ALICE;

OR, THE MYSTERIES

By Edward Bulwer 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 andfresh turf 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 bywhich their 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, "it is very true; perhaps I was to blame in coming to this place; Iought not to 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, --agreeablyto your own instinctive sense of what is best when at yourage, --independent in fortune and rank, and still so lovely, --youresigned all that would have attracted others, and devoted yourself, inretirement, to a life of quiet and unknown benevolence. You are in yoursphere in this village, --humble though it be, --consoling, relieving, healing the wretched, the destitute, the infirm; and teaching yourEvelyn insensibly to imitate your modest and Christian virtues. " Thegood old lady spoke warmly, and with tears in her eyes; her companionplaced 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, asyou say, is growing up; the time approaches when she must decide onaccepting or rejecting Lord Vargrave. And yet in this village how canshe compare him with others; how can she form a choice? What you say isvery true; and yet I did not think of it sufficiently. What shall Ido? I am only anxious, dear girl, to act so as may be best for her ownhappiness. "

"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 withhim, 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 onhis bed of death, just before he summoned his nephew to receive his lastblessing, he said to me, 'Providence can counteract all our schemes. If ever it should be for Evelyn's real happiness that my wish for hermarriage with Lumley Ferrers should not be fulfilled, to you I mustleave the 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 childshall be 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 personswe have 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 brightfor this 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 canbe out of spirits in such weather? Let me call for your chair; let mewheel you--I am sure I can. Down, Sultan; so you have found me out, haveyou, sir? Be quiet, sir, down!"

This last exhortation was addressed to a splendid dog of theNewfoundland breed, who now contrived wholly to occupy Evelyn'sattention. 

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 withher mirth. Both gazed with fond affection upon an object dear to both. But some memory or association touched Lady Vargrave, and she sighed asshe gazed. 

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 ofa parcel 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 allthat is written by this person: I, too" (she added, tenderly strokingdown Evelyn's luxuriant tresses), "who am not so fond of reading as youare!"

"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, but he 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 andits objects, --that he has lived greatly in the East. The death of alady to whom he was to have been married is said to have unsettled andchanged his character. Since that event he has not returned to England. Lord Vargrave 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 placetill they 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 overthe earth! 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, wasnot yet stirring. So she tripped along, singing from very glee, tosecure a companion, and let out Sultan; and a few moments afterwards, they were scouring over the grass, and descending the rude steps thatwound down the cliff to the smooth sea sands. Evelyn was still a childat 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 deepand tranquillizing influences which belong to the Religion of Nature. Unconsciously to herself, her sweet face grew more thoughtful, andher step 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 simplicityof thought 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 reallife is chronicled by external events, --how much we live a second anda higher life in our meditations and dreams. Brought up, not more byprecept than example, in the faith which unites creature and Creator, this was the hour in which thought itself had something of the holinessof prayer; and if (turning from dreams divine to earlier visions)this also was the hour in which the heart painted and peopled its ownfairyland below, of the two ideal worlds that stretch beyond the inch oftime 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 thoughshe was; 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 besidethe yew-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, thelesson must be longer than usual to-day, for I fear I shall have toleave you to-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 atthe thought of parting so soon with him. And what, too, could her motherdo without him; and why could he not write to the vicar instead of goingto him?

The curate, who was childless and a bachelor, was not insensible to thefondness of his beautiful pupil, and perhaps he himself was a littlemore _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 soughtless to curb than to refine and elevate her imagination. Himself ofno ordinary abilities, which leisure had allowed him to cultivate, hispiety was too large and cheerful to exclude literature--Heaven's bestgift--from the pale of religion. And under his care Evelyn's mind hadbeen duly stored with the treasures of modern genius, and her judgmentstrengthened by the criticisms of a graceful and generous taste. 

In that sequestered hamlet, the young heiress had been trained toadorn her future station; to appreciate the arts and elegances thatdistinguish (no matter what the rank) the refined from the low, betterthan if she had been brought up under the hundred-handed Briareus offashionable education. Lady Vargrave, indeed, like most persons ofmodest pretensions and imperfect cultivation, was rather inclined tooverrate the advantages to be derived from book-knowledge; and she wasnever better pleased than when she saw Evelyn opening the monthly parcelfrom London, 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 placeda little 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 thoseof Nature. 

"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 tocome back. "

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

"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 asif she, 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 withthis comparative stranger so much more confidentially than with me. WhenI come in unexpectedly, they cease their conference, as if I were notworthy to share it; and--and oh, if I could but make you understandthat all I desire is that my mother should love me and know me and trustme--"

"Evelyn, " said the curate, coldly, "you love your mother, and justly;a kinder 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 discretionto reveal to you any secret grief, if such there be, that preysupon her; why add to that grief by any selfish indulgence ofover-susceptibility in yourself? My dear pupil, you are yet almost achild; and they who have sorrowed may well be reluctant to sadden with amelancholy confidence those to whom sorrow is yet unknown. This much, at least, I may tell you, --for this much she does not seek toconceal, --that Lady Vargrave was early inured to trials from which you, more happy, have been saved. She speaks not to you of her relations, forshe has none left on earth. And after her marriage with your benefactor, Evelyn, perhaps it seemed to her a matter of principle to banish allvain regret, all remembrance if possible, 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, my real 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 inyou. 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, drewback; 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 withseeming gayety, turned back and passed through the glebe into the littlevillage. 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 thoughtlessnessof her years, it was noble as well as soft; and now the woman'strustfulness conquered 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 beatabout the 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, and the parish officers, and the bad tea they sold poor people at Mr. Hart's shop, and the ungrateful grandson who was so well to do and whoforgot he had 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 letterin her hand, sought Lady Vargrave, who was busied in tending the flowersof a small conservatory which she had added to the cottage, when, from various motives, and one in especial powerful and mysterious, sheexchanged for so sequestered a home the luxurious villa bequeathed toher by 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 andas fleeting 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'smother, writes me word that she will visit us on her road home to theRectory in B-----shire. She will not put you much out of the way, " addedMrs. Leslie, smiling, "for Mr. Merton will not accompany her; she onlybrings her daughter Caroline, a lively, handsome, intelligent girl, whowill be enchanted 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 Vargravewould be contented to extend her hospitality to Mrs. Merton andCaroline. 

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 ofthe visitors with flowers (not dreaming that any one could fancy themunwholesome), and spread the tables with her own favourite books, andhad the 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; butwhen she 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, she could not give up the canaries; but the glass bowl with thegoldfish--oh, that would look so pretty on its stand just by thecasement; and the fish--dull things!--would not miss her. 

The morning, the noon, the probable hour of the important arrival cameat last; and after having three times within the last half-hour visitedthe rooms, 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 visitedso little; the clergyman of the place, and two old maids who lived mostrespectably on a hundred and eighty pounds a year, in a cottage, withone maidservant, 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 nowmore philosophical than others of her age. She turned from muslinto muslin--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 inthe lustrous and beautiful hair, Carson herself could not have added acharm. Happy age! Who wants the arts of the milliner at seventeen?

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

The emeralds glittered in their case; Evelyn looked at themirresolutely; then, as she looked, a shade came over her forehead, andshe sighed, and closed 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 moreand more. To leave my dear, dear mother, the dear cottage--oh! I nevercan. I used to like him when I was a child; now I shudder at his name. Why is this? He is kind; he condescends to seek to please. It was thewish of my poor father, --for father he really was to me; and yet--ohthat he had left me poor and free!"

At this part of Evelyn's meditation the unusual sound of wheels washeard on the gravel; she started up, wiped the tears from her eyes, andhurried down 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, but after 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, the tranquil 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 homelyperson than 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 may be 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 doso on my account, while masters could be of service to me; and as I knewshe had 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. She used 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 fora short 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 isvery fond of Italian literature, for instance; we are reading Tassotogether. "

"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, soshut in; I feel better every time I pass it. Some places breathe ofreligion. "

"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 dearEvelyn. 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 wouldfall in love with you!"

"I fear there is no chance of that. "

"But how, " said Evelyn, hesitatingly, after a pause, --"how is it thatyou have seen so much more of the world than I have? I thought Mr. Merton lived 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 amere country parson; and so, somehow or other, I have learned to beambitious, --we are an ambitious family on Papa's side. But, alas! Ihave not 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 asyet scarcely 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, and friendship 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 beautifuland most feeling. Then, Caroline was clever, entertaining, cordial, withall that superficial superiority that a girl of twenty-three who knowsLondon readily exercises over a country girl of seventeen. On the otherhand, Caroline was kind and affectionate towards her. The clergyman'sdaughter felt that she could not be always superior, even in fashion, tothe wealthy 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. Leslie said 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 hisnephew, the present lord, when she reaches the age of eighteen. Sheonly wants nine or ten months of that time; she has seen nothing of theworld: she is not fit to decide for herself; and Lady Vargrave, the bestof human creatures, is still herself almost too inexperienced inthe world to be a guide for one so young placed in such peculiarcircumstances, and of prospects so brilliant. Lady Vargrave at heart isa child still, and will 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 yourhouse is well selected, and at times even brilliant; she will meet youngpeople of 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 inits humble 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? Whydid 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 Vargravewas stationed by the open window, and seemed intently gazing on thescene below. Mrs. Leslie reached her side unperceived. The moonlightwas exceedingly 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 inkindly remonstrance on the indiscretion of braving the night air. Thewindow was 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 youthand innocence, --_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, andI look 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 weptbitterly at the thought. But Lady Vargrave, though touched, was firm, and her firmness was of that soft, imploring character which Evelynnever could resist. The visit was to last some months, it is true, but she would return to the cottage; she would escape, too--andthis, perhaps, unconsciously reconciled her more than aught else--theperiodical visit of Lord Vargrave. At the end of July, when theparliamentary session at that unreformed era usually expired, he alwayscame to Brook-Green for a month. His last visits had been most unwelcometo Evelyn, and this next visit she dreaded more than she had any of theformer ones. It is strange, --the repugnance with which she regarded thesuit of her affianced!--she, whose heart was yet virgin; who had neverseen any one who, in form, manner, and powers to please, could becompared to the gay Lord Vargrave. And yet a sense of honour, of whatwas due to her dead benefactor, her more than father, --all combated thatrepugnance, and left her uncertain what course to pursue, uncalculatingas to the future. In the happy elasticity of her spirits, and with acarelessness almost approaching to levity, which, to say truth, wasnatural to her, she did not often recall the solemn engagement thatmust soon be ratified or annulled; but when that thought did occur, itsaddened her for hours, and left her listless and despondent. The visitto Mrs. Merton was, then, finally arranged, the day of departurefixed, when, one morning, came the following letter from Lord Vargravehimself:--

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 andwish of 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 resolvedto watch, 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 leapingfrom the carriage, when it stopped at the porch, hastened to meet hishostess. 

"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, but never 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 almostto a 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, his features 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 gallantryto his lips, the girl first blushed deeply, and then turned paleas death; nor did the colour thus chased away soon return to thetransparent cheek. Not noticing signs which might bear a twofoldinterpretation, Lumley, who seemed in high spirits, rattled away on athousand matters, --praising the view, the weather, the journey, throwingout a joke here and a compliment there, and completing his conquest overMrs. 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 shewas a 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, awant of sentiment and heart. Lady Vargrave, who did not understanda character of this description, listened attentively, and said toherself, "Evelyn may admire, but I fear she cannot love him. " Still, time passed quickly in Lumley's presence, and Caroline thought she hadnever spent so pleasant an evening. 

When Lord Vargrave retired to his room, he threw himself in hischair, 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 very sleepy;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;I do 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 theworld before--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 acquittedfor leaving her in the beautiful simplicity that makes her chieffascination? 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 aboundin very dangerous rivals. Evelyn would, he saw, be surrounded by a_worldly_ family, and he thought that an advantage; it might serve todissipate Evelyn's romantic tendencies, and make her sensible of thepleasures of the London life, the official rank, the gay society thather union with him would offer as an equivalent for her fortune. Inshort, as was his wont, he strove to make the best of the new turnaffairs had taken. Though guardian to Miss Cameron, and one of thetrustees for the fortune she was to receive on attaining her majority, he had not the right to dictate as to her residence. The late lord'swill had expressly and pointedly corroborated the natural and lawfulauthority of Lady Vargrave in all matters connected with Evelyn'seducation and home. It may be as well, in this place, to add, that toVargrave and the co-trustee, Mr. Gustavus Douce, a banker of reputeand eminence, the testator left large discretionary powers as to theinvestment of the fortune. He had stated it as his wish that from onehundred and twenty to one hundred and thirty thousand pounds should beinvested in the purchase of a landed estate; but he had left it to thediscretion of the trustees to increase that sum, even to the amount ofthe whole capital, should an estate of adequate importance be in themarket, while the selection of time and purchase was unreservedlyconfided to the trustees. Vargrave had hitherto objected to everypurchase in the market, --not that he was insensible to the importanceand consideration of landed property, but because, till he himselfbecame the legal receiver of the income, he thought it less trouble tosuffer the money to lie in the Funds, than to be pestered with all theonerous details in the management of an estate that might never be his. He, however, with no less ardour than his deceased relative, lookedforward to the time when the title of Vargrave should be based upon thevenerable foundation of feudal manors and seignorial acres. 

"Why did you not tell me Lord Vargrave was so charming?" said Carolineto Evelyn, 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 abruptlyround to 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 mannersthat please, 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 heavedher bosom beneath its robe; "something that in loving I could alsorevere, --a mind that would elevate my own; a heart that could sympathizewith my weakness, my follies, my romance, if you will; and in which Icould treasure 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 inlove with 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 thatplease the eye, I could also love with a yet deeper love that whichwould speak to my imagination, --Intellect, Genius, Fame! Ah, these havean immortal youth 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 nota complimentary 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 anda skeleton jacket, with one pocket full of marbles, and the other fullof worms for fishing, with three-halfpence in the left paw, and twocherries on 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 gayspirits and light hearts; to us are left business and politics, law, physic, and murder, by way of professions; abuse, nicknamed fame; andthe privilege of seeing how universal a thing, among the great and thewealthy, is that pleasant vice, beggary, --which privilege is proudlyentitled 'patronage and power. ' Are we the things to be gay, --'droll, 'as you say? Oh, no, all our spirits are forced, believe me. MissCameron, did you ever know that wretched species of hysterical affectioncalled 'forced spirits'? Never, I am sure; your ingenuous smile, yourlaughing eyes, are the index to 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, and relapsed 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 mustnow find 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 thepast, 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 bothof us 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 handand heart, it were treasure enough to me. You think you cannot loveme. 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 thiswill win love for me at last. Fear not, Evelyn, --fear not for yourhappiness; with me you shall know no sorrow. Affection at home, splendour abroad, await you. I have passed the rough and arduous part ofmy career; sunshine lies on the summit to which I climb. No station inEngland is too high for me to aspire to, --prospects, how bright withyou, how dark without you! Ah, Evelyn! be this hand mine--the heartshall follow!"

Vargrave's words were artful and eloquent; the words were calculated towin their way, but the manner, the tone of voice, wanted earnestnessand truth. 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, becausehe could 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 tookto remain passively in his, and said timidly, "Why, with sentimentsso generous 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; "Ifeel too well what should be my duty; I will endeavor to perform it. Askme no 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 approachingthem. 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 hisold age 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, and re-established me among my flock; I would not leave them for abishopric. My child, " continued the curate, addressing Evelyn with greataffection, "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. When he 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 herselfby his 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 rheumatismand sermons, 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 conversationwith Evelyn; she evidently shunned to meet with him alone. She was everwith her mother or Mrs. Leslie or the good curate, who spent much of histime at the cottage; for the old man had neither wife nor children, hewas alone at home, he had learned to make his home with the widow andher daughter. With them he was an object of the tenderest affection, of the deepest veneration. Their love delighted him, and he returned itwith the fondness of a parent and the benevolence of a pastor. He was arare character, 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 ahigh degree. Aubrey was not without the ambition and the passions ofyouth: he went into the world, ardent, inexperienced, and without aguide. He drew back before errors grew into crimes, or folly became ahabit. It was nature and affection that reclaimed and saved him fromeither alternative, --fame or ruin. His widowed mother was suddenlystricken with disease. Blind and bedridden, her whole dependence wason her only son. This affliction called forth a new character in EdwardAubrey. This mother had stripped herself of so many comforts to providefor him, --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 villagethe able and ambitious young man buried his hopes and his talents; bydegrees the quiet and tranquillity of the country life became dear tohim. As steps in a ladder, so piety leads to piety, and religion grew tohim a habit. He took orders and entered the Church. A disappointmentin love ensued; it left on his mind and heart a sober and resignedmelancholy, which at length mellowed into content. His profession andits sweet duties became more and more dear to him; in the hopes of thenext world he forgot the ambition of the present. He did not seek toshine, --

 "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 theyhave sinned. 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, it was settled that they should all dine at-----, whence Lord Vargravewould proceed to London. Failing to procure a second chance-interviewwith Evelyn, and afraid to demand a formal one--for he felt theinsecurity of the ground he stood on--Lord Vargrave, irritated andsomewhat mortified, sought, as was his habit, whatever amusement was inhis reach. In the conversation of Caroline Merton--shrewd, worldly, andambitious--he found the sort of plaything that he desired. They werethrown much together; but to Vargrave, at least, there appeared nodanger in the intercourse; and perhaps his chief object was to piqueEvelyn, as well as to gratify his 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'tcrumple that scarf, Jane; and where shall we put Miss Caroline's bluebonnet?"--gave her a very comfortable notion of her own importanceand habits of business, --a sort of title to be the superintendent of afamily and 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 beenlast observed. Mrs. Leslie was alone in the drawing-room, and absorbedin anxious and benevolent thoughts on the critical situation of heryoung favourite, about to enter an age and a world the perils of whichMrs. Leslie had not forgotten. 

It was at this time that Evelyn, forgetful of Lord Vargrave and hissuit, of every one, of everything but the grief of the approachingdeparture, found herself alone in a little arbour that had been builtupon the cliff to command the view of the sea below. That day she hadbeen restless, perturbed; she had visited every spot consecrated byyouthful recollections; she had clung with fond regret to every placein which she had held sweet converse with her mother. Of a dispositionsingularly warm and affectionate, she had often, in her secret heart, pined for a more yearning and enthusiastic love than it seemed in thesubdued nature of Lady Vargrave to bestow. In the affection of thelatter, gentle and never fluctuating as it was, there seemed to hera something wanting, which she could not define. She had watched thatbeloved face all the morning. She had hoped to see the tender eyesfixed upon her, and hear the meek voice exclaim, "I cannot part with mychild!" All the gay pictures which the light-hearted Caroline drewof the scenes she was to enter had vanished away--now that the hourapproached when her mother was to be left alone. Why was she to go? Itseemed to her an unnecessary cruelty. 

As she thus sat, she did not observe that Mr. Aubrey, who had seenher at a distance, was now bending his way to her; and not till hehad entered the arbour, and taken her hand, did she waken from thosereveries in which youth, the Dreamer and the Desirer, so morbidlyindulges. 

"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 sohappy till 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 knowyour own 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 isto be a frequent visitor at Mrs. Merton's; there you will see himwith others, 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 bethe happier decision. If not, if you still shrink from vows at whichyour heart 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 bethe title 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 thathour to 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 meas I love her. "

"Evelyn, " said the curate, with mild reproach, "have I not said thatyour mother 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 partof the 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--whenLady Vargrave's door opened gently. The lady herself was kneeling at thefoot of the bed; the moonlight came through the half-drawn curtains ofthe casement, and by its ray her pale, calm features looked paler, andyet more hushed. 

Evelyn, for she was the intruder, paused at the threshold till hermother rose from her devotions, and then she threw herself on LadyVargrave's breast, sobbing as if her heart would break. Hers were thewild, generous, irresistible emotions of youth. Lady Vargrave, perhaps, had known 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 fora daughter'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 beento outward appearance wanting. Even in this present parting there hadbeen a prudence, an exercise of reasoning, that savoured more of dutythan love. Lady Vargrave felt all this with remorse; she gave way toemotions new to her, --at least to exhibit; she wept with Evelyn, andreturned her caresses with almost equal fervour. Perhaps, too, shethought at that moment of what love that warm nature wassusceptible; and she trembled for her future fate. It was as a fullreconciliation--that mournful hour--between feelings on either side, which something mysterious seemed to have checked before; and thatlast night the mother and the child did not separate, --the same couchcontained them: and when, worn out with some emotions which she couldnot reveal, Lady Vargrave fell into the sleep of exhaustion, Evelyn'sarm was round her, and Evelyn's eyes watched her with pious and anxiouslove 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;but Mrs. Leslie said very gravely, "No, _we_ shall feel too much inleaving this dear place to be gay companions for Lord Vargrave. Weshall all meet at dinner; or, " she added, after a pause, "if thisbe uncourteous to Lord Vargrave, suppose Evelyn and myself take hiscarriage and, he accompanies 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 anddowncast eyes 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!

BOOK II. 

 "The hour arrived--years having rolled away When his return the Gods no more delay. Lo! Ithaca the Fates award; and there New trials meet the Wanderer. " HOMER: _Od. _ lib. I, 16. 

CHAPTER I. 

 THERE is continual spring and harvest here-- Continual, both meeting at one time; For both the boughs do laughing blossoms bear, And with fresh colours deck the wanton prime; And eke at once the heavy trees they climb, Which seem to labour under their fruit's load. 

 SPENSER: _The Garden of Adonis_. 

 Vis boni In ipsa inesset forma. *--TERENCE. 

 * "Even in beauty there exists the power of virtue. "

BEAUTY, thou art twice blessed; thou blessest the gazer and thepossessor; often at once the effect and the cause of goodness! A sweetdisposition, a lovely soul, an affectionate nature, will speak in theeyes, the lips, the brow, and become the cause of beauty. On the otherhand, they who have a gift that commands love, a key that opens allhearts, are ordinarily inclined to look with happy eyes upon theworld, --to be cheerful and serene, to hope and to confide. There is morewisdom than the vulgar dream of in our admiration of a fair face. 

Evelyn Cameron was beautiful, --a beauty that came from the heart, andwent to the heart; a beauty, the very spirit of which was love! Lovesmiled on her dimpled lips, it reposed on her open brow, it played inthe profuse and careless ringlets of darkest yet sunniest auburn, whicha breeze could lift from her delicate and virgin cheek; Love, in all itstenderness, in all its kindness, its unsuspecting truth, --Love colouredevery thought, murmured in her low melodious voice, in all its symmetryand glorious womanhood. Love swelled the swan-like neck, and moulded therounded limb. 

She was just the kind of person that takes the judgment by storm:whether gay or grave, there was so charming and irresistible a graceabout her. She seemed born, not only to captivate the giddy, but to turnthe heads of the sage. Roxalana was nothing to her. How, in the obscurehamlet of Brook-Green, she had learned all the arts of pleasing it isimpossible to say. In her arch smile, the pretty toss of her head, thehalf shyness, half freedom, of her winning ways, it was as if Nature hadmade her to delight one heart, and torment all others. 

Without being learned, the mind of Evelyn was cultivated and wellinformed. Her heart, perhaps, helped to instruct her understanding; forby a kind of intuition she could appreciate all that was beautiful andelevated. Her unvitiated and guileless taste had a logic of its own: noschoolman had ever a quicker penetration into truth, no critic ever morereadily detected the meretricious and the false. The book that Evelyncould admire was sure to be stamped with the impress of the noble, thelovely, or the true!

But Evelyn had faults, --the faults of her age; or, rather, she hadtendencies that might conduce to error. She was of so generous a naturethat the very thought of sacrificing her self for another had a charm. She ever acted from impulse, --impulses pure and good, but often rashand imprudent. She was yielding to weakness, persuaded into anything, so sensitive, that even a cold look from one moderately liked cut her tothe heart; and by the sympathy that accompanies sensitiveness, no painto her was so great as the thought of giving pain to another. Hence itwas that Vargrave might form reasonable hopes of his ultimate success. It was a dangerous constitution for happiness! How many chances mustcombine to preserve to the mid-day of characters like this the sunshineof their dawn! The butterfly that seems the child of the summer and theflowers--what wind will not chill its mirth, what touch will not brushaway its hues?

CHAPTER II. 

 THESE, on a general survey, are the modes Of pulpit oratory which agree With no unlettered audience. --POLWHELE. 

MRS. LESLIE had returned from her visit to the rectory to her own home, and Evelyn had now been some weeks at Mrs. Merton's. As was natural, she had grown in some measure reconciled and resigned to her change ofabode. In fact, no sooner did she pass Mrs. Merton's threshold, than, for the first time, she was made aware of her consequence in life. 

The Rev. Mr. Merton was a man of the nicest perception in all thingsappertaining to worldly consideration. The second son of a very wealthybaronet (who was the first commoner of his county) and of the daughterof a rich and highly-descended peer, Mr. Merton had been brought nearenough to rank and power to appreciate all their advantages. In earlylife he had been something of a "tuft-hunter;" but as his understandingwas good and his passions not very strong, he had soon perceived thatthat vessel of clay, a young man with a moderate fortune, cannot longsail down the same stream with the metal vessels of rich earls andextravagant dandies. Besides, he was destined for the Church--becausethere was one of the finest livings in England in the family. Hetherefore took orders at six and twenty; married Mrs. Leslie's daughter, who had thirty thousand pounds: and settled at the rectory of Merton, within a mile of the family seat. He became a very respectable andextremely popular man. He was singularly hospitable, and built a newwing--containing a large dining-room and six capital bed-rooms--to therectory, which had now much more the appearance of a country villathan a country parsonage. His brother, succeeding to the estates, andresiding chiefly in the neighbourhood, became, like his father beforehim, member for the county, and was one of the country gentlemen mostlooked up to in the House of Commons. A sensible and frequent, thoughuncommonly prosy speaker, singularly independent (for he had a clearfourteen thousand pounds a year, and did not desire office), and valuinghimself on not being a party man, so that his vote on critical questionswas often a matter of great doubt, and, therefore, of great moment, SirJohn Merton gave considerable importance to the Rev. Charles Merton. Thelatter kept up all the more select of his old London acquaintances; andfew country houses, at certain seasons of the year, were filled morearistocratically than the pleasant rectory-house. Mr. Merton, indeed, contrived to make the Hall a reservoir for the parsonage, andperiodically drafted off the _elite_ of the visitors at the former tospend a few days at the latter. This was the more easily done, as hisbrother was a widower, and his conversation was all of one sort, --thestate of the nation and the agricultural interest. Mr. Merton was uponvery friendly terms with his brother, looked after the property inthe absence of Sir John, kept up the family interest, was an excellentelectioneerer, a good speaker at a pinch, an able magistrate, --a man, inshort, most useful in the county; on the whole, he was more popular thanhis brother, and almost as much looked up to--perhaps, because he wasmuch less ostentatious. He had very good taste, had the Rev. CharlesMerton!--his table plentiful, but plain--his manners affable to the low, though agreeably sycophantic to the high; and there was nothing abouthim that ever wounded self-love. To add to the attractions of his house, his wife, simple and good-tempered, could talk with anybody, take offthe bores, and leave people to be comfortable in their own way: whilehe had a large family of fine children of all ages, that had long giveneasy and constant excuse under the name of "little children's parties, "for getting up an impromptu dance or a gypsy dinner, --enlivening theneighbourhood, in short. Caroline was the eldest; then came a son, attached to a foreign ministry, and another, who, though only nineteen, was a private secretary to one of our Indian satraps. The acquaintanceof these young gentlemen, thus engaged, it was therefore Evelyn'smisfortune to lose the advantage of cultivating, --a loss which both Mr. And Mrs. Merton assured her was very much to be regretted. But to makeup to her for such a privation there were two lovely little girls, oneten, and the other seven years old, who fell in love with Evelyn atfirst sight. Caroline was one of the beauties of the county, cleverand conversable, "drew young men, " and set the fashion to youngladies, especially when she returned from spending the season with LadyElizabeth. 

It was a delightful family!

In person, Mr. Merton was of the middle height; fair, and inclined tostoutness, with small features, beautiful teeth, and great suavity ofaddress. Mindful still of the time when he had been "about town, " hewas very particular in his dress: his black coat, neatly relieved in theevening by a white underwaistcoat, and a shirt-front admirably plaited, with plain studs of dark enamel, his well-cut trousers, and elaboratelypolished shoes--he was good-humouredly vain of his feet and hands--wonfor him the common praise of the dandies (who occasionally honoured himwith a visit to shoot his game, and flirt with his daughter), "That oldMerton was a most gentlemanlike fellow--so d-----d neat for a parson!"

Such, mentally, morally, and physically, was the Rev. Charles Merton, rector of Merton, brother of Sir John, and possessor of an income that, what with his rich living, his wife's fortune, and his own, which wasnot inconsiderable, amounted to between four and five thousand pounds ayear, which income, managed with judgment as well as liberality, couldnot fail to secure to him all the good things of this world, --therespect of his friends amongst the rest. Caroline was right when shetold Evelyn that her papa was very different from a mere country parson. 

Now this gentleman could not fail to see all the claims that Evelynmight fairly advance upon the esteem, nay, the veneration of himself andfamily: a young beauty, with a fortune of about a quarter of a million, was a phenomenon that might fairly be called celestial. Her pretensionswere enhanced by her engagement to Lord Vargrave, --an engagement whichmight be broken; so that, as he interpreted it, the _worst_ that couldhappen to the young lady was to marry an able and rising Minister ofState, --a peer of the realm; but she was perfectly free to marry a stillgreater man, if she could find him; and who knows but what perhaps the_attache_, if he could get leave of absence? Mr. Merton was too sensibleto pursue that thought further for the present. 

The good man was greatly shocked at the too familiar manner in whichMrs. Merton spoke to this high-fated heiress, at Evelyn's travelling sofar without her own maid, at her very primitive wardrobe--poor, ill-usedchild! Mr. Merton was a connoisseur in ladies' dress. It was quitepainful to see that the unfortunate girl had been so neglected. LadyVargrave must be a very strange person. He inquired compassionatelywhether she was allowed any pocket money; and finding, to his relief, that in that respect Miss Cameron was munificently supplied, hesuggested that a proper abigail should be immediately engaged; thatproper orders to Madame Devy should be immediately transmitted toLondon, with one of Evelyn's dresses, as a pattern for nothing butlength and breadth. He almost stamped with vexation when he heardthat Evelyn had been placed in one of the neat little rooms generallyappropriated to young lady visitors. 

"She is quite contented, my dear Mr. Merton; she is so simple; she hasnot been brought up in the style you think for. "

"Mrs. Merton, " said the rector, with great solemnity, "Miss Cameron mayknow no better now; but what will she think of us hereafter? It is mymaxim to recollect what people will be, and show them that respect whichmay leave pleasing impressions when they have it in their power to showus civility in return. "

With many apologies, which quite overwhelmed poor Evelyn, shewas transferred from the little chamber, with its French bed andbamboo-coloured washhand-stand, to an apartment with a buhl wardrobe anda four-post bed with green silk curtains, usually appropriated to theregular Christmas visitant, the Dowager Countess of Chipperton. A prettymorning room communicated with the sleeping apartment, and thence aprivate staircase conducted into the gardens. The whole family were dulyimpressed and re-impressed with her importance. No queen could be mademore of. Evelyn mistook it all for pure kindness, and returned thehospitality with an affection that extended to the whole family, butparticularly to the two little girls, and a beautiful black spaniel. Herdresses came down from London; her abigail arrived; the buhl wardrobewas duly filled, --and Evelyn at last learned that it is a fine thingto be rich. An account of all these proceedings was forwarded to LadyVargrave, in a long and most complacent letter, by the rector himself. The answer was short, but it contented the excellent clergyman; for itapproved of all he had done, and begged that Miss Cameron might haveeverything that seemed proper to her station. 

By the same post came two letters to Evelyn herself, --one from LadyVargrave, one from the curate. They transported her from the fine roomand the buhl wardrobe to the cottage and the lawn; and the fine abigail, when she came to dress her young lady's hair, found her weeping. 

It was a matter of great regret to the rector that it was that time ofyear when--precisely because the country is most beautiful--every oneworth knowing is in town. Still, however, some stray guests foundtheir way to the rectory for a day or two, and still there were somearistocratic old families in the neighbourhood, who never went up toLondon: so that two days in the week the rector's wine flowed, thewhist-tables were set out, and the piano called into requisition. 

Evelyn--the object of universal attention and admiration--was put at herease by her station itself; for good manners come like an instinct tothose on whom the world smiles. Insensibly she acquired self-possessionand the smoothness of society; and if her child-like playfulness brokeout from all conventional restraint, it only made more charming andbrilliant the great heiress, whose delicate and fairy cast of beautyso well became her graceful _abandon_ of manner, and who looked sounequivocally ladylike to the eyes that rested on Madame Devy's blondesand satins. 

Caroline was not so gay as she had been at the cottage. Something seemedto weigh upon her spirits: she was often moody and thoughtful. She wasthe only one in the family not good-tempered; and her peevish repliesto her parents, when no visitor imposed a check on the family circle, inconceivably pained Evelyn, and greatly contrasted the flow of spiritswhich distinguished her when she found somebody worth listening to. Still Evelyn--who, where she once liked, found it difficult to withdrawregard--sought to overlook Caroline's blemishes, and to persuade herselfof a thousand good qualities below the surface; and her generous naturefound constant opportunity of venting itself in costly gifts, selectedfrom the London parcels, with which the officious Mr. Merton relievedthe monotony of the rectory. These gifts Caroline could not refusewithout paining her young friend. She took them reluctantly, for, to doher justice, Caroline, though ambitious, was not mean. 

Thus time passed in the rectory, in gay variety and constantentertainment; and all things combined to spoil the heiress, if, indeed, goodness ever is spoiled by kindness and prosperity. Is it to the frostor to the sunshine that the flower opens its petals, or the fruit ripensfrom the blossom?

CHAPTER III. 

 _Rod_. How sweet these solitary places are!

 . .. .. . 

 _Ped_. What strange musick Was that we heard afar off?

 _Curio_. We've told you what he is, what time we've sought him, His nature and his name. 

 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. _The Pilgrim_. 

ONE day, as the ladies were seated in Mrs. Merton's morning-room, Evelyn, who had been stationed by the window hearing the little Ceciliago through the French verbs, and had just finished that agreeable task, exclaimed, --

"Do tell me to whom that old house belongs, with the picturesquegable-end and Gothic turrets, there, just peeping through the trees, --Ihave always forgot to ask you. "

"Oh, my dear Miss Cameron, " said Mrs. Merton, "that is Burleigh; haveyou not been there? How stupid in Caroline not to show it to you! It isone of the lions of the place. It belongs to a man you have often heardof, --Mr. Maltravers. "

"Indeed!" cried Evelyn; and she gazed with new interest on the graymelancholy pile, as the sunshine brought it into strong contrast withthe dark pines around it. "And Mr. Maltravers himself--?"

"Is still abroad, I believe; though I did hear the other day that hewas shortly expected at Burleigh. It is a curious old place, though muchneglected. I believe, indeed, it has not been furnished since the timeof Charles the First. (Cissy, my love, don't stoop so. ) Very gloomy, in my opinion; and not any fine room in the house, except the library, which was once a chapel. However, people come miles to see it. "

"Will you go there to-day?" said Caroline, languidly; "it is a verypleasant walk through the glebe-land and the wood, --not above half amile by the foot-path. "

"I should like it so much. "

"Yes, " said Mrs. Merton, "and you had better go before he returns, --heis so strange. He does not allow it to be seen when he is down. But, indeed, he has only been once at the old place since he was of age. (Sophy, you will tear Miss Cameron's scarf to pieces; do be quiet, child. ) That was before he was a great man; he was then very odd, sawno society, only dined once with us, though Mr. Merton paid him everyattention. They show the room in which he wrote his books. "

"I remember him very well, though I was then but a child, " saidCaroline, --"a handsome, thoughtful face. "

"Did you think so, my dear? Fine eyes and teeth, certainly, and acommanding figure, but nothing more. "

"Well, " said Caroline, "if you like to go, Evelyn, I am at yourservice. "

"And--I--Evy, dear--I--may go, " said Cecilia, clinging to Evelyn. 

"And me, too, " lisped Sophia, the youngest hope, --"there's such a prettypeacock. "

"Oh, yes, they may go, Mrs. Merton, we'll take such care of them. "

"Very well, my dear; Miss Cameron quite spoils you. "

Evelyn tripped away to put on her bonnet, and the children ran afterher, clapping their hands, --they could not bear to lose sight of her fora moment. 

"Caroline, " said Mrs. Merton, affectionately, "are you not well? Youhave seemed pale lately, and not in your usual spirits. "

"Oh, yes, I'm well enough, " answered Caroline, rather peevishly; "butthis place is so dull now; very provoking that Lady Elizabeth does notgo to London this year. "

"My dear, it will be gayer, I hope, in July, when the races atKnaresdean begin; and Lord Vargrave has promised to come. "

"Has Lord Vargrave written to you lately?"

"No, my dear. "

"Very odd. "

"Does Evelyn ever talk of him?"

"Not much, " said Caroline, rising and quitting the room. 

It was a most cheerful exhilarating day, --the close of sweet May;the hedges were white with blossoms; a light breeze rustled the youngleaves; the butterflies had ventured forth, and the children chased themover the grass, as Evelyn and Caroline, who walked much too slow forher companion (Evelyn longed to run), followed them soberly towardsBurleigh. 

They passed the glebe-fields; and a little bridge, thrown over abrawling rivulet, conducted them into a wood. 

"This stream, " said Caroline, "forms the boundary between my uncle'sestates and those of Mr. Maltravers. It must be very unpleasant to soproud a man as Mr. Maltravers is said to be, to have the land of anotherproprietor so near his house. He could hear my uncle's gun from his verydrawing-room. However, Sir John takes care not to molest him. On theother side, the Burleigh estates extend for some miles; indeed, Mr. Maltravers is the next great proprietor to my uncle in this part of thecounty. Very strange that he does not marry! There, now you can see thehouse. "

The mansion lay somewhat low, with hanging woods in the rear: and theold-fashioned fish-ponds gleaming in the sunshine and overshadowed bygigantic trees increased the venerable stillness of its aspect. Ivyand innumerable creepers covered one side of the house; and long weedscumbered the deserted road. 

"It is sadly neglected, " said Caroline; "and was so, even in the lastowner's life. Mr. Maltravers inherits the place from his mother's uncle. We may as well enter the house by the private way. The front entrance iskept locked up. "

Winding by a path that conducted into a flower-garden, divided from thepark by a ha-ha, over which a plank and a small gate, rusting off itshinges, were placed, Caroline led the way towards the building. At thispoint of view it presented a large bay window that by a flight of foursteps led into the garden. On one side rose a square, narrow turret, surmounted by a gilt dome and quaint weathercock, below the architraveof which was a sun-dial, set in the stonework; and another dial stood inthe garden, with the common and beautiful motto, --

 "Non numero horas, nisi serenas!"*

 * "I number not the hours, unless sunny. "

On the other side of the bay window a huge buttress cast its mass ofshadow. There was something in the appearance of the whole place thatinvited to contemplation and repose, --something almost monastic. Thegayety of the teeming spring-time could not divest the spot of a certainsadness, not displeasing, however, whether to the young, to whom thereis a luxury in the vague sentiment of melancholy, or to those who, having known real griefs, seek for an anodyne in meditation and memory. The low lead-coloured door, set deep in the turret, was locked, and thebell beside it broken. Caroline turned impatiently away. "We must goround to the other side, " said she, "and try to make the deaf old manhear us. "

"Oh, Carry!" cried Cecilia, "the great window is open;" and she ran upthe steps. 

"That is lucky, " said Caroline; and the rest followed Cecilia. 

Evelyn now stood within the library of which Mrs. Merton had spoken. Itwas a large room, about fifty feet in length, and proportionably wide;somewhat dark, for the light came only from the one large window throughwhich they entered; and though the window rose to the cornice of theceiling, and took up one side of the apartment, the daylight was subduedby the heaviness of the stonework in which the narrow panes were set, and by the glass stained with armorial bearings in the upper part of thecasement. The bookcases, too, were of the dark oak which so muchabsorbs the light; and the gilding, formerly meant to relieve them, wasdiscoloured by time. 

The room was almost disproportionably lofty; the ceiling, elaboratelycoved, and richly carved with grotesque masks, preserved the Gothiccharacter of the age in which it had been devoted to a religiouspurpose. Two fireplaces, with high chimney-pieces of oak, in which wereinserted two portraits, broke the symmetry of the tall bookcases. In oneof these fireplaces were half-burnt logs; and a huge armchair, with asmall reading-desk beside it, seemed to bespeak the recent occupation ofthe room. On the fourth side, opposite the window, the wall was coveredwith faded tapestry, representing the meeting of Solomon and the Queenof Sheba; the arras was nailed over doors on either hand, --the chinksbetween the door and the wall serving, in one instance, to cut off inthe middle his wise majesty, who was making a low bow; while in theother it took the ground from under the wanton queen, just as she wasdescending from her chariot. 

Near the window stood a grand piano, the only modern article in theroom, save one of the portraits, presently to be described. On all thisEvelyn gazed silently and devoutly: she had naturally that reverence forgenius which is common to the enthusiastic and young; and there is, even to the dullest, a certain interest in the homes of those who haveimplanted within us a new thought. But here there was, she imagined, a rare and singular harmony between the place and the mentalcharacteristics of the owner. She fancied she now better understood theshadowy and metaphysical repose of thought that had distinguished theearlier writings of Maltravers, --the writings composed or planned inthis still retreat. 

But what particularly caught her attention was one of the two portraitsthat adorned the mantelpieces. The further one was attired in the richand fanciful armour of the time of Elizabeth; the head bare, the helmeton a table on which the hand rested. It was a handsome and strikingcountenance; and an inscription announced it to be a Digby, an ancestorof Maltravers. 

But the other was a beautiful girl of about eighteen, in the now almostantiquated dress of forty years ago. The features were delicate, butthe colours somewhat faded, and there was something mournful in theexpression. A silk curtain, drawn on one side, seemed to denote howcarefully it was prized by the possessor. 

Evelyn turned for explanation to her cicerone. 

"This is the second time I have seen that picture, " said Caroline; "forit is only by great entreaty and as a mysterious favour that the oldhousekeeper draws aside the veil. Some touch of sentiment in Maltraversmakes him regard it as sacred. It is the picture of his mother beforeshe married; she died in giving him birth. "

Evelyn sighed; how well she understood the sentiment which seemed toCaroline so eccentric! The countenance fascinated her; the eye seemed tofollow her as she turned. 

"As a proper pendant to this picture, " said Caroline, "he ought to havedismissed the effigies of yon warlike gentleman, and replaced it byone of poor Lady Florence Lascelles, for whose loss he is said to havequitted his country: but, perhaps, it was the loss of her fortune. "

"How can you say so?--fie!" cried Evelyn, with a burst of generousindignation. 

"Ah, my dear, you heiresses have a fellow-feeling with each other!Nevertheless, clever men are less sentimental than we deem them. Heigho!this quiet room gives me the spleen, I fancy. "

"Dearest Evy, " whispered Cecilia, "I think you have a look of thatpretty picture, only you are much prettier. Do take off your bonnet;your hair just falls down like hers. "

Evelyn shook her head gravely; but the spoiled child hastily untied theribbons and snatched away the hat, and Evelyn's sunny ringlets fell downin beautiful disorder. There was no resemblance between Evelyn and theportrait, except in the colour of the hair, and the careless fashion itnow by chance assumed. Yet Evelyn was pleased to think that a likenessdid exist, though Caroline declared it was a most unflatteringcompliment. 

"I don't wonder, " said the latter, changing the theme, --"I don't wonderMr. Maltravers lives so little in this 'Castle Dull;' yet it might bemuch improved. French windows and plate-glass, for instance; and ifthose lumbering bookshelves and horrid old chimney-pieces were removedand the ceiling painted white and gold like that in my uncle's saloon, and a rich, lively paper, instead of the tapestry, it would really makea very fine ballroom. "

"Let us have a dance here now, " cried Cecilia. "Come, stand up, Sophy;"and the children began to practise a waltz step, tumbling over eachother, and laughing in full glee. 

"Hush, hush!" said Evelyn, softly. She had never before checked thechildren's mirth, and she could not tell why she did so now. 

"I suppose the old butler has been entertaining the bailiff here, " saidCaroline, pointing to the remains of the fire. 

"And is this the room he chiefly inhabited, --the room that you say theyshow as his?"

"No; that tapestry door to the right leads into a little study where hewrote. " So saying, Caroline tried to open the door, but it was lockedfrom within. She then opened the other door, which showed a longwainscoted passage, hung with rusty pikes, and a few breastplates ofthe time of the Parliamentary Wars. "This leads to the main body of theHouse, " said Caroline, "from which the room we are now in and the littlestudy are completely detached, having, as you know, been the chapelin popish times. I have heard that Sir Kenelm Digby, an ancestralconnection of the present owner, first converted them into their presentuse, and, in return, built the village church on the other side of thepark. "

Sir Kenelm Digby, the old cavalier philosopher!---a new name of interestto consecrate the place! Evelyn could have lingered all day in the room;and perhaps as an excuse for a longer sojourn, hastened to the piano--itwas open--she ran her fairy fingers over the keys, and the sound fromthe untuned and neglected instrument thrilled wild and spiritlikethrough the melancholy chamber. 

"Oh, do sing us something, Evy, " cried Cecilia, running up to, anddrawing a chair to, the instrument. 

"Do, Evelyn, " said Caroline, languidly; "it will serve to bring one ofthe servants to us, and save us a journey to the offices. "

It was just what Evelyn wished. Some verses, which her mother especiallyloved, verses written by Maltravers upon returning after absence to hisown home, had rushed into her mind as she had touched the keys. Theywere appropriate to the place, and had been beautifully set to music. So the children hushed themselves, and nestled at her feet; and aftera little prelude, keeping the accompaniment under, that the spoiledinstrument might not mar the sweet words and sweeter voice, she beganthe song. 

Meanwhile in the adjoining room, the little study which Caroline hadspoken of, sat the owner of the house! He had returned suddenly andunexpectedly the previous night. The old steward was in attendanceat the moment, full of apologies, congratulations, and gossip; andMaltravers, grown a stern and haughty man, was already impatientlyturning away, when he heard the sudden sound of the children's laughterand loud voices in the room beyond. Maltravers frowned. 

"What impertinence is this?" said he in a tone that, though very calm, made the steward quake in his shoes. 

"I don't know, really, your honour; there be so many grand folks come tosee the house in the fine weather, that--"

"And you permit your master's house to be a raree-show? You do well, sir. "

"If your honour were more amongst us, there might be more disciplinelike, " said the steward, stoutly; "but no one in my time has cared solittle for the old place as those it belongs to. "

"Fewer words with me, sir, " said Maltravers, haughtily; "and now go andinform those people that I am returned, and wish for no guests but thoseI invite myself. "

"Sir!"

"Do you not hear me? Say that if it so please them, these old ruins aremy property, and are not to be jobbed out to the insolence of publiccuriosity. Go, sir. "

"But--I beg pardon, your honour--if they be great folks?"

"Great folks!--great! Ay, there it is. Why, if they be great folks, theyhave great houses of their own, Mr. Justis. "

The steward stared. "Perhaps, your honour, " he put in, deprecatingly, "they be Mr. Merton's family: they come very often when the Londongentlemen are with them. "

"Merton!--oh, the cringing parson. Harkye! one word more with me, sir, and you quit my service to-morrow. "

Mr. Justis lifted his eyes and hands to heaven; but there was somethingin his master's voice and look which checked reply, and he turned slowlyto the door--when a voice of such heavenly sweetness was heard withoutthat it arrested his own step and made the stern Maltravers start inhis seat. He held up his hand to the steward to delay his errand, andlistened, charmed and spell-bound. His own words came on his ear, --wordslong unfamiliar to him, and at first but imperfectly remembered; wordsconnected with the early and virgin years of poetry and aspiration;words that were as the ghosts of thoughts now far too gentle for hisaltered soul. He bowed down his head, and the dark shade left his brow. 

The song ceased. Maltravers moved with a sigh, and his eyes rested onthe form of the steward with his hand on the door. 

"Shall I give your honour's message?" said Mr. Justis, gravely. 

"No; take care for the future; leave me now. "

Mr. Justis made one leg, and then, well pleased, took to both. 

"Well, " thought he, as he departed, "how foreign parts do spoil agentleman! so mild as he was once! I must botch up the accounts, Isee, --the squire has grown sharp. "

As Evelyn concluded her song, she--whose charm in singing was that shesang from the heart--was so touched by the melancholy music of the airand words, that her voice faltered, and the last line died inaudibly onher lips. 

The children sprang up and kissed her. 

"Oh, " cried Cecilia, "there is the beautiful peacock!" And there, indeed, on the steps without--perhaps attracted by the music--stood thepicturesque bird. The children ran out to greet their old favourite, whowas extremely tame; and presently Cecilia returned. 

"Oh, Carry! do see what beautiful horses are coming up the park!"

Caroline, who was a good rider, and fond of horses, and whose curiositywas always aroused by things connected with show and station, sufferedthe little girl to draw her into the garden. Two grooms, each mounted ona horse of the pure Arabian breed, and each leading another, swathed andbandaged, were riding slowly up the road; and Caroline was so attractedby the novel appearance of the animals in a place so deserted that shefollowed the children towards them, to learn who could possibly be theirenviable owner. Evelyn, forgotten for the moment, remained alone. Shewas pleased at being so, and once more turned to the picture which hadso attracted her before. The mild eyes fixed on her, with an expressionthat recalled to her mind her own mother. 

"And, " thought she, as she gazed, "this fair creature did not live toknow the fame of her son, to rejoice in his success, or to soothe hisgrief. And he, that son, a disappointed and solitary exile in distantlands, while strangers stand within his deserted hall!"

The images she had conjured up moved and absorbed her; and she continuedto stand before the picture, gazing upward with moistened eyes. It wasa beautiful vision as she thus stood, with her delicate bloom, herluxuriant hair (for the hat was not yet replaced), her elastic form, so full of youth and health and hope, --the living form beside the fadedcanvas of the dead, once youthful, tender, lovely as herself! Evelynturned away with a sigh; the sigh was re-echoed yet more deeply. Shestarted: the door that led to the study was opened, and in the aperturewas the figure of a man in the prime of life. His hair, still luxuriantas in his earliest youth, though darkened by the suns of the East, curled over a forehead of majestic expanse. The high and proud features, that well became a stature above the ordinary standard; the pale butbronzed complexion; the large eyes of deepest blue, shaded by dark browsand lashes; and more than all, that expression at once of passion andrepose which characterizes the old Italian portraits, and seems todenote the inscrutable power that experience imparts to intellect, constituted an _ensemble_ which, if not faultlessly handsome, waseminently striking, and formed at once to interest and command. It wasa face, once seen, never to be forgotten; it was a face that had long, half unconsciously, haunted Evelyn's young dreams; it was a face shehad seen before, though, then younger and milder and fairer, it wore adifferent aspect. 

Evelyn stood rooted to the spot, feeling herself blush to her verytemples, --an enchanting picture of bashful confusion and innocent alarm. 

"Do not let me regret my return, " said the stranger, approaching after ashort pause, and with much gentleness in his voice and smile; "and thinkthat the owner is doomed to scare away the fair spirits that haunted thespot in his absence. "

"The owner!" repeated Evelyn, almost inaudibly, and in increasedembarrassment; "are you then the--the--"

"Yes, " courteously interrupted the stranger, seeing her confusion, "myname is Maltravers; and I am to blame for not having informed you of mysudden return, or for now trespassing on your presence. But you seemy excuse;" and he pointed to the instrument. "You have the magic thatdraws even the serpent from his hole. But you are not alone?"

"Oh, no! no, indeed! Miss Merton is with me. I know not where she isgone. I will seek her. "

"Miss Merton! You are not then one of that family?"

"No, only a guest. I will find her; she must apologize for us. We werenot aware that you were here, --indeed we were not. "

"That is a cruel excuse, " said Maltravers, smiling at her eagerness: andthe smile and the look reminded her yet more forcibly of the time whenhe had carried her in his arms and soothed her suffering and praisedher courage and pressed the kiss almost of a lover on her hand. At thatthought she blushed yet more deeply, and yet more eagerly turned toescape. 

Maltravers did not seek to detain her, but silently followed her steps. She had scarcely gained the window, before little Cecilia scampered in, crying, --

"Only think! Mr. Maltravers has come back, and brought such beautifulhorses!"

Cecilia stopped abruptly, as she caught sight of the stranger; and thenext moment Caroline herself appeared. Her worldly experience and quicksense saw immediately what had chanced; and she hastened to apologizeto Maltravers, and congratulate him on his return, with an ease thatastonished poor Evelyn, and by no means seemed appreciated by Maltravershimself. He replied with brief and haughty courtesy. 

"My father, " continued Caroline, "will be so glad to hear you are comeback. He will hasten to pay you his respects, and apologize for histruants. But I have not formally introduced you to my fellow-offender. My dear, let me present to you one whom Fame has already made known toyou; Mr. Maltravers, Miss Cameron, step-daughter, " she added in a lowervoice, "to the late Lord Vargrave. "

At the first part of this introduction Maltravers frowned; at the lasthe forgot all displeasure. 

"Is it possible? I _thought_ I had seen you before, but in a dream. Ah, then we are not quite strangers!"

Evelyn's eye met his, and though she coloured and strove to look grave, a half smile brought out the dimples that played round her arch lips. 

"But you do not remember me?" added Maltravers. 

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Evelyn, with a sudden impulse; and then checkedherself. 

Caroline came to her friend's relief. 

"What is this? You surprise me; where did you ever see Mr. Maltraversbefore?"

"I can answer that question, Miss Merton. When Miss Cameron was buta child, as high as my little friend here, an accident on the roadprocured me her acquaintance; and the sweetness and fortitude she thendisplayed left an impression on me not worn out even to this day. And thus we meet again, " added Maltravers, in a muttered voice, as tohimself. "How strange a thing life is!"

"Well, " said Miss Merton, "we must intrude on you no more, --you haveso much to do. I am so sorry Sir John is not down to welcome you; but Ihope we shall be good neighbours. _Au revoir_!"

And, fancying herself most charming, Caroline bowed, smiled, and walkedoff with her train. Maltravers paused irresolute. If Evelyn had lookedback, he would have accompanied them home; but Evelyn did not lookback, --and he stayed. 

Miss Merton rallied her young friend unmercifully, as they walkedhomeward, and she extracted a very brief and imperfect history of theadventure that had formed the first acquaintance, and of the interviewby which it had been renewed. But Evelyn did not heed her; and themoment they arrived at the rectory, she hastened to shut herself in herroom, and write the account of her adventure to her mother. Howoften, in her girlish reveries, had she thought of that incident, thatstranger! And now, by such a chance, and after so many years, to meetthe Unknown by his own hearth! and that Unknown to be Maltravers! It wasas if a dream had come true. While she was yet musing--and the letternot yet begun--she heard the sound of joy-bells in the distance. Atonce she divined the cause; it was the welcome of the wanderer to hissolitary home!

CHAPTER IV. 

 MAIS en connaissant votre condition naturelle, usez des moyens qui lui sont propres, et ne pretendez pas regner par une autre voie que par celle qui vous fait roi. *--PASCAL. 

 * "But in understanding your natural condition, use the means which are proper to it; and pretend not to govern by any other way than by that which constitutes you governor. "

IN the heart as in the ocean, the great tides ebb and flow. The waveswhich had once urged on the spirit of Ernest Maltravers to the rocks andshoals of active life had long since receded back upon the calm depths, and left the strand bare. With a melancholy and disappointed mind, hehad quitted the land of his birth; and new scenes, strange and wild, hadrisen before his wandering gaze. Wearied with civilization, and satedwith many of the triumphs for which civilized men drudge and toil, and disquiet themselves in vain, he had plunged amongst hordes, scarceredeemed from primeval barbarism. The adventures through which hehad passed, and in which life itself could only be preserved by waryvigilance and ready energies, had forced him, for a while, from theindulgence of morbid contemplations. His heart, indeed, had been leftinactive; but his intellect and his physical powers had been kept inhourly exercise. He returned to the world of his equals with a mindladen with the treasures of a various and vast experience, and with muchof the same gloomy moral as that which, on emerging from the Catacombs, assured the restless speculations of Rasselas of the vanity of humanlife and the folly of moral aspirations. 

Ernest Maltravers, never a faultless or completed character, fallingshort in practice of his own capacities, moral and intellectual, fromhis very desire to overpass the limits of the Great and Good, wasseemingly as far as heretofore from the grand secret of life. It was notso in reality; his mind had acquired what before it wanted, --_hardness_;and we are nearer to true virtue and true happiness when we demand toolittle from men than when we exact too much. 

Nevertheless, partly from the strange life that had thrown him amongstmen whom safety itself made it necessary to command despotically, partly from the habit of power and disdain of the world, his nature wasincrusted with a stern imperiousness of manner, often approaching to theharsh and morose, though beneath it lurked generosity and benevolence. 

Many of his younger feelings, more amiable and complex, had settled intoone predominant quality, which more or less had always characterizedhim, --Pride! Self-esteem made inactive, and Ambition made discontented, usually engender haughtiness. In Maltravers this quality, which, properly controlled and duly softened, is the essence and life ofhonour, was carried to a vice. He was perfectly conscious of its excess, but he cherished it as a virtue. Pride had served to console himin sorrow, and therefore it was a friend; it had supported him whendisgusted with fraud, or in resistance to violence, and therefore itwas a champion and a fortress. It was a pride of a peculiar sort: itattached itself to no one point in especial, --not to talent, knowledge, mental gifts, still less to the vulgar commonplaces of birth andfortune; it rather resulted from a supreme and wholesale contempt of allother men, and all their objects, --of ambition, of glory, of the hardbusiness of life. His favourite virtue was fortitude; it was on thisthat he now mainly valued himself. He was proud of his struggles againstothers, prouder still of conquests over his own passions. He looked uponFATE as the arch enemy against whose attacks we should ever prepare. He fancied that against fate he had thoroughly schooled himself. In thearrogance of his heart he said, "I can defy the future. " He believed inthe boast of the vain old sage, --"I am a world to myself!" In the wildcareer through which his later manhood had passed, it is true that hehad not carried his philosophy into a rejection of the ordinary world. The shock occasioned by the death of Florence yielded gradually to timeand change; and he had passed from the deserts of Africa and the East tothe brilliant cities of Europe. But neither his heart nor his reason hadever again been enslaved by his passions. Never again had he known thesoftness of affection. Had he done so, the ice had been thawed, and thefountain had flowed once more into the great deeps. He had returned toEngland, --he scarce knew wherefore, or with what intent, certainly notwith any idea of entering again upon the occupations of active life;it was, perhaps, only the weariness of foreign scenes and unfamiliartongues, and the vague, unsettled desire of change, that brought himback to the fatherland. But he did not allow so unphilosophical a causeto himself: and, what was strange, he would not allow one much moreamiable, and which was, perhaps, the truer cause, --the increasingage and infirmities of his old guardian, Cleveland, who prayed himaffectionately to return. Maltravers did not like to believe that hisheart was still so kind. Singular form of pride! No, he rather soughtto persuade himself that he intended to sell Burleigh, to arrange hisaffairs finally, and then quit forever his native land. To prove tohimself that this was the case, he had intended at Dover to hurry atonce to Burleigh, and merely write to Cleveland that he was returned toEngland. But his heart would not suffer him to enjoy this cruel luxuryof self-mortification, and his horses' heads were turned to Richmondwhen within a stage of London. He had spent two days with the good oldman, and those two days had so warmed and softened his feelings thathe was quite appalled at his own dereliction from fixed principles!However, he went before Cleveland had time to discover that he waschanged; and the old man had promised to visit him shortly. 

This, then, was the state of Ernest Maltravers at the age ofthirty-six, --an age in which frame and mind are in their fullestperfection; an age in which men begin most keenly to feel that they arecitizens. With all his energies braced and strengthened; with his mindstored with profusest gifts; in the vigour of a constitution to which ahardy life had imparted a second and fresher youth; so trained by sternexperience as to redeem with an easy effort all the deficiencies andfaults which had once resulted from too sensitive an imagination and toohigh a standard for human actions; formed to render to his race the mostbrilliant and durable service, and to secure to himself the happinesswhich results from sobered fancy, a generous heart, and an approvingconscience, --here was Ernest Maltravers, backed, too, by the appliancesand gifts of birth and fortune, perversely shutting up genius, life, and soul in their own thorny leaves, and refusing to serve the fools andrascals who were formed from the same clay, and gifted by the same God. Morbid and morose philosophy, begot by a proud spirit on a lonely heart!

CHAPTER V. 

 LET such amongst us as are willing to be children again, if it be only for an hour, resign ourselves to the sweet enchantment that steals upon the spirit when it indulges in the memory of early and innocent enjoyment. D. L. RICHARDSON. 

AT dinner, Caroline's lively recital of their adventures was receivedwith much interest, not only by the Merton family, but by some of theneighbouring gentry who shared the rector's hospitality. The suddenreturn of any proprietor to his old hereditary seat after a prolongedabsence makes some sensation in a provincial neighbourhood. In thiscase, where the proprietor was still young, unmarried, celebrated, andhandsome, the sensation was of course proportionably increased. Carolineand Evelyn were beset by questions, to which the former alone gaveany distinct reply. Caroline's account was, on the whole, gracious andfavourable, and seemed complimentary to all but Evelyn, who thought thatCaroline was a very indifferent portrait-painter. 

It seldom happens that a man is a prophet in his own neighbourhood; butMaltravers had been so little in the county, and in his former visit hislife had been so secluded, that he was regarded as a stranger. He hadneither outshone the establishments nor interfered with the sporting ofhis fellow-squires; and on the whole, they made just allowance for hishabits of distant reserve. Time, and his retirement from the busyscene, long enough to cause him to be missed, not long enough fornew favourites to supply his place, had greatly served to mellow andconsolidate his reputation, and his country was proud to claim him. Thus(though Maltravers would not have believed it had an angel told him) hewas not spoken ill of behind his back: a thousand little anecdotes ofhis personal habits, of his generosity, independence of spirit, andeccentricity were told. Evelyn listened in rapt delight to all; she hadnever passed so pleasant an evening; and she smiled almost gratefully onthe rector, who was a man that always followed the stream, when he saidwith benign affability, "We must really show our distinguished neighbourevery attention, --we must be indulgent to his little oddities. Hispolitics are not mine, to be sure; but a man who has a stake in thecountry has a right to his own opinion, that was always my maxim, --thankHeaven, I am a very moderate man. We must draw him amongst us; it willbe our own fault, I am sure, if he is not quite domesticated at therectory. "

"With such attraction, --yes, " said the thin curate, timidly bowing tothe ladies. 

"It would be a nice match for Miss Caroline, " whispered an old lady;Caroline overheard, and pouted her pretty lip. The whist-tables were nowset out, the music began, and Maltravers was left in peace. 

The next day Mr. Merton rode his pony over to Burleigh. Maltravers wasnot at home. He left his card, and a note of friendly respect, beggingMr. Maltravers to waive ceremony, and dine with them the next day. Somewhat to the surprise of the rector, he found that the active spiritof Maltravers was already at work. The long-deserted grounds were filledwith labourers; the carpenters were busy at the fences; the houselooked alive and stirring; the grooms were exercising the horses in thepark, --all betokened the return of the absentee. This seemed to denotethat Maltravers had come to reside; and the rector thought of Caroline, and was pleased at the notion. 

The next day was Cecilia's birthday, --and birthdays were kept at MertonRectory; the neighbouring children were invited. They were to dine onthe lawn, in a large marquee, and to dance in the evening. The hothousesyielded their early strawberries, and the cows, decorated with blueribbons, were to give syllabubs. The polite Caroline was not greatlyfascinated by pleasure of this kind; she graciously appeared at dinner, kissed the prettiest of the children, helped them to soup, and then, having done her duty, retired to her room to write letters. The childrenwere not sorry, for they were a little afraid of the grand Caroline; andthey laughed much more loudly, and made much more noise, when she wasgone--and the cake and strawberries appeared. 

Evelyn was in her element; she had, as a child, mixed so little withchildren, she had so often yearned for playmates, she was still sochildlike. Besides, she was so fond of Cecilia, she had looked forwardwith innocent delight to the day; and a week before had taken thecarriage to the neighbouring town to return with a carefully concealedbasket of toys, --dolls, sashes, and picture-books. But somehow or other, she did not feel so childlike as usual that morning; her heart was awayfrom the pleasure before her, and her smile was at first languid. Butin children's mirth there is something so contagious to those who lovechildren; and now, as the party scattered themselves on the grass, andEvelyn opened the basket, and bade them with much gravity keep quiet, and be good children, she was the happiest of the whole group. But sheknew how to give pleasure: and the basket was presented to Cecilia, thatthe little queen of the day might enjoy the luxury of being generous;and to prevent jealousy, the notable expedient of a lottery wassuggested. 

"Then Evy shall be Fortune!" cried Cecilia; "nobody will be sorry toget anything from Evy, --and if any one is discontented Evy sha'n't kissher. "

Mrs. Merton, whose motherly heart was completely won by Evelyn'skindness to the children, forgot all her husband's lectures, andwillingly ticketed the prizes, and wrote the numbers of the lots onslips of paper carefully folded. A large old Indian jar was draggedfrom the drawing-room and constituted the fated urn; the tickets weredeposited therein, and Cecilia was tying the handkerchief round Evelyn'seyes, --while Fortune struggled archly not to be as blind as she oughtto be, --and the children, seated in a circle, were in full joy andexpectation when there was a sudden pause. The laughter stopped; so didCissy's little hands. What could it be? Evelyn slipped the bandage, andher eyes rested on Maltravers!

"Well, really, my dear Miss Cameron, " said the rector, who was by theside of the intruder, and who, indeed, had just brought him to the spot, "I don't know what these little folks will do to you next. "

"I ought rather to be their victim, " said Maltravers, good-humouredly;"the fairies always punish us grown-up mortals for trespassing on theirrevels. "

While he spoke, his eyes--those eyes, the most eloquent in theworld--dwelt on Evelyn (as, to cover her blushes, she took Cecilia inher arms, and appeared to attend to nothing else) with a look of suchadmiration and delight as a mortal might well be supposed to cast onsome beautiful fairy. 

Sophy, a very bold child, ran up to him. "How do, sir?" she lisped, putting up her face to be kissed; "how's the pretty peacock?"

This opportune audacity served at once to renew the charm that had beenbroken, --to unite the stranger with the children. Here was acquaintanceclaimed and allowed in an instant. The next moment Maltravers was oneof the circle, on the turf with the rest, as gay, and almost asnoisy, --that hard, proud man, so disdainful of the trifles of the world!

"But the gentleman must have a prize, too, " said Sophy, proud of hertall new friend. "What's your other name; why do you have such a long, hard name?"

"Call me Ernest, " said Maltravers. 

"Why don't we begin?" cried the children. 

"Evy, come, be a good child, miss, " said Sophy, as Evelyn, vexed andashamed, and half ready to cry, resisted the bandage. 

Mr. Merton interposed his authority; but the children clamoured, andEvelyn hastily yielded. It was Fortune's duty to draw the tickets fromthe urn, and give them to each claimant whose name was called; when itcame to the turn of Maltravers, the bandage did not conceal the blushand smile of the enchanting goddess, and the hand of the aspirantthrilled as it touched hers. 

The children burst into screams of laughter when Cecilia gravely awardedto Maltravers the worst prize in the lot, --a blue ribbon, --which Sophy, however, greedily insisted on having; but Maltravers would not yield it. 

Maltravers remained all day at the rectory, and shared in theball, --yes, he danced with Evelyn--he, Maltravers, who had neverbeen known to dance since he was twenty-two! The ice was fairlybroken, --Maltravers was at home with the Mertons. And when he took hissolitary walk to his solitary house--over the little bridge, and throughthe shadowy wood--astonished, perhaps, with himself, every one of theguests, from the oldest to the youngest, pronounced him delightful. Caroline, perhaps, might have been piqued some months ago that hedid not dance with _her_; but now, her heart--such as it was--feltpreoccupied. 

CHAPTER VI. 

 L'ESPRIT de l'homme est plus penetrant que consequent, et embrasse plus qu'il ne peat lier. *--VAUVENARGUES. 

 * "The spirit of man is more penetrating than logical, and gathers more than it can garner. "

AND now Maltravers was constantly with the Merton family; there was noneed of excuse for familiarity on his part. Mr. Merton, charmed to findhis advances not rejected, thrust intimacy upon him. 

One day they spent the afternoon at Burleigh, and Evelyn and Carolinefinished their survey of the house, --tapestry, and armour, pictures andall. This led to a visit to the Arabian horses. Caroline observed thatshe was very fond of riding, and went into ecstasies with one of theanimals, --the one, of course, with the longest tail. The next daythe horse was in the stables at the rectory, and a gallant epistleapologized for the costly gift. 

Mr. Merton demurred, but Caroline always had her own way; and so thehorse remained (no doubt, in much amazement and disdain) with theparson's pony, and the brown carriage horses. The gift naturallyconduced to parties on horseback--it was cruel entirely to separate theArab from his friends--and how was Evelyn to be left behind?--Evelyn, who had never yet ridden anything more spirited than an old pony! Abeautiful little horse belonging to an elderly lady, now growingtoo stout to ride, was to be sold hard by. Maltravers discovered thetreasure, and apprised Mr. Merton of it--he was too delicate to affectliberality to the rich heiress. The horse was bought; nothing could goquieter; Evelyn was not at all afraid. They made two or three littleexcursions. Sometimes only Mr. Merton and Maltravers accompanied theyoung ladies, sometimes the party was more numerous. Maltravers appearedto pay equal attention to Caroline and her friend; still Evelyn'sinexperience in equestrian matters was an excuse for his being ever byher side. They had a thousand opportunities to converse; and Evelynnow felt more at home with him; her gentle gayety, her fanciful yetchastened intellect, found a voice. Maltravers was not slow todiscover that beneath her simplicity there lurked sense, judgment, andimagination. Insensibly his own conversation took a higher flight. Withthe freedom which his mature years and reputation gave him, he mingledeloquent instruction with lighter and more trifling subjects; hedirected her earnest and docile mind, not only to new fields of writtenknowledge, but to many of the secrets of Nature, subtle or sublime. Hehad a wide range of scientific as well as literary lore; the stars, theflowers, the phenomena of the physical world, afforded themes on whichhe descanted with the fervent love of a poet and the easy knowledge of asage. 

Mr. Merton, observing that little or nothing of sentiment mingled withtheir familiar intercourse, felt perfectly at ease; and knowing thatMaltravers had been intimate with Lumley, he naturally concluded thathe was aware of the engagement between Evelyn and his friend. MeanwhileMaltravers appeared unconscious that such a being as Lord Vargraveexisted. 

It is not to be wondered at that the daily presence, the delicateflattery of attention from a man like Maltravers, should stronglyimpress the imagination, if not the heart, of a susceptible girl. Already prepossessed in his favour, and wholly unaccustomed to a societywhich combined so many attractions, Evelyn regarded him with unspeakableveneration; to the darker shades in his character she was blind, --toher, indeed, they did not appear. True that once or twice in mixedsociety his disdainful and imperious temper broke hastily and harshlyforth. To folly, to pretension, to presumption, he showed but slightforbearance. The impatient smile, the biting sarcasm, the cold repulse, that might gall, yet could scarce be openly resented, betrayed that hewas one who affected to free himself from the polished restraints ofsocial intercourse. He had once been too scrupulous in not woundingvanity; he was now too indifferent to it. But if sometimes thisunamiable trait of character, as displayed to others, chilled orstartled Evelyn, the contrast of his manner towards herself was aflattery too delicious not to efface all other recollections. To her earhis voice always softened its tone; to her capacity of mind ever bentas by sympathy, not condescension; to her--the young, the timid, thehalf-informed--to her alone he did not disdain to exhibit all the storesof his knowledge, all the best and brightest colours of his mind. Shemodestly wondered at so strange a preference. Perhaps a sudden and bluntcompliment which Maltravers once addressed to her may explain it. Oneday, when she had conversed more freely and more fully than usual, hebroke in upon her with this abrupt exclamation, --

"Miss Cameron, you must have associated from your childhood withbeautiful minds. I see already that from the world, vile as it is, youhave nothing of contagion to fear. I have heard you talk on the mostvarious matters, on many of which your knowledge is imperfect; but youhave never uttered one mean idea, or one false sentiment. Truth seemsintuitive to you. "

It was indeed this singular purity of heart which made to theworld-wearied man the chief charm in Evelyn Cameron. From this puritycame, as from the heart of a poet, a thousand new and heaven-taughtthoughts which had in them a wisdom of their own, --thoughts that oftenbrought the stern listener back to youth, and reconciled him withlife. The wise Maltravers learned more from Evelyn than Evelyn did fromMaltravers. 

There was, however, another trait--deeper than that of temper--inMaltravers, and which was, unlike the latter, more manifest to herthan to others, --his contempt for all the things her young and freshenthusiasm had been taught to prize, the fame that endeared and hallowedhim to her eyes, the excitement of ambition, and its rewards. He spokewith such bitter disdain of great names and great deeds. "Children of alarger growth they were, " said he, one day, in answer to her defence ofthe luminaries of their kind, "allured by baubles as poor as the rattleand the doll's house. How many have been made great, as the word is, by their vices! Paltry craft won command to Themistocles; to escape hisduns, the profligate Caesar heads an army, and achieves his laurels;Brutus, the aristocrat, stabs his patron, that patricians might againtrample on plebeians, and that posterity might talk of _him_. The loveof posthumous fame--what is it but as puerile a passion for notoriety asthat which made a Frenchman I once knew lay out two thousand pounds insugar-plums? To be talked of--how poor a desire! Does it matter whetherit be by the gossips of this age or the next? Some men are urged on tofame by poverty--that is an excuse for their trouble; but there is nomore nobleness in the motive than in that which makes yon poor ploughmansweat in the eye of Phoebus. In fact, the larger part of eminent men, instead of being inspired by any lofty desire to benefit their speciesor enrich the human mind, have acted or composed, without any definiteobject beyond the satisfying a restless appetite for excitement, orindulging the dreams of a selfish glory. And when nobler aspirationshave fired them, it has too often been but to wild fanaticism andsanguinary crime. What dupes of glory ever were animated by a deeperfaith, a higher ambition, than the frantic followers of Mahomet, --taughtto believe that it was virtue to ravage the earth, and that they sprangfrom the battle-field into paradise? Religion and liberty, love ofcountry, what splendid motives to action! Lo, the results, when themotives are keen, the action once commenced! Behold the Inquisition, theDays of Terror, the Council of Ten, and the Dungeons of Venice!"

Evelyn was scarcely fit to wrestle with these melancholy fallacies; buther instinct of truth suggested an answer. 

"What would society be if all men thought as you do, and acted up to thetheory? No literature, no art, no glory, no patriotism, no virtue, nocivilization! You analyze men's motives--how can you be sure you judgerightly? Look to the results, --our benefit, our enlightenment! If theresults be great, Ambition is a virtue, no matter what motive awakenedit. Is it not so?"

Evelyn spoke blushingly and timidly. Maltravers, despite his own tenets, was delighted with her reply. 

"You reason well, " said he, with a smile. "But how are we sure that theresults are such as you depict them? Civilization, enlightenment, --theyare vague terms, hollow sounds. Never fear that the world will reason asI do. Action will never be stagnant while there are such things as goldand power. The vessel will move on--let the galley-slaves have it tothemselves. What I have seen of life convinces me that progress is notalways improvement. Civilization has evils unknown to the savagestate; and _vice versa_. Men in all states seem to have much the sameproportion of happiness. We judge others with eyes accustomed to dwellon our own circumstances. I have seen the slave, whom we commiserate, enjoy his holiday with a rapture unknown to the grave freeman. I haveseen that slave made free, and enriched by the benevolence of hismaster; and he has been gay no more. The masses of men in all countriesare much the same. If there are greater comforts in the hardy North, Providence bestows a fertile earth and a glorious heaven, and amind susceptible to enjoyment as flowers to light, on the voluptuousindulgence of the Italian, or the contented apathy of the Hindoo. Inthe mighty organization of good and evil, what can we vain individualseffect? They who labour most, how doubtful is their reputation! Whoshall say whether Voltaire or Napoleon, Cromwell or Caesar, Walpole orPitt, has done most good or most evil? It is a question casuists maydispute on. Some of us think that poets have been the delight and thelights of men; another school of philosophy has treated them as thecorrupters of the species, --panderers to the false glory of war, tothe effeminacies of taste, to the pampering of the passions above thereason. Nay, even those who have effected inventions that change theface of the earth--the printing-press, gunpowder, the steam-engine, --menhailed as benefactors by the unthinking herd, or the would-besages, --have introduced ills unknown before, adulterating and oftencounterbalancing the good. Each new improvement in machinery depriveshundreds of food. Civilization is the eternal sacrifice of onegeneration to the next. An awful sense of the impotence of humanagencies has crushed down the sublime aspirations for mankind which Ionce indulged. For myself, I float on the great waters, without pilot orrudder, and trust passively to the winds, that are the breath of God. "

This conversation left a deep impression upon Evelyn; it inspired herwith a new interest in one in whom so many noble qualities lay dulledand torpid, by the indulgence of a self-sophistry, which, girl as shewas, she felt wholly unworthy of his powers. And it was this error inMaltravers that, levelling his superiority, brought him nearer to herheart. Ah, if she could restore him to his race! It was a dangerousdesire, but it intoxicated and absorbed her. 

Oh, how sweetly were those fair evenings spent, --the evenings of happyJune! And then, as Maltravers suffered the children to tease him intotalk about the wonders he had seen in the regions far away, how did thesoft and social hues of his character unfold themselves! There is in allreal genius so much latent playfulness of nature it almost seems as ifgenius never could grow old. The inscriptions that youth writes uponthe tablets of an imaginative mind are, indeed, never whollyobliterated, --they are as an invisible writing, which gradually becomesclear in the light and warmth. Bring genius familiarly with the young, and it is as young as they are. Evelyn did not yet, therefore, observethe disparity of _years_ between herself and Maltravers. But thedisparity of knowledge and power served for the present to interdictto her that sweet feeling of equality in commune, without which love israrely a very intense affection in women. It is not so with men. But bydegrees she grew more and more familiar with her stern friend; and inthat familiarity there was perilous fascination to Maltravers. She couldlaugh him at any moment out of his most moody reveries; contradict witha pretty wilfulness his most favourite dogmas; nay, even scold him, with bewitching gravity, if he was not always at the command of herwishes--or caprice. At this time it seemed certain that Maltravers wouldfall in love with Evelyn; but it rested on more doubtful probabilitieswhether Evelyn would fall in love with him. 

CHAPTER VII. 

 CONTRAHE vela, Et te littoribus cymba propinqua vehat. *--SENECA. 

 * "Furl your sails, and let the next boat carry you to the shore. "

"HAS not Miss Cameron a beautiful countenance?" said Mr. Merton toMaltravers, as Evelyn, unconscious of the compliment, sat at a littledistance, bending down her eyes to Sophy, who was weaving daisy-chainson a stool at her knee, and whom she was telling not to talk loud, --forMerton had been giving Maltravers some useful information respecting themanagement of his estate; and Evelyn was already interested in all thatcould interest her friend. She had one excellent thing in woman, had Evelyn Cameron: despite her sunny cheerfulness of temper she was_quiet_; and she had insensibly acquired, under the roof of her musingand silent mother, the habit of never disturbing others. What a blessedsecret is that in the intercourse of domestic life!

"Has not Miss Cameron a beautiful countenance?"

Maltravers started at the question, --it was a literal translation of hisown thought at that moment. He checked the enthusiasm that rose to hislip, and calmly re-echoed the word, --

"Beautiful indeed!"

"And so sweet-tempered and unaffected; she has been admirably broughtup. I believe Lady Vargrave is a most exemplary woman. Miss Cameronwill, indeed, be a treasure to her betrothed husband. He is to beenvied. "

"Her betrothed husband!" said Maltravers, turning very pale. 

"Yes; Lord Vargrave. Did you not know that she was engaged to him fromher childhood? It was the wish, nay, command, of the late lord, whobequeathed her his vast fortune, if not on that condition, at least onthat understanding. Did you never hear of this before?"

While Mr. Merton spoke, a sudden recollection returned to Maltravers. He_had_ heard Lumley himself refer to the engagement, but it had been inthe sick chamber of Florence, --little heeded at the time, and sweptfrom his mind by a thousand after-thoughts and scenes. Mr. Mertoncontinued, --

"We expect Lord Vargrave down soon. He is an ardent lover, I conclude;but public life chains him so much to London. He made an admirablespeech in the Lords last night; at least, our party appear to think so. They are to be married when Miss Cameron attains the age of eighteen. "

Accustomed to endurance, and skilled in the proud art of concealingemotion, Maltravers betrayed to the eye of Mr. Merton no symptom ofsurprise or dismay at this intelligence. If the rector had conceived anyprevious suspicion that Maltravers was touched beyond mere admirationfor beauty, the suspicion would have vanished as he heard his guestcoldly reply, --

"I trust Lord Vargrave may deserve his happiness. But, to return to Mr. Justis; you corroborate my own opinion of that smooth-spoken gentleman. "

The conversation flowed back to business. At last, Maltravers rose todepart. 

"Will you not dine with us to-day?" said the hospitable rector. 

"Many thanks, --no; I have much business to attend to at home for somedays to come. "

"Kiss Sophy, Mr. Ernest, --Sophy very good girl to-day. Let the prettybutterfly go, because Evy said it was cruel to put it in a card-box;kiss Sophy. "

Maltravers took the child (whose heart he had completely won) in hisarms, and kissed her tenderly; then advancing to Evelyn, he held out hishand, while his eyes were fixed upon her with an expression of deep andmournful interest, which she could not understand. 

"God bless you, Miss Cameron, " he said, and his lip quivered. 

Days passed, and they saw no more of Maltravers. He excused himselfon pretence, now of business, now of other engagements, from all theinvitations of the rector. Mr. Merton unsuspectingly accepted theexcuse; for he knew that Maltravers was necessarily much occupied. 

His arrival had now spread throughout the country; and such of hisequals as were still in B-----shire hastened to offer congratulations, and press hospitality. Perhaps it was the desire to make his excuses toMerton valid which prompted the master of Burleigh to yield to theother invitations that crowded on him. But this was not all, --Maltraversacquired in the neighbourhood the reputation of a man of business. Mr. Justis was abruptly dismissed; with the help of the bailiff Maltraversbecame his own steward. His parting address to this personage wascharacteristic of the mingled harshness and justice of Maltravers. 

"Sir, " said he, as they closed their accounts, "I discharge youbecause you are a rascal, --there can be no dispute about that; you haveplundered your owner, yet you have ground his tenants, and neglectedthe poor. My villages are filled with paupers, my rent-roll is reduceda fourth; and yet, while some of my tenants appear to pay nominal rents(why, you best know), --others are screwed up higher than any man's inthe country. You are a rogue, Mr. Justis, --your own account-books showit; and if I send them to a lawyer, you would have to refund a sumthat I could apply very advantageously to the rectification of yourblunders. "

"I hope, sir, " said the steward, conscience-stricken and appalled, --"Ihope you will not ruin me; indeed, indeed, if I was called upon torefund, I should go to jail. "

"Make yourself easy, sir. It is just that I should suffer as well asyou. My neglect of my own duties tempted you to roguery. You were honestunder the vigilant eye of Mr. Cleveland. Retire with your gains: if youare quite hardened, no punishment can touch you; if you are not, itis punishment enough to stand there gray-headed, with one foot in thegrave, and hear yourself called a rogue, and know that you cannot defendyourself, --go!"

