THE YOUNG STEP-MOTHER;

or

A CHRONICLE OF MISTAKES. 

By CHARLOTTE M YONGE

Fail--yet rejoice, because no lessThe failure that makes thy distressMay teach another full success. 

Nor with thy share of work be vexedThough incomplete and even perplexedIt fits exactly to the next. ADELAIDE A PROCTOR

CHAPTER I. 

'Have you talked it over with her?' said Mr. Ferrars, as his littleslender wife met him under the beeches that made an avenue of thelane leading to Fairmead vicarage. 

'Yes!' was the answer, which the vicar was not slow to understand. 

'I cannot say I expected much from your conversation, and perhaps weought not to wish it. We are likely to see with selfish eyes, forwhat shall we do without her?'

'Dear Albinia! You always taunted me with having married your sisteras much as yourself. '

'So I shall again, if you cannot give her up with a good grace. '

'If I could have had my own way in disposing of her. '

'Perhaps the hero of your own composition might be less satisfactoryto her than is Kendal. '

'At least he should be minus the children!'

'I fancy the children are one great attraction. Do you know how manythere are?'

'Three; but if Albinia knows their ages she involves them in adiscreet haze. I imagine some are in their teens. '

'Impossible, Winifred, he is hardly five-and-thirty. '

'Thirty-eight, he said yesterday, and he married very early. I askedAlbinia if her son would be in tail-coats; but she thought I waslaughing at her, and would not say. She is quite eager at the notionof being governess to the girls. '

'She has wanted scope for her energies, ' said Mr. Ferrars. 'Evenspoiling her nephew, and being my curate, have not afforded fieldenough for her spirit of usefulness. '

'That is what I am afraid of. '

'Of what, Winifred?'

'That it is my fault. Before our marriage, you and she were thewhole world to each other; but since I came, I have seen, as you say, that the craving for work was strong, and I fear it actuates her morethan she knows. '

'No such thing. It is a case of good hearty love. What, are youafraid of that, too?'

'Yes, I am. I grudge her giving her fresh whole young heart away toa man who has no return to make. His heart is in his first wife'sgrave. Yes, you may smile, Maurice, as if I were talking romance;but only look at him, poor man! Did you ever see any one so utterlybroken down? She can hardly beguile a smile from him. '

'His melancholy is one of his charms in her eyes. '

'So it may be, as a sort of interesting romance. I am sure I pitythe poor man heartily, but to see her at three-and-twenty, with hersweet face and high spirits, give herself away to a man who looks buthalf alive, and cannot, if he would, return that full first love--havethe charge of a tribe of children, be spied and commented on by thefirst wife's relations--Maurice, I cannot bear it. '

'It is not what we should have chosen, ' said her husband, 'but it hasa bright side. Kendal is a most right-minded, superior man, and sheappreciates him thoroughly. She has great energy and cheerfulness, and if she can comfort him, and rouse him into activity, and be thekind mother she will be to his poor children, I do not think we oughtto grudge her from our own home. '

'You and she have so strong a feeling for motherless children!'

'Thinking of Kendal as I do, I have but one fear for her. '

'I have many--the chief being the grandmother. '

'Mine will make you angry, but it is my only one. You, who have onlyknown her since she has subdued it, have probably never guessed thatshe has that sort of quick sensitive temper--'

'Maurice, Maurice! as if I had not been a most provoking, presumingsister-in-law. As if I had not acted so that if Albinia ever had atemper, she must have shown it. '

'I knew you would not believe me, and I really am not afraid of herdoing any harm by it, if that is what you suspect me of. No, indeed;but I fear it may make her feel any trials of her position moreacutely than a placid person would. '

'Oho! so you own there will be trials!'

'My dear Winifred, as if I had not sat up till twelve last nightlaying them before Albinia. How sick the poor child must be of ourarguments, when there is no real objection, and she is so muchattached! Have you heard anything about these connexions of his?Did you not write to Mrs. Nugent? I wish she were at home. '

'I had her answer by this afternoon's post, but there is nothing totell. Mr. Kendal has only been settled at Bayford Bridge a fewyears, and she never visited any one there, though Mr. Nugent had metMr. Kendal several times before his wife's death, and liked him. Emily is charmed to have Albinia for a neighbour. '

'Does she know nothing of the Meadows' family?'

'Nothing but that old Mrs. Meadows lives in the town with oneunmarried daughter. She speaks highly of the clergyman. '

'John Dusautoy? Ay, he is admirable--not that I have done more thansee him at visitations when he was curate at Lauriston. '

'Is he married?'

'I fancy he is, but I am not sure. There is one good friend forAlbinia any way!'

'And now for your investigations. Did you see Colonel Bury?'

'I did, but he could say little more than we knew. He says nothingcould be more exemplary than Kendal's whole conduct in India, he onlyregretted that he kept so much aloof from others, that his principleand gentlemanly feeling did not tell as much as could have beenwished. He has always been wrapped up in his own pursuits--a perfectdictionary of information. '

'We had found out that, though he is so silent. I should think him amost elegant scholar. '

'And a deep one. He has studied and polished his acquirements to theutmost. I assure you, Winifred, I mean to be proud of my brother-in-law. '

'What did you hear of the first wife?'

'It was an early marriage. He went home as soon as he had sufficientsalary, married her, and brought her out. She was a brilliant darkbeauty, who became quickly a motherly, housewifely, common-placeperson--I should think there had been a poet's love, never awakenedfrom. '

'The very thing that has always struck me when, poor man, he hastried to be civil to me. Here is a man, sensible himself, but whohas never had the hap to live with sensible women. '

'When their children grew too old for India, she came into somelittle property at Bayford Bridge, which enabled him to retire. Colonel Bury came home in the same ship, and saw much of them, likedhim better and better, and seems to have been rather wearied by her. A very good woman, he says, and Kendal most fondly attached; but asto comparing her with Miss Ferrars, he could not think of it for amoment. So they settled at Bayford, and there, about two years ago, came this terrible visitation of typhus fever. '

'I remember how Colonel Bury used to come and sigh over his friend'sillness and trouble. '

'He could not help going over it again. The children all fell illtogether--the two eldest were twin boys, one puny, the other a veryfine fellow, and his father's especial pride and delight. As sooften happens, the sickly one was spared, the healthy one was taken. '

'Then Albinia will have an invalid on her hands!'

'The Colonel says this Edmund was a particularly promising boy, andpoor Kendal felt the loss dreadfully. He sickened after that, andhis wife was worn out with nursing and grief, and sank under thefever at once. Poor Kendal has never held up his head since; he hada terrible relapse. '

'And, ' said Winifred, 'he no sooner recovers than he goes and marriesour Albinia!'

'Two years, my dear. '

'Pray explain to me, Maurice, why, when people become widowed in anyunusually lamentable way, they always are the first to marry again. '

'Incorrigible. I meant to make you pity him. '

'I did, till I found I had wasted my pity. Why could not theseMeadowses look after his children! Why must the Colonel bring himhere? I believe it was with malice prepense!'

'The Colonel went to see after him, and found him so drooping andwretched, that he insisted on bringing him home with him, and oldMrs. Meadows and her daughter almost forced him to accept theinvitation. '

'They little guessed what the Colonel would be at!'

'You will be better now you have the Colonel to abuse, ' said herhusband. 

'And pray what do you mean to say to the General?'

'Exactly what I think. '

'And to the aunts?' slyly asked the wife. 

'I think I shall leave you all that correspondence. It will be tooedifying to see you making common cause with the aunts. '

'That comes of trying to threaten one's husband; and here they come, 'said Winifred. 'Well, Maurice, what can't be cured must be endured. Albinia'a heart is gone, he is a very good man, and spite of India, first wife, and melancholy, he does not look amiss!'

Mr. Ferrars smiled at the chary, grudging commendation of the tall, handsome man who advanced through the beech-wood, but it was too truethat his clear olive complexion had not the line of health, thatthere was a world of oppression on his broad brow and deep hazeleyes, and that it was a dim, dreamy, reluctant smile that wasawakened by the voice of the lady who walked by his side, as ifreverencing his grave mood. 

She was rather tall, very graceful, and well made, but her featureswere less handsome than sweet, bright, and sensible. Her hair wasnut-brown, in long curled waves; her eyes, deep soft grey, and thoughdowncast under the new sympathies, new feelings, and responsibilitiesthat crowded on her, the smile and sparkle that lighted them as sheblushed and nodded to her brother and sister, showed that livelinesswas the natural expression of that engaging face. 

Say what they would, it was evident that Albinia Ferrars had cast inher lot with Edmund Kendal, and that her energetic spirit and love ofchildren animated her to embrace joyfully the cares which such achoice must impose on her. 

As might have been perceived by one glance at the figure, step, andbearing of Mr. Ferrars, perfectly clerical though they were, hebelonged to a military family. His father had been a distinguishedPeninsular officer, and his brother, older by many years, held acommand in Canada. Maurice and Albinia, early left orphans, had, with a young cousin, been chiefly under the charge of their aunts, Mrs. Annesley and Miss Ferrars, and had found a kind home in theirhouse in Mayfair, until Maurice had been ordained to the familyliving of Fairmead, and his sister had gone to live with him there, extorting the consent of her elder brother to her spending a morereal and active life than her aunts' round of society could offerher. 

The aunts lamented, but they could seldom win their darling to themfor more than a few weeks at a time, even after their nephew Mauricehad--as they considered--thrown himself away on a little lively ladyof Irish parentage, no equal in birth or fortune, in their opinion, for the grandson of Lord Belraven. 

They had been very friendly to the young wife, but their hopes hadall the more been fixed on Albinia; and even Winifred could affordthem some generous pity in the engagement of their favourite niece toa retired East India Company's servant--a widower with threechildren. 

CHAPTER II. 

The equinoctial sun had long set, and the blue haze of March eastwind had deepened into twilight and darkness when Albinia Kendalfound herself driving down the steep hilly street of Bayford. Thetown was not large nor modern enough for gas, and the dark street wasonly lighted here and there by a shop of more pretension; the plate-glassof the enterprising draper, with the light veiled by shawls andribbons, the 'purple jars, ' green, ruby, and crimson of the chemist;and the modest ray of the grocer, revealing busy heads drivingSaturday-night bargains. 

'How well I soon shall know them all, ' said Albinia, looking at herhusband, though she knew she could not see his face, as he leant backsilently in his corner, and she tried to say no more. She was surethat coming home was painful to him; he had been so willing to put itoff, and to prolong those pleasant seaside days, when there had beensuch pleasant reading, walking, musing, and a great deal of happysilence. 

Down the hill, and a little way on level ground--houses on one side, something like hedge or shrubbery on the other--a stop--a gateopened--a hollow sound beneath the carriage, as though crossing awooden bridge--trees--bright windows--an open door--and lightstreaming from it. 

'Here is your home, Albinia, ' said that deep musical voice that sheloved the better for the subdued melancholy of the tones, and thesuppressed sigh that could not be hidden. 

'And my children, ' she eagerly said, as he handed her out, and, springing to the ground, she hurried to the open door opposite, where, in the lamp-light, she saw, moving about in shy curiosity andembarrassment, two girls in white frocks and broad scarlet sashes, and a boy, who, as she advanced, retreated with his younger sister tothe fireplace, while the elder one, a pretty, and rather formallooking girl of twelve, stood forward. 

Albinia held out her arms, saying, 'You are Lucy, I am sure, ' andeagerly kissed the girl's smiling, bright face. 

'Yes, I am Lucy, ' was the well-pleased answer, 'I am glad you arecome. '

'I hope we shall be very good friends, ' said Albinia, with the sweetsmile that few, young or old, could resist. 'And this is Gilbert, 'as she kissed the blushing cheek of a thin boy of thirteen--'andSophia. '

Sophia, who was eleven, had not stirred to meet her. She aloneinherited her father's fine straight profile, and large black eyes, but she had the heaviness of feature that sometimes goes with verydark complexions. The white frock did not become her brown neck andarms, her thick black hair was arranged in too womanly a manner, andher head and face looked too large; moreover, there was no lighting-upto answer the greeting, and Albinia was disappointed. 

Poor child, she thought, she is feeling deeply that I am aninterloper, it will be different now her father is coming. 

Mr. Kendal was crossing the hall, and as he entered he took the handand kissed the forehead of each of the three, but Sophia stood withthe same half sullen indifference--it might be shyness, orsensibility. 

'How much you are grown!' he said, looking at the children with somesurprise. 

In fact, though Albinia knew their ages, they were all on a largerscale than she had expected, and looked too old for the children of aman of his youthful appearance. Gilbert had the slight look of rapidgrowth; Lucy, though not so tall, and with a small, clear, brightface, had the air of a little woman, and Sophia's face might havebefitted any age. 

