ALICE;

 OR, THE MYSTERIES

 BY

 EDWARD BULWER LYTTON (LORD LYTTON)

BOOK I. 

 "Thee, hid the bowering vales amidst, I call. " --EURIPIDES: _Hel. _ I. 1116. 

CHAPTER I. 

 Who art thou, fair one, who usurp'st the place Of Blanch, the lady of the matchless grace?--LAMB. 

IT was towards the evening of a day in early April that two ladies wereseated by the open windows of a cottage in Devonshire. The lawn beforethem was gay with evergreens, relieved by the first few flowers and freshturf of the reviving spring; and at a distance, through an openingamongst the trees, the sea, blue and tranquil, bounded the view, andcontrasted the more confined and home-like features of the scene. It wasa spot remote, sequestered, shut out from the business and pleasures ofthe world; as such it suited the tastes and character of the owner. 

That owner was the younger of the ladies seated by the window. You wouldscarcely have guessed, from her appearance, that she was more than sevenor eight and twenty, though she exceeded by four or five years thatcritical boundary in the life of beauty. Her form was slight anddelicate in its proportions, nor was her countenance the less lovelybecause, from its gentleness and repose (not unmixed with a certainsadness) the coarse and the gay might have thought it wanting inexpression. For there is a stillness in the aspect of those who havefelt deeply, which deceives the common eye, --as rivers are often aliketranquil and profound, in proportion as they are remote from the springswhich agitated and swelled the commencement of their course, and by whichtheir waters are still, though invisibly, supplied. 

The elder lady, the guest of her companion, was past seventy; her grayhair was drawn back from the forehead, and gathered under a stiff cap ofquaker-like simplicity; while her dress, rich but plain, and of no verymodern fashion, served to increase the venerable appearance of one whoseemed not ashamed of years. 

"My dear Mrs. Leslie, " said the lady of the house, after a thoughtfulpause in the conversation that had been carried on for the last hour, "itis very true; perhaps I was to blame in coming to this place; I ought notto have been so selfish. "

"No, my dear friend, " returned Mrs. Leslie, gently; "selfish is a wordthat can never be applied to you; you acted as became you, --agreeably toyour own instinctive sense of what is best when at your age, --independentin fortune and rank, and still so lovely, --you resigned all that wouldhave attracted others, and devoted yourself, in retirement, to a life ofquiet and unknown benevolence. You are in your sphere in thisvillage, --humble though it be, --consoling, relieving, healing thewretched, the destitute, the infirm; and teaching your Evelyn insensiblyto imitate your modest and Christian virtues. " The good old lady spokewarmly, and with tears in her eyes; her companion placed her hand in Mrs. Leslie's. 

"You cannot make me vain, " said she, with a sweet and melancholy smile. "I remember what I was when you first gave shelter to the poor, desolatewanderer and her fatherless child; and I, who was then so poor anddestitute, what should I be, if I was deaf to the poverty and sorrows ofothers, --others, too, who are better than I am. But now Evelyn, as yousay, is growing up; the time approaches when she must decide on acceptingor rejecting Lord Vargrave. And yet in this village how can she comparehim with others; how can she form a choice? What you say is very true;and yet I did not think of it sufficiently. What shall I do? I am onlyanxious, dear girl, to act so as may be best for her own happiness. "

"Of that I am sure, " returned Mrs. Leslie; "and yet I know not how toadvise. On one hand, so much is due to the wishes of your late husband, in every point of view, that if Lord Vargrave be worthy of Evelyn'sesteem and affection, it would be most desirable that she should preferhim to all others. But if he be what I hear he is considered in theworld, --an artful, scheming, almost heartless man, of ambitious and hardpursuits, --I tremble to think how completely the happiness of Evelyn'swhole life may be thrown away. She certainly is not in love with him, and yet I fear she is one whose nature is but too susceptible ofaffection. She ought now to see others, --to know her own mind, and notto be hurried, blindfold and inexperienced, into a step that decidesexistence. This is a duty we owe to her, --nay, even to the late LordVargrave, anxious as he was for the marriage. His aim was surely herhappiness, and he would not have insisted upon means that time andcircumstances might show to be contrary to the end he had in view. "

"You are right, " replied Lady Vargrave. "When my poor husband lay on hisbed of death, just before he summoned his nephew to receive his lastblessing, he said to me, 'Providence can counteract all our schemes. Ifever it should be for Evelyn's real happiness that my wish for hermarriage with Lumley Ferrers should not be fulfilled, to you I must leavethe right to decide on what I cannot foresee. All I ask is that noobstacle shall be thrown in the way of my wish; and that the child shallbe trained up to consider Lumley as her future husband. ' Among hispapers was a letter addressed to me to the same effect; and, indeed, inother respects that letter left more to my judgment than I had any rightto expect. Oh, I am often unhappy to think that he did not marry one whowould have deserved his affection! and--but regret is useless now. "

"I wish you could really feel so, " said Mrs. Leslie; "for regret ofanother kind still seems to haunt you; and I do not think you have yetforgotten your early sorrows. "

"Ah, how can I?" said Lady Vargrave, with a quivering lip. 

At that instant, a light shadow darkened the sunny lawn in front of thecasements, and a sweet, gay young voice was heard singing at a littledistance; a moment more, and a beautiful girl, in the first bloom ofyouth, bounded lightly along the grass, and halted opposite the friends. 

It was a remarkable contrast, --the repose and quiet of the two persons wehave described, the age and gray hairs of one, the resigned andmelancholy gentleness written on the features of the other--with thespringing step and laughing eyes and radiant bloom of the new comer! Asshe stood with the setting sun glowing full upon her rich fair hair, herhappy countenance and elastic form, it was a vision almost too bright forthis weary earth, --a thing of light and bliss, that the joyous Greekmight have placed among the forms of Heaven, and worshipped as an Auroraor a Hebe. 

"Oh, how can you stay indoors this beautiful evening? Come, dearest Mrs. Leslie; come, Mother, dear Mother, you know you promised you would, --yousaid I was to call you; see, it will rain no more, and the shower hasleft the myrtles and the violet-bank so fresh. "

"My dear Evelyn, " said Mrs. Leslie, with a smile, "I am not so young asyou. "

"No; but you are just as gay when you are in good spirits--and who can beout of spirits in such weather? Let me call for your chair; let me wheelyou--I am sure I can. Down, Sultan; so you have found me out, have you, sir? Be quiet, sir, down!"

This last exhortation was addressed to a splendid dog of the Newfoundlandbreed, who now contrived wholly to occupy Evelyn's attention. 

The two friends looked at this beautiful girl, as with all the grace ofyouth she shared while she rebuked the exuberant hilarity of her hugeplaymate; and the elder of the two seemed the most to sympathize with hermirth. Both gazed with fond affection upon an object dear to both. Butsome memory or association touched Lady Vargrave, and she sighed as shegazed. 

CHAPTER II. 

 Is stormy life preferred to this serene?---YOUNG: _Satires_. 

AND the windows were closed in, and night had succeeded to evening, andthe little party at the cottage were grouped together. Mrs. Leslie wasquietly seated at her tambour-frame; Lady Vargrave, leaning her cheek onher hand, seemed absorbed in a volume before her, but her eyes were noton the page; Evelyn was busily employed in turning over the contents of aparcel of books and music which had just been brought from the lodgewhere the London coach had deposited it. 

"Oh, dear Mamma!" cried Evelyn, "I am so glad; there is something youwill like, --some of the poetry that touched you so much set to music. "

Evelyn brought the songs to her mother, who roused herself from herrevery, and looked at them with interest. 

"It is very strange, " said she, "that I should be so affected by all thatis written by this person: I, too" (she added, tenderly stroking downEvelyn's luxuriant tresses), "who am not so fond of reading as you are!"

"You are reading one of his books now, " said Evelyn, glancing over theopen page on the table. "Ah, that beautiful passage upon 'Our FirstImpressions. ' Yet I do not like you, dear Mother, to read his books;they always seem to make you sad. "

"There is a charm to me in their thoughts, their manner of expression, "said Lady Vargrave, "which sets me thinking, which reminds me of--of anearly friend, whom I could fancy I hear talking while I read. It was sofrom the first time I opened by accident a book of his years ago. "

"Who is this author that pleases you so much?" asked Mrs. Leslie, withsome surprise; for Lady Vargrave had usually little pleasure in readingeven the greatest and most popular masterpieces of modern genius. 

"Maltravers, " answered Evelyn; "and I think I almost share my mother'senthusiasm. "

"Maltravers!" repeated Mrs. Leslie. "He is, perhaps, a dangerous writerfor one so young. At your age, dear girl, you have naturally romance andfeeling enough of your own without seeking them in books. "

"But, dear madam, " said Evelyn, standing up for her favourite, "hiswritings do not consist of romance and feeling only; they are notexaggerated, they are so simple, so truthful. "

"Did you ever meet him?" asked Lady Vargrave. 

"Yes, " returned Mrs. Leslie, "once, when he was a gay, fair-haired boy. His father resided in the next county, and we met at a country-house. Mr. Maltravers himself has an estate near my daughter in B-----shire, buthe does not live on it; he has been some years abroad, --a strangecharacter!"

"Why does he write no more?" said Evelyn; "I have read his works sooften, and know his poetry so well by heart, that I should look forwardto something new from him as an event. "

"I have heard, my dear, that he has withdrawn much from the world and itsobjects, --that he has lived greatly in the East. The death of a lady towhom he was to have been married is said to have unsettled and changedhis character. Since that event he has not returned to England. LordVargrave can tell you more of him than I. "

"Lord Vargrave thinks of nothing that is not always before the world, "said Evelyn. 

"I am sure you wrong him, " said Mrs. Leslie, looking up and fixing hereyes on Evelyn's countenance; "for _you_ are not before the world. "

Evelyn slightly--very slightly--pouted her pretty lip, but made noanswer. She took up the music, and seating herself at the piano, practised the airs. Lady Vargrave listened with emotion; and as Evelynin a voice exquisitely sweet, though not powerful, sang the words, hermother turned away her face, and half unconsciously, a few tears stolesilently down her cheek. 

When Evelyn ceased, herself affected, --for the lines were impressed witha wild and melancholy depth of feeling, --she came again to her mother'sside, and seeing her emotion, kissed away the tears from the pensiveeyes. Her own gayety left her; she drew a stool to her mother's feet, and nestling to her, and clasping her hand, did not leave that place tillthey retired to rest. 

And the lady blessed Evelyn, and felt that, if bereaved, she was notalone. 

CHAPTER III. 

 BUT come, thou Goddess, fair and free, In heaven yclept Euphrosyne!

 . . . . . . 

 To hear the lark begin his flight, And, singing, startle the dull night. --_L'Allegro_. 

 But come, thou Goddess, sage and holy, Come, divinest Melancholy!

