THE MOTHER'S RECOMPENSE;

A SEQUEL TO HOME INFLUENCE. 

BY GRACE AGUILAR. 

IN TWO VOLUMES. 

VOL. I. 

LEIPZIG

BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ

1859. 

PREFACE. 

The domestic story of "Home Influence, " and its Sequel, the presentvolume, were written in the early part of the year 1836, and the entirework was completed when its author was little above the age of nineteen;and, although no portion of it was published till some years after itscomposition, but little alteration was made in the original plan. 

The labours of my dear child were unceasing, and from the hour when shecould read, it may truly be stated that she learned to write; hercontributions to the current literature of the day, her valuable worksupon religious subjects, and others of a lighter character, most ofwhich have been reprinted in other lands, all testify to a mind of nocommon stamp; and here, in reply to numerous questions relative to herliterary remains, I may state that Grace Aguilar has left many excellentworks in manuscript, both in prose and verse; some of which may, at afuture day, be presented to the public. 

I have been induced to publish "The Mother's Recompense, " in compliancewith the repeated solicitations of many friends, but in doing so I feelit incumbent on me to state that, unlike its predecessor, it has notreceived the advantage of that correction, which later years and ripenedjudgment would doubtless have cast around it. A long and fatal illnessprevented its revision for the press; the circumstances of which will befound detailed in a short memoir, accompanying the last edition of "HomeInfluence. " The universal voice of praise, which attended thepublication of that work, it was not permitted her to enjoy, --anall-wise Creator called her to himself. 

It was ever my dear child's wish to aid, by the example of her pen, theeducation of the Heart. It was her desire, in the truthfulexemplification of character, to point out to the youthful of her ownsex the paths of rectitude and virtue. The same kindly love--the sameheartfelt charity--the same spirit of devotion, which breathes throughevery line in "Home Influence, " will be found pervading the pages of thepresent work. 

If, then, the Home Education of the Hamilton Family be well traced andfaithfully delineated in "Home Influence, a Tale for Mothers andDaughters, " its _effect_ will be found illustrated in the "Mother'sRecompense;" there, as its dear author writes, will still further beportrayed the cares, anxieties, and ultimate reward of maternal love. 

SARAH AGUILAR. 

_December_, 1850. 

THE MOTHER'S RECOMPENSE

VOL. I. 

CHAPTER I. 

_From Emmeline Hamilton to Mary Greville_. 

London, January, 18--

At length, dearest Mary, I may write to you; at length indulge mylong-controlled wishes. My conscience has given me permission now, though I once thought I never could again. We parted in August, and itis now January; and except during our little tour, you have not had oneline from me, but very many more than one from Caroline and Ellen. Iused to wrong them, but I am glad I adhered to mamma's advice and myresolution, painful as it has been; for it did seem hard that I, whoconsider myself even more my dear Mary's own friend, should not addressyou when my sister and cousin did. And now to explain this riddle, forthough mamma has excused my silence to you, I am quite sure she has nottold you the real truth. She would not expose my silly weakness, andtherefore prepare yourself for a most humiliating confession, whichwill, in all probability, lower me ten degrees in your estimation. However, truth must he told, and so it shall be with all the necessaryregularity and precision. _You_ know, almost better than any one else, how very much I disliked the thought of leaving dear happy Oakwood, andresiding any part of the year in London. You often used to warn me, whenI have thus spoken, against permitting such fancies to obtain too muchdominion; but I did not follow your advice, dear Mary, but indulged themtill, of course, they became so heightened that the last month of oursojourn at Oakwood was embittered by the anticipation. I saw you thoughtme foolish, and I knew that mamma and papa's plans could not be alteredto please my fancy, and that my confessed distaste to them would givepain to both: therefore, I concealed my dislike, but instead of doingall I could to conquer it, encouraged every gloomy anticipation to thevery utmost. I found, during our delightful tour through the south ofEngland, I could enjoy myself, but still the thoughts of London, andmasters, and strangers, and the fancy our style of living would be sodifferent in the metropolis to what it was in Oakwood, and that I shouldnot see nearly as much of mamma, all chose to come, like terrifyingspectres, to scare away the present pleasure. 

We visited Oxford, although completely out of our way, in order that wemight see the residence of my brothers. There Percy's wild mirth andeloquent descriptions partly banished my ill-humour, but as I nearedLondon all my fancied evils returned to me again. When we first arrived, which was in September, this huge city was, comparatively speaking, adesert; for all the fashionables were out ruralizing. Mamma was not, Ibelieve, sorry for this, for she wished us to have full six or sevenmonths' hard study before she entered at all into society. Ellen and I, of course, will have more, but Caroline is to make her regular _entrée_in March or April, and therefore must be drilled accordingly. First-ratemasters were instantly engaged; indeed, papa had written to many beforewe arrived, that no time should be lost, and as almost all their pupilswere from London, we had the choice of hours, which was very agreeable, although at that time I did not feel inclined to think anythingagreeable, being accustomed to no instruction save that bestowed by MissHarcourt and mamma; professors of music, drawing, French, Italian, German (which Caroline is seized with a violent fancy to acquire, andwhich I deign to learn, because I should like to read Klopstock in theoriginal), and even what I term a lady professor of embroidery, whichCaroline has succeeded in tormenting mamma to let her have--_entrenous_, it is only because she has taught Annie Grahame; all these, mydear Mary, presented a most formidable array, and for the first month Idid not choose to profit by their instructions in the least. I gave fullvent to all the dislike I felt to them. I encouraged indolence to adegree that frequently occasioned a reproof from Miss Harcourt. I couldnot bear their mode of teaching; the attention so many things requiredwas in my present state a most painful exertion, and I almost made aninward determination to show mamma that all her endeavours were lost onme. I would not learn when everything was so changed. Do not throw awaymy letter in despair of your friend, dearest Mary; only read to the end, and perhaps my character may be in some measure redeemed. There was aweight on my spirits I could not, because I would not, remove. I becameill-tempered and petulant without cause; before papa and mamma I triedto restrain it, but did not always succeed. Percy and Herbert bothspoke to me on this unwarrantable change; and I think almost for thefirst time in my life I saw Percy seriously angry with me, for I hadeven shown my irritation at his interference. I told him I had a rightto act and feel as I pleased. Herbert looked sorry, and desisted in hisreasonings when he found I would not listen. Percy's evident irritationand the reproaches of my own conscience added not a little to myuncomfortable feelings, as you may suppose. I looked back to what I hadbeen at Oakwood, and the contrast of my past and present self reallygave me much cause for misery. It was just before my brothers returnedto college I wrote to you a long, very long letter, in which I gave morethan enough vent to my silly, I should say sinful feelings. Severalhours I had employed in its composition, and to obtain these, neglectedmy exercises, etc, for my masters, and caused more than one for severaldays to make a formal complaint of my indolence and carelessness to MissHarcourt. Her remonstrances, I am ashamed to confess, only had theeffect of increasing my ill-temper. Well; I concluded at length myepistle to you, which, had you received it, would have been a trial ofpatience indeed; for it consisted of ten or twelve closely-writtenpages, in which I had so magnified my feelings of discontent andunhappiness, that any one must have fancied I had not one singleblessing left. I was folding and preparing to seal it, when mammaentered my room. I must tell you that as yet I had not had one reprooffrom her lips, though I am quite sure I deserved it long before; I usedto see her look very grieved at any burst of petulance from me, but shehad never spoken on the subject. I almost trembled when she appeared, for I knew that morning Miss Harcourt had said she must inform her ofMons. Deville and Signor Rozzi's continued complaints. Without enteringon that subject, however, she sat down by me, and with one of her ownsweet smiles, which reproached me a great deal more than words, sheasked me if I really were going to seal and send that long letter ofconfidence to you without having shown or told any part of it to her. She might well ask, dear Mary, for I had never written a line beforewhich I had kept from her; but my conscience told me she would not, could not approve of this, and therefore I certainly did wish I couldhave sent it without telling her anything about it. What deceit, too! Ihear you exclaim. Yes, dear Mary; and before this tale of shame is over, you will see still more clearly how one fault makes many. I did notanswer her question, but remained sulkily silent. 

"Will my Emmeline think me a harsh intruder on her private thoughts, ifI say I cannot let this letter go till I have seen at least some partsof its contents?" she said very mildly, but so firmly I had no power toresist her; and when she asked if I would not, as I always did, read hersome portions, I answered, pettishly, if she read any she might as wellread all. She looked deeply grieved, and my heart painfully smote me themoment the words were said; but I was too proud at that moment to showany marks of contrition, and all the time she was reading I continuedworking myself up to increased ill-humour. 

"Are you indeed so very unhappy, my dear Emmeline?" were the only wordsmamma said, as she laid down, the last sheet and looked in my face, with a tear trembling in her eye. I turned away, for I felt tooirritated and cross to give way to the emotion I always feel when I seeher grieved, and I was determined not to answer. "And do you prefer, "she continued, "seeking the sympathy of a young girl like yourself tothat of a mother, who has always endeavoured not only to sympathisewith, but to soothe the sorrows of her children?" Still I would notanswer, and she added, mildly, "Do you not think, Emmeline, Mary wouldhave been better pleased if you had written to her rather in a lighterstrain? do you not think, if you were to try and shake off these painfulfancies, you could write another and less desponding letter--one that Imight give you my full and free permission to send, which, sorry as I amto say it, I cannot with this?"

Mild as were her words and manner, the import of what she said put thefinishing stroke to my ill-temper. "If I may not write as I like, I willnot write at all, " I passionately exclaimed, and seizing the sheetnearest to me tore it asunder, and would have done the same with therest, had not mamma gently laid her hand on my arm, uttering my name inan accent of surprise and sorrow; my irritable and sinful feelings foundvent in a most violent flood of tears. 

Will you not think, dearest Mary, I am writing of Caroline, and not ofmyself; does it not resemble the scenes of my sister's childhood? Canyou believe that this is an account of your Emmeline, whose sweetness oftemper and gentleness of disposition you have so often extolled? But itwas I who thus forgot myself--I, who once believed nothing ever couldmake me passionate or angry, and in one minute I was both--had excitedmyself till I became so even against my nature, and with whom?--even mymother, my kind, devoted mother, who has ever done so much for me, whomin my childhood, when I knew her worth much less than I do now, I hadnever caused to shed a tear. Oh, Mary, I cannot tell you what I felt themoment those passionate words escaped me. I may truly say I did not cryfrom anger, but from the most bitter, the most painful self-reproach. Ithink her usual penetration must have discovered this, for if she hadthought my tears were really those of passion, she would not, could nothave acted as she did. 

She drew me gently to her, and kissed me without speaking. I threw myarms round her neck, and in a voice almost choked by sobs, implored heragain and again to forgive me; that I did not mean to answer her sodisrespectfully--that I knew I had become a very wicked girl, but that Ireally did feel very unhappy. For a few minutes she was silent, and Icould see was struggling to suppress the tears my unusual conduct hadoccasioned. I will make no apology, dearest Mary, for entering on suchminute details; for I know how you love my mother, and that every wordshe says is _almost_ as precious to you as to her own children--_quite_it cannot be; and I give you this account also, that you may know me asI am, and not imagine I am so free from faults as I know you oncebelieved me. Oh, when I have looked back on that day, I have felt sopainfully humiliated, I would gladly banish the recollection; but it isbetter for me to remember it, lest I should fancy myself better than Iam. Every word she said in that gentle and persuasive tone was engravedupon my heart, even as she spoke. She easily and fully convinced me ofmy sinfulness in thus permitting imaginary evils to make me somiserable: for that they were but imaginary it was easy to discover. Nota single blessing could I say I had lost. All I loved were around me, inhealth and happiness--every comfort of life was the same; and could itbe possible, mamma said, that the mere departure from a favouriteresidence, and only for a few months, could render me so completelyblind to the many blessings my Heavenly Father had scattered around me. As she spoke, a film appeared removed from my eyes, and the enormity ofmy conduct stood for the first time in its true colours before me. Isaw--I knew how sinful I had been; and bitterly I regretted that I hadnot confessed every feeling to mamma, instead of hiding them, as I haddone, in my own heart, and brooding on them till it became a kind ofpleasure to do so, and till fancied evils produced real ones. I weptbitterly while she spoke, for to find how completely I had createdmisery for myself was no agreeable matter of reflection, and my remorsewas heightened when mamma said, "You have disappointed us not a little, my dear Emmeline; for I will no longer conceal from you that the littletour we took on our way to London was originally planned by your fatherand myself, to reconcile you to a change of residence. We saw how muchyou regretted leaving Oakwood; nor did we wonder at it, for suchfeelings were most natural to one of your disposition; and therefore, instead of travelling direct, and suddenly changing the scenes of ourbeautiful Devonshire for the confinement of this huge city, we hoped byvisiting various places, and giving you new objects of reflection, tolessen your regret, and make the change of residence less painfullyabrupt. " As well as I could, I expressed my sorrow and repentance, andpromised to use every endeavour to atone for the past, and become allthat she and papa wished me. 

"I believe you, my own Emmeline, " my kind mother said, as she againkissed me, and her voice was no longer so sorrowfully grave as it hadbeen at first. "I am sure, now you know all the pain you were inflictingon both your parents, every effort will be put in force to remove it. "Did I deserve this speech, dear Mary? I do not think I did; for I oftensaw by mamma's countenance I had grieved her, and yet made no effort tocontrol myself, and so I told her. She smiled her own sweet, dear smileof approbation, and thanking me for my candour, said--

"If I say that by indulging in these gloomy fancies and appearingdiscontented, and repining when so many blessings are around you, myEmmeline will be doing her mother a real injury, by rendering mycharacter questionable, not only in the eyes of the world, but of mymost valued friends, will she not do all in her power to become her ownlight-hearted self again?"

"Injuring your character, dearest mother!" I exclaimed, with muchsurprise; "in what manner?"

"I will tell you, my love, " she replied; "there are many, not only of myacquaintances, but my friends, those whose opinions I really value, whobelieve I have been acting very wrongly all these years, in never havingpermitted you and Caroline to visit London. They think by this strictretirement I have quite unfitted you both for the station your rankdemands you should fill. That by constantly living alone with us, andnever mingling in society, you have imbibed notions that, to say theleast, may be old-fashioned and romantic, and which will make you bothfeel uncomfortable when you are introduced in London. These fears neverentered my mind; I wished you to receive ideas that were somewhatdifferent to the generality of Fashion's dictates, and I did not doubtbut that the uncomfortable feeling, against which the letters of myfriends often warned me, would very quickly be removed. But since wehave been here--I do not wish to grieve you more, my dear Emmeline--Imust confess your conduct has been productive to me of the most painfulself-reproach. I thought, indeed, my friends were right, and that foryears I had been acting on an injudicious plan, and that instead of mymeasures tending to future happiness, they were only productive of painand misery, which, had I done as other mothers of my station, might havebeen avoided. "

"Oh! do not, pray do not think so, " I exclaimed, for she had spoken sosorrowfully, I could not bear it. "I formed my own misery, dearestmother; you had nothing to do with it. "

"You think so now, my love, " she answered, with her usual fondness; "butif my friends see you gloomy and sad, and evidently discontented, longing for pleasures which are not offered to you in London, onlydwelling on visions of the past, and notions tending to the indulgenceof romance, what will they think? will not my judgment be called inquestion? and more, they know how very much I prefer a country to aLondon life, domestic pleasures, to those of society, and they mayimagine, and with some probability, that to indulge my selfish wishes, I have disregarded the real interests of my children. "

"They cannot, they will not think so, " I passionately said. "They cannever have known you who form such conclusions. " Would you not haveagreed with me, dear Mary, and can you not fancy the wretchednessmamma's words inflicted?

"My love, " she replied, with a smile, "they will not fancy they do notknow me; they will rather imagine they must have been deceived in theiropinion; that I am not what I may have appeared to them some few yearsago. The character of a mother, my Emmeline, is frequently judged of bythe conduct of her children; and such conclusions are generally correct, though, of course, as there are exceptions to every rule, there are tothis, and many a mother may have been unjustly injured in the estimationof the world, by the thoughtless or criminal conduct of a wilful anddisobedient child. I have been so completely a stranger to Londonsociety the last sixteen years, that my character and conduct dependmore upon you and Caroline to be raised or lowered in the estimation ofmy friends and also of the world, than on any of the young people withwhom you may mingle. On which, then, will my Emmeline decide, --toindulge in these gloomy fancies, and render herself ill both in healthand temper, as well as exposing her mother to censure and suspicion; orwill she, spite of the exertion and pain it may occasion, shake off thislethargy, recall all her natural animation and cheerfulness, and withher own bright smile restore gladness to the hearts of her parents?"

I could not speak in answer to this appeal, dear Mary, but I clungweeping to mamma's neck. I never till that moment knew all myresponsibility, how much depended on my conduct; but at that moment Iinwardly vowed that never, never should my conduct injure that deardevoted mother, who endeavoured so fondly to soothe my grief, and checkmy bitter tears; who had done so much for me, who had devoted herself socompletely to her children. Mentally I resolved that nothing should bewanting on my part to render her character as exalted in the eyes of theworld as it was in mine. I could not bear to think how ungratefully Ihad acted, and I cried till I made my head and mamma's heart ache; but Icould not long resist her fond caresses, her encouraging words, andbefore she left me I could even smile. 

"And what am I to say, " she said, with her usual playfulness, "of thesad complaints that I have received the last few days from MissHarcourt, that she does not know what has come to you, from Mons. Deville and Signer Rozzi? Now what am I to say or do to prove that thisMademoiselle Emmeline does like Italian, and is not ill, as our politeprofessors fancy? must I lecture as I did when she was an idle littlegirl, and liked her play better than her studies? Suppose thesegentlemen are asked, which in all probability they certainly are, whatsort of pupils Mrs. Hamilton's daughters are; they ought to be somethingout of the way, for we hear she has instructed them principally herself. What answer will be given, what conclusions drawn, if you do not exertyourself and prove that you can learn as well, when you like, as yoursister, and even quicker than your cousin?"

I felt so ashamed, dearest Mary, that I concealed my face on hershoulder, and would not even look up to promise amendment, for I felt Iwas not certain of myself; but when mamma spoke of my letter to you, andasked me if I still wished to send it, or if I would not write another, I made a desperate effort, and answered as well as I could--

"I will not write again to Mary, dear mamma, till I have conquered allthese silly and sinful feelings, and can write as usual; and to be quitesure of myself, that I may not break my resolution, I promise you thatfor six months I will not give myself the pleasure of addressing her, and if even at the end of that time you do not think I have sufficientlyrecovered my senses, which certainly appear to have deserted me, youshall increase at your will my time of probation; I deserve someprivation for my ungrateful conduct, and the not writing to Mary now isthe greatest I can think of. " I tried to appear very heroic as I madethis speech, but with all my efforts I completely failed. Mamma lookedat me a moment in surprise, but then, with more than usual fondness, shestrained me to her heart, and I felt a tear fall on my cheek. 

"My own sweet child, my darling Emmeline!" she exclaimed, "I did notexpect this offered sacrifice, but I will accept it, my own love, andlet its pain he soothed to your affectionate heart by the knowledge thatin making it, you have given me the purest, most delicious sense ofpleasure you could bestow. We will not say six months, " she added, moreplayfully, "we will see what the middle or end of January brings. Youwill then still have nearly four months to redeem your character. I havenot the slightest doubt that even before that period my Emmeline will beherself. " Oh, Mary, I felt so very happy as she thus spoke, that Ithought I must find it very easy to conquer myself, but I was mistaken, painfully mistaken; I had encouraged despondency and gloom for so long aperiod, that it required every exertion, in the very least, to subdueit. I had chosen to waste my time, and be inattentive to all the meansof improvement which were offered me, and to command my attentionsufficiently to regain the good opinion of our sage professors was mostdisagreeably difficult; but I was no longer afraid, to encounter mamma'ssorrowful or reproving glance, as I had been before, and her fondencouragement and the marks of approval which both she and papabestowed, when I could not but feel I had done little to deserve them, lightened the labour of my task, and by causing me to wish earnestly todeserve their kindness, increased my efforts; and at length, dearestMary, these miserable feelings so completely departed from me, that Iwas surprised to perceive how very nearly I could be as happy in Londonas at dear Oakwood; quite as happy is impossible, because I feel moreand more how very much I prefer a quiet domestic life in the country toLondon and society. You will perhaps smile as mamma does, and say I amnot introduced yet, and then I may change my mind; but I do not think Ishall. She prefers the country, so it will not be very strange if Ishould; but when I see how completely, and yet how cheerfully, she hasgiven up her favourite residence and employments, for the interests andhappiness of her children, I feel ashamed at the egregious selfishnesswhich has been mine. Oh, Mary, when shall I ever be like mamma? when canI ever be worthy of half, nay, one quarter of that respectful admirationwhich is bestowed upon her, even by those whose principles and conductare directly opposite?

In her conversations with me she had spoken more of the opinion of theworld than she ever did at Oakwood, and one day venturing to notice it, as being contrary to that which she so carefully instilled, that to Godand our conscience we should alone be answerable for our conduct, sheanswered, with a smile--

"I have been long expecting this remark, my dear Emmeline, and I haveendeavoured to be prepared with an answer. To our Father in Heaven andto our own conscience we must still look for our guide in life; that notin one thing must we transgress the love and duty we owe our Maker, ordisregard the warning or reproaches of our hearts; but still, minglingin the world as it is undoubtedly our duty to do--for as I have oftentold you, we do not live for ourselves, but for others--we must have dueregard in minor things to the opinions of those with whom we associate. When a woman has once set up for an Independent, when, scorning theopinion of the world, she walks forth conscious in her own integrity andvirtue, though no stain may have sullied her conduct or name, though shemay be innately amiable and good, yet every gentler female will shrinkfrom such a character, and tremble lest they should become like her. Women are dependent beings; in Infinite Wisdom it was thus ordained, andwhy should we endeavour to be otherwise? When once we set up a standardfor ourselves, we have thrown aside our surest safeguard, and exposedourselves to censure and suspicion. When the ordinances of society donot interfere with the higher principle of our lives they should beobeyed, and in doing so we are following up the dictates of truereligion, by doing our duty as members of a community, as children ofone common father, which, if we stand selfishly apart, we cannot do. Ispeak more of the opinion of the world, " mamma then continued, "to youthan either to your sister or your cousin. Caroline I would rather checkin her perhaps too great regard for admiration; and Ellen is at presenttoo young, and in much too delicate health, to go out with me as much asyou will, even before you are what is termed introduced: besides which, her natural reserve and timidity banish all fears on that account forher. But for you, Emmeline, I do sometimes feel fearful that, in theindulgence of uncontrolled feeling, you will forget you are not quitesuch an independent being as you were at Oakwood. Many of your ideas arequite contrary to those generally entertained by several with whom youmay associate; and I sometimes dread that by their unchecked expression, or the avowed determination never to think as your companions do--thatyou hate such confined ideas, or some such thing, which, " and shesmiled, "if I know my Emmeline rightly, is not at all unlikely--you maybe exposing yourself to suspicion and dislike. I feel quite sure younever will wilfully offend, or that you will really deserve suchcensure; all I wish is that you will be a little more guarded andcontrolled in your intercourse with strangers here, than you ever werein the happy halls of Oakwood. "

I did not answer, my dear Mary; for I do not know why, but there wassomething in her words that caused my eyes to fill with tears. I thinkit was because it seemed such a painful task to maintain such acontinued control over my words and feelings, and mamma as usual divinedthe cause of my sadness, even before I could define it myself. 

"Do not look so very sad, my sweet girl, " she said so fondly, that likea simpleton I cried the more. "I do not wish to see you changed, howeverdifferent you may be to others. I do not wish to chill one feeling inthis affectionate little heart, nor check one burst of enthusiasm. Yourcharacter has been and is too great a source of unalloyed pleasure toyour mother, my Emmeline; it would be misery indeed to see it in any waychanged, though I do preach control so very much, " she continued, moreplayfully, but with that same fond affection which, while it made mecry, appeared to soothe every painful emotion. "We shall not always bein society, Emmeline; come to me as of old, and tell me every thoughtand feeling, and all that has given you pain or pleasure. With me, dearest, there must be no control, no reserve; if there be the leastappearance of either, you will inflict more pain on my heart than fromyour infancy you have ever done, for I shall think my own counsels havealienated from me the confidence of my child. "

I never shall forget the impressive sadness with which she spoke thesewords, dearest Mary, and clinging to her, I declared and with truth, aslong as I might speak and think and feel without control when with her, I would be all, all she wished in society--that I never could beunhappy, --and to be reserved with her, I felt sure I never, never could. She embraced me with the utmost tenderness, and banished all myremaining sadness by the earnest assurance that she believed me. 

What a long letter have I written to you, my dearest friend; will younot say I have atoned for my long silence? If I have not atoned to you, I have at least gratified myself; for you know not how very often Ilonged, after such conversations as I have recounted, to sit down andwrite them all to you, as I had promised, when I could no longer tell inspeech all my kind mother's instructions. 

I do not make any apology for writing so much of her and myself, for Iknow to you it is unnecessary. I tried to write all she said, that youmay benefit by it likewise, and in doing so I assure you I give you thesincerest proof of my affection; for to no one but my own Mary have Ithus related the precious conversations I had alone with mamma. I knowno one but you whom I deem worthy of them. How I wish in return youcould solve a riddle for me. Why do I _fear_ mamma so much, when I loveher so very dearly? When I do or even think anything that my consciencetells me is wrong, or at least not right, I absolutely tremble when Imeet her eye, though she may know nothing for which to condemn me. Ihave never heard her voice in anger, but its sorrowful tones are farmore terrible. I think sometimes, if I had been in Ellen's placeeighteen months ago, I should have been as ill from fear alone, as shewas from a variety of emotions, poor girl. Yet why should I feel thus?Caroline does not even understand me when I speak of such an emotion. She says she is always very sorry when she has displeased mamma; butfear is to her unknown--we two certainly are complete opposites. I thinkEllen's character resembles mine much more than my sister's does. Butyou will like to know how my time of probation is thus shortened. For Ishould have kept my resolution and waited the six months, pain as itwas, but one day about a week ago, mamma chanced to enter our study atthe very instant that the poor man who so politely believed MademoiselleEmmeline was too ill to appreciate his lessons was praising me up to theskies for my progress; that same day Signor Rozzi had informed mamma, with all the enthusiasm of his nation, that he was delighted to teach ayoung lady who took such pleasure in the study of poetry, and so capableof appreciating the beauties of the Italian poets. "In truth, madam, " hesaid, "she should be a poet herself, and the Temple of the Muses gracedwith her presence. " There's for you, Mary! But jokes apart, I do loveItalian; it is, it must be the natural language of poetry; thesentiments are so exquisitely lovely, the language, the words, as ifframed to receive them--music dwells in every line. Petrarch, Tasso, Dante, all are open to me now, and I luxuriate even in the anticipationof the last, --but how I am digressing. That night mamma followed me tomy room, as I retired to bed, and smiling, almost laughing, at the halfterror of my countenance expressed, for I fancied she had come toreprove the wild spirits I had indulged in throughout the day, she said, "Is not this little head half turned with the flattery it has receivedto-day?"

"No, " I instantly replied. "It is only the approbation of one or twothat can put me in any danger of such a misfortune. "

"Indeed, " she answered, again smiling; "I fancied it was the finespeeches you had been hearing to-day that had excited such high spirits, but I am glad it is not; otherwise, I might have hesitated to expresswhat I came here to do--my approbation of my Emmeline's conduct the lastfew months. "

I felt my colour rising to my very temples, dear Mary, for I did notexpect this, but I endeavoured to conceal all I felt by seizing herhand, and imploring her, in a serio-comic, semi-tragic tone, not topraise me, for she and papa were the two whose praises would have theeffect on me she feared. 

"But you must endeavour to keep your head steady now, " she continued, "because papa sends a packet to Oakwood next week, and a long letter forMary from my Emmeline must accompany it; her patience, I think, must bevery nearly exhausted, and I know if you once begin to write, a frankwill not contain all you will have to say, will it?" she added, with anarch but such a dear smile. 

All my high spirits seemed for the moment to desert me, and I could notanswer her, except to cover her hand with kisses. I have told you whatshe said in the way of reproof and advice, my dear Mary, but I cannotcoolly write all she said as encouragement and praise; it was much morethan I deserved, and all, therefore, that I can do, is to continue myendeavours to feel one day rather more to merit it. I have risen everymorning an hour earlier, that I might tell you all I wished withoutencroaching on my allotted hours of study; for I hope you will notimagine I have written all this in one or two, or even three sittings;and now do I not deserve a letter almost as long from you? If you do notthus reward me, dread my vengeance, and write soon, for I long to have aletter from you; of you I have heard often--but of and from, thoughthey may be both brothers of the family of the prepositions, are verydifferent in meaning. I have not written one word of Caroline or Ellen. Am I not incurably egotistical? The former declares she is sure you willhave no time to read a letter from her, with such a volume as mine, andEllen says she has no time by this opportunity. I told her she ought toget up as I did, she blushed, looked confused enough to awaken myattention, and then said she supposed she was too lazy; and now I reallymust say farewell. Mind you write all concerning yourself and your dearmother, to whom present my very loving respects, and as for yourself, dear Mary, let this long letter prove the sincere affection and perfectconfidence of your giddy friend, EMMELINE. 

P. S. --No young lady can write without a post-script. Mamma hasabsolutely had the patience to read through my letter, and except thatshe said so much of her was certainly needless, she approves of italmost as much as she disapproved of my other, which she has justcompelled me to read. What a tissue of absurdity it contained, --worse, it is sinful. I have had the pleasure of burning it, and I hope andtrust all my silly repinings are burnt with it. Once more, adieu. 

E. H. 

_From Mrs. Hamilton to Miss Greville. _

I cannot, my dear Mary, suffer Emmeline's long letter to be forwarded toyou without a few lines from me, to remove all lingering fears which youmay perhaps have had, that I do not approve of your correspondence. Believe me, my dear girl, that to see you the chosen friend of my giddybut warm-hearted Emmeline is still, as it has ever been from yourchildhood, a source of real pleasure both to Mr. Hamilton and myself. Female friendships are, I know, often regarded with contempt, not onlyby men, but frequently by the sterner principles of our own sex; theyare deemed connections of folly; that the long letters which passbetween young ladies set down by the world as intimate friends, are butrelations of all the petty incidents they may hear or see. Such lettersare also considered tending to weaken the mind and produce falsesensibility, by the terms of affection they force into theirservice--the magnified expression of momentary and fleeting emotions. That such may sometimes be the tenor of some young people'scorrespondence, I do not pretend to deny, and when that is the case, andsuch letters are treasured up in secret and requested to be burnt, lestany eyes save those for whom they are intended should chance toencounter them, then, indeed, I too might disapprove of similarintimacies, and it was to prevent this I would not permit Emmeline tosend the first letter to which she has alluded. Every feeling wasmagnified and distorted, till you must have fancied--had not the realcause been told--that some very serious evil had happened, or wasimpending over her. I did not in the least doubt but that you would haveused all your influence to combat with and conquer this sinful repining;but still I thought your very replies might have called forth renewedebullitions of sensibility, and thus in the frame of mind which she wasthen indulging, your hinted reproaches, however gentle, might have beenturned and twisted into a decay of friendship or some such display ofsensitiveness, which would certainly have removed your affection andinjured herself. When, therefore, she so frankly acknowledged her error, and offered to sacrifice the pleasure I knew it was to write to you, Iaccepted it, spite of the pain which I saw she felt, and which toinflict on her, you may believe gave her, and now I certainly feelrewarded for all the self-denial we both practised, Emmeline is againthe same happy girl she was at Oakwood, although I can perceive there isnothing, or at best but very little here, that can compensate for therural pleasures she has left. I do not wonder at this, for in suchfeelings I trace those which, from my girlhood, were my own. I hope, therefore, my dear young friend, that nothing in future will check yourintercourse with Emmeline, but that your correspondence may longcontinue a source of pleasure to both of you. I love to see the perfectconfidence with which Emmeline has written, it proves she regards you asyou deserve to be regarded, as indeed her friend, not her companion infrivolity and sentiment; and believe me, you may thus have it in yourpower to improve and strengthen her perhaps rather too yieldingcharacter. The manner in which, through the mercy of our compassionateGod, you have been enabled, young as you are, to bear your trials, whichare indeed severe, has inspired her with a respect for your character, which the trifling difference in your ages might otherwise haveprevented, and therefore your letters will be received with more thanordinary interest, and your good example, my dear girl, may do muchtowards teaching her to bear those evils of life from which we cannotexpect her to be exempt, with the same patient resignation thatcharacterises you. Write to her therefore, as often as you feelinclined, and do not, I beg, suppress the thoughts her candid letter mayhave produced. I will not ask you to read her confession charitably, forI know you will, and I assure you she has completely redeemed her fault. The struggle was a very severe one to subdue the depression she hadencouraged so long; but she has nobly conquered, and I do not fear suchfeelings of discontent ever again obtaining too great an ascendency. 

Tell your dear mother, with my affectionate love, that she will bepleased to hear Ellen's health is improving, and has not as yet sufferedin the least from the winter or the more confined air of London, which Ialmost dreaded might be baneful to one so delicate as she was when weleft Oakwood. I think our little tour did her much good, though the ideaof the exertion at first appeared painful. She is ever cheerful, thoughI sometimes wish she would be more lively, and cannot help fancying, notwithstanding her melancholy as a child was remarkable, that hersufferings, both bodily and mental, the last eighteen months have madeher the very pensive character she is. I had hoped before thatunfortunate affair she was becoming as animated and light-hearted as myEmmeline, but as that cannot be, I endeavoured to be thankful for thehealth and quiet, and, I trust, happiness she now enjoys. We receive, every opportunity, from Edward very satisfactory and pleasing letters, which, as you will believe, tend not a little to lessen the anxiety ofboth his sister and myself. His new captain is a far sterner characterand even more rigid in discipline than was Sir Edward Manly; but ouryoung sailor writes that this is rather a source of pleasure to him, forit will be the greater merit to win his regard, which he has resolved touse every endeavour to maintain. 

I must not forget, in thus writing of my family, to mention that Herbertnever writes home without inquiring after his favourite Mary, and if hissisters do not answer such queries very particularly, they are sure inthe next letter to obtain as severe a reproach as can flow from his pen. Will you not return such little tokens of remembrance, my dear girl?Herbert has only lately changed the term by which in his boyhood he hasso often spoken of you--his sister Mary; and surely friends in suchearly childhood may continue so in youth. The season has not, and willnot yet commence here. Caroline is anticipating it with a delight whichI could wish less violent. I certainly never observed the very strikingcontrast between my daughters as I do now, though I always knew theywere very unlike. You, dear Mary, would, I think, even more thanEmmeline, shrink from the life which for a few months in every year wemust now lead, if we would do our duty in the station we are ordained tofill. I think one season will prove to Caroline that it is not in gaietyshe will find true and perfect happiness, and if it do so, I shall joinin society next year with a less trembling heart. And now, adieu, mydear young friend. If by Emmeline's long silence you have ever permittedyourself to entertain a suspicion that I did not approve of yourcorrespondence, let this letter from me prove your error, and remember, if ever sorrows in your young yet chequered life should assail you, andyou would conceal them from your revered parent, fearing to increaseher griefs, write to me without hesitation, without fear, and I willanswer you to the best of my ability; for sympathy, believe me, you willnever appeal to me in vain, and if you require advice, I will give ityou with all the affection I feel towards you. God bless you, my deargirl. 

Yours, most affectionately, E. HAMILTON. 

_From Emmeline Hamilton to Mary Greville. _

A month, actually a whole month has elapsed, dearest Mary, since I wroteto you last, and not a line from you. Granting it was nearly a week onthe way, three weeks are surely long enough for you to have written ananswer, when I entreated you to write so soon. What can be the cause ofthis silence? I will not upbraid you, because I tremble when I thinkwhat may perhaps have occasioned it. Mamma has become almost as anxiousas myself, therefore, as soon as you can, pray write, if it be but oneline to say you are well and at peace, I do not, will not ask more. Iscarcely like to write on indifferent subjects in this letter, but yetas you have given me nothing to answer, I must do so to fill up mypaper; for if what I dread be not the case, you will not thank me for anepistle containing but a dozen lines. London is becoming rather moreagreeable, and the fogs have given place to fine weather. The Courtarrived from Brighton yesterday, and they say the town will now rapidlyfill. Caroline is all joy, because early next month Mr. Grahame's familyleave Brighton. They have a fine house in Piccadilly not very far fromus, and Caroline is anticipating great pleasure in the society of Annie. I wonder what my sister can find to like so much in Miss Grahame; to methis friendship has been and is quite incomprehensible. She does notpossess one quality that would attract me; what a fortunate thing it iswe do not all like the same sort of people. Congratulate me, my dearfriend, I am overcoming in a degree my dislike to the company ofstrangers. Some of papa and mamma's select friends and their familieshave been calling on us the last month, and we have lately had rathermore society in the evening; not anything like large parties, but nicelittle conversaziones, and really the lords and ladies who compose themare much more agreeable than my fancy pictured them. They are sointelligent, and know so much of the world, and the anecdotes theyrelate are so amusing, and some so full of good-natured wit, that in oneevening I become more advanced in my favourite study, that of character, than I do in weeks spent in retirement. Caroline is very much admired, and I sometimes look at her with surprise; for she certainly looks muchbetter, and makes herself more agreeable among strangers than she_always_ does at home. Mamma would call that perhaps an unkindreflection, but I do not mean it for such; some people are morefascinating out than at home. I am contented to remain in the shade, andonly speak when I am spoken to, like a good little girl; that is to say, I converse with those who are good-natured enough to converse with me, and many agreeable evenings have I passed in that way. There is herGrace the Duchess D----, a very delightful woman, with elegant manners, and full of true kindness. I like the way she speaks to her daughters, at least her two youngest--the rest are married--Lady Anne and LadyLucy; they appear very nice young women, agreeable companions, as yetwe have but little conversation in common, though they appear to get onremarkably well with Caroline. The Countess Elmore, a _nouvelle mariée_, but a delightful creature, so exquisitely lovely--such eyes, hair, teeth; and yet these rare charms appear entirely forgotten, or displayedonly for the Earl her husband, who is worthy of it all. He has talked tome so often, that his wife also takes a great deal of notice of me, andwhen they are of our party I always pass an agreeable evening. The Earlis well acquainted with our beautiful Devonshire, dearest Mary; headmires country as I do, and he asked so much about it one night lastweek, that I quite forgot all my intentions about control, and actuallytalked and apostrophised the Dart as I would to one of my own brothers. I forgot everybody else in the room, till I caught mamma's glance fixedearnestly on me, and then, my dear friend, I did not feel overcomfortable, however, I was soon at ease again, for I saw it was only_warning_, not _reproving_; and the next morning, when I sought her totell her all my delight of the preceding evening, she shared in it all, and when I asked her, half fearfully, if her glance meant I was passingthe boundary she had laid down, she said, "Not with the Earl of Elmore, my dear Emmeline; but had you been talking in the same animated strainto the Marquis of Alford, who, I believe, took you into supper, I shouldsay you had. "

"But I did not with him, " I exclaimed. 

"No, my love, " she answered, laughing at the anxiety that was, I felt, imprinted on my face. "But why are you so terrified at the baresuggestion?"

"Because, " I said, and I felt I blushed, "he is a single man; and Inever can speak with the same freedom to unmarried as to married men. "

"And why not?" she asked, and fixed her most penetrating glance on myface. 

I became more and more confused, dear Mary, for I felt even to my ownmother it would be difficult to express my feelings on that subject. Imanaged, however, with some difficulty, to say that I had often heardAnnie say she hated assemblies where there were only married men, thoughthere might be some fun in endeavouring to excite the jealousy of theirwives; but it was nothing compared to the triumph of chaining young mento her side, and by animated conversation and smiles make each believehimself a special object of attraction, when, in reality, she carednothing for either. "Rather than do that, " I exclaimed, starting fromthe stool which I had occupied at mamma's feet, and with an energy Icould not restrain, "I would bury myself for ever in a desert, and neverlook upon a face I loved; rather than play upon the feelings of myfellow-creatures, I would--I know not what I would not endure. Mother, "I continued, "mother, if ever you see me for one instant forget myself, and by word or sign approach the borders of what is termed coquetry, promise me faithfully you will on the instant prevent fartherintercourse, you will not hesitate one moment to tell me of it; eventhough in your eyes it may appear but earnest or animated conversation. Mother, promise me this, " I repeated, for I felt carried so far beyondmyself, that when I look back on that conversation, it is withastonishment at my own temerity. "Annie has laughed at me when Iexpressed my indignation; she says it is what every woman of fashiondoes, and that I am ridiculous if I hope to be otherwise. Mother, youwill not laugh at me. Spare me, spare me from the remorse that willensue, if such ever be my conduct. "

"Fear not, my dear and noble child, " she exclaimed (her voice I knewexpressed emotion), and she pressed me fondly to her heart; "I promiseall, all you wish. Retain these noble feelings, these virtuous fears, and I shall never have occasion to do what you desire. Oh, that yoursister thought the same!" she added; and oh, Mary, I shall never forgetthe tone of anxiety and almost distress with which those last words weresaid. 

"She does, she will, she must, " I said, vehemently, for I would havegiven worlds to calm the anxiety I know she feels for Caroline, and I dowish that on some points my sister thought as I do, not from vanity, mydear Mary, believe me, but for her own happiness. I cannot describe eachmember of our circle, dear Mary, in this letter, but you shall have themby degrees. The Earl and Countess Elmore are my favourites. I was verysorry mamma did not permit me to join a very small party at their houselast week; the Countess came herself to beg, but mamma's mandate hadgone forth long ago, and therefore I submitted I hope with a good grace, but I doubt it. She wishes me only to join in society at home this year, but next year I may go out with her as often as I please. Lord HenryD'Este is one of the most amusing creatures I ever met with, he hasalways some droll anecdote to relate that calls forth universalmerriment; but of single men, the Earl of St. Eval, eldest son of theMarquis of Malvern, is the most agreeable. He is not particularlyhandsome, but has an eloquent smile and persuading voice, very tall andnoble in his carriage. He has talked to me much of Oxford, where forabout six or seven months he was acquainted with my brothers, of whom hespoke in such high terms, dear Mary, and quite regretted he could notenjoy their society longer. He has since been on the Continent, andrelates so delightfully all he has remarked or seen among foreigners, that it is evident he travelled really for pleasure and information, notfor fashion. He appears much attracted with Caroline. I am sure headmires her very much, and I only wish she would be as pleased with himas I am, but she always provokes me by saying he has not sufficient_esprit_; nor is he quite handsome enough to please her; and yet shenever refuses his attentions or shrinks from his conversation, as, if Idisliked him (as when we are alone she appears to do), I know I should. Do not tremble for my peace, dear Mary, as you read these flowingdescriptions. In society they are most agreeable, but as the partner ofmy life, I have not yet seen one to whom, were the question asked, Icould with any hope of happiness give my hand. These scenes are well fora time, but they are not those in which I would wish to pass my life. Mywishes are humbler, much humbler; but I do not yet understand themsufficiently even to define them to myself. It is much the same with theyoung ladies of rank with whom I now frequently associate; they areagreeable companions, but not one, no, not one can supply your place, dearest Mary. Not one can I love as I do you. We have no ideas incommon; amiable and good as in all probability they are, still, as myintimate friends I could not regard them; and yet--strange contradictionyou will say--I wish Caroline could find one amongst them to supply theplace of Annie Grahame in her heart. Why am I so prejudiced against her, you will ask. Mary, I am prejudiced, and I cannot help it. Somethingtells me my sister will obtain no good from this intimacy, I never didlike her, and of late this feeling has increased. Ellen is pleased, too, when her health permits her to join our agreeable little coteries. Sheappears overcoming her very great reserve, but does not become morelively. She looks always to me, as if she felt a stain yet lingers onher character, and though mamma and papa treat her even more kindly thanthey did before, if possible, still there are times when to me sheappears inwardly unhappy. Strangers would only pronounce her morepensive than usual for her years; for her slight figure and verydelicate features, as well as retiring manner, make her appear evenyounger than she is, but I sometimes fancy I read more. She is alwayscalm and gentle as she used to be, and I never can discover whenanything vexes her, except by her heightened colour, which is moreeasily visible now than when her health was better. 

I am summoned away, dear Mary, to go with mamma to ride, and as thisleaves to night, I must not write more now; but I intend teasing youwith letters every week till you write to me, if you are not well, inthe sincere wish to arouse you and draw your thoughts from what may beunpleasing subjects: and if you are idle, to spur you to your task. Adieu, my dearest friend. 

Your ever affectionate EMMELINE. 

_From Mary Greville to Emmeline Hamilton_. 

Greville Manor, March 13. 

How can I thank you sufficiently, my dearest Emmeline, for theaffectionate letters which I have received so regularly the last month. I am still so weak that much writing is forbidden me, and therefore toreply to them all as my affection dictates is impossible. But I knowyour kind heart, my Emmeline; I know it will be satisfied, when I sayyour letters have indeed cheered my couch of suffering; have indeedsucceeded not only in changing _my_ thoughts from the subject thatperhaps too much engrosses them, but sometimes even my poor mother's. Your first long letter, dated January, you tell me you wrote to let meknow you as you are, that all your faults may be laid bare to myinspection; and what is to be the consequence--that you are, as you saidyou would be, lowered in my estimation? no, dear and candid girl, youare not, and while you retain such ingenuousness of disposition, younever can be. Wrong you certainly were to encourage such despondency, when so very many blessings were around you; but when once you becomesensible of an error, it is already with you corrected. Mamma has, Iknow, some weeks ago, written to Mrs. Hamilton, to tell her GrevilleManor is to be sold. We shall never return to it again; the haunts I sodearly loved, the scenes in which I have spent so many happy hours, allwill pass into the hands of strangers, --it will be no longer our own; weshall be no longer together, as for so many years we have been. Inchanging my residence thus, I feel as if every tie I loved was tornasunder. 

 * * * * *

I thought I could have written calmly on this subject, my Emmeline, butI believed myself stronger, both in mind and body, than I am. I havebeen very ill, and therefore let that be my excuse. Plead for me withyour mother, Emmeline; tell her she knows not how I struggle to concealevery pang from the watchful eyes of that mother who has hung over mycouch, with an agony that has told me plainer than words I am indeed heronly joy on earth. My spirit has been so tortured the three months of mystern father's residence at home, that I feel as if I would--oh! howgladly--flee away and be at rest: but for her sake, I pray for life, forstrength; for her sake, I make no resistance to the advice of Mr. Maitland, that for a year or two we should live in Italy or Switzerland, though in leaving England I feel as if I left I know not what, butsomewhat more than the mere love for my native land. Why, why is myhealth so weak? why does it ever suffer when my mind is unhappy? Oh, Emmeline, you know not the fierce struggle it is not to murmur; to feelthat it is in mercy my Father in Heaven afflicts me thus. If I might butretain my health, my mother should never suspect my sufferings, I would, I know I would, hide them from every eye; but she reads them in myfailing frame and pallid features, when I would by every means in mypower prove to her that while she is spared to me, I cannot be whollyunhappy. It was not illness of body that prevented my replying to yourfirst long letter; but papa and Alfred were both at home, and my nerveswere so frequently shaken, that I knew it would be impossible to writeand therefore did not attempt it, even at the risk of offending, or atleast giving pain to you. I begged mamma to write to Mrs. Hamilton, andtell her all that had occurred, on the receipt of your second, datedFebruary; for I thought while explaining our silence it would relieveherself, which I think it did. It is six weeks since then and I am onlynow allowed to write, and have been already obliged to pause more thanonce in my task; so forgive all incoherences, my dearest Emmeline. TheManor is to be sold in June: for my sake, mamma ventured to implore myfather to dispose of another estate, which has lately become his, instead of this, but he would not listen to her; and I implored her notto harrow her feelings by vain supplications again. Alfred is to go toCambridge, and this increased expense, as it is for him, papa seems tothink nothing of, but to my poor mother it is only another subject ofuneasiness, not so much for our sakes as for his own. Temptations ofevery kind will be around him; his own little income will never besufficient to enable him to lead that life which his inclination willbid him seek. Misfortune on every side appears to darken the future; Icannot look forward. Pray for me, my dearest friend, that I may beenabled to trust so implicitly in the Most High that even now my faithshould not for a moment waver. Oh! Emmeline, spite of all his harshness, his coldness, and evident dislike, my heart yearns to my father. Wouldhe but permit me, I would love and respect him as fondly as ever childdid a parent, and when, after beholding his cruelty to my mother, myheart has sometimes almost involuntarily reproached him and risen inrebellion against him, the remorse which instantly follows adds to thatheavy burden which bows me to the earth. We leave England in May, if Iam sufficiently strong. I do not think we shall visit London, but travelleisurely along the coast to Dover. I wish I could see you once more, for I know not if we shall ever meet again, dear Emmeline; but perhapsit is better not, it would only heighten the pain of separation. Ishould like much to have written to your kind good mother with this, butI fear my strength will not permit, yet perhaps, if she have onehalf-hour's leisure, she will write to me again; her letters indeed aremy comfort and support. I thank your brother Herbert for his many kindand affectionate messages; tell him all you will of our plans, and tellhim--tell him--his sister Mary will never forget the brother of herchildhood--the kind, the sympathising companion of her youth. To Percy, too, remember me; and say all your own affection would dictate toCaroline and Ellen. I would have written to the latter, but my weaknesswill I know prove my best excuse. Before I quite conclude, let me sayhow pleased I am to think that, although you still regret Oakwood, youcan find some pleasures in your present life. The society you describemust be agreeable. I could scarcely, however, refrain from smiling atyour simplicity, my dear Emmeline, in imagining that all who visited atyour father's house would be as delightful and estimable as those whomyour second letter so eloquently described. Why are we so constantlycommanded to be charitable in our intercourse one with another? Must itnot be because our Great Master knew that we all had failings, some morethan others? if all were as worthy and virtuous as some appear, therewould be no need to practise such a virtue; but it is in a mixed societyit is more frequently called into play. More, would we preserve our ownvirtue and piety, we must be charitable. We must look on the weaknessesof our fellow-creatures with mercy and kindness, or how can we demand itfor ourselves? I am no advocate for seclusion in general, though my ownfeelings prefer a quiet life. I think a life of retirement is apt torender us selfish, and too positive in the wisdom and purity of our ownnotions, too prejudiced against the faults of our fellows. Society is amirror, where we can see human character reflected in a variety ofshades, and thereby, if our minds be so inclined, we may attain a betterknowledge of ourselves. If, before we condemned others, we looked intoour own hearts, we are likely to become more charitable and more humbleat the same moment, and our own conduct necessarily becomes moreguarded. But with your mother, my Emmeline, and your openheart--unsophisticated as it may be--you will never go far wrong. Mammais looking anxiously at me, as if she feared I am exerting myself toomuch. I feel my cheeks are painfully flushed, and therefore I will obeyher gentle hint. Farewell, my Emmeline; may you long be spared thesorrows that have lately wrung the heart of your attached and constantfriend, MARY GREVILLE. 

_From Mrs. Hamilton to Miss Greville_. 

London, March 20th. 

Your letter to Emmeline, my dear young friend, I have read with feelingsboth of pain and pleasure, and willingly, most willingly, do I complywith your request, that I would write to you, however briefly. Yourdespondency is natural, and yet it is with delight I perceive throughits gloom those feelings of faith and duty, which your sense of religionhas made so peculiarly your own. I sympathise, believe me, from myheart, in those trials which your very delicate health renders you solittle able to bear. I will not endeavour by words of consolation toalleviate their severity, for I know it would be in vain. In yourearliest youth I endeavoured to impress upon your mind that we are notcommanded to check every natural feeling. We are but told to pour beforeGod our trouble, to lean on His mercy, to trust in His providence, torestrain our lips from murmuring, and if we do so, though our tears mayfall, and our heart feel breaking, yet our prayers will be heard andaccepted on high. It is not with you, my poor girl, the weak indulgenceof sorrow that ever prostrates you on a couch of suffering, it is thestruggle of resignation and concealment that is too fierce for thedelicacy of your constitution; and do you not think that strife ismarked by Him, who, as a father, pitieth His children? Painful as it isto you, my dear Mary, your sufferings may be in a degree a source ofmercy to your mother. Agonizing as it is to the heart of a parent, towatch the fevered couch of a beloved child, yet had she not thatanxiety, the conduct of your father and brother might present stilldeeper wretchedness. For your sake, she dismisses the harrowing thoughtsthat would otherwise be her own; for your sake, she rallies her ownenergies, which else might desert her; and when you are restored to her, when, in those intervals of peace which are sometimes your own, she seesyou in health, and feels your constant devotion, believe me, there is awell of comfort, of blessed comfort in her fond heart, of which nothingcan deprive her. For her sake, then, my dearest Mary, try to conquerthis reluctance to leave England. I do not reproach your grief, for Iknow that it is natural. But endeavour to think that this residence fora few years on the Continent, may restore your mother to a degree ofpeace, which, in England, at present she cannot know; and will not thisthought, my love, reconcile you to a short separation from the land ofyour birth, and the friends you so dearly love? We shall all think ofand love our Mary, however widely parted. We will write very frequently, and every information I can obtain of your brother shall be faithfullyrecorded. Mr. Hamilton has ever felt for your mother as a brother would, and for her sake, her misguided son will be ever an object of hisdearest care. Do not fear for him, and endeavour to soothe your mother'sanxiety on that head also. Herbert has written to you, I enclose hisletter; and he entreats most earnestly that you will not only permit himto continue to write, but answer him, during your residence abroad. Hehas been deeply grieved at the intelligence we have reported of you, andI hope and think, if your mother do not disapprove of yourcorrespondence, that the humble yet fervent faith which breathes in thereligion of my son may long prove a source of consolation as well asinterest to you, who, from your childhood, could sympathise with all hisexalted feelings. Poor Emmeline has shed many bitter tears over yourletter; she cannot bear to think of your leaving England, but yet agreeswith me in believing it will be a beneficial change for both yourselfand Mrs. Greville, but her letter shall speak her own feelings. I willnot write more now, but will very soon again. Do not exert yourself toomuch to answer either Emmeline or myself; we will not wait for regularreplies. I have written to your mother also, therefore this briefepistle is entirely for yourself, as you wished it. Mr. Hamilton willmeet you at Dover, which will afford me much satisfaction, as I shallknow more than I could ever learn by a letter, and he will, I trust, beenabled to set your mother's heart at rest on some points which must benow subjects of anxiety. God bless you, my Mary, and restore youspeedily to health and peace. 

Yours, with the warmest affection, E. HAMILTON. 

CHAPTER II. 

An early April sun was shining brightly through one of the windows of anelegantly furnished boudoir of a distinguished-looking mansion, in thevicinity of Piccadilly. There was somewhat in the aspect of the room, inthe variety of toys scattered on every side, in the selection of thenewest novels which were arranged on the table, and an indescribable airwhich pervaded the whole, that might have aroused a suspicion, in anykeen observer who could discover character by trifles, that the lady towhom that apartment belonged possessed not the very strongest or mostsensible mind. A taste which frivolous trifles could alone gratifyappeared evident; and the countenance of the lady, who was reclininglistlessly on the couch, would have confirmed these surmises. She didnot look above forty, if as much, but her features told a tale oflassitude and weariness, at variance with the prime of life, which wasthen her own. No intellect, no emotion was expressed on her countenance;it never varied, except, perhaps, to denote peevishness or sullennesswhen domestic affairs annoyed her, which appeared to be the case atpresent. A volume of the last new novel was in her hand, in which sheappeared sufficiently interested as to feel still more annoyed at theinterruption she was constantly receiving from a young lady, who wasalso an inmate of her room. 

Striking, indeed, was the contrast exhibited in the features of themother and daughter, for so nearly were they connected, and yet to somethe inanimate expression of the former would have been far preferable tothe handsome but scornful countenance of the latter. She could not havebeen more than eighteen, but the expression of the features and the toneof character were already decided to no ordinary degree. There was anair of fashion in her every movement; an easy assurance and independenceof spirit which might have made her mother respected, but which in oneso young were intolerable to all save those whom she had contrived tomake her devoted admirers. Spite of the natural beauty of her face, haughtiness, pride, and some of the baser passions of human nature, werethere visibly impressed; at least whenever she appeared in her naturalcharacter, when no concealed designs caused her to veil these lessamiable emotions in eloquent smiles and a manner whose fascination wasfelt and unresisted, even by those who perhaps had been beforeprejudiced against her. Various were the characters she assumed insociety--assumed to suit her own purpose, made up of art; even at homeshe sometimes found herself seeking for design, as if it were impossibleto go straightforward, to act without some reason. We shall find, however, as we proceed, that she had one confidant at home, to whom, when exhausted by the fatigue of planning, she would confess herself, and who was generally the hearer and abettor of the young lady'sschemes. This was a person who had lived for many years in the family asgoverness; although that office with the elder of her charges had everbeen but nominal, and with the younger it was neglected for the officeof friend and confidant, which Miss Malison very much preferred. 

It was evident this morning that the efforts of the young lady had notsucceeded quite so well as usual in veiling the discontent in which sheinwardly indulged. She was amusing herself at that moment in openingevery book on the table, glancing sulkily on their contents, and thenthrowing them down again with a violence that not only had the effect ofmaking her mother start, but of disturbing the quiet repose of some ofthe fragile toys in their vicinity, to the manifest danger of theirdestruction. 

"I wish you would oblige me, Annie, by endeavouring to amuse yourself ina quieter manner, " observed her mother, in a very languid tone. "Youhave no pity on my poor nerves. You know when I have these nervousheadaches, the least thing disturbs me. "

"You may be certain, mamma, it is reading that makes them worse, not mynoise. You had much better put away the book, and then you have somechance of being free from them. "

"Will you read to me then instead? I assure you I should much preferit. "

"_I_ read aloud! I could not do it to please the most agreeable personin the world; and as you are so very obliging to me in refusing sodecidedly to go with me to-night, you cannot expect I should obligeyou. "

Lady Helen Grahame's placid countenance gave no evidence of inwarddisturbance at this undutiful speech; she was too much used to it, tofeel the pain it might otherwise have produced, and too indifferent tobe either indignant or displeased. 

"You are very ungrateful, Annie, " she replied, in that same languidtone, but with the very little expression in her voice, no emotion wasvisible. "I tell you I will send round to Lady Charlton or the CountessSt. Aubyn; either of them, I know, will be very happy to chaperon you. Surely you can let me be quiet for one evening. "

"Lady Charlton I cannot bear; she is the most detestable creature Iknow. I would rather be buried alive in the country, than join in Londonsociety under her care; with her long speeches of prudery and virtue, and the modest reserve of young ladies, and a hundred other suchsaint-like terms, when all the time she is doing all she can to catchhusbands for her three great gawky daughters, who in mamma's presenceare all simplicity and simper--sweet girls just introduced; when I amvery much mistaken if the youngest is not nearer thirty than twenty. Andas for Lady St. Aubyn, you know very well, mamma, papa declared I shouldnever go out with her again; it is just the same as if I were alone. Shehas not a word or thought for any one but herself: she thinks she mayact with as much coquetry now as before she married. I do believe thatwoman only married that she might be more at liberty and go out byherself. "

"Then, if you like neither of them, write a note to Mrs. Hamilton. Yourfather would be better pleased if you were to go under her care, than ofany other. "

"Mrs. Hamilton! I would not for worlds. Every pleasure I mightotherwise enjoy would vanish before the stern majesty of her presence. Iwonder how Caroline can bear the thraldom in which her mother holdsher--it is complete slavery. "

"I will not hear a word against Mrs. Hamilton, " exclaimed Lady Helen, with more display of feeling than had yet been perceivable. "She is atruer friend both to your father and myself than any of those with whomwe associate here. "

"It is well you think so, my lady mother, " replied Miss Grahame, in apeculiar tone. "It is fortunate you are not troubled with jealousy, andthat this paragon of perfection, this Mrs. Hamilton, is your friend aswell as papa's. If I heard my husband so constantly extolling anotherwoman in my presence, I should not be quite so easy. "

If a flush rose to Lady Helen's pale cheek at these words, it was sofaint as scarcely to be perceivable, and she took no notice, except tosay--

"If your great desire to go to this ball is to be with Caroline thefirst night of her _entrée_, I should think Mrs. Hamilton was the bestchaperon you could have. "

"I tell you, mother, I will not go with her. She has not bewitched me asshe has you and papa. If you would only be quiet for a few hours, I amsure your head would be sufficiently well for you to go with me; and youknow I never do enjoy an evening so much as when you accompany me, dearmamma, " she continued, softening the violence with which she had atfirst spoken into one of the most persuasive eloquence; and humbling herpride and controlling the contempt with which she ever looked on herweak but far more principled mother, she knelt on a low stool by herside, and caressingly kissed Lady Helen's hand. 

"Dear mamma, you would oblige me, I am sure you would, if you knew howmuch your presence contributes to my enjoyment. A ball is quite adifferent thing when I feel I am under your wing, and you know papaprefers my going out with you to any one else. "

Annie spoke truth, though her words appeared but flattery. The extremeindolence of Lady Helen's natural disposition, which was now heightenedby the lassitude attendant on really failing health, rendered her merelya chaperon in name. Annie felt very much more at liberty when with herthan with any other; she could act as she pleased, select her owncompanions, coquette, talk, dance, without ever thinking of her motheror being sought for by her, till the end of the evening. It was enoughshe was with Lady Helen, to silence all gossiping tongues and to satisfyher father, who, one of the most devoted members of the Lower House, scarcely ever visited such places of amusement, and therefore knew notthe conduct of either his wife or daughter. He long since discovered hisauthority was as nothing to his children; he felt most painfully hissternness had alienated their affections, and he now rather shrunk fromtheir society; therefore, even at home he was a solitary man, and yetGrahame was formed for all the best emotions, the warmest affections ofour nature. He was ignorant that his wife now very frequently sufferedfrom ill-health, for he had never seen her conduct different even whenin youth and perfectly well. Had he known this, and also the fact that, though trembling at his sternness, she yet longed to receive some tokenof his affection--that she really loved him, spite of the many faultsand the extreme weakness of her character, he might have been happy. 

Deceived by her daughter's manner, Lady Helen began to waver in thepositive refusal she had given to accompanying her, and Annie was notslow in discovering her advantage; she continued the persuasions sheknew so well how to use, concealing the inward struggle it was to veilher discontent at this unwonted humiliation, and suppressing theviolence that was ready to break forth, at length succeeded. Thoughreally feeling too languid for the exertion, the wavering mother couldnot resist the unusually gentle manner of the persevering daughter, andMiss Grahame flew to her confidant to impart the joyful tidings. 

Miss Malison was employed in endeavouring, by commands, exhortations, and threats, to compel her pupil to practise a difficult sonata, whichher music-master had desired might be prepared by the time of his nextvisit. Now it happened that Lilla Grahame had not the slightest tastefor music, and that Miss Malison did not possess the patientperseverance requisite to smooth the difficulty of the task, nor thegentleness necessary to render it more pleasing to her pupil; therefore, in these practising lessons discord ever prevailed over harmony, and theteacher was ever ready to seize the most trifling excuse to neglect heroffice, and leave Lilla to practise or not as she pleased. 