'Yes, papa, ' said Lucy; 'Gilbert has grown an inch-and-a-half sinceOctober, for we measured him. '

'Have you been well, Gilbert?' continued Mr. Kendal, anxiously. 

'I have the toothache, said Gilbert, piteously. 

'Happily, nothing more serious, ' thrust in Lucy; 'Mr. Bowles toldAunt Maria that he considers Gilbert's health much improved. '

Albinia asked some kind questions about the delinquent tooth, but theanswers were short; and, to put an end to the general constraint, sheasked Lucy to show her to her room. 

It was a pretty bay-windowed room, and looked cheerful in thefirelight. Lucy's tongue was at once unloosed, telling thatGilbert's tutor, Mr. Salsted, had insisted on his having his toothextracted, and that he had refused, saying it was quite well; butLucy gave it as her opinion that he much preferred the toothache tohis lessons. 

'Where does Mr. Salsted live?'

'At Tremblam, about two miles off; Gilbert rides the pony over thereevery day, except when he has the toothache, and then he stays athome. '

'And what do you do?'

'We went to Miss Belmarche till the end of our quarter, and sincethat we have been at home, or with grandmamma. Do you _really_ meanthat we are to study with you?'

'I should like it, my dear. I have been looking forward very much toteaching you and Sophia. '

'Thank you, mamma. '

The word was said with an effort as if it came strangely, but itthrilled Albinia's heart, and she kissed Lucy, who clung to her, andreturned the caress. 

'I shall tell Gilbert and Sophy what a dear mamma you are, ' she said. 'Do you know, Sophy says she shall never call you anything but Mrs. Kendal; and I know Gilbert means the same. '

'Let them call me whatever suits them best, ' said Albinia; 'I hadrather they waited till they feel that they like to call me as youhave done--thank you for it, dear Lucy. You must not fancy I shallbe at all hurt at your thinking of times past. I shall want you totell me of them, and of your own dear mother, and what will suit papabest. '

Lucy looked highly gratified, and eagerly said, 'I am sure I shalllove you just like my own mamma. '

'No, ' said Albinia, kindly; 'I do not expect that, my dear. I don'task for any more than you can freely give, dear child. You must bearwith having me in that place, and we will try and help each other tomake your papa comfortable; and, Lucy, you will forgive me, if I amimpetuous, and make mistakes. '

Lucy's little clear black eyes looked as if nothing like this hadever come within her range of observation, and Albinia couldsympathize with her difficulty of reply. 

Mr. Kendal was not in the drawing-room when they re-entered, therewas only Gilbert nursing his toothache by the fire, and Sophy sittingin the middle of the rug, holding up a screen. She said somethinggood-natured to each, but neither responded graciously, and Lucy wenton talking, showing off the room, the chiffonieres, the ornaments, and some pretty Indian ivory carvings. There was a great ottoman ofAunt Maria's work, and a huge cushion with an Arab horseman, thatLucy would uncover, whispering, 'Poor mamma worked it, ' while Sophyvisibly winced, and Albinia hurried it into the chintz cover again, lest Mr. Kendal should come. But Lucy had full time to becommunicative about the household with such a satisfied, capablemanner, that Albinia asked if she had been keeping house all thistime. 

'No; old Nurse kept the keys, and managed till now; but she went thismorning. '

Sophy's mouth twitched. 

'She was so very fond--' continued Lucy. 

'Don't!' burst out Sophy, almost the first word Albinia had heardfrom her; but no more passed, for Mr. Kendal came in, and Lucy'sconversation instantly was at an end. '

Before him she was almost as silent as the others, and he seldomaddressed himself to her, only inquiring once after her grandmamma'shealth, and once calling Sophy out of the way when she was standingbetween the fire and--He finished with the gesture of command, whether he said 'Your mamma, ' none could tell. 

It was late, and the meal was not over before bed-time, when Albinialingered to find remedies for Gilbert's toothache, pleased to feelherself making a commencement of motherly care, and to meet anaffectionate glance of thanks from Mr. Kendal's eye. Gilbert, too, thanked her with less shyness than before, and was hopeful about theremedy; and with the feeling of having made a beginning, she ran downto tell Mr. Kendal that she thought he had hardly done justice to thechildren--they were fine creatures--something so sweet and winningabout Lucy--she liked Gilbert's countenance--Sophy must havesomething deep and noble in her. 

He lifted his head to look at her bright face, and said, 'They arevery much obliged to you. '

'You must not say that, they are my own. '

'I will not say it again, but as I look at you, and the home to whichI have brought you, I feel that I have acted selfishly. '

Albinia timidly pressed his hand, 'Work was always what I wished, 'she said, 'if only I could do anything to lighten your grief andcare. '

He gave a deep, heavy sigh. Albinia felt that if he had hoped tohave lessened the sadness, he had surely found it again at his owndoor. He roused himself, however, to say, 'This is using you ill, Albinia; no one is more sensible of it than I am. '

'I never sought more than you can give, ' she murmured; 'I only wishto do what I can for you, and you will not let me disturb you. '

'I am very grateful to you, ' was his answer; a sad welcome for abride. 'And these poor children will owe everything to you. '

'I wish I may do right by them, ' said Albinia, fervently. 

'The flower of the flock'--began Mr. Kendal, but he broke off atonce. 

Albinia had told Winifred that she could bear to have his wife'smemory first with him, and that she knew that she could notcompensate to him for his loss, but the actual sight of his dejectioncame on her with a chill, and she had to call up all her energies andhopes, and, still better, the thought of strength not her own, toenable her to look cheerfully on the prospect. Sleep revived herelastic spirits, and with eager curiosity she drew up her blind inthe morning, for the first view of her new home. 

But there was a veil--moisture made the panes resemble ground glass, and when she had rubbed that away, and secured a clear corner, herrange of vision was not much more extensive. She could only see thegrey outline of trees and shrubs, obscured by the heavy mist; and onthe lawn below, a thick cloud that seemed to hang over a dark spacewhich she suspected to be a large pond. 

'There is very little to be gained by looking out here!' Albiniasoliloquized. 'It is not doing the place justice to study it on amisty, moisty morning. It looks now as if that fever might have comebodily out of the pond. I'll have no more to say to it till the sunhas licked up the fog, and made it bright! Sunday morning--my lastSunday without school-teaching I hope! I famish to begin again--andI will make time for that, and the girls too! I am glad he consentsto my doing whatever I please in that way! I hope Mr. Dusautoy will!I wish Edmund knew him better--but oh! what a shy man it is!'

With a light step she went down-stairs, and found Mr Kendal waitingfor her in the dining-room, his face brightening as she entered. 

'I am sorry Bayford should wear this heavy cloud to receive you, ' hesaid. 

'It will soon clear, ' she answered, cheerfully. 'Have you heard ofpoor Gilbert this morning?'

'Not yet. ' Then, after a pause, 'I have generally gone to Mrs. Meadows after the morning service, ' he said, speaking withconstraint. 

'You will take me?' said Albinia. 'I wish it, I assure you. '

It was evidently what he wished her to propose, and he added, 'Shemust never feel herself neglected, and it will be better at once. '

'So much more cordial, ' said Albinia. 'Pray let us go!'

They were interrupted by the voices of the girls--not unpleasingvoices, but loud and unsubdued, and with a slight tone ofprovincialism, which seemed to hurt Mr. Kendal's ears, for he said, 'I hope you will tune those voices to something less unlike yourown. '

As he spoke, the sisters appeared in the full and conscious rustlingof new lilac silk dresses, which seemed to have happily carried offall Sophy's sullenness, for she made much more brisk and civilanswers, and ran across the room in a boisterous manner, when herfather sent her to see whether Gilbert were up. 

There was a great clatter, and Gilbert chased her in, breathless andscolding, but the tongues were hushed before papa, and no more washeard than that the tooth was better, and had not kept him awake. Lucy seemed disposed to make conversation, overwhelming Albinia withneedless repetitions of 'Mamma dear, ' and plunging into what Mrs. Bowles and Miss Goldsmith had said of Mr. Dusautoy, and how he keptso few servants, and the butcher had no orders last time he called. Aunt Maria thought he starved and tyrannized over that poor littlesickly Mrs. Dusautoy. 

Mr. Kendal said not one word, and seemed not to hear. Albinia feltas if she had fallen into a whirlpool of gossip; she looked towardshim, and hoped to let the conversation drop, but Sophy answered hersister, and, at last, when it came to something about what Jane heardfrom Mrs. Osborn's Susan, Albinia gently whispered, 'I do not thinkthis entertains your papa, my dear, ' and silence sank upon them all. 

Albinia's next venture was to ask about that which had been herSunday pleasure from childhood, and she turned to Sophy, and said, 'Isuppose you have not begun to teach at the school yet!'

Sophy's great eyes expanded, and Lucy said, 'Oh dear mamma! nobodydoes that but Genevieve Durant and the monitors. Miss Wolte did tillMr. Dusautoy came, but she does not approve of him. '

'Lucy, you do not know what you are saying, ' said Mr. Kendal, andagain there was an annihilating silence, which Albinia did notattempt to disturb. 

At church time, she met the young ladies in the hall, in pink bonnetsand sea-green mantillas over the lilac silks, all evidently put onfor the first time in her honour, an honour of which she felt herselfthe less deserving, as, sensible that this was no case for bridaldisplay, she wore a quiet dark silk, a Cashmere shawl, and plainstraw bonnet, trimmed with white. 

With manifest wish for reciprocity, Lucy fell into transports overthe shawl, but gaining nothing by this, Sophy asked if she did notlike the mantillas? Albinia could only make civility compatible withtruth by saying that the colour was pretty, but where was Gilbert?He was on a stool before the dining-room fire, looking piteous, andpronouncing his tooth far too bad for going to church, and she hadjust time for a fresh administration of camphor before Mr. Kendalcame forth from his study, and gave her his arm. 

The front door opened on a narrow sweep, the river cutting it offfrom the road, and crossed by two wooden bridges, beside each ofwhich stood a weeping-willow, budding with fresh spring foliage. Opposite were houses of various pretentious, and sheer behind themrose the steep hill, with the church nearly at the summit, the noblespire tapering high above, and the bells ringing out a cheerfulchime. The mist had drawn up, and all was fresh and clear. 

'There go Lizzie and Loo!' cried Lucy, 'and the Admiral and Mrs. Osborn. I'll run and tell them papa is come home. '

Sophy was setting off also, but Mr. Kendal stopped them, and lingereda moment or two, making an excuse of looking for a needless umbrella, but in fact to avoid the general gaze. As if making a desperateplunge, however, and looking up and down the broad street, so as tobe secure that no acquaintance was near, he emerged with Albinia fromthe gate, and crossed the road as the chime of the bells changed. 

'We are late, ' he said. 'You will prefer the speediest way, thoughit is somewhat steep. '

The most private way, Albinia understood, and could also perceivethat the girls would have liked the street which sloped up the hill, and thought the lilac and green insulted by being conducted up thesteep, irregular, and not very clean bye-lane that led directly upthe ascent, between houses, some meanly modern, some picturesquelyancient, with stone steps outside to the upper story, but all withfar too much of pig-stye about them for beauty or fragrance. Lucyheld up her skirts, and daintily picked her way, and Albinia lookedwith kindly eyes at the doors and windows, secretly wondering whatfriends she should find there. 

The lane ended in a long flight of more than a hundred shallow stepscut out in the soft stone of the hill, with landing-places here andthere, whence views were seen of the rich meadow-landscape beyond, with villages, orchards, and farms, and the blue winding river Bayein the midst, woods rising on the opposite side under the soft hazeof distance. On the other side, the wall of rock was bordered bygardens, with streamers of ivy or periwinkle here and there hangingdown. 

The ascent ended in an old-fashioned stone stile; and here Sophy, standing on the step, proclaimed, with unnecessary loudness, that Mr. Dusautoy was carrying Mrs. Dusautoy across the churchyard. This hadthe effect of making a pause, but Albinia saw the rector, a tall, powerful man, rather supporting than actually carrying, a littlefragile form to the low-browed door leading into the chancel on thenorth side. The church was handsome, though in the late style, and agood deal misused by eighteenth-century taste; and Albinia was fullof admiration as Mr. Kendal conducted her along the flagged path. 

She was rather dismayed to find herself mounting the gallery stairs, and to emerge into a well-cushioned abode, with the shield-bearingangel of the corbel of an arch all to herself, and a very good viewof the cobwebs over Mr. Dusautoy's sounding-board. It seemed to suitall parties, however, for Lucy and Sophia took possession of theforefront, and their father had the inmost corner, where certainlynobody could see him. 

Just opposite to Albinia was a mural tablet, on which she read whatrevealed to her more of the sorrows of her household than she hadguessed before:

 'To the memory of Lucy, the beloved wife of Edmund Kendal. Died February 18th, 1845, aged 35 years. 