Maltravers next occupied himself in all the affairs that a mismanagedestate brought upon him. He got rid of some tenants, he made newarrangements with others; he called labour into requisition by a varietyof improvements; he paid minute attention to the poor, not in theweakness of careless and indiscriminate charity, by which popularity isso cheaply purchased, and independence so easily degraded, --no, hismain care was to stimulate industry and raise hope. The ambition andemulation that he so vainly denied in himself, he found his most usefullevers in the humble labourers whose characters he had studied, whosecondition he sought to make themselves desire to elevate. Unconsciouslyhis whole practice began to refute his theories. The abuses of the oldPoor Laws were rife in his neighbourhood; his quick penetration, andperhaps his imperious habits of decision, suggested to him many of thebest provisions of the law now called into operation; but he was toowise to be the Philosopher Square of a system. He did not attempt toomuch; and he recognized one principle, which, as yet, the administratorsof the new Poor-Laws have not sufficiently discovered. One main objectof the new code was, by curbing public charity, to task the activity ofindividual benevolence. If the proprietor or the clergyman find underhis own eye isolated instances of severity, oppression, or hardship ina general and salutary law, instead of railing against the law, he oughtto attend to the individual instances; and private benevolence oughtto keep the balance of the scales even, and be the makeweight whereverthere is a just deficiency of national charity. * It was this which, inthe modified and discreet regulations that he sought to establish onhis estates, Maltravers especially and pointedly attended to. Age, infirmity, temporary distress, unmerited destitution, found him asteady, watchful, indefatigable friend. In these labours, commenced withextraordinary promptitude, and the energy of a single purpose andstern mind, Maltravers was necessarily brought into contact withthe neighbouring magistrates and gentry. He was combating evils andadvancing objects in which all were interested; and his vigorous sense, and his past parliamentary reputation, joined with the respect which inprovinces always attaches to ancient birth, won unexpected and generalfavour to his views. At the rectory they heard of him constantly, notonly through occasional visitors, but through Mr. Merton, who was everthrown in his way; but he continued to keep himself aloof from thehouse. Every one (Mr. Merton excepted) missed him, --even Caroline, whoseable though worldly mind could appreciate his conversation; the childrenmourned for their playmate, who was so much more affable than their ownstiff-neckclothed brothers; and Evelyn was at least more serious andthoughtful than she had ever been before, and the talk of others seemedto her wearisome, trite, and dull. 

 * The object of parochial reform is not that of economy alone; not merely to reduce poor-rates. The ratepayer ought to remember that the more he wrests from the grip of the sturdy mendicant, the more he ought to bestow on undeserved distress. Without the mitigations of private virtue, every law that benevolists could make would be harsh. 

Was Maltravers happy in his new pursuits? His state of mind at that timeit is not easy to read. His masculine spirit and haughty temper werewrestling hard against a feeling that had been fast ripening intopassion; but at night, in his solitary and cheerless home, a vision, tooexquisite to indulge, would force itself upon him, till he started fromthe revery, and said to his rebellious heart: "A few more years, andthou wilt be still. What in this brief life is a pang more or less?Better to have nothing to care for, so wilt thou defraud Fate, thydeceitful foe! Be contented that thou art alone!" Fortunate was it, then, for Maltravers, that he was in his native land, not in climeswhere excitement is in the pursuit of pleasure rather than in theexercise of duties. In the hardy air of the liberal England, hewas already, though unknown to himself, bracing and ennobling hisdispositions and desires. It is the boast of this island that the slavewhose foot touches the soil is free. The boast may be enlarged. Where somuch is left to the people, where the life of civilization, not lockedup in the tyranny of Central Despotism, spreads, vivifying, restless, ardent, through every vein of the healthful body, the most distantprovince, the obscurest village, has claims on our exertions, ourduties, and forces us into energy and citizenship. The spirit ofliberty, that strikes the chain from the slave, binds the freeman tohis brother. This is the Religion of Freedom. And hence it is thatthe stormy struggles of free States have been blessed with resultsof Virtue, of Wisdom, and of Genius by Him who bade us love oneanother, --not only that love in itself is excellent, but that fromlove, which in its widest sense is but the spiritual term for liberty, whatever is worthiest of our solemn nature has its birth. 

BOOK III. 

 Harsh things he mitigates, and pride subdues. _Ex. _ SOLON: _Eleg. _

CHAPTER I. 

 YOU still are what you were, sir! . .. .. . . .. With most quick agility could turn And return; make knots and undo them, Give forked counsel. --_Volpone, or the Fox_. 

BEFORE a large table, covered with parliamentary papers, sat LumleyLord Vargrave. His complexion, though still healthy, had faded from thefreshness of hue which distinguished him in youth. His features, alwayssharp, had grown yet more angular: his brows seemed to project morebroodingly over his eyes, which, though of undiminished brightness, were sunk deep in their sockets, and had lost much of their quickrestlessness. The character of his mind had begun to stamp itself onthe physiognomy, especially on the mouth when in repose. It was, a facestriking for acute intelligence, for concentrated energy; but there wasa something written in it which said, "BEWARE!" It would have inspiredany one who had mixed much amongst men with a vague suspicion anddistrust. 

Lumley had been always careful, though plain, in dress; but there wasnow a more evident attention bestowed on his person than he hadever manifested in youth, --while there was something of the Roman'scelebrated foppery in the skill with which his hair was arranged on hishigh forehead, so as either to conceal or relieve a partial baldness atthe temples. Perhaps, too, from the possession of high station, or thehabit of living only amongst the great, there was a certain dignityinsensibly diffused over his whole person that was not noticeable inhis earlier years, when a certain _ton de garnison_ was blended withhis ease of manners. Yet, even now, dignity was not his prevalentcharacteristic; and in ordinary occasions, or mixed society, he stillfound a familiar frankness a more useful species of simulation. At thetime we now treat of, Lord Vargrave was leaning his cheek on one hand, while the other rested idly on the papers methodically arranged beforehim. He appeared to have suspended his labours, and to be occupiedin thought. It was, in truth, a critical period in the career of LordVargrave. 

From the date of his accession to the peerage, the rise of LumleyFerrers had been less rapid and progressive than he himself could haveforeseen. At first, all was sunshine before him; he had contrived tomake himself useful to his party; he had also made himself personallypopular. To the ease and cordiality of his happy address, he added theseemingly careless candour so often mistaken for honesty; while, as there was nothing showy or brilliant in his abilities ororatory--nothing that aspired far above the pretensions of others, andaroused envy by mortifying self-love--he created but little jealousyeven amongst the rivals before whom he obtained precedence. Forsome time, therefore, he went smoothly on, continuing to rise in theestimation of his party, and commanding a certain respect from theneutral public, by acknowledged and eminent talents in the details ofbusiness; for his quickness of penetration, and a logical habit of mind, enabled him to grapple with and generalize the minutiae of officiallabour or of legislative enactments with a masterly success. But as theroad became clearer to his steps, his ambition became more evident anddaring. Naturally dictatorial and presumptuous, his early suppleness tosuperiors was now exchanged for a self-willed pertinacity, which oftendispleased the more haughty leaders of his party, and often wounded themore vain. His pretensions were scanned with eyes more jealous and lesstolerant than at first. Proud aristocrats began to recollect that amushroom peerage was supported but by a scanty fortune; the men ofmore dazzling genius began to sneer at the red-tape minister as a mereofficial manager of details; he lost much of the personal popularitywhich had been one secret of his power. But what principally injuredhim in the eyes of his party and the public were certain ambiguous andobscure circumstances connected with a short period when himself and hisassociates were thrown out of office. At this time, it was noticeablethat the journals of the Government that succeeded were peculiarlypolite to Lord Vargrave, while they covered all his coadjutors withobloquy: and it was more than suspected that secret negotiations betweenhimself and the new ministry were going on, when suddenly the latterbroke up, and Lord Vargrave's proper party were reinstated. The vaguesuspicions that attached to Vargrave were somewhat strengthened in theopinion of the public by the fact that he was at first left out of therestored administration; and when subsequently, after a speechwhich showed that he could be mischievous if not propitiated, he wasreadmitted, it was precisely to the same office he had held before, --anoffice which did not admit him into the Cabinet. Lumley, burning withresentment, longed to decline the offer; but, alas! he was poor, and, what was worse, in debt; "his poverty, but not his will, consented. " Hewas reinstated; but though prodigiously improved as a debater, he feltthat he had not advanced as a public man. His ambition inflamed by hisdiscontent, he had, since his return to office, strained every nerve tostrengthen his position. He met the sarcasms on his poverty by greatlyincreasing his expenditure, and by advertising everywhere his engagementto an heiress whose fortune, great as it was, he easily contrived tomagnify. As his old house in Great George Street--well fitted for thebustling commoner--was no longer suited to the official and fashionablepeer, he had, on his accession to the title, exchanged that respectableresidence for a large mansion in Hamilton Place; and his sober dinnerswere succeeded by splendid banquets. Naturally, he had no taste forsuch things; his mind was too nervous, and his temper too hard, to takepleasure in luxury or ostentation. But now, as ever he _acted upon asystem_. Living in a country governed by the mightiest and wealthiestaristocracy in the world, which, from the first class almost tothe lowest, ostentation pervades, --the very backbone and marrow ofsociety, --he felt that to fall far short of his rivals in display was togive them an advantage which he could not compensate either by the powerof his connections or the surpassing loftiness of his character andgenius. Playing for a great game, and with his eyes open to all theconsequences, he cared not for involving his private fortunes in alottery in which a great prize might be drawn. To do Vargrave justice, money with him had never been an object, but a means; he was grasping, but not avaricious. If men much richer than Lord Vargrave find Statedistinctions very expensive, and often ruinous, it is not to be supposedthat his salary, joined to so moderate a private fortune, could supportthe style in which he lived. His income was already deeply mortgaged, and debt accumulated upon debt. Nor had this man, so eminent for themanagement of public business, any of that talent which springs from_justice_, and makes its possessor a skilful manager of his own affairs. Perpetually absorbed in intrigues and schemes, he was too much engagedin cheating others on a large scale to have time to prevent beinghimself cheated on a small one. He never looked into bills till he wascompelled to pay them; and he never calculated the amount of an expensethat seemed the least necessary to his purposes. But still Lord Vargraverelied upon his marriage with the wealthy Evelyn to relieve him fromall his embarrassments; and if a doubt of the realization of that visionever occurred to him, still public life had splendid prizes. Nay, shouldhe fail with Miss Cameron, he even thought that, by good management, hemight ultimately make it worth while to his colleagues to purchase hisabsence with the gorgeous bribe of the Governor-Generalship of India. 

As oratory is an art in which practice and the dignity of stationproduce marvellous improvement, so Lumley had of late made effects inthe House of Lords of which he had once been judged incapable. It istrue that no practice and no station can give men qualities in whichthey are wholly deficient; but these advantages can bring out in thebest light all the qualities they _do_ possess. The glow of a generousimagination, the grasp of a profound statesmanship, the enthusiasm ofa noble nature, --these no practice could educe from the eloquence ofLumley Lord Vargrave, for he had them not; but bold wit, fluent andvigorous sentences, effective arrangement of parliamentary logic, readiness of retort, plausibility of manner, aided by a deliverypeculiar for self-possession and ease, a clear and ringing voice (to theonly fault of which, shrillness without passion, the ear of the audiencehad grown accustomed), and a countenance impressive from its courageousintelligence, --all these had raised the promising speaker into thematured excellence of a nervous and formidable debater. But precisely ashe rose in the display of his talents, did he awaken envies and enmitieshitherto dormant. And it must be added that, with all his craft andcoldness, Lord Vargrave was often a very dangerous and mischievousspeaker for the interests of his party. His colleagues had often causeto tremble when he rose: nay, even when the cheers of his own factionshook the old tapestried walls. A man who has no sympathy with thepublic must commit many and fatal indiscretions when the public, as wellas his audience, is to be his judge. Lord Vargrave's utter incapacityto comprehend political morality, his contempt for all the objects ofsocial benevolence, frequently led him into the avowal of doctrines, which, if they did not startle the men of the world whom he addressed(smoothed away, as such doctrines were, by speciousness of manner anddelivery), created deep disgust in those even of his own politics whoread their naked exposition in the daily papers. Never did LordVargrave utter one of those generous sentiments which, no matter whetherpropounded by Radical or Tory, sink deep into the heart of the people, and do lasting service to the cause they adorn. But no man defended anabuse, however glaring, with a more vigorous championship, or hurleddefiance upon a popular demand with a more courageous scorn. In sometimes, when the anti-popular principle is strong; such a leader maybe useful; but at the moment of which we treat he was a most equivocalauxiliary. A considerable proportion of the ministers, headed by thepremier himself, a man of wise views and unimpeachable honour, hadlearned to view Lord Vargrave with dislike and distrust. They might havesought to get rid of him; but he was not one whom slight mortificationscould induce to retire of his own accord, nor was the sarcastic and bolddebater a person whose resentment and opposition could be despised. Lord Vargrave, moreover, had secured a party of his own, --a partymore formidable than himself. He went largely into society; he was thespecial favourite of the female diplomats, whose voices at that timewere powerful suffrages, and with whom, by a thousand links of gallantryand intrigue, the agreeable and courteous minister formed a closealliance. All that _salons_ could do for him was done. Added to this, hewas personally liked by his royal master; and the Court gave him theirgolden opinions; while the poorer, the corrupter, and the more bigotedportion of the ministry regarded him with avowed admiration. 

In the House of Commons, too, and in the bureaucracy, he had noinconsiderable strength; for Lumley never contracted the habits ofpersonal abruptness and discourtesy common to men in power who wishto keep applicants aloof. He was bland and conciliating to all men ofranks; his intellect and self-complacency raised him far above the pettyjealousies that great men feel for rising men. Did any tyro earn thesmallest distinction in parliament, no man sought his acquaintance soeagerly as Lord Vargrave; no man complimented, encouraged, "brought on"the new aspirants of his party with so hearty a good will. 

Such a minister could not fail of having devoted followers among theable, the ambitious, and the vain. It must also be confessed that LordVargrave neglected no baser and less justifiable means to cement hispower by placing it on the sure rock of self-interest. No jobbing wastoo gross for him. He was shamefully corrupt in the disposition of hispatronage; and no rebuffs, no taunts from his official brethren, couldrestrain him from urging the claims of any of his creatures upon thepublic purse. His followers regarded this charitable selfishness asthe stanchness and zeal of friendship; and the ambition of hundreds waswound up in the ambition of the unprincipled minister. 

But besides the notoriety of his public corruption, Lord Vargrave wassecretly suspected by some of personal dishonesty, --suspected of sellinghis State information to stock-jobbers, of having pecuniary interests insome of the claims he urged with so obstinate a pertinacity. And thoughthere was not the smallest evidence of such utter abandonment of honour, though it was probably but a calumnious whisper, yet the mere suspicionof such practices served to sharpen the aversion of his enemies, andjustify the disgust of his rivals. 

In this position now stood Lord Vargrave: supported by interested, butable and powerful partisans; hated in the country, feared by some ofthose with whom he served, despised by others, looked up to by the rest. It was a situation that less daunted than delighted him; for it seemedto render necessary and excuse the habits of scheming and manoeuvrewhich were so genial to his crafty and plotting temper. Like an ancientGreek, his spirit loved intrigue for intrigue's sake. Had it led to noend, it would still have been sweet to him as a means. He rejoiced tosurround himself with the most complicated webs and meshes; to sit inthe centre of a million plots. He cared not how rash and wild some ofthem were. He relied on his own ingenuity, promptitude, and habitualgood fortune to make every spring he handled conducive to the purpose ofthe machine--SELF. 

His last visit to Lady Vargrave, and his conversation with Evelyn, hadleft on his mind much dissatisfaction and fear. In the earlier years ofhis intercourse with Evelyn, his good humour, gallantry, and presentshad not failed to attach the child to the agreeable and liberal visitorshe had been taught to regard as a relation. It was only as she grew upto womanhood, and learned to comprehend the nature of the tie betweenthem, that she shrank from his familiarity; and then only had he learnedto doubt of the fulfilment of his uncle's wish. The last visit hadincreased this doubt to a painful apprehension. He saw that he was notloved; he saw that it required great address, and the absence of happierrivals, to secure to him the hand of Evelyn; and he cursed the dutiesand the schemes which necessarily kept him from her side. He had thoughtof persuading Lady Vargrave to let her come to London, where he could beever at hand; and as the season was now set in, his representations onthis head would appear sensible and just. But then again this was toincur greater dangers than those he would avoid. London!--a beauty andan heiress, in her first _debut_ in London! What formidable admirerswould flock around her! Vargrave shuddered to think of the gay, handsome, well-dressed, seductive young _elegans_, who might seem, toa girl of seventeen, suitors far more fascinating than the middle-agedpolitician. This was perilous; nor was this all: Lord Vargrave knew thatin London--gaudy, babbling, and remorseless London--all that he couldmost wish to conceal from the young lady would be dragged to day. He hadbeen the lover, not of one, but of a dozen women, for whom he did notcare three straws, but whose favour had served to strengthen him insociety, or whose influence made up for his own want of hereditarypolitical connections. The manner in which he contrived to shake offthese various Ariadnes, whenever it was advisable, was not the leaststriking proof of his diplomatic abilities. He never left them enemies. According to his own solution of the mystery, he took care never to playthe gallant with Dulcineas under a certain age. "Middle-aged women, " hewas wont to say, "are very little different from middle-aged men; theysee things sensibly, and take things coolly. " Now Evelyn could not bethree weeks, perhaps three days, in London, without learning of one orthe other of these _liaisons_. What an excuse, if she sought one, tobreak with him! Altogether, Lord Vargrave was sorely perplexed, but notdespondent. Evelyn's fortune was more than ever necessary to him, and Evelyn he was resolved to obtain since to that fortune she was anindispensable appendage. 

CHAPTER II. 

 YOU shall be Horace, and Tibullus I. --POPE. 

LORD VARGRAVE was disturbed from his revery by the entrance of the Earlof Saxingham. 

"You are welcome!" said Lumley, "welcome!--the very man I wished tosee. "

Lord Saxingham, who was scarcely altered since we met with him in thelast series of this work, except that he had grown somewhat paler andthinner, and that his hair had changed from iron-gray to snow-white, threw himself in the armchair beside Lumley, and replied, --

"Vargrave, it is really unpleasant, our finding ourselves always thuscontrolled by our own partisans. I do not understand this new-fangledpolicy, this squaring of measures to please the Opposition, and throwingsops to that many-headed monster called Public Opinion. I am sure itwill end most mischievously. "

"I am satisfied of it, " returned Lord Vargrave. "All vigour and unionseem to have left us; and if they carry the ----- question against us, Iknow not what is to be done. "

"For my part, I shall resign, " said Lord Saxingham, doggedly; "it is theonly alternative left to men of honour. "

"You are wrong; I know another alternative. "

"What is that?"

"Make a Cabinet of our own. Look ye, my dear lord; you been ill-used;your high character, your long experience, are treated with contempt. It is an affront to you--the situation you hold. You, Privy Seal!--youought to be Premier; ay, and, if you are ruled by me, Premier you shallbe yet. "

Lord Saxingham coloured, and breathed hard. 

"You have often hinted at this before, Lumley; but you are so partial, so friendly. "

"Not at all. You saw the leading article in the ----- to-day? That willbe followed up by two evening papers within five hours of this time. Wehave strength with the Press, with the Commons, with the Court, --onlylet us hold fast together. This ----- question, by which they hope toget rid of us, shall destroy them. You shall be Prime Minister beforethe year is over--by Heaven, you shall!--and then, I suppose, I too maybe admitted to the Cabinet!"

"But how?--how, Lumley? You are too rash, too daring. "

"It has not been my fault hitherto, --but boldness is caution in ourcircumstances. If they throw us out now, I see the inevitable march ofevents, --we shall be out for years, perhaps for life. The Cabinet willrecede more and more from our principles, our party. Now is the time fora determined stand; now can we make or mar ourselves. I will notresign; the king is with us; our strength shall be known. These haughtyimbeciles shall fall into the trap they have dug for us. "

Lumley spoke warmly, and with the confidence of a mind firmly assuredof success. Lord Saxingham was moved; bright visions flashed acrosshim, --the premiership, a dukedom. Yet he was old and childless, and hishonours would die with the last lord of Saxingham!

"See, " continued Lumley, "I have calculated our resources as accuratelyas an electioneering agent would cast up the list of voters. In thePress, I have secured ----- and -----, and in the Commons we have thesubtle -----, and the vigour of -----, and the popular name of -----, and all the boroughs of -----; in the Cabinet we have -----, and atCourt you know our strength. Let us choose our moment; a sudden _coup_, an interview with the king, statement of our conscientious scruples tothis atrocious measure. I know the vain, stiff mind of the premier; _he_will lose temper, he will tender his resignation; to his astonishment, it will be accepted. You will be sent for; we will dissolve parliament;we will strain every nerve in the elections; we shall succeed, I knowwe shall. But be silent in the meanwhile, be cautious: let not a wordescape you, let them think us beaten; lull suspicion asleep; let uslament our weakness, and hint, only hint at our resignation, but withassurances of continued support. I know how to blind them, if you leaveit to me. "

The weak mind of the old earl was as a puppet in the hands of his boldkinsman. He feared one moment, hoped another; now his ambition wasflattered, now his sense of honour was alarmed. There was something inLumley's intrigue to oust the government with which he served that hadan appearance of cunning and baseness, of which Lord Saxingham, whosepersonal character was high, by no means approved. But Vargrave talkedhim over with consummate address, and when they parted, the earl carriedhis head two inches higher, --he was preparing himself for his rise inlife. 

"That is well! that is well!" said Lumley, rubbing his hands when he wasleft alone: "the old driveller will be my _locum tenens_, till years andrenown enable me to become his successor. Meanwhile, I shall be reallywhat he will be in name. "

Here Lord Vargrave's well-fed servant, now advanced to the dignity ofown gentleman and house-steward, entered the room with a letter; ithad a portentous look; it was wafered, the paper was blue, the handclerklike, there was no envelope; it bore its infernal origin on theface of it, --IT WAS A DUN'S. 

Lumley opened the epistle with an impatient pshaw! The man, asilversmith (Lumley's plate was much admired!) had applied for yearsin vain; the amount was large, and execution was threatened! Anexecution!--it is a trifle to a rich man; but no trifle to one suspectedof being poor, one straining at that very moment at so high an object, one to whom public opinion was so necessary, one who knew that nothingbut his title, and scarcely that, saved him from the reputation of anadventurer! He must again have recourse to the money-lenders, --hissmall estate was long since too deeply mortgaged to afford new security. Usury, usury, again!--he knew its price, and he sighed--but what was tobe done?

"It is but for a few months, a few months, and Evelyn must be mine. Saxingham has already lent me what he can; but he is embarrassed. Thisd-----d office, what a tax it is! and the rascals say we are too wellpaid! I, too, who could live happy in a garret, if this purse-proudEngland would but allow one to exist within one's income. Myfellow-trustee, the banker, my uncle's old correspondent--all, wellthought of! He knows the conditions of the will; he knows that, atthe worst, I must have thirty thousand pounds, if I live a few monthslonger. I will go to him. "

CHAPTER III. 

 ANIMUM nunc hoc celerem, nunc dividit illuc. *--VIRGIL. 

 * "Now this, now that, distracts the active mind. "

THE late Mr. Templeton had been a banker in a provincial town, which wasthe centre of great commercial and agricultural activity and enterprise. He had made the bulk of his fortune in the happy days of paper currencyand war. Besides his country bank he had a considerable share in ametropolitan one of some eminence. At the time of his marriage with thepresent Lady Vargrave he retired altogether from business, and neverreturned to the place in which his wealth had been amassed. He had stillkept up a familiar acquaintance with the principal and senior partnerof the metropolitan bank I have referred to; for he was a man who alwaysloved to talk about money matters with those who understood them. This gentleman, Mr. Gustavus Douce, had been named, with Lumley, jointtrustee to Evelyn's fortune. They had full powers to invest it inwhatever stock seemed most safe or advantageous. The trustees appearedwell chosen, as one, being destined to share the fortune, would havethe deepest interest in its security; and the other, from his habits andprofession, would be a most excellent adviser. 

Of Mr. Douce, Lord Vargrave had seen but little; they were not throwntogether. But Lord Vargrave, who thought every rich man might, sometime or other, become a desirable acquaintance, regularly asked him onceevery year to dinner; and twice in return he had dined with Mr. Douce, in one of the most splendid villas, and off some of the most splendidplate it had ever been his fortune to witness and to envy!--so thatthe little favour he was about to ask was but a slight return for LordVargrave's condescension. 

He found the banker in his private sanctum, his carriage at the door;for it was just four o'clock, an hour in which Mr. Douce regularlydeparted to Caserta, as his aforesaid villa was somewhat affectedlystyled. 

Mr. Douce was a small man, a nervous man; he did not seem quite masterof his own limbs: when he bowed he seemed to be making you a present ofhis legs; when he sat down, he twitched first on one side, then on theother, thrust his hands into his pockets, then took them out, and lookedat them, as if in astonishment, then seized upon a pen, by which theywere luckily provided with incessant occupation. Meanwhile, there waswhat might fairly be called a constant play of countenance: first hesmiled, then looked grave; now raised his eyebrows, till they rose likerainbows, to the horizon of his pale, straw-coloured hair; and nextdarted them down, like an avalanche, over the twinkling, restless, fluttering, little blue eyes, which then became almost invisible. Mr. Douce had, in fact, all the appearance of a painfully shy man, whichwas the more strange, as he had the reputation of enterprise, and evenaudacity, in the business of his profession, and was fond of the societyof the great. 

"I have called on you, my dear sir, " said Lord Vargrave, after thepreliminary salutations, "to ask a little favour, which, if the leastinconvenient, have no hesitation in refusing. You know how I am situatedwith regard to my ward, Miss Cameron; in a few months I hope she will beLady Vargrave. "

Mr. Douce showed three small teeth, which were all that, in the front ofhis mouth, fate had left him; and then, as if alarmed at the indelicacyof a smile upon such a subject, pushed back his chair, and twitched uphis blotting-paper-coloured trousers. 

"Yes, in a few months I hope she will be Lady Vargrave; and you knowthen, Mr. Douce, that I shall be in no want of money. "

"I hope--that is to say, I am sure, --that--I trust that never willbe the ca-ca-case with your lordship, " put in Mr. Douce, with timidhesitation. Mr. Douce, in addition to his other good qualities, stammered much in the delivery of his sentences. 

"You are very kind, but it is the case just at present; I have greatneed of a few thousand pounds upon my personal security. My estateis already a little mortgaged, and I don't wish to encumber it more;besides, the loan would be merely temporary. You know that if at the ageof eighteen Miss Cameron refuses me (a supposition out of the question, but in business we must calculate on improbabilities), I claim theforfeit she incurs, --thirty thousand pounds; you remember. "

"Oh, yes--that--is--upon my word--I--I don't exactly--but--yourlord--l-l-l-lord-lordship knows best--I have been so--so busy--I forgetthe exact--hem--hem!"

"If you just turn to the will you will see it is as I say. Now, couldyou conveniently place a few thousands to my account, just for a shorttime? But I see you don't like it. Never mind, I can get it elsewhere;only, as you were my poor uncle's friend--"

"Your lord--l-l-l-lordship is quite mistaken, " said Mr. Douce, withtrembling agitation; "upon my word, yes, a few thou-thou-thousands--tobe sure--to be sure. Your lordship's banker is--is--"

"Drummond--disagreeable people--by no means obliging. I shall certainlychange to your house when my accounts are better worth keeping. "

"You do me great--great honour; I will just--step--step--step out fora moment--and--and speak to Mr. Dobs;--not but what you may dependon. --Excuse me! 'Morning Chron-chron-Chronicle, ' my lord!"

Mr. Douce rose, as if by galvanism, and ran out of the room, spinninground as he ran, to declare, again and again, that he would not be gonea moment. 

"Good little fellow, that--very like an electrified frog!" murmuredVargrave, as he took up the "Morning Chronicle, " so especially pointedout to his notice; and turning to the leading article, read a veryeloquent attack on himself. Lumley was thick-skinned on such matters; heliked to be attacked, --it showed that he was up in the world. 

Presently Mr. Douce returned. To Lord Vargrave's amazement and delight, he was informed that 10, 000 pounds would be immediately lodged withMessrs. Drummond. His bill of promise to pay in three months--five percent interest--was quite sufficient. Three months was a short date; butthe bill could be renewed on the same terms, from quarter to quarter, till quite convenient to his lordship to pay. "Would Lord Vargrave dohim the honour to dine with him at Caserta next Monday?"

Lord Vargrave tried to affect apathy at his sudden accession of readymoney, but really it almost turned his head; he griped both Mr. Douce'sthin, little shivering hands, and was speechless with gratitude andecstasy. The sum, which doubled the utmost he expected, would relievehim from all his immediate embarrassments. When he recovered his voice, he thanked his dear Mr. Douce with a warmth that seemed to make thelittle man shrink into a nutshell; and assured him that he would dinewith him every Monday in the year--if he was asked! He then longed todepart; but he thought, justly, that to go as soon as he had got what hewanted would look selfish. Accordingly, he reseated himself, and so didMr. Douce, and the conversation turned upon politics and news; but Mr. Douce, who seemed to regard all things with a commercial eye, contrived, Vargrave hardly knew how, to veer round from the change in the Frenchministry to the state of the English money-market. 

"It really is, indeed, my lord--I say it, I am sure, with concern, avery bad ti-ti-ti-ti-time for men in business, --indeed, for all men;such poor interest in the English fu-fun-funds, and yet speculations areso unsound. I recommended my friend Sir Giles Grimsby to--to invest somemoney in the American canals; a most rare res-res-respons-reponsibility, I may say, for me; I am cautious in--in recommending--but Sir Giles wasan old friend, --con-con-connection, I may say; but most providentially, all turned out--that is--fell out--as I was sure it would, --thirty percent, --and the value of the sh-sh-sh-shares doubled. But such things arevery rare, --quite godsends, I may say!"

"Well, Mr. Douce, whenever I have money to lay out, I must come andconsult you. "

"I shall be most happy at all times to--to advise your lordship; but itis not a thing I'm very fond of. There's Miss Cameron's fortune quitel-l-locked up, --three per cents and exchequer bills; why, it might havebeen a mil-mil-million by this ti-ti-time, if the good old gentleman--Ibeg pardon--old--old nobleman, my poor dear friend, had been now alive!"

"Indeed!" said Lumley, greedily, and pricking up his ears; "he was agood manager, my uncle!"

"None better, none better. I may say a genius for busi--hem-hem! MissCameron a young woman of bus-bus-business, my lord?"

"Not much of that, I fear. A million, did you say?"

"At least!--indeed, at least--money so scarce, speculation so surein America; great people the Americans, rising people, gi-gi-giants--giants!"

"I am wasting your whole morning, --too bad in me, " said Vargrave, as theclock struck five; "the Lords meet this evening, --important business;once more a thousand thanks to you; good day. "

"A very good day to you, my lord; don't mention it; glad at any time toser-ser-serve you, " said Mr. Douce, fidgeting, curveting, and prancinground Lord Vargrave, as the latter walked through the outer office tothe carriage. 

"Not a step more; you will catch cold. Good-by--on Monday, then, seveno'clock. The House of Lords. "

And Lumley threw himself back in his carriage in high spirits. 

CHAPTER IV. 

 OUBLIE de Tullie, et brave du Senat. * VOLTAIRE: _Brutus_, Act ii. Sc. 1. 

 * "Forgotten by Tully and bullied by the Senate. "

IN the Lords that evening the discussion was animated and prolonged, --itwas the last party debate of the session. The astute Opposition did notneglect to bring prominently, though incidentally, forward the questionon which it was whispered that there existed some growing difference inthe Cabinet. Lord Vargrave rose late. His temper was excited by the goodfortune of his day's negotiation; he felt himself of more importancethan usual, as a needy man is apt to do when he has got a large sum athis banker's; moreover, he was exasperated by some personal allusions tohimself, which had been delivered by a dignified old lord who dated hisfamily from the ark, and was as rich as Croesus. Accordingly, Vargravespoke with more than his usual vigour. His first sentences were welcomedwith loud cheers; he warmed, he grew vehement, he uttered the mostpositive and unalterable sentiments upon the question alluded to, hegreatly transgressed the discretion which the heads of his party weredesirous to maintain, --instead of conciliating without compromising, heirritated, galled, _and_ compromised. The angry cheers of the oppositeparty were loudly re-echoed by the cheers of the more hot-headed on hisown side. The premier and some of his colleagues observed, however, amoody silence. The premier once took a note, and then reseated himself, and drew his hat more closely over his brows. It was an ominous signfor Lumley; but he was looking the Opposition in the face, and did notobserve it. He sat down in triumph; he had made a most effective and amost mischievous speech, --a combination extremely common. The leader ofthe Opposition replied to him with bitter calmness; and when citing someof his sharp sentences, he turned to the premier, and asked, "Are theseopinions those also of the noble lord? I call for a reply, --I have aright to demand a reply, " Lumley was startled to hear the tone in whichhis chief uttered the comprehensive and significant "_Hear, hear_!"

At midnight the premier wound up the debate; his speech was short, andcharacterized by moderation. He came to the question put to him. TheHouse was hushed, --you might have heard a pin drop; the Commonersbehind the throne pressed forward with anxiety and eagerness on theircountenances. 

"I am called upon, " said the minister, "to declare if those sentiments, uttered by my noble friend, are mine also, as the chief adviser ofthe Crown. My lords, in the heat of debate every word is not tobe scrupulously weighed, and rigidly interpreted. " ("Hear, hear, "ironically from the Opposition, approvingly from the Treasury benches. )"My noble friend will doubtless be anxious to explain what he intendedto say. I hope, nay, I doubt not, that his explanation will besatisfactory to the noble lord, to the House, and to the country; butsince I am called upon for a distinct reply to a distinct interrogatory, I will say at once, that if those sentiments be rightly interpreted bythe noble lord who spoke last, those sentiments are not mine, andwill never animate the conduct of any cabinet of which I am a member. "(Long-continued cheering from the Opposition. ) "At the same time, I amconvinced that my noble friend's meaning has not been rightly construed;and till I hear from himself to the contrary, I will venture to statewhat I think he designed to convey to your lordships. " Here the premier, with a tact that nobody could be duped by, but every one could admire, stripped Lord Vargrave's unlucky sentences of every syllable that couldgive offence to any one; and left the pointed epigrams and vehementdenunciations a most harmless arrangement of commonplace. 

The House was much excited; there was a call for Lord Vargrave, and LordVargrave promptly rose. It was one of those dilemmas out of which Lumleywas just the man to extricate himself with address. There was so muchmanly frankness in his manner, there was so much crafty subtlety inhis mind! He complained, with proud and honest bitterness, of theconstruction that had been forced upon his words by the Opposition. "If, " he added (and no man knew better the rhetorical effect of the _tuquoque_ form of argument), --"if every sentence uttered by the noblelord opposite in his zeal for liberty had, in days now gone by, beenconstrued with equal rigour, or perverted with equal ingenuity, thatnoble lord had long since been prosecuted as an incendiary, perhapsexecuted as a traitor!" Vehement cheers from the ministerial benches;cries of "Order!" from the Opposition. A military lord rose to order, and appealed to the Woolsack. 

Lumley sat down as if chafed at the interruption; he had produced theeffect he had desired, --he had changed the public question at issue intoa private quarrel; a new excitement was created; dust was thrown intothe eyes of the House. Several speakers rose to accommodate matters; andafter half-an-hour of public time had been properly wasted, the noblelord on the one side and the noble lord on the other duly explained, paid each other the highest possible compliments, and Lumley was left toconclude his vindication, which now seemed a comparatively flat matterafter the late explosion. He completed his task so as to satisfy, apparently, all parties--for all parties were now tired of the thing, and wanted to go to bed. But the next morning there were whispers aboutthe town, articles in the different papers, evidently by authority, rejoicings among the Opposition, and a general feeling that though theGovernment might keep together that session, its dissensions would breakout before the next meeting of parliament. 

As Lumley was wrapping himself in his cloak after this stormy debate, the Marquess of Raby--a peer of large possessions, and one who entirelyagreed with Lumley's views--came up to him, and proposed that theyshould go home together in Lord Raby's carriage. Vargrave willinglyconsented, and dismissed his own servants. 

"You did that admirably, my dear Vargrave!" said Lord Raby, when theywere seated in the carriage. "I quite coincide in all your sentiments;I declare my blood boiled when I heard ----- [the premier] appear halfinclined to throw you over. Your hit upon ----- was first-rate, --he willnot get over it for a month; and you extricated yourself well. "

"I am glad you approve my conduct, --it comforts me, " said Vargrave, feelingly; "at the same time I see all the consequences; but I can braveall for the sake of character and conscience. "

"I feel just as you do!" replied Lord Raby, with some warmth; "and if Ithought that ----- meant to yield to this question, I should certainlyoppose his administration. "

Vargrave shook his head, and held his tongue, which gave Lord Raby ahigh idea of his discretion. 

After a few more observations on political matters, Lord Raby invitedLumley to pay him a visit at his country-seat. 

"I am going to Knaresdean next Monday; you know we have races in thepark, and really they are sometimes good sport; at all events, it is avery pretty sight. There will be nothing in the Lords now, --the recessis just at hand; and if you can spare the time, Lady Raby and myselfwill be delighted to see you. "

"You may be sure, my dear lord, I cannot refuse your invitation; indeed, I intended to visit your county next week. You know, perhaps, a Mr. Merton. "

"Charles Merton?--to be sure; most respectable man, capital fellow, the best parson in the county, --no cant, but thoroughly orthodox; hecertainly keeps in his brother, who, though a very active member, iswhat I call a waverer on certain questions. Have you known Merton long?"

"I don't know him at all as yet; my acquaintance is with his wifeand daughter, --a very fine girl, by the by. My ward, Miss Cameron, isstaying with them. "

"Miss Cameron! Cameron--ah, I understand. I think I have heard that--Butgossip does not always tell the truth!"

Lumley smiled significantly, and the carriage now stopped at his door. 

"Perhaps you will take a seat in our carriage on Monday?" said LordRaby. 

"Monday? Unhappily I am engaged; but on Tuesday your lordship may expectme. "

"Very well; the races begin on Wednesday: we shall have a full house. Good-night. "

CHAPTER V. 

 HOMUNCULI quanti sunt, cum recogito. *--PLAUTUS. 

 * "When I reflect, how great your little men are in their own consideration!"

IT is obvious that for many reasons we must be brief upon the politicalintrigue in which the scheming spirit of Lord Vargrave was employed. It would, indeed, be scarcely possible to preserve the necessary mediumbetween too plain a revelation and too complex a disguise. It suffices, therefore, very shortly to repeat what the reader has already gatheredfrom what has gone before; namely, that the question at issue was onewhich has happened often enough in all governments, --one on which theCabinet was divided, and in which the weaker party was endeavouring toout-trick the stronger. 

The malcontents, foreseeing that sooner or later the head of thegathering must break, were again divided among themselves whetherto resign, or to stay in and strive to force a resignation on theirdissentient colleagues. The richer and the more honest were for theformer course; the poorer and the more dependent for the latter. Wehave seen that the latter policy was that espoused and recommended byVargrave, who, though not in the Cabinet, always contrived somehow orother to worm out its secrets. At the same time he by no means rejectedthe other string to his bow. If it were possible so to arrange andto strengthen his faction, that, by the _coup d'etat_ of a suddenresignation in a formidable body, the whole Government might be brokenup, and a new one formed from among the resignees, it would obviously bethe best plan. But then Lord Vargrave was doubtful of his own strength, and fearful to play into the hands of his colleagues, who might be ableto stand even better without himself and his allies, and by conciliatingthe Opposition take a step onward in political movement, --which mightleave Vargrave placeless and powerless for years to come. 

He repented his own rashness in the recent debate, which was, indeed, apremature boldness that had sprung out of momentary excitement--for thecraftiest orator must be indiscreet sometimes. He spent the next fewdays in alternately seeking to explain away to one party, and to sound, unite, and consolidate the other. His attempts in the one quarter werereceived by the premier with the cold politeness of an offended butcareful statesman, who believed just as much as he chose, and preferredtaking his own opportunity for a breach with a subordinate to riskingany imprudence by the gratification of resentment. In the last quarter, the penetrating adventurer saw that his ground was more insecure thanhe had anticipated. He perceived in dismay and secret rage that manyof those most loud in his favour while he was with the Government woulddesert him the soonest if thrown out. Liked as a subordinate minister, he was viewed with very different eyes the moment it was a questionwhether, instead of cheering his sentiments, men should trust themselvesto his guidance. Some did not wish to displease the Government; othersdid not seek to weaken but to correct them. One of his stanchestallies in the Commons was a candidate for a peerage; another suddenlyremembered that he was second cousin to the premier. Some laughed atthe idea of a puppet premier in Lord Saxingham; others insinuated toVargrave that he himself was not precisely of that standing in thecountry which would command respect to a new party, of which, if not thehead, he would be the mouthpiece. For themselves they knew, admired, andtrusted him; but those d-----d country gentlemen--and the dull public!

Alarmed, wearied, and disgusted, the schemer saw himself reduced tosubmission, for the present at least; and more than ever he felt thenecessity of Evelyn's fortune to fall back upon, if the chance ofthe cards should rob him of his salary. He was glad to escape for abreathing-while from the vexations and harassments that beset him, and looked forward with the eager interest of a sanguine and elasticmind--always escaping from one scheme to another--to his excursion intoB-----shire. 

At the villa of Mr. Douce, Lord Vargrave met a young nobleman who hadjust succeeded to a property not only large and unencumbered, but of anature to give him importance in the eyes of politicians. Situated ina very small county, the estates of Lord Doltimore secured to hisnomination at least one of the representatives, while a little villageat the back of his pleasure-grounds constituted a borough, and returnedtwo members to parliament. Lord Doltimore, just returned from theContinent, had not even taken his seat in the Lords; and though hisfamily connections, such as they were--and they were not very high, andby no means in the fashion--were ministerial, his own opinions were asyet unrevealed. 

To this young nobleman Lord Vargrave was singularly attentive. Hewas well formed to attract men younger than himself, and he eminentlysucceeded in his designs upon Lord Doltimore's affection. 

His lordship was a small, pale man, with a very limited share ofunderstanding, supercilious in manner, elaborate in dress, notill-natured _au fond_, and with much of the English gentleman in hisdisposition, --that is, he was honourable in his ideas and actions, whenever his natural dulness and neglected education enabled him clearlyto perceive (through the midst of prejudices, the delusions of others, and the false lights of the dissipated society in which he had lived)what was right and what wrong. But his leading characteristics werevanity and conceit. He had lived much with younger sons, cleverer thanhimself, who borrowed his money, sold him their horses, and won fromhim at cards. In return they gave him all that species of flattery whichyoung men _can_ give with so hearty an appearance of cordial admiration. "You certainly have the best horses in Paris. You are really a devilishgood fellow, Doltimore. Oh, do you know, Doltimore, what little Desiresays of you? You have certainly turned the girl's head. "

This sort of adulation from one sex was not corrected by any greatacerbity from the other. Lord Doltimore at the age of twenty-two was avery good _parti_; and, whatever his other deficiencies, he had senseenough to perceive that he received much greater attention--whether fromopera-dancers in search of a friend, or virtuous young ladies in searchof a husband--than any of the companions, good-looking though many ofthem were, with whom he had habitually lived. 

"You will not long remain in town now the season is over?" saidVargrave, as after dinner he found himself, by the departure of theladies, next to Lord Doltimore. 

"No, indeed; even in the season I don't much like London. Paris hasrather spoiled me for any other place. "

"Paris is certainly very charming; the ease of French life has afascination that our formal ostentation wants. Nevertheless, to a manlike you, London must have many attractions. "

"Why, I have a good many friends here; but still, after Ascot, it ratherbores me. "

"Have you any horses on the turf?"

"Not yet; but Legard (you know Legard, perhaps, --a very good fellow) isanxious that I should try my luck. I was very fortunate in the races atParis--you know we have established racing there. The French take to itquite naturally. "

"Ah, indeed! It is so long since I have been in Paris--most excitingamusement! _A propos_ of races, I am going down to Lord Raby'sto-morrow; I think I saw in one of the morning papers that you had verylargely backed a horse entered at Knaresdean. "

"Yes, Thunderer--I think of buying Thunderer. Legard--Colonel Legard (hewas in the Guards, but he sold out)--is a good judge, and recommends thepurchase. How very odd that you too should be going to Knaresdean!"

"Odd, indeed, but most lucky! We can go together, if you are not betterengaged. "

Lord Doltimore coloured and hesitated. On the one hand he was a littleafraid of being alone with so clever a man; on the other hand, it wasan honour, --it was something for him to talk of to Legard. Nevertheless, the shyness got the better of the vanity. He excused himself; he fearedhe was engaged to take down Legard. 

Lumley smiled, and changed the conversation; and so agreeable did hemake himself, that when the party broke up, and Lumley had just shakenhands with his host, Doltimore came to him, and said in a littleconfusion, --

"I think I can put off Legard--if--if you--"

"That's delightful! What time shall we start?--need not get down muchbefore dinner--one o'clock?"

"Oh, yes! not too long before dinner; one o'clock will be a little tooearly. "

"Two then. Where are you staying?"

"At Fenton's. "

"I will call for you. Good-night! I long to see Thunderer!"

CHAPTER VI. 

 LA sante de l'ame n'est pas plus assuree que celle du corps; et quoique l'on paraisse eloigne des passions, on n'est pas moins en danger de s'y laisser emporter que de tomber malade quand on se porte bien. *--LA ROCHEFOUCAULD. 

 * "The health of the soul is not more sure than that of the body; and although we may appear free from passions, there is not the less danger of their attack than of falling sick at the moment we are well. "

IN spite of the efforts of Maltravers to shun all occasions of meetingEvelyn, they were necessarily sometimes thrown together in the roundof provincial hospitalities; and certainly, if either Mr. Mertonor Caroline (the shrewder observer of the two) had ever formed anysuspicion that Evelyn had made a conquest of Maltravers, his manner atsuch times effectually removed it. 

Maltravers was a man to feel deeply, but no longer a boy to yield toevery tempting impulse. I have said that FORTITUDE was his favouritevirtue, but fortitude is the virtue of great and rare occasions; therewas another, equally hard-favoured and unshowy, which he took as thestaple of active and every-day duties, and that virtue was JUSTICE. Now, in earlier life, he had been enamoured of the conventional Florimel thatwe call HONOUR, --a shifting and shadowy phantom, that is but the reflexof the opinion of the time and clime. But justice has in it somethingpermanent and solid; and out of justice arises the real not the falsehonour. 

"Honour!" said Maltravers, --"honour is to justice as the flower to theplant, --its efflorescence, its bloom, its consummation! But honourthat does not spring from justice is but a piece of painted rag, anartificial rose, which the men-milliners of society would palm upon usas more natural than the true. "

This principle of justice Maltravers sought to carry out in allthings--not, perhaps, with constant success; for what practice canalways embody theory?--but still, at least his endeavour at successwas constant. This, perhaps, it was which had ever kept him from theexcesses to which exuberant and liberal natures are prone, from theextravagances of pseudo-genius. 

"No man, for instance, " he was wont to say, "can be embarrassed inhis own circumstances, and not cause embarrassment to others. Withouteconomy, who can be just? And what are charity, generosity, but thepoetry and the beauty of justice?"

No man ever asked Maltravers twice for a just debt; and no man ever onceasked him to fulfil a promise. You felt that, come what would, you mightrely upon his word. To him might have been applied the witty eulogiumpassed by Johnson upon a certain nobleman: "If he had promised you anacorn, and the acorn season failed in England, he would have sent toNorway for one!"

It was not, therefore, the mere Norman and chivalrous spirit of honour, which he had worshipped in youth as a part of the Beautiful and theBecoming, but which in youth had yielded to temptation, as a _sentiment_ever must yield to a passion, but it was the more hard, stubborn, andreflective _principle_, which was the later growth of deeper and noblerwisdom, that regulated the conduct of Maltravers in this crisis ofhis life. Certain it is, that he had never but once loved as he lovedEvelyn; and yet that he never yielded so little to the passion. 

"If engaged to another, " thought he, "that engagement it is not fora third person to attempt to dissolve. I am the last to form a rightjudgment of the strength or weakness of the bonds which unite her toVargrave, for my emotions would prejudice me despite myself. I may fancythat her betrothed is not worthy of her, --but that is for her to decide. While the bond lasts, who can be justified in tempting her to break it?"

Agreeably to these notions, which the world may, perhaps, consideroverstrained, whenever Maltravers met Evelyn, he intrenched himself ina rigid and almost a chilling formality. How difficult this was with oneso simple and ingenuous! Poor Evelyn! she thought she had offended him;she longed to ask him her offence, --perhaps, in her desire to rousehis genius into exertion, she had touched some secret sore, some latentwound of the memory? She recalled all their conversations again andagain. Ah, why could they not be renewed? Upon her fancy and herthoughts Maltravers had made an impression not to be obliterated. She wrote more frequently than ever to Lady Vargrave, and the name ofMaltravers was found in every page of her correspondence. 

One evening, at the house of a neighbour, Miss Cameron (with theMertons) entered the room almost in the same instant as Maltravers. Theparty was small, and so few had yet arrived that it was impossiblefor Maltravers, without marked rudeness, to avoid his friends from therectory; and Mrs. Merton, placing herself next to Evelyn, graciouslymotioned to Maltravers to occupy the third vacant seat on the sofa, ofwhich she filled the centre. 

"We grudge all your improvements, Mr. Maltravers, since they cost usyour society. But we know that our dull circle must seem tame to one whohas seen so much. However, we expect to offer you an inducement soon inLord Vargrave. What a lively, agreeable person he is!"

Maltravers raised his eyes to Evelyn, calmly and penetratingly, at thelatter part of this speech. He observed that she turned pale, and sighedinvoluntarily. 

"He had great spirits when I knew him, " said he; "and he had then lesscause to make him happy. "

Mrs. Merton smiled, and turned rather pointedly towards Evelyn. 

Maltravers continued, "I never met the late lord. He had none of thevivacity of his nephew, I believe. "

"I have heard that he was very severe, " said Mrs. Merton, lifting herglass towards a party that had just entered. 

"Severe!" exclaimed Evelyn. "Ah, if you could have known him! thekindest, the most indulgent--no one ever loved me as he did. " Shepaused, for she felt her lip quiver. 

"I beg your pardon, my dear, " said Mrs. Merton, coolly. Mrs. Merton hadno idea of the pain inflicted by _treading upon a feeling_. Maltraverswas touched, and Mrs. Merton went on. "No wonder he was kind to you, Evelyn, --a brute would be that; but he was generally considered a sternman. "

"I never saw a stern look, I never heard a harsh word; nay, I do notremember that he ever even used the word 'command, '" said Evelyn, almostangrily. 

Mrs. Merton was about to reply, when suddenly seeing a lady whose littlegirl had been ill of the measles, her motherly thoughts flowed into anew channel, and she fluttered away in that sympathy which unites allthe heads of a growing family. Evelyn and Maltravers were left alone. 

"You do not remember your father, I believe?" said Maltravers. 

"No father but Lord Vargrave; while he lived, I never knew the loss ofone. "

"Does your mother resemble you?"

"Ah, I wish I could think so; it is the sweetest countenance!"

"Have you no picture of her?"

"None; she would never consent to sit. "

"Your father was a Cameron; I have known some of that name. "

"No relation of ours: my mother says we have none living. "

"And have we no chance of seeing Lady Vargrave in B-----shire?"

"She never leaves home; but I hope to return soon to Brook-Green. "

Maltravers sighed, and the conversation took a new turn. 

"I have to thank you for the books you so kindly sent; I ought to havereturned them ere this, " said Evelyn. 

"I have no use for them. Poetry has lost its charm for me, --especiallythat species of poetry which unites with the method and symmetrysomething of the coldness of Art. How did you like Alfieri?"

"His language is a kind of Spartan French, " answered Evelyn, in one ofthose happy expressions which every now and then showed the quickness ofher natural talent. 

"Yes, " said Maltravers, smiling, "the criticism is acute. Poor Alfieri!in his wild life and his stormy passions he threw out all the redundanceof his genius; and his poetry is but the representative of his thoughts, not his emotions. Happier the man of genius who lives upon his reason, and wastes feeling only on his verse!"

"You do not think that we _waste_ feeling upon human beings?" saidEvelyn, with a pretty laugh. 

"Ask me that question when you have reached my years, and can lookupon fields on which you have lavished your warmest hopes, your noblestaspirations, your tenderest affections, and see the soil all profitlessand barren. 'Set not your heart on the things of earth, ' saith thePreacher. "

Evelyn was affected by the tone, the words, and the melancholycountenance of the speaker. "You, of all men, ought not to think thus, "said she, with a sweet eagerness; "you who have done so much to awakenand to soften the heart in others; you--who--" she stopped short, andadded, more gravely. "Ah, Mr. Maltravers, I cannot reason with you, butI can hope you will refute your own philosophy. "

"Were your wish fulfilled, " answered Maltravers, almost with sternness, and with an expression of great pain in his compressed lips, "I shouldhave to thank you for much misery. " He rose abruptly, and turned away. 

"How have I offended him?" thought Evelyn, sorrowfully; "I never speakbut to wound him. What _have_ I done?"

She could have wished, in her simple kindness, to follow him, and makepeace; but he was now in a coterie of strangers; and shortly afterwardshe left the room, and she did not see him again for weeks. 

CHAPTER VII. 

 NIHIL est aliud magnum quam multa minuta. *--VETUS. AUCTOR. 

 * "There is nothing so great as the collection of the minute. "

AN anxious event disturbed the smooth current of cheerful life at MertonRectory. One morning when Evelyn came down, she missed little Sophy, who had contrived to establish for herself the undisputed privilege ofa stool beside Miss Cameron at breakfast. Mrs. Merton appeared witha graver face than usual. Sophy was unwell, was feverish; the scarletfever had been in the neighbourhood. Mrs. Merton was very uneasy. 

"It is the more unlucky, Caroline, " added the mother, turning to MissMerton, "because to-morrow, you know, we were to have spent a few daysat Knaresdean to see the races. If poor Sophy does not get better, Ifear you and Miss Cameron must go without me. I can send to Mrs. Hare tobe your chaperon; she would be delighted. "

"Poor Sophy!" said Caroline; "I am very sorry to hear she is unwell; butI think Taylor would take great care of her; you surely need not stay, unless she is much worse. "

Mrs. Merton, who, tame as she seemed, was a fond and attentive mother, shook her head and said nothing; but Sophy was much worse before noon. The doctor was sent for, and pronounced it to be the scarlet fever. 

It was now necessary to guard against the infection. Caroline had hadthe complaint, and she willingly shared in her mother's watch of lovefor two or three hours. Mrs. Merton gave up the party. Mrs. Hare (thewife of a rich squire in the neighbourhood) was written to, and thatlady willingly agreed to take charge of Caroline and her friend. 

Sophy had been left asleep. When Mrs. Merton returned to her bed, shefound Evelyn quietly stationed there. This alarmed her, for Evelyn hadnever had the scarlet fever, and had been forbidden the sick-room. Butpoor little Sophy had waked and querulously asked for her dear Evy; andEvy, who had been hovering round the room, heard the inquiry from thegarrulous nurse, and come in she would; and the child gazed at her sobeseechingly, when Mrs. Merton entered, and said so piteously, "Don'ttake Evy away, " that Evelyn stoutly declared that she was not the leastafraid of infection, and stay she must. Nay, her share in the nursingwould be the more necessary since Caroline was to go to Knaresdean thenext day. 

"But you go too, my dear Miss Cameron?"

"Indeed I could not. I don't care for races, I never wished to go, Iwould much sooner have stayed; and I am sure Sophy will not get wellwithout me, --will you, dear?"

"Oh, yes, yes; if I'm to keep you from the nice races, I should be worseif I thought that. "

"But I don't like the nice races, Sophy, as your sister Carry does; shemust go, --they can't do without her; but nobody knows me, so I shall notbe missed. "

"I can't hear of such a thing, " said Mrs. Merton, with tears in hereyes; and Evelyn said no more then. But the next morning Sophy wasstill worse, and the mother was too anxious and too sad to think more ofceremony and politeness, so Evelyn stayed. 

A momentary pang shot across Evelyn's breast when all was settled; butshe suppressed the sigh which accompanied the thought that she had lostthe only opportunity she might have for weeks of seeing Maltravers. To that chance she had indeed looked forward with interest and timidpleasure. The chance was lost; but why should it vex her, --what was heto her?

Caroline's heart smote her, as she came into the room in her lilacbonnet and new dress; and little Sophy, turning on her eyes which, though languid, still expressed a child's pleasure at the sight offinery, exclaimed, "How nice and pretty you look, Carry! Do take Evywith you, --Evy looks pretty too!"

Caroline kissed the child in silence, and paused irresolute; glanced ather dress, and then at Evelyn, who smiled on her without a thought ofenvy; and she had half a mind to stay too, when her mother enteredwith a letter from Lord Vargrave. It was short: he should be at theKnaresdean races, hoped to meet them there, and accompany them home. This information re-decided Caroline, while it rewarded Evelyn. In a fewminutes more, Mrs. Hare arrived; and Caroline, glad to escape, perhaps, her own compunction, hurried into the carriage, with a hasty "God blessyou all! Don't fret--I'm sure she will be well to-morrow; and mind, Evelyn, you don't catch the fever!" Mr. Merton looked grave and sighed, as he handed her into the carriage; but when, seated there, sheturned round and kissed her hand at him, she looked so handsome anddistinguished, that a sentiment of paternal pride smoothed down hisvexation at her want of feeling. He himself gave up the visit; but alittle time after, when Sophy fell into a tranquil sleep, he thoughthe might venture to canter across the country to the race-ground, andreturn to dinner. 

Days--nay, a whole week passed, the races were over, but Caroline hadnot returned. Meanwhile, Sophy's fever left her; she could quit her bed, her room; she could come downstairs now, and the family was happy. Itis astonishing how the least ailment in those little things stops thewheels of domestic life! Evelyn fortunately had not caught the fever:she was pale, and somewhat reduced by fatigue and confinement; but shewas amply repaid by the mother's swimming look of quiet gratitude, thefather's pressure of the hand, Sophy's recovery, and her own good heart. They had heard twice from Caroline, putting off her return: Lady Rabywas so kind, she could not get away till the party broke up; she was soglad to hear such an account of Sophy. 

Lord Vargrave had not yet arrived at the rectory to stay; but he hadtwice ridden over, and remained there some hours. He exerted himself tothe utmost to please Evelyn; and she--who, deceived by his manners, andinfluenced by the recollections of long and familiar acquaintance, wasblinded to his real character--reproached herself more bitterly thanever for her repugnance to his suit and her ungrateful hesitation toobey the wishes of her stepfather. 

To the Mertons, Lumley spoke with good-natured praise of Caroline; shewas so much admired; she was the beauty at Knaresdean. A certain youngfriend of his, Lord Doltimore, was evidently smitten. The parentsthought much over the ideas conjured up by that last sentence. 

One morning, the garrulous Mrs. Hare, the gossip of the neighbourhood, called at the rectory; she had returned, two days before, fromKnaresdean; and she, too, had her tale to tell of Caroline's conquests. 

"I assure you, my dear Mrs. Merton, if we had not all known that hisheart was pre-occupied, we should have thought that Lord Vargrave washer warmest admirer. Most charming man, Lord Vargrave! but as for LordDoltimore, it was quite a flirtation. Excuse _me_: no scandal, you know, ha, ha! a fine young man, but stiff and reserved, --not the fascinationof Lord Vargrave. "

"Does Lord Raby return to town, or is he now at Knaresdean for theautumn?"

"He goes on Friday, I believe: very few of the guests are left now. LadyA. And Lord B. , and Lord Vargrave and your daughter, and Mr. Legard andLord Doltimore, and Mrs. And the Misses Cipher; all the rest went thesame day I did. "

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Merton, in some surprise. 

"Ah, I read your thoughts: you wonder that Miss Caroline has not comeback, --is not that it? But perhaps Lord Doltimore--ha, ha!--no scandalnow--do excuse _me_!"

"Was Mr. Maltravers at Knaresdean?" asked Mrs. Merton, anxious to changethe subject, and unprepared with any other question. Evelyn was cuttingout a paper horse for Sophy, who--all her high spirits flown--was lyingon the sofa, and wistfully following her fairy fingers. "Naughty Evy, you have cut off the horse's head!"

"Mr. Maltravers? No, I think not; no, he was not there. Lord Raby askedhim pointedly to come, and was, I know, much disappointed that he didnot. But _a propos_ of Mr. Maltravers: I met him not a quarter of anhour ago, this morning, as I was coming to you. You know we have leaveto come through his park, and as I was in the park at the time, Istopped the carriage to speak to him. I told him that I was cominghere, and that you had had the scarlet fever in the house, which wasthe reason you had not gone to the races; and he turned quite pale, andseemed so alarmed. I said we were all afraid that Miss Cameron shouldcatch it; and, excuse me--ah, ah!--no scandal, I hope--but--"

"Mr. Maltravers, " said the butler, throwing open the door. Maltraversentered with a quick and even a hurried step. He stopped short when hesaw Evelyn; and his whole countenance was instantly lightened up by ajoyous expression, which as suddenly died away. 

"This is kind, indeed, " said Mrs. Merton; "it is so long since we haveseen you. "

"I have been very much occupied, " muttered Maltravers, almost inaudibly, and seated himself next Evelyn. "I only just heard--that--that you hadsickness in the house. Miss Cameron, you look pale--you--you have notsuffered, I hope?"

"No, I am quite well, " said Evelyn, with a smile; and she felt happythat her friend was kind to her once more. 

"It's only me, Mr. Ernest, " said Sophy; "you have forgot me. "

Maltravers hastened to vindicate himself from the charge, and Sophy andhe were soon made excellent friends again. Mrs. Hare, whom surprise atthis sudden meeting had hitherto silenced, and who longed to shape intoelegant periphrasis the common adage, "Talk of, " etc. , now once moreopened her budget. She tattled on, first to one, then to the other, then to all, till she had tattled herself out of breath; and then theorthodox half-hour was expired, and the bell was rung, and the carriageordered, and Mrs. Hare rose to depart. 

"Do just come to the door, Mrs. Merton, " said she, "and look at mypony-phaeton, it is so pretty; Lady Raby admires it so much; you oughtto have just such another. " As she spoke, she favoured Mrs. Merton witha significant glance, that said, as plainly as glance could say, "I havesomething to communicate. " Mrs. Merton took the hint, and followed thegood lady out of the room. 

"Do you know, my dear Mrs. Merton, " said Mrs. Hare, in a whisper, when they were safe in the billiard-room, that interposed between theapartment they had left and the hall; "do you know whether Lord Vargraveand Mr. Maltravers are very good friends?"

"No, indeed; why do you ask?"

"Oh, because when I was speaking to Lord Vargrave about him, he shookhis head; and really I don't remember what his lordship said, but heseemed to speak as if there was a little soreness. And then he inquiredvery anxiously if Mr. Maltravers was much at the rectory; and lookeddiscomposed when he found you were such near neighbours. You'll excuseme, you know--ha, ha! but we're such old friends!--and if Lord Vargraveis coming to stay here, it might be unpleasant to meet--you'll excuse_me_. I took the liberty to tell him he need not be jealous of Mr. Maltravers--ha, ha!--not a marrying man at all. But I did think MissCaroline was the attraction--you'll excuse me--no scandal--ha, ha! But, after all, Lord Doltimore must be the man. Well, good morning, I thoughtI'd just give you this hint. Is not the phaeton pretty? Kind complimentsto Mr. Merton. "

And the lady drove off. 

During this confabulation, Maltravers and Evelyn were left alone withSophy. Maltravers had continued to lean over the child, and appearedlistening to her prattle; while Evelyn, having risen to shake hands withMrs. Hare, did not reseat herself, but went to the window, and busiedherself with a flower-stand in the recess. 

"Oh, very fine, Mr. Ernest, " said Sophy--(always pronouncing that propername as if it ended in _th_), "you care very much for us to stay away solong, --don't he, Evy? I've a great mind not to speak to you, sir, that Ihave!"

"That would be too heavy a punishment, Miss Sophy, only, luckily, it would punish yourself; you could not live withouttalking--talk--talk--talk!"

"But I might never have talked more, Mr. Ernest, if Mamma and pretty Evyhad not been so kind to me;" and the child shook her head mournfully, asif she had _pitie de soi-meme_. "But you won't stay away so long again, will you? Sophy play to-morrow; come to-morrow, and swing Sophy; no niceswinging since you've been gone. "

While Sophy spoke Evelyn turned half round, as if to hear Maltraversanswer; he hesitated, and Evelyn spoke. 

"You must not tease Mr. Maltravers so; Mr. Maltravers has too much to doto come to us. "

Now this was a very pettish speech in Evelyn, and her cheek glowed whileshe spoke; but an arch, provoking smile was on her lips. 

"It can be a privation only to me, Miss Cameron, " said Maltravers, rising, and attempting in vain to resist the impulse that drew himtowards the window. The reproach in her tone and words at once painedand delighted him; and then this scene, the suffering child, broughtback to him his first interview with Evelyn herself. He forgot, forthe moment, the lapse of time, the new ties she had formed, his ownresolutions. 

"That is a bad compliment to us, " answered Evelyn, ingenuously; "doyou think we are so little worthy your society as not to value it?But, perhaps" (she added, sinking her voice) "perhaps you have beenoffended--perhaps I--I--said--something that--that hurt you!"

"You!" repeated Maltravers, with emotion. 

Sophy, who had been attentively listening, here put in, "Shake hands andmake it up with Evy--you've been quarrelling, naughty Ernest!"

Evelyn laughed, and tossed back her sunny ringlets. "I think Sophy isright, " said she, with enchanting simplicity; "let us make it up, " andshe held out her hand to Maltravers. 

Maltravers pressed the fair hand to his lips. "Alas!" said he, affectedwith various feelings which gave a tremor to his deep voice, "your onlyfault is that your society makes me discontented with my solitary home;and as solitude must be my fate in life, I seek to inure myself to itbetimes. "

Here--whether opportunely or not, it is for the reader to decide--Mrs. Merton returned to the room. 

She apologized for her absence, talked of Mrs. Hare and the littleMaster Hares, --fine boys, but noisy; and then she asked Maltravers ifhe had seen Lord Vargrave since his lordship had been in the county. Maltravers replied, with coldness, that he had not had that honour: thatVargrave had called on him in his way from the rectory the other day, but that he was from home, and that he had not seen him for some years. 

"He is a person of most prepossessing manners, " said Mrs. Merton. 

"Certainly, --most prepossessing. "

"And very clever. "

"He has great talents. "

"He seems most amiable. "

Maltravers bowed, and glanced towards Evelyn, whose face, however, wasturned from him. 

The turn the conversation had taken was painful to the visitor, and herose to depart. 

"Perhaps, " said Mrs. Merton, "you will meet Lord Vargrave at dinnerto-morrow; he will stay with us a few days, --as long as he can bespared. "

Maltravers meet Lord Vargrave! the happy Vargrave, the betrothedto Evelyn! Maltravers witness the familiar rights, the enchantingprivileges, accorded to another! and that other one whom he could notbelieve worthy of Evelyn! He writhed at the picture the invitationconjured up. 

"You are very kind, my dear Mrs. Merton, but I expect a visitor atBurleigh, --an old and dear friend, Mr. Cleveland. "

"Mr. Cleveland!--we shall be delighted to see him too. We knew him manyyears ago, during your minority, when he used to visit Burleigh two orthree times a year. "

"He is changed since then; he is often an invalid. I fear I cannotanswer for him; but he will call as soon as he arrives, and apologizefor himself. "

Maltravers then hastily took his departure. He would not trusthimself to do more than bow distantly to Evelyn; she looked at himreproachfully. So, then, it was really premeditated and resolvedupon--his absence from the rectory; and why? She was grieved, she wasoffended--but more grieved than offended, --perhaps because esteem, interest, admiration, are more tolerant and charitable than love. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

 _Arethusa_. 'Tis well, my lord, your courting of ladies. 

 . .. .. . 

 _Claremont_. Sure this lady has a good turn done her against her will. 

 PHILASTER. 

In the breakfast-room at Knaresdean, the same day, and almost at thesame hour, in which occurred the scene and conversation at the rectoryrecorded in our last chapter, sat Lord Vargrave and Caroline alone. Theparty had dispersed, as was usual, at noon. They heard at a distance thesounds of the billiard-balls. Lord Doltimore was playing with ColonelLegard, one of the best players in Europe, but who, fortunately forDoltimore, had of late made it a rule never to play for money. Mrs. Andthe Misses Cipher, and most of the guests, were in the billiard-roomlooking on. Lady Raby was writing letters, and Lord Raby riding overhis home farm. Caroline and Lumley had been for some time in close andearnest conversation. Miss Merton was seated in a large armchair, muchmoved, with her handkerchief to her eyes. Lord Vargrave, with his backto the chimney-piece, was bending down and speaking in a very low voice, while his quick eye glanced, ever and anon, from the lady's countenanceto the windows, to the doors, to be prepared against any interruption. 

"No, my dear friend, " said he, "believe me that I am sincere. Myfeelings for you are, indeed, such as no words can paint. "

"Then why--"

"Why wish you wedded to another; why wed another myself? Caroline, Ihave often before explained to you that we are in this the victims ofan inevitable fate. It is absolutely necessary that I should wed MissCameron. I never deceived you from the first. I should have lovedher, --my heart would have accompanied my hand, but for your tooseductive beauty, your superior mind!--yes, Caroline, your mindattracted me more than your beauty. Your mind seemed kindred to myown, --inspired with the proper and wise ambition which regards the foolsof the world as puppets, as counters, as chessmen. For myself, a veryangel from heaven could not make me give up the great game of life, yield to my enemies, slip from the ladder, unravel the web I havewoven! Share my heart, my friendship, my schemes! this is the true anddignified affection that should exist between minds like ours; all therest is the prejudice of children. "

"Vargrave, I am ambitious, worldly: I own it; but I could give up allfor you!"

"You think so, for you do not know the sacrifice. You see me nowapparently rich, in power, courted; and this fate you are willing toshare; and this fate you _should_ share, were it the real one I couldbestow on you. But reverse the medal. Deprived of office, fortune gone, debts pressing, destitution notorious, the ridicule of embarrassments, the disrepute attached to poverty and defeated ambition, an exilein some foreign town on the poor pension to which alone I should beentitled, a mendicant on the public purse; and that, too, so eaten intoby demands and debts, that there is not a grocer in the next market-townwho would envy the income of the retired minister! Retire, fallen, despised, in the prime of life, in the zenith of my hopes! Suppose thatI could bear this for myself, could I bear it for you? _You_, born to bethe ornament of courts! And you could you see me thus--life embittered, career lost--and feel, generous as you are, that your love had entailedon me, on us both, on our children, this miserable lot! Impossible, Caroline! we are too wise for such romance. It is not because we lovetoo little, but because our love is worthy of each other, that wedisdain to make love a curse! We cannot wrestle against the world, butwe may shake hands with it, and worm the miser out of its treasures. Myheart must be ever yours; my hand must be Miss Cameron's. Money Imust have, --my whole career depends on it. It is literally with methe highwayman's choice, --money or life. " Vargrave paused, and tookCaroline's hand. 

"I cannot reason with you, " said she; "you know the strange empire youhave obtained over me, and, certainly, in spite of all that has passed(and Caroline turned pale) I could bear anything rather than thatyou should hereafter reproach me for selfish disregard of yourinterests, --your just ambition. "

"My noble friend! I do not say that I shall not feel a deep and sharppang at seeing you wed another; but I shall be consoled by the thoughtthat I have assisted to procure for you a station worthier of yourmerits than that which I can offer. Lord Doltimore is rich, --you willteach him to employ his riches well; he is weak, --your intellect willgovern him; he is in love, --your beauty will suffice to preserve hisregard. Ah, we shall be dear friends to the last!"

More--but to the same effect--did this able and crafty villain continueto address to Caroline, whom he alternately soothed, irritated, flattered, and revolted. Love him she certainly did, as far as love inher could extend; but perhaps his rank, his reputation, had servedto win her affection; and; not knowing his embarrassments, she hadencouraged a worldly hope that if Evelyn should reject his hand itmight be offered to her. Under this impression she had trifled, she hadcoquetted, she had played with the serpent till it had coiled aroundher; and she could not escape its fascination and its folds. She wassincere, --she could have resigned much for Lord Vargrave; but hispicture startled and appalled her. For difficulties in a palace shemight be prepared; perhaps even for some privations in a _cottageornee_, --but certainly not for penury in a lodging-house! She listenedby degrees with more attention to Vargrave's description of the powerand homage that would be hers if she could secure Lord Doltimore; shelistened, and was in part consoled. But the thought of Evelyn againcrossed her; and perhaps with natural jealousy was mingled somecompunction at the fate to which Lord Vargrave thus coldly appeared tocondemn one so lovely and so innocent. 

"But do not, Vargrave, " she said, "do not be too sanguine; Evelyn mayreject you. She does not see you with my eyes; it is only a sense ofhonour that, as yet, forbids her openly to refuse the fulfilment of anengagement from which I know that she shrinks; and if she does refuse, and you be free, --and I another's--"

"Even in that case, " interrupted Vargrave, "I must turn to the GoldenIdol; my rank and name must buy me an heiress, if not so endowed asEvelyn, wealthy enough, at least, to take from my wheels the drag-chainof disreputable debt. But Evelyn--I will not doubt of her! her heart isstill unoccupied!"

"True; as yet her affections are not engaged. "

"And this Maltravers--she is romantic, I fancy--did he seem captivatedby her beauty or her fortune?"

"No, indeed, I think not; he has been very little with us of late. Hetalked to her more as to a child, --there is a disparity of years. "

"I am many years older than Maltravers, " muttered Vargrave, moodily. 

"You--but your _manner_ is livelier, and, therefore, younger!"

"Fair flatterer! Maltravers does not love me: I fear his report of mycharacter--"

"I never heard him speak of you, Vargrave; and I will do Evelyn thejustice to say, that precisely as she does not love she esteems andrespects you. "

"Esteems! respects! these are the feelings for a prudent Hymen, " saidVargrave, with a smile. "But, hark! I don't hear the billiard-balls;they may find us here, --we had better separate. "

Lord Vargrave lounged into the billiard-room. The young men had justfinished playing, and were about to visit Thunderer, who had won therace, and was now the property of Lord Doltimore. 

Vargrave accompanied them to the stables; and after concealing hisignorance of horseflesh as well as he could, beneath a profusion ofcompliments on fore-hand, hind-quarters, breeding, bone, substance, andfamous points, he contrived to draw Doltimore into the courtyard, whileColonel Legard remained in converse high with the head groom. 

"Doltimore, I leave Knaresdean to-morrow; you go to London, I suppose?Will you take a little packet for me to the Home Office?"

"Certainly, when I go; but I think of staying a few days with Legard'suncle--the old admiral; he has a hunting-box in the neighbourhood, andhas asked us both over. "

"Oh, I can detect the attraction; but certainly it is a fair one, thehandsomest girl in the county; pity she has no money. "

"I don't care for money, " said Lord Doltimore, colouring, and settlinghis chin in his neckcloth; "but you are mistaken; I have no thoughtsthat way. Miss Merton is a very fine girl, but I doubt much if she caresfor me. I would never marry any woman who was not very much in love withme. " And Lord Doltimore laughed rather foolishly. 

"You are more modest than clear-sighted, " said Vargrave, smiling; "butmark my words, --I predict that the beauty of next season will be acertain Caroline Lady Doltimore. "

The conversation dropped. 

"I think that will be settled well, " said Vargrave to himself, as he wasdressing for dinner. "Caroline will manage Doltimore, and I shall manageone vote in the Lords and three in the Commons. I have already talkedhim into proper politics; a trifle all this, to be sure: but I hadnothing else to amuse me, and one must never lose an occasion. Besides, Doltimore is rich, and rich friends are always useful. I have Caroline, too, in my power, and she may be of service with respect to this Evelyn, who, instead of loving, I half hate: she has crossed my path, robbed meof wealth; and now, if she does refuse me--but no, I will not think of_that_!"

CHAPTER IX. 

 OUT of our reach the gods have laid Of time to come the event; And laugh to see the fools afraid Of what the knaves invent. --SEDLEY, _from Lycophron_. 

THE next day Caroline returned to the rectory in Lady Raby's carriage;and two hours after her arrival came Lord Vargrave. Mr. Merton hadsecured the principal persons in the neighbourhood to meet a guest sodistinguished, and Lord Vargrave, bent on shining in the eyes of Evelyn, charmed all with his affability and wit. Evelyn, he thought, seemedpale and dispirited. He pertinaciously devoted himself to her all theevening. Her ripening understanding was better able than heretofore toappreciate his abilities; yet, inwardly, she drew comparisons betweenhis conversation and that of Maltravers, not to the advantage of theformer. There was much that amused but nothing that interested in LordVargrave's fluent ease. When he attempted sentiment, the vein was hardand hollow; he was only at home on worldly topics. Caroline's spiritswere, as usual in society, high, but her laugh seemed forced, and hereye absent. 

The next day, after breakfast, Lord Vargrave walked alone to Burleigh. As he crossed the copse that bordered the park, a large Persiangreyhound sprang towards him, barking loudly; and, lifting his eyes, heperceived the form of a man walking slowly along one of the paths thatintersected the wood. He recognized Maltravers. They had not till thenencountered since their meeting a few weeks before Florence's death; anda pang of conscience came across the schemer's cold heart. Years rolledaway from the past; he recalled the young, generous, ardent man, whom, ere the character or career of either had been developed, he had calledhis friend. He remembered their wild adventures and gay follies, inclimes where they had been all in all to each other; and the beardlessboy, whose heart and purse were ever open to him, and to whose veryerrors of youth and inexperienced passion he, the elder and the wiser, had led and tempted, rose before him in contrast to the grave andmelancholy air of the battled and solitary man, who now slowlyapproached him, --the man whose proud career he had served to thwart, whose heart his schemes had prematurely soured, whose best years hadbeen consumed in exile, --a sacrifice to the grave which a selfish anddishonourable villany had prepared! Cesarini, the inmate of a mad-house, Florence in her shroud, --such were the visions the sight of Maltraversconjured up. And to the soul which the unwonted and momentary remorseawakened, a boding voice whispered, "And thinkest thou that thy schemesshall prosper, and thy aspirations succeed?" For the first time inhis life, perhaps, the unimaginative Vargrave felt the mystery of apresentiment of warning and of evil. 

The two men met, and with an emotion which seemed that of honest andreal feeling, Lumley silently held out his hand, and half turned awayhis head. 

"Lord Vargrave!" said Maltravers, with an equal agitation, "it is longsince we have encountered. "

"Long, --very long, " answered Lumley, striving hard to regain hisself-possession; "years have changed us both; but I trust it has stillleft in you, as it has in me, the remembrance of our old friendship. "

Maltravers was silent, and Lord Vargrave continued, --

"You do not answer me, Maltravers. Can political differences, oppositepursuits, or the mere lapse of time, have sufficed to create anirrevocable gulf between us? Why may we not be friends again?"

"Friends!" echoed Maltravers; "at our age that word is not so lightlyspoken, that tie is not so unthinkingly formed, as when we were youngermen. "

"But may not the old tie be renewed?"

"Our ways in life are different; and were I to scan your motives andcareer with the scrutinizing eyes of friendship, it might only serve toseparate us yet more. I am sick of the great juggle of ambition, andI have no sympathy left for those who creep into the pint-bottle, orswallow the naked sword. "

"If you despise the exhibition, why, then, let us laugh at it together, for I am as cynical as yourself. "

"Ah, " said Maltravers with a smile, half mournful, half bitter, "but areyou not one of the Impostors?"

"Who ought better to judge of the Eleusiniana than one of the Initiated?But seriously, why on earth should political differences part privatefriendship? Thank Heaven! such has never been my maxim. "

"If the differences be the result of honest convictions on eitherside, --no; but are you honest, Lumley?"

"Faith, I have got into the habit of thinking so; and habit's a secondnature. However, I dare say we shall yet meet in the arena, so I mustnot betray my weak points. How is it, Maltravers, that they see solittle of you at the rectory? You are a great favourite there. Have youany living that Charley Merton could hold with his own? You shake yourhead. And what think you of Miss Cameron, my intended?"

"You speak lightly. Perhaps you--"

"Feel deeply, --you were going to say. I do. In the hand of my ward, Evelyn Cameron, I trust to obtain at once the domestic happiness towhich I have as yet been a stranger, and the wealth necessary to mycareer. "

Lord Vargrave continued, after a short pause, "Though my avocations haveseparated us so much, I have no doubt of her steady affection, --and, Imay add, of her sense of honour. She alone can repair to me what elsehad been injustice in my uncle. " He then proceeded to repeat the moralobligations which the late lord had imposed on Evelyn, --obligations thathe greatly magnified. Maltravers listened attentively, and said little. 

"And these obligations being fairly considered, " added Vargrave, with asmile, "I think, even had I rivals, that they could scarcely in honourattempt to break an existing engagement. "

"Not while the engagement lasted, " answered Maltravers; "not till one orthe other had declined to fulfil it, and therefore left both free: butI trust it will be an alliance in which all but affection will beforgotten; that of honour alone would be but a harsh tie. "

"Assuredly, " said Vargrave; and, as if satisfied with what had passed, he turned the conversation, --praised Burleigh, spoke of county matters, resumed his habitual gayety, though it was somewhat subdued, andpromising to call again soon, he at last took his leave. 

Maltravers pursued his solitary rambles, and his commune with himselfwas stern and searching. 

"And so, " thought he, "this prize is reserved for Vargrave! Why shouldI deem him unworthy of the treasure? May he not be worthier, at allevents, than this soured temper and erring heart? And he is assured tooof her affection! Why this jealous pang? Why can the fountain withinnever be exhausted? Why, through so many scenes and sufferings, haveI still retained the vain madness of my youth, --the hauntingsusceptibility to love? This is my latest folly. "

BOOK IV. 

"A virtuous woman is man's greatest pride. "--SIMONIDES. 

CHAPTER I. 

 ABROAD uneasy, nor content at home. . .. .. . And Wisdom shows the ill without the cure. 

 HAMMOND: _Elegies_. 

TWO or three days after the interview between Lord Vargrave andMaltravers, the solitude of Burleigh was relieved by the arrival of Mr. Cleveland. The good old gentleman, when free from attacks of the gout, which were now somewhat more frequent than formerly, was the samecheerful and intelligent person as ever. Amiable, urbane, accomplished, and benevolent, there was just enough worldliness in Cleveland's natureto make his views sensible as far as they went, but to bound theirscope. Everything he said was so rational; and yet, to an imaginativeperson, his conversation was unsatisfactory, and his philosophy somewhatchilling. 

"I cannot say how pleased and surprised I am at your care of the fineold place, " said he to Maltravers, as, leaning on his cane and his_ci-devant_ pupil's arm, he loitered observantly through the grounds; "Isee everywhere the presence of the Master. "

And certainly the praise was deserved. The gardens were now in order, the dilapidated fences were repaired, the weeds no longer encumberedthe walks. Nature was just assisted and relieved by Art, without beingoppressed by too officious a service from her handmaid. In the houseitself some suitable and appropriate repairs and decorations--with sucharticles of furniture as combined modern comfort with the ancient andpicturesque shapes of a former fashion--had redeemed the mansion fromall appearance of dreariness and neglect; while still was left toits quaint halls and chambers the character which belonged to theirarchitecture and associations. It was surprising how much a littleexercise of simple taste had effected. 

"I am glad you approve what I have done, " said Maltravers. "I knownot how it was, but the desolation of the place when I returned to itreproached me. We contract friendship with places as with human beings, and fancy they have claims upon us; at least, that is my weakness. "

"And an amiable one it is, too, --I share it. As for me, I look uponTemple Grove as a fond husband upon a fair wife. I am always anxious toadorn it, and as proud of its beauty as if it could understand and thankme for my partial admiration. When I leave you I intend going to Paris, for the purpose of attending a sale of the pictures and effects of M. De-----. These auctions are to me what a jeweller's shop is to a lover;but then, Ernest, I am an old bachelor. "

"And I, too, am an Arcadian, " said Maltravers, with a smile. 

"Ah, but you are not too old for repentance. Burleigh now requiresnothing but a mistress. "

"Perhaps it may soon receive that addition. I am yet undecided whether Ishall sell it. "

"Sell it! sell Burleigh!--the last memorial of your mother's ancestry!the classic retreat of the graceful Digbys! Sell Burleigh!"

"I had almost resolved to do so when I came hither; then I forswore theintention: now again I sometimes sorrowfully return to the idea. "

"And in Heaven's name, why?"

"My old restlessness returns. Busy myself as I will here, I find therange of action monotonous and confined. I began too soon to draw aroundme the large circumference of literature and action; and the smallprovincial sphere seems to me a sad going back in life. Perhaps Ishould not feel this, were my home less lonely; but as it is--no, the wanderer's ban is on me, and I again turn towards the lands ofexcitement and adventure. "

"I understand this, Ernest; but why is your home so solitary? Youare still at the age in which wise and congenial unions are the mostfrequently formed; your temper is domestic; your easy fortune andsobered ambition allow you to choose without reference to worldlyconsiderations. Look round the world, and mix with the world again, andgive Burleigh the mistress it requires. "

Maltravers shook his head, and sighed. 

