have the trouble of dressing, it shall not be for nothing. Iingeniously eluded all going out with them last year, and a great mercyit was to them. '

So going to a royal ball was all Theodora vouchsafed to do under LadyElizabeth's protection; and as her objections could not be disclosed, Violet was obliged to leave it to be supposed that it was for her owngratification that she always accompanied her; although not only was theexertion and the subsequent fatigue a severe tax on her strength, butshe was often uneasy and distressed by Theodora's conduct. Her habits incompany had not been materially changed by her engagement; she wasstill bent on being the first object, and Violet sometimes felt thather manner was hardly fair upon those who were ignorant of hercircumstances. For Theodora's own sake, it was unpleasant to see her inconversation with Mr. Gardner; and not only on her account, but onthat of Lord St. Erme, was her uncertain treatment of him a vexation toViolet. 

Violet, to whom Theodora's lovers were wont to turn when suffering fromher caprice, was on very friendly terms with the young Earl. He usedto come and stand by her, and talk to her about Wrangerton, and seemedquite amused and edified by her quiet enthusiasm for it, and forHelvellyn, and her intimacy with all the pictures which he had sent homeand almost forgotten. His sister was another favourite theme; she wasmany years younger than himself, and not yet come out; but he was verydesirous of introducing her to Mrs. And Miss Martindale; and Violet, who had heard of Lady Lucy all her life, was much pleased when a daywas fixed for a quiet dinner at Mrs. Delaval's, the aunt with whom shelived. How Mrs. Moss would enjoy hearing of it!

The day before was one of the first hot days of summer, and Violet wasso languid that she looked forward with dread to the evening, whenthey were to go to a soiree at Mrs. Bryanstone's, and she lay nursingherself, wishing for any pretence for declining it. Theodora coming in, declared that her going was out of the question; but added, 'GeorginaFinch is to be there, she will call for me. '

'I shall be better when the heat of the day is over. '

'So you may, but you shall not go for all that. You know Arthur iscoming home; and you must save yourself for your Delavals to-morrow. '

'I thank you, but only'--she hesitated--'if only you would be so kind asto go with Lady Elizabeth. '

'I will manage for myself, thank you. I shall not think of seeing you goout to-night. Why, I went out continually with Georgina last summer'--asshe saw Violets look of disappointment. 

'Yes, but all is not the same now. '

'The same in effect. I am not going to attend to nonsensical gossip. Georgina is what she was then, and the same is right for me now as wasright last year. I am not going to turn against her--'

'But, Theodora, ' said Violet's weak voice, 'Percy said he hoped younever would go out with her; and I said you never should, if I couldhelp it. '

Never was Theodora more incensed than on hearing that Percy and thisyoung girl had been arranging a check on her actions, and she was themore bent on defiance. 

'Percy has nothing to do with it, ' she began; but she was interruptedby a message to know whether Lady Elizabeth Brandon might see Mrs. Martindale. 

Her entrance strengthened Theodora's hands, and she made an instantappeal to her, to enforce on Violet the necessity of resting thatevening. Lady Elizabeth fully assented, and at once asked Theodora tojoin her. 

'I thank you, I have another arrangement, ' she said, reckless of thoseentreating eyes; 'I am to go with Mrs. Finch. '

'And I believe I shall be quite well enough by and by, ' said Violet. 

'My dear, it is not to be thought of for you. '

'Yes, Lady Elizabeth, I trust her to you to make her hear reason, ' saidTheodora. 'I shall leave her to you. '

Poor Violet, already in sufficient dread of the evening, was obliged toendure a reiteration of all its possible consequences. Lady Elizabethwas positively grieved and amazed to find her, as she thought, resolutely set upon gaieties, at all risks, and spared no argument thatcould alarm her into remaining quietly at home, even assuring herthat it was her duty not to endanger herself for the sake of a littleexcitement or amusement. Violet could only shut her eyes to restrain theburning tears, and listen, without one word in vindication, until LadyElizabeth had exhausted her rhetoric, and, rising, with some coolnesstold her she still hoped that she would think better of it, but that shewished her husband was at home. 

Violet would fain have hid her face in her good friend's bosom, andpoured out her griefs, but she could only feel that she was forfeitingfor ever the esteem of one she loved so much. She held out, however. Not till the door had closed did she relax her restraint on herself, and give way to the overwhelming tears. Helpless, frightened, perplexed, forced into doing what might be fatal to her! and every one, evenArthur, likely to blame her! The burst of weeping was as terrified, asviolent, as despairing as those of last year. 

But she was not, as then, inconsolable; and as the first agitationspent itself she resumed her self-command, checked her sobs by brokensentences of prayer, growing fuller and clearer, then again soft andmisty, till she fairly cried herself to sleep. 

She slept only for a short interval, but it had brought back hercomposure, and she was able to frame a prayer to be directed to do rightand be guarded from harm; and then to turn her mind steadily to thedecision. It was her duty, as long as it was in her power, to bewith her husband's sister, and guard her from lowering herself by herassociates. She was bound by her promise to Percy, and she could onlytrust that no harm would ensue. 

'If it should, ' thought poor Violet, 'I may honestly hope it is in theway of what I believe my duty; so it would be a cross, and I should behelped under it. And if the Brandons blame me--that is a cross again. Suppose I was to be as ill again as I was before--suppose I should notget through it--Oh! then I could not bear to have wilfully neglected aduty! And the next party? Oh! no need for thinking of that! I must onlytake thought for the day. '

And soon again she slept. 

Theodora had gone out so entirely convinced that Violet would relinquishher intention, that, meeting Mrs. Finch, she arranged to be taken up ateleven o'clock. 

On returning home she heard that Mrs. Martindale was asleep; and, asthey had dined early, she drank coffee in her own room, and read withthe Brogden girl, as part of her system of compensation, intendingto spare further discussion by seeing Violet no more that night. Sheproceeded to dress her hair--not as helplessly as at first, for thelessons had not been without fruit; but to-night nothing had a goodeffect. Not being positively handsome, her good looks depended oncolour, dress, and light; and the dislike to failure, and the desire tocommand attention, made it irritating to find her hair obstinate and herornaments unbecoming; and she was in no placid state when Violet enteredthe room, ready dressed. 

'Violet! This is too foolish!'

'I am a great deal better now, thank you. '

'But I have settled it with Georgina; she is coming to call for me. '

'This is not out of her way; it will make no difference to her. '

'But, Violet, I will not let you go; Arthur would not allow it. You arenot fit for it. '

'Yes, thank you, I believe I am. '

'You believe! It is very ridiculous of you to venture when you onlybelieve, ' said Theodora, never imagining that those mild weary tonescould withstand her for a moment. 'Stay at home and rest. You knowArthur may come at any time. '

'I mean to go, if you please; I know I ought. '

'Then remember, if you are ill, it is your fault, not mine. '

Violet attempted a meek smile. 

Theodora could only show her annoyance by impatience with her toilette. Her sister tried to help her; but nothing suited nothing pleasedher--all was untoward; and at last Violet said, 'Is Percy to be there?'

'Not a chance of it. What made you think so?'

'Because you care so much. '

Somehow, that saying stung her to the quick, and the more because it wasso innocently spoken. 

'I do not care, ' she said. 'You are so simple, Violet, you fancy allcourtships must be like your own. One can't spend six years like sixweeks. '

The colour rushed painfully into Violet's face, and she quitted theroom. It was a moment of dire shame and grief to Theodora, who had notintended a taunt, but rather to excuse her own doings; and as the wordscame back on her, and she perceived the most unmerited reproach theymust have conveyed, she was about to hurry after her sister, explain, and entreat her pardon. Almost immediately, however, Violet returned, with her hands full of some beautiful geraniums, that morning sent toher by Mrs. Harrison. 

'See!' said she; 'I think a wreath of these might look well. '

Theodora trusted the blush had been the work of her own guilty fancy, and, recollecting how often Mrs. Nesbit's innuendoes had glanced aside, thought it best not to revive the subject. She did not estimate eventhe sacrifice it was to part with the glowing fragrant flowers, thearrangement of which had freshened Violet's spirits that evening whennot in tune for other occupation; and she did not know that there wasone little sigh of fellow-feeling at their destiny of drooping andfading in the crowd and glare. Their brilliant hues had great success, and set off the deep black eyes and hair to unusual advantage when wovenby those dexterous fingers. The toilette was complete, and Theodora askind as she could be, between shame at her own speech and dislike tobeing softened by little female arts. 

'I only wish you looked better yourself, ' she said. 'You are too palefor that old white dress. '

'It is the coolest I have ready. It must do. '

Theodora could not accuse her of over-carefulness of her renown as abeauty. Her dress was, of course, appropriate, but aimed at no more; andher worn, languid appearance did not cause her a moment's thought, sinceArthur was not there to see. 

They found the room very warm and crowded. Theodora saw Violet lodgedon an ottoman, and then strayed away to her own friends. Mrs. Finch soonarrived, and attacked her for having let them go on a fool's errand. 

'I could not help it, ' said Theodora; 'she would come. '

'She looks very unwell, ' said Mrs. Finch; 'but, poor thing, it would betoo hard to miss everything this year. '

'Or does she come as your trusty knight's deputy?' asked Jane. 

There was dancing; but when Captain Fitzhugh brought Theodora back toher seat, Violet whispered, 'I am sorry, but would you dislike cominghome now?'

'Oh! I am engaged to Lord St. Erme, and then to Mr. Gardner, and--butyou go home; you have done your duty, my dear. Go home, and to sleep. Georgina will bring me. Captain Fitzhugh will find you the carriage. '

She walked off with Lord St. Erme, and came no more that way. Presentlythere was some confusion. 

'A lady fainting, ' said her partner, and she saw Emma looking dreadfullyfrightened. Conscience was enough, without the name passing from mouthto mouth. Theodora sprang forward, and following the movement, foundherself in a room where Violet's insensible figure had just been placedon a bed. Lady Elizabeth was there, and Emma, and Mrs. Bryanstone. Theodora felt as if no one but herself should touch Arthur's wife; butshe had never before witnessed a fainting fit, and, in her consternationand guiltiness, knew not how to be serviceable, so that all that wasrequired was done by the other ladies. She had never experienced suchalarm and remorse as now, while standing watching, until the eyes slowlyopened, looked round uneasily till they fell on her, then closed for afew moments, but soon were again raised, while the soft low wordswere heard, 'Thank you, I beg your pardon!' then, with an imploring, deprecating gaze on her, 'I am sorry; indeed I could not help it!'

Theodora was almost overcome; but Lady Elizabeth gave a warning squeezeto her arm, whispering, 'Take care, don't agitate her:' and this, recalling the sense that others were present, brought back herself-possession, and she only kissed Violet, tenderly bade her liestill, and hoped she was better. 

She smiled, and declared herself refreshed, as the wind blew on her fromthe open window, and she felt the cold water on her face, and there wasno silencing her thanks and apologies for giving trouble. She said shewas well enough to go home; and, as soon as the carriage was found, satup, looking shivering and forlorn, but still summoning up smiles. 'Goodnight, dear Lady Elizabeth, ' she said; 'thank you very much. You see youwere right. '

Lady Elizabeth offered to go home with her; but she could not bear tooccasion further sensation, and, besides, understood Theodora's face. She refused, and her friend kissed her, and promised to come earlyto-morrow to see her; but, mingled with all this care and kindness therewas something of 'I told you so. '

She trembled so much when she stood up, that Theodora put her strongarm round her, and nearly carried her down-stairs, gratified to findher clinging to her, and refusing all other support. Scarcely a word wasspoken as they went home; but Theodora held the hand, which was cold, limp, and shaking, and now and then she made inquiries, always answeredby 'Better, thank you. '

Theodora had her directions from Lady Elizabeth, and intended to make upfor her misdeeds by most attentive care; but, on coming home, they foundthat Arthur had arrived, and gone to bed, so that nothing was in herpower but to express more kind wishes and regrets than she could stay tohear or to answer in her extinguished voice. 

Theodora was a good deal shocked, but also provoked, at having beenput in the wrong. She felt as if she had sustained a defeat, and as ifViolet would have an advantage over her for the future, managing her byher health, just as she ruled Arthur. 

'But I will not submit, ' thought Theodora. 'I will not bear withinterference, if not from Percy, certainly not from his deputy--a merespoilt child, a very good child, but spoilt by her position, by John'sover-estimate of her, and by the deference exacted by her weakness andher engagingness. She has very sweet, winning ways, and I am very fondof her in reason, but it will be very good for her to see I can be kindto her without being her slave. '

In this mind Theodora went to sleep, but was wakened in the earlymorning by Arthur's voice on the stairs, calling to Sarah. She threw onher dressing-gown, and half-opening her door, begged to know what wasthe matter. 

'Only that you have done for her with your freaks and your wilfulness, 'answered Arthur, roughly. 

'She is not ill?' exclaimed the terrified sister. 

'Of course she is. I can't think what possessed you. '

'I tried hard to keep her at home. But, oh! Arthur, where are yougoing?'

'To fetch Harding. '

'Can I do anything? Can I be of use? Let me go to her. Oh! Arthur, praylet me. '

He went into the room, and brought back word that Violet wanted no onebut Sarah, and was a little more comfortable; only begging Theodorawould be so kind as to go to the nursery, lest little Johnnie shouldawake. 

Thither she repaired, but without the satisfaction of usefulness, forthe child slept soundly till his nurse returned. Mr. Harding had beenthere, and Mrs. Martindale was better, needing only complete quiet; butSarah was extremely brief, scornful, and indignant, and bestowed veryfew words on Miss Martindale. 'Yes, ma'am--no, ma'am, ' was all that hardpumping could extract, except funereal and mysterious sighs and shakesof the head, and a bustling about, that could only be understood tointimate that she wished to have her nursery to herself. 

It was still so early that Theodora had time to go to church; as usual, she met the Brandons; and Lady Elizabeth, much concerned at her tidings, came home with her to see how the patient was going on. 

Lady Elizabeth forbore to reproach Violet, but she lectured Arthur onallowing her to be imprudent. He took it in very good part, not quitedisagreeing when told they were all too young together, and made ahearty protest that she should be well looked after for the future. 

He was certainly doing his part. All the morning he was in and out, upand down stairs, effectually preventing any rest, as his sister thought. 

Theodora's time passed in strange variations of contrition, jealousy, and perverseness. She was hurt at his displeasure, --she was injured byher exclusion from Violet's room, --she was wounded even by her littlenephew, who cried down-stairs for mamma, and up-stairs for Sarah, andwould not be content with her best endeavours to make him happy. Andyet, when, after carefully looking to see that he could come to no harm, Sarah was obliged to place him on the floor and leave him for the firsttime alone with his father, he sat motionless, fixed in earnest, intentcontemplation, like a sort of distant worship of him, keeping himlikewise in a silent amused wonder, what would come next; and when itended in a gravely, distinctly pronounced, 'Papa!' Arthur started as ifit had been a jackdaw speaking, then picked up the little fellow in hisarms and carried him off to show, as a natural curiosity, to his mother!At any other time, Theodora would have been charmed at the rare sightof Arthur fondling his little boy; now she only felt that nobody wantedher, and that she was deprived of even the dignity of a nursery-maid. 

Her chief occupation was answering inquiries, and writing notes todecline their evening engagements--the dinner at Mrs. Delaval's amongthe rest; for she and Arthur were equally resolved to remain at homethat evening, and she wished to persuade herself that they were Violet'sfriends, not her own. 

In the midst, Mrs. Finch and Miss Gardner called, and in her state ofirritation the smooth tongue of the latter was oil to the flame. 

'Poor thing, no doubt she thinks she has been making a heroic exertion. Well, she has her reward! It must be delightful to have caused such asensation. Your brother is a most devoted husband. '

'And did she really go because she would not trust you without her?'said Mrs. Finch. 'Well, that is a good joke!'

'I think you must be glad they do not live at Brogden, ' quietly addedJane, in the midst of her sister's laughter. 

'It has been put into her head, ' said Theodora, 'that she ought to lookafter me, and a great mistake it is. '

'Yes, you are not come here to be less free than last year, when Lordand Lady Martindale had you in their own hands, said Georgina. 'IfI were you I would do something strong all at once, and settle thatmatter. That was the way you used to dispose of the governesses. '

'I am not quite what I was then, Georgina. '

'But what is it that she objects to? I see, ' as Jane made a sign, as ifto advise her not to inquire. 'Is it to your coming out with me? Well! Ideclare, that is pretty well, considering who she was. I thought betterthings of her, with her soft voice, as if she was thankful to be spokento, after all the notice I have taken of her. '

'Hush, hush! I tell you, she would never have originated the notion, butit has been put into her, and when she thinks a thing right nothing willstop her. '

'We will see that!' said Georgina. 'Come and dine with us to-night, andthen we are going to "Der Freischutz". Come--'

'That is impossible, thank you. We have given up the dinner at theDelavals', and I do not intend to go out in the evening any more. I camehere to take care of her, and I mean to do so thoroughly. '

'Not to go out any more!' cried Georgina, horrified. 'I honourTheodora, ' said Jane. 'Such devotion is like her, and must win herbrother's gratitude. '

'No devotion at all. I like a rational evening with her much better thana cram like last night's. '

'With her alone?' said Jane, slyly. 

Theodora crimsoned. Percy had instigated Violet's opposition, and shewas in no charity with him. Jane saw there was annoyance, and turnedthe subject before her sister could open on it. With all her quiet ways, Jane had the mastery over the impetuous Georgina, whom she apparentlyflattered and cherished as a younger sister, but in reality madesubservient to her own purposes. Indeed, Jane was like the Geraldineof Christabel; without actually speaking evil she had the power ofinsinuating her own views, so that even the lofty and sincere natureof Theodora was not proof against her. Poor Violet! while she perilledherself, and sacrificed her friend's good opinion, her sister's mind wasbeing hardened and poisoned against her. 

'I am afraid, ' said Jane, 'that it is of no use then to talk to you ofwhat Georgina and I have been planning. '

'Oh! Theodora must come to that at any rate, ' cried Georgina, 'or I willnever forgive her nor Mrs. Martindale neither. Do you remember our oldbirthday treat to Richmond?'

'To be sure I do!' cried Theodora. 'It was one of the most delightfuldays I ever had in my life. I have loved cowslips doubly for the treatthe sight of them was, in the midst of London and masters, seven yearsago. Why, you will be twenty-four next week, Georgina. '

'Growing to an unmentionable age, ' said Georgina. 'Well, I have set myheart on a picnic to Richmond again. Mark is to take a steamer for us, and I know of plenty of people who will make a charming party!'

'I should like it better without the people, ' said Theodora. 

'Oh, nonsense; one can't babble of green fields and run after cowslips, at our age, unless one is in love, ' said Georgina. 'If you were going tobring your Percy, perhaps we would not interfere with your sweet ruralfelicity, my dear. '

'We will bring some one else, ' said Jane. 'After poor Mrs. Martindalehad carried you off', Theodora, I found the author of "Pausilippo"looking extremely disconsolate, and hinting to him that such a schemewas in agitation, and that you were included in it, he looked so eager, that he will be for ever beholden to Georgina for an invitation. '

'Poor Lord St. Erme!' said Georgina. 'It really is a shame, Theodora. Irather take him under my protection. Shall he come, or shall he not?'

'It makes no difference to me, ' said Theodora, coolly. 

'Whatever it does to him, eh?'

'But, Georgina, you are not in the least secure of Theodora, ' said Jane, satirically. 'She is devoted to Mrs. Martindale. '

'If my sister-in-law is not well I shall not leave her, if she is, youmay depend upon me. '

'I shall do no such thing, whatever Georgina does, ' said Jane. 

'I am sure Mrs. Martindale has ways and means. '

'I shall not stay without real reason. '

'And bring the Captain, ' entreated Mrs. Finch. 

'Still more doubtful, ' suggested Jane. 

'Yes, I think you will not get him, ' said Theodora; 'but I willcertainly join you, provided Violet is not really ill. '

'I am very good friends with that pretty sister of yours, ' said Jane. 'Iwill call some day, and try to get her permission for him. '

'Once--twice--you have failed us, ' said Mrs. Finch, rising to takeleave. 'This third time, and I shall believe it is some one else in theshape of Theodora Martindale. '

'I will not fail, ' repeated Theodora. 

They departed, and presently Arthur came down. 'How long those womenhave been here! Have they been hatching treason? I want you to go up andsit with Violet; I am going out for an hour. '

It was a tame conclusion to the morning's alarms when a brisk voiceanswered, 'Come in, ' at her knock, and Violet lay very comfortablyreading, her eyes bright and lively, and her cheeks with almost theirown colour. Her sweet smile and grateful face chased away ill humour;and Theodora was so affectionate and agreeable as to surprise herself, and make her believe herself subject to the fascination Violet exercisedover her brothers. 

She told Arthur, on his return, that Violet was just ill enough to makewaiting on her pretty pastime; but was something between alarmed andangry to find him still uneasy. 

CHAPTER 16

 Lord Percy sees my fall!

 --Chevy Chase

Two days after, Miss Gardner calling, found Mrs. Martindale alone in thedrawing-room, and pretty well again. The project for the party was nowfully developed, and it was explained to Violet with regrets that shewas unable to share it, and hopes that Theodora and her brother wouldnot fail to join it. 

'Thank you, I believe Captain Martindale will be at Windsor; he will beon guard next week. '

'Ah! that is provoking. He is so valuable at this kind of thing, and Iam sure would enjoy it. He would meet some old schoolfellows. You mustuse your influence to prevent him from being lazy. Guardsmen can alwaysget leave when they think it worth while. '

'Perhaps if Theodora wishes to go, he may manage it; but I am afraid itis not likely that he will be able. '

'You will trust us for taking care of our dear Theodora, ' said MissGardner; 'we know she is rather high-spirited, and not very fond ofcontrol. I can quite enter into your feelings of responsibility, butfrom my knowledge of her character, I should say that any sense ofrestraint is most galling to her. But even if we have not the pleasureof Captain Martindale's company, you may fully reckon on our watchingover her, myself in especial, as a most dear younger sister. '

'Is your party arranged?' asked Violet. 

'Yes, I may say so. We hope for Mrs. Sedley and her daughters. Do youknow them? Charming people whom we met in Paris. '

Violet was not acquainted with them, and tried to find out who were therest. They seemed to be all young ladies, or giddy young wives, likeMrs. Finch herself, and two or three foreigners. Few were personallyknown to the Martindales; Lord St. Erme was the only gentleman of theirown set; and Violet could not smile, as her visitor expected, on hearinghow he had been enticed by hopes of meeting Miss Martindale. 

Jane Gardner perceived the disapprobation. 'Ah! well, --yes. One cannotbut own that our dear Theodora's spirits do now and then make her alittle bit of a flirt. It is the way with all such girls, you know. Iam sure it was with my sister, but, as in her case, marriage is the onlycure. You need not be in the least uneasy, I assure you. All will rightitself, though a good deal may go on that startles sober-minded peoplelike us. I could condole with you on the charge, but you will find itthe only way not to seem to thwart her. Violet thought it best to laugh, and talk of something else. 

'Then I depend on you for the cream of our party, ' said Miss Gardner, taking leave. 

'I cannot tell whether Captain Martindale can come, ' said Violet, somewhat bewildered by the conversation. 

'Is that girl a nonentity, or is she a deep genius?' said Jane toherself as she walked home. 'I cannot make her out. Now for the trialof power! If Theodora Martindale yields to the Fotheringhams now, anddeserts Georgina, it will be a confirmation of all the absurd reports. As long as I have it to say the Martindale family are as intimate asever, I have an answer for Lady Fotheringham, and if Mark is smittenwith her, so much the better. I hope Percy Fotheringham may be properlyrewarded for his presumption and ill-nature. The sooner they quarrel thebetter. I will send Theodora a note to put her on her mettle. '

The note arrived while Percy was spending the evening in Cadogan-place, and Theodora talking so happily that she grudged the interruption ofopening and reading it. 

'DEAREST THEODORA, --One line further to secure you, though I told Mrs. Martindale of our plans. She would make no promises, but we reckon onyour independence of action, at least. "Should auld acquaintance beforgot?"

'Yours affectionately, 'J. GARDNER. 

'P. S. --Mrs. Martindale looked very well. I hope she will have norecurrence of faintings. '

'From Jane Gardner, ' said Theodora; 'only to put me in mind of thepicnic. Will you go, Arthur?'

'I never was more glad to be on her Majesty's service. What anabominable bore it would be!'

'That is what gentlemen always say of picnics, ' said Theodora. 

'Not at all, ' said Percy. 'A real country party of merry happy people, knowing each other well, and full of genuine honest glee, is one of themost enjoyable things that can be. '

'That it is!' cried Violet. 'There was the day we went up Skiddaw, withno one but our cousins and Mr. Fanshawe, and dined on the mountain insight of the valley of St. John; and the rain came on, and Mr. Fanshawesat all the time holding an umbrella over Annette and the pigeon-pie. '

'That was worth doing, ' said Percy; 'but for a parcel of fine ladies andgentlemen to carry the airs and graces, follies and competitions, bornin ball-rooms and nursed in soirees, out into pure country air anddaylight, is an insult to the green fields and woods. '

'That is a speech in character of author, ' said Theodora. 

'In character of rational being. '

'Which you would not have made if the party had not been GeorginaFinch's. '

'I had no notion whose it was, or anything about it. '

'It is for her birthday, Tuesday, ' said Violet. 'They are to have asteamer to Richmond, walk about and dine there; but I should not thinkthat it would be very pleasant. Mrs. Bryanstone had one of these partieslast year to Hampton Court, and she told me that unless they were wellmanaged they were the most disagreeable things in the world; peoplealways were losing each other, and getting into scrapes. She declaredshe never would have another. '

'Mrs. Bryanstone has no idea of management, ' said Theodora. 

'I know who has less, ' said Arthur. 'Your Georgina will let every onetake their chance, and the worse predicaments people get into the loudershe will laugh. '

'There is nothing so intolerable as a woman who thinks herself toofashionable for good manners, ' said Percy. 

'Is any one waiting for an answer?' asked Violet. 

'There is none, ' said Theodora. 'They know I mean to go. '

'To go!' exclaimed all three, who had thought the question settled byArthur's refusal. 

'Yes, of course; I go with Georgina. '

'With Mark Gardner, and the king of the clothes-brushes, and alltheir train, in moustaches and parti-coloured parasols!' cried Percy. 'Theodora, I thought you were a sensible woman. '

'I am sorry if I forfeit that claim to your regard. '

'Well, if I was your mother! However, it is devoutly to be hoped that itmay rain. '

He then changed the conversation, and no more passed on this subjecttill, as he wished her good night, he said, in a low voice, 'Thinkbetter of it, Theodora. '

'My mind is made up, ' was the proud reply. In a few seconds he calledArthur to him on the stairs. 'Arthur, ' he said, 'if your sister is seton this wrong-headed scheme, at least don't let her go with no one tolook after her. Let her have some respectable person with her, merelyfor propriety's sake. She fancies me prejudiced, and we have agreed todispute no more on the woman's goings on; but you have the keeping ofher now. '

'I wish Mrs. Finch was at Jericho, and Theodora after her!' exclaimedArthur, petulantly; 'they will worry my wife to death between them. '

'Then Theodora had better go home, ' said Percy, soberly. 

'No, no; we can't do without her. She takes good care of Violet, andis very attentive and useful, and I can't have Violet left alone. If wecould but get her down off her high horse, and drive that impudent womanout of her head!--if you can't, no one else can. '

'It is very unfortunate, ' said Percy. 'There is so much generous feelingand strong affection to prompt her resistance, that it is hard to opposeher, especially as I do believe there is no worse than folly and levityin this friend of hers. I wish these occasions would not arise. Left toherself these people would soon disgust her but for her own sake we mustinterfere, and that keeps up her partisanship. '

'What is to be done?' was Violet's disconsolate beginning, as soon asshe could see Arthur alone. 

'Take it easy'--words which she had taught herself to regard as awarning that she was doleful. 'Never mind; if Theodora is so pig-headedas to rush into this scheme, it is no concern of yours. All you have todo is to take care not to be worried. '

Violet had regained a cheerful voice. 'If you were going with her, itwould not signify. '

'It would signify pretty much to me to be bored with all that riff-raff. One would think Theodora bewitched. '

'There is hardly any one of our acquaintance. '

'No, the lady has dropped pretty much in the scale. '

'I wish I knew what your father and mother would think of it. '

'They would hate it as much as we do, but they could not prevent it. Nobody can stop Theodora when once she has the bit between her teeth. AsI told Percy, if he can't, 'tis past all power. I wonder if he thinks bythis time he has caught a Tartar?'

'Did he call you to speak about it?'

'Yes; to say I must by no means let her go without a respectable femaleto look after her. '

'I don't know these ladies; but if Mrs. Finch would ask Mrs. Bryanstone, she is so good-natured that I dare say she would go. '

'That would be the most tolerable way of doing it; but I would lay youanything you please that nothing but unmitigated Finch will contenther. '

'And that is worse than no one. '

'I wish some stop could be put to it. It is worse than Percy knows. Shecan't speak to a man without flirting, and we shall have her turningsome poor fellow's head, like Wingfield's. I don't think it isrespectable!'

'It is very strange, so good and religious as she is. '

'Where is the use of her religion if it does not bring down her pride orcure her obstinacy? If it would, I should see some good in the rout shemakes about going to church and teaching dirty children. '

'Oh! Arthur, dear, don't say that. '

'It is the truth, though. '

'I think, ' said Violet, diffidently, 'that some day the good willconquer the rest. Some day she will feel these things to be wrong andstrive against them. '

'Do you mean that she does not know it is wrong to be as wilful andproud as Lucifer?'

'I do not think she knows she has those tendencies. '

Arthur laughed and shook his head. 'One learns one's faults as one growsolder, you know, ' continued Violet, 'and she is so very kind. Thinkof her giving up all going out in the evening to stay with me; and youdon't know how she waits on baby and me. She is so grand and noble, thatkindness from her is delightful, and her face when it softens is so likeyou! Some book says that high natures have the most trouble with theirfaults. '

'Then hers ought to be high indeed. '

Violet began the day by telling Arthur that his sister would go tomake arrangements with Mrs. Finch, and asked him to tell her of theirdecision before he returned to Windsor that morning. 

'Our decision! What do you mean!'

'Don't you remember about Mrs. Bryanstone?'

'Oh! if that is to be done, you must say it. Ladies must manage theirown visiting affairs. I don't understand chaperons and stuff. '

'Arthur, you don't mean me to speak?'

'If it is to be done at all, it is woman's work, and I see no use in it. She will toss her head, and only be more resolved on her own way. '

'Oh, Arthur, one moment! Did you not say it ought to be done?'

'Of course it ought; but it is of no use, and if you are wise, you willnot tease yourself. '

'But you said Percy insisted on it. '

'So he did, but if he cannot tackle her himself, I am sure we can't. I'll have nothing to do with it--it is no affair of mine. '

'Then, am I to let her alone?'

'As you choose. I wish she would hear reason, but it is not worthbothering yourself for, when it is of no use. '

'What do you wish me to do? I wish I knew--'

He shut the door behind him, and Violet tried to recover from herdismay. Thankful would she have been for commands not to interfere; butto be left to her own judgment was terrible when she knew that his trueopinion coincided with hers. How could she hope to prevail, or not toforfeit the much-prized affection that seemed almost reluctantly to beat last bestowed?

But, cost what it might, Violet never swerved from a duty, and hermind was clear that to permit Theodora to join the party alone withoutremonstrance, and without the knowledge of her parents, would beimproper. She resolved not to confuse herself with fears and anxieties, and strove to dwell on whatever could steady or calm her mind for theundertaking. How wide a difference in moral courage there was betweenthat tall grenadier and his timid delicate wife. 

Arthur and Theodora were both down-stairs before her, and the latter waspreparing breakfast, when there was a knock. 'Percy!' she thought. 'Heshall see how useless it is to interfere!'

'Mr. Albert Moss!'

Arthur threw aside his newspaper, and held out his hand with a fairshow of welcome. 'Ha! Moss, how are you? Your sister will be down-stairsdirectly. Miss Martindale--'

Theodora was resolved against being supercilious, but Mr. Moss'sintention of shaking hands obliged her to assert her dignity by aprincess-like inclination. 

'Good morning, ' said Albert. 'I came to town yesterday--slept at myuncle's--have this day in London--much occupied--thought myself sure ofyou at breakfast. '

'I will tell Mrs. Martindale, ' said Theodora, glad to escape that shemight freely uplift her eyes at his self-sufficiency, and let her pityfor Arthur exhale safely on the stairs. 

She met Violet, and was vexed at her start of joy, only consolingherself by thinking that she did not look as if she was his sister. Indeed, after the momentary instinct of gladness, came fears lestArthur might not be pleased, and Theodora be annoyed; but the familiarhome-like voice drove away all except pleasure as soon as she wascertified that her husband's brow was smooth. His presence was arestraint, keeping Albert on his best behaviour, so that therewas nothing to disturb her present enjoyment of home tidings. Thatgood-humour and ease of his were indeed valuable ingredients of comfort. 

He asked Albert to dinner, and desired him to bring Uncle Christopher, if they chose to be entertained by the ladies alone, further offeringhim a seat in his cab as far as their roads lay together. Highlygratified, Albert proceeded to ask his sister whether she was able toexecute a commission for Matilda, the matching of a piece of chenille. Violet readily undertook it, and he said, 'he would explain the occasionon his return. '

When they were gone, the cares of the morning returned upon her, andby the time her household affairs were finished, all her pulses werethrobbing at the prospect of the effort to which she was nervingherself. She ordered herself to be quiet, and lay down on the sofa, leaving the door open that Theodora might not go out without herknowledge. 

'It is my duty, ' repeated she to herself. 'If I turn from it becauseit is so dreadful to me, I shall not take up my cross! If she will onlylisten and not be angry!'

Nearly an hour passed, the day seeming to grow warmer and moreoppressive, and a nervous headache coming on. Poor Violet! she wasstill a frightened child, and when she saw Theodora coming down withher bonnet on, the fluttering of her heart made her call so feeble thatTheodora supposed her ill, and came to her with kind solicitude thatrendered it still harder to say what she knew would be taken as anaffront. 

With great difficulty she uttered the words, 'I only wanted to speak toyou about this expedition to Richmond. '

'Well, ' said Theodora, smiling with what was meant for good-humour, butwas only scorn, 'you need not distress yourself, my dear, I am ready tohear. '

'Would you get Mrs. Finch to ask Mrs. Bryanstone, and go with her?'Violet could really speak at no more length. 

'It would be folly. Mrs. Bryanstone would be out of her element, andonly a nuisance to herself and every one else. That will do. You havedischarged your conscience. '

'It is not myself alone, ' said Violet, sitting up, and gathering forceto speak firmly and collectedly, but with her hand on her heart. 'Your brother and I both think it is not right, nor what Lord and LadyMartindale would approve, that you should join this party without someone they know and like. '

You mistake, Violet. This is not like a ball. There is no absurdconventionality, tacking a spinster to a married woman. '

'No, but since. Arthur cannot be with you, it is needful to takemeasures to prevent any awkwardness for you. '

'Thank you. I'll take care of that. '

'Dear Theodora, I did not mean to vex you; but will you only putyourself in our place for one moment. Your father and mother let youstay here on the understanding that you go out with us, and when wecannot go, do you think we ought to see you put yourself under theescort of a person to whom we believe they would object?'

'I have told you that I know what my own father and mother permit. '

Violet was silent, and pressed her hand on her brow, feeling as if allher prepared arguments and resolutions were chased away by the cooldisregard which seemed to annihilate them even in her own eyes. By aneffort, however, she cleared her mind, conjured back her steadiness, andspoke, preserving her voice with difficulty from being plaintive. 'Youmay know what they permit you, but we owe them duties too. Theodora, ifyou will not take some one with you whom we know they would approve, wemust write and ask what Lord Martindale would wish. '

'Arthur will never write, ' said Theodora, in defiance; but the answertook her by surprise--'If he does not, I shall. '

'If there is to be such a rout, I will not go at all. '

'Indeed I think it would be the best plan, ' said Violet, removing thehand that had been hiding the springing tears, to look up beseechingly, and see whether the project were resigned, and herself spared the letterwhich she well knew would be left to her lot. 

But for those wistful eyes, Theodora would have felt caught in her owntrap; for such speeches had often brought governess, mother, and evenaunt, to humble entreaties that she would take her own course. She hadto recollect her words before she perceived that she had yielded, andthat she must abide by them. Anything was better than the humiliationof Violets sending home complaints of her conduct. She was greatlyincensed; but a glance at the gentle, imploring face, and the handstrying in vain not to tremble with nervousness, could not but turn awayher wrath. It was impossible to manifest displeasure; but to speak aword of concession seemed still more impossible. She impetuously threwoff her bonnet, seized a pen, dashed off a few lines, and tossed thenote and its envelope into Violet's lap, saying, in her low voice ofproud submission, 'There! you will send it, ' and left the room. Violetread

'MY DEAR GEORGINA, --My brother is engaged at Windsor, and I cannot joinyour party to Richmond. 

'Yours sincerely, 'TH. A. MARTINDALE. 

'Mrs. Martindale is pretty well, thank you. '

Violet almost expected Theodora's next note would announce her returnhome. She had been forced to give up all the affection so slowly gained, and to wound her proud sister-in-law where she was most sensitive. Should she hold Theodora to this renunciation, and send the note she hadextorted, or should she once more ask whether this was in earnest, andbeg her to reconsider the alternative?

But Violet was convinced that Theodora intended to hear no more aboutthe matter, and that nothing would be such an offence as to be supposedto have acted hastily. She was afraid of renewing the subject, lest herweakness should lose her what she had gained. 'Better, ' thought she, 'that Theodora should think me presumptuous and troublesome than thatshe should mix herself up with these people, and, perhaps, displeasePercy for ever. But, oh! if I could but have done it without vexing her, and to-day, too, when she has to bear with Albert. '

Violet felt that she must give way to her headache, trusting that whenit had had its will it might allow her to be bright enough to make afair show before Albert. She lay with closed eyes, her ear not missingone tick of the clock, nor one sound in the street, but without anydistinct impression conveyed to her thoughts, which were wandering inthe green spots in the park at Wrangerton, or in John's descriptions ofthe coral reefs of the West Indies. The first interruption was Sarah'sbringing down the baby, whom she was forced to dismiss at once. 

Again all was still, but the half slumber was soon interrupted, something cold and fragrant was laid on her brow, and, thinking Sarahwould not be satisfied without attending to her, she murmuredthanks, without opening her eyes. But the hand that changed the coolhandkerchief was of softer texture; and, looking up, she saw Theodorabending over her, with the face so like Arthur's, and making everydemonstration of kindness and attention--drawing down blinds, administering sal volatile, and doing everything in her service. 

Not that Theodora was in the least subdued. She was burning withresentment with every one--with Percy and his prejudice; with thegossiping world; with her friends for making this a trial of power; withArthur for having put forward his poor young wife when it cost herso much. 'He knew I should not have given way to him! Feebleness is atyrant to the strong. It was like putting the women and children on thebattlements of a besieged city. It was cowardly; unkind to her, unfairon me. She is a witch!'

But candour was obliged to acknowledge that it had not been feeblenessthat had been the conqueror. Violet had made no demonstration of goinginto fits; it had been her resolution, her strength, not her weakness, that had gained the victory. Chafe as Theodora might, she could notrid herself of the consciousness that the sister of that underbredattorney--that timid, delicate, soft, shrinking being, so much herjunior--had dared to grapple with her fixed determination, and hadgained an absolute conquest. 'Tyrant!' thought Theodora, 'my own brotherwould have left me alone, but she has made him let her interfere. She means to govern us all, and the show of right she had here hasoverthrown me for once; but it shall not happen again. '

At this juncture Theodora discovered, from the sounds in the other room, how much Violet had suffered from her effort, and her compassion wasinstantly excited. 'I must go and nurse her. She meant to do right, andI honour the real goodness. I am no petted child, to be cross because Ihave lost a pleasure. '

So she took exemplary care of Violet, read aloud, warded off noises, bribed the brass band at the other side of the square, went up tosee why Johnnie was crying, carried up her luncheon, waited on herassiduously, and succeeded so well, that by the time the carriage cameround, the head was in a condition to be mended by fresh air. 

Mere driving out was one of Theodora's aversions. If she did not ride, she had district visiting and schooling; but to-day she went withViolet, because she thought her unfit to be tired by Matilda'scommission. It proved no sinecure. The west-end workshops had not theright article; and, after trying them, Theodora pronounced that Violetmust drive about in the hot streets no longer. One turn in the park, andshe would set her down, and go herself into the city, if necessary, tomatch the pattern. 

And this from Theodora, who detested fancy work, despised what shecalled 'dabblers in silk and wool, ' and hated the sight of a Berlinshop!

Violet would not have allowed it; but Theodora threw her determinationinto the scale, resolved to make herself feel generous and forgiving, and not above taking any trouble to save Violet. So off she set, andwas gone so long that Violet had a long rest, and came down-stairs, muchrevived, to welcome her brother. 

Albert arrived alone. Uncle Christopher was engaged, and had charged himwith his excuses, for which Violet was sorry, as he was an unpretending, sensible man, to whom she had trusted for keeping her brother in order;but Albert was of a different opinion. 'No harm, ' he said. 'It was verygood-natured of Martindale, but he is a queer old chap, who might not godown so well in high life, ' and he surveyed his own elegant toilette. 

'We get on very well, ' said Violet, quietly. 

'Besides, ' added Albert, attempting bashfulness, 'I have a piece ofintelligence, which being slightly personal, I should prefer--youunderstand. '

Violet was prepared by her sister's letters for the news that Albert wasengaged to Miss Louisa Davis, very pretty, 'highly accomplished, ' andan heiress, being the daughter of a considerable county banker--a matchsuperior to what Albert could have expected. They had been engaged forthe last fortnight, but he had not allowed his sisters to mention it, because he was coming to London, and wished to have the pleasure ofhimself communicating the intelligence. Violet was much flattered; shewho used to be nobody to be thus selected! and she threw herself intoall the home feelings. The wedding was fixed for the beginning of July, and this first made her remember the gulf between her and her family. 

Seven o'clock was long past when Theodora entered, arrayed in rich bluesilk and black lace, put on that Violet's brother might see she meantto do him honour; and so Violet understood it, but saw that he was onlycontrasting it with her own quiet-coloured muslin. 

Here ended Violet's comfort. Albert was so much elated that she wasafraid every moment of his doing something mal-a-propos. Theodora wasresolved to be gracious, and make conversation, which so added to hisself-satisfaction, that Violet's work was to repress his familiarity. At dinner, she made Theodora take Arthur's place, and called her MissMartindale, otherwise she believed it would be Theodora the next momentwith him, and thus she lost all appearance of ease. She was shy for herbrother, and when he said anything she did not like, tried to colour itrightly; but she was weary and languid, and wanted spirit to control theconversation. 

'So, Violet, Fanshawe's appointment was a pretty little bit of patronageof yours; but the ladies of Wrangerton will never forgive you. They weregoing to get up a subscription to give him a piece of plate. '

'O, yes! and he desired them to send the money to the "Society for thePropagation of the Gospel, "' said Violet. 'Annette mentioned it. '

'I suppose it depends on Mr. Martindale, whether he makes a good thingof it in Barbuda, ' said Albert; but the gov--' at a dismayed look fromher, he turned it into 'My father is much obliged to you for gettinghim out of the way. The girls were so taken up with him one hardly knewwhether something might not come of it; and really a poor curate--afterthe manner in which some of the family have connected themselves. '

The ladies were sorry for each other--one ashamed and one amused, neither venturing to look up, and Albert had no opportunity for the bowhe intended for Miss Martindale. 

'By the bye, ' continued he, 'who is this Fotheringham that was to settlewith Fanshawe? I thought he was Lord Martindale's solicitor; but myuncle knows nothing about him. '

Violet coloured crimson, and wished herself under the table; Theodoramade violent efforts to keep from an explosion of laughing. 

'No, ' said Violet, rather indignantly; 'he is--he is--he is--' shefaltered, not knowing how to describe one so nearly a relation, 'a greatfriend of--'

Theodora having strangled the laugh, came to her rescue, and replied, with complete self-possession, 'His sister, who died, was engaged to myeldest brother. '

'Oh! I beg your pardon. You look on him as a sort of family connection. I suppose, then, he is one of the Fotheringhams of Worthbourne? Matildafancied he was the literary man of that name; but that could not be. '

'Why not?' said Theodora, extremely diverted. 

'A poet, an author! I beg your pardon; but a lady alone could supposeone of that description could be employed in a practical matter. Is notit Shakespeare who speaks of the poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling?Eh, Violet? I shall never forget the gove--my father's indignationwhen he detected your humble servant in the act of attempting a slighttribute to the Muses. I believe the old gentleman looked on my fate assealed. '

'Albert!' said Violet, feeling as if she must stop his mouth, 'you arequite mistaken. Mr. Fotheringham does belong to the family you mean, andhe did write "The Track of the Crusaders". He has been attached tothe embassy in Turkey, and is waiting for another appointment. ' Then, looking at Theodora, 'You never told me how far you went to-day. '

Theodora detailed her long pursuit of the chenille, and her successfuldiscovery of it at last. Albert's gratitude was extreme; his sisterwould be delighted and flattered, the work would receive an additionalvalue in the eyes of all, and he might well say so, he was a partyconcerned, the material was for a waistcoat, to be worn on anoccasion--but his sister would explain. 

Violet thought he had exposed himself quite enough; and as dessert wason the table, she rose with as good a smile as she could, saying, 'Verywell, I'll explain; you will find your way to the drawing-room, ' andretreated. 

Theodora caressingly drew her arm into hers, much pleased with her, andaccepting her as entirely Martindale, and not at all Moss. 'What! is hegoing to be married in it?'

'Yes, that is what he meant. '

'I hope you are satisfied. '

'O yes, I never saw her; but they are all very much pleased. '

'Now tell me frankly, which do you like? Shall I leave you at peace withhim, or will he think it rude in me?'

Violet decided in favour of Theodora's absence till tea-time. Alone shehad enjoyed Albert, but the toil of watching his manners was too much. 

'Then I'll come down and make the tea. '

'Thank you, dear Theodora. It is so kind. I hope it will not be verydisagreeable. And one thing--could you tell him how well I really am, except for to-day's headache, or he will go and take home another badaccount of me. '

'Your head is worse again. There, I'll fetch some lavender, and do youlie still and rest it till he comes. '

He soon came. 

'Well, Miss Martindale is a fine young lady, upon my word. Real highblood and no mistake. And not so high in her manner after all, when oneknows how to deal with her. '

'She is very kind to me. '

'And how long does she stay?'

'O, for some time longer. Till August, most likely. '

'Why, she will get the command of your house altogether. '

'I am very glad to have her here. '

'Ah!' said Albert, looking confidential, 'you do right to be prudent, but you may trust me, and I should be glad to know that it is morecomfortable than last year. '

'It never was otherwise, ' said Violet. 

'I hope so, ' said Albert; 'I honour your prudence, and, after all, youhave a handsome establishment, --capital dinners, good turnout. I onlywish I could see you look in better spirits. '

Violet started forward and coloured. 'Albert, don't take up fancies. Iam perfectly happy, and you must believe it. They all pet and spoil mewith kindness. If you think me looking poorly to-day it is only froma headache, which Miss Martindale has been nursing so carefully andtenderly. '

'Well, you cannot be too cautious if you are to stand well with thefamily. You do well to be on your guard. Martindale only the second son, and the elder may marry any day. That was one thing I thought I ought tospeak to you about. You really should try to get some settlement madeon you. You have nothing to depend upon, and, you see, you cannot expectanything from home. '

'Do not talk about such things. '

'You must not be childish, Violet; I am come as your best friend to giveyou advice. You ought to consider what would become of you if you wereleft with a family of young children, connected as you are. You dependentirely on one life, and you must not reckon on us, as you MUST see. '

'I see, ' said Violet, only wanting him to cease. 

'Then you perceive I have your real interest in view when I tell you itis your duty to use what influence you have to get some provision made. '

'Don't go on, Albert. As my marriage was brought about, it would beimproper in me to do anything of the kind. '

'I only wished you to see what you have to trust to. Ah! by the bye, there's the old aunt. Have not you expectations from her?'

'No; she was so much offended at our marriage that there is nolikelihood of her doing anything for us. '

'Bless me! That's a bad case! But you have been staying there. Can't apretty engaging thing like you manage to come round the old lady and getinto her good graces?'

'Albert! don't talk so. '

'Really, Violet, it is time to give up being a silly child. You oughtnot to throw away your true interests, or the time will come when youwill be sorry, and remember what I said; but you are not to depend onme. '

'No, ' said Violet, and scalding tears arose, 'I do not. You need not beafraid. I have a brother who will take care of me and mine. '

'John Martindale?'

'Yes. '

'Well, you know your own ground. I thought it my duty to warn you, andI hope you will take care to make the most of yourself--it will never doto let yourself seem of no importance, and be overcrowed by this haughtyyoung lady. '

Violet nearly laughed, but the next speech was too much for herpatience. 'And you are satisfied at Martindale being so much from home?'

'He must be while his regiment is at Windsor;' and she rang for tea, andsent a message to summon Miss Martindale, feeling her presence her onlyprotection. 

Her head ached so much that she was obliged to lie on the sofa and letthings take their chance, and Theodora's attempt to represent her ingood health only appeared like blindness and indifference. Albert wasmuch enchanted with Miss Martindale, and made himself more ridiculous, until it was a great satisfaction to his sister to see him depart. 

'He always comes on unlucky days!' she said. 'I wish I could have madeit go off better. Thank you for taking all the trouble. '

'No trouble at all, ' said Theodora, kindly. 'I am sorry you had so muchto tire you in the morning. Now, come up to your room. I wish I couldcarry you, as Arthur does. '

She put her arm round her, helped her tenderly up the stairs, and camein several times to her room to see that she was comfortable. At thelast good night, Violet whispered, 'Dear Theodora, don't think mysisters like this--'

'I'll judge them from you, my dear little sister. '

'And you forgive me?'

'To be sure I do. You did as you thought right. ' Strange to say, Theodora had more sympathy for Violet after this awkward evening. 

In the middle of the following day, Violet and little Johnnie weretogether in the drawing-room, when Arthur came in, 'Well, how are you?I am only here for two hours, but I wanted to know how you are gettingon. '

'Very well indeed, thank you. '

'Theodora sticks to her flight of Finches, I suppose?'

'She has been so kind! she has given it up. '

You don't mean it. I thought she was ready to go through fire andwater!' cried Arthur, incredulously. 

'She has written to refuse. '

'What, Percy brought her to reason?'

'No, he has not been here, but I suppose his opinion influenced her. '

'What in the name of wonder prevailed! I never saw her turn when onceshe had taken up a notion. '

'I believe it was that I said you or I must write to her father, and askwhat he wished. '

'So that settled her! Ha! Well done! Theodora forced to give up herwill, and by you! Well, that is the best thing I have heard a long time. My little Violet to have got the upper hand of Miss Martindale!'and Arthur burst into such a fit of triumphant laughter as to quitediscomfort Violet, but little Johnnie by her side on the sofa, catchingthe infection of merriment, gave, what was very unusual with him, aregular shout of baby fun, and went on laughing in ecstasy that setArthur off on a fresh score. 'So! young man, you think it very funnythat mamma has been too much for Aunt Theodora?'

Theodora could not have chosen a more unlucky moment for walking intothe room! However, it must remain uncertain whether she had heard. Thevisible consequence of the late air was exemplary attention to Violet'scomfort; and that doubt, so often balanced in her sister's mind, whethershe loved Percy, now inclined to the affirmative, for there wasa concealed disquietude at his totally absenting himself fromCadogan-place. They did not see him again till the very day of thepicnic, when, as they were driving in the park, the exclamation--'Therehe is! broke from her, and then she leant back, vexed at having betrayedher joy. 

He came to speak to them with such an open beaming look of gratificationas Violet trusted was a recompense, but Theodora chose to keep anunmoved countenance; and it was only Violet's happy congratulating facethat assured him that all was right and the Richmond scheme resigned. 

She asked him to dinner for that day, and he gladly accepted; butTheodora, considering it a sugar-plum to console her for staying athome, behaved as if it was a matter of indifference. 

Violet took care to leave them alone, and she began the subjectherself. 'You find me here to-day, Percy, but it is no proof that I amconvinced. '

'It shows, as I hoped, that your good sense would prevail when left toitself. '

'No, it was Violet. '

'I honour her and you more than I ever did before. '

'That's your way, ' said Theodora, with the bright smile that was an actof oblivion for all her waywardness. 'All you value is a slave with nowill of her own. '

'One who has a will, but knows how to resign it. '

'That you may have the victory. '

'No, but that you may be greater than he that taketh a city. '

Theodora raised her eyes much softened. She never liked Percy so well aswhen he made these direct attacks on her faults in general; when it cameto a combat over the individual questions, it was a different matter. 

'I am very glad you have given this up, ' Percy proceeded. 'It is apositive relief to my mind to find that you can yield. Do not be ashamedof it, it is the best thing you have done a long time. '

'But, Percy, I did not do it on principle; I did it because Violet wouldhave written to papa. '

'There's the true sort of spirit! Brave enough to confront even you forthe right, yet yielding her own will and wish at the first moment. Ithink more highly of Mrs. Martindale the more I hear of her. '

'And you wish me to be like her?' said Theodora, watching for the bluntnegative. 

'No, but to see you what you might and ought to be. It is repeating whatI told you when this first began. You have a noble nature, but you willnot check yourself, will not control your pride; you cannot bear anyattempt to curb you. You are proud of it; but I tell you, Theodora, itis not high spirit, it is absolute sinful temper. If no one else willtell you so, I must. '

Theodora bent her head and cast down her eyes, not in sullenness, butin sorrow. 'It is true, ' she murmured; 'I see it sometimes, and itfrightens me. '

'I know, ' he said, much moved, 'the sense of right must conquer; but, indeed, Theodora, it is time to begin, that it may not be some evilconsequence that subdues you. ' He opened "The Baptistery" as it lay onthe table, and pointed to the sentence--'If thou refusest the cross sentthee by an angel, the devil will impose on thee a heavier weight. '

Theodora looked up in his face; the words were applied in a sense new toher. 'Are humility and submission my cross?' said she. 

'If you would only so regard them, you would find the secret of peace. If you would only tame yourself before trouble is sent to tame you! Butthere, I have said what I felt it my duty to say; let us dwell on it nolonger. '

The large tears, however, fell so fast, that he could not bear to havecaused them, and presently she said, 'You are right, Percy, I am proudand violent. I have grown up fearfully untamed. No one ever checked mebut you, and that is the reason I look up to you beyond all others. '

The lioness was subdued, and the rest of the evening there was agentleness and sober tone about her that made her truly charming: anda softer sense of happiness was around her when she awoke the nextmorning, making her feel convinced that this was indeed the only realpeace and gladness. 

CHAPTER 17

 Call me false, or call me free, Vow, whatever light may shine, No man on your face shall see Any grief for change of mine. 

 --E. B. BROWNING (The Lady's Yes)

It appeared as if Mrs. Finch and Miss Gardner were offended atTheodora's defection, for nothing was heard of them for several days, and the household in Cadogan-place continued in a state of peacefulness. Arthur was again at home for a week, and Theodora was riding with himwhen she next met the two sisters, who at once attacked them for theirabsence from the picnic, giving an eager description of its delights andof the silence and melancholy of poor Lord St. Erme. 

'He and Mark were both in utter despair, ' said Jane. 

'Well, it is of no use to ask you; I have vowed I never will, ' said Mrs. Finch; 'or I should try to make you come with us on Wednesday. '

'What are you going to do?'

'You living in Captain Martindale's house, and forgetting the Derby!'And an entreaty ensued that both brother and sister would join theirparty. Arthur gave a gay, unmeaning answer, and they parted. 

'What do you think of it?' asked Theodora. 

'Too much trouble, ' said he, lazily. 'There is no horse running thatI take interest in. My racing days are over. I am an old domesticcharacter. '

'Nonsense! You don't look two-and-twenty! Lady Elizabeth's sister wouldnot believe you were my married brother. You have not the look of it. '

Arthur laughed, and said, 'Absurd!' but was flattered. 

When he told his wife of the invitation, he added, 'I wonder if there isa fresh breeze blowing up!'

'I trust not. '

'If she really wants to go, and she has never seen the thing, I hadrather take her in a sober way by ourselves, and come home at our owntime. '

'Why don't you! It would be very pleasant for you both, and I should beso glad. Think how she shuts herself up with me!'

'We will see. Anything for a quiet life. '

Theodora, being fond of horses, and used to hear much about them fromher brother, had a real curiosity to go to Epsom, and broached thesubject the next morning at breakfast. Before any answer had been given, Mr. Fotheringham made his appearance. 

'Well, Percy, ' said Arthur, 'you find this sister of mine bent ondragging me to Epsom. Come with us! You will have an opportunity ofgetting up an article against fashionable life. '

Theodora was ready to hide her desire for his consent, but thoughtbetter of it, and said, 'It is of no use to ask him. '

'Indeed I would go, ' said Percy; 'I wish I could; but I came hereto tell you that my Aunt Fotheringham is coming to London early onWednesday for advice for her son, and will only be there two days, sothat it is impossible to be away. '

'Is Sir Antony Fotheringham coming?' asked Violet, as Theodora did notspeak. 

'No; he is a fixture. He has never even seen a railroad. My aunt couldhardly persuade him to let her come up without the old chariot andposters. '

'You will bring them here to dinner, ' said Arthur. 'Thank you, I mustnot promise; I cannot tell what Pelham may be fit for. I must take himto the Zoological Gardens. How he will enjoy them, poor fellow! The onlything to guard against will be his growing too much excited. '

Percy was engaged that morning, and soon departed, with hardly a wordfrom Theodora, whose amiability had been entirely overthrown by findingher service postponed to that of his aunt. 

'There's the Derby happily disposed of!' said Arthur, rising from thebreakfast-table. 'I don't see why, ' said Theodora. 

'What! Is not this Percy's well-beloved aunt, who nursed Helen, and issuch a friend of John's?'

'I am not going to dance attendance on any one. '

'It is your concern, ' said Arthur; 'but, if you don't take care, Percywon't stand much more of this. '

Vouchsafing no answer, she quitted the room. Arthur made a gesture ofannoyance. 'She treats Percy like a dog!' he said. 'I believe my aunt isright, and that it never will come to good!'

'Shall you go with her, then?'

'I must, I suppose. She will not let me off now. '

'If we do not vex her by refusing, I hope she will give it up ofherself. I am almost sure she will, if no one says anything about it. '

'Very well: I am the last person to begin. I am sick of her quarrels. '

Two wills were dividing Theodora: one calling on her to renounce herpride and obstinacy, take up the yoke while yet there was time, earn theprecious sense of peace, and confer gladness on the honest heart whichshe had so often pained. Violet was as the genius of this better mind, and her very presence infused such thoughts as these, disposing her notindeed openly to yield, but to allow it to drop in silence. 

But there was another will, which reminded her that she had thricebeen baffled, and that she had heard the soft tyrant rejoicing with herbrother over her defeat! She thought of Violet so subjugating Arthur, that he had not even dared to wish for his favourite amusement, as if hecould not be trusted!

Such recollections provoked her to show that there was one whosedetermination would yield to no one's caprice, and impelled her tomaintain the unconquerable spirit in which she had hitherto gloried. Violet's unexpressed opinion was tricked out as an object of defiance;and if she represented the genius of meekness, wilfulness was notwithout outward prompters. 

Mrs. Finch and Miss Gardner called, and found her alone. 'There!' saidthe former, 'am I not very forgiving? Actually to come and seek you outagain, after the way you served us. Now, on your honour, what was themeaning of it?'

'The meaning was, that this poor child had been told it was etiquettefor me to have a chaperon at my heels, and made such a disturbance thatI was obliged to give up the point. I am not ashamed. She is a goodgirl, though a troublesome one at times. '

'Who would have thought that pretty face could be so prudish!'

'I suppose she is against your coming to Epsom!' said Jane, interruptingher sister. 

'No; my brother and I have been proposing to go, independently; so as tobe able to come home at our own time. '

'You had better be satisfied with that, Georgina, ' said Jane. 'We shallfind ourselves together at the stand, and it will spare a few dangeroushysterics. '

'I shall do nothing underhand, ' said Theodora. 'I shall proclaim myintention of joining you; but I doubt, because Lady Fotheringham iscoming to London. '

'Her ladyship herself?' cried Georgina. 'What, in the name of wonder, brings her from her antediluvian hall?'

'She brings her son for advice. '

'We can say no more, ' said Jane. 'Percy's expectations would be ruinedif the good lady found his intended concerned in such naughty doings. She must stay at home. '

'To entertain Pelham!' cried Mrs. Finch, in a paroxysm of laughing, ofher most unreal kind. 

'Let me give you one piece of advice, ' said Jane. 'Don't make yourselftoo great a favourite, as I unwittingly did, or you will have nocessation of "I have a pony; it can trot; it can canter. "'

'I have not decided. '

'No, ' said Jane, 'you cannot do it. We know Lady Fotheringham too wellto ask you to lose your place in her regard for our sake. Probably thisis a most important visit, and all may depend on her first impressions. '

'I don't depend on her. '

'Ah! you don't understand. She is the managing partner, and I havelittle doubt this is only an excuse for coming to inspect you. It isquite in their power, you know, to do the only rational thing under thecircumstances--make an eldest son of Percy, and set poor Pelham aside, with enough to make him happy. 

'I do believe that must be it!' cried Georgina. 'She would be a dear oldwoman if she would only do it!'

'And you see it would be fatal for Theodora to appear as a fashionableyoung lady, given to races, and the like vanities. '

'I shall seem nothing but what I am. '

'She would find Mrs. Martindale sighing at her inability to keep you outof bad company. So sorry to trust you with us. She did her utmost. No, no, Theodora; you must stay at home, and the good lady will be charmed. '

'I do not intend to be turned from my course. '

'No! Now, Jane, you should not have spoken in that way, ' said hersister. 'You will only make Theodora more resolved to come with us; and, indeed, I had rather she did not, if it is to do her any harm. '

'I shall leave you to settle it between you, ' said Jane, with apparentcarelessness. 'I shall go home to appease for a little while theunfortunate dressmaker, whom we are keeping so long waiting. Make themost of Theodora, while you can have her. '

She would not have gone, had she not believed her work done. 

'I have made up my mind, ' said Theodora, as the door closed. 

'Theodora! I do beg you will not, ' cried Georgina, in an agitated voice, fully meaning all she said. 'You will vex and displease them all. I knowyou will, and I could not bear that! Your happiness is not wasted yet!Go, and be happy with your Percy!'

'I have told Percy of my intentions. Do you think I would alter them forthis notion of Jane's?'

'That is my own dear Theodora! But it is not only that. They are suchgood people--so kind! You must not risk their good opinion, for theywould be so fond of you!'

'If their good opinion depends on narrow-minded prejudice, I do not wishfor it. '

'If she would but come a day later, ' said Georgina; 'for I do want youto be with me very much, Theodora! I know I shall meet with nothingbut mortification, if you are not. People will only make that littlestarched bow! And Mr. Finch has noticed your not being so much with me. But no, no, you shall not come. You shall stay and see dear, good oldLady Fotheringham! Oh! how I wish I could!' and her breast heaved with asuppressed sob. 

'Why do you not, then, dear Georgina? Let me tell her your feeling, and--'

'No, no, no, no! I can never see her again! Don't talk to me about her!She belongs to another state of existence. '

'This will not do, Georgina. It is vain to turn aside now from what willand must come on you some day. '

'Don't! don't, Theodora!' said she, petulantly. 'Everything goes againstme! There's Jane taken to lecturing, and even Mr. Finch is growingcrabbed, and declares he shall take me to vegetate in this horrid placehe has bought in the country. '

'Oh, I am so glad!' exclaimed Theodora. 'Now then, there is a chance foryou. If you will throw yourself into the duties and pursuits--'

'What! be squiress and Lady Bountiful; doctor old women, and lectureschool-children? No, no, that may do for you, but I am at least nohypocrite!'

'I should be a great hypocrite, if I did not believe the old women andthe children far better than myself, ' said Theodora, gravely. 'But, indeed, trying to make them comfortable would occupy your mind, andinterest you till--oh! if it would but help you on the only way tohappiness--'

'Don't talk of that word any more with me. '

'If not happiness, it would be peace. '

'Peace! I don't know what you mean. '

'If you watched my sister, you would. '

'She is happy!' said Mrs. Finch, in a tone of keen regret, laying herhand on a toy of Johnnie's; but instantly changing her note, 'A cold, inanimate piece of wax! That is what you call peace! I would not haveit. '

'You don't understand her--'

'I know one thing!' cried the fitful lady, vehemently; 'that it is shewho governs you all, and wants to divide you from me. 'Tis she and yourPercy who have robbed me of you, with their ill-natured stories. '

'There is no ill-nature in them, and no one governs me, ' said Theodora. 

'Then you hold fast by me, and come with me?'

'I do. '

'My thorough-going old Theodora! I knew they could not spoil you, saywhat they would!' for she was by no means insensible of the triumph. 

'But, Georgina, ' continued her friend, earnestly, 'you must be prudent. Let me speak to you for once. '

'Only don't talk of prudence. I am sick of that from Jane. '

'Yes! it is speaking on this world's grounds; I will speak of highermotives. Think what is to come by and by: there are things that cannotbe kept off by being forgotten. You are weary and dissatisfied as itis; try whether boldly facing the thoughts you dread might not leadto better things. There will be pain at first; but content will come, and--'

'If you will come and stay with me in the country, you shall teach meall your ways. But no; it would put all the Fotheringhams in commotion!If I had a happy home I might be good. You must not quite forsake me, Theodora. But here's Mrs. Martindale!'

Violet entering, Mrs. Finch greeted her in a subdued manner, and, indeed, looked so dejected that when she was gone, Violet asked if shewas well. 

'Yes, poor thing, it is only the taste of the ashes she eats insteadof bread. But I have had her alone, and have got her to hear some gravetalk!'

'Oh, how glad I am. '

'But I cannot give up meeting her at Epsom. She would feel it adesertion, and my influence is the best hope for her. Besides, I willnot sacrifice her to curry favour with the Worthbourne people. '

'Surely it would not be doing so. '

'I have made up my mind. '

Her better and worse feelings were alike enlisted in behalf of theexpedition. Sincerity, constancy, and generosity were all drawn in toespouse the cause of pride and self-will; and she never once recollectedthat the way to rescue her friend from the vortex of dissipation was notto follow her into it. 

Little was needed to rouse in Arthur the dormant taste so long theprevalent one. So eager was he when once stirred up, that his sisteralmost doubted whether she might not be leading him into temptation, as she remembered the warning against Mr. Gardner; but she repelled thenotion of his being now liable to be led away, and satisfied herself byrecollecting that whenever he had met his former school-fellow, he hadshown no disposition to renew the acquaintance. 

All the notice of Percy that she chose to take, was, that on the Tuesdayevening, she said, as she wished Violet good night, 'If Percy shouldcall with his aunt to-morrow, which I don't expect, you will explain, and say I hope to call early next day. '

'Well! I hope you will get into no scrape, ' said Arthur; 'but mind, whatever comes of it, 'tis your doing, not mine. '

Words which she answered with a haughty smile, but which she was neverto forget. 

Violet saw the brother and sister depart, and could only hope thatnothing might be heard of the Fotheringham party; but before half themorning had passed, the knock, for the first time unwelcome, soundedat the door, and there entered not only Percy, but an elderly lady whomight have been supposed the grandmother, rather than the mother, of thetall comely youth who bashfully followed her. 

Violet strove, by the warmth of her reception, to make up for what waswanting; but her sentences were broken and confused; she was glad andshe was sorry, and they would be very sorry, and something about notexpecting and calling early, was all mixed together, while she watchedwith deprecating looks the effect upon Percy. 

'Is she gone?' he asked, in a low stern voice. 

'Yes; but she told me to say, in case--we hardly thought it likely--butin case Lady Fotheringham should be kind enough to call, she told me tosay she will certainly call early to-morrow. '

Violet knew she had made a most tangled speech, and that there wasgreat danger that her trembling sorrowful voice should convey to LadyFotheringham an impression that there was something amiss; but she couldonly try to make the intelligence as little mortifying as possible. 

The fact was enough. Percy stood in the window in silence, while hisaunt, on learning where Miss Martindale was, good-naturedly supposedit had long been settled, and said it must be such a pleasure to thebrother and sister to go together, that she should have been grieved ifit had been prevented. 

Violet spoke of the call to be made to-morrow; but Lady Fotheringhamseemed to have so little time free that it was not probable she wouldbe at home. Uneasy at Percy's silence, Violet did not prosper in herattempts at keeping up the conversation, until Percy, suddenly comingforward, begged that 'the boy' might be sent for; his aunt must seeJohn's godson. It was chiefly for his own solace, for he carriedthe little fellow back to his window, and played with him there tillluncheon-time, while the ladies talked of Mr. Martindale. 

Violet won her visitor's heart by her kind manner to the poor son, whowas very well trained, and behaved like an automaton, but grew restlesswith the hopes of wild beasts and London shops. His mother was about totake leave, when Percy proposed to take charge of him, and leave her torest for the afternoon with Mrs. Martindale, a plan very acceptable toall parties. 

Lady Fotheringham was a woman of many sorrows. Her husband was veryfeeble and infirm, and of a large family, the youngest, this half-wittedson, was the only survivor. Grief and anxiety had left deep traces onher worn face, and had turned her hair to a snowy whiteness; her framewas fragile, and the melancholy kindness of her voice deeply touchedViolet. There was much talk of John, for whom Lady Fotheringham had asort of compassionate reverence, derived from his patient resignationduring Helen's illness, of which Violet now gathered many moreparticulars, such as added to her affection and enthusiasm for both. 

Of her nephew, Percival, Lady Fotheringham spoke in the highest terms, and dwelt with pleasure on the engagement still connecting him with theMartindale family. Violet was glad to be able to speak from her heart ofTheodora's excellence and kindness. 

By and by, her visitor, in a sad voice, began to inquire whether sheever saw 'a young connection of theirs, Mrs. Finch;' and as Violetreplied, said she was anxious to hear something of her, though shefeared it was a painful subject. 'I cannot help being interestedfor her, ' she said. 'She was a very fine girl, and had many gooddispositions; but I fear she was very ill managed. We grew very fondof her, when she was at Worthbourne, poor thing, and if we and thatexcellent elder sister could have kept her to ourselves, we might havehoped--But it was very natural that she should grow tired of us, andthere was much excuse for her--'

'Indeed there was, from all Theodora has told me. '

'I am glad to hear Miss Martindale keeps up her friendship. Whilethat is the case, I am sure there is nothing positively wrong, thoughimprudent I fear she must be. '

Violet eagerly explained how every one was fully satisfied that, though Mrs. Finch was too free and dashing in manner, and too fond ofattracting notice, there was principle and rectitude at the bottom, andthat her life of dissipation was chiefly caused by the tedium of herhome. All attachment between her and Mark Gardner had evidently diedaway; and though it might have been wiser to keep him at a distance, shehad some good motives for allowing him to be often at her house. 

Lady Fotheringham was relieved to hear this, and added that she mighthave trusted to Jane. Violet was surprised to find that Miss Gardnerheld a very high place in Lady Fotheringham's esteem, and was supposedby her to take most watchful, motherly care of her headstrong youngersister. She had made herself extremely agreeable at Worthbourne, andhad corresponded with Lady Fotheringham ever since; and now Violet heardthat Jane had thought the marriage with Mr. Finch a great risk, andwould willingly have dissuaded her sister from it; but that Georginahad been bent upon it! 'thinking, no doubt, poor girl, that riches andgaiety would make her happy! I wish we could have made it pleasanter toher at Worthbourne!'

'She has spoken very affectionately of you. '

'Ah, poor child! she had met with little kindness before. She usedto pour out her griefs to me. It was that wretched Mark who broke herheart, and after that she seemed not to care what became of her. But Iam a little comforted by your account. I will try to see her to-morrow, poor dear. Percy was hoping I should be able, although I think that heis quite right not to visit them himself. '

Violet agreed to all, and was pleased at the notion of the goodold lady's influence being tried on one evidently amenable to rightimpressions. As far as she herself was concerned, the visit was verygratifying, and when the leave-taking came, it seemed as if they hadbeen intimate for years. 