 Edmund Meadows Kendal, born January 20th, 1834. Died February 10th, 1845. 

 Maria Kendal, born September 5th, 1840. Died September 14th, 1840. 

 Sarah Anne Kendal, born October 3rd, 1841. Died November 20th, 1843. 

 John Augustus Kendal, born January 4th, 1842. Died July 6th, 1842. 

 Anne Maria Kendal, born June 12th, 1844. Died June 19th, 1844. '

Then followed, in the original Greek, the words, 'Because I live, yeshall live also. '

Four infants! how many hopes laid here! All the English-bornchildren of the family had died in their cradles, and not only didcompassion for the past affect Albinia, as she thought of herhusband's world of hidden grief, but a shudder for the future cameover her, as she remembered having read that such mortality is a testof the healthiness of a locality. What could she think of WillowLawn? It was with a strong effort that she brought her attentionback to Him Who controlleth the sickness that destroyeth at noon-day. 

But Mr. Dusautoy's deep, powerful intonations roused her wanderingthoughts, and she was calmed and reassured by the holy Feast, inwhich she joined with her husband. 

Mr. Kendal's fine face was calm and placid, as best she loved to lookupon it, when they came out of church, and she was too happy todisturb the quiet by one word. Lively and animated as she was, therewas a sort of repose and enjoyment in the species of respect exactedby his grave silent demeanour. 

If this could only have lasted longer! but he was taking her along anirregular street, and too soon she saw a slight colour flit acrosshis cheek, and his eyebrows contract, as he unlatched a green door ina high wall, and entered a little flagged court, decorated by a standdestined for flowers. 

Albinia caught the blush, and felt more bashful than she had believedwas in her nature, but she had a warm-hearted determination that shewould work down prejudices, and like and be liked by all thatconcerned him and his children. So she smiled at him, and wentbravely on into the matted hall and up the narrow stairs, and made alaughing sign when he looked back at her ere he tapped at thesitting-room door. 

It was opened from within before he could turn the handle, and ashrill voice, exaggerating those of the girls, showered welcomes withsuch rapidity, that Albinia was seated at the table, and had beenhelped to cold chicken, before she could look round, or make muchanswer to reiterations of 'so very kind. '

It was a small room, loaded with knicknacks and cushions, like arepository of every species of female ornamental handiwork in voguefor the last half century, and the luncheon-tray in the middle ofall, ready for six people, for the two girls were there, and thoughMr. Kendal stood up by the fire, and would not eat, he and his blackimage, reflected backwards and forwards in the looking-glass and inthe little round mirror, seemed to take up more room than if he hadbeen seated. 

Mrs. Meadows was slight, shrunken, and gentle-looking, with a sweettone in her voice, great softness of manner, and pretty blue eyes. Albinia only wished that she had worn mourning, it would have been somuch more becoming than bright colours, but that was soon overlookedin gratitude for her affectionate reception, and in the warmth offeeling excited by her evident fondness and solicitude for Mr. Kendal. 

Miss Meadows was gaily dressed in youthful fashion, such as evidentlyhad set her off to advantage when she had been a bright, dark, handsome girl; but her hair was thin, her cheeks haggard, the colourhardened, and her forty years apparent, above all, in anuncomfortable furrow on the brow and round the mouth; her voice had asharp distressed tone that grated even in her lowest key, and thoughshe did not stammer, she could never finish a sentence, but madehalf-a-dozen disjointed commencements whenever she spoke. Albiniapitied her, and thought her nervous, for she was painfully assiduousin waiting on every one, scarcely sitting down for a minute beforeshe was sure that pepper, or pickle, or new bread, or stale bread, orsomething was wanted, and squeezing round the table to help some one, or to ring the bell every third minute, and all in a dress that had ateasing stiff silken rustle. She offered Mr. Kendal everything inthe shape of food, till he purchased peace by submitting to take ahard biscuit, while Albinia was not allowed her glass of water tillall manner of wines, foreign and domestic, had been tried upon her invain. 

Conversation was not easy. Gilbert was inquired after, and his auntspoke in her shrill, injured note, as she declared that she had doneher utmost to persuade him to have the tooth extracted, and began ahistory of what the dentist ought to have done five years ago. 

His grandmother softly pitied him, saying poor little Gibbie was sucha delicate boy, and required such careful treatment; and when Albiniahoped that he was outgrowing his ill-health, she was amused to findthat desponding compassion would have been more pleasing. 

There had been a transaction about a servant in her behalf: and MissMeadows insisted on hunting up a note, searching all about the room, and making her mother and Sophy move from the front of two table-drawers, a disturbance which Sophy did not take with such placid looks as didher grandmother. 

The name of the maid was Eweretta Dobson, at which there was ageneral exclamation. 

'I wonder what is the history of the name, ' said Albinia; 'it soundslike nothing but the diminutive of ewer. I hope she will not be thelittle pitcher with long ears. '

Mr. Kendal looked as much amused as he ever did, but no one else gavethe least token of so much as knowing what she meant, and she felt asif she had been making a foolish attempt at wit. 

'You need not call her so, ' was all that Mrs. Meadows said. 

'I do not like calling servants by anything but their true names, 'answered Albinia; 'it does not seem to me treating them with properrespect to change their names, as if we thought them too good forthem. It is using them like slaves. 

Lucy exclaimed, 'Why! grandmamma's Betty is really namedPhiladelphia. '

Albinia laughed, but was disconcerted by finding that she had reallygiven annoyance. 'I beg your pardon, ' she said. 'It is only a fancyof my own. I am afraid that I have many fancies for my friends tobear with. You see I have so fine a name of my own, that I have afellow-feeling for those under the same affliction; and I believesome servants like an alias rather than be teased for their finery, so I shall give Miss Eweretta her choice between that and hersurname. 

The old lady looked good-natured, and that matter blew over; but MissMeadows fell into another complication of pros and cons about writingfor the woman's character, looking miserably harassed whether sheshould write, or Mrs. Kendal, before she had been called upon. 

Albinia supposed that Mrs. Wolfe might call in the course of theweek; but this Miss Meadows did not know, and she embarked in so manyhalf speeches, and looked so mysterious and significant at hermother, that Albinia began to suspect that some dreadful truth wasbehind. 

'Perhaps, ' said the old lady, 'perhaps Mrs. Kendal might make itunderstood through you, my dear Maria, that she is ready to receivevisits. '

'I suppose they must be!' said Albinia. 

'You see, my dear, people would be most happy, but they do not knowwhether you have arrived. You have not appeared at church, as I maysay. '

'Indeed, ' said Albinia, much diverted by her new discoveries in therealms of etiquette, 'I was rather in a cupboard, I must allow. Ought we to have sailed up the aisle in state in the Grandisonpattern? Are you ready?' and she glanced up at her husband, but heonly half heard. 

'No, ' said Miss Meadows, fretfully; 'but you have not appeared as abride. The straw bonnet--you see people cannot tell whether you arenot incog, as yet--'

To refrain from laughing was impossible. 'My tarn cap, ' sheexclaimed; 'I am invisible in it! What shall I do? I fear I shallnever be producible, for indeed it is my very best, my veritablewedding-bonnet!'

Lucy looked as if she thought it not worth while to be married for nobetter a bonnet than that. 

'Absurdity!' said Mr. Kendal. 

If he would but have given a good hearty laugh, thought Albinia, whata consolation it would be! but she considered herself to have had alesson against laughing in that house, and was very glad when heproposed going home. He took a kind, affectionate leave of the oldlady, who again looked fondly in big face, and rejoiced in his havingrecovered his looks. 

As they arrived at home, Lucy announced that she was just going tospeak to Lizzie Osborn, and Sophy ran after her to a house of aboutthe same degree as their own, but dignified as Mount Lodge, becauseit stood on the hill side of the street, while Mr. Kendal's house wasfor more gentility called 'Willow Lawn. ' Gilbert was not to befound; but at four o'clock the whole party met at dinner, before theevening service. 

Gilbert could eat little, and on going back to the fire to roast hischeek instead of going to church, was told by his father, 'I cannothave this going on. You must go to Mr. Bowles directly afterbreakfast to-morrow, have the tooth drawn, and then go on to Mr. Salsted's. 

The tone was one that admitted of no rebellion. If Mr. Kendalinterfered little, his authority was absolute where he did interfere, and Albinia could only speak a few kind words of encouragement, butthe boy was vexed and moody, seemed half asleep when they came home, and went to bed as soon as tea was over. 

Sophy went to bed too, Mr. Kendal went to his study, and Albinia, after this day of novelty and excitement, drew her chair to the fire, and as Lucy was hanging wearily about, called her to her side, andmade her talk, believing that there was more use in studying thegirl's character than even in suggesting some occupation, though thatwas apparently the great want of the whole family on Sunday. 

Lucy's first confidence was that Gilbert had not been out alone, butwith that Archibald Tritton. Mr. Tritton had a great farm, and was asort of gentleman, and Gilbert was always after that Archy. Shethought it 'very undesirable, ' and Aunt Maria had talked to him aboutit, but he never listened to Aunt Maria. 

Albinia privately thought that it must be a severe penance to listento Aunt Maria, and took Gilbert's part. She supposed that he must bevery solitary; it must be a melancholy thing to be a twin left alone. 

'And Edmund, dear Edmund, was always so kind and so fond of Gilbert!'said Lucy. 'You would not have thought they were twins, Edmund wasso much the tallest and strongest. It seemed so odd that Gilbertshould have got over it, when he did not. Should you like to hearall about it, mamma?'

It was Albinia's great wish to lift that dark veil, and Lucy began, with as much seriousness and sadness as could co-exist with thesatisfaction and importance of having to give such a narration, andexciting emotion and pity. It was remarkable how she managed to makeherself the heroine of the story, though she had been sent out of thehouse, and had escaped the infection. She spoke in phrases thatshowed that she had so often told the story as to have a set form, caught from her elders, but still it had a deep and intrinsicinterest for the bride, that made her sit gazing into the fire, pressing Lucy's hand, and now and then sighing and shudderingslightly as she heard how there had been a bad fever prevailing inthat lower part of the town, and how the two boys were both unwellone damp, hot autumn morning, and Lucy dwelt on the escape it hadbeen that she had not kissed them before going to school. Sophy hadsickened the same day, and after the tedious three weeks, when fatherand mother were spent with attendance on the three, Edmund, afterlong delirium, had suddenly sunk, just as they had hopes of him; andthe same message that told Lucy of her brother's death, told her ofthe severe illness of both parents. 

The disease had done the work rapidly on the mother's exhaustedframe, and she was buried a week after her boy. Lucy had seen theprocession from the window, and thought it necessary to tell how shehad cried. 

Mr. Kendal's had been a long illness; the first knowledge of his losshad caused a relapse, and his recovery had long been doubtful. Assoon as the children were able to move, they were sent with MissMeadows to Ramsgate, and Lucy had joined them there. 

'The day before I went, I saw papa, ' she said. 'I had gone home forsome things that I was to take, and his room door was open, so he sawme on the stairs, and called me, for there was no fear of infectionthen. Oh, he was so changed! his hair all cut off, and his cheekshollow, and he was quite trembling, as he lay back on pillows in thegreat arm-chair. You can't think what a shock it was to me to seehim in such a state. He held out his arms, and I flung mine roundhis neck, and sobbed and cried. And he just said, so faintly, "Takeher away, Maria, I cannot bear it. " I assure you I was quitehysterical. '

'You must have wished for more self-command, ' said Albinia, disturbedby Lucy's evident pleasure in having made a scene. 

'Oh, but it was such a shock, and such a thing to see the house allempty and forlorn, with the windows open, and everything so still!Miss Belmarche cried too, and said she did not wonder my feelingsovercame me, and _she_ did not see papa. '

'Ah! Lucy, ' said Albinia, fervently, 'how we must try to make himhappy after all that he has gone through!'

'That is what grandmamma said when she got his letter. "I would beglad of anything, " she said, "that would bring back a smile to him. "And Aunt Maria said she had done her best for him, but he mustconsult his own happiness; and so I say. When people talk to me, Isay that papa is quite at liberty to consult his own happiness. '

'Thank you. '

Lucy did not understand the tone, and went on patronizing. 'And ifthey say you look younger than they expected, I don't object to thatat all. I had rather you were not as old as Aunt Maria, or MissBelmarche. '

'Who thinks me so young?'

'Oh! Aunt Maria, and grandmamma, and Mrs. Osborn, and all; but Idon't mind that, it is only Sophy who says you look like a girl. Aunt Maria says Sophy has an unmanageable temper. '

'Don't you think you can let me find that out for myself?'