 . . . . . . 

 There held in holy passion still, Forget thyself to marble. --_Il Penseroso_. 

THE early morn of early spring--what associations of freshness and hopein that single sentence! And there a little after sunrise--there wasEvelyn, fresh and hopeful as the morning itself, bounding with the lightstep of a light heart over the lawn. Alone, alone! no governess, with apinched nose and a sharp voice, to curb her graceful movements, and tellher how young ladies ought to walk. How silently morning stole over theearth! It was as if youth had the day and the world to itself. Theshutters of the cottage were still closed, and Evelyn cast a glanceupward, to assure herself that her mother, who also rose betimes, was notyet stirring. So she tripped along, singing from very glee, to secure acompanion, and let out Sultan; and a few moments afterwards, they werescouring over the grass, and descending the rude steps that wound downthe cliff to the smooth sea sands. Evelyn was still a child at heart, yet somewhat more than a child in mind. In the majesty of--

 "That hollow, sounding, and mysterious main, "--

in the silence broken but by the murmur of the billows, in the solituderelieved but by the boats of the early fishermen, she felt those deep andtranquillizing influences which belong to the Religion of Nature. Unconsciously to herself, her sweet face grew more thoughtful, and herstep more slow. What a complex thing is education! How manycircumstances, that have no connection with books and tutors, contributeto the rearing of the human mind! The earth and the sky and the oceanwere among the teachers of Evelyn Cameron; and beneath her simplicity ofthought was daily filled, from the turns of invisible spirits, thefountain of the poetry of feeling. 

This was the hour when Evelyn most sensibly felt how little our real lifeis chronicled by external events, --how much we live a second and a higherlife in our meditations and dreams. Brought up, not more by precept thanexample, in the faith which unites creature and Creator, this was thehour in which thought itself had something of the holiness of prayer; andif (turning from dreams divine to earlier visions) this also was the hourin which the heart painted and peopled its own fairyland below, of thetwo ideal worlds that stretch beyond the inch of time on which we stand, Imagination is perhaps holier than Memory. 

So now, as the day crept on, Evelyn returned in a more sober mood, andthen she joined her mother and Mrs. Leslie at breakfast; and then thehousehold cares--such as they were--devolved upon her, heiress though shewas; and, that duty done, once more the straw hat and Sultan were inrequisition; and opening a little gate at the back of the cottage, shetook the path along the village churchyard that led to the house of theold curate. The burial-ground itself was surrounded and shut in with abelt of trees. Save the small time-discoloured church and the roofs ofthe cottage and the minister's house, no building--not even a cotter'shut--was visible there. Beneath a dark and single yew-tree in the centreof the ground was placed a rude seat; opposite to this seat was a grave, distinguished from the rest by a slight palisade. As the young Evelynpassed slowly by this spot, a glove on the long damp grass beside theyew-tree caught her eye. She took it up and sighed, --it was hermother's. She sighed, for she thought of the soft melancholy on thatmother's face which her caresses and her mirth never could wholly chaseaway. She wondered why that melancholy was so fixed a habit, for theyoung ever wonder why the experienced should be sad. 

And now Evelyn had passed the churchyard, and was on the green turfbefore the minister's quaint, old-fashioned house. The old man himselfwas at work in his garden; but he threw down his hoe as he saw Evelyn, and came cheerfully up to greet her. 

It was easy to see how dear she was to him. 

"So you are come for your daily lesson, my young pupil?"

"Yes; but Tasso can wait if the--"

"If the tutor wants to play truant; no, my child; and, indeed, the lessonmust be longer than usual to-day, for I fear I shall have to leave youto-morrow for some days. "

"Leave us! why?--leave Brook-Green--impossible!"

"Not at all impossible; for we have now a new vicar, and I must turncourtier in my old age, and ask him to leave me with my flock. He is atWeymouth, and has written to me to visit him there. So, Miss Evelyn, Imust give you a holiday task to learn while I am away. "

Evelyn brushed the tears from her eyes--for when the heart is full ofaffection the eyes easily run over--and clung mournfully to the old man, as she gave utterance to all her half-childish, half-womanly grief at thethought of parting so soon with him. And what, too, could her mother dowithout him; and why could he not write to the vicar instead of going tohim?

The curate, who was childless and a bachelor, was not insensible to thefondness of his beautiful pupil, and perhaps he himself was a little more_distrait_ than usual that morning, or else Evelyn was peculiarlyinattentive; for certain it is that she reaped very little benefit fromthe lesson. 

Yet he was an admirable teacher, that old man! Aware of Evelyn's quick, susceptible, and rather fanciful character of mind, he had sought less tocurb than to refine and elevate her imagination. Himself of no ordinaryabilities, which leisure had allowed him to cultivate, his piety was toolarge and cheerful to exclude literature--Heaven's best gift--from thepale of religion. And under his care Evelyn's mind had been duly storedwith the treasures of modern genius, and her judgment strengthened by thecriticisms of a graceful and generous taste. 

In that sequestered hamlet, the young heiress had been trained to adornher future station; to appreciate the arts and elegances that distinguish(no matter what the rank) the refined from the low, better than if shehad been brought up under the hundred-handed Briareus of fashionableeducation. Lady Vargrave, indeed, like most persons of modestpretensions and imperfect cultivation, was rather inclined to overratethe advantages to be derived from book-knowledge; and she was neverbetter pleased than when she saw Evelyn opening the monthly parcel fromLondon, and delightedly poring over volumes which Lady Vargraveinnocently believed to be reservoirs of inexhaustible wisdom. 

But this day Evelyn would not read, and the golden verses of Tasso losttheir music to her ear. So the curate gave up the lecture, and placed alittle programme of studies to be conned during his absence in herreluctant hand; and Sultan, who had been wistfully licking his paws forthe last half-hour, sprang up and caracoled once more into the garden;and the old priest and the young woman left the works of man for those ofNature. 

"Do not fear, I will take such care of your garden while you are away, "said Evelyn; "and you must write and let us know what day you are to comeback. "

"My dear Evelyn, you are born to spoil every one--from Sultan to Aubrey. "

"And to be spoilt too, don't forget that, " cried Evelyn, laughinglyshaking back her ringlets. "And now, before you go, will you tell me, asyou are so wise, what I can do to make--to make--my mother love me?"

Evelyn's voice faltered as she spoke the last words, and Aubrey lookedsurprised and moved. 

"Your mother love you, my dear Evelyn! What do you mean, --does she notlove you?"

"Ah, not as I love her. She is kind and gentle, I know, for she is so toall; but she does not confide in me, she does not trust me; she has somesorrow at heart which I am never allowed to learn and soothe. Why doesshe avoid all mention of her early days? She never talks to me as ifshe, too, had once a mother! Why am I never to speak of her firstmarriage, of my father? Why does she look reproachfully at me, and shunme--yes, shun me, for days together--if--if I attempt to draw her to thepast? Is there a secret? If so, am I not old enough to know it?"

Evelyn spoke quickly and nervously, and with quivering lips. Aubrey tookher hand, and pressing it, said, after a little pause, --

"Evelyn, this is the first time you have ever thus spoken to me. Hasanything chanced to arouse your--shall I call it curiosity, or shall Icall it the mortified pride of affection?"

"And you, too, aye harsh; you blame me! No, it is true that I have notthus spoken to you before; but I have long, long thought with grief thatI was insufficient to my mother's happiness, --I who love her so dearly. And now, since Mrs. Leslie has been here, I find her conversing with thiscomparative stranger so much more confidentially than with me. When Icome in unexpectedly, they cease their conference, as if I were notworthy to share it; and--and oh, if I could but make you understand thatall I desire is that my mother should love me and know me and trust me--"

"Evelyn, " said the curate, coldly, "you love your mother, and justly; akinder and a gentler heart than hers does not beat in a human breast. Her first wish in life is for your happiness and welfare. You ask forconfidence, but why not confide in her; why not believe her actuated bythe best and the tenderest motives; why not leave it to her discretion toreveal to you any secret grief, if such there be, that preys upon her;why add to that grief by any selfish indulgence of over-susceptibility inyourself? My dear pupil, you are yet almost a child; and they who havesorrowed may well be reluctant to sadden with a melancholy confidencethose to whom sorrow is yet unknown. This much, at least, I may tellyou, --for this much she does not seek to conceal, --that Lady Vargrave wasearly inured to trials from which you, more happy, have been saved. Shespeaks not to you of her relations, for she has none left on earth. Andafter her marriage with your benefactor, Evelyn, perhaps it seemed to hera matter of principle to banish all vain regret, all remembrance ifpossible, of an earlier tie. "

"My poor, poor mother! Oh, yes, you are right; forgive me. She yetmourns, perhaps, my father, whom I never saw, whom I feel, as it were, tacitly forbid to name, --you did not know him?"

"Him!--whom?"

"My father, my mother's first husband. "

"No. "

"But I am sure I could not have loved him so well as my benefactor, myreal and second father, who is now dead and gone. Oh, how well Iremember him, --how fondly!" Here Evelyn stopped and burst into tears. 

"You do right to remember him thus; to love and revere his memory, --afather indeed he was to you. But now, Evelyn, my own dear child, hearme. Respect the silent heart of your mother; let her not think that hermisfortunes, whatever they may be, can cast a shadow over you, --you, herlast hope and blessing. Rather than seek to open the old wounds, sufferthem to heal, as they must, beneath the influences of religion and time;and wait the hour when without, perhaps, too keen a grief, your mothercan go back with you into the past. "

"I will, I will! Oh, how wicked, how ungracious I have been! It was butan excess of love, believe it, dear Mr. Aubrey, believe it. "

"I do believe it, my poor Evelyn; and now I know that I may trust in you. Come, dry those bright eyes, or they will think I have been a hardtaskmaster, and let us go to the cottage. "

They walked slowly and silently across the humble garden into thechurchyard, and there, by the old yew-tree, they saw Lady Vargrave. Evelyn, fearful that the traces of her tears were yet visible, drew back;and Aubrey, aware of what passed within her, said, --

"Shall I join your mother, and tell her of my approaching departure? Andperhaps in the meanwhile you will call at our poor pensioner's in thevillage, --Dame Newman is so anxious to see you; we will join you theresoon. "

Evelyn smiled her thanks, and kissing her hand to her mother with seeminggayety, turned back and passed through the glebe into the little village. Aubrey joined Lady Vargrave, and drew her arm in his. 

Meanwhile Evelyn thoughtfully pursued her way. Her heart was full, andof self-reproach. Her mother had, then, known cause for sorrow; andperhaps her reserve was but occasioned by her reluctance to pain herchild. Oh, how doubly anxious would Evelyn be hereafter to soothe, tocomfort, to wean that dear mother from the past! Though in this girl'scharacter there was something of the impetuosity and thoughtlessness ofher years, it was noble as well as soft; and now the woman's trustfulnessconquered all the woman's curiosity. 