"Malison, _chère_ Malison, " exclaimed Annie, in a tone of glee, as sheentered, "do leave that stupid girl and come with me; I have somecharming intelligence to communicate. And it really is no use boringyourself with Lilla; she will never play, try as hard as she can. "

"According to you, I shall do nothing, " burst angrily from her sister'slips, for her temper, naturally good, though somewhat hasty, had beencompletely ruined by careless and mistaken treatment. "If I had beenproperly taught, I should have done as others do: if Miss Malison hadchosen to take the same pains with me as Miss Harcourt does withEmmeline and Ellen, I should have been a very different girl. "

"Insolent, ungrateful girl! do you dare to say I have neglected myduty?" exclaimed the _gouvernante_, enraged beyond bounds at thisdisplay of insubordination in one whose spirit she had left no meansuntried to bend to her will, and forgetting herself in the passion ofthe moment, enforced her words by what is termed a sound box on the ear. 

"Now go and tell mamma, pretty dear; or papa, if you like it better, "Miss Grahame said, in a whining tone. 

But Lilla answered her not. A crimson flush for the moment spread overher very temples at the infliction of this indignity, which very quicklygave way to a deadly, almost livid paleness, on which the marks of MissMalison's ready fingers were the only spots of red. Without a word inreply, she hastily rose from the piano and left the room. 

"Will she _blab_?" was the elegant question that was asked as the doorclosed. 

"Not she, " replied Annie, laughing. "She dare not tell papa, and sheknows it is of no use appealing to mamma, who implicitly believes allyou tell her of Miss Lilla's excessive obstinacy, idleness, andpassionate temper in which she so constantly indulges; your deep regretsthat either of Lady Helen Grahame's daughters should be such a characterhave succeeded so admirably. I have had such a struggle to obtainmamma's promise to go with me to-night, that I really feel exhausted, "and the young lady threw herself in a most graceful attitude oflistlessness on a sofa that stood invitingly beside lier. 

"But have you succeeded?"

"Admirably! at length mamma thinks I am most amiable. My persuasionswere so eloquent, that the most obdurate person could not have resistedthem. I tried violence and sulkiness at first, thinking to frighten orworry her into compliance; but finding both fail, I was compelled tohave recourse to humiliation and persuasion. If it had continued muchlonger, I should have choked by the way; it is quite a relief to breathefreely again. What do you think of her wishing me to go under the careof Mrs. Hamilton to-night? I really could hardly control my horror atthe idea. "

"Horrible, indeed! What would have become of all your plans, if youhad?"

"My dear creature, I would not have gone with her for worlds; but, however, I think my plans are in too good training for one night spentunder her eyes to injure them. Caroline is beginning, I think, to feelsomewhat like a slave under this keen _surveillance_ of her paragonmother, and to pine for the freedom of thought and act which I sounboundedly enjoy. She only wants a little of my good advice and betterexample, to become really a girl of spirit. "

"But take care the spirit you are calling forth does not turn againstyou, " observed Miss Malison. 

"Not at all likely, _ma chère_. I am careful only to excite it to servemy own purposes. She likes me, I believe, and I can make her what Iplease. Let her confidence in her mother be once destroyed, you will seeif she does not act as foolishly as I can desire. She has been buried inthe country so long, she is a mere infant with regard to all thatconcerns a life of fashion; and, therefore, will be gladly led by oneshe considers so completely _au fait_ at its mysteries as myself. I usedto like her in the country, because she always listened so eagerly toall I said about London. I saw she envied me even when we were children, and therefore fancied myself a most important personage. "

"And do you like her now?"

"You are laughing at me, _chère_ Malison. You know I cannot bear arival, and this girl's dazzling beauty will completely cast me in theshade. "

"You don't mean to say her beauty can be compared to yours?" interruptedMiss Malison. 

"Perhaps not in the sterling worth of the two, " replied Annie, glancingcomplacently on a large mirror; "but she is new, Malison--quite new. Hermother only kept her so long away that she might shine with greaterbrilliancy when introduced. As for Caroline, I like her, as far as sheassists my plans, and by her silly, or, if that would serve me better, criminal conduct, takes somewhat away from her mother's perfection, andby the pain Mrs. Hamilton will feel, gratify my overpoweringdetestation. Malison, you look delighted. Your assistance I am sure of, if I require it; for you dislike this paragon of her sex almost as muchas I do. "

"Indeed I do. I have never forgotten nor forgiven her presumption a yearor two ago, in hinting so broadly I was mistaken in my treatment ofLilla, and that gentleness would have much better effect; gentlenessindeed, with a girl that would tire the patience of a saint. She isalways worse after having been with this Mrs. Hamilton, and I suppose itwill be all over again now. I wish, with your charming plans, my dearMiss Grahame, you would find one to prevent all intercourse between theHamiltons and your sister. "

"At present, _ma chère_, such a thing is out of my power, but we willnot despair; although the more you would say about Miss Lilla beingundeserving of such indulgence, the more papa would answer, let her goand she will learn to be better there. I heard him give mamma peremptoryorders the other day, when we prevented her going, never to refusewhenever Mrs. Hamilton invited her. Severity is a most admirable method, my good Malison; you will break her spirit if you persevere, notwithstanding all the amiable Mrs. Hamilton may do or say. "

"I wish I may; but you have not told me all yet. How proceed yourschemes with Lord Alphingham?"

"To perfection! I have given Caroline a distaste for every other kind ofperson. She has met him, you know, once or twice here, and that wassufficient to fascinate her. She thinks him the handsomest and mostdelightful man she ever knew. It is enough for Mr. Hamilton to see him afriend of papa's to be attracted towards him; in all probability he willbe introduced at his house, and then my scheme will be still easier. Itwill not be difficult to talk Caroline into fancying herself desperatelyin love with him, and he with her--he is already attracted; and when Isee the aspect of affairs favourable, I will just get some kind friendto whisper into Mrs. Hamilton's ear some of the pretty tales I haveheard of this Viscount, and you will see what will follow. These _ondits_ are, fortunately for my plans, only known among my coterie. Withus, they only render Lord Alphingham more interesting; but with Mrs. Hamilton they would have the effect of banishing him for ever from herpresence and from the notice of her daughter; the catastrophe, my dearcreature, shall be the perfection of diplomacy, but of that hereafter. Iowe Lord Alphingham a spite, which I will pay off one day, for hisdesertion of me the moment Caroline appeared. I may do all I wish with, one word. All my present intention is, by a gradual yet sure process, toundermine Caroline's confidence in her mother, and make me her confidantinstead, and if I do that, the rest is easy. "

"You know you have never failed in any scheme, therefore you may feelsecure in this, " replied Miss Malison, with ready flattery; for she knewMiss Grahame's love of designing, and really felt gratified at any plantending to injure Mrs. Hamilton, whom she detested with all themalevolence of a mean and grovelling mind, which despised the virtuethat was too exalted for its comprehension. 

Some little time longer this amiable pair conversed, but their furtherconversation it is needless to record. We have already seen thatEmmeline Hamilton's prejudice against Annie Grahame was not unfounded, and that at present is enough. Before, however, we quit Lady Helen'smansion, we may say a few words on the character of Lilla, in whom, itmay be recollected, Mrs. Hamilton had ever felt interest sufficient toindulge a hope that she might render her one day a greater comfort toher father than either of his other children. As a child, her temper wasnaturally good, though somewhat hasty and self-willed; high-spirited, but affectionate to a degree that would have made the task of trainingand instruction easy to any one who possessed sufficient gentleness towin her affection, and with patience, yet firmness, to guide her in theright way. Unfortunately, Miss Malison possessed neither; extremelypassionate herself, where her interests did not interfere to control it, she was not at all the person to guide a passionate child. Severity washer weapon, and every means used to break the spirit, which she couldplainly perceive would soon endeavour to throw off her control. Lillarevolted at this treatment, and many evil qualities were thus introducedin her disposition, which, when they fell under her eye, Mrs. Hamiltonwas convinced were completely the fruits of mistaken management. Frombeing merely hasty, her passionate anger and hatred of her governess hadnow increased to such height, as to be really alarming not only to herweak-minded mother, but to Mrs. Hamilton, who, however, was certainlynever aware of their extent; for before her Lilla was generally gentleand controlled. Something always occurred to call forth these bursts ofpassion in Lady Helen's presence, and consequently, the actual conductof Lilla confirmed the statement of Miss Malison, as to her violence andother evil qualities. Mr. Grahame, too, was compelled to believe allthat was told him, and his sternness towards his unhappy childfrequently caused her to fly from his presence in dread; although herwarm heart yearned towards him with such deep affection, which could hehave guessed one-half of its extent, would have twined her fondly roundhis heart, and forced him to examine more strictly than he did theconduct of Miss Malison. Lilla's dislike to her more favoured sister wasalmost as violent as that she bore to her governess; and the convictionthat all her mother's family looked on her as a passionate, evil-mindedgirl, of course, increased every bitter feeling. Often, very often, didMrs. Hamilton long to implore Mr. Grahame to dismiss Miss Malison, andplace Lilla under the care of some lady more fitted for the task; butshe felt that such advice might be looked upon with some justice by LadyHelen's friends as most unwarrantable interference. Miss Malison hadbeen most highly recommended to Lady Helen by her mother, the Duchess of----, and as, in the opinion of that branch of the family, Annieabundantly displayed the good effects of her management, it was verynaturally supposed that Lilla's opposite character proceeded from aninnate evil disposition, and not from any fault in her governess. Shewas now nearly fourteen and each year Mrs. Hamilton's hopes for thefuture worth of her character became fainter; yet still she determinedto do all in her power to counteract Miss Malison's plans, and subdueLilla's fearful passions, and those longings for revenge, not only onher governess but her sister, which, by many little things, she couldperceive were lurking round her heart. Montrose Grahame had been, as wealready know, from his earliest youth the intimate friend of Mr. Hamilton, and, notwithstanding the increasing cares of their respectivefamilies, this friendship had continued and, if possible, increased, andMrs. Hamilton sharing the sentiments of her husband, the qualities ofGrahame speedily caused him to become her friend likewise. She had everseen with regret his sternness to his children, she saw also that he waspained, deeply pained, as their characters became more matured; and, spite of the difficulties of the task, her benevolent mind determined toleave no means untried to make one child at least his comfort. Lilla'saffection for her was as violent as her other feelings, and on that sheresolved at first to work. It was strange too, how devotedly attachedthis wild and headstrong girl became, to one, who of all others appearedleast suited to her, and that one the mild and pensive Ellen. Itappeared as if it were a relief to meet one so widely different toherself, and therefore she loved her. The high spirits and animation ofEmmeline appeared less congenial to her affections than the gentlesweetness of Ellen. Caroline was Annie's friend, and that was enough forher; not even her being Mrs. Hamilton's daughter could make her anobject of interest. On the day we have mentioned, Lilla had sat forabove an hour in her room; indignation at the insult she had receivedswelling in every vein, and longing with sickening intensity for somemeans to free herself from such galling thraldom. She did not give ventto her injured feelings in tears, but her countenance so clearlyexpressed the emotions of her heart, that it actually startled a servantwho entered with a message--a request from Mrs. Hamilton, that her youngfriend would spend that evening with her daughter and niece. Lillastarted up with a wild exclamation of delight, and the anticipation ofthe evening hours enabled her to obey with haughty calmness the summonsof Miss Malison. Before, however, she departed on her visit, a freshebullition had taken place between the sisters in the presence of theirmother, to the great terror of Lady Helen, whose irritation at Lilla'sviolence increased, as she could perceive nothing in Annie's words ormanner to call for it. Had she been less indolent, she might easily havediscovered that her elder daughter never permitted a single opportunityto escape without eliciting Lilla's irritability. As it was, she coldlyrejected the offered caresses the really affectionate girl would havelavished on her, as she wished her good night, and therefore it was witha heart bursting with many mingled emotions she sought the happy home ofher beloved friends. 

There gladly will we follow her, for the scenes of violence and evilpassion we have slightly touched on are not subjects on which we love tolinger. 

CHAPTER III. 

There was thought, deep thought, engraved on Mrs. Hamilton's expressivecountenance, as she sat beside a small table, her head leaning on herhand, anxious, perhaps even painful, visions occupying her reflectivemind. The evening was gradually darkening into twilight, but still shedid not move, nor was it till a well-known tap sounded at the door, andher husband stood before her, that she looked up. 

"Will you not let your husband share these anxious thoughts, myEmmeline?" he said, as he gazed earnestly on her face. 

"My husband may perhaps think them silly and unfounded fancies, " shereplied, with a faint smile. 

"He is so prone to do so, " answered Mr. Hamilton, in an accent ofplayful reproach; "but if you will not tell me, I must guess them--youare thinking of our Caroline?"

"Arthur, I am, " she said, with almost startling earnestness; "oh, youcannot tell how anxiously! I know not whether I am right to expose herto the temptations of the world; I know her disposition, I see the evilsthat may accrue from it, and yet, even as if I thought not of theirexistence, I expose her to them. Oh, my husband, can this be right? canI be doing a parent's duty?"

"We should not, my beloved, be fulfilling the duties of our station, didwe not sometimes mingle in society: all our duty is not comprised indomestic life. It is when we retain our integrity unsullied, ourrestraining principles unchanged in the midst of temptations, that weshow forth, even to the thoughtless, the spirit that actuates us, and byexample may do good. Besides, remember, dearest, we are not about toenter into continued and incessant dissipation, which occupies theexistence of so many; we have drawn a line, and Caroline loves herparents too well to expect or wish to pass its boundary. Remember, too, the anxious fears which were yours when Percy was about to enter intoscenes of even stronger temptation than those which will surround hissister; and have they had foundation? Has not the influence of hismother followed him there, and restrained him even at the moment oftrial, and will not the influence of that mother do the same forCaroline?"

"Percy is, indeed, all my heart could wish, " replied Mrs. Hamilton, still somewhat sadly; "but his disposition is different to that ofCaroline's. I know his confidence in me is such, and his affection sostrong, that for my sake he would do more than those who but slightlyknow him would imagine. When a son really loves his mother, it is adifferent, perhaps a more fervid, feeling than that ever known by adaughter. He feels bound to protect, to cherish, and that very knowledgeof power heightens his affections. "

"You do not doubt your daughters' love, my Emmeline? must I accuse youof injustice too?"

"No, dearest Arthur, I do not doubt their love; for my Emmeline I do nottremble. Her confidence I shall never lose; her affections, however Imay be called upon to exert my authority, will never waver, andcompletely opposite as are the feelings with which she and Percy regardme, their love may be equally intense. But forgive me, my dear husband, I may be unjust, and if I am may my child forgive me; I am not--oh, thatI were--equally confident in my Caroline. She loves me, but thataffection, I know, does not prevent her thinking me harsh and unkind, ifmy wishes interfere with hers. My authority is not the same with her asit is to her sister and cousin. She seeks another confidential friendbesides her mother, for she dreads my opinions differing from hers. Ihave marked her thus in early childhood, and it still exists, though hertemper is more controlled, her disposition, more improved. The last fewyears she has been thrown almost entirely with me, and not much above atwelvemonth since she shrunk from the idea of confiding in any one asshe did in me. "

"And while that confidence exists, my Emmeline, you surely have noright to fear. "

"But it is waning, Arthur. The last month I know, I feel it isdecreasing. She is no longer the same open-hearted girl with me as shewas so lately at Oakwood. She is withdrawing her confidence from hermother, to bestow it on one whom I feel assured is unworthy of it. "

"Nay, Emmeline, your anxiety must be blinding you; you are too anxious. "

His wife answered him not in words, but she raised her expressive eyesto his face, and he saw they were filled with tears. 

"Nay, nay, my beloved!" he exclaimed, as he folded her to his bosom, struck with sudden self-reproach. "Have my unkind words called forththese tears? forgive me, my best love; I think I love my children, but Iknow not half the depths of a mother's tenderness, my Emmeline, nor thatclear-sightedness which calls for disquietude so much sooner in hergentle heart than in a father's. But can we in no way prevent the growthof that intimacy of which I know you disapprove?"

"No, my dearest Arthur, it must now take its course. Pain as it is tome, I will not rudely check my child's affections, _that_ will not bringthem back to me. She may, one day, discover her error, and will thengladly return to that love, that tenderness, of which she now thinks butlightly. I must endeavour to wait till that day comes, with all thepatience I can teach my heart to feel, " she added, with a smile. "Perhaps I am demanding more than is my due. It is not often we findyoung girls willing to be contented with their mother only as a friend;they pine for novelty, for companions of their own age, whom theyimagine can sympathise better in their feelings. A child is all in allto a mother, though a parent is but one link in the life of a child; yetmy children have so long looked on me as a friend, that, perhaps, I feelthis loss of confidence the more painfully. "

"But you will regain it, my Emmeline; our Caroline is only dazzled now, she will soon discover the hollowness of Annie's professions ofeverlasting friendship. "

Mrs. Hamilton shook her head. 

"I doubt it, my dear husband. The flattering warmth with which Anniefirst met Caroline has disappointed me. I thought and hoped that here, surrounded by all her fashionable acquaintances, she would rather haveneglected her former friends, and Caroline's pride taking umbrage, theirintimacy would have been at once dissolved. Instead of this, Annie neverfails to treat her with the most marked distinction, evidently appearingto prefer her much above her other friends; and, therefore, as in thisinstance Caroline has found my warnings and suspicions needless andunjust, she is not likely to permit my opinion of Annie to gain muchascendancy. "

"But deceived as we have been in this instance, my dear Emmeline, may wenot be so in other points of Annie's character? She is evidently devotedto fashion and fashionable pleasures, but still there may be some goodqualities lurking round her heart, which her intimacy with Caroline maybring forward. "

"I hope it may be so, " replied Mrs. Hamilton, fervently, though somewhatdoubtingly. "For her father's sake, as well as that of my child's, Iwish her disposition may be different to that which I, perhapsuncharitably, believe it. You must give me a portion of your sanguineand trusting hopes, my dearest Arthur, " she continued, fondly laying herhand in his. 

Mr. Hamilton returned a playful answer, and endeavoured to turn thethoughts of his wife to other and more pleasurable subjects. Anxietysuch as hers could not be entirely dispelled, but it was lessened, forshe had imparted it to her husband, and his watchful care would combinewith her own to guard their child. 

Very different were Caroline's feelings on this important night. Mrs. Hamilton's fears and Annie's hopes were both well founded. We have knownthe character of Caroline from a child; and though the last three orfour years it had so improved, that at Oakwood, Mrs. Hamilton hadventured to banish fear, and indulge in every pleasing hope, yet therewas a degree of pride still remaining, that revolted very frequentlyfrom the counsels even of her mother; that high and independent spiritsometimes in secret longed to throw off the very slight restraint inwhich she felt held at home. She could not bear to feel that she was inany way controlled; she longed for the exercise of power, and by thedisplay of that beauty, those qualities, she knew she possessed, forceherself to be acknowledged as a girl of far more consequence than sheappeared to be when in the quiet halls of Oakwood. There nothing everoccurred to call these feelings forth, but they were only dormant, andin London they obtained much greater sway. She felt more controlled thanever by her mother. Secretly she pined to free herself from that whichshe magnified into thraldom, but which was but the watchful tendernessof a devoted parent; and when the representations, sympathy, andpersuasions of Annie were listened to, no wonder these feelingsincreased. Cautiously Miss Grahame had worked: she continually spoke ofthe freedom she enjoyed; she introduced her friend to some young ladieswho were continually speaking of the delights of independence both inact and word. Once introduced, they said they were emancipated from thelabour of the schoolroom, they could employ themselves as they liked, goout when they pleased, and their mothers never interfered with theiramusements, except to see that they were becomingly dressed, chaperonthem to balls, and second all their efforts at fascination. 

The restraint which, when compared with these, Caroline could not butfeel was hers at home, of course became more and more intolerable. Inconfidence, she imparted to Annie her discontent. For the first time sheconfided in another, feelings she shrunk from imparting to her mother, and once such a confidential intimacy commenced, she neither could norwould draw back. Annie artfully appeared to soothe, while in reality sheheightened the discontent and even indignation of her friend. Yes;Caroline by slow degrees became even indignant at the conduct of thatmother whose every thought, whose most fervent prayer was for thehappiness of her children; and she looked to this night as the beginningof a new era, when she allowed herself to hope, with the assistance ofAnnie, she would gradually escape from control, and act as other girlsof spirit did. 

There was another subject on which, by the advice of Annie, Carolinecarefully refrained from speaking at home, and that was Lord Alphingham, a handsome and elegant viscount, who it may be remembered had beenmentioned in Annie's conversation with Miss Malison; and yet it wouldappear strange that such was Miss Grahame's counsel, when Mr. Hamiltonfrequently spoke of the viscount with every mark of approbation due tohis public conduct; of his private little was known, and still lessinquired. He was famous in the Upper House--an animated and eloquentspeaker--seconding and aiding with powerful influence all Grahame'sendeavours in the Lower House, and rendering himself to the latter amost able and influential friend. His brilliant qualities, both as amember of parliament and of polite society, rendered him universallycourted; yet notwithstanding this, Mr. Hamilton had never invited him tohis house. 

"His public character, as far at least as it meets our eye, isunquestionably worthy of admiration, " he had said one day to his wife, "but I know nothing more; of his private character and conduct I am andmust remain ignorant, and therefore I will not expose my children to thefascination of his society in the intimacy of home. "

Mrs. Hamilton had agreed with him, but it required not the "intimacy ofhome" to give Annie an opportunity of persuading Caroline towardssecretly accepting his attentions, and making an impression in hisfavour on her heart; and the latter looked to her _entrée_ with the morepleasure, as she hoped, and with some justice, it would give her manymore opportunities of meeting him than she now enjoyed. She saw beforeher, in imagination, a long train of captives whom she would enslave, still Lord Alphingham in all stood pre-eminent; and visions of variednature, but all equally brilliant, floated before her eyes, as sheprepared for the grand ball which, for the first time in her life, shewas about to join. 

The business of the toilette was completed, and we might forgive theproud smile of exultation which curled round her lip, as she gazed onthe large pier glass which reflected her whole figure. The gracefulfolds of the rich white silk that formed her robe suited well with thetall and commanding form they encircled. The radiant clasp of diamondssecuring the braid of pearls which twined the dark glossy hair, glittered with unusual brilliancy on that noble yet haughty brow, andheightened the dazzling beauty of her countenance. The dark eyessparkling with animation, her cheek possessing the rose of buoyant youthand health, the Grecian nose, the lip, which even pride could not rob ofits beauty, all combined to form a face lovely indeed. Fanny had gazedand admired her young lady with suppressed exclamations of delight, which were strangely at variance with the sigh that at that instantsounded on Caroline's ear; she turned hastily and beheld her mother, whowas gazing on her with looks of such excessive tenderness, that astrange pang of self-reproach darted through her heart, although it wasinstantly banished by the fancy, that if it was with a sigh her motherregarded her on such a night, how could she look for sympathy in thepleasure then occupying her mind. At Oakwood every feeling, everyanticipation would have been instantly imparted, but now she only longedto meet Annie, that to her all might be told without restraint. Painful, indeed, was this unwonted silence of a child to the fond heart of Mrs. Hamilton, but she refused to notice it. Much, very much, did she wishto say, but she saw by the countenance of her daughter it might beconsidered mistimed; yet to launch the beautiful girl she saw before herinto the labyrinth of the world, without uttering one word of thethoughts which were thronging on her mind, she felt was impossible. Theymight not have the effect she wished, yet she would do her duty. Desiring Fanny to take her young lady's shawl down stairs, she gentlydetained Caroline as she was about to follow her. 

"Listen to me but for a few minutes, my love, " she said, in thataffectionate yet impressive tone, which seldom failed to arrest theattention of her children, "and forgive me, if my words fall harshly andcoldly on your excited fancy. I know well the feelings that are yours, though you perhaps think I do not, by the involuntary sigh you heard, and I can sympathise with them, though lately you have refused to seekmy sympathy. Bright as are your anticipations, reality for a time willbe still brighter. Brilliant will be the scenes of enchantment in whichyou will mingle, --brilliant indeed, for you are beautiful, myCaroline--and admiration on all sides will be your own. Why should youlook on me with surprise, my child? that beauty on which perhaps myheart has often dwelt too proudly, is not my gift nor of your creation. The Great Being who has given you those charms of face and form willmark how His gift is used; and oh, forget not for one moment Hisall-seeing eye is as much upon you in the crowded ball as in theretirement of your own room. You will be exposed to more temptationsthan have yet been yours; the most dangerous temptations, adulation, triumph, exciting pleasures of every kind, will be around you. Theworld in radiant beauty will loudly call upon you to follow it alone, toresign all things to become its votary; the trial of prosperity willindeed be yours. Caroline, my child, for my sake, if not for your own, resist them all. My happiness is in your hands. Seek your God in thisordeal, even more than you would in that of adversity; there the spiritnaturally flies from earth, here it clings tenaciously to the world. Pray to Him to resist the temptations that will surround--implore him toteach you the best use of those charms He has bestowed on you. Forsakehim not; Caroline, I conjure you, be not drawn away from Him. Do not letyour thoughts be so wholly engrossed by pleasure as to prevent yourbestowing on Him but one hour of your day. Let me clasp my child to myheart, when we return to Oakwood, unsullied, untouched by the stains ofthe world. Let me have the blessed comfort of seeing my Caroline returnto the home of her childhood the same innocent happy being she was whenshe left. I have ever endeavoured to make you happy, to give you thosepleasures you naturally desire, to form your character not only for thehappiness of this world, but for that of the next; then if you are evertempted to do wrong, if no higher consideration bids you pause, think onyour mother, Caroline; remember my happiness or misery greatly dependson you, and, oh, if you have ever loved me, pause ere you proceed. "

"Mother, do not doubt me; Caroline Hamilton will never sully the nameshe bears, " replied Caroline, her eye flashing, and speaking proudly, toconceal the emotion her mother's words had involuntarily produced. 

Mrs. Hamilton gazed on the haughty and satisfied security the featuresof her child expressed. A more softened feeling would at that momentbetter have pleased the yearning heart of the mother, but she checkedthe rising sigh of disappointment, and folding Caroline to her bosom, she imprinted a fond kiss on her noble brow, and murmuring, "God inheaven bless you, my child, and grant you sufficient strength, " theydescended the stairs together. 

Brilliant indeed was the scene that met the dazzled eyes of Caroline, asshe entered the elegant suite of rooms of the Duchess of Rothbury. Thehighest rank, the greatest talent, the loveliest of beauty's daughters, the manliest and noblest of her sons, were all assembled in that floodof light which every apartment might be termed. Yet could the variedcountenances of these noble crowds have clearly marked the characterwithin, what a strange and varied page in the book of human life mightthat ball have unfolded. 

But various as are the characters that compose an assemblage such asthis, the tone is generally given by the character and manner of thelady of the house, and her Grace the Duchess of Rothbury was admirablyfitted for the position she filled. A daughter of fashion, bred up fromher earliest years in scenes of luxury and pomp, she had yet escaped theselfishness, the artificial graces, which are there generallypredominant. She had married early in life, a marriage _à la mode_, thatis to say, not of love, but of interest on the part of her parents, andon her own, dazzled, perhaps, by the exalted rank of the man who hadmade her an offer of his hand. They were happy. The highly-principledmind of the Duchess revolted from that conduct which would, even in the_on dit_ of a censorious world, have called the very faintest whisperon her name; and her husband, struck by the unwavering honour andintegrity of her conduct, gradually deserted the haunts of ignoblepleasures which he had been wont to frequent, and paid her those marksof consideration and respect, both in public and private life, which sheso greatly deserved. A large family had been the fruits of this union, all of whom, except her two youngest daughters and two of her sons, weremarried, and to the satisfaction of their parents. There was a degree ofreserve, amounting to severity, in the character of the Duchess, whichprevented that same affectionate confidence between her and her childrenas subsisted in Mr. Hamilton's family. Yet she had been a kind andcareful mother, and her children ever proved, that surrounded as sheconstantly was by the fashionable and the gay, she had presided over theeducation of her daughters, and been more than usually particular in thechoice of governesses. Violent as she might be considered in herprejudices for and against, yet there was that in her manner which alikeprevented the petty feelings of dislike and envy, and equally debarredher from being regarded with any of that warm affection, for which noone imagined how frequently she had pined. She stood alone, respected, by many revered, and she was now content with this, though her youth hadlonged for somewhat more. Her chosen friend, spite of the difference ofrank, had been Mr. Hamilton's mother, and she had watched with thejealousy of true friendship the object of Arthur Hamilton's love. 

A brief yet penetrating survey of Emmeline Manvers' character she took, and was satisfied. The devotion of Mrs. Hamilton, for so many years, toher children she had ever admired, and frequently defended her withwarmth when any one ventured before her to condemn her conduct. Mr. AndMrs. Hamilton regarded her with reverence and affection, and weregratified at that kindness which insisted that the _entrée_ of Carolineshould take place at her house. 

The Earl and Countess Elmore were also pre-eminent among theguests--young, noble, exquisitely lovely, the latter at once riveted alleyes, yet by the graceful dignity of her manner, repelled all advancesof familiarity. She might have been conscious of her charms, she couldnot fail to be, but she only valued them as having attracted towards herthe man she loved. She only used them to endear him to his home; and itwas when alone with the Earl, that the sweet playfulness of hercharacter was displayed to its full extent, and scarcely could he thenbelieve her the same being who in society charmed as much by her dignityand elegance, as by her surpassing beauty. The family of the Marquis ofMalvern were also present; they had been long known to Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton, who were glad to resume an intimacy which had been checked bytheir retirement, but which had ever been remembered with mutualpleasure. The Earl of St. Eval, eldest son of the Marquis, might havebeen thought by many, who only knew him casually, as undeserving of thehigh renown he enjoyed; and many young ladies would have wondered atEmmeline Hamilton's undisguised admiration. Handsome he certainly wasnot; yet intelligence and nobleness were stamped upon that broadstraight, brow, and those dark eyes were capable at times of speakingthe softest emotions of the human heart. But it was only when hepermitted himself to speak with energy that his countenance wasdisplayed to advantage, and then the bright rays of intellect andgoodness which gilded every feature, aided by the eloquent tones of hisfull rich voice, would have made the most careless turn and look again, and ask why they admired; but such times were few. Reserved, almostpainfully so, he was generally prone in such scenes as this to standalone, for few indeed were those of either sex with whom the soul ofEugene St. Eval could hold commune; but this night there was moreanimation than usual glittering in his dark eyes. He was the first ofthe admiring crowd to join Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton's party, and petitionfor the hand of Caroline in the next quadrille. It was with a smile ofproud satisfaction her father relinquished her to the young man, for shehad consented, although the watchful eye of her mother observed herglance round the room, as if in search for some other, and a shade ofdisappointment pass over her brow, that said her search was fruitless;that feeling was but momentary, however. She joined the festive throng, and her young heart beat quicker as she met the many glances ofundisguised admiration fixed constantly upon her. Seldom had Mr. Hamilton been so beset as he was that night by the number of young menwho pressed forward to implore him for an introduction to his beautifuldaughter; and Caroline's every anticipation of triumph was indeedfulfilled. Her mother was right. Reality was in this case far moredazzling than even imagination had been. There were many in thatsplendid scene equally, perhaps even more beautiful than CarolineHamilton, but she possessed the charm of which almost all around herwere deprived, that of novelty. She was, indeed, a novice amid scenes offashion, and the genuine pleasure her countenance expressed, appeared arelief when compared to many around her. The name of Hamilton had neverbeen entirely forgotten in London. Their singularity in living so longin unbroken retirement had been by many ridiculed, by others condemned, as an attempt to appear better than their neighbours; and many were thespeculations as to whether the saintly Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton wouldreally do such a wicked thing as introduce their daughters into society, or whether they would keep the poor girls in the country like nuns, tobe moped to death. Great, therefore, was the astonishment of some, andequally great the pleasure to others, when Mr. And Mrs. Hamiltonreappeared amongst their London friends; and that night the warmgreetings of many old friends who thronged around them, eager tointroduce to their notice the young members of their families, affordeda pleasing satisfaction to the heart of Mrs. Hamilton, whose gentlecourtesy and winning smile they found had not in the least deserted her. The feelings of a mother swelled warmly within her as she gazed on herchild; her fond heart throbbed with chastened pride, as she marked theunfeigned and respectful admiration Caroline received, and theseemotions, combined with the pleasure she felt at beholding againwell-remembered faces, and hearing the glad tones of eager greeting, caused this evening to be equally as pleasurable to her, though in adifferent way, as it was to Caroline. 

The attentions of Eugene St. Eval to Miss Hamilton continued asunintermitting as they were respectful the whole of that night; andCaroline, if she did not encourage, certainly forbade them not. Shelistened to him with more attention; she appeared more animated with himthan with any of her other partners, one perhaps, alone excepted, andyet she had taught her young heart to receive impressions to hisprejudice, which Annie never permitted an opportunity to pass withoutcarefully instilling. Why did she then permit his attentions? She knewnot; while listening to his voice, there was a fascination about him shecould not resist, but in her solitary hours she studiously banished hisimage to give place to one whom, by the representations of Annie, shepersuaded herself that she loved alone. 

Genuine, indeed, had been the enjoyment of Caroline Hamilton, from thefirst moment she had entered the ball-room; but if it could beheightened, it was when, about the middle of the evening, LordAlphingham entered. A party of gay young men instantly surrounded him, but breaking from them all, he attached himself the greater part of thenight to Mr. Hamilton. Only two quadrilles he danced with Caroline, butthey were enough to aid the schemes of Annie. She was at hand to excite, to an almost painful degree, the mind of her friend, to speak inrapturous praise of Lord Alphingham, to chain him now and then to herside, and yet so contrive, that the whole of his conversation was withCaroline; and yet the conduct of Annie Grahame had been such that nightas rather to excite the admiration than the censure of Mr. Hamilton. Playfully he combated the prejudice of his wife, who as sportively ownedthat Miss Grahame's conduct in society was different to that she hadanticipated; but her penetrative mind felt not the more at ease when shethought on the friendship that subsisted between Annie and her child. 

"Am I dreaming, or is it Mrs. Hamilton I again behold?" exclaimed anelderly gentleman, as she came forward, and hastily advancing, seizedboth her hands, and pressed them with unfeigned warmth and pleasure, which greeting Mrs. Hamilton as cordially returned. He was a very oldfriend of her father's, and had attained by promotion his present highrank of Admiral of the Blue, but had been the first captain under whoseorders her lamented brother sailed. Very many, therefore, were theassociations that filled her mind as she beheld him, and her mild eyesfor a moment glistened in uncontrollable emotion. 

"How very many changes have taken place since we have come alongside, Mrs. Hamilton, " the old veteran said, gazing on the blooming matronbefore him with almost paternal pleasure. "Poor Delmont! could his kindheart have borne up against the blow of poor Charles's fate, he surelywould have been happy, if all the tales I hear of his daughter Emmelinebe true. "

"Come and judge for yourself, Sir George; my home must ever be open tomy father's dearest friend, " replied Mrs. Hamilton, endeavouring byspeaking playfully to conceal the painful reminiscences called forth byhis words. "I will not vouch for the truth of anything you may haveheard about us in London. You must contrive to moor your ship into theharbour of Oakwood, and thus gratify us all. "

"Ay, ay; take care that I do not cast anchor there so long, that youwill find the best thing will be to cut the cables, send me adrift, andthus get rid of me, " replied the old sailor, delighted at her addressinghim in nautical phrase. "Your appearance here has belied half thestories I heard; so now that you have given me permission, I shall setsail to discover the truth of the rest. "

"You heard, I suppose, that Mr. Hamilton never intended his children tovisit London? They were too good, too--what may I term it?--too perfect, to mingle with their fellow-creatures; is not that it, Admiral?"demanded Mrs. Hamilton, with a smile. 

"Ay, ay; something very like it, --but glad to see the wind is changedfrom that corner. Don't like solitude, particularly for youngfolks, --and how many are here?"

"Of my children?" The veteran nodded. "But one, my eldest girl. I do notconsider her sister quite old enough to be introduced. "

"And you left her in harbour, and only permitted one frigate to cruise. If she had any of her uncle Charles's spirit, she would have shown somelittle insubordination at that piece of discipline, Mrs. Hamilton, " saidthe old man, joyously. 

"Not if my authority is established somewhat like Sir George's, on thebasis of affection, " replied Mrs. Hamilton, again smiling. 

"Ay, you have learnt that secret of government, have you? Now who wouldthink this was the little quiet girl I had dandled on my knee, and toldher tales of storm and war that made her shudder? And where are yoursons?"

"Both at college. "

"What, neither of them a chip of the old block, and neither of them forthe sea? Don't like their taste. No spirit of salt-water within them. "

"But neither of them deficient in spirit for a life on shore. But, however, to set your heart at ease, for the naval honour of our family, Sir George, I have a nephew, who, I think, some few years hence willprove a brave and gallant son of Neptune. The accounts we have of himare most pleasing. He has inherited all poor Charles's spirit anddaring, as well as that true courage, for which you have said my brotherwas so remarkable. "

"Glad of it--glad of it; but what nephew? who is he? A nephew of Mr. Hamilton's will not raise the glory of the Delmont family; and you hadonly one brother, if I remember rightly?"

"Have you quite forgotten the beautiful girl, who, when I last had thepleasure of meeting you in such a scene as this, was the object ofuniversal attraction? You surely remember my father's favourite Eleanor, Sir George?"

"Eleanor--Eleanor--let me think;" and the old sailor for a moment puthimself in a musing attitude, and then starting, exclaimed, "to be sureI do; the loveliest girl I ever cast eyes upon;--and what has become ofher? By the bye, there was some story about her, was there not? Shechose a husband for herself, and ran off, and broke her poor father'sheart. Where is she now?"

"Let her faults be forgotten, my dear Sir George, " replied Mrs. Hamilton, with some emotion. "They were fully, painfully repented. Letthem die with her. "

"Die! Is she, too, dead? What, that graceful sylph, that exquisitecreature I see before me now, in all the pride of conscious loveliness!"and the veteran drew his rough hand across his eyes in unfeignedemotion, then hastily recovering himself, he said, "and this boy--thissailor is her son. I can hardly believe it possible. Why he surelycannot be old enough to go to sea. "

"You forget the number of years that have passed, Sir George. Edward isnow eighteen, as old, if not older, than his mother was when you lastsaw her. "

"And when did poor Eleanor die?"

"Six years ago. She had been left a widow in India, and only reached hernative land to breathe her last in my arms. You will be pleased, Ithink, with her daughter, though, on second thought, perhaps, she maynot be quite lively enough for you; however, I must beg your notice forher, as her attachment to her brother is so excessive, that all relatingto the sea is to her in the highest degree interesting. "

"And do your sister's children live with you--had their father norelations?"

"None; and even if he had, I should have petitioned to bring them up andadopt them as my own. Poor children, when their mother died, theirsituation was indeed melancholy. Helpless orphans of ten and scarcelytwelve, cast on a strange land, without one single friend to whom theycould look for succour or protection. My heart bled for them, and neveronce have I regretted my decision. "

The old man looked at her glowing cheek in admiration, and pressing herhand, he said warmly, prefacing his words, as he always did, with theaffirmative "ay, ay. "

"Your father's daughter must be somewhat different to others of herrank. I must come and see you, positively I must. Wind and tide will bestrongly against me, if you do not see me in a few days anchoring offyour coast. No storms disturb your harbour, I fancy. But what has becomeof your husband--your daughter? let me see all I can belonging to you. Come, Mrs. Hamilton, crowd sail, and tow me at once to my wished forport. "

Entering playfully into the veteran's humour, Mrs. Hamilton took his armand returned to the ball-room, where she was speedily joined by herhusband, who welcomed Sir George Wilmot with as much warmth andcordiality as his wife had done, and as soon as the quadrille wasfinished, a glance from her mother brought Caroline and her partner, Lord Alphingham, to her side. 

The astonishment of Sir George, as Mrs. Hamilton introduced the bloominggirl before him as her daughter, was so irresistibly comic, that no onepresent could prevent a smile; and that surprise was heightened when, inanswer to his supposition that she must be the eldest of Mrs. Hamilton'sfamily, Mrs. Hamilton replied that her two sons were both older, andCaroline was, indeed, the youngest but one. 

"Then I tell you what, Mrs. Hamilton, " the old veteran said, "Old Timehas been playing tricks with me, and drawing me much nearer eternitythan I at all imagined myself, or else he has stopped with me and goneon with you. "

"Or rather, my good friend, " replied Mr. Hamilton, "you can only tracethe hand of Time upon yourself, having no children in whose increasingyears you can behold him, and, therefore, he is very likely to slip thecable before you are aware; but with us such cannot be. "

"Ay, ay, Hamilton, suppose it must be so--wish I had some children of myown, but shall come and watch Time's progress on these instead. Ah, MissHamilton, why am I such an old man? I see all the youngsters running offwith the pretty girls, and I cannot venture to ask one to dance withme. "

"May I venture to ask you then, Sir George? The name of Admiral Wilmotwould be sufficient for any girl, I should think, to feel proud of herpartner, even were he much older and much less gallant than you, SirGeorge, " answered Caroline, with ready courtesy, for she had often heardher mother speak of him, and his manner pleased her. 

"Well, that's a pretty fair challenge, Sir George; you must take up theglove thrown from so fair a hand, " observed Lord Alphingham, with asmile that, to Caroline, and even to her mother, rendered his strikinglyhandsome features yet handsomer. "Shall I relinquish my partner?"

"No, no, Alphingham; you are better suited to her here. At home--at your_own_ home, Miss Hamilton, one night, I shall remind you of yourpromise, and we will trip it together. Now I can only thank you for yourcourtesy; it has done my heart good, and reconciled me to my old age. "

"I may chance to find a rival at home, Sir George. If you see my sister, you will not be content with me. She will use every effort to surpass mein your good graces; for when I tell her I have seen the brave admiralwhose exploits have often caused her cheek to flush with pride--patriotpride she calls it--she will be wild till she has seen you. "

"Will she--will she, indeed? Come and see her to-morrow; tell her so, with an old man's love, and that I scolded your mother heartily for notbringing her to-night. Mind orders; let me see if you are sailor enoughinstinctively to obey an old captain's orders. "

"Trust me, Sir George, " replied Caroline, laughingly, and a young man atthat instant addressing her by name, she bowed gracefully to theveteran, and turned towards him who spoke. 

"Miss Hamilton, I claim your promise for this quadrille, " said LordHenry D'Este. 

"Good bye, " said Sir George. "I shall claim you for my partner when Isee you at home. "

"St. Eval dancing again. Merciful powers! we certainly shall have theroof tumbling over our heads, " exclaimed Lord Henry, as he and Carolinefound themselves _vis à vis_ to the earl of whom he spoke. 

"Why, is it so very extraordinary that a young man should dance?"demanded Caroline. 

"A philosopher as he is, decidedly. You do not know him, Miss Hamilton. He travelled all over Europe, I believe, really for the sake ofimprovement, instead of enjoying all the fun he might have had; hestored his brain with all sorts of knowledge, collecting material andstealing legends to write a book. I went with him part of the way, butbecame so tired of my companion, that I turned recreant and fled, toenjoy a more spirited excursion of my own. I tell him, whenever I want alecture on all subjects, I shall come to him. I call him the WalkingCyclopaedia, and only fancy such a personage dancing a quadrille. Whatlady can have the courage to turn over the leaves of the Cyclopaedia ina quadrille? let me see. Oh, Lady Lucy Melville, our noble hostess'sdaughter. She pretends to be a bit of a blue, therefore they are not soill-matched as I imagined; however, she is not very bad--not a deepblue, only just tinged with celestial azure. Sweet creature, how youwill be edified before your lesson is over. Look, Miss Hamilton, on theother side of the Cyclopaedia. That good lady has been the last sevenyears dancing with all her might and main for a husband. There isanother, striving, by an air of elegant hauteur, to prove she issomething very great, when really she is nothing at all. There's a girljust introduced, as our noble poet says. "

"Take care, take care, Lord Henry; you are treading on dangerousground, " exclaimed Caroline, unable to prevent laughing at the comicmanner in which her companion criticised the dancers. "You forget that Itoo have only just been released, and that this is only my first glimpseof the world. "

"You do me injustice, Miss Hamilton. I am too delightfully andrefreshingly reminded of that truth to forget it for one instant. Youmay have only just made your _début_, but you have not been schooled andscolded, and frightened into propriety as that unfortunate girl has. Ifshe has smiled once too naturally, spoken one word too much, made onestep wrong, or said sir, my lord, your lordship, once too often, shewill have such a lecture to-morrow, she will never wish to go to a ballagain. "

"Poor girl!" said Caroline, in a tone of genuine pity, which caused asmile from her partner. 

"She is not worthy of your pity, Miss Hamilton; she is hardened to itall. What a set we are dancing with, men and women, all heartless alike;but I want to know what magic wand has touched St. Eval. I do believe itmust be your eyes, Miss Hamilton. He talks to his partner, and looks atyou; tries to do two things at once, listen to her, and hear your voice. You are the enchantress, depend upon it. "

A glow of triumph burned on the heart of Caroline at these words. Forthough rather prejudiced against St. Eval by the arts of Annie, still, to make an impression on one whom she had heard was invulnerable to all, to make the calm, and some said, severely stoical, St. Eval bend beneathher power, was a triumph she determined to achieve. That spirit ofcoquetry so fatal to her aunt, the ill-fated Eleanor, was as innate inthe bosom of Caroline; no opportunity had yet offered to give it play, still the seeds were there, and she could not resist the temptation nowpresented. Even in her childhood Mrs. Hamilton had marked this fatalpropensity. Every effort had been put in force to check it, every gentlecounsel given, but arrested in its growth though it was, erased entirelyit could not be. The principles of virtue had been too carefullyinstilled, for coquetry to attain the same ascendancy and indulgencewith Caroline as it had with her aunt, yet she felt she could no longercontrol the inclination which the present opportunity afforded her touse her power. 

"Do you go to the Marchioness of Malvern's fête, next week?" demandedLord Henry. Caroline answered in the affirmative. 

"I am glad of it. The Walking Cyclopaedia may make himself as agreeablethere as he has so marvellously done to-night. You will be in fairyland. He has brought flowers from every country, and reared them for hismother, till they have become the admiration of all for miles around. Itold him he looked like a market gardener, collecting flowers from everyplace he went to. I dragged him away several times, and told him hewould certainly be taken for a country booby, and scolded him fordemeaning his rank with such ignoble pleasures, and what wise answer doyou think he made me?"

"A very excellent one, I have no doubt. "

"Or it would not come from such a learned personage, Miss Hamilton. Really it was so philosophic, I was obliged to learn it as a lesson toretain it. That he, superior as he deemed himself, and that wild flowerwhich he tended with so much care, were alike the work of InfiniteWisdom, and as such, the study of the one could not demean the other. Istared at him, and for the space of a week dubbed him the PreachingPilgrim; but I was soon tired of that, and resumed his former one, whichcomprises all. I wonder at what letter the walking volume will be openedat his mother's fête?"

"I should imagine B, " said Caroline, smiling. 

"B--B--what does B stand for? I have forgotten how to spell--let me see. Ah! I have it, --excellent, admirable! Miss Hamilton. Lecture on Botanyfrom the Walking Cyclopaedia--bravo! We had better scrape up all ourlearning, to prove we are not perfect ignoramuses on the subject. "

Caroline laughingly agreed; and the quadrille being finished, LordHenry succeeded in persuading her to accompany him to therefreshment-room. 

In the meanwhile, perfectly unconscious that he had been the subject ofthe animated conversation of his _vis à vis_, St. Eval was finding moreand more to admire in Miss Hamilton. He conducted his partner to herseat as she desired, and then strolled towards Mr. Hamilton's party, inthe hope that Caroline would soon rejoin her mother; but Annie had beenin the refreshment-room, and she did not reappear for some little time. Mrs. Hamilton had at length been enabled to seek Lady Helen Grahame, with whom she remained conversing, for she felt, though the delay wasunavoidable, she partly deserved the reproach with which Lady Helengreeted her, when she entered, for permitting the whole evening to passwithout coming near her. Mrs. Hamilton perceived, with regret, that shewas more fitted for the quiet of her own boudoir, than the glare andheat of crowded rooms. Gently she ventured to expostulate with her onher endeavours, and Lady Helen acknowledged she felt quite unequal tothe exertion, but that the persuasions of her daughter had brought herthere. She was too indolent to add, she had seen nothing of Annie thewhole evening; nor did she wish to say anything that might increase thedisapprobation with which she sometimes felt, though Annie heeded itnot, Mrs. Hamilton regarded her child. It was admiration, almostveneration, which Lady Helen felt for Mrs. Hamilton, and no one couldhave imagined how very frequently the indolent but well-meaning womanhad regretted what she deemed was her utter inability to act with thesame firmness that characterised her friend. She was delighted at thenotice Lilla ever received from her; but blinded by the artful mannersof her elder girl, she often wished that Annie had been the favouriteinstead. There was somewhat in Mrs. Hamilton's manner that night thatcaused her to feel her own inferiority more than ever; but noself-reproach mingled with the feeling. She could not be like her, andthen why should she expect or deplore what was impossible. Leaning onMrs. Hamilton's arm, she resolved, however, to visit the ball-room, andthey reached Mr. Hamilton at the instant Grahame joined them. 

"You here, Grahame!" exclaimed his friend, as he approached. "I thoughtyou had forsworn such things. "

"I make an exception to-night, " he answered. "I wished to see my fairfriend Caroline where I have longed to see her. "

"You are honoured, indeed, Mrs. Hamilton, " Lady Helen could not refrainfrom saying. "He was not present at the _entrée_ even of his owndaughter. "

"And why was I not, Lady Helen? because I would not by my presence givethe world reason to say I also approved of the very early age at whichMiss Grahame was introduced. If I do not mistake, she is four monthsyounger than Caroline, and yet my daughter is no longer a novice in suchscenes as these. "

Lady Helen shrunk in terror from the stern glance of her husband, wholittle knew the pain he inflicted; and Mrs. Hamilton hastily, butcautiously drew her away to enter into conversation with the Marchionessof Malvern, who was near them, which little manoeuvre quickly removedthe transient cloud; and though soon again compelled to seek the shelterof the quiet little room she had quitted, the friendly kindness of Mrs. Hamilton succeeded in making Lady Helen's evening end more agreeablythan it had begun. 

"Are you only just released, Grahame?" demanded Lord Alphingham, whostill remained near Mr. Hamilton. 

"You are less fortunate than I was, or perhaps you will think, inparliamentary concerns, more so; but as the ball was uppermost in mythoughts this evening, I was glad to find myself at liberty above anhour ago. "

"Is there nothing, then, stirring in the Upper House?"

"Nothing; I saw many of the noble members fast asleep, and those whospoke said little to the purpose. When do you gentlemen of the LowerHouse send up your bill? it will be a charity to give us something todo. "

"We shall be charitable then on Friday next, and I much doubt if you donot have some warm debating work. If we succeed, it will be a glorioustriumph; the Whigs are violent against us, and they are by far thestrongest party. I depend greatly on your eloquence, Alphingham. "

"It is yours to the full extent of its power, my good friend; it carriessome weight along with it, I believe, and I would gladly use it in agood cause. "

"Did you speak to-night, Grahame?" Mr. Hamilton asked, evincing by hisanimated countenance an interest in politics, which, from his retiredlife, no one believed that he possessed. Grahame eagerly entered intothe detail of that night's debate, and for a little time the threegentlemen were absorbed in politics alone. The approach of Caroline andher mother, however, caused Grahame suddenly to break off in his speech. 

"A truce with debates, for the present, " he gaily exclaimed. "Hamilton, I never saw Caroline's extraordinary likeness to you till this moment. What a noble-looking girl she is! Ah, Hamilton, I could pardon you ifyou were much prouder of your children than you are. "

An involuntary sigh broke from his lips as he spoke, but checking it, hehastened to Caroline, and amused her with animated discourse, till LordAlphingham and Eugene St. Eval at the same instant approached, the oneto claim, the other to request, Caroline as his partner in the lastquadrille before supper. The shade of deep disappointment which passedover the young Earl's expressive countenance as Caroline eagerlyaccepted the Viscount's offered arm, and owned she had been engaged tohim some time, at once confirmed to her flattered fancy the truth ofLord Henry's words, and occasioned a feeling near akin to pleasure inthe equally observant mother. Mrs. Hamilton shrunk with horror at theidea of introducing her child into society merely for the purpose ofdecoying a husband; but she must have been void of natural feeling hadnot the thought very often crossed her mind, that the time was drawingnigh when her daughter's earthly destiny would, in all probability, befixed for ever; and in the midst of the tremblings of maternal love thenatural wish would mingle, that noble rank and manly virtue might be theendowments of him who would wed her Caroline, and amongst those nobleyouths with whom she had lately mingled, she had seen but one her fondheart deemed on all points worthy of her child, and that one was theyoung Earl Eugene St. Eval. That he was attracted, her penetrating eyecould scarcely doubt, but farther she would not think; and so great washer sensitiveness on this head, that much as she admired the young man, she was much more reserved with him than she would have been had shesuspected nothing of his newly dawning feelings. 

St. Eval did not join in the quadrille, and after lingering by Mrs. Hamilton till she was invited to the supper-room, he aroused theincreased merriment of his tormentor, Lord Henry, by offering her hisarm, conducting her to supper, and devoting himself to her, he declared, as if she were the youngest and prettiest girl in the room. 

"Playing the agreeable to mamma, to win the good graces of _la fille_. Admirable diplomacy; Lord St. Eval, I wish you joy of your new talent, "maliciously remarked Lord Henry, as the Earl and his companion passedhim. A glance from those dark eyes, severe enough to have sent terror tothe soul of any less reckless than Lord Henry, was St. Eval's onlyreply, and he passed on; and seldom did Mrs. Hamilton find a companionmore to her taste in a supper-room than the young Earl. The leaves ofthe Walking Cyclopaedia were indeed then opened, Henry D'Este would havesaid, for on very many subjects did St. Eval allow himself that eveningto converse, which, except to his mother and sisters, were ever lockedin the recesses of his own reflecting mind; but there was a kindness, almost maternal, which Mrs. Hamilton unconsciously used to every youngperson who sought her company, and that charm the young and giftednobleman never could resist. He spoke of her sons in a manner that couldnot fail to attract a mother's heart. The six months he had spent withthem at college had been sufficient for him to form an intimatefriendship with Percy, whose endeavours to gain his esteem he had beenunable to resist; while he regretted that the reserved disposition ofHerbert, being so like his own, had prevented his knowing him so well ashis brother. He spoke too of a distant relative of Mrs. Hamilton's, thepresent Lord Delmont, in whom, as the representative of her ancientfamily, she was much interested. St. Eval described with eloquence thelovely villa he occupied on the banks of Lago Guardia, near thefrontiers of the Tyrol, the health of his only sister, some few yearsyounger than himself, not permitting them to live in England; he hadgiven up all the invitations to home and pleasure held out to him by hisfather-land, and retiring to Italy, devoted himself entirely to hismother and sister. 

"He is a brother and son after your own heart, Mrs. Hamilton, " concludedSt. Eval, with animation, "and that is the highest compliment I can payhim. "

Mrs. Hamilton smiled, and as she gazed on the glowing features of theyoung man, she thought he who could so well appreciate such virtuescould not be--nay, she knew he was not--deficient in them himself, andstronger than ever became her secret wish; but she hastily banished it, and gave her sole attention to the interesting subjects on which St. Eval continued to speak. 

For some few hours after supper the ball continued, with even, perhaps, more spirit than it had commenced; but St. Eval did not ask Caroline todance again. He fancied she preferred Alphingham's attentions, and hissensitive mind shrunk from being again refused. Caroline knew not theheart of him over whom she had resolved to use her power, perhaps if shehad, she would have hesitated in her determination. The leastencouragement made his heart glow with an uncontrollable sensation ofexquisite pleasure, while repulse bade it sink back with an equal if nota greater degree of pain. St. Eval was conscious of this weakness in hischaracter; he was aware that he possessed a depth of feeling, whichunless steadily controlled, would tend only to his misery; and it wasfor this he clothed himself in impenetrable reserve, and obtained fromthe world the character of being proud and disagreeable. He dreaded thefirst entrance of love within his bosom, for instinctively he felt thathis very sensitiveness would render the passion more his misery than hisjoy. We are rather sceptics in the doctrine of love at first sight, butin this case it was fervid and enduring, as if it had risen on the solidbasis of intimacy and esteem. From the first hour he had spent in thesociety of Caroline Hamilton, Eugene St. Eval loved. He tried to subdueand conquer his newly-awakened feelings, and would think he hadsucceeded, but the next hour he passed in her society brought the truthclearer than ever before his eyes; her image alone occupied his heart. He shrunk, in his overwrought sensitiveness, from paying her thoseattentions which would have marked his preference; he did not wish toexcite the remarks of the world, nor did he feel that he possessedsufficient courage to bear the repulse, with which, if she did notregard him, and if she were the girl he fancied her, she would cheek hisforwardness. But his heart beat high, and it was with some difficulty hecontrolled his emotion, when he perceived that Caroline refused to danceeven with Lord Alphingham on several occasions, to continue conversingwith himself. How his noble spirit would have chafed and bled, could hehave known it was love of power and coquetry that dictated her manner, and not regard, as for the time he allowed himself to fancy. 

The evening closed, the noble guests departed, and daylight had resumedits reign over the earth by the time Mr. Hamilton's carriage stopped inBerkeley Square. Animatedly had Caroline conversed with her parents onthe pleasures of the evening during their drive; but when she reachedher own room, when Martyn had left her, and she was alone, she was notquite sure if a few faint whisperings of self-reproach did not in adegree alloy the retrospection of this her first glimpse of the gayworld; but quickly--perhaps too quickly--they were banished. Theattentions of Lord Alphingham--heightened in their charm by MissGrahame's positive assurance to her friend that the Viscount wasattracted, there was not the very slightest doubt of it--and theproposed pleasure of compelling the proud, reserved St. Eval to yield toher fascinations, alone occupied her fancy. To make him her captivewould be triumph indeed. She wished, too, to show Annie she was not socompletely under control as she fancied; that she, too, could act withthe spirit of a girl of fashion; and to choose St. Eval, andsucceed--charm him to her side--force him to pay her attentions which noother received, would, indeed, prove to her fashionable companions thatshe was not so entirely governed by her mother, so very simple andspiritless as they supposed. Her power should do that which all hadattempted in vain. Her cheek glowed, her heart burned with the brighthope of expected triumph, and when she at length sunk to sleep, it wasto dream of St. Eval at her feet. 

Oh! were the counsels, the example, the appeal of her mother allforgotten? Was this a mother's recompense? Alas! alas!

CHAPTER IV. 

Numerous were the cards and invitations now left at Mr. Hamilton's door;and the world, in its most tempting form, was indeed spread beforeCaroline, although, perhaps, compared with the constant routine ofpleasure pursued by some young ladies who attend two or three assemblieseach of the six nights out of the seven, her life could scarcely becalled gay. Mr. Hamilton had drawn a line, and, difficult as it was tokeep, he adhered to his resolution, notwithstanding the entreaties ofhis friends, and very often those of his daughter. A dinner-party and aball he would sometimes permit Caroline to attend in one day, but theflying from house to house, to taste of every pleasure offered, he neverwould allow. Nor did he or any member of his family ever attend theOpera on Saturday night, however great might be the attractions. ToEmmeline this was a great privation, as poetry and music had ever beenher chief delights, and the loss of even one night's enjoyment was feltseverely; but she acquiesced without a murmur, appreciating the truth ofher father's remark, that it was impossible to pay attention to theSabbath duties when the previous evening had been thus employed. Sheknew, too, how difficult it was to attend to her studies (due regard forwhich her parents required amidst every recreation) on the Wednesday, with every air she had so delighted in the previous night ringing in herears. Those who were eager to condemn Mrs. Hamilton whenever theycould, declared it was the greatest inconsistency to take Emmeline tothe Opera, and permit her to appear so often in company at home, and yetin other matters he so strict; why could she not bring her out at once, instead of only tantalizing her? but Mrs. Hamilton could never doanything like anybody else. Her daughters were much to be pitied; and asfor her niece, she must pass a miserable life, for she was scarcely everseen. They had no doubt, with all Mrs. Hamilton's pretensions togoodness, that her poor niece was utterly neglected, and kept quite inthe background; because she was so beautiful, Mrs. Hamilton was jealousof the notice she might obtain. 

So thought, and so very often spoke, the ill-natured half of the world, who, in reality, jealous and displeased at being excluded from Mr. Hamilton's visiting list, did everything in their power to lessen theestimation in which the family was held. In this, however, they couldnot succeed, nor in causing pain to those whom they wished to wound. Such petty malice demanded not a second thought from minds sowell-regulated as those of Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton. Mrs. Hamilton, indeed, turned their ill-natured remarks to advantage, for instead of neglectingor wholly despising them, she considered them in her own heart, and insolitary reflection pondered deeply if she in any way deserved them. Sheknew that the lesson of self-knowledge is never entirely learnt; and sheknew too, that an enemy may say that in ill-will or malice which mayhave some foundation, though our friends, aided by self-love, may havehidden the truth from us. Deeply did this noble woman think on her planof conduct; severely she scrutinized its every motive, and she was atpeace. Before entering upon it she had implored the Divine blessing, andshe felt that, in the case of Emmeline and Ellen, her prayers forguidance had not been unheeded. Perhaps her conduct, with regard to theformer, might have appeared inconsistent; but she felt no ill-willtowards those who condemned, knowing the disposition of her child, andcertainly those who thus spoke did not. 

Although there was little more than fourteen months difference betweenthe age of the sisters, Emmeline was so much a child in simplicity andfeeling, that her mother felt assured it would neither be doing her goodnor tending to her happiness to introduce her with her sister; as, fromthe little difference in their ages, some mothers might have beeninclined to do. Yet she did not wish to keep her in such entireseclusion as some, even of her friends, advised, but permitted her theenjoyment of those innocent pleasures natural to her taste. Emmeline hadnever once murmured at this arrangement; however it interfered with hermost earnest wishes, her confidence in her parents was such, that sheever submitted to their wishes with cheerfulness. Mrs. Hamilton knew andsympathised in her feelings at leaving Oakwood. She felt there wereindeed few pleasures in London that could compensate to a dispositionsuch as Emmeline's for those she had left. She had seen, with joy andthankfulness, the conquest of self which her child had so perseveringlyachieved; and surely she was not wrong to reward her, by giving herevery gratification in her power, and endeavouring to make her as happyas she was at Oakwood. Emmeline was no longer a child, and thesepleasures interfered not with the attention her parents still wished herto bestow on the completion of her education. With all the innocence andquiet of a young child she enjoyed the select parties given by hermother with the same zest, but with the poetic feelings of dawningyouth. She absolutely revelled in the Opera, and there her mothergenerally accompanied her once a week. An artist might have found apleasing study in the contemplation of that young, bright face, as shesat entranced, every sense absorbed in the music which she heard, thevarying expression of her countenance reflecting every emotion actedbefore her. At such moments the fond mother felt it to be impossible todeny the young enthusiast the rich treat these musical recreationsafforded. A smile or look of sympathy was ever ready to meet the oftenuncontrolled expressions of delight which Emmeline could not suppress, for in thus listening to the compositions of our great masters, eventhose much older than Emmeline can seldom entirely command theiremotions. Natural as were the manners of Caroline in public, they almostresembled art when compared with those of her sister. Mrs. Hamilton'slesson on self-control had not been forgotten. Emmeline generallycontrived to behave with perfect propriety, except in moments ofexcitement such as these, where natural enthusiasm and almost childishglee would have their play, and her mother could not, would not checkthem. 