Violet sat pondering whether the dulness of Worthbourne and thedisappointment of her first love had been the appointed cross ofGeorgina Gardner, cast aside in impatience of its weight. And then shetried to reconcile the conflicting accounts of Jane's influence in thematter, till she thought she was growing uncharitable; and after havingtried in vain to measure the extent of Percy's annoyance, she lookedfrom the window to see if carriages seemed to be returning from Epsom, and then with a sigh betook herself to the book Theodora had providedfor her solitude. 

She had long to wait. Arthur and his sister came home later than she hadexpected, and did not bring the regale of amusing description that theyhad promised her. 

Arthur was silent and discontented, and went to his smoking-room. Theodora only said it had been very hot, and for the first time reallylooked tired, and owned that she was so. It had been hard work, firstto draw Arthur into Mrs. Finch's party, against which he exerted all hislazy good-humoured "vis inertia"--undertaking to show her everything, and explain all to her, be at her service all the day, if only she wouldkeep away from them and their nonsense. But when their carriage wasfound, and Arthur was dragged into the midst of them, a still hardertask arose. She was frightened to see Mark Gardner conversing with him, while he looked eager and excited, and she hastened to interrupt, putforth every power of attraction, in the resolve entirely to monopolizeMr. Gardner; and for a long time, at the expense of severe exertion intalking nonsense, she succeeded. But some interruption occurred;she missed Mr. Gardner, she missed Arthur; they were waited for;she wondered and fretted herself in vain, and at length beheldthem returning in company-heard Mrs. Finch gaily scolding them, andunderstood that there had been bets passing!

She called it fatigue, but it was rather blank dread, and the sense thatshe had put herself and others in the way of evil. 

It was possible that Arthur might have been only a spectator; or, if not, that he might have known where to stop. He had bought hisexperience long ago, at high cost; but Theodora was but too well awareof his unsteadiness of purpose and facile temper; and in spite of hisresolutions, it was a fearful thing to have seen him in such a place, in such company, and to know that almost against his own desire she hadconducted him thither for the gratification of her self-will. 

Vainly did she strive to banish the thought, and to reassure herself byhis manner. She knew too well what it was wont to be when he had beendoing anything of which he was ashamed. One bet, however, was no greatmischief in itself. That book which Percy had given to her spoke of'threads turning to cords, and cords to cables strong. ' Had she put thefirst thread once more into the hand of the Old Evil Habit'?

If she would confess the sin to herself and to her God, with earnestprayer that the ill might be averted, perhaps, even yet, it might bespared to them all. 

But the proud spirit declared there was no sin. She had merely beenresolute and truthful. So she strengthened herself in her belief in herown blamelessness, and drove down the misgiving to prey on the depths ofher soul, and sharpen her temper by secret suffering. 

In the morning she accompanied Violet to call on Lady Fotheringham, sullen, proud, and bashful at the sense of undergoing inspection, andresolved against showing her best side, lest she should feel as if shewas winning Worthbourne for Percy. 

That majestic ill-humour was wasted--Lady Fotheringham was not at home;but Violet left a note begging her to come to luncheon the next day. Itpassed, and she appeared not: but at twelve on Saturday, Percy's treadhurried up-stairs and entered the back drawing-room, where Theodora wassitting. 

Sounds of voices followed--the buzz of expostulation; tones louderand louder--words so distinct that to prevent her anxious ears fromlistening, Violet began to practise Johnnie in all his cries of birdsand beasts. 

All at once the other room door was opened, and Theodora's stately marchwas heard, while one of the folding leaves was thrown back, and therestood Percy. 

Before a word could be spoken, he snatched up the child, and held him upin the air to the full reach of his arms. Doubtful whether this wasto be regarded as play, Johnnie uttered 'Mamma, ' in a grave imploringvoice, which, together with her terrified face, recalled Mr. Fotheringham to his senses. With an agitated laugh he placed the boysafely beside her, saying, 'I beg your pardon. What a good little fellowit is!'

Violet asked him to ring for the nurse; and by the time Johnnie hadbeen carried away, he had collected himself sufficiently to try to speakcalmly. 

'Do her parents know what is going on?' he said. 'I do not speak for myown sake. That is at an end. '

'Oh!' exclaimed Violet. 

'I told her I could not be made a fool of any longer, and when sheanswered "Very well, " what could that mean?'

'I am very much grieved that it has come to this, ' sighed Violet. 

'How could it come to anything else?' he said, his face full of sorrowand severity. 'I was mad to suppose there was any hope for such a temperof pride and stubbornness. Yet, ' he added, softening, and his quick, stern eyes filling with tears, 'it is a noble nature, --high-minded, uncompromising, deeply tender, capable of anything. It has been a cruelwicked thing to ruin all by education. What could come of it? A lifeof struggle with women who had no notion of an appeal to principle andaffection--growing up with nothing worthy of her love and respect--hervery generosity becoming a stumbling-block, till her pride andwaywardness have come to such an indomitable pitch that they aredevouring all that was excellent. '

He paused; Violet, confused and sorrowful, knew not how to answer; andhe proceeded, 'I have known her, watched her, loved her from infancy!I never saw one approaching her in fine qualities. I thought, and stillthink, she needs but one conquest to rise above all other women. Ibelieved guidance and affection would teach her all she needed; and sothey would, but it was presumption and folly to think it was I who couldinspire them. '

'O, Mr. Fotheringham, indeed--'

'It was absurd to suppose that she who trifles with every one would notdo so with me. Yet, even now, I cannot believe her capable of carryingtrifling to the extent she has done. '

'She was in earnest, --oh! she was!'

'I would fain think so, ' said he, sadly. 'I held to that trust, in spiteof the evidence of my senses. I persuaded myself that her manners werethe effect of habit--the triumph of one pre-eminent in attraction. '

'That they are! I don't even think she knows what she does. '

'So I believed; I allowed for her pleasure in teasing me. I knew allthat would come right. I ascribed her determination to run after thatwoman to a generous reluctance to desert a friend. '

'Indeed, indeed it is so!'

'But how am I to understand her neglect of my aunt--the one relationwhom I have tried to teach her to value--my aunt, who was the comfortof my sister and of her brother--who had suffered enough to give her aclaim to every one's veneration! To run away from her to the races, andthe society of Mark Gardner and Mrs. Finch! Ay, and what do you think weheard yesterday of her doings there, from Gardner's own mother? That sheis giving him decided encouragement! That was the general remark, andon this, poor Mrs. George Gardner is founding hopes of her son settlingdown and becoming respectable. '

'Oh! how terrible for you to hear! But it cannot be true. It must bemere report. Arthur would have observed if there had been more than herusual manner. '

'A pretty manner to be usual! Besides, Jane Gardner did not deny it. '

'Jane Gardner?'

'Yes. My aunt called at Mrs. Finch's, but saw neither of them; but thismorning, before she went, Miss Gardner called. I did not see her. I wasout with Pelham, and my aunt spoke to her about all this matter. Sheanswered very sensibly, regretted her sister's giddy ways, but consoledmy aunt a good deal on that score, but--but as to the other, she couldnot say, but that Mark was a great admirer of--of Miss Martindale, andmuch had passed which might be taken for encouragement on Wednesday byany one who did not know how often it was her way!'

'It is a pity that Miss Gardner has had to do with it, ' said Violet. 'When I have been talking to her, I always am left with a worseimpression of people than they deserve. '

'You never have a bad impression of any one. '

'I think I have of Miss Gardner. I used to like her very much, butlately I am afraid I cannot believe her sincere. '

'You have been taught to see her with Theodora's eyes. Of course, Mrs. Finch despises and contemns prudence and restraint, and the eldersister's advice is thrown aside. '

'You never saw Jane Gardner?'

'Never;--but that is not the point here. I am not acting on JaneGardner's report. I should never trouble myself to be jealous of sucha scoundrel as Mark. I am not imagining that there is any fear of heraccepting him. Though, if such a notion once possessed her, nothingwould hinder her from rushing on inevitable misery. '

'Oh, there is no danger of that. '

'I trust not. It would be too frightful! However, I can look on herhenceforth only as John's sister, as my little playmate, as one inwhom hopes of untold happiness were bound up. ' He struggled with strongemotion, but recovering, said, 'It is over! The reason we part isindependent of any Gardner. She would not bear with what I thought it myduty to say. It is plain I was completely mistaken in thinking wecould go through life together. Even if there was reason to suppose herattached to me, it would be wrong to put myself in collision with such atemper. I told her so, and there is an end of the matter. '

'It is very, very sad, ' said Violet, mournfully. 

'You don't think I have used her ill. '

'Oh, no! You have borne a great deal. You could do no otherwise; butArthur and John will be very much vexed. '

'It is well that it is known to so few. Let it be understood by such asare aware of what has been, that I bear the onus of the rupture. No moreneed be known than that the break was on my side. We both were mistaken. She will not be blamed, and some day'--but he could not speak calmly--'she will meet one who will feel for her as I do, and will work a cure ofall these foibles. You will see the glorious creature she can be. '

'The good will conquer at last, ' said Violet, through her tears. 

'I am convinced of it, but I fear it must be through much trial andsorrow. May it only not come through that man. '

'No, no!'

'Then good-bye. '

They shook hands with lingering regret, as if unwilling to resign theirrelationship. 'You will explain this to Arthur, and give him my thanksfor his friendliness; and you--accept my very best thanks for your greatkindness and sympathy. If she had known you earlier--But good-bye. Only, if I might venture to say one thing more--you and Arthur will not giveme up as a friend, will you?'

'Oh!' exclaimed Violet, as well as her tears would permit, 'I am sure weare but too glad--'

He pressed her hand gratefully, and was gone; while overwhelmed withthe agitation she sank weeping on the sofa, only conscious that they allwere in some sort guilty of a great injury to Mr. Fotheringham. In thisstate of distress she was found by Theodora, who came down so loftyand composed, that no one could have divined who was the party chieflyconcerned in what had taken place. 

Without comment, she treated Violet as for a nervous attack, takinggreat care of her till the sobs subsided, and there only remained aheadache which kept her on the sofa for the rest of the day. Theodoraread aloud, but which of them marked the words? Late in the afternoonshe put down the book, and wrote a note, while Violet silently marvelledat the unconcern of her countenance. 

'There, I shall take it to the post. You may read it if you like, whileI put on my bonnet. ' Violet read. 

'MY DEAR MAMMA, --Our engagement is at an end. Mr. Fotheringham tried toexercise a control over my actions to which I could not submit; andin especial was affronted by my going to Epsom with Arthur, instead ofstaying at home for the chance of seeing Lady Fotheringham. We came tohigh words, perceived the error of thinking our tempers accorded, andagreed to part. I have no cause of complaint, though I am at this momentmuch displeased with him; for when he had done with me he went andstormed to poor Violet till he brought on one of her hystericalaffections. No one can have acted with kinder or more conscientiousintentions than she has done throughout the affair. I do not mean tocome away till after her confinement. London is wide enough for him andfor me, and I would not leave her on any account. 'Your affectionatedaughter, 'THEODORA A. MARTINDALE. '

Violet glowed with indignation at such mention of Percy. She never lovedhim! It is as John thought!

Theodora, returning, took the note, and began to put it into itsenvelope without a word. 

'Thank you, ' said Violet; 'it is very kind in you to stay with me. It isa great comfort to Arthur. '

'Is it no comfort to you?' said Theodora. 'If I am in your way, I willgo. '

'Oh! what should I do without you? It makes such a difference to me. Irely upon you to take care of Arthur, and Johnnie, and everything. Onlydon't do what is not pleasant to you. '

'I wish to live to be useful. I had rather be useful to you and Arthurthan to any one. If you will keep me, I stay. '

All the rest of the day Violet could only feel that she could not bedispleased with one so devoted to her. She wondered what Arthur wouldsay. His comment was--

'Well, I always expected it. It is a pity! She has thrown away her onlychance of being a reasonable woman. '

'You saw no cause for that horrid report?'

'Not a bit. She is not so frantic as that comes to. She went on in herold way, only a little stronger than usual; but Percy was quite rightnot to stand it, and so I shall tell her. '

However, Theodora kept him from the subject by the force of herimperturbability, and he could only declaim against her to his wife. 

'I don't believe she cared a farthing for him. '

'I almost fear not. Yet how could she accept him?'

'He was the biggest fish that had ever come to her bait. She could nothave played her pranks on him without hooking him; but he has broken theline, and it serves her right. I only wish she took it to heart! It is alucky escape for him. What will his lordship think of it?'

Lord Martindale wrote, evidently in much annoyance, to desire Arthur tosend him a full history of the transaction, and after much grumbling, hewas obeyed. What he said to his daughter did not transpire, but Violetgathered that the opinion at Martindale was, that she had not age orauthority sufficient for the care of the young lady. In this shefully acquiesced, and, indeed, had some trouble in silencing repiningspeculations on what might have happened if she had been older, or instronger health, or more judicious. 

It was a universal failure, and she felt as if they were all to blame, while it terrified her to recollect John's predictions as to the effecton Theodora's disposition. 

Another question was, how Mrs. Finch would feel on the matter. Theodorahad written to her, and received one of her warm impulsive answers, as inconsistent as her whole nature; in one place in despair that herfriend's happiness had been sacrificed--in another, rejoicing in herfreedom from such intolerable tyranny, and declaring that she was thenoblest creature and the naughtiest, and that she must see her at once. 

But she never came, and when Theodora called was not at home. Violet hadJane to herself for an unpleasing hour of condolence and congratulation, regrets and insinuations, ending with the by no means unwelcome newsthat Mr. Finch was tired of London, and that they were going into thecountry--and not Mark--going to set off in a week's time. Two more callsfailed, and Theodora only received a note, in which Mrs. Finch declaredherself "abimee desolee" that her husband would drag her off into thecountry at such short notice, that her world of engagements had hinderedher from meeting her best of friends. Then, with a sudden transition toslang, she promised excellent fun in riding, boating, &c. , if Theodorawould come to see her, and plenty of admirers ready to have their headsturned, ending rather piteously with 'Who knows but I might take a turnfor good? I know I wish I could, if it was not so horridly tiresome. Youwon't forget your poor G. F. '

CHAPTER 18

 Oh! woman is a tender tree, The hand must gentle be that rears, Through storm and sunshine, patiently, That plant of grace, of smiles and tears. 

 --A. CLEVELAND COX

The height of the season was over, and London was beginning to thin. Lady Elizabeth Brandon had accepted invitations for a round of visits toher friends and relations, and Violet thought with regret how little shehad seen of her and Emma. 

In fact, that unfortunate party at Mrs. Bryanstone's had been asacrifice of the high esteem in which she had once been held. Emma, withthe harshness of youthful judgments, could not overlook the folly thathad hazarded so much for the sake of gaiety; and was the more painedbecause of the enthusiasm she had once felt for her, when shehad believed her superior to all the world. She recollected herlove-at-first-sight for the pretty bride, and well-nigh regarded thefriendship as a romance of her girlhood. She did not blame poor Violet, for no more could have been expected than that so simple a girl wouldbe spoiled by admiration, and by such a husband. She should always beinterested in her, but there could be no sympathy for deeper visionsand higher subjects in one devoted to the ordinary frivolities of life. Violet owned she could not understand her; what could be more true?

So Emma betook herself more and more to her other friend, lamented overpresent evils, made visionary amendments and erected dreamy worlds ofperfection, till she condemned and scorned all that did not accord withthem. 

Lady Elizabeth would rather have seen her daughter intimate with Violet. Mistaken though that party was, it was hard measure, she thought, utterly to condemn a girl hardly eighteen. She could understandViolet--she could not understand Miss Marstone; and the rulingdomineering nature that laid down the law frightened her. She foundherself set aside for old-fashioned notions whenever she hinted at anywant of judgment or of charity in the views of the friends; she could nolonger feel the perfect consciousness of oneness of mind and sufficiencyfor each other's comfort that had been such happiness between her andher daughter; and yet everything in Theresa Marstone was so excellent, her labours among the poor so devoted, and her religion so evidentlyheartfelt, that it was impossible to consider the friendship asotherwise than an honour to Emma. 

Lady Elizabeth could only feel that she should be more at ease when shewas not always in dread of interrupting a tete-a-tete, and when therewas no longer any need to force Emma into society, and see her put onthat resigned countenance which expressed that it was all filial dutyto a mother who knew no better. Moreover, Lady Elizabeth hoped for acessation of the schemes for the Priory, which were so extravagant as tomake her dread Emma's five-and-twentieth year. 

Desirous as she was of leaving London, she would not consent to go toher brother in the end of June, until she had certified herself thatViolet did not wish for her attendance. 

Violet did think that it would have been a great comfort, but perceivedthat it would be at some inconvenience; and further divined that to beextremely useful and important was Theodora's ruling desire. She wasafraid of heart-burnings, and, as usual, yielded her own wishes, beggedLady Elizabeth not to disturb her plans, made many declarations ofTheodora's kindness and attention; and in return, poor thing! was judgedby Emma to be in dread of lectures!

So the Brandons left London, and Violet sighed over the disappointmenttheir stay had been, knew she had given up the chance of a renewal ofintimacy, and thought Emma's estrangement all her own fault. 

Arthur, likewise, had a fit of restlessness. Some of his friends wereintending to go grouse shooting to Scotland, and it was evident thathe was desirous of joining them if Violet could only recover in time tospare him. Theodora also wished that he should go, for she had a strongsuspicion that he was gliding fast into frequent intercourse with Mr. Gardner, and hoped that absence would put a stop to it. 

Not a word, not a look, ever referred to Mr. Fotheringham. Violetthought it inexplicable, and could only suppose that Theodora had beenunder some delusion, and had never known the meaning of love, for therewas nothing like sorrow or disappointment; she almost seemed to be gladof her release. 

It was a trial when the Review was published, containing the critiqueupon modern poetry. For a whole day it was left unopened, becauseneither sister liked to touch it in the presence of the other; but when, in the morning, Violet took it to read, she found the leaves cut. LordSt. Erme had been treated with some censure, but with a fair amount ofpraise, and her own favourite pieces were selected for commendation; butthere was sufficient satire and severity to cause the universal remarkthat it was hard on poor Lord St. Erme. 

Often was the observation made, for the article excited muchattention--it was so striking and able, keenly and drolly attackingabsurdity and affectation, good-humoured and lively, and its praise socordial and enthusiastic. Every visitor was sure to begin, 'Have youread the paper on modern poetry?' 'Do you know who wrote it?' or, 'Is ittrue it is by Mr. Fotheringham?'

Violet, though much confused, could not help having a sort ofsatisfaction in seeing that neither could Theodora defend herself fromblushes, nor so preserve her equanimity as always to know what she wassaying, though she made heroic efforts, and those ignorant of the stateof affairs might not, perhaps, detect her embarrassment. If there hadbeen affection, surely this calmness must have given way!

One day Theodora was in a shop, and Violet waiting for her when Mr. Fotheringham passed, and instantly coming to the carriage door, shookhands warmly, seemed rejoiced at the meeting, spoke of his last letterfrom John in high approval of Mr. Fanshawe, and told her that in twodays' time he was going to take a walking tour in Ireland. At thatinstant the signal was made for taking up Miss Martindale, and witha hasty farewell he disappeared, as Violet thought, unseen. On cominghome, Theodora went at once up-stairs; Violet some little time afterchanced to go to her room to ask her a question on her way to dress, found her knock unanswered, but heard sounds which caused her gently toopen the door. 

Theodora was kneeling by the bed; her face buried in her hands, her neckcrimson, sobbing and weeping in such violent grief as Violet had neverwitnessed. She stood terrified, unnoticed, hardly able to bear notto offer comfort; but she understood that nature too well not to beconvinced that no offence would be so great as to break into her griefand to intrude upon what she chose to hide. 

Violet, therefore, retreated, hoping that now there might be anopening for sympathy, some depression that would allow her to show herfellow-feeling; but no: when they met again Theodora was as cheerfuland disengaged as ever, and she could almost have persuaded herself thatthese tears had been a dream. 

Perhaps they so appeared to Theodora. She had been surprised into them, and was angry at having been overcome--she who cared so little; but shehad woman's feelings, though she had proved to be unfit for the dominionof man, and was henceforth ready to stand alone, and use her strengthfor the benefit of the weak. She would be the maiden aunt, the treasureof the family, and Arthur's house should be the centre of her usefulnessand attachments. 

Therefore, so far from struggling against Violet, she delighted in thecare of one so tender and caressing; looked on her as the charm andinterest of her life, and rejoiced in being valuable at present, andlikely to render most important services, attaining in fact the solidpractical usefulness she had always coveted. 

Everything that could please or amuse Violet she did, even to the lengthof drawing her out about Wrangerton, and suppressing a certain jealousyof Annette that was ready to spring up on discovering how strong was theaffection bestowed on that sister. Violet was especially happy in beingable to talk of home just now, when she was continually hearing ofAlbert's marriage, and the arrangements consequent thereon, and wouldhave felt it blank, indeed, to have no one but Sarah to share herinterest. 

Uncle Christopher went to the wedding, and was invited to dinner inCadogan-place the Sunday after his return. Theodora condescended to befrankly entertained with his dry humorous account of the magnificentdoings that had diverted him extremely, and caused Arthur and Violetto congratulate themselves that, in their case, Matilda had not beenallowed her own way. 

'What a sensible, agreeable person your uncle is, ' said Theodora, asViolet lay down to rest on the sofa, after dinner, and to turn over andfondle one by one the little presents sent to her from Wrangerton. 

Violet smiled thanks and pleasure in the praise, and Theodora set towork to gratify her, by admiring each gift as much as her consciencewould let her, and was well pleased to find that she was not at allwanted to commend a wonderful embroidered sachet from the bride, nor apair of gorgeous screens from Matilda; but that what was dwelt uponwere some sketches in Wrangerton Park, and the most prized of all was alittle pair of socks, in delicate fancy knitting, for Johnnie. 

'Dear, dear mamma! her own pretty rose-leaf pattern. Think of herknitting for my Johnnie! He will soon know grandmamma's socks!' and sheput her fingers into one to judge of the size, and admire the stitch. Theodora could see her do such things now, and not think her foolish. 

'Theodora, dear, ' said she, after a long pause, 'there is something Ihave been wanting to say to you for a long time. If I should be as illas I was before, if I should not live, I should like one thing--'

Theodora took her hand between both hers, for she could not answer. 

'I should like to know that his grandmamma would see my Johnnie, if itwas only for once. I know poor Arthur could not bear to hear me talk ofthis, and he is anxious enough already, but you would tell him. You willmanage for mamma to see my boy, won't you?'

'I would take him to her at Wrangerton myself. '

'I am quite content that you should chiefly take care of him, you know. I am glad you have been here so long that he has grown fond of you. Itmakes it much better to think of leaving him and his dear papa, to knowthey have you. '

'But, Violet, you must not talk so!' cried Theodora, in a half-chokedvoice. 

'No; I must not make myself cry, ' said Violet, quietly. 'I will not goon, when I have asked you one thing more, and that is, to write to John, and tell him that I thank him for all he has done for me, and that thishas been a very happy year. You and John will comfort--'

Violet checked herself, for the tears could only be restrained bysilence, and she had made many resolutions against agitation. 

'All you wish!' exclaimed Theodora; 'but, indeed, you must not thinkthere is any fear--'

'I will not talk about it, ' said Violet, in her submissive voice. 

'No; nor think about it. '

'I try not to do so more than I ought. I am glad you are here!'

It was dark enough for Theodora to allow her eyes to fill with softtears, without a struggle to keep them back. The pleasure of beingvalued was very great, and the entire trust Violet reposed on her gaveher as deep delight as she had ever experienced. What would it not beafter having nursed her and been everything to Arthur! With Violet andArthur depending on her, she could feel herself good for something, andfilling a place in the world. 

CHAPTER 19

 The lowliest flowers the closest cling to earth, And they first feel the sun; so violets blue, So the soft star-like primrose drenched in dew, The happiest of spring's happy fragrant birth, To gentlest touches, sweetest tones reply; So humbleness, with her low-breathed voice, Can steal o'er man's proud heart, and win his choice. 

'She is ready to see you, ' said Arthur, meeting Theodora, as she camedown at nine the next morning after church. 

Violet's face, white as a lily, was on the pillow, and a little darkdowny head was beside her. 

A sense of being too late, of neglect and disappointment, rushed overTheodora, and made her looks not what the mother expected, as withsmiling eyes and feeble voice she said, 'Your niece, dear Theodora. '

'I did not know--' were Theodora's first words, and their dissatisfiedsound made Arthur regret his abrupt introduction; though she recoveredherself enough to say something of gladness, and of hopes that Violetwas comfortable. 

'Yes, thank you, quite. I am so thankful! I am so glad of everything. Now I hope Arthur will not lose the 12th of August. '

'Only don't talk now, my sweet one. Come, Theodora, ' as if he onlywanted to get her out of the room. 

'I have not looked at the baby. What a fine one!' and she was going totake her. 

'Oh, please don't!' said Violet; 'she will begin screaming again!' Then, seeing the cloud return, 'Presently, dear aunt, when she wakes. Is notshe a beauty?'

Arthur, his hand on the door, hurried Theodora again. 

'I will come' she said, impatiently, 'I will come and sit with you afterbreakfast, Violet; I only wish I had been called. '

'Indeed, I know how kind you would have been, ' said Violet, holding herhand, and watching to see whether the displeasure was removed: 'butit seemed a pity to disturb you. Please don't be vexed; I'll give youplenty of trouble yet. '

She had, roused herself enough to alarm Arthur and the nurse. 

'This will never do, ' he said, laying his hand on his sister's arm, anddrawing her away almost by force: 'You MUST keep quiet, Violet. '

'I will, indeed, but please, Theodora--'

'She pleases all you wish. Never mind, ' said Arthur, fairly putting herout, then stepping back, 'Lie still, and mind your big baby; that is allyou have to do. '

'Only don't let her be vexed. '

'No such thing. '

But when out of Violet's hearing he could not refrain from tellingTheodora his displeasure. 'I thought you had more sense, or I wouldnever have let you in. '

'I knew nothing of it. '

'Your own fault for marching off at that time in the morning! I had beenup to tell you, and could not think where you were. '

'Why was I not allowed to be of use?'

'A pretty specimen of your usefulness, vexing her with your black looks, till she was talking herself into a fever!'

'Surely she is doing well?'

'She was, unless you have undone everything with your humours. '

'I don't know what you mean. '

That was the last word. Theodora sat swelling under the sense ofinjustice and neglect, where she had intended to be so important;and Arthur was weary enough in mind and body to be more than usuallysensible of her ungraciousness, and to miss the refreshment of cheerfulsympathy. On going up after breakfast he found Violet weaker and moreill than he had previously thought her, and her solicitous inquiriesabout his sister made him the more attribute this to distress at thosemoody looks. He would not hear of again admitting Theodora, and inbitterness of spirit she wrote the letters, and tried to contentJohnnie--all in vain; for strive to conceal it as she would, he alwaysseemed to perceive her bad moods, and never would be happy with her whenshe was in one of them. 

Every hour brought fresh mortification. She was jealous of Arthur'sbeing needful to the patient, and jealous of being left by him; angry atbeing treated as useless, and angry at the work she had to do; certainthat her ill temper was Arthur's fancy, yet certain he had caused it;anxious about Violet, yet disdaining his anxiety. She was muchannoyed at his keeping aloof from her unpleasing looks, deserting thedinner-table after the first course, and when she had waited long forhim, leaving her to discover that he had had a cup of tea in Violet'sroom, and was gone down to smoke. The kindly affections that had alwaysbeen the hope of her character were rejected and thwarted, and thusthrown back on herself, the wayward wilful spirit began to rise. 

She paced the dull walk in the square gardens in the summer twilight, and thought of the life before her, uncherished at home, an intruder inthe family where she had expected to earn fond gratitude, rejected byhim who had loved her from childhood!

There was an alternative! One look of encouragement, and Lord St. Ermewas at her disposal, ready to rejoice at acceptance, even if she shouldtell him that she had no heart to bestow. She would be no longer spurnedand cast aside; she should be able to befriend Violet, she would liveuncontrolled, adored; above all, she would teach Percy Fotheringhamthat she did not pine for him! She would belie those foolish tears thatViolet had seen her shed!

As she opened the gate to leave the gardens, Lord St. Erme rode bywith a young lady. Was he passing from her power? The spirit ofrivalry prompted a gracious bow and smile. He checked his horse, lookeddelighted, and introduced 'his sister. '

A fair, delicate, blushing girl of sixteen, a pretty likeness ofhimself, bent her head low, and Theodora felt that her blue eyes wereintently perusing her under their downcast lids, while the brother'stones almost trembled with the pleasure of her unwonted look ofencouragement. He said that he was enjoying having his sister alonewith him, at his aunt's house in London, for a short time, and addedsomething about calling. She gave one of her bewitching smiles, and theyrode on. 

There at least she was prized! How unlike this to the treatment she metwith from her own family! If she could not love the Earl, she could dovery well without that nonsense; and she should escape from her unlovinghome, begin a new life, reign queen o'er herself and him, idolized, uncontradicted, with ample opportunities of usefulness, triumphant overhim who had disdained her. 

So she mused while taking off her bonnet, till Sarah brought a messagethat Mrs. Martindale would be glad to see her. An hour ago and she wouldhave rejoiced; now, Arthur's household was becoming a secondary object, since they had rejected her, and driven her to seek fresh interests. 

She was received with hands outstretched. 'Dear Theodora, thank you. Will you stay and take care of baby and me while nurse goes to supper?'

'If I may. '

'Thank you. Nurse, pray give baby to Miss Martindale. You need nothurry; I shall be so comfortable. '

The sweet pale face and languid eyes were as a charm to expel all butkindly thoughts, as Theodora sat down with the living weight warm onher lap, and the gentle mother at intervals softly asking about her boy. 'Poor little man, they would not let him come in: they kept away boththe people I wanted. '

'Arthur guards you most jealously. '

'Yes, is not he a wonderful nurse? I had to exercise a little self-willin getting you here. How good we must be to make him forgive us!'

Next. 'You cannot think what a difference it makes to have you here. Inever need think about Arthur's being made comfortable. '

Theodora's sincerity longed for confession, and she refrained withdifficulty. Those unconscious words set her vile temper before her inits true light. She had resented the being treated with consideration, and had been moody towards her brother, because he was under anxiety!

Self-convicted, she gave a deep sigh; but fearing again to distressViolet, began to admire the baby, who was in truth a remarkably largeand handsome child, very dark and like the Martindales, and, both insize and serenity, such a contrast to her brother, that, proud asshe was of her, her mamma only half liked praise of her that might bedepreciation of him, and began to defend him from the charge of cryingbefore he had had strength for it. 

Her name, of course, was to be Helen, and to this Violet softly added, Theodora. 

'No, no; that will bring her no good. It is Aunt Nesbit's name. '

'It is one I love the sound of. '

'You won't another time. '

Violet vaguely perceived something amiss; but too weak to think aboutit, closed her eyes and fell into a doze. 

Those few gentle sayings had brought back Theodora's affection and senseof right. She longed to recall her glance. If it had taken effect shemust persevere. She could not endure the humiliation of having a thirdtime trifled with a lover; she would not feel herself sunk into a merecoquette. But what would Violet think!

Violet suddenly awoke with a terrified gaze. 'Arthur! Arthur! O, whereis he!'

'Down-stairs, dearest; he will come. ' But to her extreme alarm, thewords had no effect. 

'Arthur! O, when will he come? Why did he go away?'

Dismayed out of all presence of mind, Theodora rang with a violentpeal, and flew down-stairs, the baby in her arms, rousing Arthur froma slumber in his chair by breathless tidings that Violet was worse--wasdelirious; Mr. Harding must be sent for--

When Arthur had hurried up-stairs, it proved to be only a frightenedwakening, such as had often happened last year. She was perfectlyconscious, but so much fluttered and agitated by Theodora's ownproceedings, that it was with great difficulty that Arthur could sootheand tranquillize her on her baby's account. The nurse was very angry, and Theodora perceived her delinquency might have serious consequences, especially when she beheld Violet, still tremulous from the alarm, endeavouring to reassure them, to shield her from displeasure, and totake all the blame to herself for her foolish terror. 

There was an end of Theodora's grand designs of nursing! She could onlyenter the room at all by favour of the patient and by sufferance of thenurse; and she could attempt no remonstrance when ordered off by herbrother, and even felt unworthy of Violet's kiss. 

That little scene of trivialities had been her first true humiliation. It had shown her the vanity of her boast of strength of mind; for whenshe thought of the morning's unreasonable ill-humour, and unkindness toher brother and his wife at such a moment, and of the coquetry with LordSt. Erme, she was indeed lowered in her own eyes; and it was sorrow, notbitterness. 

Her heart was very heavy, but less hard. Slowly had the power ofViolet's meekness and lowliness been stealing into her affections andundermining her pride. Perhaps the direct attacks of Percy, thoughstrongly resisted, had in reality given a shock which prepared the wayfor the silent effect of sweetness and forbearance. At any rate, she wasnow sincerely sorry for the sin as well as the folly of the past day, and felt that it might bring a penalty in perplexities about Lord St. Erme, if he had really taken her smile for encouragement. 

Many were her resolutions of amiability for to-morrow; but she wasdisappointed. Violet had passed a restless night, and could not bevisited; and Arthur, after his experience of yesterday, was in no hasteto subject himself to his sister's humours. Her two years of caprice andneglect had told even on his easy temper. 

It had long been a scheme of hers to surprise Violet on her recoverywith a likeness of Johnnie, taken by a small, humble niece of Mrs. Harrison's, lately started in life as an artist in crayons; and inthe midst of yesterday's sullenness she had taken measures which thismorning brought the lady to Cadogan-place, at the hour when he was mostlikely to be in his best looks. Sarah, highly approving of anything thatexalted Master John, sedulously traced the one-sided masculine divisionin his flaxen locks, and tied his best white frock with scarlet ribbons, in honour, as she said, of his being 'a little granny-dear'; andTheodora carried him down, and heard him pronounced 'a lovelyinteresting darling. '

Sitting well was not, however, one of his perfections; he could notbe induced to show his face to a stranger, and turned from toys andpictures, with arms stretched out to his aunt, and piteous calls formamma: to Theodora's further despair Arthur came in, and stood amazed, so that she had to unfold her plans, and beg him to keep the secret. Hesmiled, saying she might as well take a picture of a washed-out doll;but that Violet would be sure to like it. 

Meantime the child was presenting a golden opportunity; fixed in raptcontemplation of his father, and gazing motionless, with one little footdoubled under him, and one tiny white arm drooping over the crimsonsofa cushion. Miss Piper sketched as if for her life. Theodora directedArthur's attention to his little son. He spoke to him, and was surprisedand pleased at the plainness of the reply, and the animated springof gladness. In another minute he was sitting on the floor, mostsuccessfully entertaining the child, while Miss Piper could hardlyhelp drawing that handsome black head in contrast with the small, whitecreature, whose morsels of hands were coaxing his brown red cheeks;and Theodora looked on, amused to see how papa succeeded in drawing outthose pretty, hesitating smiles, so embellishing to the little face, that had generally more than the usual amount of baby gravity. 

They were in full debate whether he should be represented smiling orgrave; the aunt wishing the latter as the habitual expression, thefather declaring that 'the fellow was only fit to be seen smiling likehis mother;' when suddenly there was an announcement--

'Lady Lucy Delaval and Lord St. Erme. '

Arthur hardly had time to start up from the ground, his colour deepeningwith discomfiture as he glanced at the disarray of the room, litteredwith playthings, displaced cushions, newspapers, with which he had beenplaying bo-peep, drawing materials, all in as much confusion as thehair, which, in an unguarded moment, he had placed at the mercy ofJohnnie's fingers. 

Theodora comprehended the sharp click with which he rang the nurserybell, and the half frown with which he watched in dread of a cry, whileLady Lucy tried to make friends with Johnnie. 

The drawing was brought under discussion, but he held aloof after onelook, which Theodora perceived to be disapproving, though she did notknow that the reason was that the smile, somewhat overdone by MissPiper, had brought out one of old Mr. Moss's blandest looks. MeantimeLord St. Erme talked to the little artist, giving her some valuablehints, which she seized with avidity, and then quietly retreated. 

Arthur tried to talk to Lady Lucy; but she was very young, not yet comeout, timid, and, apparently, afraid of something that she had to say, watching Miss Martindale as earnestly as she dared; while Lord St. Ermespoke eagerly, yet as if he hardly knew what he was saying, of art, music, books, striving in vain to obtain one of the looks of yesterday. 

It warmed Theodora's heart to feel herself the object of suchenthusiastic admiration, but she preserved her look of rigidindifference. It was a long visit; but at last the brother made themove, looking at his sister, as if to remind her of something. 

'Oh, Miss Martindale, ' said she, with an effort, 'we thought you must bestaying in a great deal. Would you be so kind, now and then, as to walkwith me?'

This was an alarming request, and not very easy to refuse. Theodora saidsomething of seeing about it, and hoping--

'It would be such a treat, ' said Lady Lucy, growing bolder, as the twogentlemen were speaking to each other. 'My aunt is gone to her brother'slittle parsonage, where there is no room for me, and my governess had togo home, luckily, so that we are quite alone together; and St. Erme saidperhaps you would be so kind sometimes as to walk with me--'

Theodora smiled. 'I hope we may meet sometimes, ' said she. 'If my sisterwas down-stairs perhaps we might; but I am engaged to her. '

Thus ended the visit, and Arthur, hastily throwing the cushions backinto their places, demanded, 'What on earth could possess those folks tocome here now!'

'It was an inconvenient time, ' said Theodora. 

'Dawdling and loitering here!--a man with nothing better to do with histime!'

'Nay, ' said Theodora, touched by the injustice; 'Lord St. Erme is no mannot to know how to dispose of his time. '

'Whew!' whistled Arthur; 'is the wind gone round to that quarter? Well, I thought better of you than that you would like a fellow that can donothing but draw, never shoots over his own moors, and looks likea German singer! But do put the room tidy; and if you must have thenursery down here, put it into the back room, for mercy sake!'

He went away, having thus stirred her feelings in the St. Ermedirection, and he left them to take their chance for the rest of theday. She took a solitary walk; on her return saw a hat in the hall, andasking whether Mr. Harding was there, was told no, but that Mr. Gardnerwas with Captain Martindale. And after long waiting till Arthur shouldcome to dinner, he only put in his head, saying, 'Oh, Theodora, are youwaiting? I beg your pardon, I am going out to dinner. You can sit withViolet; and if she should want me, which she won't, James knows where tofind me. '

Theodora scorned to inquire of the servant whither his master was gone;but her appetite forsook her at the sight of the empty chair, and therecollection of the warning against Mark Gardner. 

This was not her last solitary dinner. Arthur had engagements almostevery day, or else went to his club; and when at home, if he was notwith Violet, he sat in his own room, and would never again assist atthe sittings, which were completed under less favourable auspices, soon enough to allow time for the framing before the mamma should comedown-stairs. Her recovery proceeded prosperously; and Theodora was quitesufficiently in request in her room to be satisfied, and to make itdifficult to find a spare afternoon to go and order one of her favouriteoak frames. 

However, she was at length able to make the expedition; and she was busyin giving directions as to the width of margin, when from the interiorof the shop there came forward no other than the Earl of St. Erme. 

They shook hands, and she sent her excuses to Lady Lucy for having beentoo much occupied to call, asking whether she was still in town. 

'Only till Thursday, ' he said, 'when I take her to join my aunt, who isto show her the Rhine. '

'Do not you go with them?'

'I have not decided. It depends upon circumstances. Did not I hearsomething of your family visiting Germany?'

'Perhaps they may, ' said Theodora, dryly. He began to study theportrait, and saw some likeness, but was distressed by something in thedrawing of the mouth. 

'Yes, ' said Theodora, 'I know it is wrong; but Miss Piper could not seeit as I did, and her alterations only made it worse, till I longed to beable to draw. '

'I wonder if I might venture, ' said Lord St. Erme, screwing up his eye, and walking round the picture. 'I am sure, with your artist eye, youmust know what it is not to be able to keep your hands off. '

'Not I, ' said Theodora, smiling. 'Pencils are useless tools to me. Butit would be a great benefit to the picture, and Miss Piper will fancy itall her own. '

'You trust me, then?' and he turned to ask for a piece of chalk, adding, 'But is it not too bold a measure without the subject?'

'He is in the carriage, with his nurse;' and Theodora, unable to resistso material an improvement to her gift, brought him in, and set him upon the counter opposite to a flaming picture of a gentleman in a redcoat, which he was pleased to call papa, and which caused his face toassume a look that was conveyed to the portrait by Lord St. Erme, andrendered it the individual Johnnie Martindale, instead of merely a paleboy in a red sash. 

Theodora was too much gratified not to declare it frankly, and to sayhow much charmed his mother would be; and she was pleased by a remark ofLord St. Erme, that showed that his poet mind comprehended that wistfulintelligence that gave a peculiar beauty to Johnnie's thin white face. 

She thought to pay off her obligations by an immediate visit to hissister, while she knew him to be safe out of the way; and, driving toMrs. Delaval's, she sent her nephew home, intending to walk back. 

Lady Lucy was alone, and she found her a gentle, simple-hearted girl, with one sole affection, namely, for the brother, who was the wholeworld to her; and taking Miss Martindale, on his word, as an object ofreverence and admiration. It was impossible not to thaw towards her: andwhen Theodora spoke of the embellishment of the portrait, she neededno more to make her spring up, and fetch a portfolio to exhibit herbrother's drawings. Admirable they were; sketches of foreign scenery, many portraits, in different styles, of Lady Lucy herself, and theespecial treasure was a copy of Tennyson, interleaved with illustrationsin the German style, very fanciful and beautiful. Theodora was, however, struck by the numerous traces she saw of the Lalla Rookh portrait. Itwas there as the dark-eyed Isabel; again as Judith, in the Vision ofFair Women; it slept as the Beauty in the Wood; and even in sweet St. Agnes, she met it refined and purified; so that at last she observed, 'It is strange how like this is to my mother. '

'I think it must be, ' said Lady Lucy; 'for I was quite struck by yourlikeness to St. Erme's ideal sketches. '

Rather annoyed, Theodora laughed, and turning from the portfolio, askedif she did not also draw?

'A little; but mine are too bad to be looked at. '

Theodora insisted, and the drawings were produced: all the best hadbeen done under Lord St. Erme's instruction. The affection between thebrother and sister touched her, and thinking herself neglectful of agood little girl, she offered to take the desired walk at once. WhileLady Lucy was preparing, however, the brother came home, and oh! theinconvenient satisfaction of his blushing looks. 

Yet Theodora pardoned these, when he thanked her for being kind to hissister; speaking with a sort of parental fondness and anxiety of hiswish to have Lucy with him, and of his desire that she should formfriendships that would benefit her. 

Never had he spoken with so much reality, nor appeared to so muchadvantage; and it was in his favour, too, that Theodora contrasted thiswarm solicitude for his young sister with the indifference of her owneldest brother. There was evidently none of the cold distance that wasthe grievance of her home. 

'Lady Lucy is almost out of the school-room, ' she said. 'You will soonbe able to have her with you in the country. '

'There are certainly some considerations that might make me resolve onan English winter, ' said Lord St. Erme. 

'Every consideration, I should think. '

'Fogs and frosts, and clouds, that hang like a weight on the wholeframe, ' said Lord St. Erme, shivering. 

'Healthy, freshening mists, and honest vigorous frosts to brace one forservice, ' said Theodora, smiling. 

'O, Miss Martindale!' cried Lady Lucy, entering, 'are you persuading St. Erme to stay all the year in England? I do so wish he would. '

'Then you ought to make him, ' said Theodora. 

'If Miss Martindale were to express a wish or opinion--'

She saw it was time to cut him short. 'Every one's opinion must be thesame, ' she said. 

'O, ' cried Lucy, 'of course Italy is pleasanter. It is selfish towish to keep him here; but if I had my will, we would live together atWrangerton, and have such nice poor people. '

'A "chateau en Espagne" indeed, my little sister. Wrangerton is a mostforlorn place, an old den of the worst period of architecture, set downjust beyond the pretty country, but in the programme of all the touristsas a show place; the third-rate town touching on the park, and your nicepoor people not even the ordinary English peasantry, but an ill-disposedset of colliers. '

Theodora looked, but did not speak. 

'Miss Martindale thinks me a laggard, but she hears my excuse. '

'If they are ill-disposed, ' said Theodora, in her low, severe voice(she could not help it), 'it is for want of influence from the rightquarter. '

'My agent tells me they are perfectly impracticable. '

'Knights of old liked something impracticable. ' She was almost readyto check herself; but there was something inspiriting in the idea ofawakening this youth, who seemed to catch at her words as if she were adamsel sending forth a champion. His reply was--

'Those were days worth living for. Then the knight's devoir was poetryin real life. '

'Devoir is always poetry in real life, ' said Theodora. 'What is it butthe work ready to hand? Shrinking from it is shrinking from the battle. Come, Lady Lucy, I will not detain you. '

Lord St. Erme seemed about to say something as he shook hands, but itdid not come. The walk was passed by the simple-hearted Lucy discoursingof the events by which she counted her eras, namely, his visits. Herperfect brother was her only theme. 

CHAPTER 20

 Yet learn the gamut of Hortensio. 

 --Taming of the Shrew

Mrs. Nesbit was recommended to spend some months at Baden Baden; andTheodora formed a design, which highly pleased Arthur and Violet, ofspending this time, while the family were absent, and while Arthur wasin Scotland, as hostess at Martindale to Violet and the children. 

After seeing Arthur off to Windsor for the next fortnight, Theodorahad begun writing to propose the scheme to her father, when she wasinterrupted by the announcement of Lord St. Erme. 

To visit her alone was a strong measure, and she put on a panoply ofdignified formality. He began to say he had brought a German book, toshow her a poem of which their conversation had reminded him. 

'I understand very little German, ' said she, coldly. 'I once had aGerman governess whom I disliked so much that I took a disgust to thelanguage. '

'There is so much that is beautiful and untranslatable in itsliterature, that I am sure it would recompense you. '

'I do not like the German tone of mind. It is vapoury and unreal. '

'I should like to show you cause to alter your opinion, but--'

'This is English, ' said Theodora, as her eye fell on a paper of versesthat marked the place. 

'Ah, Lucy made me put it in. A few lines that occurred to me afterwatching Mrs. Martindale's little boy. '

Thankful that they were not inspired by Venus's little boy, she glancedover them, and saw they were in his best style, simple and prettythoughts on the child's content, wherever he traced any symbol of hisfather. 

'Poor little Johnnie is highly flattered, ' she said. 'His mamma will bedelighted. '

He begged her attention to the German poem, she glanced onward ashe read, watching for shoals ahead, and spied something about a"hochbeseeltes madchen" inspiring a "Helden sanger geist", and grewhotter and hotter till she felt ready to box his ears for intoningGerman instead of speaking plain English, and having it over. A cottonumbrella arose before her eyes, she heard the plashing gravel, and anhonest voice telling her she was a grand creature in great need of beingbroken in. 

The critical stanza had commenced, the reader's voice trembled; Theodoradid not heed, her mind was in the avenue at home. An opening doorstartled them. 

'Mr. And Mrs. Albert Moss. '

Her brother's brother-in-law! the son and partner of Lord St. Erme'ssteward! Was it thus his suit was to be checked?

There was no recognition; he went on reading his German to himself, while Albert presented Mrs. Albert Moss, resplendent in bridal finery, and displaying her white teeth in a broad smile, as with a nod, half-gracious, half-apologetic, she said, 'I fear we interrupt a lesson;but we will not inconvenience you; we will go at once to our dearconvalescent. '

'Thank you, you do not interrupt me, and I do not think my sister isdressed yet. Indeed, I doubt whether I ought to allow her to see anyone. '

'O, you cannot be so cruel!' cried Mrs. Moss, holding up her hands;'one little peep! our only day in town. '

'Yes, ' said Albert. 'I could not but gratify my Louisa's anxiety to beintroduced to her new relatives. '

'I am afraid you must be disappointed, for my brother is with hisregiment at Windsor, and my sister is still so weak that she ought tohave no excitement. '

'And we have only a few hours in town. The inexorable claims of businesshave recalled us to Wrangerton. '

The Earl looked up surprised, as if the word had recalled him from theclouds. 

'You have been in Wales, I think, ' said Theodora. 'Were you pleased?'

'Oh, I was enraptured!' exclaimed the bride; 'the sublime and romanticcould be carried no higher! It makes me quite discontented with our homescenery. 

'Your sister would not approve of that, ' said Theodora to Albert;' shecan bear no slight to Helvellyn. '

'I forget--is there a view of Helvellyn from Wrangerton?' said Lord St. Erme, still somewhat dreamily. 

Mrs. Moss started at hearing such good English from the German master, and patronizingly said, 'Yes. Helvellyn is monarch of our picturesque. Do you ever come northwards?'

'Not so often as, perhaps, I ought. I am afraid I know more of the Alpsthan of Helvellyn. '

'I am sure, ' continued the voluble lady, 'if ever you thought of sucha scheme when the season is over, it would be well worth your while. I could reckon up many respectable families, who with suchintroductions--let me see, there are the Joneses, and the Dunlops, andthe Evelyns, to say nothing of my new sisters, the Miss Mosses. '

'I have no doubt it is a very good neighbourhood, ' said Lord St. Erme, rising. 'I must go, or we shall miss the train. Can you tell me how soonyou expect Lord Martindale?'

'About the tenth or eleventh, ' said Theodora. 

'Thank you. Then I must wish you good-bye--'

'And I must thank you in my sister's name for the pleasure she will takein what you have done for her little boy. Remember me to Lady Lucy. '

That name was a revelation to Albert, and the door had scarcely closedbefore he exclaimed--'Surely, Miss Martindale, that could not be LordSt. Erme!'

'Yes, it was. '

'Well!' cried Mrs. Moss, 'there was something decidedly the aristocratin his moustache!'

Albert could not recover from his vexation at having missed such achance, and was nearly setting off in pursuit of his lordship. Theodorawas glad to escape for a moment, on the plea of seeing whether Violetcould receive a visit. 

In her absence the bride began--'I can't see that she is so handsome, after all! And I should be ashamed to wear such a dress as that!'

'Distinguished people have freaks, my love. Bless me! if I had but knownthe Earl!'

'I see how it is, ' said the wife; 'a proud Countess we shall have. '

'If one of the girls had but been here! Every one of them is prettierthan this Miss Martindale. Who knows?'

'Ah! I shall take care in a friendly way to let your sister know how herown family feel at her keeping aloof--'

'I do not believe it is her fault, poor child, ' said Albert. 'Martindalehas set this haughty young lady to keep guard over her--'

'We shall see, ' said the bride. 'I am not used to be refused, and oncewith your sister, I will discover all her secrets. '

Fortunately for Violet, Theodora had found her so much exhausted bythe fatigue of dressing, that she thought it safest, considering whata bride it was, not to divulge her presence in the house; and she camedown with this intelligence, trying to compensate for it by civility, and by showing the children. 

Mrs. Moss was not easily repulsed, she begged Miss Martindale toreconsider her verdict. 

'I must not relent; I am accountable to the doctor and to my brother. '

'It shall not be your fault. You shall know nothing of it. I will findmy way. Ah! I'm a giddy young thing. Nothing can stop me!' and shestepped forward, laughing affectedly, and trying to look arch. 

'I cannot permit this. It might do serious harm, ' said Theodora, obligedto stand in her path, and to put on such a look of haughty command, thatshe was positively subdued and frightened, and went back to her seatin a meek state of silence, whence she only recovered to overwhelm poorJohnnie with her attentions. He cried and was sent away, and Mrs. Moss was obliged to be satisfied with the baby, though she looked asdignified and as little to be taken liberties with as any Martindale ofthem all. 

They lingered on, hoping to weary out Miss Martindale's patience, orthat some chance might reveal their presence to Violet; but in vain;Theodora's politeness was exemplary, and she endured Mrs. Albert Moss'sfamiliarity so well, that when at length they departed, the last wordswere a parting whisper, 'Good morning, Miss Martindale. If we had knownwhat we interrupted--but ah! I have gone through those things so lately, that I know how to feel for you, and can keep your secret. '

'There is no subject of secrecy that I know of, ' said Theodora, morecoldly than ever. 

Hateful woman! Poor Violet! There, now, it will be all over the countrythat I am engaged to him! I must take him now, or I hope he will give itup on discovering my connections! Then I can despise him. Foolish man!why could he not say what he wanted? I should have got rid of him then;I was in the mood! However, he is out of the way for the present. Now tomake the best of it with Violet. 

Violet was grieved, both for her own sake and the vexation at home, butshe so sweetly acquiesced in its having been right, and was so sure thather sister meant nothing but kindness, that Theodora, knowing that sheherself could not have submitted with anything like patience, admiredand loved her more than ever. 

The gentleness and quietness of her demeanour were a refreshment toTheodora's tossed and undecided mind; and in administering to hercomfort and pleasure, the anxieties and remorse subsided into acalm like her own. How delightful was the day of her introduction toJohnnie's portrait; her admiration, and tearful gratitude to the kinddeviser of the gift, were the greatest pleasure Theodora had known formonths; the discussion of every feature, the comparison of Johnniewith it, the history of the difficulties, and of his papa's assistance, seemed a never-ending treat to both giver and receiver. The poem, too;it was very amusing to see how she could hardly believe that originalverses could possibly be written on her boy, and then when set to guesswhose they were, she began with a hesitating 'Miss Marstone is the onlyperson near who makes verses, and these are too pretty to be hers. '

'Ah! if you would follow Emma's advice, and call the baby Osyth, afterthe first Prioress, you might have a chance from that quarter. '

It could not be Mr. Fotheringham, the only poet she could think of, andshe could only beg to be told. 

'There is one whom a Wrangerton woman should not forget. '

'Lord St. Erme! You ARE laughing at me, Theodora. He never even sawJohnnie!'

Theodora explained the two meetings, anxious to see her way of thinking. 'It is a wonderful thing!' was her first remark. 'Who would have told mehow it would be three years ago? They are very pretty. '

'I do not think you like them the better for being his, ' said Theodora. 

'I ought, ' said Violet; 'no other great man ever seems to me so grand asour own Earl. '

'I want your real feeling. '

'You know, ' said Violet, smiling, 'I cannot think them done only forJohnnie's sake--'

'And, therefore, they do not please you. '

'Not exactly that; but--if you don't mind my saying so, I feel as if Ihad rather--it might be better--I don't want to be ungrateful, but ifyou were getting into a scrape for the sake of pleasing me, I should besorry. Forgive me, Theodora, you made me say so. '

'You are consideration itself, ' said Theodora, affectionately. 'Nevermind, he is out of the way. We will let him go off poetizing to Germany;and under your wing at home, I will get into no more mischief. '

That was a pleasant prospect, and Violet reposed on the thought of theenjoyment of Martindale without its formidable inhabitants; trying init to forget the pain of parting with her husband for a month, and herlongings to spend it at her own home, and see Johnnie strengthened byHelvellyn breezes; while to Theodora it seemed like the opening intopeace and goodness. 

One forenoon, Violet, on coming down-stairs, found her sister writingextremely fast, and seeing an envelope on the table in Lord Martindale'swriting, asked if it was his answer to Theodora's plan. 

'Yes. '

'Ah!' said Violet, perceiving something was amiss, 'they have spared youto me a long time already. '

'Don't be uneasy, ' said Theodora; 'I'll settle it. '

'But, ' exclaimed Violet, 'I could not bear that you should be with me ifthey want you. '

'That is not it; papa has something in his head; I will settle it. '

Violet knew what was indicated by the over-erectness of Theodora'shead. To be the cause of family discussion was frightful, but she had anervous dread of thwarting Theodora. 

'I wish you would not look at me, ' exclaimed Theodora. 

'I beg your pardon, ' sighed she. 

'What's the use of that when I know you are not satisfied, and do nottrust me?'

'Don't be angry with me, ' implored Violet, with a quivering voice, and tears of weakness in her eyes. 'I cannot help it. I do not want tointerfere, but as it is for me, I must beg you to tell me you are notpressing to stay with me when Lady Martindale wishes for you. '

'No one ever wants me. No, but papa thinks that you and I cannot betrusted together. He says he cannot leave me with one who has so littleauthority. '

That indignant voice contrasted with the gentle answer, 'I do notwonder; I have always thought if I had been older and better able tomanage--'

'No such thing!' exclaimed Theodora; 'you are the only person who everexercised any control over me. '

'O, hush! you do not know what you are saying. '

'It is the truth, and you know it. When you choose, every one yields toyou, and so do I. '

'Indeed, I did not know it, ' said Violet, much distressed. 'I am verysorry if I am overbearing; I did not think I was. '

Theodora fairly laughed at such a word being applied to the mild, yielding creature, who looked so pale and feeble. 'Very domineering, indeed!' she said. 'No, no, my dear, it is only that you are alwaysright. When you disapprove, I cannot bear to hurt and grieve you, because you take it so quietly. '

'You are so very kind to me. '

'So, if papa wishes me to come to good, he had better leave me to you. '

'I don't think that ought to be, ' said Violet, feebly. 

'What, not that you should be my only chance--that you should calm meand guide me when every one else has failed--'

'Theodora, dear, I do not think I ought to like to hear you say so. Itcannot be safe for you to submit to me rather than to your father. '

'He never had any moral power over me. He never convinced me, nor ledme to yield my will, ' said Theodora, proud perhaps of her voluntarysubmission to her gentle sister-in-law, and magnifying its extent; butViolet was too right-minded, in her simplicity, to be flattered by anallegiance she knew to be misplaced. 

'I should not like baby to say so by and by, ' she whispered. 

'There's an esprit de corps in parents, ' cried Theodora, half angrily;'but Helen will never be like me. She will not be left to grow upuncared for and unloved till one-and-twenty, and then, when old enoughfor independence, be for the first time coerced and reproached. Ifpeople never concern themselves about their children, they need notexpect the same from them as if they had brought them up properly. '

'That is a sad thought, ' pensively said the young mother. 

'I declare you shall hear the letter, that you may own that it isunreasonable--unbearable!' And she read--

'"I have been considering your request to spend the time of our absenceat home with Mrs. Martindale, but I cannot think fit to comply with it. Arthur's income is fully sufficient to provide change of air for hisfamily; and he ought not to expect always to leave his wife on otherpeople's hands, while he is pursuing his own diversions. "'

Theodora was glad to see that this did rouse Violet's indignation. 

'Oh! he does not know. Do tell him it was all your kindness! Tell himthat Arthur is not going for long. He must not think such things. '

'He thinks much more injustice, ' said Theodora. 'Listen:--"After so longan absence, it is high time you should rejoin us; and, considering whathas occurred, you cannot be surprised that I should be unwilling toleave you with one so young and of so little authority over you. ThoughI acquit her of all blame for your indiscretions--" (There, Violet, Ihope you are much obliged to him!) "I should not have consented to yourremaining with her up to the present time, if it had not been a case ofurgent necessity, as I wish to have you under my own eye. " (As if he hadever made any use of it?) "You might as well be alone here as withher; and, after your late conduct, I cannot put the confidence inyour prudence that I should desire. Violet has, I have no doubt, actedamiably; and her youth, inexperience, and gentleness fully excuse herin my eyes for having been unable to restrain you; but they are reasonssufficient to decide me on not leaving you with her at present. We shallbe in London on Monday, the 11th, and I wish you to be in readiness tojoin us when we embark for Ostend on the following evening. Give my kindlove to Violet, and tell her I am glad she is going on well, and that Iam much pleased with my grand-daughter's intended name. " There, Violet, what do you think of that?'

'Pray make him understand that Arthur wanted a change very much, andwill not be long gone. '

'Arthur! You cannot feel for any one else!'

'I did not mean to be selfish!' said Violet, sorry for having seemed tobe wanting in sympathy. 

'No, indeed! You never think what would become of you left alone, withtwo babies that cannot walk!'

'Never mind me, I shall manage very well, I don't like to have adisturbance made on my account. I cannot think how you can hesitateafter such a letter as this. '

'That is the very thing. He would never have dared to say these thingsto my face! Now let me tell you. I know I have been much to blame; youmade me feel it. You are taming me; and if he leaves me to you I maybe more dutiful when he comes back. But if he strains his new notion ofauthority too far, and if you throw me off, I shall be driven to do whatwill grieve and disappoint you. '

'But surely, ' said Violet, 'it cannot be the right beginning of beingdutiful to resist the first thing that is asked of you. '

'You wish me to go to be fretted and angered! to be without oneemployment to drown painful thoughts, galled by attempts at controllingme; my mind poisoned by my aunt, chilled by my mother--to be given up tomy worse nature, without perhaps even a church to go to!'

'It is very hard, ' said Violet; 'but if we are to submit, it cannot beonly when we see fit. Would it not be better to make a beginning thatcosts you something?'

'And lose my hope of peaceful guidance!'

'I do believe, ' said Violet, 'that if you go patiently, because it isyour duty, that you will be putting yourself under the true guidance;but for you to extort permission to stay with me, when your fatherdisapproves, would be only following your own way. I should be afraid. Iwill not undertake it, for it would not be right, and mischief would besure to ensue. '

'Then you give me up?'

'Give you up! dear, dear sister;' and Violet rose and threw her armsround Theodora. 'No, indeed! When I am so glad that I may love you asI always wished! I shall think of you, and write to you, and pray foryou, ' whispered she. 'All I can I will do for you, but you must not sayany more of staying with me now. I can help you better in my right placethan out of it. '

Theodora returned the caress and quitted the room, leaving Violet to herregrets and fears. It was a great sacrifice of herself, and still worse, of her poor little pale boy, and she dreaded that it might be the ruinof the beneficial influence which, to her amazement, she found ascribedto her, in the most unexpected quarter. It had gone to her heart torefuse Theodora's kindness, and all that was left for her was to try tostill her fluttering, agitated spirits by the consciousness that she hadstriven to do right, and by the prayer that all might work for good. 

Indeed, it was very remarkable how, in this critical period ofTheodora's life, when repentance was engaged in so severe a conflictwith her long-nourished pride and passion, in all the tossings ofher mind she had, as it were, anchored herself to her docile, gentlesister-in-law, treating her like a sort of embodiment of her bettermind. Violet's serenity and lowliness seemed to breathe peace on astorm-tossed ocean; and her want of self-assertion to make Theodoraproud of submitting to her slightest wish without a struggle. Thosevehement affections were winding themselves about her and her children;and the temper that had flown into fierce insubordination at the firstcontrol from lawful authority, laid itself at the feet of one whosepower was in meekness. It was the lion curbed by the maiden; but becausethe subjection was merely a caprice, it was no conquest of self-will. 

CHAPTER 21

 But when the self-abhorring thrill Is past, as pass it must, When tasks of life thy spirit fill Risen from thy tears and dust, Then be the self-renouncing will The seal of thy calm trust. 

 --Lyra Apostolica

Arthur quitted London the day after his little girl's christening, talking of being absent only a fortnight, before taking his wife toWindsor; and promising to return at once, if she should find herself inthe least unwell or dispirited. She was delighted to be well enoughnot to spoil his sport, and Theodora was too anxious to have him at adistance from Mr. Gardner to venture on any remonstrance. 

It was the day the family were to come to London, and he left orderswith the ladies to say 'all that was proper', but the twelfth of Augustwas to him an unanswerable reason for immediate departure. 

Theodora and Violet went to receive the party in the house in BelgraveSquare, both silent, yet conscious of each other's feelings. Theodorapaced the room, while Violet leant back in a great blue damask chair, overcome by the beatings of her heart; and yet, when the carriagearrived, it was she who spoke the word of encouragement: 'Your father isso kind, I know he forgives us!'

Theodora knew Violet thought her own weakness and inefficiency neededpardon, and therefore could bear the saying, and allow it to turn herdefiant shame into humility. 

Mrs. Nesbit came in, supported between Lord and Lady Martindale, andas Theodora hastened to wheel round the large arm-chair, and settle thecushions for her, her eye glanced in keen inquiry from one niece tothe other, and they felt that she was exulting in the fulfilment of herprediction. 

Lord Martindale kissed his daughter with grave formality; and, as ifto mark the difference, threw much warm affection into his greeting ofViolet, and held her hand for some moments, while he asked solicitouslyif she were well and strong, and inquired for her little ones. 

She made Arthur's excuses and explanations, but broke off, blushing anddisconcerted, by that harsh, dry cough of Mrs. Nesbit's, and stillmore, by seeing Lord Martindale look concerned. She began, with nervouseagerness and agitation, to explain that it was an old engagement, hewould not be away long, and then would take her out of town--she washardly yet ready for a journey. From him she obtained kind smiles, andalmost fatherly tenderness; from Lady Martindale the usual ceremoniouscivility. They asked her to dinner, but she was not equal to this; theythen offered to send her home in the carriage, and when she refused, Lord Martindale said he would walk back with her, while Theodoraremained with her mother. 

He was much displeased with his son for leaving her, especially when hesaw how delicate and weak she still looked; and he was much annoyedat being unable to prevent it, without giving Arthur a premium forselfishness; so that all he could do was to treat her with a sort ofcompassionate affection, increased at each of her unselfish sayings. 

'My dear, ' he said, 'I wish to have a little conversation with you, when it suits you. I am anxious to hear your account of this unfortunateaffair. '

'Very well;' but he felt her arm tremble. 

'You must not alarm yourself. You are the last person deserving ofblame. I am only sorry that you should have had so much to harass you. '

'O, Theodora has been so very kind to me. '

'I rejoice to hear it; but tell me, will this evening or to-morrowmorning suit you best?'

'Thank you, to-morrow, if you please, ' said Violet, glad to defer theevil day. 

At that moment she was astonished by the sudden apparition of Lord St. Erme, and still more by his shaking hands with her. She thanked him forhis touches to her little boy's portrait; he smiled, rejoiced that shedid not think he had spoilt it, and remarked upon the likeness. LordMartindale, who knew him but slightly, listened in surprise; and havingnow come to her own door, she bade them farewell, and entered the house. 

Theodora came back much later than Violet had expected, with a flush onher cheek, and hurry and uncertainty in her manner. She had previouslymade a great point of their spending this last evening alone together, but her mood was silent. She declared herself bent on finishing thevolume of Miss Strickland's "Queens", which they were reading together, and went on with it till bed-time without intermission, then wishedViolet good night without another word. 

But Violet was no sooner in bed than Theodora came in, in herdressing-gown, and sat down at her feet, looking at her, but hardlyanswering the few words she ventured to speak. It was not till the clockstruck twelve that she rose from her seat. 

'Well, I must go; but I don't know how to tear myself from the sight ofyou. I feel as if I was driven from the only place where I ever might begood. '

'No, ' whispered Violet; 'wherever our duty lies, we can be good. '

'I could, if you were with me, to calm me, and tell me such things. '

'You do not want me to tell you them. You have the Bible and PrayerBook. '

'I never saw the right way to follow them; till now, when it wasgleaming on me, I have to go away. '

'The same grace that has shown you your way so far, dearest, will go onto show you further, if you follow it on, even though the way be hard!'

'The grace may be with you--it is!' said Theodora, in a heavy, hopelessmanner; 'but oh! Violet, think how long I have been driving it away!'

Violet sat up, took her hand, pressed it between both hers, and withtears exclaimed: 'You must not speak so. If you had not that grace, should you be sorry now?'

'I don't know. I can hope and see my way to peace when you look at me, or speak to me; but why should I be forced into the desert of my ownheart, to loneliness and temptation?'

'If you are really resting on me, instead of on the only true help, perhaps it is better you should be left to it. Theodora, dearest, may Itell you something about myself? When first I saw my difficulties, andcould not get at mamma, I felt as if there was no one to help me, butsomehow it grew up. I saw how to find out guidance and comfort in theBible and in such things, and ever since I have been so much happier. '

'How did you find it out?'

'John helped me; but I think it comes without teaching from without, andthere is my hope for you, Theodora. '

'Them that are meek shall He guide in judgment, and such as are gentle, them shall He learn His way, ' murmured Theodora, hanging over her, withtears fast dropping. 

'He shows Himself to those who will follow Him, and yield their ownwill, ' said Violet. 

'Good night! Oh! what shall I do when I have not you to send me to bedcomforted? I had more to say to you, but you have smoothed it all, and Icannot ruffle it up again. '

A night of broken sleep, and perplexed waking thoughts, was a badpreparation for the morning's conference. Lord Martindale came tobreakfast, and, as before, reserved all his kindness for Violet and thechildren. Theodora disappeared when the little ones were carried away, and he began the conversation by saying to Violet, 'I am afraid you havehad a great deal of trouble and vexation. '

She replied by warm assurances of Theodora's kindness; whence he ledher to tell the history of the rupture, which she did very mournfully, trying to excuse Theodora, but forbidden, by justice to Percival;and finding some relief in taking blame to herself for not havingremonstrated against that unfortunate expedition to the races. 

'No, my dear, it was no fault of yours. It was not from one thing morethan another. It was owing to unhappy, unbroken temper. Take careof your children, my dear, and teach them submission in time. ' Thenpresently resuming: 'Is it your idea that she had any attachment to poorFotheringham?'

'Much more than she knew at the time, ' said Violet. 

'Ha! Then you do not think she has given encouragement to thatabsurd-looking person, Lord St. Erme?'

'Lord St. Erme!' cried Violet, startled. 

'Yes; when I parted with you yesterday, he walked back with me, andproceeded to declare that he had been long attached to her, and to askmy sanction to his following us to Germany to pay his addresses. '

'Surely he has not spoken to her?'

'No; he said something about not presuming, and of having beeninterrupted. I could only tell him that it must rest with herself. Thereis no objection to the young man, as far as I know, though he is anidle, loitering sort of fellow, not what I should have thought to hertaste. '

'I do not believe she likes him, ' said Violet. 

'You do not? I cannot make out. I told her that she was at liberty todo as she pleased; I only warned her neither to trifle with him, nor torush into an engagement without deliberation, but I could get nothinglike an answer. She was in one of her perverse fits, and I have nonotion whether she means to accept him or not. '

'I do not think she will. '

'I cannot say. No one knows, without a trial, what the notion of acoronet will do with a girl. After all her pretensions she may be themore liable to the temptation. I have not told her aunt, that she maybe the more unbiassed. Not that I say anything against him, it iseverything desirable in the way of connection, and probably he is anamiable good sort of man. What do you know of him! Are you intimate withhim?'

Violet explained the extent of their acquaintance. 'I do not see my waythrough it, ' said Lord Martindale. 'I wish I could be clear that it isnot all coquetry. I wish John was at home. '

'I do not think, ' said Violet, gathering courage--'I do not think youknow how much Theodora wishes to be good. '

'I wish she was half as good as you are, my dear!' said Lord Martindale, as if he had been speaking to a child. And he talked to her warmly ofher own concerns, and hopes of her visiting Martindale on their return;trying to divest himself of a sense of inhospitality and harshness, which grew on him whenever he looked at her slender figure, and thevarying carnation of her thin cheek. 

She felt herself obliged to set forth to call on Lady Martindale. Theodora was busy, packing up, and could not accompany her;unfortunately for her, since Mrs. Nesbit took the opportunity ofexamining her on the same subject, though far from doing it in thesame manner; commenting with short sarcastic laughs, censuring Mr. Fotheringham for trying to domineer, but finding much amusement inmaking out the grounds of his objection to Mrs. Finch, and takingpleasure in bringing, by her inquiries, a glow of confusion and distresson Violet's cheeks. Next she began to blame her for having visitedsuch an imprudent person; and when Lady Martindale ventured to suggestsomething about her not knowing, and Mrs. Finch having formerly beena friend of the family, she put her down. 'Yes, my dear, we are notblaming Mrs. Arthur Martindale. We know it is not possible for every oneto be fastidious. The misfortune was in Miss Martindale's being broughtinto society which could not be expected to be select. '

Violet did not think herself called upon to stay to be insulted, androse to take leave, but did not escape without further taunts. 'So youare to be in London alone for the next month?'

'Perhaps only for a fortnight!'

'I can promise you that it will be a month. Young men are not apt tospend more time at home than they can help. I am sorry to interferewith your scheme of being installed at Martindale, but it is out of thequestion. Theodora's absence has been much felt by the curate, and ourpast experience has prepared us for anything. I hope you will take careof yourself. '

Mrs. Nesbit, as she lost her power of self-command and her cleverness, without parting with her bitterness of spirit, had pitiably grown worseand worse, so that where she would once have been courteously sarcastic, she was now positively insolent. 