She entered the cottage of the old bedridden crone whom Aubrey hadreferred to. It was as a gleam of sunshine, --that sweet comforting face;and here, seated by the old woman's side, with the Book of the Poor uponher lap, Evelyn was found by Lady Vargrave. It was curious to observethe different impressions upon the cottagers made by the mother anddaughter. Both were beloved with almost equal enthusiasm; but with thefirst the poor felt more at home. They could talk to her more at ease:she understood them so much more quickly; they had no need to beat aboutthe bush to tell the little peevish complaints that they werehalf-ashamed to utter to Evelyn. What seemed so light to the young, cheerful beauty, the mother listened to with so grave and sweet apatience. When all went right, they rejoiced to see Evelyn; but in theirlittle difficulties and sorrows nobody was like "my good Lady!"

So Dame Newman, the moment she saw the pale countenance and gracefulshape of Lady Vargrave at the threshold, uttered an exclamation ofdelight. Now she could let out all that she did not like to trouble theyoung lady with; now she could complain of east winds, and rheumatiz, andthe parish officers, and the bad tea they sold poor people at Mr. Hart'sshop, and the ungrateful grandson who was so well to do and who forgot hehad a grandmother alive!

CHAPTER IV. 

 TOWARDS the end of the week we received a card from the town ladies. _Vicar of Wakefield_. 

THE curate was gone, and the lessons suspended; otherwise--as like eachto each as sunshine or cloud permitted--day followed day in the calmretreat of Brook-Green, --when, one morning, Mrs. Leslie, with a letter inher hand, sought Lady Vargrave, who was busied in tending the flowers ofa small conservatory which she had added to the cottage, when, fromvarious motives, and one in especial powerful and mysterious, sheexchanged for so sequestered a home the luxurious villa bequeathed to herby her husband. 

To flowers--those charming children of Nature, in which our age can takethe same tranquil pleasure as our youth--Lady Vargrave devoted much ofher monotonous and unchequered time. She seemed to love them almost asliving things; and her memory associated them with hours as bright and asfleeting as themselves. 

"My dear friend, " said Mrs. Leslie, "I have news for you. My daughter, Mrs. Merton, who has been in Cornwall on a visit to her husband's mother, writes me word that she will visit us on her road home to the Rectory inB-----shire. She will not put you much out of the way, " added Mrs. Leslie, smiling, "for Mr. Merton will not accompany her; she only bringsher daughter Caroline, a lively, handsome, intelligent girl, who will beenchanted with Evelyn. All you will regret is, that she comes toterminate my visit, and take me away with her. If you can forgive thatoffence, you will have nothing else to pardon. "

Lady Vargrave replied with her usual simple kindness; but she wasevidently nervous at the visit of a stranger (for she had never yet seenMrs. Merton), and still more distressed at the thought of losing Mrs. Leslie a week or two sooner than had been anticipated. However, Mrs. Leslie hastened to reassure her. Mrs. Merton was so quiet andgood-natured, the wife of a country clergyman with simple tastes; andafter all, Mrs. Leslie's visit might last as long, if Lady Vargrave wouldbe contented to extend her hospitality to Mrs. Merton and Caroline. 

When the visit was announced to Evelyn, her young heart was susceptibleonly of pleasure and curiosity. She had no friend of her own age; shewas sure she should like the grandchild of her dear Mrs. Leslie. 

Evelyn, who had learned betimes, from the affectionate solicitude of hernature, to relieve her mother of such few domestic cares as a home soquiet, with an establishment so regular, could afford, gayly busiedherself in a thousand little preparations. She filled the rooms of thevisitors with flowers (not dreaming that any one could fancy themunwholesome), and spread the tables with her own favourite books, and hadthe little cottage piano in her own dressing-room removed intoCaroline's--Caroline must be fond of music. She had some doubts oftransferring a cage with two canaries into Caroline's room also; but whenshe approached the cage with that intention, the birds chirped somerrily, and seemed so glad to see her, and so expectant of sugar, thather heart smote her for her meditated desertion and ingratitude. No, shecould not give up the canaries; but the glass bowl with the goldfish--oh, that would look so pretty on its stand just by the casement; and thefish--dull things!--would not miss her. 

The morning, the noon, the probable hour of the important arrival came atlast; and after having three times within the last half-hour visited therooms, and settled and unsettled and settled again everything beforearranged, Evelyn retired to her own room to consult her wardrobe, andMargaret, --once her nurse, now her abigail. Alas! the wardrobe of thedestined Lady Vargrave--the betrothed of a rising statesman, a new andnow an ostentatious peer; the heiress of the wealthy Templeton--was onethat many a tradesman's daughter would have disdained. Evelyn visited solittle; the clergyman of the place, and two old maids who lived mostrespectably on a hundred and eighty pounds a year, in a cottage, with onemaidservant, two cats, and a footboy, bounded the circle of heracquaintance. Her mother was so indifferent to dress; she herself hadfound so many other ways of spending money!--but Evelyn was not now morephilosophical than others of her age. She turned from muslin tomuslin--from the coloured to the white, from the white to thecoloured--with pretty anxiety and sorrowful suspense. At last shedecided on the newest, and when it was on, and the single rose set in thelustrous and beautiful hair, Carson herself could not have added a charm. Happy age! Who wants the arts of the milliner at seventeen?

"And here, miss; here's the fine necklace Lord Vargrave brought down whenmy lord came last; it will look so grand!"

The emeralds glittered in their case; Evelyn looked at them irresolutely;then, as she looked, a shade came over her forehead, and she sighed, andclosed the lid. 

"No, Margaret, I do not want it; take it away. "

"Oh, dear, miss! what would my lord say if he were down! And they are sobeautiful! they will look so fine! Deary me, how they sparkle! But youwill wear much finer when you are my lady. "

"I hear Mamma's bell; go, Margaret, she wants you. "

Left alone, the young beauty sank down abstractedly, and though thelooking-glass was opposite, it did not arrest her eye; she forgot herwardrobe, her muslin dress, her fears, and her guests. 

"Ah, " she thought, "what a weight of dread I feel here when I think ofLord Vargrave and this fatal engagement; and every day I feel it more andmore. To leave my dear, dear mother, the dear cottage--oh! I never can. I used to like him when I was a child; now I shudder at his name. Why isthis? He is kind; he condescends to seek to please. It was the wish ofmy poor father, --for father he really was to me; and yet--oh that he hadleft me poor and free!"

At this part of Evelyn's meditation the unusual sound of wheels was heardon the gravel; she started up, wiped the tears from her eyes, and hurrieddown to welcome the expected guests. 

CHAPTER V. 

 TELL me, Sophy, my dear, what do you think of our new visitors? _Vicar of Wakefield_. 

MRS. MERTON and her daughter were already in the middle drawing-room, seated on either side of Mrs. Leslie, --the former a woman of quiet andpleasing exterior, her face still handsome, and if not intelligent, atleast expressive of sober good-nature and habitual content; the latter afine dark-eyed girl, of decided countenance, and what is termed a showystyle of beauty, --tall, self-possessed, and dressed plainly indeed, butafter the approved fashion. The rich bonnet of the large shape thenworn; the Chantilly veil; the gay French _Cachemire_; the full sleeves, at that time the unnatural rage; the expensive yet unassuming _robe desoie_; the perfect _chaussure_; the air of society, the easy manner, thetranquil but scrutinizing gaze, --all startled, discomposed, andhalf-frightened Evelyn. 

Miss Merton herself, if more at her ease, was equally surprised by thebeauty and unconscious grace of the young fairy before her, and rose togreet her with a well-bred cordiality, which at once made a conquest ofEvelyn's heart. 

Mrs. Merton kissed her cheek, and smiled kindly on her, but said little. It was easy to see that she was a less conversable and more homely personthan Caroline. 

When Evelyn conducted them to their rooms, the mother and daughterdetected at a glance the care that had provided for their comforts; andsomething eager and expectant in Evelyn's eyes taught the good-nature ofthe one and the good breeding of the other to reward their young hostessby various little exclamations of pleasure and satisfaction. 

"Dear, how nice! What a pretty writing-desk!" said one--"And the prettygoldfish!" said the other--"And the piano, too, so well placed;" andCaroline's fair fingers ran rapidly over the keys. Evelyn retired, covered with smiles and blushes. And then Mrs. Merton permitted herselfto say to the well-dressed abigail, --

"Do take away those flowers, they make me quite faint. "

"And how low the room is, --so confined!" said Caroline, when the lady'slady withdrew with the condemned flowers. "And I see no Pysche. However, the poor people have done their best. "

"Sweet person, Lady Vargrave!" said Mrs. Merton, --"so interesting, sobeautiful; and how youthful in appearance!"

"No _tournure_--not much the manner of the world, " said Caroline. 

"No; but something better. "

"Hem!" said Caroline. "The girl is very pretty, though too small. "

"Such a smile, such eyes, --she is irresistible! and what a fortune! Shewill be a charming friend for you, Caroline. "

"Yes, she maybe useful, if she marry Lord Vargrave; or, indeed, if shemake any brilliant match. What sort of a man is Lord Vargrave?"

"I never saw him; they say, most fascinating. "

"Well, she is very happy, " said Caroline, with a sigh. 

CHAPTER VI. 

 TWO lovely damsels cheer my lonely walk. --LAMB: _Album Verses_. 

AFTER dinner there was still light enough for the young people to strollthrough the garden. Mrs. Merton, who was afraid of the damp, preferredstaying within; and she was so quiet, and made herself so much at home, that Lady Vargrave, to use Mrs. Leslie's phrase, was not the least "putout" by her. Besides, she talked of Evelyn, and that was a theme verydear to Lady Vargrave, who was both fond and proud of Evelyn. 

"This is very pretty indeed, --the view of the sea quite lovely!" saidCaroline. "You draw?"

"Yes, a little. "

"From Nature?"

"Oh, yes. "

"What, in Indian ink?"

"Yes; and water-colours. "

"Oh! Why, who could have taught you in this little village; or, indeed, in this most primitive county?"

"We did not come to Brook-Green till I was nearly fifteen. My dearmother, though very anxious to leave our villa at Fulham, would not do soon my account, while masters could be of service to me; and as I knew shehad set her heart on this place, I worked doubly hard. "

"Then she knew this place before?"

"Yes; she had been here many years ago, and took the place after my poorfather's death, --I always call the late Lord Vargrave my father. Sheused to come here regularly once a year without me; and when shereturned, I thought her even more melancholy than before. "

"What makes the charm of the place to Lady Vargrave?" asked Caroline, with some interest. 

"I don't know; unless it be its extreme quiet, or some earlyassociation. "

"And who is your nearest neighbour?"