"I do not say, " continued Cleveland, wrapped in the glowing interestof the theme, "that you should marry a mere girl, but an amiable woman, who, like yourself, has seen something of life, and knows how to reckonon its cares, and to be contented with its enjoyments. "

"You have said enough, " said Maltravers, impatiently; "an experiencedwoman of the world, whose freshness of hope and heart is gone! Whata picture! No, to me there is something inexpressibly beautiful ininnocence and youth. But you say justly, --my years are not those thatwould make a union with youth desirable or well suited. "

"I do _not_ say that, " said Cleveland, taking a pinch of snuff; "but youshould avoid great disparity of age, --not for the sake of that disparityitself, but because with it is involved discord of temper, pursuits. A_very_ young woman, new to the world, will not be contented with homealone; you are at once too gentle to curb her wishes, and a little toostern and reserved--pardon me for saying so--to be quite congenial tovery early and sanguine youth. "

"It is true, " said Maltravers, with a tone of voice that showed he wasstruck with the remark; "but how have we fallen on this subject? letus change it. I have no idea of marriage, --the gloomy reminiscence ofFlorence Lascelles chains me to the past. "

"Poor Florence, she might once have suited you; but now you are older, and would require a calmer and more malleable temper. "

"Peace, I implore you!"

The conversation was changed; and at noon Mr. Merton, who had heard ofCleveland's arrival, called at Burleigh to renew an old acquaintance. Heinvited them to pass the evening at the rectory; and Cleveland, hearingthat whist was a regular amusement, accepted the invitation for hishost and himself. But when the evening came, Maltravers pleadedindisposition, and Cleveland was obliged to go alone. 

When the old gentleman returned about midnight, he found Maltraversawaiting him in the library; and Cleveland, having won fourteen points, was in a very gay, conversable humour. 

"You perverse hermit!" said he, "talk of solitude, indeed, withso pleasant a family a hundred yards distant! You deserve to besolitary, --I have no patience with you. They complain bitterly of yourdesertion, and say you were, at first, the _enfant de la maison_. "

"So you like the Mertons? The clergyman is sensible, but commonplace. "

"A very agreeable man, despite your cynical definition, and plays a veryfair rubber. But Vargrave is a first-rate player. "

"Vargrave is there still?"

"Yes, he breakfasts with us to-morrow, --he invited himself. "

"Humph!"

"He played one rubber; the rest of the evening he devoted himself to theprettiest girl I ever saw, --Miss Cameron. What a sweet face! so modest, yet so intelligent! I talked with her a good deal during the deals inwhich I cut out. I almost lost my heart to her. "

"So Lord Vargrave devoted himself to Miss Cameron?"

"To be sure, --you know they are to be married soon. Merton told me so. She is very rich. He is the luckiest fellow imaginable, that Vargrave!But he is much too old for her: she seems to think so too. I can'texplain why I think it; but by her pretty reserved manner I saw that shetried to keep the gay minister at a distance: but it would not do. Now, if you were ten years younger, or Miss Cameron ten years older, youmight have had some chance of cutting out your old friend. "

"So you think I also am too old for a lover?"

"For a lover of a girl of seventeen, certainly. You seem touchy on thescore of age, Ernest. "

"Not I;" and Maltravers laughed. 

"No? There was a young gentleman present, who, I think, Vargrave mightreally find a dangerous rival, --a Colonel Legard, --one of the handsomestmen I ever saw in my life; just the style to turn a romantic younglady's head; a mixture of the wild and the thoroughbred; black curls, superb eyes, and the softest manners in the world. But, to be sure, he has lived all his life in the best society. Not so his friend, LordDoltimore, who has a little too much of the green-room lounge and French_cafe_ manner for my taste. "

"Doltimore, Legard, names new to me; I never met them at the rectory. "

"Possibly they are staying at Admiral Legard's, in the neighbourhood. Miss Merton made their acquaintance at Knaresdean. A good old lady--themost perfect Mrs. Grundy one would wish to meet with--who owns themonosyllabic appellation of Hare (and who, being my partner, trumpedmy king!) assured me that Lord Doltimore was desperately in love withCaroline Merton. By the way, now, there is a young lady of a proper agefor you, --handsome and clever, too. "

"You talk of antidotes to matrimony; and so Miss Cameron--"

"Oh, no more of Miss Cameron now, or I shall sit up all night; shehas half turned my head. I can't help pitying her, --married to one socareless and worldly as Lord Vargrave, thrown so young into the whirlof London. Poor thing! she had better have fallen in love withLegard, --which I dare say she will do, after all. Well, good-night!"

CHAPTER II. 

 PASSION, as frequently is seen, Subsiding, settles into spleen; Hence, as the plague of happy life, I ran away from party strife. --MATTHEW GREEN. 

 Here nymphs from hollow oaks relate The dark decrees and will of fate. --_Ibid. _

ACCORDING to his engagement, Vargrave breakfasted the next morningat Burleigh. Maltravers at first struggled to return his familiarcordiality with equal graciousness. Condemning himself for former andunfounded suspicions, he wrestled against feelings which he could notor would not analyze, but which made Lumley an unwelcome visitor, andconnected him with painful associations, whether of the present orthe past. But there were points on which the penetration of Maltraversserved to justify his prepossessions. 

The conversation, chiefly sustained by Cleveland and Vargrave, fellon public questions; and as one was opposed to the other, Vargrave'sexposition of views and motives had in them so much of the self-seekingof the professional placeman, that they might well have offended any mantinged by the lofty mania of political Quixotism. It was with a strangemixture of feelings that Maltravers listened: at one moment he proudlycongratulated himself on having quitted a career where such opinionsseemed so well to prosper: at another, his better and juster sentimentsawoke the long-dormant combative faculty, and he almost longed for theturbulent but sublime arena, in which truths are vindicated and mankindadvanced. 

The interview did not serve for that renewal of intimacy which Vargraveappeared to seek, and Maltravers rejoiced when the placeman took hisdeparture. 

Lumley, who was about to pay a morning visit to Lord Doltimore, hadborrowed Mr. Merton's stanhope, as being better adapted than anystatelier vehicle to get rapidly through the cross-roads which led toAdmiral Legard's house; and as he settled himself in the seat, with hisservant by his side, he said laughingly, "I almost fancy myself naughtymaster Lumley again in this young-man-kind of two-wheeled cockle-boat:not dignified, but rapid, eh?"

And Lumley's face, as he spoke, had in it so much of frank gayety, andhis manner was so simple, that Maltravers could with difficulty fancyhim the same man who, five minutes before, had been uttering sentimentsthat might have become the oldest-hearted intriguer whom the hot-bed ofambition ever reared. 

As soon as Lumley was gone, Maltravers left Cleveland alone to writeletters (Cleveland was an exemplary and voluminous correspondent) andstrolled with his dogs into the village. The effect which the presenceof Maltravers produced among his peasantry was one that seldom failedto refresh and soothe his more bitter and disturbed thoughts. Theyhad gradually (for the poor are quick-sighted) become sensible of his_justice_, --a finer quality than many that seem more amiable. They feltthat his real object was to make them better and happier; and they hadlearned to see that the means he adopted generally advanced the end. Besides, if sometimes stern, he was never capricious or unreasonable;and then, too, he would listen patiently and advise kindly. They werea little in awe of him, but the awe only served to make them moreindustrious and orderly, --to stimulate the idle man, to reclaimthe drunkard. He was one of the favourers of the small-allotmentsystem, --not, indeed, as panacea, but as one excellent stimulant toexertion and independence; and his chosen rewards for good conduct werein such comforts as served to awaken amongst those hitherto passive, dogged, and hopeless a desire to better and improve their condition. Somehow or other, without direct alms, the goodwife found that thelittle savings in the cracked teapot or the old stocking had greatlyincreased since the squire's return, while her husband came home fromhis moderate cups at the alehouse more sober and in better temper. Having already saved something was a great reason why he should savemore. The new school, too, was so much better conducted than the oldone; the children actually liked going there; and now and then therewere little village feasts connected with the schoolroom; play and workwere joint associations. 

And Maltravers looked into his cottages, and looked at theallotment-ground; and it was pleasant to him to say to himself, "I amnot altogether without use in life. " But as he pursued his lonely walk, and the glow of self-approval died away with the scenes that called itforth, the cloud again settled on his brow; and again he felt that insolitude the passions feed upon the heart. As he thus walked along thegreen lane, and the insect life of summer rustled audibly among theshadowy hedges and along the thick grass that sprang up on either side, he came suddenly upon a little group that arrested all his attention. 

It was a woman, clad in rags, bleeding, and seemingly insensible, supported by the overseer of the parish and a labourer. 

"What is the matter?" asked Maltravers. 

"A poor woman has been knocked down and run over by a gentleman in agig, your honour, " replied the overseer. "He stopped, half an hour ago, at my house to tell me that she was lying on the road; and he has givenme two sovereigns for her, your honour. But, poor cretur! she was tooheavy for me to carry her, and I was forced to leave her and call Tom tohelp me. "

"The gentleman might have stayed to see what were the consequencesof his own act, " muttered Maltravers, as he examined the wound in thetemple, whence the blood flowed copiously. 

"He said he was in a great hurry, your honour, " said the villageofficial, overhearing Maltravers. "I think it was one of the grand folksup at the parsonage; for I know it was Mr. Merton's bay horse, --he is ahot 'un!"

"Does the poor woman live in the neighbourhood? Do you know her?" askedMaltravers, turning from the contemplation of this new instance ofVargrave's selfishness of character. 

"No; the old body seems quite a stranger here, --a tramper, or beggar, Ithink, sir. But it won't be a settlement if we take her in; and we cancarry her to the Chequers, up the village, your honour. "

"What is the nearest house, --your own?"

"Yes; but we be so busy now!"

"She shall not go to your house, and be neglected; and as for thepublic-house, it is too noisy: we must move her to the Hall. "

"Your honour!" ejaculated the overseer, opening his eyes. 

"It is not very far; she is severely hurt. Get a hurdle, lay a mattresson it. Make haste, both of you; I will wait here till you return. "

The poor woman was carefully placed on the grass by the road-side, and Maltravers supported her head, while the men hastened to obey hisorders. 

CHAPTER III. 

 ALSE from that forked hill, the boasted seat Of studious Peace and mild Philosophy, Indignant murmurs mote be heard to threat. --WEST. 

MR. CLEVELAND wanted to enrich one of his letters with a quotation fromAriosto, which he but imperfectly remembered. He had seen the book hewished to refer to in the little study the day before; and he quittedthe library to search for it. 

As he was tumbling over some volumes that lay piled on thewriting-table, he felt a student's curiosity to discover what nowconstituted his host's favourite reading. He was surprised to observethat the greater portion of the works that, by the doubled leaf and thepencilled reference, seemed most frequently consulted, were not of aliterary nature, --they were chiefly scientific; and astronomy seemed thechosen science. He then remembered that he had heard Maltravers speakingto a builder, employed on the recent repairs, on the subject of anobservatory. "This is very strange, " thought Cleveland; "he gives upliterature, the rewards of which are in his reach, and turns to science, at an age too late to discipline his mind to its austere training. "

Alas! Cleveland did not understand that there are times in life whenimaginative minds seek to numb and to blunt imagination. Still less didhe feel that, when we perversely refuse to apply our active faculties tothe catholic interests of the world, they turn morbidly into channels ofresearch the least akin to their real genius. By the collision ofminds alone does each mind discover what is its proper product: left toourselves, our talents become but intellectual eccentricities. 

Some scattered papers, in the handwriting of Maltravers, fell from oneof the volumes. Of these, a few were but algebraical calculations, orshort scientific suggestions, the value of which Mr. Cleveland's studiesdid not enable him to ascertain; but in others they were wild snatchesof mournful and impassioned verse, which showed that the old vein ofpoetry still flowed, though no longer to the daylight. These versesCleveland thought himself justified in glancing over; they seemed toportray a state of mind which deeply interested, and greatly saddenedhim. They expressed, indeed, a firm determination to bear up againstboth the memory and the fear of ill; but mysterious and hinted allusionshere and there served to denote some recent and yet existent struggle, revealed by the heart only to the genius. In these partial and imperfectself-communings and confessions, there was the evidence of the piningaffections, the wasted life, the desolate hearth of the lonely man. Yetso calm was Maltravers himself, even to his early friend, that Clevelandknew not what to think of the reality of the feelings painted. Had thatfervid and romantic spirit been again awakened by a living object? Ifso, where was the object found? The dates affixed to the verses weremost recent. But whom had Maltravers seen? Cleveland's thoughts turnedto Caroline Merton, to Evelyn; but when he had spoken of both, nothingin the countenance, the manner, of Maltravers had betrayed emotion. Andonce the heart of Maltravers had so readily betrayed itself! Clevelandknew not how pride, years, and suffering school the features, andrepress the outward signs of what pass within. While thus engaged, thedoor of the study opened abruptly, and the servant announced Mr. Merton. 

"A thousand pardons, " said the courteous rector. "I fear we disturb you;but Admiral Legard and Lord Doltimore, who called on us this morning, were so anxious to see Burleigh, I thought I might take the liberty. Wehave come over quite in a large party, --taken the place by storm. Mr. Maltravers is out, I hear; but you will let us see the house. My alliesare already in the hall, examining the armour. "

Cleveland, ever sociable and urbane, answered suitably, and went withMr. Merton into the hall, where Caroline, her little sisters, Evelyn, Lord Doltimore, Admiral Legard, and his nephew were assembled. 

"Very proud to be my host's representative and your guide, " saidCleveland. "Your visit, Lord Doltimore, is indeed an agreeable surprise. Lord Vargrave left us an hour or so since to call on you at AdmiralLegard's: we buy our pleasure with his disappointment. "

"It is very unfortunate, " said the admiral, a bluff, harsh-looking oldgentleman; "but we were not aware, till we saw Mr. Merton, of the honourLord Vargrave has done us. I can't think how we missed him on the road. "

"My dear uncle, " said Colonel Legard, in a peculiarly sweet andagreeable tone of voice, "you forget we came three miles round by thehigh road; and Mr. Merton says that Lord Vargrave took the short cut byLangley End. My uncle, Mr. Cleveland, never feels in safety upon land, unless the road is as wide as the British Channel, and the horses gobefore the wind at the rapid pace of two knots and a half an hour!"

"I just wish I had you at sea, Mr. Jackanapes, " said the admiral, looking grimly at his handsome nephew, while he shook his cane at him. 

The nephew smiled; and, falling back, conversed with Evelyn. 

The party were now shown over the house; and Lord Doltimore was loud inits praises. It was like a chateau he had once hired in Normandy, --ithad a French character; those old chairs were in excellent taste, --quitethe style of Francis the First. 

"I know no man I respect more than Mr. Maltravers, " quoth the admiral. "Since he has been amongst us this time, he has been a pattern to uscountry gentlemen. He would make an excellent colleague for Sir John. Wereally must get him to stand against that young puppy who is member ofthe House of Commons only because his father is a peer, and never votesmore than twice a session. "

Mr. Merton looked grave. 

"I wish to Heaven you could persuade him to stay amongst you, " saidCleveland. "He has half taken it into his head to part with Burleigh!"

"Part with Burleigh!" exclaimed Evelyn, turning abruptly from thehandsome colonel, in whose conversation she had hitherto seemedabsorbed. 

"My very ejaculation when I heard him say so, my dear young lady. "

"I wish he would, " said Lord Doltimore hastily, and glancing towardsCaroline. "I should much like to buy it. What do you think would be thepurchase-money?"

"Don't talk so cold-bloodedly, " said the admiral, letting the point ofhis cane fall with great emphasis on the floor. "I can't bear to see oldfamilies deserting their old places, --quite wicked. You buy Burleigh!have not you got a country seat of your own, my lord? Go and live there, and take Mr. Maltravers for your model, --you could not have a better. "

Lord Doltimore sneered, coloured, settled his neckcloth, and turninground to Colonel Legard, whispered, "Legard, your good uncle is a bore. "

Legard looked a little offended, and made no reply. 

"But, " said Caroline, coming to the relief of her admirer, "if Mr. Maltravers will sell the place, surely he could not have a bettersuccessor. "

"He sha'n't sell the place, ma'am, and that's poz!" cried the admiral. "The whole county shall sign a round-robin to tell him it's a shame; andif any one dares to buy it we'll send him to Coventry. "

Miss Merton laughed, but looked round the old wainscot walls withunusual interest; she thought it would be a fine thing to be Lady ofBurleigh!

"And what is that picture so carefully covered up?" said the admiral, asthey now stood in the library. 

"The late Mrs. Maltravers, Ernest's mother, " replied Cleveland, slowly. "He dislikes it to be shown--to strangers: the other is a Digby. "

Evelyn looked towards the veiled portrait, and thought of her firstinterview with Maltravers; but the soft voice of Colonel Legard murmuredin her ear; and her revery was broken. 

Cleveland eyed the colonel, and muttered to himself, "Vargrave shouldkeep a sharp look-out. "

They had now finished their round of the show-apartments--which indeedhad little but their antiquity and old portraits to recommend them--andwere in a lobby at the back of the house, communicating with acourtyard, two sides of which were occupied with the stables. The sightof the stables reminded Caroline of the Arab horses; and at the word"horses" Lord Doltimore seized Legard's arm and carried him off toinspect the animals. Caroline, her father, and the admiral followed. Mr. Cleveland happened not to have on his walking-shoes; and the flagstonesin the courtyard looked damp; and Mr. Cleveland, like most oldbachelors, was prudently afraid of cold; so he excused himself, andstayed behind. He was talking to Evelyn about the Digbys, and full ofanecdotes about Sir Kenelm at the moment the rest departed so abruptly;and Evelyn was interested, so she insisted on keeping him company. 

The old gentleman was flattered; he thought it excellent breedingin Miss Cameron. The children ran out to renew acquaintance with thepeacock, who, perched on an old stirrup-stone, was sunning his gayplumage in the noon-day. 

"It is astonishing, " said Cleveland, "how certain family features aretransmitted from generation to generation! Maltravers has stillthe forehead and eyebrows of the Digbys, --that peculiar, brooding, thoughtful forehead, which you observed in the picture of Sir Kenelm. Once, too, he had much the same dreaming character of mind, but hehas lost that, in some measure at least. He has fine qualities, MissCameron, --I have known him since he was born. I trust his career is notyet closed; could he but form ties that would bind him to England, Ishould indulge in higher expectations than I did even when the wild boyturned half the heads in Gottingen. 

"But we were talking of family portraits: there is one in theentrance-hall, which perhaps you have not observed; it is halfobliterated by damp and time, yet it is of a remarkable personage, connected with Maltravers by ancestral intermarriages, --Lord Falkland, the Falkland of Clarendon; a man weak in character, but made mostinteresting by history, --utterly unfitted for the severe ordeal of thosestormy times; sighing for peace when his whole soul should have been inwar; and repentant alike whether with the Parliament or the king, but still a personage of elegant and endearing associations; astudent-soldier, with a high heart and a gallant spirit. Come and lookat his features, --homely and worn, but with a characteristic air ofrefinement and melancholy thought. "

Thus running on, the agreeable old gentleman drew Evelyn into the outerhall. Upon arriving there, through a small passage, which opened uponthe hall, they were surprised to find the old housekeeper and anotherfemale servant standing by a rude kind of couch on which lay the form ofthe poor woman described in the last chapter. Maltravers and two othermen were also there; and Maltravers himself was giving orders to hisservants, while he leaned over the sufferer, who was now conscious bothof pain and the service rendered to her. As Evelyn stopped abruptly, andin surprise, opposite and almost at the foot of the homely litter, thewoman raised herself up on one arm, and gazed at her with a wild stare;then muttering some incoherent words which appeared to betoken delirium, she sank back, and was again insensible. 

CHAPTER IV. 

 HENCE oft to win some stubborn maid, Still does the wanton god assume The martial air, the gay cockade, The sword, the shoulder-knot, and plume. 

 MARRIOTT. 

THE hall was cleared, the sufferer had been removed, and Maltravers wasleft alone with Cleveland and Evelyn. 

He simply and shortly narrated the adventure of the morning; but he didnot mention that Vargrave had been the cause of the injury his new guesthad sustained. Now this event had served to make a mutual and kindredimpression on Evelyn and Maltravers. The humanity of the latter, naturaland commonplace as it was, was an endearing recollection to Evelyn, precisely as it showed that his cold theory of disdain towards the massdid not affect his actual conduct towards individuals. On the otherhand, Maltravers had perhaps been yet more impressed with the prompt andingenuous sympathy which Evelyn had testified towards the sufferer: ithad so evidently been her first gracious and womanly impulse to hastento the side of this humble stranger. In that impulse, Maltravers himselfhad been almost forgotten; and as the poor woman lay pale and lifeless, and the young Evelyn bent over her in beautiful compassion, Maltraversthought she had never seemed so lovely, so irresistible, --in fact, pityin woman is a great beautifier. 

As Maltravers finished his short tale, Evelyn's eyes were fixed upon himwith such frank and yet such soft approval, that the look wentstraight to his heart. He quickly turned away, and abruptly changed theconversation. 

"But how long have you been here, Miss Cameron, --and your companions?"

"We are again intruders; but this time it was not my fault. "

"No, " said Cleveland, "for a wonder it was male, and not lady-likecuriosity that trespassed on Bluebeard's chamber. But, however, tosoften your resentment, know that Miss Cameron has brought you apurchaser for Burleigh. Now, then, we can test the sincerity of yourwish to part with it. I assure you, meanwhile, that Miss Cameron was asmuch shocked at the idea as I was. Were you not?"

"But you surely have no intention of selling Burleigh?" said Evelyn, anxiously. 

"I fear I do not know my own mind. "

"Well, " said Cleveland, "here comes your tempter. Lord Doltimore, let meintroduce Mr. Maltravers. "

Lord Doltimore bowed. 

"Been admiring your horses, Mr. Maltravers. I never saw anything soperfect as the black one; may I ask where you bought him?"

"It was a present to me, " answered Maltravers. 

"A present?"

"Yes, from one who would not have sold that horse for a king'sransom, --an old Arab chief, with whom I formed a kind of friendship inthe desert. A wound disabled him from riding, and he bestowed the horseon me, with as much solemn tenderness for the gift as if he had given mehis daughter in marriage. "

"I think of travelling in the East, " said Lord Doltimore, with muchgravity: "I suppose nothing will induce you to sell the black horse?"

"Lord Doltimore!" said Maltravers, in a tone of lofty surprise. 

"I do not care for the price, " continued the young nobleman, a littledisconcerted. 

"No; I never sell any horse that has once learned to know me. I wouldas soon think of selling a friend. In the desert, one's horse is one'sfriend. I am almost an Arab myself in these matters. "

"But talking of sale and barter reminds me of Burleigh, " said Cleveland, maliciously. "Lord Doltimore is a universal buyer. He covets all yourgoods: he will take the house, if he can't have the stables. "

"I only mean, " said Lord Doltimore, rather peevishly, "that if you wishto part with Burleigh, I should like to have the option of purchase. "

"I will remember it, if I determine to sell the place, " answeredMaltravers, smiling gravely; "at present I am undecided. "

He turned away towards Evelyn as he spoke, and almost started to observethat she was joined by a stranger, whose approach he had not beforenoticed, --and that stranger a man of such remarkable personaladvantages, that, had Maltravers been in Vargrave's position, he mightreasonably have experienced a pang of jealous apprehension. Slightlyabove the common height; slender, yet strongly formed; set off byevery advantage of dress, of air, of the nameless tone and pervadingrefinement that sometimes, though not always, springs from early andhabitual intercourse with the most polished female society, --ColonelLegard, at the age of eight and twenty, had acquired a reputation forbeauty almost as popular and as well known as that which men usuallyacquire by mental qualifications. Yet there was nothing effeminate inhis countenance, the symmetrical features of which were made masculineand expressive by the rich olive of the complexion, and the close jettycurls of the Antinous-like hair. 

They seemed, as they there stood--Evelyn and Legard--so well suited toeach other in personal advantages, their different styles so happilycontrasted; and Legard, at the moment, was regarding her with suchrespectful admiration, and whispering compliment to her in so subdueda tone, that the dullest observer might have ventured a prophecy by nomeans agreeable to the hopes of Lumley Lord Vargrave. 

But a feeling or fear of this nature was not that which occurred toMaltravers, or dictated his startled exclamation of surprise. 

Legard looked up as he heard the exclamation, and saw Maltravers, whose back had hitherto been turned towards him. He, too, was evidentlysurprised, and seemingly confused; the colour mounted to his cheek, andthen left it pale. 

"Colonel Legard, " said Cleveland, "a thousand apologies for my neglect:I really did not observe you enter, --you came round by the front door, Isuppose. Let me make you acquainted with Mr. Maltravers. "

Legard bowed low. 

"We have met before, " said he, in embarrassed accents: "at Venice, Ithink!"

Maltravers inclined his head rather stiffly at first, but then, as ifmoved by a second impulse, held out his hand cordially. 

"Oh, Mr. Ernest, here you are!" cried Sophy, bounding into the hall, followed by Mr. Merton, the old admiral, Caroline, and Cecilia. 

The interruption seemed welcome and opportune. The admiral, withblunt cordiality, expressed his pleasure at being made known to Mr. Maltravers. 

The conversation grew general; refreshments were proffered and declined;the visit drew to its close. 

It so happened that as the guests departed, Evelyn, from whose sidethe constant colonel had insensibly melted away, lingered last, --save, indeed, the admiral, who was discussing with Cleveland a new specificfor the gout. And as Maltravers stood on the steps, Evelyn turned to himwith all her beautiful _naivete_ of mingled timidity and kindness, andsaid, --

"And are we really never to see you again; never to hear again yourtales of Egypt and Arabia; never to talk over Tasso and Dante? No books, no talk, no disputes, no quarrels? What have we done? I thought we hadmade it up, --and yet you are still unforgiving. Give me a good scold, and be friends!"

"Friends! you have no friend more anxious, more devoted than I am. Young, rich, fascinating as you are, you will carve no impression onhuman hearts deeper than that you have graven here!"

Carried away by the charm of her childlike familiarity and enchantingsweetness, Maltravers had said more than he intended; yet his eyes, hisemotion, said more than his words. 

Evelyn coloured deeply, and her whole manner changed. However, sheturned away, and saying, with a forced gayety, "Well, then, you will notdesert us; we shall see you once more?" hurried down the steps to joinher companions. 

CHAPTER V. 

 SEE how the skilful lover spreads his toils. --STILLINGFLEET. 

THE party had not long returned to the rectory, and the admiral'scarriage was ordered, when Lord Vargrave made his appearance. Hedescanted with gay good-humour on his long drive, the bad roads, andhis disappointment at the _contretemps_ that awaited him; then, drawingaside Colonel Legard, who seemed unusually silent and abstracted, hesaid to him, --

"My dear colonel, my visit this morning was rather to you than toDoltimore. I confess that I should like to see your abilities enlistedon the side of the Government; and knowing that the post of Storekeeperto the Ordnance will be vacant in a day or two by the promotion ofMr. -----, I wrote to secure the refusal. To-day's post brings me theanswer. I offer the place to you; and I trust, before long, toprocure you also a seat in parliament. But you must start for Londonimmediately. "

A week ago, and Legard's utmost ambition would have been amply gratifiedby this post; he now hesitated. 

"My dear lord, " said he, "I cannot say how grateful I feel for yourkindness; but--but--"

"Enough; no thanks, my dear Legard. Can you go to town to-morrow?"

"Indeed, " said Legard, "I fear not; I must consult my uncle. "

"I can answer for him; I sounded him before I wrote. Reflect! Youare not rich, my dear Legard; it is an excellent opening: a seat inparliament, too! Why, what can be your reason for hesitation?"

There was something meaning and inquisitive in the tone of voice inwhich this question was put that brought the colour to the colonel'scheek. He knew not well what to reply; and he began, too, to think thathe ought not to refuse the appointment. Nay, would his uncle, on whomhe was dependent, consent to such a refusal? Lord Vargrave saw theirresolution, and proceeded. He spent ten minutes in combating everyscruple, every objection: he placed all the advantages of the post, realor imaginary, in every conceivable point of view before the colonel'seyes; he sought to flatter, to wheedle, to coax, to weary him intoaccepting it; and he at length partially succeeded. The colonelpetitioned for three days' consideration, which Vargrave reluctantlyacceded to; and Legard then stepped into his uncle's carriage, with theair rather of a martyr than a maiden placeman. 

"Aha!" said Vargrave, chuckling to himself as he took a turn in thegrounds, "I have got rid of that handsome knave; and now I shall haveEvelyn all to myself!"

CHAPTER VI. 

 I AM forfeited to eternal disgrace if you do not commiserate. . .. .. . Go to, then, raise, recover. --BEN JONSON: _Poetaster_. 

THE next morning Admiral Legard and his nephew were conversing in thelittle cabin consecrated by the name of the admiral's "own room. "

"Yes, " said the veteran, "it would be moonshine and madness not toaccept Vargrave's offer; though one can see through such a millstone asthat with half an eye. His lordship is jealous of such a fine, handsomeyoung fellow as you are, --and very justly. But as long as he is underthe same roof with Miss Cameron, you will have no opportunity topay your court; when he goes, you can always manage to be in herneighbourhood; and then, you know--puppy that you are--her business willbe very soon settled. " And the admiral eyed the handsome colonel withgrim fondness. 

Legard sighed. 

"Have you any commands at -----?" said he; "I am just going to canterover there before Doltimore is up. "

"Sad lazy dog, your friend. "

"I shall be back by twelve. "

"What are you going to ----- for?"

"Brookes, the farrier, has a little spaniel, --King Charles's breed. MissCameron is fond of dogs. I can send it to her, with my compliments, --itwill be a sort of leave-taking. "

"Sly rogue; ha, ha, ha! d-----d sly; ha, ha!" and the admiral punchedthe slender waist of his nephew, and laughed till the tears ran down hischeeks. 

"Good-by, sir. "

"Stop, George; I forgot to ask you a question; you never told me youknew Mr. Maltravers. Why don't you cultivate his acquaintance?"

"We met at Venice accidentally. I did not know his name then; he leftjust as I arrived. As you say, I ought to cultivate his acquaintance. "

"Fine character!"

"Very!" said Legard, with energy, as he abruptly quitted the room. 

George Legard was an orphan. His father--the admiral's elderbrother--had been a spendthrift man of fashion, with a tolerably largeunentailed estate. He married a duke's daughter without a sixpence. Estates are troublesome, --Mr. Legard's was sold. On the purchase-moneythe happy pair lived for some years in great comfort, when Mr. Legarddied of a brain fever; and his disconsolate widow found herself alonein the world with a beautiful little curly-headed boy, and an annuityof one thousand a year, for which her settlement had been exchanged. All the rest of the fortune was gone, --a discovery not made till Mr. Legard's death. Lady Louisa did not long survive the loss of her husbandand her station in society; her income of course died with herself. Heronly child was brought up in the house of his grandfather, the duke, till he was of age to hold the office of king's page; thence, asis customary, he was promoted to a commission in the Guards. To themunificent emoluments of his pay, the ducal family liberally addedan allowance of two hundred a year; upon which income Cornet Legardcontrived to get very handsomely in debt. The extraordinary beautyof his person, his connections, and his manners obtained him all thecelebrity that fashion can bestow; but poverty is a bad thing. Luckily, at this time, his uncle the admiral returned from sea, to settle for therest of his life in England. 

Hitherto, the admiral had taken no notice of George. He himself hadmarried a merchant's daughter with a fair portion; and had been blessedwith two children, who monopolized all his affection. But there seemedsome mortality in the Legard family; in one year after returning toEngland and settling in B-----shire, the admiral found himself wifelessand childless. He then turned to his orphan nephew; and soon becamefonder of him than he had ever been of his own children. The admiral, though in easy circumstances, was not wealthy; nevertheless, he advancedthe money requisite for George's rise in the army, and doubled theallowance bestowed by the duke. His grace heard of this generosity, anddiscovered that he himself had a very large family growing up; that themarquess was going to be married, and required an increase of income;that he had already behaved most handsomely to his nephew; and theresult of this discovery was that the duke withdrew the two hundred ayear. Legard, however, who looked on his uncle as an exhaustless mine, went on breaking hearts and making debts--till one morning he woke inthe Bench. The admiral was hastily summoned to London. He arrived;paid off the duns--a kindness which seriously embarrassed him--swore, scolded, and cried; and finally insisted that Legard should give upthat d-----d coxcomb regiment, in which he was now captain, retire onhalf-pay, and learn economy and a change of habits on the Continent. 

The admiral, a rough but good-natured man on the whole, had two or threelittle peculiarities. In the first place, he piqued himself on a sort ofJohn Bull independence; was a bit of a Radical (a strange anomaly in anadmiral)--which was owing, perhaps, to two or three young lords havingbeen put over his head in the earlier part of his career; and he madeit a point with his nephew (of whose affection he was jealous) tobreak with those fine grand connections, who plunged him into a sea ofextravagance, and then never threw him a rope to save him from drowning. 

In the second place, without being stingy, the admiral had a good dealof economy in his disposition. He was not a man to allow his nephew toruin him. He had an extraordinarily old-fashioned horror of gambling, --apolite habit of George's; and he declared positively that his nephewmust, while a bachelor, learn to live upon seven hundred a year. Thirdly, the admiral could be a very stern, stubborn, passionate oldbrute; and when he coolly told George, "Harkye, you young puppy, if youget into debt again--if you exceed the very handsome allowance I makeyou--I shall just cut you off with a shilling, " George was fully awarethat his uncle was one who would rigidly keep his word. 

However, it was something to be out of debt, and one of the handsomestmen of his age; and George Legard, whose rank in the Guards made him acolonel in the line, left England tolerably contented with the state ofaffairs. 

Despite the foibles of his youth, George Legard had many high andgenerous qualities. Society had done its best to spoil a fine and candiddisposition, with abilities far above mediocrity; but society had onlypartially succeeded. Still, unhappily, dissipation had grown a habitwith him; all his talents were of a nature that brought a ready return. At his age, it was but natural that the praise of _salons_ should retainall its sweetness. 

In addition to those qualities which please the softer sex, Legard was agood whist player, superb at billiards, famous as a shot, unrivalledas a horseman, --in fact, an accomplished man, "who did everything sodevilish well!" These accomplishments did not stand him in much steadin Italy; and, though with reluctance and remorse, he took again togambling, --he really _had_ nothing else to do. 

In Venice there was, one year, established a society somewhat on theprinciple of the _salon_ at Paris. Some rich Venetians belonged to it;but it was chiefly for the convenience of foreigners, --French, English, and Austrians. Here there was select gaming in one room, while anotherapartment served the purposes of a club. Many who never played belongedto this society; but still they were not the _habitues_. 

Legard played: he won at first, then he lost, then he won again; it wasa pleasant excitement. One night, after winning largely at _roulette_, he sat down to play _ecarte_ with a Frenchman of high rank. Legardplayed well at this, as at all scientific games; he thought he shouldmake a fortune out of the Frenchman. The game excited much interest; thecrowd gathered round the table; bets ran high; the vanity of Legard, as well as his interest, was implicated in the conflict. It was soonevident that the Frenchman played as well as the Englishman. The stakes, at first tolerably high, were doubled. Legard betted freely. Cards wentagainst him; he lost much, lost all that he had, lost more than he had, lost several hundreds, which he promised to pay the next morning. Thetable was broken up, the spectators separated. Amongst the latter hadbeen one Englishman, introduced into the club for the first time thatnight. He had neither played nor betted, but had observed the game witha quiet and watchful interest. This Englishman lodged at the same hotelas Legard. He was at Venice only for a day; the promised sight of a fileof English newspapers had drawn him to the club; the general excitementaround had attracted him to the table; and once there, the spectacle ofhuman emotions exercised its customary charm. 

On ascending the stairs that conducted to his apartment, the Englishmanheard a deep groan in a room the door of which was ajar. He paused, thesound was repeated; he gently pushed open the door and saw Legard seatedby a table, while a glass on the opposite wall reflected his working andconvulsed countenance, with his hands trembling visibly, as they took abrace of pistols from the case. 

The Englishman recognized the loser at the club; and at once divined theact that his madness or his despair dictated. Legard twice took up oneof the pistols, and twice laid it down irresolute; the third time herose with a start, raised the weapon to his head, and the next moment itwas wrenched from his grasp. 

"Sit down, sir!" said the stranger, in a loud and commanding voice. 

Legard, astonished and abashed, sank once more into his seat, and staredsullenly and half-unconsciously at his countryman. 

"You have lost your money, " said the Englishman, after calmly replacingthe pistols in their case, which he locked, putting the key into hispocket; "and that is misfortune enough for one night. If you had won, and ruined your opponent, you would be excessively happy, and go to bed, thinking Good Luck (which is the representative of Providence) watchedover you. For my part, I think you ought to be very thankful that youare not the winner. "

"Sir, " said Legard, recovering from his surprise, and beginning to feelresentment, "I do not understand this intrusion in my apartments. Youhave saved me, it is true, from death, --but life is a worse curse. "

"Young man, no! moments in life are agony, but life itself is ablessing. Life is a mystery that defies all calculation. You can neversay, 'To-day is wretched, therefore to-morrow must be the same!' And forthe loss of a little gold you, in the full vigour of youth, with all thefuture before you, will dare to rush into the chances of eternity!You, who have never, perhaps, thought what eternity is! Yet, " addedthe stranger, in a soft and melancholy voice, "you are young andbeautiful, --perhaps the pride and hope of others! Have you no tie, noaffection, no kindred; are you lord of yourself?"

Legard was moved by the tone of the stranger, as well as by the words. 

"It is not the loss of money, " said he, gloomily, --"it is the loss ofhonour. To-morrow I must go forth a shunned and despised man, --I, agentleman and a soldier! They may insult me--and I have no reply!"

The Englishman seemed to muse, for his brow lowered, and he made noanswer. Legard threw himself back, overcome with his own excitement, and wept like a child. The stranger, who imagined himself above theindulgence of emotion (vain man!), woke from his revery at this burstof passion. He gazed at first (I grieve to write) with a curl of thehaughty lip that had in it contempt; but it passed quickly away; andthe hard man remembered that he too had been young and weak, and his ownerrors greater perhaps than those of the one he had ventured to despise. He walked to and fro the room, still without speaking. At last heapproached the gamester, and took his hand. 

"What is your debt?" he asked gently. 

"What matters it?--more than I can pay. "

"If life is a trust, so is wealth: _you_ have the first in charge forothers, _I_ may have the last. What is the debt?"

Legard started; it was a strong struggle between shame and hope. "If Icould borrow it, I could repay it hereafter, --I know I could; I wouldnot think of it otherwise. "

"Very well, so be it, --I will lend you the money on one condition. Solemnly promise me, on your faith as a soldier and a gentleman, thatyou will not, for ten years to come--even if you grow rich, and can ruinothers--touch card or dice-box. Promise me that you will shun all gamingfor gain, under whatever disguise, whatever appellation. I will takeyour word as my bond. "

Legard, overjoyed, and scarcely trusting his senses, gave the promise. 

"Sleep then, to-night, in hope and assurance of the morrow, " said theEnglishman: "let this event be an omen to you, that while there is afuture there is no despair. One word more, --I do not want your thanks!it is easy to be generous at the expense of justice. Perhaps I havebeen so now. This sum, which is to save your life--a life you so littlevalue--might have blessed fifty human beings, --better men than eitherthe giver or receiver. What is given to error may perhaps be a wrongto virtue. When you would ask others to support a career of blind andselfish extravagance, pause and think over the breadless lips thiswasted gold would have fed! the joyless hearts it would have comforted!You talk of repaying me: if the occasion offer, do so; if not--if wenever meet again, and you have it in your power, pay it for me to thePoor! And now, farewell. "

"Stay, --give me the name of my preserver! Mine is--"

"Hush! what matter names? This is a sacrifice we have both madeto honour. You will sooner recover your self-esteem (and withoutself-esteem there is neither faith nor honour), when you think thatyour family, your connections, are spared all association with your ownerror; that I may hear them spoken of, that I may mix with them withoutfancying that they owe me gratitude. "

"Your own name then?" said Legard, deeply penetrated with the delicategenerosity of his benefactor. 

"Tush!" muttered the stranger impatiently as he closed the door. 

The next morning when he awoke Legard saw upon the table a small packet;it contained a sum that exceeded the debt named. 

On the envelope was written, "Remember the bond. "

The stranger had already quitted Venice. He had not travelled throughthe Italian cities under his own name, for he had just returned from thesolitudes of the East, and was not yet hardened to the publicity of thegossip which in towns haunted by his countrymen attended a well-knownname; that given to Legard by the innkeeper, mutilated by Italianpronunciation, the young man had never heard before, and soon forgot. Hepaid his debts, and he scrupulously kept his word. The adventure of thatnight went far, indeed, to reform and ennoble the mind and habits ofGeorge Legard. Time passed, and he never met his benefactor, till in thehalls of Burleigh he recognized the stranger in Maltravers. 

CHAPTER VII. 

 WHY value, then, that strength of mind they boast, As often varying, and as often lost?

 HAWKINS BROWNE (translated by SOAME JENYNS). 

MALTRAVERS was lying at length, with his dogs around him, under abeech-tree that threw its arms over one of the calm still pieces ofwater that relieved the groves of Burleigh, when Colonel Legard spiedhim from the bridle-road which led through the park to the house. Thecolonel dismounted, threw the rein over his arm; and at the sound of thehoofs Maltravers turned, saw the visitor, and rose. He held out his handto Legard, and immediately began talking of indifferent matters. 

Legard was embarrassed; but his nature was not one to profit by thesilence of a benefactor. "Mr. Maltravers, " said he, with gracefulemotion, "though you have not yet allowed me an opportunity to allude toit, do not think I am ungrateful for the service you rendered me. "

Maltravers looked grave, but made no reply. Legard resumed, with aheightened colour, --

"I cannot say how I regret that it is not yet in my power to dischargemy debt; but--"

"When it is, you will do so. Pray think no more of it. Are you going tothe rectory?"

"No, not this morning; in fact, I leave B-----shire tomorrow. Pleasantfamily, the Mertons. "

"And Miss Cameron--"

"Is certainly beautiful, --and very rich. How could she ever think ofmarrying Lord Vargrave, so much older, --she who could have so manyadmirers?"

"Not, surely, while betrothed to another?"

This was a refinement which Legard, though an honourable man as men go, did not quite understand. "Oh, " said he, "that was by some eccentric oldrelation, --her father-in-law, I think. Do you think she is bound by suchan engagement?"

Maltravers made no reply, but amused himself by throwing a stick intothe water, and sending one of his dogs after it. Legard looked on, andhis affectionate disposition yearned to make advances which somethingdistant in the manner of Maltravers chilled and repelled. 

When Legard was gone, Maltravers followed him with his eyes. "And thisis the man whom Cleveland thinks Evelyn could love! I could forgive hermarrying Vargrave. Independently of the conscientious feeling that maybelong to the engagement, Vargrave has wit, talent, intellect; and thisman has nothing but the skin of the panther. Was I wrong to save him?No. Every human life, I suppose, has its uses. But Evelyn--I coulddespise her if her heart was the fool of the eye!"

These comments were most unjust to Legard; but they were just of thatkind of injustice which the man of talent often commits against the manof external advantages, and which the latter still more often retaliateson the man of talent. As Maltravers thus soliloquized, he was accostedby Mr. Cleveland. 

"Come, Ernest, you must not cut these unfortunate Mertons any longer. If you continue to do so, do you know what Mrs. Hare and the world willsay?"

"No--what?"

"That you have been refused by Miss Merton. "

"That _would_ be a calumny!" said Ernest, smiling. 

"Or that you are hopelessly in love with Miss Cameron. "

Maltravers started; his proud heart swelled; he pulled his hat over hisbrows, and said, after a short pause, --

"Well, Mrs. Hare and the world must not have it all their own way; andso, whenever you go to the rectory, take me with you. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

 THE more he strove To advance his suit, the farther from her love. 

 DRYDEN: _Theodore and Honoria_. 

THE line of conduct which Vargrave now adopted with regard to Evelynwas craftily conceived and carefully pursued. He did not hazard a singlesyllable which might draw on him a rejection of his claims; but at thesame time no lover could be more constant, more devoted, in attentions. In the presence of others, there was an air of familiar intimacy thatseemed to arrogate a right, which to her he scrupulously shunned toassert. Nothing could be more respectful, nay, more timid, than hislanguage, or more calmly confident than his manner. Not having muchvanity, nor any very acute self-conceit, he did not delude himself intothe idea of winning Evelyn's affections; he rather sought to entangleher judgment, to weave around her web upon web, --not the less dangerousfor being invisible. He took the compact as a matter of course, assomething not to be broken by any possible chance; her hand was to behis as a right: it was her heart that he so anxiously sought to gain. But this distinction was so delicately drawn, and insisted upon solittle in any tangible form, that, whatever Evelyn's wishes for anunderstanding, a much more experienced woman would have been at a lossto ripen one. 

Evelyn longed to confide in Caroline, to consult her; but Caroline, though still kind, had grown distant. "I wish, " said Evelyn, one nightas she sat in Caroline's dressing-room, --"I wish that I knew what toneto take with Lord Vargrave. I feel more and more convinced that a unionbetween us is impossible; and yet, precisely because he does not pressit, am I unable to tell him so. I wish you could undertake that task;you seem such friends with him. "

"I!" said Caroline, changing countenance. 

"Yes, you! Nay, do not blush, or I shall think you envy me. Couldyou not save us both from the pain that otherwise must come sooner orlater?"

"Lord Vargrave would not thank me for such an act of friendship. Besides, Evelyn, consider, --it is scarcely possible to break off thisengagement _now_. "

"_Now_! and why now?" said Evelyn, astonished. 

"The world believes it so implicitly. Observe, whoever sits next yourises if Lord Vargrave approaches; the neighbourhood talk of nothingelse but your marriage; and your fate, Evelyn, is not pitied. "

"I will leave this place! I will go back to the cottage! I cannot bearthis!" said Evelyn, passionately wringing her hands. 

"You do not love another, I am sure: not young Mr. Hare, with hisgreen coat and straw-coloured whiskers; or Sir Henry Foxglove, with hishow-d'ye-do like a view-halloo; perhaps, indeed, Colonel Legard, --he ishandsome. What! do you blush at his name? No; you say 'not Legard:' whoelse is there?"

"You are cruel; you trifle with me!" said Evelyn, in tearful reproach;and she rose to go to her own room. 

"My dear girl!" said Caroline, touched by her evident pain; "learn fromme--if I may say so--that marriages are _not_ made in heaven! Yours willbe as fortunate as earth can bestow. A love-match is usually the leasthappy of all. Our foolish sex demand so much in love; and love, afterall, is but one blessing among many. Wealth and rank remain when loveis but a heap of ashes. For my part, I have chosen my destiny and myhusband. "

"Your husband!"

"Yes, you see him in Lord Doltimore. I dare say we shall be as happyas any amorous Corydon and Phyllis. " But there was irony in Caroline'svoice as she spoke; and she sighed heavily. Evelyn did not believe herserious; and the friends parted for the night. 

"Mine is a strange fate!" said Caroline to herself; "I am asked bythe man whom I love, and who professes to love me, to bestow myself onanother, and to plead for him to a younger and fairer bride. Well, Iwill obey him in the first; the last is a bitterer task, and I cannotperform it earnestly. Yet Vargrave has a strange power over me; andwhen I look round the world, I see that he is right. In these mostcommonplace artifices, there is yet a wild majesty that charms andfascinates me. It is something to rule the world: and his and mine arenatures formed to do so. "

CHAPTER IX. 

 A SMOKE raised with the fume of sighs. 

 _Romeo and Juliet_. 

IT is certain that Evelyn experienced for Maltravers sentiments which, if not love, might easily be mistaken for it. But whether it were thatmaster-passion, or merely its fanciful resemblance, --love in earlyyouth and innocent natures, if of sudden growth, is long before it makesitself apparent. Evelyn had been prepared to feel an interest in hersolitary neighbour. His mind, as developed in his works, had half-formedher own. Her childish adventure with the stranger had never beenforgotten. Her present knowledge of Maltravers was an union of dangerousand often opposite associations, --the Ideal and the Real. 

Love, in its first dim and imperfect shape, is but imaginationconcentrated on one object. It is a genius of the heart, resembling thatof the intellect; it appeals to, it stirs up, it evokes, the sentimentsand sympathies that lie most latent in our nature. Its sigh is thespirit that moves over the ocean, and arouses the Anadyomene into life. Therefore is it that MIND produces affections deeper than those ofexternal form; therefore it is that women are worshippers of glory, which is the palpable and visible representative of a genius whoseoperations they cannot always comprehend. Genius has so much in commonwith love, the imagination that animates one is so much the propertyof the other, that there is not a surer sign of the existence of geniusthan the love that it creates and bequeaths. It penetrates deeper thanthe reason, it binds a nobler captive than the fancy. As the sun uponthe dial, it gives to the human heart both its shadow and its light. Nations are its worshippers and wooers; and Posterity learns from itsoracles to dream, to aspire, to adore!

Had Maltravers declared the passion that consumed him, it is probablethat it would soon have kindled a return. But his frequent absence, hissustained distance of manner, had served to repress the feelings thatin a young and virgin heart rarely flow with much force until theyare invited and aroused. _Le besoin d'aimer_ in girls, is, perhaps, initself powerful; but is fed by another want, _le besoin d'etre aime_!_If_, therefore, Evelyn at present felt love for Maltravers, the lovehad certainly not passed into the core of life: the tree had not so farstruck its roots but what it might have borne transplanting. There wasin her enough of the pride of sex to have recoiled from the thoughtof giving love to one who had not asked the treasure. Capable ofattachment, more trustful and therefore, if less vehement, morebeautiful and durable than that which had animated the brief tragedy ofFlorence Lascelles, she could not have been the unknown correspondent, or revealed the soul, because the features wore a mask. 

It must also be allowed that, in some respects, Evelyn was too young andinexperienced thoroughly to appreciate all that was most truly lovableand attractive in Maltravers. At four and twenty she would, perhaps, have felt no fear mingled with her respect for him; but seventeen andsix and thirty is a wide interval! She never felt that there was thatdifference in years until she had met Legard, and then at once shecomprehended it. With Legard she had moved on equal terms; he was nottoo wise, too high for her every-day thoughts. He less excited herimagination, less attracted her reverence. But, somehow or other, thatvoice which proclaimed her power, those eyes which never turned fromhers, went nearer to her heart. As Evelyn had once said to Caroline, "Itwas a great enigma!"--her own feelings were a mystery to her, and shereclined by the "Golden Waterfalls" without tracing her likeness in theglass of the pool below. 

Maltravers appeared again at the rectory. He joined their parties byday, and his evenings were spent with them as of old. In this I know notprecisely what were his motives--perhaps he did not know them himself. It might be that his pride was roused; it might be that he could notendure the notion that Lord Vargrave should guess his secret by anabsence almost otherwise unaccountable, --he could not patiently bear togive Vargrave that triumph; it might be that, in the sternness of hisself-esteem, he imagined he had already conquered all save affectionateinterest in Evelyn's fate, and trusted too vainly to his own strength;and it might be, also, that he could not resist the temptation of seeingif Evelyn were contented with her lot, and if Vargrave were worthy ofthe blessing that awaited him. Whether one of these or all united madehim resolve to brave his danger, or whether, after all, he yielded to aweakness, or consented to what--invited by Evelyn herself--was almost asocial necessity, the reader and not the narrator shall decide. 

Legard was gone; but Doltimore remained in the neighbourhood, havinghired a hunting-box not far from Sir John Merton's manors, over whichhe easily obtained permission to sport. When he did not dine elsewhere, there was always a place for him at the parson's hospitable board, --andthat place was generally next to Caroline. Mr. And Mrs. Merton hadgiven up all hope of Mr. Maltravers for their eldest daughter; and, verystrangely, this conviction came upon their minds on the first day theymade the acquaintance of the young lord. 

"My dear, " said the rector, as he was winding up his watch, preparatoryto entering the connubial couch, --"my dear, I don't think Mr. Maltraversis a marrying man. "

"I was just going to make the same remark, " said Mrs. Merton, drawingthe clothes over her. "Lord Doltimore is a very fine young man, hisestates unencumbered. I like him vastly, my love. He is evidentlysmitten with Caroline: so Lord Vargrave and Mrs. Hare said. "

"Sensible, shrewd woman, Mrs. Hare. By the by, we'll send her apineapple. Caroline was made to be a woman of rank!"

"Quite; so much self-possession!"

"And if Mr. Maltravers would sell or let Burleigh--"

"It would be so pleasant!"

"Had you not better give Caroline a hint?"

"My love, she is so sensible, let her go her own way. "

"You are right, my dear Betsy; I shall always say that no one has morecommon-sense than you; you have brought up your children admirably!"

"Dear Charles!"

"It is coldish to-night, love, " said the rector; and he put out thecandle. 

From that time, it was not the fault of Mr. And Mrs. Merton if LordDoltimore did not find their house the pleasantest in the county. 

One evening the rectory party were assembled together in the cheerfuldrawing-room. Cleveland, Mr. Merton, Sir John, and Lord Vargrave, reluctantly compelled to make up the fourth, were at the whist-table;Evelyn, Caroline, and Lord Doltimore were seated round the fire, andMrs. Merton was working a footstool. The fire burned clear, the curtainswere down, the children in bed: it was a family picture of elegantcomfort. 

Mr. Maltravers was announced. 

"I am glad you are come at last, " said Caroline, holding out her fairhand. "Mr. Cleveland could not answer for you. We are all disputing asto which mode of life is the happiest. "

"And your opinion?" asked Maltravers, seating himself in the vacantchair, --it chanced to be next to Evelyn's. 

"My opinion is decidedly in favour of London. A metropolitan life, with its perpetual and graceful excitements, --the best music, the bestcompanions, the best things in short. Provincial life is so dull, itspleasures so tiresome; to talk over the last year's news, and wear outone's last year's dresses, cultivate a conservatory, and play Pope Joanwith a young party, --dreadful!"

"I agree with Miss Merton, " said Lord Doltimore, solemnly; "not butwhat I like the country for three or four months in the year, with goodshooting and hunting, and a large house properly filled, independent ofone's own neighbourhood: but if I am condemned to choose one place tolive in, give me Paris. "

"Ah, Paris; I never was in Paris. I should so like to travel!" saidCaroline. 

"But the inns abroad are so very bad, " said Lord Doltimore; "how peoplecan rave about Italy, I can't think. I never suffered so much in my lifeas I did in Calabria; and at Venice I was bit to death by mosquitoes. Nothing like Paris, I assure you: don't you think so, Mr. Maltravers?"

"Perhaps I shall be able to answer you better in a short time. I thinkof accompanying Mr. Cleveland to Paris!"

"Indeed!" said Caroline. "Well, I envy you; but is it a suddenresolution?"

"Not very. "

"Do you stay long?" asked Lord Doltimore. 

"My stay is uncertain. "

"And you won't let Burleigh in the meanwhile?"

"_Let_ Burleigh? No; if it once pass from my hands it will be forever!"

Maltravers spoke gravely, and the subject was changed. Lord Doltimorechallenged Caroline to chess. 

They sat down, and Lord Doltimore arranged the pieces. 

"Sensible man, Mr. Maltravers, " said the young lord; "but I don't hit itoff with him: Vargrave is more agreeable. Don't you think so?"

"Y-e-s. "

"Lord Vargrave is very kind to me, --I never remember any one being moreso; got Legard that appointment solely because it would please me, --veryfriendly fellow! I mean to put myself under his wing next session!"

"You could not do better, I'm sure, " said Caroline; "he is so muchlooked up to; I dare say he will be prime minister one of these days. "

"I take the bishop:--do you think so really?--you are rather apolitician?"

"Oh, no; not much of that. But my father and my uncle are stanchpoliticians; gentlemen know so much more than ladies. We should alwaysgo by their opinions. I think I will take the queen's pawn--yourpolitics are the same as Lord Vargrave's?"

"Yes, I fancy so: at least I shall leave my proxy with him. Glad youdon't like politics, --great bore. "

"Why, so young, so connected as you are--" Caroline stopped short, andmade a wrong move. 

"I wish we were going to Paris together, we should enjoy it so;" andLord Doltimore's knight checked the tower and queen. 

Caroline coughed, and stretched her hand quickly to move. 

"Pardon me, you will lose the game if you do so!" and Doltimore placedhis hand on hers, their eyes met, Caroline turned away, and LordDoltimore settled his right collar. 

"And is it true? are you really going to leave us?" said Evelyn, and shefelt very sad. But still the sadness might not be that of love, --she hadfelt sad after Legard had gone. 

"I do not think I shall long stay away, " said Maltravers, trying tospeak indifferently. "Burleigh has become more dear to me than it was inearlier youth; perhaps because I have made myself duties there: and inother places I am but an isolated and useless unit in the great mass. "

"You! everywhere, you must have occupations and resources, --everywhere, you must find yourself not alone. But you will not go yet?"

"Not yet--no. [Evelyn's spirits rose. ] Have you read the book I sentyou?" (It was one of De Stael's. )

"Yes; but it disappoints me. "

"And why? It is eloquent. "

"But is it true? Is there so much melancholy in life? Are the affectionsso full of bitterness? For me, I am so happy when with those I love!When I am with my mother, the air seems more fragrant, the skies moreblue: it is surely not affection, but the absence of it, that makes usmelancholy. "

"Perhaps so; but if we had never known affection, we might not miss it:and the brilliant Frenchwoman speaks from memory, while you speakfrom hope, --memory, which is the ghost of joy: yet surely, even inthe indulgence of affection, there is at times a certain melancholy, acertain fear. Have you never felt it, even with--with your mother?"

"Ah, yes! when she suffered, or when I have thought she loved me lessthan I desired. "

"That must have been an idle and vain thought. Your mother! does sheresemble you?"

"I wish I could think so. Oh, if you knew her! I have longed so oftenthat you were acquainted with each other! It was she who taught me tosing your songs. "

"My dear Mrs. Hare, we may as well throw up our cards, " said the keenclear voice of Lord Vargrave: "you have played most admirably, and Iknow that your last card will be the ace of trumps; still the luck isagainst us. "

"No, no; pray play it out, my lord. "

"Quite useless, ma'am, " said Sir John, showing two honours. "We haveonly the trick to make. "

"Quite useless, " echoed Lumley, tossing down his sovereigns, and risingwith a careless yawn. 

"How d'ye do, Maltravers?"

Maltravers rose; and Vargrave turned to Evelyn, and addressed her ina whisper. The proud Maltravers walked away, and suppressed a sigh; amoment more, and he saw Lord Vargrave occupying the chair he had leftvacant. He laid his hand on Cleveland's shoulder. 

"The carriage is waiting, --are you ready?"

CHAPTER X. 

 OBSCURIS vera involvens. *--VIRGIL. 

 * "Wrapping truth in obscurity. "

A DAY or two after the date of the last chapter, Evelyn and Carolinewere riding out with Lord Vargrave and Mr. Merton, and on returning homethey passed through the village of Burleigh. 

"Maltravers, I suppose, has an eye to the county one of these days, "said Lord Vargrave, who honestly fancied that a man's eyes werealways directed towards something for his own interest or advancement;"otherwise he could not surely take all this trouble about workhousesand paupers. Who could ever have imagined my romantic friend would sinkinto a country squire?"

"It is astonishing what talent and energy he throws into everything heattempts, " said the parson. "One could not, indeed, have supposed that aman of genius could make a man of business. "

"Flattering to your humble servant--whom all the world allow to bethe last, and deny to be the first. But your remark shows what a sadpossession genius is: like the rest of the world, you fancy that itcannot be of the least possible use. If a man is called a genius, itmeans that he is to be thrust out of all the good things in this life. He is not fit for anything but a garret! Put a _genius_ into office!make a _genius_ a bishop! or a lord chancellor!--the world would beturned topsy-turvy! You see that you are quite astonished that a geniuscan be even a county magistrate, and know the difference between a spadeand a poker! In fact, a genius is supposed to be the most ignorant, impracticable, good-for-nothing, do-nothing sort of thing that everwalked upon two legs. Well, when I began life I took excellent care thatnobody should take _me_ for a genius; and it is only within the lastyear or two that I ventured to emerge a little out of my shell. I havenot been the better for it; I was getting on faster while I was merelya plodder. The world is so fond of that droll fable, the hare and thetortoise, --it really believes because (I suppose the fable to be true!)a tortoise _once_ beat a hare that all tortoises are much better runnersthan hares possibly can be. Mediocre men have the monopoly of the loavesand fishes; and even when talent does rise in life, it is a talent whichonly differs from mediocrity by being more energetic and bustling. "

"You are bitter, Lord Vargrave, " said Caroline, laughing; "yet surelyyou have had no reason to complain of the non-appreciation of talent?"

"Humph! if I had had a grain more talent I should have been crushed byit. There is a subtle allegory in the story of the lean poet, whoput _lead_ in his pocket to prevent being blown away! 'Mais a nosmoutons, '--to return to Maltravers. Let us suppose that he was merelyclever, had not had a particle of what is called genius, been merely ahardworking able gentleman, of good character and fortune, he might behalf-way up the hill by this time; whereas now, what is he? Less beforethe public than he was at twenty-eight, --a discontented anchorite, ameditative idler. "

"No, not that, " said Evelyn, warmly, and then checked herself. 

Lord Vargrave looked at her sharply; but his knowledge of life told himthat Legard was a much more dangerous rival than Maltravers. Now andthen, it is true, a suspicion to the contrary crossed him; but it didnot take root and become a serious apprehension. Still, he did not quitelike the tone of voice in which Evelyn had put her abrupt negative, andsaid, with a slight sneer, --

"If not that, what is he?"

"One who purchased by the noblest exertions the right to be idle, " saidEvelyn with spirit; "and whom genius itself will not suffer to be idlelong. "

"Besides, " said Mr. Merton, "he has won a high reputation, which hecannot lose merely by not seeking to increase it. "

"Reputation! Oh, yes! we give men like that--men of genius--a largeproperty in the clouds, in order to justify ourselves in pushing themout of our way below. But if they are contented with fame, why, theydeserve their fate. Hang fame, --give me power. "

"And is there no power in genius?" said Evelyn, with deepening fervour;"no power over the mind, and the heart, and the thought; no power overits own time, over posterity, over nations yet uncivilized, races yetunborn?"

This burst from one so simple and young as Evelyn seemed to Vargrave sosurprising that he stared on her without saying a word. 

"You will laugh at my championship, " she added, with a blush and asmile; "but you provoked the encounter. "

"And you have won the battle, " said Vargrave, with prompt gallantry. "Mycharming ward, every day develops in you some new gift of nature!"

Caroline, with a movement of impatience, put her horse into a canter. 

Just at this time, from a cross-road, emerged a horseman, --it wasMaltravers. The party halted, salutations were exchanged. 

"I suppose you have been enjoying the sweet business of squiredom, "said Vargrave, gayly: "Atticus and his farm, --classical associations!Charming weather for the agriculturists, eh! What news about corn andbarley? I suppose our English habit of talking on the weather arose whenwe were all a squirearchal farming, George-the-Third kind of people!Weather is really a serious matter to gentlemen who are interestedin beans and vetches, wheat and hay. You hang your happiness upon thechanges of the moon!"

"As you upon the smiles of a minister. The weather of a court is morecapricious than that of the skies, --at least we are better husbandmenthan you who sow the wind and reap the whirlwind. "

"Well retorted: and really, when I look round, I am half inclined toenvy you. Were I not Vargrave, I would be Maltravers. "

It was, indeed, a scene that seemed quiet and serene, with the Englishunion of the feudal and the pastoral life, --the village-green, with itstrim scattered cottages; the fields and pastures that spread beyond; theturf of the park behind, broken by the shadows of the unequal grounds, with its mounds and hollows and venerable groves, from which rose theturrets of the old Hall, its mullion windows gleaming in the westernsun; a scene that preached tranquillity and content, and might have beenequally grateful to humble philosophy and hereditary pride. 

"I never saw any place so peculiar in its character as Burleigh, " saidthe rector; "the old seats left to us in England are chiefly those ofour great nobles. It is so rare to see one that does not aspire beyondthe residence of a private gentleman preserve all the relics of theTudor age. "

"I think, " said Vargrave, turning to Evelyn, "that as by my uncle's willyour fortune is to be laid out in the purchase of land, we could notfind a better investment than Burleigh. So, whenever you are inclinedto sell, Maltravers, I think we must outbid Doltimore. What say you, myfair ward?"

"Leave Burleigh in peace, I beseech you!" said Maltravers, angrily. 

"That is said like a Digby, " returned Vargrave. "_Allons_!--will you notcome home with us?"

"I thank you, --not to-day. "

"We meet at Lord Raby's next Thursday. It is a ball given almost whollyin honour of your return to Burleigh; we are all going, --it is myyoung cousin's _debut_ at Knaresdean. We have all an interest in herconquests. "

Now, as Maltravers looked up to answer, he caught Evelyn's glance, andhis voice faltered. 

"Yes, " he said, "we shall meet--once again. Adieu!" He wheeled round hishorse, and they separated. 

"I can bear this no more, " said Maltravers to himself; "I overrated mystrength. To see her thus, day after day, and to know her another's, to writhe beneath his calm, unconscious assertion of his rights! HappyVargrave!--and yet, ah! will _she_ be happy? Oh, could I think so!"

Thus soliloquizing, he suffered the rein to fall on the neck of hishorse, which paced slowly home through the village, till it stopped--asif in the mechanism of custom--at the door of a cottage a stone's throwfrom the lodge. At this door, indeed, for several successive days, hadMaltravers stopped regularly; it was now tenanted by the poor woman hisintroduction to whom has been before narrated. She had recoveredfrom the immediate effects of the injury she had sustained; but herconstitution, greatly broken by previous suffering and exhaustion, hadreceived a mortal shock. She was hurt inwardly; and the surgeon informedMaltravers that she had not many months to live. He had placed her underthe roof of one of his favourite cottagers, where she received all theassistance and alleviation that careful nursing and medical advice couldgive her. 

This poor woman, whose name was Sarah Elton, interested Maltraversmuch. She had known better days: there was a certain propriety in herexpressions which denoted an education superior to her circumstances;and what touched Maltravers most, she seemed far more to feel herhusband's death than her own sufferings, --which, somehow or other, isnot common with widows the other side of forty! We say that youth easilyconsoles itself for the robberies of the grave, --middle age is a stillbetter self-comforter. When Mrs. Elton found herself installed in thecottage, she looked round, and burst into tears. 

"And William is not here!" she said. "Friends--friends! if we had hadbut one such friend before he died!"

Maltravers was pleased that her first thought was rather that of sorrowfor the dead than of gratitude for the living. Yet Mrs. Elton wasgrateful, --simply, honestly, deeply grateful; her manner, her voice, betokened it. And she seemed so glad when her benefactor called to speakkindly and inquire cordially, that Maltravers did so constantly; atfirst from a compassionate and at last from a selfish motive--for who isnot pleased to give pleasure? And Maltravers had so few in the world tocare for him, that perhaps he was flattered by the grateful respect ofthis humble stranger. 

When his horse stopped, the cottager's daughter opened the door andcourtesied, --it was an invitation to enter; and he threw his rein overthe paling and walked into the cottage. 

Mrs. Elton, who had been seated by the open casement, rose to receivehim. But Maltravers made her sit down, and soon put her at her ease. Thewoman and her daughter who occupied the cottage retired into the garden, and Mrs. Elton, watching them withdraw, then exclaimed abruptly, --

"Oh, sir, I have so longed to see you this morning! I so long to makebold to ask you whether, indeed, I dreamed it--or did I, when you firsttook me to your house--did I see--" She stopped abruptly; and though shestrove to suppress her emotion, it was too strong for her efforts, --shesank back on her chair, pale as death, and almost gasped for breath. 

Maltravers waited in surprise for her recovery. 

"I beg pardon, sir, --I was thinking of days long past; and--but I wishedto ask whether, when I lay in your hall, almost insensible, any onebesides yourself and your servants were present?---or was it"--added thewoman, with a shudder--"was it the dead?"

"I remember, " said Maltravers, much struck and interested in herquestion and manner, "that a lady was present. "

"It is so! it is so!" cried the woman, half rising and clasping herhands. "And she passed by this cottage a little time ago; her veil wasthrown aside as she turned that fair young face towards the cottage. Hername, sir, --oh, what is her name? It was the same--the same face thatshone across me in that hour of pain! I did not dream! I was not mad!"

"Compose yourself; you could never, I think, have seen that lady before. Her name is Cameron. "

"Cameron--Cameron!" The woman shook her head mournfully. "No; that nameis strange to me. And her mother, sir, --she is dead?"

"No; her mother lives. "

A shade came over the face of the sufferer; and she said, after apause, --

"My eyes deceive me then, sir; and, indeed, I feel that my head istouched, and I wander sometimes. But the likeness was so great; yet thatyoung lady is even lovelier!"

"Likenesses are very deceitful and very capricious, and depend more onfancy than reality. One person discovers a likeness between faces mostdissimilar, --a likeness invisible to others. But who does Miss Cameronresemble?"

"One now dead, sir; dead many years ago. But it is a long story, and onethat lies heavy on my conscience. Some day or other, if you will give meleave, sir, I will unburden myself to you. "

"If I can assist you in anyway, command me. Meanwhile, have you nofriends, no relations, no children, whom you would wish to see?"

"Children!--no, sir; I never had but one child of _my own_ (she laid anemphasis on the last words), and that died in a foreign land. "

"And no other relatives?"

"None, sir. My history is very short and simple. I was well broughtup, --an only child. My father was a small farmer; he died when I wassixteen, and I went into service with a kind old lady and her daughter, who treated me more as a companion than a servant. I was a vain, giddygirl, then, sir. A young man, the son of a neighbouring farmer, courtedme, and I was much attached to him; but neither of us had money, and hisparents would not give their consent to our marrying. I was silly enoughto think that, if William loved me, he should have braved all; and hisprudence mortified me, so I married another whom I did not love. I wasrightly punished, for he ill-used me and took to drinking; I returned tomy old service to escape from him--for I was with child, and my life wasin danger from his violence. He died suddenly, and in debt. And then, afterwards, a gentleman--a rich gentleman--to whom I rendered a service(do not misunderstand me, sir, if I say the service was one of which Irepent), gave me money, and made me rich enough to marry my first lover;and William and I went to America. We lived many years in New York uponour little fortune comfortably; and I was a long while happy, for I hadalways loved William dearly. My first affliction was the death of mychild by my first husband; but I was soon roused from my grief. Williamschemed and speculated, as everybody does in America, and so we lostall; and William was weakly and could not work. At length he got theplace of steward on board a vessel from New York to Liverpool, and I wastaken to assist in the cabin. We wanted to come to London; I thought myold benefactor might do something for us, though he had never answeredthe letters I sent to him. But poor William fell ill on board, and diedin sight of land. "

Mrs. Elton wept bitterly, but with the subdued grief of one to whomtears have been familiar; and when she recovered, she soon broughther humble tale to an end. She herself, incapacitated from all work bysorrow and a breaking constitution, was left in the streets of Liverpoolwithout other means of subsistence than the charitable contributions ofthe passengers and sailors on board the vessel. With this sum she hadgone to London, where she found her old patron had been long since dead, and she had no claims on his family. She had, on quitting England, leftone relation settled in a town in the North; thither she now repaired, to find her last hope wrecked; the relation also was dead and gone. Her money was now spent, and she had begged her way along the road, orthrough the lanes, she scarce knew whither, till the accident which, inshortening her life, had raised up a friend for its close. 

"And such, sir, " said she in conclusion, "such has been the story ofmy life, except one part of it, which, if I get stronger, I can tellbetter; but you will excuse that now. "

"And are you comfortable and contented, my poor friend? These people arekind to you?"

"Oh, so kind! And every night we all pray for you, sir; you ought to behappy, if the blessings of the poor can avail the rich. "

Maltravers remounted his horse, and sought his home; and his heart waslighter than before he entered that cottage. But at evening Clevelandtalked of Vargrave and Evelyn, and the good fortune of the one, and thecharms of the other; and the wound, so well concealed, bled afresh. 

"I heard from De Montaigne the other day, " said Ernest, just as theywere retiring for the night, "and his letter decides my movements. Ifyou will accept me, then, as a travelling companion, I will go with youto Paris. Have you made up your mind to leave Burleigh on Saturday?"

"Yes; that gives us a day to recover from Lord Raby's ball. I am sodelighted at your offer! We need only stay a day or so in town. Theexcursion will do you good, ---your spirits, my dear Ernest, seem moredejected than when you first returned to England: you live too muchalone here; you will enjoy Burleigh more on your return. And perhapsthen you will open the old house a little more to the neighbourhood, andto your friends. They expect it: you are looked to for the county. "

"I have done with politics, and sicken but for peace. "

"Pick up a wife in Paris, and you will then know that peace is animpossible possession, " said the old bachelor, laughing. 

BOOK V. 

 "FOOLS blind to truth; nor know their erring soul How much the half is better than the whole. " --HESIOD: _Op. Et Dies_, 40. 

CHAPTER I. 

 Do as the Heavens have done; forget your evil; With them, forgive yourself. --_The Winter's Tale_. 

. .. The sweet'st companion that e'er man Bred his hopes out of. --_Ibid. _

THE curate of Brook-Green was sitting outside his door. The vicaragewhich he inhabited was a straggling, irregular, but picturesquebuilding, --humble enough to suit the means of the curate, yet largeenough to accommodate the vicar. It had been built in an age when the_indigentes et pauperes_ for whom universities were founded supplied, more than they do now, the fountains of the Christian ministry, whenpastor and flock were more on an equality. 

From under a rude and arched porch, with an oaken settle on either sidefor the poor visitor, the door opened at once upon the old-fashionedparlour, --a homely but pleasant room, with one wide but low cottagecasement, beneath which stood the dark shining table that supportedthe large Bible in its green baize cover; the Concordance, and the lastSunday's sermon, in its jetty case. There by the fireplace stood thebachelor's round elbow-chair, with a needlework cushion at the back;a walnut-tree bureau, another table or two, half a dozen plain chairs, constituted the rest of the furniture, saving some two or three hundredvolumes, ranged in neat shelves on the clean wainscoted walls. Therewas another room, to which you ascended by two steps, communicating withthis parlour, smaller but finer, and inhabited only on festive days, when Lady Vargrave, or some other quiet neighbour, came to drink teawith the good curate. 

An old housekeeper and her grandson--a young fellow of about two andtwenty, who tended the garden, milked the cow, and did in fact what hewas wanted to do--composed the establishment of the humble minister. 

We have digressed from Mr. Aubrey himself. 

The curate was seated, then, one fine summer morning, on a bench atthe left of his porch, screened from the sun by the cool boughs of achestnut-tree, the shadow of which half covered the little lawn thatseparated the precincts of the house from those of silent Death andeverlasting Hope; above the irregular and moss-grown paling rosethe village church; and, through openings in the trees, beyond theburial-ground, partially gleamed the white walls of Lady Vargrave'scottage, and were seen at a distance the sails on the--

 "Mighty waters, rolling evermore. "

The old man was calmly enjoying the beauty of the morning, the freshnessof the air, the warmth of the dancing beam, and not least, perhaps, his own peaceful thoughts, --the spontaneous children of a contemplativespirit and a quiet conscience. His was the age when we most sensitivelyenjoy the mere sense of existence, --when the face of Nature and apassive conviction of the benevolence of our Great Father suffice tocreate a serene and ineffable happiness, which rarely visits us tillwe have done with the passions; till memories, if more alive thanheretofore, are yet mellowed in the hues of time, and Faith softensinto harmony all their asperities and harshness; till nothing within usremains to cast a shadow over the things without; and on the verge oflife, the Angels are nearer to us than of yore. There is an old agewhich has more youth of heart than youth itself!

As the old man thus sat, the little gate through which, on Sabbathdays, he was wont to pass from the humble mansion to the house of Godnoiselessly opened, and Lady Vargrave appeared. 

The curate rose when he perceived her; and the lady's fair features werelighted up with a gentle pleasure, as she pressed his hand and returnedhis salutation. 

There was a peculiarity in Lady Vargrave's countenance which I haverarely seen in others. Her smile, which was singularly expressive, came less from the lip than from the eyes; it was almost as if the browsmiled; it was as the sudden and momentary vanishing of a light butmelancholy cloud that usually rested upon the features, placid as theywere. 

They sat down on the rustic bench, and the sea-breeze wantoned amongstthe quivering leaves of the chestnut-tree that overhung their seat. 

"I have come, as usual, to consult my kind friend, " said Lady Vargrave;"and, as usual also, it is about our absent Evelyn. "

"Have you heard again from her, this morning?"

"Yes; and her letter increases the anxiety which your observation, somuch deeper than mine, first awakened. "

"Does she then write much of Lord Vargrave?"

"Not a great deal; but the little she does say, betrays how much sheshrinks from the union my poor husband desired: more, indeed, than ever!But this is not all, nor the worst; for you know that the late lordhad provided against that probability--he loved her so tenderly, hisambition for her only came from his affection; and the letter he leftbehind him pardons and releases her, if she revolts from the choice hehimself preferred. "

"Lord Vargrave is, perhaps, a generous, he certainly seems a candid, man, and he must be sensible that his uncle has already done all thatjustice required. "

"I think so. But this, as I said, is not all; I have brought the letterto show you. It seems to me as you apprehended. This Mr. Maltravers haswound himself about her thoughts more than she herself imagines; yousee how she dwells on all that concerns him, and how, after checkingherself, she returns again and again to the same subject. "

The curate put on his spectacles, and took the letter. It was a strangething, that old gray-haired minister evincing such grave interest in thesecrets of that young heart! But they who would take charge of the soulmust never be too wise to regard the heart!

Lady Vargrave looked over his shoulder as he bent down to read, and attimes placed her finger on such passages as she wished him to note. Theold curate nodded as she did so; but neither spoke till the letter wasconcluded. 

The curate then folded up the epistle, took off his spectacles, hemmed, and looked grave. 

"Well, " said Lady Vargrave, anxiously, "well?"

"My dear friend, the letter requires consideration. In the first place, it is clear to me that, in spite of Lord Vargrave's presence at therectory, his lordship so manages matters that the poor child is unableof herself to bring that matter to a conclusion. And, indeed, to a mindso sensitively delicate and honourable, it is no easy task. "

"Shall I write to Lord Vargrave?"

"Let us think of it. In the meanwhile, this Mr. Maltravers--"

"Ah, this Mr. Maltravers!"

"The child shows us more of her heart than she thinks of; and yet Imyself am puzzled. If you observe, she has only once or twice spoken ofthe Colonel Legard whom she has made acquaintance with; while she treatsat length of Mr. Maltravers, and confesses the effect he has producedon her mind. Yet, do you know, I more dread the caution respecting thefirst than all the candour that betrays the influence of the last? Thereis a great difference between first fancy and first love. "

"Is there?" said the lady, abstractedly. 

"Again, neither of us is acquainted with this singular man, --I meanMaltravers; his character, temper, and principles, of all of whichEvelyn is too young, too guileless, to judge for herself. One thing, however, in her letter speaks in his favour. "

"What is that?"

"He absents himself from her. This, if he has discovered her secret, orif he himself is sensible of too great a charm in her presence, would bethe natural course that an honourable and a strong mind would pursue. "

"What!--if he love her?"

"Yes; while he believes her hand is engaged to another. "

"True! What shall be done--if Evelyn should love, and love in vain? Ah, it is the misery of a whole existence!"

"Perhaps she had better return to us, " said Mr. Aubrey; "and yet, ifalready it be too late, and her affections are engaged, we should stillremain in ignorance respecting the motives and mind of the object of herattachment; and he, too, might not know the true nature of the obstacleconnected with Lord Vargrave's claims. "

"Shall I, then, go to her? You know how I shrink from strangers; how Ifear curiosity, doubts, and questions; how [and Lady Vargrave's voicefaltered]--how unfitted I am for--for--" she stopped short, and a faintblush overspread her cheeks. 

The curate understood her, and was moved. 

"Dear friend, " said he, "will you intrust this charge to myself? Youknow how Evelyn is endeared to me by certain recollections! Perhaps, better than you, I may be enabled silently to examine if this man beworthy of her, and one who could secure her happiness; perhaps, betterthan you I may ascertain the exact nature of her own feelings towardshim; perhaps, too, better than you I may effect an understanding withLord Vargrave. "

"You are always my kindest friend, " said the lady, with emotion; "howmuch I already owe you! what hopes beyond the grave! what--"

"Hush!" interrupted the curate, gently; "your own good heart and pureintentions have worked out your own atonement--may I hope also yourown content? Let us return to our Evelyn. Poor child! how unlike thisdespondent letter to her gay light spirits when with us! We acted forthe best; yet perhaps we did wrong to yield her up to strangers. Andthis Maltravers--with her enthusiasm and quick susceptibilities togenius, she was half prepared to imagine him all she depicts him to be. He must have a spell in his works that I have not discovered, for attimes it seems to operate even on you. "

"Because, " said Lady Vargrave, "they remind me of _his_ conversation, _his_ habits of thought. If like _him_ in other things, Evelyn mayindeed be happy!"

"And if, " said the curate, curiously, --"if now that you are free, youwere ever to meet with him again, and his memory had been as faithful asyours; and if he offered the sole atonement in his power, for allthat his early error cost you; if such a chance should happen in thevicissitudes of life, you would--"

The curate stopped short; for he was struck by the exceeding paleness ofhis friend's cheek, and the tremor of her delicate frame. 

"If that were to happen, " said she, in a very low voice; "if we were tomeet again, and if he were--as you and Mrs. Leslie seem to think--poor, and, like myself, humbly born, if my fortune could assist him, if mylove could still--changed, altered as I am--ah! do not talk of it--Icannot bear the thought of happiness! And yet, if before I die I _could_but see him again!" She clasped her hands fervently as she spoke, andthe blush that overspread her face threw over it so much of bloom andfreshness, that even Evelyn, at that moment, would scarcely have seemedmore young. "Enough!" she added, after a little while, as the glow diedaway. "It is but a foolish hope; all earthly love is buried; and myheart is there!"--she pointed to the heavens, and both were silent. 

CHAPTER II. 

 QUIBUS otio vel magnifice, vel molliter, vivere copia era incerta pro certis malebant. *--SALLUST. 

 * "They who had the means to live at ease, either in splendour or in luxury, preferred the uncertainty of change to their natural security. "

LORD RABY--one of the wealthiest and most splendid noblemen inEngland--was prouder, perhaps, of his provincial distinctions thanthe eminence of his rank or the fashion of his wife. The magnificentchateaux, the immense estates, of our English peers tend to preserveto us in spite of the freedom, bustle, and commercial grandeur of ourpeople more of the Norman attributes of aristocracy than can be found inother countries. In his county, the great noble is a petty prince; hishouse is a court; his possessions and munificence are a boast to everyproprietor in his district. They are as fond of talking of _the_ earl'sor _the_ duke's movements and entertainments, as Dangeau was of thegossip of the Tuileries and Versailles. 

Lord Raby, while affecting, as lieutenant of the county, to make nopolitical distinctions between squire and squire--hospitable and affableto all--still, by that very absence of exclusiveness, gave a tone to thepolitics of the whole county; and converted many who had once thoughtdifferently on the respective virtues of Whigs and Tories. A great mannever loses so much as when he exhibits intolerance, or parades theright of persecution. 

"My tenants shall vote exactly as they please, " said Lord Raby; andhe was never known to have a tenant vote against his wishes! Keeping avigilant eye on all the interests, and conciliating all the proprietors, in the county, he not only never lost a friend, but he kept together abody of partisans that constantly added to its numbers. 

Sir John Merton's colleague, a young Lord Nelthorpe, who could not speakthree sentences if you took away his hat, and who, constant at Almack's, was not only inaudible but invisible in parliament, had no chance ofbeing re-elected. Lord Nelthorpe's father, the Earl of Mainwaring, wasa new peer; and, next to Lord Raby, the richest nobleman in the county. Now, though they were much of the same politics, Lord Raby hated LordMainwaring. They were too near each other, --they clashed; they had thejealousy of rival princes!

Lord Raby was delighted at the notion of getting rid of LordNelthorpe, --it would be so sensible a blow to the Mainwaring interest. The party had been looking out for a new candidate, and Maltravers hadbeen much talked of. It is true that, when in parliament some yearsbefore, the politics of Maltravers had differed from those of Lord Rabyand his set. But Maltravers had of late taken no share in politics, had uttered no political opinions, was intimate with the electioneeringMertons, was supposed to be a discontented man, --and politicians believein no discontent that is not political. Whispers were afloat thatMaltravers had grown wise, and changed his views: some remarks of his, more theoretical than practical, were quoted in favour of this notion. Parties, too, had much changed since Maltravers had appeared on the busyscene, --new questions had arisen, and the old ones had died off. 