It was too much for Lady Martindale, who, as she saw Violet colourdeeply, and tremble as she left the room, followed her to the headof the stairs, and spoke kindly. 'You must not imagine, my dear, thateither my aunt, or any of us, find fault with you. We all know thatyou are inexperienced, and that it is not easy to cope with Theodora'seccentricity of character. '

Violet, still very weak, could have been hysterical, but luckily wasable to command herself, though, 'thank you!' was all she could say. 

'Of course, though such things are unfortunate, we cannot regret thematch; Lord Martindale and I are quite convinced that you acted amiablyby all parties. Good-bye, my dear; I am sorry I have not time to calland see the children. '

'Shall I send them to you when they wake?' said Violet, pleased thatthey were at length mentioned. 

'Thank you, my dear, ' said Lady Martindale, as if much tempted. 'I amafraid not, it might be too much for my aunt. And yet, I should haveliked to see the little girl. '

'She is such a beauty, ' said Violet, much brightened. 'So exactly likeher papa. '

'I should like to see her! You have your carriage here, of course!'

'No; I walked. '

'Walked, my dear!' said Lady Martindale, dismayed. 

Violet explained how short the distance was; but Lady Martindale seemednot to know how to let her go, nor how to relinquish the thought ofseeing her grand-daughter. At last she said, as if it was a greatresolution, lowering her voice, 'I wonder if I could walk back with you, just to see her. '

She took Violet into her room while she put on her bonnet, much asif she feared being found out; and in passing the drawing-room door, gathered her dress together so as to repress its rustling. 

Wonder of wonders, to find Lady Martindale actually on foot by her side!She went up at once to the nursery, where the children were asleep. AtJohnnie she looked little, but she hung over the cot where lay theround plump baby face of little Helen. Though dreadfully afraid of beingmissed, she seemed unable to turn away from the contemplation. 

'My dear, ' said she, in an agitated voice, as they left the nursery, 'you must not keep these children here in London. You must not sacrificetheir health. It is the first consideration. Don't let them stay in thathot nursery! Pray do not. '

'We shall be in the country soon, ' said Violet. 

'Why not at once? Does expense prevent you? Tell me, my dear, what itwould cost. I always have plenty to spare. Would £100 do it? and youneed tell no one. I could give you £200, ' said Lady Martindale, whohad as little idea of the value of money as any lady in her Majesty'sdominions. 'I must have that dear little girl in the country. Pray takeher to Ventnor. How much shall I give you?'

Much surprised, and more touched, Violet, however, could not accept theoffer. She felt that it would be casting a slight on Arthur; and sheassured Lady Martindale that she hoped soon to leave London, and howimpossible it was for her to move house without Arthur. It seemed to bea great disappointment, and opened to Violet a fresh insight into LadyMartindale's nature; that there was a warm current beneath, only stifledby Mrs. Nesbit's power over a docile character. There seemed to be hopesthat they might love each other at last! In the midst there was a knockat the door, and Lord Martindale entered, much surprised, as well aspleased, to find his wife there, though put in some perplexity by herinstantly appealing to him to tell Violet that it was very bad for thechildren to remain in town, and asking if it could not be managed tosend them to the sea-side. He made a grave but kind reply, that he wassorry for it himself, but that Violet had assured him it would not befor long; and Lady Martindale (who did not seem able to understandwhy the lady of the house could not make everything give way to herconvenience)--now becoming alive to the fear of her aunt's missing her, and taking to heart her stolen expedition--hurried him off with her atonce. It was not till after their departure that Violet discovered thathe had been trying to atone for deficiencies, by costly gifts to herselfand her children. 

All this time Theodora had been in her own room, packing, as she said, but proceeding slowly; for there was a severe struggle of feelings, andshe could not bear that it should be seen. In the pain of parting withViolet, she shrank from her presence, as if she could not endure toprolong the space for last words. 

They came at last. Theodora sat ready for her journey, holding hergod-daughter in her arms, and looking from her to Violet, without aword; then gazing round the room, which had been the scene of suchchanges of her whole mind. 

At last she spoke, and it was very different from what Violet expected, 'Violet, I will try to endure it; but if I cannot--if you hear of me asdoing what you will disapprove, will you refrain from giving me up, andat least be sorry for me?'

After what Lord Martindale had said, Violet could guess at her meaning. 'Certainly, dear Theodora. You would not do it if it was wrong?'

'You know what I mean?'

'I think I do. '

'And you are not infinitely shocked?'

'No; for you would not do it unless you could rightly. '

'How do you mean?'

'Not if there was--anything remaining--of the former--'

'You are a good little thing, Violet, ' said Theodora, trying to laugh;'nearly as simple as your daughter. You will save her a great deal oftrouble, if you tame her while she is young. '

Then came a pause, lasting till Theodora thought she heard the carriage. 

'You will forgive me if I accept him?'

'I shall know it is all right. I trust you, dear sister. '

'Tell me something to help me!'

Violet drew out Helen's cross. 'Be patient, be patient, ' she said. 'Theworse things are, the more of the cross to be borne. '

Theodora held out her hand for it. 'I hope I am mending, ' said she, asshe gave it back with a melancholy smile. 'It does not give me thebad jealous thoughts I had when first I knew you possessed it. Tell mesomething to make me patient. '

'May I tell you what came into my head after you were talking last nightof not seeing your way, and wanting to be led. I thought of a verse inIsaiah. ' Violet found the place and showed it. 

'Who is among you that feareth the Lord, that obeyeth the voice of Hisservant, that walketh in darkness, and hath no light? Let him trust inthe name of the Lord and stay upon his God. '

'Thank you, Violet, ' said Theodora, looking on to the next verse. 'Iwill try to be patient; I will try not to kindle a fire for myself. Butif they tease me much, if I am very weary--'

The summons cut her short--Lord Martindale ran up to hasten her; afervent embrace--she was gone!

And Violet, with worn-out strength and spirits, remained to find howdesolate she was--left behind in dreary summer London. There was nothingfor it but to be as foolish as in old times, to lie down on the sofa andcry herself to sleep. She was a poor creature, after all, and awoke toweariness and headache, but to no repining; for she had attained toa spirit of thankfulness and content. She lay dreamily, figuringto herself Arthur enjoying himself on the moors and mountains, tillHelvellyn's own purple cap came to brighten her dreams. 

CHAPTER 22

 Sigh no more, lady, lady, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever, One foot on shore and one on land, To one thing constant never. 

 --Percy's Reliques

'So, you say Miss Martindale has left town?'

'Yes; Violet writes me that the family passed through London, and tookher to the continent on Tuesday. '

'Then let Annette know she is to be ready to come with me to town onMonday. We shall see if it is the young lady's doing, or whether Mrs. Martindale intends to give herself airs with her father and sister. '

'Poor dear, ' sighed the good care-worn mother, 'I do long to hear ofher; but may I not write first? I should not like to get the dear childinto trouble. '

'On no account write, or we shall have some excuse aboutpre-engagements. I shall take Annette at once, and see with my own eyes. Martindale can never have the face to hinder her from asking her ownsister to stay in the house, when once she is there. '

'I hope he is kind to her!' said Mrs. Moss. 'I long to hear whether sheis quite recovered; and she says so little of herself. She will be gladto see her sister, and yet, one does not like to seem pushing. '

'Never you mind, ' said the acute, sharp-faced attorney, putting heraside as if she was presuming beyond her sphere; 'only you get Annetteready. Since we found such a match for Violet, she is bound to help offher sisters; and as to Annette, a jaunt is just what is wanting todrive that black coat out of her head. I wish he had never come near theplace. The girl might have had the Irish captain, if she had not beenrunning after him and his school. Tell her to be ready on Monday. '

Meek Mrs. Moss never dared to question her husband's decision; and shehad suffered too much anxiety on her daughter's account, not to rejoicein the prospect of a trustworthy report, for Violet's letters werechiefly descriptions of her children. 

There was much soreness in the Moss family respecting Violet, and twoopinions with regard to her; some inclining to believe her a fine lady, willing to discard her kindred; others thinking her not a free agent, but tyrannized over by Miss Martindale, and neglected by her husband. So Annette, who had pined and drooped under the loss of the twin-likecompanionship of her sister, was sent out as on an adventure, in muchtrepidation and mysterious dread of Captain Martindale, by no meansconsistent with the easy good nature of his days of courtship. And thusher first letter was written and received with such feelings as attendthat of an explorer of a new country. 

'Cadogan-place, August 19th. 

'Well, dearest mamma, I am writing from Violet's house. Yes, she is herown sweet self, our precious flower still--nobody must think anythingelse--she is not changed one bit, except that she is terribly pale andthin; but she calls herself quite well, and says that if I had seenher when Johnny was five weeks old, I should give her credit now. ButMatilda will say I cannot write a comprehensible letter, so I will beginregularly. 

'We slept at Uncle Christopher's, and after an early breakfast walkedhere. The man did not think his mistress could see any one, but when heheard who we were, showed us to the drawing-room, and there was Violet, quite alone, breakfasting by herself, for he is gone to Scotland! Poordear girl! When she saw us, she gave a little scream, and flew up to me, clinging round my neck, and sobbing as she did on her wedding-day; itwas as if the two years were nothing. However, in a moment, she composedherself, and said it was silly, but there was still a sob in her throat, and she was shy and constrained as she used to be with papa, in oldtimes. She says she would not tell us Captain Martindale was going toScotland, because of not tantalizing us with his passing so near, but Ifear it is that she will not confess how often she is left alone. I amso glad we are come, now he is out of the way. She has asked us to staywhile papa has to be in London, and I shall, but papa finds it moreconvenient to sleep at Uncle Christopher's. If we are not here oftener, I am sure it is no fault of hers; and her husband cannot be displeasedwith this little visit--at least he ought not. She sent for thechildren; the babe was asleep, but Johnnie came, and oh! how curious itseemed to hear the voice calling her mamma, and see the little creatureholding out his arms to go to her. I felt, indeed, how long we have beenapart--it was our own Violet, and yet some one else. You would have beenamused to see how altered she was by having her son in her arms; how thelittle morsel seemed to give her confidence, and the shy stiffness wentaway, and she looked so proud and fond, and smiled and spoke with ease. There was the dear little fair fellow standing on her lap, leaningagainst her shoulder, with his arm round her neck, hiding his face whenI looked at him too much. She said he was puzzled not to see the aunthe knew, and how I grudged his knowing any aunt better than me! Theydo look lovely together, and so much alike; but I could cry to see themboth so white and wan; not a shade of her pretty colour on her cheek, and the little darling so very tiny and weak, though he is as clever aspossible, and understands all you say to him. If I had but got them bothin our fresh north countree!

'Papa could not stay, and as soon as he was gone, she set her boy downon the sofa, and threw her arms round my neck, and we were like wildthings--we kissed, and screamed, and laughed, and cried, till poorJohnnie was quite frightened. "Now, Annette, come and see, " said Violet, and took me up-stairs to the nursery, and there half-waking, underthe archway of her cradle, lay, like a little queen, that beautifulcreature, Helen, opening her black eyes just as we came up, and movingher round arms. How I longed for mamma to see her, and to see Violet'sperfect look of happiness as she lifted her out and said, "Now, is notshe worth seeing?" and then Sarah came up. Violet says Sarah threatenedto go away, when there were two to be always racketing, but when it cameto the point, could not leave Johnnie, whom she keeps in great order, and treats with much ceremony, always calling him Master John. Shebelieves Sarah disapproves of poor Helen altogether, as an intruder uponJohnnie's comfort; and she is quite savage at admiration of her, as ifit was a slight on him; but she has turned out an admirable nurse, inher own queer way. Such a morning as we have had, chattering so fast!all about you all. I am sure she loves us as much as ever, and I do notbelieve she is unhappy. She talks of her husband as if they were happy, and he has given her such quantities of pretty things, and I hear of somuch that seems as if she was on comfortable terms with them all. I amsatisfied about her, pray be so too, dear mamma. 

'I am writing while waiting for her to drive to fetch my thingsfrom Uncle Christopher's--She tells me to finish without minding hervisitor--I was interrupted by Sarah's bringing Johnnie down, and he wasvery good with me, but presently a gentleman was announced, withoutmy catching his name. I feared Johnnie would cry, but he sprang withdelight, and the stranger saying, "Ha! master, you recollect me?" tookhim in his arms. I said my sister would come directly, and he gave agood-natured nod, and muttered half to himself, "Oh! another of thegenus Viola. I am glad of it. " I cannot make him out; he must be arelation, or one of the other officers. Violet did not know he wasthere, and came in with the baby in her arms; he stepped towards her, saying, "So you have set up another! Man or woman?" and then asked ifshe was another flower. Violet coloured, as she spoke low, and said, "Her name is Helen. " I must ask Violet the meaning, for he lookedgravely pleased, and answered gratefully, "That is very good of you. " "Ihope she will deserve it, " Violet said, and was introducing me, but hesaid Johnnie had done him that honour. He has been talking of CaptainMartindale (calling him Arthur), and telling curious things he hasseen in Ireland. He is very amusing, bluff, and odd, but as if he wasa distinguished person. Now I see that Violet is altered, and grownolder--he seems to have such respect for, and confidence in her; and sheso womanly and self-possessed, entering into his clever talk as Matildawould, yet in the simple way she always had. You would be proud to seeher now--her manners must be perfection, I should think; so graceful anddignified, so engaging and quiet. I wish Louisa had seen her. What arethey talking of now?

'Violet. --How did you find Pallas Athene?

'Unknown. --Alas, poor Pallas! With the judgment of the cockney whobuttered his horse's hay, the ragged boy skinned her mice and pluckedher sparrows in my absence. The consequence was her untimely end. I wasmet by my landlady with many a melancholy "Ah, sir!" and actually thegood creature had had her stuffed. 

'Violet. --Poor Pallas! then the poor boy has lost his employment?

'Unknown. --Happily, his honesty and his grief so worked upon mylandlady, that she has taken him as an errand boy. So that, in fact, Minerva may be considered to have been the making of his fortune. 

'I leave this for a riddle for the sisters. I am longing to ask Violetwho this gentleman is who seems to know all the negroes so well. '(Scratched out. ) 'What nonsense I have written! I was listening to someletters they were reading from the Mr. Martindale in the West Indies. Violet tells me to finish with her dearest love. 

'Your most affectionate, 'A. Moss. 

'P. S. --He will come to-morrow to take us to a private view of the RoyalAcademy, before the pictures are removed. '

The same post carried a letter from Violet to her husband, communicatingthe arrival of her guests, and telling him she knew that he could notwish her not to have Annette with her for these few days, and that itdid make her very happy. 

Having done this, she dismissed doubts, and, with a clear conscience, gave herself up to the enjoyment of her sister's visit, each minuteof which seemed of diamond worth. Perhaps the delights were the moreintense from compression; but it was a precious reprieve when Arthur'sanswer came, rejoicing at Violet's having a companion, and hoping thatshe would keep her till his return, which he should not scruple todefer, since she was so well provided for. He had just been deliberatingwhether he could accept an invitation to the Highlands. 

If the wife was less charmed than her sister, she knew that, under anycircumstances, she would have had to consent, after the compliment hadbeen paid of asking whether she could spare him; and it was compensationenough that he should have voluntarily extended her sister's visit. 

Annette, formerly the leader of her younger sister, was often pleasantlysurprised to find her little Violet become like her elder, and thatnot only from situation, but in mind. With face and figure resemblingViolet's, but of a less uncommon order, without the beauteous complexionand the natural grace, now enhanced by living in the best society, Annette was a very nice-looking, lady-like girl, of the same refinedtone of mind and manners; and having had a longer space of youngladyhood, she had more cultivation in accomplishments and bookknowledge, her good taste saving her from being spoilt, even by heracquiescence in Matilda's superiority. She saw, however, that Violethad more practical reflection, and though in many points simple andyouthful, was more of a woman than herself; and it was with that sweet, innocent feeling, which ought not to bear the same name as pride, thatshe exulted in the superiority of her beloved sister. Selfish jealousiesor petty vanities were far from her; it was like a romance to hearViolet describe the splendours of Martindale, or the gaieties ofLondon; and laugh over the confession of the little perplexities as toproprieties, and the mistakes and surprises, which she trusted she hadnot betrayed. 

Still Violet missed the power of fully reciprocating her sister'sconfidence. Annette laid open every home interest and thought, butViolet had no right to disclose the subjects that had of late engrossedher, and at every turn found a separation, something on which she mustnot be communicative. 

The view of the Exhibition was happily performed under Mr. Fotheringham's escort. Annette, thanks to Lord St. Erme's gallery, hadgood taste in pictures; she drew well, and understood art better thanher sister, who rejoiced in bringing out her knowledge, and hearing herconverse with Percy. They had the rooms to themselves, and Annette wasanxious to carry away the outline of one or two noted pictures. Whileshe was sketching, Percy wandered to another part of the room, and stoodfixedly before a picture. Violet came to see what he was looking at. It was a fine one by Landseer of a tiger submitting to the hand of thekeeper, with cat-like complacency, but the glare of the eye and curl ofthe tail manifesting that its gentleness was temporary. 

'It may be the grander animal, ' muttered he; 'but less satisfactory fordomestic purposes. '

'What did you say?' asked Violet, thinking it addressed to her. 

'That is a presumptuous man, ' he said, pointing to the keeper. 'If hetrusts in the creature's affection, some day he will find his mistake. '

He flung himself round, as if he had done with the subject, and his tonestartled Violet, and showed her that more was meant than met the ear. She longed to tell him that the creature was taming itself, but shedid not dare, and he went back to talk to Annette, till it ended in hispromising to come to-morrow, to take them to the Ellesmere gallery. 

'That's the right style of woman, ' soliloquized Percy, as he saw thecarriage drive off. 'Gentleness, meekness, and a dash of good sense, isthe recipe for a rational female--otherwise she is a blunder of nature. The same stamp as her sister, I see; nothing wanting, but air and thebeauty, which, luckily for Arthur, served for his bait. '

When he came, according to appointment, Annette was in the drawing-room, unable to desist from touching and retouching her copy of her nephew'slikeness, though Violet had long ago warned her to put it away, and tofollow her up to dress. 

He carried the portrait to the light. 'M. Piper, ' he read. 'That littlewoman! That mouth is in better drawing than I could have thought herguilty of. '

'Oh! those are Lord St. Erme's touches, ' said unconscious Annette. 'He met Miss Martindale taking it to be framed, and he improved itwonderfully. He certainly understood the little face, for he even wroteverses on it. '

Here Violet entered, and Annette had to hurry away for her bonnet. Percystood looking at the drawing. 

'So, Johnnie has a new admirer, ' he said. Violet was sorry that heshould hear of this; but she laughed, and tried to make light of it. 

'I hear he is in Germany. '

'Yes; with his sister and their aunt. '

'Well, ' said Percy, 'it may do. There will be no collision of will, andwhile there is one to submit, there is peace. A tigress can be generousto a puppy dog. '

'But, indeed, I do not think it likely. '

'If she is torturing him, that is worse. '

Violet raised her eyes pleadingly, and said, in a low, mournful tone: 'Ido not like to hear you speak so bitterly. '

'No, ' he said, 'it is not bitterness. That is over. I am thankful tohave broken loose, and to be able to look back on it calmly, as a pastdelusion. Great qualities ill regulated are fearful things; and thoughI believe trials will in time teach her to bring her religious principleto bear on her faults, I see that it was an egregious error to thinkthat she could be led. '

He spoke quietly, but Violet could not divest herself of the impressionthat there was more acute personal feeling than he was aware of. In theEllesmere gallery, he led them to that little picture of Paul Potter's, where the pollard willows stand up against the sunset sky, the eveningsunshine gleaming on their trunks, upon the grass, and gilding the backsof the cows, while the placid old couple look on at the milking, thehooded lady shading her face with her fan. 

'There's my notion of felicity, ' said he. 

'Rather a Dutch notion, ' said Violet. 

'Don't despise the Dutch, ' said Percy. 'Depend upon it, that respectableretired burgomaster and his vrow never had words, as we Brogden folksay. '

'I think you would find that very stupid, ' said Violet. 

'Not I, ' said Percy. 'When I want to pick a quarrel, I can get itabroad. '

'When?' said Annette, smiling. 

'Yes, I like to keep my teeth and claws sharpened, ' said Percy; but onewants repose at home. That burgomaster is my model. '

He continued to find sights for them, showing Violet more lions ofLondon than had ever come in her way. One day, when a thunder-stormhindered their going to the Zoological Gardens, he stayed the wholeafternoon reading to them. In the midst, Violet thought of lastSeptember's storm; she looked up--an idea flashed upon her!

'How delightful! How well they suit! I shall have my Annette close tome! They can marry at once! My father will be satisfied. How happy theywill be! It will be the repose he wants. Dear Annette, what will she notbe under his training!' The joyous impulse was to keep him to dinner;but she had scruples about inviting him in Arthur's absence, andtherefore only threw double warmth into her farewells. Her spirits wereup to nonsense pitch, and she talked and laughed all the evening withsuch merriment as Annette had hardly ever known in her. 

But when she was alone, and looked her joy in the face, she was amazedto find how she had been forgetting Theodora, whose affairs had latelybeen uppermost. Annette might be worth a hundred Theodoras: but that didnot alter right and justice. 

If Theodora was accepting the Earl! Violet knew he was at Baden; hecould not yet have been dismissed: and the sister-in-law had proveda disappointing correspondent, her nature being almost as averse toletter-writing as was Arthur's. Let her marry him, and all would bewell. The question, however, really lay between Percy and Annettethemselves; and Violet thought he had made a wise discovery inpreferring her gentle, yielding sister to the former lady of his choice. Matters might take their course; Arthur would be gratified by thistestimony to her family's perfections; John would rejoice in whateverwas for his friend's real happiness; to herself, in every way, it wouldbe complete felicity. 

Still she hesitated. She had heard of pique driving persons to makea fresh choice, when a former attachment appeared obliterated byindignation, only to revive too late, and to be the misery of allparties. Percy's late words, harsh when he fancied them indifferent, made her doubtful whether it might not be so in his case. In his soundprinciple she had entire confidence, but he might be in error as to theactual state of his sentiments; and she knew that she should dread, forthe peace of mind of all parties, his first meeting, as her sister'shusband, with either Miss Martindale, or the Countess of St. Erme. 

She decided that Annette ought to hear the whole, so as to act with hereyes open. If she had been engaged, she should never have heard whatwas past, but she should not encourage him while ignorant of thecircumstances, and, these known, Violet had more reliance on herjudgment than on her own. The breach of confidence being thus justified, Violet resolved, and as they sat together late in the evening, foundan opportunity of beginning the subject. 'We used to expect a closerconnection with him, or I should never have learnt to call him Percy--'

'You told me about poor Mr. Martindale. '

'Yes, but this was to have been a live connection. He was engaged toTheodora. '

Violet was satisfied that the responding interjection was more surprisedand curious than disappointed. She related the main features of thestory, much to Annette's indignation. 

'Why, Violet, you speak as if you were fond of her!'

'That I am. If you knew how noble and how tender she can be! So generouswhen most offended! Oh! no one can know her without a sort of admiringlove and pity. '

'I do not understand. To me she seems inexcusable. '

'No, no, indeed, Annette! She has had more excuse than almost any one. It makes one grieve for her to see how the worse nature seems to havebeen allowed to grow beyond her power, and how it is like somethingrending her, when right and wrong struggle together for the mastery. '

So many questions ensued, that Violet found her partial disclosure hadrendered the curtain over Martindale affairs far less impenetrable; butshe had spoken no sooner than was needful, for the very next morning'spost brought an envelope, containing a letter for Miss Moss, and a fewlines addressed to herself:--

'My Dear Mrs. Martindale, --Trust me. I have discovered my error, andhave profited by my lesson. Will you give the enclosed to your sister? Iknow you will act as kindly as ever by

'Yours, &c. , 'A. P. F. '

So soon! Violet had not been prepared for this. She gasped with wonderand suspense, as she laid the letter before the place where Annette hadbeen sitting, and returned to her seat as a spectator, though far froma calm one: that warmhearted note had made her wishes his earnestpartisans, and all her pulses throbbed with the desire that Annettemight decide in favour of him; but she thought it wrong to try toinfluence her, and held her peace, though her heart leapt into her mouthat her sister's exclamation on seeing the letter, and her cheeks glowedwhen the flush darted into Annette's. 

She glanced in a sort of fright over the letter, then looked for help toViolet, and held it to her. 'Oh, Violet! do you know?'

'Yes, I have a note myself. My darling Annette!'

Annette threw herself down by her side, and sat on the floor, studyingher face while she read the note, which thus commenced:--

'My Dear Miss Moss, --You will say that our acquaintance is too short towarrant my thus addressing you; but your sister knows me as well as mostpeople; and in knowing your sister, and seeing your resemblance to her, I know you. If AM=VM, and VM=Wordsworth's "spirit yet a woman too, " thenAM=the same. '

From this curious opening he proceeded to a more ordinary and veryearnest entreaty for her consent to his applying to her father. 

'Well, Violet!'

'How exactly like him!'

'How highly he does esteem you!' said Annette; 'but if he thinks me likeyou he would find his mistake. After what you told me--so soon! Oh, Iwish it had not happened! Violet, do tell me what to do. '

'I don't think any one can advise in a matter like this. '

'Oh! don't say so, Violet; you know the people, and I don't. Pray saysomething. '

'He is a most excellent, admirable person, ' said Violet, in an unmeaningtone. 

'Yes, I know that, but--'

'Really, I think nothing but your own feeling should decide. '

'Ah! you did not hesitate when you were asked!' said Annette, sighing;and Violet at once blushed, smiled, and sighed, as she spoke her quickconscious 'No, no!'

'Such a romance cannot always be expected, ' said Annette, a littlemournfully. 'He is everything estimable, in spite of his oddness. Butthen, this affair--so recent! Violet' (impatiently), 'what DO you think?what do you wish?'

'What I wish? To have my own Annette near me. For two such people tobelong to each other! Don't you know what I like? But the question iswhat you wish. '

'Yes!' sighed Annette. 

'I don't think you wish it much, ' said Violet, trying to get a view ofher face. 

'I don't know whether I ought to make up my mind. I am not much inclinedto anything. But I dare say it would turn out well. I do like him verymuch. But Miss Martindale! Now, Violet, will you not tell me what youthink? Take pity on me. '

'Annette, ' said Violet, not without effort, 'I see you have not thefeeling that would make you unhappy in giving him up, so I may speakfreely. I am afraid of it. I cannot be certain that he is so completelycured of his old attachment as he supposes himself to be while the angeris fresh. He is as good as possible--quite sincere, and would neverwillingly pain you, whatever he may feel. But his affection for Theodorawas of long standing; and without any one's fault there might be worriesand vexations--'

'Yes, yes, ' said Annette, in a voice that reassured her. 

'I think it wiser not, and perhaps more honourable to Theodora. HithertoI have been wishing that it might yet be made up again. If you had beendisposed that way, I should have been anxious, --as you seem doubtful, Ifancy it would be safer--'

'O, Violet, I am so glad! It is a great relief to me. '

'But, you know, it is only I that say so. '

'Better you than a hundred! My doubt was this. You know there are agreat many of us, and papa wants to see us well married. He has talkedmore about it since you went. Now this is not romantic; but I wasconsidering whether, for the sake of the rest, I ought not to trywhether I could like him. But what you have said sets me quite at easein refusing him. '

'Poor Percy!' said Violet. 'I am afraid he will be vexed. '

'And it is a great compliment, though that is to you. He takes me ontrust from you. '

'And he took me on trust from John, ' said Violet. 'I wish he had knownyou before Theodora. '

'I only hope papa will never hear of it, ' said Annette, shrinking. 'Howfortunate that he was not here. I shall tell no one at home. '

'If it had not been for Theodora, ' sighed Violet, 'I know nothing thatwould have been more delightful. It was too charming to come true!'

'Violet, ' said Annette, with her face averted, 'don't be sorry, for Icould not have been glad of it now; though for their sakes I might havetried to work myself into the feeling. I cannot help telling you, thoughyou will think it more wrong in me, for I shall never see HIM again, andhe never said anything. '

'I know whom you mean, ' whispered Violet, rightly divining it was Mr. Fanshawe. 

'Don't call it anything, ' said Annette, with her head drooping. 'I wouldnot have told even you, but to console you about this. Nothing everpassed, and I was silly to dwell on the little things they laughed at meabout, but I cannot help thinking that if he had seen any prospect--'

'I wonder if John could--' Violet checked herself. 

'O, don't say anything about it!' cried Annette, frightened. 'It maybe only my foolish fancy--but I cannot get it out of my mind. You seeI have no one to talk over things with now you are gone. I have lost mypair in you, so I am solitary among them, and perhaps that has made methink of it the more. '

'Dearest! But still I think you ought to try to draw away your mind fromit. '

'You do not think I ought to try to like Mr. Fotheringham?'

'Indeed, under present circumstances, I could not wish that. '

'But do you think me very wrong for considering whether I could? I hopenot, dear Violet, ' said Annette, who shared her sister's scrupulous, self-distrustful character, and had not, like her, been taught, by sternnecessity, to judge for herself. 

'No, indeed, ' said Violet; 'but, since that is settled, he ought to knowit at once, and not to be kept in suspense. '

It was not until after much affectionate exhortation that Violet couldrouse her sister from talking rather piteously over the perplexityit would have been if his case or hers had been otherwise, arguingto excuse herself in her own eyes for the notion of the marriage forexpediency, and describing the displeasure that the knowledge of therejection would produce at home. It was the first time she had had toact for herself, and either she could not resolve to begin, or likedto feel its importance. Perhaps she was right in saying that Mr. Fotheringham would be disappointed if he supposed her Violet's equal, for though alike in lowliness, amiability, and good sense, she had notthe same energy and decision. 

At last the letter was begun, in the style of Matilda and the "PoliteLetter Writer" combined, though the meek-spirited Annette peeped throughin the connecting links of the set phrases. Violet, who was appealed toat every stage, would fain have substituted the simple words in whichAnnette spoke her meaning; but her sister was shocked. Such ordinarylanguage did not befit the dignity of the occasion nor Matilda's pupil;and Violet, as much overruled as ever by respect for her elder sisters, thought it an admirable composition. 

'May I see yours?' asked Annette, resting before making her fair copy. 

'And welcome, but it is not worthy of yours. '

'My Dear Mr. Fotheringham, --I wish with all my heart it could be--I amvery sorry it must not. Pray say nothing to my father: it would onlyput her to needless pain. I beg your pardon for not being able to doanything for you. You know how glad I should have been if I had not beenobliged to perceive that it would not be really right or kind to either. Only do let me thank you for liking my dear sister, and forgive us ifyou are grieved. I am very, very sorry. 

'Yours, very sincerely, 'V. H. MARTINDALE. '

Annette raised her eyes in surprise. 'Ah!' said Violet, 'it is of nouse for me to try to write like Matilda. I did once, but I am not cleverenough; it looked so silly and affected, that I have been ashamed toremember it ever since. I must write in the only way I can. '

Her sister wanted to tear up her letter as a piece of affectation, but this she would not allow. It made her feel despairing to thinkof spending two hours more over it, and she hoped that she would besatisfied with the argument that the familiar style employed by Mrs. Martindale towards an old friend might not be suited to Annette Mosswhen rejecting his suit. 

Each sentence underwent a revision, till Violet, growing as impatientas was in her nature, told her at last that he would think more of thesubstance than of the form. 

Next, she had to contend against Annette's longing to flee home at once, by Theodora's own saying, 'London was wide enough for both;' and moreeffectually by suggesting that a sudden departure would be the bestmeans of proclaiming the adventure. It was true enough that Mr. Fotheringham was not likely to molest her. No more was heard of himtill, two days after, the owl's provider brought a parcel with amessage, that Mr. Fotheringham had given up his lodging and was going toParis. It contained some books and papers of John's, poor little PallasAthene herself, stuffed, and directed to Master J. Martindale, and abook in which, under his sister's name, he had written that of littleHelen. Violet knew he had intended making some residence at Paris, to benear the public libraries, and she understood this as a kind, forgivingfarewell. She could understand his mortification, that he, after castingoff the magnificent Miss Martindale, should be rejected by this littlehumble country girl; and she could not help thinking herself ungrateful, so that the owl, which she kept in the drawing-room, as the objectof Johnnie's tender strokings, always seemed to have a reproachfulexpression in its round glass eyes. 

The hope of seeing the expediency of her decision waxed fainter, whenshe received the unexpected honour of a letter from Lord Martindale, who, writing to intrust her with some commission for John, added somenews. 'I have had the great pleasure of meeting with my cousin, Hugh Martindale, ' he said; 'who, since the death of his wife, has sooverworked himself in his large town parish, as to injure his eyesight, and has been ordered abroad for his health. It does not appear that hewill ever be fit to return to his work at Fieldingsby, and I am in hopesof effecting an exchange which may fix him at Brogden in the stead ofMr. Wingfield. When you are of my age, you will understand the pleasureI have in returning to old times. Theodora has likewise been much withhim, and I trust may be benefited by his advice. At present she has notmade up her mind to give any definite answer to Lord St. Erme, andsince I believe she hesitates from conscientious motives, I am the lessinclined to press her, as I think the result will be in his favour. I find him improve on acquaintance. I am fully satisfied with hisprinciples and temper, he has extensive information, and might easilybecome a valuable member of society. His sister, Lady Lucy, spends muchof her time with us, and appears to be an amiable pleasing girl. '

Lord Martindale evidently wished it to be forgotten that he had calledLord St. Erme absurd-looking. 

Violet sighed, and tried to counterbalance her regrets by hopes thatJohn would have it in his power to patronize his chaplain. However, these second-hand cares did not hinder her from thriving and prosperingso that she triumphed in the hopes of confuting the threat that shewould not recover in London, and she gloried in the looks with which sheshould meet Arthur. A dozen times a day she told her little ones thatpapa was coming home, till Johnnie learnt to repeat it; and then shelistened in ecstasy as the news took a fresh charm from his lips. 

She went to meet Arthur at the station; but instead of complimentingher on the renewed carnation of her cheeks, as perhaps, in her prettyconjugal vanity, she had expected, when she had taken such pains withher pink ribbons, he gazed straight before him, and presently said, abruptly, 'Is your sister here?'

Had she been displeasing him the whole time? She only breathed a faint'Yes. '

'Is Fotheringham in town?'

'No; he is gone to Paris. '

'Then it is humbug, as I thought. I met that precious Miss Gardner inthe train going to Worthbourne, and she would have me believe you weregetting up a match between those two! A fine story, --not a year sincehe proposed to Theodora! There was she congratulating me on thesatisfaction it must be to Mrs. Martindale!'

'So she wanted to make mischief between us, ' said Violet, much hurt. 

'Mischief is meat and drink to her. But not a jot did I believe, I tellyou, silly child. You are not wasting tears on that crocodile tongue!I had a mind to tell her to her face that Percy is made of differentstuff; and for my own Violet blossom--'

The tears dropped bright and happy. 'Though, dear Arthur, it was true, as far as Percy was concerned. Annette has had to refuse him. '

'A wise girl!' exclaimed Arthur, in indignant surprise. 'But Percy! Icould not have believed it. Why would she not have him?'

'Chiefly from thinking it not right to accept him. I hope I did not dowrong in telling her all about it. I thought it only fair, and she didnot care enough for him to make the refusal an effort. '

'I should think not! The fickle dog. To go and take up with--Nodisrespect to Annette, --but after Theodora! So soon, too!'

'I fancied it more pique than inconstancy. There is so much anger abouthim that I suspect there is more affection than he knows. '

'And you think that mends matters, ' said Arthur, laughing. 'Well, I hopeTheodora will marry St. Erme at once, so as to serve him right. I amsure she will if she hears of this. '

'And I am afraid Miss Gardner will write to her. '

'That she will, with nice histories of you and me and Annette. And shewill tell them at Worthbourne till old Sir Antony disinherits Percy. Nomore than he deserves!'

She might well be glad of the part she had taken, now that she foundher husband so much more alive to the affront to his sister than shehad expected. He was in high good-humour, and talked merrily of hisexpedition, proceeding even to such a stretch of solicitude as to say hesupposed 'the brats were all right, as he had heard nothing of them. '

His greeting to Annette was warm and cordial, he complimented her onher sister's recovered looks, and tried to extort a declaration thatshe looked just like what she had been when he took her from Wrangerton. Annette peeped out under her eyelashes, smiled, and shook her headtimidly. 

'Ha! What's your treason, Miss Annette? Does not she look as well asever?'

'Better, in some ways, ' said Annette, looking at Violet, glowing andsmiling, with her husband's hand on her shoulder. 

'And what in others!'

'I like to look at her better than ever, but I cannot say she is notpaler and thinner. '

'Yes, and sober and matronly. That I am!' said Violet, drawing herselfup. 'I must stand on my dignity now I have two children. Don't I lookold and wise, Annette?'

'Not a bit now, ' said Annette. 

There was an end of Annette's doubt and dread of her grandbrother-in-law. He talked and laughed, took her on pleasant expeditions, and made much of her with all his ready good-nature, till her heart wasquite won. She did not leave them till just as they were departing forWindsor, and as she looked back from her railway carriage, at Violet andher husband, arm-in-arm, she sighed a sigh on her own account, repentedof as soon as heaved, as she contrasted her own unsatisfactory home withtheir happiness. 

But the heart knoweth its own bitterness, and Annette little guessedat the grief that lurked in the secret springs of her sister's joy, increasing with her onward growth in the spirit that brought her suretrust and peace. It was the want of fellowship with her husband, in hertrue and hidden life. She could not seek counsel or comfort from above, she could not offer prayer or thanksgiving, she could not join in thehighest Feast, without finding herself left alone, in a region whitherhe would not follow. It was a weariness to him. In the spring she hadhad hopes. At Easter, an imploring face, and timid, 'Won't you come?'had made him smile, and say he was not so good as she, then sigh, andhalf promise, 'Next time, when he had considered. ' But next time he hadhad no leisure for thinking; she should do as she liked with him whenthey got into the country. And since that, some influence that she couldnot trace seemed, as she knew by the intuition of her heart, rather thanthe acknowledgment of her mind, to have turned him away; the distasteand indifference were more evident, and he never gave her an opening forleading to any serious subject. It was this that gave pain even to herprayers, and added an acuter pang to every secret anxiety. 

'When his children are older, and he feels that they look up to him'thought Violet, hopefully, and in the meantime she prayed. 

CHAPTER 23

 Not so, bold knight, no deed of thine Can ever win my hand; That hope, poor youth, thou must resign, For barriers 'twixt us stand. Yet what doth part us I will now reveal, Nor, noblest one, from thee the truth conceal. 

 --FOUQUE

Arthur guessed rightly. Miss Gardner's first leisure was spent inwriting her tidings to Theodora. 

It was on a strange state of mind that they fell. Theodora had goneabroad, softened and conscious of her faults, but her indomitable willboiling up at each attempt to conquer them; knowing that her fate hungin the balance, but helpless in the power of her own pride and temper. Miserable, and expecting to be more wretched, her outward demeanour, no longer checked by Violet, was more than ever harsh, capricious, andundutiful, especially under her present deprivation of the occupationsthat had hitherto been channels of kindly feeling. 

She was less patient than formerly with her aunt, who was in truth moretrying. Quickly gathering the state of affairs with regard to Lord St. Erme, she was very angry with Lord Martindale for not having consultedher, and at the same time caressed her great-niece beyond endurance. Besides, it was unbearable to hear sweet Violet scoffed at. Theodoraspoke hastily in her defence; was laughed at for having been gainedover; replied vehemently, and then repented of losing temper with oneso aged and infirm. Her attention to Mrs. Nesbit had been one of hergrounds of self-complacency; but this had now failed her--distance wasthe only means of keeping the peace and Theodora left her chiefly to hercompanion, Mrs. Garth, a hard-looking, military dame, who seemed so wellable to take care of herself, that there was none of the compassion thathad caused Theodora to relieve poor little Miss Piper. 

It was not long before Lord St. Erme persuaded his aunt that her tourin Germany would not be complete without a visit to Baden-Baden. Mrs. Delaval and Lady Martindale immediately began to be as intimate as waspossible with the latter. Theodora intended to stand aloof, and to beguarded and scornful; but Lady Lucy was such an engaging, affectionate, honest-hearted little thing, regarding Miss Martindale with all herbrother's enthusiastic devotion, and so grateful for the slightestnotice, that it really was impossible to treat her with the requisitecold dignity. 

And to admit Lady Lucy to her friendship was much the same thing asadmitting the brother. 'St. Erme' was the one engrossing subject of theyoung girl's thoughts and discourse, and it was soon plain that not aconversation passed but was reported to him. If Theodora expressed anopinion, 'St. Erme's' remarks on it were certain to be brought to herthe next day; if a liking or a wish, he was instantly taking measuresfor its gratification. She might try to keep him at a distance, but where was the use of it when, if his moustached self was safelypoetizing in the Black Forest, his double in blue muslin was ever at herelbow?

By and by it was no longer a moustached self. The ornaments were shavedoff, and she heartily wished them on again. What could be said when Lucytimidly begged to know how she liked the change in St. Erme's face, andwhether she shared her regrets for his dear little moustache? Alas! sucha sacrifice gave him a claim, and she felt as if each departed hair wasa mesh in the net to ensnare her liberty. 

And what could she say when Lucy WOULD talk over his poems, and try toobtain her sympathy in the matter of that cruel review which had cutthe poor little sister to the heart? It had been so sore a subject inLondon, that she could not then bear to speak of it, and now, treatingit like a personal attack on his character, she told how 'beautifullySt. Erme bore it, ' and wanted Miss Martindale to say how unjustand shocking it was. Yet Miss Martindale actually, with a lookincomprehensible to poor Lucy, declared that there was a great deal oftruth in it. 

However, in process of time, Lucy came back reporting that her brotherthought so too, and that he had gathered many useful hints from it; butthat he did not mean to attend to poetry so much, he thought it timeto begin practical life; and she eagerly related his schemes for beinguseful and distinguishing himself. 

It was not easy to help replying and commenting on, or laughing at, plans which showed complete ignorance of English life, and then Theodorafound herself drawn into discussions with Lord St. Erme himself, whotook her suggestions, and built his projects with a reference to her, ashis understood directress and assistant; till she grew quite frightenedat what she had let him take for granted, and treated him with a freshfit of coldness and indifference, soon thawed by his sister. She couldnot make up her mind to the humiliating confession by which alone shecould have dismissed him, and the dominion she should enjoy with himappeared more and more tempting as she learnt to know him better, andviewed him as a means of escape from her present life. If it had notbeen for recollections of Violet, she would have precipitated the step, in order to end her suspense, but that perfect trust that she would notaccept him unless she could do so with a clear conscience always heldher back. 

It was at this juncture that, one day when walking with her father, there was a sudden stop at the sight of another elderly gentleman. 'Ha!Hugh!' 'What, you here, Martindale!' were mutually exclaimed, therewas an ardent shaking of hands, and she found herself introduced to acousin, whom she had not seen since she was a child. 

He and her father had been like brothers in their boyhood, but thelines they had since taken had diverged far and wide. The hard-workingclergyman had found himself out of his element in visits to Martindale, had discontinued them, and almost even his correspondence, so that LordMartindale had heard nothing of his cousin since his wife's death, twoyears ago, till now, when he met him on the promenade at Baden, sentabroad to recruit his worn-out health and eyesight. 

All have either felt or beheld, how two such relations, on the verge ofold age, meet and refresh themselves with looking back, beyond the tractof middle life, to the days shared together in youth! Lord Martindalehad not looked so bright, nor talked and laughed so much for years, as over his boyish reminiscences, and his wanderings up and down thepromenade with his cousin seemed as if nothing could terminate them. 

Clergymen and school-loving young ladies have a natural affinity, and Theodora found a refuge from the Delavals and an opportunity forusefulness. She offered to read to Cousin Hugh, she talked over parishmatters, and after relieving her mind with a conversation on thequestion of how much the march of intellect ought to penetrate intocountry schools, it was wonderful how much more equable and comfortableshe became. The return to the true bent of her nature softened her onevery side; and without the least attempt to show off, she was so freefrom the morose dignity with which she had treated her own family sincegoing abroad, that Mr. Hugh Martindale could hardly believe the accountof her strange ungovernable character, as it was laid before him by herfather, in his wish for counsel. 

He watched her anxiously, but made no attempt to force her confidence, and let her talk to him of books, school discipline, parish stories, and abstruse questions as much as she pleased, always replying in apractical, sobering tone, that told upon her, and soothed her almostlike Violet's mild influence, and to her great delight, she made himquite believe in Violet's goodness, and wish to be acquainted with her. 

But all the time, Lord St. Erme was treated as her acknowledged suitor. Perhaps Mr. Martindale thought it might be better if she were safelymarried; or, at any rate, only knowing her personally as a high-mindedperson of much serious thought, he believed her to be conscientiouslywaiting to overcome all doubts, and honoured her scruples: while itmight be, that the desire for his good opinion bound Theodora the moreto Lord St. Erme, for with all her sincerity, she could not bear theidea of his discovering the part she was playing, at the very time shewas holding such conversations on serious subjects. The true historyof her present conduct was that she could not endure to be known as therejected and forsaken of Mr. Fotheringham, and thus, though outwardlytamer, she was more melancholy at heart, fast falling into a state ofdull resignation; if such a name can be applied to mere endurance of theconsequences of her own pride and self-will. 

Now came Jane Gardner's letter. Theodora read it through, then, withcalm contempt, she tore it up, lighted a taper, and burnt it to ashes. 

'There, Jane!' said she, as it shrivelled, black and crackling, 'thereis all the heed I take. Violet would no more allow me to be supplantedthan Percy could be inconstant. '

Inconstant! Where was her right so to term him? Was he not released, notmerely by the cold 'Very well, ' which seemed to blister her lips in theremembrance, but by her whole subsequent course? That thought came likethe stroke of a knife, and she stood motionless and stunned. Love ofPercival Fotheringham was a part of herself! Certain from her confidencein Violet that Jane's news was untrue, the only effect of hearing it wasto reveal to her like a flash that her whole heart was his. He had lovedher in spite of her faults. Suppose he should do so still! Her spiritsleapt up at this glimpse of forfeited unattainable joy; but she beheld aforlorn hope. At least she would restore herself to a condition in whichshe might meet him without despairing shame. The impulse was given, and eager to obey it, while it still buoyed her above the dislike toself-abasement, she looked round for the speediest measure, caringlittle what it might be. 

Her father was reading his letters in the next room, when, with flushedcheek, and voice striving for firmness, she stood before him, saying, 'It is time to put an end to this. Will you let Lord St. Erme know thatit cannot be!'

'Now, Theodora!' exclaimed the much-astonished Lord Martindale, 'what isthe meaning of this?'

'It cannot be, ' repeated Theodora. 'It must be put a stop to. '

'What has happened! Have you heard anything to change your mind?'

'My mind is not changed, but I cannot have this going on. '

'How is this? You have been encouraging him all this time, letting himcome here--'

'I never asked him to come here, ' said Theodora, temper coming in, asusual. 

'Theodora! Theodora! did I not entreat you to tell me what you wished, when I first heard of this in London? Could I get a reasonable answerfrom you?'

Theodora was silent. 

'Do you know what the world thinks of young ladies who go on in thismanner?'

'Let it think as it may, I cannot accept him, and you must tell him so, papa--'

'No, indeed. I will not be responsible for such usage! It must be yourown doing, ' said Lord Martindale, thoroughly displeased. 'I should beashamed to look him in the face!'

Theodora turned to leave the room. 

'What are you going to do?' asked her father. 

'I am going to write to Lord St. Erme. '

'Come back, Theodora. I must know that you are not going to carryfurther this ill-usage of a most excellent man, more sincerely attachedto you than you deserve. I insist on knowing what you intend to say tohim. '

To insist was not the way to succeed with Theodora. 

'I do not exactly know, ' said she. 

'I wish I knew what to do with you!' sighed Lord Martindale, in anger, grief, and perplexity. 'You seem to think that people's affections aremade to serve for your vanity and sport, and when you have tormentedthem long enough, you cast them off!'

Theodora drew her head up higher, and swelled at the injustice. It wasat that moment that Lord St. Erme entered the room. She went forward tomeet him, and spoke at once. 'I am glad you are here, ' said she, proudlypleased that her father should see her vindication from the charge oftrifling. 'You are come to hear what I had been desiring my father totell you. I have used you very ill, and it is time to put a stop to it. '

Lord St. Erme looked from her to her father in wonder and dismay. 

'First understand, ' said Lord Martindale, 'that this is no doing ofmine; I am heartily grieved, but I will leave you. Perhaps you mayprevail on this wilful girl--'

Theodora began a protest, and desired him to remain; but he would not, and she found herself alone with her bewildered lover. 

'What is this? what have I done?' he began. 

'You have done nothing, ' said she. 'It is all my own fault. The truthwill be a cure for your regrets, and I owe you an explanation. I wasengaged to one whom I had known from childhood, but we disputed--mytemper was headstrong. He rejected me, and I thought I scorned him, andwe parted. You came in my way while I was angry, before I knew that Ican never lose my feelings towards him. I know I have seemed to triflewith you; but false shame hindered me from confessing how matters reallystood. You ought to rejoice in being freed from such as I am. '

'But with time!' exclaimed Lord St. Erme, in broken words. 'May I nothope that time and earnest endeavours--?'

'Hope nothing, ' said Theodora. 'Every one would tell you you have had ahappy escape. '

'And is this all? My inspiration!--you who were awakening me to a senseof the greatness of real life--you who would have led me and aided me toa nobler course--'

'That is open to you, without the evils I should have entailed on you. I could never have returned your feelings, and it would have been miseryfor both. You will see it, when you come to your senses, and rejoice. '

'Rejoice! If you knew how the thought of you is entwined in everyaspiration, and for life!'

'Do not talk so, ' said Theodora. 'It only grieves me to see the pain Ihave given; but it would be worse not to break off at once. '

'Must it be so?' said he, lingering before his fleeting vision. 

'It must. The kindest thing by both of us is to cut this as short aspossible. '

'In that, as in all else, I obey. I know that a vain loiterer, likemyself, had little right to hope for notice from one whose mind was benton the noblest tasks of mankind. You have opened new views to me, andI had dared to hope you would guide me in them; but with you or withoutyou, my life shall be spent in them. '

'That will be some consolation for the way I have treated you, ' saidTheodora. 

His face lighted up. 'My better angel!' he said, 'I will be content totoil as the knights of old, hopelessly, save that if you hear of meno longer as the idle amateur, but as exerting myself for somethingserviceable, you will know it is for your sake. '

'It had better be for something else, ' said Theodora, impatiently. 'Donot think of me, nor delude yourself with imagining you can win me byany probation. '

'I may earn your approval--'

'You will earn every one's, ' she interrupted. 'Put mine out of yourhead. Think of life and duty, and their reward, as they really are, andthey will inspirit you better than any empty dream of me. '

'It is vain to tell me so!' said the Earl, looking at her glancing eyeand earnest countenance. 'You will ever seem to beckon me forwards. '

'Something better will beckon you by and by, if you will only begin. Life is horrid work--only endurable by looking after other people, andso you will find it. Now, let us have done with this. Wish your sistergood-bye for me, and tell her that I beg her to forgive me for the painI have given you. I am glad you have her. She will make you happy--Ihave only tormented those I loved best; so you are better off with her. Good-bye. Shake hands, to show that you forgive me. '

'I will not harass you by pertinacity, ' said poor Lord St. Erme, submissively. 'It has been a happy dream while I was bold enough toindulge in it. Farewell to it, though not, I trust, to its effects. '

Lingering as he held her hand, he let it go; then, returning to thegrasp, bent and kissed it, turned away, as if alarmed at his ownpresumption, and hastened from the room. 

She flung herself into her father's chair to consider of seeing LadyLucy, of writing to Violet, of breaking the tidings to her aunt, ofspeaking to her Cousin Hugh; but no connected reflection could besummoned up--nothing but visions of an Athenian owl, and green cottonumbrella. At length the sound of the opening door made her start up. 

'Have I interrupted you?' asked her cousin. 'I thought I should findyour father here. '

'I do not know where he is, ' said Theodora. 'Can I do anything for you?Oh! I beg your pardon; I had forgotten it was time to read to you. '

'You know I always hoped that you would not make it a burden. '

'If you knew the relief it is to be of any sort of use, ' returned she, hastily setting his chair, and fetching the books. 

Perhaps her attention wandered while she read, for they had hardlyfinished before she looked up and said, 'That always puts me in mind ofArthur's wife. The ornament of a meek and quiet spirit is so entirelyher adorning--her beauty only an accessory. '

'Yes; I wish I knew her, ' said Mr. Martindale. 

'Oh! how I wish she was here!' sighed Theodora. 

'For any special reason?'

'Yes; I want her to soften and help me. She seems to draw and smoothaway the evil, and to keep me from myself. Nothing is so dreary whereshe is. '

'I should not have expected to hear you, at your age, and with yourprospects, talk of dreariness. '

'That is all over, ' said Theodora. 'I have told him that it cannot be. Iam glad, for one reason, that I shall not seem to deceive you any more. Has papa told you what he thinks my history!'

'He has told me of your previous affair. '

'I wonder what is his view?'

'His view is one of deep regret; he thinks your tempers wereincompatible. '

Theodora laughed. 'He has a sort of termagant notion of me. '

'I am afraid you do no justice to your father's affection and anxiety. '

'It is he who does me no justice, ' said Theodora. 

'Indeed, I do not think that can be your sister's teaching, ' said Mr. Martindale. 

'I wish she was here!' said Theodora, again. 'But now you have heard myfather's story, you shall hear mine;' and with tolerable fairness, she related the history of the last few months. The clergyman was muchinterested in the narrative of this high-toned mind, --'like sweet bellsjangled, ' and listened with earnest and sorrowful attention. There wascomfort in the outpouring; and as she spoke, the better spirit so farprevailed, that she increasingly took more blame to herself, and threwless on others. She closed her confession by saying, 'You see, I maywell speak of dreariness. '

'Of dreariness for the present, ' was the answer; 'but of hope. You putme in mind of some vision which I have read of, where safety and peacewere to be attained by bowing to the dust, to creep beneath a gateway, the entrance to the glorious place. You seem to me in the way oflearning that lesson. '

'I have bent to make the avowal I thought I never could have spoken, 'said Theodora. 

'And there is my hope of you. Now for the next step. '

'The next! what is it?'

'Thankfully and meekly to accept the consequences of these sad errors. '

'You mean this lonely, unsatisfactory life?'

'And this displeasure of your father. '

'But, indeed, he misjudges me. '

'Have you ever given him the means of forming a different judgment?'

'He has seen all. If I am distrusted, I cannot descend to justifymyself. '

'I am disappointed in you, Theodora. Where is your humility?'

With these words Mr. Martindale quitted her. He had divined that herfeelings would work more when left to themselves, than when pressed, andso it proved. 

The witness within her spoke more clearly, and dislike and loathing ofher proceedings during the last year grew more strongly upon her. Thesense of her faults had been latent in her mind for months past, but thestruggle of her external life had kept it down, until now it came forthwith an overpowering force of grief and self-condemnation. It wasnot merely her sins against Mr. Fotheringham and Lord St. Erme thatoppressed her, it was the perception of the wilful and rebellious lifeshe had led, while making so high a profession. 

Silently and sadly she wore through the rest of the day, unmolestedby any remark from the rest of the family, but absorbed in her ownthoughts, and the night passed in acute mental distress; with longingsafter Violet to soothe her, and to open to her hopes of the good andright way of peace. 

With morning light came the recollection that, after all, Violet wouldrejoice in what she had just done. Violet would call it a step in theright direction; and she had promised her further help from above andwithin, when once she should have had patience to take the right move, even in darkness. 'She told me, if I put my trust aright, and tried toact in obedience, I should find a guide!'

And, worn out and wearied with the tossings of her mind, Theodoraresolved to have recourse to the kind clergyman who had listened to herconfidence. Perhaps he was the guide who would aid her to conquerthe serpents that had worked her so much misery; and, after so muchself-will, she felt that there would be rest in submitting to direction. 

She sought him out, and joined his early walk. 

'Help me, ' she said; 'I repent, indeed I do. Teach me to begin afresh, and to be what I ought. I would do anything. '

'Anything that is not required of you, Theodora, or anything that is?'

'Whatever you or Violet required of me, ' said she, 'that I would doreadily and gladly, cost me what it might. '

'It is not for me to require anything, ' said Mr. Martindale. 'WhatI advise you is to test the sincerity of your repentance by humblingyourself to ask your father's forgiveness. '

He watched her face anxiously, for his hopes of her almost might be saidto depend upon this. It was one of those efforts which she made withapparent calmness. 'You and Violet ask the same thing, ' she said; 'Iwill. '

'I am glad to hear you say this. I could not think you going on rightwhile you denied him the full explanation of your conduct. '

'Did you mean that I should tell him all?' exclaimed Theodora. 

'It would be a great relief to his mind. Few fathers would have left yousuch complete liberty of action, consented to your engagement, and thenacted so kindly and cautiously in not forcing on you this, for which hehad begun to wish ardently. You have grieved him extremely, and you oweit to him to show that this has not all been caprice. '

I have promised, ' repeated Theodora. 

'Your second effort, ' said Mr. Martindale, encouragingly. They werenearly opposite an hotel, where a carriage was being packed. Theodoraturned, he understood her, and they walked back; but before they couldquit the main road, the travellers rolled past them. Lord St. Ermebowed. Theodora did not look up; but when past asked if any one was withhim. 

'Yes; his sister. '

'I am glad of it, ' said Theodora. 'She is an excellent little thing, thevery reverse of me. '

Without failure of resolution, Theodora returned to breakfast, hermind made up to the effort, which was more considerable than can beappreciated, without remembering her distaste to all that bore thesemblance of authority, and the species of proud reserve that hadprevented her from avowing to her father her sentiments respecting Mr. Fotheringham, even in the first days of their engagement; and shewas honest enough to feel that the manner, as well as the subject ofconversation, must show the sincerity of her change. She would not letherself be affronted into perverseness or sullenness, but would try toimagine Violet looking on; and with this determination she lingered inthe breakfast-room after her mother and cousin had left it. 

'Papa, ' said she, as he was leaving the room, 'will you listen to me?'

'What now, Theodora?' said poor Lord Martindale, expecting some of thosefresh perplexities that made him feel the whole family to blame. 

It was not encouraging, but she had made up her mind. 'I have behavedvery ill about all this, papa; I want you to forgive me. '

He came nearer to her, and studied her face, in dread lest there shouldbe something behind. 'I am always ready to forgive and listen to you, 'he said sadly. 

She perceived that she had, indeed, given him much pain, and wassoftened, and anxious for him to be comforted by seeing that her fault, at least, was not the vanity and heartlessness that he supposed. 

'It was very wrong of me to answer you as I did yesterday, ' she said. 'Iknow it was my own fault that Lord St. Erme was allowed to follow us. '

'And why did you consent!'

'I don't know. Yes, I do, though; but that makes it worse. It wasbecause my perverse temper was vexed at your warning me, ' said Theodora, looking down, much ashamed. 

'Then you never meant to accept him!' exclaimed her father. 

'No, not exactly that; I thought I might, ' said she, slowly, and withdifficulty. 

'Then what has produced this alteration?'

'I will tell you, ' said she, recalling her resolution. 'I did not knowhow much I cared for Percy Fotheringham. Yesterday there came a foolishreport about his forming another attachment. I know it was not true;but the misery it gave me showed me that it would be sin and madness toengage myself to another. '

Lord Martindale breathed more freely. 'Forgive me for putting thequestion, it is a strange one to ask now: were you really attached toPercy Fotheringham?'

'With my whole heart, ' answered Theodora, deliberately. 

'Then why, or how--'

'Because my pride and stubbornness were beyond what any man could bear, 'she answered. 'He did quite right: it would not have been manly tosubmit to my conduct. I did not know how bad it was till afterwards, norhow impossible it is that my feelings towards him should cease. '

'And this is the true history of your treatment of Lord St. Erme!'

'Yes. He came at an unlucky moment of anger, when Violet was ill, andcould not breathe her saving influence over me, and I fancied--It wasvery wrong, and I was ashamed to confess what I have told you now. '

'Have you given him this explanation?'

'I have. '

'Well, I am better satisfied. He is a most generous person, and told mehe had no reason to complain of you. '

'Yes, he has a noble character. I am very sorry for the manner in whichI have treated him, but there was nothing to be done but to put an endto it. I wish I had never begun it. '

'I wish so too!' said Lord Martindale. 'He is grievously disappointed, and bears it with such generous admiration of you and such humility onhis own part, that it went to my heart to talk to him, especially whilefeeling myself a party to using him so ill. '

'He is much too good for me, ' said Theodora, 'but I could not accept himwhile I contrasted him with what I have thrown away. I can only repentof having behaved so badly. '

'Well! after all, I am glad to hear you speak in this manner, ' said herfather. 

'I know I have been much to blame, ' said Theodora, still with her headbent down and half turned away. 'Ever since I was a child, I have beenundutiful and rebellious. Being with Violet has gradually brought me toa sense of it. I do wish to make a fresh beginning, and to ask you toforgive and bear with me. '

'My dear child!' And Lord Martindale stepped to her side, took her hand, and kissed her. 

No more was needed to bring the drops that had long been swelling inher eyes; she laid her head on his shoulder, and felt how much she hadhitherto lost by the perverseness that had made her choose to believeher father cold and unjust. 

There was another trial for the day. The departure of Lord St. Erme andhis sister revealed the state of affairs to the rest of the world; Mrs. Delaval came to make Lady Martindale a parting visit, and to lament overtheir disappointment, telling how well Lord St. Erme bore it, and howshe had unwillingly consented to his taking his sister with him tocomfort him at that dull old place, Wrangerton. 

Lady Martindale, as usual, took it very quietly. She never put herselfinto collision with her daughter, and did not seem to care about herfreaks otherwise than as they affected her aunt. Mrs. Nesbit, who hadthought herself on the point of the accomplishment of her favouritedesigns, was beyond measure vexed and incensed. She would not besatisfied without seeing Theodora, reproaching her, and insisting onhearing the grounds of her unreasonable conduct. 

Theodora was silent. 

Was it as her mother reported, but as Mrs. Nesbit would not believe, that she had so little spirit as to be still pining after thatdomineering, presuming man, who had thrown her off after she hadcondescended to accept him?

'I glory in saying it is for his sake, ' replied Theodora. 

Mrs. Nesbit wearied herself with invectives against the Fotheringhamsas the bane of the family, and assured Theodora that it was time to layaside folly; her rank and beauty would not avail, and she would never bemarried. 

'I do not mean to marry, ' said Theodora. 

'Then remember this. You may think it very well to be Miss Martindale, with everything you can desire; but how shall you like it when yourfather dies, and you have to turn out and live on your own paltry fivethousand pounds! for not a farthing of mine shall come to you unless Isee you married as I desire. '

'I can do without it, thank you, ' said Theodora. 

Mrs. Nesbit burst into a passion of tears at the ingratitude of hernephews and nieces. Weeping was so unusual with her that Lady Martindalewas much terrified, sent Theodora away and did her utmost to soothe andcaress her; but her strength and spirits were broken, and that night shehad another stroke. She was not in actual danger, but was a long timein recovering even sufficiently to be moved to England; and duringthis period Theodora had little occupation, except companionship to herfather, and the attempt to reduce her temper and tame her self-will. Mr. Hugh Martindale went to take possession of the living of Brogden, andshe remained a prisoner at Baden, striving to view the weariness andenforced uselessness of her life, as he had taught her, in the light ofsalutary chastisement and discipline. 

PART III

 Heartsease In thy heart shall spring If content abiding, Where, beneath that leafless tree, Life's still stream is gliding. But, transplanted thence, it fades, For it bloometh only Neath the shadow of the Cross, In a valley lonely. 

 --J. E. L. 

CHAPTER 1

 Love, hope, and patience, these must be thy graces, And in thine own heart let them first keep school. 

 --COLERIDGE

The avenue of Martindale budded with tender green, and in it walkedTheodora, watching for the arrival of the sister-in-law, scarcely seenfor nearly four years. 

Theodora's dress was of the same rigid simplicity as of old, her figureas upright, her countenance as noble, but a change had passed over her;her bearing was less haughty; her step, still vigorous and firm, hadlost its wilfulness, the proud expression of lip had altered to one ofthought and sadness, and her eyes had become softer and more melancholy. She leaned against the tree where the curate had brought her the firsttidings of Arthur's marriage, and she sighed, but not as erst withjealousy and repining. 

There was, indeed, an alteration--its beginning may not be traced, forthe seed had been sown almost at her birth, and though little fostered, had never ceased to spring. The first visible shoot had been drawn forthby Helen Fotheringham; but the growth, though rapid, had been one-sided;the branches, like those of a tree in a sea-wind, all one way, blownaside by gusts of passion and self-will. In its next stage, the attemptto lop and force them back had rendered them more crooked and knotty, till the enterprise had been abandoned as vain. But there was a softhand that had caressed the rugged boughs, softened them with the dews ofgratitude and affection, fanned them with gales from heaven, and gentlyturned them to seek training and culture, till the most gnarled andhardened had learnt patiently to endure the straightening hand andpruning knife. 

Under such tranquil uneventful discipline, Theodora had spent the lastfour years, working with all her might at her labours in the parish, under Mr. Hugh Martindale, and what was a far more real effort, patiently submitting when family duties thwarted her best intentions. Parish work was her solace, in a somewhat weary life, isolated fromintimate companionship. 

She had, indeed, Mr. Hugh Martindale for a guide and adviser, and to herfather she was a valuable assistant and companion; but her mother wasmore than ever engrossed by the care of Mrs. Nesbit; her eldest brotherwas still in the West Indies and Arthur only seen in fleeting visits, soshort that it had never been convenient for his family to accompany him, nor had Theodora even been spared to attend Violet, when a little girl, now nearly two years old, had been added to her nursery. 

Letters ill supplied the lack of personal intercourse: Theodora didnot write with ease, and Violet could not pour herself out withoutreciprocity; so that though there was a correspondence, it languished, and their intimacy seemed to be standing still. Another great and heavycare to Theodora was a mistrust of Arthur's proceedings. She heard ofhim on the turf, she knew that he kept racers; neither his looks nortalk were satisfactory; there were various tokens of extravagance;and Lord Martindale never went to London without bringing back someuncomfortable report. 

Very anxious and sad at heart, she hoped to be better satisfied byjudging for herself; and after long wearying for a meeting, her wisheswere at length in the way of fulfilment--Arthur's long leave was to bespent at home. 

The carriage turned in at the lodge gates. She looked up--howdifferently from the would-be careless air with which she had oncewatched! But there was disappointment--she saw no brother! In a momentViolet had descended from the carriage, and warmly returned her embrace;and she was kissing the little shy faces that looked up to her, as allgot out to walk up the avenue. 

'But where is Arthur?'

'He is soon coming, ' said the soft sweet voice. 'He would not let uswait for him. '

'What! Has he not got his leave?'

'Yes; but he is going to stay with some of his friends. Mr. Herries cameyesterday and insisted. '

Theodora thought there was a mournful intonation, and looked anxiouslyat her face. The form and expression were lovely as ever; but the brightcolouring had entirely faded, the cheeks were thin, and the pensivegentleness almost mournful. A careworn look was round the eyes andmouth, even while she smiled, as Theodora gave a second and moreparticular greeting to the children. 

Johnnie was so little changed that she exclaimed at finding the samebaby face. His little delicate features and pure fair skin were as whiteas ever; for not a spring had gone by without his falling under thegrasp of his old enemy the croup; and his small slight frame was themore slender from his recent encounter with it. But he was now avery pretty boy, his curls of silken flax fringing his face under hisbroad-leafed black hat, and contrasting with his soft dark eyes, theirgentle and intelligent expression showing, indeed, what a friend andcompanion he was to his mother; and it was with a shy smile, exactlylike hers, that he received his aunt's notice. 

'And Helen, my godchild, I have not looked at her! Where are you?'

But the tread of country turf seemed to have put wildness into littleHelen. She had darted off, and hidden behind a tree, peeping out withsaucy laughter flashing in her glorious black eyes, and dimpling in theplump roseate cheeks round which floated thick glossy curls of rich darkchestnut. Theodora flew to catch her; but she scampered round anothertree, shouting with fun, till she was seized and pressed fast in heraunt's arms and called a mischievous puss, while Theodora exulted in thesplendour of her childish beauty, exuberant with health and spirits. Themoment she was released, with another outcry of glee, she dashed offto renew the frolic, with the ecstasy of a young fawn, while the roundfat-faced Annie tumbled after her like a little ball, and their auntentered into the spirit of the romp, and pursued them with blithenessfor the moment like their own. Johnnie, recovering his mamma's hand, walked soberly beside her, and when invited to join in the sport, lookedas if he implored to be excused. Violet, rather anxiously, called themto order as they came near the house, consigned Annie to Sarah, andherself took Helen's hand, observing, gravely, that they must be verygood. 

'One thing, ' she half-whispered; 'I once had a hint from Miss Piper thatMrs. Nesbit did not like Lady Martindale to be called grandmamma. Whatdo you think?'

'What nonsense! Mamma ought to be proud of her grandchildren, and myaunt will probably never see them or hear them at all. She never comesout of the room. '

'Indeed! Is she so much more infirm?'

'Yes, very much aged. Her mind has never been quite itself since thelast stroke, though I can hardly tell the difference, but I think it hassoftened her. '

'I suppose Lady Martindale is very much with her!'

'Almost always. She seems to cling to our presence, and I am never quitesecure that Mrs. Garth does not domineer over her in our absence, butwith all my watching I cannot discover. My aunt says nothing againsther, but I sometimes fancy she is afraid of her. '

'Poor Mrs. Nesbit. She must be altered indeed!'

'She is altered, but I never am clear how far it is any real change, or only weakness. One comfort is, that she seems rather to like CousinHugh's coming to read to her twice a week. How he will delight in thesecreatures of yours. '

'Ah! we know him, ' said Violet. 'You know he comes to us if he is inLondon. How pleasant it must be for you. '

'Ah, very unlike the days when poor Mr. Wingfield used to come to askme how to manage the parish, ' said Theodora, between a laugh and a sigh. 'When did you hear from John?'

'His godson had a letter from him on his birthday. '

'O, Johnnie! that was an honour! Could you write and answer him?'

'Mamma helped me, ' whispered the boy, while eyes and mouth lengthenedinto a bright blushing smile. 

'Steady, Helen, my child! Quiet!' exclaimed Violet, as the little girl'sdelight grew beyond bounds at the sight of the peacock sunning himselfon the sphinx's head, and Johnnie was charmed with the flowers in theparterre; and with 'look but not touch' cautions, the two were trustedto walk together hand-in-hand through the gravelled paths. 

'The spirits will break out in little skips!' said Theodora, watchingHelen. 'She preserves her right to be called a splendid specimen! What apair they are!'

'Poor Helen! I shall be in dread of an outbreak all the time we arehere, ' said Violet; 'but she means to be good, and every one cannot belike Johnnie. '

'Ah! Johnnie one speaks of with respect. '

'I don't know what I should do but for him, ' said Violet, with her sadsmile; 'he is so entirely my companion, and I suppose he seems moreforward in mind from being so much in the drawing-room. '

'Well! he is come to a time of life to merit his papa's notice. '

'More than the rest, ' said Violet; 'but unluckily he is a little bit ofa coward, and is afraid when papa plays with him. We make resolutions, but I really believe it is a matter of nerves, and that poor Johnniecannot help it. '

'What! Arthur is rough and teasing?'

'He does not understand this sort of timidity; he is afraid of Johnnie'snot being manly; but I believe that would come if his health would butbe stronger. It is very unlucky, ' said Violet, 'for it vexes papa, and Ithink it hurts Johnnie, though I am always forced to blame him for beingso silly. One comfort is, that it does not in the least interfere withJohnnie's affection--he admires him almost as he used when he was ababy. '

They were at the foot of the steps, where Charles Layton, now a briskpage, was helping to unpack the carriage, more intelligently than many ayouth with the full aid of his senses. 

Lord Martindale met them with his grave kind welcome, which awed evenHelen into quiet and decorum, though perhaps, from the corners of hereyes, she was spying the Scagliola columns as places for hide-and-seek. She opened them to their roundest extent as her grandmamma camedown-stairs, and she tried to take shelter behind her brother from theceremonious kiss, while Johnnie tightly squeezed his aunt's hand, andLady Martindale was quite as much afraid of them as they could be ofher. 