"Mr. Aubrey, the curate. It is so unlucky, he is gone from home for ashort time. You can't think how kind and pleasant he is, --the mostamiable old man in the world; just such a man as Bernardin St. Pierrewould have loved to describe. "

"Agreeable, no doubt, but dull--good curates generally are. "

"Dull? not the least; cheerful even to playfulness, and full ofinformation. He has been so good to me about books; indeed, I havelearned a great deal from him. "

"I dare say he is an admirable judge of sermons. "

"But Mr. Aubrey is not severe, " persisted Evelyn, earnestly; "he is veryfond of Italian literature, for instance; we are reading Tasso together. "

"Oh! pity he is old--I think you said he was old. Perhaps there is ason, the image of the sire?"

"Oh, no, " said Evelyn, laughing innocently; "Mr. Aubrey never married. "

"And where does the old gentleman live?"

"Come a little this way; there, you can just see the roof of his house, close by the church. "

"I see; it is _tant soit peu triste_ to have the church so near you. "

"_Do_ you think so? Ah, but you have not seen it; it is the prettiestchurch in the county; and the little burial-ground--so quiet, so shut in;I feel better every time I pass it. Some places breathe of religion. "

"You are poetical, my dear little friend. "

Evelyn, who _had_ poetry in her nature, and therefore sometimes it brokeout in her simple language, coloured and felt half-ashamed. 

"It is a favourite walk with my mother, " said she, apologetically; "sheoften spends hours there alone: and so, perhaps, I think it a prettierspot than others may. It does not seem to me to have anything of gloomin it; when I die, I should like to be buried there. "

Caroline laughed slightly. "That is a strange wish; but perhaps you havebeen crossed in love?"

"I!--oh, you are laughing at me!"

"You do not remember Mr. Cameron, your real father, I suppose?"

"No; I believe he died before I was born. "

"Cameron is a Scotch name: to what tribe of Camerons do you belong?"

"I don't know, " said Evelyn, rather embarrassed; "indeed I know nothingof my father's or mother's family. It is very odd, but I don't think wehave any relations. You know when I am of age that I am to take the nameof Templeton. "

"Ah, the name goes with the fortune; I understand. Dear Evelyn, how richyou will be! I do so wish I were rich!"

"And I that I were poor, " said Evelyn, with an altered tone andexpression of countenance. 

"Strange girl! what can you mean?"

Evelyn said nothing, and Caroline examined her curiously. 

"These notions come from living so much out of the world, my dear Evelyn. How you must long to see more of life!"

"I! not in the least. I should never like to leave this place, --I couldlive and die here. "

"You will think otherwise when you are Lady Vargrave. Why do you look sograve? Do you not love Lord Vargrave?"

"What a question!" said Evelyn, turning away her head, and forcing alaugh. 

"It is no matter whether you do or not: it is a brilliant position. Hehas rank, reputation, high office; all he wants is money, and that youwill give him. Alas! I have no prospect so bright. I have no fortune, and I fear my face will never buy a title, an opera-box, and a house inGrosvenor Square. I wish I were the future Lady Vargrave. "

"I am sure I wish you were, " said Evelyn, with great _naivete_; "youwould suit Lord Vargrave better than I should. "

Caroline laughed. 

"Why do you think so?"

"Oh, his way of thinking is like yours; he never says anything I cansympathize with. "

"A pretty compliment to me! Depend upon it, my dear, you will sympathizewith me when you have seen as much of the world. But Lord Vargrave--ishe too old?"

"No, I don't think of his age; and indeed he looks younger than he is. "

"Is he handsome?"

"He is what may be called handsome, --you would think so. "

"Well, if he comes here, I will do my best to win him from you; so lookto yourself. "

"Oh, I should be so grateful; I should like him so much, if he would fallin love with you!"

"I fear there is no chance of that. "

"But how, " said Evelyn, hesitatingly, after a pause, --"how is it that youhave seen so much more of the world than I have? I thought Mr. Mertonlived a great deal in the country. "

"Yes, but my uncle, Sir John Merton, is member for the county; mygrandmother on my father's side--Lady Elizabeth, who has Tregony Castle(which we have just left) for her jointure-house--goes to town almostevery season, and I have spent three seasons with her. She is a charmingold woman, --quite the _grand dame_. I am sorry to say she remains inCornwall this year. She has not been very well; the physicians forbidlate hours and London; but even in the country we are very gay. My unclelives near us, and though a widower, has his house full when down atMerton Park; and Papa, too, is rich, very hospitable and popular, andwill, I hope, be a bishop one of these days--not at all like a merecountry parson; and so, somehow or other, I have learned to beambitious, --we are an ambitious family on Papa's side. But, alas! I havenot your cards to play. Young, beautiful, and an heiress! Ah, whatprospects! You should make your mamma take you to town. "

"To town! she would be wretched at the very idea. Oh, you don't knowus. "

"I can't help fancying, Miss Evelyn, " said Caroline, archly, "that youare not so blind to Lord Vargrave's perfections and so indifferent toLondon, only from the pretty innocent way of thinking, that so prettilyand innocently you express. I dare say, if the truth were known, thereis some handsome young rector, besides the old curate, who plays theflute, and preaches sentimental sermons in white kid gloves. "

Evelyn laughed merrily, --so merrily that Caroline's suspicions vanished. They continued to walk and talk thus till the night came on, and thenthey went in; and Evelyn showed Caroline her drawings, which astonishedthat young lady, who was a good judge of accomplishments. Evelyn'sperformance on the piano astonished her yet more; but Caroline consoledherself on this point, for her voice was more powerful, and she sangFrench songs with much more spirit. Caroline showed talent in all sheundertook; but Evelyn, despite her simplicity, had genius, though as yetscarcely developed, for she had quickness, emotion, susceptibility, imagination. And the difference between talent and genius lies rather inthe heart than the head. 

CHAPTER VII. 

 DOST thou feel The solemn whispering influence of the scene Oppressing thy young heart, that thou dost draw More closely to my side?--F. HEMANS: _Wood Walk and Hymn_. 

CAROLINE and Evelyn, as was natural, became great friends. They were notkindred to each other in disposition; but they were thrown together, andfriendship thus forced upon both. Unsuspecting and sanguine, it wasnatural to Evelyn to admire; and Caroline was, to her inexperience, abrilliant and imposing novelty. Sometimes Miss Merton's worldliness ofthought shocked Evelyn; but then Caroline had a way with her as if shewere not in earnest, --as if she were merely indulging an inclinationtowards irony; nor was she without a certain vein of sentiment thatpersons a little hackneyed in the world and young ladies a littledisappointed that they are not wives instead of maids, easily acquire. Trite as this vein of sentiment was, poor Evelyn thought it beautiful andmost feeling. Then, Caroline was clever, entertaining, cordial, with allthat superficial superiority that a girl of twenty-three who knows Londonreadily exercises over a country girl of seventeen. On the other hand, Caroline was kind and affectionate towards her. The clergyman's daughterfelt that she could not be always superior, even in fashion, to thewealthy heiress. 

One evening, as Mrs. Leslie and Mrs. Merton sat under the veranda of thecottage, without their hostess, who had gone alone into the village, andthe young ladies were confidentially conversing on the lawn, Mrs. Lesliesaid rather abruptly, "Is not Evelyn a delightful creature? Howunconscious of her beauty; how simple, and yet so naturally gifted!"

"I have never seen one who interested me more, " said Mrs. Merton, settling her _pelerine_; "she is extremely pretty. "

"I am so anxious about her, " resumed Mrs. Leslie, thoughtfully. "Youknow the wish of the late Lord Vargrave that she should marry his nephew, the present lord, when she reaches the age of eighteen. She only wantsnine or ten months of that time; she has seen nothing of the world: sheis not fit to decide for herself; and Lady Vargrave, the best of humancreatures, is still herself almost too inexperienced in the world to be aguide for one so young placed in such peculiar circumstances, and ofprospects so brilliant. Lady Vargrave at heart is a child still, andwill be so even when as old as I am. "

"It is very true, " said Mrs. Merton. "Don't you fear that the girls willcatch cold? The dew is falling, and the grass must be wet. "

"I have thought, " continued Mrs. Leslie, without heeding the latter partof Mrs. Merton's speech, "that it would be a kind thing to invite Evelynto stay with you a few months at the Rectory. To be sure, it is not likeLondon; but you see a great deal of the world. The society at your houseis well selected, and at times even brilliant; she will meet young peopleof her own age, and young people fashion and form each other. "

"I was thinking myself that I should like to invite her, " said Mrs. Merton; "I will consult Caroline. "

"Caroline, I am sure, would be delighted; the difficulty lies rather inEvelyn herself. "

"You surprise me! she must be moped to death here. "

"But will she leave her mother?"

"Why, Caroline often leaves me, " said Mrs. Merton. 

Mrs. Leslie was silent, and Evelyn and her new friend now joined themother and daughter. 

"I have been trying to persuade Evelyn to pay us a little visit, " saidCaroline; "she could accompany us so nicely; and if she is still strangewith us, dear grandmamma goes too, --I am sure we can make her at home. "

"How odd!" said Mrs. Merton; "we were just saying the same thing. Mydear Miss Cameron, we should be so happy to have you. "

"And I should be so happy to go, if Mamma would but go too. "

As she spoke, the moon, just risen, showed the form of Lady Vargraveslowly approaching the house. By the light, her features seemed morepale than usual; and her slight and delicate form, with its glidingmotion and noiseless step, had in it something almost ethereal andunearthly. 

Evelyn turned and saw her, and her heart smote her. Her mother, sowedded to the dear cottage--and had this gay stranger rendered that dearcottage less attractive, --she who had said she could live and die in itshumble precincts? Abruptly she left her new friend, hastened to hermother, and threw her arms fondly round her. 

"You are pale; you have over-fatigued yourself. Where have you been?Why did you not take me with you?"

Lady Vargrave pressed Evelyn's hand affectionately. 

"You care for me too much, " said she. "I am but a dull companion foryou; I was so glad to see you happy with one better suited to your gayspirits. What can we do when she leaves us?"

"Ah, I want no companion but my own, own mother. And have I not Sultan, too?" added Evelyn, smiling away the tear that had started to her eyes. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

 FRIEND after friend departs; Who hath not lost a friend? There is no union here of hearts That finds not here an end. --J. MONTGOMERY. 

THAT night Mrs. Leslie sought Lady Vargrave in her own room. As sheentered gently she observed that, late as the hour was, Lady Vargrave wasstationed by the open window, and seemed intently gazing on the scenebelow. Mrs. Leslie reached her side unperceived. The moonlight wasexceedingly bright; and just beyond the garden, from which it wasseparated but by a slight fence, lay the solitary churchyard of thehamlet, with the slender spire of the holy edifice rising high andtapering into the shining air. It was a calm and tranquillizing scene;and so intent was Lady Vargrave's abstracted gaze, that Mrs. Leslie wasunwilling to disturb her revery. 