Lord Raby and his party thought that, if Maltravers could be secured tothem, no one would better suit their purpose. Political faction lovesconverts better even than consistent adherents. A man's rise in lifegenerally dates from a well-timed _rat_. His high reputation, hisprovincial rank as the representative of the oldest commoner's familyin the county, his age, which combined the energy of one period withthe experience of another, --all united to accord Maltravers a preferenceover richer men. Lord Raby had been pointedly courteous and flatteringto the master of Burleigh; and he now contrived it so, that thebrilliant entertainment he was about to give might appear in complimentto a distinguished neighbour, returned to fix his residence on hispatrimonial property, while in reality it might serve an electioneeringpurpose, --serve to introduce Maltravers to the county, as if under hislordship's own wing, and minister to political uses that went beyond themere representation of the county. 

Lord Vargrave had, during his stay at Merton Rectory, paid severalvisits to Knaresdean, and held many private conversations with themarquess: the result of these conversations was a close union of schemesand interests between the two noblemen. Dissatisfied with the politicalconduct of government, Lord Raby was also dissatisfied that, fromvarious party reasons, a nobleman beneath himself in rank, and as hethought in influence, had obtained a preference in a recent vacancyamong the Knights of the Garter. And if Vargrave had a talent in theworld it was in discovering the weak points of men whom he sought togain, and making the vanities of others conduce to his own ambition. 

The festivities of Knaresdean gave occasion to Lord Raby to unite at hishouse the more prominent of those who thought and acted in concertwith Lord Vargrave; and in this secret senate the operations for thefollowing session were to be seriously discussed and gravely determined. 

On the day which was to be concluded with the ball at Knaresdean, LordVargrave went before the rest of the Merton party, for he was engaged todine with the marquess. 

On arriving at Knaresdean, Lumley found Lord Saxingham and some otherpoliticians, who had arrived the preceding day, closeted with Lord Raby;and Vargrave, who shone to yet greater advantage in the diplomacy ofparty management than in the arena of parliament, brought penetration, energy, and decision to timid and fluctuating counsels. Lord Vargravelingered in the room after the first bell had summoned the other gueststo depart. 

"My dear lord, " said he then, "though no one would be more glad thanmyself to secure Maltravers to our side, I very much doubt whetheryou will succeed in doing so. On the one hand, he appears altogetherdisgusted with politics and parliament; and on the other hand, I fancythat reports of his change of opinions are, if not wholly unfounded, very unduly coloured. Moreover, to do him justice, I think that he isnot one to be blinded and flattered into the pale of a party; and yourbird will fly away after you have wasted a bucketful of salt on histail. "

"Very possibly, " said Lord Raby, laughing, --"you know him better than Ido. But there are many purposes to serve in this matter, --purposes tooprovincial to interest you. In the first place, we shall humble theNelthorpe interest, merely by showing that we _do_ think of a newmember; secondly, we shall get up a manifestation of feeling that wouldbe impossible, unless we were provided with a centre of attraction;thirdly, we shall rouse a certain emulation among other countygentlemen, and if Maltravers decline, we shall have many applicants; andfourthly, suppose Maltravers has not changed his opinions, we shall makehim suspected by the party he really does belong to, and which wouldbe somewhat formidable if he were to head them. In fact, these are merecounty tactics that you can't be expected to understand. "

"I see you are quite right: meanwhile you will at least have anopportunity (though I say it, who should not say it) to present to thecounty one of the prettiest young ladies that ever graced the halls ofKnaresdean. "

"Ah, Miss Cameron! I have heard much of her beauty: you are a luckyfellow, Vargrave! By the by, are we to say anything of the engagement?"

"Why, indeed, my dear lord, it is now so publicly known, that it wouldbe false delicacy to affect concealment. "

"Very well; I understand. "

"How long I have detained you--a thousand pardons!--I have but just timeto dress. In four or five months I must remember to leave you a longertime for your toilet. "

"Me--how?"

"Oh, the Duke of ----- can't live long; and I always observe that whena handsome man has the Garter, he takes a long time pulling up hisstockings. "

"Ha, ha! you are so droll, Vargrave. "

"Ha, ha! I must be off. "

"The more publicity is given to this arrangement, the more difficult forEvelyn to shy at the leap, " muttered Vargrave to himself as he closedthe door. "Thus do I make all things useful to myself!"

The dinner party were assembled in the great drawing-room, whenMaltravers and Cleveland, also invited guests to the banquet, wereannounced. Lord Raby received the former with marked _empressement_;and the stately marchioness honoured him with her most gracious smile. Formal presentations to the rest of the guests were interchanged; andit was not till the circle was fully gone through that Maltraversperceived, seated by himself in a corner, to which he had shrunk onthe entrance of Maltravers, a gray-haired solitary man, --it was LordSaxingham! The last time they had met was in the death-chamber ofFlorence; and the old man forgot for the moment the anticipated dukedom, and the dreamed-of premiership, and his heart flew back to the grave ofhis only child! They saluted each other, and shook hands in silence. AndVargrave--whose eye was on them--Vargrave, whose arts had made that oldman childless, felt not a pang of remorse! Living ever in the future, Vargrave almost seemed to have lost his memory. He knew not what regretwas. It is a condition of life with men thoroughly worldly that theynever look behind!

The signal was given: in due order the party were marshalled into thegreat hall, --a spacious and lofty chamber, which had received its lastalteration from the hand of Inigo Jones; though the massive ceiling, with its antique and grotesque masques, betrayed a much earlier date, and contrasted with the Corinthian pilasters that adorned the walls, and supported the music-gallery, from which waved the flags of modernwarfare and its mimicries, --the eagle of Napoleon, a token of theservices of Lord Raby's brother (a distinguished cavalry officer incommand at Waterloo), in juxtaposition with a much gayer and moreglittering banner, emblematic of the martial fame of Lord Raby himself, as Colonel of the B-----shire volunteers!

The music pealed from the gallery, the plate glittered on the board; theladies wore diamonds, and the gentlemen who had them wore stars. It wasa very fine sight, that banquet!--such as became the festive day of alord-lieutenant whose ancestors had now defied, and now intermarried, with royalty. But there was very little talk, and no merriment. Peopleat the top of the table drank wine with those at the bottom; andgentlemen and ladies seated next to each other whispered languidly inmonosyllabic commune. On one side, Maltravers was flanked by a LadySomebody Something, who was rather deaf, and very much frightened forfear he should talk Greek; on the other side he was relieved by Sir JohnMerton, --very civil, very pompous, and talking, at strictured intervals, about county matters, in a measured intonation, savouring of theHouse-of-Commons jerk at the end of the sentence. 

As the dinner advanced to its close, Sir John became a little morediffuse, though his voice sank into a whisper. 

"I fear there will be a split in the Cabinet before parliament meets. "

"Indeed!"

"Yes; Vargrave and the premier cannot pull together very long. Cleverman, Vargrave! but he has not enough stake in the country for a leader!"

"All men have public character to stake; and if that be good, I supposeno stake can be better?"

"Humph!--yes--very true; but still, when a man has land and money, hisopinions, in a country like this, very properly carry more weight withthem. If Vargrave, for instance, had Lord Raby's property, no man couldbe more fit for a leader, --a prime minister. We might then be sure thathe would have no selfish interest to further: he would not play trickswith his party--you understand?"

"Perfectly. "

"I am not a party man, as you may remember; indeed, you and I have votedalike on the same questions. Measures, not men, --that is my maxim; butstill I don't like to see men placed above their proper stations. "

"Maltravers, a glass of wine, " said Lord Vargrave across the table. "Will you join us, Sir John?"

Sir John bowed. 

"Certainly, " he resumed, "Vargrave is a pleasant man and a good speaker;but still they say he is far from rich, --embarrassed, indeed. However, when he marries Miss Cameron it may make a great difference, --givehim more respectability; do you know what her fortune is--somethingimmense?"

"Yes, I believe so; I don't know. "

"My brother says that Vargrave is most amiable. The young lady is veryhandsome, almost too handsome for a wife--don't you think so? Beautiesare all very well in a ballroom; but they are not calculated fordomestic life. I am sure you agree with me. I have heard, indeed, that Miss Cameron is rather learned; but there is so much scandal in acountry neighbourhood, --people are so ill-natured. I dare say she is notmore learned than other young ladies, poor girl! What do you think?"

"Miss Cameron is--is very accomplished, I believe. And so you think theGovernment cannot stand?"

"I don't say that, --very far from it; but I fear there must be a change. However, if the country gentlemen hold together, I do not doubt but whatwe shall weather the storm. The landed interest, Mr. Maltravers, is thegreat stay of this country, --the sheet-anchor, I may say. I suppose LordVargrave, who seems, I must say, to have right notions on this head, will invest Miss Cameron's fortune in land. But though one may buy anestate, one can't buy an old family, Mr. Maltravers!--you and I maybe thankful for that. By the way, who was Miss Cameron's mother, LadyVargrave?--something low, I fear; nobody knows. "

"I am not acquainted with Lady Vargrave; your sister-in-law speaks ofher most highly. And the daughter in herself is a sufficient guaranteefor the virtues of the mother. "

"Yes; and Vargrave on one side, at least, has himself nothing in the wayof family to boast of. "

The ladies left the hall, the gentlemen re-seated themselves. Lord Rabymade some remark on politics to Sir John Merton, and the whole round oftalkers immediately followed their leader. 

"It is a thousand pities, Sir John, " said Lord Raby, "that you have nota colleague more worthy of you; Nelthorpe never attends a committee, does he?"

"I cannot say that he is a very active member; but he is young, and wemust make allowances for him, " said Sir John, discreetly; for he hadno desire to oust his colleague, --it was agreeable enough to be _the_efficient member. 

"In these times, " said Lord Raby, loftily, "allowances are not to bemade for systematic neglect of duty; we shall have a stormy session;the Opposition is no longer to be despised; perhaps a dissolution maybe nearer at hand than we think for. As for Nelthorpe, he cannot come inagain. "

"That I am quite sure of, " said a fat country gentleman of great weightin the county; "he not only was absent on the great Malt question, buthe never answered my letter respecting the Canal Company. "

"Not answered your letter!" said Lord Raby, lifting up his hands andeyes in amaze and horror. "What conduct! Ah, Mr. Maltravers, you are theman for us!"

"Hear! hear!" cried the fat squire. 

"Hear!" echoed Vargrave; and the approving sound went round the table. 

Lord Raby rose. "Gentlemen, fill your glasses; a health to ourdistinguished neighbour!"

The company applauded; each in his turn smiled, nodded, and drank toMaltravers, who, though taken by surprise, saw at once the course topursue. He returned thanks simply and shortly; and without pointedlynoticing the allusion in which Lord Raby had indulged, remarked, incidentally, that he had retired, certainly for some years--perhapsforever--from political life. 

Vargrave smiled significantly at Lord Raby, and hastened to lead theconversation into party discussion. Wrapped in his proud disdain of whathe considered the contests of factions for toys and shadows, Maltraversremained silent; and the party soon broke up, and adjourned to theballroom. 

CHAPTER III. 

 LE plus grand defaut de la penetration n'est pas de n'aller point jusqu'au but, --c'est de la passer. *--LA ROCHEFOUCAULD. 

 * "The greatest defect of penetration is not that of not going just up to the point, --'tis the passing it. "

EVELYN had looked forward to the ball at Knaresdean with feelings deeperthan those which usually inflame the fancy of a girl proud of her dressand confident of her beauty. Whether or not she _loved_ Maltravers, in the true acceptation of the word "love, " it is certain that he hadacquired a most powerful command over her mind and imagination. She feltthe warmest interest in his welfare, the most anxious desire for hisesteem, the deepest regret at the thought of their estrangement. AtKnaresdean she should meet Maltravers, --in crowds, it is true; but stillshe should meet him; she should see him towering superior above theherd; she should hear him praised; she should mark him, the observedof all. But there was another and a deeper source of joy within her. A letter had been that morning received from Aubrey, in which he hadannounced his arrival for the next day. The letter, though affectionate, was short. Evelyn had been some months absent, --Lady Vargrave wasanxious to make arrangements for her return; but it was to be at heroption whether she would accompany the curate home. Now, besides herdelight at seeing once more the dear old man, and hearing from his lipsthat her mother was well and happy, Evelyn hailed in his arrival themeans of extricating herself from her position with Lord Vargrave. Shewould confide in him her increased repugnance to that union, he wouldconfer with Lord Vargrave; and then--and then--did there come once morethe thought of Maltravers? No! I fear it was not Maltravers who calledforth that smile and that sigh! Strange girl, you know not your ownmind!--but few of us, at your age, do. 

In all the gayety of hope, in the pride of dress and half-consciousloveliness, Evelyn went with a light step into Caroline's room. Miss Merton had already dismissed her woman, and was seated by herwriting-table, leaning her cheek thoughtfully on her hand. 

"Is it time to go?" said she, looking up. "Well, we shall put Papa, andthe coachman, and the horses, too, in excellent humour. How well youlook! Really, Evelyn, you are indeed beautiful!" and Caroline gazed withhonest but not unenvious admiration at the fairy form so rounded and yetso delicate, and the face that seemed to blush at its own charms. 

"I am sure I can return the flattery, " said Evelyn, laughing bashfully. 

"Oh, as for me, I am well enough in my way: and hereafter, I dare say, we may be rival beauties. I hope we shall remain good friends, andrule the world with divided empire. Do you not long for the stir, andexcitement, and ambition of London?---for ambition is open to us as tomen!"

"No, indeed, " replied Evelyn, smiling; "I could be ambitious, indeed;but it would not be for myself, but for--"

"A husband, perhaps; well, you will have ample scope for such sympathy. Lord Vargrave--"

"Lord Vargrave again?" and Evelyn's smile vanished, and she turned away. 

"Ah, " said Caroline, "I should have made Vargrave an excellentwife--pity he does not think so! As it is, I must set up for myself andbecome a _maitresse femme_. So you think I look well to-night? I am gladof it--Lord Doltimore is one who will be guided by what other peoplesay. "

"You are not serious about Lord Doltimore?"

"Most sadly serious. "

"Impossible! you could not speak so if you loved him. "

"Loved him! no! but I intend to marry him. "

Evelyn was revolted, but still incredulous. 

"And you, too, will marry one whom you do not love--'tis our fate--"

"Never!"

"We shall see. "

Evelyn's heart was damped, and her spirits fell. 

"Tell me now, " said Caroline, pressing on the wrung withers, "do you notthink this excitement, partial and provincial though it be--the senseof beauty, the hope of conquest, the consciousness of power--better thanthe dull monotony of the Devonshire cottage? Be honest--"

"No, no, indeed!" answered Evelyn, tearfully and passionately; "one hourwith my mother, one smile from her lips, were worth it all. "

"And in your visions of marriage, you think then of nothing but rosesand doves, --love in a cottage!"

"Love _in a home_, no matter whether a palace or a cottage, " returnedEvelyn. 

"Home!" repeated Caroline, bitterly; "home, --home is the English synonymfor the French _ennui_. But I hear Papa on the stairs. "

A ballroom--what a scene of commonplace! how hackneyed in novels!how trite in ordinary life! and yet ballrooms have a character and asentiment of their own, for all tempers and all ages. Something in thelights, the crowd, the music, conduces to stir up many of the thoughtsthat belong to fancy and romance. It is a melancholy scene to men aftera certain age. It revives many of those lighter and more graceful imagesconnected with the wandering desires of youth, --shadows that crossed us, and seemed love, but were not; having much of the grace and charm, butnone of the passion and the tragedy, of love. So many of our earliestand gentlest recollections are connected with those chalked floors, andthat music painfully gay, and those quiet nooks and corners, where thetalk that hovers about the heart and does not touch it has been held. Apart and unsympathizing in that austerer wisdom which comes to us afterdeep passions have been excited, we see form after form chasing thebutterflies that dazzle us no longer among the flowers that haveevermore lost their fragrance. 

Somehow or other, it is one of the scenes that remind us most forciblyof the loss of youth! We are brought so closely in contact with theyoung and with the short-lived pleasures that once pleased us, and haveforfeited all bloom. Happy the man who turns from "the tinkling cymbal"and "the gallery of pictures, " and can think of some watchful eye andsome kind heart _at home_; but those who have no home--and they are anumerous tribe--never feel lonelier hermits or sadder moralists than insuch a crowd. 

Maltravers leaned abstractedly against the wall, and some suchreflections, perhaps, passed within, as the plumes waved and thediamonds glittered around him. Ever too proud to be vain, the _monstraridigito_ had not flattered even in the commencement of his career. Andnow he heeded not the eyes that sought his look, nor the admiring murmurof lips anxious to be overheard. Affluent, well-born, unmarried, andstill in the prime of life, --in the small circles of a province, ErnestMaltravers would in himself have been an object of interest to thediplomacy of mothers and daughters; and the false glare of reputationnecessarily deepened curiosity, and widened the range of speculators andobservers. 

Suddenly, however, a new object of attention excited new interest; newwhispers ran through the crowd, and these awakened Maltravers from hisrevery. He looked up, and beheld all eyes fixed upon one form! His owneyes encountered those of Evelyn Cameron!

It was the first time he had seen this beautiful young person in all the_eclat_, pomp, and circumstance of her station, as the heiress of theopulent Templeton, --the first time he had seen her the cynosure ofcrowds, who, had her features been homely, would have admired the charmsof her fortune in her face. And now, as radiant with youth, and theflush of excitement on her soft cheek, she met his eye, he said tohimself: "And could I have wished one so new to the world to haveunited her lot with a man for whom all that to her is delight has grownwearisome and stale? Could I have been justified in stealing her fromthe admiration that, at her age and to her sex, has so sweet a flattery?Or, on the other hand, could I have gone back to her years, andsympathized with feelings that time has taught me to despise? Better asit is. "

Influenced by these thoughts, the greeting of Maltravers disappointedand saddened Evelyn, she knew not why; it was constrained and grave. 

"Does not Miss Cameron look well?" whispered Mrs. Merton, on whose armthe heiress leaned. "You observe what a sensation she creates?"

Evelyn overheard, and blushed as she stole a glance at Maltravers. Therewas something mournful in the admiration which spoke in his deep earnesteyes. 

"Everywhere, " said he, calmly, and in the same tone, "everywhere MissCameron appears, she must outshine all others. " He turned to Evelyn, andsaid with a smile, "You must learn to inure yourself to admiration; ayear or two hence, and you will not blush at your own gifts!"

"And you, too, contribute to spoil me!--fie!"

"Are you so easily spoiled? If I meet you hereafter, you will think mycompliments cold to the common language of others. "

"You do not know me, --perhaps you never will. "

"I am contented with the fair pages I have already read. "

"Where is Lady Raby?" asked Mrs. Merton. "Oh, I see; Evelyn, my love, wemust present ourselves to our hostess. "

The ladies moved on; and when Maltravers next caught a glance of Evelyn, she was with Lady Raby, and Lord Vargrave also was by her side. 

The whispers round him had grown louder. 

"Very lovely indeed! so young, too! and she is really going tobe married to Lord Vargrave: so much older than she is, --quite asacrifice!"

"Scarcely so. He is so agreeable, and still handsome. But are you surethat the thing is settled?"

"Oh, yes. Lord Raby himself told me so. It will take place very soon. "

"But do you know who her mother was? I cannot make out. "

"Nothing particular. You know the late Lord Vargrave was a man of lowbirth. I believe she was a widow of his own rank; she lives quite inseclusion. "

"How d'ye do, Mr. Maltravers? So glad to see you, " said the quick, shrill voice of Mrs. Hare. "Beautiful ball! Nobody does things like LordRaby; don't you dance?"

"No, madam. "

"Oh, you young gentlemen are so _fine_ nowadays!" (Mrs. Hare, layingstress on the word _young_, thought she had paid a very elegantcompliment, and ran on with increased complacency. )

"You are going to let Burleigh, I hear, to Lord Doltimore, --is ittrue? No! really now, what stories people do tell. Elegant man, Lord Doltimore! Is it true, that Miss Caroline is going to marry hislordship? Great match! No scandal, I hope; you'll excuse _me_! Twoweddings on the _tapis_, --quite stirring for our stupid county. LadyVargrave and Lady Doltimore, two new peeresses. Which do you think isthe handsomer? Miss Merton is the taller, but there is something fiercein her eyes. Don't you think so? By the by, I wish you joy, --you'llexcuse _me_. "

"Wish me joy, madam?"

"Oh, you are so close. Mr. Hare says he shall support you. You willhave all the ladies with you. Well, I declare, Lord Vargrave is going todance. How old is he, do you think?"

Maltravers uttered an audible _pshaw_, and moved away; but his penancewas not over. Lord Vargrave, much as he disliked dancing, still thoughtit wise to ask the fair hand of Evelyn; and Evelyn, also, could notrefuse. 

And now, as the crowd gathered round the red ropes, Maltravers hadto undergo new exclamations at Evelyn's beauty and Vargrave's luck. Impatiently he turned from the spot, with that gnawing sickness of theheart which none but the jealous know. He longed to depart, yet dreadedto do so. It was the last time he should see Evelyn, perhaps for years;the last time he should see her as Miss Cameron!

He passed into another room, deserted by all save four oldgentlemen--Cleveland one of them--immersed in whist; and threw himselfupon an ottoman, placed in a recess by the oriel window. There, halfconcealed by the draperies, he communed and reasoned with himself. Hisheart was sad within him; he never felt before _how_ deeply and _how_passionately he loved Evelyn; how firmly that love had fastened upon thevery core of his heart! Strange, indeed, it was in a girl so young, ofwhom he had seen but little, --and that little in positions of such quietand ordinary interest, --to excite a passion so intense in a man whohad gone through strong emotions and stern trials! But all love isunaccountable. The solitude in which Maltravers had lived, the absenceof all other excitement, perhaps had contributed largely to fan theflame. And his affections had so long slept, and after long sleep thepassions wake with such giant strength! He felt now too well that thelast rose of life had bloomed for him; it was blighted in its birth, butit could never be replaced. Henceforth, indeed, he should be alone, thehopes of home were gone forever; and the other occupations of mind andsoul--literature, pleasure, ambition--were already forsworn at the veryage in which by most men they are most indulged!

O Youth! begin not thy career too soon, and let one passion succeedin its due order to another; so that every season of life may have itsappropriate pursuit and charm!

The hours waned; still Maltravers stirred not; nor were his meditationsdisturbed, except by occasional ejaculations from the four oldgentlemen, as between each deal they moralized over the caprices of thecards. 

At length, close beside him he heard that voice, the lightest soundof which could send the blood rushing through his veins; and from hisretreat he saw Caroline and Evelyn, seated close by. 

"I beg pardon, " said the former, in a low voice, --"I beg pardon, Evelyn, for calling you away; but I longed to tell you. The die is cast. LordDoltimore has proposed, and I have accepted him! Alas, alas! I half wishI could retract!"

"Dearest Caroline!" said the silver voice of Evelyn, "for Heaven'ssake, do not thus wantonly resolve on your own unhappiness! You wrongyourself, Caroline! you do, indeed! You are not the vain ambitiouscharacter you affect to be! Ah, what is it you require? Wealth? Are younot my friend; am I not rich enough for both? Rank? What can it give youto compensate for the misery of a union without love? Pray, forgiveme for speaking thus. Do not think me presumptuous, or romantic; but, indeed, indeed, I know from my own heart what yours must undergo!"

Caroline pressed her friend's hand with emotion. 

"You are a bad comforter, Evelyn. My mother, my father, will preach avery different doctrine. I am foolish, indeed, to be so sad in obtainingthe very object I have sought! Poor Doltimore! he little knows thenature, the feelings of her whom he thinks he has made the happiest ofher sex; he little knows--" Caroline paused, turned pale as death, andthen went rapidly on, "but you, Evelyn, _you_ will meet the same fate;we shall bear it together. "

"No! no! do not think so! Where I give my hand, there shall I give myheart. "

At this time Maltravers half rose, and sighed audibly. 

"Hush!" said Caroline, in alarm. At the same moment, the whist-tablebroke up, and Cleveland approached Maltravers. 

"I am at your service, " said he; "I know you will not stay the supper. You will find me in the next room; I am just going to speak to LordSaxingham. " The gallant old gentleman then paid a compliment to theyoung ladies, and walked away. 

"So you too are a deserter from the ballroom!" said Miss Merton toMaltravers as she rose. 

"I am not very well; but do not let me frighten you away. "

"Oh, no! I hear the music; it is the last quadrille before supper: andhere is my fortunate partner looking for me. "

"I have been everywhere in search of you, " said Lord Doltimore, in anaccent of tender reproach: "come, we are almost too late now. "

Caroline put her arm into Lord Doltimore's, who hurried her into theballroom. 

Miss Cameron looked irresolute whether or not to follow, when Maltraversseated himself beside her; and the paleness of his brow, and somethingthat bespoke pain in the compressed lip, went at once to her heart. Inher childlike tenderness, she would have given worlds for the sister'sprivilege of sympathy and soothing. The room was now deserted; they werealone. 

The words that he had overheard from Evelyn's lips, "Where I shall givemy hand, there shall I give my heart, " Maltravers interpreted but in onesense, --"she loved her betrothed;" and strange as it may seem, at thatthought, which put the last seal upon his fate, selfish anguish was lessfelt than deep compassion. So young, so courted, so tempted as shemust be--and with such a protector!--the cold, the unsympathizing, theheartless Vargrave! She, too, whose feelings, so warm, ever trembled onher lip and eye. Oh! when she awoke from her dream, and knew whom shehad loved, what might be her destiny, what her danger!

"Miss Cameron, " said Maltravers, "let me for one moment detain you; Iwill not trespass long. May I once, and for the last time, assume theaustere rights of friendship? I have seen much of life, Miss Cameron, and my experience has been purchased dearly; and harsh and hermit-likeas I may have grown, I have not outlived such feelings as you are wellformed to excite. Nay, "--and Maltravers smiled sadly--"I am not about tocompliment or flatter, I speak not to you as the young to the young; thedifference of our years, that takes away sweetness from flattery, leaves still sincerity to friendship. You have inspired me with a deepinterest, --deeper than I thought that living beauty could ever rousein me again! It may be that something in the tone of your voice, yourmanner, a nameless grace that I cannot define, reminds me of one whomI knew in youth, --one who had not your advantages of education, wealth, birth; but to whom Nature was more kind than Fortune. "

He paused a moment; and without looking towards Evelyn, thus renewed, --

"You are entering life under brilliant auspices. Ah, let me hope thatthe noonday will keep the promise of the dawn! You are susceptible, imaginative; do not demand too much, or dream too fondly. When you arewedded, do not imagine that wedded life is exempt from its trials andits cares; if you know yourself beloved--and beloved you must be--do notask from the busy and anxious spirit of man all which Romance promisesand Life but rarely yields. And oh!" continued Maltravers, with anabsorbing and earnest passion, that poured forth its language withalmost breathless rapidity, --"if ever your heart rebels, if ever it bedissatisfied, fly the false sentiment as a sin! Thrown, as from yourrank you must be, on a world of a thousand perils, with no guide soconstant and so safe as your own innocence, make not that world too deara friend. Were it possible that your own home ever could be lonely orunhappy, reflect that to woman the unhappiest home is happier than allexcitement abroad. You will have a thousand suitors hereafter: believethat the asp lurks under the flatterer's tongue, and resolve, come whatmay, to be contented with your lot. How many have I known, lovely andpure as you, who have suffered the very affections--the very beauty oftheir nature--to destroy them! Listen to me as a warner, as a brother, as a pilot who has passed the seas on which your vessel is about tolaunch. And ever, ever let me know, in whatever lands your name mayreach me, that one who has brought back to me all my faith in humanexcellence, while the idol of our sex, is the glory of her own. Forgiveme this strange impertinence; my heart is full, and has overflowed. Andnow, Miss Cameron--Evelyn Cameron--this is my last offence, and my lastfarewell!"

He held out his hand, and involuntarily, unknowingly, she clasped it, asif to detain him till she could summon words to reply. Suddenly he heardLord Vargrave's voice behind. The spell was broken; the next momentEvelyn was alone, and the throng swept into the room towards thebanquet, and laughter and gay voices were heard, and Lord Vargrave wasagain by Evelyn's side!

CHAPTER IV. 

 To you This journey is devoted. _Lover's Progress_, Act iv. Sc. 1. 

AS Cleveland and Maltravers returned homeward, the latter abruptlychecked the cheerful garrulity of his friend. "I have a favour, a greatfavour to ask of you. "

"And what is that?"

"Let us leave Burleigh tomorrow; I care not at what hour; we need go buttwo or three stages if you are fatigued. "

"Most hospitable host! and why?"

"It is torture, it is agony to me, to breathe the air of Burleigh, "cried Maltravers, wildly. "Can you not guess my secret? Have I thenconcealed it so well? I love, I adore Evelyn Cameron, and she isbetrothed to--she loves--another!"

Mr. Cleveland was breathless with amaze; Maltravers had indeed so wellconcealed his secret, and now his emotion was so impetuous, that itstartled and alarmed the old man, who had never himself experienced apassion, though he had indulged a sentiment. He sought to consoleand soothe; but after the first burst of agony, Maltravers recoveredhimself, and said gently, --

"Let us never return to this subject again: it is right that I shouldconquer this madness, and conquer it I will! Now you know my weakness, you will indulge it. My cure, cannot commence until I can no longer seefrom my casements the very roof that shelters the affianced bride ofanother. "

"Certainly, then, we will set off to-morrow: my friend! is it indeed--"

"Ah, cease, " interrupted the proud man; "no compassion, I implore: giveme but time and silence, --they are the only remedies. "

Before noon the next day, Burleigh was once more deserted by its lord. As the carriage drove through the village, Mrs. Elton saw it fromher open window; but her patron, too absorbed at that hour even forbenevolence, forgot her existence and yet so complicated are the webs offate, that in the breast of that lowly stranger was locked a secret ofthe most vital moment to Maltravers. 

"Where is he going; where is the squire going?" asked Mrs. Elton, anxiously. 

"Dear heart!" said the cottager, "they do say he be going for a shorttime to foren parts. But he will be back at Christmas. "

"And at Christmas I may be gone hence forever, " muttered the invalid;"but what will that matter to him--to any one?"

At the first stage Maltravers and his friend were detained a short timefor the want of horses. Lord Raby's house had been filled with guests onthe preceding night, and the stables of this little inn, dignified withthe sign of the Raby Arms, and about two miles distant from the greatman's place, had been exhausted by numerous claimants returning homewardfrom Knaresdean. It was a quiet, solitary post-house, and patience, tillsome jaded horses should return, was the only remedy; the host, assuringthe travellers that he expected four horses every moment, invited themwithin. The morning was cold, and the fire not unacceptable to Mr. Cleveland; so they went into the little parlour. Here they found anelderly gentleman of very prepossessing appearance, who was waitingfor the same object. He moved courteously from the fireplace as thetravellers entered, and pushed the "B-----shire Chronicle" towardsCleveland: Cleveland bowed urbanely. "A cold day, sir; the autumn beginsto show itself. "

"It is true, sir, " answered the old gentleman; "and I feel the cold themore, having just quitted the genial atmosphere of the South. "

"Of Italy?"

"No, of England only. I see by this paper (I am not much of apolitician) that there is a chance of a dissolution of parliament, andthat Mr. Maltravers is likely to come forward for this county; are youacquainted with him, sir?"

"A little, " said Cleveland, smiling. 

"He is a man I am much interested in, " said the old gentleman; "and Ihope soon to be honoured with his acquaintance. "

"Indeed! and you are going into his neighbourhood?" asked Cleveland, looking more attentively at the stranger, and much pleased with acertain simple candour in his countenance and manner. 

"Yes, to Merton Rectory. "

Maltravers, who had been hitherto stationed by the window, turned round. 

"To Merton Rectory?" repeated Cleveland. "You are acquainted with Mr. Merton, then?"

"Not yet; but I know some of his family. However, my visit is rather toa young lady who is staying at the rectory, --Miss Cameron. "

Maltravers sighed heavily; and the old gentleman looked at himcuriously. "Perhaps, sir, if you know that neighbourhood, you may haveseen--"

"Miss Cameron! Certainly; it is an honour not easily forgotten. "

The old gentleman looked pleased. 

"The dear child!" said he, with a burst of honest affection, and hepassed his hand over his eyes. Maltravers drew near to him. 

"You know Miss Cameron; you are to be envied, sir, " said he. 

"I have known her since she was a child; Lady Vargrave is my dearestfriend. "

"Lady Vargrave must be worthy of such a daughter. Only under the lightof a sweet disposition and pure heart could that beautiful nature havebeen trained and reared. "

Maltravers spoke with enthusiasm; and, as if fearful to trust himselfmore, left the room. 

"That gentleman speaks not more warmly than justly, " said the old man, with some surprise. "He has a countenance which, if physiognomy be atrue science, declares his praise to be no common compliment; may Iinquire his name?"

"Maltravers, " replied Cleveland, a little vain of the effect hisex-pupil's name was to produce. 

The curate--for it was he--started and changed countenance. 

"Maltravers! but he is not about to leave the county?"

"Yes, for a few months. "

Here the host entered. Four horses, that had been only fourteen miles, had just re-entered the yard. If Mr. Maltravers could spare two to thatgentleman, who had, indeed, pre-engaged them?

"Certainly, " said Cleveland; "but be quick. "

"And is Lord Vargrave still at Mr. Merton's?" asked the curate, musingly. 

"Oh, yes, I believe so. Miss Cameron is to be married to him veryshortly, --is it not so?"

"I cannot say, " returned Aubrey, rather bewildered. "You know LordVargrave, sir?"

"Extremely well!"

"And you think him worthy of Miss Cameron?"

"That is a question for her to answer. But I see the horses are put to. Good-day, sir! Will you tell your fair young friend that you have met anold gentleman who wishes her all happiness; and if she ask you his name, say Cleveland?"

So saying, Mr. Cleveland bowed, and re-entered the carriage. ButMaltravers was yet missing. In fact, he returned to the house by theback way, and went once more into the little parlour. It was somethingto see again one who would so soon see Evelyn!

"If I mistake not, " said Maltravers, "you are that Mr. Aubrey on whosevirtues I have often heard Miss Cameron delight to linger? Will youbelieve my regret that our acquaintance is now so brief?"

As Maltravers spoke thus simply, there was in his countenance, hisvoice, a melancholy sweetness, which greatly conciliated the goodcurate; and as Aubrey gazed upon his noble features and lofty mien, heno longer wondered at the fascination he had appeared to exercise overthe young Evelyn. 

"And may I not hope, Mr. Maltravers, " said he, "that before long ouracquaintance may be renewed? Could not Miss Cameron, " he added, with asmile and a penetrating look, "tempt you into Devonshire?"

Maltravers shook his head, and, muttering something not very audible, quitted the room. The curate heard the whirl of the wheels, and the hostentered to inform him that his own carriage was now ready. 

"There is something in this, " thought Aubrey, "which I do notcomprehend. His manner, his trembling voice, bespoke emotions hestruggled to conceal. Can Lord Vargrave have gained his point? IsEvelyn, indeed, no longer free?"

CHAPTER V. 

 CERTES, c'est un grand cas, Icas, Que toujours tracas ou fracas Vous faites d'une ou d'autre sort; C'est le diable qui vous emporte!*--VOITURE. 

 * "Certes, it is the fact, Icas, that you are always engaged in tricks or scrapes of some sort or other; it must be the devil that bewitches you. "

LORD VARGRAVE had passed the night of the ball and the following morningat Knaresdean. It was necessary to bring the counsels of the schemingconclave to a full and definite conclusion; and this was at lasteffected. Their strength numbered, friends and foes alike canvassed andconsidered, and due account taken of the waverers to be won over, itreally did seem, even to the least sanguine, that the Saxingham orVargrave party was one that might well aspire either to dictate to, or to break up, a government. Nothing now was left to consider but thefavourable hour for action. In high spirits, Lord Vargrave returnedabout the middle of the day to the rectory. 

"So, " thought he, as he reclined in his carriage, --"so, in politics, theprospect clears as the sun breaks out. The party I have espoused is onethat must be the most durable, for it possesses the greatest propertyand the most stubborn prejudice--what elements for Party! All that I nowrequire is a sufficient fortune to back my ambition. Nothing can clogmy way but these cursed debts, this disreputable want of gold. And yetEvelyn alarms me! Were I younger, or had I not made my position toosoon, I would marry her by fraud or by force, --run off with her toGretna, and make Vulcan minister to Plutus. But this would never do atmy years, and with my reputation. A pretty story for the newspapers, d-----n them! Well, nothing venture, nothing have; I will brave thehazard! Meanwhile, Doltimore is mine; Caroline will rule him, and I ruleher. His vote and his boroughs are something, --his money will bemore immediately useful: I must do him the honour to borrow a fewthousands, --Caroline must manage that for me. The fool is miserly, though a spendthrift; and looked black when I delicately hinted theother day that I wanted a friend--_id est_, a loan! money and friendshipsame thing, --distinction without a difference!" Thus cogitating, Vargrave whiled away the minutes till his carriage stopped at Mr. Merton's door. 

As he entered the hall he met Caroline, who had just quitted her ownroom. 

"How lucky I am that you have on your bonnet! I long for a walk with youround the lawn. "

"And I, too, am glad to see you, Lord Vargrave, " said Caroline, puttingher arm in his. 

"Accept my best congratulations, my own sweet friend, " said Vargrave, when they were in the grounds. "You have no idea how happy Doltimoreis. He came to Knaresdean yesterday to communicate the news, and hisneckcloth was primmer than ever. C'est un bon enfant. "

"Ah, how can you talk thus? Do you feel no pain at the thoughtthat--that I am another's?"

"Your heart will be ever mine, --and that is the true fidelity. Whatelse, too, could be done? As for Lord Doltimore, we will go sharesin him. Come, cheer thee, _m'amie_; I rattle on thus to keep up yourspirits. Do not fancy I am happy!"

Caroline let fall a few tears; but beneath the influence of Vargrave'ssophistries and flatteries, she gradually recovered her usual hard andworldly tone of mind. 

"And where is Evelyn?" asked Vargrave. "Do you know, the little witchseemed to be half mad the night of the ball. Her head was turned; andwhen she sat next me at supper, she not only answered every questionI put to her _a tort et a travers_, but I fancied every moment she wasgoing to burst out crying. Can you tell what was the matter with her?"

"She was grieved to hear that I was to be married to the man I do notlove. Ah, Vargrave, she has more heart than you have!"

"But she never fancies that you love me?" asked Lumley, in alarm. "Youwomen are so confoundedly confidential!"

"No, she does not suspect our secret. "

"Then I scarcely think your approaching marriage was a sufficient causefor so much distraction. "

"Perhaps she may have overheard some of the impertinent whispersabout her mother, --'Who was Lady Vargrave?' and 'What Cameron wasLady Vargrave's first husband?' _I_ overheard a hundred such vulgarquestions; and provincial people whisper so loud. "

"Ah, that is a very probable solution of the mystery; and for my part, I am almost as much puzzled as any one else can be to know who LadyVargrave was!"

"Did not your uncle tell you?"

"He told me that she was of no very elevated birth and station, --nothingmore; and she herself, with her quiet, say-nothing manner, slips throughall my careless questionings like an eel. She is still a beautifulcreature, more regularly handsome than even Evelyn; and old Templetonhad a very sweet tooth at the back of his head, though he never openedhis mouth wide enough to show it. "

"She must ever at least have been blameless, to judge by an air which, even now, is more like that of a child than a matron. "

"Yes; she has not much of the widow about her, poor soul! But hereducation, except in music, has not been very carefully attended to;and she knows about as much of the world as the Bishop of Autun (betterknown as Prince Talleyrand) knows of the Bible. If she were not sosimple, she would be silly; but silliness is never simple, --alwayscunning; however, there is some cunning in her keeping her pastCameronian Chronicles so close. Perhaps I may know more about her in ashort time, for I intend going to C-----, where my uncle once lived, in order to see if I can revive under the rose--since peers are onlycontraband electioneerers--his old parliamentary influence in that city:and they may tell me more there than I now know. "

"Did the late lord marry at C-----?"

"No; in Devonshire. I do not even know if Mrs. Cameron ever was atC-----. "

"You must be curious to know who the father of your intended wife was?"

"Her father! No; I have no curiosity in that quarter. And, to tell youthe truth, I am much too busy about the Present to be raking intothat heap of rubbish we call the Past. I fancy that both your goodgrandmother and that comely old curate of Brook-Green know everythingabout Lady Vargrave; and, as they esteem her so much, I take it forgranted she is _sans tache_. "

"How could I be so stupid! _A propos_ of the curate, I forgot to tellyou that he is here. He arrived about two hours ago, and has beencloseted with Evelyn ever since!"

"The deuce! What brought the old man hither?"

"That I know not. Papa received a letter from him yesterday morning, tosay that he would be here to-day. Perhaps Lady Vargrave thinks it timefor Evelyn to return home. "

"What am I to do?" said Vargrave, anxiously. "Dare I yet venture topropose?"

"I am sure it will be in vain, Vargrave. You must prepare fordisappointment. "

"And ruin, " muttered Vargrave, gloomily. "Hark you, Caroline, she mayrefuse me if she pleases. But I am not a man to be baffled. Have her Iwill, by one means or another; revenge urges me to it almost as much asambition. That girl's thread of life has been the dark line in my woof;she has robbed me of fortune, she now thwarts me in my career, shehumbles me in my vanity. But, like a hound that has tasted blood, I willrun her down, whatever winding she takes. "

"Vargrave, you terrify me! Reflect; we do not live in an age whenviolence--"

"Tush!" interrupted Lumley, with one of those dark looks which at times, though very rarely, swept away all its customary character from thatsmooth, shrewd countenance. "Tush! We live in an age as favourable tointellect and to energy as ever was painted in romance. I have thatfaith in fortune and myself that I tell you, with a prophet's voice, that Evelyn shall fulfil the wish of my dying uncle. But the bellsummons us back. "

On returning to the house, Lord Vargrave's valet gave him a letterwhich had arrived that morning. It was from Mr. Gustavus Douce, and ranthus:--

 FLEET STREET, ----- 20, 18--. 

MY LORD, --It is with the greatest regret that I apprise you, for Self &Co. , that we shall not be able in the present state of the Money Marketto renew your Lordship's bill for 10, 000 pounds, due the 28th instant. Respectfully calling your Lordship's attention to the same, I have thehonour to be, for Self & Co. , my Lord, Your Lordship's most obedient and most obliged humble servant, GUSTAVUS DOUCE. 

To the Right Hon. LORD VARGRAVE, etc. 

This letter sharpened Lord Vargrave's anxiety and resolve; nay, itseemed almost to sharpen his sharp features as he muttered sundrydenunciations on Messrs. Douce and Co. , while arranging his neckcloth atthe glass. 

CHAPTER VI. 

 _Sol. _ Why, please your honourable lordship, we were talking here and there, --this and that. --_The Stranger_. 

AUBREY had been closeted with Evelyn the whole morning; and, simultaneous with his arrival, came to her the news of the departure ofMaltravers. It was an intelligence that greatly agitated and unnervedher; and, coupling that event with his solemn words on the previousnight, Evelyn asked herself, in wonder, what sentiments she could haveinspired in Maltravers. Could he love her, --her, so young, so inferior, so uninformed? Impossible! Alas! alas! for Maltravers! His genius, hisgifts, his towering qualities, --all that won the admiration, almost theawe, of Evelyn, --placed him at a distance from her heart! When she askedherself if he loved her, she did not ask, even in that hour, if sheloved him. But even the question she did ask, her judgment answerederringly in the negative. Why should he love, and yet fly her? Sheunderstood not his high-wrought scruples, his self-deluding belief. Aubrey was more puzzled than enlightened by his conversation with hispupil; only one thing seemed certain, --her delight to return to thecottage and her mother. 

Evelyn could not sufficiently recover her composure to mix with theparty below; and Aubrey, at the sound of the second dinner-bell, lefther to her solitude, and bore her excuses to Mrs. Merton. 

"Dear me!" said that worthy lady; "I am so sorry. I thought Miss Cameronlooked fatigued at breakfast, and there was something hysterical inher spirits; and I suppose the surprise of your arrival has upset her. Caroline, my dear, you had better go and see what she would like to havetaken up to her room, --a little soup and the wing of a chicken. "

"My dear, " said Mr. Merton, rather pompously, "I think it would be but aproper respect to Miss Cameron, if you yourself accompanied Caroline. "

"I assure you, " said the curate, alarmed at the avalanche of politenessthat threatened poor Evelyn, --"I assure you that Miss Cameron wouldprefer being left alone at present; as you say, Mrs. Merton, her spiritsare rather agitated. "

But Mrs. Merton, with a sliding bow, had already quitted the room, andCaroline with her. 

"Come back, Sophy! Cecilia, come back!" said Mr. Merton, settling his_jabot_. 

"Oh, dear Evy! poor dear Evy!--Evy is ill!" said Sophy; "I may go toEvy? I must go, Papa!"

"No, my dear, you are too noisy; these children are quite spoiled, Mr. Aubrey. "

The old man looked at them benevolently, and drew them to his knee; and, while Cissy stroked his long white hair, and Sophy ran on about dearEvy's prettiness and goodness, Lord Vargrave sauntered into the room. 

On seeing the curate, his frank face lighted up with surprise andpleasure; he hastened to him, seized him by both hands, expressed themost heartfelt delight at seeing him, inquired tenderly after LadyVargrave, and, not till he was out of breath, and Mrs. Merton andCaroline returning apprised him of Miss Cameron's indisposition, did hisrapture vanish; and, as a moment before he was all joy, so now he wasall sorrow. 

The dinner passed off dully enough; the children, re-admitted todessert, made a little relief to all parties; and when they and the twoladies went, Aubrey himself quickly rose to join Evelyn. 

"Are you going to Miss Cameron?" said Lord Vargrave; "pray say howunhappy I feel at her illness. I think these grapes--they are veryfine--could not hurt her. May I ask you to present them with mybest--best and most anxious regards? I shall be so uneasy till youreturn. Now, Merton (as the door closed on the curate), let's haveanother bottle of this famous claret! Droll old fellow that, --quite acharacter!"

"He is a great favourite with Lady Vargrave and Miss Cameron, Ibelieve, " said Mr. Merton. "A mere village priest, I suppose; no talent, no energy--or he could not be a curate at that age. "

"Very true, --a shrewd remark. The Church is as good a profession as anyother for getting on, if a man has anything in him. I shall live to see_you_ a bishop!"

Mr. Merton shook his head. 

"Yes, I shall; though you have hitherto disdained to exhibit any one ofthe three orthodox qualifications for a mitre. "

"And what are they, my lord?"

"Editing a Greek play, writing a political pamphlet, and apostatizing atthe proper moment. "

"Ha, ha! your lordship is severe on us. "

"Not I; I often wish I had been brought up to the Church, --famousprofession, properly understood. By Jupiter, I should have been acapital bishop!"

In his capacity of parson, Mr. Merton tried to look grave; in hiscapacity of a gentlemanlike, liberal fellow, he gave up the attempt, andlaughed pleasantly at the joke of the rising man. 

CHAPTER VII. 

 WILL nothing please you? What do you think of the Court?--_The Plain Dealer_. 

ON one subject Aubrey found no difficulty in ascertaining Evelyn'swishes and condition of mind. The experiment of her visit, so far asVargrave's hopes were concerned, had utterly failed; she could notcontemplate the prospect of his alliance, and she poured out to thecurate, frankly and fully, all her desire to effect a release from herengagement. As it was now settled that she should return with Aubreyto Brook-Green, it was indeed necessary to come to the long-delayedunderstanding with her betrothed. Yet this was difficult, for he had solittle pressed, so distantly alluded to, their engagement, that it waslike a forwardness, an indelicacy in Evelyn to forestall the longed-foryet dreaded explanation. This, however, Aubrey took upon himself; andat this promise Evelyn felt as the slave may feel when the chain isstricken off. 

At breakfast, Mr. Aubrey communicated to the Mertons Evelyn's intentionto return with him to Brook-Green on the following day. Lord Vargravestarted, bit his lip, but said nothing. 

Not so silent was Mr. Merton. 

"Return with you! my dear Mr. Aubrey, just consider; it is impossible!You see Miss Cameron's rank of life, her position, --so very strange; noservants of her own here but her woman, --no carriage even! You would nothave her travel in a post-chaise such a long journey! Lord Vargrave, youcan never consent to that, I am sure?"

"Were it only as Miss Cameron's _guardian_, " said Lord Vargrave, pointedly, "I should certainly object to such a mode of performing sucha journey. Perhaps Mr. Aubrey means to perfect the project by taking twooutside places on the top of the coach?"

"Pardon me, " said the curate, mildly, "but I am not so ignorant of whatis due to Miss Cameron as you suppose. Lady Vargrave's carriage, whichbrought me hither, will be no unsuitable vehicle for Lady Vargrave'sdaughter; and Miss Cameron is not, I trust, quite so spoiled by all yourfriendly attentions as to be unable to perform a journey of two dayswith no other protector than myself. "

"I forgot Lady Vargrave's carriage, --or rather I was not aware that youhad used it, my dear sir, " said Mr. Merton. "But you must not blame us, if we are sorry to lose Miss Cameron so suddenly; I was in hopes that_you_ too would stay at least a week with us. "

The curate bowed at the rector's condescending politeness; and just ashe was about to answer, Mrs. Merton put in, --

"And you see I had set my heart on her being Caroline's bridesmaid. "

Caroline turned pale, and glanced at Vargrave, who appeared solelyabsorbed in breaking toast into his tea, --a delicacy he had never beforebeen known to favour. 

There was an awkward pause. The servant opportunely entered with a smallparcel of books, a note to Mr. Merton, and that most blessed of allblessed things in the country, --the letter-bag. 

"What is this?" said the rector, opening his note, while Mrs. Mertonunlocked the bag and dispensed the contents: "Left Burleigh forsome months, a day or two sooner than he had expected; excuse Frenchleave-taking; return Miss Merton's books, much obliged; gamekeeper hasorders to place the Burleigh preserves at my disposal. So we have lostour neighbour!"

"Did you not know Mr. Maltravers was gone?" said Caroline. "I heard sofrom Jenkins last night; he accompanies Mr. Cleveland to Paris. "

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Merton, opening her eyes. "What could take him toParis?"

"Pleasure, I suppose, " answered Caroline. "I'm sure I should rather havewondered what could detain him at Burleigh. "

Vargrave was all this while breaking open seals and running his eyesover sundry scrawls with the practised rapidity of the man of business;he came to the last letter. His countenance brightened. 

"Royal invitation, or rather command, to Windsor, " he cried. "I amafraid I, too, must leave you, this very day. "

"Bless me!" exclaimed Mrs. Merton; "is that from the king? Do let mesee!"

"Not exactly from the king; the same thing though:" and Lord Vargrave, carelessly pushing the gracious communication towards the impatient handand loyal gaze of Mrs. Merton, carefully put the other letters in hispocket, and walked musingly to the window. 

Aubrey seized the opportunity to approach him. "My lord, can I speakwith you a few moments?"

"Me! certainly; will you come to my dressing-room?"

CHAPTER VIII. 

 . .. THERE was never Poor gentleman had such a sudden fortune. 

 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER: _The Captain_, Act v. Sc. 5. 

"MY LORD, " said the curate, as Vargrave, leaning back in his chair, appeared to examine the shape of his boots, while in reality "hissidelong looks;" not "of love, " were fixed upon his companion, --"I needscarcely refer to the wish of the late lord, your uncle, relative toMiss Cameron and yourself; nor need I, to one of a generous spirit, add that an engagement could be only so far binding as both the partieswhose happiness is concerned should be willing in proper time and seasonto fulfil it. "

"Sir!" said Vargrave, impatiently waving his hand; and, in his irritablesurmise of what was to come, losing his habitual self-control, "I knownot what all this has to do with you; surely you trespass upon groundsacred to Miss Cameron and myself? Whatever you have to say, let me begyou to come at once to the point. "

"My lord, I will obey you. Miss Cameron--and, I may add, with LadyVargrave's consent--deputes me to say that, although she feels compelledto decline the honour of your lordship's alliance, yet if in anyarrangement of the fortune bequeathed to her she could testify toyou, my lord, her respect and friendship, it would afford her the mostsincere gratification. "

Lord Vargrave started. 

"Sir, " said he, "I know not if I am to thank you for this information, the announcement of which so strangely coincides with your arrival. Butallow me to say that there needs no ambassador between Miss Cameronand myself. It is due, sir, to my station, to my relationship, tomy character of guardian, to my long and faithful affection, to allconsiderations which men of the world understand, which men of feelingsympathize with, to receive from Miss Cameron alone the rejection of mysuit. "

"Unquestionably Miss Cameron will grant your lordship the interview youhave a right to seek; but pardon me, I thought it might save you bothmuch pain, if the meeting were prepared by a third person; and on anymatter of business, any atonement to your lordship--"

"Atonement! what can atone to me?" exclaimed Vargrave, as he walked toand fro the room in great disorder and excitement. "Can you give me backyears of hope and expectancy, --the manhood wasted in a vain dream? HadI not been taught to look to this reward, should I have rejected alloccasion--while my youth was not yet all gone, while my heart wasnot yet all occupied--to form a suitable alliance? Nay, should I haveindulged in a high and stirring career, for which my own fortune is byno means qualified? Atonement! atonement! Talk of atonement to boys!Sir, I stand before you a man whose private happiness is blighted, whosepublic prospects are darkened, life wasted, fortunes ruined, the schemesof an existence built upon one hope, which was lawfully indulged, overthrown; and you talk to me of _atonement_!"

Selfish as the nature of this complaint might be, Aubrey was struck withits justice. 

"My lord, " said he, a little embarrassed, "I cannot deny that there istruth in much of what you say. Alas! it proves how vain it is for manto calculate on the future; how unhappily your uncle erred in imposingconditions, which the chances of life and the caprices of affectioncould at any time dissolve! But this is blame that attaches only to thedead: can you blame the living?"

"Sir, I considered myself bound by my uncle's prayer to keep my handand heart disengaged, that this title--miserable and barren distinctionthough it be!--might, as he so ardently desired, descend to Evelyn. Ihad a right to expect similar honour upon her side!"

"Surely, my lord, you, to whom the late lord on his death-bed confidedall the motives of his conduct and the secret of his life, cannot butbe aware that, while desirous of promoting your worldly welfare, anduniting in one line his rank and his fortune, your uncle still hadEvelyn's happiness at heart as his warmest wish; you must know that, if that happiness were forfeited by a marriage with you, the marriagebecame but a secondary consideration. Lord Vargrave's will in itself wasa proof of this. He did not impose as an absolute condition upon Evelynher union with yourself; he did not make the forfeiture of her wholewealth the penalty of her rejection of that alliance. By the definitelimit of the forfeit, he intimated a distinction between a command anda desire. And surely, when you consider all circumstances, your lordshipmust think that, what with that forfeit and the estate settled upon thetitle, your uncle did all that in a worldly point of view equity andeven affection could exact from him. "

Vargrave smiled bitterly, but said nothing. 

"And if this be doubted, I have clearer proof of his intentions. Suchwas his confidence in Lady Vargrave, that in the letter he addressed toher before his death, and which I now submit to your lordship, youwill observe that he not only expressly leaves it to Lady Vargrave'sdiscretion to communicate to Evelyn that history of which she is atpresent ignorant, but that he also clearly defines the line of conducthe wished to be adopted with respect to Evelyn and yourself. Permit meto point out the passage. "

Impatiently Lord Vargrave ran his eye over the letter placed in hishand, till he came to these lines:--

"And if, when she has arrived at the proper age to form a judgment, Evelyn should decide against Lumley's claims, you know that on noaccount would I sacrifice her happiness; that all I require is, thatfair play be given to his pretensions, due indulgence to the scheme Ihave long had at heart. Let her be brought up to consider him her futurehusband; let her not be prejudiced against him; let her fairly judge forherself, when the time arrives. "

"You see, my lord, " said Mr. Aubrey, as he took back the letter, "thatthis letter bears the same date as your uncle's will. What he desiredhas been done. Be just, my lord, be just, and exonerate us all fromblame: who can dictate to the affections?"

"And I am to understand that I have no chance, now or hereafter, ofobtaining the affections of Evelyn? Surely, at your age, Mr. Aubrey, youcannot encourage the heated romance common to all girls of Evelyn'sage. Persons of our rank do not marry like the Corydon and Phyllis of apastoral. At my years, I never was fool enough to expect that I shouldinspire a girl of seventeen with what is called a passionate attachment. But happy marriages are based upon suitable circumstances, mutualknowledge and indulgence, respect, esteem. Come, sir, let me hopeyet, --let me hope that, on the same day, I may congratulate you on yourpreferment and you may congratulate me upon my marriage. "

Vargrave said this with a cheerful and easy smile; and the tone ofhis voice was that of a man who wished to convey serious meaning in ajesting accent. 

Mr. Aubrey, meek as he was, felt the insult of the hinted bribe, andcoloured with a resentment no sooner excited than checked. "Excuse me, my lord, I have now said all; the rest had better be left to your wardherself. "

"Be it so, sir. I will ask you, then, to convey my request to Evelyn tohonour me with a last and parting interview. "

Vargrave flung himself on his chair, and Aubrey left him. 

CHAPTER IX. 

 THUS airy Strephon tuned his lyre. --SHENSTONE. 

IN his meeting with Evelyn, Vargrave certainly exerted to the utmost allhis ability and all his art. He felt that violence, that sarcasm, thatselfish complaint would not avail in a man who was not loved, --thoughthey are often admirable cards in the hands of a man who is. As hisown heart was perfectly untouched in the matter, except by rage anddisappointment, --feelings which with him never lasted very long, --hecould play coolly his losing game. His keen and ready intellect taughthim that all he could now expect was to bequeath sentiments of generouscompassion and friendly interest; to create a favourable impression, which he might hereafter improve; to reserve, in short, some spot ofvantage-ground in the country from which he was to affect to withdrawall his forces. He had known, in his experience of women, which, whetheras an actor or a spectator, was large and various--though not amongvery delicate and refined natures--that a lady often takes a fancy toa suitor _after_ she has rejected him; that precisely _because_ she hasonce rejected she ultimately accepts him. And even this chance was, incircumstances so desperate, not to be neglected. He assumed, therefore, the countenance, the postures, and the voice of heart-broken butsubmissive despair; he affected a nobleness and magnanimity in hisgrief, which touched Evelyn to the quick, and took her by surprise. 

"It is enough, " said he, in sad and faltering accents; "quite enough forme to know that you cannot love me, --that I should fail in rendering youhappy. Say no more, Evelyn, say no more! Let me spare you, at least, the pain your generous nature must feel in my anguish. I resign allpretensions to your hand; you are free!--may you be happy!"

"Oh, Lord Vargrave! oh, Lumley!" said Evelyn, weeping, and moved bya thousand recollections of early years. "If I could but prove inany other way my grateful sense of your merits, your too partialappreciation of me, my regard for my lost benefactor, then, indeed, nortill then, could I be happy. Oh that this wealth, so little desired byme, had been more at my disposal! but as it is, the day that sees mein possession of it, shall see it placed under your disposition, yourcontrol. This is but justice, --common justice to you; you were thenearest relation of the departed. I had no claim on him, --none butaffection. Affection! and yet I disobey him!"

There was much in all this that secretly pleased Vargrave; but it onlyseemed to redouble his grief. 

"Talk not thus, my ward, my friend--ah, still my friend, " said he, putting his handkerchief to his eyes. "I repine not; I am morethan satisfied. Still let me preserve my privilege of guardian, ofadviser, --a privilege dearer to me than all the wealth of the Indies!"

Lord Vargrave had some faint suspicion that Legard had created anundue interest in Evelyn's heart; and on this point he delicately andindirectly sought to sound her. Her replies convinced him that if Evelynhad conceived any prepossession for Legard, there had not been time oropportunity to ripen it into deep attachment. Of Maltravers he had nofear. The habitual self-control of that reserved personage deceived himpartly; and his low opinion of mankind deceived him still more. For ifthere had been any love between Maltravers and Evelyn, why should theformer not have stood his ground, and declared his suit? Lumley wouldhave "bah'd" and "pish'd" at the thought of any punctilious regard forengagements so easily broken having power either to check passion forbeauty, or to restrain self-interest in the chase of an heiress. He hadknown Maltravers ambitious; and with him, ambition and self-interestmeant the same. Thus, by the very _finesse_ of his character--whileVargrave ever with the worldly was a keen and almost infallibleobserver--with natures of a more refined, or a higher order, he alwaysmissed the mark by overshooting. Besides, had a suspicion of Maltraversever crossed him, Caroline's communications would have dispelled it. It was more strange that Caroline should have been blind; nor wouldshe have been so had she been less absorbed in her own schemes anddestinies. All her usual penetration had of late settled in self; andan uneasy feeling--half arising from conscientious reluctance to aidVargrave's objects, half from jealous irritation at the thought ofVargrave's marrying another--had prevented her from seeking any veryintimate or confidential communication with Evelyn herself. 

The dreaded conference was over; Evelyn parted from Vargrave with thevery feelings he had calculated on exciting, --the moment he ceased to beher lover, her old childish regard for him recommenced. She pitied hisdejection, she respected his generosity, she was deeply grateful for hisforbearance. But still--still she was free; and her heart bounded withinher at the thought. 

Meanwhile, Vargrave, after his solemn farewell to Evelyn, retreatedagain to his own room, where he remained till his post-horses arrived. Then, descending into the drawing-room, he was pleased to find neitherAubrey nor Evelyn there. He knew that much affectation would be thrownaway upon Mr. And Mrs. Merton; he thanked them for their hospitality, with grave and brief cordiality, and then turned to Caroline, who stoodapart by the window. 

"All is up with me at present, " he whispered. "I leave you, Caroline, inanticipation of fortune, rank, and prosperity; that is some comfort. For myself, I see only difficulties, embarrassment, and poverty in thefuture; but I despond of nothing. Hereafter you may serve me, as Ihave served you. Adieu!--I have been advising Caroline not to spoilDoltimore, Mrs. Merton; he is conceited enough already. Good-by! Godbless you all! love to your little girls. Let me know if I can serveyou in any way, Merton, --good-by again!" And thus, sentence bysentence, Vargrave talked himself into his carriage. As it drove by thedrawing-room windows, he saw Caroline standing motionless where he hadleft her; he kissed his hand, --her eyes were fixed mournfully on his. Hard, wayward, and worldly as Caroline Merton was, Vargrave was yet notworthy of the affection he had inspired; for she could _feel_, and hecould not, --the distinction, perhaps, between the sexes. And there stillstood Caroline Merton, recalling the last tones of that indifferentvoice, till she felt her hand seized, and turned round to see LordDoltimore, and smile upon the happy lover, persuaded that he was adored!

BOOK VI. 

 "I will bring fire to thee--I reek not of the place. " --EURIPIDES: _Andromache_, 214. 

CHAPTER I. 

. .. THIS ancient city, How wanton sits she amidst Nature's smiles!

. .. Various nations meet, As in the sea, yet not confined in space, But streaming freely through the spacious streets. --YOUNG. 

. .. His teeth he still did grind, And grimly gnash, threatening revenge in vain. --SPENSER. 

"PARIS is a delightful place, --that is allowed by all. It is delightfulto the young, to the gay, to the idle; to the literary lion, who likesto be petted; to the wiser epicure, who indulges a more justifiableappetite. It is delightful to ladies, who wish to live at their ease, and buy beautiful caps; delightful to philanthropists, who wish forlisteners to schemes of colonizing the moon; delightful to the hauntersof balls and ballets, and little theatres and superb _cafes_, where menwith beards of all sizes and shapes scowl at the English, and involvetheir intellects in the fascinating game of dominos. For these, and formany others, Paris is delightful. I say nothing against it. But, for myown part, I would rather live in a garret in London than in a palace inthe Chaussee d'Antin. --'Chacun a son mauvais gout. '

"I don't like the streets, in which I cannot walk but in the kennel; Idon't like the shops, that contain nothing except what's at the window;I don't like the houses, like prisons which look upon a courtyard; Idon't like the _beaux jardins_, which grow no plants save a Cupid inplaster; I don't like the wood fires, which demand as many _petitssoins_ as the women, and which warm no part of one but one's eyelids, I don't like the language, with its strong phrases about nothing, andvibrating like a pendulum between 'rapture' and 'desolation;' I don'tlike the accent, which one cannot get, without speaking through one'snose; I don't like the eternal fuss and jabber about books withoutnature, and revolutions without fruit; I have no sympathy with talesthat turn on a dead jackass, nor with constitutions that give the ballotto the representatives, and withhold the suffrage from the people;neither have I much faith in that enthusiasm for the _beaux arts_, whichshows its produce in execrable music, detestable pictures, abominablesculpture, and a droll something that I believe the _French_ callPOETRY. Dancing and cookery, --these are the arts the French excel in, Igrant it; and excellent things they are; but oh, England! oh, Germany!you need not be jealous of your rival!"

These are not the author's remarks, --he disowns them; they were Mr. Cleveland's. He was a prejudiced man; Maltravers was more liberal, butthen Maltravers did not pretend to be a wit. 

Maltravers had been several weeks in the city of cities, and now he hadhis apartments in the gloomy but interesting Faubourg St. Germain, allto himself. For Cleveland, having attended eight days at a sale, andhaving moreover ransacked all the curiosity shops, and shipped offbronzes and cabinets, and Genoese silks and _objets de vertu_, enough tohave half furnished Fonthill, had fulfilled his mission, and returnedto his villa. Before the old gentleman went, he flattered himself thatchange of air and scene had already been serviceable to his friend;and that time would work a complete cure upon that commonest of allmaladies, --an unrequited passion, or an ill-placed caprice. 

Maltravers, indeed, in the habit of conquering, as well as of concealingemotion, vigorously and earnestly strove to dethrone the image that hadusurped his heart. Still vain of his self-command, and still worshippinghis favourite virtue of Fortitude and his delusive philosophy of thecalm Golden Mean, he would not weakly indulge the passion, while he sosternly fled from its object. 

But yet the image of Evelyn pursued, --it haunted him; it came on himunawares, in solitude, in crowds. That smile so cheering, yet sosoft, that ever had power to chase away the shadow from his soul; thatyouthful and luxurious bloom of pure and eloquent thoughts, which wasas the blossom of genius before its fruit, bitter as well as sweet, isborn; that rare union of quick feeling and serene temper, which formsthe very ideal of what we dream of in the mistress, and exact fromthe wife, --all, even more, far more, than the exquisite form and thedelicate graces of the less durable beauty, returned to him, after everystruggle with himself; and time only seemed to grave, in deeper if morelatent folds of his heart, the ineradicable impression. 

Maltravers renewed his acquaintance with some persons not unfamiliar tothe reader. 

Valerie de Ventadour--how many recollections of the fairer days of lifewere connected with that name! Precisely as she had never reached tohis love, but only excited his fancy (the fancy of twenty-two), had herimage always retained a pleasant and grateful hue; it was blended withno deep sorrow, no stern regret, no dark remorse, no haunting shame. 

They met again. Madame de Ventadour was still beautiful, and stilladmired, --perhaps more admired than ever; for to the great, fashion andcelebrity bring a second and yet more popular youth. But Maltravers, ifrejoiced to see how gently Time had dealt with the fair Frenchwoman, was yet more pleased to read in her fine features a more serene andcontented expression than they had formerly worn. Valerie de Ventadourhad preceded her younger admirer through the "MYSTERIES of LIFE;" shehad learned the real objects of being; she distinguished between theActual and the Visionary, the Shadow and the Substance; she had acquiredcontent for the present, and looked with quiet hope towards the future. Her character was still spotless; or rather, every year of temptationand trial had given it a fairer lustre. Love, that might have ruined, being once subdued, preserved her from all after danger. The firstmeeting between Maltravers and Valerie was, it is true, one of someembarrassment and reserve: not so the second. They did but once, andthat slightly, recur to the past, and from that moment, as by atacit understanding, true friendship between them dated. Neither feltmortified to see that an illusion had passed away, --they were no longerthe same in each other's eyes. Both might be improved, and were so;but the Valerie and the Ernest of Naples were as things dead and gone!Perhaps Valerie's heart was even more reconciled to the cure of its softand luxurious malady by the renewal of their acquaintance. The matureand experienced reasoner, in whom enthusiasm had undergone its usualchange, with the calm brow and commanding aspect of sober manhood, wasa being so different from the romantic boy, new to the actual worldof civilized toils and pleasures, fresh from the adventures of Easternwanderings, and full of golden dreams of poetry before it settlesinto authorship or action! She missed the brilliant errors, the daringaspirations, --even the animated gestures and eager eloquence, --that hadinterested and enamoured her in the loiterer by the shores of Baiae, oramidst the tomb-like chambers of Pompeii. For the Maltravers now beforeher--wiser, better, nobler, even handsomer than of yore (for he was onewhom manhood became better than youth)--the Frenchwoman could at anyperiod have felt friendship without danger. It seemed to her, not as itreally was, the natural _development_, but the very _contrast_, of theardent, variable, imaginative boy, by whose side she had gazed at nighton the moonlit waters and rosy skies of the soft Parthenope! How doestime, after long absence, bring to us such contrasts between the one weremember and the one we see! And what a melancholy mockery does it seemof our own vain hearts, dreaming of impressions never to be changed, andaffections that never can grow cool!

And now, as they conversed with all the ease of cordial and guilelessfriendship, how did Valerie rejoice in secret that upon that friendshipthere rested no blot of shame! and that she had not forfeited thoseconsolations for a home without love, which had at last settled intocheerful nor unhallowed resignation, --consolations only to be found inthe conscience and the pride!

M. De Ventadour had not altered, except that his nose was longer, andthat he now wore a peruque in full curl instead of his own straighthair. But somehow or other--perhaps by the mere charm of custom--he hadgrown more pleasing in Valerie's eyes; habit had reconciled her to hisfoibles, deficiencies, and faults; and, by comparison with others, she could better appreciate his good qualities, such as theywere, --generosity, good-temper, good-nature, and unbounded indulgenceto herself. Husband and wife have so many interests in common, that whenthey have jogged on through the ups and downs of life a sufficienttime, the leash which at first galled often grows easy and familiar; andunless the _temper_, or rather the disposition and the heart, ofeither be insufferable, what was once a grievous yoke becomes but acompanionable tie. And for the rest, Valerie, now that sentiment andfancy were sobered down, could take pleasure in a thousand things whichher pining affections once, as it were, overlooked and overshot. Shecould feel grateful for all the advantages her station and wealthprocured her; she could cull the roses in her reach, without sighing forthe amaranths of Elysium. 

If the great have more temptations than those of middle life, and iftheir senses of enjoyment become more easily pampered into a sicklyapathy, so at least (if they can once outlive satiety) they have manymore resources at their command. There is a great deal of justice inthe old line, displeasing though it be to those who think of love ina cottage, "'Tis best repenting in a coach and six!" If among theEupatrids, the Well Born, there is less love in wedlock, less quiethappiness at home, still they are less chained each to each, --they havemore independence, both the woman and the man, and occupations andthe solace without can be so easily obtained! Madame de Ventadour, inretiring from the mere frivolities of society--from crowded rooms, andthe inane talk and hollow smiles of mere acquaintanceship--became moresensible of the pleasures that her refined and elegant intellect couldderive from art and talent, and the communion of friendship. She drewaround her the most cultivated minds of her time and country. Herabilities, her wit, and her conversational graces enabled her not onlyto mix on equal terms with the most eminent, but to amalgamate andblend the varieties of talent into harmony. The same persons, when metelsewhere, seemed to have lost their charm; under Valerie's roof everyone breathed a congenial atmosphere. And music and letters, and all thatcan refine and embellish civilized life, contributed their resources tothis gifted and beautiful woman. And thus she found that the _mind_ hasexcitement and occupation, as well as the heart; and, unlike the latter, the culture we bestow upon the first ever yields us its return. We talkof education for the poor, but we forget how much it is needed bythe rich. Valerie was a living instance of the advantages to womenof knowledge and intellectual resources. By them she had purified herfancy, by them she had conquered discontent, by them she had grownreconciled to life and to her lot! When the heavy heart weighed down theone scale, it was the mind that restored the balance. 

The spells of Madame de Ventadour drew Maltravers into this charmedcircle of all that was highest, purest, and most gifted in the societyof Paris. There he did not meet, as were met in the times of theold _regime_, sparkling abbes intent upon intrigues; or amorous olddowagers, eloquent on Rousseau; or powdered courtiers, uttering epigramsagainst kings and religions, --straws that foretold the whirlwind. PaulCourier was right! Frenchmen are Frenchmen still; they are full of finephrases, and their thoughts smell of the theatre; they mistake foilfor diamonds, the Grotesque for the Natural, the Exaggerated for theSublime: but still I say, Paul Courier was right, --there is more honestynow in a single _salon_ in Paris than there was in all France in thedays of Voltaire. Vast interests and solemn causes are no longer tossedabout like shuttlecocks on the battledores of empty tongues. In the_bouleversement_ of Revolutions the French have fallen on their feet!

Meeting men of all parties and all classes, Maltravers was struck withthe heightened tone of public morals, the earnest sincerity of feelingwhich generally pervaded all, as compared with his first recollectionsof the Parisians. He saw that true elements for national wisdom wereat work, though he saw also that there was no country in which theiroperations would be more liable to disorder, more slow and irregularin their results. The French are like the Israelites in the Wilderness, when, according to a Hebrew tradition, every morning they seemed on theverge of Pisgah, and every evening they were as far from it as ever. Butstill time rolls on, the pilgrimage draws to its close, and the Canaanmust come at last!

At Valerie's house, Maltravers once more met the De Montaignes. It was apainful meeting, for they thought of Cesarini when they met. 

It is now time to return to that unhappy man. Cesarini had been removedfrom England when Maltravers quitted it after Lady Florence's death;and Maltravers had thought it best to acquaint De Montaigne with all thecircumstances that had led to his affliction. The pride and the honourof the high-spirited Frenchman were deeply shocked by the tale of fraudand guilt, softened as it was; but the sight of the criminal, his awfulpunishment, merged every other feeling in compassion. Placed underthe care of the most skilful practitioners in Paris, great hopes ofCesarini's recovery had been at first entertained. Nor was it long, indeed, before he appeared entirely restored, so far as the externaland superficial tokens of sanity could indicate a cure. He testifiedcomplete consciousness of the kindness of his relations, and clearremembrance of the past: but to the incoherent ravings of delirium, anintense melancholy, still more deplorable, succeeded. In this state, however, he became once more the inmate of his brother-in-law'shouse; and though avoiding all society, except that of Teresa, whoseaffectionate nature never wearied of its cares, he resumed many of hisold occupations. Again he appeared to take delight in desultory andunprofitable studies, and in the cultivation of that luxury of solitarymen, "the thankless muse. " By shunning all topics connected withthe gloomy cause of his affliction, and talking rather of the sweetrecollections of Italy and childhood than of more recent events, hissister was enabled to soothe the dark hour, and preserve some kind ofinfluence over the ill-fated man. One day, however, there fell intohis hands an English newspaper, which was full of the praises of LordVargrave; and the article in lauding the peer referred to his servicesas the commoner Lumley Ferrers. 

This incident, slight as it appeared, and perfectly untraceable byhis relations, produced a visible effect on Cesarini; and three daysafterwards he attempted his own life. The failure of the attempt wasfollowed by the fiercest paroxysms. His disease returned in all itsdread force: and it became necessary to place him under yet stricterconfinement than he had endured before. Again, about a year from thedate now entered upon, he had appeared to recover; and again he wasremoved to De Montaigne's house. His relations were not aware of theinfluence which Lord Vargrave's name exercised over Cesarini; in themelancholy tale communicated to them by Maltravers, that name had notbeen mentioned. If Maltravers had at one time entertained some vaguesuspicions that Lumley had acted a treacherous part with regardto Florence, those suspicions had long since died away for want ofconfirmation; nor did he (nor did therefore the De Montaignes) connectLord Vargrave with the affliction of Cesarini. De Montaigne himself, therefore, one day at dinner, alluding to a question of foreign politicswhich had been debated that morning in the Chamber, and in which hehimself had taken an active part, happened to refer to a speech ofVargrave upon the subject, which had made some sensation abroad, aswell as at home. Teresa asked innocently who Lord Vargrave was; and DeMontaigne, well acquainted with the biography of the principal Englishstatesmen, replied that he had commenced his career as Mr. Ferrers, and reminded Teresa that they had once been introduced to him in Paris. Cesarini suddenly rose and left the room; his absence was not noted, for his comings and goings were ever strange and fitful. Teresa soonafterwards quitted the apartment with her children, and De Montaigne, who was rather fatigued by the exertions and excitement of the morning, stretched himself in his chair to enjoy a short _siesta_. He wassuddenly awakened by a feeling of pain and suffocation, --awakened intime to struggle against a strong grip that had fastened itself at histhroat. The room was darkened in the growing shades of the evening; and, but for the glittering and savage eyes that were fixed on him, he couldscarcely discern his assailant. He at length succeeded, however, infreeing himself, and casting the intended assassin on the ground. Heshouted for assistance; and the lights borne by the servants who rushedinto the room revealed to him the face of his brother-in-law. Cesarini, though in strong convulsions, still uttered cries and imprecations ofrevenge; he denounced De Montaigne as a traitor and a murderer! In thedark confusion of his mind, he had mistaken the guardian for the distantfoe, whose name sufficed to conjure up the phantoms of the dead, andplunge reason into fury. 

It was now clear that there was danger and death in Cesarini's disease. His madness was pronounced to be capable of no certain and permanentcure; he was placed at a new asylum (the superintendents of whichwere celebrated for humanity as well as skill), a little distance fromVersailles, and there he still remained. Recently his lucid intervalshad become more frequent and prolonged; but trifles that sprang from hisown mind, and which no care could prevent or detect, sufficed to renewhis calamity in all its fierceness. At such times he required themost unrelaxing vigilance, for his madness ever took an alarming andferocious character; and had he been left unshackled, the boldest andstoutest of the keepers would have dreaded to enter his cell unarmed, oralone. 

What made the disease of the mind appear more melancholy and confirmedwas, that all this time the frame seemed to increase in health andstrength. This is not an uncommon case in instances of mania--and itis generally the worst symptom. In earlier youth, Cesarini had beendelicate even to effeminacy; but now his proportions were enlarged, hisform, though still lean and spare, muscular and vigorous, --as if inthe torpor which usually succeeded to his bursts of frenzy, the animalportion gained by the repose or disorganization of the intellectual. When in his better and calmer mood--in which indeed none but theexperienced could have detected his malady--books made his chiefdelight. But then he complained bitterly, if briefly, of the confinementhe endured, of the injustice be suffered; and as, shunning allcompanions, he walked gloomily amidst the grounds that surrounded thatHouse of Woe, his unseen guardians beheld him clenching his hands, as atsome visionary enemy, or overheard him accuse some phantom of his brainof the torments he endured. 

Though the reader can detect in Lumley Ferrers the cause of the frenzy, and the object of the imprecation, it was not so with the De Montaignes, nor with the patient's keepers and physicians; for in his delirium heseldom or never gave name to the shadows that he invoked, --not even tothat of Florence. It is, indeed, no unusual characteristic of madness toshun, as by a kind of cunning, all mention of the names of those by whomthe madness has been caused. It is as if the unfortunates imagined thatthe madness might be undiscovered if the images connected with it wereunbetrayed. 

Such, at this time, was the wretched state of the man, whose talentshad promised a fair and honourable career, had it not been the wretchedtendency of his mind, from boyhood upward, to pamper every unwholesomeand unhallowed feeling as a token of the exuberance of genius. DeMontaigne, though he touched as lightly as possible upon this darkdomestic calamity in his first communications with Maltravers, whoseconduct in that melancholy tale of crime and woe had, he conceived, beenstamped with generosity and feeling, still betrayed emotions that toldhow much his peace had been embittered. 

"I seek to console Teresa, " said he, turning away his manly head, "andto point out all the blessings yet left to her; but that brother sobeloved, from whom so much was so vainly expected, --still ever and ever, though she strives to conceal it from me, this affliction comes back toher, and poisons every thought! Oh, better a thousand times that hehad died! When reason, sense, almost the soul, are dead, how dark andfiend-like is the life that remains behind! And if it should be in theblood--if Teresa's children--dreadful thought!"

De Montaigne ceased, thoroughly overcome. 

"Do not, my dear friend, so fearfully exaggerate your misfortune, great as it is; Cesarini's disease evidently arose from no physicalconformation, --it was but the crisis, the development, of along-contracted malady of mind, passions morbidly indulged, thereasoning faculty obstinately neglected; and yet too he may recover. Thefurther memory recedes from the shock he has sustained, the better thechance that his mind will regain its tone. "

De Montaigne wrung his friend's hand. 

"It is strange that from you should come sympathy and comfort!--you whomhe so injured; you whom his folly or his crime drove from your proudcareer, and your native soil! But Providence will yet, I trust, redeemthe evil of its erring creature, and I shall yet live to see yourestored to hope and home, a happy husband, an honoured citizen. Tillthen, I feel as if the curse lingered upon my race. "

"Speak not thus. Whatever my destiny, I have recovered from that wound;and still, De Montaigne, I find in life that suffering succeeds tosuffering, and disappointment to disappointment, as wave to wave. Toendure is the only philosophy; to believe that we shall live again in abrighter planet, is the only hope that our reason should accept from ourdesires. "

CHAPTER II. 

 MONSTRA evenerunt mihi: Introit in aedes ater alienus canis, Anguis per impluvium decidit de tegulis, Gallina cecinit!*--TERENCE. 

 * "Prodigies have occurred: a strange black dog came into the house; a snake glided from the tiles, through the court; the hen crowed. "

WITH his constitutional strength of mind, and conformably with hisacquired theories, Maltravers continued to struggle against the latestand strongest passion of his life. It might be seen in the paleness ofhis brow, and that nameless expression of suffering which betraysitself in the lines about the mouth, that his health was affected by theconflict within him; and many a sudden fit of absence and abstraction, many an impatient sigh, followed by a forced and unnatural gayety, toldthe observant Valerie that he was the prey of a sorrow he was too proudto disclose. He compelled himself, however, to take, or to affect, an interest in the singular phenomena of the social state aroundhim, --phenomena that, in a happier or serener mood, would indeed havesuggested no ordinary food for conjecture and meditation. 

The state of _visible transition_ is the state of nearly all theenlightened communities in Europe. But nowhere is it so pronounced asin that country which may be called the Heart of European Civilization. There, all to which the spirit of society attaches itself appearsbroken, vague, and half developed, --the Antique in ruins, and the Newnot formed. It is, perhaps, the only country in which the Constructiveprinciple has not kept pace with the Destructive. The Has Been isblotted out; the To Be is as the shadow of a far land in a mighty andperturbed sea. *

 * The reader will remember that these remarks were written long before the last French Revolution, and when the dynasty of Louis Philippe was generally considered most secure. 

Maltravers, who for several years had not examined the progress ofmodern literature, looked with mingled feelings of surprise, distaste, and occasional and most reluctant admiration, on the various works whichthe successors of Voltaire and Rousseau have produced, and are pleasedto call the offspring of Truth united to Romance. 

Profoundly versed in the mechanism and elements of those masterpiecesof Germany and England, from which the French have borrowed so largelywhile pretending to be original, Maltravers was shocked to see themonsters which these Frankensteins had created from the relics and theoffal of the holiest sepulchres. The head of a giant on the limbs ofa dwarf, incongruous members jumbled together, parts fair andbeautiful, --the whole a hideous distortion!

"It may be possible, " said he to De Montaigne, "that these works areadmired and extolled; but how they can be vindicated by the examplesof Shakspeare and Goethe, or even of Byron, who redeemed poor andmelodramatic conceptions with a manly vigour of execution, an energy andcompleteness of purpose, that Dryden himself never surpassed, is to meutterly inconceivable. "

"I allow that there is a strange mixture of fustian and maudlin in allthese things, " answered De Montaigne; "but they are but the windfalls oftrees that may bear rich fruit in due season; meanwhile, any newschool is better than eternal imitations of the old. As for criticalvindications of the works themselves, the age that produces thephenomena is never the age to classify and analyze them. We have had adeluge, and now new creatures spring from the new soil. "

"An excellent simile: they come forth from slime and mud, --fetid andcrawling, unformed and monstrous. I grant exceptions; and even in theNew School, as it is called, I can admire the real genius, the vital andcreative power of Victor Hugo. But oh, that a nation which has known aCorneille should ever spawn forth a -----! And with these rickety anddrivelling abortions--all having followers and adulators--your Publiccan still bear to be told that they have improved wonderfully on theday when they gave laws and models to the literature of Europe; they canbear to hear ----- proclaimed a sublime genius in the same circles whichsneer down Voltaire!"