So began the visit--a very different one from any Violet had hithertopaid at Martindale. Theodora's room was now her chief resort in themorning, and there Johnnie went through his lessons with almost tooprecocious ease and delight, and Helen was daily conquered over Mrs. Barbauld. There they were sure to be welcome, though they were seldomseen downstairs. Johnnie used to appear in the space before dinner, verydemure and well-behaved, and there seemed to be a fellow-feeling arisingbetween him and his grandfather, who would take possession of him ifhe met him out-of-doors, and conduct him to any sight suited to hiscapacity; but who was so much distressed at his forwardness in intellectand his backwardness in strength, that Violet hardly dared to hold aconversation about him for fear of a remonstrance on letting him touch abook. 

One day Mrs. Nesbit suddenly said to Theodora, 'Arthur's wife andchildren are here, are not they?'

'Yes; Violet would have come to see you, but we doubted if you wereequal to it. '

'I have nothing to say to Mr. Moss's daughter, but bring that eldest boyhere, I want to see him. '

Theodora stepped out into the gallery, where Johnnie was often to befound curled up in the end window, poring over and singing to himselfthe "White Doe of Rylstone", which he had found among his uncle's books. 

She led him in, exhorting him not to be shy, and to speak out boldly inanswer to Aunt Nesbit; but perhaps this only frightened him more. Veryquiet and silent, he stood under his aunt's wing with eyes cast down, answering with a trembling effort the questions asked in that sharpsearching tone. 

'His mother all over!' she said, motioning him away; but, the next day, she sent for him again. Poor Johnnie did not like it at all; he couldhardly help shuddering at her touch, and at night begged his mamma notto send him to Aunt Nesbit; for he could not bear it without her. Shehad to represent that Aunt Nesbit was old and ill, and that it wouldbe unkind not to go to her: but then came the difficult question, 'Whydon't you go, mamma?' However, when his compassionate feelings werearoused, he bore it better; and though he never got beyond standingsilently by her chair for ten minutes, replying when spoken to, andonce or twice reading a few sentences, or repeating some verses, whenTheodora thought it would please her, it was evident that his visit hadbecome the chief event of her day. One day she gave him a sovereign, and asked what he would do with it. He blushed and hesitated, and shesuggested, 'Keep it, that will be the wisest. '

'No, ' came with an effort, and an imploring glance at Aunt Theodora. 

'Well, then, what? Speak out like a man!' Still reluctant, but it wasbrought out at last: 'Cousin Hugh told us about the poor sick Irishchildren that have no potatoes. May I give it to him to send them?'

'Never mind the Irish children. This is for yourself. '

'Myself?' Johnnie looked up, bewildered, but with a sudden thought, 'Oh! I know, Aunt Theodora, won't it buy that pretty work-basket togive mamma on her birthday? She said she could not afford it. And Helenwanted the great donkey in the shop-window. Oh! I can get Helen thegreat donkey; thank you, Aunt Nesbit!'

The next day Aunt Nesbit received Johnnie by giving him five sovereignsto take to Cousin Hugh for the Irish, desiring him to say it was his owngift; and while Johnnie scrupulously explained that he should say thatshe gave it to him to give, she began to instruct him that he would be arich man by and by, and must make a handsome and yet careful use ofhis money. 'Shall I?' said Johnnie, looking up, puzzled, at his youngeraunt. 

'Yes, that you will, ' replied Mrs. Nesbit. 'What shall you do then?'

'Oh! then I shall buy mamma and my sisters everything they want, andmamma shall go out in the carriage every day. 

'She can do that now, ' said Theodora, who had expected less commonplacevisions from her nephew. 

'No, ' said Johnnie, 'we have not got the carriage now. I mean, we haveno horses that will draw it. '

It was another of those revelations that made Theodora uneasy; one ofthose indications that Arthur allowed his wife to pinch herself, whilehe pursued a course of self-indulgence. She never went out in theevening, it appeared, and he was hardly ever at home; her dress, thoughgraceful and suitable, had lost that air of research and choiceness thatit had when everything was his gift, or worn to please his eye; and asday after day passed on without bringing him, Theodora perceived thatthe delay was no such extraordinary event as to alarm her; she wasevidently grieved, but it was nothing new. It was too plain that Arthurgave her little of his company, and his children none of his attention, and that her calmness was the serenity of patience, not of happiness. 

This was all by chance betrayed; she spoke not of herself, and thenightly talks between the two sisters were chiefly of the children. Nottill more than a week had passed to renew their intimacy, did Theodoraadvert to any subject connected with the events of her memorable stay inLondon, and then she began by asking, 'What did I overhear you tellingpapa about Lord St. Erme?'

'I was speaking of his doings at Wrangerton. '

'Tell me. '

'Oh! they are admirable. You know he went there with that good littleLady Lucy, and they set to work at once, doing everything for theparish--'

'Do your sisters know Lady Lucy?'

'Very little; it is only formal visiting now and then. She leads a veryretired life, and they know her best from meeting her at the schools andcottages. '

'Good little girl! I knew there was something in her!'

'She is always with her brother, walking and riding and writing for him, carrying out all his views. '

'I saw how he came forward about those poor colliery children. Such aspeech, as that, was turning his talents to good account, and I am gladto hear it is not all speechifying. '

'No, indeed, it is real self-denial. The first thing he did was to takehis affairs into his own hands, so that my father has comparativelynothing to do with them. He found them in a bad state, which papa couldnot help, with him living abroad, and attending to nothing, only sendingfor money, whatever papa could say. So there was a great outlay wantedfor church and schools for the collieries at Coalworth, and nothing tomeet it, and that was the way he came to sell off all the statues andpictures. '

'Did he? Well done, Lord St. Erme!' cried Theodora. 'That was somethinglike a sacrifice. '

'O yes! My sisters say they could have cried to see the cases go bythe windows, and I cannot help grieving to think of those rooms beingdismantled. I am glad they have kept the little Ghirlandajo, that is theonly one remaining. '

'I honour them, ' said Theodora. 

'And it was for the sake of such a set, ' proceeded Violet; 'there is abad Chartist spirit among those colliers, and they oppose him in everyway; but he says it is his own fault for having neglected them so long, and goes on doing everything for them, though they are as surly andsullen as possible. 

Theodora looked thoughtful. 'Poor Lord St. Erme! Yes, he has founda crusade! I wish--! Well, I ought to be thankful that good has beenbrought out of evil. I deserved no such thing. Violet, I wish he wouldmarry one of your sisters!'

'O no, don't wish that. I am glad there is no chance of it. Rankshad better not be confounded, ' said Violet, with a sad seriousness ofmanner. 

'You have just had a wedding in the family. A satisfactory one, I hope?'

'Yes, I think so. Mamma and Annette like Mr. Hunt very much. They saythere is such a straightforward goodness about him, that they are suredear Olivia will be happy. '

'Was there any difficulty about it!'

'Why--Matilda and Albert seemed to think we should not think it grandenough, ' said Violet, half-smiling. 'He is a sort of great farmer on hisown estate, a most beautiful place. He is quite a gentleman in manners, and very well off, so that my father made no difficulty, and I am veryglad of it. Olivia is the very person to enjoy that free country life. 'Violet sighed as if town life was oppressive. 

'To be sure! If one could be a farmer's daughter without the pretensionand vulgarity, what a life it would be! That was my favourite notionwhen I used to make schemes with poor Georgina Gardner. Do you ever hearwhat she is doing, Violet? They have quite left off writing to me. '

'Last time I heard of them they were in Italy. '

'Going on in the old way, I fear. Poor Georgina! she was sadly thrownaway. But, at least, that Mark is not with them. '

'O no, ' said Violet, sighing more deeply this time; 'he is always aboutin London. '

'Ah! you see more of him than you wish, I fear?'

'I see very little of him. Arthur would not ask him to our house atChichester for the Goodwood races, and it was such an escape!'

'I am glad at least Arthur does not trouble you with him. '

Violet sat with her forehead resting on her hand, and there was a shortspace of thoughtful silence. It resulted in Theodora's saying, in a sad, low, humble tone, her eyes looking straight into the red fire, 'Do youever hear of Mr. Fotheringham?'

'I believe he is still at Paris, ' said Violet. 'I only hear of himthrough John, who said he had been thinking of going to Italy. When hecame through London, after Lady Fotheringham's death, he left his card, but we were at Chichester. Have you seen that last article of his?'

'What, that on modern novels? I was almost sure it was his, and yet Idoubted. It was like and yet not like him. '

'It was his, ' said Violet. 'He always has his things sent to me. I amglad you observed the difference. I thought it so much kinder and lesssatirical than his writings used to be. '

'It was so, ' exclaimed Theodora. 'There were places where I said tomyself, "This cannot be his; I know what he would have said, " and yet itwas too forcible and sensible to have been written by any one else. '

'The strength is there, but not the sort of triumph in sarcasm thatsometimes made one sorry, ' said Violet; 'and were you not struck by hischoice of extracts! I have fancied a different strain in his writings oflate. '

Theodora squeezed Violet's hand. 'I feared I had hardened him, ' shesaid. 'Thank you, good night. '

CHAPTER 2

 St. Osyth's well is turned aside. 

 --CRABBE

On the first convenient day, Lord Martindale sent Violet to call atRickworth Priory, a visit which she was the more desirous of making, as Emma's correspondence, after languishing for awhile, had ceased, excepting that she sent a fresh allegory of Miss Marstone's to Johnnieon each birthday; and the Brandons having given up coming to London forthe season, she scarcely knew anything about them, excepting throughTheodora, who reported that they retired more and more from society, andthat Miss Marstone was much with them. 

Theodora would have accompanied Violet, but she was sure that herabsence would be a boon to Emma, whom she had of late tried in vain todraw out; and, besides, one of the housemaids was ill, and Theodora, whom her Cousin Hugh called the mother of the maids, wished not to beaway at the doctor's visit. So little Johnnie was his mother's onlycompanion; but she was disappointed in her hopes of introducing him tohis godmother. To her surprise Lady Elizabeth was alone, Emma was atGothlands with her friend Miss Marstone. 

'They were very kind in asking me, ' said Lady Elizabeth, 'and so wasEmma about leaving me; but I do not wish to be a drag upon her. '

'Oh! how can you say so?' exclaimed Violet. 

'It did not suit, ' said Lady Elizabeth. 'The uncle, old Mr. Randal, isan old-fashioned, sporting squire, and the other Miss Marstones are gayladies. I felt myself out of my element when I was there before; but nowI almost wish I was with her. '

'You must miss her very much, indeed. '

'It is what we must all come to, my dear, ' said Lady Elizabeth, lookingat the young mother, with her boy leaning against her knee, deep in abook of illustrations. 'You have a good many years to look forward towith your little flock; but, one way or other, they will go forth fromus. '

Lady Elizabeth thought Johnnie too much absorbed to hear; but Violetfound his hand lightly squeezing hers. 

'I thought you at least had kept your daughter, ' she said. 

'Emma will be five-and-twenty in the autumn. '

'But, oh! Lady Elizabeth, I thought--'

'I cannot tell, my dear. I hope Emma's arrangements may be such that wemay go on together as before. '

'How do you mean?' exclaimed Violet, confounded. 

'Her judgment is sound, ' continued Lady Elizabeth, 'if she will only useit; and when it comes to the point, Miss Marstone's may be the same. '

'Is she gone to Gothlands to settle her plans?'

'Yes; I could not well have gone with her, for we have four littleorphan girls in the house, whom I could not well leave to the servants. That is quite as I wish, if the rest could be added without TheresaMarstone making this her home, and introducing all the plans they talkof. '

'She could not introduce anything to make you uncomfortable!'

'It is not so much comfort that I mean, my dear. I do not think that Ishould object to giving up some of the servants, though in my time itwas thought right to keep up an establishment. Perhaps a family of womenare not called upon to do things in the same style, and there is nodoubt that our means may be better employed. We have too many luxuries, and I would not wish to keep them. No, if it was entirely Emma's doing. I should be satisfied; but there is more influence from Miss Marstonethan I quite like. I cannot fully rely on her judgment, and I think shelikes to manage. '

'She could never presume to manage in your house!'

'Emma's house, my dear. '

'But that is the same. '

Lady Elizabeth sighed, and made a movement with her head, then said, 'All that they think right and conscientious they will do, I am sure, but the worst of it is that Theresa has friends who are not of ourCommunion, and she does speak strongly of things that do not accordwith her notions. I cannot go along with her, and I must confess shesometimes alarms me. 

'And does Emma think with her entirely?'

'I fear--I mean I think she does; and, by the bye, my dear, do you knowanything of a Mr. Gardner?'

'I do know a Mr. Mark Gardner. '

'That is his name. He is staying in the neighbourhood of Gothlands, and seems very deep in their counsels. I am afraid he is leading themfarther than Theresa Marstone herself would have gone. '

'Oh, then, he cannot be the same person. I meant a very differentstyle of man, a cousin to those Miss Gardners who used to be friends ofTheodora. '

'Ah! I meant to ask you about Miss Gardner and Percival Fotheringham. What! you have not heard?'

'No, nothing. What do you mean?'

'Married. '

'Married! No, never!'

'I thought you would have known, all about it, and I was anxious to hearwhat kind of connection it was for Percival. '

'Do tell me, how did you hear of it? When was it?'

'Not long ago, in Italy. I heard of it the other day from my nephew, Edward Howard, who is just returned, and he told me that Mrs. Finch wasleading a dashing life at Florence, and that her sister had just marriedMr. Fotheringham, "the author. "'

'O, I do not know how to think it possible! Yet it is such an uncommonname. '

'Do you know whether his name is Antony?'

'Yes, it is his first name. I remember Arthur's laughing at him forbeing ashamed of it, as he said. '

'That confirms it. I asked Edward if the Christian name was Percival, and he said it was Antony, and some such name, but he could not besure. '

'Ah! there would be a confusion owing to his being always called Percy. '

'He said, too, that it was a good match for Miss Gardner, as he was heirto an estate in Yorkshire. '

'Worthbourne! Then I am afraid it must be too true. The author, too!'

'So Edward was told. '

'I must write and ask John Martindale. He will be sure to know the wholehistory. '

The rest of the visit and the homeward drive were like a dream. Violetwas lost in amazement, compassion, and disappointment, and in the debatehow Theodora should be informed. Should she wait till there were furtherparticulars to confirm it! But when she thought it over, there seemed nomore wanting. She knew that Percy had been thinking of visiting Italy ayear ago, and the name, the authorship, and connection with Worthbourneswept away all doubt. As to making inquiries, she did not know Arthur'spresent address; and even if she had had it, she would have shrunk fromsaying anything that should lead to one additional conversation withMark Gardner; besides which, Arthur had a fashion of never answering anyquestion asked by letter. 

Nor could Violet venture to delay. It was better that such tidingsshould come from sympathizing lips than through the gossip of theneighbourhood; and Theodora ought to be aware of them as soon aspossible, that she might no longer cherish the shade of her affection. Alas! that he should have done this at the very moment when she hadtruly become worthy of him, or, at least, of what he had once been!

At night, when Theodora came to linger over her fire, the intelligencewas reluctantly and hesitatingly spoken; Violet's eyes were bent down, for she knew how little that spirit could brook that its sufferingshould be marked. 

Theodora stood up before her, at her full height, with flashing eye andindignant voice: 'Do you think I believe it? No, indeed! I may have losthim for ever, but he would never lose himself. I scorn this as I didJane Gardner's own story that you were going to marry him to yoursister. I knew you both too well. '

Violet put her arm round Theodora. 'Dearest, I am the more afraid thatwe must believe this, because he was not always constant. He did thinkof Annette. '

'Think of her! What do you mean! Did he make her an offer!'

'Yes. I would never have told you if I did not think it might help youin this. '

'I don't want help, ' said Theodora, raising her head and turning fromViolet. 'Let him do as he likes. '

But, ere she had made two steps towards the door, her breast heaved witha convulsive sob. She threw herself on the ground, and rested herface on Violet's lap. The sobs came at long intervals, with a tight, oppressed sound. Much alarmed, Violet caressed her, and tried to sootheher with gentle words, and at last they unlocked her lips. 

'It is not myself! Oh, no! I knew I had forfeited him long ago. I hadproved myself unworthy. I had no right to hope. But that he should havechanged--let his clear sense be blinded by her art! He, to whom I couldhave looked up all my life!--who was so noble in rejecting me!'

The large drops had gathered and flowed, seeming to scald their coursedown her cheeks. 'O Violet! I wish your sister had married him! Thenhe would have been happy--he would not have degraded himself. Oh! whatchange can have come over him?'

'You know Lady Fotheringham was fond of Jane Gardner, and he might havetaken her upon her word. '

'As if Percy would see with any old woman's eyes, when once he came incontact with her! No, I see but one explanation. It must have been I wholowered his estimate of woman. Well I might do so, when I treated likea toy the happiness he had confided to me. I, on whom he had fixed hisardent soul for so many years past. No wonder he learnt to hold allwomen cheap alike! O, that summer of madness! If I have dimmed thebrightness of that noble nature!'

'Dear, dear Theodora, what can I say to comfort you? She may be altered;he may have improved her. '

'She is not capable of it, ' said Theodora; 'there is nothing in her buttime-serving and selfishness. And he, with that large true heart, sodetesting falsehood--he must either be wretched or deceived--debased!No, there is no comfort--there never will be. '

'Except the best sort, ' tenderly whispered Violet. Theodora rested herhead on her hands, and remained perfectly still for some moments, thenlooked up, and spoke in a depressed voice. 

'I cannot talk any more. I feel shattered from head to foot. I must bequiet. '

'Then, dearest, pray go to bed at once, and I will come and see you. '

'I cannot. I undertook to give Maria her draught at one o'clock. May Istay here while you go to bed?'

'Anything, dearest, dearest sister. '

'Only let me be in the room with you, and be quiet. '

She would not, as Violet entreated, lie down on the bed beside her, but remained seated on the floor, her eyes riveted on the fire, neverlooking round, her face stupefied, her hands hanging motionless, likeone stunned; and when Violet's anxious gaze was closed by irresistiblesleep, that dark head was still motionless before the fire. 

Her mind was indeed a blank, sensible of nothing but the effect of theshock. The phrase now and then occurred, 'Percy is married to Jane;'but her perceptions were so sluggish that she scarcely knew that itconcerned her. She seemed to have forgotten who Percy was, and to shrinkfrom recalling the remembrance. There was a repose in this state ofstupor which she was reluctant to break; and after the great clock, somelancholy in the silence, had tolled half-past twelve, her sensationswere absorbed in the dread of hearing One! the summons to exertion. 

The single note pealed out, and died quivering slowly away; she rose, lighted her candle, and quitted the room, feeling as if the maid'sillness and the doctor's directions belonged to some period removed byages. 

CHAPTER 3

 This house of splendour and of princely glory Doth now stand desolated, the affrighted servants Rush forth through all its doors. I am the last Therein. 

 --Wallenstein

Theodora was no sooner in the gallery than she was recalled to thepresent. There was a strange gleam of light reflected on the avenue. Roused at once to action, she hurried towards the window. The fire waswithin the house. She pushed open the door leading to Mrs. Nesbit'sapartments. Light was flashing at every chink of the bed-room door. Shethrew it back. Out rolled a volume of smoke, the glare of flame burst onher, the curtains were blazing! 'Aunt! Aunt Nesbit, are you there?she cried, in tones low with horror and choked with smoke; she plungedbetween the burning curtains, felt that she had a hold of something, dragged it out, found it move and gasp, bore it from the room, and, depositing it on a couch in the gallery, only then could perceive thatit was indeed Mrs Nesbit, uninjured, though half-suffocated. 

Mrs. Garth, who slept in the adjoining room, with the door open, hadbeen waked by her call, and came running out. An old soldier, she hadfull self-possession, and was at once effective, and it was well, forshe exclaimed, 'Miss Martindale, you are on fire, ' just as the light andthe scorching were revealing the same to herself. There was no time forpersonal terror, barely for pain, the fire was crushed out between themby the help of a woollen table-cover, they scarcely knew how, they onlysaw that the draught had increased the blaze in the room, and denseclouds of smoke came bursting out upon them. 

Mrs. Nesbit clung terrified to her niece, but Theodora, with a word ortwo of encouragement, freed herself from her grasp, and leaving herto Mrs. Garth's care, flew up the nursery stairs. She must have thechildren in their mother's sight before the alarm should reach her. Sarah's first waking impulse was to growl, that Master Johnnie wouldcatch his death of cold, but the next moment she was equal to anyemergency; and the little ones were at their mother's door just asshe was opening it, thinking the noise more than Maria's illness couldoccasion, and setting forth to see whether there was anything amiss inthe nursery. Theodora put Annie into her arms. 'All safe. It is only thenorth wing. Don't be frightened. Stay where you are. '

Violet could only obey, thankful at having her three around her, and trying to keep her terror from being visible enough to increaseJohnnie's exceeding alarm, or to frighten Helen out of her happy stateof inquisitive excitement and curiosity. 

Theodora had hurried to call her parents. They were already in motion. Lord Martindale's first care was for Violet and the children, LadyMartindale's for her aunt, and almost instantly she was embracing andsupporting the pale shrunken figure, now feebly tottering along thegallery, forsaken by Mrs. Garth, who had gone back to secure her ownvaluables. 

By this time, the gallery was full of screaming maids, whom Sarah had, with difficulty, prevented from leaping at once from attic windows; andstaring men, hallooing for water, which no one brought, except littleHelen, who, escaping from her mother's room, ran barefooted into themidst, holding aloft the water-bottle triumphantly, and very indignantat being captured, and carried back in the butler's arms. 

The fire was spreading so fast that Lord Martindale decided on removingall the helpless to the gardener's house at the end of the pleasureground. He came himself to call Violet, told her not to be alarmed, and, taking his grandson in his arms, led the way. Mrs. Nesbit was carried ona mattress between two of the servants, Lady Martindale walking besideher, absorbed in trying to guard her from injury or alarm; Annie, asleepand unconscious, was in her mother's arms, and Theodora carriedthe amused and chattering Helen. At the foot of the stairs, Violetexclaimed, 'My cross, I must not leave it!' and would have turned, butTheodora prevented her. 'I know where it is, ' she said, 'I am going tosee how they are moving Maria;' and putting Helen into the nearest pairof arms, she ran back. 

Harrison's successor, Mr. Armstrong and his wife were on foot, and readyto receive them. Their spare bed was for Mrs. Nesbit, in their own thethree children were placed. In all his haste, Lord Martindale pausedtill he could lay his little shivering ice-cold charge in the bed, andsee him hide his head in his mother's bosom. 'Good boy!' he said, 'Itold him not to cry for you, and he has not made a sound, though I havefelt him trembling the whole way. Take care of him. '

Little did she need the recommendation, though it sent a thrill ofgladness through her that it should have been made at such a time. Shehad great apprehension of the effect of the shock on the child's tenderframe and timid nature, his obedience and self-command seeming almostto enhance the excess of terror. The shuddering horror and convulsiveclinging were beyond control, and were renewed whenever a fresh glarebroke out from the burning house; to turn him away from the window, or to put up blinds and curtains made it worse, for the shadows of thetrees, flickering mysteriously, seemed still more terrific. His sisterscreamed with excitement and delight at each brighter burst of flame, till she suddenly laid down her head and fell fast asleep; but still hisnervous trembling continued at intervals, and his mother could not leavehim, nor cease from saying consoling words of his heavenly Guardian, the only means that soothed him, especially when his sighing exclamationrecurred, 'O, if papa was but here!' the tune to which her heart wasthrobbing throughout that dreadful night. She felt guilty of beinguseless, but he was her first care, and her power of real service wassmall: so she could only hang over him, and as she watched the healthfulsleep of her little girls, join her prayers and thanksgivings with his, that all papa's treasures were safe. Not till the flames were dyingdown, morning twilight showing cold and gray, and Sarah coming in withbundles of rescued garments, was Johnnie's mind free enough to unclasphis hand, and show something fast held in it. 'Aunt Helen's cross, mamma; I thought I might keep hold of it, because I was frightened. '

Her caresses lulled him at last to sleep, while she grieved atTheodora's having gone in search of the cross. She knew of her safetyfrom Sarah, who reported that she had been working like any ten; but shehad not yet seen her, and the silence and suspense became oppressive. 

Theodora had hardly spent a moment in seeking the cross, she tied onViolet's bonnet over the hair falling round her, hurried to assist incarrying the sick maid to a bed made up for her at the stables, andthen, missing the dumb page from among the servants, she rushed backto look for him, dashed up the stairs through thick smoke, found himasleep, and crossing a floor that almost burnt her foot, she shookhim awake, and saw him too in safety. She bethought her of her brotherJohn's possessions, now that the living were all secure; she hurriedinto the work, she tore down his prints and pictures, carried them andhis books out, --desks, drawers, weights she would never have dreamt oflifting, were as nothing to her. Many times did her father meet her, exclaim and urge her to desist, and to go to Armstrong's; she said shewas just going: he went in one of the thousand directions in which hewas called at once, and presently again encountered her, where he leastexpected it, coming out of a cloud of smoke with a huge pile of booksin her arms! On she worked, regardless of choking, blindingsmoke--regardless of the glare of flame--never driven from the field butby a deluge from a fire-engine; when stumbling down-stairs, guided bythe banisters, she finally dismayed her father, who thought her longago in safety, by emerging from the house, dragging after her amarble-topped chess table, when half the upper windows were flashingwith flame. 

Then he locked her arm into his, and would not let her stir from hisside. 

Water had been the great deficiency. Fire-engines were slow in coming, and the supply from the fountains was as nothing, so that the attempthad necessarily been to carry out property rather than to extinguish thefire. Sarah, after coolly collecting all that belonged to her mistressor the children, had taken the command of Miss Altisidora Standaloft, (who usually regarded her as vulgarity personified, ) scolded away herhysterics, and kept guard over her, while she packed up her lady'sjewels and wardrobe, not until then allowing her the luxury of shriekingat every jet of flame. The other servants and the villagers had workedwith hearty goodwill below stairs; and when Theodora had time to lookaround, the pleasure-ground presented a strange scene. Among the troddenplants and shrubs lay heaps of furniture, sofas, chairs lying tumbledhere and there, with plate, pictures, statues, ornaments heaped in wildconfusion, crowds of people, in every variety of strange dishabille, gathered round; two long lines of them handing bucket after bucket, with machine-like regularity, from the fountain; others removing thefurniture from the terrace; cushions, ormolu, fine china, handed out ofthe lower windows; the whole seen by the wild lurid light that flashedfrom the windows above, strangely illuminating the quiet green trees, and bringing out every tiny leaf and spray by its fierce brilliancy, that confused every accustomed shadow, while the clouds of smoke rolleddown as if to wither all around. 

And above the rushing roaring sound! the thunder of falling ceilings;the red light within some familiar windows; the gray sky reflected inothers, till, after a few uncertain flickers, the glow awoke in themalso. Then arose the whiter gusts of vapour, when water, hissing andboiling, contended with fire. 

In vain! the flame surmounted! Shouts, cries! Lord Martindale pushingnearer, calling to all for heaven's sake to come out, leave all, onlycome out; men rushing from the doors, leaping from the lower windows;one dark figure emerging at the moment before a tremendous crash shookthe earth beneath their feet; the fire seemed for a moment crushed out, then clouds of smoke rose wilder and denser, yellowed by the light ofthe morning; the blaze rushed upwards uncontrolled, and the intensity ofbrightness, behind and above the walls, glared on the mass of awe-struckfaces. There was not a movement, not a word, not a sound, save that ofthe roaring flame. 

The first voice was Lord Martindale's: 'Are all out? Is every one safe?'

'Yes, my lord, all but the claret of 1826, ' said that last to escape, half-clad, grimy, and singed, only in courteous voice, the butler. 

'Thank God!' said Lord Martindale, fervently. 'And, Simmonds, thank youfor what you have done to-night;' and he heartily shook the butler'shand. 

'Oh, my lord, if it had been more! If that claret was but safe, I shouldfeel I had done my duty, ' said Simmonds, almost overcome, but givingplace to Mr. Hugh Martindale, who, just released from a chain of bucketsin the kitchen yard, was coming up to wring his cousin's hand, say thereseemed no more to be done, and repeat his congratulations on the safetyof life and limb. But a fresh alarm arose, lest the fire might extend tothe stabling; and in watching the horses led out, the spreading of wettarpaulins on the roof, the engines playing on the burning mass inthe house, and the flames rising with diminishing fierceness in theintervals of the bursts of steam, there was such intense excitement thatno one could think of aught but the sight before them. 

At last there was a touch on Lord Martindale's arm; a message from thegardener's house that he must come directly: Mrs. Nesbit was in a fit. 

The morning dewiness and calmness of the garden had a curious effect, as they walked hastily through it, out of sight of the confusion on thelawn; everything looked so blue and pale, especially Violet, who camedown to meet them. 

'I have sent for Mr. Legh, ' she said. 'It is very terrible. She is quiteinsensible, but--'

She broke off suddenly. Theodora had sat down, untied her bonnet, thentried to rise, but tottered, and sank senseless on the floor. 

Her father lifted her, so as to place her with her head on Violet's lap. Violet removed the bonnet, the hair came with it, burnt off in masses, the very eyelashes and brows were singed, the forehead, cheeks, and neckfrightfully reddened and blistered. Lord Martindale took her handsto chafe them: they were bleeding, and purple from bruises, the armsscorched and burnt--injuries overlooked in the excitement, but ready torepay themselves after her five hours' violent and incessant exertion. It was a frightfully long swoon; and her father, almost in despair, had sent a second messenger for medical aid before Violet could lookup consolingly, and direct his attention to the signs of returninganimation. She presently half opened her eyes, perceived in whose armsshe lay, and who was bending over her--she heard his fond words; butreviving no further, closed her eyes, without attempting to speak. 

Lord Martindale could no longer delay going up-stairs. There the scenewas most distressing; there was complete insensibility, with a tendencyto convulsive movement, a condition so plainly hopeless that he wouldfain have removed his wife, hitherto so unaccustomed to any spectacle ofsuffering. But Lady Martindale was not to be detached from her whohad absorbed her affection from infancy. Wrapped in that one idea, shehardly heard his representations of their daughter's state, and, withpiteous looks, repelled his assurances that her care was unavailing, andought to be relinquished to Mrs. Garth and the maids. He was obligedat length to desist, and returned just as Violet and Mr. Martindale hadsucceeded in moving Theodora to a slippery horse-hair sofa. She lookedup and replied, 'Better, thank you, ' to his first inquiry; but whenasked if she was in pain, was forced to answer, 'Yes, not much, ' andclosed her eyes, as if she only wished not to be disturbed. 

They held council over her: Mr. Martindale urged taking her at once tohis parsonage; he would find the carriage, and Violet should bring her, leaving the children to follow under Sarah's charge when they shouldawake. Violet only demurred at leaving Lady Martindale; but LordMartindale authoritatively told her, that it was not fit for her tobe in Mrs. Nesbit's room, and he should be much obliged to her to seeTheodora properly taken care of. 

The transit was serious, every one longed to have it over, but dreadedthe arrival of the carriage, which came before it was expected. Resoluteas ever, Theodora astonished them by springing at once on her feet, disdaining aid, but she had hardly taken a step, before she faltered, and was just falling, when her father caught her in his arms and carriedher to the carriage, where Violet was ready to uphold her sinking head. Mr. Martindale took the short way, and was at home before them, to lifther out, and transport her at once to her room. Since the marriage ofPauline, Theodora had given up a personal attendant, and no ladies'maids were forthcoming, except Miss Standaloft, whose nerves could notendure the sight of Mrs. Nesbit, far less of Miss Martindale, so thewhole business of undressing fell upon Violet, and the rector's littleunder-maid, who, having been a school-girl, was of course devotedto Miss Martindale. A difficult task it was, for besides the burns, bruises, and faintness, every muscle and sinew were so strained andtender from the violent exertion, and the blows she had unconsciouslyreceived, that the gentlest touch and slightest movement were severelypainful. Violet was most grateful for her never-failing resolution. Every move was made unhesitatingly the moment it was requisite, and nota complaint was uttered, scarcely even a confession of suffering; onanxious inquiry, 'Never mind, it can't be helped, ' was the utmost reply, given in a blunt, almost annoyed manner, as if she could not bear to bedisturbed out of that silence of endurance. 

In the same manner, between stupefaction and fortitude, the surgeon'svisit was gone through, and Violet heard from him that there was noserious consequence to be apprehended, provided fever could be averted. Violet, much alarmed as to the effect of the tidings of the previousnight, thought it right to mention that she had undergone a severeshock, and perceived that he thought it greatly increased the chanceof serious illness; but he could do nothing but insist on tranquillity;and, as Theodora had now fallen into an exhausted sleep, he returned tohis other patient. 

The hours seemed to have forgotten their reckoning; it was to Violet asif she had been years without looking after her children, and whenshe found it was only half-past nine, she was dismayed to think of thelength of day yet to come. Leaving Theodora's sleep to be guarded by thelittle maid, she ventured down. The dumb boy was watching, with tearfuleyes, at the foot of the stairs, his whole face one question about MissMartindale. Answering him reassuringly on the slate, she opened thedining-room door, and a refreshing sight met her eyes. Round thebreakfast-table sat her own three, from their glossy heads to theirlittle shining shoes, in order trim, as if no disaster had ever comenear them;--little Annie on Cousin Hugh's knee; Helen's tongue goingas fast as ever; Johnnie in shy good behaviour. A general cry of joygreeted her, and they were in an instant around her, telling of thewonders of the lawn, how the dying gladiator was lying on the bluedamask bed, and the case of stuffed humming-birds on the top of thekitchen dresser, and the poor peacock so frightened that he hid himselfin the laurels, and would not come near them. 

All alarms had gone away like a dream of the night, and the day haddawned on the happy creatures in all its freshness and newness, whichtheir elders would fain have shared, but the necessity of attending tothem had something reviving in it, and Violet could not look at themwithout renewed thrills of thankfulness. It was like rescued marinersmeeting after a shipwreck, when her father-in-law came in and embracedher and the children affectionately, with a special caress for Johnnie, 'the best little boy he ever saw. ' He looked worn and depressed, andViolet hastened to help Mr. Martindale in setting breakfast before him, while he anxiously bade her rest, hoped she had not been hurt by allshe had undergone; and asked for Theodora, whose illness, and his wife'sdespair at her aunt's condition, were the chief actual distress. For therest, he was so thankful that no life had been lost, as to have hardly athought to bestow on the ruin and destruction. 

There was now time for the question, how did the fire begin? Mrs. Nesbit, before her attack came on, had said, that wishing to take adraught, and not liking to call Mrs. Garth, she had drawn the light nearto the curtains, and had, doubtless, left it there. It seemed as ifMrs. Garth had taught her to dread disturbing her at night, and nowLady Martindale shrank with horror from letting her even approach thepatient. 

But how had Mrs. Nesbit been rescued without the slightest burn, andwhat had occasioned Theodora's injuries? Not till Violet began toexplain did it dawn on her what a heroine she was describing. All hadbeen so simply and fearlessly done, that it had not struck her till sheheard it in her own narration. 

Lord Martindale was much affected. 'My brave girl!' he said; 'then underProvidence the safety of every one of us is owing to her. I wish she wasawake that I might tell her so this minute!'

It was delightful to see how this seemed to compensate for everything;and, indeed, he said it was almost worth while to have been burnt outfor the sake of seeing how nobly every one had behaved, servants andneighbours, rich and poor, working alike at the risk of their lives, andhe was positively overcome as he spoke of the warm sympathy that met himon all sides, testifying the universal respect and affection withwhich he was regarded. Notes and messages were coming in from all theneighbourhood to intreat to be allowed to shelter his family; but it wasimpossible to move at present, and his views were fixed on occupying thehouse which had so long stood empty. 

'Arthur can have a room fitted up there directly, ' he said. 'Where ishe, my dear? How soon can he come?'

Violet was obliged to confess her ignorance. He had said he should begoing about, and had given her no address. Much vexed, Lord Martindaleforbore to distress her by remarks, and replied to his cousin's questionwhether the house was insured--

'For twenty thousand pounds, but that is nothing like the amount ofdamage. I hardly know how we shall meet it. I must have John at home tosettle matters. How strange it is to look back. I remember as if it wasyesterday, when John was born, Mrs. Nesbit insisting on my pulling downthe poor old house, to make the place fit, as she said, for my son'sinheritance, and there is an end of it! Who would have told her thatshe would burn it down herself, poor woman? She always detested theold hall. Don't you remember the stags' antlers, Hugh? Ay, Johnnie, youwould have wondered at those--a dozen stags' heads with branching hornsin the hall. '

'Oh! tell me, grandpapa! Was it where you lived when you were a littleboy?'

'Ay, Johnnie, ' said Lord Martindale, pausing to take him on hisknee. 'Cousin Hugh could tell you how we went on together there! Suchjackdaws' nests as used to be in the chimneys--'

'I do believe, ' said his cousin, 'you have more regret at this momentfor the old house than for this one!'

'Well! when I think of going home, the old red pediment with the whitefacings always comes into my mind, as it used to look up the avenue, when we came back for the holidays. Those old shields with themartlets--see, Johnnie, like that--' holding up the crest on a spoon, 'where the martins used to build their nests over the windows, were suchas I never saw anywhere else. I found one of them lying about at thefarm the other day. '

'Do you remember the hornet's nest in the wall of the garden--?'

'What a garden that was! They have never found any pear equal to thatjargonelle, where you ate twenty the first day of the holidays. What doyou think of that, Johnnie?'

'Ay, Johnnie, and I can tell you of something grandpapa did, ' retortedMr. Hugh Martindale; and to Violet's diversion, the two old cousinscontinued to make Johnnie an excuse for bringing up their boyishmemories, which seemed to rise on them the more vividly, now that thegreat mansion no longer obstructed their view. It was complete oblivionof everything else, and seemed to do infinite good to Lord Martindale, but soon it was interrupted; Lady Elizabeth had driven over to beg tocarry the whole party back to Rickworth with her, or at least to takehome Violet and the children; but this could not be; Violet could notleave Theodora, and though Lord Martindale pressed her to consult herown comfort by removing, he was evidently gratified by her begging tobe allowed to remain at the parsonage. He then returned to his wife, andLady Elizabeth, after offers of every service in her power, took leave, while Violet returned to her charge. 

Theodora awoke with less fever than they had ventured to hope, andquite composed, though much surprised with her first acquaintance withillness, and not even comprehending that she could not get up, till thepain of the attempt corroborated Violet's assurance. 

'How base it is, ' said she, 'not to be able to do a few hours' workwithout having to take to one's bed. I flattered myself I was not sodespicably weak, for a woman. '

'You might be satisfied, ' said Violet, her heart too full to say more. 

'Not while your Sarah walks about as if nothing had happened. '

'Where should any of us be but for you?' said Violet, bending over her. 

'There's not an inch of me fit for kissing!' exclaimed Theodora, turningaway. 

'Lord Martindale will soon come to tell you what he thinks of it. '

'Papa! Where is he? I don't remember him since we went down toArmstrong's. Yes, I do though!' she paused, 'but I can't think ofit. Crying would be worse. What a queer thing fainting is! I used tospeculate what it was like. '

'How do you like it?' said Violet, perceiving her mood. 

'Tolerably, in some respects; but it makes one's memory hazy. What hasbecome of mamma? I suppose she is afraid of the sight of my visage. '

'Oh! no, no!'

'My aunt, of course! How could I forget! Mrs. Armstrong spoke ofher being ill. Was it another stroke!' said Theodora, alarmed as herrecollection returned, and Violet was obliged to tell the whole. 

'My poor mother!' said Theodora, gravely, 'I wish I could help--'

There was a knock at the door. Miss Standaloft stood hesitating andmaking signs to Violet. 

'Is there any news of Mrs. Nesbit?' asked Theodora. 'There can be onlyone thing to hear. Is it over?'

It was, and the end had been quiet. Theodora drew a long breath, andrepeated, 'Poor mamma!'

'Do you want me? Do you think I might go to her!' said Violet. 'She hasno one with her but the gentlemen. '

'I should be very glad if you were there. Only don't hurt yourself, orArthur will be angry; and to have you to nurse would be more than couldbe borne. My poor aunt! I think she softened at the last, and she lovedus all very much at one time. '

'I am glad she was kind to Johnnie, ' said Violet. 

Miss Altisidora was induced to sit on the other side the curtain, intending to call Sarah if anything was wanted, and Violet walked acrossthe park, dreading to enter for the first time the presence of theshadow of death, fearing in her lowliness to intrude or presume, butdrawn onwards by the warmhearted yearning to perform a daughter's part, if perchance her husband's mother could derive the least solace from herattentions. 

She crossed the trodden grass, and gazed on the ruin of the abode thathad once almost oppressed her with its grandeur. Past away! and withit, she whose hopes and schemes were set on the aggrandizement of thefamily--she had gone where earthly greatness was weighed in its truebalance! And the lime trees budded, new and young in their springgreenness, as when the foundation-stone was laid!

Violet thought how she had been taught to look on this as her boy'sinheritance, and therewith came the prayer that he might win his trueinheritance, made without hands, ever spring-like and beyond the powerof the flame! She looked up at the shell, for it was no more, she onlyrecognized the nursery windows by their bars; the woodwork was charred, the cement blackened by the fire, where yesterday Helen's and Annie'sfaces had been watching her return! A sick horror passed over her as shethought how much had depended on Theodora's watchful night, and imaginedwhat might have awaited Arthur!

Then with hopeful, grateful anticipation, she looked to his coming, and his greeting after such perils endured in his absence. 'O, will notthankfulness bring him those thoughts! It must! He must join with me, when he owns the mercy and sees our children safe. Oh! then blessings onthis night's danger! Let me see, he will learn it from the paper!When can he come? Oh! how his looks and one word from him will rewardTheodora!'

She felt as if her happy anticipation had been selfish when she camenear the cottage with its blinded windows. Lord Martindale was speakingto some one, but turned at once to her. 'You here, my dear? You haveheard?'

'Yes, I have; but Theodora and I thought as Lady Martindale has no maidhere, that I had better come and see if I could do anything for her. CanI?' said she, with her humble sweetness. 

'I cannot tell, my dear, ' he answered. 'She attends to nothing, and hasnot been able to shed tears. We cannot rouse her. Indeed, I am sorry youcame; you ought to be resting. '

'O, no, we both wished it. Should I be troublesome to her?'

'No, indeed, my dear child, ' said he, affectionately. 'It is a greatrelief to me that you should be with her, for here is much that I mustattend to, and I wish nothing so much as to get her to the parsonage. The carriage is waiting, but she will not hear of coming away, and I donot know how to leave her here. '

So saying, he led her into the room; Violet gave one shrinking glancetowards the bed, while the chill of awe shot through her veins; butthe chief thought was needed for her who sat rigid and motionless, withfixed tearless eyes, and features in cold stillness more than ever likemarble. Violet felt as if that deathly life was more painful to lookupon than death itself, and her hand trembled in Lord Martindale'sgrasp; he pressed it closer, and going up to his wife, said, 'Anna, mydear, here is our child Violet so kind as to come and see you. '

Lady Martindale made a courteous movement, as if by mechanism, butwithout looking up. He was delaying, unable to leave them thus, thoughhe was much wanted below stairs. 

'I will stay while you go, ' whispered Violet, though she longed to keephim, for that presence filled her with trembling, and promising speedyreturn, he departed. 

For some minutes she could venture nothing, and the silence in whichshe heard only the beatings of her own heart seemed more than shecould bear; but at last she collected herself, and an impulse suddenlyoccurring to her, she ventured to touch her mother-in-law, and said, 'Theodora has been asking for you. '

Lady Martindale shook her head. 'I cannot come, I cannot leave her. '

'Poor Theodora is so much hurt!' pleaded Violet; 'you will be surprisedto see how she is scorched! Such arms and hands, that she cannot helpherself--and she wants cold applications continually. '

Lady Martindale once looked attentive, but a glance at her aunt broughtback her face of silent misery. Violet was perplexed, but stroveon--'Poor Theodora! I hope you will come to her. She wants care verymuch. Did you know that it was in saving her that she was so sadlyburnt?'

'No: was it?'

'Yes; she snatched her out through the burning curtains. That was theway Theodora's hair was all burnt off, and her arms are so blistered!'continued Violet, controlling her trembling, and speaking as when shewas persuading one of the children--'Poor Theodora! Will you not comeand see her?'

'Where is she?'

'She is at the parsonage. They are ready to take us. '

'Oh, no! I cannot go. You go to her. '

'Pray, pray come with me. Theodora is so ill! It would do her so muchgood to see you; and we are afraid of her being anxious or distressed, lest she should have fever. Won't you come?'

A motion, as if she could not bear this, made Violet fear she mustdesist, and she paused for a short interval, then said, 'SHE was veryfond of Theodora. '

'Oh! Yes, yes--'

'She would not like her to be left so long. '

'I thought you were taking care of her. '

'Oh, yes! but I cannot be the same as you would. One always wants one'smother so much in illness. '

'She was always a mother to me!' The tears came at last, and she weptunrestrainedly; while Violet hung over her with soft caressing wordsof sympathy that cannot be detailed, till the first grief had had itscourse, and she again tried the experiment of repeating Theodora's name, and saying how much she was suffering. 

Lady Martindale did not reply, but suffered Violet to put on her cloak, and gradually lead her from the room, saying at each pause something of'poor Theodora. '

The deed was done; it might be by importunity, but it was worthachieving, even at the risk of being vexatious. Lord Martindale couldhardly believe his eyes when he saw his wife on her way to the carriage, and Theodora was equally astonished when she appeared at her bedside. 

It was a new thing to see one, hitherto healthy and independent, socompletely prostrated; and no more was needed to awaken the naturalaffection so long stifled or thrust aside. Lady Martindale was greatlyshocked, and, perhaps magnifying her daughter's illness, had no room forany other thought. She wished to do everything for her herself--wouldhardly admit Violet's assistance--and took every care, with skilfulnessthat was marvellous in one trained to ineffectiveness. 

To Theodora her attendance was a new and exquisite repose. It was thefirst taste of her mother's love, and made her content to be helpless;as there she lay, murmuring thanks, and submitting to be petted with agrateful face of childlike peace, resting in her mother's affection, andmade happy by the depth of warm feeling in her father's words. 

'It is a good speculation to be ill, ' said she, with a smile of strongfeeling when they had bidden her good night, and left her to Violet, whowas to sleep on a mattress on the floor. 

CHAPTER 4

 Will you walk into my parlour?' said a spider to a fly. 

 --MARY HOWITT

And where was Arthur?

Spending the day with his sporting friends, much to his ownsatisfaction, till in the evening, greatly against his will, he wastaken out to dine with an old Mr. Randall, of Gothlands, the master ofthe hounds. 

His nieces, the Misses Marstone, were the ladies of thehouse--well-dressed people, a little 'passees', but apparently nothaving found it out. Arthur watched the arrivals hoping that the orderof precedence might not consign him to the flow of talk, of which hehad already had quite a sufficiency, when, to his surprise, two ladies, evidently at home, entered together. 

One--thin, sallow, spectacled--was, as he knew, an inhabitant; but theother--small, slight, and retiring, and, in spite of clinging unfreshmuslin and shrinking figure, with the unmistakable air of high breeding, was a most unexpected sight. At least, thought he, here was one ladywho would not bore him, and making his way to her, he inquired forLady Elizabeth. Emma, on the other hand, asked after Violet; and it wascurious that both questions were put and answered with constraint, as ifeach was conscious of being something like a truant. 

Another surprise. 'Mr. Gardner. ' In walked Mark himself, and, aftershaking hands with the elder Miss Marstone, came towards Emma and herfriend, and was received with cordial familiarity. He entered intoconversation with Arthur, drawing a little further from Miss Brandon ateach step, till having brought him close to old Mr. Randall, and placedhim under the infliction of a long prose about the hounds, he retreated, and was soon again in conversation with the two friends, Emma's faceraised and lighted up with eagerness. 

Colonel Martindale had no escape from the head of the table and theeldest of the Misses Marstone. Resigning himself to his fate, he madetalk; and, though now broader, redder, and somewhat coarser in featureand complexion than he had been a few years ago, he looked so gay andunencumbered, that his neighbour speculated as to whether he could bethe eldest son, and resolved to discover what her sister, Sarah Theresa, knew of him. 

'It is so pleasant when friends meet unexpectedly, ' said she. 'I did notknow you were acquainted with either of our guests. '

'Miss Brandon is a near neighbour of my father, and a great friend ofMrs. Martindale. '

Death to any incipient scheme of Miss Marstone; but she smiled on, and remarked, 'A very amiable girl, and a beautiful place, is it not, Rickworth?'

'Very pretty, a fine property, ' said Arthur, talking as if in hissleep, for he had caught Mark Gardner's voice saying something about anoratory. 

'My sister is often staying there, ' proceeded the lady. 'You know MissBrandon's scheme of restoring the Priory?'

'I did not know that was anything more than talk. '

'I used to think so, ' said Miss Marstone; 'but both she and mysister Sarah treat it quite seriously, and Mr. Gardner is their primecounsellor. '

Arthur started, and with difficulty refrained from laughing. 

'Ah! I believe he has been a little wild, but that is all over now. Hehas taken quite a different turn now, and given up everything of thatsort--throws himself into all their views. '

'Indeed!' said Arthur, who knew to his cost that if the reform had takenplace at all, it must have been of extremely recent date. 

'O, yes, I assure you. He is staying with the curate, Mr. Silworth. '

'Ha! that is an old name at school. '

'Yes; he was an old schoolfellow--a very good man, to whose persuasionseverything is owing. '

She pointed him out, and the first glance was a revelation to Arthur, who recognized him as the boy who, at school, had been the most easilytaken in. He soon understood the state of affairs. Mark, clever, gentlemanly in appearance, and apt at catching the tone of the societyaround him, was making a bold stroke--had persuaded his kind-hearted, simple friend to believe him a sincere penitent, and to introduce himas such to the ladies at Gothlands, from whom he caught the talk mostpleasing to them. At present it was all ecclesiastical aesthetics, anddiscontent with the existing system, especially as regarded penitence;by and by, when his hold should be secure, he would persuade the heiressthat she had been the prime instrument in his conversion, and that shehad gained his heart. 

A bit of rhapsody from Miss Sarah Theresa, and poor Emma's embellishedand animated countenance, were sufficient indications that they weresmoothly gliding into the snare; and accustomed as Arthur was to seeMark Gardner in a very different aspect, he was astonished at hisperfect performance of his part--the humility and deference befittingthe sense of his errors, and conversation so entirely at home in alltheir peculiar language and predilections, that Arthur was obliged tofeel for the betting-book in his own pocket to convince himself thathe was still deeply involved with this most admirable and devoted ofpenitents. He could not help, as he took leave, giving a knowing look, conveying how easily he could spoil his game. 

However, Arthur was in reality much annoyed. Of late years his easytemper had well-nigh surrendered itself to the ascendency of MarkGardner; and though dissatisfied, remorseful, and anxious, he hadallowed himself to be led farther and farther into extravagance. Thesight of his home excited regrets, therefore he shunned it; and thoughweary and discontented in his chains, he was devoid of force or will tobreak them, and a sort of torpor seemed to make it impossible for him toresist Mark Gardner. Their money matters were much entangled. They hadentered into a partnership for keeping horses for the turf, and therewas a debt shared between them, the amount of which Arthur dreaded toinvestigate. 

That Gardner should obtain a rich wife would be the greatest relief toColonel Martindale; but he had rather it should have been any heiress inthe world but Emma Brandon. He had a friendly feeling towards her, and arespect for her mother, that made him shrink from allowing her to becomea victim, especially when he would himself be the gainer; and, on theother hand, he could not endure to betray a friend, --while he knew thathis wife, his father, and his sister would be horrified at his secrecy. 

After a night spent in execrating the dinner-party, he received a callfrom Mr. Gardner, who, without being aware that he took any interestin Miss Brandon, came to put him upon his guard, but found him lessmanageable than usual. Arthur made a formidable description of LadyElizabeth's discretion, underrated the value of Rickworth, and declaredthat it would be so tied up that Mark would gain nothing but a dull, plain little wife. Not thus deterred, Mark only asked of him discretion;and when, trying to cloak his earnest under faltering jest, he declaredthat he had a regard for the Brandons, and should get into a scrapewith his father, his friend held out the allurement of freedom from hisdifficulties, but was obliged to touch on this lightly, for Arthur'shonour was ready to take fire at the notion of being bought. It endedin Gardner's treating the matter as if he had engaged not to betrayhim, and being hardly gainsaid, otherwise than by a sort of banteringproviso, that in case of an appeal direct, he could not be expected tovouch for Mark's entire and disinterested reformation. 

With an intense dislike to the world in general, Arthur was consideringhow to prevent his wife from meeting Lady Elizabeth, and how to be outof the way before the report should spread of Mark's addresses, wheneverything else was driven from his mind by the arrival of the papers, with the announcement of the fire at Martindale. 

The safety of the infant family of the Honourable Lieutenant-ColonelMartindale was the first news that met his eye; next, that of thedeath of Mrs. Nesbit, --the chief thought that occupied him in his hastyhomeward journey. 

He had been taught to think himself her heir; and though never forgivenfor his marriage, hoped that the will might not have been altered, and considered that, whether it were in his favour or not, so largea property coming into the family could not fail to render hiscircumstances more easy, by enabling his father to augment hisallowance, which, though ample in itself, appeared far from sufficientto a man with expensive tastes and an increasing family. The hope ofindependence, and of not being obliged to wish success to Gardner, wasan opening into liberty and happiness. 

By night he was at the parsonage, and Violet in his arms as soon as thedoor was opened. That moment was perfect--he was so eagerly tender, sosolicitous lest she should have been injured by terror or exertion, soshocked at her peril in his absence. In the fulness of her heart sheeven asked him to come and see the children safely asleep. 

'Now? What should I do that for?'

There was no unkindness, but the full felicity of the evening wasmarred. 

There was no room for him at the parsonage, and an apartment in theempty house had been fitted up for him, so that she only saw him foran hour of confused talk over the events of the fire, and Theodora'scondition, which was very uncomfortable; for though the fever wasslight, the burns and bruises were in an unsatisfactory state, and eyes, arms, and hands of very little use. She was patient, and resolute asever, and so grateful to her nurses that waiting on her was a pleasure. 

In fact, attendance on her was the only resource for occupying LadyMartindale, who, when not thus engaged, was listless and dejected, attending to nothing that passed around her, and sometimes giving wayto inconsolable bursts of grief. It was as if her aunt had been her oneidea in life, and without her she could turn to nothing else. Violetwas very anxious to prevent the children from molesting her, and in muchdread of their troubling her, now that all were in such close quarters. It was trying to be engaged with Theodora, and to hear the little feetand voices where they were not intended to be. 

But when she was able to hasten to the rescue, she beheld Helen in LadyMartindale's lap, and Johnnie by her side, all three intent on makingbouquets; and all apologies and proposals to fetch them away werereplied to by assurances of their goodness, and the pleasure afforded bytheir company. 

It appeared that while playing in the garden, the little brother andsister had been, as it were, fascinated by watching her fixed melancholyfigure in the drawing-room. Again and again they had peeped in at thewindow, striving to forget, but ever attracted by the sweet compassionof their hearts; till at last, after much pausing and whispering, theyhad betaken themselves to the corner of the garden where Cousin Hugh hadgiven permission to gather as they liked, and at the expense of his ownsmall fingers, Johnnie had pulled the first bud of sweet-brier. LadyMartindale had felt a soft touch, and heard a little timid, coaxingvoice--'Grandmamma, may we? Would you like this little, young rose?'while towards her was raised a face delicate and glowing with pale pinklike the bud itself. 

Grandchildren and flower were at once in her bosom. Warm, womanlychild-love had been forced down to a far corner of her heart; but thereit was, and like the rod piercing to the hidden spring, that fragrantgift of love touched it home, and thenceforth it was such fondlingas Violet almost feared might be spoiling, especially of Helen; who, however unruly or exacting she might be, seemed only to endear herselfthe more, and was visibly far more her grandmother's darling than hergentle, well-behaved brother. This new affection for the children openedher heart to their mother, on whom she leant more than she knew. To hershe talked of all her aunt's unwearied fondness and care, ever since shehad come into her hands an orphan in her infancy. There had been realand entire devotion to each other on the part of the aunt and niece;and the affection she had been able to inspire, together with the solemnfeelings towards the newly dead, gave her memory a softness that almostenabled Violet to think of her in Lady Martindale's point of view, forget her harshness, and the worldly pride for her niece and herfamily, to which she had sacrificed their best happiness. 

It was a melancholy retrospect. Mrs. Nesbit might be said to haveperfectly succeeded in the object of her life. She had formed herbeloved niece, like the fabled image of snow, moulded by the enchanterand animated by no will but his, and had seen her attain the summit ofher wishes, universally admired and distinguished for every talent andgrace; while still completely under her influence, and as affectionateand devoted as ever. Could any desire be more fully attained? But therehad ever been further craving, disappointment, combats, hatred, avarice, disgust; and with all around that could make old age happy andhonourable, it had been a querulous melancholy struggle for power, spentin clutching at the toys that had no pleasure in them--in trying toforce worldly advantages on those who cared not for them, then revengingtheir indifference as a personal insult. She had sunk into the gravewithout any one having the power to regret her save that one fond, faithful niece, the one creature she had always regarded with genuineunselfish affection. 

Lord Martindale, whose wife she had ruled, and whose children had beenmade unhappy by her, could hardly help owning to himself that her deathwas a relief to him; and Arthur barely made a fair show of moderaterespect, in his anxiety for the property that would free him fromembarrassment. His first inquiry was whether the will were burnt. No, it was in the hands of a lawyer, who would bring it on the day of thefuneral. Lord Martindale might look reprovingly at Arthur's eagerness, but the matter was no less important to him. He had begun life with anexpenditure as large as his income could bear; and as his childrenhad grown up, and unprosperous times had come, he had not been able tocontract his expenses. Of late he had almost been in difficulty as tothe means of meeting the calls for the year, economy was a thing unknownand uncomprehended by his wife; and the giving up the house in Londonhad been the only reduction he could accomplish. No one else in thefamily had an idea of self-denial except Theodora, who, perceiving howmatters stood, had refused to have a maid of her own, and had begged himno longer to keep a horse for her. Some change ought to be made, buthe had gone on in this unsatisfactory manner, trusting that at Mrs. Nesbit's death all would be straight. Her West Indian estates andaccumulation of wealth must be bequeathed either to his wife or amonghis children; and in either case he would be set at ease--eitherrelieved from supporting Arthur, or enabled to do so without difficulty. 

The funeral took place in full grandeur. Lady Martindale had made it aspecial request that every one would mourn as if for her mother, and itwas just one of the occasions when pomp was needed to supply the placeof grief. 

The only real mourner shut herself up in her own room, whither Theodorabegged Violet to follow her. She found her stretched on her bed, abandoned to grief. It was the sense of orphanhood; the first timeshe had come so close to death and its circumstances, and it wasoverpowering sorrow; but Violet had better learnt how to deal with her, and could venture to caress and soothe--entreat her to remember how muchwas left to love her--and then listen to what Lady Martindale began asthe rehearsal of her aunt's care to shield her from sorrow; but Violetsoon saw it was the outpouring of a pent-up grief, that had never daredto come forth. The last time the vault had been opened it had been forthe infant she had lost, and just before for the little girls, who haddied in her absence. 'My dear, ' she said, 'you do not know how it is allbrought back to me. It is as if your three darlings were the same I leftwhen we went abroad. Your sweet Helen is exactly like my precious littleAnna, whom I little thought I was never to see again! Oh, my babies!'

Violet was quite relieved to find this excessive grief was not spent onher aunt, but that it was the long-restrained sorrow for an afflictionin which she could so much better sympathize. It had been of no availfor Mrs. Nesbit, in mistaken kindness, and ignorance of a mother'sheart, to prevent her from ever adverting to her darlings; it had onlydebarred her from the true source of comfort, and left the wound to acheunhealed, while her docile outward placidity was deemed oblivion. Thefear of such sorrow had often been near Violet, and she was never ableto forget on how frail a tenure she held her firstborn; and from thebottom of her heart came her soothing sympathy, as she led her on todwell on the thought of those innocents, in their rest and safety. LadyMartindale listened as if it was a new message of peace; her tears weresofter, and she dwelt fondly on little Anna's pretty ways, speaking, andViolet hearing, as if it had been a loss of to-day, instead of more thanthirty long years ago. 

Lady Martindale opened a dressing-box, saying how relieved she had beento find it safe, and from a secret drawer drew out a paper and showedViolet some soft locks of chestnut hair. 'Their papa gave me these, ' shesaid. 'My dear aunt would not let me look at them--she thought it hurtme; but I must see if Anna's hair is not just like Helen's. ' And thenshe begged Violet not to be alarmed at the resemblance, and kissed herfor saying she was glad of it, and had no fears on that score. She dwelton these reminiscences as if they were a solace of which she could nevertaste enough, and did not cease talking over them till Lord Martindaleentered. Violet understood his feeling and the reserve hitherto shownto him sufficiently to attempt breaking it down, and ventured, asshe quitted the room, to lay her hand on the little curl, and say, 'Grandmamma thinks Helen like her little Anna. '

Seeing Arthur leaning on the balusters, looking discomposed, she wentdown to him. 'Where have you been!' he said, rather sulkily. 

'With your mother; I hope she is growing more calm. '

'Very absurd of her to take it so much to heart!' said Arthur, enteringthe drawing-room. 'Have you heard about this will?'

'No. What?'

'Never was such a will on this earth! It ought to be brought into court!I verily believe the old hag studied to make it a parting emanation ofmalice!'

'Oh, hush! hush!' cried Violet, shocked. 

'It is all very well saying Hush, hush; but I should like to know whatyou mean to live upon?'

'What has she done?'

'She has gone and left it all to that child!'

'What child?'

'My son--your boy John, I tell you; but, mark you, so as to do no goodto a living soul. Not a penny is he to touch till we are all dead, if westarve meantime. She has tied it up to accumulate till my eldest son--orJohn's, if he has one--comes to the title, and much good may it do him!'

'Poor little dear!' said Violet, inexpressibly pained by his tone. 

'Anything but poor! It is £100, 000 to begin with, and what will itbe when he gets it? Think of that doing nothing, and of us with nodependence but the trumpery £5000 by the marriage settlements. It isenough to drive one crazy. '

'It is a pity, ' said Violet, frightened by his vehemence. 

'It is an end of all chance for me. When she had always taught me tolook to it! It is absolute cheating. '

'Of late she never led us to expect anything. '

'No; and you never took pains to stand well with her. Some people--'

'O, Arthur, Arthur!'

'Well, don't be foolish! You could not help it. Her spitefulness waspast reckoning. To see her malice! She knew John and Theodora would notlet me be wronged, so she passes them over, and my mother too, for fearit should be made up to me. Was ever man served so before? My own son, as if to make it more aggravating!'

At an unlucky moment Johnnie ran in, and pulled his mother's dress. 'Mamma, may Helen dig in the bed by the garden door!'

'Go away!' said Arthur, impatiently. 'We can't have you bothering here. '

Though inattentive and indifferent to his children, he had never beenpositively unkind, and the anger of his tone filled the timid child'seyes with tears, as he looked appealingly at his mother, and moved away, lingering, and beginning a trembling, 'but, mamma--'

'Don't stay here!' cried Arthur, in an indiscriminating fit of anger, striking his hand on the table. 'Did I not order you to go this moment, sir?'

Poor Johnnie fled, without hearing his mother's consoling 'I'll come;'which only, with her look of grief, further irritated Arthur. 'Ay, ay!That's always the way. Nothing but the boy, whenever I want you. '

Violet saw defence would make it worse, and tried to give him theattention he required; though quivering with suppressed distress for hisharshness to his poor little boy, whom she could hardly help going atonce to comfort. She hardly heard his storming on about the unhappywill, it only seemed to her like the apple of discord, and great was therelief when it was ended by Lord Martindale's coming down, asking whyJohnnie was crying. She hoped this might cause Arthur some compunction, but he only answered, gruffly, 'He was troublesome, he is alwaysfretting. '

Violet found the poor little fellow with tear-glazed face trying tosuppress the still heaving sobs, and be grateful to his grandmamma, whohad brought him into her room, and was trying to console him, thoughunable to discover the secret of his woe. As he sprung to his mother'slap, his grief broke forth afresh. His affection for his father was adeep, distant, almost adoring worship; and the misery inflicted by thoselooks and words was beyond what could be guessed, save by his mother. He thought himself naughty, without knowing why, and could hardly besoothed by her caresses and assurances that papa was not really angry, but he must not interrupt another time. 

'But, mamma, Helen wanted to dig up all Cousin Hugh's little greenthings. '

Violet was thus reminded that she must seek after her daughter, whomshe found revelling in mischief, and was obliged to sentence to diredisgrace, causing general commiseration, excepting that her papa, ignorant that it was his own fault, declared children to be the greatestplagues in the world. 

She saw him no more in private, but grieved at his moodiness all theevening, and at bed-time watched a red spark moving to and fro in thegarden. Her heavy sigh made Theodora ask what was the matter. 

'I wish Arthur would not stay out in the dew. He has a little coughalready, ' said she, putting forward the care that would best bearmention. 

'You used to be above caring for dews and night airs. '

'I must for him and Johnnie!' said Violet. 

'Ah! what do you say to your son's prospects?'

'I don't suppose it will make much difference to him, ' was the dejectedanswer, Violet's eyes still following the red end of the cigar in thedarkness. 

'Well! that is contempt for wealth! Fancy what will be in his hands. Ithought you would be moralizing on the way to bring him up to use it. '

'I have not thought of that, ' said Violet; 'besides, it will be longenough before he has it. '

'What! will it not be when he is of age!'

'No, when he comes to the title. '

'Oh! I see. Mamma did not understand that! She thought it absolutelyleft to him. How is it, then?'

'It is put in trust till either he, or John's son, if he should haveone, comes to the title. '

'Then, it does you no good?'

'Only harm, ' Violet could not help saying. 

'How harm? It might be worse for you to have it. '

'Most likely, ' said Violet's submissive voice. 'But it vexes Arthur somuch!' and the tears fell unseen. 

'Well it may!' said Theodora. 'One cannot say what one thinks of it NOW, but--Poor Arthur! I was very much afraid she was going to leave it tome. Now I wish she had. '

'I wish so too. '

'It was silly of me to warn her that Arthur should have his share;but after all, I don't regret it. I would not have had it on falsepretences. Did you hear when the will was dated?'

'September, 18--. '

'When Johnnie was a baby. Ah! I remember. Well, I am glad we allforfeited it. I think it is more respectable. I only wish mamma hadcome in for it, because she is the right person, and papa is a good dealstraitened. That really was a shame! Why did not she let them have it?'

'Arthur thinks it was for fear we should be helped. '

'No doubt, ' said Theodora. 'Well. I wish--! It is a horrid thing to findpeople worse after they are dead than one thought them. There! I havehad it out. I could not have borne to keep silence. Now, let us put thedisgusting money matter out of our heads for good and all. I did notthink you would have been distressed at such a thing, Violet. '

'I don't want it, ' said Violet, amid her tears. 'It is Arthur'sdisappointment, and the knowing I brought it on him. '

'Nonsense!' cried Theodora. 'If I had Arthur here, I would scold himwell; and as to you, he may thank you for everything good belongingto him. Ten million fortunes would not be worth the tip of your littlefinger to him, and you know he thinks so. Without you, and with thismoney, he would be undone. Now, don't be silly! You have got yourspirits tired out, and sleep will make you a sensible woman. '

Violet was always the better for an affectionate scolding, and wentto bed, trusting that Arthur's disappointment might wear off with thenight. But his aunt's inheritance had been too much the hope ofhis life, for him to be without a strong sense of injury, and hisembarrassments made the loss a most serious matter. He applied to hisfather for an increase of allowance, but he could not have chosen aworse time; Lord Martindale had just advanced money for the purchase ofhis company, and could so ill afford to supply him as before, that butfor the sake of his family, he would have withdrawn part of his actualincome. So, all he obtained was a lecture on extravagance and neglectof his wife and children; and thus rendered still more sullen, he becameimpatient to escape from these grave looks and reproofs, and to returnto town before the disclosure of Mr. Gardner's courtship. He made it hispretext that Violet was unwell and overworked in the general service;and she was, in truth, looking very ill and harassed; but he was farmore the cause than were her exertions, and it was a great mortificationto be removed from his parents and sister when, for the first time, shefound herself useful to them, and for such an ungracious reason too, just when they were so much drawn together by the dangers theyhad shared, and the children seemed to be making progress in theirgrandmother's affections. Poor Johnnie, too! it was hard to rob him ofanother month of country air, just as he was gaining a little strengthand colour. 

But pleading was useless; the mention of Johnnie revived the grievance, and she was told she must not expect everything to give way to that boyof hers; every one was ready enough to spoil him without his help. He would not stay crammed into this small house, with the childreneternally in the way, and his father as black as thunder, with nodiversion, and obliged to sleep out in that den of a cottage, in a damp, half-furnished room--an allegation hardly true, considering Violet'scare to see the room aired and fitted up to suit his tastes; but he wasdetermined, and she had not even the consolation of supposing care forher the true reason; the only ground she could find for reconcilingherself to the measure was, that night walks were not mending his cough, which, though so slight that he did not acknowledge it, and no oneelse perceived it, still made her uneasy. Especially Violet felt theingratitude of leaving Theodora in her weak, half-recovered state;but it was almost as if he had a sort of satisfaction in returning hisfather's admonitions on the care of his wife, by making it a pleafor depriving them of her in their need, and he fixed his day withoutremorse. 

CHAPTER 5

 E'en in sleep, pangs felt before, Treasur'd long in memory's store, Bring in visions back their pain, Melt into the heart again. By it crost affections taught Chastened will and sobered thought. 

 --AESCHYLUS. --Anstice

Arthur did not succeed in eluding Lady Elizabeth. She called the dayafter the funeral, begging especially to see Mrs. Martindale. She lookedabsent and abstracted, while Lord Martindale was talking to her, andsoon entreated Violet to come with her for a short drive. 

No sooner were they in the carriage than she said, 'Violet, my dear, canyou or Arthur tell me anything of this Mr. Gardner?'

'I know very little of him personally, ' said Violet, for he was too muchan associate of her husband's for her to be willing to expose him; 'butare you sure we mean the same person?'

'Quite sure. Did you not hear that Arthur met him at Gothlands?'

'No; I have had very little talk with him since he came back, and thisfire has put everything out of our minds. '

'Of course it must, my dear. However, Arthur came with Mr. Herries todine there, and met Mr. Gardner as an old friend; so he must be thesame, and I am particularly anxious for some account of him. I must tellyou why--I know I am safe with you--but you will be very much surprised, after all her declarations--'

'O, Lady Elizabeth, it cannot be that. '

'I have always been prepared for something of the sort. But what, mydear?' seeing her agitation, and quickly infected by it. 

'O, don't let her, ' was all Violet could utter. 

'Tell me! what is he?--what do you know of him? They spoke of him asonce having been extravagant--'

Violet drew a long breath, and tried to speak with composure. 'He is adreadful man, gambling, betting, dissipated--such a person that Arthurnever lets him come near me or the children. How could he dare think ofher?'

'Can it be the same?' said Lady Elizabeth, infinitely shocked, butcatching at the hope. 'This man is Lady Fotheringham's nephew. '

'Yes, he is, ' said Violet sadly. 'There is no other cousin named Mark. Why, don't you remember all the talk about Mrs. Finch?'

So little had Lady Elizabeth heeded scandal, that she had hardly knownthese stories, and had not identified them with the name of Gardner. Still she strove to think the best. 'Arthur will be able to tell me, 'she said; 'but every one seems fully satisfied of his reformation--thecurate of the parish and all. I do not mean that I could bear to thinkof her being attached to a person who had been to blame. Her own accountof him alarmed me enough, poor dear child, but when I hear of theclergyman, and Theresa Marstone, and all admiring his deep feeling ofrepentance--'

'How can he be so wicked!' exclaimed Violet. 

'You are convinced that he is not sincere?'