With regard to Ellen, the thoughtless remarks of the world were indeedunfounded, as all who recollect the incidents detailed in former pageswill readily believe. Her health still continued so delicate asfrequently to occasion her aunt some anxiety. Through the winter, strange to say, she had not suffered, but the spring brought on, atintervals, those depressing feelings of languor which Mrs. Hamiltonhoped had been entirely conquered. The least exertion or excitementcaused her to suffer the following day, and therefore, except at verysmall parties, she did not appear even at home. No one could suspectfrom her quiet and controlled manner, and her apparently inanimatethough beautiful features, that she was as enthusiastic in mind and inthe delights of the Opera as her cousin Emmeline. By no one we do notmean her aunt, for Mrs. Hamilton could now trace every feeling of thatyoung and sorrowing heart, and she saw with regret, that in her niece'spresent state of health, even that pleasure must be denied her, for thevery exertion attendant on it was too much. Ellen never expressedregret, nor did she ever breathe even to her aunt how often, how veryoften, she longed once again to enjoy the fresh air of Oakwood, forLondon to her possessed not even the few attractions it did to Emmeline. She ever struggled to be cheerful, to smile when her aunt lookedanxiously at her, and strove to assure her that she was happy, perfectlyhappy. Her never appearing as Emmeline did, and so very seldom even athome, certainly gave matter for observation to those who, seeking forit, refused to believe the true reason of her retirement. Miss Harcourt, though she steadfastly refused to go out with her friend--for Mrs. Hamilton never could allow that she filled any situation save that of afriend and relation of the family--yet sometimes accompanied Emmeline tothe Opera, and always joined Mrs. Hamilton at home. Many, therefore, were the hours Ellen spent entirely alone, but she perseveredunrepiningly in the course laid down for her by the first medical man inLondon, whom her aunt had consulted. 

How she employed those lonely hours Mrs. Hamilton never would inquire. Perfect liberty to follow her own inclinations she should enjoy atleast; but it was not without pain that Mrs. Hamilton so frequently lefther niece. She knew that the greatest privation, far more than any ofthe pleasures her cousins enjoyed, was the loss of her society. Themornings and evenings were now so much occupied, that it often happenedthat the Sabbath and the evening previous were the only times Ellencould have intercourse of any duration with her. She regretted thisdeeply, for Ellen was no longer a child; she was at that age when lifeis in general keenly susceptible to the pleasures of society; andreserved as was her disposition, Mrs. Hamilton felt assured, the loss ofthat unchecked domestic intercourse she had so long enjoyed at Oakwoodwas pain, though never once was she heard to complain. These contraryduties frequently grieved the heart of her aunt. Often she accompaniedCaroline when her inclination prompted her to remain at home; for sheloved Ellen as her own child, and to tend and soothe her would sometimeshave been the preferable duty; but she checked the wish, for sufferingand solitary as was Ellen, Caroline, in the dangerous labyrinth of theworld, required her care still more. 

There are trials which the world regards not--trials on which there aremany who look lightly--those productive of no interest, seldom ofsympathy, but with pain to the sufferer; it is when health fails, notsufficiently to attract notice, but when the disordered state of thenerves renders the mind irritable, the body weak; when from thatinvisible weakness, little evils become great, the temper loses itsequanimity, the spirits their elasticity, we scarcely know wherefore, and we reproach ourselves, and add to our uneasiness by thinking we arebecoming pettish and ill-tempered, enervated and repining; we dare notconfess such feelings, for our looks proclaim not failing health, andwho would believe us? when the very struggle for cheerfulness fills theeye with tears, the heart with heaviness, and we feel provoked at ourpeevishness, and angry that we are so different now to what we havebeen; and we fancy, changed as we are, all we love can no longer regardus as formerly. Such are among the trials of woman, unknown, frequentlyunsuspected, by her nearest and dearest relations; and bitter indeed isit when such trials befall us in early youth, when liveliness andbuoyancy are expected, and any departure therefrom is imagined toproceed from causes very opposite to the truth. Such at present were thetrials of the orphan; but they were softened by the kindness andsympathy of her aunt, who possessed the happy art of soothing moreeffectually in a few words than others of a less kindly mould could everhave accomplished. 

It is in the quick perception of character, in the adaptation of ourwords to those whom we address, that in domestic circles renders usbeloved, and forms the fascination of society. Sympathy is the charm ofhuman life, and when once that is made apparent, we are not slow indiscovering or imagining others. Some people find the encouragement ofsympathy disagreeable, for they say it makes them miserable for nopurpose. What care they for the woes and joys of their acquaintances?Often a tax, and never a pleasure. Minds of such nature know not thatthere is a "joy in the midst of grief;" but Mrs. Hamilton did, and sheencouraged every kindly feeling of her nature. Previous to her marriage, she had been perhaps too reserved and shrinking within herself, fanciedthere was no one of her own rank at least who could understand her, andtherefore none with whom she could sympathise. But the greaterconfidence of maturer years, the example of her husband, the emotions ofa wife and mother, had enlarged her heart, and caused her, by readysympathy with others, to increase her own enjoyments, and render herselfmore pleasing than perhaps, if she had remained single, she ever wouldhave been. It was this invisible charm that caused her to be admired andinvoluntarily loved, even by those who, considering her a saint atfirst, shrunk in dread from her society, and it was this that renderedthe frequent trials of her niece less difficult to bear. 

"Does my Ellen remember a little conversation we had on the eve of herlast birthday?" demanded Mrs. Hamilton of her niece one evening, as shehad finished dressing, to attend her daughter to the Opera, and Martyn, at her desire, had obeyed Caroline's impatient summons, and left toEllen the task of fastening her lady's jewels. 

Whenever nothing occurred to prevent it, Ellen was generally with heraunt at dressing-time, and the little conversation that passed betweenthem at such periods frequently rendered Ellen's solitary eveningcheerful, when otherwise it might have been, from her state of healthand apparently endless task, even gloomy. Mrs. Hamilton had observed amore than usual depression that evening in the manners of her niece, and, without noticing, she endeavoured to remove it. Ellen was bendingdown to clasp a bracelet as she spoke, and surprised at the question, looked up, without giving herself time to conceal an involuntary tear, though she endeavoured to remove any such impression, by smilingcheerfully as she replied in the affirmative. 

"And will it cheer your solitary evenings, then, my dear Ellen?" shecontinued, drawing her niece to her, and kissing her transparent brow, "if I say that, in the self-denial, patience, and submission you are nowpractising, you are doing more, towards raising your character in myestimation, and banishing from remembrance the painful past, than youonce fancied it would ever be in your power to do. I think I know itsmotive, and therefore I do not hesitate to bestow the meed of praise youso well deserve. "

For a minute Ellen replied not, she only raised her aunt's hand to herlips and kissed it, as if to hide her emotion before she spoke, but hereyes were still swelling with tears as she looked up andreplied--"Indeed, my dearest aunt, I do not deserve it. You do not knowhow irritable and ill-tempered I often feel. "

"Because you are not very well, my love, and yet you do not feelsufficiently ill to complain. I sometimes fancy such a state of healthas yours is more difficult to bear than a severe though short illness, then, you can, at least, claim soothing consolation and sympathy. Now mypoor Ellen thinks she can demand neither, " she added, smiling. 

"I always receive both from you, " replied Ellen, earnestly; "and notmuch submission is required when that is the case, and I am told myhealth forbids my sharing in Emmeline's pleasures. "

"No, love, there would not be, if you felt so ill as to have no desirefor them; but that is not the case, for I know you very often feel quitewell enough to go out with me, and I am quite sure that my Ellensometimes wishes she were not so completely prohibited such amusements. "

"I thought I had succeeded better in concealing those wishes, " repliedEllen, blushing deeply. 

"So you have, my dear girl, no one but myself suspects them; and youcould not expect to conceal them from me, Ellen, could you, whenEmmeline says it is utterly impossible to hide her most secret thoughtfrom my mystic wand? Do not attempt more, my love; persevere in yourpresent conduct, and I shall be quite satisfied. Have you an interestingbook for to-night, or is there any other employment you prefer?"

"You have banished all thoughts of gloom, my dear aunt, and perhaps, instead of reading, I shall work and think on what you have said, "exclaimed Ellen, her cheek becoming more crimsoned than it was before, and exciting for the moment the attention of her aunt. She, however, soon permitted it to pass from her thoughts, for she knew the leastemotion generally had that effect. Little did she imagine how thosesolitary hours were employed. Little did she think the cause of thatdeep blush, or guess the extent of comfort her words had bestowed on herniece, how they cheered the painful task the orphan believed it her dutyto perform. Spite of many obstacles of failing health, sheperseveringly continued, although as yet she approached not the end ofher desires. No gleam of light yet appeared to say her toil was nearlyover, her wish obtained. 

The limits of our tale, as well as the many histories of individualsthese memoirs of the Hamilton family must embrace, will not permit us tolinger on the scenes of gaiety in which Caroline now mingled, and whichafforded her, perhaps, too many opportunities for the prosecution of herschemes; Miss Grahame's task was no longer difficult. Her confidenceonce given to another, she could not recall to bestow it upon hermother, from whom, the more she mingled in society, the more she becameestranged; and Annie became at once her confidant and adviser. Eager toprove she was not the simple-minded being she was believed, Carolineconfided her designs, with regard to St. Eval, to Miss Grahame, who, asmay be supposed, heightened and encouraged them. Had any one pointed outto Caroline she was acting with duplicity, departing from the line oftruth to which, even in her childhood, in the midst of many otherfaults, she had beautifully and strictly adhered, she might have shrunkback in horror; but where was the harm of a little innocent flirtation?Annie would repeatedly urge, if she fancied a doubt of the propriety ofsuch conduct was rising in her friend's mind, and she was ready withexamples of girls of high birth and exemplary virtues who practised itwith impunity: it gave a finish to the character of a woman, proved shewould sometimes act for herself, not always be in leading-strings; itgave a taste of power, gratified her ambition; in short, flirtation wasthe very acme of enjoyment, and gave a decided _ton_ before and aftermarriage. 

St. Eval was not sanguine. But it was in vain he tried to resist thefascinations of the girl he loved, he could not for an instant doubt butthat she encouraged him; he even felt grateful, and loved her more forthose little arts and kindnesses with which she ever endeavoured to drawhim from his reserve, and chain him to her side. Could that noble spiritimagine she only acted thus to afford herself amusement for the time, and prove her power to her companions? Could she, the child of Mr. AndMrs. Hamilton, act otherwise than honourably? We may pardon Lord St. Eval for believing it impossible, but bitterly was he deceived. Even hermother, her penetrating, confiding mother, was deceived, and no marvelthen that such should be the case with a comparative stranger. 

Had Caroline's manner been more generally coquettish, Mrs. Hamilton'seyes might have been opened; but her behaviour in general was such asrather to diminish than increase those fears which, before her child hadjoined the world, had very frequently occupied her anxious heart. Tostrangers even, her encouragement of St. Eval might not have beenobservable, though it was clearly so to the watchful eyes of herparents, whose confidence in their daughter's integrity was such asentirely to exonerate her in their minds from any intention of coquetry. In this instance, perhaps, their regard for the young Earl himself, andtheir mutual but secret wishes might have heightened their belief, thatnot only was St. Eval attracted but that Caroline encouraged him, andfeeling this they regretted that Lord Alphingham should continue hisattentions, which Caroline never appeared to receive with any particularpleasure. 

Anxious as had been Mrs. Hamilton's feelings with regard to thefriendship subsisting between her daughter and Annie Grahame, she littleimagined how painfully the influence of the latter had already tarnishedthe character of the former. Few are aware of the danger arising fromthose very intimate connections which young women are so fond offorming. Every mother should study, almost as carefully as those of herown, the character of her children's intimate friends. Mrs. Hamilton haddone so, and as we know, never approved of Caroline's intimacy withAnnie, but yet she could not check their intercourse while such intimatefriendship existed between her husband and Montrose Grahame. She knew, too, that the latter felt pleasure in beholding Caroline the chosenfriend of his daughter; and though she could never hope as Grahame did, that the influence of her child would improve the character of his, shehad yet sufficient confidence in Caroline at one time to believe thatshe would still consider her mother her dearest and truest friend, andthus counteract the effects of Annie's ill-directed eloquence. In thishope she had already found herself disappointed; but still, thoughCaroline refused her sympathy, and bestowed it, as so many other girlsdid, on a companion of her own age, she relied perhaps too fondly onthose principles she had so carefully instilled in early life, andbelieved that no stain would sully the career of her much-loved child. If Mrs. Hamilton's affection in this instance completely blinded her, ifshe acted too weakly in not at once breaking this closely woven chain ofintimacy, her feelings, when she knew all, were more than sufficientchastisement. Could the noble, the honourable, the truth-loving motherfor one instant imagine that Caroline, the child whose early years hadcaused her so much pain, had called forth so many tearful prayers--thechild whose dawning youth had been so fair, that her heart had nearlylost its tremblings--that her Caroline should encourage one young manmerely to indulge in love of power, and what was even worse, to thusconceal her regard for another? Yet it was even so. Caroline reallybelieved that not only was she an object of passionate love to theViscount, but that she returned the sentiment with equal if notheightened warmth, and, as the undeniable token of true love, she nevermentioned his name except to her confidant. In the first of theseconjectures she was undoubtedly right; as sincerely as a man of hischaracter could, Lord Alphingham did love Miss Hamilton, and thefascination of his manner, his insinuating eloquence, and ever readyflattery, all combined, might well cause this novice in such matters tobelieve her heart was really touched; but that it truly was so not onlymay we be allowed to doubt, but it appeared that Annie did so also, byher laborious efforts to fan the newly ignited spark into a name, andnever once permit Caroline to look into herself; and she took so manyopportunities of speaking of those silly, weak-spirited girls, that wentwith a tale of love directly to their mothers, and thus very frequentlyblighted their hopes and condemned them to broken hearts, by theirduennas' caprices, that Caroline shrunk from the faintest wish toconfide all to her mother, with a sensation amounting almost to fear andhorror. Eminently handsome and accomplished as Lord Alphingham was, still there was somewhat in his features, or rather their expression, that did not please, and scarcely satisfied Mrs. Hamilton's penetration. Intimate as he was with Grahame, friendly as he had become with herhusband, she could not overcome the feeling of repugance with which shemore than once found herself unconsciously regarding him; and she feltpleased that Mr. Hamilton steadily adhered to his resolution in notinviting him to his house. To have described what she disliked in himwould have been impossible, it was indefinable; but there was a casualglance of that dark eye, a curl of that handsome mouth, a momentaryknitting of the brow, that whispered of a mind not inwardly at peace;that restless passions had found their dwelling-place around his heart. Mrs. Hamilton only saw him in society: it was uncharitable perhaps tojudge him thus; but the feelings of a mother had rendered her thusacute, had endowed her with a penetration unusually perceptive, and sherejoiced that Caroline gave him only the meed of politeness, and that nosign of encouragement was displayed in her manner towards him. 

That mother's fears were not unfounded. Lord Alphingham loved Caroline, but the love of a libertine is not true affection, and such a characterfor the last fourteen years of his life he had been; nine years of thattime he had lived on the Continent, gay, and courted, in whatevercountry he resided, winning many a youthful heart to bid it break, orlure it on to ruin. It was only the last year he had returned toEngland, and as he had generally assumed different names in the variousparts of the Continent he had visited, the adventures of his life wereunknown in the land of his birth, save that they were sometimeswhispered by a few in similar coteries, and then more as conjecture thanreality. So long a time had elapsed, that the wild errors of his youth, which had been perhaps the original cause of his leaving England, wereentirely forgotten, as if such things had never been, and the Viscountnow found himself quite as much, if not more, an object of universalattraction in his native land than he had been on the Continent. He wasnow about thirty, and perfect indeed in his vocation. The freshness, _naïveté_, and perfect innocence of Caroline had captivated his fancyperhaps even more than it had ever been before, and her perfectignorance of the ways of the fashionable world encouraged him to hopehis conquest of her heart would be very easy. He had found an ableconfidant and advocate in Miss Grahame, who had contrived to placeherself with her father's friend on the footing of most friendlyintimacy, and partly by her advice and the suggestions of his own hearthe determined to win the regard of Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton, before heopenly paid attentions to their daughter. With the former he appearedvery likely to succeed, for the talent he displayed in the House, hisapparently earnest zeal for the welfare of his country, her church andstate, his masterly eloquence, and the interest he felt for Grahame, were all qualities attractive in the eyes of Mr. Hamilton; and though hedid not yet invite him to his house, he never met him without evincingpleasure. With Mrs. Hamilton, Alphingham did not find himself so much atease, nor fancy he was so secure; courteous she was indeed, but in herintercourse with him she had unconsciously recalled much of what Grahametermed the forbidding reserve of years past. In vain he attempted withher to pass the barriers of universal politeness, and become intimate;his every advance was repelled coldly, yet not so devoid of courtesy asto make him suspect she had penetrated his secret character. Still hepersevered in unwavering and marked politeness, although Annie'srepresentations of Mrs. Hamilton's character had already caused him todetermine in his own mind to make Caroline his wife, with or without hermother's approval; and he amused himself with believing that, as hermother was so strict and stern as to keep her children, particularlyCaroline, in such subjection, it would be doing the poor girl a charityto release her from such thraldom, and introduce her, as his wife, intoscenes far more congenial to her taste, where she would be free fromsuch keen _surveillance_. In these thoughts he was ably seconded byAnnie, who was constantly pitying Caroline's enslaved situation, andcondemning Mrs. Hamilton's strict severity, declaring it was allaffectation; she was not a degree better than any one else, who did notmake half the fuss about it. Lord Alphingham's resolution was taken, that before the present season was over, Caroline should be engaged tohim, _nolens volens_ on the part of her parents, and he actedaccordingly. 

As opposite as were the characters, so was the conduct of Caroline's twonoble suitors. St. Eval, spite of the encouragement he received, yetshrunk from paying any marked attention either to Caroline or herparents. It was by degrees he became intimate in their family, butthere, perhaps, the only person with whom he felt entirely at ease wasEmmeline, who, rejoicing at Caroline's change of manner, began to hopeher feelings were changing too, and indulged in hopes that one day LordSt. Eval might really be her brother. Emmeline knew her sister's opinionof coquetry was very different to hers; but this simple-minded girlcould never have conceived that scheme of duplicity, which, by the aidand counsel of Annie, Caroline now practised. She scarcely ever sawAlphingham, and never hearing her sister name him, and being perfectlyunconscious of his attentions when they met, she could not, even in herunusually acute imagination, believe him St. Eval's rival. More and moreenamoured the young Earl became each time he felt himself an especialobject of Caroline's notice; his heart throbbed and his hopes grewstronger, still he breathed not one word of love, he dared not. Diffident of his own attractive qualities, he feared to speak, till hethought he could be assured of her affections. In the intoxication oflove, he felt her refusal would have more effect upon him than he couldbear. He shrunk from the remarks of the world, and waited yet a littlelonger, ere with a trembling heart he should ask that all-importantquestion. So matters stood in Mr. Hamilton's family during the greaterpart of the London season; but as it is not our task to enter intoCaroline's gaieties, we here may be permitted to mention Mrs. Greville'sdeparture with her delicate and suffering child from the land of theirbirth. 

Mr. Greville had made no opposition to their intended plan. SeriouslyMr. Maitland had told him that the life of his child depended on herresidence for some time abroad, in a genial climate and extreme quiet;but in vain did Mrs. Greville endeavour to believe that affection forhis daughter and herself occasioned this unwonted acquiescence; it wastoo clearly to be perceived that he was pleased at their separation fromhimself, for it gave him more liberty. She wrote to her son, imploringhim in the most earnest and affectionate manner to return home for theEaster vacation, that she might see him for a few days before she leftEngland--perhaps never to return. Ruined from earliest boyhood by weakindulgence, Alfred Greville felt sometimes a throb of natural feelingfor his mother, though her counsels were of no avail. Touched by themournful solemnity and deep affection breathing in every line, hecomplied with her request, and spent four or five days peacefully athome. He appeared shocked at the alteration he found in his sister, andwas kinder than he had previously been in his manner towards her. He hadlately become heir to a fortune and estate, left him by a very old anddistant relative of his father, and it was from this he had determined, he told his father, to go to Cambridge and cut a dash there with thebest of them. He was now eighteen, and believed himself noinconsiderable personage, in which belief he was warmly encouraged byhis mistaken father. It was strange that, with such an income, hepermitted the favourite residence of his mother and sister to besold--but so it was. The generous feelings of his early childhood hadbeen completely blunted, and to himself alone he intended to appropriatethat fortune, when a portion would yet have removed many of Mrs. Greville's anxious fears for the future. Alfred intended, when he was ofage, to be one of the first men of fashion; but he did not consider, that if he "cut a dash" at college, with the _éclat_ he wished, thatbefore three years had passed, he would not be much richer than he hadbeen when the fortune was first left him. 

"Mother, you will drive me from you, " he one day exclaimed, in passion, as she endeavoured to detain him. "If you wish ever to see me, let metake my own way. Advice I will not brook, and reproach I will not bear;if you love me, be silent, for I will not be governed. "

"Alfred, I will speak!" replied his almost agonized parent, urged on byan irresistible impulse. "Child of my love, my prayers! Alfred, I willnot see you go wrong, without one effort, one struggle to guide you inthe right path. Alfred, I leave England--my heart is bursting; forMary's sake alone I live, and if she be taken from me, Alfred, we shallnever meet again. My son, oh, if you ever loved me, listen to me now, they may be the last words you will ever hear from your mother's lips. Iimplore, I beseech you to turn from your evil courses, Alfred!" and shesuddenly sunk at his feet, the mother before the son. So devoted, sofervid was the love with which she regarded him, that had she been told, that to lure him to virtue her own life must be the forfeit, willinglyat that moment would she have died. She continued with an eloquence ofsuch beseeching tenderness, it would have seemed none could have heardit unmoved. "Alfred, your mother kneels to you, your own mother. Oh, hear her; do not condemn her to wretchedness. Let me not suffer more. You have sought temptation; oh, fly from it; seek the companionship ofthose who will lead you to honour, not to vice. Break from thoseconnections you have weaved around you. Turn again to the God you havedeserted. Oh, do not live as you have done; think on the responsibilityeach year increases. My child, my beloved, in mercy refuse not yourmother's prayer! reject not my advice, Alfred! Alfred!" and she clung tohim, while her voice became hoarse with intense anguish. "Oh, promise meto turn from your present life. Promise me to think on my words, toseek the footstool of mercy, and return again to Him who has notforsaken you. Promise me to live a better life; say you will be yourmother's comfort, not her misery--her blessing, not her curse. My child, my child, be merciful!" Longer, more imploring still would she havepleaded, but voice failed, and it was only on those chiselled featuresthe agony of the soul could have been discovered. Alfred gazed on herthus kneeling at his feet--his mother, she, who in his infancy had kneltbeside him, to guide on high his childish prayers. The heart of themisguided boy was softened, tears filled his eyes. He would have spoken;he would have pledged himself to do all that she had asked, whensuddenly the ridicule of his companions flashed before his fancy. Couldhe bear that? No; he could see his mother at his feet, but he could notmeet the ridicule of the world. He raised her hastily, but in perfectsilence; pressed her to his heart, kissed her cheek repeatedly, thenplaced her on a couch, and darted from her presence. He had said noword, he had given no sign; and for several hours that mother could notovercome internal wretchedness so far even as to join her Mary. Hereturned to Cambridge. They parted in affection; seldom had the recklessboy evinced so much emotion as he did when he bade farewell to hismother and sister. He folded Mary to his bosom, and implored her, in avoice almost inaudible, to take care of her own health for the sake oftheir mother; but when she entreated him to come and see them in theirnew abode as soon as he could, he answered not. Yet that emotion hadleft a balm on the torn heart of his mother. She fancied her son, wayward as he was, yet loved her; and though she dared not look forwardto his reformation, still, to feel he loved her--oh, if fresh zeal wererequired in her prayers, that knowledge gave it. 

The first week in May they left Greville Manor. Still weak andsuffering, the struggle to conceal and subdue all she felt at leaving, as she thought for ever, the house of her infancy, of her girlhood, heryouth, was almost too much for poor Mary; and her mother more than oncebelieved she would not reach in life the land they were about to seek. The sea breezes, for they travelled whenever they could along the shore, in a degree nerved her; and by the time they reached Dover, ten daysafter they had left the Manor, she had rallied sufficiently to ease thesorrowing heart of her mother of a portion of its burden. 

They arrived at Dover late in the evening, and early the following day, as Mary sat by the large window of the hotel, watching with someappearance of interest the bustling scene before her, a travellingcarriage passed rapidly by and stopped at the entrance. She knew thelivery, and her heart throbbed almost to suffocation, as it whisperedthat Mr. Hamilton would not come alone. 

"Mother, Mr. Hamilton has arrived, " she succeeded at length in saying. "And Emmeline--is it, can it be?" But she had no more time to wonder, for ere she had recovered the agitation the sight of one other of Mr. Hamilton's family had occasioned, they were in the room, and Emmelinespringing forward, had flung herself on Mary's neck; and utterly unableto control her feelings at the change she beheld in her friend, weptpassionately on her shoulder. Powerfully agitated, Mary felt herstrength was failing, and had it not been for Mr. Hamilton's support, she would have fallen to the ground. He supported her with a father'stenderness to the couch, and reproachfully demanded of Emmeline if shehad entirely forgotten her promise of composure. 

"Do not reprove her, my dear friend, " said Mrs. Greville, as she drewthe weeping girl affectionately to her. "My poor Mary is so quicklyagitated now, that the pleasure of seeing three instead of one of ourdear-valued friends has been sufficient of itself to produce thisagitation. And you, too, Herbert, " she continued, extending her hand tothe young man, who hastily raised it to his lips, as if to conceal anemotion which had paled his cheek, almost as a kindred feeling had donewith Mary's. "Have you deserted your favourite pursuits, and left Oxfordat such a busy time, merely to see us before we leave? This is kind, indeed. "

"I left Percy to work for me, " answered Herbert, endeavouring to hideemotion under the veil of gaiety. "As to permit you to leave Englandwithout once more seeing you, and having one more smile from Mary, Iwould not, even had the whole honour of my college been at stake. Youmust not imagine me so entirely devoted to my hooks, dear Mrs. Greville, as to believe I possess neither time nor inclination for the gentlerfeelings of human nature. "

"I know you too well, and have known you too long, to imagine that, "replied Mrs. Greville, earnestly. "And is Mary so completely to engrossyour attention, Emmeline, " she added, turning towards the couch wherethe friends sat, "that I am not to hear a word of your dear mother, Caroline, or Ellen? Indeed, I cannot allow that. "

The remark quickly produced a general conversation, and Herbert for thefirst time addressed Mary. A strange, unconquerable emotion had chainedhis tongue as he beheld her; but now, with eager yet respectfultenderness, he inquired after her health, and how she had borne theirlong journey, and other questions, trifling in themselves, but utteredin a tone that thrilled the young heart of her he addressed. 

Herbert knew not how intimately the image of Mary Greville had mingledwith his most secret thoughts, even in his moments of grave study andearnest application, until he heard she was about to leave England. Sorrow, disappointment, scarcely defined but bitterly painful, thenoccupied his mind, and the knowledge burst with dazzling clearness onhis heart that he loved her; so deeply, so devotedly, that even wereevery other wish fulfilled, life, without her, would be a blank. He haddeemed himself so lifted above all earthly feelings, that even were heto be deprived as Mr. Morton of every natural relation, he could in timereconcile himself to the will of his Maker, and in the discharge ofministerial duties be happy. He had fancied his heart was full of thelove of God alone, blessed in that, however changed his earthly lot. Suddenly he was awakened from his illusion: now in the hour ofseparation he knew an earthly idol; he discovered that he was not socompletely the servant of his Maker as he had hoped, and sometimesbelieved. But in the doubts and fears which shadowed his exalted mind, he sought the footstool of his God. His cry for assistance was notunheeded. Peace and comfort rested on his heart. A cloud was liftedfrom his eyes, and for the knowledge of his virtuous love he blessed hisGod; feeling thus supported he could guide and control himself accordingto the dictates of piety. He knew well the character of Mary; he feltassured that, if in after years he were permitted to make her his own, she would indeed become his helpmate in all things, more particularly inthose which related to his God and to his holy duties among men. Hethought on the sympathy that existed between them--he remembered thelighting up of that soft, dark eye, the flushing cheek, the smile ofpleasure that ever welcomed him, and fondly his heart whispered that heneed not doubt her love. Three years, or nearly four must elapse ere hecould feel at liberty to marry; not till he beheld himself a minister ofGod. Yet interminable as to his imagination the intervening yearsappeared, still there was no trembling in his trusting heart. If hisFather on high ordained them for each other, it mattered not how longthe time that must elapse, and if for some wise purpose his wishes weredelayed, he recognised the hand of God, and saw "that it was good. "

Yet Herbert could not resist the impulse to behold Mary once more ereshe quitted England to explain to her his feelings; to understand eachother. He knew the day his father intended going to Dover, and theevening previous, much to the astonishment of his family, made hisappearance amongst them. All expressed pleasure at his intention butone, and that one understood not why; but when she heard the cause ofhis unexpected visit, a sudden and indefinable pang shot through heryoung heart, dimming at once the joy with which the sight of him hadfilled it. She knew not, guessed not why, when she laid her head on herpillow that night, she wept so bitterly. The source of those secret andsilent tears she could not trace, she only knew their cause was one ofsorrow, and yet she loved Mary. 

The pleading earnestness of Emmeline had, after some little difficulty, obtained the consent of her mother to her accompanying her father andbrother, on condition, however, of her not agitating Mary by anyunconstrained display of sorrow. It was only at their first meeting thiscondition had been forgotten. Mary looked so pale, so thin, so differenteven to when they parted, that the warm heart of Emmeline could not berestrained, for she knew, however resignation might be, nay, was felt, it was a bitter pang to that gentle girl to leave her native land, andthe friends she so much loved; but recalling her promise, with a strongeffort she checked her own sorrow, and endeavoured with playful fondnessto raise the spirits of her friend. 

The day passed cheerfully, the young people took a drive for some fewmiles in the vicinity of Dover, while Mr. Hamilton, acting the part of abrother to the favourite _protégeé_ of his much-loved mother, listenedto her plans, counselled and improved them, and, indeed, on many pointsproved himself such a true friend, that when Mrs. Greville retired torest that night, she felt more at ease in mind than for many months shehad been. 

The following day was employed in seeing the antiquities of Dover, itsancient castle among the first, and with Mr. Hamilton as a cicerone, itwas a day of pleasure to all, though, perhaps, a degree of melancholymight have pervaded the party in the evening, for the recollection wouldcome, that by noon on the morrow, Mrs. Greville and Mary would bid themfarewell. In vain during that day had Herbert sought for an opportunityto speak with Mary on the subject nearest his heart, though they hadbeen so happy together; when for a few minutes they found themselvesalone, he had fancied there was more than usual reserve in Mary'smanner, which checked the words upon his lip. Some hours he lay awakethat night. Should he write his hopes and wishes? No: he would hear theanswer from her own lips, and the next morning an opportunity appearedto present itself. 

The vessel did not leave Dover till an hour before noon, and breakfasthaving been despatched by half-past nine, Mrs. Greville persuaded herdaughter to take a gentle walk in the intervening time. Herbertinstantly offered to escort her. Emmeline remained to assist Mrs. Greville in some travelling arrangements, and Mr. Hamilton employedhimself in some of those numberless little offices which active men takeupon themselves in the business of a departure. Mary shrunk with suchevident reluctance from this arrangement, that for the first timeHerbert doubted. 

"You were not wont to shrink thus from accepting me as your companion, "he said, fixing his large expressive eyes mournfully upon her, andspeaking in a tone of such melancholy sweetness, that Mary hastilystruggled to conceal the tear that started to her eye. "Are our happydays of childhood indeed thus forgotten?" he continued, gently. "Go withme, dear Mary; let us in fancy transport ourselves at least for onehour back to those happy years of early life which will not come again. "

The thoughts, the hopes, the joys of her childhood flashed with suddenpower through the heart of Mary as he spoke, and she resisted them not. 

"Forgive me, Herbert, " she said, hastily rising to prepare; "I havebecome a strange and wayward being the last few months; you must bearwith me, for the sake of former days. "

Playfully he granted the desired forgiveness, and they departed on theirwalk. For some little time they walked in silence. Before they wereaware of it, a gentle ascent conducted them to a spot, not only lovelyin its own richness, but in the extensive view that stretched beneaththem. The wide ocean lay slumbering at their feet; the brilliant rays ofthe sun, which it reflected as a mirror, appeared to lull it to rest, the very waves broke softly on the shore. To the left extended thesnow-white cliffs, throwing in shadow part of the ocean, and bringingforward their own illumined walls in bold relief against the dark bluesea. Ships of every size, from the floating castle in the offing to thetiny pleasure boat, whose white sails shining in the sun caused her tobe distinguished at some distance, skimming along the ocean as a bird ofsnowy plumage across the heavens, the merchant vessels, the packetsentering and departing, even the blackened colliers, added interest tothe scene; for at the distance Herbert and Mary stood, no confusion washeard to disturb the moving picture. On their right the beautifulcountry peculiar to Kent spread out before them in graceful undulationsof hill and valley, hop-ground and meadow, wherein the sweet fragranceof the newly-mown grass was wafted at intervals to the spot where theystood. Wild flowers of various kinds were around them; the hawthornappearing like a tree of snow in the centre of a dark green hedge; themodest primrose and the hidden violet yet lingered, as if loth todepart, though their brethren of the summer had already put forth theirbudding blossoms. A newly-severed trunk of an aged tree invited them tosit and rest, and the most tasteful art could not have placed a rusticseat in a more lovely scene. 

Long and painfully did Mary gaze around her, as if she would engravewithin her heart every scene of the land she was so soon to leave. 

"Herbert, " she said, at length, "I never wished to gaze on futuritybefore, but now, oh, I would give much to know if indeed I shall evergaze on these scenes again. Could I but think I might return to them, the pang of leaving would lose one half its bitterness. I know this is aweak and perhaps sinful feeling; but in vain I have lately striven tobow resignedly to my Maker's will, even should His call meet me, as Isometimes fear it will, in a foreign land, apart from all, save one, whom I love on earth. "

"Do not, do not think so, dearest Mary. True, indeed, there is noparting without its fears, even for a week, a day, an hour. Death everhovers near us, to descend when least expected. But oh, for my sake, Mary, dear Mary, talk not of dying in a foreign land. God's will isbest, His decree is love; I know, I feel it, and on this subject fromour infancy we have felt alike; to you alone have I felt that I daredbreathe the holy aspirations sometimes my own. I am not wont to besanguine, but somewhat whispers within me you will return--these scenesbehold again. "

Mary gazed on her young companion, he had spoken with unwontedanimation, and his mild eye rested with trusting fondness upon her; shedared not meet it; her pale cheek suddenly became crimson, but with aneffort she replied--

"Buoy me not up with vain hopes, Herbert; it is better, perhaps, that Ishould never look to my return, for hope might descend to vain wishes, and wishes to repinings, which must not be. I shall look on other scenesof loveliness, and though in them perhaps no fond association of earthmay be mingled, yet there is one of which no change of country candeprive me, one association that from scenes as these can never neverfly. The friends of my youth will be no longer near me, strangers alonewill surround me; but even as the hand of my Heavenly Father is markedin every scene, however far apart, so is that hand, that love extendedto me wherever I may dwell. Oh, that my heart may indeed be filled withthe love of Him. "

There was a brief silence. The countenance of Herbert had been for amoment troubled, but after a few seconds resumed its serenity, heightened by the fervid feelings of his heart. 

"Mary, " he said, taking her passive hand in his, "if I am too bold inspeaking all I wish, forgive me. You know not how I have longed for onemoment of unchecked confidence before you left England, it is now beforeme, and, oh, listen to me, dearest Mary, with that kindness you haveever shown. I need not remind you of our days of childhood and earlyyouth; I need not recall the mutual sympathy which, in every feeling, hope, joy, or sorrow, has been our own. We have grown together, playedtogether in infancy; read, thought, and often in secret prayed togetherin youth. To you I have ever imparted my heartfelt wishes, earnestprayers for my future life, to become a worthy servant of my God, andlead others in his path, and yet, frail mortal as I am, I feel, even ifthese wishes are fulfilled, there will yet, dearest Mary, remain a voidwithin my heart. May I, may I, indeed, behold in the playmate of myinfancy a friend in manhood, the partner of my life--my own Mary as myassistant in labours of love? I am agitating you, dearest girl, forgiveme; only give me some little hope. Years must elapse ere that blessedmoment can arrive, perhaps I have been wrong to urge it now, but I couldnot part from you without one word to explain my feelings, to imploreyour ever-granted sympathy. "

The hand of Mary trembled in his grasp. She had turned from his pleadingglance, but when he ceased, she raised her head and struggled to speak. A smile, beautiful, holy in its beauty, appeared struggling with tears, and a faint flush had risen to her cheek, but voice she had none, andfor one moment she concealed her face on his shoulder. She withdrew nother hand from his, and Herbert felt--oh, how gratefully--that his lovewas returned; he had not hoped in vain. For some minutes they could notspeak, every feeling was in common; together they had grown, togetherloved, and now that the magic word had been spoken, what need was therefor reserve? none; and reserve was banished. No darkening clouds werethen perceived; at that moment Mary thought not of her father, and ifshe did, could she believe that his consent to an union with a son ofMr. Hamilton would be difficult to obtain. Marry they could not yet, andperhaps the unalloyed bliss of that hour might have originated in thefact that they thought only of the present--the blessed knowledge thatthey loved each other, were mutually beloved. 

The happiness glowing on Mary's expressive countenance as she enteredcould not fail to attract the watchful eye of her mother, and almostunconsciously, and certainly indefinably, her own bosom reflected thepleasure of her child, and the pang of quitting England was partiallyeased of its bitterness. Yet still it was a sorrowful moment when thetime of separation actually came. Their friends had gone on board withthem, and remained till the signal for departure was given. Mary hadpreferred the cabin to the confusion on deck, and there her friends lefther. In the sorrow of that moment Emmeline's promise of composure wasagain forgotten; she clung weeping to Mary's neck, till her father, withgentle persuasion, drew her away, and almost carried her on deck. Herbert yet lingered; they were alone in the cabin, the confusionattendant on a departure preventing all fear of intruders. He claspedMary to his heart, in one long passionate embrace, then hastily placingthe trembling girl in the arms of her mother, he murmured almostinaudibly--

"Mrs. Greville, dearest Mrs. Greville, guard, oh, guard her for me, shewill be mine; she will return to bless me, when I may claim and cancherish her as my wife. Talk to her of me; let not the name of Herbertbe prohibited between you. I must not stay, yet one word more, Mrs. Greville--say, oh, say you will not refuse me as your son, if threeyears hence Mary will still be mine. Say your blessing will hallow ourunion; and oh, I feel it will then indeed be blessed!"

Overpowered with sudden surprise and unexpected joy, Mrs. Greville gazedfor a moment speechlessly on the noble youth before her, and vainly themother struggled to speak at this confirmation of her long-cherishedhopes and wishes. 

"Mother, " murmured Mary, alarmed at her silence, and burying her face inher bosom, "mother, will you not speak, will you not bid us hope?"

"God in Heaven bless you, my children!" she at length exclaimed, bursting into tears of heartfelt gratitude and joy. "It was joy, joy, "she repeated, struggling for composure; "I expected not this blessing. Yes, Herbert, we will speak of you, think of you, doubt us not, my son, my dear son. A mother's protecting care and soothing love will guardyour Mary. She is not only her mother's treasure now. Go, my belovedHerbert, you are summoned; farewell, and God bless you!"

Herbert did not linger with his father and sister; a few minutes privateinterview with the former caused his most sanguine hopes to become yetstronger, then travelling post to London, where he only remained a fewhours, returned with all haste to his college. In his rapid journey, however, he had changed his mind with regard to keeping what had passedbetween himself and Mary a secret from his mother, whom he yet lovedwith perhaps even more confiding fondness than in his boyhood. He sawher alone; imparted to her briefly but earnestly all that had passed, implored her to promise consent, and preserve his confidence even fromhis brothers and sisters; as so long a time must elapse ere they couldindeed be united, that he dreaded their engagement being known. 

"Even the good wishes of the dear members of home, " he said, "wouldsound, I fear, but harshly on my ear. I cannot define why I do not wishit known even to those I love; yet, dearest mother, indulge me. Theevents of one day are hidden from us; how dark then must be those ofthree years. No plighted promise has passed between us; it is but theconfidence of mutual love; and that--oh, mother, I could not bear ittorn from the recesses of my own breast to be a subject of conversationeven to those dearest to me. "

His mother looked on the glowing countenance of her son; on him, whofrom, his birth had never by his conduct given her one single moment ofcare, and had she even disapproved of his secrecy, all he asked wouldhave been granted him; but she approved of his resolution, and emotionglistened in her eye, as she said--

"My Herbert, if I had been privileged to select one among my youngfriends to be your wife, my choice would have fallen, without onemoment's hesitation, on Mary Greville. She, amid them all, I deem mostworthy to be the partner of my son. May Heaven in mercy spare you toeach other!"

Herbert returned to college, and resumed his studies with even greaterearnestness than, before. His unrestrained confidence had been as balmto his mother's heart, and soothed the bitter pain it was to behold, tofeel assured, for it was no longer fancy, that the confidence ofCaroline was indeed utterly denied her and bestowed upon another. Yetstill Mrs. Hamilton fancied Caroline loved St. Eval; her eyes had notyet been opened to the enormity of her daughter's conduct. Nor were theytill, after a long struggle of fervid love with the tremblings naturalto a fond but reserved and lowly heart, St. Eval summoned courage tooffer hand, heart, and fortune to the girl he loved (he might well bepardoned for the belief that she loved him), and was rejected, coldly, decidedly. 

The young Earl had received the glad sanction of Mr. Hamilton to makehis proposals to his daughter. There had never been, nor was there now, anything to damp his hopes. He was not, could not be deceived in thebelief that Caroline accepted, nay, demanded, encouraged his attention. Invariably kind, almost fascinating in her manner, she had ever singledhim out from the midst of many much gayer and more attractive young men. She had given him somewhat more to love each time they parted; and whatcould this mean, but that she cared for him more than for others? Againand again St. Eval pondered on the encouragement he could not doubt butthat he received; again and again demanded of himself if he were notplaying with her feelings thus to defer his proposals. Surely she lovedhim. The sanction of her parents had heightened his hopes, and love andconfidence in the truth, the purity of his beloved one obtained so muchascendancy over his heart, that when the important words were said, hehad almost ceased to fear. How bitter, how agonizing then must have beenhis disappointment when he was refused--when sudden haughtiness beamedon Caroline's noble brow, and coldness spread over every feature. Andyet, could he doubt it? No; triumph was glittering in her sparkling eye;in vain he looked for sympathy in his disappointment, if love weredenied him. He gazed on her, and the truth suddenly flashed on his mind;he marked the triumph with which she heard his offer; no softeningemotion was in her countenance. In vain he tried to ascribe itsexpression to some other feeling; it was triumph, he could not bedeceived; and with agony St. Eval discovered that the being he hadalmost worshipped was not the faultless creature he had believed her;she had played with his feelings; she had encouraged him, heightened hislove, merely to afford herself amusement. The visions of hope, of fancywere rudely dispelled, and perhaps at that moment it was better for hispeace that he suddenly felt she was beneath his love; she was not worthyto be his wife. He no longer esteemed; and if love itself were notutterly snapped asunder, the loss of esteem enabled him to act in thatinterview with pride approaching to her own. He reproached her not: noword did he utter that could prove how deeply he was wounded, and thusadd to the triumph so plain to be perceived. That she had sunk in hisestimation she might have seen, but other feelings prevented herdiscovering how deeply. Had she veiled her manner more, had she rejectedhim with kindness, St. Eval might still have loved, and imagined thatfriendship and esteem had actuated her conduct towards him. Yet thosehaughty features expelled this thought as soon as it arose. It was onthe night of a gay assembly St. Eval had found an opportunity to speakwith Caroline, and when both rejoined the gay crowd no emotion wasdiscernible in the countenance of either. St. Eval was the same to allas usual. No one who might have heard his eloquent discussion on somestate affairs with the Russian consul could have imagined how painfullyacute were his sufferings; it was not only disappointed love--no, hiswas aggravated bitterness; he could no longer esteem the object of hislove, he had found himself deceived, cruelly deceived, in one he hadlooked on almost as faultless; and where is the pang that can equal onelike this? The heightened colour on Caroline's cheek, the increasedbrilliancy of her eye, attracted the admiration of all around her, thetriumph of power had indeed been achieved. But when she laid her head onher pillow, when the silence and darkness of night brought the past toher mind more vividly, in vain she sought forgetfulness in sleep. Was ithappiness, triumph, that bade her bury her face in her hands and weep, weep till almost every limb became convulsed by her overpoweringemotion? Her thoughts were undefined, but so painful, that she wasglad--how glad when morning came. She compared her present with herformer self, and the contrast was misery; but even as her ill-fated aunthad done, she summoned pride to stifle every feeding of remorse. 

Mr. Hamilton had given his sanction to the addresses of Lord St. Eval tohis daughter; but he knew not when, the young man intended to place theseal upon his fate. Great then was his astonishment, the morningfollowing the evening we have mentioned, when St. Eval called to bid himfarewell, as he intended, he said, leaving London that afternoon for hisfather's seat, where he should remain perhaps a week, and then quitEngland for the Continent. He spoke calmly, but there was a paleness ofthe cheek, a dimness of the eye, that told a tale of inwardwretchedness, which the regard of Mr. Hamilton could not fail instantlyto discover. Deeply had he become interested in the young man, and thequick instinct combined with the fears of a father, told him that theconduct of Caroline had caused this change. He looked at the expressivecountenance of the young Earl for a few minutes, then placing his handon his shoulder, said kindly, but impressively--

"St. Eval, you are changed, as well as your plans. You are unhappy. Whathas happened? Have your too sensitive feelings caused you to fancyCaroline unkind?"

"Would to heaven it were only fancy!" replied St. Eval, with unwontedemotion, and almost convulsively clenching both hands as if forcalmness, added more composedly, "I have been too presumptuous in myhopes; I fancied myself beloved by your beautiful daughter, but I havefound myself painfully mistaken. "

Sternness gathered on the brow of the father as he heard, and heanswered, with painful emphasis--

"St. Eval, deceive me not, I charge you. In what position do you nowstand with Caroline?"

"Briefly, then, if I must speak, in the humble character of a rejected, scornfully rejected lover. " His feelings carried him beyond control. Thetriumph he had seen glittering so brightly in the eyes of Caroline hadfor the time turned every emotion into gall. He shrunk from the agony itwas to find he was deceived in one whom he had believed so perfect. 

"Scorn! has a daughter of mine acted thus? Encourage, and then scorn. St. Eval, for pity's sake, tell me! you are jesting; it is not ofCaroline you speak. " So spoke the now agonized father, for every hope ofhis child's singleness of mind and purity of intention appeared at onceblighted. He grasped St. Eval's hand, and looked on him with eyes fromwhich, in the deep disappointment of his heart, all sternness had fled. 

"I grieve to cause you pain, my dear friend, " replied the young Earl, entering at once into the father's feelings, "but it is even so. Yourdaughter has only acted as many, nay, as the majority of her sex arefond of doing. It appears that you, too, have marked what might betermed the encouragement she gave me. My self-love is soothed, for Imight otherwise have deemed my hopes were built on the unstablefoundation of folly and presumption. "

"And condemnation of my child is the fruit of your self-acquittal, St. Eval, is it not? You despise her now as much as you have loved her, " andMr. Hamilton paced the room with agitation. 

"Would almost that I could!" exclaimed St. Eval; the young Earl thenadded, despondingly, "no, I deny not that your child has sunk in myestimation; I believed her exalted far above the majority of her sex;that she, apparently all softness and truth, was incapable of playingwith the most sacred feelings of a fellow-creature. I looked on her asfaultless; and though the veil has fallen from my eyes, it tells me thatif in Caroline Hamilton I am deceived, it is useless to look forperfection upon earth. Yet I cannot tear her image from my heart. Shehas planted misery there which I cannot at present overcome; but if thattriumph yields her pleasure, and tends to her happiness, be it so; myfarther attention shall no longer annoy her. "

Much disturbed, Mr. Hamilton continued to pace the room, then hastilyapproaching the young Earl, he said, hurriedly--

"Forget her, St. Eval, forget her; rest not till you have regained yourpeace. My disappointment, that of her mother--our long-cherished hopes, but it is useless to speak of them, to bring them forward, bitter asthey are, in comparison with yours. Forget her, St. Eval; she isunworthy of you, " and he wrung his hand again and again, as if in thatpressure he could conquer and conceal his feelings. At that instantEmmeline bounded joyfully into the room, unconscious that any one waswith her father, and only longing to tell him the delightful news thatshe had received a long, long letter from Mary, telling her of theirsafe arrival at Geneva, at which place Mrs. Greville intended to remainfor a few weeks, before she proceeded more southward. 

"Look, dear papa, is not this worth receiving?" she exclaimed, holdingup the well-filled letter, and looking the personification of innocentand radiant happiness, her fair luxuriant hair pushed in disorder fromher open forehead and flushed cheek, her blue eyes sparkling withirresistible glee, which was greatly heightened by her glowing smiles. It was impossible to look on Emmeline without feeling every ruffledemotion suddenly calmed; she was so bright, so innocent, so fair athing, that if peace and kindness had wished to take up their abode onearth, they could not have found a fairer form wherein to dwell. As St. Eval gazed upon the animated girl, he could not help contrasting herinnocent and light-hearted pleasure with his own unmitigated sorrow. 

"Your presence and your joy are mistimed, my dear Emmeline; your fatherappears engaged, " said Mrs. Hamilton, entering almost directly after herchild, and perceiving by one glance at her husband's face thatsomething had chanced to disturb him. "Control these wild spirits for atime till he is able to listen to you. "

"Do not check her, my dear Emmeline, I am not particularly engaged. IfSt. Eval will forgive me, I would gladly hear some news of our dearMary. "

"And pray let me hear it also. You know how interested I am in this dearfriend of yours, Emmeline, " replied St. Eval, struggling with himself, and succeeding sufficiently to speak playfully; for he and Emmeline hadcontrived to become such great allies and intimate friends, that by somesympathy titles of ceremony were seldom used between them, and they wereEugene and Emmeline to each other, as if they were indeed brother andsister. 

Laughingly and delightedly Emmeline imparted the contents of her letter, which afforded real pleasure both to Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton, by the morecheerful, even happier style in which she had written. 

"Now do you not think I ought to be proud of my friend, Master Eugene?is she not one worth having?" demanded Emmeline, sportively appealing tothe young Earl, as she read to her father some of Mary's affectionateexpressions and wishes in the conclusion. 

"So much so, that I am seized with an uncontrollable desire to know her, and if you will only give me a letter of introduction, I will set offfor Geneva next week. "

Emmeline raised her laughing eyes to his face, with an expression ofunfeigned amazement. 

"A most probable circumstance, " she said, laughing; "no, Lord St. Eval, you will not impose thus on my credulity. Eugene St. Eval, the mostcourted, flattered, and distinguished, leave London before the seasonis over--impossible. "

"I thank you for the pretty compliments you are showering on me, mylittle fairy friend, but it is nevertheless true. I leave England forthe Continent next week, and I may as well bend my wandering steps toGeneva as elsewhere. "

"But what can you possibly be going on the Continent again for? I amsure, by all the anecdotes you have told me, you must have seen all thatis worth seeing, and so why should poor England again be deserted by oneof the ablest of her sons?"

"Emmeline!" exclaimed her mother, in an accent of warning and reproach, which brought a deep crimson flush to her cheek, and caused her eyes toglisten, for Mrs. Hamilton had marked that all was not serene on thecountenance of the Earl, and her heart beat with anxious alarm; for sheknew his intentions with regard to Caroline, and all she beheld andheard, startled, almost terrified her. Lord St. Eval certainly looked alittle disturbed at Emmeline's continued questions, and perceiving it, she hesitatingly but frankly said--

"I really beg your pardon, my lord, for my unjustifiable curiosity;mamma is always reproving me for it, and certainly I deserve her lecturenow. But will you really find out Mary, and be the bearer of a smallparcel for me?"

"With the greatest pleasure; for it will give me an object, which I hadnot before, and a most pleasing one, if I may hope your friend will notobject to my intrusion. "

"A friend of mine will ever be warmly welcomed by Mary, " said Emmeline, with eagerness, but checking herself. 

"Then may I hope you will continue to regard me as your friend, andstill speak of me as Eugene, though perhaps a year or more may passbefore you see me again?" demanded the young Earl, somewhat sadly, glancing towards Mrs. Hamilton, as if for her approval. 

"As my brother Eugene--yes, " answered Emmeline, quickly, and perhapsarchly. A shadow passed over his brow. 

"As your _friend_" he repeated, laying an emphasis on the word, which toany one less innocent of the world than Emmeline, would at once haveexcited their suspicion, and which single word at once told Mrs. Hamilton that all her cherished hopes were blighted. She readconfirmation in her husband's countenance, and for a few minutes stoodbewildered. 

"I leave town in a few hours for my father's seat, " added St. Eval, turning to Mrs. Hamilton. "I may amuse myself by taking Devonshire in myway, or rather going out of my way for that purpose. Have you anycommands at Oakwood that I can perform?"

Mrs. Hamilton answered thankfully in the negative, but Emmelineexclaimed--

"I have a good mind to make you bearer of a letter and a _gage d'amour_to my good old nurse; she will be so delighted to hear of me, and herpostman a nobleman. Poor nurse will have food for conversation andpleasurable reflection till we return. "

"Anything you like, only make me of use; and let me have it in an hour'stime, or perhaps I can give you two. "

"One will be all-sufficient; but what a wonderful desire to be usefulhas seized you all in a minute, " replied Emmeline, whose high spiritsappeared on that day utterly uncontrollable, and she ran on unmindful ofher mother's glance. "But if I really do this, I must bid you farewellat once, or I shall have no time. Think of me, if anything extraordinarymeets your eye, or occurs to you, and treasure it up for my information, as you know my taste for the marvellous. My letter to Mary shall beforwarded to you, for I really depend on your seeking her, and tellingher all about us; and now, then, with every wish for your pleasantjourney, I must wish you good-bye. "

"Good-bye, dear, happy Emmeline, " he said, with earnestness. "May you beas light-hearted and joyous, and as kind, when we meet again as now; mayI commission you with my warmest remembrances and kind adieus to yourcousin, whom I am sorry I have not chanced to see this morning?"

"They shall be duly delivered, " answered Emmeline, and kissing her handgaily in adieu, she tripped lightly out of the room, and St. Evalinstantly turned towards Mrs. Hamilton. 

"In this intention of leaving England for a few months, or perhaps ayear, " he said, striving for calmness, but speaking in a tone ofsadness, "you will at once perceive that my cherished hopes for thefuture are blighted. I will not linger on the subject, for I cannot yetbear disappointment such as this with composure. Were I of differentmould, I might, spite of coldness and pride, continue my addresses; andwere you as other parents are, Caroline--Miss Hamilton might still bemine; a fashionable marriage it would still be, but, thank God, suchwill not be; even to bestow your child on one you might value more thanme, you would not trample on her affections, you would not consent thatshe should be an unwilling bride, and I--oh! I could not--could not wedwith one who loved me not. My dream of happiness has ended--beenpainfully dispelled; the blow was unexpected, and has found meunprepared. I leave England, lest my ungoverned feelings should lead mewrong. Mrs. Hamilton, " he continued, more vehemently, "you understand mypeculiar feelings, and can well guess the tortures I am now enduring. You know why I am reserved, because I dread the outbreak of emotion evenin the most trifling circumstances. Oh, to have been your son--" hepaused abruptly, and hurriedly paced the room. "Forgive me, " he said, more calmly. "Only say you approve of my resolution to seek change for ashort time, till I obtain self-government, and can behold her withoutpain; say that I am doing right for myself. I cannot think. "

"You are right, quite right, " replied Mrs. Hamilton instantly, and herhusband confirmed her words. "I do approve your resolution, thoughdeeply, most deeply, I regret its cause, St. Eval. Your disappointmentis most bitter, but you grieve not alone. To have given Caroline to you, to behold her your wife, would have fulfilled every fervent wish ofwhich she is the object. Not you alone have been deceived; her conducthas been such as to mislead those who have known her from childhood. St. Eval, she is not worthy of you. "

Disappointed, not only at the blighting of every secret hope, not thosealone in which St. Eval was concerned, but every fond thought she hadindulged in the purity and integrity of her child, in which, though herconfidence had been given to another, she had still implicitly trusted, the most bitter disappointment and natural displeasure filled thatmother's heart, and almost for the first time since their union Mr. Hamilton could read this unwonted emotion, in one usually so gentle, inher kindling eyes and agitated voice. 

"Child of my heart, my hopes, my care, as she is, I must yet speak it, forget her, Eugene; let not the thought of a deceiver, a coquette, debaryou from the possession of that peace which should ever be the portionof one so truly honourable, so wholly estimable as yourself. You aredisappointed, pained; but you know not--cannot guess the agony it is tofind the integrity in which I so fondly trusted is as naught; that mychild, my own child, whom I had hoped to lead through life without astain, is capable of such conduct. "

Emotion choked her voice. She had been carried on by the violence of herfeelings, and perhaps said more in that moment of excitement than sheeither wished or intended. 

St. Eval gazed on the noble woman before him with unfeigned admiration. He saw the indignation, the displeasure which she felt; it heightenedthe dignity of her character in his estimation; but he now began totremble for its effects upon her child. 

"Do not, my dear Mrs. Hamilton, " he said, with some hesitation, "permitMiss Hamilton's rejection of me to excite your displeasure towards her. If with me she could not be happy, she was right to refuse my hand. Letme not have the misery of feeling I have caused dissension in a familywhose beautiful unity has ever bound me to it. Surely you would not urgethe affections of your child. "

"Never, " replied Mrs. Hamilton, earnestly. "I understand your fears, but let them pass away. I shall urge nothing, but my duty I must do. Much as I admire the exalted sentiments you express, I must equallydeplore the mistaken conduct of my child. She has wilfully sported withthe most sacred of human feelings. Once more I say, she is not worthy tobe yours. "

The indignation and strong emotion still lingering in her voiceconvinced St. Eval that he might urge no more. Respectfully he took hisleave. 

CHAPTER V. 

Mrs. Hamilton sat silently revolving in her mind all Caroline's lateconduct, but vainly endeavouring to discover one single good reason tojustify her rejection of St. Eval. In vain striving to believe all musthave been mistaken, she had not given him encouragement. That heraffections could have become secretly engaged was a thing so unlikely, that even when Mrs. Hamilton suggested it, both she and her husbandbanished the idea as impossible; for St. Eval alone had she evinced anymarked preference. 

"You must speak to her, Emmeline, I dare not; for I feel too angry anddisappointed to argue calmly. She has deceived us; all your cares appearto have been of no avail; all the watchful tenderness with which she hadbeen treated thus returned! I could have forgiven it, I would not havesaid another word, if she had conducted herself towards him withpropriety; but to give him encouragement, such as all who have seen themtogether must have remarked; to attract him by every winning art, tochain him to her side, and then reject him with scorn. What could havecaused her conduct, but the wish to display her power, her triumph overone so superior? Well might he say she had sunk in his estimation. Whydid we not question her, instead of thus fondly trusting in herintegrity? Emmeline, we have trusted our child too confidently, and thusour reliance is rewarded. "

Seldom, if ever, had Mrs. Hamilton seen her husband so disturbed; forsome little time she remained with him, and succeeded partly in soothinghis natural displeasure. She then left him to compose her own troubledand disappointed feelings ere she desired the presence of her child. Meanwhile, as the happy Emmeline went to prepare her little packet forher dear old nurse, the thought suddenly arose that St. Eval had senthis remembrances and adieus to Ellen only, he had not mentionedCaroline; and unsophisticated as she was, this struck her as somethingvery strange, and she was not long in connecting this circumstance withhis sudden departure. Wild, sportive, and innocent as Emmeline was, sheyet possessed a depth of reflection and clearness of perception, whichthose who only knew her casually might not have expected. She had markedwith extreme pleasure that which she believed the mutual attachment ofSt. Eval and her sister; and with her ready fancy ever at work, hadindulged very often in airy visions, in which she beheld CarolineCountess St. Eval, and mistress of that beautiful estate in Cornwall, which she had heard Mrs. Hamilton say had been presented by the Marquisof Malvern to his son on his twenty-first birthday. Emmeline hadindulged these fancies, and noticed the conduct of Caroline and St. Eval till she really believed their union would take place. She had beenso delighted at the receipt of Mary's letter, that she had no time toremember the young Earl's departure; but when she was alone, that truthsuddenly flashed across her mind, and another strange incident, thoughat the time she had not remarked it, when she had said as her brothershe would remember him, he had repeated, with startling emphasis, "asher _friend_. " "What could it all mean?" she thought. "Caroline cannothave rejected him? No, that is quite impossible. My sister would surelynot be such a practised coquette. I must seek her and have the mysterysolved. Surely she will be sorry St. Eval leaves us so soon. "

Emmeline hastened first to Ellen, begging her to pack up the littlepacket for Mrs. Langford, for she knew such an opportunity would be asacceptable to her cousin as to herself; for Ellen never forgot thehumble kindness and prompt attention she had received from the widowduring her long and tedious illness; and by little offerings, and whatthe good woman still more valued, by a few kind and playful lines, whichever accompanied them, she endeavoured to prove her sense of WidowLangford's conduct. 

In five minutes more Emmeline was in her sister's room. Caroline waspartly dressed as if for a morning drive, and her attendant leaving justas her sister entered. She looked pale and more fatigued than usual, from the gaiety of the preceding night. Happy she certainly did notlook, and forgetting in that sight the indignation which the verysupposition of coquetry in her sister had excited, Emmeline gentlyapproached her, and kissing her cheek, said fondly--

"What is the matter, dear Caroline? You look ill, wearied, and evenmelancholy. Did you dance more than usual last night?"

"No, " replied Caroline; "I believe not. I do not think I am more tiredthan usual. But what do you come for, Emmeline? Some reason must bringyou here, for you are generally hard at work at this time of the day. "

"My wits have been so disturbed by Mary's letter, that I have beenunable to settle to anything, " replied her sister, laughing; "and to addto their disturbance, I have just heard something so strange, that Icould not resist coming to tell you. "

"Of what nature?"

"St. Eval leaves London to-day for Castle Malvern, and next week quitsEngland. Now is not that extraordinary?"

Caroline became suddenly flushed with crimson, which quickly receding, left her even paler than before. 

"She is innocent, " thought Emmeline. "She loves him. St. Eval must havebehaved ill to her; and yet he certainly looked more sinned against thansinning. "

"To-day: does he leave to-day?" Caroline said, at length, speaking, itappeared, with effort, and turning to avoid her sister's glance. 

"In little more than an hour's time; but I am sorry I told you, dearCaroline, if the news has pained you. "

"Pained me, " repeated her sister, with returning haughtiness; "what canyou mean, Emmeline? Lord St. Eval is nothing to me. "

"Nothing!" repeated the astonished girl. "Caroline, you areincomprehensible. Why did you treat him with such marked attention ifyou cared nothing for him?"

"For a very simple reason; because it gave me pleasure to prove that itwas in my power to do that for which other girls have tried invain--compel the proud lordly St. Eval to bow to a woman's will. " Pridehad returned again. She felt the pleasure of triumphant power, and hereyes sparkled and her cheek again flushed, but with a different emotionto that she had felt before. 