At length Lady Vargrave turned; and there was that patient and patheticresignation written in her countenance which belongs to those whom theworld can deceive no more, and who have fixed their hearts in the lifebeyond. 

Mrs. Leslie, whatever she thought or felt, said nothing, except in kindlyremonstrance on the indiscretion of braving the night air. The windowwas closed; they sat down to confer. 

Mrs. Leslie repeated the invitation given to Evelyn, and urged theadvisability of accepting it. "It is cruel to separate you, " said she;"I feel it acutely. Why not, then, come with Evelyn? You shake yourhead: why always avoid society? So young, yet you give yourself too muchto the past!"

Lady Vargrave rose, and walked to a cabinet at the end of the room; sheunlocked it, and beckoned to Mrs. Leslie to approach. In a drawer laycarefully folded articles of female dress, --rude, homely, ragged, --thedress of a peasant girl. 

"Do these remind you of your first charity to me?" she said touchingly:"they tell me that I have nothing to do with the world in which you andyours, and Evelyn herself, should move. "

"Too tender conscience!--your errors were but those of circumstances, ofyouth;--how have they been redeemed! none even suspect them. Your pasthistory is known but to the good old Aubrey and myself. No breath, evenof rumour, tarnishes the name of Lady Vargrave. "

"Mrs. Leslie, " said Lady Vargrave, reclosing the cabinet, and againseating herself, "my world lies around me; I cannot quit it. If I wereof use to Evelyn, then indeed I would sacrifice, brave all; but I onlycloud her spirits. I have no advice to give her, no instruction tobestow. When she was a child I could watch over her; when she was sick, I could nurse her; but now she requires an adviser, a guide; and I feeltoo sensibly that this task is beyond my powers. I, a guide to youth andinnocence, --_I_! No, I have nothing to offer her, dear child! but mylove and my prayers. Let your daughter take her, then, --watch over her, guide, advise her. For me--unkind, ungrateful as it may seem--were shebut happy, I could well bear to be alone!"

"But she--how will she, who loves you so, submit to this separation?"

"It will not be long; and, " added Lady Vargrave, with a serious, yetsweet smile, "she had better be prepared for that separation which mustcome at last. As year by year I outlive my last hope, --that of once morebeholding _him_, --I feel that life becomes feebler and feebler, and Ilook more on that quiet churchyard as a home to which I am soonreturning. At all events, Evelyn will be called upon to form new tiesthat must estrange her from me; let her wean herself from one so uselessto her, to all the world, --now, and by degrees. "

"Speak not thus, " said Mrs. Leslie, strongly affected; "you have manyyears of happiness yet in store for you. The more you recede from youth, the fairer life will become to you. "

"God is good to me, " said the lady, raising her meek eyes; "and I havealready found it so. I am contented. "

CHAPTER IX. 

 THE greater part of them seemed to be charmed with his presence. MACKENZIE: _The Man of the World_. 

IT was with the greatest difficulty that Evelyn could at last bepersuaded to consent to the separation from her mother; she wept bitterlyat the thought. But Lady Vargrave, though touched, was firm, and herfirmness was of that soft, imploring character which Evelyn never couldresist. The visit was to last some months, it is true, but she wouldreturn to the cottage; she would escape, too--and this, perhaps, unconsciously reconciled her more than aught else--the periodical visitof Lord Vargrave. At the end of July, when the parliamentary session atthat unreformed era usually expired, he always came to Brook-Green for amonth. His last visits had been most unwelcome to Evelyn, and this nextvisit she dreaded more than she had any of the former ones. It isstrange, --the repugnance with which she regarded the suit of heraffianced!--she, whose heart was yet virgin; who had never seen any onewho, in form, manner, and powers to please, could be compared to the gayLord Vargrave. And yet a sense of honour, of what was due to her deadbenefactor, her more than father, --all combated that repugnance, and lefther uncertain what course to pursue, uncalculating as to the future. Inthe happy elasticity of her spirits, and with a carelessness almostapproaching to levity, which, to say truth, was natural to her, she didnot often recall the solemn engagement that must soon be ratified orannulled; but when that thought did occur, it saddened her for hours, andleft her listless and despondent. The visit to Mrs. Merton was, then, finally arranged, the day of departure fixed, when, one morning, came thefollowing letter from Lord Vargrave himself:--

To the LADY VARGRAVE, etc. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, --I find that we have a week's holiday in our do-nothingChamber, and the weather is so delightful, that I long to share itsenjoyment with those I love best. You will, therefore, see me almost assoon as you receive this; that is, I shall be with you at dinner on thesame day. What can I say to Evelyn? Will you, dearest Lady Vargrave, make her accept all the homage which, when uttered by me, she seems halfinclined to reject?

 In haste, most affectionately yours, VARGRAVE. 

 HAMILTON PLACE, April 30, 18--. 

This letter was by no means welcome, either to Mrs. Leslie or to Evelyn. The former feared that Lord Vargrave would disapprove of a visit, thereal objects of which could scarcely be owned to him; the latter wasreminded of all she desired to forget. But Lady Vargrave herself ratherrejoiced at the thought of Lumley's arrival. Hitherto, in the spirit ofher passive and gentle character, she had taken the engagement betweenEvelyn and Lord Vargrave almost as a matter of course. The will and wishof her late husband operated most powerfully on her mind; and whileEvelyn was yet in childhood, Lumley's visits had ever been acceptable, and the playful girl liked the gay and good-humoured lord, who broughther all sorts of presents, and appeared as fond of dogs as herself. ButEvelyn's recent change of manner, her frequent fits of dejection andthought, once pointed out to Lady Vargrave by Mrs. Leslie, aroused allthe affectionate and maternal anxiety of the former. She was resolved towatch, to examine, to scrutinize, not only Evelyn's reception ofVargrave, but, as far as she could, the manner and disposition ofVargrave himself. She felt how solemn a trust was the happiness of awhole life; and she had that romance of heart, learned from Nature, notin books, which made her believe that there could be no happiness in amarriage without love. 

The whole family party were on the lawn, when, an hour earlier than hewas expected, the travelling carriage of Lord Vargrave was whirled alongthe narrow sweep that conducted from the lodge to the house. Vargrave, as he saw the party, kissed his hand from the window; and leaping fromthe carriage, when it stopped at the porch, hastened to meet his hostess. 

"My dear Lady Vargrave, I am so glad to see you! You are lookingcharmingly; and Evelyn?--oh, there she is; the dear coquette, how lovelyshe is! how she has improved! But who [sinking his voice], who are thoseladies?"

"Guests of ours, --Mrs. Leslie, whom you have often heard us speak of, butnever met--"

"Yes; and the others?"

"Her daughter and grandchild. "

"I shall be delighted to know them. "

A more popular manner than Lord Vargrave's it is impossible to conceive. Frank and prepossessing, even when the poor and reckless Mr. Ferrers, without rank or reputation, his smile, the tone of his voice, hisfamiliar courtesy, --apparently so inartificial and approaching almost toa boyish bluntness of good-humour, --were irresistible in the risingstatesman and favoured courtier. 

Mrs. Merton was enchanted with him; Caroline thought him, at the firstglance, the most fascinating person she had ever seen; even Mrs. Leslie, more grave, cautious, and penetrating, was almost equally pleased withthe first impression; and it was not till, in his occasional silence, hisfeatures settled into their natural expression that she fancied shedetected in the quick suspicious eye and the close compression of thelips the tokens of that wily, astute, and worldly character, which, inproportion as he had risen in his career, even his own party reluctantlyand mysteriously assigned to one of their most prominent leaders. 

When Vargrave took Evelyn's hand, and raised it with meaning gallantry tohis lips, the girl first blushed deeply, and then turned pale as death;nor did the colour thus chased away soon return to the transparent cheek. Not noticing signs which might bear a twofold interpretation, Lumley, whoseemed in high spirits, rattled away on a thousand matters, --praising theview, the weather, the journey, throwing out a joke here and a complimentthere, and completing his conquest over Mrs. Merton and Caroline. 

"You have left London in the very height of its gayety, Lord Vargrave, "said Caroline, as they sat conversing after dinner. 

"True, Miss Merton; but the country is in the height of its gayety too. "

"Are you so fond of the country, then?"

"By fits and starts; my passion for it comes in with the earlystrawberries, and goes out with the hautboys. I lead so artificial alife; but then I hope it is a useful one. I want nothing but a home tomake it a happy one. "

"What is the latest news?--dear London! I am so sorry Grandmamma, LadyElizabeth, is not going there this year, so I am compelled to rusticate. Is Lady Jane D----- to be married at last?"

"Commend me to a young lady's idea of news, --always marriage! Lady JaneD-----! yes, she is to be married, as you say--_at last_! While she wasa beauty, our cold sex was shy of her; but she has now faded intoplainness, --the proper colour for a wife. "

"Complimentary!"

"Indeed it is--for you beautiful women we love too much for our ownhappiness--heigho!--and a prudent marriage means friendly indifference, not rapture and despair. But give me beauty and love; I never wasprudent: it is not my weakness. "

Though Caroline was his sole supporter in this dialogue, Lord Vargrave'seyes attempted to converse with Evelyn, who was unusually silent andabstracted. Suddenly Lord Vargrave seemed aware that he was scarcelygeneral enough in his talk for his hearers. He addressed himself to Mrs. Leslie, and glided back, as it were, into a former generation. He spokeof persons gone and things forgotten; he made the subject interestingeven to the young, by a succession of various and sparkling anecdotes. No one could be more agreeable; even Evelyn now listened to him withpleasure, for to all women wit and intellect have their charm. But stillthere was a cold and sharp levity in the tone of the man of the worldthat prevented the charm sinking below the surface. To Mrs. Leslie heseemed unconsciously to betray a laxity of principle; to Evelyn, a wantof sentiment and heart. Lady Vargrave, who did not understand acharacter of this description, listened attentively, and said to herself, "Evelyn may admire, but I fear she cannot love him. " Still, time passedquickly in Lumley's presence, and Caroline thought she had never spent sopleasant an evening. 

When Lord Vargrave retired to his room, he threw himself in his chair, and yawned with exceeding fervour. His servant arranged hisdressing-robe, and placed his portfolios and letter-boxes on the table. 

"What o'clock is it?" said Lumley. 

"Very early, my lord; only eleven. "

"The devil! The country air is wonderfully exhausting. I am verysleepy; you may go. "

"This little girl, " said Lumley, stretching himself, "is preternaturallyshy. I must neglect her no longer--yet it is surely all safe? She hasgrown monstrous pretty; but the other girl is more amusing, more to mytaste, and a much easier conquest, I fancy. Her great dark eyes seemfull of admiration for my lordship. Sensible young woman! she may beuseful in piquing Evelyn. "

CHAPTER X. 