'Why, of course, one does not like to say anything uncharitable; butthere is something shocking in the notion of his talking of being good. If he did repent he would know how horrible it would be for him to marryEmma--'

'He does affect great humility. He declares that no one can be moreconscious of his unfitness than himself; but he was betrayed into thisconfession of his sentiments--Emma's purity and devotedness, as Theresawrites to me, having been such powerful instruments in leading him toa better course. If it was not for poor Emma's fortune, one might trustthis more! Oh! Violet, I never so much was inclined to wish that herbrother had been spared!'

'But surely--surely Emma cannot like him?'

'I grieve to say that she and her friend have been in one of their fitsof enthusiasm. He seemed to accord with their idea of a penitent--onlylonging for stricter rules than are to be found with us. From what Ihave heard, I should have been much less surprised if he had become amonk of La Trappe; in fact, I was almost afraid of it. '

'And does not this undeceive them?'

'No; poor Emma's only doubt is because she cannot bear to be unstable, and to desert the work to which she was almost pledged; but she says sheis ashamed to perceive how much the sacrifice would cost her. She adds, that decide as she may, he concurs with her in devoting everything tothe restoration of the Priory. '

'Poor Emma! He has debts enough to swallow two-thirds! And MissMarstone, what does she say?'

'His becoming a suitor seems to have been a surprise and disappointmentto her; but if she thinks him a pupil of her own, or expects to governthe Priory in poor Emma's stead, she will be in his favour. No; I haveno hope from Theresa Marstone's discretion. '

'The rest of the family?'

'Theresa despises the others too much to attend to them. Mr. Randallseems to be startled at the present aspect of affairs, and asks me tocome; and I should have set off this morning, but that I thought I mightlearn something from you and Arthur. '

'Every one would tell you the same. He was expelled from the University, and has gone on shockingly ever since, breaking his mother's heart! PoorEmma! after dreading every gentleman!'

'I fear she has much to suffer. He made her think him not a marryingman, and put her off her guard. Did you say he was agreeable?'

'Perhaps I might think so if I knew nothing about him; but I have alwayshad a repugnance to him, and it is all I can do not to dislike him morethan is right. If I saw him speak to Johnnie, I think I should!'

'And now tell me, for I ought to have every proof, if you know anythingthat would convince Emma that this present repentance is assumed?'

Violet coloured excessively. 'Arthur could tell' she said, half choked, and as Lady Elizabeth still waited, she was obliged to add, He wasactive in the same way at the last races. I know there are things goingon still that a man who really meant to reform would have broken off. Arthur could give you proofs. '

Violet could not bear to be more explicit. Her own secret feeling wasthat Mr. Gardner was her husband's evil genius, leading him astray, androbbing her of his affection, and she was not far mistaken. Sneers, asif he was under her government, were often employed to persuade him toneglect her, and continue his ruinous courses; and if she shrunk fromGardner, he in return held her in malicious aversion, both as a counterinfluence and as a witness against him. It was the constant enmity oflight to darkness, of evil to innocence. 

The whole drive was spent in conversing on this engrossing theme; LadyElizabeth lamenting the intimacy with Sarah Theresa, a clever, andcertainly in many respects an excellent person, but with a strong tastefor singularity and for dominion, who had cultivated Emma's naturallyardent and clinging nature into an exclusive worship of her; and, byfostering all that was imaginative in her friends composition, hadled her to so exalted an estimate of their own ideal that they alikedisdained all that did not coincide with it, and spurned all mere commonsense. Emma's bashfulness had been petted and promoted as unworldly, till now, like the holes in the philosopher's cloak, it wasself-satisfaction instead of humility. This made the snare peculiarlydangerous, and her mother was so doubtful how far she would be guided, as to take no comfort from Violet's assurances that Mr. Gardner'scharacter could be proved to be such that no woman in her senses couldthink, a second time, of accepting him. 

'I cannot tell, ' said poor Lady Elizabeth; 'they will think all wipedout by his reform. Emma speaks already of aiding him to redeem the past. Ah! my dear, ' in answer to a look, 'you have not seen my poor childof late: you do not know how much more opinionative she has become, orrather, Theresa has made her. I wish she could have been more with you. '

'I never was enough of a companion to her, said Violet. 'In my best daysI was not up to her, and now, between cares and children, I grow moredull every day. '

'Your best days! my dear child. Why, how old are you?'

'Almost twenty-two, ' said Violet; 'but I have been married nearly sixyears. I am come into the heat and glare of middle life. Not that Imean to complain, ' said she, rousing her voice to cheerfulness; 'buthousehold matters do not make people companions for those who have theiryouthfulness, and their readings, and schemes. '

'I wish Emma could have been drawn to take interest in your soundpractical life. '

'If she would make a friend of Theodora!'

'Yes, but the old childish fear of her is not gone; and Emma used tothink her rather wild and flighty, and so indeed did I; but how she ischanged! I have been much pleased with conversations with her of late. Do you think it is owing to Mr. Hugh Martindale's influence?'

'In great part it is. What a blessing it is to them all to have himhere. '

'Ah! it has been one of the things that made me most dread Theresa, thatshe will not like that good man. '

'What can she say against him?'

'I don't exactly understand them. They called him a thorough Anglican, and said he did not feel the universal pulse! Now, I know it has beenunfortunate for Emma that our own vicar does not enter into these waysof thinking; but I thought, when Mr. Hugh Martindale came into theneighbourhood, that there would be some one to appeal to; but I believeTheresa will trust to no one but of her own choosing. '

They had come back to the parsonage-gate, and Lady Elizabeth set Violetdown, promising to write as soon as she arrived at Gothlands; Arthur wassauntering in the garden, and as soon as the carriage was out of sight, came to meet her. 

'O, Arthur, Lady Elizabeth wanted to speak to you. Cannot you catchher?'

'I? No. Nonsense. '

'She wanted to ask you about Mr. Gardner. Was it he whom you met atGothlands?'

'Well, what of that?'

'Poor Lady Elizabeth! Is it not shocking that he has been making anoffer to Emma?'

'He has, has he? Well, and what is she going to do?'

'There can be but one answer, ' said Violet. 'Lady Elizabeth came to hearabout him. '

'A fine chance for gossip for you. '

'I was forced to tell her, ' said she, trying to hide the pain givenher by his contemptuous tone. 'I would not have spoken if I could havehelped it. '

'Ay!' said Arthur, 'as he says, set on a lady to talk of her husband'sfriends. '

'But, oh! Arthur, what could I do? Think of poor Emma. '

'Emma is a fool. '

'Only you must not be angry with me. I would have said nothing withoutcause, but when it comes to this, --and he is pretending to be reformed. '

'Well, so he might be if you would let him. '

'But, Arthur!' then eagerly seizing a new hope, 'you don't mean that heis really improving? Oh! has he given up those horses, and released you?

He turned petulantly away. 'How can he? You have taken away any chanceof it now. You have done for him, and it is of no use to go on any moreabout it. '

He marched off to his own abode, while she was obliged to sit down underthe verandah to compose herself before Theodora should see her. 

Theodora perceived that much was amiss; but was spared much anxiety bynot being with the family, and able to watch her brother. The cottagewas completely furnished from the wreck of Martindale; but the removalthither was deferred by her slow recovery. Though not seriously ill, shehad been longer laid up than had been anticipated in a person so healthyand strong; the burns would not heal satisfactorily, and she was weakand languid. It seemed as if the unsparing fatigues she had been in thehabit of undergoing; her immoderate country walks--her over late andover early hours, had told on her frame, and rendered the effects of herillness difficult to shake off. Or, thought Violet, those tidings mightbe the secret cause, although she never referred to them, and continuednot merely patient, but full of vigour of mind, cheerful, and asindependent and enterprising as submission to orders permitted. Herobedience to irksome rules was so ready and implicit, that Violetmarvelled, till she perceived that it was part of her system of combatwith self-will; and she took the departure of her sister in the samemanner, forbearing to harass Violet with lamentations; and when hermother deplored it, made answer, 'It is my fault. If I had not persuadedArthur out of living at Brogden, we should be staying with them. '

As to the chance of permanent disfigurement, she treated it very coolly, listening with indifference to her mother's frequent inquiries of thesurgeon. 'Never mind, mamma, you and Violet will keep up the beauty ofthe family till Helen comes out. '

The first time she was able to come down-stairs was the last eveningbefore they were to depart. One of Arthur's sparks of kindly feelingawoke when he beheld his once handsome, high-spirited sister, alteredand wrapped up, entering the room with an invalid step and air; andthough she tried to look about in a bright 'degage' manner, soon sinkinginto the cushioned chair by the window with a sigh of languor. Thechange was greater than he had anticipated from his brief visits toher in her bed-room; and, recollecting the cause of the injuries, heperceived the ingratitude of depriving her of Violet; but his contritioncame too late, for he had already exchanged his leave of absence withanother officer. 

All that was in his power was to wait upon her with that engagingattention that rendered him so good a nurse. He was his pleasantestself, and she was so lively as to put every one else into good spirits. It was pretty to see the universal pleasure in her recovery--the weedingwoman, going home late, and looking up at the window to see if she wasthere, as Miss Helen had promised, and curtseying, hardly able to speakfor joy and grief together, when Theodora beckoned her to the window, and asked after her children. The dumb page, too, had watched an hourfor her crossing the hall and when Arthur would have taken the teafrom him, to hand to her, he gave such a beseeching glance as was quiteirresistible, and the more affecting as Theodora's hands were not yet incondition to converse with him, and she was forced to constitute Johnnieher interpreter. 

It was long since any of them had spent so happy an evening; and atnight Arthur insisted on helping her up-stairs, and said, 'I declare itis a shame not to leave you Violet. Suppose you keep her till you areall right again?'

'O, thank you, Arthur; but--' for Violet looked doubtful. 

'Why, I thought you wanted to stay, Violet?' said Arthur. 

'If you could. '

'Too late for that; but you must settle it between you before to-morrowmorning. Good night. '

Lady Martindale warmly pressed Violet to stay, and she found it muchworse to have personally to make the choice than to be only a piece ofproperty at Arthur's disposal. She was, however, firm, saying that hewould be uncomfortable without her; and she was grateful to Theodora forperceiving her motives, and preventing further entreaties. 

'You are right, ' said Theodora, when her mother was gone. 'It would notbe fit to leave him with an empty house, so I must yield you up; but Icannot bear to think of you in London. '

'I am used to it, ' said Violet, with her patient smile. 

'And it will not be four years before we meet again. I shall try hard tocome to you in the autumn. '

'How comfortable that would be! But you must not be uneasy about me, norput any one out of the way. I can get on very well, as long as I haveJohnnie. '

It was not till both had laid down to rest, and the room was dark, thatTheodora said, 'I understand it now. Her poor sister must have broughther into some bad foreign society, from which he could only rescue herby marrying her. '

So abrupt was this commencement that Violet had to recollect who wasmeant, and so decided was the tone, that she asked, 'What have youheard?'

'Nothing fresh; have you?'

'No. Arthur had heard nothing from Mr. Mark Gardner; and I am afraid weshall hear no more till John answers my letter. '

'No matter; I have found out how it must have been. Lady Fotheringham, of whom he made a sort of mother, always liked Jane. Depend upon it, she was anxious about the way in which poor Georgina was reported to begoing on abroad, and told Percy, when she died, to try if he could doanything to save Jane. You see he goes to Italy, and there finds, ofcourse, that there is no way of fulfilling his aunt's wishes but bysacrificing himself. '

'You have arranged it all most fully!'

'See if I am not right--or, rather, you will not see; but I know thatwas the way. It is his nature to be fantastically generous, assome people would call it; and as long as he is the same PercivalFotheringham, the rest is as nothing. I was unjust at the first moment. Jane has a better nature, which he can develop. There is a sense ofreligion to work on--a power of adaptation to those she is with, and ifwhat she has seen in Italy has shocked her and made her turn to him, hemay be the making of her. She is clever enough; and when she finds thatnothing but truth and honesty will succeed with him, she will learn themat last. '

'How glad I am you take it in this way. '

'This quiet time has been good for me, ' said Theodora. 'It would havebeen maddening to have had no pause before waking to ordinary life. '

'Then the fire came at the right time for you. '

'Have you not read of men rushing into battle, hoping each shot wouldstrike them?'

'O, Theodora!'

'It did not last long. Don't be frightened. Woman fear, and the stiflingsmell, and burning feel, and the sight of the red-hot gulf, wereenough to drive it off. I shall never forget the touch of the floor inCharles's room! I thought of nothing but the fire. The feeling only cameback with the fainting. I remember a confused notion that I was glad tobe dying with you holding my head and papa so kind. How savage I feltwhen every one would rouse me, and tell me I was better! I was in hopesthe world was all over with me; but I see I have a great deal to dofirst, and the comfort of lying torpid here has been very great. I havehad time to be stunned, and to get a grasp of it and of my own mind. '

'Dear Theodora! It is indeed sometimes a blessing to be laid up. Itbrings out so much kindness. It is the easiest of all the crosses. '

'I should not wonder if my rampant health had helped to make me the morewayward, ' said Theodora. 'I would not but have been ill for the sakeof the kindness from my father and mother. I was sure of you, but thereis--It has given me spirit to look out upon life. '

'I hope there is peace at least in the look. '

'There is. It is not worse than before, except the vanishing of alingering foolish hope, and that is safest. Repentance must always bethere. My life is like myself; the wounds may heal, but the marks willremain and the freshness and glow will never return here. I am glad Iam so much altered. I should not like to be again within the pale ofattractive people. '

'It is strange to hear you say such things so calmly. '

'I made up my mind long ago. In following poor Georgina--or rather, my own self-will--I threw away the bloom of life. Percy warned me thatthose who reject light crosses have heavy loads imposed. I made what nowseems hardly a cross of reed, into a scourge! Oh, Violet! would that Ihad done no harm but to myself by those races!'

'Hush!' said Violet's smothered voice. 

'But for that, ' said Theodora, recovering steadiness of tone, 'I shouldbear everything peacefully. I was unworthy of Percy, and am better offthan I deserve. Oh, Violet! I have wished to thank you for making mego to Baden, and promising that if I would submit, guidance would come. There it was, the instant I really sought it. What would have become ofme if I had not been haunted by your look and your words? How manytimes they saved me from accepting Lord St. Erme! And if I had, how myself-will, and pride, and jealousy would have grown! and how wretched Ishould be making him now!'

'It is much better as it is. '

'Yes, whatever pain I did give him by my very shameful usage, it wouldhave been far worse to have gone on. I was thankful that I was stopped. Now I think I see my own life. There are my home duties; and oh! howcould I have spoken as I once did of papa! How shocking it must haveseemed to you!'

'I do not know what it was, but it was under great provocation, and youdid not understand him then. '

'No, you and Hugh drove me to him, and in seeing him pleased withanything I can do for him, there is solid happiness. I have learnt toenter into his affection and deep feeling and anxieties, and I would nothave missed these four years of reciprocity with him for anything! AndI shall get on better with mamma now. I fancy she has a different natureafter all, from what my aunt forced on her. Well, then, you know Ihave long set up for a maiden aunt, and there is John, who might wanta housekeeper. Or if I am of no use to my own folks, there are the pooralways. Perhaps I may come to Emma Brandon's priory. It would be finediscipline to be under Mother Theresa. 

This unexpected pleasantry Violet could only answer by a groan. 

'Seriously, ' continued Theodora, 'my doubt would be whether it would beright to turn to such a course only when one has nothing else to do. Itis a different thing from giving the energies and wishes and visions ofyouth, as Emma has done. I could only offer the worn-out. But thatis speculation. There is present duty at home and in the village, andbrightness in your children, and my hopes are on John. I have used himvilely, because he tried to teach me to take to you, and I do longto see him and ask his pardon, and you will help me, so that he shallbelieve in my sorrow, and we will be a sober old brother and sistertogether. '

'I believe he wishes for nothing more. He will feel your having workedfor him, instead of saving anything of your own. '

'I had little to care for: my childhood had few recollections, and I hadnothing of Helen's. It was a pleasure to work for him. Do you know, whenI saw that marble chess-table which had belonged to the parsonage, andwhich Percy had left in John's charge, a horrid feeling came that Iwould not save it for Jane, and I left it. Then I remembered that was anasty spiteful bit of revenge, and I hated myself, and dashed in when Ireally did know that it was not safe. I was altogether mad, I believe. Ifelt desperate, and rather enjoyed facing danger for it. And then Ifelt the heat of the fire from the gallery again, and the spout from thefire-engine came, and the smoke was so thick that I missed my footingwith that great heavy thing, and fell down-stairs to the first landing, and I believe that must have been what hurt my hand and side so much. '

Then as she heard Violet's tightened breath at the thought of thefrightful peril, 'Well for me I did not perish with these wild thoughts! I am glad I havetold you at last. I have felt as if I ought to confess it, and yet I wasashamed. Is the thing safe?'

'Yes, I saw it at Brogden; but oh, to think of it!'

'I am glad it is safe; it was John's charge, and he ought to restore it:but you will dream of it, like poor little Johnnie, if you take it somuch to heart. I should not have told you at night. Put it out of yourhead, and let us sleep in peace. '

'Good night, dear sister. Thank you for talking to me. O, this is betterthan the night we parted before. '

'As much better as it is to have found one's anchor than to be tossed atthe will of the waves. That was a frightful time. Thank heaven that youmade me feel for the cable! There is a dreary voyage to come, but afterall, every day we end the Creed with "The life everlasting. "'

CHAPTER 6

 What have I? Shall I dare to tell? A comfortless and hidden well, A well of love, it may be deep, I trust it is, and never dry. What matter if the waters sleep In silence and obscurity?

 --WORDSWORTH

Violet experienced the trials to which she knew she was returning. For some time past her husband's habits had been growing less and lessdomestic, and his disappointment alienated him still more. It was asif Mrs. Nesbit had left behind her a drop of poison, that perverted andenvenomed the pride he used to take in his son, as heir to the familyhonours, and made him regard the poor child almost in the light of arival, while he seemed to consider the others as burdens, and theirnumber a hardship and misfortune. 

He was so impatient of interruption from them, that Violet kept themcarefully out of his way, while he was in the house, and this was seldomfor a long space of time. All the fancied trials of the first year ofher marriage seemed to have actually come upon her! She hardly saw himfrom morning to night, and when he did spend an evening at home, he wassullen and discontented, and found fault with everything. She was farfrom well, but his days of solicitude were gone by, and he was too muchwrapped up in his own concerns to perceive her failure in strength, and the effort it cost her to be cheerful. The children were her greatsolace, but the toil of attending to them was almost beyond her powers, and if it had not been for her boy, she felt as if she must have beenquite overwhelmed. Quiet, gentle, and thoughtful, he was a positiveassistance in the care of his sisters; and to read with him, hear hisremarks, watch his sweet obedience, and know herself the object of hisearnest affection, was her chief enjoyment, though even here there wasanxiety. His innocence and lovingness had something unearthly, and therewas a precocious understanding, a grave serious turn of mind, and awant of childish mirth, which added to the fears caused by his fragilehealth. Play was not nearly so pleasant to him as to sit by her, readingor talking, or to act as her little messenger; and it was plain that hemissed fondness from his father almost as much as she did for him. To bein the room with papa was his most earnest desire, and it saddened herto see that little slight figure silent in the corner, the open book onhis lap, but his pale face, soft dark eyes, and parted lips, intent onevery movement of his father, till the instant a want was expressed, orthe least occasion for a service offered, there was a bound to executeit, and the inattentive indifferent 'thank you' was enough to summonup the rosy hue of delight. Would Arthur only have looked, how could hehave helped being touched? But he continued neglectful and unheeding, while the child's affection seemed to thrive the more under disregard. 

Violet's only satisfaction was in the absence of Mr. Gardner. She heardconstantly from Lady Elizabeth Brandon; but there was little that washopeful in that quarter. Emma's heart was more entirely in the powerof her suitor than even their fears had anticipated. She had kept soentirely aloof from gentlemen, and so suspiciously repelled the mostordinary attention, that when once she had permitted any intimacy thenovelty gave it a double charm. He had come upon her at first as onebowed down with sorrow for the follies of his youth, seeking only forthe means of repairing what was past, and professing that happiness wasover, and all he could hope was to evidence the depth of his repentanceby his devotion and self-sacrifice in the cause of the Church. Then, when at unawares he allowed it to be discovered by Theresa that theheart, supposed to be awake only to remorse, had been gained by theearnestness and excellence of her young friend, and that in her was themost powerful means of consoling and aiding him, when he seemed sunk inthe depths of despair at having allowed his sentiments to transpire, andonly too much humiliated by the idea of being named together with MissBrandon, it was impossible but that Emma's gentle and enthusiasticspirit should go more than half way to raise him from his despondency. She could not believe his errors so great, after all; or even if theywere, who would not overlook them, and rejoice to have the power ofcomforting such a penitent? Theresa Marstone, with a woman's latent loveof romance, was prime confidante to both, encouraged all, and delightedin the prospect of being supreme in the Priory, and moulding the patternhousehold of the pair formed and united under her auspices. 

In the midst of such a dream as this, what chance had Lady Elizabethof convincing the friends that their penitent, scarcely persuaded torelinquish plans of a hermitage, was a spendthrift adventurer, seekingto repair his extravagance with the estates of Rickworth?

Emma shed indignant tears, and protested that it was cruel to bring uphis past faults; talked of the Christian duty of forgiving the returningsinner; and when Lady Elizabeth showed that he had very recentlybeen engaged in his usual courses, Theresa, with a sensible face andreasonable voice, argued that ordinary minds could not enter into thepower of the Church's work, and adduced many cases of equally suddenchange of life. 

She did not mention whether there was always the heiress of ten thousanda year ready as a reward. 

The list of charges against Mark's character deepened every day, andadded to poor Lady Elizabeth's horror, but he always contrived to renderthem as nothing to Emma. He had always confessed them beforehand, eitherto her or to Theresa, with strong professions of sorrow, and sosoftened and explained away, that they were ready to receive eachfresh accusation as an exaggeration of a fault long past, and deeplyregretted, and only admired their injured Mark the more. Lady Elizabethwrote to beg Violet to give her the clue which she had said Arthurpossessed to Mark's actual present character. 

In much distress Violet wrote the letter, mentioning some disgracefultransactions which she knew to have been taking place at the very timewhen the good curate believed his friend sincerely repentant. She hadheard them, not from Arthur, but from Mrs Bryanstone, who always learntfrom her brother every such piece of gossip, but still, after what hadpassed, and Lady Elizabeth's appeal direct to Arthur, she thought ither duty to tell him before she sent the letter, and to ask if the factswere correct. 

It was a most unpleasant duty; but Arthur was not in such a mood as whenfirst she had mentioned the subject to him. He muttered something aboutthe intense folly of a woman who could believe a word out of Gardner'smouth; said if Emma desired to be made miserable for life she could nottake a better way; wished he had never set eyes on the fellow, and then, grumbling at Violet's begging him to read the letter, he cast his eyeover it, and said it was all true, and there was worse, too, if LadyElizabeth did but know it; but what this was he would not tell her. Hemade no objection to her sending the letter, saying he supposed itmust be done, since she was asked; but it was all her doing, and LadyElizabeth might have gone to some one else; and inconsistently endedwith, 'After all, what's the use of making such an uproar about it? Suchthings have happened twenty times before, and will again. '

'Not with my poor Emma, I hope. Imagine her with such a man as that!'

'Well! there are plenty of such couples. I wonder what would become ofthe world if wives were not better than their husbands. '

Every rational person at Gothlands thought this letter conclusive; Emmaherself was shaken; but a walk in the shrubbery with Mark settled itin her mind that his newly-formed wishes of amendment had then beenweak--he had not then seen her, he had not learnt so much as at present. He had not been able to confess these deeds, because others, who had nowspoken, were concerned in them; but now it was a relief to be able totell all to his Emma! The end of it was, that Emma herself was almostready to press forward the marriage, so as to give him the means ofclearing himself from the debts, which, as he insinuated, were the truecause of Colonel Martindale's accusations. He forgave him, however, though if all was known of his dealings with Arthur Martindale--! Andthen there was a long confidential talk with Theresa Marstone, afterwhich she told Lady Elizabeth that, though Mr. Gardner spared Emma'sfeelings with regard to her friend, there could be no doubt that ColonelMartindale had done much to lead him astray. 

At last, as a dutiful concession, Emma resolved on a compromise, and puthim on his probation for a year. This was particularly inconvenient tohim, but he was very resigned and humble; 'perhaps he had hoped morefrom her affection, but he knew it was his penalty, and must submit. If there was but some religious house to which he could retire for theintermediate space; for he dreaded the effect of being sent back to theworld. '

Theresa was wrought upon to counsel haste; but Emma had principle at thebottom of her effervescence of folly, and was too right-minded, as wellas too timid, to act in direct opposition to her mother, however shemight be led to talk. Therefore they parted, with many tears on Emma'spart, and tender words and promises on Mark's. Lady Elizabeth had littlehope that he would not keep them; but she took advantage of the reprieveto conduct Emma to make visits amongst her relations--sober people, among whom sense was more likely to flourish, and among whom Mr. Gardnercould never dare to show himself. 

He went, as he told Emma, to seek for some continental convent, whereperhaps he might be received as a boarder, and glean hints for thePriory. Ordinary minds believed that his creditors being suspiciousof the delay of his marriage with the heiress, had contributed to thisresolution. 

He spent a few days in London on his way, came to call on ColonelMartindale, and was much with him, as Violet afterwards found, thoughshe did not know of it at the time. 

She perceived the renewal of his influence in a project of which Arthurbegan to talk, of leaving the army and establishing himself at Boulogne. Though by rigid economy and self-denial she had continued to make theoriginal sum apportioned to her cover all household expenses, and hispromotion had brought an increase of income, Arthur declared that, withsuch a family, his means were inadequate to the requirements of hisprofession, and that unless his father could assist them further, they must reside abroad. Lord Martindale treated the threat with greatdispleasure, and to Violet it was like annihilation. When thankful forMark Gardner's absence, she was to be made to pursue him, probably inorder that he might continue to prey on Arthur in secret, and then, atthe year's end, bring them as witnesses that he had abstained from opentransgression; she was to see her husband become the idling Englishmanabroad, in the society most likely to be his ruin; to have her childrenexposed to the disadvantages of a foreign education--what more waswanting to her distress? She ventured to expostulate on their account;but Arthur laughed, and told her they would learn French for nothing;and when she spoke of the evils of bringing up a boy in France, it waswith the look which pained her so acutely, that she was answered, 'Nofear but that he will be looked after: he is of consequence in thefamily. '

Never had the future looked so desolate; but sufficient unto the day wasthe evil thereof. She had the root of peace and strength, and had longbeen trained in patient trust and endurance. To pray, to strive, todwell on words of comfort, to bear in mind the blessings of the cross, to turn resolutely from gloomy contemplations, and to receive thankfullyeach present solace, --these were the tasks she set herself, and theybore the fruit of consolation and hidden support. Her boy's affectionand goodness, the beauty and high health of her little girls, and thekindlier moments when Arthur's better nature shone out, were balm andrefreshment, because she accepted them as gifts from the Fatherly Handthat laid the trial upon her. 

Her submissive distress so far worked on Arthur, that she heard no moreof the Boulogne scheme for the present, and she drove it out of hermind, grateful for his silence, whether it was only from considerationfor her, or whether he had really relinquished the design, now that Mr. Gardner was no longer near to maintain his ascendancy. 

The summer was dreary at Brogden, as well as in Cadogan-place. Theodorasoon was able to call herself well, and to resume her usual avocations, but she had not the same sense of energy and strength of body, and herdays were combats with inertness and fatigue. She did not slacken herexertions, but they had no zest, and she suffered for them. Moreover, she was uneasy about Arthur and his wife; and to partake her father'sconfidence was to share his many anxieties, and to be perplexed by hiscares as well as her own. With her mother there were other difficulties. Lady Martindale had been kept so far apart from her daughter, that nowit seemed as if they could not amalgamate, and when Theodora no longerwas ill, the old habit of reserve returned. Assiduously did Theodorawait on her, read to her, and go out with her in the carriage; but stillwithout becoming familiar, or being able to cheer her spirits. In truth, after having been for years an obedient attendant on her aunt, LadyMartindale felt the blank of the want of occupation, and thus the senseof her loss was ever renewed. Science, literature, and accomplishmentshad been her pursuits, chiefly because her aunt led her to them, andthey had been gradually dropped with Mrs. Nesbit's interest in them. Inthemselves they had no charm for her, and she turned from them nowas painfully recalling what she had lost. Dispirited, and withoutemployment, the natural consequence was that her health suffered, andshe became a prey to the varied torments of neuralgia, while Theodoraproved herself a better nurse than could have been expected for anillness in which she only half believed. 

Many hopes were fixed on John's return; but this was deferred, --hewas in the midst of church building, and establishing schemes to whichabsence would be fatal, and he could only promise to come home nextyear, when things should be put in train. To his sister he wrote aletter so full of warm affectionate gratitude for her exertions in hisbehalf, that she was positively soothed and refreshed, and reckoned themore on beginning with him the fraternal union so long delayed, but towhich she looked as the solace of her future life. 

As to Percival Fotheringham, there was no further explanation of hismarriage. John wrote to Violet that he had not heard from him for manymonths, for it was difficult to keep up a correspondence between Barbudaand the continental towns whither he was journeying. His last letterhad spoken of a tour in Italy in contemplation, and that in which he hadcommunicated Lady Fotheringham's death, mentioned some of her lastcares being for Jane and Georgina, and how she had tried to leave someprovision which might rescue the former from the necessity of followingher sister into the undesirable society she found abroad. This onlyserved to confirm Theodora's conjecture. 

From other sources no intelligence was gained. London was empty, andViolet saw no one likely to know anything of his movements; and when sheheard that Mark Gardner had been in town, and eagerly inquired whetherhe had been asked, she found that Arthur had forgotten the whole matter. Lady Elizabeth finished the letter, rejoicing in his departure, bysaying--'He confirms what I told you of the marriage of his cousinand Mr. Fotheringham, and calls it a lucky thing for her. I had noopportunity of hearing the particulars. ' And, finally, Mrs. Bryanstonehad heard of Miss Gardner's marriage with one of the Fotheringhams ofWorthbourne, and only wanted Mrs. Martindale to strengthen her in thebelief that it was the dear, eccentric Crusader. 

CHAPTER 7

 'Mid sombre shades of evening dim Upon the rock so lone, so drear, Scorning weak frame and sinking limb, My heart grows bright and bold of cheer; Out of the depths of stormy night My hope looks up with cloudless eyes, And to the one true deathless light, Its joyful pinions swiftly rise: Thanks to the seraph shape that beamed Benign upon my darkened breast, So for her service worthy deemed, My grateful heart abounds in rest. 

 --FOUQUE'S Minstrel Love

'Wrangerton, August 20th. 

'You must not be frightened, dearest Violet--Albert is safe; thanks tothat most noble-hearted, admirable Lord St. Erme, and above all, thanksto Him who directed this dreadful stroke away from us. I hope you willreceive this before you see the newspaper. Mamma has gone up with them, to help them to break it to poor Lady Lucy. May she be supported!

'The history, as far as I can toll you, is this:--The men at thecollieries have been as troublesome and insubordinate as ever, seemingto think opposition to Lord St. Erme an assertion of their rights asfree-born Englishmen; and at last, finding it impossible to do anythingwith them as long as they did not depend immediately upon himself, he took the pits into his own hands when Mr. Shoreham went away, afortnight ago. It seems that Mr. Shoreham, knowing that he was going, had let everything fall into a most neglected state, and the overlookersbrought reports to Albert that there were hardly any safety-lampsused in the great pit, and that the galleries were so insufficientlysupported that there was great danger in continuing to work there. However, the reports were contradictory, and after trying in vain tosettle what was to be done, Lord St. Erme rode this morning to thecollieries, to make a personal inspection, and insist on the men usingthe Davy-lamp. After trying to dissuade him, Albert proposed to go downwith him; but he would not consent--he only smiled, and said there wasno need for it. It did not strike Albert till afterwards that he wasconscious of the risk, and would not allow another to share it! He waswaiting for him, not far from the shaft, when the earth seemed to giveway under his feet; there was a thundering sound, a great cry, and hefell. When he recovered his footing, the mouth of the shaft wasgone, the scaffolding prostrate, the people around in horror andconsternation. The pit had fallen in, and there were at least twentymen there, besides Lord St. Erme. Oh! how you will share that shudderingthankfulness and sorrow, that we felt, when Albert galloped up to thedoor and threw himself into the arm-chair, so unnerved by the shock thathe could not at first speak. Happily his wife was here, so she heard allat once. He is gone with mamma and papa to tell the poor sister. Alas!though we think most of her, there are many other sufferers. 

'Three, o'clock. --Albert is come back. He says Lady Lucy met them in thehall, pale and trembling, as if she had already worked herself into anagony of fright. She begged them to tell her at once, and stood quitestill, only now and then moaning to herself, "Oh, St. Erme! St. Erme!"Mamma took her by the hand, and tried to speak soothingly; but she didnot seem to attend, and presently looked up, flushed and quivering, though she had been so still before, and declared that the whole mightnot have fallen; she had heard of people being dug out alive; they mustbegin at once, and she would go to the spot. There is no hope, Albertsays; even if not crushed, they must have perished from the foul air, but the poor girl has caught fast hold of the idea, and insists on goingto Coalworth at once to urge it on. They cannot prevent her, and mammacannot bear that she should be alone, and means to go with her. Thecarriage was ordered when Albert came here! Poor thing, there was neverfonder love between a brother and sister; she hardly had a thought thatdid not centre in him. It breaks my heart to think how often we haveseen them walking arm-in-arm together, and said they might be taken fora pair of lovers. 

'Five o'clock. --Annette begs me to conclude her letter. My father hasreturned home, and fetched her to Coalworth, to be with my mother, andthe poor young lady (already, I fear, Countess of St. Erme), who, hetells us, continues buoyed up by the delusion that her brother may yetbe found alive, and is calling on all around to use the utmost exertionsfor his recovery. I regret that I cannot go in Annette's stead; but Icannot leave home in mamma's absence, as poor Louisa is much affected byAlbert's peril, and in so nervous a state that she will not hear of myquitting her for a moment. We have indeed received a lesson, that norank, however exalted, can protect from the strokes of Providence, orthe uncertainties of human life. But the postman calls. Adieu. 

'Your affectionate sister, 'Matilda Moss. '

(The last moral sentiment, be it observed, readied Miss Martindale, rendered illegible by scrawls of ink from Violet's hand. )

'Coalworth, August 21st. 

'Dearest Violet, --Matilda told you how I was sent for to come here. Theyare working on, --relays relieving each other day and night; but no onebut poor Lady Lucy thinks there is any hope. Mr. Alder, the engineer, says Lord St. Erme must have been in the farthest gallery, and theycannot reach it in less than a week, so that if the other perils shouldbe escaped, there would be starvation. The real number lost is fourteen, besides Lord St. Erme. It was a strange scene when I arrived at aboutseven o'clock yesterday evening. The moor looking so quiet, and likeitself, with the heath and furze glowing in the setting sun, as if theyhad no sympathy for us, till, when we came near the black heaps of coal, we saw the crowd standing round, --then getting into the midst, there wasthe great broken down piece of blackened soil and the black strong-armedmen working away with that life-and-death earnestness. By the ruins ofa shed that had been thrown down, there was a little group, Lady Lucy, looking so fair and delicate, so unlike everything around, standing byan old woman in a red cloak, whom she had placed in the chair that hadbeen brought for herself, the mother of one of the other sufferers. Mamma and papa were with her; but nothing seems to comfort her so muchas going from one to the other of the women and children in the sametrouble with herself. She talks to them, and tries to get them to behopeful, and nurses the babies, and especially makes much of the oldwoman. The younger ones look cheered when she tells them that historywhich she dwells on so much, and seem as if they must believe her, butthe poor old dame has no hope, and tells her so. "'Tis the will of God, my lady, don't ye take on so now. It will be all one when we come toheaven, though I would have liked to have seen Willy again; but 'tis thecross the Lord sends, so don't ye take on, " and then Lady Lucy sits downon the ground, and looks up in her face, as if her plain words didher more good than anything we can say, or even the clergyman, who isconstantly going from one to the other. Whenever the men come to work, or go away, tired out, Lady Lucy thanks them from the bottom of herheart; and a look at her serves to inspirit and force them on towonderful exertions. But alas! what it must end in! We are at the housethat was Mr. Shoreham's, the nearest to the spot. It was hard work toget poor Lady Lucy to come in last night. She stood there till longafter dark, when the stars were all out, and mamma could only get heraway by telling her, that her brother would be vexed, and that, if shemade herself ill, she would not be able to nurse him. She did not sleepall night, and this morning she was out again with daylight, and wewere obliged to bring her out some breakfast, which she shared with thefellow-sufferers round her, and would have taken nothing herself ifthe old dame had not coaxed her, and petted her, calling her "My prettylady, " and going back to her lecture on its being a sin to fret at Hiswill. Mamma and I take turns to be with her. When I came in, she wassitting by the old woman, reading to her the Psalms, and the good oldcreature saying at the end of each, "Yes, yes, He knows what is good forthem. Glory be to Him. "

'Aug. 22nd. --As before. They have tried if they can open a way from theold shaft, but cannot do it with safety. Lady Lucy still the same, butpaler and more worn, I think, less hopeful; I hope, more resigned. 

'Aug. 23rd. --Poor Lucy was really tired out, and slept for two wholehours in the heat of the noon, sitting on the ground by old Betty, fairly overpowered. It was a touching sight; the old woman watching herso sedulously, and all the rough people keeping such strict silence, anddriving off all that could disturb her. The pitmen look at her withsuch compassionate reverence! The look and word she gives them are tenthousand times more to them, I am sure, than the high pay they get forevery hour they work! Next Wednesday is the first day they can hope tocome to anything. This waiting is dreadful. Would that I could call itsuspense!

'Aug. 24th, Sunday. --She has been to church this morning. I did notthink she could, but at the sound of the bell, she looked up, and theold woman too, they seemed to understand each other without a word, andwent together. The service was almost more than one could bear, but shewas composed, except at the references in the sermon to our state ofintense anxiety, and the need of submission. At the special mention inthe Litany of those in danger, I heard from beneath her hands claspedover her face, that low moan of "O, brother, brother!" Still I thinkwhen the worst comes, she will bear it better and be supported. 

'Five o'clock. --THESE IS HOPE!--O Violet! We went to church againthis afternoon. The way leads past the old shaft. As we came by it inreturning, Lady Lucy stood still, and said she heard a sound. We couldhear nothing, but one of the wives said, "Yes, some one was working, andcalling down there. " I flew to the main shaft, and called Mr. Alder. Hewas incredulous, but Lady Lucy insisted. A man went down, and the soundwas certain. No words can be made out. They are working to meet them. Lucy burst into tears, and threw her arms round my neck as soon as sheheard this man's report; but oh! thankful as we are, it is more cruelthan ever not to know who is saved, and this letter must go to-nightwithout waiting for more. 

'25th. --He is alive, they say, but whether he can rally is mostuncertain. All night they worked on, not till six o'clock this morningwas any possibility of communication opened. Then questions were asked, "How many were there?" "Fifteen, all living, but one much crushed. " Oh!the suspense, the heart-beating as those answers were sent up from thedepths of the tomb--a living tomb indeed; and how Lady Lucy pressed thewomen's hard hands, and shed her tears of joy with them. But there wasa damp to her gladness. Next message was that Lord St. Erme badfainted--they could not tell whether he lived--he could not hold out anylonger! Then it was that she gave way, and indeed it was too agonizing, but the old woman seemed better able to calm her than we could. Terriblemoments indeed! and in the midst there was sent up a folded paper thathad been handed out at the small aperture on the point of a tool, whenthe poor things had first been able to see the lights of their rescuers. It was to Lady Lucy; her brother had written it on the leaf of apocket-book, before their single lamp went out, and had given it incharge to one of the men when he found his strength failing. She was toodizzy and trembling to make out the pencil, and gave it to me to read toher. I hope I am not doing wrong, for I must tell you how beautiful andresigned a farewell it was. He said, in case this note ever came to her, she must not grieve at the manner of his death--it was a comfort to himto be taken, while trying to repair the negligence of earlier years;they were a brave determined set of men who were with him, and she mustprovide for their widows and children. There was much fond thought forher, and things to console her, and one sentence you must have--"If everyou meet with the "hoch-beseeltes Madchen", let her know that her knightthanks and blesses her in his last hour for having roused him and senthim forth to the battlefield. I would rather be here now than what Iwas when she awoke me. Perhaps she will now be a friend and comforter toyou. "

'I think those were the words. I could not help writing them. Poor Lucycried over the note, and we lowered down baskets of nourishment to behanded in, but we heard only of Lord St. Erme's continued swoon, and itwas a weary while before the opening could be widened enough to helpthe sufferers out. They were exhausted, and could work no more on theirside. But for him, it seems they would have done nothing; he was theonly one who kept his presence of mind when the crash came. One lampwas not extinguished, and he made them at once consider, while the lightlasted, whether they could help themselves. One of the hewers knew thatthey were not far from this old shaft, and happily Lord St. Erme hada little compass hung to his watch, which he used to carry in hiswanderings abroad; this decided the direction, and he set them towork, and encouraged them to persevere most manfully. He did not workhimself--indeed, the close air oppressed him much more than it did thepitmen, and he had little hope for his own life, however it might end, but he sat the whole time, supporting the head of the man who was hurt, and keeping up the resolution of the others, putting them in mind ofthe only hope in their dire distress, and guiding them to prayer andrepentance, such as might fit them for life or death. "He was more thanten preachers, and did more good than forty discourses, " said one man. But he had much less bodily strength than they, though more energy andfortitude, and he was scarcely sensible when the first hope of rescuecame. It seemed as if he had just kept up to sustain them till then, and when they no longer depended on him for encouragement, he sank. Themoment came at last. He was drawn up perfectly insensible, together witha great brawny-armed hewer, a vehement Chartist, and hitherto his greatenemy, but who now held him in his arms like a baby, so tenderly andanxiously. As soon as he saw Lady Lucy, he called out, "Here he is, Miss, I hope ye'll be able to bring him to. If all lords were like henow!" and then his wife had hold of him, quite beside herself with joy;but he shook her off with a sort of kind rudeness, and, exhausted as hewas, would not hear of being helped to his home, till he had heard thedoctors (who were all in waiting) say that Lord St. Erme was alive. Lady Lucy was hanging over him in a sort of agony of ecstasy, and yet ofgrief; but still she looked up, and put her little white hand into thecollier's big black one, and said, "Thank you, " and then he fairly burstout crying, and so his wife led him away. I saw Lord St. Erme for onemoment, and never was anything more death-like, such ghastly white, except where grimed with coal-dust. They are in his room now, tryingto restore animation. He has shown some degree of consciousness, andpressed his sister's hand, but all power of swallowing seems to begone, and the doctors are in great alarm. The others are doing well--thepeople come in swarms to the door to ask for him. 

'26th. --Comfort at last. He has been getting better all night, and thismorning the doctors say all danger is over. Mamma says she can hardlykeep from tears as she watches the happy placid looks of the brother andsister, as he lies there so pale and shadowy, and she hangs over him, asif she could never gaze at him enough. Several of the men, who were withhim, came to inquire for him early this morning; none of them sufferedhalf so much as he did. I went down to speak to them, and I am glad Idid; it is beautiful to see how he has won all their hearts, and to heartheir appreciation of his conduct. They say he tended the man whowas hurt as if he had been his mother, and never uttered one word ofcomplaint. "He told us, " said one man, "God could hear us out of thedepth, as well as when we said our prayers in church; and whenever ourhearts were failing us, there was his voice speaking somewhat good tocheer us up, or help us to mind that there was One who knew where wewere, and would have a care for us and our wives and children. " "Blesshim, " said another, "he has been the saving of our lives;" "Bless him;"and they touched their hats and said Amen. I wish his sister could haveseen them!

'Five o'clock. --Mrs. Delaval is come, and there is no room nor needfor us, so we are going home. It is best, for mamma was nursing him allnight, and is tired out. He has improved much in the course of the day, and they hope that he may soon be moved home. The pitmen want to carryhim back on his mattress on their shoulders. He has made himself king oftheir hearts! He has been able to inquire after them, and Lady Lucy, who forgets no one, has been down-stairs to see the old Betty. "Ah! mypretty lady, " she said, "you are not sorry now that you tried to takethe Lord's Cross patiently, and now, you see, your sorrow is turned intojoy. " And then Lady Lucy would not have it called patience, and said shehad had no submission in her, and Betty answered her, "Ah! well, youare young yet, and He fits the burden to the shoulder. " How an adventurelike this brings out the truth of every character, as one never wouldhave known it otherwise. Who would have dreamt of that pattern ofsaintly resignation in the Coalworth heath, or that Lady Lucy Delavalwould have found a poor old woman her truest and best comforter? andthis without the least forwardness on the old woman's part. 

'Just going! Lady Lucy so warm-hearted and grateful--and Lord St. Ermehimself wished mamma good-bye in such a kind cordial manner, thankingher for all she had done for his sister. I am sorry to go, so as not tobe in the way of seeing anything more of them, but it is time, for mammais quite overcome. So I must close up this last letter from Coalworth, afar happier one than I thought to end with. 

'Your most affectionate, A. M. 

'P. S. --Is he not a hero, equal to his "hoch-beseeltes Madchen"? I amashamed of having written to you what was never meant for other eyes, but it will be safe with you. If you had seen how he used to waylay us, and ask for our tidings from you after the fire, you would see I cannotdoubt who the "madchen" is. Is there no hope for him? The other affairwas so long ago, and who could help longing to have such minstrel-loverewarded?'

That postscript did not go on to Brogden, though Annette's betrayal ofconfidence had been suffered to meet the eye of the high-souled maiden. 

The accounts of Lord St. Erme continued to improve, though his recoverywas but slow. To talk the adventure over was a never-failing interestto Lady Martindale, who, though Theodora suppressed Annette's quotation, was much of the opinion expressed in the postscript, and made some quietlamentations that Theodora had rejected him. 

'No, we were not fit for each other, ' she answered. 

'You would not say so now, ' said Lady Martindale. 'He has done things asgreat as yourself, my dear. '

'I am fit for no one now, ' said Theodora, bluntly. 

'Ah, my dear!--But I don't know why I should wish you to marry; I couldnever do without you. '

'That's the most sensible thing you have said yet, mamma. '

But Theodora wished herself less necessary at home, when, in a few weeksmore, she had to gather that matters were going on well from the largeround-hand note, with nursery spelling and folding, in which Johnnieannounced that he had a little brother. 

An interval of peace to Violet ensued. Arthur did not nurse her as inold times; but he was gentle and kind, and was the more with her as thecough, which had never been entirely removed, was renewed by a chill inthe first cold of September. All went well till the babe was a week old, when Arthur suddenly announced his intention of asking for a fortnight'sleave, as he was obliged to go to Boulogne on business. 

Here was a fresh thunderbolt. Violet guessed that Mr. Gardner was there, and was convinced that, whatever might be Arthur's present designs, he would come back having taken a house at Boulogne. He answered herimploring look by telling her not to worry herself; he hoped to get'quit of the concern, ' and, at any rate, could not help going. Shesuggested that his cough would bear no liberties; he said, change of airwould take it off, and scouted her entreaty that he would consult Mr. Harding. Another morning, a kind careless farewell, he was gone!

Poor Violet drew the coverlet over her head; her heart failed her, andshe craved that her throbbing sinking weakness and feverish anxietymight bring her to her final rest. When she glanced over the future, herhusband deteriorating, and his love closed up from her; her childrenled astray by evil influences of a foreign soil; Johnnie, perhaps, onlysaved by separation--Johnnie, her precious comforter; herself far fromevery friend, every support, without security of church ordinances--alllooked so utterly wretched that, as her pulses beat, and every sensationof illness was aggravated, she almost rejoiced in the danger she feltapproaching. 

Nothing but her infant's voice could have recalled her to a calmer mind, and brought back the sense that she was bound to earth by her children. She repented as of impatience and selfishness, called back herresolution, and sought for soothing. It came. She had taught herself thedominion over her mind in which she had once been so deficient. Vexingcares and restless imaginings were driven back by echoes of hymns andpsalms and faithful promises, as she lay calm and resigned, in herweakness and solitude, and her babe slept tranquilly in her bosom, andJohnnie brought his books and histories of his sisters; and she couldsmile in thankfulness at their loveliness of to-day, only in prayerconcerning herself for the morrow. She was content patiently to abidethe Lord. 

CHAPTER 8

 But one, I wis, was not at home, Another had paid his gold away, Another called him thriftless loone, And bade him sharply wend his way. 

 --Heir of Lynne

'He is done for. That wife of his may feel the consequence of meddlingin other folk's concerns. Not that I care for that now, there's metalmore attractive; but she has crossed me, and shall suffer for it. ' Theseshort sentences met the ear of a broad-shouldered man in a rough coat, as, in elbowing his way through the crowd on the quay at Boulogne, hewas detained for a moment behind two persons, whose very backs had allthe aspect of the dissipated Englishman abroad. Struggling past, hegained a side view of the face of the speaker. It was one which heknew; but the vindictive glare in the sarcastic eyes positively made himstart, as he heard the laugh of triumph and derision, in reply to someremark from the other. 

'Ay! and got enough to get off to Paris, where the old Finch has droppedoff his perch at last. That was all I wanted of him, and it was timeto wring him dry and have done with him. He will go off in consumptionbefore the year is out--'

As he spoke, the stranger turned on him an honest English face, the lipscompressed into an expression of the utmost contempt, while indignationflashed in the penetrating gray eyes, that looked on him steadily. His bold defiant gaze fell, quailing and scowling, he seemed to becomesmall, shrink away, and disappeared. 

'When scamp number two looks round for scamp number one, he is lostin the crowd, ' muttered the traveller, half smiling; then, with a deepbreath, 'The hard-hearted rascal! If one could only wring his neck!Heaven help the victim! though, no doubt, pity is wasted on him. '

He ceased his reflections, to enter the steamer just starting forFolkestone, and was soon standing on deck, keeping guard over hisluggage. The sound of a frequent cough attracted his attention, and, looking round, he saw a tall figure wrapped in great-coats leaning onthe leeward side of the funnel. 

'Hollo! you here, Arthur! Where have you been?'

'What, Percy? How d'ye do?' replied a hoarse, languid voice. 

'Is Mrs. Martindale here?'

'No. ' He was cut short by such violent cough that he was obliged to resthis forehead on his arm; then shivering, and complaining of the cold, hesaid he should go below, and moved away, rejecting Percy's offered armwith some impatience. 

The weather was beautiful, and Percy stood for some time watching thereceding shore, and scanning, with his wonted keen gaze, the variouscountenances of the passengers. He took a book from his pocket, but didnot read long; he looked out on the sea, and muttered to himself, 'What folly now? Why won't that name let one rest? Besides, he lookeddesperately ill; I must go and see if they have made him comfortable inthat dog-hole below. '

Percy shook himself as if he was out of humour; and, with his hands inhis pockets, and a sauntering step, entered the cabin. He found Arthurthere alone, his head resting on his arms, and his frame shaken by thesuppressed cough. 

'You seem to have a terrible cold. This is a bad time to be crossing. How long have you been abroad?'

'Ten days. --How came you here?'

'I am going to Worthbourne. How are all your folks!'

'All well;' and coughing again, he filled up a tumbler with spirits andwater, and drank it off, while Percy exclaimed:

'Are you running crazy, to be feeding such a cough in this way?'

'The only thing to warm one, ' said he, shuddering from head to foot. 

'Yes, warm you properly into a nice little fever and inflammation. Why, what a hand you have! And your pulse! Here, lie down at once, ' as heformed a couch with the help of a wrapper and bag. Arthur passivelyaccepted his care; but as the chill again crept through his veins, hestretched out his hand for the cordial. 

'I won't have it done!' thundered Percy. 'I will not look on and see youkilling yourself!'

'I wish I could, ' murmured Arthur, letting his hand drop, as if unequalto contest the point. 

The conviction suddenly flashed on Percy that he was the victim! 'Youhave got yourself into a scrape' he said. 

'Scrape! I tell you I am ruined! undone!' exclaimed Arthur, rearinghimself up, as he burst out into passionate imprecations on MarkGardner, cut short by coughing. 

'You! with your wife and little children entirely depending on you! Youhave allowed that scoundrel, whose baseness you knew, to dupe you toyour own destruction!' said Percy, with slowness and severity. 

Too ill and wretched to resent the reproach, Arthur sank his head with aheavy groan, that almost disarmed Percy; then looking up, with sparklingeyes, he exclaimed, 'No! I did not know his baseness; I thought him acareless scape-grace, but not much worse than he has made me. I wouldas soon have believed myself capable of the treachery, the unfeelingrevenge--' Again he was unable to say more, and struggling forutterance, he stamped his foot against the floor, and groaned aloud withrage and pain. 

Percy persuaded him to lie down again, and could not refrain fromforcible expressions of indignation, as he recollected the sneeringexultation of Gardner's tone of triumph over one so open-hearted andconfiding. 

It was a moment when sympathy unlocked the heart, and shame was lostin the sense of injury. Nothing more was needed to call from Arthur thehistory of his wrongs, as well as he was able to tell it, eking out withhis papers the incoherent sentences which he was unable to finish, sothat Percy succeeded in collecting, from his broken narration, an ideaof the state of affairs. 

The horses, kept jointly at his expense and that of Gardner, had beenthe occasion of serious debts; and on Gardner's leaving England, therehad been a pressure on Colonel Martindale that rendered him anxious tofree himself, even at the cost of his commission. Gardner, on the otherhand, had, it appeared, been desirous to have him at Boulogne, perhaps, at first, merely as a means of subsistence during the year of probation, and on the failure of the first attempt at bringing him thither, hadwritten to invite him, holding out as an inducement, that he was himselfdesirous of being disembarrassed, in order that Miss Brandon mightfind him clear of this entanglement, and representing that he had stillproperty enough to clear off his portion of the liability. 

With this view Arthur had gone out to Boulogne to meet him, but hadfound him dilatory in entering on business, and was drawn into takingpart in the amusements of the place; living in a state of feveredexcitement, which aggravated his indisposition and confused hisperceptions, so that he fell more completely than ever into the powerof his false friend, and was argued into relinquishing his project ofselling the horses, and into taking up larger sums for keeping them on. In fact, the sensation that a severe cold was impending, and disgust atthe notion of being laid up in such company rendered him doubly facile;and, in restless impatience to get away and avoid discussion, he accededto everything, and signed whatever Gardner pleased. Not till he wason the point of embarking, after having gambled away most of his readymoney, did he discover that the property of which he had heard so muchwas only a shadow, which had served to delude many another creditor; andthat they had made themselves responsible for a monstrous amount, forwhich he was left alone to answer, while the first demand would be thesignal for a multitude of other claims. As they parted, Gardnerhad finally thrown off the mask, and let him know that this was therecompense of his wife's stories to the Brandons. She might say what shepleased now, it mattered not; Mark was on his way to the rich widow ofMr. Finch, and had wanted nothing of Arthur but to obtain the means ofgoing to her, and to be revenged on him. 

So Arthur half-expressed, and his friend understood. Save for thisbodily condition, Percy could hardly have borne with him. His recklessself-indulgence and blind folly deserved to be left to reap theirown fruit; yet, when he beheld their victim, miserable, prostrated byillness and despair, and cast aside with scornful cruelty, he couldnot, without being as cold-hearted as Gardner himself, refrain from kindwords and suggestions of consolation. 'Might not his father assist him?'

'He cannot if he would. Everything is entailed, and you know how my auntserved us. There is no ready money to be had, not even the five thousandpounds that is the whole dependence for the poor things at home in caseof my death, which may come soon enough for aught I care. I wish it was!I wish we were all going to the bottom together, and I was to see noneof their faces again. It would be better for Violet than this. '

Percy could say little; but, though blunt of speech, he was tender ofheart. He did all in his power for Arthur's comfort, and when he helpedhim on shore at Folkestone, recommended him to go to bed at once, andoffered to fetch Mrs. Martindale. 

'She cannot come, ' sighed Arthur; 'she has only been confined threeweeks. '

More shame for you, had Percy almost said; but he no longer opposedArthur's homeward instinct, and, finding a train ready to start, lefttheir luggage to its fate, and resolved not to lose sight of him tillhe was safely deposited at his own house. Such care was in truth needed;the journey was a dreadful one, the suffering increased every hour, and when at length, in the dusk of the evening, they arrived inCadogan-place, he could hardly mount the stairs, even with Percy'sassistance. 

It was the first time that Violet had left her chamber, and, as thedrawing-room door opened, she was seen sitting, pale and delicate, inher low chair by the fire, her babe on her lap, and the other three ather feet, Johnnie presiding over his sisters, as they looked at a bookof prints. 

She started up in alarm as Arthur entered, leaning on Mr. Fotheringham, and at once seized by a paroxysm of severe cough. Percy tried to assumea reassuring tone. 'Here, you see, I have brought him home with one ofhis bad colds. He will speak for himself presently. '

In a second she had placed the infant on the sofa, signed to Johnnieto watch him, and drawn the arm-chair to the fire. Arthur sank intoit, throwing his arm round her for support, and resting his weary headagainst her, as if he had found his refuge. Percy relieved her fromthe two little girls, unclasping their frightened grasp on her dressso gently and firmly, that, stranger though he was, Anna did not cryon being taken in his arms, nor Helen resist his leading her out of theroom, and desiring her to take her sister up-stairs and to call theirnurse. 

Returning, he found that necessity had brought strength and presenceof mind to their mother. She did not even tremble, though Arthur's onlywords were, 'We are undone. If I die, forgive me. ' Indeed, she hardlytook in the sense of what he said; she only caressed, and tried torelieve him, assisted by Percy, who did not leave them till he had seenArthur safely in charge of Mr. Harding. 

He then walked away to his old lodgings in Piccadilly, where he wasrecognized with ecstasy by the quondam ragged-school boy, and was gladlywelcomed by his landlady, who could not rejoice enough at the sight ofhis good-humoured face. 

He divided his time between friendly gossip on her family affairs as shebustled in and out, in civility to the cat, and in railing athimself for thinking twice of such a selfish, ne'er-do-well as ArthurMartindale. The image of that pale young mother and her little onespursued him, and with it the thought of the complicated distressesawaiting her; the knowledge of the debts that would almost beggar her, coming in the midst of her husband's dangerous illness. 

Percy muttered to himself lines of 'Who comes here--a Grenadier, ' made aface, stretched himself, and called on himself to look on reasonablenessand justice. Arthur deserved no favour, because he had encumberedhimself with a helpless family, and then cruelly disregarded them. 

'What does a man deserve who leaves his wife with a child of a weekold, to run after a swindler in foreign parts--eh, puss?' said he aloud, viciously tweaking the old cat's whiskers; then, as she shook her earsand drew back, too dignified to be offended, 'Ay, ay, while wheat andtares grow together, the innocent must suffer for the guilty. The betterfor both. One is refined, the other softened. I am the innocent sufferernow, ' added he; 'condole with me, pussy! That essay would have beenworth eighty pounds if it was worth a sixpence; and there's a loss for astriving young man! I cannot go on to Worthbourne without recovering it;and who knows how Jane will interpret my delay? While I live I'll nevercarry another manuscript anywhere but in my pocket, and then we shouldall go to the bottom together, according to poor Arthur's friendly wish. Ha! that's not it sticking out of my great-coat pocket? No such goodluck-only those absurd papers of poor Arthur's. I remember I loaded mycoat on him when we were going to land. What a business it is! Let usoverhaul them a bit. '

He became absorbed in the contemplation, only now and then giving ventto some vituperative epithet, till he suddenly dashed his hand on thetable with a force that startled the cat from her doze. 

'Never mind, puss; you know of old

 'I care for nobody, and nobody cares for me. '

So now, good night, and there's an end of the matter. '

The first thing he did, next morning, was to walk to Cadogan-place, toreturn the papers. He had long to wait before the door was opened;and when James at length came, it was almost crying that he said thatColonel Martindale was very ill; he had ruptured a blood-vessel thatmorning, and was in the most imminent danger. 

Mr. Fotheringham could see no one--could not be of any service. He walked across the street, looked up at the windows, mused, thenexclaimed, 'That being the case, I had better go at once to Folkestone, and rescue my bag from the jaws of the Custom-house. '

CHAPTER 9

 She left the gleam-lit fire-place, She came to the bedside, Her look was like a sad embrace, The gaze of one who can divine A grief, and sympathize. Sweet flower, thy children's eyes Are not more innocent than thine. 

 --M. ARNOLD--Tristram and Yseulte. 

At last there was a respite. The choking, stifling flow of blood, that, with brief intervals, had for the last two hours threatened momentarydeath, had been at length checked; the eyes were closed that had roamedin helpless affright and agony from Violet to the doctors; and thesufferer was lying, in what his wife would fain have deemed a slumber, but the gasping respiration and looks of distress made it but tooevident that it was the stillness of exhaustion, enhanced by dread ofrenewing the bleeding by word or motion. 

There could be no concealment of the exceeding danger. His lungs hadnever been strong; and the slight cough, which, contrary to his usualhabits, he had neglected all the summer, had been the token of mischief, which his recent expedition had aggravated to a fearful extent. Eventhe violent bleeding had not relieved the inflammation on the chest, andViolet had collected from the physician's looks and words that it couldbe hardly expected that he should survive the day. 

Yet, through that dreadful morning, she had not failed in resolution orcomposure: never once had her husband seen in her look, or heard inher tone, aught but what might cheer and sustain him--never hadher fortitude or steadiness given way. She had not time to think ofconsolation and support; but her habit of prayer and trust came toher aid, and brought strength and support around her "in these greatwaterfloods" of trouble. She was not forsaken in her hour of need. Hitherto there had been no space for reflection; now his quiescentstate, though for the present so great a relief, brought the opportunityof realizing his situation; but therewith arose thankfulness for thespace thus granted, and the power of praying that it might be blessed tohim whether for life or death. 

In watchfulness and supplication, she sat beside him, with her babe, much afraid that it should disturb him, and be unwelcome. However, whensome little sound made him aware of its presence, he opened his eyes, moved his hand, as if to put back the covering that hid its face fromhim, and presently signed to have it placed on the bed by his side. Itwas a fine large dark boy, already so like him as to make the contrastthe more striking and painful, between the unconscious serenity of thebabe and the restless misery of the face of the father, laid low in thestrength of manhood, and with a look of wretched uneasiness, as if theload on the mind was a worse torment than the weight on the labouringbreath. He, who usually hardly deigned a glance at his infants, now laygazing with inexpressible softness and sadness at the little sleepingface; and Violet, while gratified by that look of affection, could nothelp having it the more borne in on her mind, that death must be verynear. Were the well-springs of love, so long closed up, only openingwhen he was about to leave his children for ever? If she could only haveheard him speak!

Presently, as if there was some sting of reproach in the impassivefeatures, he turned his head away abruptly, with a deep groan, and hidhis face. She took away the child, and there was another silence, whichshe ventured to break now and then, by a few sentences of faith andprayer, but without being able to perceive whether he attended. Suddenlyhe started, as if thrilled in every vein, and glanced around withterrified anxiety, of which she could not at first perceive the cause, till she found it was the postman's knock. He held out his hand for theletters, and cast a hurried look at their directions. None were forhim, but there was one in his sister's hand-writing. Violet did not feelherself able to read it, and was laying it aside, when she saw his looksfollowing it. Her present world was so entirely in that room that shehad forgotten all beyond; and it only now occurred to her to say, 'Yourfather? Do you wish for him? I will write. '

'Telegraph. ' Even this whisper brought back the cough that was anguishand terror. 

It was already so late in the day, that though thus summoned, there wasno chance of Lord Martindale's arriving till the following evening; andViolet's heart sank at reckoning up the space that must elapse, moreespecially when she saw the perturbed eye, the startings at each sound, the determination to know the business of every one who came to speak toher--evident indications that there was some anxiety on his mind whichshe could not comprehend. 

Thus passed the day--between visits from desponding doctors and vainmeasures for reducing the inflammation. At night Mr. Harding would haveprevailed on her to go to rest, promising to keep watch in her stead;but she only shook her head, and said she could not. She had not seen, and had scarcely thought of, the elder children all day; but at abouteleven o'clock at night she was startled by a sound of lamentablecrying, --Johnnie's voice in the nursery. The poor little boy's nerveshad been so much shaken by the fire at Martindale, that he had becomesubject to night alarms, which sometimes showed their effect for thewhole subsequent day; and his mother stole away on hearing his cry, leaving Arthur in Mr. Harding's charge, and hoping not to be missed. 

Sarah was standing over Johnnie, half-coaxing, half-scolding while hesat up in his little crib, shivering and sobbing, with chattering teeth, and terrified exclamations about papa all over blood, lying dead underthe burning windows. 

'There now, you have brought your poor mamma up!' said Sarah, indignantly. 

'Mamma, mamma!' and the cold trembling little creature clasped itselfupon her neck and bosom, still repeating the dreadful words. She carriedhim to the fire, warmed him on her lap, caressed and soothed him, as hisunderstanding awoke, telling him that papa was safe in his own room, --hewas ill, very ill, and Johnnie must pray for him; but oh! he was alive, safe in his own bed. But as Johnnie nestled to her, repeating, 'Say itagain, mamma, I was so frightened! I can't get it out of my head. Oh! ispapa safe?' there would come the thought that, with morning, the childmight have to hear that he was fatherless. 

This dread, and the desire to efface the impression of the terribledream, induced her, when he had obediently struggled for composure, totell him that, on condition of perfect stillness, he might come downwith her, and have a little glimpse of papa. Wrapping him up, shetook him in by the open dressing-room door, to which Arthur's backwas turned, trusting to escape observation. But nothing eluded thosefever-lighted eyes, and they instantly fell upon the little tremblingfigure, the quivering face and earnest gaze. 

'I hope we have not disturbed you, ' apologized Violet; 'we hoped youwould not hear us. Poor Johnnie woke up crying so much at your beingill, that I ventured to bring him to have one look at you, for fear heshould not go to sleep again. '

She need not have feared. Even while she spoke Arthur held outhis hands, with a countenance that caused Johnnie, with a stifledexclamation of 'Papa! papa!' to spring on the bed, and there he lay, folded closely to his father's breast. 

It was but for a moment. Violet had to lift the child hastily away, to be carried off by Sarah, that he might not witness the terriblesuffering caused by the exertion and emotion; and yet, when this waspassed, she could not repent of what she had done, for one great griefhad thus been spared to herself and her boy. 

She knew that to discover his son's ardent affection must be a poignantreproach for his neglect and jealousy, and she grieved at once for himand with him; but she could not understand half the feelings of bitteranguish that she perceived in his countenance and gestures. She didnot know of his expectation that each ring of the bell might bring thecreditors' claims to heap disgrace upon him, nor how painful were thethoughts of her and of the children, totally unprovided for, withoutclaim during his father's lifetime, even on his own scanty portion asa younger son. He could only cast them on the mercy of his father andbrother; and what right had he to expect anything from them, after hisabuse of their kindness and forbearance? He thought of his neglect ofhis patient devoted wife, whom he was leaving, with her little ones, tostruggle with poverty and dependence; he thought of his children growingup to know him only as the improvident selfish father, who had doomedthem to difficulties, and without one tender word or kind look tograce his memory. No wonder he turned, unable to brook the sight of hisunconscious babe; and that, when with morning little steps and voicessounded above, such a look of misery came over his face, that Violethastened to order the children down to the dining-room, out of hearing. 

Ere long, however, from the other room, appropriated to the baby, a facepeeped in, and Johnnie sprang to her side with earnest whispers: 'Mamma, may I not say my prayers with you! I will not wake papa, but I can'tbear it without!' and the tears were in his eyes. 

Violet's glance convinced her that this would be anything butdisturbing, and she consented. Johnnie thought his father asleep, butshe saw him watching the boy, as he stood with clasped hands, and eyesin fixed steadfast gaze, repeating the Creed, so gravely and distinctly, that not one of the whispering accents was lost. Looking upwards, as ifpursuing some thought far away, Johnnie said, 'Amen'; and then knelt, breathing forth his innocent petitions, with their mention of father, mother, sisters, and little brother; and therewith a large teardropgathered in the eyes fixed on him--but she would not seem to notice, andbent her head over the boy, who, when his daily form was finished, knelton, and pressed her arm. 'Mamma, ' he whispered, very low indeed, 'may Isay something for papa?' and on her assent, 'O God! make dear, dear papabetter, if it be Thy heavenly will, and let it be Thy heavenly will. '

Arthur's face was hidden; she only saw his fingers holding up thecovering with a quivering grasp. Johnnie rose up quite simply, andletting him continue in the belief that his father slept, she allowedhim to go noiselessly away, after she had held him fast in her arms, able to feel, even now, the comfort and blessing of her child. 

Some little time had passed before Arthur looked up; then gazing round, as if seeking something, he said, 'Where is he?'

'Johnnie? He is gone, he did not know you were awake. Shall I send forhim?'

'For all. '

They came; but he was made to feel that he had disregarded them toolong. They had never been familiarized with him; seldom saw him, andwere kept under restraint in his presence; and there was no intimacy tocounteract the fright inspired by his present appearance. Ghastly pale, with a hectic spot on each cheek, with eyes unnaturally bright anddilated, and a quantity of black hair and whiskers, he was indeed aformidable object to the little girls; and Violet was more grieved thansurprised when Annie screamed with affright, and had to be carried awayinstantly; and Helen backed, with her hands behind her, resisting allentreaties and remonstrance, and unheeding his outstretched hand. Thechild was of so determined and wilful a nature, that Violet dreadedan outbreak if she were too much pressed, and was forced to let hergo--though much grieved, both for the distress that it gave Arthur, andfor the thought of how his daughter might remember it by and by. 

They supposed that Johnnie had gone with his sisters, but at the end ofhalf an hour became aware that he had ever since been standing, almosthidden by the curtain, satisfied with merely being in the room. The fairface, so delicately tinted, the dark shady eyes, lovingly and pensivelyfixed on his father, and the expression, half mournful, half awe-struck, were a touching sight in so young a child, and Arthur seemed so to feelit. He signed to him to come near; and with a flush, between joy andfear, the little boy was instantly at his side. One hot hand enfoldedthe small soft cool one, the other pressed fondly on the light silkenwaves of hair. After thus holding him for some moments, he tried tospeak, in whispering breathless gasps of a word at a time. 

'You'll comfort her!' and he looked towards his mother, 'You'll takecare of the others--will you?'

'If I can. God takes care of us, ' said Johnnie, wistfully, as ifstriving to understand, as he felt the pressure redoubled on hand andhead, as if to burn in what was uttered with such difficulty and danger. 

'Tell your grandfather I trust you all to him. He must forgive. Say soto him. You'll be a better son to him than I. When you know all, don'tremember it against me. '

He could say no more, it had brought on a fit of coughing andbreathlessness, through which he scarcely struggled. Silence was morethan ever enforced; but throughout the day the oppression was on theincrease, especially towards the evening, when he became excited bythe expectation of his father's arrival. He sat, pillowed high up, eachrespiration an effort that spread a burning crimson over his face, whileeye and ear were nervously alert. 

'Arthur is very ill, and begs to see you, ' was the telegraphic messagethat filled the cottage at Brogden with consternation. Lady Martindalewas too unwell to leave home, but Theodora was thankful to her fatherfor deciding that her presence was necessary for Violet's sake; indeed, as they travelled in doubt and suspense, and she was continuallyreminded of that hurried journey when her unchastened temper had beenthe torment of herself and of her brother, she felt it an undeservedprivilege to be allowed to go to him at all. Instead of schemes of beingimportant, there was a crashing sense of an impending blow; she hardlyhad the power to think or speculate in what form, or how heavily itmight fall. She had only room for anxiety to get forward. 

They arrived; she hurried up the stairs, only catching James's words, declaring his master no better. 

She saw in the twilight a slight bending form, coming down, holding bythe balusters. Violet was in her arms, clasping her with a trembling, almost convulsive tightness, without speaking. 

'O, Violet, what is it? Is he so very ill?'

Lord Martindale hastened up at the same moment, and Violet recovering, in a few words, spoken very low, but clearly, told of his condition, adding, 'He has been watching for you all this time, he heard you come, and wants you directly, but don't let him speak. '

She hung on Theodora's arm, and guided them up, as if hardly able tostand. She opened the outer room door, and there (while the nurse hadtaken her place) sat Johnnie on the rug, with the baby lying across hislap, and his arms clasped tenderly round it. It was restless, and helooked up to his mother, who bent down and took it in her arms, whileLord Martindale passed on. Theodora stood appalled and overawed. Thiswas beyond even her fears. 