'I thought you wanted me to tell you about everybody. '

'Ah! but tell me of the good in your brother and sister. '

'I don't know how, ' said Lucy. 'Gilbert is so tiresome, and so isSophy. I heard Mary telling Jane, "I'm sure the new missus will havea heavy handful of those two. "'

'And what of yourself?' said Albinia. 

'Oh! I don't know, ' said Lucy, modestly. 

Mr. Kendal came in, and as Albinia looked at his pensive brow, shewas oppressed by the thought of his sufferings in that drearyconvalescence. At night, when she looked from her window, the foghung white, like mildew over the pond, and she could not reasonherself out of a spectral haunting fancy that sickness lurked in theheavy, misty atmosphere. She dreamt of it and the four babies, started, awoke, and had to recall all her higher trust to enable hervigour to chase off the oppressive imagination. 

CHAPTER III. 

Fog greeted Mrs. Kendal's eyes as she rose, and she resolved to makean attack on the pond without loss of time. But Mr. Kendal wasabsorbed nearly all breakfast-time in a letter from India, containinga scrap in some uncouth character. As he finished his last cup oftea, he looked up and said, 'A letter from my old friend Penrose, ofBombay--an inscription in the Salsette caves. '

'Have you seen the Salsette caves?

'Yes. '

She was longing to hear about them, but his horse was announced. 

'You said you would be engaged in the morning while I ride out, Albinia?' he said, 'I shall return before luncheon. Gilbert, you hadbetter go at once to Mr. Bowles. I shall order your pony to be readywhen you come back. '

There was not a word of remonstrance, though the boy looked verydisconsolate, and began to murmur the moment his father had gone. Albinia, who had regarded protection at a dentist's one of theoffices of the head of a family, though dismayed at the task, toldGilbert that she would come with him in a moment. The girlsexclaimed that no one thought of going with him, and fearing she hadput an affront on his manliness, she asked what he would like, butcould get no answer, only when Lucy scolded him for lingering, hesaid, 'I thought _she_ was going with me. '

'Amiable, ' thought Albinia, as she ran up to put on her bonnet; 'butI suppose toothache puts people out of the pale of civilization. Andif he is thankless, is not that treating me more like a mother?'

Perhaps he had accepted her escort in hopes of deferring the evilhour, for he seemed discomfited to see her so quickly ready, and notgrateful to his sisters, who hurried them by saying that Mr. Bowleswould be gone out upon his rounds. 

Mr. Bowles was amazed at the sight of Mrs. Kendal, and so elaboratein compliments and assurances that Mrs. Bowles would do herself thehonour of calling, that Albinia, pitying Gilbert, called hisattention back. 

With him the apothecary was peremptory and facetious. 'He hadexpected that he should soon see him after his papa's return!' Andwith a 'soon be over, ' he set him down, and Albinia bravely stood adesperate wringing of her hand at the tug of war. She was glad shehad come, for the boy suffered a good deal, and was faint, and Mr. Bowles pronounced his mouth in no state for a ride to Tremblam. 

'I must go, ' said Gilbert, as they walked home, 'I wish papa wouldlisten to anything. '

'He would not wish you to hurt yourself. '

'When papa says a thing--' began Gilbert. 

'Well, Gilbert, you are quite right, and I hope you don't think Imean to teach you disobedience. But I do desire you, on my ownresponsibility, not to go and catch an inflammation in your jaw. I'll undertake papa. '

Gilbert at once became quite another creature. He discoursed somuch, that she had to make him restore the handkerchief to his mouth;he held open the gate, showed her a shoal of minnows, and tried topersuade her to come round the garden before going in, but sheclapped her hands at him, and hunted him back into the warm room, much impressed and delighted by his implicit obedience to his father. With Lucy and Sophy, his remaining seemed likewise to make a greatsensation; they looked at Mrs. Kendal and whispered, and wereevidently curious as to the result of her audacity. Albinia, who hadgrown up with her brother Maurice and cousin Frederick, was more usedto boys than to girls, and was already more at ease with her son thanher daughters. 

Gilbert lent a ready hand with hammer and chisel, and boxes wereopened, to the great delight and admiration of the girls. They wereall very happy and busy setting things to rights, but Albinia was indifficulty how to bestow her books. There was an unaccountablescarcity both of books and book-cases; none were to be seen exceptthat, in a chiffoniere in the drawing-room, there was a row in gildedbindings, chiefly Pope, Gray, and the like; and one which Albiniatook out had pages which stuck together, a little pale blue string, faded at the end, and in the garlanded fly-leaf the inscription, 'ToMiss Lucy Meadows, the reward of good conduct, December 20th, 1822. 'The book seemed rather surprised at being opened, and Albinia let itclose itself as Lucy said, 'Those are poor mamma's books, all theothers are in the study. Come in, and I'll show you. '

She threw open the door, and Albinia entered. The study was shadedwith a mass of laurels that kept out the sun, and made it look chilland sad, and the air in it was close. The round library-table wasloaded with desks, pocket-books, and papers, the mantelpiece wascovered with letters, and book-shelves mounted to the ceiling, filledwith the learned and the poetical of new and old times. 

Over the fireplace hung what it needed not Lucy's whisper to pointout, as 'Poor mamma's picture. ' It represented a very pretty girl, with dark eyes, brilliant colour, and small cherry mouth, painted inthe exaggerated style usually called 'ridiculously like. '

Albinia's first feeling was that there was nothing in herself thatcould atone for the loss of so fair a creature, and the thoughtbecame more oppressive as she looked at a niche in the wall, holdinga carved sandal-wood work-box, with a silver watch lying on it. 

'Poor Edmund's watch, ' said Lucy. 'It was given to him for a rewardjust before he was ill. '

Albinia tried to recover composure by reading the titles of thebooks. Suddenly, Lucy started and exclaimed, 'Come away. There heis!'

'Why come away?' said Albinia. 

'I would not have him find me there for all the world. '

In all her vexation and dismay, Albinia could not help thinking ofBluebeard's closet. Her inclination was to stay where she was, andtake her chance of losing her head, yet she felt as if she could notbear to be found invading a sanctuary of past recollections, and wasrelieved to find that it was a false alarm, though not relieved bythe announcement that Admiral and Mrs. Osborn and the Miss Osbornswere in the drawing-room. 

'Before luncheon--too bad!' she exclaimed, as she hurried upstairs towash off the dust of unpacking. 

Ere she could hurry down, there was another inundation streamingacross the hall, Mrs. Drury and three Miss Drurys, who, as sheremembered, when they began to kiss her, were some kind of cousins. 

There was talk, but Albinia could not give entire attention; she waswatching for Mr. Kendal's return, that she might guard Gilbert fromhis displeasure, and the instant she heard him, she sprang up, andflew into the hall. He could not help brightening at the eagerwelcome, but when she told him of Mr. Bowles' opinion, he lookedgraver, and said, 'I fear you must not always attach credit to allGilbert's reports. '

'Mr. Bowles told me himself that he must run no risk ofinflammation. '

'You saw Mr. Bowles?'

'I went with Gilbert. '

'You? I never thought of your imposing so unpleasant a task onyourself. I fear the boy has been trespassing on your kindness. '

'No, indeed, he never asked me, but--' with a sort of laugh to hidethe warmth excited by his pleased, grateful look, 'I thought it allin the day's work, only natural--'

She would have given anything to have had time to enjoy hisepanchement de coeur at those words, bit she was obliged to add, 'Alas! there's all the world in the drawing-room!'

'Who?'

'Osborns and Drurys. '

'Do you want me?'

'I ran away on the plea of calling you. '

'I'll never do so again, ' was her inward addition, as his countenancesettled into the accustomed fixed look of abstraction, and as anunwilling victim he entered the room with her, and the visitors were'dreadful enough' to congratulate him. 

Albinia knew that it must be so unpleasant to him, that she blushedup to the roots of her hair, and could not look at anybody. 

When she recovered, the first comers were taking leave, but thesecond set stayed on and on till past luncheon-time, and far past herpatience, before the room was at last cleared. 

Gilbert hurried in, and was received by his father with, 'You arevery much obliged to her!'

'Indeed I am, ' said Gilbert, in a winning, pleasant manner. 

'I don't want you to be, ' said Albinia, affectionately laying her armon his shoulder. 'And now for luncheon--I pitied you, poor fellow; Ithought you must have been famished. '

'Anything not to have all the Drurys at luncheon, ' said Gilbert, confidentially, 'I had begun to wish myself at Tremblam. '

'By the bye, ' said Mr. Kendal, waking as he sat down at the bottom ofthe table, 'how was it that the Drurys did not stay to luncheon?'

'Was that what they were waiting for?' exclaimed Albinia. 'Poorpeople, I had no notion of that. '

'They do have luncheon here in general, ' said Mr. Kendal, as if notknowing exactly how it came to pass. 

'O yes, ' said Lucy; 'Sarah Anne asked me whether we ate wedding-cakeevery day. '

'Poor Miss Sarah Anne!' said Albinia, laughing. 'But one cannot helpfeeling inhospitable when people come so unconscionably early, andcut up all one's morning. '

The door was again besieged by visitors, just as they were all goingout to make the round of the garden, and it was not till half-pastfour that the succession ceased, and Albinia was left to breathefreely, and remember how often Maurice had called her to order forintolerance of morning calls. 

'And not the only people I cared to see, ' she said, 'the Dusautoysand Nugents. But they have too much mercy to call the first day. '

Mr. Kendal looked as if his instinct were drawing him study-wards, but Albinia hung on his arm, and made him come into the garden. Though devoid of Winifred's gardening tastes, she was dismayed at theuntended look of the flower-beds. The laurels were too high, andseemed to choke the narrow space, and the turf owed its verdantappearance to damp moss. She had made but few steps before the watersquished under her feet, and impelled her to exclaim, 'What a pitythis pond should not be filled up!'

'Filled up!--'

'Yes, it would be so much less damp. One might drain it off into theriver, and then we should get rid of the fog. '

And she began actively to demonstrate the convenient slope, and thebeautiful flower-bed that might be made in its place. Mr. Kendalanswered with a few assenting sounds and complacent looks, andAlbinia, accustomed to a brother with whom to assent was to act, believed the matter was in train, and that pond and fever would beannihilated. 

The garden opened into a meadow with a causeway leading to a canalbank, where there was a promising country walk, but the cruelvisitors had left no time for exploring, and Albinia had to returnhome and hurry up her arrangements before there was space to turnround in her room--even then it was not what Winifred could have seenwithout making a face. 

Mr. Kendal had read aloud to his wife in the evening during the stayat the sea-side, and she was anxious not to let the habit drop. Heliked it, and read beautifully, and she thought it good for thechildren. She therefore begged him to read, catching him on the wayto his study, and coaxing him to stay no longer than to find a book. He brought Schlegel's Philosophy of History. She feared that it wasabove the young ones, but it was delightful to herself, and thecustom had better be established before it was perilled by attemptsto adapt it to the children. Lucy and Sophy seemed astonished anddispleased, and their whispers had to be silenced, Gilbert learnt hislessons apart. Albinia rallied her spirits, and insisted to herselfthat she did not feel discouraged. 

Monday had gone, or rather Albinia had been robbed of it byvisitors--now for a vigorous Tuesday. Her unpacking and her settingto rights were not half over, but as the surface was habitable, sheresolved to finish at her leisure, and sacrifice no more mornings ofstudy. 

So after she had lingered at the door, to delight Gilbert by admiringhis pony, she returned to the dining-room, where the girls wereloading a small table in the window with piles of books andexercises, and Lucy was standing, looking all eagerness to show offher drawings. 

'Yes, my dear, but first we had better read. I have been talking toyour papa, and we have settled that on Wednesdays and Fridays we willgo to church; but on these days we will begin by reading the Psalmsand Lessons. '

'Oh, ' said Lucy, 'we never do that, except when we are atgrandmamma's. '

'Pray are you too old or too young for it?' said Albinia. 

'We did it to please grandmamma, ' said Sophy. 

'Now you will do it to please me, ' said Albinia, 'if for no betterreason. Fetch your Bibles and Prayerbooks. '

'We shall never have time for our studies, I assure you, mamma, 'objected Lucy. 

'That is not your concern, ' said Albinia, her spirit rising at thegirls' opposition. 'I wish for obedience. '

Lucy went, Sophy leant against the table like a post. Albiniaregretted that the first shot should have been fired for such acause, and sat perplexing herself whether it were worse to give way, or to force the girls to read Holy Scripture in such a mood. 

Lucy came flying down with the four books in her hands, and beganofficiously opening them before her sister, and exhorting her not togive way to sullenness--she ought to like to read the Bible--which ofcourse made Sophy look crosser. The desire to establish herauthority conquered the scruple about reverence. Albinia set them toread, and suffered for it. Lucy road flippantly; Sophy in thehoarse, dull, dogged voice of a naughty boy. She did not dare toexpostulate, lest she should exasperate the tempers that she hadroused. 