 _Julio_. Wilt thou have him?--_The Maid in the Mill_. 

LORD VARGRAVE heard the next morning, with secret distaste anddispleasure, of Evelyn's intended visit to the Mertons. He couldscarcely make any open objection to it; but he did not refrain from manyinsinuations as to its impropriety. 

"My dear friend, " said he to Lady Vargrave, "it is scarcely right in you(pardon me for saying it) to commit Evelyn to the care of comparativestrangers. Mrs. Leslie, indeed, you know; but Mrs. Merton, you allow, you have now seen for the first time. A most respectable persondoubtless; but still, recollect how young Evelyn is, how rich; what aprize to any younger sons in the Merton family (if such there be). MissMerton herself is a shrewd, worldly girl; and if she were of our sexwould make a capital fortune-hunter. Don't think my fear is selfish; Ido not speak for myself. If I were Evelyn's brother, I should be yetmore earnest in my remonstrance. "

"But, Lord Vargrave, poor Evelyn is dull here; my spirits infect hers. She ought to mix more with those of her own age, to see more of the worldbefore--before--"

"Before her marriage with me? Forgive me, but is not that my affair? IfI am contented, nay, charmed with her innocence, if I prefer it to allthe arts which society could teach her, surely you would be acquitted forleaving her in the beautiful simplicity that makes her chief fascination?She will see enough of the world as Lady Vargrave. "

"But if she should resolve never to be Lady Vargrave--?"

Lumley started, bit his lip, and frowned. Lady Vargrave had never beforeseen on his countenance the dark expression it now wore. He recollectedand recovered himself, as he observed her eye fixed upon him, and said, with a constrained smile, --

"Can you anticipate an event so fatal to my happiness, so unforeseen, soopposed to all my poor uncle's wishes, as Evelyn's rejection of a suitpursued for years, and so solemnly sanctioned in her very childhood?"

"She must decide for herself, " said Lady Vargrave. "Your uncle carefullydistinguished between a wish and a command. Her heart is as yetuntouched. If she can love you, may you deserve her affection. "

"It shall be my study to do so. But why this departure from your roofjust when we ought to see most of each other? It cannot be that youwould separate us?"

"I fear, Lord Vargrave, that if Evelyn were to remain here, she woulddecide against you. I fear if you press her now, such now may be herpremature decision. Perhaps this arises from too fond an attachment forher home; perhaps even a short absence from her home--from me--may morereconcile her to a permanent separation. "

Vargrave could say no more, for here they were joined by Caroline andMrs. Merton; but his manner was changed, nor could he recover the gayetyof the previous night. 

When, however, he found time for meditation, he contrived to reconcilehimself to the intended visit. He felt that it was easy to secure thefriendship of the whole of the Merton family; and that friendship mightbe more useful to him than the neutral part adopted by Lady Vargrave. Heshould, of course, be invited to the rectory; it was much nearer Londonthan Lady Vargrave's cottage, he could more often escape from publiccares to superintend his private interest. A country neighbourhood, particularly at that season of the year, was not likely to abound in verydangerous rivals. Evelyn would, he saw, be surrounded by a _worldly_family, and he thought that an advantage; it might serve to dissipateEvelyn's romantic tendencies, and make her sensible of the pleasures ofthe London life, the official rank, the gay society that her union withhim would offer as an equivalent for her fortune. In short, as was hiswont, he strove to make the best of the new turn affairs had taken. Though guardian to Miss Cameron, and one of the trustees for the fortuneshe was to receive on attaining her majority, he had not the right todictate as to her residence. The late lord's will had expressly andpointedly corroborated the natural and lawful authority of Lady Vargravein all matters connected with Evelyn's education and home. It may be aswell, in this place, to add, that to Vargrave and the co-trustee, Mr. Gustavus Douce, a banker of repute and eminence, the testator left largediscretionary powers as to the investment of the fortune. He had statedit as his wish that from one hundred and twenty to one hundred and thirtythousand pounds should be invested in the purchase of a landed estate;but he had left it to the discretion of the trustees to increase thatsum, even to the amount of the whole capital, should an estate ofadequate importance be in the market, while the selection of time andpurchase was unreservedly confided to the trustees. Vargrave hadhitherto objected to every purchase in the market, --not that he wasinsensible to the importance and consideration of landed property, butbecause, till he himself became the legal receiver of the income, hethought it less trouble to suffer the money to lie in the Funds, than tobe pestered with all the onerous details in the management of an estatethat might never be his. He, however, with no less ardour than hisdeceased relative, looked forward to the time when the title of Vargraveshould be based upon the venerable foundation of feudal manors andseignorial acres. 

"Why did you not tell me Lord Vargrave was so charming?" said Caroline toEvelyn, as the two girls were sauntering, in familiar _tete-a-tete_, along the gardens. "You will be very happy with such a companion. "

Evelyn made no answer for a few moments, and then, turning abruptly roundto Caroline, and stopping short, she said, with a kind of tearfuleagerness, "Dear Caroline, you are so wise, so kind too; advise me, tellme what is best. I am very unhappy. "

Miss Merton was moved and surprised by Evelyn's earnestness. 

"But what is it, my poor Evelyn, " said she; "why are you unhappy?--youwhose fate seems to me so enviable. "

"I cannot love Lord Vargrave; I recoil from the idea of marrying him. Ought I not fairly to tell him so? Ought I not to say that I cannotfulfil the wish that--oh, there's the thought which leaves me soirresolute!--His uncle bequeathed to me--me who have no claim ofrelationship--the fortune that should have been Lord Vargrave's, in thebelief that my hand would restore it to him. It is almost a fraud torefuse him. Am I not to be pitied?"

"But why can you not love Lord Vargrave? If past the _premierejeunesse_, he is still handsome. He is more than handsome, --he has theair of rank, an eye that fascinates, a smile that wins, the manners thatplease, the abilities that command, the world! Handsome, clever, admired, distinguished--what can woman desire more in her lover, herhusband? Have you ever formed some fancy, some ideal of the one youcould love, and how does Lord Vargrave fall short of the vision?"

"Have I ever formed an ideal?--oh, yes!" said Evelyn, with a beautifulenthusiasm that lighted up her eyes, blushed in her cheek, and heaved herbosom beneath its robe; "something that in loving I could also revere, --amind that would elevate my own; a heart that could sympathize with myweakness, my follies, my romance, if you will; and in which I couldtreasure my whole soul. "

"You paint a schoolmaster, not a lover!" said Caroline. "You do notcare, then, whether this hero be handsome or young?"

"Oh, yes, he should be both, " said Evelyn, innocently; "and yet, " sheadded, after a pause, and with an infantine playfulness of manner andcountenance, "I know you will laugh at me, but I think I could be in lovewith more than one at the same time!"

"A common case, but a rare confession!"

"Yes; for if I might ask for the youth and outward advantages that pleasethe eye, I could also love with a yet deeper love that which would speakto my imagination, --Intellect, Genius, Fame! Ah, these have an immortalyouth and imperishable beauty of their own!"

"You are a very strange girl. "

"But we are on a very strange subject--it is all an enigma!" saidEvelyn, shaking her wise little head with a pretty gravity, half mock, half real. "Ah, if Lord Vargrave should love you--and you--oh, you_would_ love him, and then I should be free, and so happy!"

They were then on the lawn in sight of the cottage windows, and Lumley, lifting his eyes from the newspaper, which had just arrived and beenseized with all a politician's avidity, saw them in the distance. Hethrew down the paper, mused a moment or two, then took up his hat andjoined them; but before he did so, he surveyed himself in the glass. "Ithink I look young enough still, " thought he. 

"Two cherries on one stalk, " said Lumley, gayly: "by the by, it is not acomplimentary simile. What young lady would be like a cherry?--such anuninteresting, common, charity-boy sort of fruit. For my part, I alwaysassociate cherries with the image of a young gentleman in corduroys and askeleton jacket, with one pocket full of marbles, and the other full ofworms for fishing, with three-halfpence in the left paw, and two cherrieson one stalk (Helena and Hermia) in the right. "

"How droll you are!" said Caroline, laughing. 

"Much obliged to you, and don't envy your discrimination, 'Melancholymarks me for its own. ' You ladies, --ah, yours is the life for gay spiritsand light hearts; to us are left business and politics, law, physic, andmurder, by way of professions; abuse, nicknamed fame; and the privilegeof seeing how universal a thing, among the great and the wealthy, is thatpleasant vice, beggary, --which privilege is proudly entitled 'patronageand power. ' Are we the things to be gay, --'droll, ' as you say? Oh, no, all our spirits are forced, believe me. Miss Cameron, did you ever knowthat wretched species of hysterical affection called 'forced spirits'?Never, I am sure; your ingenuous smile, your laughing eyes, are the indexto a happy and a sanguine heart. "

"And what of me?" asked Caroline, quickly, and with a slight blush. 

"You, Miss Merton? Ah, I have not yet read your character, --a fair page, but an unknown letter. You, however, have seen the world, and know thatwe must occasionally wear a mask. " Lord Vargrave sighed as he spoke, andrelapsed into sudden silence; then looking up, his eyes encounteredCaroline's, which were fixed upon him. Their gaze flattered him;Caroline turned away, and busied herself with a rose-bush. Lumleygathered one of the flowers, and presented it to her. Evelyn was a fewsteps in advance. 

"There is no thorn in this rose, " said he; "may the offering be an omen. You are now Evelyn's friend, oh, be mine; she is to be your guest. Donot scorn to plead for me. "

"Can _you_ want a pleader?" said Caroline, with a slight tremor in hervoice. 

"Charming Miss Merton, love is diffident and fearful; but it must nowfind a voice, to which may Evelyn benignly listen. What I leaveunsaid--would that my new friend's eloquence could supply. "

He bowed slightly, and joined Evelyn. Caroline understood the hint, andreturned alone and thoughtfully to the house. 

"Miss Cameron--Evelyn--ah, still let me call you so, as in the happy andmore familiar days of your childhood, I wish you could read my heart atthis moment. You are about to leave your home; new scenes will surround, new faces smile on you; dare I hope that I may still be remembered?"

He attempted to take her hand as he spoke; Evelyn withdrew it gently. 

"Ah, my lord, " said she, in a very low voice, "if remembrance were allthat you asked of me--"

"It is all, --favourable remembrance, remembrance of the love of the past, remembrance of the bond to come. "

Evelyn shivered. "It is better to speak openly, " said she. 