Voltaire is out of fashion in France, but Rousseau still maintains hisinfluence, and boasts his imitators. Rousseau was the worse man of thetwo; perhaps he was also the more dangerous writer. But his reputationis more durable, and sinks deeper into the heart of his nation; andthe danger of his unstable and capricious doctrines has passed away. In Voltaire we behold the fate of all writers purely destructive;their uses cease with the evils they denounce. But Rousseau sought toconstruct as well as to destroy; and though nothing could well be moreabsurd than his constructions, still man loves to look back and see evendelusive images--castles in the air--reared above the waste wherecities have been. Rather than leave even a burial-ground to solitude, wepopulate it with ghosts. 

By degrees, however, as he mastered all the features of the Frenchliterature, Maltravers become more tolerant of the present defects, and more hopeful of the future results. He saw in one respect that thatliterature carried with it its own ultimate redemption. 

Its general characteristic--contradistinguished from the literature ofthe old French classic school--is to take the _heart_ for its study; tobring the passions and feelings into action, and let the Within have itsrecord and history as well as the Without. In all this our contemplativeanalyst began to allow that the French were not far wrong when theycontended that Shakspeare made the fountain of their inspiration, --afountain which the majority of our later English Fictionists haveneglected. It is not by a story woven of interesting incidents, relievedby delineations of the externals and surface of character, humorousphraseology, and every-day ethics, that Fiction achieves its grandestends. 

In the French literature, thus characterized, there is much falsemorality, much depraved sentiment, and much hollow rant; but still itcarries within it the germ of an excellence, which, sooner or later, must in the progress of national genius arrive at its full development. Meanwhile, it is a consolation to know that nothing really immoral isever permanently popular, or ever, therefore, long deleterious; what isdangerous in a work of genius cures itself in a few years. We can nowread "Werther, " and instruct our hearts by its exposition of weaknessand passion, our taste by its exquisite and unrivalled simplicity ofconstruction and detail, without any fear that we shall shoot ourselvesin top-boots! We can feel ourselves elevated by the noble sentimentsof "The Robbers, " and our penetration sharpened as to the wholesaleimmorality of conventional cant and hypocrisy, without any dangerof turning banditti and becoming cutthroats from the love of virtue. Providence, that has made the genius of the few in all times andcountries the guide and prophet of the many, and appointed Literature asthe sublime agent of Civilization, of Opinion, and of Law, has endowedthe elements it employs with a divine power of self-purification. Thestream settles of itself by rest and time; the impure particles flyoff, or are neutralized by the healthful. It is only fools that call theworks of a master-spirit immoral. There does not exist in the literatureof the world one _popular_ book that is immoral two centuries after itis produced. For, in the heart of nations, the False does not live solong; and the True is the Ethical to the end of time. 

From the literary Maltravers turned to the political state of France hiscurious and thoughtful eye. He was struck by the resemblance which thisnation--so civilized, so thoroughly European--bears in one respect tothe despotisms of the East: the convulsions of the capital decide thefate of the country; Paris is the tyrant of France. He saw in thisinflammable concentration of power, which must ever be pregnant withgreat evils, one of the causes why the revolutions of that powerful andpolished people are so incomplete and unsatisfactory, why, like CardinalFleury, system after system, and Government after Government--

 . .. "floruit sine fructu, Defloruit sine luctu. "*

 * "Flourished without fruit, and was destroyed without regret. "

Maltravers regarded it as a singular instance of perverse ratiocination, that, unwarned by experience, the French should still persist inperpetuating this political vice; that all their policy should still bethe policy of Centralization, --a principle which secures the momentarystrength, but ever ends in the abrupt destruction of States. It is, infact, the perilous tonic, which seems to brace the system, butdrives the blood to the head, --thus come apoplexy and madness. Bycentralization the provinces are weakened, it is true, --but weak toassist as well as to oppose a government, weak to withstand a mob. Nowhere, nowadays, is a mob so powerful as in Paris: the politicalhistory of Paris is the history of snobs. Centralization is an excellentquackery for a despot who desires power to last only his own life, and who has but a life-interest in the State; but to true libertyand permanent order centralization is a deadly poison. The more theprovinces govern their own affairs, the more we find everything, evento roads and post-horses, are left to the people; the more the MunicipalSpirit pervades every vein of the vast body, the more certain may we bethat reform and change must come from universal opinion, which is slow, and constructs ere it destroys, --not from public clamour, which issudden, and not only pulls down the edifice but sells the bricks!

Another peculiarity in the French Constitution struck and perplexedMaltravers. This people so pervaded by the republican sentiment; thispeople, who had sacrificed so much for Freedom; this people, who, inthe name of Freedom, had perpetrated so much crime with Robespierre, andachieved so much glory with Napoleon, --this people were, as a people, contented to be utterly excluded from all power and voice in the State!Out of thirty-three millions of subjects, less than two hundred thousandelectors! Where was there ever an oligarchy equal to this? What astrange infatuation, to demolish an aristocracy and yet to exclude apeople! What an anomaly in political architecture, to build an invertedpyramid! Where was the safety-valve of governments, where the naturalvents of excitement in a population so inflammable? The people itselfwere left a mob, --no stake in the State, no action in its affairs, nolegislative interest in its security. *

 * Has not all this proved prophetic?

On the other hand, it was singular to see how--the aristocracy of birthbroken down--the aristocracy of letters had arisen. A Peerage, halfcomposed of journalists, philosophers, and authors! This was thebeau-ideal of Algernon Sidney's Aristocratic Republic, of the Helvetianvision of what ought to be the dispensation of public distinctions;yet was it, after all, a desirable aristocracy? Did society gain; didliterature lose? Was the priesthood of Genius made more sacred and morepure by these worldly decorations and hollow titles; or was aristocracyitself thus rendered a more disinterested, a more powerful, or a moresagacious element in the administration of law, or the elevation ofopinion? These questions, not lightly to be answered, could not fail toarouse the speculation and curiosity of a man who had been familiar withthe closet and the forum; and in proportion as he found his interestexcited in these problems to be solved by a foreign nation, did thethoughtful Englishman feel the old instinct--which binds the citizento the fatherland--begin to stir once more earnestly and vividly withinhim. 

"You, yourself individually, are passing like us, " said De Montaigne oneday to Maltravers, "through a state of transition. You have forever leftthe Ideal, and you are carrying your cargo of experience over to thePractical. When you reach that haven, you will have completed thedevelopment of your forces. "

"You mistake me, --I am but a spectator. "

"Yes; but you desire to go behind the scenes; and he who once growsfamiliar with the green-room, longs to be an actor. "

With Madame de Ventadour and the De Montaignes Maltravers passed thechief part of his time. They knew how to appreciate his nobler andto love his gentler attributes and qualities; they united in a warminterest for his future fate; they combated his Philosophy of Inaction;and they felt that it was because he was not happy that he was not wise. Experience was to him what ignorance had been to Alice. His facultieswere chilled and dormant. As affection to those who are unskilled in allthings, so is affection to those who despair of all things. The mind ofMaltravers was a world without a sun!

CHAPTER III. 

 COELEBS, quid agam?*--HORACE. 

 * "What shall I do, a bachelor?"

IN a room at Fenton's Hotel sat Lord Vargrave and Caroline LadyDoltimore, --two months after the marriage of the latter. 

"Doltimore has positively fixed, then, to go abroad on your return fromCornwall?"

"Positively, --to Paris. You can join us at Christmas, I trust?"

"I have no doubt of it; and before then I hope that I shall havearranged certain public matters, which at present harass and absorb meeven more than my private affairs. "

"You have managed to obtain terms with Mr. Douce, and to delay therepayment of your debt to him?"

"Yes, I hope so, till I touch Miss Cameron's income; which will be mine, I trust, by the time she is eighteen. "

"You mean the forfeit money of thirty thousand pounds?"

"Not I; I mean what I said!"

"Can you really imagine she will still accept your hand?"

"With your aid, I do imagine it! Hear me. You must take Evelyn with youto Paris. I have no doubt but that she will be delighted to accompanyyou; nay, I have paved the way so far. For, of course, as a friend ofthe family, and guardian to Evelyn, I have maintained a correspondencewith Lady Vargrave. She informs me that Evelyn has been unwell andlow-spirited; that she fears Brook-Green is dull for her, etc. I wrote, in reply, to say that the more my ward saw of the world, prior to heraccession, when of age, to the position she would occupy in it, the moreshe would fulfil my late uncle's wishes with respect to her educationand so forth. I added that as you were going to Paris, and as you lovedher so much, there could not be a better opportunity for her entranceinto life under the most favourable auspices. Lady Vargrave's answerto this letter arrived this morning: she will consent to such anarrangement should you propose it. "

"But what good will result to yourself in this project? At Paris youwill be sure of rivals, and--"

"Caroline, " interrupted Lord Vargrave, "I know very well what you wouldsay: I also know all the danger I must incur. But it is a choice ofevils, and I choose the least. You see that while she is at Brook-Green, and under the eye of that sly old curate, I can effect nothing with her. There, she is entirely removed from my influence: not so abroad; notso under your roof. Listen to me still further. In this country, andespecially in the seclusion and shelter of Brook-Green, I have no scopefor any of those means which I shall be compelled to resort to, infailure of all else. "

"What can you intend?" said Caroline, with a slight shudder. 

"I don't know what I intend yet. But this, at least, I can tellyou, --that Miss Cameron's fortune I must and will have. I am a desperateman; and I can play a desperate game, if need be. "

"And do you think that _I_ will aid, will abet?"

"Hush, not so loud! Yes, Caroline, you will, and you must aid and abetme in any project I may form. "

"Must! Lord Vargrave?"

"Ay, " said Lumley, with a smile, and sinking his voice into awhisper, --"ay! _you are in my power_!"

"Traitor!--you cannot dare! you cannot mean--"

"I mean nothing more than to remind you of the ties that exist betweenus, --ties which ought to render us the firmest and most confidential offriends. Come, Caroline, recollect all the benefit must not lie on oneside. I have obtained for you rank and wealth; I have procured you ahusband, --you must help me to a wife!"

Caroline sank back, and covered her face with her hands. 

"I allow, " continued Vargrave, coldly, --"I allow that your beautyand talent were sufficient of themselves to charm a wiser man thanDoltimore; but had I not suppressed jealousy, sacrificed love, hadI dropped a hint to your liege lord, --nay, had I not fed his lap-dogvanity by all the cream and sugar of flattering falsehoods, --you wouldbe Caroline Merton still!"

"Oh, would that I were! Oh that I were anything but your tool, yourvictim! Fool that I was! wretch that I am! I am rightly punished!"

"Forgive me, forgive me, dearest, " said Vargrave, soothingly; "I was toblame, forgive me: but you irritated, you maddened me, by your seemingindifference to my prosperity, my fate. I tell you again and again, pride of my soul, I tell you, that you are the only being I love! and ifyou will allow me, if you will rise superior, as I once fondly hoped, toall the cant and prejudice of convention and education, the only womanI could ever respect, as well as love. Oh, hereafter, when you see me atthat height to which I feel that I am born to climb, let me think thatto your generosity, your affection, your zeal, I owed the ascent. Atpresent I am on the precipice; without your hand I fall forever. My ownfortune is gone; the miserable forfeit due to me, if Evelyn continues toreject my suit, when she has arrived at the age of eighteen, is deeplymortgaged. I am engaged in vast and daring schemes, in which I mayeither rise to the highest station or lose that which I now hold. Ineither case, how necessary to me is wealth: in the one instance, tomaintain my advancement; in the other, to redeem my fall. "

"But did you not tell me, " said Caroline, "that Evelyn proposed andpromised to place her fortune at your disposal, even while rejectingyour hand?"

"Absurd mockery!" exclaimed Vargrave; "the foolish boast of a girl, --animpulse liable to every caprice. Can you suppose that when she launchesinto the extravagance natural to her age and necessary to her position, she will not find a thousand demands upon her rent-roll not dreamed ofnow; a thousand vanities and baubles that will soon erase my poor andhollow claim from her recollection? Can you suppose that, if she marryanother, her husband will ever consent to a child's romance? Andeven were all this possible, were it possible that girls were notextravagant, and that husbands had no common-sense, is it for me, LordVargrave, to be a mendicant upon reluctant bounty, --a poor cousin, apensioned led-captain? Heaven knows I have as little false pride asany man, but still this is a degradation I cannot stoop to. Besides, Caroline, I am no miser, no Harpagon: I do not want wealth for wealth'ssake, but for the advantages it bestows, --respect, honour, position; andthese I get as the husband of the great heiress. Should I get them asher dependant? No: for more than six years I have built my schemes andshaped my conduct according to one assured and definite object; and thatobject I shall not now, at the eleventh hour, let slip from my hands. Enough of this: you will pass Brook-Green in returning from Cornwall;you will take Evelyn with you to Paris, --leave the rest to me. Fear nofolly, no violence, from my plans, whatever they may be: I work inthe dark. Nor do I despair that Evelyn will love, that Evelyn willvoluntarily accept me yet: my disposition is sanguine; I look to thebright side of things; do the same!"

Here their conference was interrupted by Lord Doltimore, who loungedcarelessly into the room, with his hat on one side. "Ah, Vargrave, howare you? You will not forget the letters of introduction? Where are yougoing, Caroline?"

"Only to my own room, to put on my bonnet; the carriage will be here ina few minutes. " And Caroline escaped. 

"So you go to Cornwall to-morrow, Doltimore?"

"Yes; cursed bore! but Lady Elizabeth insists on seeing us, and I don'tobject to a week's good shooting. The old lady, too, has something toleave, and Caroline had no dowry, --not that I care for it; but stillmarriage is expensive. "

"By the by, you will want the five thousand pounds you lent me?"

"Why, whenever it is convenient. "

"Say no more, --it shall be seen to. Doltimore, I am very anxious thatLady Doltimore's _debut_ at Paris should be brilliant: everythingdepends on falling into the right set. For myself, I don't care aboutfashion, and never did; but if I were married, and an idle man like you, it might be different. "

"Oh, you will be very useful to us when we return to London. Meanwhile, you know, you have my proxy in the Lords. I dare say there will be somesharp work the first week or two after the recess. "

"Very likely; and depend on one thing, my dear Doltimore, that when I amin the Cabinet, a certain friend of mine shall be an earl. Adieu. "

"Good-by, my dear Vargrave, good-by; and, I say, --I say, don't distressyourself about that trifle; a few months hence it will suit me just aswell. "

"Thanks. I will just look into my accounts, and use you withoutceremony. Well, I dare say we shall meet at Paris. Oh, I forgot, --Iobserve that you have renewed your intimacy with Legard. Now, he is avery good fellow, and I gave him that place to oblige you; still, as youare no longer a _garcon_--but perhaps I shall offend you?"

"Not at all. What is there against Legard?"

"Nothing in the world, --but he is a bit of a boaster. I dare say hisancestor was a Gascon, poor fellow!--and he affects to say thatyou can't choose a coat, or buy a horse, without his approval andadvice, --that he can turn you round his finger. Now this hurts yourconsequence in the world, --you don't get credit for your own excellentsense and taste. Take my advice, avoid these young hangers-on offashion, these club-room lions. Having no importance of their own, theysteal the importance of their friends. _Verbum sap_. "

"You are very right, --Legard _is_ a coxcomb; and now I see why he talkedof joining us at Paris. "

"Don't let him do any such thing! He will be telling the Frenchmen thather ladyship is in love with him, ha, ha!"

"Ha, ha!--a very good joke--poor Caroline!--very good joke!"

"Well, good-by, once more. " And Vargrave closed the door. 

"Legard go to Paris--not if Evelyn goes there!" muttered Lumley. "Besides, I want no partner in the little that one can screw out of thisblockhead. "

CHAPTER IV. 

 MR. BUMBLECASE, a word with you--I have a little business. Farewell, the goodly Manor of Blackacre, with all its woods, underwoods, and appurtenances whatever. --WYCHERLEY: _Plain Dealer_. 

IN quitting Fenton's Hotel, Lord Vargrave entered into one of the clubsin St. James's Street: this was rather unusual with him, for he was nota club man. It was not his system to spend his time for nothing. But itwas a wet December day; the House was not yet assembled, and he had donehis official business. Here, as he was munching a biscuit and reading anarticle in one of the ministerial papers--the heads of which he himselfhad supplied--Lord Saxingham joined and drew him to the window. 

"I have reason to think, " said the earl, "that your visit to Windsor didgood. "

"Ah, indeed; so I fancied. "

"I do not think that a certain personage will ever consent to the-----question; and the premier, whom I saw to-day, seems chafed andirritated. "

"Nothing can be better; I know that we are in the right boat. "

"I hope it is not true, Lumley, that your marriage with Miss Cameron isbroken off; such was the _on dit_ in the club, just before you entered. "

"Contradict it, my dear lord, --contradict it. I hope by the spring tointroduce Lady Vargrave to you. But who broached the absurd report?"

"Why, your _protege_, Legard, says he heard so from his uncle, who heardit from Sir John Merton. "

"Legard is a puppy, and Sir John Merton a jackass. Legard had betterattend to his office, if he wants to get on; and I wish you'd tell himso. I have heard somewhere that he talks of going to Paris, --youcan just hint to him that he must give up such idle habits. Publicfunctionaries are not now what they were, --people are expected to workfor the money they pocket; otherwise Legard is a cleverish fellow, anddeserves promotion. A word or two of caution from you will do him a vastdeal of good. "

"Be sure I will lecture him. Will you dine with me to-day, Lumley?"

"No. I expect my co-trustee, Mr. Douce, on matters of business, --a_tete-a-tete_ dinner. "

Lord Vargrave had, as he conceived, very cleverly talked over Mr. Douceinto letting his debt to that gentleman run on for the present; and inthe meanwhile, he had overwhelmed Mr. Douce with his condescensions. That gentleman had twice dined with Lord Vargrave, and Lord Vargravehad twice dined with him. The occasion of the present more familiarentertainment was in a letter from Mr. Douce, begging to see LordVargrave on particular business; and Vargrave, who by no means liked theword _business_ from a gentleman to whom he owed money, thought that itwould go off more smoothly if sprinkled with champagne. 

Accordingly, he begged "My dear Mr. Douce" to excuse ceremony, and dinewith him on Thursday at seven o'clock, --he was really so busy all themornings. 

At seven o'clock, Mr. Douce came. The moment he entered Vargrave calledout, at the top of his voice, "Dinner immediately!" And as the littleman bowed and shuffled, and fidgeted and wriggled (while Vargrave shookhim by the hand), as if he thought he was going himself to be spitted, his host said, "With your leave, we'll postpone the budget till afterdinner. It is the fashion nowadays to postpone budgets as long as wecan, --eh? Well, and how are all at home? Devilish cold; is it not? Soyou go to your villa every day? That's what keeps you in such capitalhealth. You know I had a villa too, --though I never had time to gothere. "

"Ah, yes; I think, I remember, at Ful-Ful-Fulham!" gasped out Mr. Douce. "Your poor uncle's--now Lady Var-Vargrave's jointure-house. So--so--"

"She don't live there!" burst in Vargrave (far too impatient to bepolite). "Too cockneyfied for her, --gave it up to me; very pretty place, but d-----d expensive. I could not afford it, never went there, and soI have let it to my wine-merchant; the rent just pays his bill. You willtaste some of the sofas and tables to-day in his champagne. I don'tknow how it is, I always fancy my sherry smells like my poor uncle's oldleather chair: very odd smell it had, --a kind of respectable smell! Ihope you're hungry, --dinner's ready. "

Vargrave thus rattled away in order to give the good banker tounderstand that his affairs were in the most flourishing condition: andhe continued to keep up the ball all dinnertime, stopping Mr. Douce'slittle, miserable, gasping, dacelike mouth, with "a glass of wine, Douce?" or "by the by, Douce, " whenever he saw that worthy gentlemanabout to make the Aeschylean improvement of a second person in thedialogue. 

At length, dinner being fairly over, and the servants withdrawn, LordVargrave, knowing that sooner or later Douce would have his say, drewhis chair to the fire, put his feet on the fender, and cried, as hetossed off his claret, "NOW, DOUCE, WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU?"

Mr. Douce opened his eyes to their full extent, and then as rapidlyclosed them; and this operation he continued till, having snuffed themso much that they could by no possibility burn any brighter, he wasconvinced that he had not misunderstood his lordship. 

"Indeed, then, " he began, in his most frightened manner, "indeed--I--really, your lordship is very good--I--I wanted to speak toyou on business. "

"Well, what can I do for you, --some little favour, eh? Snug sinecurefor a favourite clerk, or a place in the Stamp-Office for your fatfootman--John, I think you call him? You know, my dear Douce, you maycommand me. "

"Oh, indeed, you are all good-good-goodness--but--but--"

Vargrave threw himself back, and shutting his eyes and pursing uphis mouth, resolutely suffered Mr. Douce to unbosom himself withoutinterruption. He was considerably relieved to find that the businessreferred to related only to Miss Cameron. 

Mr. Douce having reminded Lord Vargrave, as he had often done before, of the wishes of his uncle, that the greater portion of the moneybequeathed to Evelyn should be invested in land, proceeded to say that amost excellent opportunity presented itself for just such a purchase aswould have rejoiced the heart of the late lord, --a superb place, in thestyle of Blickling, --deer-park six miles round, ten thousand acres ofland, bringing in a clear eight thousand pounds a year, purchase moneyonly two hundred and forty thousand pounds. The whole estate was, indeed, much larger, --eighteen thousand acres; but then the more distantfarms could be sold in different lots, in order to meet the exact sumMiss Cameron's trustees were enabled to invest. 

"Well, " said Vargrave, "and where is it? My poor uncle was after DeClifford's estate, but the title was not good. "

"Oh! this--is much--much--much fi-fi-finer; famous investment--butrather far off--in--in the north, Li-Li-Lisle Court. "

"Lisle Court! Why, does not that belong to Colonel Maltravers?"

"Yes. It is, indeed, quite, I may say, a secret-yes--really--ase-se-secret--not in the market yet--not at all--soon snapped up. "

"Humph! Has Colonel Maltravers been extravagant?"

"No; but he does not--I hear--or rather Lady--Julia--so I'm told, yes, indeed--does not li-like--going so far, and so they spend the winter inItaly instead. Yes--very odd--very fine place. "

Lumley was slightly acquainted with the elder brother of his oldfriend, --a man who possessed some of Ernest's faults, --very proud, andvery exacting, and very fastidious; but all these faults were developedin the ordinary commonplace world, and were not the refined abstractionsof his younger brother. 

Colonel Maltravers had continued, since he entered the Guards, to bethoroughly the man of fashion, and nothing more. But rich and well-born, and highly connected, and thoroughly _a la mode_ as he was, his pridemade him uncomfortable in London, while his fastidiousness made himuncomfortable in the country. He was _rather_ a great person, but hewanted to be a _very_ great person. This he was at Lisle Court; but thatdid not satisfy him. He wanted not only to be a very great person, buta very great person among very great persons--and squires and parsonsbored him. Lady Julia, his wife, was a fine lady, inane and pretty, whosaw everything through her husband's eyes. He was quite master _chezlui_, was Colonel Maltravers! He lived a great deal abroad; for on theContinent his large income seemed princely, while his high character, thorough breeding, and personal advantages, which were remarkable, secured him a greater position in foreign courts than at his own. Twothings had greatly disgusted him with Lisle Court, --trifles they mightbe with others, but they were not trifles to Cuthbert Maltravers; in thefirst place, a man who had been his father's attorney, and who wasthe very incarnation of coarse unrepellable familiarity, had bought anestate close by the said Lisle Court, and had, _horresco referens_, been made a baronet! Sir Gregory Gubbins took precedence of ColonelMaltravers! He could not ride out but he met Sir Gregory; he could notdine out but he had the pleasure of walking behind Sir Gregory's brightblue coat with its bright brass buttons. In his last visit to LisleCourt, which he had then crowded with all manner of fine people, hehad seen--the very first morning after his arrival--seen from the largewindow of his state saloon, a great staring white, red, blue, and giltthing, at the end of the stately avenue planted by Sir Guy Maltraversin honour of the victory over the Spanish armada. He looked in mutesurprise, and everybody else looked; and a polite German count, gazingthrough his eye-glass, said, "Ah! dat is vat you call a vim in your_pays_, --the vim of Colonel Maltravers!"

This "vim" was the pagoda summer-house of Sir Gregory Gubbins, erectedin imitation of the Pavilion at Brighton. Colonel Maltravers wasmiserable: the _vim_ haunted him; it seemed ubiquitous; he could notescape it, --it was built on the highest spot in the county. Ride, walk, sit where he would, the _vim_ stared at him; and he thought he sawlittle mandarins shake their round little heads at him. This was oneof the great curses of Lisle Court; the other was yet more galling. Theowners of Lisle Court had for several generations possessed the dominantinterest in the county town. The colonel himself meddled little inpolitics, and was too fine a gentleman for the drudgery of parliament. He had offered the seat to Ernest, when the latter had commenced hispublic career; but the result of a communication proved that theirpolitical views were dissimilar, and the negotiation dropped withoutill-feeling on either side. Subsequently a vacancy occurred; and LadyJulia's brother (just made a Lord of the Treasury) wished to comeinto parliament, so the county town was offered to him. Now, the proudcommoner had married into the family of a peer as proud as himself, and Colonel Maltravers was always glad whenever he could impress hisconsequence on his connections by doing them a favour. He wrote to hissteward to see that the thing was properly settled, and came down on thenomination-day "to share the triumph and partake the gale. " Guess hisindignation, when he found the nephew of Sir Gregory Gubbins was alreadyin the field! The result of the election was that Mr. Augustus Gubbinscame in, and that Colonel Maltravers was pelted with cabbage-stalks, andaccused of attempting to sell the worthy and independent electors to agovernment nominee! In shame and disgust, Colonel Maltravers brokeup his establishment at Lisle Court, and once more retired to theContinent. 

About a week from the date now touched upon, Lady Julia and himselfhad arrived in London from Vienna; and a new mortification awaitedthe unfortunate owner of Lisle Court. A railroad company had beenestablished, of which Sir Gregory Gubbins was a principal shareholder;and the speculator, Mr. Augustus Gubbins, one of the "most useful men inthe House, " had undertaken to carry the bill through parliament. ColonelMaltravers received a letter of portentous size, inclosing the map ofthe places which this blessed railway was to bisect; and lo! just atthe bottom of his park ran a portentous line, which informed him of thesacrifice he was expected to make for the public good, --especially forthe good of that very county town, the inhabitants of which had peltedhim with cabbage-stalks!

Colonel Maltravers lost all patience. Unacquainted with our wiselegislative proceedings, he was not aware that a railway planned isa very different thing from a railway made; and that parliamentarycommittees are not by any means favourable to schemes for carrying thepublic through a gentleman's park. 

"This country is not to be lived in, " said he to Lady Julia; "it getsworse and worse every year. I am sure I never had any comfort in LisleCourt. I've a great mind to sell it. "

"Why, indeed, as we have no sons, only daughters, and Ernest is so wellprovided for, " said Lady Julia, "and the place is so far from London, and the neighbourhood is so disagreeable, I think we could do very wellwithout it. "

Colonel Maltravers made no answer, but he revolved the pros and cons;and then he began to think how much it cost him in gamekeepers andcarpenters and bailiffs and gardeners and Heaven knows whom besides; andthen the pagoda flashed across him; and then the cabbage-stalks, and atlast he went to his solicitor. 

"You may sell Lisle Court, " said he, quietly. 

The solicitor dipped his pen in the ink. "The particulars, Colonel?"

"Particulars of Lisle Court! everybody, that is, every gentleman, knowsLisle Court!"

"Price, sir?"

"You know the rents; calculate accordingly. It will be too largea purchase for one individual; sell the outlying woods and farmsseparately from the rest. "

"We must draw up an advertisement, Colonel. "

"Advertise Lisle Court! out of the question, sir. I can have nopublicity given to my intention: mention it quietly to any capitalist;but keep it out of the papers till it is all settled. In a week or twoyou will find a purchaser, --the sooner the better. "

Besides his horror of newspaper comments and newspaper puffs, ColonelMaltravers dreaded that his brother--then in Paris--should learn hisintention, and attempt to thwart it; and, somehow or other, the colonelwas a little in awe of Ernest, and a little ashamed of his resolution. He did not know that, by a singular coincidence, Ernest himself hadthought of selling Burleigh. 

The solicitor was by no means pleased with this way of settling thematter. However, he whispered it about that Lisle Court was in themarket; and as it really was one of the most celebrated places ofits kind in England, the whisper spread among bankers and brewers andsoap-boilers and other rich people--the Medici of the New Noblesserising up amongst us--till at last it reached the ears of Mr. Douce. 

Lord Vargrave, however bad a man he might be, had not many of thosevices of character which belong to what I may call the _personal classof vices_, --that is, he had no ill-will to individuals. He was not, ordinarily, a jealous man, nor a spiteful, nor a malignant, nor avindictive man: his vices arose from utter indifference to all men, and all things--except as conducive to his own ends. He would not haveinjured a worm if it did him no good; but he would have set any houseon fire if he had no other means of roasting his own eggs. Yet still, if any feeling of personal rancour could harbour in his breast, it was, first, towards Evelyn Cameron, and, secondly, towards Ernest Maltravers. For the first time in his life, he did long for revenge, --revengeagainst the one for stealing his patrimony, and refusing his hand; andthat revenge he hoped to gratify. 

As to the other, it was not so much dislike he felt, as an uneasysentiment of inferiority. However well he himself had got on in theworld, he yet grudged the reputation of a man whom he had remembereda wayward, inexperienced boy: he did not love to hear any one praiseMaltravers. He fancied, too, that this feeling was reciprocal, and thatMaltravers was pained at hearing of any new step in his own career. In fact, it was that sort of jealousy which men often feel for thecompanions of their youth, whose characters are higher than their own, and whose talents are of an order they do not quite comprehend. Now, itcertainly did seem at that moment to Lord Vargrave that it would bea most splendid triumph over Mr. Maltravers of Burleigh to be lord ofLisle Court, the hereditary seat of the elder branch of the familyto be, as it were, in the very shoes of Mr. Ernest Maltravers's elderbrother. He knew, too, that it was a property of great consequence. LordVargrave of Lisle Court would hold a very different post in the peeragefrom Lord Vargrave of -----, Fulham! Nobody would call the owner ofLisle Court an adventurer; nobody would suspect such a man of caringthree straws about place and salary. And if he married Evelyn, and ifEvelyn bought Lisle Court, would not Lisle Court be his? He vaulted overthe _ifs_, stiff monosyllables though they were, with a single jump. Besides, even should the thing come to nothing, there was the veryexcuse he sought for joining Evelyn at Paris, for conversing with her, consulting her. It was true that the will of the late lord leftit solely at the discretion of the trustees to select such landedinvestment as seemed best to them; but still it was, if not legallynecessary, at least but a proper courtesy to consult Evelyn. And plans, and drawings, and explanations, and rent-rolls, would justify him inspending morning after morning alone with her. 

Thus cogitating, Lord Vargrave suffered Mr. Douce to stammer outsentence upon sentence, till at length, as he rang for coffee, hislordship stretched himself with the air of a man stretching himself intoself-complacency or a good thing, and said, --

"Mr. Douce, I will go down to Lisle Court as soon as I can; I will seeit; I will ascertain all about it; I will consider favourably of it. Iagree with you, I think it will do famously. "

"But, " said Mr. Douce, who seemed singularly anxious about the matter, "we must make haste, my lord; for really--yes, indeed--if--if--if BaronRoths--Rothschild should--that is to say--"

"Oh, yes, I understand; keep the thing close, my dear Douce; makefriends with the colonel's lawyer; play with him a little, till I canrun down. "

"Besides, you see, you are such a good man of business, my lord--thatyou see, that--yes, really--there must be time to draw out thepurchase-money--sell out at a prop--prop--"

"To be sure, to be sure! Bless me, how late it is! I am afraid mycarriage is ready. I must go to Madame de L-----'s. "

Mr. Douce, who seemed to have much more to say, was forced to keep itfor another time, and to take his leave. Lord Vargrave went to Madamede L-----'s. His position in what is called Exclusive Society was ratherpeculiar. By those who affected to be the best judges, the frankness ofhis manner and the easy oddity of his conversation were pronounced atvariance with the tranquil serenity of thorough breeding. But still hewas a great favourite both with fine ladies and dandies. His handsomekeen countenance, his talents, his politics, his intrigues, and ananimated boldness in his bearing, compensated for his constant violationof all the minutiae of orthodox conventionalism. 

At this house he met Colonel Maltravers, and took an opportunity torenew his acquaintance with that gentleman. He then referred, in aconfidential whisper, to the communication he had received touchingLisle Court. 

"Yes, " said the colonel, "I suppose I must sell the place, if I cando so quietly. To be sure, when I first spoke to my lawyer it was in amoment of vexation, on hearing that the ----- railroad was to go throughthe park, but I find that I overrated that danger. Still, if you willdo me the honour to go and look over the place, you will find very goodshooting; and when you come back, you can see if it will suit you. Don'tsay anything about it when you are there; it is better not to publish myintention all over the county. I shall have Sir Gregory Gubbins offeringto buy it if you do!"

"You may depend on my discretion. Have you heard anything of yourbrother lately?"

"Yes; I fancy he is going to Switzerland. He would soon be in England, if he heard I was going to part with Lisle Court!"

"What, it would vex him so?"

"I fear it would; but he has a nice old place of his own, not half solarge, and therefore not half so troublesome as Lisle Court. "

"Ay! and he _did_ talk of selling that nice old place. "

"Selling Burleigh! you surprise me. But really country places in England_are_ a bore. I suppose he has his Gubbins as well as myself!"

Here the chief minister of the government adorned by Lord Vargrave'svirtues passed by, and Lumley turned to greet him. 

The two ministers talked together most affectionately in a closewhisper, --so affectionately, that one might have seen, with half an eye, that they hated each other like poison!

CHAPTER V. 

 INSPICERE tanquam in speculum, in vitas omnium Jubeo. *--TERENCE. 

 * "I bid you look into the lives of all men, as it were into a mirror. "

ERNEST MALTRAVERS still lingered at Paris: he gave up all notion ofproceeding farther. He was, in fact, tired of travel. But there wasanother reason that chained him to that "Navel of the Earth, "--there isnot anywhere a better sounding-board to London rumours than the English_quartier_ between the Boulevard des Italiennes and the Tuileries; here, at all events, he should soonest learn the worst: and every day, as hetook up the English newspapers, a sick feeling of apprehension and fearcame over him. No! till the seal was set upon the bond, till the Rubiconwas passed, till Miss Cameron was the wife of Lord Vargrave, he couldneither return to the home that was so eloquent with the recollectionsof Evelyn, nor, by removing farther from England, delay the receipt ofan intelligence which he vainly told himself he was prepared to meet. 

He continued to seek such distractions from thought as were withinhis reach; and as his heart was too occupied for pleasures which had, indeed, long since palled, those distractions were of the grave andnoble character which it is a prerogative of the intellect to afford tothe passions. 

De Montaigne was neither a Doctrinaire nor a Republican, --and yet, perhaps, he was a little of both. He was one who thought that thetendency of all European States is towards Democracy; but he by no meanslooked upon Democracy as a panacea for all legislative evils. He thoughtthat, while a writer should be in advance of his time, a statesmanshould content himself with marching by its side; that a nation couldnot be ripened, like an exotic, by artificial means; that it mustbe developed only by natural influences. He believed that forms ofgovernment are never universal in their effects. Thus, De Montaigneconceived that we were wrong in attaching more importance to legislativethan to social reforms. He considered, for instance, that the surestsign of our progressive civilization is in our growing distaste tocapital punishments. He believed, not in the ultimate _perfection_ ofmankind, but in their progressive _perfectibility_. He thought thatimprovement was indefinite; but he did not place its advance more underRepublican than under Monarchical forms. "Provided, " he was wont to say, "all our checks to power are of the right kind, it matters little towhat hands the power itself is confided. "

"AEgina and Athens, " said he, "were republics--commercial andmaritime--placed under the same sky, surrounded by the same neighbours, and rent by the same struggles between Oligarchy and Democracy. Yet, while one left the world an immortal heirloom of genius, where are thepoets, the philosophers, the statesmen of the other? Arrian tells us ofrepublics in India, still supposed to exist by modern investigators;but they are not more productive of liberty of thought, or ferment ofintellect, than the principalities. In Italy there were commonwealthsas liberal as the Republic of Florence; but they did not produce aMachiavelli or a Dante. What daring thought, what gigantic speculation, what democracy of wisdom and genius, have sprung up amongst thedespotisms of Germany! You cannot educate two individuals so as toproduce the same results from both; you cannot, by similar constitutions(which are the education of nations) produce the same results fromdifferent communities. The proper object of statesmen should be to giveevery facility to the people to develop themselves, and every facilityto philosophy to dispute and discuss as to the ultimate objects to beobtained. But you cannot, as a practical legislator, place your countryunder a melon-frame: it must grow of its own accord. "

I do not say whether or not De Montaigne was wrong! but Maltravers sawat least that he was faithful to his theories; that all his motives weresincere, all his practice pure. He could not but allow, too, that inhis occupations and labours, De Montaigne appeared to feel a sublimeenjoyment; that, in linking all the powers of his mind to active anduseful objects, De Montaigne was infinitely happier than the Philosophyof Indifference, the scorn of ambition, had made Maltravers. Theinfluence exercised by the large-souled and practical Frenchman over thefate and the history of Maltravers was very peculiar. 

De Montaigne had not, apparently and directly, operated upon hisfriend's outward destinies; but he had done so indirectly, by operatingon his mind. Perhaps it was he who had consolidated the first waveringand uncertain impulses of Maltravers towards literary exertion; it washe who had consoled him for the mortifications at the earlier part ofhis career; and now, perhaps he might serve, in the full vigour of hisintellect, permanently to reconcile the Englishman to the claims oflife. 

There were, indeed, certain conversations which Maltravers held withDe Montaigne, the germ and pith of which it is necessary that I shouldplace before the reader, --for I write the inner as well as the outerhistory of a man; and the great incidents of life are not brought aboutonly by the dramatic agencies of others, but also by our own reasoningsand habits of thought. What I am now about to set down may be wearisome, but it is not episodical; and I promise that it shall be the lastdidactic conversation in the work. 

One day Maltravers was relating to De Montaigne all that he had beenplanning at Burleigh for the improvement of his peasantry, and all histheories respecting Labour-Schools and Poor-rates, when De Montaigneabruptly turned round, and said, --

"You have, then, really found that in your own little village yourexertions--exertions not very arduous, not demanding a tenth part ofyour time--have done practical good?"

"Certainly I think so, " replied Maltravers, in some surprise. 

"And yet it was but yesterday that you declared that all the labours ofPhilosophy and Legislation were labours vain; their benefits equivocaland uncertain; that as the sea, where it loses in one place, gains inanother, so civilization only partially profits us, stealing away onevirtue while it yields another, and leaving the large proportions ofgood and evil eternally the same. "

"True; but I never said that man might not relieve individuals byindividual exertion: though he cannot by abstract theories--nay, even bypractical action in the wide circle--benefit the mass. "

"Do you not employ on behalf of individuals the same moral agencies thatwise legislation or sound philosophy would adopt towards the multitude?For example, you find that the children of your village are happier, more orderly, more obedient, promise to be wiser and better men in theirown station of life, from the new, and, I grant, excellent system ofschool discipline and teaching that you have established. What you havedone in one village, why should not legislation do throughout a kingdom?Again, you find that, by simply holding out hope and emulation toindustry, by making stern distinctions between the energetic and theidle, the independent exertion and the pauper-mendicancy, you have founda lever by which you have literally moved and shifted the little worldaround you. But what is the difference here between the rules of avillage lord and the laws of a wise legislature? The moral feelingsyou have appealed to exist universally, the moral remedies you havepractised are as open to legislation as to the individual proprietor. "

"Yes; but when you apply to a nation the same principles whichregenerate a village, new counterbalancing principles arise. If I giveeducation to my peasants, I send them into the world with advantages_superior_ to their fellows, --advantages which, not being common totheir class, enable them to _outstrip_ their fellows. But if thiseducation were universal to the whole tribe, no man would have anadvantage superior to the others; the knowledge they would have acquiredbeing shared by all, would leave all as they now are, hewers of wood anddrawers of water: the principle of individual hope, which springsfrom knowledge, would soon be baffled by the vast competition that_universal_ knowledge would produce. Thus by the universal improvementwould be engendered a universal discontent. 

"Take a broader view of the subject. Advantages given to the _few_around me--superior wages, lighter toils, a greater sense of thedignity of man--are not productive of any change in society. Give theseadvantages to the _whole mass_ of the labouring classes, and what inthe small orbit is the desire of the _individual_ to rise becomes inthe large circumference the desire of the _class_ to rise; hencesocial restlessness, social change, revolution, and its hazards. Forrevolutions are produced but by the aspirations of one order, and theresistance of the other. Consequently, legislative improvement differswidely from individual amelioration; the same principle, the sameagency, that purifies the small body, becomes destructive when appliedto the large one. Apply the flame to the log on the hearth, or apply itto the forest, is there no distinction in the result? The breeze thatfreshens the fountain passes to the ocean, current impels current, waveurges wave, and the breeze becomes the storm. "

"Were there truth in this train of argument, " replied De Montaigne, "hadwe ever abstained from communicating to the Multitude the enjoyments andadvantages of the Few, had we shrunk from the good, because the good isa parent of the change and its partial ills, what now would be society?Is there no difference in collective happiness and virtue between thepainted Picts and the Druid worship, and the glorious harmony, light, and order of the great English nation?"

"The question is popular, " said Maltravers, with a smile; "and wereyou my opponent in an election, would be cheered on any hustings in thekingdom. But I have lived among savage tribes, --savage, perhaps, as therace that resisted Caesar; and their happiness seems to me, not perhapsthe same as that of the few whose sources of enjoyment are numerous, refined, and, save by their own passions, unalloyed; but equal tothat of the mass of men in States the most civilized and advanced. Theartisans, crowded together in the fetid air of factories, with physicalills gnawing at the core of the constitution, from the cradle to thegrave; drudging on from dawn to sunset and flying for recreation tothe dread excitement of the dram-shop, or the wild and vain hopes ofpolitical fanaticism, --are not in my eyes happier than the wild Indianswith hardy frames and calm tempers, seasoned to the privations for whichyou pity them, and uncursed with desires of that better state never tobe theirs. The Arab in his desert has seen all the luxuries of the pashain his harem; but he envies them not. He is contented with his barb, histent, his desolate sands, and his spring of refreshing water. 

"Are we not daily told, do not our priests preach it from their pulpits, that the cottage shelters happiness equal to that within the palace? Yetwhat the distinction between the peasant and the prince, differing fromthat between the peasant and the savage? There are more enjoyments andmore privations in the one than in the other; but if, in the lattercase, the enjoyments, though fewer, be more keenly felt, --if theprivations, though apparently sharper, fall upon duller sensibilitiesand hardier frames, --your gauge of proportion loses all its value. Nay, in civilization there is for the multitude an evil that exists notin the savage state. The poor man sees daily and hourly all the vastdisparities produced by civilized society; and reversing the divineparable, it is Lazarus who from afar, and from the despondent pit, looks upon Dives in the lap of Paradise: therefore, his privations, his sufferings, are made more keen by comparison with the luxuriesof others. Not so in the desert and the forest. There but smalldistinctions, and those softened by immemorial and hereditaryusage--that has in it the sanctity of religion--separate the savagefrom his chief. The fact is, that in civilization we behold a splendidaggregate, --literature and science, wealth and luxury, commerce andglory; but we see not the million victims crushed beneath the wheelsof the machine, --the health sacrificed, the board breadless, the jailsfilled, the hospitals reeking, the human life poisoned in every spring, and poured forth like water! Neither do we remember all the steps, marked by desolation, crime, and bloodshed, by which this barren summithas been reached. Take the history of any civilized state, --England, France, Spain before she rotted back into second childhood, the ItalianRepublics, the Greek Commonwealths, the Empress of the Seven Hills--whatstruggles, what persecutions, what crimes, what massacres! Where, inthe page of history, shall we look back and say, 'Here improvement hasdiminished the sum of evil'? Extend, too, your scope beyond the Stateitself: each State has won its acquisitions by the woes of others. Spainsprings above the Old World on the blood-stained ruins of the New; andthe groans and the gold of Mexico produce the splendours of the FifthCharles!

"Behold England, the wise, the liberal, the free England--through whatstruggles she has passed; and is she yet contented? The sullen oligarchyof the Normans; our own criminal invasions of Scotland and France; theplundered people, the butchered kings; the persecutions of the Lollards;the wars of Lancaster and York; the new dynasty of the Tudors, that atonce put back Liberty, and put forward Civilization! the Reformation, cradled in the lap of a hideous despot, and nursed by violence andrapine; the stakes and fires of Mary, and the craftier cruelties ofElizabeth, --England, strengthened by the desolation of Ireland, theCivil Wars, the reign of hypocrisy, followed by the reign of nakedvice; the nation that beheaded the graceful Charles gaping idly on thescaffold of the lofty Sidney; the vain Revolution of 1688, which, if ajubilee in England, was a massacre in Ireland; the bootless glories ofMarlborough; the organized corruption of Walpole, the frantic war withour own American sons, the exhausting struggles with Napoleon!

"Well, we close the page; we say, Lo! a thousand years of incessantstruggles and afflictions! millions have perished, but Art hassurvived; our boors wear stockings, our women drink tea, our poets readShakspeare, and our astronomers improve on Newton! Are we now contented?No! more restless than ever. New classes are called into power; newforms of government insisted on. Still the same catchwords, --Libertyhere, Religion there; Order with one faction, Amelioration with theother. Where is the goal, and what have we gained? Books are written, silks are woven, palaces are built, --mighty acquisitions for thefew--but the peasant is a peasant still! The crowd are yet at the bottomof the wheel; better off, you say. No, for they are not more contented!The artisan is as anxious for change as ever the serf was; and thesteam-engine has its victims as well as the sword. 

"Talk of legislation: all isolated laws pave the way to wholesalechanges in the form of government! Emancipate Catholics, and you openthe door to democratic principle, that Opinion should be free. If freewith the sectarian, it should be free with the elector. The Ballot is acorollary from the Catholic Relief-bill. Grant the Ballot, and the newcorollary of enlarged suffrage. Suffrage enlarged is divided but bya yielding surface (a circle widening in the waters) from universalsuffrage. Universal suffrage is Democracy. Is Democracy better than thearistocratic commonwealth? Look at the Greeks, who knew both forms;are they agreed which is the best? Plato, Thucydides, Xenophon, Aristophanes--the Dreamer, the Historian, the Philosophic Man of Action, the penetrating Wit--have no ideals in Democracy. Algernon Sidney, themartyr of liberty, allows no government to the multitude. Brutus diedfor a republic, but a republic of Patricians! What form of government isthen the best? All dispute, the wisest cannot agree. The many still say'a Republic;' yet, as you yourself will allow, Prussia, the Despotism, does all that Republics do. Yes, but a good despot is a lucky accident;true, but a just and benevolent Republic is as yet a monster equallyshort-lived. When the People have no other tyrant, their own publicopinion becomes one. No secret espionage is more intolerable to a freespirit than the broad glare of the American eye. 

"A rural republic is but a patriarchal tribe--no emulation, no glory;peace and stagnation. What Englishman, what Frenchman, would wish to bea Swiss? A commercial republic is but an admirable machine for makingmoney. Is man created for nothing nobler than freighting ships andspeculating on silk and sugar? In fact, there is no certain goal inlegislation; we go on colonizing Utopia, and fighting phantoms in theclouds. Let us content ourselves with injuring no man, and doing goodonly in our own little sphere. Let us leave States and senates to fillthe sieve of the Danaides, and roll up the stone of Sisyphus. "

"My dear friend, " said De Montaigne, "you have certainly made the mostof an argument, which, if granted, would consign government to foolsand knaves, and plunge the communities of mankind into the Slough ofDespond. But a very commonplace view of the question might suffice toshake your system. Is life, mere animal life, on the whole, a curse or ablessing?"

"The generality of men in all countries, " answered Maltravers, "enjoyexistence, and apprehend death; were it otherwise, the world had beenmade by a Fiend, and not a God!"

"Well, then, observe how the progress of society cheats the grave! Ingreat cities, where the effect of civilization must be the most visible, the diminution of mortality in a corresponding ratio with the increaseof civilization is most remarkable. In Berlin, from the year 1747 to1755, the annual mortality was as one to twenty-eight; but from 1816 to1822, it was as one to thirty-four! You ask what England has gained byher progress in the arts? I will answer you by her bills of mortality. In London, Birmingham, and Liverpool, deaths have decreased in less thana century from one to twenty, to one to forty (precisely one-half!). Again, whenever a community--nay, a single city, decreases incivilization, and in its concomitants, activity and commerce, itsmortality instantly increases. But if civilization be favourable tothe prolongation of life, must it not be favourable to all that blesseslife, --to bodily health, to mental cheerfulness, to the capacities forenjoyment? And how much more grand, how much more sublime, becomes theprospect of gain, if we reflect that, to each life thus called forth, there is a soul, a destiny beyond the grave, multiplied immortalities!What an apology for the continued progress of States! But you say that, however we advance, we continue impatient and dissatisfied: can youreally suppose that, because man in every state is discontented withhis lot, there is no difference in the _degree_ and _quality_ of hisdiscontent, no distinction between pining for bread and longing for themoon? Desire is implanted within us, as the very principle of existence;the physical desire fills the world, and the moral desire improves it. Where there is desire, there must be discontent: if we are satisfiedwith all things, desire is extinct. But a certain degree of discontentis not incompatible with happiness, nay, it has happiness of its own;what happiness like hope, --what is hope but desire? The European serf, whose seigneur could command his life, or insist as a right on thechastity of his daughter, desires to better his condition. God hascompassion on his state; Providence calls into action the ambitionof leaders, the contests of faction, the movement of men's aims andpassions: a change passes through society and legislation, and the serfbecomes free! He desires still, but what? No longer personal security, no longer the privileges of life and health; but higher wages, greatercomforts, easier justice for diminished wrongs. Is there no differencein the quality of that desire? Was one a greater torment than the otheris? Rise a scale higher: a new class is created--the Middle Class, --theexpress creature of Civilization. Behold the burgher and the citizen, and still struggling, still contending, still desiring, and thereforestill discontented. But the discontent does not prey upon the springsof life: it is the discontent of _hope_, not _despair_; it calls forthfaculties, energies, and passions, in which there is more joy thansorrow. It is this desire which makes the citizen in private life ananxious father, a careful master, an _active_, and therefore not anunhappy, man. You allow that individuals can effect individual good:this very restlessness, this very discontent with the exact placethat he occupies, makes the citizen a benefactor in his narrow circle. Commerce, better than Charity, feeds the hungry and clothes the naked. Ambition, better than brute affection, gives education to our children, and teaches them the love of industry, the pride of independence, therespect for others and themselves!

"In other words, a deference to such qualities as can best fit them toget on in the world, and make the most money!"

"Take that view if you will; but the wiser, the more civilized theState, the worse chances for the rogue to get on! There may be some art, some hypocrisy, some avarice, --nay, some hardness of heart, --in paternalexample and professional tuition. But what are such sober infirmitiesto the vices that arise from defiance and despair? Your savage has hisvirtues, but they are mostly physical, --fortitude, abstinence, patience:mental and moral virtues must be numerous or few, in proportion tothe range of ideas and the exigencies of social life. With the savage, therefore, they must be fewer than with civilized men; and they areconsequently limited to those simple and rude elements which thesafety of his state renders necessary to him. He is usually hospitable;sometimes honest. But vices are necessary to his existence as wellas virtues: he is at war with a tribe that may destroy his own; andtreachery without scruple, cruelty without remorse, are essentialto him; he feels their necessity, and calls them _virtues_! Eventhe half-civilized man, the Arab whom you praise, imagines he has anecessity for your money; and his robberies become virtues to him. Butin civilized States, vices are at least not necessary to the existenceof the majority; they are not, therefore, worshipped as virtues. Societyunites against them; treachery, robbery, massacre, are not essentialto the strength or safety of the community: they exist, it is true, butthey are not cultivated, but punished. The thief in St. Giles's has thevirtues of your savage: he is true to his companions, he is brave indanger, he is patient in privation; he practises the virtues necessaryto the bonds of his calling and the tacit laws of his vocation. He mighthave made an admirable savage: but surely the mass of civilized men arebetter than the thief?"

Maltravers was struck, and paused a little before he replied; and thenhe shifted his ground. "But at least all our laws, all our efforts, mustleave the multitude in every State condemned to a labour that deadensintellect, and a poverty that embitters life. "

"Supposing this were true, still there are multitudes besides _the_multitude. In each State Civilization produces a middle class, morenumerous to-day than the whole peasantry of a thousand years ago. WouldMovement and Progress be without their divine uses, even if they limitedtheir effect to the production of such a class? Look also to the effectof art, and refinement, and just laws, in the wealthier and higherclasses. See how their very habits of life tend to increase the sumof enjoyment; see the mighty activity that their very luxury, the veryfrivolity of their pursuits, create! Without an aristocracy, would therehave been a middle class? Without a middle class, would there ever havebeen an interposition between lord and slave? Before commerce produces amiddle class, Religion creates one. The Priesthood, whatever its errors, was the curb to Power. But, to return to the multitude, --you say that inall times they are left the same. Is it so? I come to statistics again:I find that not only civilization, but liberty, has a prodigious effectupon human life. It is, as it were, by the instinct of self-preservationthat liberty is so passionately desired by the multitude. A negro slave, for instance, dies annually as one to five or six, but a free Africanin the English service only as one to thirty-five! Freedom is not, therefore, a mere abstract dream, a beautiful name, a Platonicaspiration: it is interwoven with the most practical of allblessings, --life itself! And can you say fairly that by laws labourcannot be lightened and poverty diminished? We have granted already thatsince there are degrees in discontent, there is a difference betweenthe peasant and the serf: how know you what the peasant a thousand yearshence may be? Discontented, you will say, --still discontented. Yes; butif he had not been discontented, he would have been a serf still! Farfrom quelling this desire to better himself, we ought to hail it asthe source of his perpetual progress. That desire to him is often likeimagination to the poet, it transports him into the Future--

 'Crura sonant ferro, sed canit inter opus. '

It is, indeed, the gradual transformation from the desire of Despairto the desire of Hope, that makes the difference between man and man, between misery and bliss. "

"And then comes the crisis. Hope ripens into deeds; the stormyrevolution, perhaps the armed despotism; the relapse into the secondinfancy of States!"

"Can we, with new agencies at our command, new morality, new wisdom, predicate of the Future by the Past? In ancient States, the mass wereslaves; civilization and freedom rested with oligarchies; in Athenstwenty thousand citizens, four hundred thousand slaves! How easydecline, degeneracy, overthrow in such States, --a handful of soldiersand philosophers without a People! Now we have no longer barriers tothe circulation of the blood of States. The absence of slavery, theexistence of the Press; the healthful proportions of kingdoms, neithertoo confined nor too vast, have created new hopes, which history cannotdestroy. As a proof, look to all late revolutions: in England the CivilWars, the Reformation, --in France her awful Saturnalia, her militarydespotism! Has either nation fallen back? The deluge passes, and, behold, the face of things more glorious than before! Compare the Frenchof to-day with the French of the old _regime_. You are silent; well, andif in all States there is ever some danger of evil in their activity, isthat a reason why you are to lie down inactive; why you are to leave thecrew to battle for the helm? How much may individuals by the diffusionof their own thoughts in letters or in action regulate the order of vastevents, --now prevent, now soften, now animate, now guide! And is a manto whom Providence and Fortune have imparted such prerogatives to standaloof, because he can neither foresee the Future nor create Perfection?And you talk of no certain and definite goal! How know we that there isa certain and definite goal, even in heaven? How know we that excellencemay not be illimitable? Enough that we improve, that we proceed. Seeingin the great design of earth that benevolence is an attribute of theDesigner, let us leave the rest to Posterity and to God. "

"You have disturbed many of my theories, " said Maltravers, candidly;"and I will reflect on our conversation; but, after all, is every man toaspire to influence others; to throw his opinion into the great scalesin which human destinies are weighed? Private life is not criminal. Itis no virtue to write a book, or to make a speech. Perhaps, I shouldbe as well engaged in returning to my country village, looking at myschools, and wrangling with the parish overseers--"

"Ah, " interrupted the Frenchman, laughing; "if I have driven you to thispoint, I will go no further. Every state of life has its duties; everyman must be himself the judge of what he is most fit for. It is quiteenough that he desires to be active, and labours to be useful; that heacknowledges the precept, 'Never to be weary in well-doing. ' The divineappetite once fostered, let it select its own food. But the man who, after fair trial of his capacities, and with all opportunity for theirfull development before him, is convinced that he has faculties whichprivate life cannot wholly absorb, must not repine that Human Natureis not perfect, when he refuses even to exercise the gifts he himselfpossesses. "

Now these arguments have been very tedious; in some places they havebeen old and trite; in others they may appear too much to appertain tothe abstract theory of first principles. Yet from such arguments, _pro_and _con_, unless I greatly mistake, are to be derived corollariesequally practical and sublime, --the virtue of Action, the obligations ofGenius, and the philosophy that teaches us to confide in the destinies, and labour in the service, of mankind. 

CHAPTER VI. 

 I'LL tell you presently her very picture; Stay--yes, it is so--Lelia. _The Captain_, Act V. Sc. I. 

MALTRAVERS had not shrunk into a system of false philosophy from waywardand sickly dreams, from resolute self-delusion; on the contrary, hiserrors rested on his convictions: the convictions disturbed, the errorswere rudely shaken. 

But when his mind began restlessly to turn once more towards the dutiesof active life; when he recalled all the former drudgeries and toilsof political conflict, or the wearing fatigues of literature, with itssmall enmities, its false friendships, and its meagre and capriciousrewards, --ah, then, indeed, he shrank in dismay from the thoughts ofthe solitude at home! No lips to console in dejection, no heart tosympathize in triumph, no love within to counterbalance the hatewithout, --and the best of man, his household affections, left to witheraway, or to waste themselves on ideal images, or melancholy remembrance. 

It may, indeed, be generally remarked (contrary to a common notion), that the men who are most happy at home are the most active abroad. Theanimal spirits are necessary to healthful action; and dejection and thesense of solitude will turn the stoutest into dreamers. The hermit isthe antipodes of the citizen; and no gods animate and inspire us likethe Lares. 

One evening, after an absence from Paris of nearly a fortnight, at DeMontaigne's villa, in the neighbourhood of St. Cloud, Maltravers, who, though he no longer practised the art, was not less fond than heretoforeof music, was seated in Madame de Ventadour's box at the Italian Opera;and Valerie, who was above all the woman's jealousy of beauty, wasexpatiating with great warmth of eulogium upon the charms of a youngEnglish lady whom she had met at Lady G-----'s the preceding evening. 

"She is just my beau-ideal of the true English beauty, " said Valerie:"it is not only the exquisite fairness of the complexion, nor the eyesso purely blue, --which the dark lashes relieve from the coldness commonto the light eyes of the Scotch and German, --that are so beautifullynational, but the simplicity of manner, the unconsciousness ofadmiration, the mingled modesty and sense of the expression. No, I haveseen women more beautiful, but I never saw one more lovely: you aresilent; I expected some burst of patriotism in return for my complimentto your countrywoman!"

"But I am so absorbed in that wonderful Pasta--"

"You are no such thing; your thoughts are far away. But can you tellme anything about my fair stranger and her friends? In the first place, there is a Lord Doltimore, whom I knew before--you need say nothingabout him; in the next there is his new married bride, handsome, dark--but you are not well!"

"It was the draught from the door; go on, I beseech you, the young lady, the friend, her name?"

"Her name I do not remember; but she was engaged to be married to one ofyour statesmen, Lord Vargrave; the marriage is broken off--I know notif that be the cause of a certain melancholy in her countenance, --amelancholy I am sure not natural to its Hebe-like expression. But whohave just entered the opposite box? Ah, Mr. Maltravers, do look, thereis the beautiful English girl!"

And Maltravers raised his eyes, and once more beheld the countenance ofEvelyn Cameron!

BOOK VII. 

 Words of dark import gave suspicion birth. --POTTER. 

CHAPTER I. 

 _Luce_. Is the wind there? That makes for me. _Isab_. Come, I forget a business. _Wit without Money_. 

LORD VARGRAVE'S travelling-carriage was at his door, and he himself wasputting on his greatcoat in his library, when Lord Saxingham entered. 

"What! you are going into the country?"

"Yes; I wrote you word, --to see Lisle Court. "

"Ay, true; I had forgot. Somehow or other my memory is not so good as itwas. But, let me see, Lisle Court is in -----shire. Why, you will passwithin ten miles of C-----. "

"C-----! Shall I? I am not much versed in the geography ofEngland, --never learned it at school. As for Poland, Kamschatka, Mexico, Madagascar, or any other place as to which knowledge would be _useful_, I have every inch of the way at my finger's end. But _a propos_ ofC-----, it is the town in which my late uncle made his fortune. "

"Ah, so it is. I recollect you were to have stood for C-----, but gaveit up to Staunch; very handsome in you. Have you any interest therestill?"

"I think my ward has some tenants, --a street or two, --one called RichardStreet, and the other Templeton Place. I had intended some weeks agoto have gone down there, and seen what interest was still left to ourfamily; but Staunch himself told me that C----- was a sure card. "

"So he thought; but he has been with me this morning in great alarm: henow thinks he shall be thrown out. A Mr. Winsley, who has a great dealof interest there, and was a supporter of his, hangs back on account ofthe ----- question. This is unlucky, as Staunch is quite with _us_; andif he were to rat now it would be most unfortunate. "

"Winsley! Winsley!--my poor uncle's right-hand man. A greatbrewer, --always chairman of the Templeton Committee. I know the name, though I never saw the man. "

"If you could take C----- in your way?"

"To be sure. Staunch must not be lost. We cannot throw away a singlevote, much more one of such weight, --eighteen stone at the least! I'llstop at C----- on pretence of seeing after my ward's houses, and havea quiet conference with Mr. Winsley. Hem! Peers must not interfere inelections, eh? Well, good-by: take care of yourself. I shall be back ina week, I hope, --perhaps less. "

In a minute more Lord Vargrave and Mr. George Frederick Augustus Howard, a slim young gentleman of high birth and connections, but who, having, as a portionless cadet, his own way to make in the world, condescendedto be his lordship's private secretary, were rattling over the streetsthe first stage to C-----. 

It was late at night when Lord Vargrave arrived at the head inn of thatgrave and respectable cathedral city, in which once Richard Templeton, Esq. , --saint, banker, and politician, --had exercised his dictatorialsway. "Sic transit gloria mundi!" As he warmed his hands by the fire inthe large wainscoted apartment into which he was shown, his eye meta full length engraving of his uncle, with a roll of papers in hishand, --meant for a parliamentary bill for the turnpike trusts in theneighbourhood of C-----. The sight brought back his recollectionsof that pious and saturnine relation, and insensibly the minister'sthoughts flew to his death-bed, and to the strange secret which in thatlast hour he had revealed to Lumley, --a secret which had done much indeepening Lord Vargrave's contempt for the forms and conventionalitiesof decorous life. And here it may be mentioned--though in the courseof this volume a penetrating reader may have guessed as much--that, whatever that secret, it did not refer expressly or exclusively to thelate lord's singular and ill-assorted marriage. Upon that point much wasstill left obscure to arouse Lumley's curiosity, had he been a man whosecuriosity was very vivacious. But on this he felt but little interest. He knew enough to believe that no further information could benefithimself personally; why should he trouble his head with what never wouldfill his pockets?

An audible yawn from the slim secretary roused Lord Vargrave from hisrevery. 

"I envy you, my young friend, " said he, good-humouredly. "It is apleasure we lose as we grow older, --that of being sleepy. However, 'tobed, ' as Lady Macbeth says. Faith, I don't wonder the poor devil of athane was slow in going to bed with such a tigress. Good-night to you. "

CHAPTER II. 

 MA fortune va prendre une face nouvelle. * RACINE. _Androm_. , Act i. Sc. 1. 

 * "My fortune is about to take a turn. "

THE next morning Vargrave inquired the way to Mr. Winsley's, and walkedalone to the house of the brewer. The slim secretary went to inspect thecathedral. 

Mr. Winsley was a little, thickset man, with a civil but bluntelectioneering manner. He started when he heard Lord Vargrave's name, and bowed with great stiffness. Vargrave saw at a glance that there wassome cause of grudge in the mind of the worthy man; nor did Mr. Winsleylong hesitate before he cleansed his bosom of its perilous stuff. 

"This is an unexpected honour, my lord: I don't know how to account forit. "

"Why, Mr. Winsley, your friendship with my late uncle can, perhaps, sufficiently explain and apologize for a visit from a nephew sincerelyattached to his memory. "

"Humph! I certainly did do all in my power to promote Mr. Templeton'sinterests. No man, I may say, did more; and yet I don't think it wasmuch thought of the moment he turned his back upon the electors ofC-----. Not that I bear any malice; I am well to do, and value no man'sfavour, --no man's, my lord!"

"You amaze me! I always heard my poor uncle speak of you in the highestterms. "

"Oh, well, it don't signify; pray say no more of it. Can I offer yourlordship a glass of wine?"

"No, I am much obliged to you; but we really must set this little matterright. You know that after his marriage my uncle never revisited C-----;and that shortly before his death he sold the greater part ofhis interest in this city. His young wife, I suppose, liked theneighbourhood of London; and when elderly gentlemen _do_ marry, youknow they are no longer their own masters; but if you had ever come toFulham--ah! then, indeed, my uncle would have rejoiced to see his oldfriend. "

"Your lordship thinks so, " said Mr. Winsley with a sardonic smile. "Youare mistaken; I did call at Fulham; and though I sent in my card, LordVargrave's servant (he was then My Lord) brought back word that hislordship was not at home. "

"But that must have been true; he was out, you may depend on it. "

"I saw him at the window, my lord, " said Mr. Winsley, taking a pinch ofsnuff. 

"Oh, the deuce! I'm in for it, " thought Lumley. --"Very strange, indeed! but how can you account for it? Ah, perhaps the health of LadyVargrave--she was so very delicate then, and my poor uncle lived forher--you know that he left all his fortune to Miss Cameron?"

"Miss Cameron! Who is she, my lord?"

"Why, his daughter-in-law; Lady Vargrave was a widow, --a Mrs. Cameron. "

"Mrs. Cam--I remember now, --they put Cameron in the newspapers; but Ithought it was a mistake. But, perhaps" (added Winsley, with a sneer ofpeculiar malignity), --"perhaps, when your worthy uncle thought of beinga peer, he did not like to have it known that he married so much beneathhim. "

"You quite mistake, my dear sir; my uncle never denied that Mrs. Cameronwas a lady of no fortune or connections, --widow to some poor Scotchgentleman, who died I think in India. "

"He left her very ill off, poor thing; but she had a great deal ofmerit, and worked hard; she taught my girls to play--"

"Your girls! did Mrs. Cameron ever reside in C-----?"

"To be sure; but she was then called Mrs. Butler--just as pretty a nameto my fancy. "

"You must make a mistake: my uncle married this lady in Devonshire. "

"Very possibly, " quoth the brewer, doggedly. "Mrs. Butler left the townwith her little girl some time before Mr. Templeton married. "

"Well, you are wiser than I am, " said Lumley, forcing a smile. "But howcan you be sure that Mrs. Butler and Mrs. Cameron are one and the sameperson? You did not go into the house, you could not have seen LadyVargrave" (and here Lumley shrewdly guessed--if the tale were true--atthe cause of his uncle's exclusion of his old acquaintance). 

"No! but I saw her ladyship on the lawn, " said Mr. Winsley, with anothersardonic smile; "and I asked the porter at the lodge as I went out ifthat was Lady Vargrave, and he said, 'yes. ' However, my lord, bygonesare bygones, --I bear no malice; your uncle was a good man: and if he hadbut said to me, 'Winsley, don't say a word about Mrs. Butler, ' he mighthave reckoned on me just as much as when in his elections he used to putfive thousand pounds in my hands, and say, 'Winsley, no bribery, --it iswicked; let this be given in charity. ' Did any one ever know how thatmoney went? Was your uncle ever accused of corruption? But, my lord, surely you will take some refreshment?"

"No, indeed; but if you will let me dine with you tomorrow, you'lloblige me much; and, whatever my uncle's faults (and latterly, poor man, he was hardly in his senses; what a will he made!) let not the nephewsuffer for them. Come, Mr. Winsley, " and Lumley held out his hand withenchanting frankness, "you know my motives are disinterested; I haveno parliamentary interest to serve, we have no constituents for ourHospital of Incurables; and--oh! that's right, --we're friends, I see!Now I must go and look after my ward's houses. Let me see, the agent'sname is--is--"

"Perkins, I think, my lord, " said Mr. Winsley, thoroughly softened bythe charm of Vargrave's words and manner. "Let me put on my hat, andshow you his house. "

"Will you? That's very kind; give me all the election news by theway--you know I was once within an ace of being your member. "

Vargrave learned from his new friend some further particulars relativeto Mrs. Butler's humble habits and homely mode of life at C-----, whichserved completely to explain to him why his proud and worldly unclehad so carefully abstained from all intercourse with that city, and hadprevented the nephew from standing for its vacant representation. Itseemed, however, that Winsley--whose resentment was not of a very activeor violent kind--had not communicated the discovery he had made to hisfellow townspeople; but had contented himself with hints and aphorisms, whenever he had heard the subject of Mr. Templeton's marriage discussed, which had led the gossips of the place to imagine that he had made amuch worse selection than he really had. As to the accuracy of Winsley'sassertion, Vargrave, though surprised at first, had but little doubton consideration, especially when he heard that Mrs. Butler's principalpatroness had been the Mrs. Leslie, now the intimate friend of LadyVargrave. But what had been the career, what the earlier condition andstruggles of this simple and interesting creature? With her appearanceat C-----, commenced all that surmise could invent. Not greater was themystery that wrapped the apparition of Manco Capac by the lake Titiaca, than that which shrouded the places and the trials whence the lowlyteacher of music had emerged amidst the streets of C------. 

Weary, and somewhat careless, of conjecture, Lord Vargrave, in diningwith Mr. Winsley, turned the conversation upon the business on which hehad principally undertaken his journey, --namely, the meditated purchaseof Lisle Court. 

"I myself am not a very good judge of landed property, " said Vargrave;"I wish I knew of an experienced surveyor to look over the farms andtimber: can you help me to such a one?"

Mr. Winsley smiled, and glanced at a rosy-cheeked young lady, whosimpered and turned away. "I think my daughter could recommend one toyour lordship, if she dared. "

"Oh, Pa!"

"I see. Well, Miss Winsley, I will take no recommendation but yours. "

Miss Winsley made an effort. 

"Indeed, my lord, I have always heard Mr. Robert Hobbs considered veryclever in his profession. "

"Mr. Robert Hobbs is my man! His good health--and a fair wife to him. "

Miss Winsley glanced at Mamma, and then at a younger sister; and thenthere was a titter, and then a fluttering, and then a rising, and Mr. Winsley, Lord Vargrave, and the slim secretary were left alone. 

"Really, my lord, " said the host, resettling himself, and pushing thewine, "though you have guessed our little family arrangement, and I havesome interest in the recommendation, since Margaret will be Mrs. RobertHobbs in a few weeks, yet I do not know a more acute, intelligent youngman anywhere. Highly respectable, with an independent fortune; hisfather is lately dead, and made at least thirty thousand pounds intrade. His brother Edward is also dead; so he has the bulk of theproperty, and he follows his profession merely for amusement. He wouldconsider it a great honour. "

"And where does he live?"

"Oh, not in this county, --a long way off; close to -----; but it is allin your lordship's road. A very nice house he has, too. I have known hisfamily since I was a boy; it is astonishing how his father improved theplace, --it was a poor little lath-and-plaster cottage when the late Mr. Hobbs bought it, and it is now a very excellent family house. "

"Well, you shall give me the address and a letter of introduction, and so much for that matter. But to return to politics;" and here LordVargrave ran eloquently on, till Mr. Winsley thought him the only man inthe world who could save the country from that utter annihilation, thepossibility of which he had never even suspected before. 

It may be as well to add, that, on wishing Lord Vargrave good-night, Mr. Winsley whispered in his ear, "Your lordship's friend, Lord Staunch, need be under no apprehension, --we are all right!"

CHAPTER III. 

 THIS is the house, sir. --_Love's Pilgrimage_, Act iv, sc. 2. 

 Redeunt Saturnia regna. *--VIRGIL. 

 * "A former state of things returns. "

THE next morning, Lumley and his slender companion were rolling rapidlyover the same road on which, sixteen years ago, way-worn and weary, Alice Darvil had first met with Mrs. Leslie; they were talking about anew opera-dancer as they whirled by the very spot. 

It was about five o'clock in the afternoon, the next day, when thecarriage stopped at a cast-iron gate, on which was inscribed thisepigraph, "Hobbs' lodge--Ring the Bell. "

"A snug place enough, " said Lord Vargrave, as they were waiting thearrival of the footman to unbar the gate. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Howard. "If a retired Cit could be transformed into ahouse, such is the house he would be. "

Poor Dale Cottage, --the home of Poetry and Passion! But change visitsthe Commonplace as well as the Romantic. Since Alice had pressed tothat cold grating her wistful eyes, time had wrought his allottedrevolutions; the old had died, the young grown up. Of the childrenplaying on the lawn, death had claimed some, and marriage others, --andthe holiday of youth was gone for all. 

The servant opened the gate. Mr. Robert Hobbs was at home; he hadfriends with him, --he was engaged; Lord Vargrave sent in his card, andthe introductory letter from Mr. Winsley. In two seconds, these missivesbrought to the gate Mr. Robert Hobbs himself, a smart young man, witha black stock, red whiskers, and an eye-glass pendant to a hair-chainwhich was possibly _a gage d'amour_ from Miss Margaret Winsley. 

A profusion of bows, compliments, apologies, etc. , the carriage drove upthe sweep, and Lord Vargrave descended, and was immediately ushered intoMr. Hobbs's private room. The slim secretary followed, and sat silent, melancholy, and upright, while the peer affably explained his wants andwishes to the surveyor. 

Mr. Hobbs was well acquainted with the locality of Lisle Court, whichwas little more than thirty miles distant, he should be proud toaccompany Lord Vargrave thither the next morning. But, might he venture, might he dare, might he presume--a gentleman who lived at the town of----- was to dine with him that day; a gentleman of the most profoundknowledge of agricultural affairs; a gentleman who knew every farm, almost every acre, belonging to Colonel Maltravers; if his lordshipcould be induced to waive ceremony, and dine with Mr. Hobbs; it might bereally useful to meet this gentleman. The slim secretary, who was veryhungry, and who thought he sniffed an uncommonly savoury smell, lookedup from his boots. Lord Vargrave smiled. 

"My young friend here is too great an admirer of Mrs. Hobbs--who is tobe--not to feel anxious to make the acquaintance of any member of thefamily she is to enter. "

Mr. George Frederick Augustus Howard blushed indignant refutation of thecalumnious charge. Vargrave continued, --"As for me, I shall bedelighted to meet any friends of yours, and am greatly obliged for yourconsideration. We may dismiss the postboys, Howard; and what time shallwe summon them, --ten o'clock?"

"If your lordship would condescend to accept a bed, we can accommodateyour lordship and this gentleman, and start at any hour in the morningthat--"

"So be it, " interrupted Vargrave. "You speak like a man of business. Howard, be so kind as to order the horses for six o'clock to-morrow. We'll breakfast at Lisle Court. "

This matter settled, Lord Vargrave and Mr. Howard were shown into theirrespective apartments. Travelling dresses were changed, the dinner putback, and the fish over-boiled; but what mattered common fish, when Mr. Hobbs had just caught such a big one? Of what consequence he should behenceforth and ever! A peer, a minister, a stranger to the county, --tocome all this way to consult _him_! to be _his_ guest! to be shown off, and patted, and trotted out before all the rest of the company! Mr. Hobbs was a made man! Careless of all this, ever at home with any one, and delighted, perhaps, to escape a _tete-a-tete_ with Mr. Howard in astrange inn, Vargrave lounged into the drawing-room, and was formallypresented to the expectant family and the famishing guests. 

During the expiring bachelorship of Mr. Robert Hobbs, his sister, Mrs. Tiddy (to whom the reader was first introduced as a bride gathering thewisdom of economy and large joints from the frugal lips of hermamma), officiated as lady of the house, --a comely matron, andwell-preserved, --except that she had lost a front tooth, --in a jaundicedsatinet gown, with a fall of British blonde, and a tucker of the same, Mr. Tiddy being a starch man, and not willing that the luxuriant charmsof Mrs. T. Should be too temptingly exposed! There was also Mr. Tiddy, whom his wife had married for love, and who was now well to do, --afine-looking man, with large whiskers, and a Roman nose, a little awry. Moreover, there was a Miss Biddy or Bridget Hobbs, a young lady offour or five and twenty, who was considering whether she might ask LordVargrave to write something in her album, and who cast a bashful look ofadmiration at the slim secretary, as he now sauntered into the room, ina black coat, black waistcoat, black trousers, and a black neckcloth, with a black pin, --looking much like an ebony cane split half-way up. Miss Biddy was a fair young lady, a _leetle_ faded, with uncommonly thinarms and white satin shoes, on which the slim secretary cast his eyesand--shuddered!

In addition to the family group were the Rector of -----, an agreeableman, who published sermons and poetry; also Sir William Jekyll, who wasemploying Mr. Hobbs to make a map of an estate he had just purchased;also two country squires and their two wives; moreover, the physician ofthe neighbouring town, --a remarkably tall man, who wore spectacles andtold anecdotes; and, lastly, Mr. Onslow, the gentleman to whom Mr. Hobbshad referred, --an elderly man of prepossessing exterior, of high reputeas the most efficient magistrate, the best farmer, and the most sensibleperson in the neighbourhood. This made the party, to each individualof which the great man bowed and smiled; and the great man's secretarybent, condescendingly, three joints of his backbone. 

The bell was now rung, dinner announced. Sir William Jekyll led the waywith one of the she-squires, and Lord Vargrave offered his arm to theportly Mrs. Tiddy. 

Vargrave, as usual, was the life of the feast. Mr. Howard, who sat nextto Miss Bridget, conversed with her between the courses, "in dumb show. "Mr. Onslow and the physician played second and third to Lord Vargrave. When the dinner was over, and the ladies had retired, Vargrave foundhimself seated next to Mr. Onslow, and discovered in his neighbour amost agreeable companion. They talked principally about Lisle Court, andfrom Colonel Maltravers the conversation turned naturally upon Ernest. Vargrave proclaimed his early intimacy with the latter gentleman, complained, feelingly, that politics had divided them of late, and toldtwo or three anecdotes of their youthful adventures in the East. Mr. Onslow listened to him with much attention. 

"I made the acquaintance of Mr. Maltravers many years ago, " said he, "and upon a very delicate occasion. I was greatly interested in him; Inever saw one so young (for he was then but a boy) manifest feelings sodeep. By the dates you have referred to, your acquaintance with him musthave commenced very shortly after mine. Was he at that time cheerful, ingood spirits?"

"No, indeed; hypochondriacal to the greatest degree. "

"Your lordship's intimacy with him, and the confidence that generallyexists between young men, induce me to suppose that he may have told youa little romance connected with his early years. "

Lumley paused to consider; and this conversation, which had been carriedon apart, was suddenly broken into by the tall doctor, who wanted toknow whether his lordship had ever heard the anecdote about Lord Thurlowand the late king. The anecdote was as long as the doctor himself; andwhen it was over, the gentlemen adjourned to the drawing-room, and allconversation was immediately drowned by "Row, brothers, row, " which hadonly been suspended till the arrival of Mr. Tiddy, who had a fine bassvoice. 

Alas! eighteen years ago, in that spot of earth, Alice Darvil had firstcaught the soul of music from the lips of Genius and of Love! But betteras it is, --less romantic, but more proper, --as Hobbs' Lodge was lesspretty, but more safe from the winds and rains, than Dale Cottage. 

Miss Bridget ventured to ask the good-humoured Lord Vargrave if he sang. "Not I, Miss Hobbs; but Howard, there!--ah, if you heard _him_!" Theconsequence of this hint was, that the unhappy secretary, who, alone, ina distant corner, was unconsciously refreshing his fancy with some coolweak coffee, was instantly beset with applications from Miss Bridget, Mrs. Tiddy, Mr. Tiddy, and the tall doctor, to favour the company with aspecimen of his talents. Mr. Howard could sing, --he could even play theguitar. But to sing at Hobbs' Lodge, to sing to the accompaniment ofMrs. Tiddy, to have his gentle tenor crushed to death in a glee by theheavy splayfoot of Mr. Tiddy's manly bass--the thought was insufferable!He faltered forth assurances of his ignorance, and hastened to buryhis resentment in the retirement of a remote sofa. Vargrave, who hadforgotten the significant question of Mr. Onslow, renewed in awhisper his conversation with that gentleman relative to the meditatedinvestment, while Mr. And Mrs. Tiddy sang "Come dwell with me;" andOnslow was so pleased with his new acquaintance, that he volunteered tomake a fourth in Lumley's carriage the next morning, and accompany himto Lisle Court. This settled, the party soon afterwards broke up. At midnight Lord Vargrave was fast asleep; and Mr. Howard, tossingrestlessly to and fro on his melancholy couch, was revolving all thehardships that await a native of St. James's, who ventures forth among--

 "The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders!"

CHAPTER IV. 

 BUT how were these doubts to be changed into absolute certainty? EDGAR HUNTLEY. 

THE next morning, while it was yet dark, Lord Vargrave's carriagepicked up Mr. Onslow at the door of a large old-fashioned house, at theentrance of the manufacturing town of -----. The party were silent andsleepy till they arrived at Lisle Court. The sun had then appeared, themorning was clear, the air frosty and bracing; and as, after traversinga noble park, a superb quadrangular pile of brick flanked by huge squareturrets coped with stone broke upon the gaze of Lord Vargrave, hisworldly heart swelled within him, and the image of Evelyn becameinexpressibly lovely and seductive. 

Though the housekeeper was not prepared for Vargrave's arrival at soearly an hour, yet he had been daily expected: the logs soon burnedbright in the ample hearth of the breakfast-room; the urn hissed, thecutlets smoked; and while the rest of the party gathered round the fire, and unmuffled themselves of cloaks and shawl-handkerchiefs, Vargraveseized upon the housekeeper, traversed with delighted steps themagnificent suite of rooms, gazed on the pictures, admired the statebed-chambers, peeped into the offices, and recognized in all a mansionworthy of a Peer of England, --but which a more prudent man would havethought, with a sigh, required careful management of the rent-rollraised from the property adequately to equip and maintain. Such an ideadid not cross the mind of Vargrave; he only thought how much he shouldbe honoured and envied, when, as Secretary of State, he should yearlyfill those feudal chambers with the pride and rank of England! It wascharacteristic of the extraordinary sanguineness and self-confidenceof Vargrave, that he entirely overlooked one slight obstacle to thisprospect, in the determined refusal of Evelyn to accept that passionatehomage which he offered to--her fortune!

When breakfast was over the steward was called in, and the party, mounted upon ponies, set out to reconnoitre. After spending the shortday most agreeably in looking over the gardens, pleasure-grounds, park, and home-farm, and settling to visit the more distant parts of theproperty the next day, the party were returning home to dine, whenVargrave's eye caught the glittering _whim_ of Sir Gregory Gubbins. 

He pointed it out to Mr. Onslow, and laughed much at hearing of theannoyance it occasioned to Colonel Maltravers. "Thus, " said Lumley, "dowe all crumple the rose-leaf under us, and quarrel with couches the mostluxuriant! As for me, I will wager, that were this property mine, or myward's, in three weeks we should have won the heart of Sir Gregory, madehim pull down his _whim_, and coaxed him out of his interest in the cityof -----. A good seat for you, Howard, some day or other. "

"Sir Gregory has prodigiously bad taste, " said Mr. Hobbs. "For mypart, I think that there ought to be a certain modest simplicity in thedisplay of wealth got in business, --that was my poor father's maxim. "

"Ah!" said Vargrave, "Hobbs' Lodge is a specimen. Who was yourpredecessor in that charming retreat?"