"Do you mean, then, that you have never loved him, and merely sportedwith his feelings, for your own amusement? Caroline, I will not believeit. You could not have acted with such cruelty; you do love him, but youreject my confidence. I do not ask you to confide in me, though I didhope I should have been your chosen friend; but I beseech, I imploreyou, Caroline, only to say that you are jesting. You do love him. "

"You are mistaken, Emmeline, never more so in your life. I have refusedhis offered hand; if you wish my confidence on this subject, I give ityou. As he is a favourite of yours, I do not doubt your preserving hissecret inviolate. I might have been Countess of St. Eval, but my end wasaccomplished, and I dismissed my devoted cavalier. "

"And can you, dare you jest on such a subject?" exclaimed Emmeline, indignantly. "Is it possible you can have wilfully acted thus? sportedwith the feelings of such a man as St. Eval, laughed at his pain, calledforth his love to gratify your desire of power? Caroline, shame on you!"

"I am not in the habit of being schooled as to right and wrong by ayounger sister, nor will I put up with it now, Emmeline. I neverinterfere with your conduct, and therefore you will, if you please, dothe same with me. I am not responsible to you for my actions, nor shallI ever be, " replied Caroline, with cold yet angry pride. 

"But I will speak, when I know you have acted contrary to thoseprinciples mamma has ever endeavoured to instill into us both, " repliedEmmeline, still indignantly; "and you are and have been ever welcome toremonstrate with me. I am not so weak as I once was, fearful to speak mysentiments even when I knew them to be right. You have acted shamefully, cruelly, Caroline, and I will tell you what I think, angry as it maymake you. "

A haughty and contemptuous answer rose to Caroline's lips, but she wasprevented giving it utterance by the entrance of Martyn, her mother'smaid, with her lady's commands that Miss Hamilton should attend her inthe boudoir. 

"How provoking!" she exclaimed. "I expect Annie to call for me everyminute, and mamma will perhaps detain me half an hour;" and mostunwillingly she obeyed the summons. 

"Annie, " repeated Emmeline, when her sister had left the room, "Annie--this is her work; if my sister had not been thus intimate withher she never would have acted in this manner. " And so disturbed was thegentle girl at this confirmation of her fears, that it was some littletime before she could recover sufficient serenity to rejoin Ellen inarranging the widow's packet. 

Mrs. Langford had the charge of Oakwood during the absence of thefamily, and Mrs. Hamilton, recollecting some affairs concerning thevillage schools she wished the widow to attend to, was writing herdirections as Caroline entered, much to the latter's increasedannoyance, as her mother's business with her would thus be retarded, andevery minute drew the time of Annie's appointment nearer. She couldscarcely conceal her impatience, and did venture to beg her mother totell her what she required. 

"Your attention, Caroline, for a time, " she replied, so coldly, that herdaughter felt instantly something was wrong, though what she guessednot, for she knew not that St. Eval had obtained the sanction of herparents for his addresses; and she little imagined he could haveanything to do with the displeasure she saw so clearly marked. 

"You will wait, if you please, till I have finished writing, as thiscannot be delayed. Lord St. Eval leaves town in a very short time, and Isend this by him. "

"Lord St. Eval, " thought Caroline, suddenly becoming alarmed, "surelymamma and papa know nothing of his offer. "

A few minutes passed in silence, which was broken by the sound ofcarriage-wheels stopping at the door, and Robert almost instantly afterentered with Miss Grahame's love, saying she could not wait a minute, and hoped Miss Hamilton was ready. 

"Miss Grahame!" repeated Mrs. Hamilton, in an accent of surprise, beforeCaroline had time to make any answer; "Caroline, why have you notmentioned this engagement? You do not generally make appointmentswithout at least consulting me, if you no longer think it necessary torequest my permission. Where are you going with Annie?"

"To Oxford Street, I believe, " she answered carelessly, to conceal herrising indignation at this interference of her mother. 

"If you require anything there, you can go with me by and bye. Robert, give my compliments to Miss Grahame, and say from me, Miss Hamilton isparticularly engaged with me at present, and therefore cannot keep herengagement to-day. Return here as soon as you have delivered mymessage. "

"Mother!" burst from Caroline's lips, in an accent of uncontrollableanger, as soon as the servant had left the room; but with a strongeffort she checked herself, and hastily walked to the window. 

An expression of extreme pain passed across her mother's features as shelooked towards her, but she took no notice till Robert had returned, andhad been dismissed with her note to be given to Emmeline to transmitwith hers. 

"Caroline, " she then said, with dignity, yet perhaps less coldly thanbefore, "if you will give me your attention for a short time, you willlearn the cause of my displeasure, which is perhaps at presentincomprehensible, unless, indeed, your own conscience has alreadyreproached you; but before I commence on any other subject, I mustrequest that you will make no more appointments with Miss Grahamewithout my permission. This is not the first time you have done so; Ihave not noticed it previously, because I thought your own good sensewould have told you that you were acting wrong, and contrary to thoseprinciples of candour I believed you to possess. "

"You were always prejudiced against Annie, " answered Caroline, withrising anger, for she had quite determined not to sit silent while hermother spoke, cost what it might. 

"I am not speaking of Annie, Caroline, but to you. The change in yourconduct since you have become thus intimate with her, might indeedjustify my prejudice, but on that I am not now dwelling. I do notconsider Miss Malison a fit chaperon for my daughter, and therefore Idesire you will not again join her in her drives. "

"Every other girl of my station has the privilege of at least choosingher own companions without animadversion, " replied Caroline, indignantly, "and in the simple thing of making appointments withoutinterference it is hard that I alone am to be an exception. "

"If you look around the circle in which I visit intimately, Caroline, you will find that did you act according to your own wishes, you wouldstand more alone than were you to regard mine. I have done wrong in everallowing you to be as intimate with Miss Grahame as you are. You lookedsurprised and angry when I mentioned the change that had taken place inyour conduct. "

"I had sufficient reason for surprise, " replied Caroline, impatiently, "I was not aware that my character was so weak, as to turn and changewith every new acquaintance. "

"Are you then the same girl you were at Oakwood?" demanded Mrs. Hamilton, gravely yet sadly. 

A sudden pang of conscience smote the heart of the mistaken girl atthese words, a sob rose choking in her throat, and she longed to havegiven vent to the tears which pride, anger, and remorse were summoning, but she would not, and answered according to those evil whisperings, which before she had only indulged in secret. 

"If I am changed, " she answered passionately, "it is because neither younor papa are the same. At Oakwood I was free, I had full liberty to act, speak, think as I pleased, while here a chain is thrown around mysimplest action; my very words are turned into weapons against me; myfriendship disapproved of, and in that at least surely I may haveliberty to choose for myself. "

"You have, " replied Mrs. Hamilton mildly. "I complain not, Caroline, ofthe pain you have inflicted upon me, in so completely withdrawing yourconfidence and friendship, to bestow them upon a young girl. I controlnot your affection, but it is my duty, and I will obey it, to warn youwhen I see your favourite companion likely to lead you wrong. Had yourevery thought and feeling been open to my inspection as at Oakwood, would you have trifled as you have with the most sacred feelings of afellow-creature? would you have called forth love by every winning art, by marked preference to reject it, when acknowledged, with scorn, withtriumph ill concealed? would you have sported thus with a heart whoseaffections would do honour to the favoured one on whom they werebestowed? would you have cast aside in this manner all that integrityand honour I hoped and believed were your own? Caroline, you havedisappointed and deceived your parents; you have blighted their fondesthopes, and destroyed, sinfully destroyed, the peace of a noble, virtuous, excellent young man, who loved you with all the deep fervourof an enthusiastic soul. To have beheld him your husband would havefulfilled every wish, every hope entertained by your father and myself. I would have intrusted your happiness to his care without one doubtarising within me; and you have spurned his offer, rejected him withoutreason, without regret, without sympathy for his wounded anddisappointed feelings, without giving him one hope that in time hisaffection might be returned. Caroline, why have you thus decidedlyrejected him? what is there in the young man you see to bid you tremblefor your future happiness?"

Caroline answered not; she had leaned her arms on the cushion of thecouch, and buried her face upon them, while her mother spoke, and Mrs. Hamilton in vain waited for her reply. 

"Caroline, " she continued, in a tone of such appealing affection, itseemed strange that it touched not the heart of her child, "Caroline, Iwill not intrude on your confidence, but one question I must ask, and Iimplore you to answer me truly--do you love another?"

Still Caroline spoke not, moved not. Her mother continued, "If you do, why should you hide it from me, your own mother, Caroline? You believemy conduct changed towards you, but you have condemned me without proof. You have abandoned my sympathy--shrunk from my love. Try me now, mysweet child; if you love another, confess it, and we will do what we canto make that love happy; if it be returned, why should you conceal it?and if it be not, Caroline, my child, will you refuse even the poorcomfort your mother can bestow?"

She spoke in vain; but could she have read her daughter's heart at thatmoment, maternal affection might not have been so deeply pained as itwas by this strange silence. Regret, deep, though unavailing, had beenCaroline's portion, from the moment she had reflected soberly on herrejection of St. Eval. She recalled his every word, his looks ofrespectful yet ardent admiration, and she wept at that infatuation whichhad bade her act as she had done; and then his look of controlledcontempt stung her to the quick. He meant not, perhaps, that his glanceshould have so clearly denoted that she had sunk in his estimation, itdid not at the moment, but it did when in solitude she recalled it, andshe felt that she deserved it. In vain in those moments did she struggleto call up the vision of Lord Alphingham, his words of love, his looksof even more fervid passion, his image would not rise to banish that ofSt. Eval; and if Caroline had not still been blinded by the influenceand arguments of Annie, had she given her own good sense one half-hour'suncontrolled dominion, she would have discovered, that if love hadsecretly and unsuspiciously entered her heart, it was not for LordAlphingham. Had she really loved him, she could not have resisted thefond appeal of her mother; but to express in words all the confused andindefinable emotions then filling her heart was impossible. Shecontinued for several minutes silent, and Mrs. Hamilton felt too deeplypained and disappointed to speak again. Her daughter had spoken to herthat morning as she had seldom done even in her childhood. Then hermother could look forward to years of reason and maturity for theimprovement of those errors; now others had arisen, and if her controlwere once so entirely thrown aside, could she ever regain sufficientinfluence to lead her right. Seldom had Caroline's conduct given her somuch pain as in the disclosures and events of that morning. 

"Is it absolutely necessary, " Caroline at length said, summoning, as heraunt Eleanor had often done, pride to drown the whisperings ofconscience, "that I must love another, because I rejected Lord St. Eval?In such an important step as marriage, I should imagine my owninclinations were the first to be consulted. It would be strange indeed, if, after all I have heard you say on the evil of forcing young women tomarry, that you should compel your own child to accept the first offershe received. "

"You do me injustice, Caroline, " replied her mother, controlling with aneffort natural displeasure; "St. Eval would not accept an unwillingbride, nor after what has passed would your father and myself deem youworthy to become his wife. "

"Then long may this paragon of excellence remain away, " repliedCaroline, with indignant haughtiness kindling in every feature. "I haveno wish ever to associate again with one by whose side I am deemed sounworthy, even by my parents. "

"Those who love you best, Caroline, are ever the first to behold anddeplore your faults. Have you acted honourably? have you done worthilyin exciting love merely to give pain, to amuse and gratify your own loveof power?"

"I have done no more than other girls do with impunity, without evennotice; and surely that which is so generally practised cannot demandsuch severe censure as you bestow on it. "

"And therefore you would make custom an excuse for sin, Caroline. Wouldyou have spoken thus a few months since? would you have questioned thejustice of your mother's sentences? and yet you say you are not changed. Is it any excuse for a wrong action, because others do it? Had you beendifferently instructed it might be, but not when from your earliestyears I have endeavoured to reason with, and to convince you of the sinof coquetry, to which from a child you have been inclined. You haveacted more sinfully than many whose coquetry has been more general. Youdevoted yourself to one alone, encouraged, flattered, because you saw hewas already attracted, instead of adhering to that distant behaviourwhich would have at once told him you could feel no more for him than asa friend. You would have prevented future suffering, by banishing fromthe first all secret hopes; but no, you wished to prove you couldaccomplish more than others, by captivating one so reserved and superioras St. Eval. Do not interrupt me by a denial, Caroline, for you dare notdeliberately say such was not your motive. That noble integrity which Ihave so long believed your own, you have exiled from your heart. Yourentire conduct towards St. Eval has been one continued falsehood, andare you then worthy to be united to one who is truth, honour, noblenessitself? Had you loved another, your rejection of this young man mighthave been excused, but not your behaviour towards him; for that not onegood reason can be brought forward in excuse. I am speaking severely, Caroline, and perhaps my every word may alienate your confidence andaffection still farther from me; but my duty shall be done, painful asit may be both to yourself and me. I cannot speak tamely on a subject inwhich the future character and welfare of my child are concerned. I canno longer trust in your integrity. Spite of your change in manner and infeeling towards me, I still confided in your unsullied honour; that Ican no longer do, you have forfeited my confidence, Caroline, and notuntil I see a total change of conduct can you ever hope to regain it. That perhaps will not grieve you, as it would once have done; but unlessyou redeem your character, " she continued "the serious displeasure ofboth your father and myself will be yours, and we shall, in allprobability, find some means of withdrawing you from the society whichhas been so injurious to the purity of your character. Whatever othersmay do, it is your duty to act according to the principles of yourparents, and not to those of others; and therefore, for the future, Idesire you will abide by my criterion of right and wrong, and not by themisleading laws of custom. When you have conquered the irritation andanger which my words have occasioned, you may perhaps agree to thejustice of what I have said, till then I do not expect it; but whetheryour reason approves of it or not, I desire your implicit obedience. Ifyou have anything you desire to do, you may leave me, Caroline, I do notwish to detain you any longer. "

In silence, too sullen to give any hope of a repentant feeling orjudgment, convinced, Caroline had listened to her mother's words. Theywere indeed unusually severe; but her manner from the beginning of thatinterview could not have lessened the displeasure which she alreadyfelt. We have known Mrs. Hamilton from the commencement of her career, when as a girl not older than Caroline herself, she mingled with theworld, and we cannot fail to have perceived her detestation of thefashionable sin of coquetry. The remembrance of Eleanor and all theevils she entailed upon herself by the indulgence of that sinful fault, were still vividly acute, and cost what it might, both to herself and, who was dearer still, her child, she would do her duty, and endeavour toturn her from the evil path. She saw that Caroline was in no mood forgentle words and tenderness to have any effect, and therefore, though atvariance as it was to her nature, she spoke with some severity and herusual unwavering decision. She could read no promise of amendment orcontrition in those haughty and sullen features, but she urged no more, for it might only exasperate and lead her farther from conviction. 

For some few minutes Caroline remained in that same posture. Evilpassions of varied nature suddenly appeared to gain ascendancy in thatinnately noble heart, and prevented all expressions that might havesoothed her mother's solicitude. Hastily rising, without a word, sheabruptly left the room, and retired to her own, where she gave vent to abrief but passionate flood of tears, but they cooled not the fever ofher brain; her haughty spirit revolted from her mother's just severity. 

"To be scolded, threatened, desired to obey, like a child, an infant;what girl of my age would bear it tamely? Well might Annie say I was aslave, not permitted to act or even think according to my owndiscretion; well might she say no other mother behaved to her daughtersas mine; to be kept in complete thraldom; to be threatened, if I do notbehave better, to be removed from the scenes I so much love, buriedagain at home I suppose; is it a wonder I am changed? Is it strange thatI should no longer feel for mamma as formerly? and even Emmeline mustcondemn me, call me to account for my actions, and my intimacy withAnnie is made a subject of reproach; but if I do not see her as often asbefore, I can write, thank heaven, and at least her sympathy andaffection will be mine. "

Such was the tenor of her secret thoughts, and she followed them up bywriting to her friend a lengthened and heightened description of allthat had occurred that morning, dwelling long and indignantly on whatshe termed the cruel and unjust severity of her mother, and imploring, as such confidential letters generally did, Annie's secrecy andsympathy. The epistle was despatched, and quickly answered, in a stylewhich, as might be imagined, increased all Caroline's feelings ofindignation towards her parents, and bade her rely still moreconfidingly on her false friend, who, she taught herself to believe, wasalmost the only person who really cared for her best interests. 

Days passed, but neither Mr. Nor Mrs. Hamilton changed in the coldnessof their manner towards their child. Perhaps such conduct added fire tothe already resentful girl; but surely they might be pardoned for actingas they did. Caroline's irritability increased, and Annie's secretletters were ever at hand to soothe while they excited. She everendeavoured to turn her friend's attention from what she termed hersevere trials to the devotion felt towards her by Lord Alphingham, declaring that each interview confirmed more and more her belief in hispassionate admiration. The evil influence which Miss Grahame's lettershad upon the mind of Caroline in her private hours, was apparent in hermanner to Lord Alphingham, when they chanced to meet, but even moreguarded than she had hitherto been, did Caroline become in her behaviourtowards him when her parents were present. Their conduct had confirmed, to her heated and mistaken fancy, Annie's representation of theirunjustifiable severity, and that, indignant at her rejection of St. Eval, they would unhesitatingly refuse their consent to her acceptanceof the Viscount. Caroline thought not to ask herself how then is myintimacy with him to end? She only enjoyed the present as much as shecould, while the coldness of her parents, amidst all her pride andboasted stoicism, still tortured her; and to the future Annie as yetcompletely prevented her looking. Miss Grahame's plans appeared indeedto thrive, and many were the confidential and triumphant conversationsshe held upon the subject with Miss Malison, who became more and moreindignant at Mrs. Hamilton's intrusive conduct in taking so much noticeof Lilla, notwithstanding the tales industriously circulated againsther. Her own severity and malevolence, however, appeared about to becomeher foes; for about this time a slight change with regard to thehappiness of her injured pupil took place, which threatened to banishher from Mr. Grahame's family. 

One morning Mrs. Hamilton, accompanied by Ellen, called on Lady Helenrather earlier than usual, but found their friend not yet visible, anattack of indisposition confining her to her couch later than usual, but Lady Helen sending to entreat her friend not to leave her housewithout seeing her, Mrs. Hamilton determined on waiting. Annie had goneout with Miss Malison. 

"No wonder our poor Lilla proceeds but slowly in her education, "remarked Mrs. Hamilton, when the footman gave her this information. "Ifshe be so much neglected, her father has no right to expect muchprogress. I wish from my heart that I could think of some plan thatwould tend not only to the happiness of this poor girl, but in the endto that of her father also. Were those faults now apparent in hercharacter judiciously removed, I feel confident Mr. Grahame would havemore comfort in her than in either of his other children. "

"She is always very different when she is with us, " observed Ellen. "Ican never discover those evil passions of which so many accuse her;passionate she is, but that might be controlled. "

"It never can he while Miss Malison remains with her, for her treatmentis such that each year but increases the evil. " A sound as of some onesobbing violently in the adjoining room interrupted their conversation. Fancying it came from the object of their conversation, Mrs. Hamiltonopened the folding-doors, and discovered her young friend weepingviolently, almost convulsively, on the sofa. Ever alive to sorrow, ofwhatever nature or at whatever age, Mrs. Hamilton, followed by Ellen, hastened towards her. 

"What has happened, Lilla?" she said, soothingly. "What has chanced tocall forth this violent grief? tell me, my love. You know you need nothesitate to trust me with your sorrows. "

Unused, save from that one dear friend, to hear the voice of sympathyand kindness, Lilla flung her arms passionately round her neck, andclung to her for some few minutes till her choking sobs permitted her tospeak. 

"Aunt Augusta says I am so wicked, so very wicked, that mamma ought notto keep me at home, that I am not at all too old to go to school, andmamma says that I shall go--and--and"--

"But what occasioned your aunt to advise such an alternative?" demandedMrs. Hamilton, gently. 

"Oh, because--because I know I was very wicked, but I could not help it. Miss Malison had been tormenting me all the morning, and exciting myanger; and then Annie chose to do all she could to call it forth beforemamma, and so I just told her what I thought of both her and her amiableconfidant. I hate them both, " she continued, with a vehemence even thepresence of Mrs. Hamilton could not restrain, "and I wish from my heartI could never see them more. "

"If you gave vent to such sinful words before your mother, " replied Mrs. Hamilton, gravely, "I do not wonder at your aunt's suggesting what shedid. How often have I entreated you to leave the room when your sistercommences her unkind endeavours to excite your anger, and thus give yourmother a proof of your consideration for her present state of health, and evince to your sister, that if you cannot calmly listen to herwords, you can at least avoid them. "

"Mamma never takes any notice, however much I may endeavour to pleaseher; if she would only caress me, and praise me sometimes, I know Ishould be a very different girl. Then I could bear all Annie's cruelwords; but I will not, I will never put up with them, and permit eitherher or Miss Malison to govern me and chain down my spirit, as they tryall they can to do. No one can ever know the constant ill-treatmentwhich I receive from both; everything I do, every word I speak, isaltered to suit their purpose, and mamma believes all they say. Theyshall feel my power one day when they least expect it. I will not bemade so constantly miserable unrevenged. "

"Lilla, dear Lilla, " exclaimed Ellen, imploringly, "do not speak thus;you do not know what you say. You would not return evil for evil, and onyour sister. Do not, pray do not let your anger, however just, obtain somuch dominion. "

"Annie never treats me as a sister, and I do not see why I shouldpractise such forbearance towards her; but I will do all I can, indeed Iwill, if you will persuade papa not to send me from home. Oh, do notlook at me so gravely and sadly, dearest, dearest Mrs. Hamilton, "continued the impetuous and misguided but naturally right feeling child. 

"I can bear any one's displeasure but yours; but when you lookdispleased with me I feel so very, very wretched. I know I deserve tolose all your kindness, for I never follow your advice; I deserve thatyou should hate me, as every one else does; but you do not know all Ihave to endure. Oh! do not let me go from home. "

"I cannot persuade your father to let you remain at home, my dear girl, "replied Mrs. Hamilton, drawing her young companion closer to her, andspeaking with soothing tenderness, "because I agree with your aunt inthinking it would be really the best thing for you. "

"Then I have lost every hope, " exclaimed the impatient girl, claspingher hands despairingly. "Papa would never have consented, if you hadadvised him not, and you, you must think me as wicked as aunt Augustadoes;" and the tears she had checked now burst violently forth anew. 

"You mistake me, my love, quite mistake me; it is not because I believeyou are not fitted to associate with your domestic circle. I believe ifshe were but properly encouraged, my little Lilla would add much to thecomfort of both her parents; and I do not at all despair of seeing thatthe case. But at present I must advise your leaving home for a fewyears, because I really do think it would add much to your happiness. "

"Happiness!" repeated Lilla, in an accent of extreme surprise. "Schoolbring happiness?"

"Are you happy at home, my love? is not your life at present onecontinued scene of wretchedness? What is it that you so much dislike inthe idea of school?"

"The control, the subordination, the irksome formula of lessons, primgovernesses, satirical scholars. " Neither Mrs. Hamilton nor Ellen couldprevent a smile. 

"If such things are all you dread, my dear, I have no fear of soonovercoming them, " the former said, playfully. "I will do all I can topersuade your father not to send you to a large fashionable seminary, where such things may be the case; but I know a lady who lives atHampstead, and under whose kind guidance I am sure you will be happy, much more so than you are now. If you would only think calmly on thesubject, I am sure you would agree in all I urge. "

"But no one treats me as a reasonable person at home. If mamma sends meto school, it will not be for my happiness, but because everybody thinksme so wicked, there is no managing me at home; and then in the holidaysI shall hear nothing but the wonderful improvement school discipline hasmade, it will be no credit to my own efforts, and so there will be nopleasure in making any. "

"Will there be no pleasure in making your father happy, Lilla? Will hisapprobation be nothing?"

"But he never praises me; I am too much afraid of him to go and caresshim, as I often wish to do, and tell him if he will only call me hisdear Lilla, I would be good and gentle, and learn all he desires. If hewould but let me love him I should be much happier than I am. "

Mrs. Hamilton thought so too; and deeply she regretted that mistakensternness which had so completely alienated the affections of his child. Soothingly she answered--

"But your father dearly loves you, Lilla, though, perhaps your violentconduct has of late prevented his showing it. If you were, for his sake, to become gentle and amiable, and overcome your fears of his sternness, believe me, my dear Lilla, you would be rendering him and yourself muchhappier. You always tell me you believe everything I say. Suppose youtrust in my assertion, and try the experiment; and if you want a secondvoice on my side, I appear to your friend Ellen for her vote as to thetruth of what I say. "

Mrs. Hamilton spoke playfully, and Ellen answered in the same spirit. Lilla's passionate tears had been checked by the kind treatment shereceived, and in a softened mood she answered--

"But I cannot become so while Miss Malison has anything to do with me. I cannot bear her treatment gently. Papa does not know all I have toendure with her. "

"And therefore do I so earnestly wish you would consent to my persuadingyour father to let you go to Hampstead, " answered Mrs. Hamilton, gently. 

"But then papa will not think it is for his sake I endeavour to correctmy faults; he will say it is the school, and not my own efforts; and ifI go, I shall never, never see you, nor go to dear Moorlands, for Ishall be away while papa and mamma are there; away from everybody Ilove. Oh, that would not make me happy!" and clinging to Mrs. Hamilton, the really affectionate girl again burst into tears. 

"What am I to urge in reply to these very weighty objections, my dearLilla?" replied Mrs. Hamilton. "In the first place, your father shallknow that every conquest you make is for his sake; he shall not thinkyou were forced to submission. In the next, compulsion is not in myfriend's system, and as I am very intimate with Mrs. Douglas, I shallvery often come and see you when I am in town, your midsummer holidayswill also occur during that time: and, lastly, if your papa and mammawill consent, you shall see Moorlands every year; for I shall ask Mr. Grahame to bring you with him in his annual Christmas visit to hisestate, and petition that he will leave you behind him to spend thewhole of your winter vacation with me and Ellen at Oakwood. Now, are allobjections waived, or has my very determined opponent any more to bringforward?"

Lilla did not answer, but she raised her head from her kind friend'sshoulder, and pushing back the disordered locks of her bright hair, looked up in her face as if no more sorrow could be her portion. 

"Oh, I would remain at school a whole year together, if I might spend myvacation at Oakwood with you, and Ellen, and Emmeline, and all!" sheexclaimed, with a glee as wild and childish as all her former emotionhad been. Lady Helen at that instant entered, and after languidlygreeting Mrs. Hamilton and Ellen, exclaimed--

"For heaven's sake, Lilla, go away! your appearance is enough tofrighten any one. I should be absolutely ashamed of you, if any friendwere to come in unexpectedly. Perhaps you may choose to obey me now thatMrs. Hamilton is present; she little knows what a trouble you are athome, " she continued, languidly. 

The flush of passion again mounted to Lilla's cheek, but Ellen, takingher arm, entreated to go with her, and they left the room together, while Lady Helen amused her friend by a long account of her domesticmisfortunes, the insolence of her upper domestics, the heedlessness ofher elder, and the fearful passions of her younger daughter, even thecarelessness of her husband's manner towards her, notwithstanding herevidently declining health, all these and similar sorrows were pouredinto the sympathising ear of Mrs. Hamilton, and giving clearer andclearer evidence of Lady Helen's extreme and increasing weakness of mindand character. 

Great, indeed, was the astonishment of this indolent mother when Mrs. Hamilton urged the necessity of sending Lilla to school. Withoutaccusing Miss Malison of any want of judgment, she was yet enabled towork on Lady Augusta Denhain's words, and prove the good effects that aremoval from home for a few years might produce on Lilla's character. 

Lady Augusta's advice had been merely remembered during that lady'spresence, but seconded as it now was by the earnest pleadings of Mrs. Hamilton, she determined on rousing herself sufficiently to put it inforce, if her husband consented; but to obtain his approbation was atask too terrible for her nerves, and she entreated Mrs. Hamilton tospeak with him on the subject. Willingly she consented, only requestingthat Lady Helen would not mention her intentions either to Annie or MissMalison till her husband had been consulted, and to this Lady Helenwillingly consented, for in secret she dreaded Miss Malison'slamentations and reproaches, when this arrangement should be known. 

When Mr. Grahame, in compliance with Mrs. Hamilton's message, called onher the following morning, and heard the cause of his summons, hissurprise almost equalled that of his wife. He knew her dislike to theplan of sending girls to school, however it might be in vogue; andalmost in terror he asked if she proposed this scheme because the evilcharacter of his child required some such desperate expedient. It waseasy to prove to him such was very far from her meaning. She spoke moreopenly on the character of Lilla than she had yet done, for she thoughttheir long years of intimacy demanded candour on her part; and eachyear, while it increased the evil of Lilla's present situationheightened her earnest desire to draw the father and child more closelytogether. She did not palliate her faults, but she proved that they wereincreased by the constant contradiction and irritation which she had toencounter. She repeated all that had passed between them the precedingday, unconsciously and cautiously condemning Grahame's excessivesternness, by relating, almost verbatim, Lilla's simply expressed wishthat her father would let her love him. 

She gained her point. The softened and agitated father feltself-condemned as she proceeded; and earnestly implored her to give himone more proof of her friendship, by recommending him some lady underwhose care he could with safety place his erring, yet naturallynoble-minded and warm-hearted child. A fashionable seminary, he wassure, would do her more harm than good, and he listened with eagernessto Mrs. Hamilton's description of Mrs. Douglas. The widow of a navalofficer, who had for several years been in the habit of educating tenyoung ladies of the highest rank, and she mentioned one or two who hadbeen her pupils, whose worth and mental endowments were well known toGrahame. 

"Do not be guided entirely by me on a subject so important, " she said, after recalling those families to his mind, whose daughters had beenplaced there; "make inquiries of all who know Mrs. Douglas, and see heryourself before you quite decide. That I have a very high opinion of heris certain; but I should be sorry if you were to place Lilla with herupon my advice alone, when, in all probability, " she added, with asmile, "you will find all Lady Helen's family opposed to thearrangement. "

"As they have never guided me right when they have interfered with mychildren, their approbation or disapproval will have little weight in mydetermination, " answered Grahame. "You have awakened me to a sense ofmy duty, Mrs. Hamilton, for which I cannot sufficiently express mygratitude. With too much reliance upon the opinions of others I haveregarded the many tales brought against my poor child, and now I see howgreatly her faults have been occasioned by mistaken treatment. I thoughtonce I could never have parted with a daughter for school, but now I seeit will be a kindness to do so; and pain me as it will, now I know thatI may in time win her affections, your advice shall be followed. "

"You must consent to part with her for one vacation also, " replied Mrs. Hamilton, playfully. "I have promised, in answer to her weightyobjection that she shall never see Moorlands again, to persuade you tolet her spend Christmas at Oakwood. You must consent, or I shall teachLilla a lesson of rebellion, and carry her off from Mrs. Douglas byforce. "

"Willingly, gratefully, " exclaimed Mr. Grahame. 

"And you will promise me to permit her to love you, to use her ownsimple affectionate words before she leaves you; you will not terrifyher by the cold sternness you frequently manifest towards her, and provethat you take sufficient interest in her, to love her more for everyconquest she makes. "

"Faithfully, faithfully I promise, my kind friend. "

"Then I am satisfied, " replied Mrs. Hamilton, her countenance glowingwith benevolent pleasure. "I shall, I trust, one day succeed in makingmy little Lilla happy, and thus add to the comfort of her parents. Weare old friends, Mr. Grahame, " she added, "and therefore I do nothesitate to express the pleasure you have given me by thus promising tothink upon my advice. I began to fear that you would be displeased atmy interference, deeming my advice impertinent and needless. I haveendeavoured to impress upon Lilla the necessity of a temporary absencefrom home, and have in part succeeded; and having Lady Helen's sanctionto speak with you, I could hesitate no longer. "

"Nor do I hesitate one moment to act upon your disinterested advice, mydear friend. Your word is enough; but as you so earnestly wish it, Iwill this very hour seek those of my friends who are acquainted withMrs. Douglas. I must leave Lilla to express her gratitude for her fatherand herself. "

Mrs. Hamilton was soon placed at rest regarding the destination of heryoung friend. There was not a dissenting voice as to Mrs. Douglas'sworth, one general opinion of satisfaction prevailed; but the mostgratifying tribute Grahame felt, was the affection and esteem which herformer pupils still fondly encouraged towards her. Thus prepossessed, her appearance and manners did much to strengthen his resolve, andGrahame now felt armed for all encounters with those who, presuming ontheir near relationship to his wife, would bring forward numberlessobjections to his plans; but he was agreeably mistaken. Lilla was lookedupon by them all as such an evil-minded, ill-informed girl, that itsignified little where she was placed, as she generally broughtdiscredit on all who had anything to do with her. Miss Malison, however, excited their sympathy, and Annie declared it was a shameful anddishonourable thing to dismiss her without notice, after so many yearsof devoted service to their family. Poor Lady Helen had to encounter thestorm of upbraiding from her daughter, and the tears and sobs of thegoverness, at the ill-treatment she received. In vain Lady Helenaccepted her protestations that she had done her duty; that she was sureall that could be done for Miss Lilla had been done. Annie declaredthat, though her services were no longer required for her ungratefulsister, she could not do without Miss Malison, for her mother's healthseldom permitted her to walk or drive out. She should absolutely die of_ennui_ without some one to act in those cases as her chaperon. In thisshe was ably seconded by all her mother's family, whose _protégée_ MissMalison had long been, and, against his better judgment, Grahame atlength consented that Miss Malison should remain in his family till sheshould get another situation as finishing governess. This, of course, Miss Grahame had determined should not be for some little time. 

Mrs. Hamilton had been particularly cautious, in her interview with Mr. Grahame, not to speak any word for or against Miss Malison; perhaps hadshe said what she really thought, even this concession would not havebeen made. 

Mr. Grahame's fixed and sudden determination to send Lilla to schoolwas, of course, laid by Annie and her confidant to Mrs. Hamilton'scharge, and increased not a little their prejudice against her, addingfresh incentive to their schemes for the destruction of her peace, whichCaroline's self-willed conduct now rendered even more easy than it hadpreviously been. 

When all was arranged, when it was decidedly settled that Lilla shouldjoin Mrs. Douglas's establishment at the conclusion of the midsummervacation, her father quietly entered the study where she was alone, togive her this information, and his really fond heart could not gaze onher without admiration. She was now nearly fifteen, though in looks, manners, and conversation, from being kept under such continualrestraint, she always appeared at first sight very much younger. Childlike in every movement, even her impetuosity might have aided thedeception; and Lady Helen herself had so often indolently answeredquestions concerning her daughter's age, she believed she was abouttwelve or thirteen, that at length she really believed it was so. It wasAnnie and Miss Malison's interest to preserve this illusion; for wereshe recognised as fifteen, many privileges might have been acceded toher, very much at variance with their interest. Annie had no desire fora rival to present herself, which, had her sister appeared in public, would undoubtedly have been the case; Lilla gave promise of beauty, which, though not perhaps really so perfect as Annie's, would certainlyhave attracted fully as much notice. She was drawing a tiny wreath ofbrilliant flowers on a small portfolio, which she was regarding with acomplacency that added brilliancy to her animated features. At herfather's well-known step she looked up in some little terror, and rose, as was her custom whenever she first saw him in the morning; her fearcould not check the sparkling lustre of her eye, and Grahame, taking herhand, said kindly--

"I have some news for my little girl, which I trust will prove asagreeable as I have every reason to hope they may. Mrs. Douglas willgladly consent to receive my Lilla as an inmate of her happy family. "

The flush of animation, the sparkling lustre of her eye faded on theinstant, and she turned away. 

"Why, our kind friend, Mrs. Hamilton, bade me hope this would bepleasing intelligence; has she deceived me, love?" continued her father, drawing her with such unwonted tenderness to him, that, after a glanceof bewilderment, she flung her arms round his neck, and for the firsttime in her life wept passionately on her father's shoulder. 

"Can it be pleasure to hear I am to go from you and mamma?" sheexclaimed, clinging to him with all the passionate warmth of her nature, and forgetting all her terror in that one moment of uncontrolledfeeling. Her simple words confirmed at once all that Mrs. Hamilton hadsaid in her favour, and the now gratified father seated her, as he woulda little child, on his knee, and with affectionate caresses graduallysoothed her to composure. Long did they converse together, and from thatmoment Lilla's happiness commenced. She could not at once lose her dreadof her father's sternness, but the slightest hint from him was enough;and frequently, as Grahame felt her affectionate manner, would he wonderhe had been blind to her character so long. The idea of school lost itsrepugnance. Her father's kindness enabled her to keep her determination, to prove, by the indulgence of the highest spirits, that going toschool, instead of being a punishment, as her aunt Augusta intended itto be, was a privilege and a pleasure. That she was accused of want offeeling she little heeded, now that her father invited and encouragedher affection. Lady Helen wondered at her change of manner, butindolence and the prejudice constantly instilled by Annie and MissMalison, prevented all indulgence of more kindly feelings. As thingsremained in this state for some weeks in Mr. Grahame's establishment, wewill now return to Mr. Hamilton's family. 

It was about this time, some three or four weeks before the end of theOxford term, that letters arrived from Percy and Herbert, containingmatters of interesting information, and others which caused some anxietyin the breast of Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton. On the first subject both thebrothers wrote, so deeply interested had they become in it. Among theservitors or free scholars of their college was a young man, whom theyhad frequently noticed the last year, but never recollected having seenbefore. He shrunk, as it appeared in sensitiveness from every eye, keptaloof from all companions, as if he felt himself above those who heldthe same rank in the University. Herbert's gentle and quicklysympathising heart had ever felt pained, when he first went to college, to see the broad distinction made between the servitors and othercollegians. He felt it pain to see them, as, in their plain gowns andcaps, they stood or sat apart from their brother students at theirmeals, but perceiving by degrees they were all happy in their rank, being, in general, sons of the poorer and less elevated classes ofsociety, happy to obtain an excellent education free of expense, he hadconquered these feelings, and imagined justly that they were, in allprobability, indifferent to the distinction of rank. But one amongstthem had recalled all these kindly sentiments, not only in the heart ofHerbert but in that of Percy, who was in general too reckless to regardmatters so minutely as his brother. The subject of their notice was ayoung man, perhaps some two or three years older than the heir ofOakwood, but with an expression of melancholy, which frequently amountedalmost to anguish, ever stamped on his high and thoughtful brow, and hislarge, searching, dark grey eye. He was pale, but it appeared more frommental suffering than disease, and at times there was a proud even ahaughty curl on his lip, that might have whispered he had seen betterdays. He was never observed to be familiar with his brother servitors, and shrunk with proud humility from the notice of his superiors. Theservile offices exacted from those of his degree were performed withscrupulous exactness, but Herbert frequently beheld at such times aflush of suffering mount into his cheek, and when his task was done, hewould fold his arms in his gown, and drop his head upon them, as if hisspirit revolted in agony from its employment. The other servitors werefond of aping their superiors, by a studied affectation of similar dressand manner, but this young man was never once seen to alter his plaineven coarse costume, and kept aloof from all appearance that wouldassimilate him with those above him; and yet he was theirlaughing-stock, the butt against which the pointed arrows of scorn, contumely, ridicule, and censure were ever hurled, with a malevolencethat appeared strange to the benevolent hearts of the young Hamiltons, who vainly endeavoured to check the public torrent. "He was not alwaysas he is now, and then, poor Welshman as he _is_, he always lorded itover us, and we will requite him now, " was the only reply they obtained;but the first sentence touched a chord in Herbert's heart. Misfortunemight have reduced him to the rank he now held, and perhaps he struggledvainly to teach his spirit submission; but how could he obtain hisfriendship, in what manner succeed in introducing himself. Herbert wasnaturally too reserved to make advances, however inclination prompted, and some months passed in inactivity, though the wish to know him, andby kindness remove his despondency, became more and more powerful to thebrothers. 

A side attack one day on the young Welshman, made with unwonted andbitter sarcasm by an effeminate and luxurious scion of nobility, rousedthe indignation of Percy. Retorting haughtily on the defensive, aregular war of tongues took place. The masterly eloquence of Percycarried the day, and he hoped young Myrvin was free from all furtherattacks. He was mistaken: another party, headed by the defeated butenraged Lord, who had been roused to a state of fury by young Hamilton'sappearance, surrounded the unhappy young man in the college court, andpreventing all egress, heaped every sarcastic insult upon him, wordsthat could not fail to sting his haughty spirit to the quick. Myrvin'seye flashed with sudden and unwonted lustre, and ere Herbert, who withhis brother had hastily joined the throng, could prevent it, he hadraised his arm and felled his insulting opponent to the ground. A wilduproar ensued, the civil officers appeared, and young Myrvin wascommitted, under the charge of wilfully, and without provocation, attacking the person of the right honourable Marquis of --. 

The indignation of Percy and Herbert was now at its height; and withouthesitation the former sought the principal of his college, and in a fewbrief but emphatic sentences placed the whole affair before him in itstrue light, condemning with much feeling the cowardly and cruel conductof the true aggressors, and so convinced the worthy man of the injusticedone towards the person of young Myrvin, that he was instantlyreleased, with every honour that could soothe his troubled feelings, and a severe reprimand bestowed on the real authors of the affray. 

Percy pursued his advantage; the noble heart of the young Welshman wastouched by this generous interference in his behalf, and when thebrothers followed him in his solitary walk the following day, heresisted them not. Gratefully he acknowledged the debt he owed them, confessed he would rather have received such a benefit from them thanfrom any others in the college, and at length, unable to resist thefrankly proffered friendship of Percy, the silent entreaty of Herbert, he grasped with convulsive pressure their offered hands, and promisedfaithfully he would avoid them no more. From that hour the weight of hisreverses was less difficult to bear. In the society, the conversation ofHerbert, he forgot his cares; innate nobleness was visible in Myrvin'severy thought, act, and word, and he became dear indeed to the soul ofHerbert Hamilton, even as a brother he loved him. Warm, equally warmperhaps, was the mutual regard of Myrvin and Percy, though the latterwas not formed for such deep unchanging emotion evinced in the characterof his brother. But it was not until some time after the commencement oftheir friendship that Herbert could elicit from his companion thehistory of his former life. 

It was simply this:--Arthur Myrvin was the only child of the rector ofLlangwillan, a small village in Wales, about ten or twelve miles fromSwansea. The living was not a rich one, but its emoluments enabled Mr. Myrvin to live in comparative affluence and comfort; beloved, revered byhis parishioners, enabled to do good, to bestow happiness, to impartthe knowledge of the Christian faith, he beheld his flock indeed walkingin the paths of their Heavenly Shepherd. He had been enabled by theeconomy of years to save sufficient to place his son respectably andcomfortably at college, and it was with no little pride he lookedforward to the time when those savings would be used for theirlong-destined purpose. Arthur had grown beneath his eye; he had neverleft his father's roof, and Mr. Myrvin trusted had imbibed principlesthat would preserve him from the temptations of college life, and sostrong was this hope, that he parted from his son without one throb offear. 

The sudden change in his life was, however, too tempting an ordeal forthe young man. He associated with those above him both in rank andfortune, who leading him into their extravagant follies, quicklydissipated his allowance, which, though ample, permitted notextravagance. About this time the noble proprietor of the Llangwillanparish died, and its patronage fell to the disposal of a gay anddissipated young man, who succeeded to the large estates. Inordinatelyselfish, surrounded by ready flatterers, eager of gain, he was acomplete tyrant in his domains. 

The excessive beauty and fertility of Llangwillan, the industry andsimple habits of the inhabitants, excited the desire of possessing it inthe mind of one of these humble sycophants, and his point was veryspeedily gained. Justice and humanity were alike banished from the codeof laws now in action, and, without preparation or excuse, Mr. Myrvinwas desired to quit that parish which had been his so long. Hisincumbency expired with the death of the proprietor, and it had beenalready disposed of. The grief of the old man and his humble friends waslong and deep; it was not openly displayed, the lessons of their belovedpastor had too well instructed them in the duty of resignation; but agedcheeks were wet with unwonted tears, and mingled with the sobs ofchildhood. Men, women, youth, and little children alike wept, when theirpastor departed from the village. He who had been the shepherd of hisflock so long, was now cast aside as a worthless thing, and the oldman's heart was wellnigh broken. In a rude cot, forced on his acceptanceby a wealthy parishioner, situated some eight or ten miles from thescene of his happiness, he took up his abode, and to him would thevillagers still throng each Sabbath, as formerly to the humble church, and old Myrvin, in the midst of his own misfortunes, found time to prayfor that misguided and evil-directed man who had succeeded him in hisministry, and brought down shame on his profession, and utterlydestroyed the peace which Llangwillan had enjoyed so long. 

Resignation by degrees spread over Myrvin's mind, but the conduct of hisson caused him fresh anxiety. The news of the change in his father'slife awakened Arthur from his lethargy; he saw the folly, the imprudenceof which he had been guilty; his father could no longer support him atcollege. In three years he had squandered away that which, with economy, would have served as maintenance for ten, and now he must leave thecollege, or do that from which at first his very soul revolted; but theimage of his father, his injured father, rose before him. He could notinflict upon him a disappointment so severe as his departure fromcollege would be. He would yet atone for his folly, and fulfil hisfather's long-cherished hopes, and without consulting him, in a momentof desperation, he sought the resident head of the University, andimparted his wishes. The preliminaries were quickly settled, and thenext letter from Oxford which Mr. Myrvin received, contained theintelligence that his son had reconciled his mind to the change, andbecome a servitor. 

A glow of thanksgiving suffused the old man's heart, but he knew all theinward and outward trials with which his son had to contend. Had he atthe first joined the college in the rank which he now held, he might nothave felt the change so keenly; but as it was, the pride and haughtinesswhich had characterised him before, were now, as we have seen, returnedtenfold upon himself. He clothed himself outwardly in an invulnerablearmour of self-control and cold reserve, but inwardly his blood was inone continued fever, until the friendship of Percy and Herbert soothedhis troubled feelings. The name of Hamilton, Herbert continued to state, for it was he who wrote particularly of Arthur, the young man haddeclared he knew well; but where he had heard it, or how, appeared likea dream. He thought he had even seen Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton once, notvery many years ago; but so many changes in his life had occurred sincethen, that the particulars of that meeting he could not remember. "Myrvin and Llangwillan appear equally familiar to me, " wrote Herbert;"but even more than to Arthur they seem as the remembrances of anindistinct dream. It has sometimes occurred to me that they are combinedwith the recollection of my aunt, Mrs. Fortescue, and Arthur, to whom Imentioned her death, suddenly recalled a dying lady and her twochildren, in whom his father was very much interested. Fortescue he doesnot well remember, but the little girl's name was Ellen, a pale, dark-eyed and dark-haired, melancholy child, whom he used to call hiswife, and my cousin certainly answers this description. If it be indeedthe same, it is strange we should thus come together; and oh! my dearestfather, the benefit our family received from this venerable and injuredman, bids me long more intently that we could do something for him, andthat Arthur should be restored to his former position. He is of fullage, and quite capable of taking orders, and I have often thought, couldhe reside with Mr. Howard the year previous to his ordination, it wouldtend much more to his happiness and welfare than remaining here, even ifhe was released from that grade, the oppression of which now hangs soheavily upon him. Follies have been his, but they have been noblyrepented; and something within me whispers that the knowledge he is mydearest and most intimate friend, that we mutually feel we are ofservice to each other, will plead his cause and my request to my kindand indulgent father, with even more force than the mere relation offacts, interesting as that alone would be. "

He was right. The friend, the chosen and most intimate friend of theiryounger son would ever have been an object of interest to Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton. That he was the son of the same good man who had acted sobenevolently towards Eleanor and her orphan children, who had soothedher dying bed, and reconciled the parting sinner to her Maker, addedweight to the simple yet pathetic eloquence with which Herbert hadrelated his story. The injury he had sustained excited their justindignation, and if the benevolence of their kind hearts had requiredfresh incentives, the unfeigned grief of Ellen, as the tale of the oldman was related to her, would have given it. 

"Oh, that I had it in my power to offer a sufficient sum to tempt thesordid and selfish being in whose possession Llangwillan now is, " shewas heard one day to exclaim, when she imagined herself alone, "that Imight but restore it to Mr. Myrvin; that I might feel that good old manwas passing his latter years in the spot and amongst all those he somuch loved; that Arthur could break the chain that now so bitterly andpainfully distresses him. Dear, dear Mr. Myrvin, oh, how little did Iimagine, when my thoughts have wandered to you and Arthur, who was sucha dear consoling friend in my childish sorrow, that misery such as thishad been your portion; and I can do nothing, nothing to prove how oftenI have thought of and loved you both--and my dear mother's grave, in themidst of strangers, " and she wept bitterly, little imagining hersoliloquy had been overheard by her aunt and uncle, who were almostsurprised at her vivid remembrance of those whom for the last sevenyears she had scarcely seen, and of whom she so seldom heard; but itheightened their desire to be of service to him who had once been sokind a friend to their family. 

The contents of Percy's letter, to the rather alarming and mysteriousnature of which we have already alluded, will be found in the nextchapter. 

CHAPTER VI. 

"Malison, dear Malison, congratulate me; the game is in my own hands!"exclaimed Miss Grahame one morning as she entered the private room ofher confidant, about a week after the receipt of the letters we havementioned, with every feature expressing triumphant yet malignant glee. 

"That has been the case some weeks, has it not?" replied Miss Malison. 

"Yes; but not so completely as at present. Caroline has just left me;she was afraid of imparting in writing the important intelligence shehad to give me, important indeed, for it saves me a world of trouble:though did I allow myself to think on her present situation ofsuffering, I believe that I should repent her perfect and innocentconfidence in me. Her defence of my character, whenever it is attacked, almost touches my heart; but her mother, her intrusive mother, thatwould-be paragon of her sex, rises before me and continually urges meon; she shall learn, to her cost, that her carefully-trained childrenare not better than others. "

"She has learned it partly already, by your account, " remarked MissMalison, concealing under a calm exterior her detestation of Mrs. Hamilton. 

"She has. That rejection of St. Eval assisted me most agreeably; I didnot expect that Caroline's own spirit and self-will would have aided meso effectually. That disappointment with St. Eval has affected Mrs. Hamilton more deeply than she chooses to make visible. Her coldness andseverity towards her child spring from her own angry and mortifiedfeelings; however, she lays it to the score of Caroline's faultyconduct, and my friendly letters have happily convinced Caroline suchis the case. In my most sanguine expectations of triumph, I neverimagined I should succeed so well in severing the link between Mrs. Hamilton and her daughter. Confidence is utterly at an end between them, and that would be sufficient to gratify any one but myself; but myvengeance for the prejudice and dislike with which this perfect creatureregards me must be more fully satisfied, at present it is only soothed. Now you know, _chère_ Malison, you are dying with curiosity to hear whatnew assistance has started up; a little more patience and you shall knowall. You are aware with what bitter and resentful feelings Carolineregards the treatment she receives from her parents, and also fromEmmeline, child as she is. "

"Perfectly; nor do I wonder at it. In this case the immaculate Mrs. Hamilton does not appear to practise what she preaches. It is ratherwonderful, that one who says so much about gentle treatment doing moregood than harshness, should now make her own child suffer beneath herseverity. '"

"As I said before, Malison, her severity is but a disguise formortification and annoyance. Lord St. Eval, the heir of the Malvernpeerage, was too good a chance to be thrown away without vexation. Caroline was a silly fool to act as she did, I must say that for her, grateful as I ought to be for the assistance that foolish act has givenme. As for rejecting him merely for love of Alphingham, it is a completefarce. She no more loves the Viscount than I do; perhaps not so much. Imake her believe she does, and so I intend to do till my plan is fullyaccomplished; but love him as she would have done, as in allprobability, at the present moment, she loves Lord St. Eval, she doesnot and never will. I shall make a fashionable pair, but not a lovematch, Malison, believe me. "

"That Mrs. Hamilton may have the exquisite pleasure of seeing herdaughter like other people, however different she may choose to beherself; you will rather do her a kindness than an injury, my dear MissGrahame. "

"Fortunately for my purpose, she will not think so. I shall, throughCaroline, inflict a deeper wound than I ever thought to have done. Noother injury would have touched her; she prides herself on Christianforbearance and patience, and such like, which, simply translated, wouldbe found to be nothing but haughtiness and pride, and utterinsensibility to human feelings; but if Caroline goes wrong, elopes, perhaps, as her aunt did, disregards parental commands, and acts in theweighty affair of matrimony for herself, why that will be something likea triumph for my diplomatic schemes. "

"You must work well on Caroline's mind to produce such a consummation, "observed Miss Malison. "I doubt much whether she would ever act in amanner that she would believe so contrary to her duty. I would adviseyou never to give her time to reflect. "

"I never mean to do so. If the silly girl had ever reflected at all, shewould at once have known that she loved St. Eval and not LordAlphingham; that her mother is her truest friend, and not Annie Grahame;but as she chooses to remain so stupidly blind and trusting, why I seeno harm in playing my part, and as for her consenting, let her but hearthe honourable Viscount's sweet persuasive eloquence and look on hishandsome and pleading features, and consent will quickly be obtained. "

"But why should he not demand her at once of her father? Mr. Hamilton isalways friendly with him when they meet. "

"You have just hit the mark, _ma chère_. That very truth was always astumbling block in my machinations, for I almost feared, by Mr. Hamilton's manner towards him, that the interesting tales concerning hisyouth, which I had intended should be poured into his wife's ear, mightbe disregarded; such from the first had been my intention, but I havefelt puzzled in a degree how to set about it. "

"Nay, you do yourself injury, my dearest Miss Grahame, " observed theex-governess, officiously. "From your earliest years you were neverpuzzled at anything. "

"My wits deserted me then for the moment, " replied Annie, laughing, "andwould perhaps have returned when my plot was ripe for execution; but Iam happy to say I can dispense with their assistance, as I have receivedit most effectually from a member of Mr. Hamilton's own family. "

"How!" exclaimed Miss Malison, much astonished. 

"Even so, _ma chère_; and now we come to the important intelligenceCaroline brought me this morning. It appears, that last week Mr. Hamilton received a letter from Percy, which by her account must havecontained some mysterious warning against this very Lord Alphingham, that his attentions to Caroline had been not only remarked, but reportedto him, and conjuring his father, as he valued Caroline's future peace, to dismiss him at once and peremptorily. Thus much Mr. Hamilton impartedto his daughter, a few days after the receipt of this letter, and afterbestowing some little approbation on her conduct towards him, which youknow before her parents is always particularly cold and guarded, herequested, or rather desired, that she would gradually withdraw herselfentirely from his society, as he had received quite sufficientconfirmation of that letter to render him anxious to break off allfurther communication and acquaintance with him. Caroline is such asimpleton, I wonder she could prevent her countenance from betraying heras he spoke; but I suppose she did, for Mr. Hamilton expressed himselfsatisfied by her assurance that his wishes should not be forgotten. Whether this letter contains other and more explicit matter she does notknow, but her state of mind at present is miserable enough to touch anyheart that is not quite so steeled as mine. I could almost smile at herfond belief that she really loves him, for I see my own work, no tenderpassion as she imagines; and to break off all intercourse with himappears comparative torture. I have already convinced her of herfather's injustice and cruelty in acting thus capriciously towards oneso well known and so universally honoured, and merely from a mysteriousand unsatisfactory letter from a boy who knows nothing about the matter. I hinted very broadly that it was only because her parents were provokedat her rejection of St. Eval; and as they still had a lingering hope hewould return, they did not choose her to receive attentions from any oneelse. I saw her eyes flash and her cheek crimson with indignationagainst all who had thus injured her; and she declared with morevehemence than I expected, that neither father nor mother, nor Percy, should prevent her choosing a husband for herself. A violent burst oftears succeeded this speech; but I continued to soothe and console her, and she left me with a spirit vowed and determined to free herself fromsuch galling tyranny. And what do you think had been her mood when shefirst came to me?"

Miss Malison, as expected, expressed ignorance. 

"Why, the weak simpleton thought of confessing her whole tale of love toher mother, and imploring comfort and assistance. "

"Take care she does not do so still, " remarked Miss Malison. 

"Not she. I have proved too clearly how ridiculous and miserable shewould make herself by such a _dénouement_. Her mother, I said, insteadof pitying, would assuredly condemn her for all the past, and mostprobably convey her at once to Oakwood, and immure her there till LordSt. Eval came to release her. She was both terrified and indignant atthe idea. "

"No wonder she should be; but do you know if she or her father have seenLord Alphingham since the arrival of this letter?"

"But once, last night; and it was the fancied anguish felt for hisdistress, which she was unable, as usual, to soothe, in consequence ofthe keen _surveillance_ of her mother, that brought her here thismorning to tell me all. Mr. Hamilton was still courteous, but moredistant. I have convinced her, that as her parents no longer treat herwith confidence, she has no right to treat them with any; and as everyone knows the worthy character of the Viscount, she can be doing nothingwrong in proving to him that her feelings in his favour are unchanged. She has hinted to me to explain the situation in which she is placed, but _entre nous_, I mean to do no such thing, for I have a plan of myown to follow up. She is not aware how very intimate I am with theViscount, and how much he confides in me; all my persuasions will tendto urge him to ask her of her father, and I am sure nothing can be morehonourable than that course of action. "

"Nothing, I am sure, " echoed the conscientious confidant; "but how willthat assist your former scheme?"

"Most admirably. Mr. Hamilton will, of course, decidedly refuse hisconsent, without even consulting his daughter; the anger of LordAlphingham will be overpowering; rage against the father, and love forthe daughter will urge him to any and every means to obtain her hand. Caroline's indignation against her father for acting in this way andtreating her so much like a child, feelings which I shall take care tocreate and foster, will second his eloquence, and I feel quite certainthat next season Caroline Hamilton mingles in the most fashionablecircles as the Viscountess Alphingham; and to obtain such a triumphantend, in my opinion, no means are faulty. "

"Most assuredly not. Not only the young lady herself, but her wholefamily ought to be eternally grateful, for without such manoeuvring Idoubt much whether the perfect daughter or the self-satisfied motherwould obtain an establishment in all things so desirable. Enraged as shewill be at first at such unexpected conduct in the child she has soill-treated, she will thank you in the end, Miss Grahame, depend uponit. "

"If I thought so, Malison, on my honour, I should feel disinclined toproceed one step further in the business. Give her cause to thank me, feel that I have unwittingly been of service to her whom of her wholesex I hate the most, to one who from my earliest years I know regardedme with aversion and contempt; Malison, I would draw back on the instantdid I think so. But no, it will not, it shall not be; the life of herchild as Countess of Alphingham will not be such as to bring peace toMrs. Hamilton's heart: to some mothers it might, but not to hers. Sheshall behold in this marriage the complete failure of her plans, theutter wreck of all her exclusive notions; she shall see that herpretended goodness and Christian example are not exemplified in Carolineat least. She shall feel my power--aye, bitterly. Thus will Itriumph--in Caroline's disobedience will I be avenged for the contemptand dislike her mother has ever shown to me. "

She suddenly raised her slight figure to its full height, and looked onher companion with a countenance expressive of such malignant triumph, that all, save her companion in iniquity, must have shuddered as theybeheld such youthful features so deformed. Some other conversationpassed between her and her able confidant, but as little more was saidon the subject most interesting to us, we will not follow them further. Annie's evil schemes are already too clearly displayed; her mind unable, as Miss Malison's, to comprehend the exalted nature of Mrs. Hamilton'scharacter, looked upon it with detestation; the more so, as feeling shewas ever _acting_--she believed it hypocrisy; that the worth for whicheven those who visited her not gave her credit, was not her realcharacter, but an artful veil to conceal evil qualities. The quickpenetration of Miss Grahame had even in childhood discovered that shewas no favourite, and accustomed to be spoiled and flattered by all withwhom she associated, her indignation and dislike towards the only onewho would dare treat her differently, look on her as a mere child, rendered ridiculous by affectation, increased with her years. She soondiscovered the influence she possessed over Caroline, and on that, knowing also her faults, she determined to work, and thus effectuallydestroy the peace of a mother devoted to her children, and prove to theworld that the eccentric seclusion of Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton for theirchildren's benefit was productive of no more good, if as much as theplain and in her eyes only useful plan of fashionable education. 

In her first scheme she had already succeeded more than she was perhapsconscious. The affair of St. Eval had clearly and painfully proved toMr. Hamilton that the fears of his wife the night of Caroline'sintroduction--those anxious fears, were indeed well founded. She hadsunk beneath temptation; integrity and honour, and every better feelinghad been overcome by that inordinate love of power which her mother fromthe first had seen and dreaded. The father's heart was pained anddisappointed, not only in this, but that his Caroline now was not thesame as she had been at Oakwood. A change had come over her, anddarkening her spirit, rendered her conduct at home gloomy, distrustful, and uneasy; the irritability of her childhood had returned, her veryconversation appeared restrained, and since the departure of Lord St. Eval, her cheek had become pale, and her eye no longer sparkling; andonly in the excitement of society her parents beheld her as formerly. Mr. Hamilton was deeply grieved, but he knew not, guessed not the extentof his wife's anguish. She saw every foreboding fear fulfilled; theconfidence of her child was entirely withheld from her; the coldnesswith which she felt compelled to treat her disregard of her wishes had, she felt assured, completely alienated her affection. Caroline could nolonger love her; every week, every day proved, by a hundred minutecircumstances, her affection was fleeting, and her mother despairinglyfelt, never to return; and yet she had but done her duty, exercised hernatural authority to lead her erring child in the better way. Her firmunshrinking discipline in childhood had only bound the cords ofaffection between herself and her offspring more firmly together; butnow in the case of Caroline it appeared about to snap them asunder. Herfond heart yearned constantly towards her daughter, but she would notgive way, for the sake of Emmeline and Ellen, whose efforts vied witheach other to increase the comfort and happiness of her they so dearlyloved. Their affection, their confidence would not change--no, howeverher authority might interfere with their wishes; and should she becomerepining and gloomy, because there was one source of sorrow amidst somany blessings? her pious heart struggled for submission, and obtainedit. But Caroline guessed not the deep pang she had inflicted; she knewnot the many tears shed in secret, the many inward prayers offered upfor her, that however severe was her chastening, it might be blessed, and bring her back to the deserted fold, to the bosom of her mother. Sheknew not this, nor was Annie conscious how fearfully her plans hadsucceeded in inflicting pain. 

The very cheerfulness of Mrs. Hamilton, striven for as it was, theunwavering kindness of her manner towards Emmeline and Ellen, increasedthe irritability of Caroline, and with it her indignation at hermother's coldness and severity towards herself. She felt she was indeeda slave, and longed to throw aside that galling bondage. What right hadher mother to treat her thus? Why must her every action be controlled, her very friendship disapproved of? She felt she was the injured one, and therefore allowed herself no thought for her whom she in truth hadinjured. For the same reason she clung yet closer to Annie; in heralone, in her present state of mind, she found full sympathy, and yeteven with her she was not happy; there was a strange indefinablesensation in her heart that even to her friend she could not express. There was a void within, a deep yearning void, which tortured her in hersolitary moments, which even the society of Lord Alphingham could notwholly remove. In solitude she blindly taught herself to believe thatvoid must be for him. How far she erred a future page must tell. 

Her conduct in society meanwhile, since the departure of St. Eval, hadbeen guarded and reserved, and her parents, fondly trusting theirdispleasure had been of service, relaxed after the first fortnight intheir coldness and mistrustful manner towards her. Mrs. Hamilton hadhoped the pale cheek and dim eye proceeded from remorse; and had notCaroline been so pointedly distant and reserved when in her society, shewould have lavished on her all the tenderness of former years. 