'Thank you for coming, ' said Violet, who had sunk into a chair. 

'O, Violet, when?--how!--'

But a look of horror came over Violet; she started up, almost threw theinfant into Theodora's arms, and vanished into the other room. 'Oh! whatis it! What is the matter?' exclaimed Theodora. 

'The cough, the blood, ' said Johnnie, in a low voice; and turning awaywith a suppressed sob he threw himself down, and hid his face on achair. She was in an agony to pass that closed door, but the baby wasfretting and kept her prisoner. 

After some minutes had thus passed, her father appeared, and would havegone on without seeing her, but she detained him by an imploring cry andgasp, and entreated to hear what had happened. 

'The blood-vessel again--I must send for Harding. '

'Shall I tell James to go?' inquired a little quiet voice, as Johnnielifted up his flushed face. 

'Do so, my dear;' and as the little boy left the room, his grandfatheradded, with the calmness of hopelessness, 'Poor child! it is of no use, it must soon be over now;' and he was returning, when Theodora againheld him fast--'Papa! papa! I must see him, let me come!'

'Not yet, ' said her father; 'the sight of a fresh person might hastenit. If there is any chance, we must do nothing hazardous. I will callyou when they give up hope. '

Theodora was forced to relinquish her hold, for the baby screamedoutright, and required all her efforts to hush its cries that theymight not add fresh distress to the sick room. It seemed to make her ownmisery of suspense beyond measure unendurable, to be obliged to controlherself so as to quiet the little creature by gentle movements, and tohave its ever-renewed wailings filling her ears, when her whole soulhung on the sounds she could catch from the inner room. No one came torelieve her; only Johnnie returned, listened for a moment at the door, and dropped into his former position, and presently Mr. Harding passedrapidly through the room. 

Long, long she waited ere the door once more opened. Her father cameforth. Was it the summons? But he stopped her move towards the room. 'Not yet; the bleeding is checked. '

Then as Mr. Harding followed, they went out of the room in consultation, and almost the next moment Violet herself glided in, touched Johnnie'shead, and said, 'Papa is better, darling;' then took the baby fromTheodora, saying, 'Thank you, you shall see him soon; she was againgone, Johnnie creeping after, whither Theodora would have given worldsto follow. 

After another interval, he returned with a message that mamma beggedAunt Theodora to be so kind as to go and make tea for grandpapa; shethought dear papa was breathing a little more easily, but he must bequite quiet now. 

Obeying the sentence of banishment, she found her father sending off ahasty express to give more positive information at home. 'We mustleave them to themselves a little while, ' he said. 'There must be noexcitement till he has had time to rally. I thought he had better notsee me at first. '

'Is he worse than John has been?'

'Far worse. I never saw John in this immediate danger. '

'Did this attack begin directly after you came?'

'It was the effort of speaking. He WOULD try to say something aboutracing debts--Gardner, papers in his coat-pocket, and there broke down, coughed, and the bleeding came on. There is something on his mind, poor--'

Theodora made a sign to remind him of Johnnie's presence; but the childcame forward. 'Grandpapa, he told me to tell you something, ' and, witheyes bent on the ground, the little fellow repeated the words like alesson by rote. 

Lord Martindale was much overcome; he took his grandson on his knee, andpressed him to his breast without being able to speak, then, as if torecover composure by proceeding to business, he sent him to ask Jamesfor the coat last worn by his papa, and bring the papers in the pocket. Then with more agitation he continued, 'Yes, yes, that was what poorArthur's eyes were saying all the time. I could only promise to settleeverything and take care of her; and there was she, poor thing, with aface like a martyr, supporting his head, never giving way, speaking nowand then so calmly and soothingly, when I could not have said a word. Ido believe she is almost an angel!' said Lord Martindale, with a burstof strong emotion. 'Take care of her! She will not want that long! atthis rate. Harding tells me he is very anxious about her: she is not byany means recovered, yet he was forced to let her sit up all last night, and she has been on her feet this whole day! What is to become of herand these poor children? It is enough to break one's heart!'

Here Johnnie came back. 'Grandpapa, we cannot find any papers. James haslooked in all the clothes papa wore when he came home, and he did notbring home his portmanteau. '

'Come home! Where had he been?'

'I don't know. He was away a long time. '

Lord Martindale started, and repeated the words in amaze. Theodorabetter judged of a child's 'long time, ' and asked whether it meant a dayor a week. 'Was it since the baby was born that he went?'

'Baby was a week old. He was gone one--two Sundays, and he came back allon a sudden the day before yesterday, coughing so much that he could notspeak, and the gentleman told mamma all about it. '

'What gentleman, Johnnie? Was it Mr. Gardner?'

'O no; this was a good-natured gentleman. '

'Mr. Herries, or Captain Fitzhugh?'

'No, it was a long name, and some one I never saw before; but I think itwas the man that belongs to the owl. '

'What can the child mean?' asked Lord Martindale. 

Johnnie mounted a chair, and embraced his little stuffed owl. 

'The man that gave me this. '

'Percy's Athenian owl!' cried Theodora. 

'Was Fotheringham the name?' said Lord Martindale. 

'Yes, it was the name like Aunt Helen's, ' said Johnnie. 

'Has he been here since?'

'He called to inquire yesterday morning. I am not sure, ' said the exactlittle boy, 'but I think he said he met papa in the steamer. '

It seemed mystery on mystery, and James could only confirm his youngmaster's statement. After the little boy had answered all the questionsin his power he slid down from his grandfather's knee, saying that itwas bed-time, and wished them good night in a grave, sorrowful, yetchildlike manner, that went to their hearts. He returned, in a shorttime, with a message that mamma thought papa a little better and readyto see them. Theodora went up first; Johnnie led her to the door, andthen went away, while Violet said, almost inaudibly, 'Here is Theodora come to see you. '

Prepared as Theodora was, she was startled by the bloodlessness of theface, and the hand that lay without movement on the coverlet, while thegaze of the great black eyes met her with an almost spectral effect; andthe stillness was only broken by the painful heaving of the chest, which seemed to shake even the bed-curtains. But for Violet's looks andgesture, Theodora would not have dared to go up to him, take his hand, and, on finding it feebly return her pressure, bend over and kiss hisforehead. 

'His breath is certainly relieved, and there is less fever, ' repeatedViolet; but to Theodora this seemed to make it only more shocking. If this was better, what must it not have been? Her tongue positivelyrefused to speak, and she only stood looking from her brother to hiswife, who reclined, sunk back in her chair beside him, looking utterlyspent and worn out, her cheeks perfectly white, her eyes half-closed, her whole frame as if all strength and energy were gone. That terriblehour had completely exhausted her powers; and when Theodora hadrecollected herself, and summoned Lord Martindale, who undertook thenight watch, Violet had not voice to speak; she only hoarsely whispereda few directions, and gave a sickly submissive smile as her thanks. 

For one moment she revived, as she smoothed Arthur's bed, moistened hislips, and pressed her face to his; then she allowed Theodora almostto lift her away, and support her into the next room, where Sarah waswaiting. Even thought and anxiety seemed to be gone; she sat wherethey placed her, and when they began to undress her, put her handmechanically to her dress, missed the fastening, and let it drop witha vacant smile that almost overcame Theodora. They laid her in bed, and she dropped asleep, like an infant, the instant her head was on thepillow. Theodora thought it cruel to arouse her to take nourishment; butSarah was peremptory, and vigorously administered the spoonfuls, whichshe swallowed in the same unconscious manner. She was only roused alittle by a sound from the baby: 'Give him to me, he will be quieterso;' and Sarah held him to her, she took him in her arms, and wasinstantly sunk in the same dead slumber. 

'My pretty lamb!' mourned the cold stern servant, as she arranged hercoverings; 'this is the sorest brash we have had together yet, and Idoubt whether ye'll win through with it. May He temper the blast thatsends it. '

Gazing at her for a few seconds, she raised her hand to dry some largetears; and as if only now conscious of Miss Martindale's presence, curtsied, saying, in her usual manner, 'I beg your pardon, ma'am. Thereis the room next the nursery made ready for you. '

'I could not go, Sarah, thank you. Go to your children; I will take careof her. Pray go. '

'I will, thank you, ma'am. We will have need of all our strength beforewe have done. '

'How has she been before this?'

'About as well as usual at first, ma'am, till he threw her back withgoing off into they foreign parts, where he has been and as good ascatched his death, and would have died if Mr. Fotheringham had notbrought him home. '

'What! has he been abroad, Sarah?'

'Yes, ma'am. I was holding the baby when he says to Missus he was goingto Bully, or Boulong--'

'Boulogne--'

'Yes, Bullying, or some such place; and bullied him they have; strippedhim even of his very portmanteau, with his eight new shirts in it, thatthey have! Well, Missus, she says his cold would be worse, and he saidit only wanted a change, and she need never fret, for he meant to getquit of the whole concern. But for that, I would have up and told him hedidn't ought to go, and that he must stay at home and mind her, but thenI thought, if he did get rid of them nasty horses, and that there Mr. Gardner, with his great nasturtions on his face, it would be a blessedday. But I ought to have known how it would be: he is too innocent forthem; and they have never been content till they have been and gothis very clothes, and given him his death, and broke the heart of thebestest and most loving-heartedest lady as ever lived. That they have!'

Having eased her mind by this tirade, Sarah mended the fire, put everycomfort in Miss Martindale's reach, advised her to lie down by hermistress, and walked off. 

Theodora felt giddy and confounded with the shocks of that day. It wasnot till she had stretched herself beside Violet that she could collecther perceptions of the state of affairs; and oh! what wretchedness! Herdarling brother, round whom the old passionate ardour of affectionnow clung again, lying at death's door; his wife sinking under herexertions;--these were the least of the sorrows, though each coughseemed to rend her heart, and that sleeping mother was like a part ofher life. The misery was in that mystery--nay, in the certainty, thatup to the last moment of health Arthur had been engaged in his reckless, selfish courses! If he were repentant, there was neither space nor powerto express it, far less for reparation. He was snatched at once fromthoughtless pleasure and disregard of religion--nay, even of the commoncharities of home! And to fasten the guilt to herself were those fewhalf-uttered words--races, debts, Gardner!

'If you once loosen the tie of home, he will go back to courses andcompanions that have done him harm enough already. ' 'Beware of MarkGardner!' 'Whatever comes of these races, it is your doing, not mine. 'Those warnings flashed before her eyes like letters of fire, and sheturned her face to the pillow as it were to hide from them, as well asto stifle the groans that could not have been wrung from her by bodilypain. 'Oh, my sin has found me out! I thought I had been punished, but these are the very dregs! His blood is on my head! My brother! mybrother! whom I loved above all! He was learning to love his home andchildren; she was weaning him from those pursuits! What might he nothave been? I led him away! When he shrank from the temptation, I draggedhim to it! I gave him back to the tempter! I, who thought I loved him--Idid the devil's work! Oh! this is the heavier weight! Why should itcrush others with the only guilty one? Oh! have mercy, have mercy onhim! Let me bear all! Take me instead! Let me not have slain his soul!'

It was anguish beyond the power of words. She could not lie still; sheknelt on the floor, and there the flood of despair fell on her moreoverwhelmingly; and crouching, almost cast on the ground, she poured outincoherent entreaties for mercy, for space for his repentance, for hisforgiveness. That agony of distracted prayer must have lasted a longtime. Some sound in her brother's room alarmed her, and in starting sheshook the table. Her father came to ask if anything was the matter; toldher that Arthur was quiet, and begged her to lie down. It was a reliefto have something to obey, and she moved back. The light gleamed onsomething bright. It was the setting of Helen's cross! 'Ah! I was notworthy to save it; that was for Johnnie's innocent hand! I may not callthis my cross, but my rod!' Then came one thought: 'I came not for therighteous, but to call sinners to repentance. ' Therewith hot tears roseup. 'With Him there is infinite mercy and redemption. ' Some power ofhope revived, that Mercy might give time to repent, accept the heartfeltgrief that might exist, though not manifested to man! The hope, themotive, and comfort in praying, had gleamed across her again; and notwith utter despair could she beseech that the sins she had almost causedmight be so repented of as to receive the pardon sufficient for alliniquity. 

CHAPTER 10

 Thus have I seen a temper wild In yokes of strong affection bound Unto a spirit meek and mild, Till chains of good were on him found. He, struggling in his deep distress, As in some dream of loneliness, Hath found it was an angel guest. 

 --Thoughts in Past Years

Five days had passed, and no material change had taken place. There wasno serious recurrence of bleeding, but the inflammation did not abate, and the suffering was grievous, though Arthur was so much enfeebledthat he could not struggle under it. His extreme debility made his bodypassive, but it was painfully evident that his mind was as anxious andill at ease as ever. There was the same distrustful watch to see everyletter, and know all that passed; the constant strain of every faculty, all in absolute silence, so that his nurses, especially Theodora, feltas if it would be a positive personal relief to them if those eyes wouldbe closed for one minute. 

What would they have given to know what passed in that sleepless mind?But anything that could lead to speaking or agitation was forbidden;even, to the great grief of Theodora, the admission of the clergymanof the parish. Lord Martindale agreed with the doctors that it was toogreat a risk, and Violet allowed them to decide, whispering to Theodorathat she thought he heeded Johnnie's prayers more than anything readwith a direct view to himself. The cause of his anxiety remained indoubt. Lord Martindale had consulted Violet, but she knew nothing ofany papers. She was aware that his accounts were mixed up with Mr. Gardner's, and believed he had gone to Boulogne to settle them; and sheconjectured that he had found himself more deeply involved than he hadexpected. She remembered his having said something of being undone, andhis words to Johnnie seemed to bear the same interpretation. 

Mr. Fotheringham's apparition was also a mystery; so strange was itthat, after bringing Arthur home in such a state, he should offer nofurther assistance. James was desired to ask him to come in, if heshould call to inquire; but he did not appear, and the father and sisterbegan to have vague apprehensions, which they would not for the worldhave avowed to each other, that there must be worse than folly, for whatsave disgrace would have kept Percy from aiding John's brother in hisdistress? Each morning rose on them with dread of what the day mightbring forth, not merely from the disease within, but from the worldwithout; each postman's knock was listened to with alarm, caught frompoor Arthur. 

His wife was of course spared much of this. That worst fear could notoccur to her; she had no room for any thought but for him as he was inthe sight of Heaven, and each hour that his life was prolonged was toher a boon and a blessing. She trusted that there was true sorrow forthe past--not merely dread of the consequences, as she traced theshades upon his face, while he listened to the hymns that she encouragedJohnnie to repeat. In that clear, sweet enunciation, and simple, reverent manner, they evidently had a great effect. He listened for thefirst time with his heart, and the caresses, at which Johnnie glowedwith pleasure as a high favour, were, she knew, given with a species ofwondering veneration. It was Johnnie's presence that most soothed him;his distressing, careworn expression passed away at the first sight ofthe innocent, pensive face, and returned not while the child was beforehim, bending over a book, or watching the baby, or delighted at havingsome small service to perform. Johnnie, on his side, was never so wellsatisfied as in the room, and nothing but Violet's fears for his healthprevented the chief part of his time from being spent there. 

Her own strength was just sufficient for the day. She could sit byArthur's side, comprehend his wishes by his face, and do more to relieveand sustain him than all the rest; and, though she looked wretchedlyweak and worn, her power of doing all that was needed, and looking uponhim with comforting refreshing smiles, did not desert her. The nightwatch she was forced to leave to be divided between his father andsister, with the assistance alternately of Sarah and the regular nurse, and she was too much exhausted when she went to bed, for Theodora toventure on disturbing her by an unnecessary word. 

Theodora's longing was to be continually with her brother, but thiscould only be for a few hours at night; and then the sight of hissuffering, and the difficulty of understanding his restlessness ofmind, made her so wretched, that it took all the force of her strongresolution to conceal her unhappiness; and she marvelled the more at thecalmness with which the feeble frame of Violet endured the same scene. The day was still more trying to her, for her task was the care of thechildren, and little Helen was so entirely a copy of her own untamedself, as to be a burdensome charge for a desponding heart and sinkingspirits. 

On the fifth morning the doctors perceived a shade of improvement; butto his attendants Arthur appeared worse, from being less passive andreturning more to the struggle and manifestation of oppression andsuffering. He made attempts at questions, insisting on being assuredthat no letter nor call had been kept from him; he even sent for thecards that had been left, and examined them, and he wanted to renew theconversation with his father; but Lord Martindale silenced him atonce, and left the room. He looked so much disappointed that Violet wasgrieved, and thought, in spite of the doctors, that it might havebeen better to have run the risk of letting him speak, for the sake ofsetting his mind at rest. 

Lord Martindale, however, saw so much peril in permitting a word to beuttered, that he deemed it safer to absent himself, and went out to tryto trace out Mr. Fotheringham, and ask whether he could throw any lighton Arthur's trouble. 

The children were out of doors, and Theodora was profiting by theinterval of quiet to write to her mother, when she heard James announce, 'Mr. Fotheringham. '

She looked up, then down. Her first thought was of her brother; the nextbrought the whole flood of remembrances, and she could not meet his eye. 

He advanced, but there was no friendly greeting. As to a stranger, hesaid, 'I hope Colonel Martindale is better?'

Could it be himself? She gave a hasty glance. It was; he chose to disownher; to meet her without even a hand held out! Rallying her fortitude, she made answer, 'Thank you; we hope--'

She got no further--her hand was grasped. 'Theodora! I did not knowyou. '

She had forgotten her altered looks! Relieved, she smiled, and said, 'Yes, I am a strange figure. They think Arthur a little better to-day, thank you. '

'How has it been?'

He listened to the details with eagerness, that dismissed from her mindthe sickening apprehension of his knowing of any hidden evil; then, saying he was pressed for time, begged her to ask Mrs. Martindale to lethim speak to her on a matter of such importance that he must venture ondisturbing her. 

Theodora beckoned to Violet at the door, hoping to elude Arthur'snotice; but any attempt at secrecy made him more distrustful, andthe name had hardly been whispered before she was startled byhearing--'Bring him here. '

Much frightened, the wife and sister expostulated, thus making him moredetermined; he almost rose on his elbow to enforce his wishes, and atlast said, 'You do me more harm by preventing it. '

Violet felt the same; and in fear and trembling begged Theodora to callPercy. She knew herself to be responsible for the danger, but saw theimpossibility of preventing the interview without still greater risk. Indeed, while Theodora delayed Percy with cautions, impatience, and thefear of being disappointed, were colouring each sunken cheek with a spotof burning red, the hands were shaking uncontrollably, and the breathwas shorter than ever, so that she was on the point of going to hastenthe visitor, when he knocked at the door. 

She signed to him at once to turn to Arthur, who held out his hand, andmet his greeting with an anxious, imploring gaze, as if to ask whether, after all, he brought him hope. 

'Well, ' said Percy, cheerfully, 'I think it is settled. '

Arthur relaxed that painful tension of feature, and lay back on hispillows, with a relieved though inquiring look. 

'Begging your pardon for being meddlesome, ' continued Percy, 'I thoughtI saw a way of being even with that scoundrel. Your papers had got intomy pocket, and, as I had nothing else to do, I looked them over afterparting with you, and saw a way out of the difficulty. I was coming inthe morning to return them and propound my plan, but finding that youcould not be seen, I ventured to take it on myself at once, for fear heshould get out of reach. '

He paused, but Arthur's eyes asked on. 

'I had reason to think him gone to Paris. I followed him thither, andfound he was making up to Mrs. Finch. I let him know that I was aware ofthis villainy, and of a good deal more of the same kind, and threatenedthat, unless he came in to my terms, I would expose the whole to hiscousin, and let her know that he is at this moment engaged to MissBrandon. She is ready to swallow a good deal, but that would have beentoo much, and he knew it. He yielded, and gave me his authority to breakup the affair. '

As Arthur was still attentive and anxious, Percy went on to explain thathe had next gone to the man who kept the horses, and by offers of readymoney and careful inspection of his bills, had reduced his charge toa less immoderate amount. The money had been advanced for a portion ofArthur's share of the debts, and a purchaser was ready for the horses, whose price would clear off the rest; so that nothing more was wantedbut Arthur's authority for the completion of the sale, which would freehim from all present danger of pressure upon that score. 

'Supposing you do not disavow me, said Percy, 'I must ask pardon forgoing such lengths without permission. '

A clutch of the hand was the answer, and Percy then showed him theaccounts only waiting for his signature. 

The money advanced was nearer five thousand pounds than four; andArthur, pointing to the amount, inquired, by look and gesture, 'Wheredoes it come from?'

'Never mind; it was honestly come by. It is a lot that has accumulatedout of publishing money, and was always bothering me with railwayshares. It will do as well in your keeping. '

'It is throwing it into a gulf. '

'In your father's, then. I will take care of myself, and speak when Iwant it. Don't trouble your father about it till he sees his way. '

'I must give you my bond. '

'As you please, but there is no hurry. '

Arthur, however, was bent on giving his signature at once, and, as helooked towards his wife and child, said, 'For their sakes, thank you. '

'I did it for their sakes, ' said Percy, gruffly, perhaps to checkArthur's agitation; but as if repenting of what sounded harsh, he tookthe infant in his arms, saying to Violet, 'You have a fine fellow here!Eyes and forehead--his father all over!'

Arthur held out his hand eagerly. 'Let him be your godson--make him likeany one but me. '

Percy took two turns in the room before he could answer. 'My godson, byall means, and thank you; but you will have the making of him yourself. You are much better than I expected. '

Arthur shook his head; but Violet, with a look, sufficient reward foranything, said, 'It is you that are making him better. '

He replied by inquiries about the christening. The baby was a day lessthan four weeks old, and Violet was anxious to have him baptized; sothat it was arranged that it should take place immediately on Percy'sreturn from Worthbourne, whither he was to proceed that same afternoon, having hitherto been delayed by Arthur's affairs. This settled, he tookleave. Arthur fervently pressed his hand, and, as Violet adjusted thepillows, sank his head among them as if courting rest, raising his eyesonce more to his 'friend in need, ' and saying, 'I shall sleep now. '

Violet only hoped that Mr. Fotheringham understood what inexpressiblegratitude was conveyed in those words, only to be appreciated afterwatching those six wakeful, straining days and nights. 

Meantime, Theodora waited in fear, too great at first to leave space forother thoughts; but as time past, other memories returned. On coming tosummon Percy she had found him standing before the little stuffed owl, and she could not but wonder what thoughts it might have excited, untilsuddenly the recollection of Jane dissipated her visions with so violenta revulsion that she was shocked at herself, and perceived that therewas a victory to be achieved. 

'It shall be at once, ' said she. 'I WILL mention her. To be silent wouldshow consciousness. Once done, it is over. It is easier with my alteredlooks. I am another woman now. '

She heard him coming down, and almost hoped to be spared the meeting, but, after a moment's pause, he entered. 

'Well, ' he said, 'I hope I have done him no harm. I think better of himnow than when I came home. He looks to me as if the worst was over. '

They were the first words of hope, and spoken in that hearty, cheeryvoice, they almost overset her weakened spirits, and the struggle withtears would not let her answer. 

'You have had a most trying time, ' said he, in the kind way that stirredup every old association; but that other thought made her guarded, andshe coldly hurried out the words--

'Yes; this is the first time my father has been out. He went in searchof you, to ask how you met poor Arthur, who has been able to give noaccount of himself. '

'We met on board the steamer. He had been obliged to leave Boulognewithout finishing his business there, and I went back to settle it forhim. '

'And the papers he had lost?'

'I had them: it is all right. '

'And his mind relieved?'

'I hope it is. '

'Oh! then, we may dare to hope!' cried she, breathing freely. 

'I trust so; but I must go. Perhaps I may meet Lord Martindale. '

With a great effort, and a 'now-or-never' feeling, she abruptly said, 'Ihope Jane is well. '

He did not seem to understand; and confused, as if she had committed anover familiarity of title, she added, 'Mrs. Fotheringham. '

She was startled and hurt at his unconstrained manner. 

'Very well, I believe. I shall see her this evening at Worthbourne. '

'Has she been staying there long?' said Theodora, going on valiantlyafter the first plunge. 

'Ever since the summer. They went home very soon after the marriage. '

A new light broke in on Theodora. She was tingling in every limb, butshe kept her own counsel, and he proceeded. 'I saw them at Paris, andthought it did very well. She is very kind to him, keeps him in capitalorder, and has cured him of some of his ungainly tricks. '

'How did it happen? I have heard no particulars. '

'After his mother's death poor Pelham was less easily controlled: hegrew restless and discontented, and both he and my uncle fell under theinfluence of an underbred idle youth in the neighbourhood, who contrivedat last to get Sir Antony's consent to his taking Pelham abroad with himas his pupil. At Florence they met with these ladies, who made much oftheir cousin, and cajoled the tutor, till this marriage was effected. '

'She must be nearly double his age. '

'She will manage him the better for it. There was great excuse for her. The life she was obliged to lead was almost an apology for any way ofescape. If only it had been done openly, and with my uncle's consent, noone could have had any right to object, and I honestly believe it is avery good thing for all parties. '

'Would Sir Antony have consented?'

'I have little doubt of it. He was hurt at first, but he was alwaysfond of Jane. She is very attentive to him, and I hope makes him quitecomfortable. He wrote to ask me to come and see them at Worthbourne, andI am on my way. I see it is getting late. Good-bye. '

Theodora's heart had been bounding all this time. Her first impulse wasto rush up to tell Violet; but as this could not be, she snatched upa bulky red volume, and throwing over the leaves till she came toF. --Fotheringham, Sir Antony, of Worthbourne, looked down the list ofhis children's names, and beheld that the only one not followed by thefatal word "died" was Antony Pelham. 

What had they all been doing not to have thought of this before?However, she recollected that it would have seemed as impossiblethat the half-witted youth should marry as that he should be on theContinent. The escape from the certainty that had so long weighedon her, taught her what the pain had been; and yet, when she came toanalyze her gladness, it seemed to melt away. 

She dwelt on her period of madness--her wilful, repeated rejection ofwarning; she thought of the unhappy Derby day--of her own cold 'Verywell'--her flirtation with Lord St. Erme. She recollected the passagewith Annette Moss: and then, for her present person, it was changedbeyond recognition, as had just been proved; nor could she wonder, as, turning to the mirror, she surveyed the figure in black silk and plaincap, beyond which the hair scarcely yet peeped out--the clearness anddelicacy of skin destroyed, the face haggard with care and sorrow, theeyelids swollen by watchful nights. She almost smiled at the contrastto the brilliant, flashing-eyed, nut-brown maid in the scarlet-wreathedcoronal of raven hair, whom she had seen the last time she cared to casta look in that glass. 

'I am glad I am altered, ' said she, sternly. 'It is well that I shouldnot remind him of her on whom he wasted his hope and affection. It isplain that I shall never marry, and this is a mask under which Ican meet him with indifference like his own. Yes, it was absoluteindifference--nothing but his ordinary kindliness and humanity; neitherembarrassment nor confusion--just as he would have met any old woman atBrogden. 

If he remembers that time at all, it is as a past delusion, and thereis nothing in me to recall what he once liked. He did not know me!Nonsense! I thought I was content only to know him safe from Jane--stillhis real self. I am. That is joy! All the rest is folly and selfishness. That marriage! How disgusting--and what crooked ways! But what is thatto me? Jane may marry the whole world, so that Percy is Percy!'

The children were heard on the stairs, and Helen rushed in, shouting, in spite of the silencing finger, 'Aunt, it is the owl man!' and Johnniehimself, eager and joyous, 'It is the man who came with papa. '

'He met us, ' said Helen. 'He knew my name, and he asked Annie's, andcarried her to our door. '

'He said he had been into papa's room, ' said Johnnie, 'and had seenbaby. He is a very good-natured gentleman. Don't you like him, AuntTheodora?'

'And oh! aunt, he asked me whether we ever went to Brogden; and when heheard that we had been at the parsonage, he said he lived there whenhe was a little boy, and our nursery was his;' chattered on Helen. 'Heasked if we were in the fire; and you know Johnnie can't bear to hear ofthat; so I told him how funny it was when you came and pulled me outof bed, and we went down the garden with no shoes. And he asked whetherthat was the way you had grown so ugly, Aunt Theodora. '

'No, Helen, he did not say that; for he was a gentleman, ' interposedJohnnie; 'he only said he was afraid our aunt had been a sufferer, andSarah told--'

'And I told, ' again broke in Helen, 'how Cousin Hugh said it was anhonour and a glory to be burnt like you; and I told him how I got thewater and should have put out the fire, if that horrid Simmonds had notcarried me away, and I wish he had not. So long as I had not my curlsburnt off, ' said Miss Helen, pulling one of the glossy chestnut ringsinto her sight, like a conscious beauty as she was. 

'He asked Sarah all about it, ' said Johnnie; 'and he said we had a verygood aunt; and, indeed, we have!' climbing carelessly into her lap. 'Then he met grandpapa, and they are walking in the square together. '

So Mr. Fotheringham could be in no real haste to be gone, and had onlyhurried away to avoid Theodora. However, there was no more musing time, the children's dinner was ready, and she was going down with the littlegirls, when her father entered. 'How is Arthur?'

It was answered by Johnnie, who was flying down-stairs with joyousthough noiseless bounds, his whole person radiant with good tidings. 'Papa is asleep! grandpapa. Papa is fast asleep!'

'Have you been in the room?'

'No; mamma came to the door and told me. Baby is gone up to our nursery, and nobody is to make the least noise, for papa is gone to sleep socomfortably!'

The boy had caught so much gladness from his mother's look, that healmost seemed to understand the importance of that first rest. Hisgrandfather stroked his hair, and in the same breath with Theodora, exclaimed, 'It is owing to Percy!'

'Has he told you about it?' said Theodora. 

'So much as that there is a final break with that fellow Gardner--acomfort at least. Percy said they had got their affairs into a mess;Arthur had been trying to free himself, but Gardner had taken advantageof him, and used him shamefully, and his illness had forced him to comeaway, leaving things more complicated than ever. There was a feeling ofrevenge, it seems, at Arthur not having consented to some disgracefulscheme of his; but Percy did not give me the particulars. Meeting him inthe steamer, ill and desperate--poor fellow--Percy heard the story, tookcare of him, and saw him home; then, finding next morning what a statehe was in, and thinking there might be immediate demands--'

'Oh! that was the terrible dread and anxiety!'

'He did what not one man in a million would have done. He went off, andon his own responsibility adjusted the matter, and brought Gardner toconsent. He said it had been a great liberty, and that he was glad tofind he had not gone too far, and that Arthur approved. '

'Do you know what it was?'

'No; he assured me all was right, and that there was no occasion totrouble me with the detail. I asked if any advance was needed, and hesaid no, which is lucky, for I cannot tell how I could have raisedit. For the rest, I could ask him no questions. No doubt it is the oldstory, and, as Arthur's friend, he could not be willing to explain it tome. I am only glad it is in such safe hands. As to its being a liberty, I told him it was one which only a brave thorough-going friend wouldhave taken. I feel as if it might be the saving of his life. '

Theodora bent down to help little Anna, and said, 'You know it is SirAntony Fotheringham's son that Miss Gardner married?'

'Ay!' said Lord Martindale, so much absorbed in his son as to forget hisdaughter's interest in Percival Fotheringham. 'He says Arthur's coughdid not seem so painful as when he saw him before, and that he evenspoke several times. I am frightened to think what the risk has been ofletting him in. '

'Arthur insisted, ' said Theodora, between disappointment at the want ofsympathy, and shame for having expected it, and she explained how theinterview had been unavoidable. 

'Well, it is well over, and no harm done, ' said Lord Martindale, notable to absolve the sister from imprudence. After a space, he added, 'What did you say? The deficient young Fotheringham married?'

'Yes, to Jane Gardner. '

'Why, surely some one said it was Percy himself!'

'So Violet was told at Rickworth. '

Lord Martindale here suddenly recollected all, as his daughter perceivedby his beginning to reprove Helen for stirring about the salt. Presentlyhe said, 'Have you heard that the other sister, the widow--what is hername?'

'Mrs. Finch--'

'Is going to be foolish enough to marry that Gardner. She was yourfriend, was not she?'

'Yes, poor thing. Did you hear much about her?'

'Percy says that she was kind and attentive to the old man, as long ashe lived, though she went out a great deal while they lived abroad, andgot into a very disreputable style of society there. Old Finch has lefteverything in her power; and from some words overheard on the quay atBoulogne, Percy understood that Gardner was on his way to pay his courtto her at Paris. There was a former attachment it seems, and she isactually engaged to him. One can hardly pity her. She must do it withher eyes open. '

Theodora felt much pity. She had grieved at the entire cessation ofintercourse, even by letter, which had ensued when the Finches went tothe Continent; and she thought Georgina deserved credit for not havingagain seen Mark, when, as it now appeared, there had lurked in herheart affection sufficient to induce her to bestow herself, and all herwealth, upon him, spendthrift and profligate as she must know him tobe. Miserable must be her future life; and Theodora's heart ached asshe thought of wretchedness unaided by that which can alone give supportthrough the trials of life, and bring light out of darkness. Shecould only pray that the once gay companion of her girlhood, whosethoughtlessness she had encouraged, might yet, even by affliction, beled into the thorny path which Theodora was learning to feel was the wayof peace. 

Arthur was wakened by the recurring cough, and the look of distress andanxiety returned; but the first word, by which Violet reminded himof Percy's call, brought back the air of relief and tranquillity. Mr. Harding, at his evening visit, was amazed at the amendment; and Johnnieamused his grandfather by asking if the owl man was really a doctor, or whether Sarah was right when she said he had rescued papa and hisportmanteau out of a den of thieves. 

When Violet left the room at night, the patient resignation of her facewas brightening into thankfulness; and while preparing for rest, shecould ask questions about the little girls. Theodora knew that she mighttell her tale; and sitting in her favourite place on Violet's footstool, with her head bent down, she explained the error between the twocousins. 

'How glad I am!' said the soft voice, ever ready to rejoice with her. 'Somehow, I had never recollected it, he is so like what he used to be. I am very glad. '

'Don't treat it as if it was to concern me, ' said Theodora. 'I care onlyas he remains the noblest of men. '

'That he is. '

'Don't wish any more, nor think I do, ' said Theodora. 'I never likedstories of young ladies who reform on having the small-pox. It is timenonsense should be out of my head when a man does not know me again. '

'Oh! surely--did he not?'

'Not till I spoke. No wonder, and it is better it should be so. Iam unworthy any way. O, Violet, now will you not let me ask yourforgiveness?'

'What do you mean, dearest?'

'Those races. '

Violet did not shrink from the mention; she kissed Theodora's brow, while the tears, reserved for the time of respite, dropped fast andbright. 

'Poor dear, ' she said; 'how much you have suffered!'

There was silence for some moments. Theodora striving to keep her tearsas quiet as her sister's. 

'I think, ' said Violet, low and simply, 'that we shall be happy now. '

Then, after another silence, 'Come, if we go on in this way, we shallnot be fit for to-morrow, and you have only half a night. Dearest, Iwish I could save you the sitting up! If he is better to-morrow, Johnnieshall take you for a walk. '

He was better, though the doctors, dismayed at yesterday's imprudence, preached strenuously on his highly precarious state, and enforcedsilence and absence of excitement. Indeed, his condition was still suchthat the improvement could only be seen in occasional gleams; and asthe relief from mental anxiety left him more attention to bestow on thesuffering from the disorder, he was extremely depressed and desponding, never believing himself at all better. 

The experiment of a visit from the little girls was renewed, but withoutbetter success; for the last week had increased the horrors of hisappearance; and Theodora reported that Johnnie had confided to her, asa shocking secret, that the reason why Helen could not bear to go nearpapa was, that he looked exactly like Red Ridinghood's wolf. 

Violet was grateful for the saying, for it was the first thing that drewa smile from Arthur, and to court the child became a sort of interestand occupation that distracted his thoughts from himself. It wastouching to see him watching her, as she ran in and out, trying to catchher eye, stretching out his hand invitingly, holding up fruit to allureher, and looking with fond, proud, yet mournful eyes, on her freshhealthful beauty. She used to try not to see him, and would race past atfull speed, and speak to her mamma with her back to him; but graduallysome mysterious attraction in that silent figure won sidelong glancesfrom her, and she began to pause, each time with a longer and fullertip-toe gaze, both hands pressed down on the top of her head, and a looklike a wild fawn, till all at once, the wehr-wolf feeling would seizeher, and she would turn and dash off as if for her life, while hiseager, pleased face relaxed into disappointment, and her mother stillsaid that time would bring her round. 

At last, she took them completely by surprise, suddenly launchingherself on the bed, and plunging her face into the midst of the blackbristles; then, leaping down, and rushing to the door as if expectingto be caught. So violent a proceeding was almost more than Arthurcould bear, and Violet, rising to smooth the coverings, began to preachgentleness; but shaken as he was, he was too much gratified to permitthe reproof, smiled, and held up a bunch of grapes to invite the littlemaid back. But this was an offence; she put her hands behind her, and, with a dignified gesture, announced, 'I do not give kisses for grapes. Idid it because Johnnie will not let me alone, and said I was unkind. '

'Theodora all over!' said her father, much entertained. It was agreat step that he had discovered that the children could afford himdiversion, especially now, when nothing else could have served to wileaway the tedious hours. He could bear no reading aloud from any one butJohnnie, whom he would not refuse; and to whom he listened with pridein a performance he fancied wonderful, while the little books costno effort of attention, and yet their simple lessons floated on histhoughts, and perchance sank into his heart. Or when he lay panting andwearied out with oppression, the babe's movements would attract hiseye, and the prattlings of the little girls at their mamma's side wouldexcite a languid curiosity that drew him out of himself. Sometimes thatchildish talk left food for thought. One day when the children hadbeen sent into the next room to share some fruit from the plate by hisbed-side, Helen's voice was overheard saying, 'I wish papa would neverget well!'

'Helen! Helen, how can you?' pleaded her brother's shocked voice. 

'He is so much more good-natured when he is ill, ' was Helen's defence. 'I like him now; I don't like him at all when he is well, because thenhe is always cross. Don't you think so, Johnnie?'

'That is not kind of you when he lies there, and it hurts him so sadlyto breathe. You should wish him to be well, Helen. '

'If he would be kind to me. '

'O, you don't know what it feels like to be ill, ' said Johnnie. 'I dowant to see him strong and able to ride, and go out to his soldiersagain. I hope he will be kind still, and not go away and make mammaunhappy--'

'If he would ever lead me by the hand, like the little girl's papa atthe house with the parrot, I should like that sort of papa, if he wasnot a little thin short ugly man. Should not you, Johnnie?'

'No! I never shall like anything so well as my own papa. I do love himwith my whole, whole heart! I am so glad he will let us love him now!It seems to come over me in the morning, and make me so glad when Iremember it. '

Violet had been on the point of stopping this conversation, but Arthurwould not permit her, and listened with his eyes filling with tears. 

'What have you done to that boy?' he murmured. 

'It is his own loving self, ' said Violet. 

Arthur pressed her hand to his lips. 'My poor children! If papa everwere to get well--'

And Violet regretted that he had heard, for his emotion threw him backfor the rest of the evening. 

CHAPTER 11

 Then weep not o'er the hour of pain, As those who lose their all; Gather the fragments that remain, They'll prove nor few nor small. 

 --M. L. DUNCAN

In the meantime Theodora and her father had been brought into contactwith visitors from the external world. One morning James brought ina card and message of inquiry from Lord St. Erme, and Lord Martindaledesired that he should be admitted. Theodora had just time to think howridiculous it was of her to consider how she should appear to anotherold lover, before he came in, colouring deeply, and bending his headlow, not prepared to shake hands; but when hers was held out, taking itwith an eager yet bashful promptitude. 

After a cordial greeting between him and her father, it was explainedthat he had not entirely recovered what he called his accident, and hadcome to London for advice; he had brought a parcel from Wrangerton forMrs. Martindale, and had promised to carry the Moss family the latestnews of the Colonel. While this was passing, and Lord Martindale wastalking about Arthur, Theodora had time to observe him. The foreigndress and arrangement of hair were entirely done away with, andhe looked like an Englishman, or rather an English boy, for theyouthfulness of feature and figure was the same; the only difference wasthat there was a greater briskness of eye, and firmness of mouth, andthat now that the blush on entering had faded, his complexion showed thetraces of recent illness, and his cheeks and hands were very thin. WhenTheodora thought of the heroism he had shown, of her own usage of him, and of his remembrance of her in the midst of his worst danger, shecould not see him without more emotion than she desired. He was like awitness against her, and his consciousness WOULD infect her! She longedfor some of the cool manner that had come so readily with Percy, andwith some difficulty brought out a composed inquiry for Lady Lucy; buthe disconcerted her again by the rapid eager way in which he turnedround at her voice. 

'Lucy is very well, thank you; I left her staying with my cousins, theDelavals. It is very hard to get her away from home, and she threatensnot to stay a day after my return. ' He spoke in a hasty confused way, as if trying to spin everything out of the answer, so as to remainconversing with Theodora as long as possible. 

'How long shall you be in town?' she asked, trying to find something shecould say without awkwardness. 

'I can hardly tell. I have a good deal to do. Pray'--turning to LordMartindale--'can you tell me which is the best shop to go to foragricultural implements?'

Speed the plough! Farming is a happy sedative for English noblemen ofthe nineteenth century, thought Theodora, as she heard them discussingsubsoil and rocks, and thought of the poet turned high farmer, and forgetting even love and embarrassment! However, she had thesatisfaction of hearing, 'No, we cannot carry it out thoroughly therewithout blowing up the rocks, and I cannot have the responsibility ofdefacing nature. '

'Then you cannot be a thorough-going farmer. '

'I cannot afford it, and would not if I could. It is only for the sakeof showing the tenants that I am not devoid of the spirit of the age. '

Country gentlemen being happier in agricultural implement shops thananywhere else, Lord Martindale offered to accompany his friend and givehis counsel. He would go up-stairs to see how Arthur was, and carry theparcel to Violet. 

'Pray tell Mrs. Martindale that her mother and sisters sent all mannerof kind messages. Very pleasing people they are, ' said Lord St. Erme;'and Mrs. Moss was so very kind to my poor little sister that we hardlyknow how to be sufficiently grateful. '

'I never saw any of the family but the brother, ' said Theodora. 

'And he is not the best specimen, ' said Lord St. Erme. 'Some of theyoung ladies are remarkably nice people, very sensible, and Lucy iscontinually discovering some kindness of theirs among the poor people. Ah! that reminds me, perhaps you could tell me whether you knowanything of a school in your neighbourhood, from which a master has beenrecommended to me--St. Mary's, Whiteford. '

'I don't know much of it; I believe the clergyman takes pains about it. '

'Do you think they would have a superior man there! Our funds are low, and we must not look for great attainments at present. It is easy tocram a man if he is intelligent; I only want a person who can keep upwhat is taught, and manage the reading-room on nights when we are notthere. '

'Have you a reading-room?'

'Only at Wrangerton as yet; I want to set up another at Coalworth. '

'Then you find it answer? How do you arrange?'

'Two nights in the week we read to them, teach singing, or get up a sortof lecture. The other days there are books, prints, newspapers; and youwill be surprised to see how much they appreciate them. There's a ladnow learning to draw, whose taste is quite wonderful! And if you couldhave seen their faces when I read them King Henry IV! I want to have thesame thing at Coalworth for the winter--not in summer. I could not askthem to spend a minute, they can help, out of the free air and light;but in winter I cannot see those fine young men and boys dozingthemselves into stolidity. '

Was this the man who contemned the whole English peasantry, colliersespecially? Theodora rejoiced that his hobby had saved her a world ofembarrassment, and still more that their tete-a-tete was interrupted. Lady Elizabeth Brandon begged to know whether Miss Martindale could seeher. 

She was on her way through London; and having just heard of ColonelMartindale's illness, had come to inquire, and offer to be useful. Emmaremained at the hotel. After Lord Martindale's cheerful answer and warmthanks, the gentlemen set off together, and Theodora sat down with hergood old friend to give the particulars, with all the fulness belongingto the first relief after imminent peril. 

After the first, however, Lady Elizabeth's attention wandered; andbefore the retrograding story had gone quite back to the originalBrogden cough, she suddenly asked if Percival Fotheringham was inEngland. 

'Yes, at Worthbourne. You know it was his cousin--'

'I know--it was a mistake, ' said Lady Elizabeth, hurrying over thesubject, as by no means suited its importance in Theodora's eyes. 'Canyou tell me whether he has seen or heard anything of Mr. Mark Gardner?'

'Yes, ' said Theodora, surprised. 

'I suppose you have not heard him say how he is conducting himself?'

'Have you heard that he is going to be married to Mrs. Finch?'

Theodora was astonished at the effect of this communication on her soberstaid old friend. She started, made an incredulous outcry, caused it tobe repeated, with its authority, then rose up, exclaiming, 'The wretch!My poor Emma! I never was more rejoiced. But Emma!'

The sight of Theodora's surprise recalled her to herself. 'Ah! you donot know?' she said; and having gone so far, was obliged to explain, with expressions of gratitude to Arthur and Violet for having so wellguarded a secret that now might continue hidden for ever. 

Theodora was slow in comprehending, so monstrous was the idea of EmmaBrandon engaged to Mark Gardner! She put her hands before her eyes, and said she must be dreaming--she could not credit it. When convinced, there was something in her manner that pleased and comforted LadyElizabeth by the kind feeling and high esteem it showed. 

'Let me ask you one question, my dear, ' she said, 'just to set my mindat rest. I was told that your brother's affairs were involved with thoseof that unhappy man. I trust it is no longer so. '

Theodora explained, as far as she understood, how Percy had extricatedhim. 

'Ah!' said Lady Elizabeth, 'I fear we are in some degree the cause. Mypoor Emma was imprudent enough to quote Colonel Martindale; and she hastold me that she was frightened by a pale look of anger that crossed hisface, and something which he muttered between his teeth. But he made herbelieve Arthur his seducer!'

'Poor Arthur! If you knew all!' said Theodora; 'and who--' then breakingoff, 'Percy did tell papa that it was all Mr. Gardner's revenge forArthur's not consenting to some nefarious transaction. Depend uponit, that was it! You asked Violet, you say. Percy said that, among thesentences he overheard on the quay, there was something about a wifewho had crossed him, and who should suffer for it. He said it was spokenwith a hard-hearted wickedness that, even when he did not know who itwas, made him long to crush him like a reptile; and when he had seenViolet and the children, though it might be interference, he said hecould as soon have left them in the folds of a serpent!'

'Ah! my poor girl!'

'But this frees her. Oh! she cannot grieve for such a wretch!'

'I fear her attachment is so strong that she will not see it in thislight. '

'When he gives her up without a word, she ought to be too angry togrieve. '

'I do not think that is in her nature. '

'So much the better. Anger and comfort cannot go together. Oh, one sogood and gentle must be helped! How I wish I could do anything for her;but she will be better at home. It is lucky there are no associationswith him there. '

'I wish she was at home. Theresa Marstone is staying with her brother inLondon, and I left her with Emma at the hotel. '

'Fortunately there cannot be two ways of thinking on this matter, ' saidTheodora. 

Lady Elizabeth was too anxious to break the tidings to her daughter towait at that time to see Violet; and went, promising to come to-morrowto report how the blow should have been borne. 

Theodora was glad when she had a little space in which to think over theevents of the day. 

Ever since she had embraced the lesson of humility, the once despisedEmma Brandon had been rising in her estimation. The lowliness of hermanners, and the heart-whole consistency of her self-devotion, had faroutweighed her little follies, and, together with remorse for havingdepreciated and neglected her, had established her claim to respect andadmiration. 

And now to find the old prediction verified, and Emma led away by soabsurd a delusion, might have seemed a triumph, had not Theodora beenthoroughly humbled. She only saw a humiliating contrast between the truepure heart that blindly gave its full affections, and that which couldpretend to have given itself away, and then, out of mere impatience ofrestraint, play with and torture the love it had excited, and, stillworse, foster an attachment it never meant to requite!

She was the more sensible of this latter delinquency now that Lord St. Erme had just been brought before her, deserving all that man coulddeserve; having more than achieved all to which she had incited him, andshowing a constancy unchecked by the loss of her personal attractions. His blushing homage came almost as a compensating contrast after hersevere mortification at Percy's surprise and subsequent cool composure. 

While reproaching herself for this feeling, her father came home, andwith him the Earl. They had been occupied all the afternoon, and hadfallen into conversation on county business. Lord Martindale, findinghis young friend was alone at his hotel, thought he had better dinewith them, since Violet need not be troubled about it. Theodora wonderedwhether it had occurred to her father that some one else might betroubled, and that it might seem like a renewal of encouragement; butthe fact was, that after ten days of the sick-room, his society was apositive treat to Lord Martindale, and in advising him on magistrate'sbusiness, he forgot everything else. 

The dinner went off without embarrassment. Lord St. Erme did indeedblush when he offered his arm to her; but with consideration thatseemed to understand her, he kept up the conversation chiefly with LordMartindale on rates, police, and committees. 

She thought of the horror he had been wont to express of the Englishsquirearchy, 'whose arena is the quarter sessions;' and she rememberedstanding up for them, and declaring there was far more honest, sturdy, chivalrous maintenance of right and freedom in their history than inall his beloved Lombardic republics. And now, what was he but athorough-going country gentleman, full of plans of usefulness, sparingneither thought, time, nor means; and though some of his views weretreated by Lord Martindale as wild and theoretical, yet, at any rate, they proved that he had found living men a more interesting study thanthe Apollo Belvedere. 

Theodora was resolved that Violet should see him, and now that thedinner was eaten and beyond anxiety, went up to disclose his presence, and persuade her to go down to tea and leave her with the patient. She found it was well she had kept her counsel; Violet took it quietlyenough; but Arthur chose to concern himself as to what wine had beenproduced, and would have sent a message to James if his sister had notassured him that it was too late. 

He insisted on Violet's going down to the drawing-room, and would nothear of Theodora's remaining with him. The nurse was in the outer room, and Johnnie was made supremely happy by being allowed to sit up an hourlonger to be his companion; and thus with Lord Martindale and Theodoramaking frequent expeditions to visit him, Violet was sufficientlytranquil to remain as long in the drawing-room as was worth the fatigueof the transit. 

She could enjoy her talk with the Earl; and, indeed, since Annette'svisit, she had heard no tidings so full and satisfactory. He knewthe name of every one at Wrangerton; he seemed to have learnt to loveHelvellyn; he spoke very highly of Olivia's husband, Mr. Hunt, declaringthat he liked nothing better than a visit to his most beautiful place, Lassonthwayte, a farm fit for the poets, and had learnt a great dealfrom him; and of Mrs. Moss he talked with affectionate gratitude thatbrought the tears into Violet's eyes, especially when he promised togo and call on her immediately on his return, to tell her how ColonelMartindale was going on, and describe to her her grandchildren. Herepeated to Violet how kind her mother had been to his sister, and howbeautifully she had nursed him. Lord Martindale began to ask questions, which brought out a narration of his adventures in the coal-pit, givenvery simply, as if his being there had been a mere chance. 

He allowed that he knew it to be dangerous, but added, that it wasimpossible to get things done by deputy, and that he had no choice butto see about it himself, and he dwelt much on the behaviour of the men. 

'Did you give up hope?' asked Lord Martindale. 

'For myself I did. The confined air oppressed me so much, even beforethe sense of hunger came on, that it seemed to take away all power ofthought and action. '

'Yet you did think?' said Violet. 

'I was obliged, for the men were more confounded and helpless atfirst, though, when once directed, nothing could be more resolute andpersevering! Brave fellows! I would not but have had it happen! Oneseldom has such a chance of seeing the Englishman's gallant heartof obedient endurance. It was curious to observe the instinctivesubmission. Some were men who would not for worlds have touched theirhats to me above ground; yet, as soon as I tried to take the lead, andmake them think what could yet be done, they obeyed instantly, though Iknew almost nothing compared to them, and while they worked like giants, I could hardly move. '

'Was it very acute suffering?'

'For the last two days it was, but it was worse for those who had towork. I was generally faint and drowsy, and could hardly rouse myself tospeak a word of encouragement, which was what they wanted. They fanciedit was vain to work towards the old shaft, but I was sure none of themcould live to be dug out from above, and that it would be wrong to letthem cease. I think, as well as I recollect, that speaking was the worstpain of all. But it is no harm to know what the poor undergo. '

'Hardly to such extremity, ' said Violet. 

'Well, I know I shall never turn indifferently away again when I hear, "We are starving. " A man feels little for what he has not experienced. '

'I suppose, ' said Lord Martindale, 'that it has put an extinguisher onChartism?'

'There are some determined village Hampdens still, but I think thefellow-feeling it has excited has done good. I have not been able to goamong them since, but they have indefatigably come to inquire for me. The first Sunday I was able to come down-stairs, I found the halldoor beset with them in their best, looking like a synod of Methodistpreachers. Poor Lucy shocked my aunt by running about crying, andshaking hands with their great horny fists. I fancy "our young lady, " asthey call her, is the strongest anti-chartist argument. '

Though talking in this animated manner he was far from strong, andwent away early, looking thoroughly tired. Theodora had stitched awaythroughout the conversation in silence; but Violet knew, by thevery fixity of her eye, that she was feeling it deeply and there wasconsciousness in the absence of word or look, with which she let theEarl bid her good night. It was a strange thing to have been in part themeans of forming so noble a character, and yet to regard her share in itwith nothing but shame. 

Self-reproachful and unhappy, Theodora went to take her turn of watchingher brother for the first part of the night. She could not have borneto be told, what was in fact the case, that he was generally moreuncomfortable under her care than that of any one else, chiefly becausethere was not the restraint either of consideration for his wife, or ofthe authority of his father. Besides, she was too visibly anxious, too grave and sad, to find anything cheerful with which to divert hisattention; and he was sure to become restless and exacting, or elsedepressed, either as to his illness or his affairs. 

To-night he had discovered Lady Elizabeth's visit, and was anxious toknow whether Gardner had broken with Miss Brandon. Theodora would notencourage his talking; and this teased him, only making him say moretill she had told all, adding, 'O Arthur! what a comfort it must be thatthis is brought upon you by your having tried to save Emma!'

'Not much of that. It was Violet. I would have stopped her writing if Icould. '

Perhaps this downfall of the heroism with which she had been endowinghis resistance, was one of the most cruel blows of all. 

'If he marries Mrs. Finch, he must at least pay off what he owes me;'and he began perplexing himself with reckonings. Theodora saw his browdrawn together, and his lips moving, and begged him to desist and try tosleep. 

'You have interrupted me--I have lost it!' and he tried again. 'No, Ican't get it right. There is a lot of papers in my writing-case. You'llsee to it. It will be something for Violet and the children. Mind theclaim is sent in;' and again he strove to explain, while she entreatedhim to put such things out of his mind; and it ended in such violentcoughing, that Lord Martindale heard, came in, and with a look that toldher how ill she managed, sent her to bed, where she vexed herself forhours at Arthur's seeming to dwell only on his gaming debts, instead ofon what she longed to see occupying his mind. Her elasticity seemed tohave been destroyed by her illness, and she had lost the vigour whichonce would have made her rise against depression. The reappearance ofPercy and of Lord St. Erme seemed only to have wearied and perplexedher; and she lay awake, feeling worn, confused, and harassed, and onlywishing to hide her head and be at rest. 

Arthur had a bad night, and was not so well in the morning, and whileLord Martindale was wondering why Theodora could not have been morecautious, the letters came in--one from Brogden--making it evident thatLady Martindale was so unwell and dispirited, that she ought not to beleft alone any longer. Lord Martindale, therefore, decreed that Theodorashould return, taking with her the three eldest children. And she couldmake no objection; she ought to submit to be passively disposed of;and, grievous as it was to leave her brother and Violet, there wascompensation in avoiding her former suitors. 

Lady Elizabeth came in almost at the same time as Lord Martindale wentout, after breakfast. She was in great distress. Poor Emma treated thewhole as a calumny; and when shown the absolute certainty that Markwas at Paris, daily calling on Mrs. Finch, remained persuaded that hiscousin had perverted him from the first, and was now trying to reviveher pernicious influence when he might have been saved; or that perhapshe was driven to an immediate wealthy marriage by his honourable feelingand his necessities. It was all her own fault for not having taken himat once. Lady Elizabeth had hardly been able to prevent her from writingto revoke the year's probation, and offer him all that was needed tosatisfy his creditors. 

Theodora could not help exclaiming, that she thought Emma would have hadmore dignity. 

'So I told her, my dear; but it seemed to be no consolation. I do notfeel secure that, though she has promised me not to write, TheresaMarstone may not. '

'Is Miss Marstone still in his favour?'

'I can still less understand her view, ' said Lady Elizabeth, with agrave, sad simplicity, almost like satire; 'she says it only convincesher that the Church of England does not know how to treat penitents. '

Theodora could not help laughing, and Lady Elizabeth nearly joined her, though sighing and saying that such talk gave her other fears for Emma. She dreaded that Miss Marstone was unsettled in her allegiance to herChurch, and that her power over Emma was infusing into her her owndoubts. 

'It is very sad--very strange! I cannot understand it, ' said Theodora. 'I had always believed that such innocence and lowliness as Emma andViolet have was a guard against all snares; yet here is Emma led astrayby these very excellences!'

'My dear, ' said Lady Elizabeth, 'I think it is the want of thatlowliness that is at the root with my poor child. It is a dangerousthing for a girl to throw herself into an exclusive friendship, especially when the disapproval of her own family is felt. I tried, butI never could like Theresa Marstone; and now I see that she liked togovern Emma, and depreciated my judgment--very justly, perhaps; butstill I was her mother, and it was not kind to teach her to think doingas I wished a condescension. '

'So Emma sold all her senses to her friend?'

'Yes, and Miss Marstone keeps them still. Theresa taught her to thinkherself wiser than all, and their own way of talking the proof ofgoodness. '

'Ay! their passwords. '

'Just so, and I do believe it was that kind of vanity that took from herher power of discerning and the instinctive shrinking from evil. '

'It is very easy to make simplicity silliness, ' said Theodora. 'I begyour pardon, Lady Elizabeth, I did not mean to blame her, but I wasthinking how truly you spoke. '

'And now, may I ask to see Mrs. Martindale; or will it be too much forher?'

'She will be glad, but she was tired with coming down to Lord St. Erme. And now, Arthur's bad night! Oh! Lady Elizabeth, you come from yourgriefs to ours. It is a shame to make you share them!'

'I do not think so, ' said Lady Elizabeth. 'There is a tract of HannahMore's showing that to bear another's burden lightens our own; and allold people will tell you that many troubles together weigh less heavilythan a single one. '

Theodora could not think so; each of her cares seemed to make theothers worse, till the mere toil and vexation of Helen's lessons becameserious; and yet, when the children were dismissed for their walk, shefelt unable to profit by her leisure, otherwise than by sighing at theprospect of missing the power of looking in at Arthur from hour to hour. She had not roused herself to occupation, when, to her dismay, Lord St. Erme was admitted. She began to say her father was not at home. 

'Yes, ' he said, 'I met him. '

He means mischief! thought Theodora. 

'He tells me that you are going away!'

'I believe so, ' said Theodora. 'My mother is not well, and we cannotboth be spared from home. '

'Will you forgive me?' said the Earl, still standing, and with downcasteyes, and heightened complexion. 'I know this is no fit time, but Icould not part without one allusion. I would not harass you for worlds. A word from you, and I drop the subject. '

'Oh! pray, then, say no more!' was her breathless entreaty. 

He turned in silence, with a mournful gesture of farewell, and laidhis hand on the door. She perceived her unkindness to one who hadevery claim to honour and consideration--one who had remembered her inwell-nigh the hour of death. 

'Stay, ' she said; 'I did not speak as I ought. '

'I know I presumed too far, ' said Lord St. Erme, pausing; 'I ask yourpardon for disturbing you. It was selfish; but I could not let you gowithout once adverting to the subject--'

There was a tremor of voice, an eager look, that made her fear thatthe crushed hope was reviving, and she hastened to say, 'The best thingwould be that you should think no more about me. '

'Impossible!' he vehemently cried; then, catching himself up, andspeaking in the same deferential tone as at first, 'I owe you far toomuch to cease to think of you. '

'It is a great pity, ' said Theodora; 'I never deserved such feelings, and they make me wish more and more that all could be undone. '

'No! no!' exclaimed Lord St. Erme, his eyes lighting and his cheekglowing, while his fair young features wore a look that was all poet andknight. 'Would I see what is past undone? It was the turning-point ofmy life--the call to arms. Hitherto, life had been to me a dream in anenchanted garden, with the same secret weariness and dissatisfaction!I dread the thought of the time and means I lavished away, fancyingbecause it was not vice it was not dissipation. It was then that Ibecame unworthy of you. It was you who taught me where lies modernchivalry, and made my folly and conceit cease to despise the practical;showed me--may I quote German to you once more?--that "Das Leben istkeine Lustfahrt sondern theils eine kampfes, theils eine Pilger-weise. "I took up my staff, at first, I own, in hopes of winning you--'

'You did not persevere merely for that reason?'

'No; when my eyes were once opened to the festering sin and miseryaround, when I saw the evil nourished at my own door by my neglect, and perceived that those dependent on me were doomed to degradation andoppression that I might gratify my craving for art, --then, indeed, I wasappalled! Those paintings and statues seemed to cry out to me that humansouls had been sacrificed to them! The toil and devotion of a life wouldbe too little to atone! Oh! that it were more able and effective. Meansand judgment go but a little way!'

'Your heart and happiness are in the work, ' said Theodora, seeing how hewas carried away by his feelings. 

'Yes. There is a sense like the labourer's at his daily task, and thoughthere is the mountain of things undone, there is the hope that all arenot wilfully neglected. It is for this that I longed to thank you. WhenI was in danger, I knew what it would have been to wait for death beforeI thought of--of the way of peace. I blessed you in my heart then--Ithank you now. '

'Thank Him who has brought good out of evil, was all Theodora could say. 

He bowed his head gravely, and continued: 'Now, thank you again forhaving listened. It has been a great satisfaction to me to acknowledgemy obligations. Do not suppose I came to London intending to distressyou with my pertinacity, or with any idea of having earned your favour. I was obliged to come; and when once near you, I could not bear toseparate without, at least, entreating to know whether the formerobstacle exists. '

'It does, ' said Theodora, looking down; 'I believe it always will. Ilament more than I can express, my conduct towards you; and what youhave told me grieves me more in one way, though in another it is mostconsoling. You have the true secret of peace, and I know all must bewell with you. If you had done otherwise, it would have been far worsefor me. Tell Lucy I have not forgotten her. I am sure she has the truelight-hearted sort of happiness. '

'She has, indeed, ' said Lord St. Erme; and he entered into a descriptionof his sister's doings; her perfect content with their seclusion, andher influence over the dependants. So eager did he grow in his favouritesubject, the welfare of his people, that he seemed to have forgottenwhat had brought him to Cadogan-place, and Theodora was convinced thatthough the being brought into contact with her had for the time renewedthe former attachment, it was in reality by no means the prominentthought of his life. His duties and the benefit of his colliers werewhat engrossed his mind; and with his sister to render his home happy, everything else was secondary. When it did occur to him to think oflove, it was for Theodora; but he had no more time for such thoughtsthan most other busy practical men. 

He discoursed upon his schools and reading-rooms till the children camein, and then bade her good-bye, quite as if he had talked himself backinto an every-day state of feeling. 

Was Theodora mortified? She went to her own room to analyze hersensations, but was almost immediately followed by Johnnie, coming totell her that the owl-man was in the drawing-room. 

'Another who is consoled!' thought she. 'Humiliating, indeed, it is tosee such complete cures. There is no need to be absurd and consciousat this meeting! But here I do, indeed, need forgiveness--how my heartaches to ask it--his mere pardon for my offences! If I could only haveit out with him without compromising womanly proprieties! That can't be;I must bear it!'

On the stairs she heard Helen's voice. 'He came yesterday, to theevening dinner, but I don't like him. '

'Why not?' asked Percy. 

'Because he says I am just like Aunt Theodora, and I am not. '

Theodora knew whom she meant. Lord St. Erme had been much struck byher little niece's resemblance, and Helen resented the comparison as anindignity to her beauty. She felt extremely annoyed at Percy's hearingthis; then recollected it did not signify to him, and entered just ashe was telling little Miss Vanity that she was the silliest child he hadever the honour of meeting. 

There was some constraint, on her part, in the short conversation onArthur's health that ensued, before he went up; and he only returned tothe drawing-room for a moment, to assure her that he thought Arthur muchbetter than when he had last seen him. 

'He avoids me! he cannot endure me!' she thought, and yet she feltdoubly averse to the idea of returning to Brogden. 

Lord Martindale came in with a look of expectation on his face whichgrieved Theodora, for she knew her refusal would be a disappointmentto him. He sent the children away, paused for her to begin, and at lastasked: 'Well, my dear, has Lord St. Erme been here?'

'Yes papa;' and it was plain enough how it had been. Lord Martindalesighed. The rest being equal, it was not in human nature not to preferan Earl to an almost penniless author. 'I would not urge you on anyaccount, ' he said; 'but I wish it could have been otherwise. '

'So do I, most heartily, ' said Theodora. 

'It is very different now, ' said Lord Martindale. Four years ago I couldhardly have wished it. Now, I think most highly of him, and I shouldhave been rejoiced to have seen his constancy rewarded. '

'I am ashamed and grieved, ' said Theodora. 'He did, indeed, deservebetter things. He is a noble character; and I cannot honour or esteemhim enough, nor sufficiently regret the way I treated him. But, indeed, papa, it would not be right. I cannot help it. '

'Well, there is no more to be said, ' sighed Lord Martindale. 'I know youwill do right. '

Something was won since her former dismissal of the Earl! Her fathergave her a look full of confidence and affection; and made happy by it, she rallied her spirits and said, 'Besides, what a pair it would be! Weshould be taken for a pretty little under-graduate and his mother!'

'That will not last, my dear, ' said Lord Martindale, vexed thoughsmiling at her droll manner. 'You are younger than he. '

'In years, but not in mind, ' said Theodora. 'No, no, papa; you have mefor life, and it is hard you should be so anxious to get rid of me!'

'I only wish to consult your happiness, my dear child. '

'And that always was in fancying myself necessary, ' said Theodora, gaily, though there was a trembling in her voice; and when she went upto her own room, she hid her face in her hands, and felt as if life wasvery dreary and uninteresting, and as if it was a miserable exile to besent into the country just now, to have to force cheerful conversationfor her mother, and to be wearied with Helen's wild spirits. 'But haveI not deserved everything? And after my brother has been spared so far, how can I repine at any selfish trouble?'

CHAPTER 12

 Herself, almost heartbroken now, Was bent to take the vestal vow, And shroud, within St. Hilda's gloom, Her wasted hopes and withered bloom. 

 --SCOTT

Violet, when called to consult with her father-in-law in the outer room, felt a sort of blank apprehension and consternation at the idea of beingseparated from her children; and a moment's reflection satisfied herthat in one case at least she might rightly follow the dictates of herown heart. She said that she thought Johnnie could not be spared by hispapa. 

Lord Martindale's eye followed hers, and through the half-closed doorsaw Johnnie, sitting on the bed, reading to his father, who listenedwith amused, though languid attention. 

'I believe you are right, ' he said; 'though I wish I had the boy in thecountry doing no lessons. He puts me more in mind of his uncle everyday. '

'One of the highest compliments Johnnie has ever had, ' said Violet, colouring with pleasure; 'but I am afraid to trust him away from me andMr. Harding in the winter because of his croup. '

'Ah! then it cannot be, ' he answered; 'and I do not think I would takehim from his father now, but his sisters must come; they would be toomuch for you without Theodora. '

Violet could only be mournfully thankful, and the project was in timelaid before Arthur. 

'Send my little girls away!' said he, looking discomfited. 'Oh! if youwish to keep them'--joyfully exclaimed Violet. 

'I thought that if Theodora went home, Violet would hardly be able tomanage them, ' said Lord Martindale. 

'If they are in her way, ' said Arthur, and his eyes smiled at her, knowing what her decision would be. 

'Oh! no, no! It was their grandpapa's kindness. ' Johnnie and Helen herepeeped into the room; Arthur beckoned to them, and said, 'How should youlike to go into the country with Aunt Theodora?'

'To see grandmamma and the peacock?' said Lord Martindale. Johnnie clungto his mother's hand, piteously whispering, 'Oh! don't send me away, mamma--I would try to bear it if I ought. '

Helen climbed the bed, and sturdily seated herself close to her papa. 'I shall not desert my father and mother, ' said she, with great dignity, drawing up her head. 

'No more you shall, my little heroine!' said Arthur, throwing his armround her, while she glanced with saucy triumph at her grandfather. 

In the silence of night, when Arthur was alone with his father, he said, 'If those little girls go away now, they will never remember me. '

To this plea there could be no reply; for though the danger was nolonger imminent, it was still extremely doubtful whether he would everleave his room again. 

His wish to keep the children made Lord Martindale reconsider of sendingTheodora home, and he desired Violet to choose between her and himself. She thought Theodora the most effective, and Arthur seemed to preferher remaining, so that she found herself disposed of according to herwishes, her father only stipulating that she should not neglect rest, air, or exercise, of which she stood in evident need. 

Every one observed her haggard looks on the day when they met for thebaptism of 'Arthur Fotheringham. ' It was a melancholy christening, without the presence of either parent; and so all the little party feltit, and yet, if they could have seen into the recesses of the mother'sheart, they would have found there were causes which made this baptismday better to her than any of the former ones. 

The godfather came afterwards to see Arthur, who believed him more thanall the doctors when he assured him he was making progress. Arthurbegan to speak of the debt; he wished before his father went to havea settlement of accounts, take steps for selling his commission, andrepaying Percy. 

'No, ' said Percy, 'wait till you are better and can look about you. Sell your commission indeed, and take the bread out of your children'smouths! No, if you did choose to do that, it must in honour and justicebe divided among all your creditors. '

Arthur was forced to give up. 

Emma Brandon had not joined the christening party. Miss Marstonehad actually written to Mark Gardner, and had in reply received anacknowledgment of her 'good offices, which had gone far to enable himto justify the bets that before Christmas he would have a wife withten thousand pounds a year!' He did not quite venture to insult MissBrandon, but sent her a cool message of farewell. The rest of theletter, the friends declared, was evidently by Mrs. Finch's dictation. They shut themselves up together; Lady Elizabeth was not allowed to helpher daughter, and came to Cadogan-place chiefly that she might talk overher troubles with Theodora, who put her into communication withPercy, and from him she heard a brief sketch of Mr. Gardner's life andadventures, still less disposing her to desire him as a son-in-law. 

She was certainly safe from this danger, but her cares were not thusended. If Emma would have shared her griefs with her, and admitted herattempts at consolation, she would have been more at ease, but as itwas, Emma was reserved with her, and attached herself solely to TheresaMarstone, whom she even made a sort of interpreter between her and hermother, so that Lady Elizabeth only knew as much of her mind as herconfidante chose to communicate. 

Not only was this most painful to her feelings as a mother, but she hadserious doubts of the safety of such a companion. The extreme sillinessof Theresa's vanity and exclusiveness had long been visible, and as itwas the young lady's fashion to imagine the defect anywhere but in herown judgment, there were symptoms of the mischief having been by herattributed to the Church of England. As if to console herself for theshock she had sustained, she was turning to a new fancy, for whena woman once begins to live upon excitement, she will seek for theintoxication anywhere. 

This perception made Lady Elizabeth resolve that as long as she wasmistress of Rickworth, she would not again invite Miss Marstone thither;while Emma was equally determined not to go home without her onlyfriend. Thus the mother and daughter lingered on in London, Theresaoften coming to spend the day with Emma, and Lady Elizabeth havingrecourse to the Martindale family, and trying to make herself of use byamusing the children, sitting in Arthur's room, or taking Theodora for awalk or drive. 

One morning she came in to say that Emma was going to drive to Islingtonto call upon Miss Marstone, who had gone two days previously to staywith some friends there, and to beg that Theodora would accompanyher. Aware that it would be as great a penance to Emma as to herself, Theodora would fain have been excused, but let herself be overruled onLady Elizabeth's promise to supply her place at home, and assurance thatit would be a positive relief that she should be of the party, even ifshe did not get out of the carriage, as a check upon the length of timeEmma would spend with her friend. 