'Never mind, ' she thought, 'when the institution is fixed, they willbe more amenable. '

She tried a little examination afterwards, but not one answer was tobe extracted from Sophy, and Lucy knew far less than the first classat Fairmead, and made her replies wide of the mark, with an air ofsatisfaction that nearly overthrew the young step-mother's patience. 

When Albinia took her Bible upstairs, she gave Sophy time to say whatLucy reported instantly on her entrance. 

'Dear me, mamma, here is Sophy declaring that you ought to be acharity-schoolmistress. You wont be angry with her, but it is sofunny!'

'If you were at my charity school, Lucy, ' said Albinia, 'the firstlesson I should give you would be against telling tales. '

Lucy subsided. 

Albinia turned to Sophy. 'My dear, ' she said, 'perhaps I pressedthis on when you were not prepared for it, but I have always beenused to think of it as a duty. '

Sophy made no answer, but her moody attitude relaxed, and Albiniatook comfort in the hope that she might have been gracious if she hadknown how to set about it. 

'I suppose Miss Belmarche is a Roman Catholic, ' she said, wishing toaccount for this wonderful ignorance, and addressing herself toSophy; but Lucy, whom she thought she had effectually put down, wasup again in a moment like a Jack-in-a-box. 

'O yes, but not Genevieve. Her papa made it his desire that sheshould be brought up a Protestant. Wasn't it funny? You knowGenevieve is Madame Belmarche's grand-daughter, and Mr. Durant was adancing-master. '

'Madame Belmarche's father and brother were guillotined, ' continuedSophy. 

'Ah! then she is an emigrant?'

'Yes. Miss Belmarche has always kept school here. Our own mamma, and Aunt Maria went to school to her, and Miss Celeste Belmarchemarried Mr. Durant, a dancing-master--she was French teacher in aschool in London where he taught, and Madame Belmarche did notapprove, for she and her husband were something very grand in France, so they waited and waited ever so long, and when at last they didmarry, they were quite old, and she died very soon; and they say henever was happy again, and pined away till he really did die ofgrief, and so Genevieve came to her grandmamma to be brought up. '

'Poor child! How old is she?'

'Fifteen, ' said Lucy. 'She teaches in the school. She is not at allpretty, and such a queer little thing. '

'Was her father French?'

'No, ' said Sophy. 

'Yes, ' said Lucy. 'You know nothing about it, Sophy. He was French, but of the Protestant French sort, that came to England a great manyyears ago, when they ran away from the Sicilian Vespers, or the Edictof Nantes, I don't remember which; only the Spitalfields weavers havesomething to do with it. However, at any rate Genevieve has gotsomething in a drawer up in her own room that she is very secretabout, and wont show to anybody. '

'I think it is something that somebody was killed with, ' said Sophy, in a low voice. 

'Dear me, if it is, I am sure it is quite wicked to keep it. I shallbe quite afraid to go into her room, and you know I slept there allthe time of the fever. '

'It did not hurt you, ' said Sophy. 

Albinia had been strongly interested by the touching facts, sountouchingly narrated, and by the characteristic account of theHuguenot emigration, but it suddenly occurred to her that she waspromoting gossip, and she returned to business. Lucy showed off herattainments with her usual self-satisfaction. They were what mightbe expected from a second-rate old-fashioned young ladies' school, where nothing was good but the French pronunciation. She wasevidently considered a great proficient, and her glib mediocrity waseven more disheartening than the ungracious carelessness or dulness--there was no knowing which--that made her sister figure wretchedly inthe examination. However, there was little time--the door-bell rangat a quarter to twelve, and Mrs. Wolfe was in the drawing-room. 

'I told you so, ' whispered Lucy, exultingly. 

'This is unbearable, ' cried Albinia. 'I shall give notice that I amalways engaged in the morning. '

She desired each young lady to work a sum in her absence, and leftthem to murmur, if they were so disposed. Perhaps it was Lucy'sspeech that made her inflict the employment; at any rate, her spiritwas not as serene as she could have desired. 

Mr. Kendal was quite willing that she should henceforth shut her dooragainst company in the morning; that is to say, he bowed his headassentingly. She was begging him to take a walk with her, when, atanother sound of the bell, he made a precipitate retreat into hisstudy. The visitors were the Belmarche family. The old lady wasdark and withered, small, yet in look and air, with a certainnobility and grandeur that carried Albinia back in a moment to thedays of hoops and trains, of powder and high-heeled shoes, and madeher feel that the sweeping courtesy had come straight from the daysof Marie Antoinette, and that it was an honour and distinctionconferred by a superior--superior, indeed, in all the dignity of age, suffering, and constancy. 

Albinia blushed, and took her hand with respect very unlike thepatronizing airs of Bayford Bridge towards 'poor old MadameBelmarche, ' and with downcast eyes, and pretty embarrassment, heardthe stately compliments of the ancien regime. 

Miss Belmarche was not such a fine specimen of Sevres porcelain asher mother. She was a brown, dried, small woman, having lost, ornever possessed, her country's taste in dress, and with a rustybonnet over the tight, frizzly curls of her front, too thin and tooscantily robed to have any waist, and speaking English too well forthe piquant grace of her mother's speech. Poor lady! born an exile, she had toiled, and struggled for a whole lifetime to support hermother; but though care had worn her down, there was still vivacityin her quick little black eyes, and though her teeth were of adreadful colour, her laugh was so full of life and sweetness, thatAlbinia felt drawn towards her in a moment. 

Silent and demure, plainly dressed in an old dark merino, and awhite-ribboned faded bonnet, sat a little figure almost behind hergrandmother. Her face had the French want of complexion, but theeyes were of the deepest, most lustrous hue of grey, almost as darkas the pupils, and with the softness of long dark eyelashes--beautifuleyes, full of light and expression--and as she moved towardsthe table, there was a finish and delicacy about the whole formand movements, that made her a most pleasing object. 

But Albinia could not improve her acquaintance, for in flowed anotherparty of visitors, and Madame curtsied herself out again, Albiniavolunteering that she would soon come to see her, and being answered, 'You will do me too much honour. '

Another afternoon devoured by visitors! Every one seemed to havecome except the persons who would have been most welcome, Mr. Dusautoy, and Winifred's friends, the Nugents. 

When, at four o'clock, she had shaken hands with the last guest, shegave a hearty yawn, jumped up and shook herself, as she exclaimed, 'There! There! that is done! I wonder whether your papa would comeout now?'

'He is in his study, ' said the girls. 

Albinia thought of knocking and calling at the door, but somehow itseemed impossible, and she decided on promenading past his window toshow that she was ready for him. But alas! those evergreens! Shecould not see in, and probably he could not see out. 

'Ha!' cried Lucy, as they pursued their walk into the kitchen garden, 'here are some asparagus coming up. Grandmamma always has our firstasparagus. '

Albinia was delighted to find such an opening. Out came her knife--they would cut the heads and take them up at once; but when thetempting white-stalked, pink-tipped bundle had been made up and putinto a basket, a difficulty arose. 

'I'll call the boy to take it, ' said Lucy. 

'What, when we are going ourselves?' said Albinia. 

'Oh! but we can't. '

'Why? Do you think we shall break down under the weight?'

'O no, but people will stare. '

'Why--what should they stare at?'

'It looks _so_ to carry a basket--'

Albinia burst into one of her merriest peals of laughing. 

'Not carry a basket! My dear, I have looked _so_ all the days of mylife. Bayford must endure the spectacle, so it may as well begin atonce. '

'But, dear mamma--'

'I'm not asking you to carry it. O no, I only hope you don't thinkit too ungenteel to walk with me. But the notion of calling a boyaway from his work, to carry a couple of dozen asparagus when anable-bodied woman is going that way herself!'

Albinia was so tickled that she could hardly check herself, even whenshe saw Lucy looking distressed and hurt, and little laughs wouldbreak out every moment as she beheld the young lady keeping aloof, asif ashamed of her company, turning towards the steep church steps, willing at least to hide the dreadful sight from the High Street. 

Just as they had entered the narrow alley, they heard a hasty tread, and almost running over them with his long strides, came Mr. Dusautoy. He brought himself up short, just in time, and exclaimed, 'I beg your pardon--Mrs. Kendal, I believe. Could you be kind enoughto give me a glass of brandy?'

Albinia gave a great start, as well she might. 

'I was going to fetch one, ' quickly proceeded Mr. Dusautoy, 'but yourhouse is nearer. A poor man--there--just come home--been on thetramp for work--quite exhausted--' and he pointed to one of thecottages. 

'I'll fetch it at once, ' cried Albinia. 

'Thank you, ' he said, as they crossed the street. 'This poor fellowhas had nothing all day, has walked from Hadminster--just got home, sank down quite worn out, and there is nothing in the house but drybread. His wife wants something nearly as much as he does. '

In the excitement, Albinia utterly forgot all scruples about'Bluebeard's closet. ' She hurried into the house, and made but onedash, standing before her astonished husband's dreamy eyes, exclaiming, 'Pray give me the key of the cellaret; there's a poor manjust come home, fainting with exhaustion, Mr. Dusautoy wants somebrandy for him. '

Like a man but half awake, obeying an apparition, Mr. Kendal put hishand into his pocket and gave her the key. She was instantly openingthe cellaret, seeking among the bottles, and asking questions all thetime. She proposed taking a jug of the kitchen-tea then inoperation, and Mr. Dusautoy caught at the idea, so that poor Lucybeheld the dreadful spectacle of the vicar bearing a can full ofsteaming tea, and Mrs. Kendal a small cup with the 'spirituousliquor. ' What was the asparagus to this?

Albinia told her to go on to Mrs. Meadows', and that she should soonfollow. She intended to have gone the moment that she had carried inthe cup, leaving Mr. Dusautoy in the cottage, but the poor tremblingfrightened wife needed woman's sympathy and soothing, and she waitedto comfort her, and to see the pair more able to enjoy the meeting, in their tidy, but bare and damp-looking cottage. She promised brothfor the morrow, and took her leave, the vicar coming away at the sametime. 

'Thank you, ' he said, warmly, as they came out, and turned to mountthe hill together. 

'May I go and call on them again?'

'It will be very kind in you. Poor Simkins is a steady, good sort offellow, but a clumsy workman, down-hearted, and with poor health, andthings have been untoward with him. '

'People, who do not prosper in the world are not always the worst, 'said Albinia. 

'No, indeed, and these are grateful, warm-hearted people that youwill like, if you can get over the poor woman's lackadaisical manner. But you are used to all that, ' he added, smiling. 'I see you knowwhat poor folk are made of. '

'I have been living among them nearly all my days, ' said Albinia. 'Ihope you will give me something to do, I should be quite forlornwithout it;' and she looked up to his kind, open face, as much athome with him as if she had known, him for years. 

'Fanny--my wife--shall find work for you, ' he said. 'You must excuseher calling on you, she is never off the sofa, but--' And what abright look he gave! as much as to say that his wife _on_ the sofawas better than any one else _off_. 'I was hoping to call some ofthese afternoons, ' he continued, 'but I have had little time, andFanny thought your door was besieged enough already. '

'Thank you, ' said Albinia; 'I own I thought it was your kindness inleaving me a little breathing time. And would Mrs. Dusautoy be ableto see me if I were to call?'

'She would be delighted. Suppose you were to come in at once. '

'I wish I could, but I must go on to Mrs. Meadows'. If I were tocome to-morrow?'

'Any time--any time, ' he said. 'She is always at home, and she hasbeen much better since we came here. We were too much in the town atLauriston. '

Mr. Dusautoy, having a year ago come out of the diocese where hadbeen Albinia's home, they had many common friends, and plunged into'ecclesiastical intelligence, ' with a mutual understanding of thetopics most often under discussion, that made Albinia quite in herelement. 'A great Newfoundland dog of a man in size, andcountenance, and kindness, ' thought she. 'If his wife be worthy ofhim, I shall reck little of all the rest. '

Her tread the gayer for this resumption of old habits, she proceededto Mrs. Meadows', where the sensation created by her poor littlebasket justified Lucy's remonstrance. There were regrets, andassurances that the girl could have come in a moment, and that sheneed not have troubled herself, and her laughing declarations that itwas no trouble were disregarded, except that the old lady said, ingentle excuse to her daughter, that Mrs. Kendal had always lived inthe country, where people could do as they pleased. 

'I mean to do as I please here, ' said Albinia, laughing; but thespeech was received with silent discomfiture that made her heartilyregret it. She disdained to explain it away; she was beginning tohold Mrs. And Miss Meadows too cheap to think it worth while. 