When that mysterious letter from Percy came, although it caused hisparents considerable anxiety, yet it never once occurred that anycoldness on their part towards Lord Alphingham could occasion Carolineany pain. Percy wrote with a degree of eloquent earnestness that couldnot be resisted, and guarded as his information and caution was, Mr. Hamilton determined implicitly to abide by it. The young man wrote whatAnnie had informed Miss Malison; that he had heard from more than onequarter of Lord Alphingham's marked attentions to his sister, that hehad even been congratulated on the brilliant alliance Caroline was aboutto make. He did not, he could not believe that such was the case, hesaid, for he should then have heard it from his parents, but he conjuredhis father, however casual the Viscount's attentions might be, towithdraw Caroline entirely from them. 

"I know well, " he wrote. "Father, as you value my sister's future peace, expose her not to his many fascinations. If he has endeavoured to winher heart, if he has paid her marked attentions, he is a villain! I darenot be more explicit, I am pledged to silence, and only to you, my dearfather, and on such an emergency, am I privileged to write thus much. Desire Caroline to give him no more encouragement, however slight; butdo not tell even this, it may not only alarm her, but be impartedperhaps to her friend, as young ladies are fond of doing. You have oncesaid I never deceived you; father, trust me now, this is no jest; mysister's happiness is too dear to me. Break off all connection with LordAlphingham. I give no credit to the rumours I have heard, for yourletters this season bade me hope Lord St. Eval would have been mysister's choice. His departure from England has dispelled these visions;but yet Caroline's affections cannot have been given to Lord Alphinghamwithout your or my mother's knowledge. Again I implore you, associate nomore with him, he is not worthy of my father's friendship. "

Mysterious as this was, yet both Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton knew Percy toowell to imagine he would write thus without strong cause. The suspicionsand almost unconscious prejudice entertained towards him by Mrs. Hamilton received confirmation by this letter, and she was pleased thather husband determined no longer to encourage his intimacy. Percy wrote, if he had paid Caroline marked attentions, or endeavoured to win herheart, he was a villain, and he had done so, and Mrs. Hamilton could notbut feel sufficiently rejoiced at Caroline's apparent manner towardshim. Deceived as she had been, yet that her once honourable child shouldso entirely forget the principles of her childhood, as to give himsecret encouragement, while her conduct in society rather bespokeindifference and pride than pleasure, that Caroline could have been ledto act thus was a thing so morally impossible to Mrs. Hamilton, that shehad no hesitation whatever in complying with Percy's request, littleimagining that in doing so she placed an inseparable bar to herregaining the confidence of her child, and widened more painfully thebreach between them. 

Caroline's heart, on receiving her father's command to withdraw herselfby degrees entirely from Lord Alphingham, was wrung with many bitter andcontending feelings. At first she reproached herself for having thuscompletely concealed her feelings, and, had she followed the impulse ofnature, she would at once have thrown herself on her mother's neck, andthere confessed all, that she loved him; that she had long done so, andimplore her not to check their intercourse without some more explicitreason: but Annie's evil influence had been too powerful. She dreadedher reproaches on this want of confidence in herself, or what was stillworse, her satirical smile at her ridiculous weakness, and then sheremembered her mother's displeasure at her former conduct, and dreaded arenewal of the same coldness, perhaps even increased control. Shedetermined, therefore, to wait till she had seen Annie; and thatinterview rendered her more miserable, excited still more herindignation against her parents and brother, and strengthened thefeelings of devoted affection with which she fancied she regarded LordAlphingham. Annie's continued notes confirmed these feelings; under thespecious intention of soothing Caroline's wounded pride, it was veryeasy for her to disguise her repeated insinuations of Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton's injustice and caprice towards the Viscount, and tyrannytowards herself. The veil she had thrown over Caroline's sober judgmentbecame thicker and more blinding, and Caroline could sometimes scarcelyrestrain even before her parents the indignation which so continuallyfilled her heart. 

Mrs. Hamilton was ignorant of the communications that were so constantlypassing between Annie and her daughter, or she might perhaps have put astop to them. Caroline's own maid, Fanny, had been persuaded to becomethe means of receiving and sending their intelligence in secret. Theconscience of the girl reproached her more than once, but the idea wasso improbable that Miss Caroline could act improperly, that shecontinued faithful to her wishes, even against her better judgment. 

Lord Alphingham's ready penetration was puzzled at the change of mannerin both Mr. Hamilton and his daughter. The latter, he could easilyperceive, was constrained to act thus, and his determination to releaseher from such thraldom became more strongly fixed within him. He becameas cold and reserved to her father as Mr. Hamilton had been to him; buthis silent yet despairing glances ever turned towards Caroline, were, hefelt assured, quite enough to rivet his influence more closely aroundher. The following morning, as Annie had expected, the Viscount soughther to give vent to his fears about Caroline; his indignation againstthe unaccountable alteration in Mr. Hamilton's manner. What could havecaused it? He had ever acted honourably and nobly, openly marked hispreference, and he had talked himself into a passion, before hiscompanion offered to give him any advice or speak any comfort. 

"They are either determined their daughter shall not marry whom shelikes, in revenge for her not accepting whom they selected, or they areresolved, by this studied display of coldness, to bring you to a point, so I advise you to speak to this stern capricious father at once. "

"And what good will that do?"

"A great deal, if you manoeuvre properly, on which quality youfortunately require no lessons from me. You will, at least, discover Mr. Hamilton's intentions. If he receive you, well and good, you should beflattered at his condescension; if the contrary, you will, at least, know on what ground you stand, and the situation in which my poor friendmust be placed. She is worried to death with the continual caprices ofmamma and papa. It would be a charity in any one to break the chains inwhich she is held. She came to me yesterday in the deepest distress, andall from caprice; for what else can it be that has changed Mr. Hamilton's manner?"

Lord Alphingham's fancy became more and more warmed as she spoke; vanityand self-love were alike gratified, and he answered eagerly--

"I may depend, then, on her affections; she will not, for fear of mamma, play me false. "

"Not she; that is to say, if you do not betray her in your eagerness toask her of her father. You have never yet asked the question, though youhave discovered she loves you; but if, in demanding her of her father, you say you have gained her affections, the consequence will be, if Mr. Hamilton refuse her, she will be borne instantly to Oakwood, and thereimprisoned, till the poor girl pines and droops like a chained birdwithout hope of freedom. Whereas, if you will only govern your impetuoustemper, and trust to her affections and my friendship, your every wishmay be gratified, with or without Mr. Hamilton's advice. "

"And you will assist us;--adorable girl! how can we ever repay you?" heexclaimed, raising her hand passionately to his lips. The cheek of Anniesuddenly blanched, but a cold, proud smile curled her lip. She answeredhim in his own spirit, and after a prolonged interview, the Viscountdeparted to act on her advice. 

Ere that day closed, Lord Alphingham had sought, Mr. Hamilton, and withevery demonstration of respectful yet passionate affection, solicitedhis consent to address his daughter. The warning of his son, the strongterm he had used, were engraved on Mr. Hamilton's mind, and scarcelycould he answer the Viscount with his accustomed calmness. Politely butdecidedly he refused, adding, that he had hoped the constant reserve ofCaroline's manner would at once have convinced him of her feelings, andspared him the pain of refusing for her the honourable alliance LordAlphingham proposed. A haughty and somewhat triumphant smile played fora second on the Viscount's lips, but Mr. Hamilton understood not itsimport; and his companion, with many expressions of wounded feeling andinjured honour, departed, leaving Mr. Hamilton rather pleased thanotherwise at this affair, as it gave him a plausible excuse forwithdrawing entirely from his society. He imparted what had passed tohis wife, and both agreed it was better for Caroline to say nothing ofhis proposals; and this determination, for once, was not thwarted byAnnie, who thought it better for Lord Alphingham to plead his own causeat some future time when the idea of his having been refused withoutconsulting her, the person principally concerned, would excite yetgreater indignation toward her parents, and assist effectually the causeof her lover, who, leaving town for a week or two to prove to Mr. Hamilton his wounded feelings were no pretence, or for some otherreason, left to Annie the charge of preparing Caroline's mind for thealternative he might propose. 

A circumstance happened about this time, which appeared greatly tofavour the schemes of Annie and Lord Alphingham, and expose Carolinemore powerfully to temptation. The Duchess of Rothbury had invited aselect number of friends to while away the remaining weeks of the Londonseason at her elegant seat, which was situated in a lovely spot, abouttwenty miles from the metropolis. Amongst the number she, of course, included Mrs. Hamilton, and expressed herself very much disappointedwhen that lady tendered excuses. Mr. Hamilton could not leave town; hehad put Mr. Myrvin's case into the hands of an able solicitor, andwished to remain on the spot himself to urge on the business, that itmight be completed before he returned to Oakwood. It was not likely, hesaid, that the affair would occupy much time, the whole circumstancebeing directly illegal. It had only been the age and poverty, combinedwith the shrinking sensitiveness from public gaze, which had preventedMr. Myrvin from coming forward at the very first against his persecutor. A specious tale had been brought forward to excuse the illegality, andimpose on the bishop in whose diocese Llangwillan was situated, andMyrvin, though he could meet trials with resignation, was toobroken-hearted to resist them. Thus much Mr. Hamilton had learned fromArthur, to whom he wrote himself, requesting him to give a minuteaccount of the whole circumstance. His earnestness, seconded by theentreaties of both his sons, succeeded in banishing Arthur's proudreserve, and Mr. Hamilton was now engaged heart and soul in hisbenevolent scheme of exposing iniquity, and restoring the injuredclergyman to his grieving flock. He could not, therefore, leave London, and Mrs. Hamilton who, for mere amusement, could not bear to part fromher children, for only Caroline was to accompany her, steadily resistedthe entreaties of her friend. For herself she was firm, but shehesitated when the Duchess, seconded by her daughters, requested mostpersuadingly, that if she would not come herself, she would, at least, permit Caroline to join them. 

"You have known me so long, that I have the vanity to believe, that if Ipromise to guard your child as if she were my own, you will trust herwith me, " her grace urged, with a pertinacity that could not fail to beflattering. "She will be as safe under my care as were she under theobservance of her mother. "

"That I do not doubt one moment, " replied Mrs. Hamilton, earnestly; "ifI hesitated, it was from no doubt of either your grace's care orkindness. If Caroline be willing to accept your invitation, and herfather consent, she has my permission. "

"Thank you, my good friend; I trusted in my eloquence to prevail, " theDuchess said, smiling with an air of sincerity that gratified Mrs. Hamilton; and she quickly imparted to Caroline the accepted invitation, but in vain endeavoured to read on the face of her child whether shewere pleased or otherwise. Circumstances which caused Mrs. Hamiltonrather to rejoice at Caroline's absence from London for a time, were tothe latter great preventives to the enjoyment to which, in such elegantsociety, she might otherwise have looked forward. Annie Grahame was, much to her own vexation, excluded from this select circle. The Duchesshad penetrated her designing character, and regarded her with aprejudice, as violent as was her nature. She was only invited to thoselarge assemblies which included all her acquaintances, not merely herfriends. Amazed at this slight, Miss Grahame at once determined thatthere the catastrophe for which she had so long planned should takeplace, and her detestation of Mrs. Hamilton be gratified to theuttermost. 

Would Lord Alphingham be there, was a question that crossed Caroline'smind repeatedly, and was as often demanded of her friend. Annie eitherwould not or could not tell; and she would add, perhaps she ought tocongratulate Caroline on her separation from him, as such a dreadmandate had gone from her parent, and she surely would not wish toencourage his society; and then she would implore her forgiveness, andsympathise so well in her fancied distress, and describe that of LordAlphingham in such heightened colours, that Caroline, unsophisticated asin some things she still was, felt truly miserable. The Viscount'ssudden departure from town would have been unaccountable, had not Anniesucceeded in persuading her that she was sure it was entirely owing toher (Caroline's) coldness and Mr. Hamilton's unaccountable conduct. 

Mr. Hamilton did not at first approve of his daughter leaving homewithout her mother, even to visit the Duchess of Rothbury, but heyielded to the solicitations of his wife. They knew that Lord Alphinghamwas somewhat of a favourite with the Duke, but felt so assured that theheart of their child was entirely disengaged, at least to him, that onhis account they did not hesitate. Caroline's conduct with regard to St. Eval had, they were convinced, proceeded from the pure love of coquetry;they could not believe she had rejected him because she fancied sheloved another, they had had no cause to do so: and since Mrs. Hamiltonhad spoken so seriously on the subject, Caroline's behaviour in publichad been such as to excite their approbation, and renew, in somemeasure, their confidence in her integrity. She was more reserved, andher manner to the Viscount, when they chanced to meet, had led themtrustingly to believe their commands on this head would be implicitlyobeyed. Perhaps Mrs. Hamilton's penetration had played her false; it wasstrange that a mother so long accustomed to divine the thoughts andfeelings of her children, should have been thus blind to the emotionswith which Caroline believed she regarded Lord Alphingham. But, surely, no farther proof than this was wanting to clearly demonstrate it was nottrue love she felt; had it been that real, pure, fervid passion, couldone so unused to art have concealed the flushing cheek, the sparklingeye, the trembling voice, which would invariably have betrayed her? No;it was infatuation, --blind, maddening infatuation, --strengthened byindignation towards her parents; by the wish to prove she could throwoff their control, and choose for herself, and love whom and where andhow she liked, without their choice and sympathy; and it was thus shecompletely veiled her feelings. Can we condemn her mother for refusingto believe the child she had trained and watched, and prayed for solong, such an adept in deceit? Can we blame her want of penetration inthis instance, and think it unnatural in her character, when we rememberhow completely the character of her child was changed? Surely not. Itwould have been stranger had she, without proof, believed Caroline thegirl she had really become. 

The reflection that she could still write to Annie and hear from her, consoled her for the temporary separation; and she joined the Duchesswith some degree of pleasure, which had, however, been slightly alloyedby a conversation with her mother before she left home. Her spirit wasin too excitable a state to hear advice calmly. Every word Mrs. Hamiltonso gently said on her conduct being more guarded now than when under hereye, her mild entreaties that for her sake Caroline would behave withreserve, all fell on a poisoned ear. Sullenly she listened, and when hermother bade her farewell, it was with a heart grieving bitterly. Whilesmarting under supposed injuries, how little did Caroline imagine thereal agony she inflicted on her mother. If the gentle heart of Mrs. Hamilton had been wrung by the wayward conduct of her sister, how muchmore so must it have been wounded, when she saw so many of those evilqualities reflected in her child. 

At Airslie, so the residence of the Duchess of Rothbury was called, Caroline found herself universally courted. She knew she was admired, and she was flattered; but there was a ceaseless gnawing at her heart, which not even gratified vanity could still. She knew not, would notknow, it was remorse. She believed it was the conduct of her parents;the chain that was thrown round her actions, her disappointment withregard to Lord Alphingham; for he was not, as in secret she hoped, hewould be, one of the invited guests. It was a task, a painful task, towrite home, but she forced herself to speak of the scenes around, andsketch, with a masterly hand, some of the characters with whom shemingled; and her parents strove to be satisfied, though there wassomewhat wanting in those letters which, when Caroline had been fromhome, they had never missed before. 

"So that man of learning, that marvellous prodigy, that walkingcyclopaedia, Lord St. Eval, has absolutely deserted us, to bury himselfin Italy or Switzerland. Miss Hamilton, can you explain so wonderful andpuzzling an enigma?" mischievously demanded Lord Henry D'Este, one day, as he found himself alone near Caroline. His friend's departure hadindeed been to him a riddle, and believing at length that it must haveoriginated in her caprice, he determined, whenever he had anopportunity, to revenge St. Eval by doing all in his power to tormenther. A deep blush overspread Caroline's cheeks as he spoke, for exceptthat Mary Greville's letters had mentioned him, he was never spoken ofat home. 

"It ought not to appear a very puzzling riddle to you, " she answeredquickly. "He has gone, I should imagine, to collect fresh matters forreflection, that he may better deserve the title you have bestowed uponhim. "

"Nay, nay, surely he has enough of such matters to form four and twentygood folio volumes, " answered Lord Henry, laughing. "The art ofpoliteness he certainly has failed to retain, for you can have no ideawhat a _brusque_ philosopher he is. I assure you, he terrified me thelast time I saw him. What your honourable father had done to him I knownot, but I met him just coming from Berkeley Square, and all the charmshe had lately invited around him had suddenly departed, he was adifferent man, and that day, in a fit, I suppose, of spleen, he quitsLondon, and the next time I hear of him he is in Geneva: that noble Lordis one of the strangest creatures I ever had the honour to know. However, perhaps he has visited the Continent to learn politeness, and Ithink he may chance to learn a lesson of love also. Not at all unlikely, by the praises he bestows in his letters on a certain Louisa Manvers. "

In vain Caroline struggled to prevent a start, or her cheek fromsuddenly paling. "Louisa Manvers, " she repeated, almost unconsciously. 

"Yes, do you know her? by the bye, she must be some distant connectionof yours, I fancy; her brother is Lord Delmont, he inherited the titlefrom your maternal grandfather. St. Eval and Delmont were college chums, and, though they are parted, retain all the romantic enthusiasm offriendship. After spending some little time with your friends I believe, at Geneva, the lone pilgrim bent his steps to Lago Guardia, and there hehas remained, wooing nature with his friend, and in all probabilityplaying the _dévoué_ to Miss Manvers. We shall find Lord St. Evalbringing home a fair Italian bride, before we are aware of it; that isto say, if she will have the courage to pore through the deep and hiddentreasures of this volume, till she comes to the magic word heart. "

He might have continued, for Caroline, buried in her own miserablethoughts, interrupted him not. Had she encountered the eyes of LordHenry, as they were fixed full of mischief upon her, she might have madesome effort to rouse herself, but as it was, she felt relieved and gladwhen their _tête-à-tête_ was interrupted by the entrance of a merrygroup, just returned in the highest spirits from exploring a thick andmazy wood in the vicinity of the extensive grounds. 

"Good news for you all, " exclaimed the Duke of Rothbury, enteringdirectly after; "we are to have another guest to-day, to keep us allalive. "

"Who--who?" was reiterated by many voices, with somewhat of the noisymirth of children. 

"No less a person than Viscount Alphingham. " An exclamation of pleasurepassed through the giddy crowd, but there was an expression in thecountenance of the Duchess, who had also entered from a drive, which, toCaroline's quickly awakened fancy, appeared contrary to the generalemotion. "He is engaged as Sir Walter Courtenay's guest, so I cannotclaim him as mine, " the Duke continued; "but that does not much signify. Sir Walter is here every day, and Alphingham will of course accompanyhim. He is the best fellow I know. "

"And this is the man papa, for no reason whatever, save from Percy'sill-natured opinion, has desired me to slight, to behave in a mannerthat, contrasted with former notice, must be madness itself; cruelty tohim, after what has passed between us, and misery to me. Surely, in sucha case as this I am not compelled to obey. When the general voiceproclaims him other than they believe, am I to regard what is in itselfa mystery? If Percy had good reasons for writing against him to papa, for I am sure he must have done so, why did he not explain them, insteadof treating me thus like a child, and standing forward as his accuser, when the whole world extols him? Why are the dearest wishes of my heartto be destroyed merely by caprice? Percy ever tried, even in childhood, to bid me to look up to him, and acknowledge his power, and thus hewould prove it; but he will find himself mistaken. When papa permits hisjudgment to be blinded by the insinuations of a mere boy, I no longerconsider myself bound to obey him. "

Such was the tenor of Caroline's thoughts when alone, in the shortinterval, ere she descended to dinner--there was no ray of happiness;her heart had that day received a wound, nor could she derive comforteven from the knowledge that Lord Alphingham was expected. She would notpermit herself to think on Lord Henry's conversation. What was it to herif St. Eval married Louisa Manvers? then studiously she thought only onthe Viscount, and the situation with regard to him in which she wasplaced, till her head ached with the intensity of its reflections. 

On entering the drawing-room she found, as she had anticipated, LordAlphingham the centre of a brilliant coterie, and for the space of aminute her heart throbbed and her cheek flushed. He bowed respectfullyas she appeared, but with distant courtesy; yet she fancied the flow ofhis eloquence was for a moment arrested, and his glance, subdued yet somournfully beseeching, spoke volumes. Neither at dinner nor during thewhole of that evening did he pay her more than ordinary attention;scarcely that. But those silent signals of intelligence had even greaterpower than words; for they nattered her self-love, by clearly proving, that courted, admired, as he could not but feel he was by all aroundhim, his noble hostess perhaps excepted, yet all was as nothing, nowthat her favour had been so strangely and suddenly withdrawn. His tone, his manner, as he presented to her a note from Annie, of which he hadbeen the bearer, strengthened this illusion; and Caroline, as sheretired to rest, felt more and more convinced they were indeed mutuallyand devotedly attached, and that her obedience to her parents could notweigh against the duty she owed herself, the love he had evinced forher. Annie's note strengthened this determination. 

"I give you joy, my dear Caroline, " she wrote, "on the opportunity youwill now enjoy of receiving Lord Alphingham's attentions, undisturbed byany of those wayward fancies which have lately so destroyed your peace. Do not, for heaven's sake, by squeamish notions of filial obedience anddutiful conduct--which I do assure you have been very long out ofdate--destroy your own happiness. When parents cease to care for thetrue welfare and felicity of their children, it becomes our positiveduty to care for them ourselves. Mr. Hamilton has given you no reasonfor his command to withdraw yourself from the attentions of LordAlphingham; and surely that is the clearest imaginable proof that hereally has none to give, and that it is merely to gratify his own unjustdispleasure at your rejection of St. Eval, as if in such matters you hadnot an undoubted right to decide for yourself. He cannot suppose thatyou will now be contented with that which completely crosses your ownwishes, merely because he desires it. That was all very well in yourchildhood, but at present, when your own reason must be satisfied, hehas no right to expect obedience. The whole conduct of your parents, youhave owned to me yourself, has been lately such as to alienate youraffection and confidence. They hold your will enchained, my poor friend;and if you have not the spirit to break it, now a fair opportunityoccurs, forgive me, if I say I can no longer offer you consolation. LordAlphingham loves you, and long ere this, had it not been for yourmother's extraordinary conduct, would have proposed, and you might havebeen now a plighted bride, or still happier wife. I much doubt, by afew hints he dropped, if his late departure from town was not occasionedby Mr. Hamilton's positive refusal to sanction his addresses to you. Ifhe has demanded your hand, and been rejected without your knowledge, your father and mother have treated you with much confidence andaffection, have they not? Can they, dare they expect to receive yours, when such is the case? Is it not a clear proof your happiness is not tobe consulted in any marriage you may form? It is ridiculous to imaginethat your mother has penetrated, in some degree, your feelings forAlphingham, though perhaps not to their extent; and not approving of it, for no reason whatever, she desires you to shun his society. Your fatherrefuses a most honourable offer, without even consulting the personprincipally concerned. Caroline, my dearest friend, do not permit yournoble spirit to be thus bowed down. Whatever alternative Lord Alphinghammay propose becomes lawful, when you are thus cruelly persecuted. Manysecret marriages are happier, very much happier, than those for whichthe consent of parents have been obtained. They think only of ambition, interest; how can we expect them to enter into the warmth of youthfulfeelings? Do not be frightened at my words, but give them a calm, justdeliberation. You have permitted your love for him to be discovered; itbecomes your duty to prove it still more clearly. "

Such were the principal contents of Annie's letter, more than sufficientto confirm Caroline's already half-adopted resolution, and convince herwavering judgment that obedience to her parents was now no longer aduty; their unjust harshness had alienated her from them, and she muststand forth and act alone. Conscience loudly called on her to desist;that she was deserting the plain path, and entering the labyrinth ofdeceit, but the words of Annie were before her. Again and again theywere read, till every word became engraved within her, and the spiritthey breathed thickened the film before her eyes, and deafened her earto every loudly-whispered reproach. Yet in silence and solitude thatstill small voice, conscience, arose and left its pang, although on theinstant banished. 

A few days passed, and the conduct of the Viscount to Caroline continuedthe same as it had been the first night. Publicly distant, secretly andsilently beseeching, with an eloquence few could have resisted. Therewas a grand _fête_ and _déjeûner_ at Airslie, which was pronounced bythe connoisseurs in such things to be the most _recherché_ of theseason. But few, comparatively speaking, were the guests, though somehad ventured to travel twenty miles for the purpose; yet all waselegant. The day was lovely, and with the bright sunshine and cloudlesssky, added new charms to this fairy land; for so, by the tastefularrangement of gorgeous tents, sparkling fountains, exotic shrubs, andflowers of every form and shade, the _coup d'oeil_ might have beentermed. Musicians were stationed in various parts of the grounds. Thedance was enjoyed with spirit on the greensward, when the heat of thesun had subsided into the advancing twilight, and the picturesquegroups, the chaste and elegant costumes scattered about, intermixed withthe beauties of inanimate nature, added life and spirit to the picture. 

It was an exciting and yet a soothing scene. Some minds, untouched bycare, would here have revelled in unchecked gladness. In others, itmight have been productive of that soothing melancholy, which, from itsvery sweetness, we encourage till it becomes pain: such was the casewith Caroline. Her spirits, buoyed up at first with the hope andexpectation that here at least Lord Alphingham might resume hisattentions unremarked, she had been excited to unwonted gaiety; but asthe hours wore on, and he approached her not, that excitement faded intomelancholy and doubt. Not even had the usual signals of intelligencepassed between them, for he had been sedulously devoting himself toalmost every beautiful girl in the gardens. Jealousy for a moment tookpossession of her mind, but that very quickly gave way to indignationagainst her father. 

"If he has been treated as Annie tells me, if his proposals for me havebeen rejected, " she thought, "how can I expect or hope that he willcontinue his addresses? He knows not but that I have been consulted, andis my happiness to be overthrown, rudely cast aside, by the insinuationsof a boy?" and covering her face with her hands, she burst into tears:the scene, the time, the faint sound of the distant music, encouragedthese feelings, and heightened despondency. Day was darkening aroundher, aided by the sombre shade of the gigantic trees, which formed agrove where she sat, and the music borne along at intervals soundedunusually mournful. A heavy sigh near her aroused her from her painfultrance, and starting, she beheld the object of her thoughts standing byher side. His speaking eyes were fixed on her with a glance not the mostobtuse imagination could have misinterpreted, and the whole expressionof his peculiarly handsome features betrayed the most eloquent andpleading sympathy. 

"Oh, that it might be mine, the blessed privilege of endeavouring tosoothe or to relieve this grief!" he passionately exclaimed, as with anair of the utmost respect he ventured to take her hand. "I had indulgedin presumptuous hopes. I had ventured to read the flattering noticewhich I ever received from you as a confirmation of my wishes, and Iindulged in fondly-cherished visions that ere this I should indeed havehad a right, a holy right, to soothe your every grief and share in everyjoy. I thought wrong; your flattering notice must have been but theimpulse of your kind heart, pitying what you could not fail to behold;and yet, oh, Miss Hamilton, that very demonstration of your gentlenature has increased my misery; it has bade me love, nay, adore you. Iblame you not. I have been presumptuous--mad. I had no right to expectso much happiness. My proposals were refused. I was told your conductmust have made it evident that I was not pleasing to you. I fled fromyour presence, but I could not rest alone. Again, like a mad fool, Ihave plunged myself in the centre of fascination. I could not existwithout the sound of your voice, though me it might never more address. I could not live without glancing on your expressive eyes, your eloquentsmile, though on me neither more might beam. I am here, I feel my folly, but I cannot tear myself away. Caroline, adorable Caroline!" hecontinued, with well-practised passion, "only speak, command me; in whatway can I relieve the grief in which I see you plunged? Give me at leastthe gratification of feeling I have been of service to you; that I havedone somewhat for your happiness, though by you mine has fled for ever. "

Rapidly yet eloquently had he spoken, and Caroline vainly struggledwith herself to interrupt him. He believed she had rejected him, and inthat moment she contrasted his present conduct with that of Lord St. Eval, under the same circumstances, and surely she could doubt no longerwhich loved her best. She had not seen the secret agony of the one--hisproud and noble heart concealed it; but Alphingham--when such devotedlove was offered her, would she condemn it to misery, and herself toeverlasting reproach, if not to equal woe?

"You are mistaken, my lord, " she said, proudly, after a severe strugglewith herself. "Lay not to my charge the loss of your happiness. I wasnot aware till this instant that it depended--" She stopped abruptly, for the natural modesty of her disposition prevented more, indignant asshe was at the confirmation of Annie's suspicions. 

Lord Alphingham saw his advantage, and pursued it. 

"How!" he exclaimed, in an accent of astonishment and ecstasy wellcombined. "Have you too been deceived, and my proposals rejected withouthaving been laid before you? Can it be possible? Oh, speak again, mybeloved Caroline! tell me I have not been too presuming--that I may hopethat my long-cherished visions are not false. You will not, oh, you willnot condemn me to misery--you will not reject my heart, and send medespairing from your feet. Caroline, my beloved, my beautiful! say thatyou will be merciful--say that you love me--that I love not alone; oh, say, promise me you will be mine, and come what will we shall be happy. "

She heard, and her heart throbbed and her brain reeled; in theinfatuation of that moment, all, all was forgotten, save the persuasionsof Annie, his pleading eloquence, the wild impulse of her own blindedfancy; the fatal promise passed her lips--she was pledged to be his own. A few minutes she listened to his impassioned thanks, his words ofdevoted love, then suddenly starting back--

"My father!" she exclaimed, and burst into a passionate flood of tears. 

"Nay, weep not, my beloved, my own! let not a mere shadow, for such inthis instance is duty, alloy the felicity that will be ours. His consentwill in time be given; fear not, when he sees you happy, when he sees myonly care, my every thought is for your welfare, that his forgivenessfor involuntary disobedience will be granted, and his unjust and cruelprejudices against me will pass away, for he will find they were indeedbut fancy; and if he continues obdurate, oh, how rejoiced I shall be tohave withdrawn my Caroline from his stern guardianship. Already has hedeceived you; and can he then expect implicit obedience to unjust andunfounded commands on your part? Cheer up, my best love, fear not; trustto my affection, and all will be well. "

But still she wept, even though Lord Alphingham continued this strain ofconsolation for some little time longer. Fearing at length to attractnotice by her prolonged absence, she roused herself, and breaking fromher triumphant lover, remained for a few minutes alone, endeavouring, but vainly, to recover that happiness which, when she had looked to anunion with the Viscount, had promised to dawn around her. She saw itnot; there was a dark, heavy, threatening cloud overhanging her mind, which no efforts could dispel. She felt, as she rejoined the glitteringcircle, the eye of the Duchess was fixed with startling earnestness uponher, and she shrunk from that severe look, as if indeed it couldpenetrate her soul and condemn the past. Why did not enjoyment return?Why was she not happy when in the centre of a scene like this? She knewnot, and struggled to be gay and animated as usual; but she felt as ifeach effort failed, and drew upon her the attention of those near her, and rejoiced was she indeed when the festive hours had fled, and she wasalone. She strove to compose her troubled thoughts to prayer, but nowords came to her aid, and throwing herself on her bed, she wept formany weary hours. She could not have told why she thus wept; she onlyknew that she was wretched, that the light-heartedness once sopeculiarly her own had fled, it seemed, for ever, and she shrunk almostin loathing from the hour when she should meet Lord Alphingham again;and when it came, even his presence cheered her not. He soothed, evengently reproached, but as he did so there was somewhat in his eye shehad never seen before, and which struck terror. Subdued as it was ittold of passions from which she had believed him exempt, and addedadditional pain to her distress. Noticing what she termed theindisposition of her young friend, the Duchess kindly advised her toremain quiet, nor join the gay party, till it had passed away; but asshe spoke, Caroline observed the severe and scrutinizing glance of theDuchess again fixed upon her, and, contrary to her advice, appeared asusual at dinner. 

Days passed, and Lord Alphingham's plan was matured, and submitted toCaroline's sanction. A _fête_, similar to that given by the Duchess, only commencing at a later hour, to permit a superb display of fireworkson the grounds, was to be given by a neighbouring nobleman, to which allthe members of the Duchess's party were invited. The villa was some fewmiles off, and they were to leave Airslie at half-past eight. That dayCaroline was to feign indisposition, and remain undisturbed at home; atten Lord Alphingham would dispatch a trusty servant, well disguised, with a note, apparently from Mrs. Hamilton, requesting her daughter'simmediate return, as she had been taken suddenly and dangerously ill. This note was, of course, designed to impose upon any member of theparty who might, by some mischance, remain at home, and be circulatedamong the servants to account for her sudden departure. The carriage, said to be Mr. Hamilton's, waited for her; Lord Alphingham was to meetit at some five miles off; but once within it, once safe from Airslie, the rest was easy. 

Caroline heard, and an inward shuddering crept chilly through her frame. Faintly and briefly she agreed to all he so eloquently and persuasivelypleaded, and instantly left him. 

"Will she be weak enough now to waver?" thought Alphingham. "Perhaps, after all, she is not worthy of all this trouble, there is no spirit inher; yet she is so beautiful, it will suit me well to introduce such alovely creature as my bride next season, and gratify my vengeance on Mr. Hamilton for his unceremonious refusal, and if I get tired of her, ifthen tears and pale cheeks continue, why, thank heaven, no chains withme are binding. That early folly of mine was not so useless as itseemed; I may act as I please, and if your daughter sickens or offendsme, Mr. Hamilton, as you have done, you may well dread my vengeance, itwill fall upon you both, and I unscathed will seek other lands andfairer beauties, as I have already done. " His countenance had darkenedduring this speech, but at its close it became clear again, and, with acareless whistle of unconcern, he sauntered away. 

And was it to this man that the cherished child of so much anxiety wasabout to sacrifice herself--with him and for him, she, who had once beenthe soul of truth and honour, had consented to leave the guardianship ofher father, and break the sacred links of nature? Alas! though her veryspirit now revolted, she had gone too far. How could she, how dared shedraw back? and yet one effort she would make. She would implore him topermit her to confess all to her parents; she was convinced, did theyknow how much her happiness depended on her union with him, they wouldconsent, and with their blessing hallow their marriage. Happiness--Caroline shuddered; the wild excitement of secret love haddeparted. She knew she was beloved, she had given her promise, yet shewas not happy; and could she then expect to be when irrevocably his own?Her brain reeled beneath the bewildering chaos of her thoughts; but shefollowed up her resolution, and implored him as she had intended. LordAlphingham heard with a dark and frowning brow. 

"And what becomes of your kind brother's just accusations?" demanded theViscount, with a very evident and contemptuous sneer. 

"Defend yourself, and papa will be convinced they are unfounded, " washer reply. But she gazed on his countenance, and terrified at itsexpression, for the first time the thought flashed across her mind, could there indeed be any real cause for Percy's warning; and more andmore earnestly did she beseech him to say she might implore her father'ssanction. "Only let me confide in papa and mamma, let me try andconvince them they are mistaken, and Percy too must be in error. "

The Viscount for some little time endeavoured mildly to confute herarguments, and convince her that in doing so, she was only forming herown misery; but still she pleaded, and ungoverned fury at length burstforth. He had been too long the victim of passions always to keep themin bounds, even when most required; and for a few minutes they spurnedrestraint, and Caroline beheld him as he was, and saw in dim perspectivethe blackened future. She would have broken from him, but he detainedher, and with a rapid transition of mood humbled himself before her, andwith impassioned fervour and deep contrition besought her forgiveness, her pity. It was his fervid love, his fear of losing her, that bade himthus forget himself, and he conjured her not to condemn him toeverlasting misery; that he was wretched enough already at having causedher one moment's pain. He spoke, and his softened voice, his imploringeyes, his protestations of unalterable love and gratitude, if she wouldbut trust to his affections, and be his own as he proposed, had in adegree their effect. She was convinced it would only bring forth miserynow to implore the sanction and blessing of her parents, and promised toresign all idea of so doing. But vainly she strove to forget that burstof ungoverned passion she had witnessed; it haunted her sleeping andwaking thoughts, and his protestations of devoted love were dimmedbeside it, they shared its blackened hue. 

The appointed day came, and the Duchess, without question or remark, accepted Caroline's excuse for not accompanying her and her friends tothe expected _fête_. The heavy eyes and pale cheeks of the misguidedgirl were more than sufficient excuse; she even seconded Caroline inrefusing the kind offer of Lady Annie and Lady Lucy Melville to remainwith her. She said she preferred being quite alone, as she was nocompanion for any one, and it appeared as if not even that obstaclewould arise to prevent her flight. 

The hours wore on; the noble guests could speak of nothing but theanticipated _fête_ and its attendant pleasures, while they whiled awaythe intervening hours in the library, the music-room, the garden, wherever their taste dictated, for freedom was ever the password ofAirslie; but Caroline joined them not. It was the second day that shehad not seen the Viscount; for, fearing to attract notice, he had nevermade his visits unusually frequent, and well versed in intrigue, he hadcarried on his intercourse with Caroline in impenetrable secrecy. Morethan once in those lonely hours did she feel as if her brain reeled, andbecome confused, for she could not banish thought. She had that morningreceived letters from home, and in her present mood each line breathedaffection, which her now awakened conscience told her was undeserved. Nature and reason had resumed their sway, as if to add their tortures tothe anguish of those hours. The misery which had been her portion, sinceher acceptance of Lord Alphingham, had slowly but surely drawn theblinding film from her eyes. The light of reason had broke upon themwith a lustre that would no more be darkened. At the same moment thatshe knew she did not love Lord Alphingham, her conduct to her parents, to St. Eval, appeared in their true colours. Yes! this was no fancy, shehad been the victim of infatuation, of excitement; but clearer andclearer dawned the truth. She was sacrificing herself to one whom shedid not love, whom she had never loved, with whom her life would be adreary waste; and for this was she about to break the ties of nature, fly from her parents, perhaps draw down upon her head their curse, or, what she now felt would be worse, much worse, wring that mother's heartwith anguish, whose conduct, now that reason had resumed her throne, shewas convinced had been ever guided by the dictates of affection. Sherecalled with vivid clearness her every interview with Annie, and shesaw with bitter self-reproach her own blindness and folly, in thussacrificing her own judgment to false reasoning, in withdrawing herconfidence and affection from the mother who had never once deceivedher, to bestow them on one who had played upon her foolish weakness, heightened her scarcely-dawning fancy till it became infatuation, andfinally recommended that plan of conduct from which Caroline's wholesoul revolted. Why had she done this? Caroline felt, to bring down shameupon her head and suffering on her mother. Her parents' conduct changedtowards her--oh! had not hers changed to them? had she not acted fromthe first of Annie's arrival in London as if under the influence of somespell? and now that it was rudely broken, recollections of the pastmingled with and heightened her present sufferings. Her childhood, herearly youth rushed like a torrent on her mind; faulty as they had been, they were innocent and pure compared with her present self. Then shehad been ever actuated by truth, candour, respectful love, affectionateconfidence towards her parents; now all had been cast aside. If hermother's words were true, and bitterly she felt they were, that herconduct to St. Eval had been one continued falsehood, what would herparents feel when her intercourse with Lord Alphingham was discovered. Lord Alphingham--she shuddered as his name rose to her lips. Her heartyearned with passionate intensity towards her mother, to hear her voicein blessing, to see her beaming smile, and feel her kiss of approbation, such as at Oakwood she had so often received: she longed in utterwretchedness for them. That night she was wilfully to cast them off forever, flee as a criminal from all she loved; and if she could returnhome, confess all, would that confiding love ever be hers again? Sheshrunk in trembling terror from her father's sternness, her mother'slook of woe, struggling with severity, the coldness, the displeasure shewould excite--on all sides she beheld but misery; but to fly with LordAlphingham, to bind herself for ever with one, whom every passing hourtold her she did not, could not love--oh, all, all, even death itself, were preferable to that! The words of her brother sounded incessantly inher ears: "If you value my sister's future peace, let her be withdrawnfrom his society. " How did she know that those words were wholly withoutfoundation? the countenance of the Viscount as he had alluded to themconfirmed them to her now awakened eye. Was she about to wed herself tocrime? She remembered the perfect justness, the unwavering charity ofher father, and in those softened moments she felt assured he would nothave condemned him without good cause. Why, oh, why had she thuscommitted herself? where was she to turn for succour? where look for aidto guard her from the fate she had woven for herself? Where, in herchildish faults, had her mother taught her to seek for assistance andforgiveness? Dare she address her Maker, the God whom, in those monthsof infatuated blindness, she had deserted; Him, whom her deceptiontowards her parents had offended, for she had trampled on His holy laws, she had honoured them not?

The hour of seven chimed; three hours more, and her fate was irrevocablysealed--the God of her youth profaned; for could she ever address Himagain when the wife of Alphingham? from whose lips no word of religionever came, whose most simple action had lately evinced contempt for itsforms and restrictions. The beloved guardians of her infant years, thetender friends of her youth insulted, lowered by her conduct in theestimation of the world, liable to reproach; their very devotion for somany years to their children condemned, ridiculed. An inseparable barplaced between her and the hand-in-hand companions of her youth; neveragain should she kneel with them around their parents, and with themshare the fond impressive blessing. Oakwood and its attendant innocenceand joys, had they passed away for ever? She thought on the anguish thathad been her mother's, when in her childhood she had sinned, and whatwas she now about to inflict? She saw her bowed down in the depth ofmisery; she heard her agonized prayer for mercy on her child. 

"Saviour of my mother, for her sake, have mercy on her unworthy child!oh, save me from myself, restore me to my mother!" and sinking on herknees, the wretched girl buried her face in her hands, and minutes, which to her appeared like hours, rolled on in that wild burst ofrepentant and remorseful agony. 

CHAPTER VII. 

"Dearest mother, this is indeed like some of Oakwood's happy hours, "exclaimed Emmeline, that same evening, as with childish glee she hadplaced herself at her mother's feet, and raised her laughing eyes to herface, with an expression of fond confiding love. 

She and Ellen were sitting alone with Mrs. Hamilton, Miss Harcourt beingengaged at a friend's, and Mr. Hamilton having been summoned afterdinner to a private interview with his solicitor on the Myrvin affairs. 

The lovely evening was slowly wearing on to twilight, and the sky, shadowed as it was by the towering mansions of Berkeley Square, yet boreall the rich hues which had attended the repose of a brilliant settingsun. The balcony of the drawing-room where they were sitting was filledwith, flowers, and the window being thrown widely open, the gentlebreeze of summer filled the room with their sweet fragrance. It was thathour of evening when even London is somewhat hushed. Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton had been more at home since Caroline's visit to Airslie, butyet not one evening had so vividly reminded Emmeline of her dear Oakwoodas the present; it was thus in twilight she had often sought her mother, and given vent, by a thousand little innocent devices, to the warmemotions that filled her heart. 

Ellen had been standing by the flowers, but on hearing her cousin'sexclamation, she too had established herself on the couch by her aunt, and added--

"You are right, dear Emmeline; it is indeed. "

There was an anxiety on Mrs. Hamilton's heart, which she could notdefine; but was yet unable to resist the innocent happiness of her youngcompanions, and twining her arm playfully round Ellen, she abandoned herother hand to Emmeline, and answered--

"I am very glad, my dear children, that such a simple thing as mycompany can afford you so much pleasure. "

"It is so very rare now to have you thus all alone, mamma, can it beotherwise than delight? I do not even want papa yet, we three make sucha comfortable party. "

"You are exceedingly polite to my uncle, Emmeline. I have a good mind totell him when he rejoins us, " said Ellen, laughing. 

"Do so, my mischievous cousin, and I shall get a kiss for your pains. Iknow where mamma's thoughts are, though she is trying to be as merry aswe are; she wants another to make this Oakwood hour complete. "

"I ought not to wish for your sister, my love, she is happier where sheis than she would be here, particularly to-night, for Lord D-- gives asplendid _fête_ at his beautiful villa, similar to that given by theDuchess ten days ago at which I should think Caroline must have beendelighted, though she wrote but little of it. "

"There is a tone in her letters, mamma, that tells me she will be aspleased as ourselves to be at Oakwood again, though, she may fancy_fêtes_, assemblies, and a long list of et ceteras, are the mostdelightful things in existence; and do you know, mamma, I will notpermit you to say you ought not to wish for her, because she is happierwhere she is than she would be here; it is high treason in my presenceto say or even think so. "

"I must plead guilty, then, my Emmeline, and place my case in Ellen'shands as counsel for the defendant, or throw myself on your mercy. "

"In consideration of the peculiar happiness of this evening, I pronouncepardon, " answered Emmeline, laughing, as she kissed her mother's hand. 

"A letter we received this morning tells us of one who longs to beholdus all again, spite of the many and varied pleasures of his excitinglife, does it not, my dear aunt?"

"It does indeed, my love. Our Edward's letters have been, ever since heleft us, sources of consolation and delight to me, though I do excite myEllen's jealousy at the greater length of his letters to me than ofthose to her, " she added, smiling. 

"My brother knows if his letters to you impart pleasure andsatisfaction, he cannot bestow greater happiness on me, however shortmine may be, " answered Ellen, earnestly; "and when he writes so fully toyou and so fondly to me, I have every reason to be quite contented; histime is not so much at his own disposal as mine is. "

"I wonder where he can find time to write such lengthy epistles tomamma, " observed the smiling Emmeline. "I peeped over her shoulder thismorning as she was reading, and was astounded to perceive it waswritten nearly as closely as mine would be. I wonder how he manages, sailors are said to be such bad correspondents. "

"Have you forgotten what I used so repeatedly to say to you, when youwere a lazy little girl, Emmeline, and were ever ready to escapedisagreeable tasks, by saying you were quite sure you never couldsucceed--Where there's a will there's a way?'"

"Indeed, I have not forgotten it, dear mamma; it often comes across menow, when I am ready to despair; and so I shall just read it to MasterNed when he returns, as a lecture for not writing to me. "

"Nay, Emmeline, that would be demanding too much from our young sailor;there is moderation in everything, you know. "

"Not in me, mamma, " answered Emmeline, laughing. "You know I am alwaysin extremes, up in the skies one minute, and down, down on the lowestearth the next. I sometimes wish I was like Ellen, always unruffled, always calm and collected. You will go through the world better than Ishall, my quiet cousin. "

"Shall I?" replied Ellen, faintly smiling. But Mrs. Hamilton couldperceive that which the thoughtless Emmeline regarded not, a deepcrimson staining apparently with pain the pale fair cheek of her niece, and she thought not with her daughter. 

"And how much longer does Ned intend being away from us?" demandedEmmeline, after a long pause. 

"He cannot give us any idea yet, " answered her mother; "perhaps sometime next year. They were to cruise off the shores of South Americathese autumnal months, and winter, Edward thinks, off Buenos Ayres. Heis pleased at this, as he will see so very much more of the New Worldthan he expected, when he left us. '"

"What an entertaining companion he will be when he returns, " exclaimedEmmeline. 

"Or rather ought to be, Emmeline, " remarked Ellen, quietly. 

"Now, what an insinuation! Ellen, you are too bad to-night, and againstyour brother, of all persons in the world. It is just like the illcompliment you paid him on his gallantry in saving the Syren and all hercrew--absolutely would not believe that your brother Edward and theyoung hero of my tale were one and the same person. "

"I can forgive her scepticism then, " said Mrs. Hamilton, affectionately. "The extraordinary efforts you described were indeed almost beyondcredence, when known to have been those of a lad but just seventeen; butI hope my Ellen is no longer a sceptic as to the future fame and honourof her brother, " she added, kindly addressing her niece. 

"Oh, I dare not indulge in one half the bright visions, the fond hopesthat will intrude themselves upon my mind for him, " exclaimed Ellen, with involuntary energy. 

"Why, Ellen, are you sometimes a victim to the freaks of imagination aswell as myself?" asked her cousin, laughing. 

"I have frequently compelled myself to seek active employment, " answeredEllen, "lest those hopes should be indeed but fading visions, and mydisappointment more painfully bitter. "

"You do your brother injustice in even fancying disappointment, " saidher aunt, playfully, "and I must act as defendant for the absent. Ibelieve, say, and protest my firm belief, that the name of EdwardFortescue will stand one of the highest in naval fame, both as acommander and a man. The naval honour of my family will, I feel assured, have a worthy representative in my noble nephew, and I will not have oneword breathed in doubt or mistrust on the subject. "

"If you think so, then I may hope indeed, " Ellen said with earnestness. "And the recollection of the past"--

"Must heighten anticipations for the future, my dear girl, or I mustsentence them to perpetual banishment. Condemn them never to berecalled, " interrupted Mrs. Hamilton, still more playfully, and thenadded--

"Emmeline, have you no wish to know how the object of your kindsympathy, poor Lilla, parted from her father and me to day?"

"I quite forgot all about it, mamma; this Oakwood hour has made me soselfish. I thought of no one but ourselves, " replied Emmeline. "Gratifymy curiosity now. Did Lady Helen evince any sorrow at the separation?"

"Not so much as, for Lilla's sake, I could have wished. She has been sounfortunately prejudiced against her both by Annie and Miss Malison, that although I am convinced she loves her child, she never will evinceany proof of it; and Lilla's unhappy temperament has, of course, increased this prejudice, which I fear will require years to remove, unless Annie be soon married, and Miss Malison removed from LadyHelen's establishment. Then Lilla's really excellent qualities willquickly be made evident. "

"Mr. Grahame is already convinced she is a very different girl to thatshe has been represented, is he not?" asked Ellen. 

"He is; and I trust, from the awakened knowledge, happiness is dawningupon them both. I could not see unmoved his struggle to part with herto-day, brief as the separation will be--scarcely six short months. "

"I was quite sure Mr. Grahame loved his children, though Annie and Cecildid say so much about his sternness, " said Emmeline, somewhattriumphantly. 

"Mr. Grahame's feelings are naturally the very wannest, butdisappointment in some of his dearest hopes has, in some cases, unfortunately caused him to veil them; I regret this, both for Cecil andLilla's sake, as I think, had he evinced greater interest and affectionfor them in their childish years, they might both have been different incharacter. "

"But it is not too late now?"

"I trust not for Lilla, but I greatly fear, from all I have heard, thatCecil's character is already formed. Terrified at his father'sharshness, he has always shrunk from the idea of making him his friend, and has associated only with the young men of his mother's family, who, some few years older than himself, and devoted to fashion, and gayamusements, are not the very best companions he could have selected, butwhose near relationship seems to have prevented all interference on thepart of Mr. Grahame. Cecil must now be sixteen, and I fear no alterationin his father's conduct will efface the impressions already received. "

"But, changed as Mr. Grahame is towards Lilla, was it still necessaryfor her to go to Mrs. Douglas? Could not her reformation have beeneffected equally well at home?"

"No, my love; her father delighted at finding he had engaged heraffections, and that some of the representations he had heard werefalse, would, in all probability, have gone to the contrary extreme, andindulged her as much, if not more, than he had previously neglected her. Lilla has very many faults, which require steady yet not harshcorrection, and which from her earliest age demanded the greatest care;being neglected, they have strengthened with her years. The disciplineshe will now be under will at first be irksome, and perhaps Lilla mayfind all I have said in Mrs. Douglas's favour very contrary to reality;but I have such a good opinion of her docility, when reasoned withkindly, that I do not doubt all such impressions will be effaced whenshe visits us at Christmas. "

"Well, however kind Mrs. Douglas may be, I should not like to be inLilla's place, " observed Emmeline, and then added, with her usualanimation, "Ah, mamma, how can we ever be sufficiently grateful to youfor never sending us from you? I might have loved you very dearly, but Icould not have looked upon you as my best and dearest friend, as I donow. "

"It is sufficient recompense for all my care that you do look on methus, my sweet child, " exclaimed Mrs. Hamilton, with involuntaryemotion, and she bent down to impress a kiss on Emmeline's forehead asshe spoke, that she might conceal an unusual tear which had started toher eye, for the unrestrained confidence and unabated affection of heryounger daughter, while it soothed, yet rendered the conduct ofCaroline by its contrast more painful; and, almost unconsciously, sheadded--

"Oh, that this confidence and affection may never change, never bewithdrawn. "

"Change!" repeated Emmeline and Ellen at the same moment; but theychecked themselves, for they knew where the thoughts of their much-lovedrelative had wandered, and they felt she had indeed sufficient cause forall her solicitude. Recovering herself almost instantly, Mrs. Hamiltonresumed the conversation in a more cheerful tone, by demanding ofEmmeline if her busy fancy had pictured how Oakwood was to look, ontheir return to it in a fortnight's time. 

"She certainly must have done so, " answered Ellen, laughing; "for shehas had so many reveries over her drawing and work this week, thatnothing less important could have occasioned them. "

Emmeline shook her head archly, and answered gaily; and her dear oldvenerable home was the engrossing theme of conversation till the returnof Mr. Hamilton, a short time afterwards. 

"Congratulate me, all of you, " he said, in a joyous tone; "my businessis proceeding most favourably. Mr. Myrvin need know nothing about ittill all is settled; the dishonourable conduct of his enemies brought tolight, and himself reinstated in his little domain, once more theminister of Llangwillan. Thanks to the able conduct of Mr. Allan, allwill soon be made clear. As soon as we are at Oakwood, Ellen, you shallwrite to Mr. Myrvin, and invite him to spend some little time with us;and when he leaves us, I trust it will be once more for Llangwillan andits own pretty vicarage. "

"Dear, dear uncle!" exclaimed Ellen, starting up and clinging to hisarm, "oh, how can I thank you for your interference in behalf of him whowas the first friend I knew in England? the consoler of mymother--the"--

"The good man who first told us what a troublesome charge I should findin my niece, " interrupted Mrs. Hamilton, playfully. 

"I have indeed been a trouble to you, " replied Ellen, with a suppressedyet heavy sigh, and her uncle's hand dropped from her grasp. 

"Ellen!" said Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton at the same instant, in an accent ofreproach. 

"Have I not?" she continued, with unusual impetuosity. "Did I not causeyou misery, you, who from the first moment you knew me, loved mo morethan I deserved? Did I not make both of you ill in health and wretchedin mind, and yet your kindness now is greater than before? There is nota wish--not a desire I express, but is granted on the instant; andI--oh, I have no power to--to"--

"You will, at least, have the power of making me seriously displeased ifyou speak in this way again, and thus turn my sportive words to gloom, "said Mrs. Hamilton, gravely, but gently drawing the agitated girl withtenderness to her. "Come, come, Ellen, I will not have Emmeline's happyOakwood hour thus alloyed. You may reward me yet for all, and one day, perhaps, make me your debtor. That may appear very impossible now, " sheadded, smiling, as Ellen raised her large eyes incredulously to herface; "but more improbable things have come to pass. "

"And where is Arthur to be while his father is with us?" demandedEmmeline, joyously, of her father. "Not as a servitor at college, Ihope. "

"No; I anticipate the pleasure of welcoming the friend of Herbert as myguest as well as his father, and then we shall deliberate on Arthur'sfuture life. I should like much to place him under Mr. Howard for ayear, and then establish him in a living of Lord Malvern's, in which Ihave little doubt I could succeed. "

"Well, my fancy then will indeed be gratified. I shall see this proudpersecuted youth, and judge for myself if he be deserving or not of mybrother's friendship. Do you remember him, Ellen?"

"Perfectly well; he was so very kind to me. I well recollect his griefwhen I left the village, to live, he said, in such a very differentstyle, that it was not likely we should ever meet again. "

"But yet, you see, improbable as it appeared, you will meet again, " saidMrs. Hamilton in a marked tone, as she smiled. 

"So you call this an Oakwood hour, Emmy, do you?" demanded Mr. Hamilton, after Arthur and his father had been duly discussed. "Suppose we makethe resemblance even more complete by ringing for lights, and you andEllen giving me some music. I have had no opportunities of hearing yourimprovement, which, I suppose, under such able professors, has beensomething extraordinary. "

"Marvellous, most marvellous!" exclaimed Emmeline, laughing, as she flewto obey him by ringing the bell. "I had begun to fancy I was practisingfor nothing, and that my father would never do his child the honour oflistening to her again, but I remembered the enchanted halls of Oakwood, and I thought there at least I might chain him to my side, and so Icontinued my labours. "

"Let us fancy ourselves there, " replied her father, smiling; and lightsappearing, Emmeline and Ellen were speedily at the instruments, bestowing pleasure unalloyed by this domestic use of their talents tothose dear ones who had so assiduously cultivated them. Theirimprovement, under the best professors in London, had been rapid; for, carefully prepared, no difficulties had to be overcome ere improvementcommenced; and the approbation and evident pleasure of Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton amply repaid those young and innocent beings for all theexertions they had made, particularly Emmeline, who, as we know, haddetermined, on her first arrival in London, to prove she would notlearn, when all around her was so changed. 

"Surely, surely, Caroline, surrounded by gaiety as she is, cannot be ashappy as I am to-night, " burst with wild glee from the lips of Emmeline, as at about half-past ten o'clock her father kissed her glowing cheek, and thanked her for the pleasing recreation she had given him. She hadscarcely spoken, when a carriage was heard driving somewhat rapidlythrough the Square, then stopped, it appeared at their door, and athundering and truly aristocratic rap resounded, startling not a littlethe inmates of that peaceful drawing-room. 

"Who can it be at this hour?" demanded Emmeline, in an accent ofbewilderment. "How very disagreeable. I did not wish any intrusionto-night. Mamma, dear mamma, you look terrified. "

Mr. Hamilton had opened the drawing-room door, and was about to descendthe stairs, for he too was startled at this unusual visit; but heturned at Emmeline's words, for his wife did not usually indulge inunfounded alarm or anticipated fears, but at that instant her wontedpresence of mind appeared about to desert her; she was pale as marble, and had started up in an attitude of terror. 

Voices were heard, and stops, well-known steps, ascending the stairs. 

"It is the Duchess of Rothbury's voice and step--my child!" burst fromher lips, in an accent that neither Emmeline nor Ellen ever couldforget, and she sunk back almost fainting on her seat. Her children flewto her side in alarm, but ere a minute had passed away that wild anxietywas calmed, for Caroline herself entered with the Duchess, but herdeath-like cheek, blanched lip, and haggard eye told a tale of sufferingwhich that mother could not mark unmoved. Vainly Mrs. Hamilton strove torise and welcome the Duchess: she had no power to move from her chair. 

"Caroline, my child!" were the only words her faltering tongue couldutter; and that agonized voice thrilled through the heart of the nowtruly unhappy girl, and roused her from that trance of overwhelmingemotion which bade her stand spell-bound at the threshold. She sprungforward, and sinking at her mother's feet, buried her face in her robe. 

"Mother, my injured mother, oh, do not, do not hate me!" she murmured, in a voice almost inarticulate. "I deserve to be cast from your love, tolose your confidence for ever. I have deceived you--I--" Sobs choked herutterance, and the grieving mother could only throw her arms around herchild, and press her convulsively to her heart. Anxiety, nearly equalto that of his wife, had been an inmate of Mr. Hamilton's bosom as theDuchess's voice reached his ear; but as he glanced on Caroline, a frowngathered on his brow. He trembled involuntarily, for he felt assured itwas imprudence, to give it the mildest term, in her conduct that calledfor this untimely visit, this strange return to her home. Already he hadbeen deceived; and while every softened feeling struggled for mastery inthe mother's bosom, the father stood ready to judge and to condemn, fiercely conquering every rising emotion that swelled within. There waseven more lofty majesty in the carriage of her Grace, as she carefullyclosed the drawing-room door behind her, and slowly advanced towardsMrs. Hamilton; a cold, severe, unbending expression in every feature, that struck terror to the hearts of both Emmeline and Ellen, whoseinnocent festivity was indeed now rudely checked. 

"Mrs. Hamilton, " the Duchess said, and the grave and sad accents of hervoice caused the anxious mother hastily to raise her head, and gazeinquiringly in her face, "to my especial care you committed your child. I promised to guard her as my own, and on that condition alone youentrusted her to me; I alone, therefore, restore her to you, thank God, unscathed. I make no apology for this strange and apparently needlessintrusion at this late hour; deceived as I have been, my house was nolonger a fitting home for your daughter, and not another night could Iretain her, when my judgment told me her father's watchful guardianshipalone could protect her from the designing arts of one, of whom but verylittle is known, and that little not such as would recommend him to myfavour. You, too, have been deceived, cruelly deceived, by that weak, infatuated girl. Had you been aware that Lord Alphingham was hersecretly favoured lover, that the coldness with which she ever treatedhim in public, the encouragement of another, were but to conceal fromyou and her father her attachment to him, you would not have consentedto her joining a party of which he was a member. At my house he hasreceived increased encouragement. I marked them with a jealous eye, forI could not believe his attentions sanctioned either by you or Mr. Hamilton; but even my vigilance was at fault, for she had consented tosever every tie which bound her to her too indulgent parents, and flywith him to Scotland. This night would have seen the accomplishment oftheir design. Had one of my children behaved thus, it would have beenless a matter of bewilderment to me than such conduct in a daughter ofyours. I have neglected to seek their confidence, their affection. Youhave never rested in your endeavours to obtain both, and therefore, thatsuch should be your recompense is sad indeed. I sympathise with you, mydearest friend, " she continued, in a tone of much more feeling than sheever allowed to be visible. "In the tale of shame I am repeating, I aminflicting misery upon you, I feel I am; and yet, in resigning mycharge, I must do my duty, and set you on your guard, and let this onereflection be your comfort, that it was the recollection of youruntiring care, your constant affection, which checked this infatuatedgirl in her career of error, and bade her pause ere it was too late. Forher sufferings I have little pity; she is no longer the character Ibelieved her. Neither integrity, honour, nor candour can be any longerinmates of her heart; the confession I have heard this night hasbetrayed a lengthened scheme of deception, to which, had I heard it ofher, I should have given no credence. Forgive me, my dear Emmeline, andlook not on me so beseechingly; painful as it is, in the sincerestfriendship alone I place before your too partial eyes the real characterof your child. I have now done my duty, and will therefore leave you. God bless you, and grant you strength to bear this bitter trial. " Sheturned to the unhappy father, who, as she spoke, had, overcome withuncontrollable agitation, sunk on a chair and covered his face with hishands, but with a strong effort he roused himself as she pronounced hisname, and rose. 

"Mr. Hamilton, to your wife, your inestimable wife, you owe thepreservation of your child this night from sin. Let her not, I beseechyou, afflict herself too deeply for those sufferings under which she maybehold Caroline for a time the victim. She deserves them all--all; butshe merits not one half that affection which her fond and loving motherwould lavish on her. I leave you now, but, trust me, feeling deeply foryou both. "

"Nay, rest with us to night, at least, " exclaimed Mr. Hamilton, conquering himself sufficiently to think of his friend's situation, alone, in London, at such a late hour, and endeavouring to persuade herto remain with them; but decidedly, yet kindly, she refused. 

"I sleep at St. James's, and shall be back at Airslie to-morrow morningbefore my guests are recovered from the effects of to-night, " she urged. "Your hospitality is kindly meant, Hamilton, but I cannot accept it;both Caroline and her mother can dispense with my company now. "

"Then let me accompany you home?"

"I will not hear of it, my good friend. Good night, once more; God blessyou!"

Mr. Hamilton knew the character of his noble friend too well to urgemore, and therefore contented himself by accompanying her down stairs. 

To describe Mrs. Hamilton's feelings, as she listened to the words ofthe Duchess, would be indeed a vain attempt. We know all the anguish shehad suffered when Caroline's conduct had first caused her uneasiness, and now the heightened agony of her fond heart may be easily imagined. Almost unconsciously she had withdrawn her arm; but Caroline clung moreconvulsively to her robe, and her first wild words sounded again andagain in her mother's ears, soothing while they inflicted pain. 

"Can it be possible I have heard aright? Have I indeed been thusdeceived?" she asked, struggling to speak calmly, when the Duchess andher husband had left the room; and she fixed her sad, searching glanceupon Caroline, who for a moment raised her head. 