"Why, the place--then called Dale Cottage--belonged to a Mr. Berners, arich bachelor in business, who was rich enough not to mind what peoplesaid of him, and kept a lady there. She ran off from him, and he thenlet it to some young man--a stranger, very eccentric, I hear--a Mr. --Mr. Butler--and he, too, gave the cottage an unlawful attraction, --a mostbeautiful girl, I have heard. "

"Butler!" echoed Vargrave, --"Butler! Butler!" Lumley recollected thatsuch had been the real name of Mrs. Cameron. 

Onslow looked hard at Vargrave. 

"You recognize the name, my lord, " said he in a whisper, as Hobbs hadturned to address himself to Mr. Howard. "I thought you very discreetwhen I asked you, last night, if you remembered the early folliesof your friend. " A suspicion at once flashed upon the quick mind ofVargrave: Butler was a name on the mother's side in the family ofMaltravers; the gloom of Ernest when he first knew him, the boy's hintsthat the gloom was connected with the affections, the extraordinary andsingle accomplishment of Lady Vargrave in that art of which Maltraverswas so consummate a master, the similarity of name, --all taken inconjunction with the meaning question of Mr. Onslow, were enough tosuggest to Vargrave that he might be on the verge of a family secret, the knowledge of which could be turned to advantage. He took care not toconfess his ignorance, but artfully proceeded to draw out Mr. Onslow'scommunications. 

"Why, it is true, " said he, "that Maltravers and I had no secrets. Ah, we were wild fellows then! The name of Butler is in his family, eh?"

"It is. I see you know all. "

"Yes; he told me the story, but it is eighteen years ago. Do refresh mymemory. Howard, my good fellow, just ride on and expedite dinner: Mr. Hobbs, will you go with Mr. What's-his-name, the steward, and look overthe maps, out-goings, etc. ? Now, Mr. Onslow--so Maltravers took thecottage, and a lady with it?--ay, I remember. "

Mr. Onslow (who was in fact that magistrate to whom Ernest had confidedhis name and committed the search after Alice, and who was reallyanxious to know if any tidings of the poor girl had ever beenascertained) here related that history with which the reader isacquainted, --the robbery of the cottage, the disappearance of Alice, thesuspicions that connected that disappearance with her ruffian father, the despair and search of Maltravers. He added that Ernest, both beforehis departure from England, and on his return, had written to him tolearn if Alice had ever been heard of; the replies of the magistratewere unsatisfactory. "And do you think, my lord, that Mr. Maltravers hasnever to this day ascertained what became of the poor young woman?"

"Why, let me see, --what was her name?"

The magistrate thought a moment, and replied, "Alice Darvil. "

"Alice!" exclaimed Vargrave. "Alice!"--aware that such was the Christianname of his uncle's wife, and now almost convinced of the truth of hisfirst vague suspicion. 

"You seem to know the name?"

"Of Alice; yes--but not Darvil. No, no; I believe he has never heard ofthe girl to this hour. Nor you either?"

"I have not. One little circumstance related to me by Mr. Hobbs, yoursurveyor's father, gave me some uneasiness. About two years after theyoung woman disappeared, a girl, of very humble dress and appearance, stopped at the gate of Hobbs' Lodge, and asked earnestly for Mr. Butler. On hearing he was gone, she turned away, and was seen no more. It seemsthat this girl had an infant in her arms--which rather shockedthe propriety of Mr. And Mrs. Hobbs. The old gentleman told me thecircumstance a few days after it happened, and I caused inquiry to bemade for the stranger; but she could not be discovered. I thought atfirst this possibly might be the lost Alice; but I learned that, duringhis stay at the cottage, your friend--despite his error, which we willnot stop to excuse--had exercised so generous and wide a charity amongstthe poor in the town and neighbourhood, that it was a more probablesupposition of the two that the girl belonged to some family hehad formerly relieved, and her visit was that of a mendicant, not amistress. Accordingly, after much consideration, I resolved not tomention the circumstances to Mr. Maltravers, when he wrote to me on hisreturn from the Continent. A considerable time had then elapsed sincethe girl had applied to Mr. Hobbs; all trace of her was lost; theincident might open wounds that time must have nearly healed, might givefalse hopes--or, what was worse, occasion a fresh and unfounded remorseat the idea of Alice's destitution; it would, in fact, do no good, andmight occasion unnecessary pain. I therefore suppressed all mention ofit. "

"You did right: and so the poor girl had an infant in her arms?--humph!What sort of looking person was this Alice Darvil, --pretty, of course?"

"I never saw her; and none but the persons employed in the premises knewher by sight; they described her as remarkably lovely. "

"Fair and slight, with blue eyes, I suppose?--those are the orthodoxrequisites of a heroine. "

"Upon my word I forget; indeed I should never have remembered as muchas I do, if the celebrity of Mr. Maltravers, and the consequence of hisfamily in these parts, together with the sight of his own agony--themost painful I ever witnessed--had not served to impress the wholeaffair very deeply on my mind. "

"Was the girl who appeared at the gate of Hobbs' Lodge described toyou?"

"No; they scarcely observed her countenance, except that her complexionwas too fair for a gypsy's; yet, now I think of it, Mrs. Tiddy, who waswith her father when he told me the adventure, dwelt particularly on herhaving (as you so pleasantly conjecture) fair hair and blue eyes. Mrs. Tiddy, being just married, was romantic at that day. "

"Well, it is an odd tale; but life is full of odd tales. Here we are atthe house; it really is a splendid old place!"

CHAPTER V. 

 PENDENT opera interrupta. *--VIRGIL. 

 * "The things begun are interrupted and suspended. "

THE history Vargrave had heard he revolved much when he retired to rest. He could not but allow that there was still little ground for more thanconjecture that Alice Darvil and Alice Lady Vargrave were one and thesame person. It might, however, be of great importance to him to tracethis conjecture to certainty. The knowledge of a secret of early sin anddegradation in one so pure, so spotless, as Lady Vargrave, might be ofimmense service in giving him a power over her, which he could turn toaccount with Evelyn. How could he best prosecute further inquiry, --byrepairing at once to Brook-Green, or--the thought struck him--byvisiting and "pumping" Mrs. Leslie, the patroness of Mrs. Butler, ofC-----, the friend of Lady Vargrave? It was worth trying the latter, --itwas little out of his way back to London. His success in picking thebrains of Mr. Onslow of a secret encouraged him in the hope of equalsuccess with Mrs. Leslie. He decided accordingly, and fell asleepto dream of Christmas _battues_, royal visitors, the Cabinet, thepremiership! Well, no possession equals the dream of it! Sleep on, mylord! you would be restless enough if you were to get all you want. 

For the next three days, Lord Vargrave was employed in examining thegeneral outlines of the estate; and the result of this survey satisfiedhim as to the expediency of the purchase. On the third day, he wasseveral miles from the house when a heavy rain came on. Lord Vargravewas constitutionally hardy, and not having been much exposed tovisitations of the weather of late years, was not practically aware thatwhen a man is past forty, he cannot endure with impunity all that fallsinnocuously on the elasticity of twenty-six. He did not, therefore, heed the rain that drenched him to the skin, and neglected to changehis dress till he had finished reading some letters and newspapers whichawaited his return at Lisle Court. The consequence of this imprudencewas, that the next morning when he woke, Lord Vargrave found himself, for almost the first time in his life, seriously ill. His head achedviolently, cold shiverings shook his frame like an ague; the verystrength of the constitution on which the fever had begun to fastenitself augmented its danger. Lumley--the last man in the world to thinkof the possibility of dying--fought up against his own sensations, ordered his post-horses, as his visit of survey was now over, andscarcely even alluded to his indisposition. About an hour before heset off, his letters arrived; one of these informed him that Caroline, accompanied by Evelyn, had already arrived in Paris; the other was fromColonel Legard, respectfully resigning his office, on the ground ofan accession of fortune by the sudden death of the admiral, and hisintention to spend the ensuing year in a Continental excursion. Thislast letter occasioned Vargrave considerable alarm; he had always felta deep jealousy of the handsome ex-guardsman, and he at once suspectedthat Legard was about to repair to Paris as his rival. He sighed, andlooked round the spacious apartment, and gazed on the wide prospects ofgrove and turf that extended from the window, and said to himself, "Isanother to snatch these from my grasp?" His impatience to visit Mrs. Leslie, to gain ascendency over Lady Vargrave, to repair to Paris, to scheme, to manoeuvre, to triumph, accelerated the progress of thedisease that was now burning in his veins; and the hand that he held outto Mr. Hobbs, as he stepped into his carriage, almost scorched the cold, plump, moist fingers of the surveyor. Before six o'clock in the eveningLord Vargrave confessed reluctantly to himself that he was too ill toproceed much farther. "Howard, " said he then, breaking a silence thathad lasted some hours, "don't be alarmed; I feel that I am about to havea severe attack; I shall stop at M-----(naming a large town they wereapproaching); I shall send for the best physician the place affords;if I am delirious to-morrow, or unable to give my own orders, have thekindness to send express for Dr. Holland, --but don't leave me yourself, my good fellow. At my age, it is a hard thing to have no one in theworld to care for me in illness; d-----n affection when I am well!"

After this strange burst, which very much frightened Mr. Howard, Lumleyrelapsed into silence, not broken till he reached M-----. The bestphysician was sent for; and the next morning, as he had half foreseenand foretold, Lord Vargrave _was_ delirious!

CHAPTER VI. 

 NOUGHT under Heaven so strongly doth allure The sense of man, and all his mind possess, As Beauty's love-bait. --SPENSER. 

LEGARD was, as I have before intimated, a young man of generous andexcellent dispositions, though somewhat spoiled by the tenor of hiseducation, and the gay and reckless society which had administeredtonics to his vanity and opiates to his intellect. The effect which thebeauty, the grace, the innocence of Evelyn had produced upon him hadbeen most deep and most salutary. It had rendered dissipation tastelessand insipid; it had made him look more deeply into his own heart, andinto the rules of life. Though, partly from irksomeness of dependenceupon an uncle at once generous and ungracious, partly from a diffidentand feeling sense of his own inadequate pretensions to the hand ofMiss Cameron, and partly from the prior and acknowledged claims of LordVargrave, he had accepted, half in despair, the appointment offered tohim, he still found it impossible to banish that image which had beenthe first to engrave upon ardent and fresh affections an indelibleimpression. He secretly chafed at the thought that it was to a fortunaterival that he owed the independence and the station he had acquired, andresolved to seize an early opportunity to free himself from obligationsthat he deeply regretted he had incurred. At length he learned that LordVargrave had been refused, --that Evelyn was free; and within a few daysfrom that intelligence, the admiral was seized with apoplexy; andLegard suddenly found himself possessed, if not of wealth, at least ofa competence sufficient to redeem his character as a suitor from thesuspicion attached to a fortune-hunter and adventurer. Despite the newprospects opened to him by the death of his uncle, and despite the surlycaprice which had mingled with and alloyed the old admiral's kindness, Legard was greatly shocked by his death; and his grateful and gentlenature was at first only sensible to grief for the loss he hadsustained. But when, at last, recovering from his sorrow, he saw Evelyndisengaged and free, and himself in a position honourably to contest herhand, he could not resist the sweet and passionate hopes that broke uponhim. He resigned, as we have seen, his official appointment, and set outfor Paris. He reached that city a day or two after the arrival of Lordand Lady Doltimore. He found the former, who had not forgotten thecautions of Vargrave, at first cold and distant; but partly from theindolent habit of submitting to Legard's dictates on matters of taste, partly from a liking to his society, and principally from the popularsuffrages of fashion, which had always been accorded to Legard, andwhich were nowadays diminished by the news of his accession of fortune, Lord Doltimore, weak and vain, speedily yielded to the influences of hisold associate, and Legard became quietly installed as the _enfant dela maison_. Caroline was not in this instance a very faithful allyto Vargrave's views and policy. In his singular _liaison_ with LadyDoltimore, the crafty manoeuvrer had committed the vulgar fault ofintriguers: he had over-refined and had overreached himself. At thecommencement of their strange and unprincipled intimacy, Vargrave hadhad, perhaps, no other thought than that of piquing Evelyn, consolinghis vanity, amusing his _ennui_, and indulging rather his propensitiesas a gallant than promoting his more serious objects as a man of theworld. By degrees, and especially at Knaresdean, Vargrave himself becamedeeply entangled by an affair that he had never before contemplated asmore important than a passing diversion; instead of securing a friendto assist him in his designs on Evelyn, he suddenly found that he hadobtained a mistress anxious for his love and jealous of his homage. Withhis usual promptitude and self-confidence, he was led at once to deliverhimself of all the ill-consequences of his rashness, --to get rid ofCaroline as a mistress, and to retain her as a tool, by marrying herto Lord Doltimore. By the great ascendancy which his character acquiredover her, and by her own worldly ambition, he succeeded in inducing herto sacrifice all romance to a union that gave her rank and fortune;and Vargrave then rested satisfied that the clever wife would not onlysecure him a permanent power over the political influence and privatefortune of the weak husband, but also abet his designs in securing analliance equally desirable for himself. Here it was that Vargrave'sincapacity to understand the refinements and scruples of a woman'saffection and nature, however guilty the one, and however worldly theother, foiled and deceived him. Caroline, though the wife of another, could not contemplate without anguish a similar bondage for her lover;and having something of the better qualities of her sex still left toher, she recoiled from being an accomplice in arts that were to drivethe young, inexperienced, and guileless creature who called her "friend"into the arms of a man who openly avowed the most mercenary motives, andwho took gods and men to witness that his heart was sacred to another. Only in Vargrave's presence were these scruples overmastered; but themoment he was gone they returned in full force. She had yielded, frompositive fear, to his commands that she should convey Evelyn to Paris;but she trembled to think of the vague hints and dark menaces thatVargrave had let fall as to ulterior proceedings, and was distracted atthe thought of being implicated in some villanous or rash design. When, therefore, the man whose rivalry Vargrave most feared was almostestablished at her house, she made but a feeble resistance; she thoughtthat, if Legard should become a welcome and accepted suitor beforeLumley arrived, the latter would be forced to forego whatever hopeshe yet cherished, and that she should be delivered from a dilemma, theprospect of which daunted and appalled her. Added to this, Carolinewas now, alas! sensible that a fool is not so easily governed; herresistance to an intimacy with Legard would have been of little avail:Doltimore, in these matters, had an obstinate will of his own; and, whatever might once have been Caroline's influence over her liege, certain it is that such influence had been greatly impaired of late bythe indulgence of a temper, always irritable, and now daily more souredby regret, remorse, contempt for her husband, --and the melancholydiscovery that fortune, youth, beauty, and station are no talismansagainst misery. 

It was the gayest season of Paris; and to escape from herself, Carolineplunged eagerly into the vortex of its dissipations. If Doltimore'sheart was disappointed, his vanity was pleased at the admirationCaroline excited; and he himself was of an age and temper to share inthe pursuits and amusements of his wife. Into these gayeties, new totheir fascination, dazzled by their splendour, the young Evelyn enteredwith her hostess; and ever by her side was the unequalled form ofLegard. Each of them in the bloom of youth, each of them at once formedto please, and to be pleased by that fair Armida which we call theWorld, there was, necessarily, a certain congeniality in their views andsentiments, their occupations and their objects; nor was there, in allthat brilliant city, one more calculated to captivate the eye andfancy than George Legard. But still, to a certain degree diffident andfearful, Legard never yet spoke of love; nor did their intimacy at thistime ripen to that point in which Evelyn could have asked herself ifthere were danger in the society of Legard, or serious meaning in hisobvious admiration. Whether that melancholy, to which Lady Vargrave hadalluded in her correspondence with Lumley, were occasioned by thoughtsconnected with Maltravers, or unacknowledged recollections of Legard, itremains for the acute reader himself to ascertain. 

The Doltimores had been about three weeks in Paris; and for a fortnightof that time Legard had been their constant guest, and half the inmateof their hotel, when, on that night which has been commemorated in ourlast book, Maltravers suddenly once more beheld the face of Evelyn, andin the same hour learned that she was free. He quitted Valerie's box;with a burning pulse and a beating heart, joy and surprise and hopesparkling in his eyes and brightening his whole aspect, he hastened toEvelyn's side. 

It was at this time Legard, who sat behind Miss Cameron, unconscious ofthe approach of a rival, happened by one of those chances which occur inconversation to mention the name of Maltravers. He asked Evelyn if shehad yet met him. 

"What! is he, then, in Paris?" asked Evelyn, quickly. "I heard, indeed, "she continued, "that he left Burleigh for Paris, but imagined he hadgone on to Italy. "

"No, he is still here; but he goes, I believe, little into the societyLady Doltimore chiefly visits. Is he one of your favourites, MissCameron?"

There was a slight increase of colour in Evelyn's beautiful cheek, asshe answered, --

"Is it possible not to admire and be interested in one so gifted?"

"He has certainly noble and fine qualities, " returned Legard; "butI cannot feel at ease with him: a coldness, a _hauteur_, a measureddistance of manner, seem to forbid even esteem. Yet _I_ ought not to sayso, " he added, with a pang of self-reproach. 

"No, indeed, you ought not to say so, " said Evelyn, shaking her headwith a pretty affectation of anger; "for I know that you pretend to likewhat I like, and admire what I admire; and I am an enthusiast in allthat relates to Mr. Maltravers!"

"I know that I would wish to see all things in life through MissCameron's eyes, " whispered Legard, softly; and this was the most meaningspeech he had ever yet made. 

Evelyn turned away, and seemed absorbed in the opera; and at thatinstant the door of the box opened, and Maltravers entered. 

In her open, undisguised, youthful delight at seeing him again, Maltravers felt, indeed, "as if Paradise were opened in her face. " Inhis own agitated emotions, he scarcely noticed that Legard had risen andresigned his seat to him; he availed himself of the civility, greetedhis old acquaintance with a smile and a bow, and in a few minutes he wasin deep converse with Evelyn. 

Never had he so successfully exerted the singular, themaster-fascination that he could command at will, --the more powerfulfrom its contrast to his ordinary coldness. In the very expression ofhis eyes, the very tone of his voice, there was that in Maltravers, seenat his happier moments, which irresistibly interested and absorbed yourattention: he could make you forget everything but himself, and therich, easy, yet earnest eloquence, which gave colour to his language andmelody to his voice. In that hour of renewed intercourse with one whohad at first awakened, if not her heart, at least her imagination andher deeper thoughts, certain it is that even Legard was not missed. As she smiled and listened, Evelyn dreamed not of the anguish sheinflicted. Leaning against the box, Legard surveyed the absorbedattention of Evelyn, the adoring eyes of Maltravers, with that utter andcrushing wretchedness which no passion but jealousy, and that only whileit is yet a virgin agony, can bestow! He had never before even dreamedof rivalry in such a quarter; but there was that ineffable instinct, which lovers have, and which so seldom errs, that told him at once thatin Maltravers was the greatest obstacle his passion could encounter. Hewaited in hopes that Evelyn would take the occasion to turn to him atleast--when the fourth act closed. She did not; and, unable to constrainhis emotions, and reply to the small-talk of Lord Doltimore, he abruptlyquitted the box. 

When the opera was over, Maltravers offered his arm to Evelyn; sheaccepted it, and then she looked round for Legard. He was gone. 

BOOK VIII. 

 O Fate! O Heaven!--what have ye then decreed? SOPHOCLES: _Oed. Tyr. _ 738. 

 "Insolent pride. .. . .. .. . The topmost crag of the great precipice Surmounts--to rush to ruin. " _Ibid. _ 874. 

CHAPTER I. 

. .. SHE is young, wise, fair, In these to Nature she's immediate heir. . .. .. . . .. Honours best thrive When rather from our acts we them derive Than our foregoers!--_All's Well that Ends Well_. 

LETTER FROM ERNEST MALTRAVERS TO THE HON. FREDERICK CLEVELAND. 

EVELYN is free; she is in Paris; I have seen her, --I see her daily!

How true it is that we cannot make a philosophy of indifference! Theaffections are stronger than all our reasonings. We must take them intoour alliance, or they will destroy all our theories of self-government. Such fools of fate are we, passing from system to system, from schemeto scheme, vainly seeking to shut out passion and sorrow-forgetting thatthey are born within us--and return to the soul as the seasons to theearth! Yet, --years, many years ago, when I first looked gravely intomy own nature and being here, when I first awakened to the dignity andsolemn responsibilities of human life, I had resolved to tame and curbmyself into a thing of rule and measure. Bearing within me the woundscarred over but never healed, the consciousness of wrong to the heartthat had leaned upon me, haunted by the memory of my lost Alice, Ishuddered at new affections bequeathing new griefs. Wrapped in a haughtyegotism, I wished not to extend my empire over a wider circuit than myown intellect and passions. I turned from the trader-covetousness ofbliss, that would freight the wealth of life upon barks exposed to everywind upon the seas of Fate; I was contented with the hope to pass lifealone, honoured, though unloved. Slowly and reluctantly I yielded tothe fascinations of Florence Lascelles. The hour that sealed the compactbetween us was one of regret and alarm. In vain I sought to deceivemyself, --I felt that I did not love. And then I imagined that Love wasno longer in my nature, --that I had exhausted its treasures before mytime, and left my heart a bankrupt. Not till the last--not till thatglorious soul broke out in all its brightness the nearer it approachedthe source to which it has returned--did I feel of what tenderness shewas worthy and I was capable. She died, and the world was darkened!Energy, ambition, my former aims and objects, were all sacrificed at hertomb. But amidst ruins and through the darkness, my soul yet supportedme; I could no longer hope, but I could endure. I was resolved thatI would not be subdued, and that the world should not hear me groan. Amidst strange and far-distant scenes, amidst hordes to whom my verylanguage was unknown, in wastes and forests, which the step of civilizedman, with his sorrows and his dreams, had never trodden, I wrestled withmy soul, as the patriarch of old wrestled with the angel, --and the angelwas at last the victor! You do not mistake me: you know that it was notthe death of Florence alone that worked in me that awful revolution;but with that death the last glory fled from the face of things thathad seemed to me beautiful of old. Hers was a love that accompanied anddignified the schemes and aspirations of manhood, --a love that was anincarnation of ambition itself; and all the evils and disappointmentsthat belong to ambition seemed to crowd around my heart like vulturesto a feast allured and invited by the dead. But this at length wasover; the barbarous state restored me to the civilized. I returned tomy equals, prepared no more to be an actor in the strife, but a calmspectator of the turbulent arena. I once more laid my head beneath theroof of my fathers; and if without any clear and definite object, Iat least hoped to find amidst "my old hereditary trees" the charmof contemplation and repose. And scarce--in the first hours of myarrival--had I indulged that dream, when a fair face, a sweet voice, that had once before left deep and unobliterated impressions on myheart, scattered all my philosophy to the winds. I saw Evelyn! and ifever there was love at first sight, it was that which I felt for her: Ilived in her presence, and forgot the Future! Or, rather, I was withthe Past, --in the bowers of my springtide of life and hope! It was anafter-birth of youth--my love for that young heart!

It is, indeed, only in maturity that we know how lovely were ourearliest years! What depth of wisdom in the old Greek myth, thatallotted Hebe as the prize to the god who had been the arch-labourer oflife! and whom the satiety of all that results from experience had madeenamoured of all that belongs to the Hopeful and the New!

This enchanting child, this delightful Evelyn, this ray of undreamedof sunshine, smiled away all my palaces of ice. I loved, Cleveland, --Iloved more ardently, more passionately, more wildly than ever I did ofold! But suddenly I learned that she was affianced to another, and feltthat it was not for me to question, to seek the annulment of the bond. Ihad been unworthy to love Evelyn if I had not loved honour more! Ifled from her presence, honestly and resolutely; I sought to conquer aforbidden passion; I believed that I had not won affection in return;I believed, from certain expressions that I overheard Evelyn utter toanother, that her heart as well as her hand was given to Vargrave. Icame hither; you know how sternly and resolutely I strove to eradicatea weakness that seemed without even the justification of hope! If Isuffered, I betrayed it not. Suddenly Evelyn appeared again beforeme!--and suddenly I learned that she was free! Oh, the rapture of thatmoment! Could you have seen her bright face, her enchanting smile, whenwe met again! Her ingenuous innocence did not conceal her gladnessat seeing me! What hopes broke upon me! Despite the difference of ouryears, I think she loves me! that in that love I am about at last tolearn what blessings there are in life. 

Evelyn has the simplicity, the tenderness, of Alice, with the refinementand culture of Florence herself; not the genius, not the daring spirit, not the almost fearful brilliancy of that ill-fated being, --but with ataste as true to the Beautiful, with a soul as sensitive to the Sublime!In Evelyn's presence I feel a sense of peace, of security, of home!Happy! thrice happy! he who will take her to his breast! Of late she hasassumed a new charm in my eyes, --a certain pensiveness and abstractionhave succeeded to her wonted gayety. Ah, Love is pensive, --is it not, Cleveland? How often I ask myself that question! And yet, amidst all myhopes, there are hours when I tremble and despond! How can that innocentand joyous spirit sympathize with all that mine has endured and known?How, even though her imagination be dazzled by some prestige around myname, how can I believe that I have awakened her heart to that deep andreal love of which it is capable, and which youth excites in youth? Whenwe meet at her home, or amidst the quiet yet brilliant society which isgathered round Madame de Ventadour or the Montaignes, with whom she isan especial favourite; when we converse; when I sit by her, and her softeyes meet mine, --I feel not the disparity of years; my heart speaksto her, and _that_ is youthful still! But in the more gay and crowdedhaunts to which her presence allures me, when I see that fairy formsurrounded by those who have not outlived the pleasures that sonaturally dazzle and captivate her, then, indeed, I feel that my tastes, my habits, my pursuits, belong to another season of life, and ask myselfanxiously if my nature and my years are those that can make _her_ happy?Then, indeed, I recognize the wide interval that time and trial placebetween one whom the world has wearied, and one for whom the world isnew. If she should discover hereafter that youth should love only youth, my bitterest anguish would be that of remorse! I know how deeply I loveby knowing how immeasurably dearer her happiness is than my own! I willwait, then, yet a while, I will examine, I will watch well that I do notdeceive myself. As yet I think that I have no rivals whom I need fear:surrounded as she is by the youngest and the gayest, she still turnswith evident pleasure to me, whom she calls her friend. She will foregothe amusements she most loves for society in which we can converse moreat ease. You remember, for instance, young Legard? He is here; and, before I met Evelyn, was much at Lady Doltimore's house. I cannot beblind to his superior advantages of youth and person; and there issomething striking and prepossessing in the gentle yet manly franknessof his manner, --and yet no fear of his rivalship ever haunts me. True, that of late he has been little in Evelyn's society; nor do I think, in the frivolity of his pursuits, he can have educated his mind toappreciate Evelyn, or be possessed of those qualities which would renderhim worthy of her. But there is something good in the young man, despitehis foibles, --something that wins upon me; and you will smile to learn, that he has even surprised from _me_--usually so reserved on suchmatters--the confession of my attachment and hopes! Evelyn often talksto me of her mother, and describes her in colours so glowing that I feelthe greatest interest in one who has helped to form so beautiful andpure a mind. Can you learn who Lady Vargrave was? There is evidentlysome mystery thrown over her birth and connections; and, from what Ican hear, this arises from their lowliness. You know that, though I havebeen accused of family pride, it is a pride of a peculiar sort. Iam proud, not of the length of a mouldering pedigree, but of somehistorical quarterings in my escutcheon, --of some blood of scholars andof heroes that rolls in my veins; it is the same kind of pride thatan Englishman may feel in belonging to a country that has producedShakspeare and Bacon. I have never, I hope, felt the vulgar pride thatdisdains want of birth in others; and I care not three straws whether myfriend or my wife be descended from a king or a peasant. It is myself, and not my connections, who alone can disgrace my lineage; therefore, however humble Lady Vargrave's parentage, do not scruple to inform me, should you learn any intelligence that bears upon it. 

I had a conversation last night with Evelyn that delighted me. By someaccident we spoke of Lord Vargrave; and she told me, with an enchantingcandour, of the position in which she stood with him, and theconscientious and noble scruples she felt as to the enjoyment of afortune, which her benefactor and stepfather had evidently intendedto be shared with his nearest relative. In these scruples I cordiallyconcurred; and if I marry Evelyn, my first care will be to carry theminto effect, --by securing to Vargrave, as far as the law may permit, the larger part of the income; I should like to say all, --at least tillEvelyn's children would have the right to claim it: a right not to beenforced during her own, and, therefore, probably not during Vargrave'slife. I own that this would be no sacrifice, for I am proud enough torecoil from the thought of being indebted for fortune to the woman Ilove. It was that kind of pride which gave coldness and constraint to myregard for Florence; and for the rest, my own property (much increasedby the simplicity of my habits of life for the last few years) willsuffice for all Evelyn or myself could require. Ah, madman that I am!I calculate already on marriage, even while I have so much cause foranxiety as to love. But my heart beats, --my heart has grown a dial thatkeeps the account of time; by its movements I calculate the moments--inan hour I shall see her!

Oh, never, never, in my wildest and earliest visions, could I havefancied that I should love as I love now! Adieu, my oldest and kindestfriend! If I am happy at last, it will be something to feel that at lastI shall have satisfied your expectations of my youth. 

 Affectionately yours, E. MALTRAVERS. 

 RUE DE -----, PARIS, January --, 18--. 

CHAPTER II. 

 IN her youth There is a prone and speechless dialect-- Such as moves men. --_Measure for Measure_. 

 _Abbess_. Haply in private-) _Adriana_. And in assemblies too. --_Comedy of Errors_. 

IT was true, as Maltravers had stated, that Legard had of late beenlittle at Lady Doltimore's, or in the same society as Evelyn. With thevehemence of an ardent and passionate nature, he yielded to the jealousrage and grief that devoured him. He saw too clearly, and from thefirst, that Maltravers adored Evelyn; and in her familiar kindness ofmanner towards him, in the unlimited veneration in which she appearedto hold his gifts and qualities, he thought that that love might becomereciprocal. He became gloomy and almost morose; he shunned Evelyn, he forbore to enter into the lists against his rival. Perhaps theintellectual superiority of Maltravers, the extraordinary conversationalbrilliancy that he could display when he pleased, the commanding dignityof his manners, even the matured authority of his reputation and years, might have served to awe the hopes, as well as to wound the vanity, ofa man accustomed himself to be the oracle of a circle. These might havestrongly influenced Legard in withdrawing himself from Evelyn's society;but there was one circumstance, connected with motives much moregenerous, that mainly determined his conduct. It happened thatMaltravers, shortly after his first interview with Evelyn, was ridingalone one day in the more sequestered part of the Bois de Boulogne, when he encountered Legard, also alone, and on horseback. The latter, onsucceeding to his uncle's fortune, had taken care to repay his debt toMaltravers; he had done so in a short but feeling and grateful letter, which had been forwarded to Maltravers at Paris, and which pleased andtouched him. Since that time he had taken a liking to the young man, andnow, meeting him at Paris, he sought, to a certain extent, Legard's moreintimate acquaintance. Maltravers was in that happy mood when we areinclined to be friends with all men. It is true, however, that, thoughunknown to himself, that pride of bearing, which often gave to the veryvirtues of Maltravers an unamiable aspect, occasionally irritated onewho felt he had incurred to him an obligation of honour and oflife never to be effaced; it made the sense of this obligation moreintolerable to Legard; it made him more desirous to acquit himself ofthe charge. But on this day there was so much cordiality in the greetingof Maltravers, and he pressed Legard in so friendly a manner to joinhim in his ride, that the young man's heart was softened, and they rodetogether, conversing familiarly on such topics as were in common betweenthem. At last the conversation fell on Lord and Lady Doltimore; andthence Maltravers, whose soul was full of one thought, turned itindirectly towards Evelyn. 

"Did you ever see Lady Vargrave?"

"Never, " replied Legard, looking another way; "but Lady Doltimore saysshe is as beautiful as Evelyn herself, if that be possible; and stillso young in form and countenance, that she looks rather like her sisterthan her mother!"

"How I should like to know her!" said Maltravers, with a sudden energy. 

Legard changed the subject. He spoke of the Carnival, of balls, ofmasquerades, of operas, of reigning beauties!

"Ah, " said Maltravers, with a half sigh, "yours is the age for thosedazzling pleasures; to me they are 'the twice-told tale. '"

Maltravers meant it not, but this remark chafed Legard. He thought itconveyed a sarcasm on the childishness of his own mind or the levity ofhis pursuits; his colour mounted, as he replied, --

"It is not, I fear, the slight difference of years between us, --it isthe difference of intellect you would insinuate; but you should rememberall men have not your resources; all men cannot pretend to genius!"

"My dear Legard, " said Maltravers, kindly, "do not fancy that I couldhave designed any insinuation half so presumptuous and impertinent. Believe me, I envy you, sincerely and sadly, all those faculties ofenjoyment which I have worn away. Oh, how I envy you! for, were theystill mine, then--then, indeed, I might hope to mould myself intogreater congeniality with the beautiful and the young!"

Maltravers paused a moment, and resumed, with a grave smile: "I trust, Legard, that you will be wiser than I have been; that you willgather your roses while it is yet May: and that you will not live tothirty-six, pining for happiness and home, a disappointed and desolateman; till, when your ideal is at last found, you shrink back appalled, to discover that you have lost none of the tendencies to love, but manyof the graces by which love is to be allured!"

There was so much serious and earnest feeling in these words that theywent home at once to Legard's sympathies. He felt irresistibly impelledto learn the worst. 

"Maltravers, " said he, in a hurried tone, "it would be an idlecompliment to say that you are not likely to love in vain; perhaps itis indelicate in me to apply a general remark; and yet--yet I cannotbut fancy that I have discovered your secret, and that you are notinsensible to the charms of Miss Cameron!"

"Legard!" said Maltravers, --and so strong was his fervent attachmentto Evelyn, that it swept away all his natural coldness and reserve, --"Itell you plainly and frankly that in my love for Evelyn Cameron lie thelast hopes I have in life. I have no thought, no ambition, no sentimentthat is not vowed to her. If my love should be unreturned, I may striveto endure the blow, I may mix with the world, I may seem to occupymyself in the aims of others; but my heart will be broken! Let us talkof this no more; you have surprised my secret, though it must havebetrayed itself. Learn from me how preternaturally strong, how generallyfatal is love deferred to that day when--in the stern growth of all thefeelings--love writes itself on granite!"

Maltravers, as if impatient of his own weakness, put spurs to his horse, and they rode on rapidly for some time without speaking. 

That silence was employed by Legard in meditating over all he had heardand witnessed, in recalling all that he owed to Maltravers; and beforethat silence was broken the young man nobly resolved not even toattempt, not even to hope, a rivalry with Maltravers; to forego all theexpectations he had so fondly nursed, to absent himself from the companyof Evelyn, to requite faithfully and firmly that act of generosityto which he owed the preservation of his life, --the redemption of hishonour. 

Agreeably to this determination, he abstained from visiting those hauntsin which Evelyn shone; and if accident brought them together, hismanner was embarrassed and abrupt. She wondered, --at last, perhaps sheresented, --it may be that she grieved; for certain it is that Maltraverswas right in thinking that her manner had lost the gayety thatdistinguished it at Merton Rectory. But still it may be doubted whetherEvelyn had seen enough of Legard, and whether her fancy and romance werestill sufficiently free from the magical influences of the geniusthat called them forth in the eloquent homage of Maltravers, to trace, herself, to any causes connected with her younger lover the listlessmelancholy that crept over her. In very young women--new alike to theworld and the knowledge of themselves--many vague and undefined feelingsherald the dawn of Love; shade after shade and light upon light succeedsbefore the sun breaks forth, and the earth awakens to his presence. 

It was one evening that Legard had suffered himself to be led into aparty at the ----- ambassador's; and there, as he stood by the door, he saw at a little distance Maltravers conversing with Evelyn. Again hewrithed beneath the tortures of his jealous anguish; and there, as hegazed and suffered, he resolved (as Maltravers had done before him) tofly from the place that had a little while ago seemed to him Elysium!He would quit Paris, he would travel, he would not see Evelyn again tillthe irrevocable barrier was passed, and she was the wife of Maltravers!In the first heat of this determination, he turned towards some youngmen standing near him, one of whom was about to visit Vienna. He gaylyproposed to join him, --a proposal readily accepted, and began conversingon the journey, the city, its splendid and proud society, with all thatcruel exhilaration which the forced spirits of a stricken heart canalone display, when Evelyn (whose conference with Maltravers was ended)passed close by him. She was leaning on Lady Doltimore's arm, and theadmiring murmur of his companions caused Legard to turn suddenly round. 

"You are not dancing to-night, Colonel Legard, " said Caroline, glancingtowards Evelyn. "The more the season for balls advances, the moreindolent you become. "

Legard muttered a confused reply, one half of which seemed petulant, while the other half was inaudible. 

"Not so indolent as you suppose, " said his friend. "Legard meditates anexcursion sufficient, I hope, to redeem his character in your eyes. Itis a long journey, and, what is worse, a very cold journey, to Vienna. "

"Vienna! do you think of going to Vienna?" cried Caroline. 

"Yes, " said Legard. "I hate Paris; any place better than this odiouscity!" and he moved away. 

Evelyn's eyes followed him sadly and gravely. She remained by LadyDoltimore's side, abstracted and silent for several minutes. 

Meanwhile Caroline, turning to Lord Devonport (the friend who hadproposed the Viennese excursion), said, "It is cruel in you to go toVienna, --it is doubly cruel to rob Lord Doltimore of his best friend andParis of its best waltzer. "

"Oh, it is a voluntary offer of Legard's, Lady Doltimore, --believe me, Ihave used no persuasive arts. But the fact is, that we have been talkingof a fair widow, the beauty of Austria, and as proud and as unassailableas Ehrenbreitstein itself. Legard's vanity is piqued; and so--as aprofessed lady-killer--he intends to see what can be effected by thehandsomest Englishman of his time. "

Caroline laughed, and new claimants on her notice succeeded to LordDevonport. It was not till the ladies were waiting their carriage in theshawl-room that Lady Doltimore noticed the paleness and thoughtful browof Evelyn. 

"Are you fatigued or unwell, dear?" she said. 

"No, " answered Evelyn, forcing a smile; and at that moment they werejoined by Maltravers, with the intelligence that it would be someminutes before the carriage could draw up. Caroline amused herself inthe interval by shrewd criticisms on the dresses and characters of hervarious friends. Caroline had grown an amazing prude in her judgment ofothers!

"What a turban!--prudent for Mrs. A----- to wear, --bright red; it putsout her face, as the sun puts out the fire. Mr. Maltravers, do observeLady B----- with that _very_ young gentleman. After all her experiencein angling, it is odd that she should still only throw in for smallfish. Pray, why is the marriage between Lady C----- D----- and Mr. F----- broken off? Is it true that he is so much in debt, and is sovery--very profligate? They say she is heartbroken. "

"Really, Lady Doltimore, " said Maltravers, smiling, "I am but a badscandal-monger. But poor F----- is not, I believe, much worse thanothers. How do we know whose fault it is when a marriage is broken off?Lady C----- D----- heartbroken! what an idea! Nowadays there is neverany affection in compacts of that sort; and the chain that binds thefrivolous nature is but a gossamer thread! Fine gentlemen and fineladies, their loves and their marriages--

 "'May flourish and may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made. '

"Never believe that a heart long accustomed to beat only in good societycan be broken, --it is rarely ever touched!"

Evelyn listened attentively, and seemed struck. She sighed, and saidin a very low voice, as to herself, "It is true--how could I thinkotherwise?"

For the next few days Evelyn was unwell, and did not quit her room. Maltravers was in despair. The flowers, the books, the music he sent;his anxious inquiries, his earnest and respectful notes, touched withthat ineffable charm which Heart and Intellect breathe into the mosttrifling coinage from their mint, --all affected Evelyn sensibly. Perhapsshe contrasted them with Legard's indifference and apparent caprice;perhaps in that contrast Maltravers gained more than by all hisbrilliant qualities. Meanwhile, without visit, without message, withoutfarewell, --unconscious, it is true, of Evelyn's illness, --Legarddeparted for Vienna. 

CHAPTER III. 

 A PLEASING land. .. Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye, And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, Forever flashing round a summer sky. --THOMSON. 

DAILY, hourly, increased the influence of Evelyn over Maltravers. Oh, what a dupe is a man's pride! what a fool his wisdom! That a girl, a mere child, one who scarce knew her own heart, beautiful as itwas, --whose deeper feelings still lay coiled up in their sweetbuds, --that she should thus master this proud, wise man! But asthou--our universal teacher--as thou, O Shakspeare! haply speaking fromthe hints of thine own experience, hast declared--

 "None are so truly caught, when they are catched, As wit turned fool; folly in wisdom hatched, Hath wisdom's warrant. "

Still, methinks that, in that surpassing and dangerously indulgedaffection which levelled thee, Maltravers, with the weakest, whichoverturned all thy fine philosophy of Stoicism, and made thee theveriest slave of the "Rose Garden, "--still, Maltravers, thou mightestat least have seen that thou hast lost forever all right to pride, all privilege to disdain the herd! But thou wert proud of thine owninfirmity! And far sharper must be that lesson which can teach thee thatPride--thine angel--is ever pre-doomed to fall. 

What a mistake to suppose that the passions are strongest in youth! Thepassions are not stronger, but the control over them is weaker. They aremore easily excited, they are more violent and more apparent; but theyhave less energy, less durability, less intense and concentrated power, than in maturer life. In youth, passion succeeds to passion, and onebreaks upon the other, as waves upon a rock, till the heart frets itselfto repose. In manhood, the great deep flows on, more calm, but moreprofound; its serenity is the proof of the might and terror of itscourse, were the wind to blow and the storm to rise. 

A young man's ambition is but vanity, --it has no definite aim, it playswith a thousand toys. As with one passion, so with the rest. In youth, Love is ever on the wing, but, like the birds in April, it hath not yetbuilt its nest. With so long a career of summer and hope before it, thedisappointment of to-day is succeeded by the novelty of to-morrow, andthe sun that advances to the noon but dries up its fervent tears. Butwhen we have arrived at that epoch of life, --when, if the light fail us, if the last rose wither, we feel that the loss cannot be retrieved, and that the frost and the darkness are at hand, Love becomes to usa treasure that we watch over and hoard with a miser's care. Ouryoungest-born affection is our darling and our idol, the fondest pledgeof the Past, the most cherished of our hopes for the Future. A certainmelancholy that mingles with our joy at the possession only enhances itscharm. We feel ourselves so dependent on it for all that is yet to come. Our other barks--our gay galleys of pleasure, our stately argosies ofpride--have been swallowed up by the remorseless wave. On this lastvessel we freight our all, to its frail tenement we commit ourselves. The star that guides it is our guide, and in the tempest that menaces webehold our own doom!

Still Maltravers shrank from the confession that trembled on his lips;still he adhered to the course he had prescribed to himself. If ever(as he had implied in his letter to Cleveland)--if ever Evelyn shoulddiscover they were not suited to each other! The possibility of such anaffliction impressed his judgment, the dread of it chilled his heart. With all his pride, there was a certain humility in Maltravers that wasperhaps one cause of his reserve. He knew what a beautiful possessionis youth, --its sanguine hopes, its elastic spirit, its inexhaustibleresources! What to the eyes of woman were the acquisitions which manhoodhad brought him, --the vast but the sad experience, the arid wisdom, thephilosophy based on disappointment? He might be loved but for the vainglitter of name and reputation, --and love might vanish as custom dimmedthe illusion. Men of strong affections are jealous of their own genius. They know how separate a thing from the household character geniusoften is, --they fear lest they should be loved for a quality, not forthemselves. 

Thus communed he with himself; thus, as the path had become clear to hishopes, did new fears arise; and thus did love bring, as it ever does, inits burning wake, --

 "The pang, the agony, the doubt!"

Maltravers then confirmed himself in the resolution he had formed:he would cautiously examine Evelyn and himself; he would weigh in thebalance every straw that the wind should turn up; he would not aspire tothe treasure, unless he could feel secure that the coffer could preservethe gem. This was not only a prudent, it was a just and a generousdetermination. It was one which we all ought to form if the fervourof our passions will permit us. We have no right to sacrifice years tomoments, and to melt the pearl that has no price in a single draught!But can Maltravers adhere to his wise precautions? The truth must bespoken, --it was, perhaps, the first time in his life that Maltravershad been really in love. As the reader will remember, he had not been inlove with the haughty Florence; admiration, gratitude, --the affection ofthe head, not that of the feelings, --had been the links that bound himto the enthusiastic correspondent revealed in the gifted beauty; and thegloomy circumstances connected with her early fate had left deep furrowsin his memory. Time and vicissitude had effaced the wounds, and theLight of the Beautiful dawned once more in the face of Evelyn. Valeriede Ventadour had been but the fancy of a roving breast. Alice, the sweetAlice!--her, indeed, in the first flower of youth, he had loved witha boy's romance. He had loved her deeply, fondly, --but perhaps hehad never been in love with her; he had mourned her loss foryears, --insensibly to himself her loss had altered his character andcast a melancholy gloom over all the colours of his life. But she whoserange of ideas was so confined, she who had but broke into knowledge, asthe chrysalis into the butterfly--how much in that prodigal and giftednature, bounding onwards into the broad plains of life, must the peasantgirl have failed to fill! They had had nothing in common but their youthand their love. It was a dream that had hovered over the poet-boy in themorning twilight, --a dream he had often wished to recall, a dream thathad haunted him in the noon-day, --but had, as all boyish visions everhave done, left the heart unexhausted, and the passions unconsumed!Years, long years, since then had rolled away, and yet, perhaps, oneunconscious attraction that drew Maltravers so suddenly towards Evelynwas a something indistinct and undefinable that reminded him of Alice. There was no similarity in their features; but at times a tone inEvelyn's voice, a "trick of the manner, " an air, a gesture, recalledhim, over the gulfs of Time, to Poetry, and Hope, and Alice. 

In the youth of each--the absent and the present one--there wasresemblance, --resemblance in their simplicity, their grace. PerhapsAlice, of the two, had in her nature more real depth, more ardour offeeling, more sublimity of sentiment, than Evelyn. But in her primitiveignorance half her noblest qualities were embedded and unknown. AndEvelyn--his equal in rank; Evelyn, well cultivated; Evelyn, so longcourted, so deeply studied--had such advantages over the poor peasantgirl! Still the poor peasant girl often seemed to smile on him from thatfair face; and in Evelyn he half loved Alice again!

So these two persons now met daily; their intercourse was even morefamiliar than before, their several minds grew hourly more developedand transparent to each other. But of love Maltravers still forbore tospeak; they were friends, --no more; such friends as the disparity oftheir years and their experience might warrant them to be. And in thatyoung and innocent nature--with its rectitude, its enthusiasm, and itspious and cheerful tendencies--Maltravers found freshness in the desert, as the camel-driver lingering at the well. Insensibly his heart warmedagain to his kind; and as the harp of David to the ear of Saul, was thesoft voice that lulled remembrance and awakened hope in the lonely man. 

Meanwhile, what was the effect that the presence, the attentions, ofMaltravers produced on Evelyn? Perhaps it was of that kind which mostflatters us and most deceives. She never dreamed of comparing him withothers. To her thoughts he stood aloof and alone from all his kind. Itmay seem a paradox, but it might be that she admired and veneratedhim almost too much for love. Still her pleasure in his society was soevident and unequivocal, her deference to his opinion so marked, shesympathized in so many of his objects, she had so much blindness orforbearance for his faults (and he never sought to mask them), that themost diffident of men might have drawn from so many symptoms hopes themost auspicious. Since the departure of Legard, the gayeties of Parislost their charm for Evelyn, and more than ever she could appreciate thesociety of her friend. He thus gradually lost his earlier fears of herforming too keen an attachment to the great world; and as nothing couldbe more apparent than Evelyn's indifference to the crowd of flatterersand suitors that hovered round her, Maltravers no longer dreaded arival. He began to feel assured that they had both gone throughthe ordeal; and that he might ask for love without a doubt of itsimmutability and faith. At this period they were both invited, with theDoltimores, to spend a few days at the villa of De Montaigne, near St. Cloud. And there it was that Maltravers determined to know his fate!

CHAPTER IV. 

 CHAOS of Thought and Passion all confused. --POPE. 

IT is to the contemplation of a very different scene that the course ofour story now conducts us. 

Between St. Cloud and Versailles there was at that time--perhapsthere still is--a lone and melancholy house, appropriated to theinsane, --melancholy, not from its site, but the purpose to which itis devoted. Placed on an eminence, the windows of the mansioncommand--beyond the gloomy walls that gird the garden ground--one ofthose enchanting prospects which win for France her title to _La Belle_. There the glorious Seine is seen in the distance, broad and windingthrough the varied plains, and beside the gleaming villages and villas. There, too, beneath the clear blue sky of France, the forest-lands ofVersailles and St. Germains stretch in dark luxuriance around and afar. There you may see sleeping on the verge of the landscape the mightycity, --crowned with the thousand spires from which, proud above therest, rises the eyry of Napoleon's eagle, the pinnacle of Notre Dame. 

Remote, sequestered, the place still commands the survey of theturbulent world below; and Madness gazes upon prospects that might wellcharm the thoughtful eyes of Imagination or of Wisdom! In one of therooms of this house sat Castruccio Cesarini. The apartment was furnishedeven with elegance; a variety of books strewed the table; nothing forcomfort or for solace that the care and providence of affection coulddictate was omitted. Cesarini was alone: leaning his cheek upon hishand, he gazed on the beautiful and tranquil view we have described. "And am I never to set a free foot on that soil again?" he mutteredindignantly, as he broke from his revery. 

The door opened, and the keeper of the sad abode (a surgeon of humanityand eminence) entered, followed by De Montaigne. Cesarini turnedround and scowled upon the latter; the surgeon, after a few words ofsalutation, withdrew to a corner of the room, and appeared absorbed ina book. De Montaigne approached his brother-in-law, --"I have broughtyou some poems just published at Milan, my dear Castruccio, --they willplease you. "

"Give me my liberty!" cried Cesarini, clenching his hands. "Why am Ito be detained here? Why are my nights to be broken by the groans ofmaniacs, and my days devoured in a solitude that loathes the aspect ofthings around me? Am I mad? You know I am not! It is an old trick tosay that poets are mad, --you mistake our agonies for insanity. See, Iam calm; I can reason: give me any test of sound mind--no matter howrigid--I will pass it; I am not mad, --I swear I am not!"

"No, my dear Castruccio, " said De Montaigne, soothingly; "but you arestill unwell, --you still have fever; when next I see you perhaps youmay be recovered sufficiently to dismiss the doctor and change the air. Meanwhile is there anything you would have added or altered?"

Cesarini had listened to this speech with a mocking sarcasm on his lip, but an expression of such hopeless wretchedness in his eyes, as theyalone can comprehend who have witnessed madness in its lucid intervals. He sank down, and his head drooped gloomily on his breast. "No, " saidhe; "I want nothing but free air or death, --no matter which. "

De Montaigne stayed some time with the unhappy man, and sought to soothehim; but it was in vain. Yet when he rose to depart, Cesarini startedup, and fixing on him his large wistful eyes, exclaimed, "Ah! do notleave me yet. It is so dreadful to be alone with the dead and the worsethan dead!"

The Frenchman turned aside to wipe his eyes, and stifle the rising athis heart; and again he sat, and again he sought to soothe. At lengthCesarini, seemingly more calm, gave him leave to depart. "Go, " said he, "go; tell Teresa I am better, that I love her tenderly, that I shalllive to tell her children not to be poets. Stay, you asked if there wasaught I wished changed: yes, this room; it is too still: I hear my ownpulse beat so loudly in the silence, it is horrible! There is a roombelow, by the window of which there is a tree, and the winds rock itsboughs to and fro, and it sighs and groans like a living thing; itwill be pleasant to look at that tree, and see the birds come home toit, --yet that tree is wintry and blasted too! It will be pleasant tohear it fret and chafe in the stormy nights; it will be a friend to me, that old tree! let me have that room. Nay, look not at each other, --itis not so high as this; but the window is barred, --I cannot escape!" AndCesarini smiled. 

"Certainly, " said the surgeon, "if you prefer that room; but it has notso fine a view. "

"I hate the view of the world that has cast me off. When may I change?"

"This very evening. "

"Thank you; it will be a great revolution in my life. "

And Cesarini's eyes brightened, and he looked happy. De Montaigne, thoroughly unmanned, tore himself away. 

The promise was kept, and Cesarini was transferred that night to thechamber he had selected. 

As soon as it was deep night, the last visit of the keeper paid, and, save now and then, by some sharp cry in the more distant quarter of thehouse, all was still, Cesarini rose from his bed; a partial light camefrom the stars that streamed through the frosty and keen air, and casta sickly gleam through the heavy bars of the casement. It was thenthat Cesarini drew from under his pillow a long-cherished andcarefully-concealed treasure. Oh, with what rapture had he firstpossessed himself of it! with what anxiety had it been watched andguarded! how many cunning stratagems and profound inventions hadgone towards the baffling, the jealous search of the keeper and hismyrmidons! The abandoned and wandering mother never clasped herchild more fondly to her bosom, nor gazed upon his features with morepassionate visions for the future. And what had so enchanted the poorprisoner, so deluded the poor maniac? A large nail! He had foundit accidentally in the garden; he had hoarded it for weeks, --it hadinspired him with the hope of liberty. Often, in the days far gone, hehad read of the wonders that had been effected, of the stones removed, and the bars filed, by the self-same kind of implement. He rememberedthat the most celebrated of those bold unfortunates who live a lifeagainst the law, had said, "Choose my prison, and give me but a rustynail, and I laugh at your jailers and your walls!" He crept to thewindow; he examined his relic by the dim starlight; he kissed itpassionately, and the tears stood in his eyes. 

Ah, who shall determine the worth of things? No king that night soprized his crown as the madman prized that rusty inch of wire, --theproper prey of the rubbish-cart and dunghill. Little didst thou think, old blacksmith, when thou drewest the dull metal from the fire, of whatprecious price it was to become!

Cesarini, with the astuteness of his malady, had long marked out thischamber for the scene of his operations; he had observed that theframework in which the bars were set seemed old and worm-eaten; that thewindow was but a few feet from the ground; that the noise made in thewinter nights by the sighing branches of the old tree without woulddeaden the sound of the lone workman. Now, then, his hopes were to becrowned. Poor fool! and even _thou_ hast hope still! All that night hetoiled and toiled, and sought to work his iron into a file; now he triedthe bars, and now the framework. Alas! he had not learned the skill insuch tools, possessed by his renowned model and inspirer; the flesh wasworn from his fingers, the cold drops stood on his brow; and morningsurprised him, advanced not a hair-breadth in his labour. 

He crept back to bed, and again hid the useless implement, and at lasthe slept. 

And, night after night, the same task, the same results! But at length, one day, when Cesarini returned from his moody walk in the gardens(_pleasure_-grounds they were called by the owner), he found betterworkmen than he at the window; they were repairing the framework, theywere strengthening the bars, --all hope was now gone! The unfortunatesaid nothing; too cunning to show his despair he eyed them silently, and cursed them; but the old tree was left still, and that wassomething, --company and music. 

A day or two after this barbarous counterplot, Cesarini was walking inthe gardens towards the latter part of the afternoon (just when in theshort days the darkness begins to steal apace over the chill and westernsun), when he was accosted by a fellow-captive, who had often beforesought his acquaintance; for they try to have friends, --those poorpeople! Even _we_ do the same; though _we_ say we are _not_ mad! Thisman had been a warrior, had served with Napoleon, had received honoursand ribbons, --might, for aught we know, have dreamed of being a marshal!But the demon smote him in the hour of his pride. It was his disease tofancy himself a monarch. He believed, for he forgot chronology, that hewas at once the Iron Mask, and the true sovereign of France and Navarre, confined in state by the usurpers of his crown. On other points he wasgenerally sane; a tall, strong man, with fierce features, and sternlines, wherein could be read many a bloody tale of violence and wrong, of lawless passions, of terrible excesses, to which madness might beat once the consummation and the curse. This man had taken a fancyto Cesarini; and, in some hours Cesarini had shunned him less thanothers, --for they could alike rail against all living things. Thelunatic approached Cesarini with an air of dignity and condescension. 

"It is a cold night, sir, --and there will be no moon. Has it neveroccurred to you that the winter is the season for escape?"

Cesarini started; the ex-officer continued, --

"Ay, I see by your manner that you, too, chafe at our ignominiousconfinement. I think that together we might brave the worst. Youprobably are confined on some state offence. I give you full pardon, ifyou assist me. For myself I have but to appear in my capital; old Louisle Grand must be near his last hour. "

"This madman my best companion!" thought Cesarini, revolting at his owninfirmity, as Gulliver started from the Yahoo. "No matter, he talks ofescape. 

"And how think you, " said the Italian, aloud, --"how think you, that wehave any chance of deliverance?"

"Hush, speak lower, " said the soldier. "In the inner garden, I haveobserved for the last two days that a gardener is employed in nailingsome fig-trees and vines to the wall. Between that garden and thesegrounds there is but a paling, which we can easily scale. He workstill dusk; at the latest hour we can, let us climb noiselessly over thepaling, and creep along the vegetable beds till we reach the man. Heuses a ladder for his purpose; the rest is clear, --we must fell and gaghim, --twist his neck if necessary, --I have twisted a neck before, " quoththe maniac, with a horrid smile. "The ladder will help us over the wall, and the night soon grows dark at this season. "

Cesarini listened, and his heart beat quick. "Will it be too late to tryto-night?" said he in a whisper. 

"Perhaps not, " said the soldier, who retained all his militaryacuteness. "But are you prepared, --don't you require time to manyourself?"

"No--no, --I have had time enough!--I am ready. "

"Well, then, --hist!---we are watched--one of the jailers! Talk easily, smile, laugh. This way. "

They passed by one of the watch of the place, and just as they were inhis hearing, the soldier turned to Cesarini, "Sir, will you favour mewith your snuff-box?"

"I have none. "

"None? what a pity! My good friend, " and he turned to the scout, "mayI request you to look in my room for my snuff-box? It is on thechimney-piece, --it will not take you a minute. "

The soldier was one of those whose insanity was deemed most harmless, and his relations, who were rich and wellborn, had requested everyindulgence to be shown to him. The watch suspected nothing, and repairedto the house. As soon as the trees hid him, --"Now, " said the soldier, "stoop almost on all fours, and run quick. "

So saying the maniac crouched low, and glided along with a rapiditywhich did not distance Cesarini. They reached the paling that separatedthe vegetable garden from the pleasure-ground; the soldier vaulted overit with ease, Cesarini with more difficulty followed. They crept along;the herbs and vegetable beds, with their long bare stalks, concealedtheir movements; the man was still on the ladder. "_La bonneEsperance, _" said the soldier through his ground teeth, muttering someold watchword of the wars, and (while Cesarini, below, held the laddersteadfast) he rushed up the steps, and with a sudden effort of hismuscular arm, hurled the gardener to the ground. The man, surprised, half stunned, and wholly terrified, did not attempt to wrestle withthe two madmen, he uttered loud cries for help! But help came too late;these strange and fearful comrades had already scaled the wall, haddropped on the other side, and were fast making across the dusky fieldsto the neighbouring forest. 

CHAPTER V. 

 HOPES and Fears Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge Look down: on what?--a fathomless abyss!--YOUNG. 

MIDNIGHT--and intense frost! There they were--houseless andbreadless--the two fugitives, in the heart of that beautiful forestwhich has rung to the horns of many a royal chase. The soldier, whoseyouth had been inured to hardships, and to the conquests which ourmother-wit wrings from the stepdame Nature, had made a fire by thefriction of two pieces of dry wood; such wood was hard to be found, forthe snow whitened the level ground, and lay deep in the hollows; andwhen it was discovered, the fuel was slow to burn; however, the fireblazed red at last. On a little mound, shaded by a semicircle of hugetrees, sat the Outlaws of Human Reason. They cowered over the blazeopposite to each other, and the glare crimsoned their features. And eachin his heart longed to rid himself of his mad neighbour; and each feltthe awe of solitude, --the dread of sleep beside a comrade whose soul hadlost God's light!

"Ho!" said the warrior, breaking a silence that had been long kept, "this is cold work at the best, and hunger pinches me; I almost regretthe prison. "

"I do not feel the cold, " said Cesarini, "and I do not care for hunger:I am revelling only in the sense of liberty!"

"Try and sleep, " quoth the soldier, with a coaxing and, sinistersoftness of voice; "we will take it by turns to watch. "

"I cannot sleep, --take you the first turn. "

"Hark ye, sir!" said the soldier sullenly; "I must not have my commandsdisputed; now we are free, we are no longer equal: I am heir to thecrowns of France and Navarre. Sleep, I say!"

"And what Prince or Potentate, King or Kaiser, " cried Cesarini, catchingthe quick contagion of the fit that had seized his comrade, "can dictateto the monarch of Earth and Air, the Elements and the music-breathingStars? I am Cesarini the Bard! and the huntsman Orion halts in his chaseabove to listen to my lyre! Be stilled, rude man!--thou scarest away theangels, whose breath even now was rushing through my hair!"

"It is too horrible!" cried the grim man of blood, shivering; "myenemies are relentless, and give me a madman for a jailer!"

"Ha! a madman!" exclaimed Cesarini, springing to his feet, and glaringat the soldier with eyes that caught and rivalled the blaze of the fire. "And who are you?--what devil from the deep hell, that art leagued withmy persecutors against me?"

With the instinct of his old calling and valour, the soldier also rosewhen he saw the movement of his companion; and his fierce featuresworked with rage and fear. 

"Avaunt!" said he, waving his arm; "we banish thee from our presence!This is our palace!--and our guards are at hand!" pointing to the stilland skeleton trees that grouped round in ghastly bareness. "Begone!"

At that moment they heard at a distance the deep barking of a dog, andeach cried simultaneously, "They are after me!--betrayed!" The soldiersprang at the throat of Cesarini; but the Italian, at the same instant, caught a half-burned brand from the fire, and dashed the blazing endin the face of his assailant. The soldier uttered a cry of pain, andrecoiled back, blinded and dismayed. Cesarini, whose madness, whenfairly roused, was of the most deadly nature, again raised his weapon, and probably nothing but death could have separated the foes; but againthe bay of the dog was heard, and Cesarini, answering the sound by awild yell, threw down the brand, and fled away through the forest withinconceivable swiftness. He hurried on through bush and dell, --and theboughs tore his garments and mangled his flesh, --but stopped not hisprogress till he fell at last on the ground, breathless and exhausted, and heard from some far-off clock the second hour of morning. He hadleft the forest; a farmhouse stood before him, and the whitened roofs ofscattered cottages sloped to the tranquil sky. The witness of man--thesocial tranquil sky and the reasoning man--operated like a charm uponthe senses which recent excitement had more than usually disturbed. Theunhappy wretch gazed at the peaceful abodes, and sighed heavily; then, rising from the earth, he crept into one of the sheds that adjoined thefarmhouse, and throwing himself on some straw, slept sound and quietlytill daylight, and the voices of peasants in the shed awakened him. 

He rose refreshed, calm, and, for ordinary purposes, sufficientlysane to prevent suspicion of his disease. He approached the startledpeasants, and representing himself as a traveller who had lost his wayin the night and amidst the forest, begged for food and water. Thoughhis garments were torn, they were new and of good fashion; his voice wasmild; his whole appearance and address those of one of some station--andthe French peasant is a hospitable fellow. Cesarini refreshed and restedhimself an hour or two at the farm, and then resumed his wanderings;he offered no money, for the rules of the asylum forbade money to itsinmates, --he had none with him; but none was expected from him, and theybade him farewell as kindly as if he had bought their blessings. Hethen began to consider where he was to take refuge, and how provide forhimself; the feeling of liberty braced, and for a time restored, hisintellect. 

Fortunately, he had on his person, besides some rings of trifling cost, a watch of no inconsiderable value, the sale of which might support him, in such obscure and humble quarter as he could alone venture to inhabit, for several weeks, perhaps months. This thought made him cheerful andelated; he walked lustily on, shunning the high road. The day was clear, the sun bright, the air full of racy health. Oh, what soft rapturesswelled the heart of the wanderer, as he gazed around him! The Poetand the Freeman alike stirred within his shattered heart! He paused tocontemplate the berries of the icy trees, to listen to the sharp glee ofthe blackbird; and once--when he found beneath a hedge a cold, scentlessgroup of hardy violets--he laughed aloud in his joy. In that laughterthere was no madness, no danger; but when as he journeyed on, he passedthrough a little hamlet, and saw the children at play upon the ground, and heard from the open door of a cabin the sound of rustic music, thenindeed he paused abruptly; the past gathered over him: _he knew thatwhich he had been, that which he was now_!--an awful memory! a dreadrevelation! And, covering his face with his hands, he wept aloud. Inthose tears were the peril and method of madness. He woke from themto think of his youth, his hopes, of Florence, of revenge! Lumley LordVargrave! better, from that hour, to encounter the tiger in his lairthan find thyself alone with that miserable man!

CHAPTER VI. 

 IT seemed the laurel chaste and stubborn oak, And all the gentle trees on earth that grew, It seemed the land, the sea, and heaven above, All breathed out fancy sweet, and sighed out love. FAIRFAX'S _Tasso_. 

AT De Montaigne's villa, Evelyn, for the first time, gathered from thelooks, the manners, of Maltravers that she was beloved. It was no longerpossible to mistake the evidences of affection. Formerly, Maltravershad availed himself of his advantage of years and experience, and wouldwarn, admonish, dispute, even reprove; formerly, there had been so muchof seeming caprice, of cold distance, of sudden and wayward haughtiness, in his bearing; but now the whole man was changed, --the Mentor hadvanished in the Lover; he held his being on her breath. Her lightestpleasure seemed to have grown his law, no coldness ever alternated thedeep devotion of his manner; an anxious, a timid, a watchful softnessreplaced all his stately self-possession. Evelyn saw that she was loved;and she then looked into her own heart. 

I have said before that Evelyn was gentle, even to _yieldingness_; thather susceptibility made her shrink from the thought of pain to another:and so thoroughly did she revere Maltravers, so grateful did she feelfor a love that could not but flatter pride, and raise her in herself-esteem, that she felt it impossible that she could reject his suit. "Then, do I love him as I dreamed I could love?" she asked herself;and her heart gave no intelligible reply. "Yes, it must be so; in hispresence I feel a tranquil and eloquent charm; his praise delights me;his esteem is my most high ambition;--and yet--and yet--" she sighed andthought of Legard; "but _he_ loved me not!" and she turned restlesslyfrom that image. "He thinks but of the world, of pleasure; Maltravers isright, --the spoiled children of society cannot love: why should I thinkof him?"

There were no guests at the villa, except Maltravers, Evelyn, and Lordand Lady Doltimore. Evelyn was much captivated by the graceful vivacityof Teresa, though that vivacity was not what it had been before herbrother's affliction; their children, some of whom had grown up, constituted an amiable and intelligent family; and De Montaigne himselfwas agreeable and winning, despite his sober manners and his love ofphilosophical dispute. Evelyn often listened thoughtfully to Teresa'spraises of her husband, --to her account of the happiness she had knownin a marriage where there had been so great a disparity of years; Evelynbegan to question the truth of her early visions of romance. 

Caroline saw the unequivocal attachment of Maltravers with the sameindifference with which she had anticipated the suit of Legard. It wasthe same to her what hand delivered Evelyn and herself from thedesigns of Vargrave; but Vargrave occupied nearly all her thoughts. The newspapers had reported him as seriously ill, --at one time in greatdanger. He was now recovering, but still unable to quit his room. He hadwritten to her once, lamenting his ill-fortune, trusting soon to be atParis; and touching, with evident pleasure, upon Legard's departure forVienna, which he had seen in the "Morning Post. " But he was afar--alone, ill, untended; and though Caroline's guilty love had been much abatedby Vargrave's icy selfishness, by absence and remorse, still she had theheart of a woman, --and Vargrave was the only one that had ever touchedit. She felt for him, and grieved in silence; she did not dare to uttersympathy aloud, for Doltimore had already given evidence of a suspiciousand jealous temper. 

Evelyn was also deeply affected by the account of her guardian'sillness. As I before said, the moment he ceased to be her lover, herchildish affection for him returned. She even permitted herself to writeto him; and a tone of melancholy depression which artfully pervaded hisreply struck her with something like remorse. He told her in the letterthat he had much to say to her relative to an investment, in conformitywith her stepfather's wishes, and he should hasten to Paris, even beforethe doctor would sanction his removal. Vargrave forbore to mention whatthe meditated investment was. The last public accounts of the ministerhad, however, been so favourable, that his arrival might be almost dailyexpected; and both Caroline and Evelyn felt relieved. 

To De Montaigne, Maltravers confided his attachment, and both theFrenchman and Teresa sanctioned and encouraged it. Evelyn enchantedthem; and they had passed that age when they could have imagined itpossible that the man they had known almost as a boy was separated byyears from the lively feelings and extreme youth of Evelyn. They couldnot believe that the sentiments he had inspired were colder than thosethat animated himself. 

One day, Maltravers had been absent for some hours on his solitaryrambles, and De Montaigne had not yet returned from Paris, which hevisited almost daily. It was so late in the noon as almost to border onevening, when Maltravers; on his return, entered the grounds by a gatethat separated them from an extensive wood. He saw Evelyn, Teresa, andtwo of her children walking on a terrace immediately before him. Hejoined them; and, somehow or other, it soon chanced that Teresa andhimself loitered behind the rest, a little out of hearing. "Ah, Mr. Maltravers, " said the former, "we miss the soft skies of Italy and thebeautiful hues of Como. "

"And, for my part, I miss the youth that gave 'glory to the grass andsplendour to the flower. '"

"Nay; we are happier now, believe me, --or at least I should be, if--ButI must not think of my poor brother. Ah, if his guilt deprived you ofone who was worthy of you, it would be some comfort to his sister tothink at last that the loss was repaired. And you still have scruples?"

"Who that loves truly has not? How young, how lovely, how worthy oflighter hearts and fairer forms than mine! Give me back the years thathave passed since we last met at Como, and I might hope!"

"And this to me who have enjoyed such happiness with one older, when wemarried, by ten years than you are now!"

"But you, Teresa, were born to see life through the Claude glass. "

"Ah, you provoke me with these refinements; you turn from a happinessyou have but to demand. "

"Do not--do not raise my hopes too high, " cried Maltravers, with greatemotion; "I have been schooling myself all day. But if I _am_ deceived!"

"Trust me, you are not. See, even now she turns round to look for you;she loves you, --loves you as you deserve. This difference of years thatyou so lament does but deepen and elevate her attachment!"

Teresa turned to Maltravers, surprised at his silence. How joyoussat his heart upon his looks, --no gloom on his brow, no doubt inhis sparkling eyes! He was mortal, and he yielded to the delight ofbelieving himself beloved. He pressed Teresa's hand in silence, and, quitting her abruptly, gained the side of Evelyn. Madame de Montaignecomprehended all that passed within him; and as she followed, she sooncontrived to detach her children, and returned with them to the house ona whispered pretence of seeing if their father had yet arrived. Evelynand Maltravers continued to walk on, --not aware, at first, that the restof the party were not close behind. 

The sun had set; and they were in a part of the grounds which, by wayof contrast to the rest, was laid out in the English fashion; thewalk wound, serpent-like, among a profusion of evergreens irregularlyplanted; the scene was shut in and bounded, except where at a distance, through an opening of the trees, you caught the spire of a distantchurch, over which glimmered, faint and fair, the smile of the eveningstar. 

"This reminds me of home, " said Evelyn, gently. 

"And hereafter it will remind me of you, " said Maltravers, in whisperedaccents. He fixed his eyes on her as he spoke. Never had his look beenso true to his heart; never had his voice so undisguisedly expressed theprofound and passionate sentiment which had sprung up within him, --toconstitute, as he then believed, the latest bliss, or the crowningmisery, of his life! At that moment, it was a sort of instinct that toldhim they were _alone_; for who has not felt--in those few and memorablehours of life when love long suppressed overflows the fountain, andseems to pervade the whole frame and the whole spirit--that there isa magic around and within us that hath a keener intelligence thanintellect itself? Alone at such an hour with the one we love, the wholeworld besides seems to vanish, and our feet to have entered the soil, and our lips to have caught the air, of Fairyland. 

They were alone. And why did Evelyn tremble? Why did she feel that acrisis of existence was at hand?

"Miss Cameron--Evelyn, " said Maltravers, after they had walked somemoments in silence, "hear me--and let your reason as well as your heartreply. From the first moment we met, you became dear to me. Yes, evenwhen a child, your sweetness and your fortitude foretold so wellwhat you would be in womanhood; even then you left upon my memory adelightful and mysterious shadow, --too prophetic of the light that nowhallows and wraps your image! We met again, --and the attraction thathad drawn me towards you years before was suddenly renewed. I love you, Evelyn! I love you better than all words can tell! Your future fate, your welfare, your happiness, contain and embody all the hopes leftto me in life! But our years are different, Evelyn; I have knownsorrows, --and the disappointments and the experience that have severedme from the common world have robbed me of more than time itself hathdone. They have robbed me of that zest for the ordinary pleasures of ourrace, --which may it be yours, sweet Evelyn, ever to retain! To me, thetime foretold by the Preacher as the lot of age has already arrived, when the sun and the moon are darkened, and when, save in you andthrough you, I have no pleasure in anything. Judge, if such a being youcan love! Judge, if my very confession does not revolt and chill, if itdoes not present to you a gloomy and cheerless future, were it possiblethat you could unite your lot to mine! Answer not from friendship orfrom pity; the love I feel for you can have a reply from love alone, andfrom that reasoning which love, in its enduring power, in its healthfulconfidence, in its prophetic foresight, alone supplies! I can resign youwithout a murmur; but I could not live with you and even fancy that youhad one care I could not soothe, though you might have happiness Icould not share. And fate does not present to me any vision so dark andterrible--no, not your loss itself; no, not your indifference; no, notyour aversion--as your discovery, after time should make regret in vain, that you had mistaken fancy or friendship for affection, a sentiment forlove. Evelyn, I have confided to you all, --all this wild heart, now andevermore your own. My destiny is with you. "

Evelyn was silent; he took her hand, and her tears fell warm and fastupon it. Alarmed and anxious, he drew her towards him and gazed upon herface. 

"You fear to wound me, " he said, with pale lips and trembling voice. "Speak on, --I can bear all. "

"No, no, " said Evelyn, falteringly; "I have no fear but not to deserveyou. "

"You love me, then, --you love me!" cried Maltravers wildly, and claspingher to his heart. 

The moon rose at that instant, and the wintry sward and the dark treeswere bathed in the sudden light. The time--the light--so exquisite toall, even in loneliness and in sorrow--how divine in such companionship!in such overflowing and ineffable sense of bliss! There and then for thefirst time did Maltravers press upon that modest and blushing cheek thekiss of Love, of Hope, --the seal of a union he fondly hoped the graveitself could not dissolve!

CHAPTER VII. 

 _Queen_. Whereon do you look? _Hamlet_. On him, on him, --look you how pale he glares!--_Hamlet_. 

PERHAPS to Maltravers those few minutes which ensued, as they walkedslowly on, compensated for all the troubles and cares of years; fornatures like his feel joy even yet more intensely than sorrow. It mightbe that the transport, the delirium of passionate and grateful thoughtsthat he poured forth, when at last he could summon words, expressedfeelings the young Evelyn could not comprehend, and which less delightedthan terrified her with the new responsibility she had incurred. Butlove so honest, so generous, so intense, dazzled and bewilderedand carried her whole soul away. Certainly at that hour she felt noregret--no thought but that one in whom she had so long recognizedsomething nobler than is found in the common world was thus happy andthus made happy by a word, a look from her! Such a thought is woman'sdearest triumph; and one so thoroughly unselfish, so yielding, and sosoft, could not be insensible to the rapture she had caused. 

"And oh!" said Maltravers, as he clasped again and again the hand thathe believed he had won forever, "now, at length, have I learned howbeautiful is life! For this--for this I have been reserved! Heaven ismerciful to me, and the waking world is brighter than all my dreams!"

He ceased abruptly. At that instant they were once more on the terracewhere he had first joined Teresa, facing the wood, which was dividedby a slight and low palisade from the spot where they stood. He ceasedabruptly, for his eyes encountered a terrible and ominous apparition, --aform connected with dreary associations of fate and woe. The figure hadraised itself upon a pile of firewood on the other side of the fence, and hence it seemed almost gigantic in its stature. It gazed upon thepair with eyes that burned with a preternatural blaze, and a voice whichMaltravers too well remembered shrieked out "Love! love! What! _thou_love again? Where is the Dead! Ha, ha! Where is the Dead?"

Evelyn, startled by the words, looked up, and clung in speechless terrorto Maltravers. He remained rooted to the spot. 

"Unhappy man, " said he, at length, and soothingly, "how came you hither?Fly not, you are with friends. "

"Friends!" said the maniac, with a scornful laugh. "I know thee, ErnestMaltravers, --I know thee: but it is not thou who hast locked me up indarkness and in hell, side by side with the mocking fiend! Friends! ah, but no Friends shall catch me now! I am free! I am free! Air and waveare not more free!" And the madman laughed with horrible glee. "Sheis fair--fair, " he said, abruptly checking himself, and with a changedvoice, "but not so fair as the Dead. Faithless that thou art--and yetshe loved _thee_! Woe to thee! woe! Maltravers, the perfidious! Woe tothee--and remorse--and shame!"

"Fear not, Evelyn, --fear not, " whispered Maltravers, gently, and placingher behind him; "support your courage, --nothing shall harm you. "

Evelyn, though very pale, and trembling from head to foot, retained hersenses. Maltravers advanced towards the mad man. But no sooner did thequick eye of the last perceive the movement, than, with the fear whichbelongs to that dread disease, --the fear of losing liberty, --he turned, and with a loud cry fled into the wood. Maltravers leaped over thefence, and pursued him some way in vain. The thick copses of the woodsnatched every trace of the fugitive from his eye. 

Breathless and exhausted, Maltravers returned to the spot where he hadleft Evelyn. As he reached it, he saw Teresa and her husband approachingtowards him, and Teresa's merry laugh sounded clear and musical in theracy air. The sound appalled him; he hastened his steps to Evelyn. 

"Say nothing of what we have seen to Madame de Montaigne, I beseechyou, " said he; "I will explain why hereafter. "

Evelyn, too overcome to speak, nodded her acquiescence. They joined theDe Montaignes, and Maltravers took the Frenchman aside. 

But before he could address him, De Montaigne said, --

"Hush! do not alarm my wife--she knows nothing; but I have just heard atParis, that--that he has escaped--you know whom I mean?"

"I do; he is at hand; send in search of him! I have seen him. Once moreI have seen Castruccio Cesarini!"

BOOK IX. 

 "Woe, woe: all things are clear. "--SOPHOCLES: Oed. Tyr. 754. 

CHAPTER I. 

 THE privilege that statesmen ever claim, Who private interest never yet pursued, But still pretended 'twas for others' good. . .. .. . From hence on every humorous wind that veered With shifted sails a several course you steered. _Absalom and Achitophel_, Part ii. 

LORD VARGRAVE had for more than a fortnight remained at the inn atM-----, too ill to be removed with safety in a season so severe. Evenwhen at last, by easy stages, he reached London, he was subjected toa relapse; and his recovery was slow and gradual. Hitherto unused tosickness, he bore his confinement with extreme impatience; and againstthe commands of his physician insisted on continuing to transacthis official business, and consult with his political friends in hissick-room; for Lumley knew well, that it is most pernicious to publicmen to be considered failing in health, --turkeys are not more unfeelingto a sick brother than politicians to an ailing statesman; they give outthat his head is touched, and see paralysis and epilepsy in every speechand every despatch. The time, too, nearly ripe for his great schemes, made it doubly necessary that he should exert himself, and preventbeing shelved with a plausible excuse of tender compassion for hisinfirmities. As soon therefore as he learned that Legard had left Paris, he thought himself safe for a while in that quarter, and surrenderedhis thoughts wholly to his ambitious projects. Perhaps, too, withthe susceptible vanity of a middle-aged man, who has had his _bonnesfortunes_, Lumley deemed, with Rousseau, that a lover, pale andhaggard--just raised from the bed of suffering--is more interesting tofriendship than attractive to love. He and Rousseau were, I believe, both mistaken; but that is a matter of opinion: they both thought verycoarsely of women, --one from having no sentiment, and the other fromhaving a sentiment that was but a disease. At length, just as Lumley wassufficiently recovered to quit his house, to appear at his office, anddeclare that his illness had wonderfully improved his constitution, intelligence from Paris, the more startling from being whollyunexpected, reached him. From Caroline he learned that Maltravers hadproposed to Evelyn, and been accepted. From Maltravers himself he heardthe confirmation of the news. The last letter was short, but kind andmanly. He addressed Lord Vargrave as Evelyn's guardian; slightly alludedto the scruples he had entertained till Lord Vargrave's suit was brokenoff; and feeling the subject too delicate for a letter, expressed adesire to confer with Lumley respecting Evelyn's wishes as to certainarrangements in her property. 

And for this was it that Lumley had toiled! for this had he visitedLisle Court! and for this had he been stricken down to the bed of pain!Was it only to make his old rival the purchaser, if he so pleased it, ofthe possessions of his own family? Lumley thought at that moment less ofEvelyn than of Lisle Court. As he woke from the stupor and the firstfit of rage into which these epistles cast him, the recollection ofthe story he had heard from Mr. Onslow flashed across him. Were hissuspicions true, what a secret he would possess! How fate might yetbefriend him! Not a moment was to be lost. Weak, suffering as he stillwas, he ordered his carriage, and hastened down to Mrs. Leslie. 

In the interview that took place, he was careful not to alarm herinto discretion. He managed the conference with his usual consummatedexterity. He did not appear to believe that there had been any actualconnection between Alice and the supposed Butler. He began by simplyasking whether Alice had ever, in early life, been acquainted with aperson of that name, and when residing in the neighbourhood of -----. The change of countenance, the surprised start of Mrs. Leslie, convincedhim that his suspicions were true. 

"And why do you ask, my lord?" said the old lady. "Is it to ascertainthis point that you have done me the honour to visit me?"

"Not exactly, my dear madam, " said Lumley, smiling. "But I am going toC----- on business; and besides that I wished to give an account of yourhealth to Evelyn, whom I shall shortly see at Paris, I certainly diddesire to know whether it would be any gratification to Lady Vargrave, for whom I have the deepest regard, to renew her acquaintance with thesaid Mr. Butler. "

"What does your lordship know of him? What is he; who is he?"

"Ah, my dear lady, you turn the tables on me, I see, --for my onequestion you would give me fifty. But, seriously, before I answer you, you must tell me whether Lady Vargrave does know a gentleman of thatname; yet, indeed, to save trouble, I may as well inform you, that Iknow it was under that name that she resided at C-----, when mypoor uncle first made her acquaintance. What I ought to ask isthis, --supposing Mr. Butler be still alive, and a gentleman of characterand fortune, would it please Lady Vargrave to meet with him once more?"

"I cannot tell you, " said Mrs. Leslie, sinking back in her chair, muchembarrassed. 

"Enough, I shall not stir further in the matter. Glad to see you lookingso well. Fine place, beautiful trees. Any commands at C-----, or anymessage for Evelyn?"

Lumley rose to depart. 

"Stay, " said Mrs. Leslie, recalling all the pining, restless, untiringlove that Lady Vargrave had manifested towards the lost, and feelingthat she ought not to sacrifice to slight scruples the chance ofhappiness for her friend's future years, --"stay; I think this questionyou should address to Lady Vargrave, --or shall I?"

"As you will, --perhaps I had better write. Good-day, " and Vargravehurried away. 

He had satisfied himself, but he had another yet to satisfy, --and that, from certain reasons known but to himself, without bringing the thirdperson in contact with Lady Vargrave. On arriving at C----- he wrote, therefore, to Lady Vargrave as follows:--

MY DEAR FRIEND, --Do not think me impertinent or intrusive--but you knowme too well for that. A gentleman of the name of Butler is exceedinglyanxious to ascertain if you once lived near -----, in a pretty littlecottage, --Dove, or Dale, or Dell cottage (some such appellation), --andif you remember a person of his name. Should you care to give a reply tothese queries, send me a line addressed to London, which I shall get onmy way to Paris. 

 Yours most truly, VARGRAVE. 

As soon as he had concluded, and despatched this letter, Vargrave wroteto Mr. Winsley as follows:--

MY DEAR SIR, --I am so unwell as to be unable to call on you, or evento see any one, however agreeable (nay, the more agreeable the moreexciting!). I hope, however, to renew our personal acquaintance beforequitting C-----. Meanwhile, oblige me with a line to say if I did notunderstand you to signify that you could, if necessary, prove that LadyVargrave once resided in this town as Mrs. Butler, a very short timebefore she married my uncle, under the name of Cameron, in Devonshire;and had she not also at that time a little girl, --an infant, or nearlyso, --who must necessarily be the young lady who is my uncle's heiress, Miss Evelyn Cameron. My reason for thus troubling you is obvious. AsMiss Cameron's guardian, I have very shortly to wind up certain affairsconnected with my uncle's will; and, what is more, there is someproperty bequeathed by the late Mr. Butler, which may make it necessaryto prove identity. 