'Well, ' said Mrs. Meadows, as if yielding up the subject, 'things maybe different from what they were in my time. '

'Oh! mamma--Mrs. Kendal--I am sure--' Albinia let Maria flounder, butshe only found her way out of the speech with 'Well! and is not itthe most extraordinary!--Mr. Dusautoy--so rude--'

'I should not wonder if you found me almost as extraordinary as Mr. Dusautoy, ' said Albinia. 

Why would Miss Meadows always nettle her into saying exactly thewrong thing, so as to alarm and distress the old lady? That want ofcomprehension of playfulness was a strangely hard trial. She turnedto Mrs. Meadows and tried to reassure her by saying, 'You know I havebeen always in the clerical line myself, so I naturally take the partof the parson. '

'Yes, my dear, ' said Mrs. Meadows. 'I dare say Mr, Dusautoy is avery good man, but I wish he would allow his poor delicate wife morebutcher's meat, and I don't think it looks well to see the vicaragewithout a man-servant. '

Albinia finally made her escape, and while wondering whether sheshould ever visit that house without tingling with irritation withherself and with the inmates, Lucy exclaimed, 'There, you see I wasright. Grandmamma and Aunt Maria were surprised when I told themthat you said you were an able-bodied woman. '

What would not Albinia have given for Winifred to laugh with her?What to do now she did not know, so she thought it best not to hear, and to ask the way to a carpenter's shop to order some book-shelves. 

She was more uncomfortable after she came home, for by the soundswhen Mr. Kendal next emerged from his study, she found that he hadlocked himself in, to guard against further intrusion. And when sheoffered to return to him the key of the cellaret, he quietly repliedthat he should prefer her retaining it, --not a formidable answer initself, but one which, coupled with the locking of the door, provedto her that she might do anything rather than invade his privacy. 

Now Maurice's study was the thoroughfare of the household, the placefor all parish preparations unpresentable in the drawing-room, andAlbinia was taken by surprise. She grew hot and cold. Had she doneanything wrong? Could he care for her if he could lock her out?

'I will not be morbid, I will not be absurd, ' said she to herself, though the tears stood in her eyes. 'Some men do not like to berushed in upon! It may be only habit. It may have been needfulhere. It is base to take petty offences, and set up doubts. '

And Mr. Kendal's tender manner when they were again together, hisgentle way of addressing her, and a sort of shy caress, proved thathe was far from all thought of displeasure; nay, he might berepenting of his momentary annoyance, though he said nothing. 

Albinia went to inquire after the sick man at her first leisuremoment, and while talking kindly to the wife, and hearing hertroubles, was surprised at the forlorn rickety state of the building, the broken pavement, damp walls, and door that would not shut, because the frame had sunk out of the perpendicular. 

'Can't you ask your landlord to do something to the house?'

'It is of no use, ma'am, Mr. Pettilove never will do nothing. Perhaps if you would be kind enough to say a word to him, ma'am--'

'Mr. Pettilove, the lawyer? I'll try if Mr. Kendal can say anythingto him. It really is a shame to leave a house in this condition. '

Thanks were so profuse, that she feared that she was supposed topossess some power of amelioration. The poor woman even insisted onconducting her up a break-neck staircase to see the broken ceiling, whence water often streamed in plentifully from the roof. 

Her mind full of designs against the cruel landlord, she speeded upthe hill, exhilarated by each step she took into the fresh air, tothe garden-gate, which she was just unhasping when the hearty voiceof the Vicar was heard behind her. 'Mrs. Kendal! I told Fanny youwould come. '

Instead of taking her to the front door he conducted her across asloping lawn towards a French window open to the bright afternoonsunshine. 

'Here she is, here is Mrs. Kendal!' he said, sending his voice beforehim, as they came in sight of the pretty little drawing-room, wherethrough the gay chintz curtains, she saw the clear fire shining uponhalf-a-dozen school girls, ranged opposite to a couch. 'Ah!' as heperceived them, 'shall I take her for a turn in the garden while youfinish your lesson?'

'One moment, if you please. I did not know it was so late, ' and aface as bright as all the rest was turned towards the window. 

'Ah! give her her scholars, and she never knows how time passes, 'said Mr. Dusautoy. 'But step this way, and I'll show you the bestview in Bayford. ' He took her up a step or two, to a little turfedmound, where there was a rustic seat commanding the whole exquisiteview of river, vale, and woodland, with the church tower rising inthe foreground. The wind blew pleasantly, chasing the shadows of theclouds across the open space. Albinia was delighted to feel it fanher brow, and her eager exclamations contented Mr. Dusautoy. 'Yes, 'he said, 'it was all Fanny's notion. She planned it all last summerwhen I took her round the garden. It is wonderful what an eye shehas! I only hope when the dry weather comes, that I shall be able toget her up there to enjoy it. '

On coming down they found that Mrs. Dusautoy had dismissed her class, and come out to a low, long-backed sloping garden-seat at the window. She was very little and slight, a mere doll in proportion to hergreat husband, who could lift her as easily and tenderly as a baby, paying her a sort of reverential deference and fond admiration thatrendered them a beautiful sight, in such full, redoubled measure washis fondness repaid by the little, clever, fairy-looking woman, withher playful manner, high spirits, keen wit, and the active habitsthat even confirmed invalidism could not destroy. She had smalldeadly white hands, a fair complexion, that varied more than was goodfor her, pretty, though rather sharp and irregular features, andhazel eyes dancing with merriment, and face and figure at some yearsabove thirty, would have suited a girl of twenty. To see Mr. Dusautoy bringing her footstools, shawls, and cushions, and toremember the accusation of starvation, was almost irresistiblyludicrous. 

'Now, John, you had better have been giving Mrs. Kendal a chair allthis time. '

'Mrs. Kendal will excuse, ' said Mr. Dusautoy, as he brought her aseat. 

'Mrs. Kendal has excused, ' said Mrs. Dusautoy, bursting into a merryfit of laughter. 'Oh, I never heard anything more charming than yourintroduction! I beg your pardon, but I laughed last evening till Iwas worn out, and waked in the night laughing again. '

It was exhilarating to find that any one laughed at Bayford, andAlbinia partook of the mirth with all her heart. 'Never was anaddress more gratifying to me!' she said. 

'It was like him! so unlike Bayford! So bold a venture!' continuedMrs. Dusautoy amid peals of laughter. 

'What is there to laugh at?' said Mr. Dusautoy, putting on a lookbetween merriment and simplicity. 'What else could I have done? Ishould have done the same whoever I had met. '

'Ah! now he is afraid of your taking it as too great a compliment!To do him justice I believe he would, but the question is, whatanswer he would have had. '

'Nobody could have refused--' began Albinia. 

'Oh!' cried Mrs. Dusautoy. 'Little you know Bayford. 

'Fanny! Fanny! this is too bad. Madame Belmarche--'

'Would have had nothing but eau sucre! No, John, decidedly you andSimkins fell upon your legs, and you bad better take credit for your"admirable sagacity. "'. 

'I like the people, ' said Albinia, 'but they never can be well whilethey live in such a shocking place. It is quite a disgrace toBayford. '

'It is in a sad state, ' said Mr. Dusautoy. 

'I know I should like to set my brother upon that Mr. Pettilove, whothey say will do nothing, ' exclaimed Albinia. 

The Vicar was going to have said something, but a look from his wifechecked him. Albinia was sorry for it, as she detected a look ofsuppressed amusement on Mrs. Dusautoy's face. 'I mean to ask Mr. Kendal what can be done, ' she said; 'and in the meantime, to descendfrom what we can't do to what we can. Mr. Dusautoy told me to cometo you for orders. '

'And I told Mr. Dusautoy that I should give you none. '

'Oh! that is hard. '

'If you could have heard him! He thought he _had_ got a working ladyat last, and he would have had no mercy upon you. One would haveimagined that Mr. Kendal had brought you here for his sole behoof!'

'Then I shall look to you, Mr. Dusautoy. '

'No, I believe she is quite right, ' he said. 'She says you ought toundertake nothing till yon have had time to see what leisure you haveto give us. '

'Nay, I have been used to think the parish my business, home myleisure. '

'Yes, ' said Mrs. Dusautoy, 'but then you were the womankind of theclergy, now you are a laywoman. '

'I think you have work at home, ' said the Vicar. 

'Work, but not work _enough!_' cried Albinia. 'The girls will helpme; only tell me what I may do. '

'I say, "what you can, "' said Mrs. Dusautoy. 'You see before you asingle-handed man. Only two of the ladies here can be calledcoadjutors, one being poor little Genevieve Durant, the other thebookseller's daughter, Clarissa Richardson, who made all the rest flyoff. All the others do what good they mean to do according to theirown sweet will, free and independent women, and we can't have anydistrict system, so I think you can only do what just comes to hand. '

Most heartily did Albinia undertake all that Mrs. Dusautoy would lether husband assign to her. 

'Yes, John is a strong temptation, ' said the bright little invalid, 'but you must let Mrs. Kendal find out in a month's time whether shehas work enough. '

'I could think my wise brother Maurice had been cautioning you, ' saidAlbinia, taking leave as of an old friend, for indeed she felt moreat home with Mrs. Dusautoy than with any acquaintance she had made inBayford. 

Albinia told her husband of the state of the cottages, and railed atMr. Pettilove much to her own satisfaction. Mr. Kendal answered, 'Hewould see about it, ' an answer of which Albinia had yet to learn theimport. 

CHAPTER IV. 

There are some characters so constituted, that of them the oldproverb, that Love is blind, is perfectly true; they can see noimperfection in the mind or body of those dear to them. There areothers in whom the strongest affections do not destroy clearness ofvision, who see their friends on all sides, and perceive their faultsand foibles, without loving them the less. 

Albinia Kendal was a person of the latter description. It mightalmost be called her temptation, that her mind beheld all that camebefore it in a clear, and a humorous light, such as only adisposition overflowing with warm affection and with the energy ofkindness, could have prevented from bordering upon censoriousness. She had imagination, but it was not such as to make an illusion ofthe present, or to interfere with her almost satirical good sense. Happily, religion and its earthly manifestation--charity regulatedher, taught her to fear to judge lest she should be judged, strengthened her naturally fond affections, and tempered the keennessthat disappointment might soon have turned to sourness. The tongue, the temper, and the judgment knew their own tendencies, and a guardwas set over them; and if the sentinel were ever torpid or deceived, repentance paid the penalty. 

She had not long seen her husband at home before she hadinvoluntarily completed her view of his character. Nature must havedesigned him for a fellow of a college, where, apart from all cares, he might have collected fragments of forgotten authors, andimmortalized his name by some edition of a Greek Lyric poet, known byfour poems and a half, and two-thirds of a line quoted somewhereelse. In such a controversy, lightened by perpetually polishedpoems, by a fair amount of modern literature, select collegefriendships, and methodical habits, Edmund Kendal would have been inhis congenial element, lived and died, and had his portrait hung upas one of the glories of his college. 

But he had been carried off from school, before he had done more thanprove his unusual capacity. All his connexions were Indian, and hisfather, who had not seen him since his earliest childhood, offeredhim no choice but an appointment in the civil service. He had onestimulus; he had seen Lucy Meadows in the radiant glory of girlishbeauty, and had fastened on her all a poet's dreams, deepening andbecoming more fervid in the recesses of a reserved heart, which didnot easily admit new sensations. That stimulus carried him outcheerfully to India, and quickened his abilities, so that he exertedhimself sufficiently to obtain a lucrative situation early in life. He married, and his household must have been on the German system, all the learning on one side, all the domestic cares on the other. The understanding and refinement wanting in his wife, he believed tobe wanting in all women. As resident at a small remote native courtin India, he saw no female society such as could undeceive him; andsubsequently his Bayford life had not raised his standard ofwomankind. A perfect gentleman, his superiority was his own work, rather than that of station or education, and so he had never missedintercourse with really ladylike or cultivated, female minds, expected little from wife, or daughters, or neighbours; had a fewlearned friends, but lived within himself. He had acquired acompetence too soon, and had the great misfortune of property withoutduties to present themselves obviously. He had nothing to do but toindulge his naturally indolent scholarly tastes, which, directed asthey had been to Eastern languages, had even less chance of sympathyamong his neighbours than if they had been classical. Alwaysreserved, and seldom or never meeting with persons who could conversewith him, he had lapsed into secluded habits, and learnt to shuthimself up in his study and exclude every one, that he might have atleast a refuge from the gossip and petty cares that reignedeverywhere else. So seldom was anything said worth his attention, that he never listened to what was passing, and had learnt to say'very well'--'I'll see about it, ' without even knowing what was saidto him. 

But though his wife had been no companion, the illusion had neverdied away, he had always loved her devotedly, and her loss hadshattered all his present rest and comfort; as entirely as the deathof his son had taken from him hope and companionship. 