"Mother, dearest mother, condemn me, despise me as you please; I deserveit all, " she replied, in an accent of most piercing wretchedness. "Onlysay that I may in time regain your love, your confidence; that you willtake me to your heart again. I have disregarded your affection; I havewilfully cast it from me. Yet--oh, if you knew all I have suffered. Mamma, mamma, oh, speak but one word more of kindness! I know I deserveit not, but my heart feels breaking. I have no other friend on earthbut you; oh, call me but your child again, mother!"

Her voice utterly failed, a film suddenly obscured her sight, and asense of suffocation rose in her throat; the misery of the last tendays, the wretchedness and excitement of that day had deprived her ofmore strength than she was at all aware of, and with one convulsiveeffort to clasp her mother's hand to her throbbing heart, she sunkexhausted at her feet. Emmeline would have flown for assistance, but alook from her mother bade her pause, and she remained with Ellen to seekthose restoratives that were at hand. With a throbbing heart andtrembling hand, Mrs. Hamilton raised her repentant child, and with theassistance of Emmeline placed her tenderly on the nearest couch, endeavouring, though for some few minutes in vain, to recall herscattered senses. Tears fell from that fond mother's eyes uponCaroline's deathlike features, and ere life returned she had beenpressed again and again to her heart, and repeated kisses imprinted onher marble brow. It mattered not at that moment that she had beendeceived, that Caroline had withdrawn alike her confidence andaffection, that her conduct the last few months had been productive ofbitter disappointment and extreme anguish, all, all was forgotten; themother only knew her child was suffering--only felt she was restored toher arms; again and again she kissed her erring child, beseeching herwith fond and gentle words to wake and know she was forgiven. 

Slowly Caroline recovered consciousness, and unclosing her eyes, gazedwildly yet sadly on all by whom she was surrounded. All the father hadstruggled with Mr. Hamilton, as he stood by her side during thecontinuance of her swoon; but now sternness again darkened his brow, andhe would have given vent to his wounded feelings in severe though justreproaches, but the beseeching glance, the agonized voice of his wifearrested him. 

"Arthur, my husband, oh, for my sake, spare her now!" she passionatelyexclaimed, clasping his hand in hers, and looking up in his face withimploring earnestness. "Spare her, at least, till from her own lips wehave heard all; she is in no state to bear anger now, however deserved. Arthur, dearest Arthur, oh, do not reproach her till we know what it isthat has caused the wretchedness, the suffering we behold! For my sake, spare her now. "

"Mother, " murmured the unhappy girl, with a powerful effort rising fromthe couch, and flinging herself on Mrs. Hamilton's neck, "do not pleadfor me; I do not deserve it. My conduct to you the last few months wouldalone demand the severest reproaches papa could inflict; and that, oh, that is but little to the crime I should have committed, had not theremembrance of all your devotion rushed to my mind, and arrested me, buta few brief hours ere it would have been too late, and I should havesacrificed myself to a man I discovered I did not love, merely to proveI was not a slave to your dictates, that I had a will of my own, andwith or without your consent would abide by it. I have been infatuated, blind--led on by artful persuasion, false representations, and weakly Ihave yielded. Do not weep for me, Emmeline, I am not worthy of yourtears. You would have guided me aright; you would have warned me, advised me, but I rejected your counsel, spurned your affection; withcontempt, aversion from all, from each, do I deserve to be regarded. Ellen, you may triumph now; I did all I could to prove how I hated anddespised you some months ago, and now, oh, how much more I have fallen. Oh, why, why did I ever leave Oakwood?--why was I so eager to visitLondon?" Exhaustion choked her voice, the vehemence with which she hadspoken overpowered her, and her mother was compelled to lead her to acouch, and force her to sit down beside her. Mr. Hamilton spoke not; fora few minutes he paced the room with agitated steps, and then hastilyquitted it. 

"It is so very late, you had better retire, my dear girls, " Mrs. Hamilton said, after a brief pause, addressing Emmeline and Ellen, whoyet lingered sorrowfully near her. They understood her hint, andinstantly obeyed, both affectionately but silently embracing Carolineere they departed; and it was a relief to Mrs. Hamilton's anxious bosomto find herself alone with her painfully repentant child. For some timedid that interview continue; and when Caroline retired to rest, it waswith a spirit lighter than it had been for many weeks, spite of the darkclouds she still felt were around her. All her strange wayward feelingshad been confessed. She laid no stress on those continued letters shehad received from Annie, which had from the first alienated her from hermother. Remorse was too busy within to bid her attempt to defend herselfby inculpating others; but though she carefully avoided reference to hermisleading friend, Mrs. Hamilton could easily, very easily, perceivefrom whose arts all her own misery and Caroline's present sufferingoriginated; and bitterly in secret she reproached herself for everpermitting that intimacy to continue, and obtain the influence it had. To Lord St. Eval and her conduct to him the unhappy girl also referred. Pride was completely at an end; every question Mrs. Hamilton asked wasanswered with all that candour and integrity which had oncecharacterised her most trifling words; and while her undisguisedconfession on many points occasioned the most poignant sorrow, yetstill, as the mother listened, and gazed on those expressive features, something whispered within her that her child would be a blessing still. She owned that from the moment she had rejected Lord St. Eval, regrethad become so unceasing, that to escape it she had listened to andencouraged Lord Alphingham more than she had done before; hisprofessions of devoted love had appeared as balm, and deadened thereproaches of conscience. Why she had so carefully concealed from herparents that which she imagined was love for the Viscount she could notexplain, unless it was her weakness in following the example of others, who, she had been told, shrunk from confessing love-stories to theirmothers; or, and that Mrs. Hamilton believed much nearer the realreason, she did not love him sufficiently to implore their consent tohis addresses. She acknowledged, when their prohibition to heracquaintance with him was given, she had longed to confess the truth, and implore them at least to say why she might no longer enjoy hissociety; but that she had felt too indignant at what she deemed theslavery in which she was held, and discontent and irritation then tookpossession of her, instead of willing obedience. She described herfeelings when he appeared at Airslie, the many struggles she then hadwith herself; and, finally, her wretchedness from the moment she hadconsented to be his wife; her entreaties that he would permit her toimplore her father's consent; her agony the same evening; her ferventprayer for forgiveness and guidance; and, at length, her determinationto elude him by setting off for home the instant the Duchess and herparty had left the villa, which intention she had endeavoured to put inforce by imploring the assistance and secrecy of her Grace's own maid toprocure her a safe carriage and fleet horses, as she was compelled toreturn home that same night; she would leave a note, she said, explaining her reason for her departure to her Grace. She fanciedAllison must have betrayed her, as, when she was every minute expectingto hear the carriage was ready, the Duchess entered her room, and, aftera brief but stern interview, ordered her own carriage, and had herselfaccompanied her to town. 

Mrs. Hamilton listened to this long sad tale without interrupting it bya word of reproach. Not once did she speak aught that might tend toincrease the anguish under which it was so evident Caroline wassuffering. Soothingly she spoke, and that fond yet saddened tone causedthe poor girl's bursting heart to find relief in a violent flood oftears. She clung, even as in childhood, to her mother's neck, and as shewept, felt yet more bitterly the infatuated folly of her conduct inhaving for a moment forsaken the guidance of her true and kindestfriend, for the apparently more pleasing, because flattering, confidenceof one whom she now knew to be false and utterly deceiving. 

"But may he not still claim me?" she wildly exclaimed. "Will he not holdme up to the world as a faithless, capricious girl? I shall be thelaughing-stock of all with whom we associate. Annie is not likely tokeep my secret. Oh, why did I ever confide in her? Mother, I shall bedespised, derided. I know I have brought it on myself, but oh, how can Ibear it?"

"We leave London so very shortly, that I trust you will not be exposedto the derision you so much dread, " replied Mrs. Hamilton, soothingly, "and by next season I hope all floating rumours that your conduct mustoccasion may have entirely passed away. You need not fear the scorn ofthe circle in which we principally mingle; and that of Annie'scompanions, if the dread of their laughter keep you from seeking, as youhave done, their society, forgive me, my love, if I say I shall rejoice;for you will then no longer be exposed to example and precept contraryto those I have endeavoured to instil. "

"But, Lord Alphingham, what will he say or do?" murmured Caroline, almost inaudibly. 

"You must write to him, Caroline, dissolving your engagement; there isno other way. "

"Write to him, mother, I--oh, no, no, I cannot. "

"If you do not, you will still be exposed to constant annoyance; he maychoose to believe that you were forced by compulsion to return to us. The circumstance of the Duchess herself accompanying you to town, hewill consider as sufficient evidence. Acting on your promise, on youravowed preference, unless you write yourself, he will leave no meansuntried to succeed in his sinful schemes. Painful as is the task, orrather more disagreeable than painful if you do not love him, no one butyourself must write, and the sooner you do so the better. "

"But if he really loves me? How can I--how dare I inflict more pain, more disappointment, than I have done already?"

"Loves you!" repeated Mrs. Hamilton, and displeasure mingled in hersaddened tone; "Caroline, do not permit yourself to be thus egregiouslydeceived. He may fancy that he does, but it is no true honourable love;if it were, would he thus bear you by stealth from the friend to whomyou were intrusted? If his conscience were indeed free from all stain, would he have refused your entreaties that you might confess your loveto us, and beseech our blessing on your union? Would he have shrunk fromdefending his conduct according to your advice? Nay, more; if thisaccusation, which he has traced by some means to Percy, were indeedunfounded and unjust, do you think he would have refrained one momentfrom coming forward and asserting, not only by word but by proof, hisunblemished innocence? His silence is to me the clearest proof ofconduct that will not bear investigation; and I tremble to think whatmiseries, what wretchedness might have been your portion, had you indeedconsented to his unworthy proposal. " Her voice faltered, and she drewthe still weeping girl closer to her, as if her maternal love shouldprotect her from every evil. Caroline answered not, and after a fewminutes Mrs. Hamilton said, with tenderness--

"You do not repent your decision, my own child? You do not regret thatyou have returned to those who love and cherish you so fondly? Speak tome, love. "

Convulsively Caroline's hand pressed her mother's as if that pressureshould say nothing more should part them; then suddenly sinking on herknees before her, she forced back the choking sobs, and said, clearlyand distinctly---

"Mother, I dare no longer ask you to believe my simple word, as informer years you would have done, I have deceived you too long, tooculpably for that; but now, on my knees, solemnly, sacredly I swear, Iwill never marry without papa's and your consent. I dare no longer trustmyself; I have once been rendered blind by that sinful craving forfreedom from all authority, for unchecked independence of thought andword and deed, and never, never more will I stand forth in my ownweakness. My fate is in your hands, for never will I marry without yourblessing; and may that vow be registered above as solemnly as it is nowtaken. Mother, you will not refuse to accept it, " she added, laying hertrembling hand on Mrs. Hamilton's, and gazing beseechingly in her face. 

"I will not, my child!" and her mother struggled severely to conquer heremotion and speak calmly. "Tell me only it is in my affection youconfide, that it is not under feelings of remorse alone you have madethis solemn vow. Promise me you will no longer permit a doubt of myaffection and interest in your happiness to enter your mind and poisonyour confidence in me, as it has done. From that doubt all the presentmisery has proceeded. You have imagined your parents harsh and cruel, while they have only thought of your welfare. Say only you will trust inour affection, my child, my own Caroline. "

"Oh, that I had ever trusted in it. My blindness and folly concealedfrom me my misconduct, and bade me ascribe all my sufferings to you, onwhom I have inflicted so much pain. Mother, oh, forgive me, plead forme to papa. I know he is seriously displeased, he has every right to beso; but he knows not all I have endured, the agony of the last week. Ideserve his severest reproaches, but my heart feels as if it would breakbeneath his anger now, " and she laid her aching head on her mother'slap, and wept. 

"My forgiveness, my blessing, are both yours, my own. Do not weep thus, "replied Mrs. Hamilton, imprinting a kiss on that burning forehead. "Andyour father too, when he has heard all, will not withhold his love. "

"I will write to Lord Alphingham now, mother; it is useless to defer it, and my mind will not regain its peace till it is done, " exclaimedCaroline, after a brief pause, which had followed her mother's words. 

"Not now, my love, you are too agitated still, " replied her mother, gazing anxiously on her flushed cheek; "wait till sleep shall havecalmed this inward fever, and restored you to composure. I do not thinkyou can write it now. "

"I cannot sleep till I have, mamma, indeed I cannot. I ought to haveleft it for him before I quitted Airslie, but I could then think ofnothing but the ardent longing to see you, to hear your voice again; letme write now. "

And believing her words were true, that in all probability she would notsleep while that letter was on her mind, Mrs. Hamilton made no furtherobjection, and rose to place the inkstand and portfolio on a table nearher. Caroline remained still kneeling, and by her attitude Mrs. Hamiltonfancied was engaged in secret prayer; her tears were checked as sherose, and it was with firmness she walked to the table and drew a seatbeside it. Anxiously for a few minutes did her mother watch her as shewrote. At first her hand appeared to tremble, but a successful effortconquered that emotion, and the increasing flush upon her cheek aloneproclaimed the agitation of her mind. So deeply was she engrossed in herpainful task, that she did not observe her mother had left the room, andremained absent for a few minutes, returning, however, before she hadfinished her letter. Without looking up, she placed the paper in Mrs. Hamilton's hands, and, leaning her arms on the table, buried her face inher hands. 

Mrs. Hamilton folded the letter in perfect silence; but then taking thehand of her daughter from her eyes, she pressed it in hers, and said, ina voice of deep emotion--

"I am satisfied, my child. Let this letter be directed and sealed withyour own hand, and the name of Lord Alphingham shall never again pass mylips. It is enough that duty and affection have triumphed over hisintentions. I know not all the evil that might have been yours had hesucceeded, but you are restored to me, and may God forgive him as freelyas I do. "

With a steady hand Caroline directed and placed her own seal to theletter; and then, exhausted by the agitation of that evening, she leanedher throbbing head against her mother. 

"Caroline, my child!" exclaimed a deep and saddened voice beside her. She started, and looking up, beheld her father, who had been gazing ather an unobserved spectator for the last half hour. 

"Forgive me, dearest father. Oh, let me not sleep to-night without yourforgiveness. Mamma will not cast me from her heart; she has blessed me, and I have injured her even more than you. Papa, dear papa, oh, speak tome but one word of fondness!" she entreated, as her father drew her tohis bosom, and as she ceased, mingled his blessing and forgiveness inthat warm embrace. 

It was late, so late, that the early morn was beginning to gild thehorizon before Mrs. Hamilton had seen her agitated child placed in bed, and persuaded her to compose her spirits and invite sleep. Fondly hermother watched beside her till the grey dawn had penetrated within theroom; and then perceiving that calm, sleep had come at length, sheretired to her own apartment. There sinking on her knees, herovercharged heart found blessed relief in pouring forth to Heaven itsfervent thanksgiving for that great mercy vouchsafed her in therestoration of her child. The anguish of the past, the suffering of thepresent were alike forgotten, in the thought that Caroline's affectionand confidence were again restored to her. The veil had at length beenremoved from her eyes. Annie's character was revealed before her and thesorrowful and repentant girl had once more sought for sympathy in thebosom of her mother. She now felt that mother was her truest friend, anda glow of sweet and soothing pleasure stole over Mrs. Hamilton's mind atthis conviction. Caroline had said it was the recollection of hermother's care, devotion, and love that had stayed her, ere it was toolate. She could not banish from her heart the duty therein so long andcarefully implanted; the principles of religion, of virtue, shaken asthey had been in that painful moment of indecision, had preserved herfrom misery. Often, very often, Mrs. Hamilton had felt disheartened, almost despairing in her task, during both the childhood and youth ofCaroline, but now her recompense was apparent. Had she not persevered, had she been indolent or careless in the discharge of her duty, had sheleft the care of that child to strangers, who would never have thusstudied or guided so difficult a disposition, there would have beennaught to bid her pause. She would have done as others too often do, andfearful indeed would have been her chastisement. Now, what were all Mrs. Hamilton's self-conquering struggles, all the pain she had suffered, compared with the exquisite happiness of feeling that her care hadpreserved her child, and she knew not as yet from what depth ofwretchedness? Fervent was the gratitude for that grace which hadpermitted her to guide her child aright; and as she recalled theheartfelt approbation of her conduct, which her beloved husband hadgratefully expressed, happiness filled her heart, and many, very manymight have envied that noble woman her feelings, as she laid her head onher pillow that night, when sleep only hushed the still lingeringthanksgiving on her lips. 

It may be well here briefly to relate all that had passed at Airslie, from the moment we left Caroline imploring pardon and guidance from Him, to whom she had never appealed in vain, to that when she so suddenlyappeared in company with the Duchess in Berkeley Square. To accede toLord Alphingham's wishes, she felt was no longer possible, but how toavoid him was a matter of still greater difficulty. To accompany theDuchess and thus elude him, she could not, for she felt neither herstrength nor spirits could sustain her through the whole of that festivenight. Each minute as it passed increased the fever of her brain, atlength in despair she determined on the conduct with which we arealready acquainted. As soon as the last carriage had rolled from thedoor she summoned Allison, the Duchess's own maid, and in accents thatpainfully betrayed the agitation within, implored her to procure her acarriage and fleet horses, as circumstances had occurred which obligedher instantly to return to town. She besought her neither to questionher nor to speak of her sudden resolution to any one, as the note shewould leave behind for her Grace would fully explain all. Allisonremained for some few minutes gazing on the agitated girl, in motionlessastonishment. 

"Return to London at such a time of night, and alone, " she ratherallowed to drop from her lips than said, after a long pause. 

"Oh, would to heaven some one would go with me! but I know none whom Ican ask, " Caroline replied, in a tone of anguish, and seizing Allison'shand, again and again implored her assistance. Briefly she promised todo all she could for her, and left her, not to do her bidding by seekingsome conveyance, but to report the strange request and still morealarming manner of Caroline to her Grace; who, for some secret reason, which her daughters and friends in vain endeavoured to solve, had at thevery last moment declared her intention of not accompanying them, andwishing them, with the utmost kindness, a pleasant evening, commissionedLady Lucy and her eldest brother, who had lately joined them, to supplyher place in their own party, and tender her excuses to the noble masterof the _fête_. The simple truth was, that the penetration of the Duchesshad observed and detected from the very first the manoeuvres of LordAlphingham and Caroline. 

The former, as may have already been discovered, was one of thoseagainst whom her prejudice was very strong. With her own free will, LordAlphingham would never have visited at her house, although she was neverheard to breathe one word to his disadvantage; especially invited henever was, and in heart she was much annoyed at her husband's markedpreference and encouragement of his society. She had observed her friendMrs. Hamilton's coldness towards him; and as much as she admired theconduct of the mother, so she sometimes found herself mistrusting thestudied air and guarded reserve with which Caroline ever treated theViscount. The sudden change in Mr. Hamilton's manner had also struckher, and therefore, when Alphingham joined her coterie, not once did sheever fail in the jealous watchfulness with which she regarded him andCaroline. Rendered suspicious by all that she had observed, Caroline'sdetermination not to join the party that evening had increased heruneasiness to a degree that almost amounted to alarm, and that veryinstant her resolution was fixed to remain at Airslie. She desiredAllison not to mention her intention of remaining to Miss Hamilton, butto inform her minutely of all that passed during the evening; and herastonishment was almost as great as her domestic's had been whenCaroline's desire was related to her. 

It wanted but one half hour to the time appointed by the Viscount, andCaroline still sat in a state of anxiety and suspense, which torturedher almost to frenzy. Unable to bear it longer, her hand was on the bellonce more to summon Allison, when the lock of the door turned, andstarting forwards, the words, "Is all ready--have you succeeded?" werearrested on her lips by the appearance of the Duchess herself, who, closing the door, stood gazing on the terrified girl with a glance ofseverity and command few could have met unmoved. Scarcely conscious ofwhat she did, Caroline started back, and, sinking on a stool at thefarthest end of the room, covered her face with her hands. 

"May I know with what intent Miss Hamilton is about to withdraw herselffrom my roof and my protection?" she demanded, in those brief yetsearching tones she ever used when displeased. "What reason she canallege for this unceremonious departure from a house where she has everbeen regarded as one of its most favoured inmates? Your mother trustedyou to my care, and on your duty to her I demand an answer. " Shecontinued, after a brief pause, in which Caroline neither moved norspoke, "Where would you go at this unseasonable hour?"

"Home to my mother, " murmured the unhappy girl, in a voice almostinarticulate. 

"Home!" repeated her Grace, in a bitterly satirical tone. "Strange, thatyou should thus suddenly desire to return. Were you not the child ofthose to whom equivocation is unknown, I might well doubt thattale;--home, and wherefore?"

"To save myself from the effects of my own sinful folly--my owninfatuated madness, " replied Caroline, summoning with a strong effortall the energy of her character, and with a vehemence that flushed herpallid cheek with crimson. "In this at least I am sincere, though in allelse I deserve no longer to be regarded as the child of suchnoble-minded beings as are my parents. Spurn me from you as you will, this is no moment for equivocation and delay. I have deceived yourGrace. I was about to bring down shame upon your house, to cause yourindignant displeasure, my parents anguish, myself but endless remorsefulmisery. To save all this, I would return home to implore theforgiveness, the protection of my parents; they alone can guard me frommyself. Oh, if you ever loved my mother, " she continued, starting upwith agony, as the hour of nine chimed on her ear, "send some one withme, and let me go home. Half an hour more, " and her voice grew almostinarticulate with suppressed emotion, "and it may be too late. Mother, mother, if I could but see you once again!"

"Before, as the wife or the victim of the Right Honourable LordAlphingham, you fly from her for ever, and thus reward her cares, herlove, her prayers, wretched and deceiving girl, " sternly and slowly theDuchess said, as she rapidly yet with her usual majesty paced the room, and laid her hand heavily on Caroline's shoulder, as she sat bowed downwith shame before her. "Deny it not; it was thus you would bring downshame on my home; thus create agony for your devoted parents; thus proveyour gratitude, love, obedience, by wrenching every tie asunder. Oh, shame, shame! If this be the fruit of such tender cares, such carefultraining, oh, where shall we seek for honour and integrity--in whatheart find virtue? And why not consummate your sin? why pause ere yournoble and virtuous resolution was put in force? why hesitate in theaccomplishment of your designs? Why not fly with your honourable lover, and thus wring the fond hearts of your parents at once to the utmost?Why retract now, when it will be only to delude again? Miserable anddeluded girl, what new whim has caused this sudden change? Whereforewait till it be too late to repent--to persuade us that you are anunwilling abettor and assistant in this man's schemes? Go, fly with him;it were better to reconcile your indulgent mother to an eternalseparation, than that she should take you once more to her heart, and beagain deceived. Go, your secret is safe. How dare you speak ofinflicting misery on your parents? Must not hypocrisy lurk in everyword, when wilfully, recklessly, you have already abused theirconfidence and insulted their love? much more you cannot do. " Shepaused, as if in expectation of a reply, but none came. Caroline'sbreaking heart had lost that proud spirit which, a few days before, would have called a haughty answer from her lips. She writhed beneaththose stern unpitying accents, which perhaps in such a moment ofremorseful agony might have been spared, but she replied not; and, aftera brief silence, the Duchess again spoke. 

"Caroline, answer me. What has caused this sudden change in yourintentions? What has chanced between you and Lord Alphingham to demandthis sudden longing for home? What impulse bids you thus elude him?"

"The memory of my mother's love, " and Caroline raised her head, andpushing back her disordered hair, gazed upon the face of the Duchesswith an expression of suffering few could have looked upon unmoved. "You are right, I have deceived my too indulgent parents, I have abusedtheir confidence, insulted their love; but I cannot, oh, I cannot stillthose principles within me which they have implanted. In my hours ofmaddening folly I remembered them not; I believed they had gone from mefor ever, and I should be happy. They have returned to torture me, totell me that as the wife of Lord Alphingham, without the blessing of myparents, I shall be wretched. I have brought down endless misery onmyself--that matters not; but oh, I will not cause them furthersuffering. I will no longer wring the heart of my gentle mother, who hasso often prayed for her erring child. Too late, perhaps, I havedetermined, but the wife of Lord Alphingham I will never be; but hischaracter is still dear to me, and I entreat your Grace not to withdrawyour favour from him. He alone is not to blame, I also am culpable, forI acknowledge the encouragement I have given him. My character forintegrity is gone, but his is still unstained. "

"Fear not for him, my favour he has never had; but my honour is too dearto me for such an affair as this to pass my lips. Let him continue thecourted, the spoiled, the flattered child of fashion he has ever been. Iregard him not. Let him run his course rejoicing, it matters not to me. "She rang the bell as she spoke, and slowly and silently paced the roomtill Allison obeyed the summons. "Desire James to put four swift horsesto the chariot. Important business calls me instantly to London; bid himuse dispatch, every moment is precious. "

Allison departed, and the Duchess continued pacing the apartment tillshe returned, announcing the carriage as ready. A very few minutessufficed for their personal preparations, for the Duchess to giveperemptory orders to her trusty Allison to keep her departure a profoundsecret, as she should return before her guests were stirring the nextmorning, and herself account for Miss Hamilton's sudden return home. Fewwords were sufficient for Allison, who was in all respects well fittedfor the situation she held near a person of the Duchess of Rothbury'scharacter; and the carriage rolled rapidly from Airslie. 

Not another word passed between the travelling companions. In feverishagitation on the part of Caroline, in cold, unbending sternness on thatof the Duchess, their journey passed. To the imagination of the former, the roll of the carriage-wheels was the sound of pursuing horses; inevery turn of the road her fevered fancy beheld the figure of LordAlphingham: at one time glaring on her in reproachful bitterness, atanother, in mockery, derision, satire; and when she closed her eyes, those visions still tormented, nor did they depart till she felt hermother's arm around her, her gentle voice pronounce her name. 

True to her determination, the Duchess left London as early as six thefollowing day, and, as usual, was the first within the breakfast-room, and little could her friends imagine that since they had left her thepreceding evening she had made a journey to London and back. Caroline'sindisposition, which had been evident for several days, although she hadnot complained till the day before, easily accounted for her returnhome, although the exact time of her doing so was known to none save herGrace herself; and even if surprise had been created, it would speedilyhave passed away in the whirl of amusements which surrounded them. Butthe courted, the admired, the fascinating Viscount no longer joined thefestive group. His friend Sir Walter Courtenay accounted for and excusedhis absence, by stating that Lord Alphingham had received a disagreeableletter from an agent of his in Scotland, which demanded his instantpresence; that he intended passing through London, thence proceed to theNorth, where, in all probability, he should await the hunting season, being engaged to join a large circle of noble friends. 

It would be useless to linger on the impotent fury of Lord Alphinghamwhen he discovered his well-conceived plans were utterly frustrated, andthat his intended victim had eluded him, under the stern guardianship ofthe Duchess of Rothbury. In the first bitter moment of disappointment, he refused to accuse Caroline of any share in it, but believed theirplans had been, by some unforeseen circumstance, discovered, and she hadbeen forced to return home. If such were the case, he vowed to withdrawher from such galling slavery; he swore by some means to make her hisown. But when her letter reached him, when he had perused its contents, and marked that not one word gave evidence of agitation of mind orunsteadiness of purpose, the current of his feelings changed. He cursedhis own mad folly for thus seeking one, in whom from the first he mighthave seen there was no spirit, no quality suited to be his partner in afashionable world; he vowed to think no more of a weak, capricious fool, so he now termed the girl he had fancied that he loved. As may readilybe imagined, he felt his self love very deeply wounded by the completefrustration of his intentions, and being incapable of appreciating thebetter principles which had fortunately actuated the resolve ofCaroline, a spirit of revenge entered his heart. He crushed the letterin his hand, and paced the room in fury, and would have torn it toatoms, when the thought struck him, that by enclosing the letter to theconfidant and adviser of his plans regarding Caroline, he might savehimself the mortification of relating his defeat, and revenge himselfeffectually by exposing her to ridicule and contempt. 

He wrote therefore a few concise lines, regretting, in a slightlysatirical style, that Miss Grahame should have been so deceived withregard to the views and feelings of her friend Miss Hamilton, andreferring her to the enclosed letter for all further explanation. 

Annie received this packet at the time she was in daily expectation ofthe triumph of her schemes, the gratification of her dislike for thebeing whose gentle admonitions she so much resented, which had beendictated by Mrs. Hamilton's wish to increase the happiness of herparents and herself. Lord Alphingham had regularly informed her of allhis intentions, and though Caroline had for some time entirely ceased towrite, yet she suspected nothing like defeat. Already she secretlyindulged in triumph, already anticipated the moment when every malignantwish would be fulfilled, and she should see the proud, cold, disdainfulMrs. Hamilton bowed down beneath the conduct of her child, humbled tothe dust by the reflections which would be cast upon her when theelopement of Caroline should be made public; at that very time theletter of Lord Alphingham arrived, and told her of defeat, complete, irremediable. Scorn, bitter scorn curled her lip, as she glanced overCaroline's epistle, thus dishonourably transmitted for her perusal. Severe disappointment was for the time her portion, and yet, amid allthese violent emotions, attendant on one of her disposition, there wasone of a very different nature mingling with them, one that, while sheresolved if she could not mortify Mrs. Hamilton as she had intended, shewould yet do so by insinuations against Caroline's character, whenevershe had an opportunity; would bid her rejoice, strangely rejoice, thatshe was not the wife of Lord Alphingham, that he was still free. Whileshe looked forward to that letter announcing the union of the Viscountand Caroline, as placing the final seal on her triumphant schemes, wemay well doubt if even that enjoyment, the exultations in the sufferingsof another, would have stilled the anguish of her own heart, andpermitted her to triumph as she intended to have done, when the man sheloved was the husband of another. It was even so, though rendered byprejudice almost insensible to anything but her hatred of Mrs. Hamilton. 

Annie had not associated so intimately with Lord Alphingham withoutfeeling the effect of his many fascinations; and, therefore, though bothprovoked and disappointed at this unlooked-for failure of her schemes, she was better enabled to overcome them. Resolving to leave her designsagainst the peace of Caroline and her mother henceforth to chance, allher energies were now put in action for the attainment of one grandobject, to so work upon the disappointed Viscount as herself to take theplace in his favour which Caroline had occupied. Her reply to hisletter, which he had earnestly requested might enclose Caroline's, andbe forwarded to him in London, was guarded, but artfully tending toinflame his indignation against Caroline; suppressing her own opinion onthe subject, and exciting admiration of herself, and perhaps gratitudefor her untiring sympathy in his welfare, which she ably contrivedshould breathe despondingly throughout. As that important affair, sheadded, was thus unhappily over, their correspondence she felt ought tocease, and she begged Lord Alphingham would write to her no more. Shehad braved remark when the happiness of two in whom she was so deeplyinterested was at stake; but as in that she had been disappointed, painas it was for her to be the one to check a correspondence which couldnot fail to give her pleasure, being with one so enlightened, and inevery way so superior as Lord Alphingham, she insisted that no moreletters should pass between them. She gained her point; the Viscountwondered how he could ever be so blind as to prefer Caroline to her, andher words added weight to his resolution, to annoy the former by devotedattentions to Miss Grahame, and, if it suited his interests, make thelatter his wife. 

The interviews Lord Alphingham contrived to have with Miss Grahame, before he retired to Scotland, which he did not do for a fortnight afterhis rejection, strengthened the intentions of both. The Viscount foundnew charms in the reserve and agitation which now marked Annie'sbehaviour, in the faint voice and well-concealed intelligence, thathowever she might sympathise in his vexation, for herself she could notregret his freedom. All this, though they were scarcely ever alone, formed a perfect understanding between them, and quickly banished theimage of Caroline from the vain and fickle-minded Alphingham. 

Wishing to keep up her pretended friendship for Caroline, that shemight the more effectually wound her, and not believing the sentimentsof the misguided girl were changed towards her also, Annie called atBerkeley Square a very few days after Caroline's return, and she hadbecome acquainted with all that had passed. No one was visible in thedrawing-room; the young men, she knew, had both arrived from college, but the house was destitute of that air of cheerfulness and glee whichgenerally attended their return. Some little time she waited withimpatient displeasure, which did not lessen when, on hearing the dooropen, she beheld, not Caroline but Mrs. Hamilton herself, her cheekpale, as if from some internal suffering, but with even more than herwonted dignity both in mien and step, and for a moment Annie struggledin vain to speak with the eagerness with which she intended to haveinquired for Caroline; before the mild yet penetrating glance of Mrs. Hamilton even her self-possession appeared about to abandon her. Shefelt lowered, humbled in her presence, and it was this, perhaps, thisvery sense of inferiority, which had ever heightened dislike. 

Mildly, yet coldly and briefly, Mrs. Hamilton answered Miss Grahame'storrent of questions and regrets which followed her information, thatCaroline was not well enough to see any one but her own family, andthat, as they left London some little time sooner than they hadoriginally intended, she had begged her mother to tender her farewell. Annie expressed excessive sorrow, but no effort on either side was madeto prolong this interview, and it was very quickly over. Annie returnedhome dissatisfied and angry, determining to make one attempt more; andif that failed, she thought she could as successfully wound by inuendoesand ridicule, should mere acquaintance take the place of intimatefriendship. 

Miss Grahame accordingly wrote in a truly heroic and highly-phrasedstyle, regretting, sympathising, and encouraging; but the answer, thoughguardedly worded, told her too plainly all her influence was over. 

"I am not strong enough, " wrote Caroline, "yet to argue with you, ordefend my conduct, as I feel sure I should be compelled to do, did wemeet now. I find, too late, that on many points we differ so completely, that the confidential intercourse, which has hitherto been ours, musthenceforth be at an end. Forgive me, dear Annie, if it grieves you toread these words; believe me, it is painful to me to write them. But nowthat my feelings on so many important subjects have been changed--nowthat the blinding film has been mercifully removed from my eyes, and Isee the whole extent of my sinful folly, I cannot hope to find the samefriend in you. Too late, for my peace, I have discovered that ourprinciples of duty are directly opposite. I blame you not for what I am, for the suffering I am still enduring, no, for that I alone have caused;but your persuasions, your representations heightened the evil, strengthened me in my sinful course. You saw my folly, and worked on it, by sowing the seeds of mistrust and dislike towards my parents. I was apassive tool in your hands, and you endeavoured to mould me according toyour notions of happiness. I thank you for all the interest you havethus endeavoured to prove for me. You cannot regret withdrawing it, nowI have in your eyes proved myself so undeserving. This is the lastconfidential letter I shall ever write, save to her who is indeed mybest, my truest, most indulgent friend on earth; but before I entirelyconclude, the love, the friendship I have felt for you compels me toimplore you to pause in your career. Oh, Annie, do not follow up thoseprinciples you would have instilled in me; do not, oh, as you valuefuture innocence and peace, do not let them be your guide in life; youwill find them hollow, vain, and false. Pause but for one moment, andreflect. Can there he happiness without virtue, peace without integrity?Is there pleasure without truth? Was deception productive of felicity tome? Oh, no, no. That visit to London, that introduction in the gay worldto which I looked forward with so much joy, the retrospection of which Ihoped would have enlivened Oakwood, oh, what does it present? A drearywaste of life, varied only by remorse. Had my career been yours, youwould perhaps have looked on it differently; but I cannot. Oh, Annie, once more, I beseech, let not such principles actuate your futureconduct; they are wrong, they will load to misery here, and whatpreparation are they for eternity?

"Farewell, and may God bless you! We shall not, perhaps, meet again tillnext season, and then it cannot be as we have parted. An interest inyour welfare I shall ever feel, but intimacy must be at an end betweenus. 

"CAROLINE. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

There was a dark lowering frown obscuring the noble and usually openbrow of the young heir of Oakwood, and undisguised anger visible inevery feature and every movement, as he paced the library withdisordered steps, about ten days after the events we have recorded, andthree since his return from college. He had crossed his arms on hischest, which was swelling with the emotion he was with difficultyrepressing, and his tall, elegant figure appeared to increase in heightbeneath his indignant and, in this case, just displeasure. 

Caroline's depression had not decreased since her brother's arrival. Shefelt she had been unjust to Percy, and a degree of coldness which hadappeared at first in his conduct towards her, occasioned, though sheknew it not, by her rejection of his friend St. Eval, which he believedwas occasioned by her love of Alphingham, whom he fancied she stillcontinued to regard with an eye of favour; both these causes createdreserve and distance between the brother and sister, in lieu of thatcordiality which had hitherto subsisted between them. 

Percy had not been aware of all that had passed between the Viscount andCaroline till that morning, when Emmeline, hoping to soften his mannertowards her sister, related, with all her natural eloquence, theViscount's conduct, and the triumph of duty which Caroline had achieved. That he had even asked her of his father, Percy knew not till then, andit was this intelligence bursting on him at once which called forth suchviolent anger. Emmeline had been summoned away before she had time tonote the startling effects of her words; but Herbert did, and though hewas unacquainted with the secret cause of his brother's dislike towardsLord Alphingham, he endeavoured by gentle eloquence to pacify and turnhim from his purpose, at which he trembled. 

"The villain, the cold-blooded, despicable villain!" muttered Percy atintervals, as he continued his hurried pace, without heeding, perhapsnot hearing, Herbert's persuasive accents. "To act thus foully--to playthus on the unguarded feelings of a weak, at least, unsophisticated, unsuspecting girl--to gain her love, to destine her to ruin and shame, the heartless miscreant! Oh, that my promise prevented not my exposinghim to the whole world; but there is another way--the villain shall findsuch conduct passes not unheeded!"

"You are right, Percy, " interposed Herbert, gently determining not tounderstand him. "If his conduct be indeed such as to call forth, withjustice, this irritation on your part, his punishment will come atlast. "

"It shall come, ay, and by this baud!" exclaimed Percy, striking hisclenched hand violently on the table; "if his conduct be such. You speakcoolly, Herbert, but you know not all, therefore I forgive you: it isthe conduct of a villain, ay, and he shall know it too. Before threesuns have set again, he shall feel my sister has an avenger!"

"His schemes against the peace, the honour of the innocent areregistered on high; be calm, be satisfied, Percy. His last hour will bechastisement enough. "

"By heaven, it shall be!" retorted Percy, passion increasing, itappeared, at every gentle word his brother spoke, and irritating himbeyond control. "Herbert, you will drive me mad with this mistimedcalmness; you know not half the injury she has received. "

"Whatever might have been his schemes, they have all failed, Percy, andtherefore should we not rather feel thankful for Caroline's restorationto her home, to herself, than thus encourage fury against him from whosesnares she has escaped?"

"Yes; and though his base plan, thanks to my sister's strength of mind, or, rather, my mother's enduring counsel, has not succeeded, am I to sitcalmly by and see her health, spirits, alike sinking beneath that lovewhich the deceiving villain knew so well how to call forth? am I to seethis, to gaze on the suffering he has caused, unmoved, and permit him topass unscathed, as if his victim had neither father nor brother toprotect and avenge her injured honour?"

"Her honour is not injured. She is as innocent and as pure as beforeLord Alphingham addressed her. Percy, you are increasing this justdispleasure by imaginary causes. I do not believe it to be love for himthat occasions her present suffering; I think, from the conversations wehave had, it is much more like remorse for the past, and bitter griefthat the confidence of our parents must, spite of their excessivekindness, be for a time entirely withdrawn, not any lingering affectionfor Alphingham. "

"Whatever it be, he is the primary cause. Not injured! every word oflove from his lips is pollution; his asking her of my father anatrocious insult; his endeavours to fly with her a deadly sin--anundying stain. "

Herbert shuddered involuntarily. 

"What would you say, or mean?" he exclaimed. 

"What have you heard or known concerning him, that calls for words likethese?"

"Ask me not, as you love me; it is enough I know he is a villain, " andPercy continued his rapid walk. Herbert rose from his seat andapproached him. 

"Percy, " he said, "my dear brother, tell me what is it you would do? towhat would this unwonted passion lead? Oh, let it not gain too great adominion, Percy. Dear Percy, what would you do?"

"I would seek him, Herbert, " replied Percy, "where ever he is; by whomsurrounded. I would taunt him as a deceiving, heartless villain, and ifhe demand satisfaction, by heaven, it would be joy for me to give it!"

"Has passion, then, indeed obtained so much ascendancy, it would be joyfor you to meet him thus for blood?" demanded Herbert, fixing his large, melancholy eyes intently on Percy's face, on which the cloud wasbecoming darker, and his step even more rapid. "Would you seek him forthe purpose of exciting anger like your own? is it thus you would avengemy sister?"

"Thus, and only thus, " answered Percy, with ungoverned fury. "As othershave done; man to man I would meet him, and villain as he is, I wouldhave honourable vengeance for the insult, not only to my sister, but tous all. Why should I stay my hand?"

"Why? because on you more than on many others has the light of ourblessed religion dawned, " answered Herbert, calmly; "because you knowwhat others think not of, that the law of our Master forbiddeth blood;that whosoever sheds it, on whatever plea, his shall be demanded inreturn; because you know, in seeking vengeance by blood, His law isdisobeyed, and His vengeance you would call upon yourself. Percy, youwill not, you dare not act as this overwhelming passion dictates. "

"Dare not, " repeated the young man, light flashing from his eye as ifhis spirit chafed at that word, even from his brother, "dare not; youmistake me, Herbert. I will not sit tamely down beneath an injury suchas this. I will not see that villain triumph without one effort to proveto him that he is known, and make the whole world know him as he is. "

"And would a hostile meeting accomplish this? Would that proclaim hisvillainy, of whatever nature it may be, to the world? Would they notrather side with him, their present minion, and even bring forward yourunjustifiable conduct as a fresh proof in his favour? How would theygive credit to the terms they may hear you apply to him, when even inyour family you speak not of the true cause of this strange agitationand indignant anger. "

Percy continued to pace the room for some minutes without answering. 

"My honour has been insulted in the person of my sister, " he muttered, at length, as if speaking more to himself than to his brother; "and am Ito bear that calmly? Were the truth made known, would not the wholeworld look on me with scorn as a spiritless coward, to whom the law ofhonour was as nothing; who would see his sister suffering from the artsof a miscreant, without one effort to revenge her?"

"The law of honour, " replied Herbert, bitterly; "it is the law of blood, of murder, of wilful, uncalled-for murder. Percy, my brother, banishthese guilty thoughts. Do not be one of those misguided beings who, from that false deceiving plea, the law of honour, condemn wholefamilies to misery, and themselves, without preparation, without prayer, nay, in the very act of disobeying a sacred commandment of their God, rush heedless into His presence, into awful eternity. "

He paused, but not vainly had he spoken. Percy gazed on his brother'sfeatures with greater calmness, and more kindly, but still impetuously, said--

"Would you then have me stand calmly by and behold my sister a sufferingvictim to his arts, though actual sin, thank God, has been spared, andthus permit that villain Alphingham to continue his course triumphant?"

"Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, and I will repay it, " answeredHerbert, instantly, twining his arm within that of his brother, andlooking up in his face with that beseeching glance of affection whichwas so peculiar to his features. "Dear brother, rest on those words andbe contented. It is not for us to think of vengeance or to seek forretribution; justice is, indeed, ours to claim, but in this case, thereis no point on which we can demand it. Let Alphingham, even granting youknow him as he is, pursue his course in peace. Did you endeavour toinflict chastisement, is it not doubting the wisdom and justice of theAlmighty? And suppose you fell instead of your adversary, in the meetingyou would seek--what, think you, would be the emotions of all those whoso dearly love you, when they gazed on your bleeding corse, andremembered you had sought death in defiance of every principle they hadso carefully instilled? Think of my mother's silent agony; has notCaroline's conduct occasioned sufficient pain, and would you increaseit? you, whose most trifling action is dictated by love for her; you, inwhom she has every reason to look for so much virtue, honour, andself-control; whom she so dearly, so devotedly loves? Remember what shewould feel; and, if no other consideration have effect, surely that willbid you pause. "

Percy still paced the room, but his head was averted from his brother ashe spoke, and his step bespoke contending and painful emotions. He didnot answer when Herbert ceased to speak, but his brother knew him well, and remained silent. 

"You have conquered, Herbert, " he exclaimed at length, firmly claspinghis brother's hand in his and raising his head; anger still lingered onhis cheek, but his eye was softer. "I could not bear my mother'swretchedness; I could not thus repay her love, her cherished care. Iwill not seek this base and heartless man. I tremble for my presentresolution, if he chance to cross my path; but, for her sake, I willavoid him; for her sake, his villainy shall be still concealed. "

"Endeavour to think of him more charitably, my dear Percy, or forget himentirely, which you will. "

"Think of him charitably; him--a fashionable, fawning, seducinghypocrite!" burst from Percy, in a tone of renewed passion. "No! thegall he has created within me cannot yet be turned to sweetness; forgethim--that at least is impossible, when Caroline's coldness and reserveremind me disagreeably of him every day. It is plain she looks on me asthe destroyer of her happiness; thinks, perhaps, had it not been for myletter my father would have given his consent, and she might havepeacefully become the wife of Alphingham. It is hard to bear unkindnessfrom one whom I have endeavoured to preserve from ruin. "

"Nay, do not be unjust, Percy; are you not cool and reserved yourself?How do we know why Caroline is somewhat more so than usual? Poor girl, we may find excuses for her, but I know no reason why you should treather as you do. "

"Her whole conduct demands it. How did she use that noble fellow St. Eval; encourage him, so that their union was confidently asserted, andthen reject him for no cause whatever; or, if she had a cause, for loveof a villain, who, it appears, in secret, possessed all the favour shepretended to lavish on St. Eval, --both false and deceiving. "

"Percy, you are determined to be angry with everybody to-day. Iflattered myself my influence had allayed your passion, and behold, itis only withdrawn from one object to be hurled upon another. Can you notfind some good cause now to turn it from Caroline on me? Is it nothingthat I should dare face the tempest of your wrath, and tell my impetuousand headstrong brother exactly what I thought--nothing, that I shouldhave ventured to say there was a thing on earth you dared not do?"

Percy turned sharply towards him, as if in that moment he could be angryeven with him; but Herbert met his fierce glance with a smile so full ofaffectionate interest, that all Percy's displeasure and irritationseemed at once removed. 

"Displeased with you!" exclaimed Percy, when involuntary admiration hadtaken the place of anger, and unconsciously the noble serenity ofHerbert's temper appeared to soothe the more irritable nature of hisown. "Ay, Herbert, when we two have exchanged characters, such may be, till then I am contented to love and reverence the virtue, thegentleness I cannot make my own. "

"We are better thus, my brother, " replied Herbert, feelingly; "were wethe same, could I have been the happy being you have made me at college?Much, very much happiness do I owe to your high spirit, Percy. Withoutyour support, my life, spite of the charms of study, would have been apainful void at college; and though I feel, you know not perhaps howoften and how bitterly, that in many things I cannot hope to be yourcompanion, yet to think my affection may sometimes check the violencethat would lead you wrong, oh, that is all I can hope for or desire. "

"Have you not my love, my confidence, my fondest, warmest esteem?"exclaimed Percy, impetuously, and twining his arm, as in fondness heoften did, around his brother's neck. "Is there one among my gaycompanions I love as you, though I appear to seek their society more?"

Herbert was silent. 

"You do not doubt me, Herbert?"

"Percy--no!" exclaimed the youth, with unwonted ardour. To speak more atthat moment he could not, and ere words came at his command, the librarydoor slowly opened, and Caroline languidly entered. 

Herbert somewhat hurriedly left the room, to conceal the agitation theinterview with Percy had occasioned him. 

For some little time Caroline remained in the library, seeking, itappeared, a book, without a word passing between her and Percy. Bothevidently wished to speak, but neither liked to begin; at lengthCaroline approached him. 

"Percy, " she began, and her voice trembled sufficiently to prevent more. Percy was softened. 

"Well, dear Caroline, am I so very terrible you cannot speak to me? Ihave been angry and unjust, and you, perhaps, a little too reserved; sonow let us forgive and forget, as we did when we were children, and befriends for the future. "

He spoke with all his natural frankness, and extended his hand towardsher. Caroline's spirits were so depressed, that the least word or tokenof kindness overcame her, and pressing her brother's hand in both hers, she turned away her head to conceal the quickly-starting tears, andPercy continued, trying to smile--

"Well, Caroline, will you not tell me what you were going to say? Icannot quite penetrate your thoughts. "

Again Caroline hesitated, but then with an effort she said, fixing herheavy eyes on her brother's face--

"Percy, had you a real cause for writing to my father as you did somefew weeks ago, or was it rumour alone which actuated your doing so? Iimplore you to answer me truly. "

"I had all-sufficient cause, " he answered, instantly. "It was from norumour. Do you think that, without good reason, I would have endeavouredto traduce the character of any man?"

"And what was that cause? Why did you implore my father, as he valued myfuture peace, not to expose me to his fascinations?"

Caroline spoke slowly and deliberately, as if every word were weighedere it was uttered, but with an expression on her features, as if lifeand peace depended on his answer. 

Percy looked earnestly at her. 

"Why should you ask this question, my dear sister?" he said. "If Ianswer it, what good will it do? Why should I solve a mystery, that, ifyou love this Alphingham, as this extreme depression bids me believe, must bring but increase of pain?"

"Percy, " replied Caroline, raising her head, and standing with returningdignity before him, "Percy, do not let the idea of my love bid youhesitate. Increase of pain I do not think is possible; but yet, do notmistake me, that pain does not spring from disappointed affection. Percy, I do not love Lord Alphingham; I have been fascinated, and theremembrance of the past still clings to me with remorse and suffering;but I never loved him as, had I not been infatuated and blind, had I notrejected the counsels and confidence of my mother, I might have lovedanother. You know not how I have been led on, how I have permittedmyself to be but a tool in the hands of those whose independence Iadmired, and aided them by my own reckless folly--the wish to prove, however differently I was educated, still I could act with equal spirit. Had it not been for that self-will, that perverse spirit, I might nowhave been a happy and a virtuous wife, loving and esteeming thatsuperior being, whose affections I wilfully cast away; but that mattersnot now, " she added, hurriedly. "My mother was right, I was unworthy toshare his lot; but of this rest assured, I do not love, I never haveloved, for I cannot esteem Lord Alphingham. "

"But why then wish to know more concerning him?" Percy said, muchrelieved by his sister's words, and more pleased than he chose toappear by her allusion to St. Eval. "Is it not enough your connectionwith him is entirely broken off?"

"No, Percy; I have rejected him, dissolved our engagement, I scarcelyknow wherefore, except that I felt I could not be his without myfather's consent; but there are times I feel as if I had treated himunjustly, that I have had no cause to think ill of him; my conduct hadencouraged him. To me he has been devoted and respectful, and though Icould not, would not be his wife, yet these thoughts linger on my mind, and add most painfully to the chaos already there. "

Twice Percy slowly traversed the room, with a countenance on whichanxious thought was deeply imprinted. He paused opposite to Caroline, took both her hands in his, and spoke in a voice which, though low, wasso solemn that it thrilled to her inmost soul. 

"Caroline, I had hoped the fatal secret made known to me would neverhave passed my lips, but for the restoration of your peace it shall bedivulged, nor will the injured one who first intrusted it to me, topreserve you from ruin, believe I have betrayed her trust. You have notsuspected the whole extent of evil that would have been yours, had youindeed fled with that hypocritical villain. Caroline, Lord Alphingham isa married man--his wife still lives!"

Had a thunderbolt fallen at her feet, or the earth yawned beneath her, not more pale or transfixed would Caroline have stood than she did asthose unexpected words fell clear and shrill as a trumpet-blast upon hertortured ear. Amid all her conjectures as to the meaning of Percy'swords, this idea had never crossed her mind; that Alphingham could thushave deliberately been seeking her ruin, under the guise of love andhonour, was a stretch of villainy that entered not into her conception. Now that the truth was known, she stood as if suddenly turned to marble, her cheek, her very lips bearing the colour of death. Then came thethoughts of the past; had it not been for those recollections of herchildhood, her mother's love, devotion, what would she now have been? Invain she struggled to bear up against that rushing torrent of thought;every limb was seized with violent trembling, her brain reeled, and shewould have sunk to the ground, had not Percy, alarmed at the effect ofhis words, led her tenderly to a seat, and kneeling by her side, threwhis arms around her. Her head sunk on his shoulder, and she clung to himas if evil and guilt and wretchedness still hovered like fiends aroundher, and he would protect her from them all. Fire again flashed from theeyes of the young man as he thought on Alphingham, but for her sake herestrained himself, and endeavoured by a few soothing words to calm her. 

"Tell me all--all you know, I can bear it, " she said at length, almostinaudibly, and looking up with features as deathlike as before. Percycomplied with her request, and briefly related as follows:

He had become acquainted during his college life, he told her, with awidow and her daughter, who lived about four or five miles from Oxford. Some service he had rendered them, of sufficient importance as to makehim an ever welcome and acceptable guest within the precincts of thatcottage, which proclaimed a refined and elevated taste, although itsinmates were not of the highest class. Both Percy fancied were widows, although he scarcely knew the foundation of that fancy, except thecircumstance of their living together, and the husband of the youngerlady never appearing; nor was his name ever mentioned in theconfidential conversations he sometimes had with them, which the servicehe had had in his power to do demanded. Mrs. Amesfort, the daughter, still possessed great beauty, which a shade of pensive thought, sometimes amounting to deep melancholy, rendered even more lovely. Herage might have been six or seven and twenty, she could not have beenmore. At an earlier age, there was still evidence that she had been asparkling, lively girl, and her mother would frequently relate to theyoung man the change that sorrow--and sorrow, she hinted, of apeculiarly painful nature--had made in one who, ten years previous, hadbeen so full of life and glee. Decline, slow but sure, it seemed even toPercy's inexperienced eye, was marked on her pale features; and at thosetimes when bodily suffering was greatest, her spirit would resume aportion of its former lightness, as if it rejoiced in the anticipatedrelease. There was a deep thrilling melody in her voice, whether inspeaking or, when strength allowed, in warbling forth the pathetic airsof her native land; for Agnes Amesfort was a child of Erin, onceenthusiastic, warm, devoted, as were her countrywomen--possessingfeelings that even beneath that pale, calm exterior would sometimesburst forth and tinge her cheek, and light up her soul-speaking eye withmomentary but brilliant radiance, and whispered too clearly what she hadonce been, and what was now the wreck. 

The gaiety, the frankness, and unassuming manner of Percy rendered him amost acceptable visitant at Isis Lodge, so the cottage was called; hewas ever ready with some joyous tale, either of Oxford or of themetropolis, to bring a smile even to the lips of Mrs. Amesfort. It wasnot likely that he should so frequently visit the cottage withoutexciting the curiosity and risibility of his college companions; but hewas enabled cheerfully and with temper to withstand it all, feelingsecure in his own integrity, and confident that the situation in whichhe stood relative to the inmates of that cottage was mutuallyunderstood. Several inquiries Percy made concerning these interestingfemales; but no intelligence of their former lives could he obtain; theyhad only settled in the cottage a few months previous to the period ofhis first acquaintance with them; and whence they came, and who theywere, no one knew nor cared to know. It was enough for the poor for manymiles round, that the assistance of the strangers was extended towardsthem, with kind words and consolation in their troubles; and for theOxonians, that though they received with extreme and even gratefulpoliteness the visits made them, they were never returned. 

One little member of this small family Percy had not mentioned, a littlegirl, who might have been about eight or nine years old, an interestingchild, whom Percy had saved from a watery grave in the rapid Isis, whichrolled at the base of the grounds; a child, in whom the affections ofher widowed mother were centred with a force and intensity, that itappeared death itself could but divide; and she was, indeed, one tolove--affectionate, and full of glee; yet the least sign of increasedsuffering on the part of her mother would check the wild exuberance ofchildish spirits, without diminishing in the least her cheerfulness, andshe would throw her arms around her neck, and fondly ask, if she mightby kisses while away the pain. Many a game of play did she have with herpreserver, whose extreme kindness and excessive liveliness excited theaffections of the child, and increased and preserved the gratitude hiscourageous conduct had occasioned in the bosom of that young devotedmother, whose every earthly joy was centred in her fatherless child. 

It happened that in speaking one day of London society, and of thereigning belles and beaux of the season, that Percy casually mentionedthe name of Lord Alphingham, whom he declared was by all accounts sooverwhelmed with attentions and flatteries, since his return from a nineyears' residence on the Continent, that there was every chance of hisbeing thoroughly spoiled, if he were not so already, and losing everygrain of sense, if he had any to lose. He was surprised, as he spoke, atthe very visible agitation of the elder lady, whose colour went and cameso rapidly, that involuntarily he turned towards her daughter, wonderingif any such emotion were visible in her; and though she did not appearpaler than usual, nor was any outward emotion visible, save that her armwas somewhat tightly bound round the tiny figure of the little Agnes, healmost started, as he met those large soft eyes fixed full upon him, asif they would penetrate his soul; and though her voice was calm, unhesitating, and firm, as she asked him if he were acquainted with LordAlphingham, yet its tones sounded even more thrilling, more sadly thanusual. He answered truly in the negative, adding, he was not ambitiousof his acquaintance; as a man, he was not one to suit his fancy. Manyquestions did Mrs. Amesfort ask relative to this nobleman, and stillunconsciously her arm held her child more closely to her side. The elderlady's looks were bent on them both, expressive, it seemed to Percy, offondness for those two beloved objects, and struggling with indignationtowards another. Percy returned to college that evening unusuallythoughtful. What could Lord Alphingham have to do with the inhabitantsof that simple cottage? Incoherent fancies occupied his mind, but fromall which presented themselves as solutions to the mystery his pure mindrevolted; and, compelled by an impulse he could not resist, he continuedto speak of Alphingham every time he visited the cottage. Mrs. Amesfort, it appeared to him, rather encouraging than checking his conversation onthat subject, by introducing it herself, and demanding if his name werestill mentioned in Percy's letters from town. Mrs. Morley, her mother, ever looked anxiously at her, as if she could have wished the subjectunnamed; but still Alphingham continued to be the theme so constantlydiscussed at Isis Lodge, that Percy felt no repugnance in mentioningthose reports which allied his sister's name with that of the Viscount. Again were the eyes of Mrs. Amesfort fixed intently on his face, and shespoke but little more during that evening's visit. Percy left her, unable to account for the deep and serious thought imprinted on herfeatures, nor the look with which she bade him seek her the followingday at an appointed hour, as she earnestly wished to speak with himalone. The day passed heavily till he was again with her. She was alone;and steady determination more than ever marked on her clear and polishedbrow. She spoke, and Percy listened, absorbed; she alluded to hispreservation of her child, and, in that moment of reawakened gratitude, all the enthusiasm of her country spoke in her eyes and voice; and thena moment she paused, and a bright and apparently painful flush mountedto those cheeks which Percy had ever seen so pale. She implored hisforbearance with her; his pardon, at what might appear an unwarrantableinterference on her part in the affairs of his family; but his many andeloquent descriptions of them, particularly of his mother, had caused aninterest that compelled her to reveal a fatal secret which, she hadhoped, would never have passed her lips. Was it a mere rumour, or wereLord Alphingham's attentions marked and decided towards his sister?Percy believed there was very good foundation for the rumours he hadheard. 

Did his parents approve of it? she again asked, and the flush ofexcitement faded. Percy was not quite sure; he rather thought by hismother's letters she did not, though Caroline was universally envied asan object of such profound attention from one so courted and admired. Did his sister love him?--the words appeared wrung with a violent effortfrom Mrs. Amesfort's lips. 

He did not fancy she did as yet; but he doubted not the power of LordAlphingham's many fascinations and exclusive devotion to herself, on onenaturally rather susceptible to vanity as was Caroline. 

"Oh, if you love your sister, save her ere it be too late, ere heraffections are engaged, " was Mrs. Amesfort's reply, with a burst ofemotion, the more terrible, from its contrast with her general calm andunmoved demeanour. "Expose her not to those fascinations which I know noheart can resist. Let her not associate with him--with my husband; heis not free to love--I am his lawful wife; and the child you saved ishis--his own--the offspring of lawfully-hallowed wedlock; though he hascast me off, though his eyes have never gazed upon my child, yet, yet weare his. No cruel words of separation has the law of England spoken. Butdo not, oh! if you have any regard for me, " she continued, wildlyseizing both Percy's hands, as she marked the dark blood of passionkindling on the young man's brow, "do not betray him; do not let himknow that his wife--his injured wife--has risen to cry shame upon him, and banish him from those circles wherein he is formed to mingle. Promise me faithfully, solemnly, you will not betray my secret more thanis necessary to preserve your sister from misery and ruin. I thoughteven for her I could not have spoken thus, but I gazed on my child, andremembered she too has a mother, whose happiness is centred in her asmine is in my Agnes, and I could hesitate no more. Promise me you willnot abuse my confidence, Mr. Hamilton, promise me; let me not have themisery of reproaches from him to whom my fond heart still clings, as itdid at first. Yes; though for nine long weary years I have never seenhis face nor heard his voice, still he knows not, guesses not how hisimage dwells within, how faithfully, how fervidly he is still beloved. Promise me my existence shall not be suspected, that neither he nor anyone shall know the secret of my existence. It is enough for me he lives, is happy. My child! could I but see her in the station her rankdemands, --but, oh, I would not force her on her father. "

She would still have spoken, still have entreated, but this unwontedemotion had exhausted her feeble strength. Greatly moved by thisextraordinary disclosure, and struck with that deep devotedness, thatundying love, Percy solemnly pledged his word to preserve her secret. 

"My course will soon be over, my sand run out, " she said, afterenergetically thanking him for his soothing and relieving words, and ina tone of such sad, resigned hopelessness, that, irritated as he felttowards Alphingham, his eye glistened and his lips quivered. "Andwherefore should I dash down his present enjoyment by standing forwardand proclaiming myself his wife? Why should I expose my secret sorrows, my breaking heart to the inspection of a cold and heartless world, anddraw down on my dying moments his wrath, for the poor satisfaction ofbeholding myself recognised as Viscountess Alphingham? Would worldlyhonours supply the place of his affection? Oh, no, no! I am better as Iam. The tears of maternal and filial love will hallow my grave; and he, too, when he knows for his sake, to save him a pang, I have suffered myheart to break in uncomplaining silence, oh, he too may shed one tear, bestow a thought on one who loved him to the last!"

"But your child!" exclaimed Percy, almost involuntarily. 

"Will be happier here, under my mother's care, unconscious of her birth, than mingling in a dangerous world, without a mother to cherish andprotect her. Her father might neglect, despise her; she might be a barto a second and a happier union, and oh, I could not die in peace did Iexpose her thus. "

Percy was silent, and when the interview had closed, he bade thatdevoted woman farewell, with a saddened and deeply thoughtful brow. 

Lord Alphingham had been a student in Dublin, in the environs of whichcity dwelt Mrs. Morley, a widow, and this her only child. At theircottage he became a constant and devoted guest, and as might have beenexpected, his impetuous and headstrong nature became desperatelyenamoured of the beautiful and innocent Agnes, then only seventeen. Spite of his youth, being barely twenty, neither mother nor daughtercould withstand his eloquent solicitations, and a private but sacredmarriage was performed. He quitted college, but still lingered inIreland, till a peremptory letter from his father summoned him toEngland, to celebrate his coming of age. He left his bride, and theanguish of parting was certainly at that time mutual. Some few monthsAgnes hoped for and looked to his return. Alphingham, then LordAmesfort, on his part, was restrained only by the fear of the inveteracyof his father's disposition from confessing his marriage, and sendingfor his wife. Another bride, of rank and wealth, was proposed to him, and then he confessed the truth. The fury of the old man knew no bounds, and he swore to disinherit his son, if he did not promise never toreturn to his ignoble wife, whom he vowed he never would acknowledge. Amesfort promised submission, fully intending to remain constant tillhis father's death, which failing health proclaimed was not far distant, and then seek his gentle wife, and introduce her in her proper sphere. He wrote to this effect, and the boding heart of Agnes sunk at once; invain her mother strove to rouse her energies, by alluding to the strainof his letter, the passionate affection breathing in every line, thesacred nature of his promise. She felt her doom, and ere her child wassix months old, her feelings, ominous of evil, were fully verified. 