"Let me throw myself on your generosity. I am not insensible to yourbrilliant qualities, to the honour of your attachment; but--but--as thetime approaches in which you will call for my decision, let me now say, that I cannot feel for you--those--those sentiments, without which youcould not desire our union, --without which it were but a wrong to both ofus to form it. Nay, listen to me. I grieve bitterly at the tenor ofyour too generous uncle's will; can I not atone to you? Willingly wouldI sacrifice the fortune that, indeed, ought to be yours; accept it, andremain my friend. "

"Cruel Evelyn! and can you suppose that it is your fortune I seek? It isyourself. Heaven is my witness, that, had you no dowry but your hand andheart, it were treasure enough to me. You think you cannot love me. Evelyn, you do not yet know yourself. Alas! your retirement in thisdistant village, my own unceasing avocations, which chain me, like aslave, to the galley-oar of politics and power, have kept us separate. You do not know me. I am willing to hazard the experiment of thatknowledge. To devote my life to you, to make you partaker of myambition, my career, to raise you to the highest eminence in thematronage of England, to transfer pride from myself to you, to love andto honour and to prize you, --all this will be my boast; and all this willwin love for me at last. Fear not, Evelyn, --fear not for your happiness;with me you shall know no sorrow. Affection at home, splendour abroad, await you. I have passed the rough and arduous part of my career;sunshine lies on the summit to which I climb. No station in England istoo high for me to aspire to, --prospects, how bright with you, how darkwithout you! Ah, Evelyn! be this hand mine--the heart shall follow!"

Vargrave's words were artful and eloquent; the words were calculated towin their way, but the manner, the tone of voice, wanted earnestness andtruth. This was his defect; this characterized all his attempts toseduce or to lead others, in public or in private life. He had no heart, no deep passion, in what he undertook. He could impress you with theconviction of his ability, and leave the conviction imperfect, because hecould not convince you that he was sincere. That best gift of mentalpower--_earnestness_--was wanting to him; and Lord Vargrave's deficiencyof heart was the true cause why he was not a great man. Still, Evelynwas affected by his words; she suffered the hand he now once more took toremain passively in his, and said timidly, "Why, with sentiments sogenerous and confiding, why do you love me, who cannot return youraffection worthily? No, Lord Vargrave; there are many who must see youwith juster eyes than mine, --many fairer, and even wealthier. Indeed, indeed, it cannot be. Do not be offended, but think that the fortuneleft to me was on one condition I cannot, ought not to fulfil. Failingthat condition, in equity and honour it reverts to you. "

"Talk not thus, I implore you, Evelyn; do not imagine me the worldlycalculator that my enemies deem me. But, to remove at once from yourmind the possibility of such a compromise between your honour andrepugnance--repugnance! have I lived to say that word?--know that yourfortune is not at your own disposal. Save the small forfeit that awaitsyour non-compliance with my uncle's dying prayer, the whole is settledperemptorily on yourself and your children; it is entailed, --you cannotalienate it. Thus, then, your generosity can never be evinced but to himon whom you bestow your hand. Ah, let me recall that melancholy scene. Your benefactor on his death-bed, your mother kneeling by his side, yourhand clasped in mine, and those lips, with their latest breath, utteringat once a blessing and a command. "

"Ah, cease, cease, my lord!" said Evelyn, sobbing. 

"No; bid me not cease before you tell me you will be mine. BelovedEvelyn, I may hope, --you will not resolve against me?"

"No, " said Evelyn, raising her eyes and struggling for composure; "I feeltoo well what should be my duty; I will endeavor to perform it. Ask meno more now. I will struggle to answer you as you wish hereafter. "

Lord Vargrave, resolved to push to the utmost the advantage he hadgained, was about to reply when he heard a step behind him; and turninground, quickly and discomposed, beheld a venerable form approaching them. The occasion was lost: Evelyn also turned; and seeing who was theintruder, sprang towards him almost with a cry of joy. 

The new comer was a man who had passed his seventieth year; but his oldage was green, his step light, and on his healthful and benignantcountenance time had left but few furrows. He was clothed in black; andhis locks, which were white as snow, escaped from the broad hat, andalmost touched his shoulders. 

The old man smiled upon Evelyn, and kissed her forehead fondly. He thenturned to Lord Vargrave, who, recovering his customary self-possession, advanced to meet him with extended hand. 

"My dear Mr. Aubrey, this is a welcome surprise. I heard you were not atthe vicarage, or I would have called on you. "

"Your lordship honours me, " replied the curate. "For the first time forthirty years I have been thus long absent from my cure; but I am nowreturned, I hope, to end my days among my flock. "

"And what, " asked Vargrave, --"what--if the question be notpresumptuous--occasioned your unwilling absence?"

"My lord, " replied the old man, with a gentle smile, "a new vicar hasbeen appointed. I went to him, to proffer an humble prayer that I mightremain amongst those whom I regarded as my children. I have buried onegeneration, I have married another, I have baptized a third. "

"You should have had the vicarage itself; you should be better providedfor, my dear Mr. Aubrey; I will speak to the Lord Chancellor. "

Five times before had Lord Vargrave uttered the same promise, and thecurate smiled to hear the familiar words. 

"The vicarage, my lord, is a family living, and is now vested in a youngman who requires wealth more than I do. He has been kind to me, andre-established me among my flock; I would not leave them for a bishopric. My child, " continued the curate, addressing Evelyn with great affection, "you are surely unwell, --you are paler than when I left you. "

Evelyn clung fondly to his arm, and smiled--her old gay smile--as shereplied to him. They took the way towards the house. 

The curate remained with them for an hour. There was a mingled sweetnessand dignity in his manner which had in it something of the primitivecharacter we poetically ascribe to the pastors of the Church. LadyVargrave seemed to vie with Evelyn which should love him the most. Whenhe retired to his home, which was not many yards distant from thecottage, Evelyn, pleading a headache, sought her chamber, and Lumley, tosoothe his mortification, turned to Caroline, who had seated herself byhis side. Her conversation amused him, and her evident admirationflattered. While Lady Vargrave absented herself, in motherly anxiety, toattend on Evelyn, while Mrs. Leslie was occupied at her frame, and Mrs. Merton looked on, and talked indolently to the old lady of rheumatism andsermons, of children's complaints and servants' misdemeanours, --theconversation between Lord Vargrave and Caroline, at first gay andanimated, grew gradually more sentimental and subdued; their voices tooka lower tone, and Caroline sometimes turned away her head and blushed. 

CHAPTER XI. 

 THERE stands the Messenger of Truth--there stands The Legate of the skies. --COWPER. 

FROM that night Lumley found no opportunity for private conversation withEvelyn; she evidently shunned to meet with him alone. She was ever withher mother or Mrs. Leslie or the good curate, who spent much of his timeat the cottage; for the old man had neither wife nor children, he wasalone at home, he had learned to make his home with the widow and herdaughter. With them he was an object of the tenderest affection, of thedeepest veneration. Their love delighted him, and he returned it withthe fondness of a parent and the benevolence of a pastor. He was a rarecharacter, that village priest!

Born of humble parentage, Edward Aubrey had early displayed abilitieswhich attracted the notice of a wealthy proprietor, who was notdispleased to affect the patron. Young Aubrey was sent to school, andthence to college as a sizar: he obtained several prizes, and took a highdegree. Aubrey was not without the ambition and the passions of youth:he went into the world, ardent, inexperienced, and without a guide. Hedrew back before errors grew into crimes, or folly became a habit. Itwas nature and affection that reclaimed and saved him from eitheralternative, --fame or ruin. His widowed mother was suddenly strickenwith disease. Blind and bedridden, her whole dependence was on her onlyson. This affliction called forth a new character in Edward Aubrey. This mother had stripped herself of so many comforts to provide forhim, --he devoted his youth to her in return. She was now old andimbecile. With the mingled selfishness and sentiment of age, she wouldnot come to London, --she would not move from the village where herhusband lay buried, where her youth had been spent. In this village theable and ambitious young man buried his hopes and his talents; by degreesthe quiet and tranquillity of the country life became dear to him. Assteps in a ladder, so piety leads to piety, and religion grew to him ahabit. He took orders and entered the Church. A disappointment in loveensued; it left on his mind and heart a sober and resigned melancholy, which at length mellowed into content. His profession and its sweetduties became more and more dear to him; in the hopes of the next worldhe forgot the ambition of the present. He did not seek to shine, --

 "More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise. "

His own birth made the poor his brothers, and their dispositions andwants familiar to him. His own early errors made him tolerant to thefaults of others, --few men are charitable who remember not that they havesinned. In our faults lie the germs of virtues. Thus gradually andserenely had worn away his life--obscure but useful, calm but active, --aman whom "the great prizes" of the Church might have rendered anambitious schemer, to whom a modest confidence gave the true pastoralpower, --to conquer the world within himself, and to sympathize with thewants of others. Yes, he was a rare character, that village priest!

CHAPTER XII. 

 TOUT notre raisonnement se reduit a ceder au sentiment. *--PASCAL. 

 * "All our reasoning reduces itself to yielding to sentiment. "

LORD VARGRAVE, who had no desire to remain alone with the widow when theguests were gone, arranged his departure for the same day as that fixedfor Mrs. Merton's; and as their road lay together for several miles, itwas settled that they should all dine at-----, whence Lord Vargrave wouldproceed to London. Failing to procure a second chance-interview withEvelyn, and afraid to demand a formal one--for he felt the insecurity ofthe ground he stood on--Lord Vargrave, irritated and somewhat mortified, sought, as was his habit, whatever amusement was in his reach. In theconversation of Caroline Merton--shrewd, worldly, and ambitious--he foundthe sort of plaything that he desired. They were thrown much together;but to Vargrave, at least, there appeared no danger in the intercourse;and perhaps his chief object was to pique Evelyn, as well as to gratifyhis own spleen. 

It was the evening before Evelyn's departure; the little party had beenfor the last hour dispersed; Mrs. Merton was in her own room, making toherself gratuitous and unnecessary occupation in seeing her woman _packup_. It was just the kind of task that delighted her. To sit in a largechair and see somebody else at work--to say languidly, "Don't crumplethat scarf, Jane; and where shall we put Miss Caroline's bluebonnet?"--gave her a very comfortable notion of her own importance andhabits of business, --a sort of title to be the superintendent of a familyand the wife of a rector. Caroline had disappeared, so had LordVargrave; but the first was supposed to be with Evelyn, the second, employed in writing letters, --at least, it was so when they had been lastobserved. Mrs. Leslie was alone in the drawing-room, and absorbed inanxious and benevolent thoughts on the critical situation of her youngfavourite, about to enter an age and a world the perils of which Mrs. Leslie had not forgotten. 