What a home it must have been, with Lucy reigning over it in her pertself-sufficiency, Gilbert and Sophy running riot and squabbling, andMaria Meadows coming in on them with her well-meant worries andpersecutions!

When taken away from the scene of his troubles, his spirits revived;afraid to encounter his own household alone, he had thought Albiniathe cure for everything. But at home, habit and association hadproved too strong for her presence--the grief, which he had tried toleave behind, had waited ready to meet him on the threshold, and thevery sense that it was a melancholy welcome added to his depression, and made him less able to exert himself. The old sorrows haunted thewalls of the house, and above all the study, and tarried not inseizing on their unresisting victim. Melancholy was in his nature, his indolence gave it force, and his habits were almost ineffaceable, and they were habits of quiet selfishness, formed by a resolute, though inert will, and fostered by an adoring wife. A youth spent inIndia had not given him ideas of responsibilities beyond his ownfamily, and his principles, though sound, had not expanded the viewsof duty with which he had started in life. 

It was a positive pleasure to Albinia to discover that there had beenan inefficient clergyman at Bayford before Mr. Dusautoy, and to knowthat during half the time that the present vicar had held the living, Mr. Kendal had been absent, so that his influence had had no time towork. She began to understand her line of action. It must be hereffort, in all loving patience and gentleness, to raise her husband'sspirits and rouse his faculties; to make his powers available for thegood of his fellow-creatures, to make him an active and happy man, and to draw him and his children together. This was truly a task tomake her heart throb high with hope and energy. Strong and brave wasthat young heart, and not self-confident--the difficulty made heronly the more hopeful, because she saw it was her duty. She wassecure of her influence with him. If he did exclude her from hisstudy, he left her supreme elsewhere, and though she would have giventhe world that their sovereignty might be a joint one _everywhere_, still she allowed much for the morbid inveterate habit of dreadingdisturbance. When he began by silence and not listening, she couldalways rouse him, and give him animation, and he was so muchsurprised and pleased whenever she entered into any of his pursuits, that she had full hope of drawing him out. 

One day when the fog, instead of clearing off had turned to violentrain, Albinia had been out on parish work, and afterwards enliveningold Mrs. Meadows by dutifully spending an hour with her, while Mariawas nursing a nervous headache--she had been subject to headachesever since. . . An ominous sigh supplied the rest. 

But all the effect of Albinia's bright kindness was undone, when thegrandmother learnt that Gilbert was gone to his tutor, and would haveto come home in the rain, and she gave such an account of hisexceeding delicacy, that Albinia became alarmed, and set off at oncethat she might consult his father about sending for him. 

Her opening of the hall door was answered by Mr. Kendal emerging fromhis study. He was looking restless and anxious, came to meet her, and uncloaked her, while he affectionately scolded her for being soventuresome. She told him where she had been, and he smiled, saying, 'You are a busy spirit! But you must not be too imprudent. '

'Oh, nothing hurts me. It is poor Gilbert that I am anxious about. '

'So am I. Gilbert has not a constitution fit for exposure. I wishhe were come home. '

'Could we not send for him? Suppose we sent a fly. '

He was consenting with a pleased smile, when the door opened, andthere stood the dripping Gilbert, completely wet through, pale andchilled, with his hair plastered down, and his coat stuck all overwith the horse's short hair. 

'You must go to bed at once, Gilbert, ' said his father. 'Are youcold?'

'Very. It was such a horrid driving wind, and I rode so fast, ' saidGilbert; violently shivering, as they helped to pull him out of hisgreat coat; he put his hand to his mouth, and said that his faceached. Mr. Kendal was very anxious, and Albinia hurried the boy upto bed, and meantime ordered quickly a basin of the soup preparingfor dinner, warmed some worsted socks at the fire, and ran upstairswith them. 

He seemed to have no substance in him; he had hardly had energy toundress himself, and she found him with his face hidden on thepillow, shivering audibly, and actually crying. She was aghast. 

The boys with whom she had been brought up, would never have givenway so entirely without resistance; but between laughing, cheering, scolding, covering him up close, and rubbing his hands with her own, she comforted him, so that he could be grateful and cheerful when hisfather himself came up with the soup. Albinia noticed a sort ofshudder pass over Mr. Kendal as he entered, and he stood close byGilbert, turning his back on everything else, while he watched theboy eat the soup, as if restored by every spoonful. 'That was a goodthought, ' was his comment to his wife, and the look of gratitudebrought a flush of pleasure into her cheek. 

Of all the dinners, this was the most pleasant; he was more gentleand affectionate, and she made him tell her about the Persian poets, and promise to show her some specimens of the Rose Garden of Saadi--shehad never before been so near having his pursuits opened to her. 

'What a favourite Gilbert is!' Lucy said to Sophia, as Albinialighted a candle and went up to his room. 

'He makes such a fuss, ' said Sophy. 'What is there in being wetthrough to cry about?'

Albinia heard a little shuffle as she opened the door, and Gilbertpushed a book under his pillow. She asked him what he had beenreading. 'Oh, ' he said, 'he had not been doing it long, for theflickering of the candle hurt his eyes. '

'Yes, you had better not, ' said Albinia, moving the flaring light toa less draughty part of the dingy whitewashed attic. 'Or shall Iread to you?'

'Are you come to stay with me?' cried the boy, raising himself up tolook after her, as she moved about the room and stood looking fromthe window over the trees at the water meadows, now flooded into alake, and lighted by the beams of a young moon. 

'I can stay till your father is ready for tea, ' said Albinia, comingnearer. 'Let me see whether your hands are hot. '

She found her own hand suddenly clasped, and pressed to his lips, andthen, as if ashamed, he turned his face away; nor would she betrayher pleasure in it, but merely said, 'Shall I go on with your book!'

'No, ' said he, wearily turning his reddened cheek to the other side. 'I only took it because it is so horrid lying here thinking. '

'I am very sorry to hear it. Do you know, Gibbie, that it is saidthere is nothing more lamentable than for a man not to like to havehis own thoughts for his company, ' said she, gaily. 

'Ah! but--!' said Gilbert. 'If I lie here alone, I'm always lookingout there, ' and he pointed to the opposite recess. She looked, butsaw nothing. 'Don't you know?' he said. 

'Edmund?' she asked. 

He grasped her hands in both his own. 'Aye! Ned used to sleepthere. I always look for him there. '

'Do you mean that you would rather have another room? I would manageit directly. '

'O no, thank you, I like it for some things. Take the candle--lookby the shutter--cut out in the wood. '

The boys' scoring of 'E. & G. K. , ' was visible there. 

'Papa has taken all be could of Edmund's, ' said Gilbert, 'but hecould not take that! No, I would not have any other room if you wereto give me the best in the house. '

'I am sure not! But, my dear, considering what Edmund was, surelythey should be gentle, happy thoughts that the room should give you. '

He shuddered, and presently said, 'Do you know what?' and paused;then continued, with an effort, getting tight hold of her hand, 'Justbefore Edmund died--he lay out there--I lay here--he sat up all whitein bed, and he called out, clear and loud, "Mamma, Gilbert"--I sawhim--and then--he was dead! And you know mamma did die--and I'm sureI shall!' He had worked himself into a trembling fit, hid his faceand sobbed. 

'But you have not died of the fever. '

'Yes--but I know it means that I shall die young! I am sure it does!It was a call! I heard Nurse say it was a call!'

What was to be done with such a superstition? Albinia did not thinkit would be right to argue it away. It might be in truth a warningto him to guard his ways--a voice from the twin-brother, to be withhim through life. She knelt down by him, and kissed his forehead. 

'Dear Gilbert, ' she said, 'we all shall die. '

'Yes, but I shall die young. '

'And if you should. Those are happy who die young. How much painyour baby-brother and sisters have missed! How happy Edmund is now!'

'Then you really think it meant that I shall'' he cried, tremblingly. 'O don't! I can't die!'

'Your brother called on what he loved best, ' said Albinia. 'It maymean nothing. Or rather, it may mean that your dear twin-brother iswatching for you, I am sure he is, to have you with him, for whatmakes your mortal life, however long, seem as nothing. It was a callto you to be as pure on earth as he is in heaven. O Gilbert, how goodyou should be!'

Gilbert did not know whether it frightened him or soothed him to seehis superstition treated with respect--neither denied, nor reasonedaway. But the ghastliness was not in the mere fear that death mightnot be far off. 

The pillow had turned a little on one side--Albinia tried to smoothit--the corner of a book peeped out. It was a translation of TheThree Musqueteers, one of the worst and most fascinating of Dumas'romances. 

'You wont tell papa!' cried Gilbert, raising himself, in far morereal and present terror than he had previously shown. 

'How did you get it? Whose is it?'

'It is my own. I bought it at Richardson's. It is very funny. Butyou wont tell papa? I never was told not; indeed I was not. '

'Now, Gilbert dear, will you tell me a few things? I do only wishwhat is good for you. Why don't you wish that papa should hear ofthis book?'

Gilbert writhed himself. 

'You know he would not like it?'

'Then why did you take to reading it?'

'Oh!' cried the boy, 'if you only did know how stupid and howmiserable it has been! More than half myself gone, and Sophy alwaysglum, and Lucy always plaguing, and Aunt Maria always being atorment, you would not wonder at one's doing anything to forget it!'

'Yes, but why do what you knew to be wrong?'

'Nobody told me not. '

'Disobedience to the spirit, then, if not to the letter. It was notthe way to be happier, my poor boy, nor nearer to your brother andmother. '

'Things didn't use to be stupid when Ned was there!' sobbed Gilbert, bursting into a fresh flood of tears. 

'Ah! Gilbert, I grieved most of all for _you_ when first I heardyour story, before I thought I should ever have anything to do withyou, ' said Albinia, hanging over him fondly. 'I always thought itmust be so forlorn to be a twin left solitary. But it is sadderstill than I knew, if grief has made you put yourself farther fromhim instead of nearer. '

'I shall be good again now that I have you, ' said Gilbert, as helooked up into that sweet face. 

'And you will begin by making a free confession to your father, andgiving up the book. '

'I don't see what I have to confess. He would be so angry, and henever told me not. Oh! I cannot tell him. '

She felt that this was not the right way to begin a reformation, andyet she feared to press the point, knowing that the one was thoughtsevere, the other timid. 

'At least you will give up the book, ' she said. 

'O dear! if you would let me see whether d'Artagnan got to England. I must know that! I'm sure there can't be any harm in that. Do youknow what it is about?'

'Yes, I do. My brother got it by some mistake among some Frenchbooks. He read some of the droll unobjectionable parts to my sisterand me, but the rest was so bad, that he threw it into the fire. '

'Then you think it funny?'

'To be sure I do. '

'Do you remember the three duels all at once, and the three valets?Oh! what fun it is. But do let me see if d'Artagnan got thediamonds. '

'Yes, he did. But will this satisfy you, Gilbert? You know thereare some exciting pleasures that we must turn our backs onresolutely. I think this book is one of them. Now you will let metake it? I will tell your father about it in private, and he cannotblame you. Then, if he will give his consent, whenever you can comehome early, come to my dressing-room, out of your sisters' way, and Iwill read to you the innocent part, so as to get the story out ofyour brain. '

'Very well, ' said Gilbert, slowly. 'Yes, if you will not let papa beangry with me. And, oh dear! must you go?'

'I think you had better dress yourself and come down to tea. Thereis nothing the matter with you now, is there?'

He was delighted with the suggestion, and promised to come directly;and Albinia carried off her prize, exceedingly hopeful and puzzled, and wondering whether her compromise had been a right one, or a meretampering with temptation--delighted with the confidence andaffection bestowed on her so freely, but awe-struck by the impressionwhich the boy had avowed, and marvelling how it should be treated, soas to render it a blessed and salutary restraint, rather than the dimsuperstitious terror that it was at present. At least there was hopeof influencing him, his heart was affectionate, his will on the sideof right, and in consideration of feeble health and timid character, she would overlook the fact that he had not made one voluntary openconfession, and that the partial renunciation had been wrung from himas a choice of evils. She could only feel how much he was to bepitied, and how he responded to her affection. 

She was crossing the hall next day, when she heard a confusion oftongues through the open door of the dining-room, and above all, Gilbert's. 'Well, I say there are but two ladies in Bayford. One isMrs. Kendal, and the other is Genevieve Durant!'

'A dancing-master's daughter!' Lucy's scornful tone wasunmistakeable, and so was the ensuing high-pitched querulous voice, 'Well, to be sure, Gilbert might be a little more--a little morecivil. Not that I've a word to say against--against your--yourmamma. Oh, no!--glad to see--but Gilbert might be more civil. '

'I think so indeed, ' said Albinia. 'Good morning, Miss Meadows. Yousee Gilbert has come home quite alive enough for mischief. '

'Ah! I thought I might be excused. Mamma was so uneasy--though Iknow you don't admit visitors--my just coming to see--We've beenalways so anxious about Gilbert. Gibbie dear, where is that flannelI gave you for your throat?'