 Truly yours, VARGRAVE. 

The answer to the latter communication ran thus:--

"MY LORD, --I am very sorry to hear your lordship is so unwell, and willpay my respects to-morrow. I certainly can swear that the present LadyVargrave was the Mrs. Butler who resided at C-----, and taught music. And as the child with her was of the same sex, and about the same ageas Miss Cameron, there can, I should think, be no difficulty inestablishing the identity between that young lady and the child LadyVargrave had by her first husband, Mr. Butler; but of this, of course, Icannot speak. 

 "I have the honour, etc. "

The next morning Vargrave despatched a note to Mr. Winsley, saying thathis health required him to return to town immediately, --and to town, infact, he hastened. The day after his arrival, he received, in a hurriedhand--strangely blurred and blotted, perhaps by tears--this shortletter:--

For Heaven's sake, tell me what you mean! Yes, yes, I did once reside atDale Cottage, I did know one of the name of Butler! Has _he_ discoveredthe name _I_ bear? Where is he? I implore you to write, or let me seeyou before you leave England!

 ALICE VARGRAVE. 

Lumley smiled triumphantly when he read and carefully put up thisletter. 

"I must now amuse and put her off--at all events for the present. "

In answer to Lady Vargrave's letter, he wrote a few lines to say thathe had only heard through a third person (a lawyer) of a Mr. Butlerresiding somewhere abroad, who had wished these inquiries to be made;that he believed it only related to some disposition of property; that, _perhaps_, the Mr. Butler who made the inquiry was heir to the Mr. Butler she had known; that he could learn nothing else at present, asthe purport of her reply must be sent abroad, --the lawyer would or couldsay nothing more; that directly he received a further communication itshould be despatched to her, that he was most affectionately and mosttruly hers. 

The rest of that morning Vargrave devoted to Lord Saxingham and hisallies; and declaring, and believing, that he should not be long absentat Paris, he took an early dinner, and was about once more to commithimself to the risks of travel, when, as he crossed the hall, Mr. Doucecame hastily upon him. 

"My lord--my lord--I must have a word with your l-l-lordship;--you aregoing to--that is--" (and the little man looked frightened) "you intendto--to go to--that is--ab-ab-ab--"

"Not abscond, Mr. Douce; come into the library: I am in a great hurry, but I have always time for _you_. What's the matter?"

"Why, then, my lord, --I--I have heard nothing m-m-more from yourlordship about the pur-pur--"

"Purchase?--I am going to Paris, to settle all particulars with MissCameron; tell the lawyers so. "

"May--may--we draw out the money to--to--show--that--that we are inearnest? Otherwise I fear--that is, I suspect--I mean I know, thatColonel Maltravers will be off the bargain. "

"Why, Mr. Douce, really I must just see my ward first; but you shallhear from me in a day or two;--and the ten thousand pounds I owe you!"

"Yes, indeed, the ten--ten--ten!--my partner is very--"

"Anxious for it, no doubt! My compliments to him. God bless you!--takecare of yourself, --must be off to save the packet;" and Vargrave hurriedaway, muttering, "Heaven sends money, and the devil sends duns!"

Douce gasped like a fish for breath, as his eyes followed the rapidsteps of Vargrave; and there was an angry scowl of disappointment onhis small features. Lumley, by this time, seated in his carriage, andwrapped up in his cloak, had forgotten the creditor's existence, andwhispered to his aristocratic secretary, as he bent his head out of thecarriage window, "I have told Lord Saxingham to despatch you to me, ifthere is any--the least--necessity for me in London. I leave you behind, Howard, because your sister being at court, and your cousin withour notable premier, you will find out every change in the wind--youunderstand. And, I say, Howard, don't think I forget your kindness!--youknow that no man ever served me in vain! Oh, there's that horrid littleDouce behind you, --tell them to drive on!"

CHAPTER II. 

 HEARD you that? What prodigy of horror is disclosing?--LILLO: _Fatal Curiosity_. 

THE unhappy companion of Cesarini's flight was soon discovered andrecaptured; but all search for Cesarini himself proved ineffectual, notonly in the neighbourhood of St. Cloud, but in the surrounding countryand in Paris. The only comfort was in thinking that his watch would atleast preserve him for some time from the horrors of want; and that bythe sale of the trinket, he might be traced. The police, too, were setat work, --the vigilant police of Paris! Still day rolled on day, and notidings. The secret of the escape was carefully concealed fromTeresa; and public cares were a sufficient excuse for the gloom on DeMontaigne's brow. 

Evelyn heard from Maltravers with mingled emotions of compassion, grief, and awe the gloomy tale connected with the history of the maniac. Shewept for the fate of Florence; she shuddered at the curse that hadfallen on Cesarini; and perhaps Maltravers grew dearer to her from thethought that there was so much in the memories of the past that needed acomforter and a soother. 

They returned to Paris, affianced and plighted lovers; and then it wasthat Evelyn sought carefully and resolutely to banish from her mind allrecollection, all regret, of the absent Legard: she felt the solemnityof the trust confided in her, and she resolved that no thought of hersshould ever be of a nature to gall the generous and tender spirit thathad confided its life of life to her care. The influence of Maltraversover her increased in their new and more familiar position, and yetstill it partook too much of veneration, too little of passion; butthat might be her innocence and youth. He, at least, was sensible of nowant, --she had chosen him from the world; and fastidious as he deemedhimself, he reposed, without a doubt, on the security of her faith. Noneof those presentiments which had haunted him when first betrothedto Florence disturbed him now. The affection of one so young and soguileless seemed to bring back to him all his own youth--we are everyoung while the young can love us! Suddenly, too, the world took to hiseyes a brighter and fairer aspect. Hope, born again, reconciled him tohis career and to his race! The more he listened to Evelyn, the more hewatched every evidence of her docile but generous nature, the more hefelt assured that he had found at last a heart suited to his own. Herbeautiful serenity of temper, cheerful, yet never fitful or unquiet, gladdened him with its insensible contagion. To be with Evelyn was likebasking in the sunshine of some happy sky! It was an inexpressiblecharm to one wearied with "the hack sights and sounds" of this jadedworld, --to watch the ever-fresh and sparkling the thoughts and fancieswhich came from a soul so new to life! It enchanted one, painfullyfastidious in what relates to the true nobility of character, that, however various the themes discussed, no low or mean thought eversullied those beautiful lips. It was not the mere innocence ofinexperience, but the moral incapability of guile, that charmed himin the companion he had chosen on his path to Eternity! He was alsodelighted to notice Evelyn's readiness of resources: she had thatfaculty, without which woman has no independence from the world, nopledge that domestic retirement will not soon languish into wearisomemonotony, --the faculty of making trifles contribute to occupationor amusement; she was easily pleased, and yet she so soon reconciledherself to disappointment. He felt, and chid his own dulness for notfeeling it before, that, young and surpassingly lovely as she was, sherequired no stimulant from the heated pursuits and the hollow admirationof the crowd. 

"Such, " thought he, "are the natures that alone can preserve throughyears the poetry of the first passionate illusion, that can alone renderwedlock the seal that confirms affection, and not the mocking ceremonialthat vainly consecrates its grave!"

Maltravers, as we have seen, formally wrote to Lumley some days aftertheir return to Paris. He would have written also to Lady Vargrave, butEvelyn thought it best to prepare her mother by a letter from herself. 

Miss Cameron now wanted but a few weeks to the age of eighteen, at whichshe was to be the sole mistress of her own destiny. On arriving at thatage the marriage was to take place. Valerie heard with sincere delightof the new engagement her friend had formed. She eagerly sought everyopportunity to increase her intimacy with Evelyn, who was completely wonby her graceful kindness; the result of Valerie's examination was, thatshe did not wonder at the passionate love of Maltravers, but that herdeep knowledge of the human heart (that knowledge so remarkable inthe women of her country!) made her doubt how far it was adequatelyreturned, how far Evelyn deceived herself. Her first satisfaction becamemingled with anxiety, and she relied more for the future felicity ofher friend on Evelyn's purity of thought and general tenderness of heartthan on the exclusiveness and ardour of her love. Alas! few at eighteenare not too young for the irrevocable step, --and Evelyn was younger thanher years! One evening at Madame de Ventadour's Maltravers asked Evelynif she had yet heard from Lady Vargrave. Evelyn expressed her surprisethat she had not, and the conversation fell, as was natural, uponLady Vargrave herself. "Is she as fond of music as you are?" askedMaltravers. 

"Yes, indeed, I think so--and of the songs of a certain person inparticular; they always had for her an indescribable charm. Often haveI heard her say that to read your writings was like talking to an earlyfriend. Your name and genius seemed to make her solitary connection withthe great world. Nay--but you will not be angry--I half think it washer enthusiasm, so strange and rare, that first taught me interest inyourself. "

"I have a double reason, then, for loving your mother, " said Maltravers, much pleased and flattered. "And does she not like Italian music?"

"Not much; she prefers some rather old-fashioned German airs, verysimple, but very touching. "

"My own early passion, " said Maltravers, more and more interested. 

"But there are also one or two English songs which I have occasionally, but very seldom, heard her sing. One in especial affects her so deeply, even when she plays the air, that I have always attached to it a certainmysterious sanctity. I should not like to sing it before a crowd, butto-morrow, when you call on me, and we are alone--"

"Ah, to-morrow I will not fail to remind you. "

Their conversation ceased; yet, somehow or other, that night when heretired to rest the recollection of it haunted Maltravers. He felt avague, unaccountable curiosity respecting this secluded and solitarymother; all concerning her early fate seemed so wrapped in mystery. Cleveland, in reply to his letter, had informed him that all inquiriesrespecting the birth and first marriage of Lady Vargrave had failed. Evelyn evidently knew but little of either, and he felt a certaindelicacy in pressing questions which might be ascribed to theinquisitiveness of a vulgar family pride. Moreover, lovers have so muchto say to each other, that he had not time to talk at length to Evelynabout third persons. He slept ill that night, --dark and boding dreamsdisturbed his slumber. He rose late and dejected by presentiments hecould not master: his morning meal was scarcely over, and he had alreadytaken his hat to go to Evelyn's for comfort and sunshine, when the dooropened, and he was surprised by the entrance of Lord Vargrave. 

Lumley seated himself with a formal gravity very unusual to him, and asif anxious to waive unnecessary explanations, began as follows, with aserious and impressive voice and aspect:--

"Maltravers, of late years we have been estranged from each other. Ido not presume to dictate to you your friendships or your dislikes. Whythis estrangement has happened you alone can determine. For my part I amconscious of no offence; that which I was I am still. It is you who havechanged. Whether it be the difference of our political opinions, or anyother and more secret cause, I know not. I lament, but it is now toolate to attempt to remove it. If you suspect me of ever seeking, or evenwishing, to sow dissension between yourself and my ill-fated cousin, nowno more, you are mistaken. I ever sought the happiness and union of youboth. And yet, Maltravers, you then came between me and an early andcherished dream. But I suffered in silence; my course was at leastdisinterested, perhaps generous: let it pass. A second time you cross mypath, --you win from me a heart I had long learned to consider mine. Youhave no scruple of early friendship, you have no forbearance towardsacknowledged and affianced ties. You are my rival with Evelyn Cameron, and your suit has prospered. "

"Vargrave, " said Maltravers, "you have spoken frankly; and I will replywith an equal candour. A difference of tastes, tempers, and opinions ledus long since into opposite paths. I am one who cannot disunite publicmorality from private virtue. From motives best known to you, but whichI say openly I hold to have been those of interest or ambition, you didnot change your opinions (there is no sin in that), but retaining themin private, professed others in public, and played with the destinies ofmankind as if they were but counters to mark a mercenary game. This ledme to examine your character with more searching eyes; and I found itone I could no longer trust. With respect to the Dead, let the pall dropover that early grave, --I acquit you of all blame. He who sinned hassuffered more than would atone the crime! You charge me with my love toEvelyn. Pardon me, but I seduced no affection, I have broken no tie. Nottill she was free in heart and in hand to choose between us, did I hintat love. Let me think that a way may be found to soften one portion atleast of the disappointment you cannot but feel acutely. "

"Stay!" said Lord Vargrave (who, plunged in a gloomy revery, hadscarcely seemed to hear the last few sentences of his rival): "stay, Maltravers. Speak not of love to Evelyn! A horrible foreboding tells methat, a few hours hence, you would rather pluck out your tongue by theroots than couple the words of love with the thought of that unfortunategirl! Oh, if I were vindictive, what awful triumph would await menow! What retaliation on your harsh judgment, your cold contempt, yourmomentary and wretched victory over me! Heaven is my witness, that myonly sentiment is that of terror and woe! Maltravers, in your earliestyouth, did you form connection with one whom they called Alice Darvil?"

"Alice! merciful Heaven! what of her?"

"Did you never know that the Christian name of Evelyn's mother isAlice?"

"I never asked, I never knew; but it is a common name, " falteredMaltravers. 

"Listen to me, " resumed Vargrave: "with Alice Darvil you lived in theneighbourhood of -----, did you not?"

"Go on, go on!"

"You took the name of Butler; by that name Alice Darvil was afterwardsknown in the town in which my uncle resided--there are gaps in thehistory that I cannot of my own knowledge fill up, --she taught music; myuncle became enamoured of her, but he was vain and worldly. She removedinto Devonshire, and he married her there, under the name of Cameron, bywhich name he hoped to conceal from the world the lowness of her origin, and the humble calling she had followed. Hold! do not interrupt me. Alice had one daughter, as was supposed, by a former marriage; thatdaughter was the offspring of him whose name she bore--yes, of the falseButler!--that daughter is Evelyn Cameron!"

"Liar! devil!" cried Maltravers, springing to his feet, as if a shot hadpierced his heart. "Proofs! proofs!"

"Will these suffice?" said Vargrave, as he drew forth the letters ofWinsley and Lady Vargrave. Maltravers took them, but it was some momentsbefore he could dare to read. He supported himself with difficulty fromfalling to the ground; there was a gurgle in his throat like the soundof the death-rattle; at last he read, and dropped the letters from hishand. 

"Wait me here, " he said very faintly, and moved mechanically to thedoor. 

"Hold!" said Lord Vargrave, laying his hand upon Ernest's arm. "Listento me for Evelyn's sake, for her mother's. You are about to seekEvelyn, --be it so! I know that you possess the god-like gift ofself-control. You will not suffer her to learn that her mother has donethat which dishonours alike mother and child? You will not consummateyour wrong to Alice Darvil by robbing her of the fruit of a lifeof penitence and remorse? You will not unveil her shame to her owndaughter? Convince yourself, and master yourself while you do so!"

"Fear me not, " said Maltravers, with a terrible smile; "I will notafflict my conscience with a double curse. As I have sowed, so must Ireap. Wait me here!"

CHAPTER III. 

. .. MISERY That gathers force each moment as it rolls, And must, at last, o'erwhelm me. --LILLO: _Fatal Curiosity_. 

MALTRAVERS found Evelyn alone; she turned towards him with her usualsweet smile of welcome; but the smile vanished at once, as her eyes methis changed and working countenance; cold drops stood upon the rigid andmarble brow, the lips writhed as if in bodily torture, the muscles ofthe face had fallen, and there was a wildness which appalled her in thefixed and feverish brightness of the eyes. 

"You are ill, Ernest, --dear Ernest, you are ill, --your look freezes me!"

"Nay, Evelyn, " said Maltravers, recovering himself by one of thoseefforts of which men who have _suffered without sympathy_ are alonecapable, --"nay, I am better now; I have been ill--very ill--but I ambetter!"

"Ill! and I not know of it?" She attempted to take his hand as shespoke. Maltravers recoiled. 

"It is fire! it burns! Avaunt!" he cried, frantically. "O Heaven! spareme, spare me!"

Evelyn was not seriously alarmed; she gazed on him with the tenderestcompassion. Was this one of those moody and overwhelming paroxysms towhich it had been whispered abroad that he was subject? Strange as itmay seem, despite her terror, he was dearer to her in that hour--as shebelieved, of gloom and darkness--than in all the glory of his majesticintellect, or all the blandishments of his soft address. 

"What has happened to you?" she said, approaching him again; "have youseen Lord Vargrave? I know that he has arrived, for his servant has beenhere to say so; has he uttered anything to distress you? or has--" (sheadded falteringly and timidly)--"has poor Evelyn offended you? Speak tome, --only speak!"

Maltravers turned, and his face was now calm and serene save by itsextreme and almost ghastly paleness, no trace of the hell within himcould be discovered. 

"Pardon me, " said he, gently, "I know not this morning what I say or do;think not of it, think not of me, --it will pass away when I hear yourvoice. "

"Shall I sing to you the words I spoke of last night? See, I have themready; I know them by heart, but I thought you might like to read them, they are so full of simple but deep feeling. "

Maltravers took the song from her hands, and bent over the paper; atfirst, the letters seemed dim and indistinct, for there was a mistbefore his eyes; but at last a chord of memory was struck, --he recalledthe words: they were some of those he had composed for Alice in thefirst days of their delicious intercourse, --links of the golden chain, in which he had sought to bind the spirit of knowledge to that of love. 

"And from whom, " said he, in a faint voice, as he calmly put down theverses, --"from whom did your mother learn these words?"

"I know not; some dear friend, years ago, composed and gave them toher. It must have been one very dear to her, to judge by the effect theystill produce. "

"Think you, " said Maltravers, in a hollow voice, "think you IT WAS YOURFATHER?"

"My father! She never speaks of him! I have been early taught to shunall allusion to his memory. My father!--it is probable; yes, it may havebeen my father; whom else could she have loved so fondly?"

There was a long silence; Evelyn was the first to break it. 

"I have heard from my mother to-day, Ernest; her letter alarms me, --Iscarce know why!"

"Ah! and how--"

"It is hurried and incoherent, --almost wild: she says she has learnedsome intelligence that has unsettled and unstrung her mind; she hasrequested me to inquire if any one I am acquainted with has heard of, or met abroad, some person of the name of Butler. You start!--have youknown one of that name?"

"I!--did your mother never allude to that name before?"

"Never!--and yet, once I remember--"

"What?"

"That I was reading an account in the papers of the sudden death of someMr. Butler; and her agitation made a powerful and strange impressionupon me, --in fact, she fainted, and seemed almost delirious when sherecovered; she would not rest till I had completed the account, and whenI came to the particulars of his age, etc. (he was old, I think) sheclasped her hands, and wept; but they seemed tears of joy. The name isso common--whom of that name have you known?"

"It is no matter. Is that your mother's letter; is that herhandwriting?"

"Yes;" and Evelyn gave the letter to Maltravers. He glanced over thecharacters; he had once or twice seen Lady Vargrave's handwritingbefore, and had recognized no likeness between that handwriting and suchearly specimens of Alice's art as he had witnessed so many years ago;but now, "trifles light as air" had grown "confirmation strong asproof of Holy Writ, "--he thought he detected Alice in every line of thehurried and blotted scroll; and when his eye rested on the words, "Youraffectionate MOTHER, _Alice_!" his blood curdled in his veins. 

"It is strange!" said he, still struggling for self-composure; "strangethat I never thought of asking her name before! Alice! her name isAlice?"

"A sweet name, is it not? It accords so well with her simplecharacter--how you would love her!"

As she said this, Evelyn turned to Maltravers with enthusiasm, and againshe was startled by his aspect; for again it was haggard, distorted, andconvulsed. 

"Oh, if you love me, " she cried, "do send immediately for advice! Andyet; is it illness, Ernest, or is it some grief that you hide from me?"

"It is illness, Evelyn, " said Maltravers, rising: and his knees knockedtogether. "I am not fit even for your companionship, --I will go home. "

"And send instantly for advice?"

"Ay; it waits me there already. "

"Thank Heaven! and you will write to me one little word--to relieve me?I am so uneasy!"

"I will write to you. "

"This evening?"

"Ay!"

"Now go, --I will not detain you. "

He walked slowly to the door, but when he reached it he turned, andcatching her anxious gaze, he opened his arms; overpowered with strangefear and affectionate sympathy, she burst into passionate tears;and surprised out of the timidity and reserve which had hithertocharacterized her pure and meek attachment to him, she fell on hisbreast, and sobbed aloud. Maltravers raised his hands, and, placingthem solemnly on her young head, his lips muttered as if in prayer. Hepaused, and strained her to his heart; but he shunned that parting kiss, which, hitherto, he had so fondly sought. That embrace was one of agony, and not of rapture; and yet Evelyn dreamed not that he designed it forthe last!

Maltravers re-entered the room in which he had left Lord Vargrave, whostill awaited his return. 

He walked up to Lumley, and held out his hand. "You have saved me from adreadful crime, --from an everlasting remorse. I thank you!"

Hardened and frigid as his nature was, Lumley was touched; the movementof Maltravers took him by surprise. "It has been a dreadful duty, Ernest, " said he, pressing the hand he held; "but to come, too, from_me_, --your rival!"

"Proceed, proceed, I pray you; explain all this--yet explanation! whatdo I want to know? Evelyn is my daughter, --Alice's child! For Heaven'ssake, give me hope; say it is not so; say that she is Alice's child, but not _mine_! Father! father!--and they call it a holy name--it is ahorrible one!"

"Compose yourself, my dear friend: recollect what you have escaped! Youwill recover this shock. Time, travel--"

"Peace, man, --peace! Now then I am calm! When Alice left me she had nochild. I knew not that she bore within her the pledge of our ill-omenedand erring love. Verily, the sins of my youth have arisen against me;and the curse has come home to roost!"

"I cannot explain to you all details. "

"But why not have told me of this? Why not have warned me; why not havesaid to me, when my heart could have been satisfied by so sweet a tie, 'Thou hast a daughter: thou art not desolate'? Why reserve the knowledgeof the blessing until it has turned to poison? Fiend that you are! youhave waited this hour to gloat over the agony from which a word from youa year, nay, a month ago--a little month ago--might have saved me andher!"

Maltravers, as he spoke, approached Vargrave, with eyes sparkling withfierce passion, his hand clenched, his form dilated, the veins on hisforehead swelled like cords. Lumley, brave as he was, recoiled. 

"I knew not of this secret, " said he, deprecatingly, "till a few daysbefore I came hither; and I came hither at once to disclose it to you. Will you listen to me? I knew that my uncle had married a person muchbeneath him in rank; but he was guarded and cautious, and I knewno more, except that by a first husband that lady had onedaughter, --Evelyn. A chain of accidents suddenly acquainted me with therest. "

Here Vargrave pretty faithfully repeated what he had learned from thebrewer at C-----, and from Mr. Onslow; but when he came to the tacitconfirmation of all his suspicions received from Mrs. Leslie, he greatlyexaggerated and greatly distorted the account. "Judge, then, " concludedLumley, "of the horror with which I heard that you had declared anattachment to Evelyn, and that it was returned. Ill as I was, I hastenedhither: you know the rest. Are you satisfied?"

"I will go to Alice! I will learn from her own lips--yet, how can I meether again? How say to her, 'I have taken from thee thy last hope, --Ihave broken thy child's heart'?"

"Forgive me, but I should confess to you, that, from all I can learnfrom Mrs. Leslie, Lady Vargrave has but one prayer, one hope inlife, --that she may never again meet with her betrayer. You may, indeed, in her own letter perceive how much she is terrified by the thought ofyour discovering her. She has, at length, recovered peace of mind andtranquillity of conscience. She shrinks with dread from the prospectof ever again encountering one once so dear, now associated in hermind with recollections of guilt and sorrow. More than this, she issensitively alive to the fear of shame, to the dread of detection. If ever her daughter were to know her sin, it would be to her as adeath-blow. Yet in her nervous state of health, her ever-quick anduncontrollable feelings, if you were to meet her, she would disguisenothing, conceal nothing. The veil would be torn aside: the menials inher own house would tell the tale, and curiosity circulate, and scandalblacken the story of her early errors. No, Maltravers, at least waitawhile before you see her; wait till her mind can be prepared for suchan interview, till precautions can be taken, till you yourself are in acalmer state of mind. "

Maltravers fixed his piercing eyes on Lumley while he thus spoke, andlistened in deep attention. 

"It matters not, " said he, after a long pause, "whether these be yourreal reasons for wishing to defer or prevent a meeting between Alice andmyself. The affliction that has come upon me bursts with too clearand scorching a blaze of light for me to see any chance of escape ormitigation. Even if Evelyn were the daughter of Alice by another, shewould be forever separated from me. The mother and the child! there isa kind of incest even in that thought! But such an alleviation of myanguish is forbidden to my reason. No, poor Alice, I will not disturbthe repose thou hast won at last! Thou shalt never have the grief toknow that our error has brought upon thy lover so black a doom! All isover! the world never shall find me again. Nothing is left for me butthe desert and the grave!"

"Speak not so, Ernest, " said Lord Vargrave, soothingly; "a little while, and you will recover this blow: your control over passion has, evenin youth, inspired me with admiration and surprise; and now, in calmeryears, and with such incentives to self-mastery, your triumph will comesooner than you think. Evelyn, too, is so young; she has not known youlong; perhaps her love, after all, is that caused by some mystic, butinnocent working of nature, and she would rejoice to call you 'father. 'Happy years are yet in store for you. "

Maltravers did not listen to these vain and hollow consolations. Withhis head drooping on his bosom, his whole form unnerved, the largetears rolling unheeded down his cheeks, he seemed the very picture of abroken-hearted man, whom fate never again could raise from despair. He, who had, for years, so cased himself in pride, on whose very front wasengraved the victory over passion and misfortune, whose step had trodthe earth in the royalty of the conqueror; the veriest slave that crawlsbore not a spirit more humbled, fallen, or subdued! He who had lookedwith haughty eyes on the infirmities of others, who had disdainedto serve his race because of their human follies and partialfrailties, --_he_, even _he_, the Pharisee of Genius, --had but escaped bya chance, and by the hand of the man he suspected and despised, froma crime at which nature herself recoils, --which all law, social anddivine, stigmatizes as inexpiable, which the sternest imagination of thevery heathen had invented as the gloomiest catastrophe that can befallthe wisdom and the pride of mortals! But one step farther, and thefabulous Oedipus had not been more accursed!

Such thoughts as these, unformed, confused, but strong enough to bow himto the dust, passed through the mind of this wretched man. He had beenfamiliar with grief, he had been dull to enjoyment; sad and bittermemories had consumed his manhood: but pride had been left him still;and he had dared in his secret heart to say, "I can defy Fate!" Now thebolt had fallen; Pride was shattered into fragments, Self-abasement washis companion, Shame sat upon his prostrate soul. The Future had no hopeleft in store. Nothing was left for him but to die!

Lord Vargrave gazed at him in real pain, in sincere compassion; for hisnature, wily, deceitful, perfidious though it was, had cruelty only sofar as was necessary to the unrelenting execution of his schemes. Nopity could swerve him from a purpose; but he had enough of the manwithin him to feel pity not the less, even for his own victim! At lengthMaltravers lifted his head, and waved his hand gently to Lord Vargrave. 

"All is now explained, " said he, in a feeble voice; "our interviewis over. I must be alone; I have yet to collect my reason, to communecalmly and deliberately with myself; I have to write to her--to invent, to lie, --I, who believed I could never, never utter, even to an enemy, what was false! And I must not soften the blow to her. I must not uttera word of love, --love, it is incest! I must endeavour brutally to crushout the very affection I created! She must hate me!--oh, _teach_ herto hate me! Blacken my name, traduce my motives, --let her believe themlevity or perfidy, what you will. So will she forget me the sooner; sowill she the easier bear the sorrow which the father brings upon thechild. And _she_ has not sinned! O Heaven, the sin was mine! Let mypunishment be a sacrifice that Thou wilt accept for her!"

Lord Vargrave attempted again to console; but this time the words diedupon his lips. His arts failed him. Maltravers turned impatiently awayand pointed to the door. 

"I will see you again, " said he, "before I quit Paris; leave youraddress below. "

Vargrave was not, perhaps, unwilling to terminate a scene so painful:he muttered a few incoherent words, and abruptly withdrew. He heardthe door locked behind him as he departed. Ernest Maltravers wasalone!--what a solitude!

CHAPTER IV. 

 PITY me not, but lend thy serious hearing To what I shall unfold. --_Hamlet_. 

LETTER FROM ERNEST MALTRAVERS TO EVELYN CAMERON. 

EVELYN!

All that you have read of faithlessness and perfidy will seem tame toyou when compared with that conduct which you are doomed to meet fromme. We must part, and for ever. We have seen each other for the lasttime. It is bootless even to ask the cause. Believe that I am fickle, false, heartless, --that a whim has changed me, if you will. My resolveis unalterable. We meet no more even as friends. I do not ask you eitherto forgive or to remember me. Look on me as one wholly unworthy evenof resentment! Do not think that I write this in madness or in fever orexcitement. Judge me not by my seeming illness this morning. I invent noexcuse, no extenuation, for my broken faith and perjured vows. Calmly, coldly, and deliberately I write; and thus writing, I renounce yourlove. 

This language is wanton cruelty, --it is fiendish insult, --is it not, Evelyn? Am I not a villain? Are you not grateful for your escape? Do younot look on the past with a shudder at the precipice on which you stood?

I have done with this subject, --I turn to another. We are parted, Evelyn, and forever. Do not fancy, --I repeat, do not fancy that thereis any error, any strange infatuation on my mind, that there is anypossibility that the sentence can be annulled. It were almost easier tocall the dead from the grave than bring us again together, as we wereand as we hoped to be. Now that you are convinced of that truth, learn, as soon as you have recovered the first shock of knowing how muchwickedness there is on earth, --learn to turn to the future for happierand more suitable ties than those you could have formed with me. Youare very young; in youth our first impressions are lively butevanescent, --you will wonder hereafter at having fancied you loved me. Another and a fairer image will replace mine. This is what I desire andpray for. _As soon as I learn that you love another, that you are weddedto another, I will re-appear in the world; till then, I am a wandererand an exile. Your hand alone can efface from my brow the brand ofCain!_ When I am gone, Lord Vargrave will probably renew his suit. Iwould rather you married one of your own years, --one whom you could lovefondly, one who would chase away every remembrance of the wretch whonow forsakes you. But perhaps I have mistaken Lord Vargrave's character;perhaps he may be worthier of you than I deemed (_I_ who set up forthe censor of other men!); perhaps he may both win and deserve youraffection. 

Evelyn, farewell! God, who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, willwatch over you!

 ERNEST MALTRAVERS. 

CHAPTER V. 

 OUR acts our angels are, or good or ill, The fatal shadows that walk by us still. --JOHN FLETCHER. 

THE next morning came; the carriage was at the door of Maltravers, tobear him away he cared not whither. Where could he fly from memory? Hehad just despatched the letter to Evelyn, --a letter studiously writtenfor the object of destroying all the affection to which he had so fondlylooked as the last charm of life. He was now only waiting for Vargrave, to whom he had sent, and who hastened to obey the summons. 

When Lumley arrived, he was shocked at the alteration which a singlenight had effected in the appearance of Maltravers; but he was surprisedand relieved to find him calm and self-possessed. 

"Vargrave, " said Maltravers, "whatever our past coldness, henceforth Iowe to you an eternal gratitude; and henceforth this awful secret makesbetween us an indissoluble bond. If I have understood you rightly, neither Alice nor other living being than yourself know that in me, Ernest Maltravers, stands the guilty object of Alice's first love. Letthat secret still be kept; relieve Alice's mind from the apprehension oflearning that the man who betrayed her yet lives: he will not livelong! I leave time and method of explanation to your own judgment andacuteness. Now for Evelyn. " Here Maltravers stated generally the tone ofthe letter he had written. Vargrave listened thoughtfully. 

"Maltravers, " said he, "it is right to try first the effect of yourletter. But if it fail, if it only serve to inflame the imagination andexcite the interest, if Evelyn still continue to love you, if that lovepreys upon her, if it should undermine health and spirit, if it shoulddestroy her?"

Maltravers groaned. Lumley proceeded: "I say this not to wound you, but to provide against all circumstances. I too have spent the night inrevolving what is best to be done in such a case; and this is the planI have formed. Let us, if need be, tell the truth to Evelyn, robbingthe truth only of its shame. Nay, nay, listen. Why not say that under aborrowed name and in the romance of early youth you knew and loved Alice(though in innocence and honour)? Your tender age, the difference ofrank, forbade your union. Her father, discovering your clandestinecorrespondence, suddenly removed her from the country, and destroyed allclew for your inquiries. You lost sight of each other, --each was taughtto believe the other dead. Alice was compelled by her father to marryMr. Cameron; and after his death, her poverty and her love for her onlychild induced her to accept my uncle. You have now learned all, --havelearned that Evelyn is the daughter of your first love, the daughterof one who adores you still, and whose life your remembrance has for somany years embittered. Evelyn herself will at once comprehend all thescruples of a delicate mind; Evelyn herself will recoil from the thoughtof making the child the rival to the mother. She will understand why youhave flown from her; she will sympathize with your struggles; she willrecall the constant melancholy of Alice; she will hope that the ancientlove may be renewed, and efface all grief; Generosity and Duty alikewill urge her to conquer her own affection! And hereafter, when timehas restored you both, father and child may meet with such sentiments asfather and child may own!"

Maltravers was silent for some minutes; at length he said abruptly, "Andyou really loved her, Vargrave, --you love her still? Your dearest caremust be her welfare. "

"It is! indeed, it is!"

"Then I must trust to your discretion; I can have no other confidant;I myself am not fit to judge. My mind is darkened--you may be right--Ithink so. "

"One word more, --she may discredit my tale, if unsupported. Will youwrite one line to me to say that I am authorized to reveal the secret, and that it is known only to me? I will not use it unless I should thinkit absolutely required. "

Hastily and mechanically Maltravers wrote a few words to the effect ofwhat Lumley had suggested. "I will inform you, " he said to Vargrave ashe gave him the paper, "of whatever spot may become my asylum; and youcan communicate to me all that I dread and long to hear; but let no manknow the refuge of despair!"

There was positively a tear in Vargrave's cold eye, --the only tear thathad glistened there for many years; he paused irresolute, then advanced, again halted, muttered to himself, and turned aside. 

"As for the world, " Lumley resumed, after a pause, "your engagement hasbeen public, --some public account of its breach must be invented. Youhave always been considered a proud man; we will say that it waslow birth on the side of both mother and father (the last only justdiscovered) that broke off the alliance!"

Vargrave was talking to the deaf; what cared Maltravers for the world?He hastened from the room, threw himself into his carriage, and Vargravewas left to plot, to hope, and to aspire. 

BOOK X. 

 "A dream!"--HOMER, I, 3. 

CHAPTER I. 

 QUALIS ubi in lucem coluber. .. Mala gramina pastus. *--VIRGIL. 

 Pars minima est ipsa puella sui. **--OVID. 

 * "As when a snake glides into light, having fed on pernicious pastures. "

 ** "The girl is the least part of himself. "

IT would be superfluous, and, perhaps, a sickening task, to detail atlength the mode and manner in which Vargrave coiled his snares round theunfortunate girl whom his destiny had marked out for his prey. He wasright in foreseeing that, after the first amazement caused by theletter of Maltravers, Evelyn would feel resentment crushed beneath hercertainty of his affection her incredulity at his self-accusations, and her secret conviction that some reverse, some misfortune he wasunwilling she should share, was the occasion of his farewell and flight. Vargrave therefore very soon communicated to Evelyn the tale he hadsuggested to Maltravers. He reminded her of the habitual sorrow, theevidence of which was so visible in Lady Vargrave; of her indifferenceto the pleasures of the world; of her sensitive shrinking from allrecurrence to her early fate. "The secret of this, " said he, "is in ayouthful and most fervent attachment; your mother loved a young strangerabove her in rank, who (his head being full of German romance) was thenroaming about the country on pedestrian and adventurous excursions, under the assumed name of Butler. By him she was most ardently belovedin return. Her father, perhaps, suspected the rank of her lover, andwas fearful of her honour being compromised. He was a strange man, thatfather! and I know not his real character and motives; but he suddenlywithdrew his daughter from the suit and search of her lover, --they saweach other no more; her lover mourned her as one dead. In process oftime your mother was constrained by her father to marry Mr. Cameron, and was left a widow with an only child, --yourself: she was poor;--verypoor! and her love and anxiety for you at last induced her to listen tothe addresses of my late uncle; for your sake she married again; againdeath dissolved the tie! But still, unceasingly and faithfully, sherecalled that first love, the memory of which darkened and embitteredall her life, and still she lived upon the hope to meet with the lostagain. At last, and most recently, it was my fate to discover that theobject of this unconquerable affection lived, --was still free in hand ifnot in heart: you behold the lover of your mother in Ernest Maltravers!It devolved on me (an invidious--a reluctant duty) to inform Maltraversof the identity of Lady Vargrave with the Alice of his boyish passion;to prove to him her suffering, patient, unsubdued affection; to convincehim that the sole hope left to her in life was that of one day orother beholding him once again. You know Maltravers, --his high-wrought, sensitive, noble character; he recoiled in terror from the thought ofmaking his love to the daughter the last and bitterest affliction tothe mother he had so loved; knowing too how completely that mother hadentwined herself round your affections, he shuddered at the pain andself-reproach that would be yours when you should discover to whom youhad been the rival, and whose the fond hopes and dreams that your fatalbeauty had destroyed. Tortured, despairing, and half beside himself, hehas fled from this ill-omened passion, and in solitude he now seeks tosubdue that passion. Touched by the woe, the grief, of the Alice ofhis youth, it is his intention, as soon as he can know you restored tohappiness and content, to hasten to your mother, and offer his futuredevotion as the fulfilment of former vows. On you, and you alone, itdepends to restore Maltravers to the world, --on you alone it depends tobless the remaining years of the mother who so dearly loves you!"

It may be easily conceived with what sensations of wonder, compassion, and dismay, Evelyn listened to this tale, the progress of which herexclamations, her sobs, often interrupted. She would write instantly toher mother, to Maltravers. Oh, how gladly she would relinquish hissuit: How cheerfully promise to rejoice in that desertion which broughthappiness to the mother she had so loved!

"Nay, " said Vargrave, "your mother must not know, till the intelligencecan be breathed by his lips, and softened by his protestations ofreturning affection, that the mysterious object of her early romance isthat Maltravers whose vows have been so lately offered to her own child. Would not such intelligence shock all pride, and destroy all hope? Howcould she then consent to the sacrifice which Maltravers is preparedto make? No! not till you are another's--not (to use the words ofMaltravers) till you are a happy and beloved wife--must your motherreceive the returning homage of Maltravers; not till then can sheknow where that homage has been recently rendered; not till then canMaltravers feel justified in the atonement he meditates. He is willingto sacrifice himself; he trembles at the thought of sacrificing you! Saynothing to your mother, till from her own lips she tells you that shehas learned all. "

Could Evelyn hesitate; could Evelyn doubt? To allay the fears, to fulfilthe prayers of the man whose conduct appeared so generous, to restorehim to peace and the world; above all, to pluck from the heart of thatbeloved and gentle mother the rankling dart, to shed happiness over herfate, to reunite her with the loved and lost, --what sacrifice too greatfor this?

Ah, why was Legard absent? Why did she believe him capricious, light, and false? Why had she shut her softest thoughts from her soul? Buthe--the true lover--was afar, and his true love unknown! and Vargrave, the watchful serpent, was at hand. 

In a fatal hour, and in the transport of that enthusiasm which inspiresalike our more rash and our more sublime deeds, which makes us alikedupes and martyrs, --the enthusiasm that tramples upon self, thatforfeits all things to a high-wrought zeal for others, Evelyn consentedto become the wife of Vargrave! Nor was she at first sensible of thesacrifice, --sensible of anything but the glow of a noble spirit andan approving conscience. Yes, thus, and thus alone, did she obeyboth duties, --that, which she had well-nigh abandoned, to her deadbenefactor, and that to the living mother. Afterwards came a dreadreaction; and then, at last, that passive and sleep-like resignation, which is Despair under a milder name. Yes, --such a lot had beenpredestined from the first; in vain had she sought to fly it: Fate hadovertaken her, and she must submit to the decree!

She was most anxious that the intelligence of the new bond might betransmitted instantly to Maltravers. Vargrave promised, but took carenot to perform. He was too acute not to know that in so sudden a stepEvelyn's motives would be apparent, and his own suit indelicate andungenerous. He was desirous that Maltravers should learn nothing tillthe vows had been spoken, and the indissoluble chain forged. Afraidto leave Evelyn, even for a day, afraid to trust her in England to aninterview with her mother, --he remained at Paris, and hurried on all therequisite preparations. He sent to Douce, who came in person, with thedeeds necessary for the transfer of the money for the purchase of LisleCourt, which was now to be immediately completed. The money was tobe lodged in Mr. Douce's bank till the lawyers had completed theiroperations; and in a few weeks, when Evelyn had attained the allottedage, Vargrave trusted to see himself lord alike of the betrothed bride, and the hereditary lands of the crushed Maltravers. He refrained fromstating to Evelyn who was the present proprietor of the estate to becomehers; he foresaw all the objections she would form;--and, indeed, shewas unable to think, to talk, of such matters. One favour she had asked, and it had been granted, --that she was to be left unmolested to hersolitude till the fatal day. Shut up in her lonely room, condemned notto confide her thoughts, to seek for sympathy even in her mother, --thepoor girl in vain endeavoured to keep up to the tenor of her firstenthusiasm, and reconcile herself to a step, which, however, she washeroine enough not to retract or to repent, even while she recoiled fromits contemplation. 

Lady Doltimore, amazed at what had passed, --at the flight of Maltravers, the success of Lumley, --unable to account for it, to extort explanationfrom Vargrave or from Evelyn, was distracted by the fear of somevillanous deceit which she could not fathom. To escape herself sheplunged yet more eagerly into the gay vortex. Vargrave, suspicious, andfearful of trusting to what she might say in her nervous and excitedtemper if removed from his watchful eye, deemed himself compelledto hover round her. His manner, his conduct, were most guarded; butCaroline herself, jealous, irritated, unsettled, evinced at times aright both to familiarity and anger, which drew upon her and himself thesly vigilance of slander. Meanwhile Lord Doltimore, though too coldand proud openly to notice what passed around him, seemed disturbedand anxious. His manner to Vargrave was distant; he shunned all_tete-a-tetes_ with his wife. Little, however, of this did Lumley heed. A few weeks more, and all would be well and safe. Vargrave did notpublish his engagement with Evelyn: he sought carefully to conceal ittill the very day was near at hand; but it was whispered abroad; somelaughed, some believed. Evelyn herself was seen nowhere. De Montaignehad, at first, been indignantly incredulous at the report thatMaltravers had broken off a connection he had so desired from a motiveso weak and unworthy as that of mere family pride. A letter fromMaltravers, who confided to him and Vargrave alone the secret of hisretreat, reluctantly convinced him that the wise are but pompous fools;he was angry and disgusted; and still more so when Valerie and Teresa(for female friends stand by us right or wrong) hinted at excuses, or surmised that other causes lurked behind the one alleged. But histhoughts were much drawn from this subject by increasing anxiety forCesarini, whose abode and fate still remained an alarming mystery. 

It so happened that Lord Doltimore, who had always had a taste for theantique, and who was greatly displeased with his own family-seatbecause it was comfortable and modern, fell, from _ennui_, into ahabit, fashionable enough in Paris, of buying curiosities andcabinets, --high-back chairs and oak-carvings; and with this habitreturned the desire and the affection for Burleigh. Understanding fromLumley that Maltravers had probably left his native land forever, heimagined it extremely probable that the latter would now consent tothe sale, and he begged Vargrave to forward a letter from him to thateffect. 

Vargrave made some excuse, for he felt that nothing could be moreindelicate than such an application forwarded through his hands at sucha time; and Doltimore, who had accidentally heard De Montaigne confessthat he knew the address of Maltravers, quietly sent his letter to theFrenchman, and, without mentioning its contents, begged him to forwardit. De Montaigne did so. Now it is very strange how slight men andslight incidents bear on the great events of life; but that simpleletter was instrumental to a new revolution in the strange history ofMaltravers. 

CHAPTER II. 

 QUID frustra simulacra fugacia captas?-- Quod petis est nusquam. *--OVID: _Met. _ iii. 432. 

 * "Why, in vain, do you catch at fleeting shadows? That which you seek is nowhere. "

TO no clime dedicated to the indulgence of majestic griefs or to thesoft melancholy of regret--not to thy glaciers, or thy dark-blue lakes, beautiful Switzerland, mother of many exiles; nor to thy fairer earthand gentler heaven, sweet Italy, --fled the agonized Maltravers. Once, in his wanderings, he had chanced to pass by a landscape so steeped insullen and desolate gloom, that it had made a powerful and uneffacedimpression upon his mind: it was amidst those swamps and morasses thatformerly surrounded the castle of Gil de Retz, the ambitious Lord, thedreaded Necromancer, who perished at the stake, after a career of suchpower and splendour as seemed almost to justify the dark belief in hispreternatural agencies. *

 * See, for description of this scenery, and the fate of De Retz, the high-wrought and glowing romance by Mr. Ritchie called "The Magician. "

Here, in a lonely and wretched inn, remote from other habitations, Maltravers fixed himself. In gentler griefs there is a sort of luxuryin bodily discomfort; in his inexorable and unmitigated anguish, bodilydiscomfort was not felt. There is a kind of magnetism in extreme woe, by which the body itself seems laid asleep, and knows no distinctionbetween the bed of Damiens and the rose-couch of the Sybarite. He lefthis carriage and servants at a post-house some miles distant. He cameto this dreary abode alone; and in that wintry season, and that mostdisconsolate scene, his gloomy soul found something congenial, somethingthat did not mock him, in the frowns of the haggard and dismal Nature. Vain would it be to describe what he then felt, what he then endured. Suffice it that, through all, the diviner strength of man was notwholly crushed, and that daily, nightly, hourly, he prayed to the GreatComforter to assist him in wrestling against a guilty love. No manstruggles so honestly, so ardently as he did, utterly in vain; for inus all, if we would but cherish it, there is a spirit that must rise atlast--a crowned, if bleeding conqueror--over Fate and all the Demons!

One day after a prolonged silence from Vargrave, whose letters allbreathed comfort and assurance in Evelyn's progressive recovery ofspirit and hope, his messenger returned from the post-town with a letterin the hand of De Montaigne. It contained, in a blank envelope (DeMontaigne's silence told him how much he had lost in the esteem of hisfriend), the communication of Lord Doltimore. It ran thus:--

MY DEAR SIR, --As I hear that your plans are likely to make you a longresident on the Continent, may I again inquire if you would be inducedto dispose of Burleigh? I am willing to give more than its real value, and would raise a mortgage on my own property sufficient to pay off, atonce, the whole purchase-money. Perhaps you may be the more induced tothe sale from the circumstance of having an example in the head of yourfamily, Colonel Maltravers, as I learn through Lord Vargrave, havingresolved to dispose of Lisle Court. Waiting your answer, I am, dear Sir, truly yours, DOLTIMORE. 

"Ay, " said Maltravers, bitterly, crushing the letter in his hand, "letour name be blotted out from the land, and our hearths pass to thestranger. How could I ever visit the place where I first saw _her_?"

He resolved at once, --he would write to England, and place the matterin the hands of agents. This was but a short-lived diversion to histhoughts, and their cloudy darkness soon gathered round him again. 

What I am now about to relate may appear, to a hasty criticism, tosavour of the Supernatural; but it is easily accounted for by ordinaryagencies, and it is strictly to the letter of the truth. 

In his sleep that night a dream appeared to Maltravers. He thought hewas alone in the old library at Burleigh, and gazing on the portraitof his mother; as he so gazed, he fancied that a cold and awful tremorseized upon him, that he in vain endeavoured to withdraw his eyes fromthe canvas--his sight was chained there by an irresistible spell. Thenit seemed to him that the portrait gradually changed, --the features thesame, but the bloom vanished into a white and ghastly hue; the coloursof the dress faded, their fashion grew more large and flowing, but heavyand rigid as if cut in stone, --the robes of the grave. But on the facethere was a soft and melancholy smile, that took from its livid aspectthe natural horror; the lips moved, and, it seemed as if without asound, the released soul spoke to that which the earth yet owned. 

"Return, " it said, "to thy native land, and thine own home. Leave notthe last relic of her who bore and yet watches over thee to strangerhands. Thy good Angel shall meet thee at thy hearth!"

The voice ceased. With a violent effort Maltravers broke the spell thathad forbidden his utterance. He called aloud, and the dream vanished: hewas broad awake, his hair erect, the cold dews on his brow. The pallet, rather than bed on which he lay, was opposite to the window, and thewintry moonlight streamed wan and spectral into the cheerless room. Butbetween himself and the light there seemed to stand a shape, a shadow, that into which the portrait had changed in his dream, --that which hadaccosted and chilled his soul. He sprang forward, "My mother! even inthe grave canst thou bless thy wretched son! Oh, leave me not--say thatthou--" The delusion vanished, and Maltravers fell back insensible. 

It was long in vain, when, in the healthful light of day, he revolvedthis memorable dream, that Maltravers sought to convince himself thatdreams need no ministers from heaven or hell to bring the glidingfalsehoods along the paths of sleep; that the effect of that dreamitself, on his shattered nerves, his excited fancy, was the real andsole raiser of the spectre he had thought to behold on waking. Long wasit before his judgment could gain the victory, and reason disown theempire of a turbulent imagination; and even when at length reluctantlyconvinced, the dream still haunted him, and he could not shake it fromhis breast. He longed anxiously for the next night; it came, but itbrought neither dreams nor sleep, and the rain beat, and the windshowled, against the casement. Another night, and the moon was againbright; and he fell into a deep sleep; no vision disturbed or hallowedit. He woke ashamed of his own expectation. But the event, such as itwas, by giving a new turn to his thoughts, had roused and relieved hisspirit, and misery sat upon him with a lighter load. Perhaps, too, tothat still haunting recollection was mainly owing a change in his formerpurpose. He would still sell the old Hall; but he would first return, and remove that holy portrait, with pious hands; he would garner up andsave all that had belonged to her whose death had been his birth. Ah, never had she known for what trials the infant had been reserved!

CHAPTER III. 

 THE weary hours steal on And flaky darkness breaks. --_Richard III. _

ONCE more, suddenly and unlooked for, the lord of Burleigh appeared atthe gates of his deserted hall! and again the old housekeeper and hersatellites were thrown into dismay and consternation. Amidst blank andwelcomeless faces, Maltravers passed into his study: and as soon as thelogs burned and the bustle was over, and he was left alone, he took upthe light and passed into the adjoining library. It was then about nineo'clock in the evening; the air of the room felt damp and chill, andthe light but faintly struggled against the mournful gloom of the darkbook-lined walls and sombre tapestry. He placed the candle on the table, and drawing aside the curtain that veiled the portrait, gazed with deepemotion, not unmixed with awe, upon the beautiful face whose eyes seemedfixed upon him with mournful sweetness. There is something mysticalabout those painted ghosts of ourselves, that survive our very dust!Who, gazing upon them long and wistfully, does not half fancy that theyseem not insensible to his gaze, as if we looked our own life into them, and the eyes that followed us where we moved were animated by a strangerart than the mere trick of the limner's colours?

With folded arms, rapt and motionless, Maltravers contemplated the formthat, by the upward rays of the flickering light, seemed to bend downtowards the desolate son. How had he ever loved the memory of hismother! how often in his childish years had he stolen away, and shedwild tears for the loss of that dearest of earthly ties, never to becompensated, never to be replaced! How had he respected, how sympathizedwith the very repugnance which his father had at first testified towardshim, as the innocent cause of her untimely death! He had never seenher, --never felt her passionate kiss; and yet it seemed to him, as hegazed, as if he had known her for years. That strange kind of inner andspiritual memory which often recalls to us places and persons we havenever seen before, and which Platonists would resolve to the unquenchedand struggling consciousness of a former life, stirred within him, andseemed to whisper, "You were united in the old time. " "Yes!" he said, half aloud, "we will never part again. Blessed be the delusion of thedream that recalled to my heart the remembrance of thee, which, atleast, I can cherish without a sin. 'My good angel shall meet me at myhearth!' so didst thou say in the solemn vision. Ah, does thy soul watchover me still? How long shall it be before the barrier is broken! howlong before we meet, but not in dreams!"

The door opened, the housekeeper looked in. "I beg pardon, sir, but Ithought your honour would excuse the liberty, though I know it is verybold to--"

"What is the matter? What do you want?"

"Why, sir, poor Mrs. Elton is dying, --they say she cannot get over thenight; and as the carriage drove by the cottage window, the nurse toldher that the squire was returned; and she has sent up the nurse toentreat to see your honour before she dies. I am sure I was most loth todisturb you, sir, with such a message; and says I, the squire has onlyjust come off a journey--"

"Who is Mrs. Elton?"

"Don't your honour remember the poor woman that was run over, and youwere so good to, and brought into the house the day Miss Cameron--"

"I remember, --say I will be with her in a few minutes. About to die!"muttered Maltravers; "she is to be envied, --the prisoner is let loose, the bark leaves the desert isle!"

He took his hat and walked across the park, dimly lighted by the stars, to the cottage of the sufferer. He reached her bedside, and took herhand kindly. She seemed to rally at the sight of him; the nurse wasdismissed, they were left alone. Before morning, the spirit had leftthat humble clay; and the mists of dawn were heavy on the grass asMaltravers returned home. There were then on his countenance the tracesof recent and strong emotion, and his step was elastic, and his cheekflushed. Hope once more broke within him, but mingled with doubt, andfaintly combated by reason. In another hour Maltravers was on his wayto Brook-Green. Impatient, restless, fevered, he urged on the horses, he sowed the road with gold; and at length the wheels stopped beforethe door of the village inn. He descended, asked the way to the curate'shouse; and crossing the burial-ground, and passing under the shadow ofthe old yew-tree, entered Aubrey's garden. The curate was at home, andthe conference that ensued was of deep and breathless interest to thevisitor. 

It is now time to place before the reader, in due order and connection, the incidents of that story, the knowledge of which, at that period, broke in detached and fragmentary portions on Maltravers. 

CHAPTER IV. 

 I CANNA chuse, but ever will Be luving to thy father still, Whaireir he gae, whaireir he ryde, My luve with him maun still abyde; In weil or wae, whaireir he gae, Mine heart can neir depart him frae. Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament. 

IT may be remembered that in the earlier part of this continuation ofthe history of Maltravers it was stated that Aubrey had in early lifemet with the common lot of a disappointed affection. Eleanor Westbrook, a young woman of his own humble rank, had won, and seemed to return, his love; but of that love she was not worthy. Vain, volatile, andambitious, she forsook the poor student for a more brilliant marriage. She accepted the hand of a merchant, who was caught by her beauty, andwho had the reputation of great wealth. They settled in London, andAubrey lost all traces of her. She gave birth to an only daughter: andwhen that child had attained her fourteenth year, her husband suddenly, and seemingly without cause, put an end to his existence. The cause, however, was apparent before he was laid in his grave. He was involvedfar beyond his fortune, --he had died to escape beggary and a jail. Asmall annuity, not exceeding one hundred pounds, had been secured on thewidow. On this income she retired with her child into the country; andchance, the vicinity of some distant connections, and the cheapness ofthe place, concurred to fix her residence in the outskirts of the townof C-----. Characters that in youth have been most volatile and mostworldly, often when bowed down and dejected by the adversity which theyare not fitted to encounter, become the most morbidly devout; they everrequire an excitement, and when earth denies, they seek it impatientlyfrom heaven. 

This was the case with Mrs. Westbrook; and this new turn of mindbrought her naturally into contact with the principal saint of theneighbourhood, Mr. Richard Templeton. We have seen that that gentlemanwas not happy in his first marriage; death had not then annulled thebond. He was of an ardent and sensual temperament, and quietly, underthe broad cloak of his doctrines, he indulged his constitutionaltendencies. Perhaps in this respect he was not worse than nine men outof ten. But then he professed to be better than nine hundred thousandnine hundred and ninety-nine men out of a million! To a fault oftemperament was added the craft of hypocrisy, and the vulgar errorbecame a dangerous vice. Upon Mary Westbrook, the widow's daughter, hegazed with eyes that were far from being the eyes of the spirit. Evenat the age of fourteen she charmed him; but when, after watchingher ripening beauty expand, three years were added to that age, Mr. Templeton was most deeply in love. Mary was indeed lovely, --herdisposition naturally good and gentle, but her education worse thanneglected. To the frivolities and meannesses of a second-rate fashion, inculcated into her till her father's death, had now succeeded thequackeries, the slavish subservience, the intolerant bigotries, of atranscendental superstition. In a change so abrupt and violent, thewhole character of the poor girl was shaken; her principles unsettled, vague, and unformed, and naturally of mediocre and even feebleintellect, she clung to the first plank held out to her in "that widesea of wax" in which "she halted. " Early taught to place the mostimplicit faith in the dictates of Mr. Templeton, fastening her beliefround him as the vine winds its tendrils round the oak, yielding to hisascendency, and pleased with his fostering and almost caressing manner, no confessor in Papal Italy ever was more dangerous to village virtuethan Richard Templeton (who deemed himself the archetype of the onlypure Protestantism) to the morals and heart of Mary Westbrook. 

Mrs. Westbrook, whose constitution had been prematurely broken by longparticipation in the excesses of London dissipation and by the reverseof fortune which still preyed upon a spirit it had rather soured thanhumbled, died when Mary was eighteen. Templeton became the sole friend, comforter, and supporter of the daughter. 

In an evil hour (let us trust not from premeditated villany), --an hourwhen the heart of one was softened by grief and gratitude, and theconscience of the other laid asleep by passion, the virtue of MaryWestbrook was betrayed. Her sorrow and remorse, his own fears ofdetection and awakened self-reproach, occasioned Templeton the mostanxious and poignant regret. There had been a young woman in Mrs. Westbrook's service, who had left it a short time before the widow died, in consequence of her marriage. Her husband ill-used her; and glad toescape from him and prove her gratitude to her employer's daughter, ofwhom she had been extremely fond, she had returned to Miss Westbrookafter the funeral of her mother. The name of this woman was Sarah Miles. Templeton saw that Sarah more than suspected his connection with Mary;it was necessary to make a confidant, --he selected her. Miss Westbrookwas removed to a distant part of the country, and Templeton visited hercautiously and rarely. Four months afterwards, Mrs. Templeton died, andthe husband was free to repair his wrong. Oh, how he then repented ofwhat had passed! but four months' delay, and all this sin and sorrowmight have been saved! He was now racked with perplexity and doubt: hisunfortunate victim was advanced in her pregnancy. It was necessary, if he wished his child to be legitimate--still more if he wished topreserve the honour of its mother--that he should not hesitate long inthe reparation to which duty and conscience urged him. But on the otherhand, he, the saint, the oracle, the immaculate example for all forms, proprieties, and decorums, to scandalize the world by so rapid andpremature a hymen--

 "Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing in his galled eyes, To marry. "

No! he could not brave the sneer of the gossips, the triumph of hisfoes, the dejection of his disciples, by so rank and rash a folly. But still Mary pined so, he feared for her health--for his own unbornoffspring. There was a middle path, --a compromise between duty andthe world; he grasped at it as most men similarly situated would havedone, --they were married, but privately, and under feigned names: thesecret was kept close. Sarah Miles was the only witness acquainted withthe real condition and names of the parties. 

Reconciled to herself, the bride recovered health and spirits, Templetonformed the most sanguine hopes. He resolved, as soon as the confinementwas over, to go abroad; Mary should follow; in a foreign land theyshould be publicly married; they would remain some years on theContinent; when he returned, his child's age could be put back a year. Oh, nothing could be more clear and easy!

Death shivered into atoms all the plans of Mr. Templeton. Mary sufferedmost severely in childbirth, and died a few weeks afterwards. Templetonat first was inconsolable, but worldly thoughts were great comforters. He had done all that conscience could do to atone a sin, and he wasfreed from a most embarrassing dilemma, and from a temporary banishmentutterly uncongenial and unpalatable to his habits and ideas. But now hehad a child, --a legitimate child, successor to his name, his wealth; afirst-born child, --the only one ever sprung from him, the prop andhope of advancing years! On this child he doted with all that paternalpassion which the hardest and coldest men often feel the most for theirown flesh and blood--for fatherly love is sometimes but a transfer ofself-love from one fund to another. 

Yet this child--this darling that he longed to show to the wholeworld--it was absolutely necessary, for the present, that he shouldconceal and disown. It had happened that Sarah's husband died of his ownexcesses a few weeks before the birth of Templeton's child, she havingherself just recovered from her confinement; Sarah was therefore freeforever from her husband's vigilance and control. To her care thedestined heiress was committed, and her own child put out to nurse. Andthis was the woman and this the child who had excited so much benevolentcuriosity in the breasts of the worthy clergyman and the three old maidsof C-----. * Alarmed at Sarah's account of the scrutiny of the parson, and at his own rencontre with that hawk-eyed pastor, Templeton lost notime in changing the abode of the nurse; and to her new residence hadthe banker bent his way, with rod and angle, on that evening whichwitnessed his adventure with Luke Darvil. ** When Mr. Templeton firstmet Alice, his own child was only about thirteen or fourteen monthsold, --but little older than Alice's. If the beauty of Mrs. Leslie's_protege_ first excited his coarser nature, her maternal tenderness, her anxious care for her little one, struck a congenial chord in thefather's heart. It connected him with her by a mute and unceasingsympathy. Templeton had felt so deeply the alarm and pain of illicitlove, he had been (as he profanely believed) saved from the brink ofpublic shame by so signal an interference of grace, that he resolved nomore to hazard his good name and his peace of mind upon such perilousrocks. The dearest desire at his heart was to have his daughter underhis roof, --to fondle, to play with her, to watch her growth, to winher affection. This, at present, seemed impossible. But if he were tomarry, --marry a widow, to whom he might confide all, or a portion, ofthe truth; if that child could be passed off as hers--ah, that was thebest plan! And Templeton wanted a wife! Years were creeping on him, andthe day would come when a wife would be useful as a nurse. But Alice wassupposed to be a widow; and Alice was so meek, so docile, so motherly. If she could be induced to remove from C-----, either part with her ownchild or call it her niece, --and adopt his. Such, from time to time, were Templeton's thoughts, as he visited Alice, and found, with everyvisit, fresh evidence of her tender and beautiful disposition; suchthe objects which, in the First Part of this work, we intimated weredifferent from those of mere admiration for her beauty. *** But again, worldly doubts and fears--the dislike of so unsuitable an alliance, theworse than lowness of Alice's origin, the dread of discovery for herearly error--held him back, wavering and irresolute. To say truth, too, her innocence and purity of thought kept him at a certain distance. He was acute enough to see that he--even he, the great RichardTempleton--might be refused by the faithful Alice. 

 * See "Ernest Maltravers, " book iv. , p. 164. 

 ** "Ernest Maltravers, " book iv. , p. 181. 

 *** "Our banker always seemed more struck by Alice's moral feelings than even by her physical beauty. Her love for her child, for instance, impressed him powerfully, " etc. "His feelings altogether for Alice, the designs he entertained towards her, were of a very complicated nature, and it will be long, perhaps, before the reader can thoroughly comprehend them. "--See "Ernest Maltravers, " book iv. , p. 178. 

At last Darvil was dead; he breathed more freely, he revolved moreseriously his projects; and at this time, Sarah, wooed by her firstlover, wished to marry again; his secret would pass from her breast toher second husband's, and thence how far would it travel? Added to this, Sarah's conscience grew uneasy; the brand ought to be effaced from thememory of the dead mother, the legitimacy of the child proclaimed;she became importunate, she wearied and she alarmed the pious man. Hetherefore resolved to rid himself of the only witness to his marriagewhose testimony he had cause to fear, --of the presence of the onlyone acquainted with his sin and the real name of the husband of MaryWestbrook. He consented to Sarah's marriage with William Elton, andoffered a liberal dowry on the condition that she should yield to thewish of Elton himself, an adventurous young man, who desired to try hisfortunes in the New World. His daughter he must remove elsewhere. 

While this was going on, Alice's child, long delicate and drooping, became seriously ill. Symptoms of decline appeared; the physicianrecommended a milder air, and Devonshire was suggested. Nothing couldequal the generous, the fatherly kindness which Templeton evinced onthis most painful occasion. He insisted on providing Alice with themeans to undertake the journey with ease and comfort; and poor Alice, with a heart heavy with gratitude and sorrow, consented for her child'ssake to all he offered. 

Now the banker began to perceive that all his hopes and wishes were ingood train. He foresaw that the child of Alice was doomed!--that was oneobstacle out of the way. Alice herself was to be removed from the sphereof her humble calling. In a distant county she might appear of betterstation, and under another name. Conformably to these views, hesuggested to her that, in proportion to the seeming wealth andrespectability of patients, did doctors attend to their complaints. Heproposed that Alice should depart privately to a town many miles off;that there he would provide for her a carriage, and engage a servant;that he would do this for her as for a relation, and that she shouldtake that relation's name. To this, Alice rapt in her child, andsubmissive to all that might be for the child's benefit, passivelyconsented. It was arranged then as proposed, and under the name ofCameron, which, as at once a common yet a well-sounding name, occurredto his invention, Alice departed with her sick charge and a femaleattendant (who knew nothing of her previous calling or story), on theroad to Devonshire. Templeton himself resolved to follow her thither ina few days; and it was fixed that they should meet at Exeter. 

It was on this melancholy journey that occurred that memorable day whenAlice once more beheld Maltravers; and, as she believed, uttering thevows of love to another. * The indisposition of her child had delayed hersome hours at the inn: the poor sufferer had fallen asleep; and Alicehad stolen from its couch for a little while, when her eyes rested onthe father. Oh, how then she longed, she burned to tell him of the newsanctity, that, by a human life, had been added to their early love! Andwhen, crushed and sick at heart, she turned away, and believed herselfforgotten and replaced, it was the pride of the mother rather than ofthe mistress that supported her. She, meek creature, felt not theinjury to herself; but _his_ child, --the sufferer, perhaps the dyingone, --_there_, _there_ was the wrong! No! she would not hazard thechance of a cold--great Heaven! perchance an _incredulous_--look uponthe hushed, pale face above. But little time was left for thought, forexplanation, for discovery. She saw him--unconscious of the ties sonear, and thus lost--depart as a stranger from the spot; and henceforthwas gone the sweet hope of living for the future. Nothing was lefther but the pledge of that which had been. Mournful, despondent, halfbroken-hearted, she resumed her journey. At Exeter she was joined, asagreed, by Mr. Templeton; and with him came a fair, a blooming, andhealthful girl to contrast her own drooping charge. Though but a fewweeks older, you would have supposed the little stranger by a year thesenior of Alice's child: the one was so well grown, so advanced; theother so backward, so nipped in the sickly bud. 

 * See "Ernest Maltravers, " book v. , p. 221. 

"You can repay me for all, for more than I have done; more than Iever can do for you and yours, " said Templeton, "by taking this youngstranger also under your care. It is the child of one dear, most dearto me; an orphan; I know not with whom else to place it. Let it for thepresent be supposed your own, --the elder child. "

Alice could refuse nothing to her benefactor; but her heart did not openat first to the beautiful girl, whose sparkling eyes and rosy cheeksmocked the languid looks and faded hues of her own darling. But thesufferer seemed to hail a playmate; it smiled, it put forth its poor, thin hands; it uttered its inarticulate cry of pleasure, and Alice burstinto tears, and clasped them _both_ to her heart. 

Mr. Templeton took care not to rest under the same roof with her henow seriously intended to make his wife; but he followed Alice to theseaside, and visited her daily. Her infant rallied; it was tenaciousof the upper air; it clung to life so fondly; poor child, it could notforesee what a bitter thing to some of us life is! And now it was thatTempleton, learning from Alice her adventure with her absent lover, learning that all hope in that quarter was gone, seized the occasion, and pressed his suit. Alice at the hour was overflowing with gratitude;in her child's reviving looks she read all her obligations to herbenefactor. But still, at the word _love_, at the name of _marriage_, her heart recoiled; and the lost, the faithless, came back to his fatalthrone. In choked and broken accents, she startled the banker with therefusal--the faltering, tearful, but resolute refusal--of his suit. 

But Templeton brought new engines to work: he wooed her through herchild; he painted all the brilliant prospects that would open to theinfant by her marriage with him. He would cherish, rear, provide for itas his own. This shook her resolves; but this did not prevail. He hadrecourse to a more generous appeal: he told her so much of hishistory with Mary Westbrook as commenced with his hasty and indecorousmarriage, --attributing the haste to love! made her comprehend hisscruples in owning the child of a union the world would be certain toridicule or condemn; he expatiated on the inestimable blessingsshe could afford him, by delivering him from all embarrassment, andrestoring his daughter, though under a borrowed name, to her father'sroof. At this Alice mused; at this she seemed irresolute. She had longseen how inexpressibly dear to Templeton was the child confided to hercare; how he grew pale if the slightest ailment reached her; how hechafed at the very wind if it visited her cheek too roughly; and she nowsaid to him simply, --

"Is your child, in truth, your dearest object in life? Is it with her, and her alone, that your dearest hopes are connected?"

"It is, --it is indeed!" said the banker, honestly surprised out of hisgallantry; "at least, " he added, recovering his self-possession, "asmuch so as is compatible with my affection for you. "

"And only if I marry you, and adopt her as my own, do you think thatyour secret may be safely kept, and all your wishes with respect to herbe fulfilled?"

"Only so. "

"And for that reason, chiefly, nay entirely, you condescend to forgetwhat I have been, and seek my hand? Well, if that were all, I owe youtoo much; my poor babe tells me too loudly what I owe you to draw backfrom anything that can give you so blessed an enjoyment. Ah, one'schild! one's own child, under one's own roof, it _is_ such a blessing!But then, if I marry you, it can be only to secure to you that object;to be as a mother to your child; but wife only in name to you! I am notso lost as to despise myself. I know now, though I knew it not at first, that I have been guilty; nothing can excuse that guilt but fidelity to_him_! Oh, yes! I never, never can be unfaithful to my babe's father!As for all else, dispose of me as you will. " And Alice, who from veryinnocence had uttered all this without a blush, now clasped her handspassionately, and left Templeton speechless with mortification andsurprise. 

When he recovered himself, he affected not to understand her; but Alicewas not satisfied, and all further conversation ceased. He began slowly, and at last, and after repeated conferences and urgings, to comprehendhow strange and stubborn in some points was the humble creature whom hisproposals so highly honoured. Though his daughter was indeed his firstobject in life; though for her he was willing to make a _mesalliance_, the extent of which it would be incumbent on him studiously toconceal, --yet still, the beauty of Alice awoke an earthlier sentimentthat he was not disposed to conquer. He was quite willing to makepromises, and talk generously; but when it came to an oath, --a solemn, abinding oath--and this Alice rigidly exacted, --he was startled, anddrew back. Though hypocritical, he was, as we have before said, amost sincere believer. He might creep through a promise with unbruisedconscience; but he was not one who could have dared to violate an oath, and lay the load of perjury on his soul. Perhaps, after all, the unionnever would have taken place, but Templeton fell ill; that soft andrelaxing air did not agree with him; a low but dangerous fever seizedhim, and the worldly man trembled at the aspect of Death. It was in thisillness that Alice nursed him with a daughter's vigilance and care;and when at length he recovered, impressed with her zeal and kindness, softened by illness, afraid of the approach of solitary age, --andfeeling more than ever his duties to his motherless child, he threwhimself at Alice's feet, and solemnly vowed all that she required. 

It was during this residence in Devonshire, and especially during hisillness, that Templeton made and cultivated the acquaintance of Mr. Aubrey. The good clergyman prayed with him by his sick-bed; andwhen Templeton's danger was at its height, he sought to relieve hisconscience by a confession of his wrongs to Mary Westbrook. The namestartled Aubrey; and when he learned that the lovely child who had sooften sat on his knee, and smiled in his face, was the granddaughterof his first and only love, he had a new interest in her welfare, anew reason to urge Templeton to reparation, a new motive to desire toprocure for the infant years of Eleanor's grandchild the gentle care ofthe young mother, whose own bereavement he sorrowfully foretold. Perhapsthe advice and exhortations of Aubrey went far towards assisting theconscience of Mr. Templeton, and reconciling him to the sacrifice hemade to his affection for his daughter. Be that as it may, he marriedAlice, and Aubrey solemnized and blessed the chill and barren union. 

But now came a new and inexpressible affliction; the child of Alice hadrallied but for a time. The dread disease had but dallied with its prey;it came on with rapid and sudden force; and within a month from the daythat saw Alice the bride of Templeton, the last hope was gone, and themother was bereft and childless!

The blow that stunned Alice was not, after the first natural shock ofsympathy, an unwelcome event to the banker. Now _his_ child would beAlice's sole care; now there could be no gossip, no suspicion why, inlife and after death, he should prefer one child, supposed not his own, to the other. 

He hastened to remove Alice from the scene of her affliction. Hedismissed the solitary attendant who had accompanied her on her journey;he bore his wife to London, and finally settled, as we have seen, at avilla in its vicinity. And there, more and more, day by day, centred hislove upon the supposed daughter of Mrs. Templeton, his darling and hisheiress, the beautiful Evelyn Cameron. 

For the first year or two, Templeton evinced some alarming dispositionto escape from the oath he had imposed upon himself; but on theslightest hint there was a sternness in the wife, in all else sorespectful, so submissive, that repressed and awed him. She eventhreatened--and at one time was with difficulty prevented carryingthe threat into effect--to leave his roof forever, if there were theslightest question of the sanctity of his vow. Templeton trembled; sucha separation would excite gossip, curiosity, scandal, a noise in theworld, public talk, possible discovery. Besides, Alice was necessaryto Evelyn, necessary to his own comfort; something to scold in health, something to rely upon in illness. Gradually then, but sullenly, hereconciled himself to his lot; and as years and infirmities grew uponhim, he was contented at least to have secured a faithful friend andan anxious nurse. Still a marriage of this sort was not blessed:Templeton's vanity was wounded; his temper, always harsh, was soured;he avenged his affront by a thousand petty tyrannies; and, without amurmur, Alice perhaps in those years of rank and opulence suffered morethan in all her wanderings, with love at her heart and her infant in herarms. 

Evelyn was to be the heiress to the wealth of the banker. But the_title_ of the new peer!--if he could unite wealth and title, and setthe coronet on that young brow! This had led him to seek the alliancewith Lumley. And on his death-bed, it was not the secret of Alice, butthat of Mary Westbrook and his daughter, which he had revealed to hisdismayed and astonished nephew, in excuse for the apparently unjustalienation of his property, and as the cause of the alliance he hadsought. 

While her husband, if husband he might be called, lived, Alice hadseemed to bury in her bosom her regret--deep, mighty, passionate, as itwas--for her lost child, the child of the unforgotten lover, to whom, through such trials, and amid such new ties, she had been faithful fromfirst to last. But when once more free, her heart flew back to thefar and lowly grave. Hence her yearly visits to Brook-Green; hence herpurchase of the cottage, hallowed by memories of the dead. There, onthat lawn, had she borne forth the fragile form, to breathe the softnoontide air; there, in that chamber, had she watched and hoped, andprayed and despaired; there, in that quiet burial-ground, rested thebeloved dust! But Alice, even in her holiest feelings, was not selfish:she forbore to gratify the first wish of her heart till Evelyn'seducation was sufficiently advanced to enable her to quit theneighbourhood; and then, to the delight of Aubrey (who saw in Evelyn afairer, and nobler, and purer Eleanor), she came to the solitary spot, which, in all the earth, was the _least_ solitary to her!

And now the image of the lover of her youth--which during her marriageshe had _sought_, at least, to banish--returned to her, and at timesinspired her with the only hopes that the grave had not yet transferredto heaven! In relating her tale to Aubrey or in conversing with Mrs. Leslie, whose friendship she still maintained, she found that bothconcurred in thinking that this obscure and wandering Butler, so skilledin an art in which eminence in man is generally professional, must be ofmediocre or perhaps humble station. Ah! now that she was free and rich, if she were to meet him again, and his love was not all gone, and hewould believe in _her_ strange and constant truth; now, _his_ infidelitycould be forgiven, --forgotten in the benefits it might be hers tobestow! And how, poor Alice, in that remote village, was chance to throwhim in your way? She knew not: but something often whispered to her, "Again you shall meet those eyes; again you shall hear that voice; andyou shall tell him, weeping on his breast, how you loved his child!"And would he not have forgotten her; would he not have formed newties?--could he read the loveliness of unchangeable affection in thatpale and pensive face! Alas, when we love intensely, it is difficult tomake us fancy that there is no love in return!

The reader is acquainted with the adventures of Mrs. Elton, the soleconfidant of the secret union of Templeton and Evelyn's mother. By asingular fatality, it was the selfish and characteristic recklessnessof Vargrave that had, in fixing her home at Burleigh, ministered to therevelation of his own villanous deceit. On returning to England she hadinquired for Mr. Templeton; she had learned that he had married again, had been raised to the peerage under the title of Lord Vargrave, and wasgathered to his fathers. She had no claim on his widow or his family. But the unfortunate child who should have inherited his property, shecould only suppose her dead. 

When she first saw Evelyn, she was startled by her likeness to herunfortunate mother. But the unfamiliar name of Cameron, the intelligencereceived from Maltravers that Evelyn's mother still lived, dispelled hersuspicions; and though at times the resemblance haunted her, she doubtedand inquired no more. In fact, her own infirmities grew upon her, andpain usurped her thoughts. 

Now it so happened that the news of the engagement of Maltravers toMiss Cameron became known to the county but a little time beforehe arrived, --for news travels slow from the Continent to ourprovinces, --and, of course, excited all the comment of the villagers. Her nurse repeated the tale to Mrs. Elton, who instantly remembered thename, and recalled the resemblance of Miss Cameron to the unfortunateMary Westbrook. 

"And, " said the gossiping nurse, "she was engaged, they say, to a greatlord, and gave him up for the squire, --a great lord in the court, whohad been staying at Parson Merton's, Lord Vargrave!"

"Lord Vargrave!" exclaimed Mrs. Elton, remembering the title to whichMr. Templeton had been raised. 

"Yes; they do say as how the late lord left Miss Cameron all hismoney--such a heap of it--though she was not his child, over the head ofhis nevy, the present lord, on the understanding like that they were tobe married when she came of age. But she would not take to him after shehad seen the squire. And, to be sure, the squire is the finest-lookinggentleman in the county. "

"Stop! stop!" said Mrs. Elton, feebly; "the late lord left allhis fortune to Miss Cameron, --not his child! I guess the riddle! Iunderstand it all! my foster-child!" she murmured, turning away; "howcould I have mistaken that likeness?"

The agitation of the discovery she supposed she had made, her joy at thethought that the child she had loved as her own was alive and possessedof its rights, expedited the progress of Mrs. Elton's disease; andMaltravers arrived just in time to learn her confession (which shenaturally wished to make to one who was at once her benefactor, andsupposed to be the destined husband of her foster-child), and to beagitated with hope, with joy, at her solemn conviction of the truth ofher surmises. If Evelyn were not his daughter--even if not to be hisbride--what a weight from his soul! He hastened to Brook-Green; anddreading to rush at once to the presence of Alice, he recalled Aubrey tohis recollection. In the interview he sought, all, or at least much, wascleared up. He saw at once the premeditated and well-planned villanyof Vargrave. And Alice, her tale--her sufferings--her indomitablelove!--how should he meet _her_?

CHAPTER V. 

 YET once more, O ye laurels! and once more, Ye myrtles!--LYCIDAS. 

WHILE Maltravers was yet agitated and excited by the disclosures of thecurate, to whom, as a matter of course, he had divulged his own identitywith the mysterious Butler, Aubrey, turning his eyes to the casement, saw the form of Lady Vargrave slowly approaching towards the house. 

"Will you withdraw to the inner room?" said he; "she is coming; you arenot yet prepared to meet her!--nay, would it be well?"

"Yes, yes; I am prepared. We must be alone. I will await her here. "

"But--"

"Nay, I implore you!"

The curate, without another word, retired into the inner apartment, andMaltravers sinking in a chair breathlessly awaited the entrance of LadyVargrave. He soon heard the light step without; the door, which openedat once on the old-fashioned parlour, was gently unclosed, and LadyVargrave was in the room! In the position he had taken, only the outlineof Ernest's form was seen by Alice, and the daylight came dim throughthe cottage casement; and seeing some one seated in the curate'saccustomed chair, she could but believe that it was Aubrey himself. 

"Do not let me interrupt you, " said that sweet, low voice, whose musichad been dumb for so many years to Maltravers, "but I have a letter fromFrance, from a stranger. It alarms me so; it is about Evelyn;" and, as if to imply that she meditated a longer visit than ordinary, LadyVargrave removed her bonnet, and placed it on the table. Surprised thatthe curate had not answered, had not come forward to welcome her, shethen approached; Maltravers rose, and they stood before each other faceto face. And how lovely still was Alice! lovelier he thought even thanof old! And those eyes, so divinely blue, so dovelike and soft, yet withsome spiritual and unfathomable mystery in their clear depth, were oncemore fixed upon him. Alice seemed turned to stone; she moved not, she spoke not, she scarcely breathed; she gazed spellbound, as if hersenses--as if life itself--had deserted her. 

"Alice!" murmured Maltravers, --"Alice, we meet at last!"

His voice restored memory, consciousness, youth, at once to her!She uttered a loud cry of unspeakable joy, of rapture! She sprangforward--reserve, fear, time, change, all forgotten; she threw herselfinto his arms, she clasped him to her heart again and again!--thefaithful dog that has found its master expresses not his transport moreuncontrollably, more wildly. It was something fearful--the excess of herecstasy! She kissed his hands, his clothes; she laughed, she wept;and at last, as words came, she laid her head on his breast, and saidpassionately, "I have been true to thee! I have been true to thee!--orthis hour would have killed me!" Then, as if alarmed by his silence, shelooked up into his face, and as his burning tears fell upon hercheek, she said again and with more hurried vehemence, "I _have_ beenfaithful, --do you not believe me?"

"I do, I do, noble, unequalled Alice! Why, why were you so long lost tome? Why now does your love so shame my own?"

At these words, Alice appeared to awaken from her first oblivion of allthat had chanced since they met; she blushed deeply, and drew herselfgently and bashfully from his embrace. "Ah, " she said, in altered andhumbled accents, "you have loved another! Perhaps you have no love leftfor me! Is it so; is it? No, no; those eyes--you love me--you love mestill!"

And again she clung to him, as if it were heaven to believe all things, and death to doubt. Then, after a pause, she drew him gently with bothher hands towards the light, and gazed upon him fondly, proudly, as ifto trace, line by line, and feature by feature, the countenance whichhad been to her sweet thoughts as the sunlight to the flowers. "Changed, changed, " she muttered; "but still the same, --still beautiful, stilldivine!" She stopped. A sudden thought struck her: his garments wereworn and soiled by travel, and that princely crest, fallen and dejected, no longer towered in proud defiance above the sons of men. "You are notrich, " she exclaimed eagerly, --"say you are not rich! I am rich enoughfor both; it is all yours, --all yours; I did not betray you for it;there is no shame in it. Oh, we shall be so happy! Thou art come back tothy poor Alice! thou knowest how she loved thee!"

There was in Alice's manner, her wild joy, something so different fromher ordinary self, that none who could have seen her--quiet, pensive, subdued--would have fancied her the same being. All that Society andits woes had taught were gone; and Nature once more claimed her fairestchild. The very years seemed to have fallen from her brow, and shelooked scarcely older than when she had stood with him beneath themoonlight by the violet banks far away. Suddenly, her colour faded; thesmile passed from the dimpled lips; a sad and solemn aspect succeededto that expression of passionate joy. "Come, " she said, in a whisper, "come, follow;" and still clasping his hand, she drew him to the door. Silent and wonderingly he followed her across the lawn, through themoss-grown gate, and into the lonely burial-ground. She moved on witha noiseless and gliding step, --so pale, so hushed, so breathless, thateven in the noonday you might have half fancied the fair shape was notowned by earth. She paused where the yew-tree cast its gloomy shadow;and the small and tombless mound, separated from the rest, was beforethem. She pointed to it, and falling on her knees beside it, murmured, "Hush, it sleeps below, --thy child!" She covered her face with both herhands, and her form shook convulsively. 

Beside that form and before that grave knelt Maltravers. Therevanished the last remnant of his stoic pride; and there--Evelyn herselfforgotten--there did he pray to Heaven for pardon to himself, andblessings on the heart he had betrayed. There solemnly did he vow, theremainder of his years, to guard from all future ill the faithful andchildless mother. 