Lord Alphingham lingered some time, and his son found in the society inwhich the Viscount took good care he should continually mingle, attractions weighty enough to banish from his fickle heart all love, andnearly all recollection of his wife. He found matrimony would be veryinconvenient in the gay circle of which he was a member. All the betterfeelings and qualities of his youth fled; beneath the influence ofexample and bad companionship his evil ones were called forth andfostered, and speedily he became the heartless libertine we have seenhim. His letters to the unfortunate Agnes were less and less frequent, and at length ceased altogether, and the sum transmitted for her useevery year was soon the only proof that he still lived. His residence inforeign lands, the various names he assumed, baffled all her efforts atreceiving the most distant intelligence concerning him, and Agnes stilllingered in hopeless resignation--"The heart will break, but brokenlylive on;" and thus it was she lived, existing for her child alone. Nineyears they had been parted, and Agnes had ever shrunk in evident painfrom quitting her native land, and the cottage which had been the sceneof her brief months of happiness; but when change of air was pleaded inbehalf of her child, then suffering from lingering fever, when change ofclimate was strongly recommended by the physicians, in secret forherself equally with that of her little girl, she hesitated no longer, and a throb of mingled pain and pleasure swelled her too fond heart asher foot pressed the native land of her husband. Some friends of hermother, unacquainted with her sad story, resided near Oxford, andthither they bent their steps, and finally fixed their residence, whereMrs. Amesfort soon had the happiness of beholding her child restored toperfect health and radiant in beauty; perhaps the faint hope thatAlphingham might one day unconsciously behold his daughter, reconciledher to this residence in England. She was in his own land; she mighthear of him, of his happiness; and, deeply injured as she was, thatknowledge, to her too warm, too devoted heart was all-sufficient. 

Such were the particulars of the story which Percy concisely yet fullyrelated in confidence to his sister. Caroline neither moved nor spokeduring his recital; her features still retained their deadly paleness, and her brother almost involuntarily felt alarmed. A few words she said, as he ceased, in commentary on his tale, and her voice was calm. Nor didher step falter as she quitted the library, and returned to her ownroom, when, carefully closing the door, she sunk on the nearest seat, and covering her eyes with her hands, as if to shut out all outwardobjects, gave unchecked dominion to the incongruous thoughts occasionedby Percy's tale. She could not define or banish them; a suddenoppression appeared cast upon her brain, deadening its powers, andpreventing all relief from tears. The ruin, the wretchedness from whichshe had been mercifully preserved stood foremost in her mind, all elseappeared a strange and frightful dream. The wife and child of Alphinghamflitted like mocking phantoms before her eyes, and the countenance ofAlphingham himself glared at her, and his gibing laugh seemed to screamin her ears, and transform him into a malignant fiend revelling in themisery he had created. She strove to pray but vainly; no words of suchsoothing and consoling import rose to her lips. How long she remained inthis state of wretchedness she knew not, but it was the mild accents ofher mother's voice that roused her from her trance. 

"Are you not well, Caroline? What is the matter, love?" Mrs. Hamiltonasked, alarmed at the icy coldness of her daughter's hand, and kissing, as she spoke, her pallid cheek. 

Caroline threw her arms round her, and a violent flood of tears relievedthe misery from which she was suffering so painfully. 

"Do not ask me to reveal the cause of this weakness, my dearest mother, "she said, when voice returned. "I shall be better now, and never, neveragain shall recollections of the past, by afflicting me, cause yousolicitude. Do not fancy this apparent grief has anything to do withregret at my late decision, or for still lingering affection; oh, no, no. Do not look at me so anxiously, mother; I have had a long, longconversation with Percy, and that has caused the weakness you perceive;but it will soon pass away, and I shall be your own happy Carolineagain. "

Tears were still stealing from those bloodshot eyes; but she looked upin Mrs. Hamilton's face with an expression of such confiding affection, that her mother's anxious fears were calmed. She would not inquire more, nor question Percy, when he sought her in her boudoir before dinner, torequest that no notice might be taken, if his sister's manner were thatevening less calm than usual. Mrs. Hamilton felt thankful that anunderstanding had taken place between her children, whose estrangementhad been a source of severe pain, and she waited trustingly and calmlyfor time to do its work on the torn heart and agitated nerves ofCaroline. To Emmeline's extreme delight, preparations for theirdeparture from London and return to Oakwood were now proceeding in goodearnest. Never did that fair and innocent face look more joyous andanimated, and never had her laugh been more glad and ringing than whenthe carriage rolled away from Berkeley Square. Every circumstance oftheir journey increased her childlike glee, every town they passedthrough an object of interest, and even the pensive features of hercousin Ellen reflected her unchecked joyousness. They seldom travelledmore than forty miles a day, and consequently it was not till theevening of the fourth they neared the village, whose inhabitants, cladin holiday attire, stood at the doors of their houses to receive them, with silent and respectful yet very evident tokens of joy. The eveningwas most lovely; the sun had lost the splendour of its beams, thoughclouds of every brilliant hue proclaimed the increased glory whichattended its hour of rest, at times lost behind a richly glowing cloud, and then bursting forth again and dyeing all nature with a flood ofgold. The river lay calmly sleeping before them, while on its glassybosom the heavens cast their radiance, relieved by the shade of themighty trees that stood to guard its banks; the rich foliage of thetrees, the superb green of the fields, in some of which the ripeningcorn was beginning to stud with gold, the varied flowers gemming thefertile hedge, the holy calmness of this summer eve, all called forththe best feelings of the human heart. For a few minutes even Emmelinewas silent, and then her clear silvery voice was heard chanting, as ifby an irresistible impulse, the beautiful hymn of the Tyrolese, sopeculiarly appropriate to the scene. On, on they went, the white wallsof the church peeping through clustering ivy, the old and venerablerectory next came in sight; a few minutes more, and the heavy gates ofOakwood were thrown wide to receive them, and the carriages swept alongthe well-known entrance. Every tree and shrub, and even flower, were nowlooked on by Emmeline and Percy with increased and somewhat boisterousexpressions of delight. 

"Try if you cannot be still a very short time longer, dear Emmeline, "whispered the more restrained Ellen, whose eye had caught a glimpse ofCaroline's countenance, and who perceived in an instant her feelingswere not in unison with Emmeline's. She was right; Caroline could notfeel as did her sister. She was not the same light-hearted, innocentbeing she had been when she quitted Oakwood; the appearance of the homeof her childhood vividly recalled all that had occurred since she hadmingled in the world, that world of which she had indulged so manybrilliant visions; and while Entmeline's laugh conveyed gladness in thathour to all who heard it, Caroline leaned forward to conceal from hercompanions the tears that stole silently down her cheek. 

A shout from Percy proclaimed the old hall in sight. A group ofdomestics stood on the steps, and the setting sun threw its brillianthues on the mansion, as if with increased and unusual lustre thatvenerable spot should welcome the return of the Hamilton family withinits sheltering walls. 

CHAPTER IX. 

"There wants but the guardian spirit of yon old Manor to render thisscene as perfect as her society would bid the present hours roll on inunalloyed felicity to me, " was Herbert Hamilton's observation somelittle time after their return to Oakwood, as he stood, arm in arm withhis friend Arthur Myrvin, on the brow of a hill which overlooked, amongother beautiful objects, Greville Manor, now inhabited by strangers. 

Young Myrvin smiled archly, but ere their walk that evening wasconcluded, he too had become interested in the being so dear to hisfriend; for Herbert spoke in perfect confidence, secure of friendlysympathy. Oakwood was to him as dear, perhaps even dearer than toEmmeline, for his nature and tastes were not such as any amusement inLondon could gratify. His recreation from the grave studies necessaryfor the profession which he had chosen, was to wander forth with acongenial spirit, and marking Nature in all her varied robes, adore hisCreator in His works as well as in His word. In London his ever activemind longed intensely to do good, and his benevolent exertionsfrequently exceeded his strength; it was his chief delight to seek thedwellings of the poor, to relieve distress, alleviate affliction. Theprisoner in his cell, the bold and wilful transgressor of the laws ofGod, these would he teach, and by gentle admonitions bring nearer to theThrone of Grace. Yet notwithstanding the gratification which thepursuits of Herbert gave to his parents, they often felt considerableanxiety lest his health should suffer from his unceasing efforts, andthey rejoiced on that account when their removal to Oakwood affordedtheir son a quieter and more healthful field of occupation. For milesaround Oakwood the name of Herbert Hamilton was never spoken without ablessing. There he could do good; there he could speak of God, andbehold the fruits of his pious labours; there was Mr. Howard ever readyto guide and to sympathise, and there was the field of Nature spreadbefore him to fill his heart with increased and glowing adoration andreverential love. 

It was well for Herbert his parents were such as could understand andsympathise in these exalted feelings; had harshness, or even neglect, been extended over his childhood and his opening youth, happiness, suchas had gilded his life, would never have been his. 

As Emmeline had rejoiced, so also might have Herbert, as they neared thegates of his home, had there not been one recollection to dim hishappiness. She who had shared in all his pleasures, who had shed a charmover that spot, a charm which he had never felt so keenly as when helooked for it, and found it not; the favourite playfellow of hisinfancy, the companion of his youth, his plighted bride, she was in fardistant lands, and vainly on his first return home did Herbert struggleto remove the weight of loneliness resting on his heart; he neverpermitted it to be apparent, for to his family he was the same devotedson and affectionate brother he had ever been, but painfully he felt it. Mr. Myrvin and his son were now both inmates of Mr. Hamilton's family. The illegality of the proceedings against the former, in expelling himfrom his ministry of Llangwillan, had now been clearly proved, for theearnestness of Mr. Hamilton permitted no delay; and tears of piousgratitude chased down the cheeks of the injured man, as he recognised inthe person of his benefactor the brother of the suffering woman whom hehad sheltered, and whose bed of death he had deprived of its sting. Thepersuasions of Mr. Hamilton succeeded in conquering his objections tothe plan, and he consented to make Oakwood his home for a short time, ere he once more settled in his long-loved rectory. 

With Arthur, Ellen speedily resumed her place; the remembrance of thatneglected little girl had never left Mr. Myrvin's mind, and when, radiant in animation and returning health and happiness, she hastily, almost impetuously, advanced to meet him, he pressed her to his bosomwith the affection of a father; and even as a daughter Ellen devotedherself to him during his residence at Oakwood. He had been the first inEngland to treat her with kindness; he had soothed her childish sorrow, and cheered her painful duties; he had been the first since her father'sdeath to evince interest for her, and though so many years had passed, that the little girl was fast verging into womanhood, yet such thingswere not forgotten, and Ellen endeavoured to prove the gratitude whichtime had not effaced. 

Ellen was happy, her health almost entirely restored; but it wasscarcely possible for any observant person to live with her for anytime, without noticing the expression of pensive melancholy, of subduedspirit, unnatural in one still so very young, that, unless animated byany casual circumstances, ever rested on her features. Mr. Myrvin soonnoticed this, and rather wondered such should still be, when surroundedby so much kindness and affection. Her gentleness and controlled temper, her respectful devotion to her aunt and uncle, were such as to awakenhis warmest regard, and cause him to regret that shade of remainingsadness so foreign to her age. Traces of emotion were so visible on hercheeks one day, returning from a walk with Mr. Myrvin, that Mrs. Hamilton felt convinced the tale of the past had been told, and fearingher niece had done herself injustice, she scrupled no longer in alludingto it herself. Mr. Myrvin was deeply affected at the tale, and muchrelieved when the whole was known; for when he had praised her generalconduct, and approved of so many feelings and sentiments she hadacknowledged, and then tenderly demanded the cause of that depression hesometimes witnessed, Ellen had given vent to a violent burst of emotion, and spoken of a sin, a fearful sin, which long years of probation alonecould wash away. Her strong, her terrible temptation, her extremewretchedness and dreadful sufferings she had not mentioned, and, consequently, when known, an air of even more gentle and moreaffectionate interest pervaded Mr. Myrvin's manner towards her. Hearingher one day express an ardent desire once more to visit Llangwillan, tosee again her mother's grave, he earnestly entreated Mrs. Hamilton'spermission for her to visit him for a few weeks: her company would, hesaid, indeed shed joy over his home, and afford much pleasure to awidowed sister who resided with him. Mrs. Hamilton smilingly consented, and a flush of animated pleasure dyed Ellen's cheeks at the proposal. For about a quarter of an hour she was all delight and animation, whensuddenly a thought entered her mind, banishing her unusual mirth, andfilling her eyes with tears. Her voice faltered audibly, as she warmlythanked Mr. Myrvin and her aunt for their wish to increase herhappiness, but she would rather not leave home that year. The change wasso sudden, her manner so contradictory to her words, that Mrs. Hamilton, believing some fanciful reason existed, would have insisted on hercompliance, and playfully accused her of unfounded caprice. There was, however, a degree of earnest entreaty in her manner, that Mr. Myrvinwould not combat, and he expressed himself contented with her promisefor the following year. Mrs. Hamilton was not, however, quite so easilysatisfied. Ellen had been latterly so open with her, that anything likeconcealment in her conduct gave her some little uneasiness; but shecould not withstand the imploring look of her niece, as she entreatedher not to think her capricious and wilful; she was sure Mrs. Hamiltonwould approve of her reason, did she confess it. 

"I am not quite so sure of that, " was her aunt's smiling reply; "but, however, I will trust you, though I do not like mysteries, " and thesubject was dismissed. 

The manners and conversation of Arthur Myrvin were such as to prepossessboth Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton very much in his favour, and strengthened theopinion they had already formed concerning him, on the word of theirson. The respectful deference with which he ever treated Caroline andEmmeline often caused a laugh at his expense from Percy, but gratifiedMrs. Hamilton; Percy declared he stood as much in awe of his sisters asif they were the highest ladies in the land. Arthur bore his raillerywith unruffled temper, but he felt the distance that fortune placedbetween him and those fair girls, and he hoped, by reserve, to lessenthe danger that might in their society attack his peace. Emmelinemistook this cautious reserve for coldness and distaste towards women, and, with the arts of a playful child, she frequently endeavoured todraw him from his abstraction, and render him a more agreeablecompanion. 

There was still so very much of the child in Emmeline, though nowrapidly approaching her eighteenth birthday, she was still so very youngin manners and appearance, that the penetration of Mrs. Hamilton mustnot be too severely criticised, if it failed in discovering thatintimately mingled with this childlike manner--the warm enthusiasm of akind nature--was a fund of deep reflection, and feelings quite equal toher age. Mrs. Hamilton fancied the realities of life were still to her adream. Had any one spoken to her of the marriage of Emmeline as soontaking place, she would have started at the idea, as a thing for someyears impossible; and that her affections might become engaged--that thechildlike, innocent, joyous Emmeline, whose gayest pleasures stillconsisted in chasing with wild glee the butterflies as they sported onthe summer flowers, or tying garlands of the fairest buds to adorn herown or her sister's hair, or plucking the apples from the trees andthrowing them to the village children as they sauntered at the orchardgate--whose graver joys consisted in revelling in every poet that hermother permitted her to read, or making her harp resound with wild, sweet melody--whose laugh was still so unchecked and gay--that such abeing could think of love, of that fervid and engrossing passion, whichcan turn the playful girl into a thinking woman, Mrs. Hamilton may bepardoned if she deemed it as yet a thing that could not be; and she, too, smiled at the playful mischief with which Emmeline would sometimesclaim the attention of young Myrvin, engage him in conversation, andthen, with good-humoured wit and repartee, disagree in all he said, andcompel him to defend his opinions with all the eloquence he possessed. 

With Ellen, young Myrvin was more at his ease; he recalled the days thatwere past, and never felt with her the barrier which his sensitivedelicacy had placed between himself and her cousins. Arthur was proud, more so than he was aware of himself. He would have considered himselfmore humbled to love and sue for one raised by fortune or rank abovehim, than in uniting with one, who in both these essentials was hisinferior. He was ambitious, but for honours and station obtained by hisown endeavours not conferred by another. From his earliest youth he hadgrown up with so strong an impression that he was intended for theChurch, that he considered it impossible any other profession could suithim better. When he mingled intimately at college with young men ofhigher rank and higher hopes, he discovered too late that a clergyman'slife was not such as to render him most happy; but he could not drawback, he would not so disappoint his father. He felt and knew, to obtainthe summit of his desires, to be placed in a public situation, where hisambition would have full scope, required a much larger fortune than hisfather possessed. He clothed himself in what he believed to beresignation and contentment, but which was in truth a morbidsensitiveness to his lot in life, which he imagined poverty wouldseparate from every other. Association with Herbert Hamilton, to whom infrankness he confided these secret feelings, did much towards removingtheir bitterness; and the admiration which he felt for Herbert, whoseunaffected piety and devotion to the Church he could not fail toappreciate, partially reconciled his ambitious spirit to his station. Yet the exalted ideas of Herbert were not entirely shared by Arthur, whose thoughts were centred in a more stirring field of usefulness thanit would in all probability be his to fill. Herbert combated theseobjections with so much eloquence, he pointed with such ardent zeal tothe crown eternal that would be his, when divine love had triumphed overall earthly ambition, and his duties were done for love of Him, who hadordained them, that when the time of his ordination came (which it didvery shortly after the commencement of this chapter), he would not havedrawn back, even had a more attractive profession been offered for hisacceptance. The friendship and countenance of Mr. Hamilton did much toreconcile him to his lot. Mr. Howard's curate died suddenly, at the verytime that Mr. Hamilton was writing to the Marquis of Malvern, inArthur's favour, for a vacant living then at his disposal. Both now wereoffered to the young man's choice, and Percy, even Mr. Hamilton himself, were somewhat surprised that, without a moment's hesitation, he acceptedthat under Mr. Howard, in the gift of Mr. Hamilton, inferior as it wasin point of worldly prospects to Lord Malvern's. His two parishes weresituated about nine or ten miles from Oakwood, and seven or eight fromMr. Howard's rectory, and ere Mr. Myrvin returned to Llangwillan, he hadthe satisfaction of seeing his son settled comfortably in his curacy, performing his duties to the approval of his rector, and gaining by hismanner the affection of his parishioners. 

Herbert alone knew to its full extent the conquest his friend hadachieved over himself. His inclination led him to ambitious paths, wherehe might in time obtain the notice of and mingle in the highest ranks;but when the innate nobleness of his mind showed him where his duty lay, when conscience loudly whispered now was the time to redeem the errorsof his college life, to prove his reverence for his father, to preservethe kindness of those friends, exalted alike by rank and virtue, withwhom he still might mingle, with a strong effort he banished allambitious wishes, and devoted himself heart and soul to his ministerialduties. 

Herbert would speak of his friend at home, of his self-conqueringstruggles, till all would sympathise in the interest he so warmlydisplayed, particularly Emmeline, with whom, sportive as she was, Herbert from his childhood had had more thoughts and feelings in commonthan he ever had with Caroline; and now, whether he spoke of MaryGreville or Arthur Myrvin, in her he ever found a willing and attentiveauditor. Whenever he had ridden over to Hawthorndell, which hefrequently did, Emmeline would always in their next walk playfully drawfrom him every particular of the "Lone Hermit, " as in true poetic styleshe termed Arthur. But there was no seriousness in her converse eitherof or to young Myrvin. There was always mischief lurking in herlaughter-loving eye; always some wild joke betrayed in the arch smilesever lingering round her mouth; but mischief as it was, apparently themere wantonness of childhood, or very early youth, something in thatglance or smile ever bade young Myrvin's heart beat quicker than before, and every pulse throb with what at first he deemed was pain. It wasrelief to him to seek the quiet, gentle Ellen, and speak to her even ashe would to a sister, of all that had occurred to him since last theymet, so secure was he of sympathy in his future prospects, his presentcares and joys. But still that strange feeling lingered within his bosomin his solitary hours, and he dwelt on it much more than on the gentleaccents of that fair girl whom in his boyhood he had termed his wife;and stranger still, if it were pain, that it should urge him on to seekit, that he could not rest till the glance of that eye, the tone of thatvoice, had once more been seen and heard, till fresh excitement had beengiven to thoughts and emotions which were unconsciously becoming themainsprings of his life. 

The undisturbed and happy calmness of Oakwood removed in a great measureCaroline's painful feelings; all thoughts of Lord Alphingham weregradually banished. The question how she could ever have been so blindas to imagine that he had gained her affections, that she loved him, returned more frequently than she could answer. 

But another vision stood forth to confront the darkened one of theViscount, and the contrast heightened the lustre of the former. Why hadshe been so mad, so infatuated, as to reject with scorn and pride thehand and heart of one so noble, so fond, so superior as Eugene St. Eval?Now that the film had been removed from her eyes, that all the pastappeared in its true colours, that self-will and love of independencehad departed from her, the startling truth burst upon her mind, thatshe had loved, truly loved, the very man who of all others would havebeen the choice of both her parents--loved, and as his wife, might havebeen one of the happiest, the most envied of her sex, had not thatindomitable spirit of coquetry urged her on, and lowered her to become avery tool in the hands of the artful and designing Annie Grahame. 

Caroline loved; had she doubted the existence of that passion, everyletter from Mary Greville would have confirmed it; for we will not sayit was jealousy she felt, it was more self-condemnation and regret, heightened at times almost into wretchedness. That St. Eval should sosoon forget her, that he should love again ere six months had passed, could not fail to be a subject of bitter mortification to one in whosebosom pride still rested. She would not have thus tormented herself withturning and twisting Mary's information into such ideas, had she notfelt assured that he had penetrated her weakness, and despised her. Fickleness was no part of St. Eval's character, of that she wasconvinced; but it was natural he should cease to love, when he hadceased to esteem, and in the society and charms of Louisa Manversendeavour to forget his disappointment. 

Through Emmeline's introductory letter, Lord St. Eval had becomesufficiently intimate with Mrs. Greville and Mary as to succeed in hispersuasions for them to leave their present residence, and occupy avacant villa on Lago Guardia, within a brief walk of Lord Delmont's, feeling sure that an intimacy between Mrs. Manvers's family and that ofMrs. Greville would be mutually pleasurable and beneficial; his friendlywishes succeeded. Mrs. Greville found an able and sympathisingcompanion in the goodhearted, homely mother of the elegant andaccomplished Lord Delmont, and Mary's sadness was at once soothed andcheered by the more animated Louisa, whose lot in life had never knownthose murky clouds of sorrow and anxiety which had so often dimmed theyouth of Mary. The brother of Louisa had been all in all to her. Shefelt as if life could not have another charm, as if not another joy waswanting to render her lot perfect, until that other charm appeared, andher ardent fancy quickly knew to its full extent the delights of femalecompanionship and sympathy. Their very dissimilitude of dispositionrendered dearer the ties of youthful friendship, and Emmeline sometimesfelt a pang of jealousy, as she read in the letters of her friend theconstant praises of Louisa Manvers, not that any diminution of earlyaffection breathed in them. Mary ever wrote so as to satisfy the mostexacting disposition; but it required all Mrs. Hamilton's eloquence topersuade Emmeline she should rather rejoice than grieve that Mary hadfound some one to supply her place. But vainly Emmeline tried inplayfulness to infect her brother Herbert with a portion of herjealousy, for she knew not the contents of those letters Mary ever wroteto Herbert, or she would not for one moment have imagined that eitherLord Delmont or St. Eval would usurp her brother's place. 

"Few things would give me greater pleasure, " one of Mary's letters said, "than to see the union of Lord St. Eval and my fair friend. It appearsto me strange that each, with affections disengaged, can remain blind tothe fascination of the other. They are well suited in every respect, and I should fancy their union would certainly be a fair promise ofhappiness. I live in hope, though as yet, I must confess, hope has butvery little to feed on. "

St. Eval still lingered at Monte Rosa, and it was well for theinhabitants he did, for an event occurred which plunged that happyvalley from joy and gaiety into wailing and affliction, and even for abrief interval infected the inhabitants of Oakwood with its gloom. Deathcame, and tore away as his victim the widow's son, the orphan's brother. The title of Delmont became extinct, for the last scion of that ancientrace had gone to his last home. He had gone with St. Eval and some otheryoung men on a fishing expedition, at some distance; a sudden squall hadarisen, and dispersing with much damage the little flotilla, compelledthe crews of each to seek their own safety. The sails of St. Eval's boatwere not furled quickly enough to escape the danger; it upset, andthough, after much buffeting and struggling with the angry waters, St. Eval succeeded in bearing his insensible friend to land, hisconstitution had received too great a shock, and he lingered but a fewbrief weeks ere he was released from suffering. He had been thrown withviolence against a rock, producing a concussion of the brain, which, combined with the length of time he was under water, produced fever, andfinally death. 

On the agony of the bereaved mother and sister it would be useless tolinger. St. Eval forgot his individual sorrows, and devoted himself, heart and soul, in relieving those helpless sufferers, in which painfultask he was ably seconded by Mary and her mother, whose letters to theirfriends at Oakwood, in that season of affliction, spoke of him in amanner that, unconsciously to themselves, confirmed every miserablesuspicion in Caroline's mind, and even excited some such feeling in herparents, whose disappointment was thus vividly recalled. That he shouldever seek their child again they deemed impossible, as did Carolineherself; but still it was in vain they endeavoured to look with anydegree of pleasure to his union with another. 

Mr. Hamilton's family mourned Lord Delmont's early fate with sincereregret, though they had known but little of him; but about this time thethoughts of Mrs. Hamilton were turned in another direction, by acircumstance which caused unaffected sorrow in her daughter and niece;nor were she and her husband exempt. Lucy Harcourt had been so manyyears a member of the family, she had been so associated from theirinfancy in the affections of her pupils, that to part from her was thebitterest pang of sorrow that Emmeline had yet known, and it was longbefore Mrs. Hamilton herself could be reconciled to the idea ofseparation; she had ever regarded and treated Miss Harcourt as a sister, and intended that even when her family were settled, she should neverwant another home. It was not only her own virtues that had endeared herto Mrs. Hamilton; the services she had rendered her children, her activeand judicious share in the arduous task of education, demanded andreceived from both Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton the meed of gratitude andesteem, and never once, in the seventeen years of Miss Harcourt'sresidence amongst them, had they regretted the impulse which had offeredher a sheltering home and sympathising friends. 

Emmeline and Ellen were still her pupils, and Mrs. Hamilton intendedthem to remain so for two or three years longer, even after they wereintroduced, and it was on that account Miss Harcourt hesitated incomplying with the earnest entreaty of him whose happy home in her earlyyouth she had so nobly quitted, preferring to live by her own exertionsthan to share the home of the man she loved, when he was married toanother. 

It had been very, very long ere disappointed affection had permitted herto be cheerful. Her cousin, while rejoicing in the happy home she hadfound, while congratulating her with fraternal interest on the kindfriends her mother's virtues had procured her, imagined not the agonyshe was striving to conquer, the devoted love for him which disturbedthe peace around her, which otherwise she might have enjoyed to its fullextent; but she did conquer at length. That complete separation from himdid much towards restoring peace although perhaps love might still havelingered; for what absence, what distance can change a woman's heart?Yet it interfered no longer with happiness, and she answered Seymour'sconstant and affectionate letters in his own style, as a sister wouldhave done. 

Sixteen years had passed, and not once had the cousins met. Womanhood inits maturity was now Lucy's; every girlish feeling had fled, and sheperhaps thought young affections had gone also, but her cheek flushedand every pulse throbbed, when she opened a long, long expected letter, and found her cousin was a widower in declining health, which precludedhim from attending to his two motherless girls, imploring her, as herduties in Mrs. Hamilton's family were nearly over, to leave England andbe the guardian spirit of his home, to comfort his affliction, to soothehis bodily suffering, and learn to know and love his children, ere theywere fatherless as well as motherless, and deprived of every friend savethe aunt Lucy they had been taught to love, although to them unknown. The spirit of deep melancholy breathing through this epistle calledforth for a few minutes a burst of tears from her who for so many yearshad checked all selfish grief. 

"If I can comfort him, teach his children to love me, and be theirmother now they are orphans, oh, I shall not have lived in vain. " Suchwere the words that escaped her lips as she ceased to weep, and sat afew minutes in thought, then sought Mrs. Hamilton and imparted all toher. Mrs. Hamilton hesitated not a moment in her decision. Her ownregret at parting with her friend interfered not an instant with themeasure she believed would so greatly tend to the happiness of MissHarcourt. Mr. Hamilton seconded her; but the sorrow at separation, whichwas very visible in the midst of their exertions for her welfare, bothgratified and affected Lucy. Never had she imagined how dear she was toher pupils till the time of separation came; and when she quittedEngland, it was with a heart swelling with interest and affection forthose she had left, and the fervent prayer that they might meet again. 

Mr. Seymour had said, were it not for his declining health, whichforbade the exertion of travelling, he would have come for her himself;but if she would only consent to his proposal, if she could resign suchkind friends to devote herself to an irritable and ailing man, he wouldsend one under whose escort she might safely travel. Miss Harcourtdeclined that offer, for Mr. Hamilton and Percy had both declared theirintention of accompanying her as far as Paris, and thence to Geneva, where Mr. Seymour resided. 

It was long ere Mr. Hamilton's family became reconciled to this change;Oakwood appeared so strange without the kind, the gentle Miss Harcourt, whose steady yet mild firmness had so ably assisted Mrs. Hamilton in therearing of her now blooming and virtuous family. It required someexertion, not only in Emmeline but in Ellen, to pursue their studieswith any perseverance, now that the dear friend who had directed andencouraged them had departed. Ellen's grateful affection had the lastfew years been returned with equal warmth; that prejudice which had atfirst characterised Miss Harcourt's feelings towards her had entirelyvanished during her sufferings, and a few days before her departure, Lucy with much feeling had admitted the uncalled for harshness withwhich she too had treated her in her months of misery, and playfully yetearnestly asked her forgiveness. They were alone, and Ellen's onlyanswer had been to throw herself on her friend's neck and weep. 

Before Christmas came, however, these painful feelings had beenconquered. Pleasing letters from Miss Harcourt arrived by almost everypost for one or other of the inmates of Oakwood, and their contentsbreathing her own happiness, and the warmest, most affectionate interestin the dear ones she had left, satisfied even Emmeline, from whom afortnight's visit from the Earl and Countess of Elmore had banished allremaining trace of sadness. Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton had welcomed but veryfew resident visitors to Oakwood during the early years of theirchildren, but now it was with pleasure they exercised the hospitality sonaturally their own, and received in their own domains the visits oftheir most intimate friends of London; but these visits afford us nomatter of entertainment, nor enter much into the purpose of thishistory. A large party was never collected within the walls of Oakwood;the intimate friends of Mr. Hamilton were but few, for it was only thosewho thought on the essentials of life as himself with whom he mingled inthe familiar position of host. The Marquis of Malvern's family aloneremained to spend Christmas with them, and added much to the enjoymentof that domestic circle. Their feelings and pursuits were in common, forthe Marchioness of Malvern was a mother after Mrs. Hamilton's own stamp, and her children had benefited by similar principles; the sameconfidence existed between them. The Marchioness had contrived to winboth the reverence and affection of her large family, thoughcircumstances had prevented her devoting as much of her own time andcare on their education as had Mrs. Hamilton. Her eldest daughter wasmarried; her second, some few years older than Caroline, was thenstaying with her, and only one of the three who accompanied her toOakwood was as yet introduced. Lady Florence was to make her _début_ thefollowing season, with Emmeline Hamilton; and Lady Emily was still, whenat home, under the superintendence of a governess and masters. LordLouis, the Marchioness's youngest child, a fine lad of sixteen, with histutor, by Mr. Hamilton's earnest desire, also joined their happy party, and by his light-hearted humour and fun, added not a little to theamusements of the evening. But it was Lady Gertrude, the eldest of thethree sisters then at Oakwood, that Mrs. Hamilton earnestly hoped mighttake the place Annie Grahame had once occupied in Caroline's affections. Hers was a character much resembling her brother's St. Eval, to whom herfeatures also bore a striking resemblance. She might, at a firstintroduction, have been pronounced proud, but, as is often the case, reserve was mistaken for pride. Yet in her domestic circle she was everthe gayest, and the first to contribute to general amusement. Inchildhood she had stood in a degree alone, for her elder sisters werefour or five years older than herself, and Florence and Emily four andfive years younger. She had learned from the first to seek no sympathy, and her strong feeling might perhaps by being constantly smothered, atlength have perished within her, and left her the cold unlovingcharacter she appeared to the world, had it not been for the devotedaffection of her brother Eugene, in whom she soon learned to confideevery emotion as it rose, at that age when girls first become sensiblethat they are thinking and feeling beings. They quickly became sensiblethat in almost every point they were kindred souls, and the name ofEugene and Gertrude were ever heard together in their family. Theiraffection was at length a proverb among their brothers and sisters, andperhaps it was this great similarity of disposition and the regard feltfor her noble brother, that first endeared Gertrude to Mrs. Hamilton, whose wishes with regard to her and Caroline promised fulfilment. Somechord of sympathy had been struck within them, and they were very soonattached companions, although at first Lady Gertrude had hesitated, forshe could not forget the tale of scornfully-rejected love imparted toher by her brother. She had marked the conduct of Caroline from thebeginning. She too had hoped that in her she might have welcomed asister, although her observant eye had marked some defects in hercharacter which the ardent St. Eval had not perceived. Coolness duringthe past season had subsisted between them, for Caroline had taken notrouble to conquer Lady Gertrude's reserve, and the latter was too proudto make advances. In vain Lord St. Eval had wished a betterunderstanding should exist between them, while Caroline was under theinfluence of Miss Grahame, it was impossible for her to associate insympathy with Lady Gertrude Lyle; yet now that they mingled in theintimacy of home, now the true character of Caroline was apparent, thatLady Gertrude had time and opportunity to remark her devotion to herparents, more particularly to her mother, her affectionate kindness toher brothers and Emmeline and Ellen, her very many sterling virtues, which had previously been concealed, but which were discovered by thetributes of grateful affection constantly offered to her by theinhabitants of the village, by the testimony of Mr. Howard, theself-conquests of temper and inclination for the sake of others, whichthe penetrating eye of Lady Gertrude discovered, and, above all, thespirit of piety and meekness which now characterised her actions, allbade the sister of St. Eval reproach herself for condemning withoutsufficient evidence. For her conduct to her brother there was indeed noexcuse, and on that subject alone, with regard to Caroline, LadyGertrude felt bewildered, and utterly unable to comprehend her. It was asubject on which neither chose to speak, for it was a point of delicacyto both. Had Lady Gertrude been excluded from her brother's confidence, she too might have spoken as carelessly and admiringly of him as hissisters constantly did; but she could not so address the girl who hadrejected him, it would be pleading his cause, from which she revoltedwith a repugnance natural to her high-minded character. 

"If he still love her, as his letters would betray, let him come andplead his own cause; never will I say anything that can make Carolinebelieve I am in secret negotiating for him. " Such was the thought thatever checked her, when about to speak of him in the common course ofconversation, and baffled all Caroline's secret wishes that she wouldspeak in his praise as her sisters and Lord Louis so constantly did. 

But even as delicacy prevented all allusion to him from the lips of LadyGertrude, so it actuated Caroline with perhaps even greater force. Wouldshe betray herself, and confess that she repented her rejection of St. Eval? would she by word or deed betray that, would he return to her, shewould be his own, and feel blessed in his affections? She shrunk almostin horror from doing so, and roused her every energy to conceal andsubdue every emotion, till she could hear his name with composure. Yetmore than once had Lady Gertrude, as she silently watched hercountenance, fancied she perceived sufficient evidence to bid her wonderwhat could have induced Caroline's past conduct, to imagine that if St. Eval could forget that, he might be happy yet; and for his sake, conquering her scruples, once she spoke openly of him, when she andCaroline were visiting some poor cottagers alone. She spoke of hischaracter, many points of which, though she admired, she regretted, asrendering him less susceptible of happiness than many who were lessgifted. "Unless he find a wife to love him as he loves--one who willdevote herself to him alone, regardless of rank or fortune, Eugene nevercan be happy; and if he pass through life, unblest by the dearest andnearest ties, he will be miserable. " So much she did say, and added herearnest wishes for his welfare, in a tone that caused the tears tospring to the eyes of her companion, who permitted her to speak for sometime without in any way replying. 

"What a pity you are his sister, " she replied, rallying all her energiesto speak frankly and somewhat sportively; "a woman like yourself isalone worthy of Lord St. Eval. "

"You are wrong, " replied Lady Gertrude, sadly; "I am much too cold andreserved to form, as a wife, the happiness of such a character as mybrother's. We have grown together from childhood, we have associatedmore intimately and affectionately with each other than with any othermembers of our family, and therefore Eugene knows and loves me. The wifeof St. Eval should be of a disposition as ingenuous and open as his isreserved; her affection, her sympathy, must make his felicity. He isgrave--too grave; she should be playful, but not childish. Even if shehave some faults, with the love for which my brother pines, theingenuousness unsullied by the most trifling artifice, her very faultswould bind her more closely to him. "

Caroline was silent, and Lady Gertrude soon after changed the subject. Had she heard no reports of Caroline's preference of Lord Alphingham, ofthe affair which had somewhat hurried Mr. Hamilton's departure fromLondon, that conversation would have confirmed her suspicions, that herbrother was no subject of indifference to Caroline. She longed for herto be candid with her, to hear the whole truth from her own lips. Thehappiness of the young Earl was so dear to her, that she would have donemuch, very much to secure it; yet so far she could not force herself togo, particularly as he had given her no charge to do so. She little knewthat Caroline would have given worlds, had they been at her disposal, tohave confided all to her: her repentance, her folly, her earnest prayersfor amendment, to become at length worthy of St. Eval. Caroline loved, truly loved, because she esteemed, Lady Gertrude; her friendship for herdiffered as much from that she believed she had felt for Annie Grahame, as her regard for St. Eval was unlike that which Lord Alphingham hadoriginated. Once, the superiority of Lady Gertrude's character wouldhave rendered her an object of almost dislike to Caroline, as possessingvirtues she admired but would not imitate. Now those virtues wereappreciated, her own inferiority was felt more painfully; and whileassociating with her, the recollections of the past returned more thanever, embittered by remorse. Sir George Wilmot and Lilla Grahame werealso guests at Oakwood. The former declared he had seldom anchored inmoorings so congenial to his taste. In Lilla the effects of happinessand judicious treatment were already distinctly visible. The young menspent the Christmas recess at home, and added much to the hilarity oftheir domestic circle; nor must we forget Arthur Myrvin, who spent asmuch of his time at Oakwood, as his duties permitted; the friendship ofHerbert Hamilton doing much to remove the bitter feelings which oftenstill possessed him. He would at first have shunned the invitation, butvainly he strove to do so; for there was one fair object there who heldhim with an iron chain, which excited while bound him. He could notbreak it asunder, though peace he felt was flying from his grasp. 

CHAPTER X. 

"Gertrude's letters this morning have brought her some extraordinarilyagreeable tidings, " exclaimed Lady Florence Lyle, gaily, as her sisterentered the breakfast-room, rather later than usual. 

"On my honour, her countenance is rather a clearer index than usualto-day, " observed the Marquis, laughing. "Well, Gertrude, what is it?"

"News from Eugene, " exclaimed Lady Emily and Lord Louis in a breath; "heis going to be married. Either Miss Manvers or Miss Greville haveconsented to take him for better or worse, " added Lord Louis, laughing. "Gertrude, allow me to congratulate you on the gift of a new sister, who, as the wife of my right honourable brother the Earl of St. Eval, will be dearer to you than any other bearing the same relationship. "

"Reserve your congratulations, Louis, till they are needed, " repliedLady Gertrude, fixing her eyes steadily on Caroline's face, which wasrapidly changing from pale to crimson. 

"I have no such exciting news to communicate, " she added, very quietly. "Eugene is in England, and alone. "

"In England!" repeated Percy, starting up; "I am delighted to hear it. I just know enough of him to wish most ardently to know more. Will henot join us? He surely will not winter at Castle Malvern alone, like ahermit, surrounded by snows; if he do, he is a bachelor confirmed: not ahope for his restoration to the congenial warmth of life. "

"He has no such intention, " replied Lady Gertrude, smiling; "our presenthappy circle has too many attractions to permit his resting quietly insolitude, and, with Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton's kind permission, will joinus here by Christmas Eve. "

"There are few whom we shall be so pleased to welcome as my noble youngfriend St. Eval, " answered Mr. Hamilton, instantly; "few whose society Iso much prize, both for myself and my sons. "

"And the minstrel's harp shall sleep no more, but wake her boldestchords to welcome such a guest to Oakwood's aged walls, " exclaimedEmmeline, gaily. 

"Thus I give you leave to welcome him, but if he take my place with youin our evening walks, I shall wish him back again at Monte Rosa in atwinkling, " observed Lord Louis, in the same gay tone, and lookingarchly at his fair companion; "when Eugene appears my reign is alwaysover. "

"Louis, I shall put you under the command of Sir George Wilmot, " saidhis father, laughing, however, with the rest of the circle. 

"Ay, ay, do; the sea is just the berth for such youngsters as these, "remarked the old Admiral, clapping his hand kindly on the lad'sshoulder. 

While such _badinage_ was passing, serious thoughts were occupying theminds of more than one individual of that circle. It would be difficultto define the feelings of Caroline as she heard that St. Eval was inEngland, and coming to Oakwood. Had he so soon conquered his affections, that he could associate with lier on terms of friendly intimacy? Shelonged to confess to her mother her many conflicting feelings; she feltthat her earnest prayers were her own, but shame prevented alldisclosure. She could not admit she now loved that very man whom she hadonce treated with such contempt and scorn, rejected with proudindifference. Even her mother, her fond mother, would say her presentfeelings were a just punishment for the past; and that she could notbear. Inwardly she resolved that not a word should pass her lips; shewould suffer unshrinkingly, and in silence. 

Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton, and the Marquis and Marchioness of Malvern alsobecame engrossed with the same subject; the latter had seen and highlyapproved of their son's attentions to Caroline, and appeared gratifiedby the manner in which she accepted them. Disappointment and indignationfor a time succeeded the young Earl's departure for the Continent, butthe friendship so long subsisting between the families prevented allunpleasant feeling, except, perhaps, a little towards Caroline herself. They gladly welcomed the intelligence that St. Eval was in England, andwished to join them at Oakwood, for they hailed it as a sign that hisfancy had been but fleeting, and was now entirely conquered. Mr. AndMrs. Hamilton thought the same, though to them it was far more a matterof disappointment than rejoicing; but hope mingled almost unconsciouslywith regret, and they too were pleased that he was about to become theirguest. 

Lady Gertrude's eyes were more than once during that morning fixed onCaroline, as the subject of St. Eval's travels and residence abroad werediscussed, but she was silent; whatever were her secret reflections, they were confined within the recesses of her own heart. 

Lord St. Eval came, and with him fresh enjoyment for Percy and Herbert;and even for young Myrvin, who found nothing in the society of the youngnobleman to wound his pride by recalling to his mind his own inferiorrank. Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton fancied they had read his character before;but their previous intimacy had not discovered those many pleasingqualifications which domestic amusements and occupations betrayed. Muchof his reserve was now banished; his manners were as easy and as freefrom pride or hauteur as his conversation, though chaste andintellectual, was from pedantry. To all the individuals of that happycircle he was the same; as kind and as gay to Emmeline and Ellen as tohis own sisters; there might, perhaps, have been a degree of reserve inhis demeanour towards Caroline, but that, except to those principallyconcerned, might not have been remarked, for his intercourse with herwas even more general than with others. Emmeline and Ellen, or evenLilla, was often his selected companion for a walk, but such aninvitation never extended to Caroline, and yet he could never be saideither to neglect or shun her; and she shrinking from attracting hisnotice as much as she had once before courted it, an impassable yetinvisible barrier seemed to exist between them. In St. Eval's manner, his mother and Lady Gertrude read that his feelings were not conquered;that he was struggling to subdue them, and putting their subjection tothe proof; but Caroline and her parents imagined, and with bitter pain, that much as he had once esteemed and loved her, a feeling ofindifference now possessed him. 

Herbert found pleasure in the society of the young Earl, for St. Evalhad penetrated the secret of his and Mary's love; though with innatedelicacy he refrained from noticing it farther than constantly to makeMary his theme during his walks with Herbert, and speaking of hercontinually to the family, warming the heart of Emmeline yet more in hisfavour, by his sincere admiration of her friend. He gave an excellentaccount of her health, which she had desired him to assure her friendsthe air of Italy had quite restored. He spoke in warm admiration of herenthusiasm, her love of nature, of all which called forth the moreexalting feelings; of her unaffected goodness, which had rendered her afavourite, spite of her being a foreigner and a Protestant, throughoutthe whole hamlet of Monte Rosa, and as he thus spoke, the anxious eye ofMrs. Hamilton ever rested on her Herbert, who could read in that glancehow true and fond was the sympathy, which not once since he had confidedin her his happiness, had he regretted that he had sought. 

The remaining period of the Marquis of Malvern's sojourn at Oakwoodpassed rapidly away without any event of sufficient importance to find aplace in these pages. They left Oakwood at the latter end of January forSt. Eval's beautiful estate in Cornwall, where they intended to remain amonth ere they went to London, about the same time as Mr. Hamilton'sfamily. That month was a quiet one at Oakwood; all their guests haddeparted, and, except occasional visits from Arthur Myrvin and St. Eval, their solitude was uninterrupted. 

St. Eval's estate was situated a few miles inland from the banks of theTamar, one of the most beautiful spots bordering that most beautifulriver. He was wont leisurely to sail down the stream to Plymouth, andthence to Oakwood, declaring the distance was a mere trifle; butnevertheless it was sufficiently long for Mr. Hamilton sometimes tomarvel at the taste of his noble friend, which led him often twice andregularly once a week to spend a few hours, never more, at Oakwood, whenhe knew they should so soon meet in London. St. Eval did not solve themystery, but continued his visits, bringing cheerfulness and pleasurewhenever he appeared, and bidding hope glow unconsciously in eachparent's heart, though had they looked for its foundation, they wouldhave found nothing in the young Earl's manner to justify itsencouragement. 

In March Mr. Hamilton's family once more sought their residence inBerkeley Square, about a week after the Marquis of Malvern's arrival;and this season, the feelings of the sisters, relative to the gaietiesin which they were now both to mingle, were more equal. The bright hueswith which Caroline had before regarded them had faded--too soon and toopainfully, indeed. 

She had been deceived, and in that word, when applied to a young, aspiring, trusting mind, what anguish does it not comprise. True, shedeserved her chastisement, not only that she had acted the part of adeceiver to one who trusted her far more than she had done LordAlphingham, but wilfully she had blinded herself to her own feelings, that she might prove her independence; yet these facts lessened not thebitterness of feeling which was now often hers. But she did notrelinquish society; the dread of encountering Lord Alphingham was notstrong enough to overcome her secret wish that, by her conduct insociety, she might prove to St. Eval that, although unworthy to beselected as his wife, she would yet endeavour to regain his esteem. Shehad resolved to think less of herself and more of others, and thusbecome more amiable in their sight, and not feel so many mortifications, as by her constant desire for universal homage, she had previouslyendured. She knew the task was difficult so to conquer herself, anddoubting her own strength, was led to seek it where alone it could befound. To none did she confess these secret feelings and determination;calmly and steadily she looked forward, and so successfully had sheschooled herself to submission, that no word or sign as yet betrayed toher parents the real state of her affections. 

Emmeline's dislike to London had abated as much as had her sister'sglowing anticipations. They were now only to be four months in themetropolis; the strict routine of masters, etc. , was at an end, and shewas to accompany Mrs. Hamilton whenever she went out. She left Oakwoodwith regret, and the society and conversation of Arthur Myrvin weremissed more often in London than she chose to confess, but enjoyment wasever found for Emmeline--life was still a romance to her. In the societyof London, as in the cottages of Oakwood, she was beloved, and she washappy; but those of the opposite sex, much as they thronged around her, had no more thought of demanding such a being in marriage, than she hadof what is termed making conquests. It was therefore with feelings ofmuch less anxiety Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton mingled in society this season, for the conduct of both their daughters was such as to afford themsatisfaction. 

Some changes had taken place in many of the personages with whom we areacquainted, since the last time we beheld them. Short and evanescent isfashionable popularity. Lord Alphingham's reign might be, in a degree, considered over. Some rumours had been floating over the town at thattime of the year when, in all probability, he thought himself mostsecure, that is, when London society is dispersed; rumours which had theeffect of excluding him from most of those circles in which Mr. Hamilton's family mingled, and withdrawing from him in a great measurethe friendship of Montrose Grahame, who, the soul of honour himself, shrunk from any connection with one whose reputation the faintest breathhad stained. Yet still there were many who regarded these rumours as themere whisperings of envy, and with them he was as much a favourite asever. Amongst these was Annie Grahame, whose marked preference more thanatoned to the Viscount for her father's coldness. In vain Grahamecommanded that his daughter should change her manner towards him. She, who had prevailed on a daughter to disobey this very mandate from thelips of an indulgent parent, was not likely to regard that of the fatherwhose sternness and often uncalled-for severity had completely alienatedher affections, and Lord Alphingham had now another urgent reason toflatter Annie's vanity and make her his own. 

A distant relation and godmother of Lady Helen Grahame had, mostunexpectedly, left her at her death sole heiress to a handsome fortune, which was to descend undivided to her elder daughter, and thus toAnnie's other attractions was now added that all-omnipotent charm, theknowledge that she was an heiress, not perhaps to any very largeproperty, but quite sufficient to most agreeably enlarge the fortune ofany gentleman who would venture to take her for better or worse. Onewould have supposed that now every wish of this aspiring young lady wasgratified; but no. It mattered not, though crowds were at her feet, thatwhen they met, which was very seldom, even Caroline was no longer herrival, all the affection she possessed was lavished without scruple onLord Alphingham, and every thought was turned, every effort directedtowards the accomplishment of that one design. So deeply engrossed wasshe in this resolution, that she had no time nor thought to annoyCaroline, as she had intended, except in exercising to its full extenther power over Lord Alphingham whenever she was present, in which theViscount's own irritated feelings towards her ably assisted. Carolinefelt the truth of her mother's words, that Lord Alphingham, indeed, hadnever honourably loved her; that Annie's conduct justified Mrs. Hamilton's prejudice, and as her heart shrunk in sadness from theretrospection of these, truths, it swelled in yet warmer affection, notonly towards her fond and watchful mother, but towards the friends thatmother's judicious choice selected and approved. 

Cecil Grahame had been continually in the habit of drawing upon hismother's cash for the indulgence of his extravagant pleasures, and LadyHelen had thoughtlessly satisfied all his wishes, without being in theleast aware of the evil propensities she was thus encouraging. It wasnot till Cecil was about to leave Eton for the University, that she wasat all startled at the amount of his debts, and then her principal alarmarose more from the dread of her husband's anger towards her son, if hediscovered the fact, than from any maternal anxiety for Cecil's unsteadyprinciples. Her only wish was to pay off these numerous debts, withoutdisclosing them to the husband she so weakly dreaded. How could sheobtain so large a sum, even from her own banker, and thus apply it, without his knowledge and assistance? The very anticipation of so muchtrouble terrified her almost into a fit of illness; and rather thanexert her energies or expose her son to his father's wrath, she woulddescend to deceit, and implore his assistance in obtaining the wholeamount, on pretence that she required it for the payment of her ownexpenses and debts of honour. She imagined that she had sunk too low inher husband's esteem to sink much lower; and therefore, if her requiringmoney to discharge debts of honour exposed her yet more to his contempt, it was not of much consequence; besides if it were, she could not helpit, a phrase with which Lady Helen ever contrived to silence the rebukesof conscience when they troubled her, which, however, was not often. 

She acted accordingly; but as she met the glance of her husband, aglance in which sadness triumphed over severity, she was tempted tothrow herself at his feet, and beseech him not to imagine her thedissipated woman her words betrayed, for Lady Helen loved her husband asmuch as such a nature could love; but, of all things, she hated a scene, and though every limb trembled with emotion, she permitted him to leaveher, stung almost to madness by the disclosure her request implied. Didshe play? was that fatal propensity added to her numerous other errors?and yet never had anything fallen under his eye to prove that she did. And what debts had she contracted to demand such a sum? Grahame felt shehad deceived him; that the money had never been expended on herself; buthe would not torture himself by demanding a true and full disclosure. The conduct of his children had ever grieved him, and fearing too justlythe request of his wife related to them, madly and despairingly heclosed his eyes and his lips, thus probably encouraging an evil which hemight have prevented. He delivered the stated sum, and that same daymade over to his wife's own unchecked disposal the whole of that fortunewhich, when first inherited, she had voluntarily placed in his hands astrustee for herself and for her daughter, to whom it would descend. Briefly he resigned the office she had entreated him to take, sternlyobserving, that Annie had better moderate her expectations, as, did LadyHelen frequently incur such heavy debts, not much was likely to descendto her daughter. It was a great deal too much trouble for Lady Helen toexpostulate, and if any feeling predominated to conquer the pangoccasioned by Grahame's determination, it was relief, that she might nowassist Cecil, if he should require it, without applying to his father. 

Montrose Grahame was naturally not only an excellent but a judiciousman; but to a great extent, his judgment had deserted him when heselected Lady Helen as his wife. Had he been united to a woman in whosejudgment and firmness he could confide, he would have been quite as muchrespected and beloved in his family as were Mr. Hamilton and the Marquisof Malvern in theirs; but now neither respect nor affection wasextended towards him, except, perhaps, by Lilla, and unconsciously byLady Helen. Severity constantly indulged, was degenerating intomoroseness; and feelings continually controlled, giving place tocoldness and distrust. It was fortunate for Lilla's happiness and, as itafterwards proved, for her father's, that she was now under the kindlycare of Mrs. Douglas, for constantly irritated with his elder girl, who, it must be owned, gave him abundant cause, that irritation and suspicionwould undoubtedly have extended towards his younger, and at once havedestroyed the gentleness and amiability which Mrs. Douglas was socarefully and tenderly fostering. Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton saw this change, and regretted it; but their influence, powerful as it was, could be ofno avail in counteracting the effect of domestic annoyances, paternalanxiety, and constantly aroused irritation. Of all the evils in life, domestic discord is one of the greatest, one under which the heartbleeds the most; want of sympathy always prevents or banishes affection. Had Grahame been a careless, selfish man, he might possibly have beenhappier; his very sensitiveness was his bane. The silly weaknesses ofhis wife might partially have lessened his love for her, but hischildren, with all their faults, were dear to their father; they knewnot, guessed not, how much his happiness was centred in theirs; how hisheart was rent with anguish every time that duty, as he imagined, calledon him to be severe. Had he followed the dictates of his nature, hewould rather have ruined his children by over-indulgence than severity;but the hope of counteracting the effect of their mother's weakness hadguided his mistaken treatment. Could his inmost soul have been read bythose who condemned his harshness, they would have sincerely pitied thekeen and agonized sensitiveness with which he felt the alienation oftheir affections. Much as he saw to blame in Annie, had she ever givenhim one proof of filial love, all would have been forgiven, and theblessing of a parent been her own in all she did or wished. Had Cecilconfessed those errors of which he was conscious that he was guilty tohis father, he would have found a true and tender friend, who would haveled his naturally good, though too yielding, character aright, andmisery to both might have been spared, but such was not to be; and inthe fates of Alfred Greville and Cecil Grahame we may chance to perceivethat, whatever may be the difficulties surrounding her, however blightedmay appear the produce of her anxious labours, yet reward will attendthe firm, religious mother, however difficult may be the actualfulfilment of her duties; while that mother who, surrounded by luxuryand prosperity, believes, by unqualified indulgence, she is firmlybinding her offspring in the observance of love and duty, will reap buttoo bitter fruit. 

It was when in the presence of the Duchess of Rothbury Caroline feltmost uncomfortable. The family were as cordial as ever, but there wassomewhat in the cold, penetrating eye of her Grace, that bade her almostunconsciously shrink from meeting its glance. In the previous season theDuchess had ever singled Caroline out as an object of her especialregard, a circumstance so unusual in one of her character, that itrendered her present haughty coldness more difficult to bear. Carolinewould have borne it in silence had it only extended towards herself, butit appeared as if both Emmeline and Ellen shared the contempt sheperhaps had justly called forth on herself, as the Duchess, tenacious ofher penetrative powers, feared to honour either of them with her favour, lest she should be again deceived. Caroline longed to undeceive her onthis point, to give her a just estimate of both her sister and cousin'scharacter, acknowledge how far superior in filial respect and affection, as well as in innate integrity and uprightness, they were to herself;but her mother entreated her to let time do its work, and wait till theDuchess herself discovered they were not what she either believed theywere or might be, and she checked her wish. 

We will here mention a circumstance which occurred in Mr. Hamilton'sfamily soon after their arrival in town, which occasioned Mrs. Hamiltonsome uneasiness. Ellen's health was now perfectly re-established, and onMiss Harcourt's unexpected departure, Mrs. Hamilton had determined onintroducing her niece with Emmeline in the present season. If Lucy hadremained in her family, Ellen would not have made her _début_ till thefollowing year, not that her age was any obstacle, for there were onlyeight months difference between her and Emmeline, but her retiringdisposition and delicacy of constitution caused Mrs. Hamilton to thinkthis plan the most advisable. When, however, there was no longer anyexcuse with regard to failing health, and no Miss Harcourt with whom herevenings at home might be more agreeably spent, Mrs. Hamilton, by theadvice of her husband, changed her intention; and Emmeline even made ajoke with Ellen on the admirable fun they should have together, rejoicing that such an important event in the lives of each should takeplace on the same day. It so happened that Ellen never appeared to enterinto her cousin's everlasting merriment on this subject; still she saidnothing for or against till the day all-important with the orderingtheir elegant dresses for the occasion. Timidly and hesitatingly shethen ventured to entreat her aunt still to adhere to her first plan, andallow her to remain quietly at home, under the care of Ellis, till thefollowing year. Mrs. Hamilton and her cousins looked at her withastonishment; but the former smilingly replied she could not indulge herniece in what appeared an unfounded fancy. The dress she should order, for she hoped Ellen would change her mind before the day arrived, as, unless a very good reason were given, she could not grant her request. Ellen appeared distressed; but the conversation changed, and the subjectwas not resumed till the day actually arrived, in the evening of whichshe was to accompany her aunt to a ball at the Marchioness of Malvern's, and two days after they were all engaged at a dinner-party at the Earlof Elmore's. 

Summoning all her courage, Ellen entered her aunt's boudoir in themorning, and again made her request with an earnestness that almoststartled Mrs. Hamilton, particularly as it was accompanied by adepression of manner, which she now did not very often permit to obtainascendency. With affectionate persuasiveness she demanded the reason ofthis extraordinary resolution, and surprise gave way to somedispleasure, when she found Ellen had really none to give. Her onlyentreaty was that she might not be desired to go out till the next year. 

"But why, my dear Ellen? You must have some reason for this intendedseclusion. Last year I fancied you wished much to accompany us, and Iever regretted your delicate health prevented it. What has made youchange your mind so completely? Have you any distaste for the society inwhich I mingle?"

Falteringly, and almost inaudibly, Ellen answered, "None. "

"Is it a religious motive? Do your principles revolt from the amusementswhich are now before you? Tell me candidly, Ellen. You know nothingdispleases me so much as mystery? I can forgive everything else, forthen I know our relative positions, and am satisfied you are not goingfar wrong; but when every reason is studiously concealed, I cannot guessthe truth, and I must fancy it is, at least, a mistaken notion blindingyour better judgment. I did not expect a second mystery from you, Ellen. "

Mrs. Hamilton's expressive voice clearly denoted she was displeased, andher niece, after two or three ineffectual efforts to prevent it, finallyburst into tears. 

"I do not wish to be harsh with you, or accuse you unjustly, " continuedher aunt, softened at the unaffected grief she beheld, "but if yourreason be a good one, why do you so carefully conceal it? You have beenlately so very open with me, and appeared to regard me so truly as yourfriend, that your present conduct is to me not only a riddle, but apainful reflection. Is it because your conscience forbids? Perhaps inyour solitary moments you have fancied that worldly amusements, even inthe moderate way in which we regard them, unfits us for more seriousconsiderations, and you fear perhaps to confess that such is yourreason, because it will seem a reproach to me. If such really be yourmotive, do not fear to confess it, my dear girl; I should be the verylast to urge you to do anything that is against your idea of what isright. To prove the fallacy of such reasoning, to show you that you maybe truly religions without eccentricity, I certainly should endeavour todo, but I would not force you to go out with me till my arguments hadconvinced you. I fancy, by your blushing cheek, that I have reallyguessed the cause of your extraordinary resolution, and sorry as I shallbe if I have, yet any reason, however mistaken, is better than acontinued mystery. "

"Indeed, indeed, I am not so good as you believe me, " replied Ellen, with much emotion. "It is not the religious motive you imagine thaturges me to act contrary to your wishes. Did you know my reason, I amsure you would not blame me; but do not, pray do not command me to tellyou. I must obey, if you do, and then"--

"And then, if I approve of your reason, as you say I shall, what is itthat you fear? Why, if your conscience does not reproach you, do youstill hide it from me?"

Ellen was painfully silent. Mrs. Hamilton continued, in a tone of markeddispleasure, "I fear I am to find myself again deceived in you, Ellen, though in what manner as yet I know not. I will not do such extremeviolence to your inclinations as to command you to yield to my wishes. If you desire so much to remain at home, do so; but I cannot engage tomake any excuse for you. Neither failing health nor being too young, canI now bring forward; I must answer all inquiries for you with the truth, that your own wishes, which I could not by persuasion overcome, alonekeep you at, home. My conscience will still be clear from thereproaches so plentifully showered on me by the world last season, thatI feared to bring forward my orphan niece with my daughters, lest hercharms should rival theirs. "

"Did the ill-natured and ignorant dare to say such a thing of you?"demanded Ellen, startled at this remark. 

"They knew not the cause of your never appearing in public, andtherefore, as appearances were against me, scrupled not to condemn. "

"And do you heed them? Do these remarks affect you?" exclaimed Ellen, earnestly. 

"No, Ellen. I have done my duty; I will still do it, undisturbed by suchidle calumnies, even should they now be believed by those whose opinionsI value, who, from your seclusion, may imagine they have good reason. Inmy conduct towards you the last two years I have nothing to reproachmyself. "

"The last two years. Oh, never, never, from the first moment I was underyour care, never can your conduct to me have given you cause forself-reproach, dearest aunt. Oh, do not say that the gratification of mywishes will give rise to a suspicion so unjust, so unfounded, " entreatedEllen, seizing with impetuosity the hand of her aunt. 