The two unwilling companions set forth, each in her own comer of thecarriage, Emma leaning back, her thick blue veil hiding her face;Theodora, who always repudiated veils, sitting upright, her face turned, so as to catch the breeze on her hot temples, wishing she could turnherself into Violet, and possess her power of sweet persuasion andconsolation. She could think of nothing to say, and began at last tofear that her silence might appear unkind. She tried to interest Emmaby speaking of Johnnie, but she only obtained brief replies, and theconversation had dropped before they left the streets and entered onsuburban scenery. Theodora exclaimed at a gorgeous Virginian creeper--

'Almost as fine as the one at the Priory, ' said she. 

Emma looked and sighed. 

'Rickworth must be in high glory. I know nothing prettier than themany-coloured woods sloping into the meadow, with the soft mist rising. You will find home beautiful. '

'I cannot bear the thought of it, ' said Emma, in an under-tone. 

'How glad your little orphans will be! How many have you?'

'There are five. '

Theodora saw she hated the subject, but thought it good for her, andwent on to tell her of a case at Whitford, cramming the subject intoher ear at first against the stomach of her sense, but it could not butexact attention, a widow sinking in a decline after sorrows which, bycomparison, made all young lady troubles shrink into atoms. Emma becameinterested, and began to ask questions. 

'You will go to see the mother? Poor thing, I hope she may be alive tohear of the prospect for her child. I am sorry to be unable to go andsee her, and should be so glad to know you near and able to attend toher. '

'We will write to the housekeeper, ' said Emma. 

'Are you not going back yourself?'

'I don't know; I have no heart to think of it. '

'Emma, ' said Theodora, 'we need not go on as if we did not understandeach other. Violet can attend to you now; I wish you would talk to her. No one can comfort as she can. '

'I do not wish to tease her with my--'

'She knows, she longs to help you. Don't you know how fond of you shealways was? You two appreciated each other from the first. '

'It is of no use. She never entered into my views. She does notunderstand. It is her situation I blame, not herself. She is a dearcreature, and I once had a strong girlish enthusiasm for her. '

'Once!' cried Theodora; 'what has she ever done to lessen enthusiasm forall that is good and lovely?'

Emma hung her head, alarmed; and Theodora more gently insisted, till, bythe power which in childhood she had exerted over Emma, she forced outan answer. 'Forgive me, if I must tell you. I have thought her too fondof going out. It was no wonder, so very young as she was. I do not findfault, but it seemed to dispel an illusion that she was superior toother people. Don't you remember one party she would go to againstwarning, that one where she fainted? I could never feel the same for herafterwards. '

Theodora was silent for a few seconds, then exclaimed, 'O Violet, isthere no end to the injuries I have done you? Emma, never judge withoutseeing behind the curtain. It was my fault. It was when I was crazedwith wilfulness. Your mother offered to chaperon me, I was set ongoing with Mrs. Finch, and as the only means of preventing that, Violet sacrificed herself. I did not know she likewise sacrificed thefriendship of the only person, except John, who had been kind to her. '

'I wish Theresa had known this, ' said Emma. 

'Now YOU know it, will you not turn to Violet for advice and comfort?I know what she can be. If you could guess what she saved me from, youwould fly at once to her. '

'I cannot begin now, I cannot look anywhere that recalls pasthappiness!' said Emma, murmuring low, as though the words, in spite ofherself, broke from her oppressed heart. 'Would that I could hide myhead! Oh! that I had wings like a dove!'

'Emma, you have them. They may carry you into what seems to be awilderness, but go bravely on, and you will be at rest at last. '

'What do you mean?'

'The wings of duty. '

'If I only knew where it was. '

'Your mother, your dependants, your orphans, your beautiful old plan. 

Emma only groaned, and held up her hand in deprecation. 

'I have felt it, ' continued Theodora. 'I know how vain, and vapid, andweary everything seems, as if the sap of life was gone, but if we arecontent to remain in the wilderness, it begins to blossom at last, indeed it does. '

'I thought you had had no troubles, ' said Emma, with more interest. 'They could not have been such as mine. '

'In one respect they were worse, for they were entirely my own fault. '

'May I ask, is there no hope for you?'

'No, said Theodora, 'I believe there is none. But a certain peacefulfeeling, independent of that, came after the desolateness, and has nevergone utterly away, though I have had to reap the harvest of the evilthat I sowed. Oh! depend upon it, there is nothing like resolutelyfacing the day's work. '

Emma made no answer; they had come to the gate of a villa, and Theodorathought she might as well have held her peace, since Theresa would undothe whole. 

Miss Marstone was not within, but she had left a note for Miss Brandon. Emma, after reading it, timidly said that Theresa had gone to spend theday with a friend, who was boarding in a convent not far off, and thatshe wished her to come and make her visit to her there. Then timidlyglancing towards her companion, she desired to be driven thither, butTheodora, leaning forward, said, in an authoritative manner, 'Drive ontwo miles on the road. We will say where next when we come back. '

'I beg your pardon, ' she said to Emma, 'but this is not a step to betaken inconsiderately. '

Emma did not reply; Theodora perceived that her decided manner hadterrified her. 'I am sorry if I was rude, ' she said; 'I did not mean it, but I thought you were acting precipitately, and that you would be gladto have time to reflect before going to this place without your mother'sknowledge. '

'It is not precipitately, ' said Emma, faintly. 

'You don't mean that this was a pre-concerted scheme. If so, pray let meout, and I will go home alone. '

'No, no, I did not mean exactly--don't use such words, Theodora. Only sister Mary Angela--Theresa's great friend--had joined the Romancommunion. Theresa wished me to see her and the convent, and said thatperhaps I might find her there. If I had told mamma, she would havefancied I should be kidnapped like young ladies in books. I believe youexpect it yourself, ' said Emma, giggling hysterically. 

'I think, and she thinks nothing but what is rational, ' said Theodora, coldly, 'that it is a sad thing to see you taught to resort tosubterfuges, and that they can lead into no safe course. '

'You do not know Theresa, or you would not accuse her of what she woulddetest. '

'I speak from what I see. She has arranged in secret that, without yourmother's knowledge, you should by stealth go to a place where you bothknow Lady Elizabeth would be shocked to hear of you. '

'I thought you understood the true Catholic spirit, ' said Emma, 'andwere interested in these things. '

'The Catholic spirit is anything but such treatment of a mother, ' saidTheodora. 'Once for all, do you mean to go to this place, or do you not?I see a cab, and if you go I return home in that. '

'Of course then I must give it up. '

'Now, and for ever, unless with your mother's consent, I hope, ' saidTheodora. 

Emma did not answer, and they proceeded for some distance, Theodorawondering what could be her companion's frame of mind, and what sheought to do next. So far, it was the sort of compulsion she had beenwont to employ in the unscrupulous hours of childhood; but this was nogain--Emma's reason ought to be convinced, and of this she had littlehope. Miss Brandon was the first to break silence. That word subterfugerankled, as it must in any honourable mind, and she began--'I wish youwould do Theresa justice. No one can have a greater contempt than shefor anything underhand. '

Theodora tried not to laugh, and could not help pitying the fondaffections that were blind to every fault in the beloved object. 

'Ah!' said Emma, in answer to her silence, 'you think this bears theappearance of it; but you may be certain that Theresa is absolutely sureto act conscientiously. '

'Some people follow their conscience--some drive it. '

'Now, do let me explain it, ' entreated Emma, and talking eagerly andrather mistily, she told in many more words than were needful howTheresa had serious doubts as to what she termed Anglicanism, reckoningagainst it every laxity in doctrine or in discipline that came to herknowledge, and admiring everything in other branches of the Church. Emma, taking all for granted that Theresa said, was strongly of the samemind, and while both made high professions of attachment to their owncommunion, they were in a course of dwelling on all the allurements heldout in other quarters. By some astonishing train of reasoning, frequentin persons in a state of excitement and self-deception, they hadpersuaded themselves that Mark Gardner's return to his evil courseshad been for want of a monastery to receive him; and their tendencyto romance about conventual institutions had been exaggerated by thepresent state of Emma's spirits, which gave her a desire to retire fromthe world, as well as a distaste to the projects in which she hadlately given her false lover but too large a share. 'Peace dwells in thecloister, ' she sighed. 

'You have the essentials of such a life in your power, ' said Theodora. 

'Not the fixed rule--the obedience. '

'Oh! Emma! your mother!'

'I want discipline--Church discipline as in primitive times, ' said Emma, impatiently. 

'The most primitive discipline of all is, "honour thy father andmother, "' returned Theodora. 

There was a silence. Theodora resumed--'I know how one would rather doanything than what is required. Violet taught me then that we must notchoose our cross. '

Another space, then Emma said, 'And you call it a subterfuge?'

'Can you honestly call it otherwise? Don't bewilder us withexplanations, but simply say what you would have thought of it six yearsago. '

For Emma not to send forth a vapour of words was impossible, but theydid not satisfy even herself. Those short terse sentences of Theodora'stold upon her, and at last she did not deny that she should not havethought it right if Theresa had not prompted it. 

'Is she more likely to be right, or is the Catechism?'

'The Catechism?'

'To be TRUE and just in all my dealings. '

'She did not think it wrong. '

'No, of course not, but if it is wrong, and she does not think it so, does that make her a safe guide?'

'You want to set me against her!'

'I want you to cease to give her a power over you, which is unsafe forany human being. '

'You have been talking to mamma. '

'I have been seeing how unhappy she is about you; but since I havetalked to yourself I have seen far more danger. '

'Poor mamma!'

'May I tell you how your history appears to a looker-on? I know it willbe painful, but I think it will be good for you. '

'Well!'

'You began beautifully. It was delightful to see how you and yourmother went on in perfect confidence, ready to work at everything goodtogether, and she sympathizing in all your projects, only bringing wisecaution to restrain your ardour. '

'Yes, we were very happy then, ' sighed Emma; 'but mamma wished me to gointo society. '

'And wisely. Remember, in the conventual system, a girl cannot be anovice till she has had six months in which to see the world. It wasright that you should count the cost. Besides, society in moderation isthe best way to keep one's mind from growing narrow. Well, then, you metMiss Marstone, and she excited your imagination. She is really cleverand good, and I don't wonder at your liking her; but I cannot think thatshe has done right in cultivating your exclusive preference till she hasdetached you from your mother. '

'She did not always think with her. '

'No, but a sound friend would always place the duty to your motherforemost. You made a Pope of her, believed all she said, did as shepleased, and she was flattered, and absorbed you more and more, till really you both came to treating Lady Elizabeth's opinion as anonentity. Can you deny it?'

'No. '

More would have been said, but Theodora would not hear, and went on. 'See the consequence. She made a fearful mistake, and but for yourmother and your remaining regard to her authority, where should you havebeen now? All this misery could not have been if you had been safe underLady Elizabeth's wing. '

'No!' faintly said Emma. 

'And now, when your mother has saved you, and her heart is aching tocomfort you, and take you back to the safe old nest where all yourduties and schemes lie, Miss Marstone tries to keep you from her; andfancies she is doing the best and most conscientious thing by teachingyou to elude her, and go where, to one in your state of mind, istemptation indeed. Oh! Emma, she may think it right; but are you actingkindly by the mother who has only you?'

Theodora was very glad to see tears. 'I cannot bear to go home!'presently said Emma. 

'Have you thought how badly all the poor people must be getting onwithout you? All your children--it is half a year since you saw them!'

Emma groaned. 

'Yes, it is bad enough at first. You have had a heavy trial indeed, poorEmma; but what is a trial but something to try us? Would it not be moremanful to face the pain of going home, and to take up your allottedwork? Then you would be submitting, not to a self-made rule, but toHeaven's own appointment. '

Was Emma's mind disengaged enough for curiosity, or did she want to quitthe subject! She said--'You have had a trial of this kind yourself?'

Theodora had a struggle. To tell the whole seemed to her as uncalledfor as painful; and yet there must be reciprocity if there is to beconfidence, and she could not bear to advise like one who had nevererred. She therefore confessed how her happiness had been wrecked by herown fault, and related the subsequent misery; how Violet had repelledthe disposition to exalt her rather than her parents, and had well-nighforced her abroad, and how there in the dreary waste a well of peace hadsprung up, and had been with her ever since. 

Short as Theodora tried to make the story she so much disliked, itlasted till they were almost at home. It had its effect. To be thrownover upon Lady Martindale and Mrs. Nesbit at Baden could not but appearto Emma a worse lot than to be left to her own mother and Rickworth, which, after all, she loved so well; and the promise of peace to be wonby following appointed paths was a refreshing sound. 

She had, this whole time, never thought of her mother's feelings, andthe real affection she entertained was once more awake. Besides, tosee how Theodora represented their scheme, not only shook her faith inTheresa, but alarmed her sense of right on her own account. In short, though she said no word, there was a warmth in her meeting with LadyElizabeth, on their return, that gave Theodora hopes. 

Next morning came a note. 

'My Dear Theodora, --I have decided to go home at once. I could notrest without Theresa's explanation, so I have written to her, and I hadrather have it by letter than in person. I talked till two o'clock lastnight with mamma, and we go home at twelve to-day. Tell Violet we willcome in for a few moments to take leave. 

'Your affectionate, 'E. E. B. '

'There is one thing to be thankful for!' said Theodora. The visit wasvery short; Emma hardly spoke or raised her eyes, and Theodora hopedthat some of her timidity arose from repentance for her false judgmentof Violet. To Theodora, she said--'You shall see Theresa's explanation, 'and Theodora deserved credit for not saying it would be a curiosity. 

Lady Elizabeth did as she had not done since Theodora was a littlechild; she put her arm round her neck and kissed her affectionately, murmuring, 'Thank you, my dear. '

This little scene seemed to brace Theodora for the trial of the evening. Percy had offered to sit up that night with Arthur, and she had toreceive him, and wait with him in the drawing-room till he should besummoned. It was a hard thing to see him so distant and reserved, andthe mere awkwardness was unpleasant enough. She could devise nothing tosay that did not touch on old times, and he sat engrossed with a bookthe reviewal of which was to be his night's employment. 

CHAPTER 13

 Should this new-blossomed hope be coldly nipped, Then were I desolate indeed. 

 --Philip van Artevelde--H. TAYLOR

The night was apt to be the worst time with Arthur; and Violetgenerally found him in the morning in a state of feverish discomfortand despondency that was not easily soothed. Anxious to know how he hadfared with his new attendant, she came in as early as possible, and wasrejoiced to find that he had passed an unusually comfortable night, hadbeen interested and cheered by Percy's conversation, and had slept somehours. 

Percy's occupation, in the meantime, was shown by some sheets ofmanuscript on the table near the fire. 

'I see you have not been losing time, ' said Violet. 

'I fear--I fear I have, ' he answered, as rather nervously he began togather up some abortive commencements and throw them into the fire. 

'Take care, that is mine, ' exclaimed she, seeing the words 'Mrs. Martindale, ' and thinking he had seized upon a letter which he hadwritten to her from Worthbourne on Arthur's business. She held outher hand for it, and he yielded it, but the next moment she saw it wasfreshly written; before she could speak she heard the door closed, andArthur sleepily muttered, 'Gone already. ' Dreading some new branch ofthe Boulogne affair, she sat down, and with a beating heart read by thefirelight:--

'I can bear it no longer! Long ago I committed one great folly, andshould have been guilty of a greater, if you had not judged more wiselyfor me than I for myself. You did, indeed, act "kindly as ever"; and Ihave thanked you for it a thousand times, since I came to my senses inthe dismal altitude of my "sixieme etage" at Paris. 

'No disrespect to your sister, to whom I did greater injustice than Iknew, in asking her to seal my mistake. I threw away a rough diamondbecause its sharp edges scratched my fingers, and, in my fit of passion, tried to fill up its place with another jewel. Happily you and she knewbetter! Now I see the diamond sparkling, refined, transcendent, withsuch chastened lustre as even I scarce dared to expect!

'These solitary years of disappointment have brought me to a sense ofthe harshness and arrogance of my dealings with the high nature thathad so generously intrusted itself to me. There was presumption from thefirst in undertaking to mould her, rudeness in my attempts to controlher, and precipitate passion and jealousy in resenting the displeasureI had provoked; and all was crowned by the absurd notion that pique withher was love of your sister!

'I see it all now, or rather I have seen it ever since it was too late;I have brooded over it till I have been half distracted, night afternight! And now I can hardly speak, or raise my head in her presence. I must have her pardon, whether I dare or not to ask one thing more. Inever was sure that her heart was mine; my conduct did not deserve it, whatever my feelings did. If she accepted me from romance, I did enoughto open her eyes! I am told she accepts Lord St. Erme--fit retributionon me, who used to look down on him in my arrogant folly, and have toown that he has merited her, while I--

'But, at least, I trust to your goodness to obtain some word offorgiveness for me without disturbing her peace of mind. I would notexpose her to one distressing scene! She has gone through a great deal, and the traces of grief and care on that noble countenance almost breakmy heart. I would not give her the useless pain of having to reject me, and of perceiving the pain I should not be able to conceal. 

'I commit myself to your kindness, then, and entreat of you, if thefeeling for me was a delusion, or if it is extinct, to let me know inthe manner least painful to you; and, when she can endure the subject, to tell her how bitterly I have repented of having tried to forcehumility on her, when I stood in still greater need of the lesson, andof having flown off in anger when she revolted at my dictation. Oneword of forgiveness would be solace in a life of deserved loneliness anddisappointment. '

Trembling with gladness, Violet could hardly refrain from rousing Arthurto hear the good news! She hastily wrote the word 'Try!' twisted it intoa note, and sent it down in case Mr. Fotheringham should still be in thehouse. The missive returned not, and she sat down to enjoy her gladnessas a Sunday morning's gift. 

For Violet, though weak, anxious, and overworked, was capable ofreceiving and being cheered by each sunbeam that shone on herself or onher loved ones. Perhaps it was the reward of her resignation and trust, that even the participation (as it might almost be called) of herhusband's suffering, and the constantly hearing his despondence, couldnot deprive her of her hopefulness. Ever since the first two days shehad been buoyed up by a persuasion of his recovery, which found food ineach token of improvement; and, above all, there was something in Arthurthat relieved the secret burden that had so long oppressed her. 

She was free to receive solace and rejoice in the joy of others; andwhen Theodora met her in the morning, eye and lip were beaming with asuppressed smile of congratulation, that hardly suited with the thin, white face. 

'Arthur's comfortable night has done you both good, ' said Theodora. 'Percy is a better nurse than I. '

'Oh, yes! it is all Percy's doing!' said Violet, there checking herself;but laughing and blushing, so that for a moment she looked quitegirlishly pretty. 

No more was heard of Mr. Fotheringham till Johnnie came home fromthe afternoon's service, and reported that the owl-man was in thedrawing-room with Aunt Theodora. 

At church Johnnie had seen his papa's good-natured friend in the aisle, and with his hand on the door of the seat and his engaging face liftedup, had invited him in. 

Innocent Johnnie! he little knew what tumultuous thoughts were setwhirling through his aunt's mind. The last time Percy had joined herat church, the whole time of the service had been spent in the conflictbetween pride and affection. Now there was shame for this fresh swarm oflong-forgotten sins, and as the recollection saddened her voice inthe confession, foremost was the sense of sacrilege in having therecherished them, and turned her prayer into sin. No wonder she had beenfor a time yielded up to her pride and self-will!

As silently as usual they walked home from church, and she would at oncehave gone up-stairs, but he said, in a low, hoarse voice, as her footwas on the step, 'May I speak to you?'

She turned. It was so strangely like that former occasion that she had acurious bewildered feeling of having passed through the same before; andperhaps she had, in her dreams. Scarcely conscious, she walked towardsthe fire. 

'Can you forgive me?' said the same husky voice. 

She raised her eyes to his face. 'Oh, Percy!'--but she could say nomore, cut short by rising sobs; and she could only hide her face, andburst into tears. 

He was perfectly overwhelmed. 'Theodora, dearest! do not! I have beentoo hasty, ' he exclaimed, almost beside himself with distress, andcalling her by every affectionate name. 

'Never mind! It is only because I have become such a poor creature!'said she, looking up with a smile, lost the next moment in theuncontrollable weeping. 

'It is my fault!--my want of consideration! I will go--I will call Mrs. Martindale. '

'No, no, don't, don't go!' said Theodora, eagerly--her tears drivenback. 'It was only that I am so foolish now. '

'It was very wrong to be so abrupt--'

'No! Oh! it was the relief!' said Theodora, throwing off her shawl, asif to free herself from oppression. Percy took it from her, placed herin the arm-chair, and rendered her all the little attentions in hispower with a sort of trembling eagerness, still silent; for she was verymuch exhausted, --not so much from present agitation as from the previousstrain on mind and body. 

It seemed to give a softness and tenderness to their reunion, suchas there never had been between them before, as she leant back on thecushions he placed for her, and gazed up in his face as he stood by her, while she rested, as if unwilling to disturb the peace and tranquillity. 

At last she said, 'Did I hear you say you had forgiven me?'

'I asked if you could forgive me?'

'I!' she exclaimed, rousing herself and sitting up, --'I have nothing toforgive! What are you thinking of?'

'And is it thus you overlook the presumption and harshness that--'

'Hush!' said Theodora; 'I was unbearable. No man of sense or spiritcould be expected to endure such treatment. But, Percy, I have been veryunhappy about it, and I do hope I am tamer at last, if you will try meagain. '

'Theodora!' cried Percy, hardly knowing what he said. 'Can you mean it?After all that is past, may I believe what I dared not feel assured ofeven in former days?'

'Did you not?' said Theodora, sorrowfully. 'Then my pride must have beeneven worse than I supposed. '

'Only let me hear the word from you. You do not know what it would be tome!'

'And did you really think I did not care for you? I, whose affectionfor you has been a part of my very self! I am more grieved than ever. I would never have tormented you if I had not thought you knew my heartwas right all the time. '

'It was my fault; my anger and impatience! And you let me hope thatthis--this undeserved feeling has survived even my usage!'

'Nay, it was that which taught me its power. Your rejection was themaking of me; thanks to Violet, who would not let me harden myself, andruin all. '

'Violet! I could almost call her our presiding spirit, sent to save usfrom ourselves!'

'Dear Violet! how glad she will be. '

'Then, ' said Percy, as if he had only room for one thought, 'are weindeed to begin anew?'

'I will try to be less unbearable, ' was the stifled answer. 

'We have both had lessons enough to teach us to be more humble andforbearing, ' said Percy, now first venturing to take her hand. 'Letus hope that since this blessing has been granted us, that we shall beaided in our endeavours to help each other. '

There was a grave and chastened tone about the meeting of these twolovers: Theodora almost terrified at realizing that the bliss shehad once forfeited was restored to her, and Percy peculiarlyrespectful--almost diffident in manner, feeling even more guilty towardsher than she did towards him. Neither could be content without afull confession of their wrongs towards each other, and the unjustimpressions that had actuated them; and in the retrospect time passed soquickly away, that they were taken by surprise when the candles came in. 

'I need not go?' entreated Percy. 

'No, indeed; but you have had no dinner. '

'Never mind--I want nothing. '

Theodora ran up-stairs. Violet understood the suppressed call in thedressing-room, and met her with outstretched arms. 

The children never forgot that evening, so delightful did the owl-manmake himself. Helen even offered him a kiss, and wished him good night, saucily calling him Percy; and Johnnie set his aunt's cheeks in a glowby saying, 'It ought to be Uncle Percy, if he belonged to Aunt Helen. '

'What do you know of Aunt Helen?' said Percy, lifting him on his knee, with a sudden change of manner. 

Johnnie's face was deeply tinged; he bent down his head and did notanswer, till, when the inquiry was repeated, he whispered, 'Mamma saidAunt Helen was so very good. Mamma read to me about the dew-drops, in her written book. She told me about her when I had the blister on, because, she said, her thoughts helped one to be patient and good. '

Percy put his arm round him, and his sigh or movement surprised Johnnie, who uneasily looked at his aunt. 'Ought I not to have said it?'

'Yes, indeed, Johnnie, boy. There is nothing so pleasant to me to hear, 'said Percy. 'Good night; I shall like you all the better for caring formy dear sister Helen. '

'Being dead, she yet speaketh, ' murmured he, as the children went. 'Strange how one such tranquil, hidden life, which seemed lost andwasted, has told and is telling on so many!'

Even the peace and happiness of that evening could not remove theeffects of over-fatigue, and Percy insisted on Theodora's going earlyto rest, undertaking again to watch by Arthur. She objected, that he hadbeen up all last night. 

'I cannot go home to bed. If you sent me away, I should wander in theSquare, apostrophizing the gas-lamps, and be found to-morrow in thestation, as a disorderly character. You had better make my superfluousenergies available in Arthur's service. Ask if I may come in. '

Theodora thought the sick-room had acquired quite a new aspect. A Sundayair pervaded the whole, seeming to radiate from Violet, as she sat bythe fire; the baby asleep, in his little pink-lined cradle, by her side. The patient himself partook of the freshened appearance, as the brightglow of firelight played over his white pillows, his hair smooth andshining, and his face where repose and cheerfulness had taken the placeof the worn, harassed expression of suffering. Of the welcome therecould be no doubt. Arthur's hands were both held out, and did not lether go, after they had drawn her down to kiss him and sit beside him onthe bed. 

'Well done! Theodora, ' he said; 'I am glad it is made up. He is the bestfellow living, and well you deserve--'

'O, don't say so!'

'Not that he is the best?' said Arthur, squeezing hard both her hands, as he used to do in fond, teasing schoolboy days. 'I shall not say onewithout the other. Such a pair is not to be found in a hurry. You onlywanted breaking-in to be first-rate, and now you have done it. '

'No, it was your own dear little wife!' was whispered in his ear. Hepinched her again, and, still holding her fast, said, 'Is Percy there?Come in, ' and, as he entered, 'Percy, I once warned you to kill the caton the wedding-day. I testify that she is dead. This sister of mine is agood girl now. Ask Violet. '

'Violet--or, rather, our Heartsease'--said Percy, as his grasp nearlycrushed Violet's soft fingers: 'thank you; yours was the most admirablenote ever composed! Never was more perfect "eloquence du billet!"'

'Eh! what was it?'

Percy held up the little note before Arthur's eyes: he laughed. 'Ay!Violet is the only woman I ever knew who never said more than was tothe purpose. But now, Mrs. Heartsease, if that is your name, go and putTheodora to bed; Percy will stay with me. '

'The baby, ' objected Violet. 

'Never mind, I want you very much, ' said Theodora; 'and as Percy says hehas so much superfluous energy, he can take care of two Arthurs at once. I am only afraid of his making the great one talk. '

'The great one' was at first as silent as the little one; hiscountenance became very grave and thoughtful; and at last he said, 'Now, Percy, you must consent to my selling out and paying you. '

'If you do, it must be share and share alike with the rest of thecreditors. '

'And that would be no good, ' said Arthur, 'with all the harpies toshare. I wish you would consent, Percy. Think what it is to me to liehere, feeling that I have ruined not only myself, but all my sister'shopes of happiness!'

'Nay, you have been the means of bringing us together again. And as toyour wife--'

'I must not have her good deeds reckoned to me, ' said Arthur, sadly. 'But what can you do? My father cannot pay down Theodora's fortune. '

'We must wait, ' interrupted Percy, cheerfully. 

Arthur proceeded. 'Wait! what for? Now you are cut out of Worthbourne, and my aunt's money might as well be at the bottom of the sea, and--'

'I can hear no croaking on such a day as this, ' broke in Percy. 'As toWorthbourne, it is ill waiting for dead men's shoon. I always thoughtPelham's as good a life as my own, and I never fancied Mrs. Nesbit'shoards. If I made three thousand pounds in five years, why may I not doso again? I'll turn rapacious--give away no more articles to benightededitors on their last legs. I can finish off my Byzantine history, andcoin it into bezants. '

'And these were your hard-earned savings, that should have forwardedyour marriage!'

'They have, ' said Percy, smiling. 'They will come back some way orother. I shall work with a will now! I am twice the man I was yesterday. It was heartless work before. Now, "some achieve greatness, " you know. '

Arthur would have said more, but Percy stopped him. 'If you gave it meto-morrow, we could not marry on it. Let things alone till you are aboutagain, and John comes home. Meantime, trust her and me for being happy. A fico for the world and worldlings base. '

He attained his object in making Arthur smile; and Violet presentlyreturning, they sat on opposite sides of the fire, and held one of thehappiest conversations of their lives. Violet told the whole story ofthe fire, which seemed as new to Arthur as to Percy. 

'Why did I never hear this before?' he asked. 

'You heard it at the time, ' said Violet. 

Recollections came across Arthur, and he turned away his head, self-convicted of having thought the women made a tedious history, and that he could not be bored by attending. Percy's way of listening, meanwhile, was with his foot on the fender, his elbow on his knee, hischin resting on his hand, his bright gray eyes fixed full on Violet, with a beaming look of gladness, and now and then a nod of assent, asif no heroism on Theodora's part could surpass his expectations, for hecould have told it all beforehand. However, his turn came, when Violetdescribed her last expedition after the chess-board, and the injury ithad entailed. 

'Now, now, you don't say so!' said he, stammering with eagerness, andstarting up. 

'Poor dear, she hardly knew what she did, ' said Violet. 

'I remember, ' said Arthur. 'That was the time of the delusion that Percyhad taken up with his present cousin-in-law. '

Violet blushed. She was too much ashamed of ever having had the ideato bear to recall it; and when Arthur explained, Percy shuddered, andexclaimed, 'No, I thank you, Violet! you knew enough against me; but youneed not have thought me quite come to that!'

On the morrow, Percy came in as the children's lessons were concluded. He studied Theodora's face tenderly, and hoped that she had rested. Shelaughed, and called herself perfectly well; and, indeed, her eyes wereas large and as bright as they ought to me, and she had discovered, thatmorning, that her black locks would make a much more respectable showif properly managed. He would not have mistaken her if she had looked asshe did now three weeks ago. 

After they had talked for some time, Theodora said, 'We must not talkaway the whole morning; I must write to papa. '

'Yes, ' said Percy, 'I came to speak of that. Theodora, perhaps it waswrong to say what I did last night. '

'How?' said she, frightened. 

'You ought to have been told how much worse my position is than before. '

'Oh! is that all?'

'It is a very serious all, ' he answered. 'When I spoke before, and wascool enough to treat it as if I was conferring a favour on you, itwas wonderful that your father consented. Now, you see, Worthbourne isgone--'

'How can you care for that?'

'I did not, till I began to look at it from your father's point of view. Besides, I ought to tell you, that there is no chance even of alegacy. I find that Mrs. Fotheringham rules the house, and has triedto prejudice my uncle against me. On the marriage, there were fresharrangements; my uncle was to alter his will, and it was on thatoccasion that Sir Antony sent for me to keep up the balance, and savehim from her influence. Mrs. Martindale was right about her. What amischief-maker she is! My delay gave great offence. '

'Your delay on Arthur's account?'

'Yes, she managed to turn it against me. Imagine her having persuadedthem that I reckoned on Pelham's being set aside to make room for me. She says it was named in this house!'

'Yes, by Jane herself. '

'She represented me as so disgusted at the marriage that I would pay noattention to Sir Antony. I saw how it was when she received me, purringand coaxing, and seeming to be making my peace with my uncle. By and by, Pelham, when we grew intimate again, blundered out the whole, --thathis father wished to have settled something on me; but that Jane hadpersuaded him that the whole might be wanted as a provision for theirfamily. I cared not one rush then, but it makes a difference now. As formy former line, I am forgotten or worse. I have said blunt thingsthat there was no call for me to say. No one chooses to have me for anunderling, and there is no more chance of my getting an appointment thanof being made Khan of Tartary. Authorship is all that is left to me. '

'You have done great things in that way, ' said Theodora. 

'I had made something, but I was obliged to advance it the other day toget Arthur out of this scrape, and there is no chance of his being ableto pay it, poor fellow!'

'Oh, Percy! thank you more for this than for all. If the pressure hadcome, I believe it would have killed him. If you had seen the misery ofthose days!'

'And now, ' continued Percy, 'poor Arthur is most anxious it should bepaid; but I ought not to consent. If he were to sell out now, he wouldbe almost destitute. I have persuaded him to let all rest in silencetill John comes. '

'I am glad you have, ' said Theodora. 'I am afraid papa is a good dealpressed for money. The rents have had to be reduced; and John wants allthe Barbuda income to spend on the estate there. Even before the fire, papa talked of bringing John home to cut off the entail, and sell someland; and the house was insured far short of its value. He wants to getrid of Armstrong and all the finery of the garden; but he is afraid ofvexing mamma, and in the meantime he is very glad that we are livingmore cheaply in the cottage. I really do not think he could convenientlypay such a sum; and just at present, too, I had rather poor Arthur'sfaults were not brought before him. '

'It comes to this, then;--Is it for your happiness to enter upon anindefinite engagement, and wait for the chance of my working myself upinto such a competency as may make our marriage not too imprudent? Itcannot, as far as I can see, be for years; it may be never. '

'When I thought you would not have me, I meant to be an old maid, ' saidTheodora; 'and, Percy, this time you shall not think I do not carefor you. If we have to wait for our whole lives, let it be with theknowledge that we belong to each other. I could not give up that now, and'--as he pressed her hand--'mind, I am old enough to be trusted tochoose poverty. I know I can live on a little: I trust to you to tell mewhenever there is enough. '

'And your father?'

'He will not object--he will rejoice. The way I regarded that dearfather was one of the worst sins of that time! It is better it should beas it is. Mamma could not well do without me now; I should be in doubtabout leaving her, even if the rest were plain. So that is troublesaved, ' she added with a smile. 

'If they will see it in the same light! If they will forgive as readilyas you do one of the greatest injuries to a young lady. '

'Hush--nonsense. Papa always considered that it served me right. And really this is such perfect content, that I do not know how tounderstand it. You had always the power of reconciliation in your hands;but, you know, I had not; and, apart from all other feelings, the merecraving for pardon was so painful! It was only yesterday morning that Iwas thinking it might, at least, come in the other world. '

'The pardon I was begging Violet to seek for me!--I trusted to obtainthat, though I little hoped--'

'But indeed, Percy, we must write our letters, or the children will beupon us again. '

Her letter was more easily written than Percy's. He wrote, and tore up, and considered, and talked to her, and wished John was at home, and saidthat Lord Martindale would be perfectly justified in withdrawing hisconsent, and declaring him a presumptuous wretch. 

'What! when you have rescued his son? No, indeed, papa knows you toowell! I have no fears: for though he is not aware of the cost of whatyou did for Arthur, he is most grateful for what he does know of; hethinks you saved his life, and even without that, he is too kind to meto do what--I could not bear. '

'I will try to believe you. '

'I was thinking that this is just retribution on me, that whereas I ledArthur into temptation, this debt should be the obstacle. '

Perhaps nothing gratified him more than to hear her speak of the loanas if she participated in the loss, not as if she viewed it from theMartindale side of the question, and felt it too much of an obligation. 

His letter was not written till just in time for the post, and ittravelled in the same cover with hers. Till the answer arrived he wasvery anxious, came little to the house, and only put on his cheerful airbefore Arthur, whose spirits could not afford to be lowered. Theodora was secure. She knew that she deserved that there should bedifficulties; but at the same time she had the sense that the tidehad turned. Pardon had come, and with it hope; and though she tried toschool herself to submit to disappointment, she could not expect it. Sheknew she might trust to her father's kind unworldly temper and senseof justice, now that he was left to himself. And when the letter came, Percy brought it in triumph under the shade of the old green umbrella, which hitherto he had not dared to produce. 

Lord Martindale said everything affectionate and cordial. If he grievedat the unpromising prospect, he was wise enough to know it was too lateto try to thwart an attachment which had survived such shocks; and heonly dwelt on his rejoicing that, after all her trials, his daughtershould have merited the restoration of the affection of one whom heesteemed so highly. 

He fully forgave the former rejection, and declared that it was withfar more hope and confidence of their happiness that he now accordedhis sanction than when last it had been asked; and the terms in which hespoke of his daughter seemed to deepen her humility by the strength oftheir commendation. 

Happy days succeeded; the lodgings in Piccadilly were nearly deserted, Percy was always either nursing Arthur, playing with the children, or bringing sheets of Byzantine history for revision; and he was muchslower in looking over Theodora's copies of them than in writing themhimself. There was much grave quiet talk between the lovers whenalone together. They were much altered since the time when their chiefsatisfaction seemed to lie in teasing and triumphing over one another;past troubles and vague prospects had a sobering influence; and theyfelt that while they enjoyed their present union as an unlooked-forblessing, it might be only a resting point before a long period oftrial, separation, and disappointment. It gave a resigned tone to theirhappiness, even while its uncertainty rendered it more precious. 

All mirthfulness, except what the children called forth, was reservedfor Arthur's room; but he thought Percy as gay and light-hearted asever, and his sister not much less so. Percy would not bring theiranxieties to depress the fluctuating spirits, which, wearied with thesameness of a sick-room, varied with every change of weather, everysensation of the hour. 

Theodora almost wondered at Percy's talking away every desponding fit ofArthur's, whether about his health, his money matters, or their hopes. She said, though it was most trying to hear him talk of never comingdown again, of not living to see the children grow up, and neverallowing that he felt better, that she thought, considering how muchdepended on the impression now made, it might be false kindness to talkaway his low spirits. Were they not repentance? Perhaps Percy was right, but she should not have dared to do so. 

'Theodora, you do not know the difference between reflection anddejection. Arthur's repentance is too deep a thing for surface talk. Itdoes not depend on my making him laugh or not. '

'If anxiety about himself keeps it up--'

'If I let him believe that I do not think he will recover, for the sakeof encouraging his repentance, I should be leaving him in a delusion, and that I have no right to do. Better let him feel himself repenting ashaving to redeem what is past, than merely out of terror, thinking thetemptations have given him up, not that he gives them up. Why, whenhe told me to sell his saddle-horses the other day, and that he shouldnever ride again, it was nothing, and I only roused him up to hope to beout in the spring. Then he began to lament over his beautiful mare, --butwhen it came to his saying he had sacrificed Violet's drives for her, and that he had been a selfish wretch, who never deserved to mount ahorse again, and ending with a deep sigh, and "Let her go, I ought togive her up, " there was reality and sincerity, and I acted on it. No, if Arthur comes out of his room a changed character, it must be bystrengthening his resolution, not by weakening his mind, by letting himgive way to the mere depression of illness. '

'You believe the change real? Oh, you don't know what the doubt is tome! after my share in the evil, the anxiety is doubly intense! and Icannot see much demonstration except in his sadness, which you callbodily weakness. '

'We cannot pry into hidden things, ' Percy answered. 'Watch his wife, andyou will see that she is satisfied. You may trust him to her, and toHim in whose hands he is. Of this I am sure, that there is a patientconsideration for others, and readiness to make sacrifices that are notlike what he used to be. You are not satisfied? It is not as youwould repent; but you must remember that Arthur's is after all a boy'scharacter; he has felt his errors as acutely as I think he can feelthem, and if he is turning from them, that is all we can justly expect. They were more weakness than wilfulness. '

'Not like mine!' said Theodora; 'but one thing more, Percy--can it beright for him to see no clergyman?'

'Wait, ' said Percy again. 'Violet can judge and influence him betterthan you or I. Depend upon it, she will do the right thing at the righttime. Letting him alone to learn from his children seems to me thesafest course. '

Theodora acquiesced, somewhat comforted by the conversation, though itwas one of those matters in which the most loving heart must submit touncertainty, in patient hope and prayer. 

Just before Christmas, Theodora was summoned home; for her mother wastoo unwell and dispirited to do without her any longer. Her fatheroffered to come and take her place, but Arthur and Violet decided thatit would be a pity to unsettle him from home again. Arthur was now ableto sit up for some hours each day, and Percy undertook to be always athand. He was invited to Brogden for Christmas; but it was agreed betweenhim and Theodora that they must deny themselves the pleasure of spendingit together; they thought it unfit to leave Violet even for a few daysentirely unassisted. 

Mr. Hugh Martindale came to fetch Theodora home. He brought a moresatisfactory account of poor Emma, who had never forwarded the promisedexplanation to Theodora. Lady Elizabeth had applied to him to clearEmma's mind from some of the doubts and difficulties inspired byher friend, and at present, though her spirits were very low, theyconsidered that one great step had been gained, for she had ceased everyday to write to Miss Marstone. 

Theodora had fixed many hopes on her cousin's interview with Arthur, but they only talked of Brogden news; however, she heard afterwardsthat Hugh was well satisfied with what he had seen of him, and that hethought Percy's view the safest. It was better to force nothing uponhim. It was a sad struggle to resolve to depart, but it was made inthankfulness, when Theodora remembered the feelings with which she hadentered that house. She went up in the early morning to wish Arthurgood-bye. He raised himself and embraced her fondly. 

'Thank you, Theodora, ' he said; 'you have been a good sister to me. '

'Oh, Arthur, Arthur!' as the dark remembrance came, but he did notperceive it. 

'I have been an ungrateful wretch, but I never understood it tilllately, ' said he again. 'The fire, --those children--'

'Hush, hush! you are hurting yourself, ' for he was choked with excess offeeling. 

'I can't say more;--but, oh! if I could help keeping you fromhappiness!' and he was here overpowered by cough and emotion so muchas to alarm her, and she was forced to keep silence, and only kisshim again. He returned it with a squeeze of the hand and a look ofaffection. He had never given her such an one in the days when shedeemed his love a thing exclusively her own, she had now gainedsomething far better than his heart had then to offer. The best spot init then had nothing half so deep, fond, and unselfish as what he gaveher now. 

She had ceased her wilful struggle, and besides all the rest, even thiswas added unto her. 

CHAPTER 14

 A calm stream flowing with a muddy one, Till, in its onward current, it absorbs With swifter movement and in purer light The vexed eddies of its wayward brother, A leaning and upbearing parasite, Clothing the stem, which else had fallen quite. Shadow forth thee; the world hath not another Of such refined and chastened purity. 

 --TENNYSON

Patience and prayer brought their fruit in due season. 

'Violet, you will not be able to go to church on Christmas-day. '

'No, I am not strong enough, even if you could spare me. '

'Do you think Mr. Rivers could come to us?'

'O, thank you!'

Those were the words, but the flush that gave colour to Arthur's faceshowed the effort which they cost, and his wife's brief answer was cutshort by the sweetest tears she had ever shed. 

She wrote a note to the clergyman, which was answered by a call the sameafternoon. It took Arthur by surprise; but his mind was made up, andcolouring deeply, he desired that Mr. Rivers should be shown up. Violetleft them alone together, her heart throbbing with grateful hope andsupplication. 

Arthur's honest though faltering avowal, 'I have never thought enough ofthese things, ' was his whole history. 

It had been grace missed and neglected, rather than wilfully abused. There had of course been opportunities, but there had been littleculture or guidance in his early days; his confirmation had taken placeas a matter of form, and he had never been a communicant, withheld atonce by ignorance and dread of strictness, as well as by a species ofawe. Even his better and more conscientious feelings had been arousedmerely by his affections instead of by the higher sense of duty; and nowit was through these that the true voice had at length reached him. 

He had learnt more from his little boy's devotions than all the years ofhis life had taught him. The ever-present influence under which his wifeand that child lived and acted, impressed itself on him as a truth andreality, and the consciousness of his full responsibility dawned uponhim. In the early part of his illness, his despair had been at thethought of his failures as husband, father, and son. Now there cameon him the perception that not merely in his human relations hadhe transgressed, but that far more had he slighted the Almighty andLong-suffering Father. He looked back on his life of disregard, his direoffences--

Thus awakened, he watched each word from his little unconscious teacher, to gather from them clearer hopes of mercy and pardon. Happily, Johnnie, in his daily lessons, was going through the ground-work, and thosewords of mighty signification conveyed meanings to the father, which theinnocent child had as yet no need to unfold. The long silent hours gavetime for thought, and often when the watchers deemed that the stifledgroan or restless movement arose from pain or oppression, it was in factdrawn forth by the weight on his mind. 

So it had gone on; while mingled feelings of shame, reserve, andreluctance to show himself in a new light, kept his lips closed, anddays and weeks passed before he brought himself to speak the word evento his wife. When it was spoken, her silent intense gladness was atonce a reward and a rebuke. Though she scarcely spoke, he knew her wellenough to perceive more perfect joy than even at the moment when shefirst made him smile on their first-born son. 

He raised his eyes to meet that look again, when, after his interviewwith the clergyman, she came back to join in fixing the hour. Contrition, dread, shame, penitence, all seemed to be soothed, and yetrendered deeper, by meeting those eyes of serene and perfect content andthankfulness. 

That evening Johnnie was turning over prints by his side. 

'There is the Good Shepherd, papa. Do you see the poor sheep, whowandered out of the fold, away into the wilderness among the rocks anddeserts--that is doing wrong, you know, papa. And it lost its way, andthe wolf was watching to tear it to pieces, that is Satan; but the GoodShepherd, ' and the child bent his head reverently, 'He went after it. Mamma said that means that He touches our hearts and makes us sorry, andit looked up and was ready--as we pray to be made good again. So thenHe laid it on His shoulders, and carried it safe home to be happy inthe fold again. Is He not very good, papa? And only think! There is joyamong the Holy Angels in Heaven when one sinner grieves and comes back. '

Johnnie was wont to go on in this dreamy way without expecting ananswer; but he was startled to see his father's face hidden by theshadowy fingers that propped his forehead. 

'Has it made your head ache, papa? Must I go away?'

'Say that again, Johnnie. '

'I cannot say it quite right, ' answered the boy; 'I only know it saysthat the Angels in Heaven rejoice and are glad over one sinner thatrepenteth. I thought about it that night after I had been naughty. '

'You, Johnnie?' Arthur could hardly believe that child capable of afault. 

'Yes, ' said Johnnie, with a trembling lip; 'I was cross at doing mylessons with Aunt Theodora instead of mamma, and I was so sorry. But atnight, something seemed to bring that verse, and I thought the Angelsmust have faces like mamma. '

Certainly his father thought so too. 

Theodora's Christmas morning was cheered by a letter from Percy, to tellher that he was to be with Arthur and Violet on this occasion. It wasgreater happiness to her than it would even have been to have had him atBrogden. 

It was a very quiet day in Cadogan-place. The full freshness of awe andreverence was upon Arthur, and though he hardly spoke, and made almostno demonstration, the strength of his feeling was attested by thefatigue that ensued, partly, perhaps, from the unwonted effort of fixinghis attention. All the rest of the day he lay on the sofa, silent anddozing, till in the evening, when left alone with Johnnie, he onlyroused himself to ask to have a Bible placed within his reach, and therelosing his way in searching for the parable of the strayed sheep, hewandered about in the sayings of St. John's Gospel. 

Johnnie's delight had been the dressing the cathedral cup with a sprayof holly sent to him from Brogden by his aunt, and now he sat conningthe hymns he had heard in church, and musing over his prints in silence, till his brow caught an expression that strangely blended with thosedreamy impressions of his father. 

'Poor children! they have had a dull Christmas-day!' said Arthur, asthey came to bid him good night. 

'No, no, papa; the owl-man has had such a game at play with us in thedining-room!' cried Helen. 

'Yes, ' said Johnnie; 'and you know, papa, I never said my hymn to you ona Christmas-day before. I like to-day the best of all I remember. '

The next day he was glad to find that Johnnie would, after all, have hisshare of the festivities of the season. Colonel Harrington came to seeArthur, and begged to have his little godson at a New Year's party athis house. 

Violet was perplexed. She could not send her little, shy boy alone, yetshe did not like to let his father know that it had been a mistake toaccept the invitation. Percy came to her aid. 'There is no such fun asa children's party. I wish you would smuggle me in as Johnnie's nurserygoverness. '

'You know, Mrs. Harrington, don't you?' said Arthur; 'as a general rule, you know every one, and every one knows you. '

'Yes, I know her. Come, Violet, can't you get me in, in Johnnie's train?If you will let me take charge or him, I will keep an eye over the cake, and you shall see how I will muffle him up to come home. '

It was too good an offer to be refused, though Violet had doubts whetherit would be perfect happiness, for Johnnie was apt to shrink fromstrange children, and was unusually shy and timid. However, his spiritshad risen of late. Ever since he had found his place in his father'sheart, the drooping unchild-like sadness had passed away, and thoughstill grave and thoughtful, there was a life and animation about him attimes that cheered and delighted her. 

There was a great friendship between him and 'Uncle Percy'; they tookwalks together, fed the ducks in St. James's Park, had many interestingconversations on Brogden affairs, and Johnnie had been several times atthe rooms over the toy-shop, and was on intimate terms with old Puss. Violet knew that he would be safe, and was willing to think it right heshould be made more of a man. 

She felt her Johnnie's value more than ever that evening, when she sawhow his father missed him. After the pleasure of seeing him ready to setoff, looking so fair and bright and delicate, Arthur flagged very much. 

It had been a trying day. The experiment of a more strengthening diethad resulted in heightened pulse and increased cough, and the medicalmen had been obliged to own that though the acute inflammation had beensubdued, the original evil still remained, and that he was farther fromcomplete recovery than they had lately been hoping. Besides, he had sentin his claim on Mr. Gardner, on hearing of his marriage, and the answer, now due, did not come. 

Nothing but the company of the children seemed likely to divert histhoughts, and Helen was too much for him. She was exalted at her ownmagnanimity in rejoicing that Johnnie should have the treat withouther, and was in a boisterous state that led to an edict of banishment, vehemently resisted. It was the first time that anything had gone wrongin Arthur's presence, and Violet was much concerned, and fearful ofthe effect, when, after the conquest had been achieved, she left Helensobbing in the nursery, and came down to his room. 

There was not the annoyance she had dreaded; but the dejection had beendeepened, and he did not respond to the somewhat forced cheerfulnesswith which she tried to speak of the generosity united in Helen with ahasty temper. It seemed to hurt and pain him so much to have the littlegirl punished, that there was nothing to be done but to try to turn awayhis attention. 

Those weary times were perhaps harder to bear than periods of moreevident trial and excitement. Violet, as she strove to rally her spiritsand sustain his, could not help so feeling it--and then she thought ofHelen Fotheringham, and recollected that she had been intending to readto Arthur an affectionate letter she had received from his brother onhearing of his illness. Arthur was greatly touched by the tone in whichhe was mentioned in it, and began eagerly to talk over John's manyproofs of affection, among which he now ranked his disregarded warnings. 

'I have not forgotten his saying I must make you happy. I littleunderstood him then!'

There was happiness enough in the caress that would fain have silencedhim. 

'Well! I have been thinking! Our marriage was the best and worst thing Iever did. It was unjust to you, and as bad as possible towards them; butthat is what I can't be as sorry for as it deserves, ' and he looked upwith a sweet smile, fading at once--'except when I look at you and thechildren, and think what is to become of you. '

'Oh, don't, dear Arthur! Why look forward! There has been great mercy sofar. Let us rest in it. '

'You may; it was not your fault, ' said Arthur; 'but how can I? I tookyou in your ignorance; I let your father deceive himself about myexpectations, then, when my own people were far kinder to me than Ideserved, and I ought to have done everything myself to make up for myimprudence, I go and let you pinch yourself, while I squander everythingon my own abominable follies! And now, here am I leaving you with allthese poor children, and nothing on earth--nothing but a huge debt? Whatare you to do, I say?'

He was almost angry that she did not partake his apprehension for herwelfare. 

'This is only a casual drawback. Dr. L---- said so!'

'That's nothing to the purpose. My health is done for. There is nothingbefore me but decline. I have felt that all along, whatever doctors maysay. And how can you expect me not to feel what I have brought on you?'

'I am sure you need not be afraid for us. Is it not unkind to doubt yourfather and John?'

'Suppose they should die before Johnnie comes of age--suppose Johnshould marry!'

Oh, Arthur, I cannot suppose anything! I am only quite sure that thereis a Father who will take care of our children. I do not know how, butI am certain we shall not be forsaken. Do not grieve for us. I am notafraid. '

'Not of poverty, even for the children?'

'No!' said Violet. 'I know it will not come, unless it is the best thingfor them. '

He did not entirely comprehend her, but he liked to watch her face, it looked so beautiful in its perfect trust. He could not share thatpeaceful confidence for the future, the harvest of his past recklessnesswas present poignant dread and anxiety for the innocent ones on whom thepenalty must fall. He relapsed into silence, and perhaps his meditationswere as much perplexed by the nine Arabic figures as those of Violet'sconvalescence had once been, only where hers were units, his werehundreds. 

She interrupted him with more of John's letters, and the amusing detailof the West Indian life stood her in good stead till the sounds ofreturn brightened his face; and Johnnie sprang into the room loaded withtreasures from a Christmas tree. Never had she seen the little fellow'sface so merry, or heard his tongue go so fast, as he threw everythinginto her lap, and then sprang about from her to his papa, showing hisprizes and presenting them. Here were some lemon-drops for papa, andhere a beautiful box for mamma, and a gutta-percha frog for Helen, anda flag for Annie, and bon-bons for both, and for Sarah too, and adelightful story about a little Arthur, that nobody could have but thebaby--Johnnie would keep it for him till he could read it. 

'And what have you got for yourself, Johnnie!' said his father. 

'I have the giving it!' said Johnnie. 

'You are your mother's own boy, Johnnie, ' said Arthur, with a sort offond deep sadness, as the child mounted his footstool to put one of thelemon-drops into his mouth, watching to be told that it was good. 

He went off to the nursery to feed Sarah on sugar-plums, and disposethe frog and banner on his sisters' beds to delight them in the morning;while Percy, coming in, declared that this had been the little boy'shappiest time. He had been far too shy for enjoyment, perfectly wellbehaved, but not stirring a step from his protector, only holding hishand, and looking piteously at him if invited away; and Percy declared, he was as much courted as a young lady in her teens. Sitting down withhim at a table surrounded by small elves, Percy had of course keptthem in a roar of laughter, throughout which Johnnie had preserved hisgravity, only once volunteering a whisper, that he wished Helen wasthere; but Percy thought that when unmolested by attention, he hadseemed quietly amused. When admitted to the Christmas tree in itsglory, he had been slightly afraid of it at first, as of an unexpectedphenomenon, and had squeezed his friend's hand very tight; but as heperceived how things were going, his alarm had given place to silentjoyous whispers, appropriating his gifts to those at home. He had noidea of keeping anything for himself; and Percy had distressed him by adoubt whether the book, as a godfather's gift, ought to be transferred. On this Johnnie was scrupulous, and Percy had been obliged to relievehis mind by repeating the question for him to Colonel Harrington, whether he might give the book to his little brother. This settled, Johnnie's happiness had been complete, and his ecstasy during theirreturn, at having a present for everybody, was, said Percy, theprettiest comment he had ever known on the blessedness of giving. 

It evidently struck Arthur. At night, Violet, from her sofa, heard himmurmur to himself, 'My boy! my unselfish boy, what will you think ofyour father?' and then stifle a groan. 

The next afternoon, Johnnie, having as a preliminary inscribed hisbrother's unwieldy name all over the fly-leaf, was proceeding mosthappily to read the book aloud, lying on the hearth-rug, with his heelsin the air. He read his mamma into a slumber, his papa into a deepreverie, which resulted in his dragging himself up from his chair, bythe help of the chimney-piece, and reaching pen and writing-case fromViolet's table. 

'Oh! papa!' whispered Johnnie, in an injured tone, at not having beenasked to do the little service. 

'I thought it would disturb mamma less, ' returned Arthur, sinking back;'but you may give me the ink. And now, my dear, go on to yourself. '

'Are you going to write, papa? That is being much better. '

'I am going to try to write to your uncle. Johnnie, supposing you loseme, I look to your uncle and you for care of the little ones. '

Johnnie gave a great sigh, and looked at his father, but made no answer. Papa's writing was a matter of curiosity, and he stood watching insilence. 

'You must not watch me, Johnnie, ' said Arthur, presently, for whetherhis son could read his writing or not, he could not bear his eyes uponit. The boy had dropped into his place on the carpet in a moment. 

It was a full confession and outpouring of his troubles. It cost himmuch, for there was shame at his own folly and selfishness, and hehad to disclose extravagance that he well knew to be, in John's eyes, especially inexcusable. So painful was the effort, that even his fearsfor his family would not alone have determined him on making it, if ithad not been for his new resolution to face the worst, and to have nomore shufflings or concealments. He could bear to tell John better thanhis father, and Percy had bound him to silence towards Lord Martindale. The whole was explained to the best of his powers, which were not atpresent great. His debts, including that to Percy, he believed to exceedten thousand, his resources were limited to the sale of his commission, and the improbable recovery of the debt from Gardner--his wife andchildren were entirely unprovided for. 'I can only trust to yourkindness, ' he wrote. 'If I could see you, I could die in peace. I knowthat while you live, you will never see Violet distressed. I have noright to ask anything, but this much I will and must beg may be lookedon as my last wish. Never let the children be taken from their mother'scharge. If they are to be better than I, it must be her doing. Andthough this is more than I should dare to ask, if you can help me, donot, when I am gone, let my boys grow up to find their father's memoryloaded with these hateful debts, hanging round their necks like aburden. I know Johnnie's sense of honour would never let him resttill they were cleared; but I cannot look at his face and think of hishearing how I have served his mother. He does love me now, Heavenknows, undeservedly enough. I cannot bear to think of a cloud on hisremembrance of me. '

CHAPTER 15

 Either grief will not come, or if it must, Do not forecast. And while it cometh, it is almost past. Away distrust, My God hath promised, He is just. 

 --G. HERBERT

'Arthur, the landlady has been to ask how much longer we shall want therooms!'

'How long have we been here?'

'We came on the 20th of April, and this is the 3rd of June. What adifference it has made in you!'

'And in you; Ventnor is a grand doctor. '

'And Johnnie is really beginning to have a colour. How pleased hisgrandpapa will be to see him so much stronger and more spirited. I donot think Lord Martindale could have done anything kinder by us thansending us here. '

'How does the purse hold out?'

'I have been reckoning that we could stay on three weeks more beforegoing to Brogden; and, if you like it, I should wish to spend ourwedding-day here, ' said Violet, in the shy diffident way in which shewas wont to proffer any request for her own gratification. 

'I had another scheme for our wedding-day. What do you say to spendingit at Wrangerton?'

She looked up in his face as if to see if he really meant it, then theglad flush darted into her cheeks, and with a cry of joy like a child, she almost sobbed out, 'Oh, Arthur, Arthur! thank you. '

He looked at her, amused, and enjoying her ecstasy. 'So you approve, Mrs. Martindale?'

'O, to go to mamma! to show mamma the children! Annette! home!--Johnnieto see Helvellyn!--my sisters!--Olivia's baby!' cried Violet, inincoherent exclamations, almost choked with joy. 

'My poor Violet, ' said Arthur, surprised and almost remorseful; 'I didnot know you wished it so very much. '

'I believe I had left off thinking about it, ' said Violet; 'but I am sovery much obliged to you, dear Arthur--how very kind it is. '

It never occurred to her, as it did to him, that the kindness might havecome sooner. 'I only hope you like it, ' she added, after a pause. 

'Don't I like what makes you look as you do now?' said he, smiling. 'I shall enjoy looking up our old quarters. Besides, ' he added, moregravely, 'it is your turn now; and liking apart, I know I have not usedMrs. Moss well, in keeping you so long from her. You must let her knowit was not your fault. '

'May I write, then? Oh, Arthur, dearest! if I could but find words totell you how happy you have made me!'

It was no sudden determination, for he brought a 'Bradshaw' out of hispocket, with all the various railways and trains underscored in pencilin a most knowing way, and a calculation of expenses on the cover, allwrong--for Arthur had never done an addition sum right in his life. 

Violet was to write as soon as she pleased, and fix the day and hour. 

Perhaps Violet had never been so happy in her life as when, in theafternoon, she wandered a little apart on the beach, to realize andfeed on her new treasure of delight. Arthur and the children werefelicitously dabbling in sand and sea-water, reducing the frocks to acondition that would have been Sarah's daily distraction, if she had notreconciled herself to it by observing, 'it did her heart good to see theColonel take to the children, though he was no more to be trusted withthem than a sea-mew; and if it was not for Master John, she believedthey would all come home some day drownded. '

As soon as the spring was sufficiently advanced, Lord Martindale hadsent the whole party to recruit by the sea-side, at their own dearVentnor, and there the last six weeks had been spent in the daily joyof watching Arthur's progress in recovery;--until now a slight degreeof weakness and languor, an occasional cough, and his greatly alteredappearance, were the only evident remains of his illness; and though shecould not feel that his health was absolutely re-established, there wassuch abundant cause for hope and thankfulness, as filled her heart tooverflowing, especially when she was rejoiced by tokens of that moreblessed change within. 

His spirits had returned with his health. Perhaps it was part of hisboyish nature, that his sorrow for his errors, though sincere andearnest, did not permanently depress him, when not brought before hismind; but rather the sense of behaving well added to his brightness. There was nothing to conceal; the guilty consciousness was gone, andthe fear for the future was distant. His manners had a sweetness moreengaging than ever. To his wife, who had, as he recovered, suffered fromthe effects of her exertions, he was most affectionately attentive, andhis children were his delight, while little Johnnie throve and expandedinto spirit and mirth, like a plant reviving in sunshine. 

He had gone over Violet's old haunts with her, and she had enjoyedmaking him enter into the feelings associated with the scenes she hadvisited with his brother. John was expected to return in the summer, buteven this anticipation paled in comparison with the present felicity. That longing for her own home had been forced into such a remote cell, that she had had no idea of its strength till now, when it was allowedto spring up and colour everything. 

She walked along the shore within sight of the cottage, where she hadbeen with John, too small and expensive for their present numbers andmeans, and looking up at its bowery wicket, gathered up the remembrancesassociated with it. 

She had come thither a mere child, a wife and mother, before strength, spirits, or judgment were equal to her tasks, --terrified at herresponsibility, perceiving her failures, sinking under the load tooearly laid on her. There had she been guided to comfort, --there hadher hand been taught to clasp the rod and staff, that had led her safethrough the shadow, well-nigh of death. How would her heart have faintedif she could have guessed what had awaited her! But these things werepast, and their memory was sweetened by thankfulness. And now, whereonce stood the self-torturing, pining girl, was now the calm trustfulwoman, --serene beneath the overshadowing Wings, resting on theeverlasting Arms, --relying, least of all, upon herself. Further troublemight be in store; the clouds might return after the rain; but her peacewas not mere freedom from storms, it was the security that there was Onewho would be with her and her loved ones through all, and thus could shefreely rejoice in present sunshine, without scanning each distant cloud, or marring present bliss by future dread. 

It was complete gladness. There was not a misgiving whether home mightbe exactly as it stood in her memory, or in Johnnie's imagination; andshe filled the children's heads so much with what they were to see, thattheir papa declared he had found Annie under the belief that Helvellynwas her grandfather. 

Arthur was so much charmed with seeing his wife so happy, that, forgetting all his fears of tediousness, he partook the enjoyment of heranticipations. He was the first, when they came in sight of a mountain, to lift Johnnie on his knee and tell him it was Helvellyn; and mamma'sresentment at the grievous error was one of the prettiest and merriestthings imaginable. 

However, when Helvellyn actually appeared, and she felt herself reallycoming home, she was silent, in anxiety and doubt. She must be verydifferent from the Violet who had gone away. Would her mother andMatilda think she had improved according to her opportunities?

She could hardly reply when Arthur recognized the High-street, so muchwider in her imagination, and her heart beat as the garden wall and thelawn were before her. At the door--yes!--it was, it was the mother forwhose embrace, she had so often longed! Timidly affectionate and hastilynervous, she could hardly afford one moment to her daughter in herfrightened haste to greet her son-in-law, before he was ready, as hewas lifting the children out. Here, too, were Annette and Mr. Moss, the young ladies were in the drawing-room, detained by etiquettes ofMatilda's; but Violet hardly knew who spoke to her, the joy was to see ababy of hers at last in her mothers arms. 

She could hardly see any one but the slight worn-looking mother, whoselow, sad-toned voice awoke such endless recollections, and made herrealize that she was once more beside mamma. To look at her sistersalmost disturbed her; and it well-nigh struck her as unnatural to findthe children hanging on her. 

Still more unnatural was it to be conducted up-stairs, like company, tothe best room, and to find her mother in distress and solicitude lestthings should not be comfortable, and such as they were used to. And oh!the strangeness of seeing her little ones in her own old nursery, waitedupon by the sisters she had left as children--and by Sarah, settled inthere as if she had never been away. One part of her life or the othermust be a dream. 

Dear as all the faces were, it was a relief to be silent for a littlewhile, as Arthur, half-asleep, rested in the large old armchair, andshe unpacked, too happy for weariness; and the clear pure mountain airbreathing in at the open window, infusing life into every vein, as shepaused to look at the purple head above the St. Erme woods, and to gazeon the fragrant garden beneath; then turned away to call to mindthe childish faces which she had not yet learnt to trace in thosefine-looking young women. 

'Ha!' said Arthur, rousing himself; 'are all the pretty plaits andbraids come out again? A welcome sight. '

'Mamma thought me altered, ' said Violet; 'and I thought I would not lookmore old than I could help; so I would not put on my cap for fear itshould distress her. '

'Old! altered!' said Arthur. 'How dare you talk of such things!'

'I can't help it, ' said Violet, meekly. 

'Well! I believe I see what you mean, ' he said, studying her with agravity that was amusing. 'There's your youngest sister, Octavia, is notshe?'

'Oh, is not she pretty?'

'Whish! don't praise yourself; she is the image of you at sixteen. Nowthat I have seen her, I see you are changed; but somehow--the word thatalways suited you best was lovely; and you have more of that style ofthing than even when your cheeks were pink. Not your oval face and whiteskin, you know, but that--that look that is my Violet--my heart's-ease, that used to keep my heart up last winter. Ay! you are more to my mind!'

That little episode was the special charm of Violet's evening--a happyone, though there were some anxieties, and a few fond little illusionsdispelled. 

It might be the dread of Arthur's being annoyed, as she watched himlooking very pale and spiritless from fatigue, which made her perceivethat all dinner-time Matilda was overwhelming him with a torrent ofaffected nonsense--or at least what Violet would have thought so in anyone but her highly-respected eldest sister; and she feared, too, that hecould not admire the girlish airs and graces which did not become thatsharpened figure and features. She had not known how much more Matildatalked than any one else; even her father only put in a caustic remarkhere and there, when Matilda WOULD know all Lord St. Erme's and LadyLucy's views and habits. Mrs. Moss was silenced whenever her low voicetried to utter a sentence. Annette, quiet and gentle as ever, lookeddrooping and subdued, and scarcely spoke, while the two fine bloominggirls, who seemed like new acquaintance, were still as mice in awe andshyness. Caroline, the second sister, was married and settled inCanada; and the three blanks that weddings had made only now impressedthemselves on her mind as a novelty. 

After dinner, Violet felt as if she must rescue Arthur from Matilda atany cost, and succeeded in setting her down to the piano; and to securehis quiet, though feeling it a very presumptuous venture, she drew herchair near her father, and set herself to talk to him. Mr. Mosswas quite amazed to find a woman--a daughter--capable of rationalconversation. She went on with the more spirit, from her pleasure inseeing Arthur, instead of dozing under cover of the music, going tosit by Mrs. Moss and talk to her, and though nothing was heard, theircountenances were proof enough of their interest--Mrs. Moss's thinmild face quite colouring up at the unwonted attention, and her eyesglistening. In fact they were talking about Violet, and in such a strainthat Mrs. Moss that night confided to Annette, that she should neveragain believe a word against Colonel Martindale. 

But if the fortnight was to be like this, how was Arthur to bear it?Violet dreaded it for him the more because he was so very good andforbearing, not making one remark on what she knew must have struckhim. She could almost have reproached herself with selfishness in neverhaving thought of his want of companionship and amusement. 

The night's rest, however, made a great difference in his capacity forentertainment, beginning from his laugh at Helen's inquiry, 'What wasthe use of so many aunts?' He lay on the grass in the sunshine, playingwith the children, and fast making friends with the younger aunts, whoheartily relished his fun, though they were a good deal afraid of him;while Violet sat under the verandah, feasting her eyes upon Helvellyn, and enjoying the talk with her sisters as much as she could, whileuneasy at the lengthened housekeeping labours that her mother wasundergoing. They were to retrace one of their memorable walks by theriver-side in the afternoon, but were prevented by the visit expectedall the morning, but deferred to that fashionable hour, of Mrs. AlbertMoss, who sailed in, resolved that the Honourable Mrs. Martindale shouldfind one real companion in the family. 

Those fluttering silks and fringes seemed somewhat to stand on end atfinding themselves presented to a slight, simply dressed figure in aplain straw bonnet; and the bare-legged, broad-sashed splendours of MissAlbertine Louisa stood aghast at the brown holland gardening suits ofthe London cousins. 

'In training for the Highlanders?' was Arthur's mischievous aside toOctavia, setting her off into the silent frightened laugh that was hisspecial diversion; and he continued, as they stood half in and half outof the window, 'There's Helen patronizing her! I hope she will take herdown to the sand-heap, where the children have been luxuriating all themorning. '

'Oh! how can you--'

'It is my father's great principle of education, ' said Arthur, solemnly, 'to let them grope in the dirt. I never rested till I had seen my boyup to the ears in mud. --But ha! what a magnificent horse! Why, ' as hestarted forward to look at it, 'I declare it is stopping here!'

'Olivia and Mr. Hunt in the gig!' cried Octavia. Oh, she has the baby inher lap!'

Matilda and Mrs. Albert Moss looked at each other, shocked. 

'What will Mr. Hunt make her do next?'

'Poor Olivia!' said Mrs. Albert. 'We regret the connection; but Mr. Huntwill have his own way. You must excuse--'

It was lost. Seeing the new-comers in difficulties between baby, horse, and gate, Arthur had sped out to open the last for them; and Violet hadsprung after him, and received the child in her arms while her sisteralighted. Here was the mesalliance of the family, too wealthy to havebeen rejected, but openly disdained by Matilda, while the gentle Mrs. Moss and Annette hardly ventured to say a good word for him. Violet'sapprehensions had chiefly centred on him, lest his want of refinementshould make him very disagreeable to Arthur; and she almost feared tolook up as she held out her hand to him. 

In a moment her mind was relieved; voice, look, and manner, all showedthat the knightly soul was in him, and that he had every quality of thegentleman, especially the hatred of pretension, which made him retainthe title of English yeoman as an honourable distinction. 

It was a pretty group of contrasts; the soldierly, high-bred, easy graceof the pallid black-haired Colonel, with the native nobleness of bearingof the stalwart farmer, equally tall, and his handsome ruddy faceglowing with health; and the two sisters, the one fresh, plump, androsy, the picture of a happy young mother, and the other slender anddignified, with the slightly worn countenance, which, even in her mostgladsome moods, retained that pensive calmness of expression. 

The baby occupied the ladies, the horse their husbands; and on hearingwhat guests were in the drawing-room, Mr. Hunt, with a tell-tale 'then, 'said he would drive on to his business at Coalworth, inviting theColonel to take the vacant seat. 

With Arthur off her mind, Violet was free to enjoy, and soon foundthat the only flaw in Olivia's felicity was the Wrangerton fashion ofsneering at her husband, and trying to keep her up to Matilda's measureof gentility. Proud as she was of her 'George, ' he had not made her boldenough to set those censures at nought; but when she found Violet ofhis way of thinking, she joyfully declared that she would never allowherself to be again tormented by Matilda's proprieties. How glad she wasthat George had insisted; for, as she confided to Violet and Annette, she knew that bringing the baby without a maid would be thought sovulgar that she would have stayed at home, in spite of her desire to seeViolet; but her husband had laughed at her scruples, declaring that ifher sister could be offended by her coming in this manner, she must be afine lady not worth pleasing. 

Perhaps Mr. Hunt so expected to find her. He was a breeder of horses onan extensive scale, and had knowledge enough of the transactions of MarkGardner and his set, not to be very solicitous of the acquaintanceof Colonel Martindale, while he dreaded that the London beauty wouldirretrievably fill his little wife's head with nonsense. 

One look swept away his distrust of Mrs. Martindale; and the charm ofthe Colonel's manner had gained his heart before the drive was over. Thenext day he was to send a horse for Arthur to ride to Lassonthwayteto see his whole establishment; and Violet found she might dismiss herfears of want of amusement for her husband. 