It was at this time that Evelyn, forgetful of Lord Vargrave and his suit, of every one, of everything but the grief of the approaching departure, found herself alone in a little arbour that had been built upon the cliffto command the view of the sea below. That day she had been restless, perturbed; she had visited every spot consecrated by youthfulrecollections; she had clung with fond regret to every place in which shehad held sweet converse with her mother. Of a disposition singularlywarm and affectionate, she had often, in her secret heart, pined for amore yearning and enthusiastic love than it seemed in the subdued natureof Lady Vargrave to bestow. In the affection of the latter, gentle andnever fluctuating as it was, there seemed to her a something wanting, which she could not define. She had watched that beloved face all themorning. She had hoped to see the tender eyes fixed upon her, and hearthe meek voice exclaim, "I cannot part with my child!" All the gaypictures which the light-hearted Caroline drew of the scenes she was toenter had vanished away--now that the hour approached when her mother wasto be left alone. Why was she to go? It seemed to her an unnecessarycruelty. 

As she thus sat, she did not observe that Mr. Aubrey, who had seen her ata distance, was now bending his way to her; and not till he had enteredthe arbour, and taken her hand, did she waken from those reveries inwhich youth, the Dreamer and the Desirer, so morbidly indulges. 

"Tears, my child?" said the curate. "Nay, be not ashamed of them; theybecome you in this hour. How we shall miss you! and you, too, will notforget us?"

"Forget you! Ah, no, indeed! But why should I leave you? Why will younot speak to my mother, implore her to let me remain? We were so happytill these strangers came. We did not think there was any otherworld, --_here_ there is world enough for me!"

"My poor Evelyn, " said Mr. Aubrey, gently, "I have spoken to your motherand to Mrs. Leslie; they have confided to me all the reasons for yourdeparture, and I cannot but subscribe to their justice. You do not wantmany months of the age when you will be called upon to decide whetherLord Vargrave shall be your husband. Your mother shrinks from theresponsibility of influencing your decision; and here, my child, inexperienced, and having seen so little of others, how can you know yourown heart?"

"But, oh, Mr. Aubrey, " said Evelyn, with an earnestness that overcameembarrassment, "have I a choice left to me? Can I be ungrateful, disobedient to him who was a father to me? Ought I not to sacrifice myown happiness? And how willingly would I do so, if my mother would smileon me approvingly!"

"My child, " said the curate, gravely, "an old man is a bad judge of theaffairs of youth; yet in this matter, I think your duty plain. Do notresolutely set yourself against Lord Vargrave's claim; do not persuadeyourself that you must be unhappy in a union with him. Compose yourmind, think seriously upon the choice before you, refuse all decision atthe present moment; wait until the appointed time arrives, or, at least, more nearly approaches. Meanwhile, I understand that Lord Vargrave is tobe a frequent visitor at Mrs. Merton's; there you will see him withothers, his character will show itself. Study his principles, hisdisposition; examine whether he is one whom you can esteem and renderhappy: there may be a love without enthusiasm, and yet sufficient fordomestic felicity, and for the employment of the affections. You willinsensibly, too, learn from other parts of his character which he doesnot exhibit to us. If the result of time and examination be that you cancheerfully obey the late lord's dying wish, unquestionably it will be thehappier decision. If not, if you still shrink from vows at which yourheart now rebels, as unquestionably you may, with an acquittedconscience, become free. The best of us are imperfect judges of thehappiness of others. In the woe or weal of a whole life, we must decidefor ourselves. Your benefactor could not mean you to be wretched; and ifhe now, with eyes purified from all worldly mists, look down upon you, his spirit will approve your choice; for when we quit the world, allworldly ambition dies with us. What now to the immortal soul can be thetitle and the rank which on earth, with the desires of earth, yourbenefactor hoped to secure to his adopted child? This is my advice. Lookon the bright side of things, and wait calmly for the hour when LordVargrave can demand your decision. "

The words of the priest, which well defined her duty, inexpressiblysoothed and comforted Evelyn; and the advice upon other and highermatters, which the good man pressed upon a mind so softened at that hourto receive religious impressions, was received with gratitude andrespect. Subsequently their conversation fell upon Lady Vargrave, --atheme dear to both of them. The old man was greatly touched by the poorgirl's unselfish anxiety for her mother's comfort, by her fears that shemight be missed, in those little attentions which filial love alone canrender; he was almost yet more touched when, with a less disinterestedfeeling, Evelyn added mournfully, --

"Yet why, after all, should I fancy she will so miss me? Ah, though Iwill not _dare_ complain of it, I feel still that she does not love me asI love her. "

"Evelyn, " said the curate, with mild reproach, "have I not said that yourmother has known sorrow? And though sorrow does not annihilateaffection, it subdues its expression, and moderates its outward signs. "

Evelyn sighed, and said no more. 

As the good old man and his young friend returned to the cottage, LordVargrave and Caroline approached them, emerging from an opposite part ofthe grounds. The former hastened to Evelyn with his usual gayety andfrank address; and there was so much charm in the manner of a man, whom_apparently_ the world and its cares had never rendered artificial orreserved, that the curate himself was impressed by it. He thought thatEvelyn might be happy with one amiable enough for a companion and wiseenough for a guide. But old as he was, he had loved, and he knew thatthere are instincts in the heart which defy all our calculations. 

While Lumley was conversing, the little gate that made the communicationbetween the gardens and the neighbouring churchyard, through which wasthe nearest access to the village, creaked on its hinges, and the quietand solitary figure of Lady Vargrave threw its shadow over the grass. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

 AND I can listen to thee yet, Can lie upon the plain; And listen till I do beget That golden time again. --WORDSWORTH. 

IT was past midnight--hostess and guests had retired to repose--when LadyVargrave's door opened gently. The lady herself was kneeling at the footof the bed; the moonlight came through the half-drawn curtains of thecasement, and by its ray her pale, calm features looked paler, and yetmore hushed. 

Evelyn, for she was the intruder, paused at the threshold till her motherrose from her devotions, and then she threw herself on Lady Vargrave'sbreast, sobbing as if her heart would break. Hers were the wild, generous, irresistible emotions of youth. Lady Vargrave, perhaps, hadknown them once; at least, she could sympathize with them now. 

She strained her child to her bosom; she stroked back her hair, andkissed her fondly, and spoke to her soothingly. 

"Mother, " sobbed Evelyn, "I could not sleep, I could not rest. Bless meagain, kiss me again; tell me that you love me--you cannot love me as Ido you; but tell me that I am dear to you; tell me you will regret me, but not too much; tell me--" Here Evelyn paused, and could say no more. 

"My best, my kindest Evelyn, " said Lady Vargrave, "there is nothing onearth I love like you. Do not fancy I am ungrateful. "

"Why do you say ungrateful?--your own child, --your only child!" AndEvelyn covered her mother's face and hands with passionate tears andkisses. 

At that moment, certain it is that Lady Vargrave's heart reproached herwith not having, indeed, loved this sweet girl as she deserved. True, nomother was more mild, more attentive, more fostering, more anxious for adaughter's welfare; but Evelyn was right. The gushing fondness, themysterious entering into every subtle thought and feeling, which shouldhave characterized the love of such a mother to such a child, had been tooutward appearance wanting. Even in this present parting there had beena prudence, an exercise of reasoning, that savoured more of duty thanlove. Lady Vargrave felt all this with remorse; she gave way to emotionsnew to her, --at least to exhibit; she wept with Evelyn, and returned hercaresses with almost equal fervour. Perhaps, too, she thought at thatmoment of what love that warm nature was susceptible; and she trembledfor her future fate. It was as a full reconciliation--that mournfulhour--between feelings on either side, which something mysterious seemedto have checked before; and that last night the mother and the child didnot separate, --the same couch contained them: and when, worn out withsome emotions which she could not reveal, Lady Vargrave fell into thesleep of exhaustion, Evelyn's arm was round her, and Evelyn's eyeswatched her with pious and anxious love as the gray morning dawned. 

She left her mother still sleeping, when the sun rose, and went silentlydown into the dear room below, and again busied herself in a thousandlittle provident cares, which she wondered she had forgot before. 

The carriages were at the door before the party had assembled at themelancholy breakfast-table. Lord Vargrave was the last to appear. 

"I have been like all cowards, " said he, seating himself, --"anxious todefer an evil as long as possible; a bad policy, for it increases theworst of all pains, --that of suspense. "

Mrs. Merton had undertaken the duties that appertain to the "hissingurn. " "You prefer coffee, Lord Vargrave? Caroline, my dear--"

Caroline passed the cup to Lord Vargrave, who looked at her hand as hetook it--there was a ring on one of those slender fingers never observedthere before. Their eyes met, and Caroline coloured. Lord Vargraveturned to Evelyn, who, pale as death, but tearless and speechless, satbeside her mother; he attempted in vain to draw her into conversation. Evelyn, who desired to restrain her feelings, would not trust herself tospeak. 

Mrs. Merton, ever undisturbed and placid, continued to talk on: to offercongratulations on the weather, --it was such a lovely day; and theyshould be off so early; it would be so well arranged, --they should be insuch good time to dine at-----, and then go three stages after dinner;the moon would be up. 

"But, " said Lord Vargrave, "as I am to go with you as far as-----, whereour roads separate, I hope I am not condemned to go alone, with my redbox, two old newspapers, and the blue devils. Have pity on me. "

"Perhaps you will take Grandmamma, then?" whispered Caroline, archly. 

Lumley shrugged his shoulders, and replied in the same tone, --

"Yes, --provided you keep to the proverb, 'Les extremes se touchent, ' andthe lovely grandchild accompany the venerable grandmamma. "

"What would Evelyn say?" retorted Caroline. 

Lumley sighed, and made no answer. 

Mrs. Merton, who had hung fire while her daughter was carrying on this"aside, " now put in, --

"Suppose I and Caroline take your _britzka_, and you go in our old coachwith Evelyn and Mrs. Leslie?"

Lumley looked delightedly at the speaker, and then glanced at Evelyn; butMrs. Leslie said very gravely, "No, _we_ shall feel too much in leavingthis dear place to be gay companions for Lord Vargrave. We shall allmeet at dinner; or, " she added, after a pause, "if this be uncourteous toLord Vargrave, suppose Evelyn and myself take his carriage and, heaccompanies you?"

"Agreed, " said Mrs. Merton, quietly; "and now I will just go and seeabout the strawberry-plants and slips--it was so kind in you, dear LadyVargrave, to think of them. "

An hour had elapsed, and Evelyn was gone! She had left her maiden home, she had wept her last farewell on her mother's bosom, the sound of thecarriage-wheels had died away; but still Lady Vargrave lingered on thethreshold, still she gazed on the spot where the last glimpse of Evelynhad been caught. A sense of dreariness and solitude passed into hersoul: the very sunlight, the spring, the songs of the birds, madeloneliness more desolate. 

Mechanically, at last, she moved away, and with slow steps and downcasteyes passed through the favourite walk that led into the quietburial-ground. The gate closed upon her, and now the lawn, the gardens, the haunts of Evelyn, were solitary as the desert itself; but the daisyopened to the sun, and the bee murmured along the blossoms, not the lessblithely for the absence of all human life. In the bosom of Nature therebeats no heart for man!