"In all probability it will; but do not speak in this strain now, Ellen, it accords not well with the mystery of your words, " and Mrs. Hamiltoncoldly withdrew her hand. There was a moment's silence, for Ellen hadturned away, pained to her heart's core, and soon after she quitted theroom to seek her own, where, throwing herself on a low seat by the sideof her couch, she gave way to an unrestrained and violent flow of tears. Mrs. Hamilton little knew the internal struggle her niece was enduring, the cause of her seclusion; that the term of her self-condemnedprobation was not fulfilled, that the long, tedious task was notaccomplished; that it was for this purpose she so earnestly desired thather time might not be occupied by amusement, till her task was done, theerrors of her earlier years atoned. Mrs. Hamilton had seldom felt morethoroughly displeased and hurt with her niece than at the presentmoment. Gentle, and invulnerable as she ever seemed to irritation, openas the day herself, she had ever endeavoured to frame her children'scharacters in the like manner; ingenuousness always obtainedforgiveness, whatever might have been the mistake or fault. Ellen hadalways been a subject of anxiety and watchfulness; but the last twoyears her reserve had so entirely given place to candour, thatsolicitude had much decreased, till recalled by the resolution we haverecorded. Had Ellen alleged any reason whatever, all would have beenwell; Mrs. Hamilton would not have thought on the subject so seriously. A mystery in her conduct had once before been so productive of anguish, that Mrs. Hamilton could not think with her usual calmness and temper onthe circumstance. 

It was so long before Ellen regained her composure that traces of tearswere visible even when she joined the family at dinner, and wereremarked by her uncle, who jestingly demanded what could occasion signsof grief at such an important era in her life. Vainly Ellen hoped heraunt would spare her the pain of answering by even expressing herdispleasure at her resolution, but she waited in vain, and she wascompelled to own that the era of her life, to which her uncle soplayfully referred, was postponed by her own earnest desire till thenext season. 

Mr. Hamilton put down his knife and fork in unfeigned astonishment. "Why, what is the meaning of this sudden change?" he exclaimed. "Youwere not wont to be capricious, Ellen. Will your aunt explain thismarvellous mystery?"

"I am sorry I cannot, " Mrs. Hamilton replied, in a tone that plainlybetrayed to the quick ears of her husband that she was more than usuallydisturbed. "I am not in Ellen's confidence; her resolution is asextraordinary to me as to you, for she has given me no reason. " Mr. Hamilton said no more, but he looked vexed, and Ellen did not feel morecomfortable. He detained her as she was about to leave the room, andbriefly demanded in what manner she intended to employ the many hours, which now that Miss Harcourt was away she would have to herself. Acrimson flush mounted to Ellen's temples as she spoke, a flush that, combined with the hesitating tone in which she answered, "to read andwork, " might well justify the sternness of tone and manner with whichher uncle replied. 

"Ellen, had you never deceived us, I might trust you, spite of thatflushed cheek and hesitating tone; as it is, your conduct the last twoyears urges me to do so, notwithstanding appearances, and all I say is, beware how you deceive me a second time. "

Ellen's cheek lost its colour, and became for the space of a minute paleas death, so much so, that Mrs. Hamilton regretted her husband shouldhave spoken so severely. Rallying her energies, Ellen replied, in asteady but very low voice--

"My conduct, uncle, during my aunt's and your absence from home, hasbeen and shall ever be open to the inspection of all your household. Iam too well aware that I am undeserving of your confidence, but I appealto Ellis, on whose fidelity I know you rely, to prove to you in thiscase you suspect me unjustly. " The last word was audible, but that wasall, and, deeply pained, Ellen retired to her own room, which she didnot quit, even to see her favourite cousin decked for the ball. Emmelinesought her, however, and tried by kisses to recall the truant rose, thebanished smile, but Mrs. Hamilton did not come to wish her good night, and Ellen's heart was heavy. 

Some few days passed, and Mrs. Hamilton accepted three severalinvitations without again expressing her wishes, but though the subjectwas not resumed, equal perplexity existed in the minds of both aunt andniece. Ellen did not accuse Mrs. Hamilton of unkindness, but she couldnot fail to perceive that she no longer retained her confidence, andthat knowledge painfully distressed the orphan's easily excitedfeelings. Another circumstance gave additional pain; her strange andapparently capricious behaviour had been casually mentioned to Herbert, and he, aware that his advice was always acceptable to Ellen, venturedto remonstrate with her, and playfully to reason her out of what hetermed her extraordinary fancy for seclusion. Some indefinable sensationever prevented Ellen from speaking or writing to Herbert as she wouldhave done to any other member of the family, but she answered him, acknowledging she deserved his hinted reproach, but owning that shecould not change her conduct, even in compliance with his request;nevertheless, it grieved her much to know that he, whose approbationshe unconsciously but ardently wished to gain, should believe her thecapricious, unaccountable being it was evident he did: still shepersevered. These, and whatever more she might have to endure, were butpetty trials, to which her secretly chastened mind might bend but shouldnot weakly bow. She knew, if her aunt were conscious of her attention, much as perhaps she might approve of the motive, she would deem it aneedless sacrifice, and probably prohibit its continuance; or, if shepermitted and encouraged it, the merit of her action would no longerexist, nor could she indeed, while in the enjoyment of praise, havefinished a task, commenced and carried on purely for the sake of duty, and as an atonement for the past, by the sacrifice of inclination, makepeace with the gracious God she had offended. Petty trials were welcomethen, for if she met them with a Christian temper, a Christian spirit, she might hope that, whatever she might endure, she was progressing inHis paths, "whose ways are pleasantness, and whose paths are peace;"could she but remove the lingering displeasure and distrust of her auntand uncle, she would be quite happy. 

It so happened that Emmeline's next engagement was to the Opera, whichwas always Ellen's greatest conquest of inclination. She had amusedherself by superintending her cousin's dressing, and a sigh so audiblyescaped, that Emmeline instantly exclaimed--

"Ellen, you know you would like to go with us. In the name of all thatis incomprehensible, why do you stay at home?"

"Because, much as I own I should like to go with you, I like better tostay at home. "

"You really are the spirit of contradiction, Ellen. What did you sighfor?"

"Not for the Opera, Emmeline. "

"Then why?"

"Because I cannot bear to feel my aunt has lost all her confidence inme. "

"You are marvellously silly, Ellen; mamma is just the same to you asusual, I have observed no difference. "

"Dear Emmeline, coldness is not _seen_, it is _felt_, and as you havebeen so happy as never to have felt it, you cannot understand what Imean. "

"Nor do I ever wish to feel it. But do not look so sorrowful, dearEllen; mamma's coldness is an awful thing to encounter, I own. "

"If you have never felt it, how can you judge?" said a playful voicebeside them, for Emmeline had been too deeply engrossed in arranging anddisarranging a wreath of roses in her hair, and Ellen too much engagedin her own thoughts, to notice the entrance of Mrs. Hamilton. 

"Is it possible you are not yet ready, Emmeline? what have you beenabout?"

"Teasing Ellen, mamma; besides Fanny was engaged, and I could not pleasemyself. "

"Or rather you were disinclined for exertion. I have been watching youthe last few moments, and you have played with that pretty wreath tillit is nearly spoiled. "

"I plead guilty, dear mamma, but let Fanny come, and I will be ready ina second, " answered Emmeline, looking archly and caressingly in hermother's face. Mrs. Hamilton smiled, and turned as if to speak to herniece, but Ellen was gone. She was sitting in her own room a few minutesafterwards, endeavouring to collect her thoughts sufficiently tounderstand the book of the new opera which her cousin had lent her, whenshe was interrupted by a hand gently placed upon the leaves. 

"So coldness is felt, not seen, is it, my dear Ellen? well, then, letthat kiss banish it for ever, " exclaimed Mrs. Hamilton, encircling thedelicate form of her niece with her arm. "I have been more distant andunkind perhaps than was necessary, but your mysterious resolutionirritated me beyond forbearance, and I have been very unjust and verycruel, have I not? will you forgive me?"

Ellen looked up in her face, and, unable to control her feelings, threwher arms around her and burst into tears. 

"Nay, dearest, do not let me leave you in tears. I am satisfied you havesome good reason for your conduct, though my usual penetration isentirely at fault. Will you quite content me by looking steadily in myface, and assuring me that your conscience never reproaches yourconduct. I shall not have one lingering doubt then. "

Ellen smiled through her tears, as she tried to obey, but her lip soquivered as she answered, that Mrs. Hamilton laughingly added, "Thatwould never do in a court of justice, my silly little girl, no one wouldpronounce you innocent if thus tearfully affirmed; but as you generallycompel me to regret severity, when I do venture to use it, I must becontent to let you follow your own inclinations this year at least. Nextseason, I give you no such licences, _nolens volens_, as Percy wouldsay, I must take you out with me, you shall not hide yourself insolitude; but I do not fancy your resolution will hold good, even theremainder of this season, " she added, smilingly. 

"Do not, pray do not try to turn me from it, my dear, kind aunt, " saidEllen, earnestly; "I do not deserve this indulgence from you, for I knowhow much you dislike concealment, but indeed, indeed, you shall neverregret your kindness. I do not, I will not abuse it, it is only because, because--" She hesitated. 

"Do not excite my curiosity too painfully, Ellen, in return for myindulgence, " said Mrs. Hamilton, sportively. 

"No, dear aunt, I only wish to finish a task I have set myself, and myvarious avocations during the day prevent my having any time, unless Itake it from such amusements, " said Ellen, blushing as she spoke;"indeed, that is my real and only reason. "

Mrs. Hamilton fixed an anxious glance upon her, but though she reallyfelt satisfied at this avowal, the actual truth never entered her mind. 

"You have quite satisfied me, my dear girl! I will not ask more, and youmay stay at home as often as you please. Your uncle and I have both beenvery unjust and very severe upon our little Ellen, but you have quitedisarmed us; so you shall neither feel nor fancy my coldness any more. There is Emmeline calling as loudly for me as if I were after my time. Good night, love. God bless you! do not sit up too late, and be as happyas you can. "

"I am quite happy now, " exclaimed Ellen, returning, with delightedeagerness, Mrs. Hamilton's fond embrace, and she was happy. For a momentshe felt lonely, as the door closed on her aunt's retreating form, butas she roused herself to seek her work, that feeling fled. When thenature of her work was sufficiently simple to require but littlethought, Ellen was accustomed to improve herself by committing to memorymany parts of the Bible suited for prayer, confession, or praise, sothat her thoughts might riot wander during those solitary hours in thepaths of folly or of sin, but once centred on serious things, her mindmight thence become strengthened and her judgment ripened. 

These lonely hours did much towards the formation of the orphan'scharacter. Accustomed thus to commune with her Creator, to gatherstrength in the solitude of her chamber, she was enabled, when her trialcame, to meet it with a spirit most acceptable to Him who had ordainedit. 

CHAPTER XI. 

Lord Malvern's family and Mr. Hamilton's were still in town, though theyounger members of each were longing for the fresh air of the country. 

One afternoon, hot and dusty from rapid riding, the young Earl St. Evalhastily, and somewhat discomposedly, entered his sister Lady Gertrude'sprivate room. 

"Thank heaven, you are alone!" was his exclamation, as he entered; butthrowing himself moodily on a couch, he did not seem inclined to saymore. 

"What is the matter, dear Eugene? Something has disturbed you, " saidLady Gertrude, soothingly, and in a tone tending rather to allay hisirritation than express her own desire to know what had happened. 

"Something--yes, Gertrude, enough to bid me forswear England again, andbury myself in a desert, where a sigh from your sex could never reach memore. "

"Not even mine, Eugene?" exclaimed his sister, laying down her work, andseating herself on a stool at his feet, while she looked up in hisexcited features with an expression of fondness on her placidcountenance. "Would you indeed forbid my company, if I implored to shareyour solitude?"

"My sister, my own kind sister, would I, could I deprive myself of theblessing, the comfort your presence ever brings?" replied St. Eval, earnestly. "No, dearest Gertrude, I could not refuse you, whatever youmight ask. "

"Then tell me now what it is that has disturbed you thus. With what newfancy are you tormenting yourself?"

"Nay, this is no fancy, Gertrude. You are, you have been wrong from thefirst, and I am too painfully right Caroline does not and never willlove me. "

Lady Gertrude started. 

"Have you been again rejected?" she demanded, a dark flush of indignantpride suffusing her cheek. 

Lord St. Eval mournfully smiled. 

"You are as summary in your conclusions as you say I am sometimes. No, Gertrude, I have not; I feel as if I could not undergo the torture Ionce experienced in saying those words which I hoped would seal myhappiness. "

"Nay, then, I must say them for you, " said Lady Gertrude, smiling. "Ihave watched Caroline narrowly, and I feel so confident she loves you, that I would, without the slightest doubt or fear, consign yourhappiness, precious as it is to me, to her disposal. "

"Forbear, Gertrude, for pity!" exclaimed Lord St. Eval, starting up andpacing the room. "You saw not what I saw last night, nor heard the cold, malicious words warning me against her; that even when she had accepted, she was false; or, if she were not false, that she still loved another. I saw it in her varying cheek, her confused manner; I heard it in herhurried accents, and this morning has confirmed all--all. Gertrude, Iever told you, my lot was not happiness; that as the fate of some men isall bright, so that of others is all gloom, and such is mine. "

"Eugene, how often must I entreat you not to speak thus. Man's happinessor misery, in a great measure, depends upon himself. You have often saidthat when with me, you reason more calmly than when you think alone;only tell me coherently what has chanced, and all may not be so gloomyas you believe. "

St. Eval suffered himself to be persuaded, and seating himself besidehis sister, he complied with her request. 

The fact was simply this. He had returned to England, at the entreaty ofhis sister, determined to discover if indeed there existed any hope ofhis at length obtaining Caroline's affections. Lady Gertrude's letter tohim purposely portrayed the many amiable qualities existing inCaroline's character, and the general tenour of her words had led him toresolve that if he could indeed make so favourable an impression on herheart as to teach her to forget the past, he too would banish pride, andsecure his happiness, and he hoped hers, by a second offer of his hand. Her conduct, guarded as it was, had unconsciously strengthened hishopes, and the last few weeks he had relaxed so much in his reserve, asto excite in the mind of Caroline the hope, almost the certainty, thathe no longer despised her, and created for himself many truly delightfulhours. It so happened that, on the evening to which he referred, Caroline had gone to a large party, under the protection of the Countessof Elmore, who at the entreaty of the lady of the house, had obtainedthe permission of Mrs. Hamilton to introduce her. The young Earl haddevoted himself to her the greater part of the evening, to thesatisfaction of both, when his pleasure was suddenly and painfullyalloyed by her visible confusion at the unexpected entrance, and stillmore unexpected salutation, of Lord Alphingham. Caroline had so seldommet the Viscount during the season, that she was not yet enabled toconquer her agitation whenever she beheld him. She ever dreaded hisaddressing her; ever felt that somewhat lurked in his insinuating voice, that would in the end lead to evil; besides which, her abhorrencetowards him whenever Percy's tale flashed across her mind, which itnever failed to do when he appeared, always prevented her retaining hercalmness undisturbed. Lord St. Eval had left England with the impressionthat Alphingham was his favoured rival, and his imagination instantlyattributed Caroline's emotion at his entrance into a preference for theViscount. His earnest manner suddenly became chilled, his eloquencechecked. Intuitively Caroline penetrated his suspicions; the wish toprove they were mistaken and unjust increased her confusion, and insteadof lessening, confirmed them. St. Eval said little more to her duringthe evening; but he watched her. He saw Lord Alphingham whisperinglyaddress her. She appeared to become more painfully confused, and St. Eval could scarcely restrain himself from hurrying from her sight forever; but he did restrain himself, only to be more tortured. 

The Viscount now believed the hour of his vengeance was at hand, when, without the slightest exertion, he might disturb not only St. Eval'speace, but that of Caroline. 

If St. Eval had but heard the few words he said to her, jealousy wouldhave been instantly banished, but for that he was not sufficiently near;he could only mark the earnest and insinuating manner which the Viscountknew so well how to assume, and notice her confusion, and the shade ofmelancholy expressed on her features, which was in fact occasioned byLord St. Eval's sudden desertion, and her annoyance at the cause. Hisquick imagination attributed all to the effect of Lord Alphingham'stender words. The Viscount was well known, to him, and near the end ofthe evening approached and remained in conversation by his side, spiteof the haughty reserve maintained by the young Earl, which said soplainly, "your presence is unwelcome, " that it would speedily havedismissed any one less determined; but Lord Alphingham spoke admiringlyand enthusiastically of Caroline. Lord St. Eval listened, as iffascinated by the very torture he endured. They were quite alone, andafter a few such observations, the Viscount lowered his voice to aconfidential tone, and said, triumphantly--

"Will you envy me, St. Eval, if I confess that I, more than any otherman, am privileged to speak in Miss Hamilton's praise, having once hadthe honour of being her accepted lover, and had not cruel parentsinterfered, might now have claimed that lovely creature as my own? butstill I do not despair, for the affections of a being so superior oncegiven to me, as they have been, I am convinced they will never beanother's. I am treating you as a friend, St. Eval, you will not betrayme?"

"You may trust me, sir, " replied the young Earl, coldly. "Yourconfidence has been given unasked, but you need not fear its betrayal. "

"Thank you, my kind friend;" and the wily villain continued hisdeceiving tale, with an eloquence we will not trouble ourselves torepeat. It is enough to know its effect on St. Eval was to turn him fromthe room, his sensitive feelings wrought almost to madness by malignantbitterness. Lord Alphingham looked after him, and then turned his glanceon Caroline, and an acute physiognomist might easily have read hisinward thoughts--"My vengeance is complete. "

Alphingham had more than once mentioned the name of the Duchess ofRothbury; but in such a manner, that though it sounded well enough inhis tale, yet when afterwards recalled by the young Earl, he could notunderstand in what position she stood towards them. Lord Alphingham knewwell her Grace's character; he wished St. Eval to seek her, for he feltassured what she would say would confirm his tale, and render thebarrier between him and Caroline more impassable. His plan succeededadmirably: St. Eval gallopped off to Airslie early the next morning. TheDuchess welcomed him with the greatest cordiality, for he was afavourite; but the moment he spoke of Caroline her manner changed. Shebecame as reserved as she had previously been warm; and when the youngEarl frankly asked her if the refusal of her parents had been the onlybar to her union with the Viscount, she referred him to Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton. That she was aware of something to Caroline's disadvantageappeared very evident, and that she was not the favourite she had beenlast year equally so. St. Eval left her more disturbed than ever, and itwas on returning from his long yet hurried ride he had sought his sisterin the mood we have described. 

Lady Gertrude listened with earnest attention. The tale startled her, but she disliked the very sight of Lord Alphingham; she believed him tobe a bad, designing man. She felt convinced Caroline did love herbrother, much as appearances were against her; and both these feelingsurged her to sift the whole matter carefully, and not permit thehappiness of two individuals to be sacrificed to what might be but theidle invention or exaggerations of a bad man. Her ready mind instantlyformed its plan, which calmly but earnestly she imparted to her brother, and implored his consent to act upon it. Startled and disturbed, St. Eval at first peremptorily refused; but his sisters's eloquence atlength succeeded. 

Early in the morning of the succeeding day Caroline Hamilton receivedthe following brief note:

"Will you, my dear Caroline, receive me half an hour this afternoon? Ihave something important to say; I have vanity enough to believe as itconcerns me it will interest you. We shall be more alone at your housethan mine, or I might ask you to come to me. 

"Yours affectionately, "GERTRUDE LYLE. "

Completely at a loss to understand the meaning of this little note, Caroline merely wrote a line to say she should be quite at LadyGertrude's service at the appointed time; and so deeply was sheengrossed in the sad tenour of her own thoughts, that all curiosity asto this important communication was dismissed. 

Three o'clock came and so did Lady Gertrude, whose first exclamation wasto notice Caroline's unusual paleness. 

"Do not heed my looks, dear Gertrude, I am perfectly well; and now thatyou are before me, overwhelmed with curiosity as to your intelligence, "said Caroline, whose heavy eyes belied her assurance that she was quitewell. 

"Dearest Caroline, " said Lady Gertrude, in a tone of feeling, "I am sointerested in your welfare, that I cannot bear to see the change soevident in you; something has disturbed you. Show me you consider meyour friend, and tell me what it is. "

"Not to you, oh, not to you; I cannot, I dare not!" burst involuntarilyfrom the lips of the poor girl, in a tone of such deep distress, thatLady Gertrude felt pained. "Gertrude, do not ask me; I own I am unhappy, very, very unhappy, but I deserve to be so. Oh, I would give worlds thatI might speak it, and to you; but I cannot--will not! But do not refuseme the confidence you offered, " she added, again endeavouring to smile, "I can sympathise in your happiness, though I refuse yours in mysadness. "

"I am not quite sure whether I have sorrow or joy to impart, " said LadyGertrude, still feelingly; for she guessed why Caroline believed shedare not confide in her, and she hailed it as proof that she was rightin her surmise, that her brother's honourable love would not be againrejected. 

"Eugene seems bent on again quitting England, and I fear if he do, hewill not return home again. On one little circumstance depends his finaldetermination; my persuasions to the contrary have entirely failed. "

The cheek of her companion blanched even paler than before, two or threelarge tears gathered in her eyes, then slowly fell, one by one, upon hertightly-clasped hands. 

"And if you have failed, who will succeed?" she asked, with a strongeffort. 

"The chosen one, whose power over the heart of St. Eval is even greaterthan mine, " said Lady Gertrude, steadily. "Ah, Caroline, when a man haslearned to love, the affection of a sister is of little weight. "

"He does love, then, " thought Caroline, and her heart swelled even tobursting, and he goes to seek her. "And will not the being Lord St. Evalhas honoured with his love second your efforts? if she be in England, can she wish him to quit it?" she said aloud, in answer to her friend. 

"If she love him, she will not, " said Lady Gertrude; "but St. Eval fearsto ask the question that decides his fate. Strange and wayward as he is, he would rather create certain misery for himself, than undergo thetorture of being _again refused_. "

For a few minutes Caroline answered not; then, with a sudden effort, rallying her energies, she exclaimed, as if in jest--

"Why, then, does he not make you his messenger; the affection you bearfor him would endow you with an eloquence, I doubt much whether his ownwould surpass. "

She would have spoken more in the same strain, but the effort failed;and turning away from Lady Gertrude's penetrating glance, which she feltwas fixed upon her, though she could not meet it, she burst into tears. 

More than ever convinced of the truth of her suspicions, Lady Gertrude'snoble mind found it impossible to continue this mode of discovery anylonger. She saw that Caroline imagined not she was the being alluded to;that not even the phrase "again refused" had startled her intoconsciousness, and she felt it was unkind to distress her more. 

"I knew it was false, " she exclaimed, as the Viscount's tale flashedacross her mind; then, checking herself, she took Caroline's cold andhalf-reluctant hand, and added, in a voice of extreme feeling, "Caroline, dearest Caroline, forgive my having penetrated your secret;fear me not, dear girl, I honour too much the feeling which dictatesyour conduct. You have learned to love St. Eval; you have repented thewilful and capricious treatment he once received from you. Deny it not, nay, do not shrink from me, and think, because I appear so calm, Icannot feel for those who are dear to me, and even sympathise in theirlove. I do not, I will not condemn the past; I did once, I own, butsince I have known you, I have forgiven the mistaken wilfulness of amisguided girl. You love him--confess that I am right, dearest. "

Caroline's face was concealed within her hand, and almost agonized wasits expression as she looked up. 

"Gertrude, " she said, in a low, suffocated voice, "is it well, is itkind in you thus to speak, to lead me to avow a love for one who, yourown words inform me, will soon be the husband of another?"

"I said not of another, my dear girl; forgive me this stratagem topenetrate your well-preserved secret. My brother's happiness is so dearto me, I could not trust it to one of whose affection I was not certain. I am not aware I said he would soon be the husband of another; since, ifhe be again refused, that he never will be. Simply, then, for I havebeen quite tormenting enough, Eugene has striven long with himself toconquer his love, to be happy as your friend; associating with you as hedoes with Emmeline, but he cannot. He still loves you, Caroline, asdevotedly, as faithfully--perhaps more so than when he first offered youhis hand; he dares not renew that offer himself, for he feels a secondrefusal from your lips would wound him too deeply. Your voice may chainhim to England, an altered and a happier man, or send him from itsshores a misanthrope and wretched: it is for you to decide, Caroline, dearest. Must I plead with that eloquence, which you said would surpasseven his own, or will the pleadings of your own kind heart suffice?"

She paused, in evident emotion, for with a faint cry Caroline had thrownherself on her neck, and buried her cheek upon her shoulder. Every limbtrembled with agitation; the ecstatic delight of that one moment--doubtwas, indeed, at an end. He loved her, and in spite of her faults hewould cherish her with tenderness; he had chosen her as his wife--chosenher, though she had rejected, injured him, in preference to the verymany she felt so much more worthy than herself; but unalloyed happinesswas hers only for a few fleeting minutes, he knew not the extent of herimprudence--how strangely and deeply she had been fascinated by the artsof Lord Alphingham. Could he love, respect her as the partner of hislife, did he know that? and for a moment painfully did she long toconceal it from him, to prevent his ever knowing it; but no, her innatenobility and ingenuousness of character would not be thus trampled on. She wept, and Lady Gertrude was startled, for those bitter tears werenot the signs of joy. 

"Do not condemn my weakness, dearest Gertrude, " she said at length, struggling for composure. "You do not know why I weep; you cannot guessthe cause of tears at such a moment. Yes, you are right; I do love yourbrother with an affection equal to his own, but I thought it would neverpass my lips; for wilfully, blindly I had rejected the affection of hisgood and noble heart; I had intentionally caused him pain, banished himfrom his country and his friends, and my punishment was just. I thoughthe would forget one so utterly unworthy, and the thought was agony. But, oh, Gertrude, I shall never regain his love: when he knows all, he willcease to trust me; his esteem I have lost for ever! Gertrude, bear withme; you cannot know the wretchedness it is to feel he knows not all myfolly. The girl who could wilfully cast aside duty and obedience to aparent, listen to forbidden vows, weakly place her honour in the powerof one against whom she had been warned--oh, Gertrude, Gertrude, whenSt. Eval learns this tale, he will spurn me from his heart! and yet Iwill not deceive him, he shall know all, and be free to act as hewill--his proposals shall be no tie. "

The flush of firm yet painful resolution dyed her cheek as she spoke, and checked her tears. Alarmed as she was by the incoherence yetconnection of her words when attached to Lord Alphingham's hints, whichstill lingered on her mind, yet the high-minded Lady Gertrude felt as ifCaroline's honourable determination had struck a new chord of sympathywithin her heart. Integrity itself was hers, and truth in others wasever to her their most attractive quality. 

"St. Eval's doubts and fears have been already painfully aroused, " shesaid, gently; "an open explanation from you is more likely to make himhappy than produce the effect you so much, though so naturally, dread:fear not to impart it. In the relation you now stand to each other, theavowal of past errors will increase rather than lessen affection, by theintegrity it will display; but leave it till years have passed, and if, instead of being known now, it is then discovered, then, indeed, mightyou fear, with some show of justice, the loss of his esteem. Such willnot be now; but tell him yourself, dear Caroline, the truth or falsehoodof the scandalous tale he heard a night or two ago. "

"What did he hear? if you know, for pity's sake, do not conceal it fromme, dearest Gertrude!" entreated Caroline, almost gasping for breath;and Lady Gertrude, without hesitation or abbreviation, related the wholetale her brother had imparted to her, dwelling on the suffering heendured, as he fancied Caroline's conduct confirmed the words he heard. 

"Then is it, indeed, time for me to speak, though my tale be one ofshame, " she exclaimed, as Lady Gertrude paused, and indignation restoredher usual energy. "Never were attentions so revolting to me as werethose of Lord Alphingham that night. He knew he had no right to addressme, and therefore did he ever refrain when mamma was present. Gertrude, solemnly, sacredly, I protest he has no hold on my affections--he darenot say he has--nor ever again venture to demand my hand; it has beenirrevocably refused. Not only would my own will prevent my ever becominghis, but I have--" she paused a moment, for Percy's fatal secret was onthe point of escaping from her lips, but checking herself, she added, "Iam not at liberty to say why, but an inseparable barrier is placedbetween us. Listen to me, Gertrude, you will condemn me, be it so; but Iimplore, I beseech you to believe me true. " Then, without furtherhesitation, Caroline briefly yet circumstantially related all thoseevents in her life with which our readers are so well acquainted. Shedid not suppress one point, or endeavour in the least to excuse herself, and Lady Gertrude, as she listened to that unvarnished tale of youthfulerror, felt her heart glow more warmly towards her companion, and hereye glisten in sympathy for the pain she felt Caroline was inflicting onherself. Lady Gertrude could feel for others; twice had her carriagebeen announced, but she heeded not the summons; a third came just asCaroline had ceased to speak, and silently she rose to depart. She metthe imploring look of her young friend, and folding her to her heart, she said, in a low and gentle voice--

"Ask not me, my dearest girl; St. Eval shall come and speak forhimself. " She kissed her affectionately, and was gone. 

Caroline seated herself on a low couch, and closing her eyes on everyoutward object, she gave herself up to thought. Might she indeed behappy--were the errors of her former years so forgiven, that she wouldindeed be blessed with the husband of her choice? Had St. Eval soconquered pride as again to seek her love--would the blessing of herparents now sanctify her marriage? it could not be, it was too muchbliss--happiness of which she was utterly unworthy. Time rolled byunheeded in these meditations; she was quite unconscious that nearlyhalf an hour had elapsed since Lady Gertrude had left her; scarcely didit appear five minutes, and yet it must have been more, for it was thevoice of St. Eval himself that roused her, that addressed her as his ownbride. St. Eval himself, who clasped her impetuously to his beatingheart, imprinted one long, lingering kiss upon her cheek and murmuredblessings on her head. He had waited for the return of his sister to thecarriage, in a state of impatience little to be envied, flung himself inafter her, and in a very brief space had heard and heard again everyparticular of her interview with Caroline. His doubts wore satisfied, not a lingering fear remained. 

"Gertrude told me, you said not to her the magic word that will seal myhappiness, though she wrung from you that precious secret of your love, "said the young Lord, after many very fond words had been exchangedbetween them, and nearly an hour had passed away in that unrestrainedconfidence; "nor have I heard it pass your lips. You have told me thatyou love me, Caroline; will you not promise that but a very short timeshall pass, ere you will indeed be mine; that you will not sentence meto a long probation ere that happy day is fixed?"

"It is not in my power to answer you, St. Eval, " and though her tone wassportive, her words startled him. "I cannot even promise to be yours; myfate is not in my own hands. "

"Caroline!" exclaimed the alarmed young man, "what can you mean?"

"Simply, that I have vowed solemnly and sacredly never to many withoutthe consent and blessing of my parents. I have given you all I can, tothem I refer you for the rest. "

"Then I am satisfied, " replied St. Eval, the flush of joyous excitementstaining his cheek, and rendering his expressive countenance more thanusually handsome, by the animation it produced. 

Mrs. Hamilton, with Emmeline and Ellen, had returned from their riderather later than usual, for they had gone to see a friend some fewmiles out of town, and finding it near the hour of dinner, they haddispersed to their dressing-rooms instead of entering the drawing-roomas usual. On inquiring for Caroline, if she had been out with LadyGertrude, or was still at home, she heard, to her extreme astonishment, that Miss Hamilton had not gone out, but that Lord St. Eval had beenwith her above an hour, nor had she left him to obey the summons of thedressing-bell, as usual. A throb of pleasure shot through the heart ofMrs. Hamilton, she scarcely knew wherefore, for it was no uncommon thingfor Lord St. Eval to spend an hour at her house, but it was that heshould thus have sought the society of Caroline alone. 

"Had either of her sons been with him?" she asked, and the answer was inthe negative. 

Martyn silently concluded her task, for she saw deep thought was on herlady's brow, which she was too respectful to disturb; an earnest thoughtit was, it might have been that silent prayer had mingled with it. Stillwas that wish uppermost in Mrs. Hamilton's mind, that she might one daysee her Caroline the happy wife of Lord St. Eval; but when she enteredthe drawing-room, words were not needed to explain the scene before her. Mr. Hamilton had drawn his daughter to him, and was pressing the youngEarl's hand in his with a grasp that spoke volumes. 

"St. Eval, you have been too long the son of my affections, for oneinstant to doubt my consent, " Mrs. Hamilton heard her husband say, asshe entered; "it is yours, freely, gladly. Speak not of fortune, I wouldgive my child to you, had you but yourself to offer. But I am but asecondary personage in this business, " he added, playfully; "there isthe enchantress who holds the fate of my Caroline more firmly than I do. Away with you, St. Eval, plead your cause to her. "

"Caroline, my own, does your happiness depend on my consent, or have youdone this merely for my sake?" murmured Mrs. Hamilton, as her childclung in silence to her neck, and Lord St. Eval seized her hand andpressed it to his lips, as if eloquent silence should tell his tale, too, better than words. Mrs. Hamilton spoke in a voice so low, as to beheard only by Caroline. 

"Speak to me, love; tell me that St. Eval will be the husband of yourfree, unbiased choice, and my fondest blessing shall be yours. "Caroline's answer was inaudible to all, save to the ear of maternalaffection, to her mother it was enough. 

"Take her, St. Eval; my consent, my earnest wish to behold you unitedhas long been yours; may God in heaven bless you, my children, and makeyou happy in each other!"

Solemnly she spoke; her earnestness was affecting, it struck to theirhearts; for a moment there was silence, which Mrs. Hamilton was thefirst to break. 

"Does my Caroline intend appearing at dinner in this costume?" sheasked, playfully, alluding to her daughter's morning dress. Startled andblushing, Caroline, for the first time, perceived her mother was dressedfor dinner, and her father, determining to banish all appearance ofgravity, held up his watch, which pointed to some few minutes after theusual dinner-hour. Glad to escape for a few minutes to the solitude ofher own room, Caroline hastily withdrew her hand from St. Eval'sdetaining grasp, and smiling a brief farewell, brushed by Emmeline andEllen, who were that instant entering, without speaking indeed, but withvery evident marks of confusion, which Mr. Hamilton very quicklyexplained to the extreme satisfaction of all parties. 

Caroline was not long before she returned. Happiness had caused her eyesto sparkle with a radiance her parents had not seen for many a long day;and they felt as they gazed on her, now indeed was she worthy to be thehonoured wife of St. Eval, and their thoughts were raised in silentunison to heaven for the blessing thus vouchsafed to them. And scarcelycould Mr. Hamilton restrain the emotion which swelled his bosom, as hethought, had it not been for the untiring care, the bright example ofthat mother, his child, instead of being a happy bride, might now havebeen--he shuddered as he thought, and the inward words were checked, hecould not give them vent, they were hidden in the silent recesses of hisown breast; and did not that same thought dwell in the mind of his wife, when she contrasted the present with the past? It did, but she lookednot on herself as the cause of her child's escape from wretchedness andsin. Her efforts she knew would have been as naught, without theblessing of Him whose aid she had ever sought; and if indeed the thoughtof her had arrested Caroline on the brink of ruin, it was His work, andHim alone she praised. She looked on the glowing countenance of herdaughter; she marked the modest gentleness of her demeanour, theretiring dignity with which she checked the effusions of her own fondaffection, and received the attentions of her devoted lover, and shefelt sure those few moments of solitude had been passed in thanksgivingand prayer to Him who had pardoned the errors of the past, and grantedsuch unlooked-for joy. And she guessed aright, for the mind of Carolinehad not been entirely engrossed by the bright and glowing visions whichanticipation in such a moment of our lives is apt to place before us. Her thoughts during the last year had been secretly under the guidanceof the most rigid self-control, and thus permitted her to raise themfrom the happiness of earth to blessedness yet more exalted. Oh! who cansay that religion is the heavy chain that fetters us to gloom andeverlasting sadness; that in chastening the pleasures of earth, itoffers no substantial good in return? True piety, open the heart by itssweet, refreshing influence, causes us to enjoy every earthly blessingwith a zest the heart in which the love of God is not an inmate willseek in vain to know. It is piety that strengthens, purifies affection. Piety, that looks on happiness vouch us here, as harbingers of a statewhere felicity will be eternal. Piety that, in lifting up the gratefulsoul to God, heightens our joys, and renders that pure and lastingwhich would otherwise be evanescent and fleeting. Piety, whose soft andmildly-burning torch continues to enlighten life, long, long after thelustre of worldly pleasures has passed away. It was this blessedfeeling, kindled in earliest infancy by the fostering hand of parentallove, which now characterised and composed every emotion of Caroline'sswelling bosom, which bade her feel that this indeed was happiness. Withblushing modesty she received the eagerly-offered congratulations of heraffectionate family; the delighted embrace which Percy in the enthusiasmof his joy found himself compelled to give her. 

"Now, indeed, may I hope the past will never again cross my mind totorment me, " he whispered to his sister, and wrung St. Eval's hand witha violence that forced that young man laughingly to cry for mercy. Therehad been a shade of unusual gloom shrouding the open countenance andusually frank demeanour of Percy since his return from Oxford, for whichhis parents and sisters could not account, but as he seemed to shrinkfrom all observation on the subject, they did not ask the cause; butthis unexpected happiness seemed to make him for a few following days asusual the gayest, merriest member of his amiable family. 

Often in these days of happiness did Caroline think on the qualitieswhich Lady Gertrude had once said should adorn the wife of her brother. Faults he could pardon, if they were redeemed by affection, andingenuousness unsullied by the slightest artifice. Affection she wellknew she possessed; but she also knew that, to be as unreserved as wouldform the happiness of her husband, she must effectually banish thatpride, which she knew still lurked within. Often would she converse onthese things when alone with her mother, and implore her advice as tothe best method of securing not only the love but the esteem of St. Eval. "Gertrude was quite right in the estimate of her brother'scharacter, " Mrs. Hamilton would at such times observe, her fond heartfully repaid for past anxiety and disappointment by this confidence inher child; "and so too are you, dearest, in your idea that not thefaintest sign of pride must mark your intercourse with him. Perhaps heis more reserved than proud; indeed, in his case, I cannot call itpride, but it is that kind of reserve which would jar most painfully didit come in contact with anything resembling pride. Had you grown up suchas you were in childhood, your union with St. Eval, much as you mightthink you loved each other, would not have been productive of lastinghappiness to either. Let him see dependence is not merely a professionwhich your every action would contradict; from independence spring somany evils, that I feel sure you will avoid it. It is, I regret to say, a prevailing error in those circles wherein your rank will entitle youto mingle; an error that must ever endanger conjugal happiness. When awoman marries, the world, except as the arbiter of propriety, ought tobe forgotten; all her endeavours to please, to soothe, to cheer, muststill be exerted even more than before marriage, but exerted only forher husband; not one little pleasing art, not one accomplishment shouldbe given up, but used as affection dictates, to enhance her value in theeyes of him whose felicity it should be her principal aim to increase. You will be placed in an exalted station in the opinion of the world, mybeloved child, a station of temptation, flattery, danger, more so thanhas over yet been yours; but I do not tremble now as I did, tooforebodingly, when the world was first opened to your view. You havelearned to mistrust your own strength, to seek it where alone it can befound, to examine your every action by the Word of God, and with thesefeelings you are safe. My Caroline will not fail in duty to her husbandor herself. "

"Nor to you, my mother, my devoted mother!" exclaimed Caroline, as shefondly kissed her. "It is to you, next to my God, I owe this blessing;and oh, if it be my lot to be a mother, may I be to my children, as far, at least, as one so much inferior in piety and virtue can be, what youhave been to me. Oh, might I but resemble you, as my full heart has solately longed, St. Eval might be happy!"

At the earnest entreaty of St. Eval and Caroline, both familiesconsented that the ceremonial of their marriage should take place in thesame venerable church where the first childish prayers of Caroline hadascended from a house of God, and the service be performed by therevered and pious rector of Oakwood, the clergyman who, from herearliest childhood, she had been taught to respect and love, as thehumble representative of Him whose truths he so ably taught. Carolinehad consented to name the second week of September as the period of herespousals. The few chosen friends of both families who were to beinvited to the ceremony were to assemble in the hospitable halls ofOakwood, and earnestly did every member of Mr. Hamilton's family hopethat the long-absent sailor, Edward Fortescue, who was soon expectedhome, might arrive in time to be present at the marriage of his cousin. How the young heart of his orphan sister fluttered with delight at thethought of beholding him again we will not attempt to describe, but itwas shared with almost equal warmth by Mrs. Hamilton, whose desire wasso great that her gallant nephew, the brave preserver of her husband, might be present at the approaching joyful event, that she laughinglytold Ellen she certainly would postpone the ceremony till Edwardarrived, whatever opposition she might have to encounter. 

The engagement of the Eight Honourable Earl St. Eval, the heir to themarquisate of Malvern, embracing such rich possessions, with a plaingentleman's daughter was a matter of mingled wonder, scorn, admiration, and applause to the fashionable world; but these opinions and emotionswere little regarded, save as a matter of continual jest to Percy, whoamused himself by collecting all the reports he could, and repeatingthem at home, warning them against a marriage which caused such anuniversal sensation. It might be supposed this sensation would have beenfelt in various ways in the family of Montrose Grahame; but it happenedthat Annie was so engrossed with her own plans, her mind so occupied byone interesting subject, that she and Lord Alphingham had but littletime to think of anything but each other. Annoyed they were indeed, forall their designs were foiled; St. Eval and Caroline were happy, spiteof their efforts to the contrary. Lady Helen was really so delighted atthe prospects of Caroline, who had ever been a favourite with her, thatshe actually exerted herself so much as to call in person to offer herbest wishes, and promise that she would spend the whole winter atMoorlands, to be present at the ceremony. Lilla was overjoyed, for Mrs. Hamilton promised she should be among the guests at Oakwood. Mr. Grahame, whose friendship with Mr. Hamilton would have and did renderhim most interested in the event, was at Paris when their engagement wasfirst published, but his warmly-written letters to his friend proclaimedhis intention of very soon returning to England, but till thenentreating the young couple to accept his sincerest prayers and bestwishes for their happiness, and warmly congratulated Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton on the prospects of their child; but there was a sadnesspervading his letters which gave them pain to note, for they knew toowell the cause. 

The letters of Mary Greville, too, added pleasure to the betrothed. Informed by Herbert of both past and present events, St. Eval's longaffection for Caroline, which he playfully hoped would solve the mysteryof his not gratifying her wishes, and falling in love with Miss Manvers, Mary wrote with equal sportiveness, that she was quite satisfied withhis choice, and pleased that his residence at Lago Guardia had enabledher to become so well acquainted with one about to be so nearlyconnected with her Herbert. 

About a week or fortnight before Mr. Hamilton's intended return toOakwood, Percy one morning received a letter which appeared to produceexcessive agitation. But as he evidently did not wish it remarked, nonotice was taken, except by Herbert, to whom alone he had shown theletter, and who seemed equally interested, though not so much agitatedby its contents. To the anxious inquiries of his parents, if individualembarrassment or distress occasioned Percy's uneasiness, Herbertanswered readily in the negative; that the letter informed them of thedeath of an unfortunate individual in whose fate both he and Percy hadbeen most deeply interested. Trusting in the well-known integrity oftheir sons, Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton inquired no farther, and dismissed thesubject; but Percy did not rouse himself from his gloomy abstractiontill startled by intelligence, which regard for his father's friendGrahame could not permit him to hear with calmness. 

Two mornings after the receipt of that letter, as the family, which theaddition of St. Eval, were sitting together after breakfast, ere theyseparated to the various avocations of the day, Lord Henry D'Estebustled in with a countenance expressive of something extraordinary. 

"Have you heard the news?" was his first eager exclamation. 

"If we had, it would be no news, " replied Emmeline, archly; "but we haveheard nothing. Papa has something else to do than to seek out news forme, ditto the Right Honourable Lord St. Eval. Percy has been suddenlyconverted into the spirit of gloom, and to Herbert it is in vain to lookfor gossip, so, for pity's sake, satisfy my curiosity. "

"Perhaps you will say I have been exciting it unnecessarily, " heanswered. "An elopement is too common a thing now to cause muchastonishment. "

"It depends on the parties, " observed Mr. Hamilton. "Who are they?"

"Those, or rather one of them, I fear, for her father's sake, in whomyou will be too deeply interested, --Lord Alphingham and Miss Grahame. "

"Annie!" burst from Caroline's lips, in an accent of distress thatstruck all, and fell somewhat, painfully on Lord St. Eval's ear, whenstarting from the seat she had occupied near him, she sprung forward, and wildly continued, "when--when? Lord Henry, for pity's sake, tell me!is there no time? Can they not be overtaken? When did they go?"

Bewildered at the wild earnestness of her manner, at the mutteredexecration of Percy, Lord Henry was for a moment silent; but, on therepeated entreaty of Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton, he said that the particularswere not yet all known, except that she had been staying with herfriend, that same lady of rank in whose family Miss Malison had beeninstalled; that from her house the elopement had taken place, when, hedid not exactly know, the report had only that morning gained credit. Lady Helen was not in the least aware of what had passed, nor would she, in all probability, till Annie's own letter announced it, as she turneda careless ear to all that her friends had hinted. He greatly feared, however, that it was useless to think of overtaking them; they had beenseen and recognised, on the road between York and Berwick, by a friendof his, three days previous. He had at first regarded his friend'sletter as a mere jest, but finding he had written the same to manyothers, and that the report was gaining ground, he felt sufficientinterest in Mr. Grahame to discover the truth, that he might be informedof it, and take measures accordingly, and as Grahame was from home, hethought the best thing he could do was to tell the whole story to Mr. Hamilton. 

"And is there indeed no hope? Can they not be overtaken?" again demandedCaroline, almost choked with an agitation for which even her parentscould not account. 

Lord Henry did not think there was the slightest possibility, andunable to control her emotion, for she could not forget the long yearsshe had regarded Annie as her friend, the favourite companion of herchildhood, Caroline sunk, pale as death, on the nearest seat. Her motherand St. Eval approached her in some alarm, the former to demand thecause of this agitation, and implore her to be calm; the latter toconnect, with a swelling heart and trembling frame, this deep emotionwith the words of Lord Alphingham, which he vainly endeavoured toforget; but Percy alone had power to restore her to any degree ofcomposure, taking her trembling hand in his, he whispered a few words, and their effect was instantaneous. 

"Thank God, she will be at least his wife!" escaped Caroline's quiveringlips, and then burst into tears. 

"Mother, do not ask more now. St. Eval, do not doubt my sister, heragitation arose for Miss Grahame alone, not for the villain, thecold-hearted villain, Alphingham!" exclaimed Percy, in a low butimpressive voice, as he alternately addressed his mother and the Earl, and then, as if fearing their further questions, he hastily turned awayto join his father in demanding every possible information from LordHenry; and perceiving that Caroline was becoming calm, and also that St. Eval looked somewhat disturbed, Mrs. Hamilton followed her son to theother end of the room. Still St. Eval spoke not, and Caroline, as sheread the reproach, the doubt expressed upon his features, for a momentfelt her natural pride swelling high within her, that he could for oneminute permit a doubt of her truth to enter his mind; but herresolution, her mother's advice, the observation of Lady Gertrude, allrose to combat with returning pride, and they conquered. 

"Eugene, dearest Eugene, " she said, as she extended her hand towardshim, "you have, indeed, every reason to look disturbed. In my deepanxiety for her whom I so long loved as my friend, I forgot that myagitation might indeed confirm the unworthy tale you heard. Forgive me, Eugene; I know that I have pained you, but, indeed, I meant it not. IfLord Alphingham did cross my mind, it was in detestation, in abhorrence, that he should thus have acted. I trembled for Annie, for her alone, forthe fearful fate that, when Lord Henry first spoke, I believed must beher lot. Were I at liberty to disclose all, you would not wonder suchshould have been my feelings, Eugene, " she added, in an accent of gentlereproach. "Must I indeed solemnly and sacredly assure you, that myagitation was occasioned by no lingering affection for Lord Alphingham?will nothing else satisfy you? Is it kind, is it generous thus to doubtme?"

Softened at once, ashamed of his own jealous tendency, the young Earlcould only implore her forgiveness, assure her he had not the faintestdoubt remaining; and suggesting, air would revive her sooner thananything, he drew her to the open window of the adjoining room, whichlooked out on the little garden, and there they remained in apparentlyearnest conversation, till Caroline, to her extreme astonishment, wassummoned by her cousin to luncheon, and Lord St. Eval suddenlydiscovered he had permitted the whole morning to slip away in idleness, when he imagined he had so very much to do. 

Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton were more grieved than surprised at theintelligence they had heard; but in what manner to act, what measures totake they knew not. Grahame was expected to arrive in England on themorrow or the next day at the farthest, and his agony they dreaded towitness; they feared lest reports should reach him ere he was in any wayprepared, and Mr. Hamilton determined on travelling instantly to Dover, that he might be there ready to receive him, and console to the best ofhis ability this mistaken but truly affectionate father. Percy, rousinghimself, entered with activity into all his father's plans; but Mrs. Hamilton fancied that he too had some plan to follow up, which hisabsence two or three days from home confirmed. Nor was it idle sympathyshe felt; that same day she sought the residence of Lady Helen. 

Scarcely ever did she enter that house without being struck by themelancholy pervading it. Wrapped in her own pleasures, her own desiresand amusements, Annie never cast one thought on her mother, whosedeclining health it would have been her duty to tend and soothe; indeedshe scarcely ever entered her room, and believing her parent's ailmentswere all fancy, made it a rule to take no notice of them. Cecil likednot gloom and quiet, and his fashionable cousins occupied almost all histime. He could not comprehend, much less return the deep affection hismother felt for him; and Lilla, whose naturally warm heart and rightprinciples would have made her an affectionate attendant on her mother'scouch, was seldom at home to perform her part. But already had LadyHelen felt the difference a year's residence with Mrs. Douglas had madein her younger girl; already her indolent nature felt the comfort of herpresence, and bitterly regretted when her short vacations were at anend, for then she was indeed alone. 

On being admitted, Mrs. Hamilton fancied somewhat eagerly, the firstperson she encountered at Lady Helen's was her young friend, clad, itseemed, for walking, with traces of anxiety and sorrow written on hercountenance. 

"The very person I was about to seek, " she exclaimed, in a voice ofintense relief, springing down the stairs to reach her friend. "DearestMrs. Hamilton, mamma--Annie--" The words choked her, and she burst intotears. 

"Compose yourself, love, I know all; only tell me how your mother bearsthe shock, " whispered Mrs. Hamilton, instantly penetrating at once thetruth, that either the report had reached Lady Helen, or she hadreceived the intelligence direct from her daughter; and anxious toescape the curious eyes of the domestics, who were in the hall, shehastily yet kindly drew the weeping Lilla to the nearest parlour, and, closing the door, succeeded in hearing all she desired. Lilla said, hermother, only an hour before, had received a letter from Annie, brieflyannouncing her marriage, and informing her they intended very shortly toembark for the Netherlands from Leith, thence to make a tour in Germanyand Italy, which would prevent their returning to England for some time, when she hoped all present irritation at her conduct would havesubsided; that her father's severity had tended to this step. Had hebeen kind, and like other fathers, she would have sacrificed her owndesires, conscious that his reason for prohibiting her union withAlphingham was good, however it might be secret; but when from herchildhood her every wish had been unreasonably thwarted, she wascompelled to choose in such a case for herself. She should be sorry tolive in enmity with her father, but even if she did, she never couldregret the step she had taken. To her mother she wrote as if assured ofher forgiveness, or rather her continued favour; forgiveness she did notseem to think it at all necessary to ask, saying, she was sure her kindand indulgent mother would not regret her union with Lord Alphingham, when she solemnly declared it had made her happier than she had everbeen before. Such Lilla said were the contents of her letter; but thewarm-hearted girl could not refer without indignation to the utter wantof affection which breathed throughout. Her mother, Lilla continued tosay, had been in a most alarming state from the time she received theletter, but she fancied occasioned more by the dread of what her fatherwould say on his return, than from Annie's conduct. 

When Mrs. Hamilton saw Lady Helen, she felt that Lilla was right. Theunhappy mother reproached her own carelessness, indolence, and Annie'singratitude, but it was evident the dread of her husband was uppermostin her mind--a dread which made her so extremely ill, from a successionof violent and uncontrolled hysterics, that Mrs. Hamilton did not leaveher the whole of that day; nor would she permit the unhappy father toenter his wife's apartment on his return, till she had exacted from hima promise to forbear all reproaches towards his suffering wife, allallusions to the past. 

With the stern brevity of the injured, Grahame addressed his disobedientchild. His forgiveness and his blessing he sent, though he said she hadasked for neither; that he bore no enmity to her, he wrote; his home andhis heart were ever open to receive her, should she again require theprotection of the one, the affection of the other. She had chosen forherself; linked her fate with one against whom many tongues had spoken, and he could only pray that her present happiness might never change. Lord Alphingham he did not name. Lady Helen's letter was a curiousmixture of reproach and affection, complaint and congratulation; andAnnie might have found it difficult to discover in what manner she wasaffected towards the Viscount, or with regard to the elopement itself. Perhaps of all the letters she received from home, Lilla's was the mostirritating to her, for it was written in all the bitter indignation, theunchecked reproaches of a young and ardent spirit, in whose eyes theheartlessness of her letter was inexcusable, and she wrote as shethought. Annie, as might have been expected, deigned her no reply. A fewlanguidly written letters her mother received from her during her tour;but the chief of her correspondence was reserved for Miss Malison andthe lady who had so ably assisted their secret plans. The friendlyinfluence of Mr. Hamilton succeeded, after a few days, in restoring hisfriend to comparative outward composure, although the wound within, hetoo sadly felt, was beyond his power to heal. 

A few days passed in peace. Mrs. Hamilton and her family wereanticipating with pleasure the quiet happiness of Oakwood, and the eventthen to take place. Scarcely a week intervened before their departure, when they were one afternoon startled by the appearance of Grahame, whose countenance bore the pallid hue of death, and every action denotedthe most fearful agitation. Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton, Caroline and St. Eval, were alone present, and they gazed on him in unfeigned alarm. 

"Hamilton, I start for Brussels to-night, " was his salutation, as heentered. 

"Brussels!" repeated Mr. Hamilton. "Grahame, you are beside yourself. What affairs can call you to Brussels so suddenly?"

"Affairs--business; aye, of such weight, I cannot rest till they areattended to. Hamilton, you are astonished; you think me mad; oh, wouldto God I were!" and striking his forehead with his clenched hand, hepaced the room in agony. 

Ere his friend could approach or address him, he suddenly paused beforeCaroline, who was watching him in alarm and commiseration, and graspingher arm, with a pressure that pained her, he said, in a voice whichblanched her cheek with horror--

"Hamilton, look on this girl, and, as you love me, answer me. Could yoube a Roman father, did you see her dishonoured, --the victim, the wilfulvictim of a base, a treacherous, miserable villain?--say, could you washaway the blackening stain with blood--with her blood--or his, or both?Speak to me--counsel me. My child, my child!" he groaned aloud. 

"Grahame, you are ill; my dear friend, you know not what you say, "exclaimed Mr. Hamilton, terrified both at his wildness and his words. "Come with me till this strange mood has passed; I entreat it as afavour--come. "

"Passed--till this mood has passed! Hamilton, it will never pass tillthe grave has closed over Annie and myself. Oh, Hamilton, my friend, Ihad reconciled myself to this marriage; taught myself to believe that, as his wife, she might be happy; and--oh, God! can I say the words?--sheis not his wife--he is already married. " His trembling limbs refusedsupport, and he sunk, overcome by his emotion, on a chair. Without aminute's pause, a moment's hesitation, and ere her father could findwords to reply, Caroline sprung forward, and kneeling beside thewretched father, she seized his hand--

"Be calm, be comforted, dearest Mr. Grahame, " she exclaimed, in a voicethat caused him to gaze at her with astonishment. "It is a mistaken taleyou have heard; a cruel falsehood, to disturb your peace. LordAlphingham was married, but Annie is now his lawful wedded wife; thepartner of his youth, the devoted woman whom for eight years hedeserted, is no more. She died the day preceding that which united LordAlphingham to your child. I speak truth, Mr. Grahame; solemnly, sacredly, I affirm it. Percy will tell you more; I was pledged tosecrecy. On her deathbed she demanded a solemn promise from all who knewher tale, never to divulge it, lest it should prove to the discredit ofher cruel husband, whom her last accents blessed. I promised Percy itshould be sacred, unless an emergency demanded it. Be comforted, Mr. Grahame, indeed, I speak the truth. Lord Alphingham was free, restrainedby no tie, when he was united to your child. " Rapidly, hurriedly, shehad spoken, for she trembled at the wild gaze Grahame had fixed uponher. Caroline's voice rung clear and distinct upon his ear, and everyword brought comfort, still he spoke not; but when she ceased, whenslowly, more impressively her last words were spoken, he uttered a faintcry, and folding her slight form convulsively to his heart, sobbed likean infant on her shoulder. Thoughts unutterable thronged the minds ofMr. And Mrs. Hamilton as they too listened with fascinated eagerness toCaroline's words; thoughts, not only of the present but the past, rushedquickly to their minds. A year previous Lord Alphingham's wife stilllived; though he, villain as he was, had heeded not the sacred tie. Wellcould they enter into the blessed relief her words had brought to thedistracted father. Mr. Hamilton permitted some minutes to elapse insilence, and then gently withdrawing Caroline from Grahame's stillconvulsive hold, said a few words, in a voice which, though low, expressed that kindly sympathy which seldom fails to reach the inmostsoul; and finally succeeded in passing his arm through that of hisfriend, and leading him to an adjoining room, where, after a time, Grahame conquered his agitation sufficiently to give a connected accountof the means through which he had learned the information which had sodistracted him. Caroline's words and the influence of his friendrestored him to comparative composure; but all was not at peace withinuntil Percy had obeyed the summons of his father, and the information ofhis sister was confirmed in every point by him. He related the tale ofMrs. Amesfort, with which our readers are already well acquainted, withthe addition of her death, of which the letter he received a few daysprevious had informed him. Many affecting interviews he had had withher, in which she spoke, of her husband, her mother, her child, sofondly, that the tears often started to the eyes of Percy, though herown were dry. In parting from him, she had again implored him not todivulge her secret, unless the interest of her child demanded it, or hesaw urgent occasion. 

"Let not the breath of calumny sully the name of my child, " she said, grasping his hand with a painful effort. "Let her not be looked on as achild of shame, when her birth is as pure and noble as any in the land. If her birth be questioned, let the whole world know she is the daughterof Lord Alphingham. In my mother's care is the certificate of mymarriage, also of the christening of my Agnes. But if nothing bedemanded, if her lot be happy, it is better both for father and daughterthat they remain unknown to each other. "

Percy had made the solemn promise she demanded, but the remembrance ofher pale features, her drooping form, had haunted him on his returnhome, and caused that deep gloom his family had remarked. It was morethan a week after Mrs. Amesfort's death, before her afflicted mothercould write the tidings to the young man, who, on hearing of Annie'sconduct, had instantly and actively set about obtaining the exact dateof the unfortunate lady's death, and also that of the Viscount's hastymarriage in Scotland. The result was most satisfactory; rather more thana week had elapsed between the two events, and his marriage with Anniewas, consequently, sacred and binding. Percy also said, Mrs. Morley hadmentioned her intention of instantly returning to Ireland with thelittle Agnes, from whom she fervently prayed she might never becompelled to part. 

Believed, and truly thankful, Grahame consulted with his friends on thebest plan to pursue to silence the rumours which, having overheard in apublic coffeehouse, would, he had no doubt, be immediately circulatedover the town. Mrs. Morley said, she had written to inform LordAlphingham of the death of his broken-hearted wife, enclosing one fromthe ill-fated Agnes herself. He was, therefore, perfectly aware of thevalidity of his second marriage, for Percy had inquired and found theletter had been forwarded; there was no need of communication with himon that point. Grahame's first care was to travel to Scotland, andobtain the registry of their marriage; his next, to proceed to Brussels, with Mr. Hamilton, and coolly and decisively inform Lord Alphinghamthat, unless the ceremony was publicly solemnized a second time, in hispresence, and before proper witnesses, other proceedings would beentered upon against him. Astonished and somewhat alarmed as Lord andLady Alphingham were at his unexpected appearance, the former had toomany sins on his conscience to submit to a public _exposé_, which hemight justly fear was intended in this threat, and, with great apparentwillingness, he consented. The ceremony was again performed; Grahamepossessed himself of the certificate, and left Brussels, with thehalf-formed resolution that, while Lord Alphingham lived, he would neversee his child again. The death of the Right Honourable ViscountessAlphingham, and the subsequent marriage in Scotland of the EightHonourable Lord Viscount Alphingham with Miss Grahame, appeared in allthe newspapers. The splendour of the second solemnization of theirnuptials in Brussels was the next theme of wonder and gossip, and by thetime that subject was exhausted, London had become deserted, and Lordand Lady Alphingham might probably have returned to the metropoliswithout question or remark; but such was not Lord Alphingham'sintention. He feared that probably were his history publicly known hemight be shunned for the deceit he had displayed; and he easily obtainedAnnie's glad consent to fix their residence for a few years in Paris. Irritated as in all probability he was, when he found himself againfettered, yet he so ably concealed this irritation, that his wifesuspected it not, and for a time she was happy. 

As Lord and Lady Alphingham are no longer concerned in our tale, havingnothing more in common with those in whom, we trust, our readers aremuch more interested, we may here formally dismiss them in a few words. They lived, but if true happiness dwells only with the virtuous andgood, with the upright and the noble, it gilded not their lot; but ifthose who are well acquainted with the morality of the higher classes ofthe French capital can pronounce that it dwells there, then, indeed, might they be said to possess it, for such was their lives. Theyreturned not again to England, but lived in France and Italy, alternately. Alphingham, callous to every better and softer feeling, might have been happy, but not such was the fate of Annie. Bitterly, ereshe died, did she regret her folly and disobedience; remorse wassometimes busy within, though no actual guilt dimmed her career: shedrowned the voice of conscience in the vortex of frivolity and fashion. But the love she bore for Alphingham was the instrument of retribution, her husband neglected, despised, and frequently deserted her. Let nowoman unite herself with sin, in the vain hope of transforming it tovirtue. Such thoughts had not, indeed, been Annie's, when wilfully shesought her fate. She knew not the man she had chosen for her husband;she disregarded the warnings she had heard. Fatal delusion! she found, too late, the fate her will had woven was formed of knotty threads, thepath that she had sought beset with thorns, from which she could notbreak. No children blessed her lot, and it was better thus--for theywould have found but little happiness. The fate of Lord Alphingham'schild, the little Agnes, was truly happy in her own innocence; she livedon for many years in ignorance of her real rank and the title of herfather, under the careful guidance of that relative to whom her mother'slast words had tenderly consigned her. 

Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton remained but little longer in town; Caroline's_trousseau_ was quite completed, for but very few weeks now intervenedere her marriage. Lady Gertrude had devoted herself to the young Earl, and remained with him superintending the improvements and embellishmentsof his beautiful estate, Castle Terryn, in the vicinity of the Tamar, onthe Cornwall side, which was being prepared with the greatest taste andsplendour. Lady Gertrude was to remain with her brother till the weekprevious to the wedding, when she joined her family at Oakwood, wherethey had been staying since their departure from London, at the earnestpersuasions of both Mr. And Mrs. Hamilton. Seldom had the banks of theplacid Dart been so gay as they were on this occasion; the beautifulvillas scattered around were all taken by the friends of the partiesabout to be so nearly connected. Rejoicings were not only confined tothe higher class; the poor, for many miles round, hailed the expectedmarriage of Miss Hamilton as an occasion of peculiar and individualfelicity. Blessings on her lot, prayers for her welfare, that Lord St. Eval might prove himself worthy of her, were murmured in many a rusticcot, and every one was employed in earnest thought as to the best, themost respectful mode of testifying their humble sympathy in thehappiness of their benefactors. Such were the feelings with which highand low regarded the prosperity of the good. 

END OF VOL. I.