He had sold off all his own horses, and had not ridden since hisillness, and the thought seemed to excite him like a boy. His eyessparkled at the sight of the noble hunter sent for him; and Violethad seldom felt happier than as she stood with the children on thegrass-plat, hearing her sisters say how well he looked on horseback, ashe turned back to wave her an adieu, with so lover-like a gesture, andso youthful an air, that it seemed to bring back the earliest days oftheir marriage. 

This quiet day, only diversified by a call from Lord St. Erme and LadyLucy, and by accompanying Mrs. Moss to make some visits to old friendsin the town, brought Violet to a fuller comprehension of her own family. 

Her mother was what she herself might have become but for John. Shewas an excellent person, very sensible, and completely a lady; but herspirit had been broken by a caustic, sharp-tempered, neglectful husband, and she had dragged through the world bending under her trials, notrising above them. Her eldest daughter had been sent to a fashionableschool, and had ever since domineered over the whole family, while themother sank into a sort of bonne to the little ones, and a slave to herhusband. There was much love for her among her fine handsome girls, butlittle honour for the patient devotion and the unfailing good sense thatjudged aright, but could not act. 

Annette, her chief comfort, tried to bring up her pupil Octavia to thesame esteem for her; but family example was stronger than precept, andAnnette had no weight; while even Mr. Hunt's determination that Oliviashould show due regard to her mother, was looked on as one of hisrusticities. Poor Mrs. Moss was so unused to be treated as a person ofimportance, that she could hardly understand the attention paid her, not only by Violet, but by the Colonel; while the two young sisters, whoregarded Violet and her husband as the first of human beings, began todiscover that 'O, it is only mamma!' was not the most appropriate way ofspeaking of her; and that when they let her go on errands, and wait onevery one, Violet usually took the office on herself. 

So busy was Mrs. Moss, that Violet had very few minutes of conversationwith her, but she saw more of Annette, in whom the same meek characterwas repeated, with the tendency to plaintiveness that prevented its realsuperiority from taking effect. She drooped under the general disregard, saw things amiss, but was hopeless of mending them; and for want of thespirit of cheerfulness, had become faded, worn, and weary. Violet triedto talk encouragingly, but she only gave melancholy smiles, and returnedto speak of the influences that were hurting Octavia. 

'Do not let us dwell on what we cannot help, ' said Violet; 'let us doour best, and then leave it in the best Hands, and He will bring outgood. You cannot think how much happier I have been since I knew it waswrong to be faint-hearted. '

Before the end of the day she had seen her mother and Annette look somuch more cheerful, that the wish crossed her that she could often be athand. 

By and by Arthur came home in the highest spirits, tossing Annie in theair, as he met her in the passage, and declaring himself so far fromtired that he had not felt so well for a year, and that the mountainbreezes had taken the weight off his chest for good and all. He was inperfect raptures with Lassonthwayte and with its master, had made anengagement to bring Violet, her mother, and the children, to stay therea week, and--'What more do you think?' said he. 

'Everything delightful, I see by your face, ' said Violet. 

'Why, Hunt has as pretty a little house as ever I saw in the village ofLassonthwayte, to be let for a mere nothing, just big enough to hold us, and the garden all over roses, and that style of thing. Now, I reckonour allowance would go three times as far here as in London; and if Iwere to sell out, the money invested in these concerns of Hunt's wouldbe doubled in a year or two--at any rate, before the boys will wantschooling. If I do know anything it is of horses, you see, and we shouldpay off Percy and all the rest of them, and be free again. '

'Live near mamma and Olivia!'

'Ah! I knew you would like it. The mountain air will bring back yourcolour, and make a Hercules of Johnnie yet. I longed to have him thereto-day! We may live cheaply, you know, not get into all this town lot;only have the girls staying with us, and give your mother a holiday nowand then. Don't you fancy it, Mrs. Martindale?'

'It is too delightful! I suppose we must not settle it without yourfather, though. '

'He can't object to our living at half the cost, and getting out ofdebt; I'll talk him over when we go home. Hunt is as fine a fellow as Iever saw, and as steady as old time. '

CHAPTER 16

 And oft when in my heart I heard Thy timely mandate, I deferred The task, in smoother paths to stray, But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. 

 --Ode to Duty--WORDSWORTH

Lassonthwaite lost none of its charms on closer acquaintance. Mr. Hunt'sfarm stood on the slope of a hill, commanding a view of the mountains, rising like purple clouds above the moorland, richly carpeted with thevaried colours of heath, fern, and furze, and scattered with flocksof the white bleached mountain sheep, and herds of sturdy little blackcattle; while the valley, nearer at hand, was fringed with woods, sheltering verdant pasture land, watered by the same clear frolicsomestream that danced through the garden--Olivia's garden--brilliant withroses and other beauties, such as the great Harrison himself wouldhardly have disdained. 

Lord St. Erme might well call it a farm of the poets, so welldid everything accord with the hearty yeoman, and his pretty, shepherdess-looking wife. The house was of the fine old order, large andlofty, full of wonders in the way of gables, porches, and oriels, carveddoors and panels, in preservation that did them honour due, and thefurniture betokening that best of taste which perceives the fitness ofthings. All had the free homely air of plenty and hospitality--theopen doors, the numerous well-fed men and maids, the hosts of livecreatures--horses, cows, dogs, pigs, poultry, each looking like a prizeanimal boasting of its own size and beauty--and a dreadful terror toJohnnie. He, poor little boy, was the only person to whom Lassonthwaytewas not a paradise. Helen and Annie had no fears, and were wild withglee, embracing the dogs, climbing into dangerous places, and watchingthe meals of every creature in the yard; but poor Johnnie imagined eachcow that looked at him to be a mad bull, trembled at each prancing dog, and was miserable at the neighbourhood of the turkey-cock; while Mr. Hunt's attempts to force manliness on him only increased his distressto such a degree as to make it haunt him at night. However, even thisbecame a source of pleasant feeling; Arthur, once so rough with him, nowunderstood the secret of his delicacy of nerves, and reverenced him toomuch to allow him to be tormented. Even in the worst of Johnnie's panicsat night would come smiles, as he told how papa would not let him beforced to pat the dreadful dog, and had carried him in his arms throughthe herd of cattle, though it did tire him, for, after putting him down, he had to lean on the gate and pant. So next time the little boy wouldnot ask to be carried, and by the help of holding his hand, so bravelypassed the savage beasts, that his uncle pronounced that they shouldmake a man of him yet. 

Arthur, always happier when the little fingers were in his, wasconstantly talking of the good that Johnnie was to gain in the life inthe open air; and this project continually occupied them. The cottagewas a very pretty one, and most joyously did Olivia show it off toViolet and Mrs. Moss, planning the improvements that Mr. Hunt was tomake in it, and helping Violet fix on the rooms. It seemed like thebeginning of rural felicity; and Arthur talked confidently to his wifeof so rapidly doubling his capital, that he should pay off his debtswithout troubling his father, who need never be aware of their extent. 

Violet did not quite like this, but Arthur argued, 'They are my ownconcerns, not his, and if I can extricate myself without help, whyshould he be further plagued about me?'

She did not contest the point; it would be time enough when they were atBrogden, but it made her rather uneasy; the concealment was a little toolike a return to former habits, and she could not but fear the veryname of horses and races. Still, in the way of business, and with GeorgeHunt, a man so thoroughly to be relied on, it was a different thing; andArthur's mind was so changed in other matters, that she could not dreamof distrust. The scheme was present pleasure enough in itself, and theyall fed on it, though Mr. Hunt always declared that the Colonel must notconsider himself pledged till he had consulted his own family, and thathe should do nothing to the house till he had heard from him again. 

Violet could not satisfy herself that Lord and Lady Martindale wouldgive ready consent, and when talking it over alone with her mother, expressed her fears. 

'Well, my dear, ' said Mrs. Moss, 'perhaps it will be all for the best. We cannot tell whether it might turn out well for you to be settled nearus. Colonel Martindale is used to something different, and your childrenare born to another rank of life. '

'O mamma, that could make no difference. '

'Not, perhaps, while they were young, but by and by you would not wishto have them feeling that we are not like their other relations. My dearchild, you need not blush to that degree!'

'They will never feel that you are not equal to--to the grandest--thedearest!' said Violet, tearfully. 

'You would try not to let them, dearest, but the truth would be toostrong, ' said Mrs. Moss, smiling. 'You know we had been content to thinkpoor Louisa our model of manners till you came among us again. '

'O, mamma! at least there was Lady Lucy. '

'And now we see you fit company for Lady Lucy, and that we are not. No, my dear, don't deny it; I see it in your ease with her, and it is quiteright. '

'I don't like to think so!'

'I understand better now, ' said Mrs. Moss. 'Perhaps it would have beenmore advisable if there had been no intermingling of ranks, yet I canhardly regret, when I see you, my Violet. It has raised your whole toneof mind, but it has cut you off from us, and we cannot conceal it fromourselves. If you do come here, you must make up your mind beforehandnot to be too intimate even with Olivia and George. '

'I am very glad I am not to settle it, ' said Violet, with a sigh. 'Ishould be much disappointed to give it up, and yet sometimes--it willbe some consolation at least to find that you have not set your heart onit, mamma?'

'I have left off setting my heart on anything, my dear child, said Mrs. Moss, with a sigh, telling of many and many a disappointment. Sincerelyreligious as she was, it was out of sight, and scarcely a word was everbreathed to her daughter of her true spring of action. 

There was a feeling that she was not mistaken in thinking that too muchintercourse was not desirable. Arthur was apt to call the distance fromWrangerton to Lassonthwayte seven miles, instead of five, and soon itgrew to nine, with a bad road and a shocking hill. This was after he haddiscovered from Mr. Hunt that Lord St. Erme's affairs had fallen intoa most unsatisfactory state, while the Messrs. Moss had been amassing acomfortable fortune; and that every one knew that the colliery accidentwas chiefly owing to Albert's negligence, cowardice, and contempt oforders; so that it was the general marvel that the Earl did not exposethem, and remove his affairs from their hands. 

Arthur could suppose that the cause of this forbearance might be theconnection between Theodora and the Moss family; and the idea made himfeel almost guilty when in company with the Earl. Matilda, and indeedthe others, were surprised at his declining the invitations to stay atthe park; but Violet, as well as he, thought it better to lay themselvesunder no further obligations; though they could not avoid receiving manyattentions. Lady Lucy feted the children, and Violet accomplished herwish of showing Johnnie the little Madonna of Ghirlandajo. 

The first sight of the rooms made Violet somewhat melancholy, as shemissed the beautiful works of art that had been a kind of education toher eye and taste, and over which she had so often dreamt and speculatedwith Annette. However, there was something nobler in the very emptinessof their niches, and there was more appropriateness in the littlepicture of the Holy Child embracing His Cross, now that it hung asthe solo ornament of the library, than when it was vis-a-vis to Venusblindfolding Cupid, and surrounded by a bewildering variety of subjects, profane and sacred, profanely treated. She could not help feeling thatthere was a following in those steps when she saw how many luxurieshad been laid aside, and how the brother and sister, once living inan atmosphere of morbid refinement, were now toiling away, solelythoughtful of what might best serve their people, mind or body, andthinking no service beneath them. 

Lord St. Erme's talent and accomplishment were no longer conducive onlyto amusement or vanity, though they still were exercised; and itwas curious to see his masterly drawings hung round the schools andreading-room, and his ready pencil illustrating his instructions, andto hear him reading great authors to the rude audience whom heawakened into interest. There might be more done than sober judgmentsappreciated, and there were crotchets that it was easy to ridicule, butall was on a sound footing, the work was thoroughly carried out, and theeffects were manifest. The beautiful little church rising at Coalworthwould find a glad congregation prepared to value it, both by the Earland by the zealous curate. 

Violet wished Theodora could but see, and wondered whether she wouldever venture to make a visit at Lassonthwayte; hardly, she supposed, before her marriage. 

Lady Lucy one day asked when Miss Martindale was to be married, and onhearing that no period could be fixed, said she was grieved to find itso; it would be better for her brother that it should be over. Violetventured to express her hopes that he had at last found peace andhappiness. 

'Yes, ' said Lucy, 'he is very busy and happy. I do not think it dwellson his spirits, but it is the disappointment of his life, and he willnever get over it. '

'I hope he will find some one to make him forget it. '

'I do not think he will. No one can ever be like Miss Martindale, and Ibelieve he had rather cling to the former vision, though not repining. He is quite content, and says it is a good thing to meet with a greatdisappointment early in life. '

Violet doubted not of his contentment when she had looked into his adultschool, and seen how happily he was teaching a class of great boys towrite; nor when she heard him discussing prices, rents, and wages withMr. Hunt. 

Lord St. Erme and Lady Lucy had come to an early dinner atLassonthwayte, thus causing great jealousy on the part of Mrs. AlbertMoss, and despair on Matilda's, lest Olivia should do somethingextremely amiss without her supervision. Little did she guess that Lucyhad been reckoning on the pleasure of meeting her dear Mrs. Moss foronce without those daughters. 

After dinner, all the party were on the lawn, watching the tints onthe mountains, when Lord St. Erme, coming to walk with Mrs. Martindale, asked her, with a smile, if she remembered that she had been the firstperson who ever hinted that the Westmoreland hills might be more to himthan the Alps. 

'I have not forgotten that evening, ' he said. 'It was then that I firstsaw Mr. Fotheringham;' and he proceeded to ask many questions aboutPercy's former appointment at Constantinople, his length of service, andreason for giving it up, which she much enjoyed telling. He spoke too ofhis books, praising them highly, and guessing which were his articlesin reviews, coming at last to that in which, as he said, he had had thehonour of being dissected. 

'Poor Lucy has hardly yet forgiven it, ' he said; 'but it was one of thebest things that ever befell me. '

'I wonder it did not make you too angry to heed it. '

'Perhaps I was at first, but it was too candid to be offensive. Thearrow had no venom, and was the first independent criticism I hadmet with. Nobody had cared for me enough to take me to task for myabsurdities. I am obliged to Mr. Fotheringham. '

Violet treasured this up for Percy's benefit. 

This festivity was their last in the north. Their visit at Lassonthwaytehad been lengthened from a week to a fortnight, and Lady Martindalewrote piteous letters, entreating them to come to Brogden, where shehad made every arrangement for their comfort, even relinquishing her owndressing-room. They bade farewell to Wrangerton, Arthur assuring Mrs. Moss that he would soon bring Violet back again; and Mrs. Moss andViolet agreeing that they were grateful for their happy meeting, andwould not be too sorry were the delightful vision not to be fulfilled. 

At the beginning of their journey, Arthur's talk was all of the horsesat Lassonthwayte and the friendship that would soon be struck up betweenPercy and Mr. Hunt. The railway passed by the village of Worthbourne, and he called Violet to look out at what might yet be Theodora's home. 

'For the sake of John and Helen too, ' said Violet; while the children, eager for anything approaching to a sight, peeped out at the window, andexclaimed that there was a flag flying on the top of the church steeple. 

'The village wake, I suppose, ' said Arthur. 'Ha! Helen, we will surpriseUncle Percy by knowing all about it!'

At the halt at the Worthbourne station, he accordingly put out his headto ask the meaning of the flag. 

'It is for the son and heir, sir. Old Sir Antony's grandson. '

Arthur drew in his head faster than he had put it out, making mutteringsto himself that a good deal surprised the children. After their longpleasuring, Cadogan-place looked dingy, and Violet as she went up to thedrawing-room in the gray twilight, could not help being glad that onlythree months of Arthur's sick leave had expired, and that they wereto be there for no more than one night. In spite of many preciousassociations, she could not love a London house, and the Lassonthwaytecottage seemed the prettier in remembrance. 

Arthur had fetched his papers, and had been sitting thoughtful for sometime after Johnnie had gone to bed, when he suddenly looked up and said, 'Violet, would it be a great vexation to you if we gave up this scheme?'

'Don't think of me. I always thought you might view it differently froma distance. '

'It is not that, ' said Arthur; 'I never liked any one better than Hunt, and it is nine if not ten miles from the town. But, Violet, I find weare in worse plight than I thought. Here are bills that must be renewed, and one or two things I had forgotten, and while I owe the money andmore too, I could hardly in honesty speculate with the price of mycommission. '

'No!--oh! You could never be comfortable in doing so. '

'If it was only Percy that was concerned, I might get him to risk it, and then double it, and set him and Theodora going handsomely; but--No, it is of no use to think about it. I wish it could be--'

'You are quite right, I am sure. '

'The thing that settles it with me is this, ' continued Arthur. 'It isa way of business that would throw me with the old set, and there is nosafety but in keeping clear of them. I might have been saved all thisif I had not been ass enough to put my neck into Gardner's noose thatunlucky Derby-day. I had promised never to bet again after I married, and this is the end of it! So I think I have no right to run intotemptation again, even for the chance of getting clear. Do you?'

'You are quite right, ' she repeated. 'If the money is not our own, itwould only be another sort--'

'Of gambling. Ay! And though in those days I did not see things as Ido now, and Hunt is another sort of fellow, I fancy you had rather nottrust me, mamma?' said he, looking with a rather sad though arch smileinto her face. 

'Dear Arthur, you know--'

'I know I won't trust myself, ' he answered, trying to laugh it off. 'Andyou'll be a good child, and not cry for the cottage?'

'Oh, no! Mamma and I both thought there might possibly be considerationsagainst it, especially as the girls grow up. '

'That's right. I could not bear giving up what you seemed to fancy. But we will visit them when we want a mouthful of air, and Annette andOctavia shall come and stay with us. I should like to show Octavia alittle of the world. '

'Then, we shall go on as we are?'

'Yes; spend as little as may be, and pay off so much a year. If we keepno horses, that is so much clear gain. '

'That seems the best way; but I almost fear your being well withoutriding. '

'No fear of that! I don't want to go out, and you never do. We will takeour long walks, and, as Percy says, I will read and be rational. I meanto begin Johnnie's Latin as soon as we are settled in. Why, I quite lookforward to it. '

'How delighted Johnnie will be!'

'We shall do famously!' repeated Arthur. 'Nothing like home, after all. '

Violet did not think he quite knew what he undertook, and her heart sankat the idea of a London winter, with his health and spirits failing forwant of his usual resources. He imagined himself perfectly recovered;but when he went the next day to show himself to the doctor, thestethoscope revealed that the damage was not so entirely removed butthat the greatest care would be necessary for some time to come. It satlightly on him; his spirits depended on his sensations, and he had nofears but that a few months would remove all danger; and Violet wouldsay no word of misgiving. She would have felt that to remonstrate wouldhave been to draw him back, after his first step in the path of resoluteself-denial. 

CHAPTER 17

 On Sunday, Heaven's gate stands ope, Blessings are plentiful and rife, More plentiful than hope. 

 --G. HERBERT

'Five years! How little can letters convey the true state of affairs!They can but record events--not their effects nor the insensible changesthat may have taken place. My aunt's death I know, but not what mymother is without her. I have heard of my father's cares, but I haveyet to see whether he is aged or broken. And Theodora, she has had manytrials, but what can she be--tamed and refined as they tell me she is?I wish I could have gone through London to see Arthur and Violet. Thereagain is the anxious question, whether his repentance is really suchas his touching letter led me to hope. One at least I trust to seeunchanged--my sweet sister, my best correspondent! Foolish it isto cling to the hope of meeting her again, as that vision ofloveliness--that creature of affection and simplicity, that first awokeme to a return of cheerfulness! The boy, too--my godson, my child! hehas been the dream of my solitude. At last, here is the village. Howbright its welcome, this summer evening! Old faces!--may those at homebe as unchanged. Alteration enough here! Even at this distance I see theruin; but how richly green the park! How fresh the trees, and the shadeof the avenue! This is home, thanks to Him who has led me safely back. Whom do I see yonder in the avenue? A gentleman leading a pony, and alittle boy on it! Can it be?--impossible! Yet the step and manner arejust as he used to lead Violet's horse, Surely, it must be he! I mustmeet him and hear all before going up to the house, it will preparethem. Stop here. 

He was out of the carriage in a moment, and walking down the avenue, feeling as if he only now was in the right way home; but a misgivingcrossing him as he came nearer the two figures that had attractedhim--there was less resemblance on a nearer view than in the general airwhen further off. 

A shout--'Hollo, John!' settled all doubts. 

'Arthur! is it you?' and the brothers' hands were locked together. 

'Here is a gentleman you know something of, and who has thought verymuch of you, ' continued Arthur, proudly. 'There, is not he like her?' ashe tried to give a cock-up to the limp, flapping straw hat, under shadeof which Johnnie was glowing up to his curls. 

'Her very look!' said John. 'How is she, Arthur, and all of them?'

'All well. Have you not been at home yet!'

'No; I saw you here, and I could not help coming to meet you, that Imight know if all was right. '

'You would have found no one at home, unless my mother and Violet arecome in. They are always creeping about together. '

'Where is my father?'

'Looking after the workmen at the farm. We left him there because itwas Johnnie's supper-time. Why, John, what a hale, middle-aged lookingsubject you are grown! Was it not wonderful sagacity in me to know you?'

'Greater than mine, ' said John. 'My instinct was failing as I came near. Are you really well?'

'Never better. Johnnie and his mamma nursed me well again, and Helvellynbreezes blew away the remainder. When did you land?'

'This morning. We put in at Liverpool, and I came on at once. How is mymother? She had not been well. '

'She was ailing all the winter, but a house full of grandchildren seemsto have cured her completely. You will stare to see her a perfect slaveto--our eldest girl, ' said Arthur, checking himself as he was about tospeak the name, and John turned to the child. 

'Well, Johnnie, and are you fond of riding?'

'With papa holding the rein, ' and Johnnie edged closer to his father. 

'Ay! I hope your uncle did not expect a godson like your dear Coeur deLion, whom you have been romancing about all the way home. What is thecountry your uncle has seen, and you want to see, Johnnie?'

'Please, don't now, papa, ' whispered Johnnie, colouring deeply. 

'Yes, yes, you shall have it out when you are better acquainted, ' saidArthur, patting both boy and pony. 'Well, John, is this the fellow youexpected?'

John smiled, but before he could answer, a voice from behind, shoutingto them to wait, caused him to turn, exclaiming, 'Percy! I did not knowhe was here! And Theodora!'

'He came a day or two ago--'

Theodora blushed crimson, and all the glad words of welcome werespoken by Percy; but he then fell into the background, taking charge ofJohnnie, while the other three walked on together, Theodora's arm withinthat of her eldest brother. 

'Thank you for your letter, ' said Arthur. 'It did me great good. '

'My impulse was to have set out at once on receiving yours, but I wasobliged to wait to get things into train for going on without me; andsince that there have been delays of steamers. '

'You could not have come at a better time. We only wanted you to make uscomplete--'

Arthur was interrupted by a joyous outcry of 'Papa! papa!' from a littlegroup on the other side of the road into which they were emerging. 

'Ay! and who else! Look at this fellow!' cried he, catching from Sarah'sarm, and holding aloft an elf, whose round mouth and eyes were alllaughter, and sturdy limbs all movement, the moment he appeared. 'There!have we not improved in babies since your time! And here is a rounddumpling that calls itself Anna. And that piece of mischief isgrandmamma's girl, Aunt Theodora's double. '

Those flashing black eyes were not the ideal John had attached to thename which Arthur had paused to speak; but it would have been hard to bedisappointed by the bright creature, who stood on the raised foot-path, pretending to hide her face with a bunch of tall foxgloves, and peepingout behind them to see whether she was noticed. 

'The introduction is all on one side, ' said Percy. 'Do you know who itis, Helen?'

Helen stuck her chin into her neck. She would tell her surmise to noone but Johnnie, who had persuaded Mr. Fotheringham to lift him fromhorseback, where he was never at ease with any one but papa. He lookedup smiling: 'Helen thinks it must be Uncle Martindale, because papa isso glad. '

Helen ran away, but returned for a ride; and when the party, that hadgathered like a snow-ball, came in front of the cottage, Percy washolding both little sisters on the pony at once, Theodora still leaningon her eldest brother's arm, Johnnie gravely walking on the foot-path, studying his uncle, and Arthur, with the young Arthur pulling hiswhiskers all the time, was walking forwards and backwards, round andabout his brother, somewhat in the ecstatic aimless fashion of a dog whomeets his master. 

He was the first to exclaim, 'There she is! Run on, Johnnie, tell mammaand grandmamma whom we have here. '

The first greeting was left exclusively to Lady Martindale. When John'sattention was again at liberty, Violet was standing by her husband, saying, with a sweet smile of playful complaint, 'And you have shown himall the children and I was not there!'

'Never mind. They will show off much better with you, you jealous woman. What does John think to hear you scolding?'

'Has he seen all the children?' said Lady Martindale, taking up thenote. 'Oh! what is Mr. Fotheringham doing with Helen and Annie? It isvery dangerous!'

And Lady Martindale hastened to watch over the little girls, who, ofcourse, were anything but grateful for her care, while Violet was askingJohn about his voyage, and inquiring after the interests he had left inBarbuda. 

The first sight of her was a shock. The fragile roses that had dwelton his imagination had faded away, and she was now, indeed, a beautifulwoman, --but not the creature of smiles and tears whom he remembered. The pensive expression, the stamp of anxiety, and the traces oflong-continued over-exertion, were visible enough to prove to him thathis fears had been fulfilled, and that she had suffered too deeply everto return to what she had once been. 

Yet never had John so enjoyed an arrival, nor felt so thoroughly athome, as when his father had joined them, full of quiet and heartfeltgladness. Stiffness and formality seemed to have vanished with the staterooms; and there was no longer the circle on company terms, for LadyMartindale herself was almost easy, and Theodora's words, though few, were devoid of the sullen dignity of old times. Violet's timidity, too, was gone, and the agitated wistful glances she used to steal towardsher husband, had now become looks of perfect, confiding, yet fosteringaffection. John saw her appealed to, consulted, and put forward asimportant to each and all of the family party, as if every one of themdepended on her as he had been wont to do, while she still looked asretiring as ever, and taken up by watching that the children behavedwell. 

The occupation of the evening was the looking over plans for the newhouse. Lord Martindale had them all ready, and John soon perceived thathis father's wishes were that he should prefer those which most nearlyreproduced the original building, pulled down to please Mrs. Nesbit. Lady Martindale had surprised them by making from memory a beautifulsketch of the former house; and her husband, to whom each line produceda fresh hoard of reminiscences, was almost disappointed that John'srecollection did not go back far enough to recognize the likeness, though he was obliged to confess that not a wall of it was standing whenhe was two years old. 

The general vote was, of course, that Old Martindale should berenewed, --and it was to be begun--when?

'When ways and means are found, ' said Lord Martindale. 'We must talkover that another time, John. '

John, as he bade Theodora good night, murmured thanks for the safetyof all the properties which he had been surprised to find in the roomprepared for him. Her eyes were liquid as she faltered her answer. 

'O, John, it was such a pleasure! How much you have to forgive! Howright you were, and how wrong I was!'

'Hush! not now, ' said John, kindly. 

'Yes, now, I cannot look at you till I have said it. I have felt thetruth of every word you said, and I beg your pardon for all that haspassed. '

He pressed her hand in answer, saying, 'It was my fault. But all is wellnow, and you know how I rejoice. '

'Everything is everybody's fault, ' said Percy, joining him; 'but we mustnot stop to battle the point, or Mr. Hugh Martindale's housekeeper willbe irate. Good night, Theodora. '

Percy and John were quartered at the Vicarage, and walked thither, atfirst in silence, till the former said, 'Well, what do you think of it?'

'The best coming home I ever had, and the most surprising. I have seenso much that is unexpected, that I don't know how to realize it. '

'Heartsease, ' was Percy's brief reply. 

'Violet? You don't mean it!'

'The history of these years is this, ' said Percy, making an emphaticmark on the gravel with his stick. 'Every one else has acted, more orless, idiotically. She has gone about softening, healing, guarding, stirring up the saving part of each one's disposition. If, as she avers, you and Helen formed her, you gave a blessing to all of us. '

'How can this be? No one has spoken of her power. '

'It is too feminine to be recognized. When you talk to the others youwill see I am right. I will speak for myself. I verily believe thatbut for her I should have been by this time an unbearable disappointedmisanthrope. '

'A likely subject, ' said John, laughing. 

'You cannot estimate the shock our rupture gave me, nor tell how Itried to say "don't care, " and never saw my savage spite till her gentlerebuke showed it to me. Her rectitude and unselfishness kept up my faithin woman, and saved me from souring and hardening. On the other hand, her firmness won Theodora's respect, her softness, her affection. Sheled where I drove, acted the sun where I acted Boreas; and it is she whohas restored us to each other. '

'Highly as I esteemed Violet, I little thought to hear this! My fatherwrote that he regretted Theodora's having been left to one so littlecapable of controlling her. '

'Lord Martindale is a very good man, but he has no more discriminationof character than my old cat!' cried Percy. 'I beg your pardon, John, but the fact was patent. Mrs. Martindale is the only person who has everbeen a match for Theodora. She conquered her, made her proud to submit, and then handed her over to the lawful authorities. If Lord Martindalehas an unrivalled daughter, he ought to know whom to thank for it. '

'I hope he appreciates Violet. '

'In a sort he does. He fully appreciates her in her primary vocation, as who would not, who had watched her last winter, and who sees what shehas made her husband. '

'Then you are satisfied about Arthur?'

'Better than I ever thought to be. '

'And, Percy, what is this that he tells me of your having rescued him atyour own expense?'

'Has he told you all that?' exclaimed Percy. 

'He wished me to know it in case of his death. '

'I could not help it, John, ' said Percy, in apology. 'If you had seenher and her babies, and had to leave him in that condition on her hands, you would have seen there was nothing for it but to throw a sop to thehounds, so that at least they might leave him to die in peace. '

'It saved him! But why did you object to my father's hearing of it?'

'Because I knew he would dislike any sense of obligation, and that hecould not conveniently pay it off. Besides, we had to keep Arthur'smouth shut out of consideration for the blood-vessel, so I told him tolet it rest till you should come. I fancy we have all been watchingfor you as a sort of "Deus ex Machina" to clear up the last act of thedrama, though how you are to do so, I cannot conceive. '

The next day was Sunday, almost the first truly homelike Sunday ofJohn's life. Not only was there the churchgoing among friends andkindred after long separation, but the whole family walked thithertogether, as John had never known them do before; and with his motheron his arm, his little godson holding Lord Martindale's hand, Helenskipping between her father and mother, Theodora gentle and subdued, itseemed as if now, for the first time, they had become a household of thesame mind. 

It was one of the most brilliant days of summer--a cloudless sky of deepblue sunshine, in which the trees seemed to bask, and the air, thoughtoo fresh to be sultry, disposing to inaction. After the second service, there was a lingering on the lawn, and desultory talk about the contrastto the West Indian Sundays, and the black woolly-headed congregationresponding and singing so heartily, and so uncontrollably gay and merry. 

At length, when Johnnie and Helen, who had an insatiable appetite forpicaninny stories, had been summoned to supper, John and Violet foundthat the rest of their companions had dispersed, and that they werealone. 

'I told you that Fanshawe came home with me, ' said John. 'The newarrangements have increased his income;' then, as Violet looked upeagerly and hopefully, --'he made me a confidence, at which I see youguess. '

'I only hope mamma will not be anxious about the climate. I must tellher how well it has agreed with you. '

'I am glad that you think there are hopes for him. It has been a longattachment, but he thought it wrong to engage her affections while hehad no prospect of being able to marry. '

'It is what we guessed!' said Violet. 'Dear Annette! If he is what Iremember him, she must be happy. '

'I can hardly speak highly enough of him. I have found him a mostvaluable friend, and am sincerely glad to be connected with him; but, tell me, is not this the sister about whom Percy made a slight mistake!'

'Oh! do you know that story? Yes, it was dear Annette! OtherwiseI should never have known about Mr. Fanshawe. It was only a vaguepreference, but it was very fortunate that it prevented any attachmentto Percy, or it would have been hard to decide what would be right. '

'Percy was much obliged to you. '

'He was very kind not to be angry. I could have wished it exceedingly, but I am so glad that I did not persuade Annette, and particularly gladof this, for she has been out of spirits, and rather wasting her bloomat home, without much definite employment. '

'I understand. And did you never wish that you had influenced herotherwise?'

'If Percy and Theodora had not been reconciled, I thought I might havedone so. It did seem a long time to go on in doubt whether I had actedfor her happiness. '

'But you acted in faith that the straightforward path was the safest. '

'And now I am so thankful. ' She paused, they were passing thedrawing-room, and saw Arthur lying asleep on the sofa. She stepped inat the French window, threw a light shawl over him, and closed the door. 'He did not sleep till daylight this morning, ' she said, returning toJohn. 'Any excitement gives him restless nights. '

'So I feared when I saw those two red spots on his cheeks in theevening. I know them well! But how white and thin he looks! I want tohear what you think of him. My father considers him fully recovered. Doyou?'

Violet shook her head. 'He is as well as could be hoped after such anillness, ' she said; 'and Dr. L. Tells him there is no confirmed disease, but that his chest is in a very tender state, and he must take theutmost care. That delightful mountain air at Lassonthwayte entirely tookaway his cough, and it has not returned, though he is more languid andtired than he was in the north, but he will not allow it, his spiritsare so high. '

'I should like you to spend the winter abroad. '

'That cannot be. If he is able in October, he must join, and theregiment is likely to be in London all the winter, ' said Violet, with asigh. 

'Then he does not mean to sell out?'

'No, we cannot afford it. We must live as little expensively as we can, to get clear of the difficulties. Indeed, now the horses are gone, it issuch a saving that we have paid off some bills already. '

'Has Arthur really parted with his horses?'

'With all of them, even that beautiful mare. I am afraid he will missher very much, but I cannot say a word against it, for I am sure it isright. '

'ALL the horses?' repeated John. 'What are you to do without a carriagehorse?'

'Oh! that is nothing new. We have not had one fit for me to use, sincethe old bay fell lame three years ago. That does not signify at all, forwalking with the children suits me much better. '

John was confounded. He had little notion of existence without carriagesand horses. 

'I shall have Arthur to walk with now. He promises Johnnie and medelightful walks in the park, ' said Violet, cheerfully, 'if he is butwell. '

'Ah! I see you dread that winter. '

'I do!' came from the bottom of Violet's heart, spoken under her breath;then, as if regretting her admission, she smiled and said, 'Perhapsthere is no need! He has no fears, and it will be only too pleasant tohave him at home. I don't think about it, ' added she, replying to theanxious eyes that sought to read her fears. 'This summer is too happy tobe spoilt with what may be only fancies, and after the great mercieswe have received, it would be too bad to distrust and grieve over thefuture. I have so often thanked you for teaching me the lesson of thelilies. '

'I fear you have had too much occasion to practise it. '

'It could not be too much!' said Violet. 'But often I do not know whatwould have become of me, if I had not been obliged, as a duty, to putaside fretting thoughts, and been allowed to cast the shadow of thecross on my vexations. '

His eye fell on a few bright links of gold peeping out round herneck--'You have THAT still. May I see it?'

She took off the chain and placed it in his hand. 'Thanks for it, morethan ever!' she said. 'My friend and preacher in time of need it hasoften been, and Johnnie's too. '

'Johnnie?'

'Yes, you know the poor little man has had a great deal of illness. Thisis the first spring he has been free from croup; and you would hardlybelieve what a comfort that cross has been to him. He always feels forthe chain, that he may squeeze Aunt Helen's cross. At one time I wasalmost afraid that it was a superstition, he was such a very littlefellow; but when I talked to him, he said, "I like it because of ourBlessed Saviour. It makes me not mind the pain so much, because you saidthat was like Him, and would help to make me good if I was patient. "Then I remembered what I little understood, when you told me that thecross was his baptismal gift to sweeten his heritage of pain. '

John was much affected. 'Helen's cross has indeed borne abundant fruit!'said he. 

'I told you how even I forgot it at first in the fire, and how it wassaved by Johnnie's habit of grasping it in his troubles. '

'I am glad it was he!'

'Theodora said that he alone was worthy. But I am afraid to hear suchthings said of him; I am too ready without them to think too much of myboy. '

'It would be difficult, ' began John; then smiling, 'perhaps I ought totake to myself the same caution; the thought of Johnnie has been so muchto me, and now I see him he is so unlike my expectations, and yet so farbeyond them. I feel as if I wanted a larger share of him than you andhis father can afford me. '

'I don't think we shall be jealous, ' was the happy answer. 'Arthur isvery proud of your admiration of Master Johnnie. You know we have alwaysfelt as if you had a right in him. '

Percy and Theodora here returned from the park, rejoicing to find othersas tardy in going in as themselves; Arthur, awakened by the voices, cameout, and as the others hurried in, asked John what they had been talkingabout. 

'Of many things, ' said John; 'much of my godson. '

'Ay!' said Arthur; 'did you not wonder how anything so good can belongto me?'

John smiled, and said, 'His goodness belongs to nothing here. '

'Nay, it is no time to say that after talking to his mother, ' saidArthur; 'though I know what you mean, and she would not let me say so. Well, I am glad you are come, for talks with you are the greatest treatto her. She seemed to be gathering them up again at Ventnor, and wasalways telling me of them. She declares they taught her everything good;though that, of course, I don't believe, you know, ' he added, smiling. 

'No; there was much in which she needed no teaching, and a few hintshere and there do not deserve what she ascribes to them. '

'John, ' said Arthur, coming nearer to him, and speaking low, 'she andher boy are more perfect creatures than you can guess, without knowingthe worst of me. You warned me that I must make her happy, and yousaw how it was the first year. It has been worse since that. I haveneglected them, let them deny themselves, ruined them, been positivelyharsh to that angel of a boy; and how they could love me, and be patientwith me throughout, is what I cannot understand, though--though I canfeel it. '

'Truly, ' thought John, as Arthur hastily quitted him, ashamed of hisemotion, 'if Violet be my scholar, she has far surpassed her teacher!Strange that so much should have arisen apparently from my attempt tohelp and cheer the poor dispirited girl, in that one visit toVentnor, which I deemed so rash a venture of my own comfort--useless, self-indulgent wretch that I was. She has done the very deeds that I hadneglected. My brother and sister, even my mother and Helen's brother, all have come under her power of firm meekness--all, with one voice, areready to "rise up and call her blessed!" Nay, are not these what Helenwould have most wished to effect, and is it not her memorials that havebeen the instruments of infusing that spirit into Violet? These areamong the works that follow her, or, as they sung this evening--

 "For seeds are sown of glorious light, A future harvest for the just, And gladness for the heart that's right To recompense its pious trust. "'

And in gladness did he stand before the house that had been destined asthe scene of his married life, and look forth on the churchyard whereHelen slept. He was no longer solitary, since he had begun to bear theburdens of others; for no sooner did he begin to work, than he felt thathe worked with her. 

CHAPTER 18

 That we, whose work commenced in tears, May see our labours thrive, Till finished with success, to make Our drooping hearts revive. Though he despond that sows his grain, Yet, doubtless, he shall come To bind his full-ear'd sheaves, and bring The joyful harvest home. 

 --Psalm 126. New Version

Business cares soon began. Arthur consented to allow his brother to layhis embarrassments before his father. 'Do as you please, ' he said;'but make him understand that I am not asking him to help me out of thescrape. He does all he can for me, and cannot afford more; or, ifhe could, Theodora ought to be thought of first. All I wish is, thatsomething should be secured to Violet and the children, and that, if Idon't get clear in my lifetime, these debts may not be left for Johnnie. 

'That you may rely on, ' said John. 'I wish I could help you; but therewere many things at Barbuda that seemed so like fancies of my own, thatI could not ask my father to pay for them, and I have not much at mydisposal just now. '

'It is a good one to hear you apologizing to me!' said Arthur, laughing, but rather sadly, as John carried off the ominous pocket-book to thestudy, hoping to effect great things for his brother; and, as the bestintroduction, he began by producing the letter written at Christmas. Lord Martindale was touched by the commencement, but was presently lostin surprise on discovering Percy's advance. 

'Why could he not have written to me? Did he think I was not ready tohelp my own son?'

'It was necessary to act without loss of time. '

'If it were necessary to pay down the sum, why not tell me of it, instead of letting poor Arthur give him a bond that is worth nothing?'

'I fancy, if he had any notion of regaining Theodora, he was unwillingyou or she should know the extent of the obligation. '

'It is well I do know it. I thought it unsatisfactory to hear of noprofit, after all the talk there has been about his books. I feared itwas an empty trade: but this is something like. Five thousand! He is aclever fellow after all!'

'I hope he may soon double it, ' said John, amused at this way ofestimating Percy's powers. 

'Well, it was a friendly act, ' continued Lord Martindale. 'A littlemisjudged in the manner, perhaps; but if you had seen the state Arthurwas in--'

'I should have forgiven Percy?' said John, with a slightly ironicalsmile, that made his father laugh. 

'Not that I am blaming him, ' he said; 'but it shall be paid him atonce if it comes to selling Wyelands. You know one cannot be underan obligation of this sort to a lad whom one has seen grow up in thevillage. '

'Perhaps he wishes it to be considered as all in the family. '

'So it is. That is the worst of it. It is so much out of what he wouldhave had with Theodora, and little enough there is for her. A dead loss!Could not Arthur have had more sense, at his age, and with all thosechildren! What's all this?' reading on in dismay. 'Seven thousand moreat least! I'll have nothing to do with it!'

An hour after, John came out into the verandah, where Percy was reading, and asked if he knew where Arthur was. 

'He got into a ferment of anxiety, and Violet persuaded him to walk itoff. He is gone out with Johnnie and Helen. Well, how has he fared?'

'Not as well as I could wish. My father will not do more towards thedebts than paying you. '

'Ho! I hope he does not think I acted very impertinently towards him?'John laughed, and Percy continued, 'Seriously, I believe it is the impertinence hardest to forgive, and Ishall be glad when the subject is done with. That will be so much offArthur's mind. '

'I wish more was; but I had no idea that there was so little availablemoney amongst us. All I can gain in his favour is, that the estate isto be charged with five hundred pounds a year for Violet in case of hisdeath; and there's his five thousand pounds for the children; but, forthe present debts, my father will only say that, perhaps he may help, ifhe sees that Arthur is exerting himself to economize and pay them off. '

'Quite as much as could reasonably be expected. The discipline will bevery good for him. '

'If it does not kill him, ' said John, sighing. 'My father does notrealize the shock to his health. He is in the state now that I was inwhen we went abroad, and--'

'And I firmly believe that if you had had anything to do but nurse yourcough, you would have been in much better health. '

'But it is not only for Arthur that I am troubled. What can be worsethan economizing in London, in their position? What is to become ofViolet, without carriage, without--'

Percy laughed. 'Without court-dresses and powdered footmen? No, no, John. Depend upon it, as long as Violet has her husband safe at home, she wants much fewer necessaries of life than you do. '

'Well, I will try to believe it right. I see it cannot be otherwise. '

Arthur was not of this mind. He was grateful for his father'sforgiveness and assistance, and doubly so for the provision forhis wife, hailing it as an unexpected and undeserved kindness. LordMartindale was more pleased by his manner in their interview than everhe had been before. Still there were many difficulties: money was tobe raised; and the choice between selling, mortgaging, or cutting downtimber, seemed to go to Lord Martindale's heart. He had taken such pridein the well-doing of his estate! He wished to make further retrenchmentsin the stable and garden arrangements; but, as he told John, he knewnot how to reduce the enormous expense of the latter without giving morepain to Lady Martindale than he could bear to inflict. 

John offered to sound her, and discover whether the notion of dismissingArmstrong and his crew would be really so dreadful. He found thatshe winced at the mention of her orchids and ferns, they recalledthe thought of her aunt's love for them, and she had not been in theconservatories for months. John said a word or two on the cost ofkeeping them up, and the need of prudence, with a view to providing forArthur's children. It was the right chord. She looked up, puzzled: hermathematical knowledge had never descended to £. S. D. 

'Is there a difficulty? I thought my dear aunt had settled all herproperty on dear little Johnnie. '

'Yes, but only when he comes to the title; and for the others there isabsolutely nothing but Arthur's five thousand pounds to be divided amongthem all. '

'You don't say so, John? Poor little dears! there is scarcely more thana thousand a-piece. Surely, there is my own property--'

'I am sorry to say it was settled so as to go with the title. The onlychance for them is what can be saved--'

'Save everything, then, ' exclaimed Lady Martindale. 'I am sure I wouldgive up anything, if I did but know what. We have not had leaders fora long time past, and Theodora's dumb boy does as well as the secondfootman; Standaloft left me because she could not bear to live in acottage; Grimes suits me very well; and I do not think I could do quitewithout a maid. '

'No, indeed, my dear mother, ' said John, smiling; 'that is the lastthing to be thought of. All my father wished to know was, whether itwould grieve you if we gave the care of the gardens to somewhat less ofa first-rate genius?'

'Not in the least, ' said Lady Martindale, emphatically. 'I shall neverbear to return to those botanical pursuits. It was for her sake. Dearlittle Helen and the rest must be the first consideration. Look here!she really has a very good notion of drawing. '

John perceived that his mother was happier than she had ever been, inwaiting upon the children, and enjoying the company of Violet, whosesoftness exactly suited her; while her decision was a comfortablesupport to one who had all her life been trained round a stake. Theydrove and walked together; and Lady Martindale, for the first time, wason foot in the pretty lanes of her own village; she had even stopped atcottage doors, when Violet had undertaken a message while Theodora wasout with Percy, and one evening she appeared busy with a small lilacfrock that Helen imagined herself to be making. Lady Martindale was muchtoo busy with the four black-eyed living blossoms to set her heart onany griffin-headed or monkey-faced orchids; and her lord found that shewas one of those who would least be sensible of his reductions. Theodorawas continually surprised to see how much more successful than herselfViolet was in interesting her, and keeping her cheerful. Perhaps it wasowing to her own vehemence; but with the best intentions she had failedin producing anything like the present contentment. And, somehow, Lordand Lady Martindale seemed so much more at ease together, and to have somuch more to say to each other, that their Cousin Hugh one day observed, it was their honeymoon. 

'I say, John, ' said Percy, one night, as they were walking to thevicarage, 'I wish you could find me something to do in the West Indies. '

'I should be very sorry to export you--'

'I must do something!' exclaimed Percy. 'I was thinking of emigration;but your sister could not go in the present state of things here; andshe will not hear of my going and returning when I have built a nest forher. '

'No, indeed!' said John. 'Your powers were not given for the hewing downof forests. '

'Were not they?' said Percy, stretching and clenching a hard muscularwrist and hand. 

 '"A man's a man for a' that!"

I tell you, John, I am wearying for want of work--hard, downright, substantial work!'

'Well, you have it, have you not?'

'Pshaw! Pegasus won't let himself out on hire. I can't turn my sportinto my trade. When I find myself writing for the lucre of gain, thewhole spirit leaves me. '

'That is what you have been doing for some time. '

'No such thing. Literature was my holiday friend at first; and if sheput a gold piece or two into my pocket, it was not what I sought herfor. Then she came to my help to beguile what I thought was an intervalof waiting for the serious task of life. I wrote what I thought waswanted. I sent it forth as my way of trying what service I could doin my generation. But now, when I call it my profession, when I thinkavowedly, what am I to get by it?--Faugh! the Muse is disgusted;and when I go to church, I hang my head at "Lay not up to yourselvestreasures upon earth--"'

'A fine way you found of laying them up!'

'It proved the way to get them back. '

'I do not understand your objection. You had laid up that sum--your fairearning. '

'There it was: it had accumulated without positive intention on my part;I mean that I had of course taken my due, and not found occasion tospend it. It is the writing solely for gain, with malice prepenseto save it, --that is the stumbling-block. I don't feel as if I wasjustified in it, nay, I cannot do it; my ideas do not flow even onmatters wont to interest me most. It was all very well when waiting onArthur was an object; but after he was gone, I found it out. I could notturn to writing, and if I did, out came things I was ashamed of. No! anable-bodied man of five-and-thirty is meant for tougher work than reviewand history-mongering! I have been teaching a ragged school, helping atany charities that needed a hand; but it seems amateur work, and I wantto be in the stream of life again!'

'I will not say what most would--it was a pity you resigned your formerpost. '

'No pity at all. That has made a pair of good folks very happy. If I hadkept certain hasty judgments to myself, I should not have been laid onthe shelf. It is no more than I deserve, and no doubt it is good for meto be humbled and set aside; but work I will get of some kind! Ilooked in at a great factory the other day, and longed to apply for asuperintendent's place, only I thought it might not be congruous with anHonourable for a wife. '

'You don't mean to give up writing?'

'No, to make it my play. I feel like little Annie, when she calledherself puss without a corner. I have serious thoughts of the law. Heighho! Good night. '

John grieved over the disappointed tone so unusual in the buoyant Percy, and revolved various devices for finding employment for him; but wasobliged to own that a man of his age, whatever his powers, when onceset aside from the active world, finds it difficult to make for himselfanother career. It accounted to John for the degree of depression whichhe detected in Theodora's manner, which, at all times rather grave, didnot often light up into animation, and never into her quaint moods ofeccentric determination; she was helpful and kind, but submissive andindifferent to what passed around her. 

In fact, Theodora felt the disappointment of which Percy complained, more uniformly than he did himself. He thought no more of it whenconversation was going on, when a service was to be done to any livingcreature, or when he was playing with the children; but the sense of hisvexation always hung upon her; perhaps the more because she felt thather own former conduct deserved no happiness, and that his future wasinvolved in hers. She tried to be patient, but she could not be gay. 

Her scheme had been for Percy to take a farm, but he answered that hehad lived too much abroad, and in towns, to make agriculture succeed inEngland. In the colonies perhaps, --but her involuntary exclamation ofdismay at the idea of letting him go alone, had made him at once abandonthe project. When, however, she saw how enforced idleness preyed on him, and with how little spirit he turned to his literary pursuits, she beganto think it her duty to persuade him to go; and to this she had on thisvery night, with a great effort, made up her mind. 

'There is space in his composition for more happiness than depends onme, ' said she to Violet. 'Exertion, hope, trust in me will make himhappy; and he shall not waste his life in loitering here for my sake. '

'Dear Theodora, I fear it will cost you a great deal. '

'Never mind, ' said Theodora; 'I am more at peace than I have been foryears. Percy has suffered enough through me already. '

Violet looked up affectionately at her fine countenance, and gave oneof the mute caresses that Theodora liked from her, though she could haveborne them from no one else. 

Theodora smiled, sighed, and then, shaking off the dejected tone, said, 'Well, I suppose you will have a letter from Wrangerton to tell you itis settled. I wonder if you will go to the wedding. Oh! Violet, ifyou had had one particle of selfishness or pettiness, how many unhappypeople you would have made!'

Violet's last letter from home had announced that Mr. Fanshawe had cometo stay with Mr. Jones, and she was watching eagerly for the nextnews. She went down-stairs quickly, in the morning, to seek for her ownletters among the array spread on the sideboard. 

Percy was alone in the room, standing by the window. He started at herentrance, and hardly gave time for a good morning, before he asked whereTheodora was. 

'I think she is not come in. I have not seen her. '

He made a step to the door as if to go and meet her. 

'There is nothing wrong, I hope. '

'I hope not! I hope there is no mistake. Look here. '

He held up, with an agitated grasp, a long envelope with the mightywords, 'On her Majesty's service;' and before Violet's eyes he laid aletter offering him a diplomatic appointment in Italy. 

'The very thing above all others I would have chosen. Capital salary!Excellent house! I was staying there a week with the fellow who had itbefore. A garden of gardens. Orange walks, --fountains, --a view of theApennines and Mediterranean at once. It is perfection. But what can haveled any one to pitch upon me?'

Arthur had come down in the midst, and leant over his rejoicing wifeto read the letter, while Percy vehemently shook his hand, exclaiming, 'There! See! There's the good time come! Did you ever see the like, Arthur! But how on earth could they have chosen me? I know nothing ofthis man--he knows nothing of me. '

'Such compliments to your abilities and classical discoveries, ' saidViolet. 

'Much good they would do without interest! I would give twenty pounds toknow who has got me this. '

'Ha! said Arthur, looking at the signature. 'Did not he marry some ofthe Delaval connection?'

'Yes, ' said Violet; 'Lady Mary--Lord St. Erme's aunt. He was Lord St. Erme's guardian. '

'Then that is what it is, ' said Arthur, sententiously. 'Did you not tellme that St. Erme had been examining you about Percy?'

'Yes, he asked me about his writings, and how long he had been atConstantinople, ' said Violet, rather shyly, almost sorry that hersurprise had penetrated and proclaimed what the Earl no doubt meantto be a secret, especially when she saw that Percy's exultation wascompletely damped. There was no time for answer, for others wereentering, and with a gesture to enforce silence, he pocketed the papers, and said nothing on the subject all breakfast-time. Even while Violetregaled herself with Annette's happy letter, she had anxious eyes andthoughts for the other sister, now scarcely less to her than Annette. 

She called off the children from dancing round Uncle Percy afterbreakfast, and watched him walk off with Theodora to the side arcade inthe avenue that always had especial charms for them. 

'Theodora, here is something for you to decide. '

'Why, Percy!' as she read, 'this is the very thing! What! Is it not agood appointment? Why do you hesitate?'

'It is an excellent appointment, but this is the doubt. Do you see thatname? There can be no question that this is owing to Lord St. Erme. '

'I see!' said Theodora, blushing deeply. 

'I wish to be guided entirely by your feeling. '

They walked the whole length of the avenue and turned again before shespoke. At last she said--'Lord St. Erme is a generous person, and shouldbe dealt with generously. I have given him pain by my pride and caprice, and I had rather give him no more. No doubt it is his greatest pleasureto make us happy, and I think he ought to be allowed to have it. But letit be as you please. '

'I expected you to speak in this way. You think that he does not deserveto be wounded by my refusing this because it comes from him. '

'That is my feeling, but if you do not like--I believe you do not. Refuse it, then. '

'To say I like the obligation would not be true; but I know it is rightthat I should conquer the foolish feeling. After all, it is public workthat I am to do, and it would be wrong and absurd to refuse it, becauseit is he who has brought my name forward. '

'You take it, then?'

'Yes, standing reproved, and I might almost say punished, for my pastdisdain of this generous man. '

'If you say so, what must I?'

Percy resolved that, after consulting Lord Martindale, he would at onceset off for London, to signify his acceptance, and make the necessaryinquiries. Theodora asked whether he meant to appear conscious of theinfluence exerted in his favour. 'I will see whether it was directlyemployed; if so, it would be paltry to seem to appear unconscious. I hadrather show that I appreciate his feeling, and if I feel an obligation, acknowledge it. 

'I wonder, Theodora, ' said Arthur, 'that you allow him to go. He isso fond of giving away whatever any one cries for, that you will findyourself made over to St. Erme. '

In three days' time Percy returned; Theodora went with Arthur and Violetto meet him at the station. 

'Well!' said he, as they drove off, 'he is a very fine fellow, afterall! I don't know what is to be done for him! I wish we could find aTheodora for him. '

'I told you so, Theodora!' cried Arthur. 'He has presented you. '

'There were two words to that bargain!' said Percy. 'He must be contentto wait for Helen. '

'So instead of my sister, you dispose of my daughter, ' said Arthur. 

'Poor little Helen!' said Violet. 'Imagine the age he will be when sheis eighteen!'

'He will never grow old!' said Percy. 'He has the poet's gift ofperpetual youth, the spring of life and fancy that keeps men young. Hehas not grown a day older since this time five years. I found he hadtaken a great deal of trouble about me, recommended me strenuously, brought forward my papers on foreign policy, and been at much painsto confute that report that was afloat against me. He treated myappointment as a personal favour; and he is a man of weight now. Youwere right, Theodora; it would have been abominable to sulk inour corner, because we had behaved ill ourselves, and to meet suchnoble-spirited kindness as an offence. '

'I am very glad that you feel it so, ' returned Theodora. 

'Now that I have seen him I do so completely. And another thing Ihave to thank you for, Violet, that you saved me from laying it on anythicker in that criticism of his poetry. '

'I told you how he said that you had done him a great deal of good. '

'A signal instance--almost a single instance of candour. But there isa nobility of mind in him above small resentments and jealousies. Ay!there never will be anybody fit for him but Helen!'

'And Helen brought up to be much better than her aunt, ' said Theodora. 

'It won't be my mother's fault if she is, ' said Arthur. 'I wasdetermined yesterday to see what she would succeed in making her do, andI declare the sprite drove her about like a slave--"Grandmamma, fetch methis, " "grandmamma, you must do that, " till at last she brought my poormother down on her knees, stooping under the table to personate an oldcow in the stall. '

'Oh! Arthur! Arthur, how could you?' exclaimed Violet. 'What were youabout to let it go on?'

'Lying on the sofa, setting a good example, ' said Percy. 

'No, no, I did not go that length, ' said Arthur. 'I was incog. Inthe next room; but it was too good to interrupt. Besides, Helen hassucceeded to my aunt's vacant throne, and my mother is never so hurtas when Violet interferes with any of her vagaries. The other day, whenViolet carried her off roaring at not being allowed to turn grandmamma'swork-box inside out, her ladyship made a formal remonstrance to me onletting the poor child's spirit be broken by strictness. '

'I hope you told her that some spirits would be glad to have been brokenlong ago, ' said Theodora. 

'I only told her I had perfect faith in Violet's management. '

Percy was wanted speedily to set off for his new situation, andthe question of the marriage became difficult. His income was fullysufficient, but Theodora had many scruples about leaving her mother, whom the last winter had proved to be unfit to be left withoutcompanionship. They doubted and consulted, and agreed that they must beself-denying; but John came to their relief. He shrank with a sort ofhorror from permitting such a sacrifice as his own had been; held thatit would be positively wrong to let their union be delayed any longer, and found his father of the same opinion, though not knowing how LadyMartindale would bear the loss. Perhaps his habit of flinching fromsaying to her what he expected her to dislike, had been one cause ofMrs. Nesbit's supremacy. 

John, therefore, undertook to open her eyes to the necessity ofrelinquishing her daughter, intending to offer himself as her companionand attendant, ready henceforth to devote himself to her comfort, as themeans of setting free those who still had a fair prospect. 

As usual, Lady Martindale's reluctance had been overrated. John foundthat she had never calculated on anything but Theodora's marrying atonce; she only observed that she supposed it could not be helped, andshe was glad her dear aunt was spared the sight. 

'And you will not miss her so much when I am at home. '

'You, my dear; I am never so happy as when you are here; but I do notdepend on you. I should like you to spend this winter abroad, and thenwe must have you in Parliament again. '

'If I were sure that you would be comfortable, ' said John; 'butotherwise I could not think of leaving you. '

'I was thinking, ' said Lady Martindale, with the slowness of one littlewont to originate a scheme, 'how pleasant it would be, if we could keepArthur and Violet always with us. I cannot bear to part with the dearchildren, and I am sure they will all be ill again if they go back toLondon. '

'To live with us! exclaimed John. 'Really, mother, you have found thebest plan of all. Nothing could be better!'

'Do you think your father would approve?' said Lady Martindale, eagerly. 

'Let us propose it to him, ' said John, and without further delay hebegged him to join the conference. The plan was so excellent that itonly seemed strange that it had occurred to no one before, combining theadvantages of giving Arthur's health a better chance; of country air forthe children, and of economy. Lord Martindale looked very well pleased, though still a little doubtful, as he pondered, whether there might notbe some unseen objection, and to give himself time to think, repeated, in answer to their solicitations, that it was a most important step. 

'For instance, ' said he, as if glad to have recollected one argumenton the side of caution, 'you see, if they live here, we are in a mannertreating Johnnie as the acknowledged heir. '

'Exactly so, ' replied John; 'and it will be the better for him, and forthe people. For my part--'

They were interrupted by Arthur's walking in from the garden. LadyMartindale, too eager to heed that her lord would fain not broachthe question till his deliberations were mature, rose up at once, exclaiming, 'Arthur my dear, I am glad you are come. We wish, whenTheodora leaves us, that you and your dear wife and children should comeand live at home always with us. Will you, my dear?' Arthur looked fromone to the other in amaze. 

'It is a subject for consideration, ' began Lord Martindale. 'I would notact hastily, without knowing the sentiments of all concerned. '

'If you mean mine, ' said John, 'I will finish what I was saying, --that, for my part, a home is all that I can ever want; and that for Arthurto afford me a share in his, and in his children's hearts, would be thegreatest earthly happiness that I can desire. '

'I am sure'--said Arthur, in a voice which, to their surprise, wasbroken by a sob--'I am sure, John--you have every right. You have mademy home what it is. '

'Then he consents!' exclaimed Lady Martindale; 'I shall have Violetalways with me, and Helen. '

'Thank you, thank you, mother; but--' His eye was on his father. 

'Your mother does not know what she is asking of you, Arthur, ' said LordMartindale. 'I would not have you engage yourself without consideration. Such arrangements as these must not be made to be broken. For myself, itis only the extreme pleasure the project gives me that makes me balance, lest I should overlook any objection. To have your dear Violet for thedaughter of our old age, and your children round us, would, as Johnsays, leave us nothing to wish. '

Arthur could only tremulously repeat his 'Thank you, ' but there was ahesitation that alarmed his mother. 'Your father wishes it, too, ' sheeagerly entreated. 

'Do not press him, Anna, ' said Lord Martindale. 'I would not have himdecide hastily. It is asking a great deal of him to propose his givingup his profession and his establishment. '

'It is not that, ' said Arthur, turning gratefully to his father. 'Ishould be glad to give up the army and live at home--there is nothingI should like better; but the point is, that I must know what Violetthinks of it. '

'Right! Of course, she must be consulted, ' said Lord Martindale. 

'You see, ' said Arthur, speaking fast, as if conscious that he appearedungracious, 'it seems hard that she should have no house of her own, toreceive her family in. I had promised she should have her sisters withher this winter, and I do not quite like to ask her to give it up. '

'When the house is finished, and we have room, ' began Lady Martindale, 'the Miss Mosses shall be most welcome. '

'Thank you, thank you, ' repeated Arthur. 'But besides, I do not know howshe will feel about the children. If we are to be here, it must be oncondition that she has the entire management of them to herself. '

'Certainly, ' again said his father. She has them in excellent training, and it would be entirely contrary to my principles to interfere. '

'Then, you see how it is, ' said Arthur. 'I am quite willing. I know itis what I do not deserve, and I am more obliged than I can say; but allmust depend upon Violet. '

He was going in quest of her, when the Rickworth carriage stopped at thegate and prevented him. Poor Lady Martindale, when she had sent her noteof invitation to Lady Elizabeth and Emma to spend a long day at Brogden, she little imagined how long the day would be to her suspense. She couldnot even talk it over with any one but John, and he did not feel secureof Violet's willingness. He said that, at one time, she had been veryshy and uncomfortable at Martindale, and that he feared there was reasonin what Arthur said about the children. He suspected that Arthur thoughtthat she would not like the scheme, and supposed that he knew best. 

'Cannot you try to prevail with her, dear John? You have greatinfluence. '

'I should not think it proper to persuade her. I trust to her judgmentto see what is best, and should be sorry to distress her by puttingforward my own wishes. '

This conversation took place while the younger ladies were walking inthe garden with Lady Elizabeth and her daughter. It was the first timethat Emma had been persuaded to come from home, and though she could notbe more quiet than formerly, there was less peculiarity in her manner. She positively entered into the general conversation, and showedinterest in the farming talk between her mother and Lord Martindale;but the children were her chief resource. And, though affectionateand almost craving pardon from Violet, --drawing out from her everyparticular about the little ones, and asking much about Arthur's health, and Theodora's prospects, --she left a veil over the matters that had sodeeply concerned herself. 

It was from Lady Elizabeth that the sisters heard what they wished toknow; and Theodora, on her side, imparted the information which Percyhad brought from London. He had been trying whether it were possibleto obtain payment of Mr. Gardner's heavy debts to Arthur, but had beenforced to relinquish the hope. So many creditors had claims on himthat, ample as was the fortune which Mrs. Finch's affection had placedentirely in his power, there was little probability that he would everventure to return to England. No notice had been taken of the demandsrepeatedly sent in, and Percy had learnt that he was dissipating hiswife's property very fast upon the Continent; so that it was likelythat, in a few years, Mr. Finch's hoards would be completely gone. Report also spoke of his rewarding his wife's affection with neglectand unkindness; and her sister, Mrs. Fotheringham, declared that, havingacted against warning, Georgina must take the consequences, and couldexpect no assistance from Worthbourne. 

Mournfully Theodora spoke. It was a saddening thought in the midstof her happiness, and it pressed the more heavily upon her from theconsciousness, that she had been looked up to by Georgina, and had, inher pride and self-will, forfeited the chance of exerting any beneficialinfluence. She perceived the contrast between the effect of her owncharacter on others, and that of Violet, and could by no means feelherself guiltless of her poor playmate's sad history. Still shecherished a secret hope that it might yet be permitted to her to meether again, and in the time of trouble to be of service to her. 

This, of course, was not for Lady Elizabeth's ears, but enough was toldher to make her again marvel over her daughter's past infatuation, andexpress her thankfulness for the escape. 

Emma's mind was gradually becoming tranquillized, though it had sufferedanother severe shock from the tidings, that Theresa Marstone hadactually become a member of the Roman Catholic Church. A few months ago, such intelligence might have unsettled Emma's principles, as well ascaused her deep grief; but the conviction of the undutiful and uncandidpart which Miss Marstone had led her to act, had shaken her belief inher friend's infallibility; and in the safe and wholesome atmosphere ofher home, there had been a gradual disenchantment. She saw Sarah Theresain a true light, as a person of excellent intentions, and of many rightprinciples, but entirely unconscious of her own foibles, namely, anoverweening estimate of self and of her own opinions, and a love ofexcitement and dominion. These, growing more confirmed with heryears, had resulted in the desertion of her mother-church, under theexpectation that elsewhere she might find that ideal which existed onlyin her own imagination; and Emma had been obliged to acknowledge, thathad her work at the Priory been hastily begun, according to her wishes, four years ago, little could have resulted but mischief from such acoadjutor. 

Emma's sense of folly and instability made her ready to submit toanother five years' probation; but to her surprise, her mother, whomMiss Marstone had taught her to imagine averse to anything out of theordinary routine, was quite ready to promote her plans, and in fact didmuch to turn her mind into that channel. 

The orphans were doubled in numbers, and Emma spent much time inattending to them, an old woman had been rescued from the Union, andlodged in an adjoining room, as a 'granny' to the little girls, givingthe whole quite a family air; a homeless governess, in feeble health, was on a visit, which Emma hoped would be prolonged indefinitely, ifshe could be persuaded to believe herself useful to the orphans. Theinhabitants of the house were fast outstripping their space in theparish church, and might soon be numerous enough to necessitate therestoration of the ruin for their lodging. An architect had beencommissioned to prepare plans for the rebuilding of the chapel at once, and Lady Elizabeth was on the watch for a chaplain. Thus matters wereactually in train for the fulfilment of Emma's aspiration, spoken solong ago, that 'Sunday might come back to Rickworth Priory. ' Little hadshe then imagined that she should see its accomplishment commence withso heavy a heart, and enter on her own share of the toil with so littleof hope and joy. Alas! they had been wasted in the dreamy wanderingswhither she had been led by blind confidence in her self-chosen guide;and youthfulness and mirth had been lost in her rude awakening andrecall, lost never to return. Yet in time the calmer joy of 'patientcontinuance in well-doing' would surely arise upon her, and whileworking for her Master, His hand would lighten her load. 

So Violet felt comforted with regard to Emma; and as she stood at thegarden-gate with her sister-in-law in the clear, lovely summer night, watching the carriage drive off, smiled as she said, 'How well allhas turned out! How strange to remember last time I parted with LadyElizabeth at Brogden, when I was almost equally anxious about Emma, about you and Percy, and about our own affairs--to say nothing of thedreariness for Annette!'

'When the sky is darkest the stars come out, ' said Theodora. 'Yes, thetide in the affairs of men has set most happily in our favour of late;though I don't see our own way yet. John and my father both say, thatour marriage must be at once; and I have not made out which is theworst, to desert my mother or to have my own way. '

'Which is your own way?' said Violet, archly. 

'That is what provokes me! I don't know. '

'And which is Percy's?'

'Whichever mine is, which makes it all the worse. Violet! I wish Helencould be put into the hot-house, and made a woman of at once. Only, then, if Lord St. Erme is to have her, it would be equally troublesome. '

'My dears, pray come in!' said Lady Martindale, in the porch. 'You donot know how late it is. '

Her ladyship was in an unusual hurry to make them wish good night, andcome up-stairs. She followed Violet to her room, and in one moment hadbegun:

'Violet, my dear, has Arthur told you?'

'He has told me nothing. What is it?'

'We all think, now Theodora is going to leave us, that it would be thebest way for you all to come and live at home with us. Lord Martindalewishes it, and John, and every one. Will you, my dear?'

'How very kind!' exclaimed Violet. 'What does Arthur say?'

'Arthur says he is willing, but that it must depend on what you like. 'Then, perhaps taking Violet's bewildered looks for reluctance, 'I amafraid, my dear, I have not always been as affectionate as you deserved, and have not always tried to make you comfortable. '

'Oh! no, no! Don't say so!'

'It was before I rightly knew you; and indeed it shall never be soagain. We are so comfortable now together; do not let us break it upagain, and take the poor dear children away to grow pale in London. Youshall have all you wish; I will never do anything you don't like withthe children; and all your family shall come and stay whenever youplease; only don't go away, dear Violet--I cannot spare you. '

'Oh! don't, dear grandmamma! This is too much, ' said Violet, almostcrying. 'You are so very kind. Oh! I should be so glad for Arthur tobe spared the London winter! How happy the children will be! Thank you, indeed. '

'You do consent, then!' cried Lady Martindale, triumphantly. 'Johnthought we had not made you happy enough!'

'John should know better! It is the greatest relief--if Arthur likes it, I mean. '

'Then you do stay. You will be, as Lord Martindale says, the daughter ofour old age--our own dear child!'

'Will I?' Violet threw her arms round Lady Martindale's neck, and shedtears of joy. 

Lady Martindale held her in her arms, and murmured caressing words. Arthur's step approached. His mother opened the door and met him. 'Sheconsents! Dear, dear Violet consents! Now we shall be happy. '

Arthur smiled, looked at his wife, understood her face, and replied tohis mother with a warm kiss, a thank you, and good night. She went awayin perfect satisfaction. 

Your last, greatest victory, Violet, ' said he. 'You have got at herheart at last, and taught her to use it. But, do you like this plan?'

'Like it? It is too delightful! If you knew how I have been dreadingthat winter in London for your chest!'

'And saying nothing?'

'Because I thought there was nothing else to be done; but this--'

'Ay! I have told my father that, if we stay here, I hope he will lessenmy allowance. Even then, I can pay off something every year of thedebts that will be left after what would be cleared by the price of mycommission. '

'Oh, yes; we shall have scarcely any expense at all. '

'Don't agree to it, though, because you think I like it, if you do not. Consider how you will get on with grandmamma and the children. She makespromises; but as to trusting her not to spoil Helen--'

'She does not spoil her half as much as her papa does, ' said Violet, with a saucy smile. 'I'm not afraid. It is all love, you know, andgrandmamma is very kind to me, even when Helen is in disgrace. If we canonly be steady with her, I am sure another person to love her can doher no harm in the end. And, oh! think of the children growing up in thefree happy country. '

'Ay, my father and John spoke of that, ' said Arthur. 'John wishes itvery much. He says that all he could desire in this world is a share inour home and in our children's hearts. '

'I don't know how it is that every one is so kind. Oh! it is too much!it overflows!' Violet leant against her husband, shedding tears ofhappiness. 

'You silly little thing!' he said, fondling her: 'don't you know why?You have won all their hearts. '

'I never meant to'--half sobbed Violet. 

'No, you only meant to go on in your own sweet, modest way of kindnessand goodness; but you have done it, you see. You have won every one ofthem over; and what is more, gained pardon for me, for your sake. No, don't struggle against my saying so, for it is only the truth. It wasbad enough in me to marry you, innocent, unknowing child as you were;but you turned it all to good. When I heard that lesson on Sunday, aboutthe husband and the believing wife, I thought it was meant for you andme; for if ever now I do come to good, it is owing to no one but you andthat boy. '

'O, Arthur, I cannot bear such sayings. Would you--would you dislikeonly just kneeling down with me, that we may give thanks for all thishappiness! Oh! what seemed like thorns and crosses have all turned intoblessings!'