CHAPTER VI. 

 WILL Fortune never come with both hands full, But write her fair words still in foulest letters? _Henry IV. _ Part ii. 

I PASS over those explanations, that record of Alice's eventful history, which Maltravers learned from her own lips, to confirm and add to thenarrative of the curate, the purport of which is already known to thereader. 

It was many hours before Alice was sufficiently composed to remember theobject for which she had sought the curate. But she had laid the letterwhich she had brought, and which explained all, on the table at thevicarage; and when Maltravers, having at last induced Alice, who seemedafraid to lose sight of him for an instant, to retire to her room, andseek some short repose, returned towards the vicarage, he met Aubrey inthe garden. The old man had taken the friend's acknowledged license toread the letter evidently meant for his eye; and, alarmed and anxious, he now eagerly sought a consultation with Maltravers. The letter, written in English, as familiar to the writer as her own tongue, wasfrom Madame de Ventadour. It had been evidently dictated by the kindestfeelings. After apologizing briefly for her interference, she statedthat Lord Vargrave's marriage with Miss Cameron was now a matter ofpublic notoriety; that it would take place in a few days; that it wasobserved with suspicion that Miss Cameron appeared nowhere; that sheseemed almost a prisoner in her room; that certain expressions which haddropped from Lady Doltimore had alarmed her greatly. According to theseexpressions, it would seem that Lady Vargrave was not apprised of theapproaching event; that, considering Miss Cameron's recent engagement toMr. Maltravers suddenly (and, as Valerie thought, unaccountably) brokenoff on the arrival of Lord Vargrave; considering her extreme youth, her brilliant fortune; and, Madame de Ventadour delicately hinted, considering also Lord Vargrave's character for unscrupulousdetermination in the furtherance of any object on which he wasbent, --considering all this, Madame de Ventadour had ventured to addressMiss Cameron's mother, and to guard her against the possibility ofdesign or deceit. Her best apology for her intrusion must be her deepinterest in Miss Cameron, and her long friendship for one to whom MissCameron had been so lately betrothed. If Lady Vargrave were aware ofthe new engagement, and had sanctioned it, of course her intrusion wasunseasonable and superfluous; but if ascribed to its real motive, wouldnot be the less forgiven. 

It was easy for Maltravers to see in this letter how generous andzealous had been that friendship for himself which could have inducedthe woman of the world to undertake so officious a task. But of thishe thought not, as he hurried over the lines, and shuddered at Evelyn'surgent danger. 

"This intelligence, " said Aubrey, "must be, indeed, a surprise to LadyVargrave. For we have not heard a word from Evelyn or Lord Vargrave toannounce such a marriage; and she (and myself till this day) believedthat the engagement between Evelyn and Mr. -----, I mean, " said Aubreywith confusion, --"I mean yourself, was still in force. Lord Vargrave'svillany is apparent; we must act immediately. What is to be done?"

"I will return to Paris to-morrow; I will defeat his machination, exposehis falsehood!"

"You may need a proxy for Lady Vargrave, an authority for Evelyn; onewhom Lord Vargrave knows to possess the secret of her birth, her rights:I will go with you. We must speak to Lady Vargrave. "

Maltravers turned sharply round. "And Alice knows not who I am; thatI--I am, or was, a few weeks ago, the suitor of another; and that otherthe child she has reared as her own! Unhappy Alice! in the very hour ofher joy at my return, is she to writhe beneath this new affliction?"

"Shall I break it to her?" said Aubrey, pityingly. 

"No, no; these lips must inflict the last wrong!" Maltravers walkedaway, and the curate saw him no more till night. 

In the interval, and late in the evening, Maltravers rejoined Alice. 

The fire burned clear on the hearth, the curtains were drawn, thepleasant but simple drawing-room of the cottage smiled its welcome asMaltravers entered, and Alice sprang up to greet him! It was as if theold days of the music-lesson and the meerschaum had come back. 

"This is yours, " said Alice, tenderly, as he looked round the apartment. "Now--now I know what a blessed thing riches are! Ah, you are looking onthat picture; it is of her who supplied your daughter's place, --sheis so beautiful, so good, you will love her as a daughter. Oh, that letter--that--that letter--I forgot it till now--it is at thevicarage--I must go there immediately, and you will come too, --you willadvise us. "

"Alice, I have read the letter, --I know all. Alice, sit down and hearme, --it is you who have to learn from me. In our young days I wasaccustomed to tell you stories in winter nights like these, --storiesof love like our own, of sorrows which, at that time, we only knew byhearsay. I have one now for your ear, truer and sadder than they were. Two children, for they were then little more--children in ignoranceof the world, children in freshness of heart, children almost inyears--were thrown together by strange vicissitudes, more than eighteenyears ago. They were of different sexes, --they loved and they erred. Butthe error was solely with the boy; for what was innocence in her was butpassion in him. He loved her dearly; but at that age her qualities werehalf developed. He knew her beautiful, simple, tender; but he knew notall the virtue, the faith, and the nobleness that Heaven had planted inher soul. They parted, --they knew not each other's fate. He sought heranxiously, but in vain; and sorrow and remorse long consumed him, andher memory threw a shadow over his existence. But again--for his lovehad not the exalted holiness of hers (_she_ was true!)--he sought torenew in others the charm he had lost with her. In vain, --long, long invain. Alice, you know to whom the tale refers. Nay, listen yet. I haveheard from the old man yonder that you were witness to a scene manyyears ago which deceived you into the belief that you beheld a rival. Itwas not so: that lady yet lives, --then, as now, a friend to me; nothingmore. I grant that, at one time, my fancy allured me to her, but myheart was still true to thee. "

"Bless you for those words!" murmured Alice; and she crept more closelyto him. 

He went on. "Circumstances, which at some calmer occasion you shallhear, again nearly connected my fate by marriage to another. I had thenseen you at a distance, unseen by you, --seen you apparently surroundedby respectability and opulence; and I blessed Heaven that your lot, atleast, was not that of penury and want. " (Here Maltravers related wherehe had caught that brief glimpse of Alice, *--how he had sought for heragain and again in vain. ) "From that hour, " he continued, "seeing youin circumstances of which I could not have dared to dream, I feltmore reconciled to the past; yet, when on the verge of marriage withanother--beautiful, gifted, generous as she was--a thought, a memoryhalf acknowledged, dimly traced, chained back my sentiments; andadmiration, esteem, and gratitude were not love! Death--a deathmelancholy and tragic--forbade this union; and I went forth in theworld, a pilgrim and a wanderer. Years rolled away, and I thought I hadconquered the desire for love, --a desire that had haunted me sinceI lost thee. But, suddenly and recently, a being, beautiful asyourself--sweet, guileless, and young as you were when we met--woke inme a new and a strange sentiment. I will not conceal it from you: Alice, at last I loved another! Yet, singular as it may seem to you, it was acertain resemblance to yourself, not in feature, but in the tones of thevoice, the nameless grace of gesture and manner, the very music of youronce happy laugh, --those traits of resemblance which I can now accountfor, and which children catch not from their parents only, but fromthose they most see, and, loving most, most imitate in their tenderyears, --all these, I say, made perhaps a chief attraction, that drewme towards--Alice, are you prepared for it?--drew me towards EvelynCameron. Know me in my real character, by my true name: I am thatMaltravers to whom the hand of Evelyn was a few weeks ago betrothed!"

 * See "Ernest Maltravers, " book v. , p. 228. 

He paused, and ventured to look up at Alice; she was exceedingly pale, and her hands were tightly clasped together, but she neither wept norspoke. The worst was over; he continued more rapidly, and with lessconstrained an effort: "By the art, the duplicity, the falsehood of LordVargrave, I was taught in a sudden hour to believe that Evelyn was ourdaughter, that you recoiled from the prospect of beholding once more theauthor of so many miseries. I need not tell you, Alice, of the horrorthat succeeded to love. I pass over the tortures I endured. By a trainof incidents to be related to you hereafter, I was led to suspect thetruth of Vargrave's tale. I came hither; I have learned all from Aubrey. I regret no more the falsehood that so racked me for the time; I regretno more the rupture of my bond with Evelyn; I regret nothing that bringsme at last free and unshackled to thy feet, and acquaints me with thysublime faith and ineffable love. Here then--here beneath your ownroof--here he, at once your earliest friend and foe, kneels to youfor pardon and for hope! He woos you as his wife, his companion to thegrave! Forget all his errors, and be to him, under a holier name, allthat you were to him of old!"

"And you are then Evelyn's suitor, --you are he whom she loves? I see itall--all!" Alice rose, and, before he was even aware of her purpose, orconscious of what she felt, she had vanished from the room. 

Long, and with the bitterest feelings, he awaited her return; she camenot. At last he wrote a hurried note, imploring her to join him again, to relieve his suspense; to believe his sincerity; to accept his vows. He sent it to her own room, to which she had hastened to bury heremotions. In a few minutes there came to him this answer, written inpencil, blotted with tears. 

"I thank you, I understand your heart; but forgive me--I cannot see youyet. She is so beautiful and good, she is worthy of you. I shall soon bereconciled. God bless you, --bless you both!"

The door of the vicarage was opened abruptly, and Maltravers enteredwith a hasty but heavy tread. 

"Go to her, go to that angel; go, I beseech you! Tell her that shewrongs me, if she thinks I can ever wed another, ever have an object inlife, but to atone to, to merit her. Go, plead for me. "

Aubrey, who soon gathered from Maltravers what had passed, departed tothe cottage. It was near midnight before he returned. Maltravers met himin the churchyard, beside the yew-tree. "Well, well, what message do youbring?"

"She wishes that we should both set off for Paris to-morrow. Not a dayis to be lost, --we must save Evelyn from this snare. "

"Evelyn! Yes, Evelyn shall be saved; but the rest--the rest--why do youturn away?"

"'You are not the poor artist, the wandering adventurer; you are thehigh-born, the wealthy, the renowned Maltravers: Alice has nothing toconfer on you. You have won the love of Evelyn, --Alice cannot doomthe child confided to her care to hopeless affection; you loveEvelyn, --Alice cannot compare herself to the young and educated andbeautiful creature, whose love is a priceless treasure. Alice praysyou not to grieve for her; she will soon be content and happy in yourhappiness. ' This is the message. "

"And what said you, --did you not tell her such words would break myheart?"

"No matter what I said; I mistrust myself when I advise her. Herfeelings are truer than all our wisdom!"

Maltravers made no answer, and the curate saw him gliding rapidly awayby the starlit graves towards the village. 

CHAPTER VII. 

 THINK you I can a resolution fetch From flowery tenderness?--_Measure for Measure_. 

THEY were on the road to Dover. Maltravers leaned back in the corner ofthe carriage with his hat over his brows, though the morning was yet toodark for the curate to perceive more than the outline of his features. Milestone after milestone glided by the wheels, and neither of thetravellers broke the silence. It was a cold, raw morning, and the mistsrose sullenly from the dank hedges and comfortless fields. 

Stern and self-accusing was the scrutiny of Maltravers into the recessesof his conscience, and the blotted pages of the Past. That pale andsolitary mother, mourning over the grave of her--of his own--child, roseagain before his eyes, and seemed silently to ask him for an accountof the heart he had made barren, and of the youth to which his love hadbrought the joylessness of age. With the image of Alice, --afar, alone, whether in her wanderings, a beggar and an outcast, or in that hollowprosperity, in which the very ease of the frame allowed more leisureto the pinings of the heart, --with that image, pure, sorrowing, andfaithful from first to last, he compared his own wild and wasted youth, his resort to fancy and to passion for excitement. He contrasted withher patient resignation his own arrogant rebellion against the trials, the bitterness of which his proud spirit had exaggerated; his contemptfor the pursuits and aims of others; the imperious indolence of hislater life, and his forgetfulness of the duties which Providence hadfitted him to discharge. His mind, once so rudely hurled from thatcomplacent pedestal, from which it had so long looked down on men, and said, "I am wiser and better than you, " became even too acutelysensitive to its own infirmities; and that desire for Virtue, whichhe had ever deeply entertained, made itself more distinctly and loudlyheard amidst the ruins and the silence of his pride. 

From the contemplation of the Past, he roused himself to face theFuture. Alice had refused his hand, Alice herself had ratified andblessed his union with another! Evelyn, so madly loved, --Evelyn mightstill be his! No law--from the violation of which, even in thought, Human Nature recoils appalled and horror-stricken--forbade him toreclaim her hand, to snatch her from the grasp of Vargrave, to wooagain, and again to win her! But did Maltravers welcome, did he embracethat thought? Let us do him justice: he did not. He felt that Alice'sresolution, in the first hour of mortified affection, was not to beconsidered final; and even if it were so, he felt yet more deeply thather love--the love that had withstood so many trials--never could besubdued. Was he to make her nobleness a curse? Was he to say, "Thou hastpassed away in thy generation, and I leave thee again to thy solitudefor her whom thou hast cherished as a child?" He started in dismay fromthe thought of this new and last blow upon the shattered spirit; andthen fresh and equally sacred obstacles between Evelyn and himselfbroke slowly on his view. Could Templeton rise from his grave, with whatresentment, with what just repugnance, would he have regarded in thebetrayer of his wife (even though wife but in name) the suitor to hischild!

These thoughts came in fast and fearful force upon Maltravers, andserved to strengthen his honour and his conscience. He felt that though, in law, there was no shadow of connection between Evelyn and himself, yet his tie with Alice had been of a nature that ought to separate himfrom one who had regarded Alice as a mother. The load of horror, theagony of shame, were indeed gone; but still a voice whispered as before, "Evelyn is lost to thee forever!" But so shaken had already been herimage in the late storms and convulsion of his soul, that this thoughtwas preferable to the thought of sacrificing Alice. If _that_ wereall--but Evelyn might still love him; and justice to Alice might bemisery to her! He started from his revery with a vehement gesture, andgroaned audibly. 

The curate turned to address to him some words of inquiry and surprise;but the words were unheard, and he perceived, by the advancing daylight, that the countenance of Maltravers was that of a man utterly rapt andabsorbed by some mastering and irresistible thought. Wisely, therefore, he left his companion in peace, and returned to his own anxious andengrossing meditations. 

The travellers did not rest till they arrived at Dover. The vesselstarted early the following morning, and Aubrey, who was much fatigued, retired to rest. Maltravers glanced at the clock upon the mantelpiece;it was the hour of nine. For him there was no hope of sleep; and theprospect of the slow night was that of dreary suspense and torturingself-commune. 

As he turned restlessly in his seat, the waiter entered to say thatthere was a gentleman who had caught a glimpse of him below on hisarrival, and who was anxious to speak with him. Before Maltravers couldanswer, the gentleman himself entered, and Maltravers recognized Legard. 

"I beg your pardon, " said the latter, in a tone of great agitation, "butI was most anxious to see you for a few moments. I have just returnedto England--all places alike hateful to me! I read in the papers--an--anannouncement--which--which occasions me the greatest--I know not what Iwould say, --but is it true? Read this paragraph;" and Legard placed "TheCourier" before Maltravers. 

The passage was as follows:

"It is whispered that Lord Vargrave, who is now at Paris, is to bemarried in a few days to the beautiful and wealthy Miss Cameron, to whomhe has been long engaged. "

"Is it possible?" exclaimed Legard, following the eyes of Maltravers, ashe glanced over the paragraph. "Were not _you_ the lover, --the accepted, the happy lover of Miss Cameron? Speak, tell me, I implore you!--that itwas for you, who saved my life and redeemed my honour, and not for thatcold schemer, that I renounced all my hopes of earthly happiness, andsurrendered the dream of winning the heart and hand of the only woman Iever loved!"

A deep shade fell over the features of Maltravers. He gazed earnestlyand long upon the working countenance of Legard, and said, after apause, --

"You, too, loved her, then? I never knew it, --never guessed it; or, ifonce I suspected, it was but for a moment; and--"

"Yes, " interrupted Legard, passionately, "Heaven is my witness howfervently and truly I did love--I do still love Evelyn Cameron! But whenyou confessed to me your affection--your hopes--I felt all that Iowed you; I felt that I never ought to become your rival. I left Parisabruptly. What I have suffered I will not say; but it was some comfortto think that I had acted as became one who owed you a debt never tobe cancelled nor repaid. I travelled from place to place, each equallyhateful and wearisome; at last, I scarce know why, I returned toEngland. I have arrived this day; and now--but tell me, is it true?"

"I believe it true, " said Maltravers, in a hollow voice, "that Evelyn isat this moment engaged to Lord Vargrave. I believe it equally truethat that engagement, founded upon false impressions, never will befulfilled. With that hope and that belief, I am on my road to Paris. "

"And she will be yours, still?" said Legard, turning away his face:"well, that I can bear. May you be happy, sir!"

"Stay, Legard, " said Maltravers, in a voice of great feeling: "let usunderstand each other better; you have renounced your passion to yoursense of honour. " Maltravers paused thoughtfully. "It was noble in you, it was more than just to me; I thank you and respect you. But, Legard, was there aught in the manner, the bearing of Evelyn Cameron, that couldlead you to suppose that she would have returned your affection? True, had we started on equal terms, I am not vain enough to be blind to youradvantages of youth and person; but I believed that the affections ofEvelyn were already mine, before we met at Paris. "

"It might be so, " said Legard, gloomily; "nor is it for me to say that aheart so pure and generous as Evelyn's could deceive yourself or me. Yet I _had_ fancied, I _had_ hoped, while you stood aloof, that thepartiality with which she regarded you was that of admiration more thanlove; that you had dazzled her imagination rather than won her heart. I had hoped that I should win, that I was winning, my way to heraffection! But let this pass; I drop the subject forever--only, Maltravers, only do me justice. You are a proud man, and your pride hasoften irritated and stung me, in spite of my gratitude. Be more lenientto me than you have been; think that, though I have my errors and myfollies, I am still capable of some conquests over myself. And mostsincerely do I now wish that Evelyn's love may be to you that blessingit would have been to me!"

This was, indeed, a new triumph over the pride of Maltravers, --a newhumiliation. He had looked with a cold contempt on this man, because heaffected not to be above the herd; and this man had preceded him in thevery sacrifice he himself meditated. 

"Legard, " said Maltravers, and a faint blush overspread his face, "yourebuke me justly. I acknowledge my fault, and I ask you to forgiveit. From this night, whatever happens, I shall hold it an honour to beadmitted to your friendship; from this night, George Legard never shallfind in me the offences of arrogance and harshness. "

Legard wrung the hand held out to him warmly, but made no answer; hisheart was full, and he would not trust himself to speak. 

"You think, then, " resumed Maltravers, in a more thoughtful tone, --"youthink that Evelyn could have loved you, had my pretensions not crossedyour own? And you think, also--pardon me, dear Legard--that you couldhave acquired the steadiness of character, the firmness of purpose, which one so fair, so young, so inexperienced and susceptible, sosurrounded by a thousand temptations, would need in a guardian andprotector?"

"Oh, do not judge of me by what I have been. I feel that Evelyn couldhave reformed errors worse than mine; that her love would have elevateddispositions yet more light and commonplace. You do not know whatmiracles love works! But now, what is there left for me? What matters ithow frivolous and poor the occupations which can distract my thoughts, and bring me forgetfulness? Forgive me; I have no right to obtrude allthis egotism on you. "

"Do not despond, Legard, " said Maltravers, kindly; "there may be betterfortunes in store for you than you yet anticipate. I cannot say morenow; but will you remain at Dover a few days longer? Within a week youshall hear from me. I will not raise hopes that it may not be mine torealize. But if it be as you think it was, why little, indeed, wouldrest with me. Nay, look not on me so wistfully, " added Maltravers, witha mournful smile; "and let the subject close for the present. You willstay at Dover?"

"I will; but--"

"No buts, Legard; it is so settled. "

BOOK XI. 

 "Man is born to be a doer of good. "--MARCUS ANTONINUS, lib. Iii. 

CHAPTER I. 

 His teeth he still did grind, And grimly gnash, threatening revenge in vain. --SPENSER. 

IT is now time to return to Lord Vargrave. His most sanguine hopes wererealized; all things seemed to prosper. The hand of Evelyn Cameron waspledged to him, the wedding-day was fixed. In less than a week she wasto confer upon the ruined peer a splendid dowry, that would smooth allobstacles in the ascent of his ambition. From Mr. Douce he learned thatthe deeds, which were to transfer to himself the baronial possessions ofthe head of the house of Maltravers, were nearly completed; and on hiswedding-day he hoped to be able to announce that the happy pair hadset out for their princely mansion of Lisle Court. In politics; thoughnothing could be finally settled till his return, letters from LordSaxingham assured him that all was auspicious: the court and the headsof the aristocracy daily growing more alienated from the premier, andmore prepared for a Cabinet revolution. And Vargrave, perhaps, likemost needy men, overrated the advantages he should derive from, and theservile opinions he should conciliate in, his new character of landedproprietor and wealthy peer. He was not insensible to the silent anguishthat Evelyn seemed to endure, nor to the bitter gloom that hung onthe brow of Lady Doltimore. But these were clouds that foretold nostorm, --light shadows that obscured not the serenity of the favouringsky. He continued to seem unconscious to either; to take the comingevent as a matter of course, and to Evelyn he evinced so gentle, unfamiliar, respectful, and delicate an attachment, that he left noopening, either for confidence or complaint. Poor Evelyn! her gayety, her enchanting levity, her sweet and infantine playfulness of manner, were indeed vanished. Pale, wan, passive, and smileless, she was theghost of her former self! But days rolled on, and the evil one drewnear; she recoiled, but she never dreamed of resisting. How many equalvictims of her age and sex does the altar witness!

One day, at early noon, Lord Vargrave took his way to Evelyn's. He hadbeen to pay a political visit in the Faubourg St. Germain, and he wasnow slowly crossing the more quiet and solitary part of the gardens ofthe Tuileries, his hands clasped behind him, after his old, unalteredhabit, and his eyes downcast, --when suddenly a man, who was seated alonebeneath one of the trees, and who had for some moments watched his stepswith an anxious and wild aspect, rose and approached him. Lord Vargravewas not conscious of the intrusion, till the man laid his hand onVargrave's arm, and exclaimed, --

"It is he! it is! Lumley Ferrers, we meet again!"

Lord Vargrave started and changed colour, as he gazed on the intruder. 

"Ferrers, " continued Cesarini (for it was he), and he wound his armfirmly into Lord Vargrave's as he spoke, "you have not changed; yourstep is light, your cheek healthful; and yet I--you can scarcelyrecognize me. Oh, I have suffered so horribly since we parted! Why isthis? Why have I been so heavily visited, and why have you gone free?Heaven is not just!"

Castruccio was in one of his lucid intervals; but there was that in hisuncertain eye, and strange unnatural voice, which showed that a breathmight dissolve the avalanche. Lord Vargrave looked anxiously round; nonewere near: but he knew that the more public parts of the gardenwere thronged, and through the trees he saw many forms moving in thedistance. He felt that the sound of his voice could summon assistance inan instant, and his assurance returned to him. 

"My poor friend, " said he soothingly, as he quickened his pace, "itgrieves me to the heart to see you look ill; do not think so much ofwhat is past. "

"There is no past!" replied Cesarini, gloomily. "The Past is my Present!And I have thought and thought, in darkness and in chains, over all thatI have endured, and a light has broken on me in the hours when they toldme I was mad! Lumley Ferrers, it was not for my sake that you led me, devil as you are, into the lowest hell! You had some object of yourown to serve in separating _her_ from Maltravers. You made me yourinstrument. What was I to you that you should have sinned for _my_ sake?Answer me, and truly, if those lips can utter truth!"

"Cesarini, " returned Vargrave, in his blandest accents, "another timewe will converse on what has been; believe me, my only object was yourhappiness, combined, it may be, with my hatred of your rival. "

"Liar!" shouted Cesarini, grasping Vargrave's arm with the strength ofgrowing madness, while his burning eyes were fixed upon his tempter'schanging countenance. "You, too, loved Florence; you, too, sought herhand; _you_ were my real rival!"

"Hush! my friend, hush!" said Vargrave, seeking to shake off the gripof the maniac, and becoming seriously alarmed; "we are approaching thecrowded part of the gardens, we shall be observed. "

"And why are men made my foes? Why is my own sister become mypersecutor? Why should she give me up to the torturer and the dungeon?Why are serpents and fiends my comrades? Why is there fire in my brainand heart; and why do you go free and enjoy liberty and life? Observed!What care _you_ for observation? All men search for _me_!"

"Then why so openly expose yourself to their notice; why--"

"Hear me!" interrupted Cesarini. "When I escaped from the horribleprison into which I was plunged; when I scented the fresh air, andbounded over the grass; when I was again free in limbs and spirit, --asudden strain of music from a village came on my ear, and I stoppedshort, and crouched down, and held my breath to listen. It ceased; and Ithought I had been with Florence, and I wept bitterly! When I recovered, memory came back to me distinct and clear; and I heard a voice say tome, 'Avenge her and thyself!' From that hour the voice has been heardagain, morning and night! Lumley Ferrers, I hear it now! it speaks tomy heart, it warms my blood, it nerves my hand! On whom should vengeancefall? Speak to me!"

Lumley strode rapidly on. They were now without the grove; a gay throngwas before them. "All is safe, " thought the Englishman. He turnedabruptly and haughtily on Cesarini, and waved his hand; "Begone, madman!" said he, in a loud and stern voice, --"begone! vex me no more, or I give you into custody. Begone, I say!"

Cesarini halted, amazed and awed for the moment; and then, with a darkscowl and a low cry, threw himself on Vargrave. The eye and hand of thelatter were vigilant and prepared; he grasped the uplifted arm of themaniac, and shouted for help. But the madman was now in his full fury;he hurled Vargrave to the ground with a force for which the peer was notprepared, and Lumley might never have risen a living man from that spot, if two soldiers, seated close by, had not hastened to his assistance. Cesarini was already kneeling on his breast, and his long bony fingerswere fastening upon the throat of his intended victim. Torn from hishold, he glared fiercely on his new assailants; and after a fierce butmomentary struggle, wrested himself from their grip. Then, turning roundto Vargrave, who had with some effort risen from the ground, heshrieked out, "I shall have thee yet!" and fled through the trees anddisappeared. 

CHAPTER II. 

 AH, who is nigh? Come to me, friend or foe! My parks, my walks, my manors that I had, Ev'n now forsake me. --_HENRY VI_. Part iii. 

LORD VARGRAVE, bold as he was by nature, in vain endeavoured to banishfrom his mind the gloomy impression which the startling interview withCesarini had bequeathed. The face, the voice of the maniac, haunted him, as the shape of the warning wraith haunts the mountaineer. He returnedat once to his hotel, unable for some hours to collect himselfsufficiently to pay his customary visit to Miss Cameron. Inly resolvingnot to hazard a second meeting with the Italian during the rest of hissojourn at Paris by venturing in the streets on foot, he orderedhis carriage towards evening; dined at the Cafe de Paris; and thenre-entered his carriage to proceed to Lady Doltimore's house. 

"I beg your pardon, my lord, " said his servant, as he closed thecarriage-door, "but I forgot to say that, a short time after youreturned this morning, a strange gentleman asked at the porter's lodgeif Mr. Ferrers was not staying at the hotel. The porter said there wasno Mr. Ferrers, but the gentleman insisted upon it that he had seenMr. Ferrers enter. I was in the lodge at the moment, my lord, and Iexplained--"

"That Mr. Ferrers and Lord Vargrave are one and the same? What sort oflooking person?"

"Thin and dark, my lord, --evidently a foreigner. When I said that youwere now Lord Vargrave, he stared a moment, and said very abruptly thathe recollected it perfectly, and then he laughed and walked away. "

"Did he not ask to see me?"

"No, my lord; he said he should take another opportunity. He was astrange-looking gentleman, and his clothes were threadbare. "

"Ah, some troublesome petitioner. Perhaps a Pole in distress! Remember Iam never at home when he calls. Shut the door. To Lady Doltimore's. "

Lumley's heart beat as he threw himself back, --he again felt the grip ofthe madman at his throat. He saw, at once, that Cesarini had dogged him;he resolved the next morning to change his hotel, and to apply to thepolice. It was strange how sudden and keen a fear had entered the breastof this callous and resolute man!

On arriving at Lady Doltimore's, he found Caroline alone in thedrawing-room. It was a _tete-a-tete_ that he by no means desired. 

"Lord Vargrave, " said Caroline, coldly, "I wished a short conversationwith you; and finding you did not come in the morning, I sent you a notean hour ago. Did you receive it?"

"No; I have been from home since six o'clock, --it is now nine. "

"Well, then, Vargrave, " said Caroline, with a compressed and writhinglip, and turning very pale, "I tremble to tell you that I fear Doltimoresuspects. He looked at me sternly this morning, and said, 'You seemunhappy, madam; this marriage of Lord Vargrave's distresses you!'"

"I warned you how it would be, --your own selfishness will betray andruin you. "

"Do not reproach me, man!" said Lady Doltimore, with great vehemence. "From you at least I have a right to pity, to forbearance, to succour. Iwill not bear reproach from _you_. "

"I reproach you for your own sake, for the faults you commit againstyourself; and I must say, Caroline, that after I had generouslyconquered all selfish feeling, and assisted you to so desirable andeven brilliant a position, it is neither just nor high-minded in you toevince so ungracious a reluctance to my taking the only step which cansave me from actual ruin. But what does Doltimore suspect? What groundhas he for suspicion, beyond that want of command of countenance whichit is easy to explain, --and which it is yet easier for a woman and agreat lady [here Lumley sneered] to acquire?"

"I know not; it has been put into his head. Paris is so full of slander. But, Vargrave--Lumley--I tremble, I shudder with terror, if everDoltimore should discover--"

"Pooh! pooh! Our conduct at Paris has been most guarded, most discreet. Doltimore is Self-conceit personified, --and Self-conceit is horn-eyed. I am about to leave Paris, --about to marry, from under your own roof; alittle prudence, a little self-control, a smiling face, when you wishus happiness, and so forth, and all is safe. Tush! think of it no more!Fate has cut and shuffled the cards for you; the game is yours, unlessyou revoke. Pardon my metaphor; it is a favourite one, --I have wornit threadbare; but human life _is_ so like a rubber at whist. Where isEvelyn?"

"In her own room. Have you no pity for her?"

"She will be very happy when she is Lady Vargrave; and for the rest, Ishall neither be a stern nor a jealous husband. She might not have giventhe same character to the magnificent Maltravers. "

Here Evelyn entered; and Vargrave hastened to press her hand, to whispertender salutations and compliments, to draw the easy-chair to thefire, to place the footstool, --to lavish the _petits soins_ that are soagreeable, when they are the small moralities of love. 

Evelyn was more than usually pale, --more than usually abstracted. Therewas no lustre in her eye, no life in her step; she seemed unconsciousof the crisis to which she approached. As the myrrh and hyssop whichdrugged the malefactors of old into forgetfulness of their doom, so there are griefs which stupefy before their last and crowningconsummation!

Vargrave conversed lightly on the weather, the news, the last book. Evelyn answered but in monosyllables; and Caroline, with a hand-screenbefore her face, preserved an unbroken silence. Thus gloomy and joylesswere two of the party, thus gay and animated the third, when the clockon the mantelpiece struck ten; and as the last stroke died, and Evelynsighed heavily, --for it was an hour nearer to the fatal day, --the doorwas suddenly thrown open, and pushing aside the servant, two gentlemenentered the room. 

Caroline, the first to perceive them, started from her seat with a faintexclamation of surprise. Vargrave turned abruptly, and saw before himthe stern countenance of Maltravers. 

"My child! my Evelyn!" exclaimed a familiar voice; and Evelyn hadalready flown into the arms of Aubrey. 

The sight of the curate in company with Maltravers explained all atonce to Vargrave. He saw that the mask was torn from his face, the prizesnatched from his grasp, his falsehood known, his plot counterworked, his villany baffled! He struggled in vain for self-composure; all hisresources of courage and craft seemed drained and exhausted. Livid, speechless, almost trembling, he cowered beneath the eyes of Maltravers. 

Evelyn, not as yet aware of the presence of her former lover, was thefirst to break the silence. She lifted her face in alarm from the bosomof the good curate. "My mother--she is well--she lives--what brings youhither?"

"Your mother is well, my child. I have come hither at her earnestrequest to save you from a marriage with that unworthy man!"

Lord Vargrave smiled a ghastly smile, but made no answer. 

"Lord Vargrave, " said Maltravers, "you will feel at once that you haveno further business under this roof. Let us withdraw, --I have much tothank you for. "

"I will not stir!" exclaimed Vargrave, passionately, and stamping onthe floor. "Miss Cameron, the guest of Lady Doltimore, whose house andpresence you thus rudely profane, is my affianced bride, --affianced withher own consent. Evelyn, beloved Evelyn! mine you are yet; you alone cancancel the bond. Sir, I know not what you have to say, what mystery inyour immaculate life to disclose; but unless Lady Doltimore, whom yourviolence appalls and terrifies, orders me to quit her roof, it is notI, --it is yourself, who are the intruder! Lady Doltimore, with yourpermission, I will direct your servants to conduct this gentleman to hiscarriage!"

"Lady Doltimore, pardon me, " said Maltravers, coldly; "I will not beurged to any failure of respect to you. My lord, if the most abjectcowardice be not added to your other vices, you will not make this roomthe theatre for our altercation. I invite you, in those terms which nogentleman ever yet refused, to withdraw with me. "

The tone and manner of Maltravers exercised a strange control overVargrave; he endeavoured in vain to keep alive the passion into which hehad sought to work himself; his voice faltered, his head sank upon hisbreast. Between these two personages, none interfered; around them, allpresent grouped in breathless silence, --Caroline, turning her eyes fromone to the other in wonder and dismay; Evelyn, believing all a dream, yet alive only to the thought that, by some merciful interposition ofProvidence, she should escape the consequences of her own rashness, clinging to Aubrey, with her gaze riveted on Maltravers; and Aubrey, whose gentle character was borne down and silenced by the powerful andtempestuous passions that now met in collision and conflict, withheldby his abhorrence of Vargrave's treachery from his natural desire topropitiate, and yet appalled by the apprehension of bloodshed, that forthe first time crossed him. 

There was a moment of dead silence, in which Vargrave seemed to benerving and collecting himself for such course as might be best topursue, when again the door opened, and the name of Mr. Howard wasannounced. 

Hurried and agitated, the young secretary, scarcely noticing the rest ofthe party, rushed to Lord Vargrave. 

"My lord! a thousand pardons for interrupting you, --business of suchimportance! I am so fortunate to find you!"

"What is the matter, sir?"

"These letters, my lord; I have so much to say!"

Any interruption, even an earthquake, at that moment must have beenwelcome to Vargrave. He bent his head, with a polite smile, linked hisarm into his secretary's, and withdrew to the recess of the farthestwindow. Not a minute elapsed before he turned away with a look ofscornful exultation. "Mr. Howard, " said he, "go and refresh yourself, and come to me at twelve o'clock to-night; I shall be at home then. " Thesecretary bowed, and withdrew. 

"Now, sir, " said Vargrave, to Maltravers, "I am willing to leave you inpossession of the field. Miss Cameron, it will be, I fear, impossiblefor me to entertain any longer the bright hopes I had once formed; mycruel fate compels me to seek wealth in any matrimonial engagement. Iregret to inform you that you are no longer the great heiress; the wholeof your capital was placed in the hands of Mr. Douce for the completionof the purchase of Lisle Court. Mr. Douce is a bankrupt; he has fled toAmerica. This letter is an express from my lawyer; the house has closedits payments! Perhaps we may hope to obtain sixpence in the pound. Iam a loser also; the forfeit money bequeathed to me is gone. I knownot whether, as your trustee, I am not accountable for the loss of yourfortune (drawn out on my responsibility); probably so. But as I have notnow a shilling in the world, I doubt whether Mr. Maltravers will adviseyou to institute proceedings against me. Mr. Maltravers, to-morrow, at nine o'clock, I will listen to what you have to say. I wish you allgood-night. " He bowed, seized his hat, and vanished. 

"Evelyn, " said Aubrey, "can you require to learn more; do you notalready feel you are released from union with a man without heart andhonour?"

"Yes, yes! I am so happy!" cried Evelyn, bursting into tears. "Thishated wealth, --I feel not its loss; I am released from all duty to mybenefactor. I am free!"

The last tie that had yet united the guilty Caroline to Vargrave wasbroken, --a woman forgives sin in her lover, but never meanness. Thedegrading, the abject position in which she had seen one whom she hadserved as a slave (though, as yet, all his worst villanies were unknownto her), filled her with shame, horror, and disgust. She rose abruptly, and quitted the room. They did not miss her. 

Maltravers approached Evelyn; he took her hand, and pressed it to hislips and heart. 

"Evelyn, " said he, mournfully, "you require an explanation, --to-morrowI will give and seek it. To-night we are both too unnerved for suchcommunications. I can only now feel joy at your escape, and hope that Imay still minister to your future happiness. "

"But, " said Aubrey, "can we believe this new and astounding statement?Can this loss be so irremediable; may we not yet take precaution, andsave, at least, some wrecks of this noble fortune?"

"I thank you for recalling me to the world, " said Maltravers, eagerly. "I will see to it this instant; and tomorrow, Evelyn, after my interviewwith you, I will hasten to London, and act in that capacity still leftto me, --your guardian, your friend. "

He turned away his face, and hurried to the door. 

Evelyn clung more closely to Aubrey. "But you will not leave meto-night? You can stay? We can find you accommodation; do not leave me. "

"Leave you, my child! no; we have a thousand things to say to eachother. I will not, " he added in a whisper, turning to Maltravers, "forestall your communications. "

CHAPTER III. 

 ALACK, 'tis he. Why, he was met even now As mad as the vexed sea. --_Lear_. 

IN the Rue de la Paix there resided an English lawyer of eminence, withwhom Maltravers had had previous dealings; to this gentleman he nowdrove. He acquainted him with the news he had just heard, respecting thebankruptcy of Mr. Douce; and commissioned him to leave Paris, the firstmoment he could obtain a passport, and to proceed to London. 

At all events, he would arrive there some hours before Maltravers; andthose hours were something gained. This done, he drove to the nearesthotel, which chanced to be the Hotel de M-----, where, though he knew itnot, it so happened that Lord Vargrave himself lodged. As his carriagestopped without, while the porter unclosed the gates, a man, who hadbeen loitering under the lamps, darted forward, and prying into thecarriage-window, regarded Maltravers earnestly. The latter, pre-occupiedand absorbed, did not notice him; but when the carriage drove into thecourtyard it was followed by the stranger, who was muffled in a worn andtattered cloak, and whose movements were unheeded amidst the bustle ofthe arrival. The porter's wife led the way to a second-floor, justleft vacant, and the waiter began to arrange the fire. Maltravers threwhimself abstractedly upon the sofa, insensible to all around him, when, lifting his eyes, he saw before him the countenance of Cesarini! TheItalian (supposed, perhaps, by the persons of the hotel to be one ofthe newcomers) was leaning over the back of a chair, supporting hisface with his hand, and fixing his eyes with an earnest and sorrowfulexpression upon the features of his ancient rival. When he perceivedthat he was recognized, he approached Maltravers, and said in Italian, and in a low voice, "You are the man of all others, whom, save one, Imost desired to see. I have much to say to you, and my time is short. Spare me a few minutes. "

The tone and manner of Cesarini were so calm and rational that theychanged the first impulse of Maltravers, which was that of securing amaniac; while the Italian's emaciated countenance, his squalidgarments, the air of penury and want diffused over his whole appearance, irresistibly invited compassion. With all the more anxious and pressingthoughts that weighed upon him, Maltravers could not refuse theconference thus demanded. He dismissed the attendants, and motionedCesarini to be seated. 

The Italian drew near to the fire, which now blazed brightly andcheerily, and, spreading his thin hands to the flame, seemed to enjoythe physical luxury of the warmth. "Cold, cold, " he said piteously, asto himself; "Nature is a very bitter protector. But frost and famineare, at least, more merciful than slavery and darkness. "

At this moment Ernest's servant entered to know if his master would nottake refreshments, for he had scarcely touched food upon the road. Andas he spoke, Cesarini turned keenly and wistfully round. There was nomistaking the appeal. Wine and cold meat were ordered: and when theservant vanished, Cesarini turned to Maltravers with a strange smile, and said, "You see what the love of liberty brings men to! They foundme plenty in the jail! But I have read of men who feasted merrily beforeexecution--have not you?--and my hour is at hand. All this day I havefelt chained by an irresistible destiny to this house. But it was notyou I sought; no matter, in the crisis of our doom all its agents meettogether. It is the last act of a dreary play!"

The Italian turned again to the fire, and bent over it, muttering tohimself. 

Maltravers remained silent and thoughtful. Now was the moment once moreto place the maniac under the kindly vigilance of his family, to snatchhim from the horrors, perhaps, of starvation itself, to which his escapecondemned him: if he could detain Cesarini till De Montaigne couldarrive!

Agreeably to this thought, he quietly drew towards him the portfoliowhich had been laid on the table, and, Cesarini's back still turned tohim, wrote a hasty line to De Montaigne. When his servant re-enteredwith the wine and viands, Maltravers followed him out of the room, andbade him see the note sent immediately. On returning, he found Cesarinidevouring the food before him with all the voracity of famine. It wasa dreadful sight!--the intellect ruined, the mind darkened, the wild, fierce animal alone left!

When Cesarini had appeased his hunger, he drew near to Maltravers, andthus accosted him, --

"I must lead you back to the past. I sinned against you and the dead;but Heaven has avenged you, and me you can pity and forgive. Maltravers, there is another more guilty than I, --but proud, prosperous, and great. _His_ crime Heaven has left to the revenge of man! I bound myself by anoath not to reveal his villany. I cancel the oath now, for the knowledgeof it should survive his life and mine. And, mad though they deem me, the mad are prophets, and a solemn conviction, a voice not of earth, tells me that he and I are already in the Shadow of Death. "

Here Cesarini, with a calm and precise accuracy of self-possession, --aminuteness of circumstance and detail, that, coming from one whose veryeyes betrayed his terrible disease, was infinitely thrilling in itseffect, --related the counsels, the persuasions, the stratagems ofLumley. Slowly and distinctly he forced into the heart of Maltraversthat sickening record of cold fraud calculating on vehement passion asits tool; and thus he concluded his narration, --

"Now wonder no longer why I have lived till this hour; why I haveclung to freedom, through want and hunger, amidst beggars, felons, andoutcasts! In that freedom was my last hope, --the hope of revenge!"

Maltravers returned no answer for some moments. At length he saidcalmly, "Cesarini, there are injuries so great that they defy revenge. Let us alike, since we are alike injured, trust our cause to Him whoreads all hearts, and, better than we can do, measures both crime andits excuses. You think that our enemy has not suffered, --that he hasgone free. We know not his internal history; prosperity and power are nosigns of happiness, they bring no exemption from care. Be soothed andbe ruled, Cesarini. Let the stone once more close over the solemn grave. Turn with me to the future; and let us rather seek to be the judges ofourselves, than the executioners of another. "

Cesarini listened gloomily, and was about to answer, when--

But here we must return to Lord Vargrave. 

CHAPTER IV. 

 MY noble lord, Your worthy friends do lack you. --_Macbeth_. 

 He is about it; The doors are open. --_Ibid. _

ON quitting Lady Doltimore's house, Lumley drove to his hotel. Hissecretary had been the bearer of other communications, with thenature of which he had not yet acquainted himself; but he saw by thesuperscriptions that they were of great importance. Still, however, even in the solitude and privacy of his own chamber, it was not on theinstant that he could divert his thoughts from the ruin of his fortunes:the loss not only of Evelyn's property, but his own claims upon it (forthe whole capital had been placed in Douce's hands), the total wreck ofhis grand scheme, the triumph he had afforded to Maltravers! He groundhis teeth in impotent rage, and groaned aloud, as he traversed his roomwith hasty and uneven strides. At last he paused and muttered: "Well, the spider toils on even when its very power of weaving fresh webs isexhausted; it lies in wait, --it forces itself into the webs of others. Brave insect, thou art my model! While I have breath in my body, theworld and all its crosses, Fortune and all her malignity, shall notprevail against me! What man ever yet failed until he himself grewcraven, and sold his soul to the arch fiend, Despair! 'Tis but a girland a fortune lost, --they were gallantly fought for, that is somecomfort. Now to what is yet left to me!"

The first letter Lumley opened was from Lord Saxingham. It filled himwith dismay. The question at issue had been formally, but abruptly, decided in the Cabinet against Vargrave and his manoeuvres. Some hastyexpressions of Lord Saxingham had been instantly caught at by thepremier, and a resignation, rather hinted at than declared, had beenperemptorily accepted. Lord Saxingham and Lumley's adherents in theGovernment were to a man dismissed; and at the time Lord Saxingham wrotethe premier was with the king. 

"Curse their folly!--the puppets! the dolts!" exclaimed Lumley, crushingthe letter in his hand. "The moment I leave them, they run their headsagainst the wall. Curse them! curse myself! curse the man who weavesropes with sand! Nothing--nothing left for me but exile or suicide!Stay, what is this?" His eye fell on the well-known hand writing of thepremier. He tore the envelope, impatient to know the worst. Hiseyes sparkled as he proceeded. The letter was most courteous, mostcomplimentary, most wooing. The minister was a man consummately versedin the arts that increase, as well as those which purge, a party. Saxingham and his friends were imbeciles, incapables, mostly men who hadoutlived their day. But Lord Vargrave, in the prime of life--versatile, accomplished, vigorous, bitter, unscrupulous--Vargrave was of anothermould, Vargrave was to be dreaded; and therefore, if possible, to beretained. His powers of mischief were unquestionably increased by theuniversal talk of London that he was about soon to wed so wealthy alady. The minister knew his man. In terms of affected regret, healluded to the loss the Government would sustain in the services of LordSaxingham, etc. ; he rejoiced that Lord Vargrave's absence from Londonhad prevented his being prematurely mixed up, by false scruples ofhonour, in secessions which his judgment must condemn. He treated ofthe question in dispute with the most delicate address, --confessed thereasonableness of Lord Vargrave's former opposition to it; but contendedthat it was now, if not wise, inevitable. He said nothing of the_justice_ of the measure he proposed to adopt, but much on the_expediency_. He concluded by offering to Vargrave, in the most cordialand flattering terms, the very seat in the Cabinet which Lord Saxinghamhad vacated, with an apology for its inadequacy to his lordship'smerits, and a distinct and definite promise of the refusal of thegorgeous viceroyalty of India, which would be vacant next year by thereturn of the present governor-general. 

Unprincipled as Vargrave was, it is not, perhaps, judging him too mildlyto say that, had he succeeded in obtaining Evelyn's hand and fortune, he would have shrunk from the baseness he now meditated. To step coldlyinto the very post of which he, and he alone, had been the cause ofdepriving his earliest patron and nearest relative; to profit by thebetrayal of his own party; to damn himself eternally in the eyes ofhis ancient friends; to pass down the stream of history as a mercenaryapostate, --from all this Vargrave must have shrunk, had he seen one spotof honest ground on which to maintain his footing. But now the waters ofthe abyss were closing over his head; he would have caught at a straw;how much more consent to be picked up by the vessel of an enemy! Allobjection, all scruple, vanished at once. And the "barbaric gold" "ofOrmus and of Ind" glittered before the greedy eyes of the pennilessadventurer! Not a day was now to be lost. How fortunate that a writtenproposition, from which it was impossible to recede, had been made tohim before the failure of his matrimonial projects had become known!Too happy to quit Paris, he would set off on the morrow, and concludein person the negotiation. Vargrave glanced towards the clock; it wasscarcely past eleven. What revolutions are worked in moments! Within anhour he had lost a wife, a noble fortune, changed the politics of hiswhole life, stepped into a Cabinet office, and was already calculatinghow much a governor-general of India could lay by in five years! But itwas only eleven o'clock. He had put off Mr. Howard's visit till twelve;he wished so much to see him, and learn all the London gossip connectedwith the recent events. Poor Mr. Douce! Vargrave had already forgotten_his_ existence!--he rang his bell hastily. It was some time before hisservant answered. 

Promptitude and readiness were virtues that Lord Vargrave peremptorilydemanded in a servant; and as he paid the best price for thearticles--less in wages than in plunder--he was generally sure to obtainthem. 

"Where the deuce have you been? This is the third time I have rung! youought to be in the anteroom!"

"I beg your lordship's pardon; but I was helping Mr. Maltravers's valetto find a key which he dropped in the courtyard. "

"Mr. Maltravers! Is he at this hotel?"

"Yes, my lord; his rooms are just overhead. "

"Humph! Has Mr. Howard engaged a lodging here?"

"No, my lord. He left word that he was gone to his aunt, Lady Jane. "

"Ah, Lady Jane--lives at Paris--so she does; Rue Chaussee d'Antin--youknow the House? Go immediately--go yourself; don't trust to amessenger--and beg Mr. Howard to return with you. I want to see himinstantly. "

"Yes, my lord. "

The servant went. Lumley was in a mood in which solitude wasintolerable. He was greatly excited; and some natural compunctions atthe course on which he had decided made him long to escape from thought. So Maltravers was under the same roof! He had promised to give him aninterview next day; but next day he wished to be on the road to London. Why not have it over to-night? But could Maltravers meditate any hostileproceedings? Impossible! Whatever his causes of complaint, they wereof too delicate and secret a nature for seconds, bullets, and newspaperparagraphs! Vargrave might feel secure that he should not be delayed byany Bois de Boulogne assignation; but it was necessary to _his honour_(!) that he should not seem to shun the man he had deceived and wronged. He would go up to him at once, --a new excitement would distract histhoughts. Agreeably to this resolution, Lord Vargrave quitted his room, and was about to close the outer door, when he recollected that perhapshis servant might not meet with Howard; that the secretary mightprobably arrive before the time fixed, --it would be as well to leave hisdoor open. He accordingly stopped, and writing upon a piece of paper, "Dear Howard, send up for me the moment you arrive: I shall be with Mr. Maltravers _au second_"--Vargrave wafered the _affiche_ to the door, which he then left ajar, and the lamp in the landing-place fell clearand full on the paper. 

It was the voice of Vargrave, in the little stone-paved antechamberwithout, inquiring of the servant if Mr. Maltravers was at home, whichhad startled and interrupted Cesarini as he was about to reply toErnest. Each recognized that sharp clear voice; each glanced at theother. 

"I will not see him, " said Maltravers, hastily moving towards the door;"you are not fit to--"

"Meet him? no!" said Cesarini, with a furtive and sinister glance, whicha man versed in his disease would have understood, but which Maltraversdid not even observe; "I will retire into your bedroom; my eyes areheavy. I could sleep. "

He opened the inner door as he spoke, and had scarcely reclosed itbefore Vargrave entered. 

"Your servant said you were engaged; but I thought you might see an oldfriend:" and Vargrave coolly seated himself. 

Maltravers drew the bolt across the door that separated them fromCesarini; and the two men, whose characters and lives were so stronglycontrasted, were now alone. 

"You wished an interview, --an explanation, " said Lumley; "I shrinkfrom neither. Let me forestall inquiry and complaint. I deceived youknowingly and deliberately, it is quite true, --all stratagems are fairin love and war. The prize was vast! I believed my career depended onit: I could not resist the temptation. I knew that before long you wouldlearn that Evelyn was not your daughter; that the first communicationbetween yourself and Lady Vargrave would betray me; but it was worthtrying a _coup de main_. You have foiled me, and conquered: be it so;I congratulate you. You are tolerably rich, and the loss of Evelyn'sfortune will not vex you as it would have done me. "

"Lord Vargrave, it is but poor affectation to treat thus lightly thedark falsehood you conceived, the awful curse you inflicted upon me. Your sight is now so painful to me, it so stirs the passions that Iwould seek to suppress, that the sooner our interview is terminated thebetter. I have to charge you, also, with a crime, --not, perhaps, baserthan the one you so calmly own, but the consequences of which were morefatal: you understand me?"

"I do not. "

"Do not tempt me! do not lie!" said Maltravers, still in a calm voice, though his passions, naturally so strong, shook his whole frame. "Toyour arts I owe the exile of years that should have been better spent;to those arts Cesarini owes the wreck of his reason, and FlorenceLascelles her early grave! Ah, you are pale now; your tongue cleaves toyour mouth! And think you these crimes will go forever unrequited; thinkyou that there is no justice in the thunderbolts of God?"

"Sir, " said Vargrave, starting to his feet, "I know not what yoususpect, I care not what you believe! But I am accountable to man, andthat account I am willing to render. You threatened me in the presenceof my ward; you spoke of cowardice, and hinted at danger. Whatever myfaults, want of courage is not one. Stand by your threats, --I am readyto brave them!"

"A year, perhaps a short month, ago, " replied Maltravers, "and I wouldhave arrogated justice to my own mortal hand; nay, this very night, hadthe hazard of either of our lives been necessary to save Evelyn fromyour persecution, I would have incurred all things for her sake! Butthat is past; from me you have nothing to fear. The proofs of yourearlier guilt, with its dreadful results, would alone suffice to warnme from the solemn responsibility of human vengeance. Great Heaven!what hand could dare to send a criminal so long hardened, so black withcrime, unatoning, unrepentant, and unprepared, before the judgment-seatof the ALL JUST? Go, unhappy man! may life long be spared to you! Awake!awake from this world, before your feet pass the irrevocable boundary ofthe next!"

"I came not here to listen to homilies, and the cant of theconventicle, " said Vargrave, vainly struggling for a haughtiness of mienthat his conscience-stricken aspect terribly belied; "not I; but thiswrong world is to be blamed, if deeds that strict morality may notjustify, but the effects of which I, no prophet, could not foresee, werenecessary for success in life. I have been but as all other men havebeen who struggle against fortune to be rich and great: ambition mustmake use of foul ladders. "

"Oh, " said Maltravers, earnestly, touched involuntarily, and in spiteof his abhorrence of the criminal, by the relenting that this miserableattempt at self-justification seemed to denote, --"oh, be warned, whileit is yet time; wrap not yourself in these paltry sophistries; look backto your past career; see to what heights you might have climbed, if withthose rare gifts and energies, with that subtle sagacity and indomitablecourage--your ambition had but chosen the straight, not the crooked, path. Pause! many years may yet, in the course of nature, afford youtime to retrace your steps, to atone to thousands the injuries you haveinflicted on the few. I know not why I thus address you: but somethingdiviner than indignation urges me; something tells me that you arealready on the brink of the abyss!"

Lord Vargrave changed colour, nor did he speak for some moments; thenraising his head, with a faint smile, he said, "Maltravers, you are afalse soothsayer. At this moment my paths, crooked though they be, haveled me far towards the summit of my proudest hopes; the straight pathwould have left me at the foot of the mountain. You yourself are abeacon against the course you advise. Let us contrast each other. Youtook the straight path, I the crooked. You, my superior in fortune; you, infinitely above me in genius; you, born to command and never to crouch:how do we stand now, each in the prime of life? You, with a barren andprofitless reputation; without rank, without power, almost without thehope of power. I--but you know not my new dignity--I, in the Cabinetof England's ministry, vast fortunes opening to my gaze, the proudeststation not too high for my reasonable ambition! You, wedding yourselfto some grand chimera of an object, aimless when it eludes your grasp. I, swinging, squirrel-like, from scheme to scheme; no matter if onebreaks, another is at hand! Some men would have cut their throatsin despair, an hour ago, in losing the object of a seven years'chase, --Beauty and Wealth, both! I open a letter, and find success inone quarter to counterbalance failure in another. Bah! bah! each to his_metier_, Maltravers! For you, honour, melancholy, and, if it pleaseyou, repentance also! For me, the onward, rushing life, never lookingback to the Past, never balancing the stepping-stones to the Future. Let us not envy each other; if you were not Diogenes, you would beAlexander. Adieu! our interview is over. Will you forget and forgive, and shake hands once more? You draw back, you frown! well, perhaps youare right. If we meet again--"

"It will be as strangers. "

"No rash vows! you may return to politics, you may want office. I am ofyour way of thinking now: and--ha! ha!--poor Lumley Ferrers could makeyou a Lord of the Treasury; smooth travelling and cheap turnpikes oncrooked paths, believe me. Farewell!"

On entering the room into which Cesarini had retired, Maltravers foundhim flown. His servant said that the gentleman had gone away shortlyafter Lord Vargrave's arrival. Ernest reproached himself bitterly forneglecting to secure the door that conducted to the ante-chamber; butstill it was probable that Cesarini would return in the morning. 

The messenger who had taken the letter to De Montaigne brought back wordthat the latter was at his villa, but expected at Paris early the nextday. Maltravers hoped to see him before his departure; meanwhilehe threw himself on his bed, and despite all the anxieties that yetoppressed him, the fatigues and excitements he had undergone exhaustedeven the endurance of that iron frame, and he fell into a profoundslumber. 

CHAPTER V. 

 BY eight to-morrow Thou shalt be made immortal. _Measure for Measure_. 

LORD VARGRAVE returned to his apartment to find Mr. Howard, who had butjust that instant arrived, warming his white and well-ringed hands bythe fire. He conversed with him for half an hour on all the topics onwhich the secretary could give him information, and then dismissed himonce more to the roof of Lady Jane. 

As he slowly undressed himself, he saw on his writing-table the notewhich Lady Doltimore had referred to, and which he had not yet opened. He lazily broke the seal, ran his eye carelessly over its few blottedwords of remorse and alarm, and threw it down again with a contemptuous"pshaw!" Thus unequally are the sorrows of a guilty tie felt by the manof the world and the woman of society!

As his servant placed before him his wine and water, Vargrave told himto see early to the preparations for departure, and to call him at nineo'clock. 

"Shall I shut that door, my lord?" said the valet, pointing to one thatcommunicated with one of those large closets, or _armoires_, that arecommon appendages to French bedrooms, and in which wood and sundry othermatters are kept. 

"No, " said Lord Vargrave, petulantly; "you servants are so fond ofexcluding every breath of air. I should never have a window open, ifI did not open it myself. Leave the door as it is, and do not be laterthan nine to-morrow. "

The servant, who slept in a kind of kennel that communicated with theanteroom, did as he was bid; and Vargrave put out his candle, betookhimself to bed, and, after drowsily gazing some minutes on the dyingembers of the fire, which threw a dim ghastly light over the chamber, fell fast asleep. The clock struck the first hour of morning, and inthat house all seemed still. 

The next morning, Maltravers was disturbed from his slumber by DeMontaigne, who, arriving, as was often his wont, at an early hour fromhis villa, had found Ernest's note of the previous evening. 

Maltravers rose and dressed himself; and while De Montaigne was yetlistening to the account which his friend gave of his adventure withCesarini, and the unhappy man's accusation of his accomplice, Ernest'sservant entered the room very abruptly. 

"Sir, " said he, "I thought you might like to know. What is to be done?The whole hotel is in confusion, Mr. Howard has been sent for, and LordDoltimore. So very strange, so sudden!"

"What is the matter? Speak plain. "

"Lord Vargrave, sir, --poor Lord Vargrave--"

"Lord Vargrave!"

"Yes, sir; the master of the hotel, hearing you knew his lordship, wouldbe so glad if you would come down. Lord Vargrave, sir, is dead, --founddead in his bed!"

Maltravers was rooted to the spot with amaze and horror. Dead! and butlast night so full of life and schemes and hope and ambition. 

As soon as he recovered himself, he hurried to the spot, and DeMontaigne followed. The latter, as they descended the stairs, laid hishand on Ernest's arm and detained him. 

"Did you say that Castruccio left the apartment while Vargrave waswith you, and almost immediately after his narrative of Vargrave'sinstigation to his crime?"

"Yes. "

The eyes of the friends met; a terrible suspicion possessed both. "No;it is impossible!" exclaimed Maltravers. "How could he obtain entrance, how pass Lord Vargrave's servants? No, no; think of it not!"

They hurried down the stairs; they reached the other door of Vargrave'sapartment. The notice to Howard, with the name of Vargrave underscored, was still on the panels. De Montaigne saw and shuddered. 

They were in the room by the bedside. A group were collected round; theygave way as the Englishman and his friend approached; and the eyesof Maltravers suddenly rested on the face of Lord Vargrave, which waslocked, rigid, and convulsed. 

There was a buzz of voices which had ceased at the entrance ofMaltravers; it was now renewed. A surgeon had been summoned--the nearestsurgeon, --a young Englishman of no great repute or name. He was makinginquiries as he bent over the corpse. 

"Yes, sir, " said Lord Vargrave's servant, "his lordship told me to callhim at nine o'clock. I came in at that hour, but his lordship did notmove nor answer me. I then looked to see if he were very sound asleep, and I saw that the pillows had got somehow over his face, and his headseemed to lie very low; so I moved the pillows, and I saw that hislordship was dead. "

"Sir, " said the surgeon, turning to Maltravers, "you were a friendof his lordship, I hear. I have already sent for Mr. Howard and LordDoltimore. Shall I speak with you a minute?"

Maltravers nodded assent. The surgeon cleared the room of all buthimself, De Montaigne, and Maltravers. 

"Has that servant lived long with Lord Vargrave?" asked the surgeon. 

"I believe so, --yes; I recollect his face. Why?"

"And you think him safe and honest?"

"I don't know; I know nothing of him. "

"Look here, sir, "--and the surgeon pointed to a slight discolorationon one side the throat of the dead man. "This may be accidental--purelynatural; his lordship may have died in a fit; there are no certain marksof outward violence, but murder by suffocation might still--"

"But who besides the servant could gain admission? Was the outer doorclosed?"

"The servant can take oath that he shut the door before going to bed, and that no one was with his lordship, or in the rooms, when LordVargrave retired to rest. Entrance from the windows is impossible. Mind, sir, I do not think I have any right to suspect any one. His lordshiphad been in very ill health a short time before; had had, I hear, arush of blood to the head. Certainly, if the servant be innocent, wecan suspect no one else. You had better send for more experiencedpractitioners. "

De Montaigne, who had hitherto said nothing, now looked with a hurriedglance around the room: he perceived the closet-door, which was ajar, and rushed to it, as by an involuntary impulse. The closet was large, but a considerable pile of wood, and some lumber of odd chairs andtables, took up a great part of the space. De Montaigne searched behindand amidst this litter with trembling haste, --no trace of secretedmurder was visible. He returned to the bedroom with a satisfied andrelieved expression of countenance. He then compelled himself toapproach the body, from which he had hitherto recoiled. 

"Sir, " said he, almost harshly, as he turned to the surgeon, "what idledoubts are these? Cannot men die in their beds, of sudden death, noblood to stain their pillows, no loop-hole for crime to pass through, but we must have science itself startling us with silly terrors? Asfor the servant, I will answer for his innocence; his manner, his voiceattest it. " The surgeon drew back, abashed and humbled, and began toapologize, to qualify, when Lord Doltimore abruptly entered. 

"Good heavens!" said he, "what is this? What do I hear? Is it possible?Dead! So suddenly!" He cast a hurried glance at the body, shivered, andsickened, and threw himself into a chair, as if to recover the shock. When again he removed his hand from his face, he saw lying before him onthe table an open note. The character was familiar; his own name struckhis eye, --it was the note which Caroline had sent the day before. Asno one heeded him, Lord Doltimore read on, and possessed himself of theproof of his wife's guilt unseen. 

The surgeon, now turning from De Montaigne, who had been rating himsoundly for the last few moments, addressed himself to Lord Doltimore. "Your lordship, " said he, "was, I hear, Lord Vargrave's most intimatefriend at Paris. "

"I _his_ intimate friend?" said Doltimore, colouring highly, and in adisdainful accent. "Sir, you are misinformed. "

"Have you no orders to give, then, my lord?"

"None, sir. My presence here is quite useless. Good-day to you, gentlemen. "

"With whom, then, do the last duties rest?" said the surgeon, turning toMaltravers and De Montaigne. "With the late lord's secretary?--I expecthim every moment; and here he is, I suppose, "--as Mr. Howard, pale, andevidently overcome by his agitation, entered the apartment. Perhaps, ofall the human beings whom the ambitious spirit of that senseless clayhad drawn around it by the webs of interest, affection, or intrigue, that young man, whom it had never been a temptation to Vargrave todeceive or injure, and who missed only the gracious and familiar patron, mourned most his memory, and defended most his character. The grief ofthe poor secretary was now indeed overmastering. He sobbed and wept likea child. 

When Maltravers retired from the chamber of death, De Montaigneaccompanied him; but soon quitting him again, as Ernest bent his wayto Evelyn, he quietly rejoined Mr. Howard, who readily grasped at hisoffers of aid in the last melancholy duties and directions. 

CHAPTER VI. 

 IF we do meet again, why, we shall smile. --_Julius Caesar_. 

THE interview with Evelyn was long and painful. It was reservedfor Maltravers to break to her the news of the sudden death of LordVargrave, which shocked her unspeakably; and this, which made theirfirst topic, removed much constraint and deadened much excitement inthose which followed. 

Vargrave's death served also to relieve Maltravers from a most anxiousembarrassment. He need no longer fear that Alice would be degraded inthe eyes of Evelyn. Henceforth the secret that identified the erringAlice Darvil with the spotless Lady Vargrave was safe, known only toMrs. Leslie and to Aubrey. In the course of nature, all chance of itsdisclosure must soon die with them; and should Alice at last becomehis wife, and should Cleveland suspect (which was not probable) thatMaltravers had returned to his first love, he knew that he might dependon the inviolable secrecy of his earliest friend. 

The tale that Vargrave had told to Evelyn of his early--but, accordingto that tale, guiltless--passion for Alice, he tacitly confirmed; andhe allowed that the recollection of her virtues, and the intelligence ofher sorrows and unextinguishable affection, had made him recoil froma marriage with her supposed daughter. He then proceeded to amaze hisyoung listener with the account of the mode in which he had discoveredher real parentage, of which the banker had left it to Alice'sdiscretion to inform her, after she had attained the age of eighteen. And then, simply, but with manly and ill-controlled emotion, he touchedupon the joy of Alice at beholding him again, upon the endurance andfervour of her love, upon her revulsion of feeling at learning that, in her unforgotten lover, she beheld the recent suitor of her adoptedchild. 

"And now, " said Maltravers, in conclusion, "the path to both of usremains the same. To Alice is our first duty. The discovery I have madeof your real parentage does not diminish the claims which Alice hason me, does not lessen the grateful affection that is due to her fromyourself. Yes, Evelyn, we are not the less separated forever. But whenI learned the wilful falsehood which the unhappy man, now hurried tohis last account, to whom your birth was known, had imposed uponme, --namely, that you were the child of Alice, --and when I learned alsothat you had been hurried into accepting his hand, I trembled at yourunion with one so false and base. I came hither resolved to frustratehis schemes and to save you from an alliance, the motives of which Iforesaw, and to which my own letter, my own desertion, had perhaps urgedyou. New villanies on the part of this most perverted man came to myear: but he is dead; let us spare his memory. For you--oh, still let medeem myself your friend, --your more than brother; let me hope now thatI have planted no thorn in that breast, and that your affection does notshrink from the cold word of friendship. "

"Of all the wonders that you have told me, " answered Evelyn, as soon asshe could recover the power of words, "my most poignant sorrow is, thatI have no rightful claim to give a daughter's love to her whom I shallever idolize as my mother. Oh, now I see why I thought her affectionmeasured and lukewarm. And have I--I destroyed her joy at seeing youagain? But you--you will hasten to console, to reassure her! She lovesyou still, --she will be happy at last; and that--that thought--oh, thatthought compensates for all!"

There was so much warmth and simplicity in Evelyn's artless manner, itwas so evident that her love for him had not been of that ardent naturewhich would at first have superseded every other thought in the anguishof losing him forever, that the scale fell from the eyes of Maltravers, and he saw at once that his own love had blinded him to the truecharacter of hers. He was human; and a sharp pang shot across hisbreast. He remained silent for some moments; and then resumed, compelling himself as he spoke to fix his eyes steadfastly on hers. 

"And now, Evelyn--still may I so call you?--I have a duty to dischargeto another. You are loved"--and he smiled, but the smile was sad--"bya younger and more suitable lover than I am. From noble and generousmotives he suppressed that love, --he left you to a rival; the rivalremoved, dare he venture to explain to you his own conduct, and pleadhis own motives? George Legard--" Maltravers paused. The cheek on whichhe gazed was tinged with a soft blush, Evelyn's eyes were downcast, there was a slight heaving beneath the robe. 

Maltravers suppressed a sigh and continued. He narrated his interviewwith Legard at Dover; and, passing lightly over what had chanced atVenice, dwelt with generous eloquence on the magnanimity with which hisrival's gratitude had been displayed. Evelyn's eyes sparkled, and thesmile just visited the rosy lips and vanished again. The worst becauseit was the least selfish fear of Maltravers was gone, and no vain doubtof Evelyn's too keen regret remained to chill his conscience in obeyingits earliest and strongest duties. 

"Farewell!" he said, as he rose to depart; "I will at once return toLondon, and assist in the effort to save your fortune from this generalwreck: LIFE calls us back to its cares and business--farewell, Evelyn!Aubrey will, I trust, remain with you still. "

"Remain! Can I not return then to my--to her--yes, let me call her_mother_ still?"

"Evelyn, " said Maltravers, in a very low voice, "spare me, spare herthat pain! Are we yet fit to--" He paused; Evelyn comprehended him, andhiding her face with her hands, burst into tears. 

When Maltravers left the room, he was met by Aubrey, who, drawing himaside, told him that Lord Doltimore had just informed him that it wasnot his intention to remain at Paris, and had more than delicatelyhinted at a wish for the departure of Miss Cameron. In this emergency, Maltravers bethought himself of Madame de Ventadour. 

No house in Paris was a more eligible refuge, no friend more zealous;no protector would be more kind, no adviser more sincere. To her thenhe hastened. He briefly informed her of Vargrave's sudden death; andsuggested that for Evelyn to return at once to a sequestered village inEngland might be a severe trial to spirits already broken; and declaredtruly, that though his marriage with Evelyn was broken off, her welfarewas no less dear to him than heretofore. At his first hint, Valerie, who took a cordial interest in Evelyn for her own sake, ordered hercarriage, and drove at once to Lady Doltimore's. His lordship was out, her ladyship was ill, in her own room, could see no one, not even herguest. Evelyn in vain sent up to request an interview; and at last, contenting herself with an affectionate note of farewell, accompaniedAubrey to the home of her new hostess. 

Gratified at least to know her with one who would be sure to win heraffection and soothe her spirits, Maltravers set out on his solitaryreturn to England. 

Whatever suspicious circumstances might or might not have attended thedeath of Lord Vargrave, certain it is that no evidence confirmed and nopopular rumour circulated them. His late illness, added to the supposedshock of the loss of the fortune he had anticipated with Miss Cameron, aided by the simultaneous intelligence of the defeat of the party withwhom it was believed he had indissolubly entwined his ambition, sufficedto account satisfactorily enough for the melancholy event. De Montaigne, who had been long, though not intimately, acquainted with the deceased, took upon himself all the necessary arrangements, and superintended thefuneral; after which ceremony, Howard returned to London; and in Paris, as in the grave, all things are forgotten! But still in De Montaigne'sbreast there dwelt a horrible fear. As soon as he had learned fromMaltravers the charge the maniac brought against Vargrave, there cameupon him the recollection of that day when Cesarini had attemptedDe Montaigne's life, evidently mistaking him in his delirium foranother, --and the sullen, cunning, and ferocious character which theinsanity had ever afterwards assumed. He had learned from Howardthat the outer door had been left ajar when Lord Vargrave was withMaltravers. The writing on the panel, the name of Vargrave, would havestruck Castruccio's eye as he descended the stairs; the servant wasfrom home, the apartments deserted; he might have won his way into thebedchamber, concealed himself in the _armoire_, and in the dead of thenight, and in the deep and helpless sleep of his victim, have done thedeed. What need of weapons--the suffocating pillows would stop speechand life. What so easy as escape, --to pass into the anteroom; to unboltthe door; to descend into the courtyard; to give the signal to theporter in his lodge, who, without seeing him, would pull the _cordon_, and give him egress unobserved?

All this was so possible, so probable. 

De Montaigne now withdrew all inquiry for the unfortunate; he trembledat the thought of discovering him, of verifying his awful suspicions, ofbeholding a murderer in the brother of his wife! But he was not doomedlong to entertain fear for Cesarini; he was not fated ever to changesuspicion into certainty. A few days after Lord Vargrave's burial, acorpse was drawn from the Seine. Some tablets in the pockets, scrawledover with wild, incoherent verses, gave a clew to the discovery of thedead man's friends: and, exposed at the Morgue, in that bleachedand altered clay, De Montaigne recognized the remains of CastruccioCesarini. "He died and made no sign!"

CHAPTER VII. 

 SINGULA quaeque locum teneant sortita. *--HORACE: _Ars Poetica_. 

 * "To each lot its appropriate place. "

MALTRAVERS and the lawyers were enabled to save from the insolvent bankbut a very scanty portion of that wealth in which Richard Templeton hadrested so much of pride. The title extinct, the fortune gone--sodoes Fate laugh at our posthumous ambition! Meanwhile Mr. Douce, withconsiderable plunder, had made his way to America: the bank owed nearlyhalf a million; the purchase money for Lisle Court, which Mr. Douce hadbeen so anxious to get into his clutches, had not sufficed to stave offthe ruin, --but a great part of it sufficed to procure competence forhimself. How inferior in wit, in acuteness, in stratagem, was Douceto Vargrave; and yet Douce had gulled him like a child! Well said theshrewd small philosopher of France--"On peut etre plus fin qu'un autre, mais pas plus fin que tous les autres. "*

 * One may be more sharp than one's neighbour, but one can't be sharper than all one's neighbours. --ROCHEFOUCAULD. 

To Legard, whom Maltravers had again encountered at Dover, the latterrelated the downfall of Evelyn's fortunes; and Maltravers loved him whenhe saw that, far from changing his affection, the loss of wealth seemedrather to raise his hopes. They parted; and Legard set out for Paris. 

But was Maltravers all the while forgetful of Alice? He had not beentwelve hours in London before he committed to a long and truthful letterall his thoughts, his hopes, his admiring and profound gratitude. Again, and with solemn earnestness, he implored her to accept his hand, and toconfirm at the altar the tale which had been told to Evelyn. Truly hesaid that the shock which his first belief in Vargrave's falsehood hadoccasioned, his passionate determination to subdue all trace of alove then associated with crime and horror, followed so close by hisdiscovery of Alice's enduring faith and affection, had removed theimage of Evelyn from the throne it had hitherto held in his desires andthoughts; truly he said that he was now convinced that Evelyn would soonbe consoled for his loss by another, with whom she would be happierthan with him; truly and solemnly he declared that if Alice rejectedhim still, if even Alice were no more, his suit to Evelyn never could berenewed, and Alice's memory would usurp the place of all living love!

Her answer came: it pierced him to the heart. It was so humble, sograteful, so tender still. Unknown to herself, love yet coloured everyword; but it was love pained, galled, crushed, and trampled on; it waslove, proud from its very depth and purity. His offer was refused. 

Months passed away. Maltravers yet trusted to time. The curate hadreturned to Brook-Green, and his letters fed Ernest's hopes and assuredhis doubts. The more leisure there was left him for reflection, thefainter became those dazzling and rainbow hues in which Evelyn had beenrobed and surrounded, and the brighter the halo that surrounded hisearliest love. The more he pondered on Alice's past history, and thesingular beauty of her faithful attachment, the more he was impressedwith wonder and admiration, the more anxious to secure to his side oneto whom Nature had been so bountiful in all the gifts that make womanthe angel and star of life. 

Months passed. From Paris the news that Maltravers received confirmedall his expectations, --the suit of Legard had replaced his own. It wasthen that Maltravers began to consider how far the fortune of Evelynand her destined husband was such as to preclude all anxiety for theirfuture lot. Fortune is so indeterminate in its gauge and measurement. Money, the most elastic of materials, falls short or exceeds, accordingto the extent of our wants and desires. With all Legard's good qualitieshe was constitutionally careless and extravagant; and Evelyn was tooinexperienced, and too gentle, perhaps, to correct his tendencies. Maltravers learned that Legard's income was one that required an economywhich he feared that, in spite of all his reformation, Legard might nothave the self-denial to enforce. After some consideration, he resolvedto add secretly to the remains of Evelyn's fortune such a sum as might, being properly secured to herself and children, lessen whatever dangercould arise from the possible improvidence of her husband, and guardagainst the chance of those embarrassments which are among the worstdisturbers of domestic peace. He was enabled to effect this generosityunknown to both of them, as if the sum bestowed were collected from thewrecks of Evelyn's own wealth and the profits of the sale of the housesin C-----, which of course had not been involved in Douce's bankruptcy. And then if Alice were ever his, her jointure, which had been securedon the property appertaining to the villa at Fulham, would devolve uponEvelyn. Maltravers could never accept what Alice owed to another. PoorAlice! No! not that modest wealth which you had looked upon complacentlyas one day or other to be his. 

Lord Doltimore is travelling in the East, --Lady Doltimore, lessadventurous, has fixed her residence in Rome. She has grown thin, andtaken to antiquities and rouge. Her spirits are remarkably high--not anuncommon effect of laudanum. 

CHAPTER THE LAST. 

 ARRIVED at last Unto the wished haven. --SHAKSPEARE. 

IN the August of that eventful year a bridal party were assembled atthe cottage of Lady Vargrave. The ceremony had just been performed, andErnest Maltravers had bestowed upon George Legard the hand of EvelynTempleton. 

If upon the countenance of him who thus officiated as a father to her hehad once wooed as a bride an observant eye might have noted the trace ofmental struggles, it was the trace of struggles past; and the calm hadonce more settled over the silent deeps. He saw from the casement thecarriage that was to bear away the bride to the home of another, --thegay faces of the village group, whose intrusion was not forbidden, andto whom that solemn ceremonial was but a joyous pageant; and when heturned once more to those within the chamber, he felt his hand claspedin Legard's. 

"You have been the preserver of my life, you have been the dispenser ofmy earthly happiness; all now left to me to wish for is, that you mayreceive from Heaven the blessings you have given to others!"

"Legard, never let her know a sorrow that you can guard her from; andbelieve that the husband of Evelyn will be dear to me as a brother!"

And as a brother blesses some younger and orphan sister bequeathed andintrusted to a care that should replace a father's, so Maltravers laidhis hand lightly on Evelyn's golden tresses, and his lips moved inprayer. He ceased; he pressed his last kiss upon her forehead, andplaced her hand in that of her young husband. There was silence; andwhen to the ear of Maltravers it was broken, it was by the wheels of thecarriage that bore away the wife of George Legard!

The spell was dissolved forever. And there stood before the lonely manthe idol of his early youth, Alice, --still, perhaps, as fair, and onceyoung and passionate, as Evelyn; pale, changed, but lovelier than ofold, if heavenly patience and holy thought, and the trials that purifyand exalt, can shed over human features something more beautiful thanbloom. 

The good curate alone was present, besides these two survivors of theerror and the love that make the rapture and the misery of so many ofour kind; and the old man, after contemplating them a moment, stoleunperceived away. 

"Alice, " said Maltravers, and his voice trembled, "hitherto, frommotives too pure and too noble for the practical affections and ties oflife, you have rejected the hand of the lover of your youth. Here againI implore you to be mine! Give to my conscience the balm of believingthat I can repair to you the evils and the sorrows I have brought uponyou. Nay, weep not; turn not away. Each of us stands alone; each of usneeds the other. In your heart is locked up all my fondest associations, my brightest memories. In you I see the mirror of what I was when theworld was new, ere I had found how Pleasure palls upon us, and Ambitiondeceives! And me, Alice--ah, you love me still! Time and absence havebut strengthened the chain that binds us. By the memory of our earlylove, by the grave of our lost child that, had it lived, would haveunited its parents, I implore you to be mine!"

"Too generous!" said Alice, almost sinking beneath the emotions thatshook that gentle spirit and fragile form, "how can I suffer your_compassion_--for it is but compassion--to deceive yourself? You areof another station than I believed you. How can you raise the childof destitution and guilt to your own rank? And shall I--I--who, Heavenknows! would save you from all regret--bring to you now, when years haveso changed and broken the little charm I could ever have possessed, thisblighted heart and weary spirit? Oh, no, no!" and Alice paused abruptly, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. 

"Be it as you will, " said Maltravers, mournfully; "but, at least, groundyour refusal upon better motives. Say that now, independent in fortune, and attached to the habits you have formed, you would not hazard yourhappiness in my keeping, --perhaps you are right. To _my_ happiness youwould indeed contribute; your sweet voice might charm away many a memoryand many a thought of the baffled years that have intervened since weparted; your image might dissipate the solitude which is closing roundthe Future of a disappointed and anxious life. With you, and with youalone, I might yet find a home, a comforter, a charitable and soothingfriend. This you could give to me; and with a heart and a form alikefaithful to a love that deserved not so enduring a devotion. But I--whatcan I bestow on you? Your station is equal to my own; your fortunesatisfies your simple wants. 'Tis true the exchange is not equal, Alice. Adieu!"

"Cruel!" said Alice, approaching him with timid steps. "If I could--I, so untutored, so unworthy--if I could comfort you in a single care!"

She said no more, but she had said enough; and Maltravers, clasping herto his bosom, felt once more that heart which never, even in thought, had swerved from its early worship, beating against his own!

He drew her gently into the open air. The ripe and mellow noonday of thelast month of summer glowed upon the odorous flowers, and the broad sea, that stretched beyond and afar, wore upon its solemn waves a golden andhappy smile. 

"And ah, " murmured Alice, softly, as she looked up from his breast, "I ask not if you have loved others since we parted--man's faith is sodifferent from ours--I only ask if you love me now?"

"More! oh, immeasurably more, than in our youngest days!" criedMaltravers, with fervent passion. "More fondly, more reverently, moretrustfully, than I ever loved living being!--even her, in whose youthand innocence I adored the memory of thee! Here have I found that whichshames and bankrupts the Ideal! Here have I found a virtue, that, comingat once from God and Nature, has been wiser than all my false philosophyand firmer than all my pride! You, cradled by misfortune, --yourchildhood reared amidst scenes of fear and vice, which, while theyseared back the intellect, had no pollution for the soul, --your veryparent your tempter and your foe; you, only not a miracle and an angelby the stain of one soft and unconscious error, --you, alike through theequal trials of poverty and wealth, have been destined to rise above alltriumphant; the example of the sublime moral that teaches us with whatmysterious beauty and immortal holiness the Creator has endowed ourhuman nature when hallowed by our human affections! You alone sufficeto shatter into dust the haughty creeds of the Misanthrope and Pharisee!And your fidelity to my erring self has taught me ever to love, toserve, to compassionate, to respect the community of God's creatures towhich--noble and elevated though you are--you yet belong!"

He ceased, overpowered with the rush of his own thoughts. And Alice wastoo blessed for words. But in the murmur of the sunlit leaves, in thebreath of the summer air, in the song of the exulting birds, and thedeep and distant music of the heaven-surrounded seas, there went amelodious voice that seemed as if Nature echoed to his words, and blestthe reunion of her children. 

Maltravers once more entered upon the career so long suspended. Heentered with an energy more practical and steadfast than the fitfulenthusiasm of former years; and it was noticeable amongst those whoknew him well, that while the firmness of his mind was not impaired, thehaughtiness of his temper was subdued. No longer despising Man as heis, and no longer exacting from all things the ideal of a visionarystandard, he was more fitted to mix in the living World, and to ministerusefully to the great objects that refine and elevate our race. Hissentiments were, perhaps, less lofty, but his actions were infinitelymore excellent, and his theories infinitely more wise. 

Stage after stage we have proceeded with him through the MYSTERIES OFLIFE. The Eleusinia are closed, and the crowning libation poured. 

And Alice!--Will the world blame us if you are left happy at thelast? We are daily banishing from our law-books the statutes thatdisproportion punishment to crime. Daily we preach the doctrine that wedemoralize wherever we strain justice into cruelty. It is time that weshould apply to the Social Code the Wisdom we recognize in Legislation!It is time that we should do away with the punishment of death forinadequate offences, even in books; it is time that we should allow themorality of atonement, and permit to Error the right to hope, as thereward of submission to its suffering. Nor let it be thought that theclose to Alice's career can offer temptation to the offence of itscommencement. Eighteen years of sadness, a youth consumed in silentsorrow over the grave of Joy, have images that throw over these pages adark and warning shadow that will haunt the young long after they turnfrom the tale that is about to close! If Alice had died of a brokenheart, if her punishment had been more than she could bear, _then_, asin real life, you would have justly condemned my moral; and the humanheart, in its pity for the victim, would have lost all recollection ofthe error. --My tale is done. 

THE END.