She advanced to put her finger within his neck-tie and feel for it. Gilbert stuck his chin down, and snapped with his teeth like a gin. Lucy exclaimed, 'Now, Gilbert, I know mamma will say that is wrong. '

'Ah! we are used to Gilbert's tricks. Always bear with a boy'santics, ' said Miss Meadows, preventing whatever she thought wascoming out of Mrs. Kendal's month. Albinia took the unwise step oflaughing, for her sympathies were decidedly with resistance both toflannels and to the insertion of that hooked finger. 

'Mr. Bowles has always said it was a case for great care. Flannelnext the skin--no exposure, ' continued Miss Meadows, tartly. 'I amsure--I know I am the last person to wish to interfere--but sodelicate--You'll excuse--but my mother was uneasy; and people who goout in all weathers--'

'I hope Mrs. Meadows had my note this morning. '

'O yes! I am perfectly aware. Thank you. Yes, I know the rule, butyou'll excuse--My mother was still anxious--I know you excludevisitors in lesson-time. I'm going. Only grandmamma would be glad--not that she wishes to interfere--but if Gilbert had on his piece offlannel--'

'Have you, Gilbert?' said Albinia, becoming tormented. 

'I have been flannel all over all my life, ' said Gilbert, sulkily, 'one bit more or less can make no odds. '

'Then you have not that piece? said Albinia. 

'Oh, my dear! Think of that! New Saxony! I begged it of Mr. Holland. A new remnant--pink list, and all! I said it was just whatI wanted for Master Gilbert. Mr. Holland is always a civil, feelingman. New Saxony--three shillings the yard--and trimmed with bluesarsenet! Where is it, Gilbert?'

'In a soup dish, with a crop of mustard and cress on it, ' saidGilbert, with a wicked wink at Albinia, who was unable to resistjoining in the girls' shout of laughing, but she became alarmed whenshe found that poor Miss Meadows was very near crying, and that herincoherency became so lachrymose as to be utterly incomprehensible. 

Lucy, ashamed of her laughter, solemnly declared that it was verywrong of Gilbert, and she hoped he would not suffer from it, andAlbinia, trying to become grave, judicial, and conciliatory, contrived to pronounce that it was very silly to leave anything offin an east wind, and hoping to put an end to the matter, asked AuntMaria to sit down, and judge how they went on with their lessons. 

O no, she could not interrupt. Her mother would want her. She knewMrs. Kendal never admitted visitors. She had no doubt she was quiteright. She hoped it would be understood. She would not intrude. Infact, she could neither go nor stay. She would not resume her seat, nor let anything go on, and it was full twenty minutes before aseries of little vibrating motions and fragmentary phrases had borneher out of the house. 

'Well!' cried Gilbert, 'I hoped Aunt Maria had left off coming downupon us. '

'O, mamma!' exclaimed Lucy, 'you never sent your love to grandmamma. '

'Depend upon it she was waiting for that, ' said Gilbert. 

I'm sure I wish I had known it, ' said Albinia, not in the mostjudicious manner. 'Half-past eleven!'

'Aunt Maria says she can't think how you can find time for churchwhen you can't see visitors in the morning, ' said Lucy. 'And oh!dear mamma, grandmamma says gravy soup was enough to throw Gilbertinto a fever. '

'At any rate, it did not, ' said Albinia. 

'Oh! and, dear mamma, Mrs. Osborn is so hurt that you called on Mrs. Dusautoy before returning her visit; and Aunt Maria says if you don'tcall to-day you will never get over it, and she says that--'

'What business has Mrs. Osborn to ask whom I called on?' exclaimedAlbinia, impatiently. 

'Because Mrs. Osborn is the leading lady in the town, ' said Lucy. 'She told Miss Goldsmith that she had no notion of not beingrespected. '

'And she can't bear the Dusautoys. She left off subscribing toanything when they came; and he behaved very ill to the Admiral andeverybody at a vestry-meeting. '

'I shall ask your papa before I am in any hurry to call on theOsborns!' cried Albinia. 'I have no desire to be intimate withpeople who treat their clergyman in that way. '

'But Mrs. Osborn is quite the leader!' exclaimed Lucy. They keep thebest society here. So many families in the county come and call onthem. '

'Very likely--'

'Ah! Mrs. Osborn told Aunt Maria that as the Nugents called on you, and you had such connexions, she supposed you would be high. But youwont make me separate from Lizzie, will you? I suppose Miss Nugentis a fashionable young lady. '

'Miss Nugent is five years old. Don't let us have any more of thisnonsense. '

'But you wont part me from Lizzie Osborn, ' said Lucy, hanging herhead pathetically on one side. 

'I shall talk to your father. He said, the other day, he did notwish you to be so much with her. '

Lucy melted into tears, and Albinia was conscious of having beenfirst indiscreet and then sharp, hurt at the comments, feelinginjured by Lucy's evident habit of reporting whatever she said, andat the failure of the attempt to please Mrs. Meadows. She was souneasy about the Osborn question, that she waylaid Mr. Kendal on hisreturn from riding, and laid it before him. 

'My dear Albinia, ' he said, as if he would fain have avoided theappeal, 'you must manage your own visiting affairs your own way. Ido not wish to offend my neighbours, nor would I desire to be veryintimate with any one. I suppose you must pay them ordinarycivility, and you know what that amounts to. As to the leadership insociety here, she is a noisy woman, full of pretension, and thusalways arrogates the distinction to herself. Your claims willestablish themselves. '

'Oh, you don't imagine me thinking of that!' cried Albinia, laughing. 'I meant their behaving ill to Mr. Dusautoy. '

'I know nothing about that. Mr. Dusautoy once called to ask for mysupport for a vestry meeting, but I make it a rule never to meddlewith parish skirmishes. I believe there was a very unbecoming scene, and that Mr. Dusautoy was in the minority. '

'Ah, Edmund, next time you'll see if a parson's sister can sitquietly by to see the parson beaten!'

He smiled, and moved towards his study. 

'Then I am to be civil?'

'Certainly. '

'But is it necessary to call to-day?'

'I should suppose not;' and there he was, shut up in his den. Albinia went back, between laughing and vexation, and Lucy looked upfrom her exercise to say, 'Does papa say you must call on theOsborns?'

It was undignified! She bit her lip, and felt her false position, aswith a quiver of the voice she replied, 'We shall make nothing butmischief if we talk now. Go on with your business. '

The sharp, curious eyes did not take themselves off her face. Sheleant over Sophy, who was copying a house, told her the lines wereslanting, took the pencil from her hand, and tried to correct them, but found herself making them over-black, and shaky. She had notseen such a line since the days of her childhood's ill-temper. Shewalked to the fireplace and said, 'I am going to call on Mrs. Osbornto-day. Not that your father desires it, but because I have beenindulging in a wrong feeling. '

'I'm sure you needn't, ' cried Gilbert. 'It is very impertinent ofMrs. Osborn. Why, if he is an admiral, she was the daughter of anold lieutenant of the Marines, and you are General Sir MauriceFerrars' first cousin. '

'Hush, hush, Gilbert!' said Albinia, blushing and distressed. 'Mrs. Osborn's standing in the place entitles her to all attention. I wasthinking of nothing of the kind. It was because I gave way to awrong feeling that I mean to go this afternoon. '

On the Sunday, when Mr. And Mrs. Kendal went to pay their weeklyvisit to Mrs. Meadows, they found the old lady taking a turn in thegarden. And as they were passing by the screen of laurels, Gilbert'svoice was heard very loud, 'That's too bad, Lucy! Grandmamma, don'tbelieve one word of it!'

'Gilbert, you--you are, I'm sure, very rude to your sister. '

'I'll not stand to hear false stories of Mrs. Kendal!'

'What is all this?' said Mr. Kendal, suddenly appearing, anddiscovering Gilbert pirouetting with indignation before Lucy. 

Miss Meadows burst out with a shower of half sentences, grandmammabegged that no notice might be taken of the children's nonsense, Lucyput on an air of injured innocence, and Gilbert was beginning tospeak, but his father put him aside, saying, 'Tell me what hashappened, Sophia. From you I am certain of hearing the exact truth. '

'Only, ' growled Sophy, in her hoarse boy's voice, 'Lucy said mammasaid she would not call on Mrs. Osborn unless you ordered her, andwhen you did, she cried and flew into a tremendous passion. '

'Sophy, what a story, ' exclaimed Lucy, but Gilbert was ready tocorroborate his younger sister's report. 

'You know Lucy too well to attach any importance to hermisrepresentations, ' said Mr. Kendal, turning to Mrs. Meadows, 'but Iknow not what amends she can make for this most unprovoked slander. Speak, Lucy, have you no apology to make?'

For Lucy, in self-defence, had begun to cry, and her grandmotherseemed much disposed to do the same. Miss Meadows had tears in hereyes, and incoherencies on her lips. The distress drove away allAlbinia's inclination to laugh, and clasping her two hands over herhusband's arm, she said, 'Don't, Edmund, it is only a misunderstandingof what really happened. I did have a silly fit, you know, so itis my fault. '

'I cannot forgive for you as you do for yourself, ' said Mr. Kendal, with a look that was precious to her, though it might have given apang to the Meadowses. 'I did not imagine that my daughter could beso lost to the sense of your kindness and forbearance. Have younothing to say, Lucy?'

'Poor child! she cannot speak, ' said her grandmother. 'You see sheis very sorry, and Mrs. Kendal is too kind to wish to say any moreabout it. '

'Go home at once, Lucy, ' said her father. 'Perhaps solitude maybring you to a better state of feeling. Go!'

Direct resistance to Mr. Kendal was never thought of, and Lucy turnedto go. Her aunt chose to accompany her, and though this was adecided relief to the company she left, it was not likely to be thebest thing for the young lady herself. 

Mr. Kendal gave his arm to Mrs. Meadows, saying gravely that Lucymust not be encouraged in her habit of gossiping and inaccuracy. Mrs. Meadows quite agreed with him, it was a very bad habit for agirl, she was very sorry for it, she wished she could have attendedto the dear children better, but she was sure dear Mrs. Kendal wouldmake them everything desirable. She only hoped that she wouldremember their disadvantages, have patience, and not recollect thisagainst poor Lucy. 

The warm indignation and championship of her husband and his son werewhat Albinia chiefly wished to recollect; but it was impossible tofree herself from a sense of pain and injury in the knowledge thatshe lived with a spy who would exaggerate and colour every carelessword. 

Mr. Kendal returned to the subject as they walked home. 

'I hope you will talk seriously to Lucy about her intolerablegossiping, ' he said. 'There is no safety in mentioning any subjectbefore her; and Maria Meadows makes her worse. Some stop must be putto it. '

'I should like to wait till next time, ' said Albinia. 

'What do you mean?'

'Because this is too personal to myself. '

'Nay, your own candour is an example to which Lucy can hardly beinsensible. Besides, it is a nuisance which must be abated. '

Albinia could not help thinking that he suffered from it as little asmost people, and wondering whether it were this which had taught himsilence. 

They met Miss Meadows at their own gate, and she told them that dearLucy was very sorry, and she hoped they would take no more notice ofa little nonsense that could do no one any harm; she would be more onher guard next time. 

Mr. Kendal made no answer. Albinia ventured to ask him whether itwould not be better to leave it, since her aunt had talked to her. 

'No, ' he said; 'Maria has no influence whatever with the children. She frets them by using too many words about everything. One quietremonstrance from you would have far more effect. '

Albinia called the culprit and tried to reason with her. Lucy triedat first to battle it off by saying that she had made a mistake, andAunt Maria had said that she should hear no more about it. 'But, mydear, I am afraid you must hear more. It is not that I am hurt, butyour papa has desired me to talk to you. You would be frightened tohear what he says. '

Lucy chose to hear, and seemed somewhat struck, but she was sure thatshe meant no harm; and she had a great deal to say for herself, sovoluble and so inconsequent, that argument was breath spent in vain;and Albinia was obliged to wind up, as an ultimatum, with warningher, that till she should prove herself trustworthy, nothinginteresting would be talked of before her. 

The atmosphere of gossip certainly had done its part in cultivatingMr. Kendal's talent for silence. When Albinia had him all toherself, he was like another person, and the long drives to returnvisits in the country were thoroughly enjoyable. So, too, were thewalks home from the dinner parties in the town, when the husband andwife lingered in the starlight or moonlight, and felt that the wearygaiety of the constrained evening was made up for. 

Great was the offence they gave by not taking out the carriage!

It was disrespect to Bayford, and one of the airs of which Mrs. Kendal was accused. As granddaughter of a Baron, daughter of oneGeneral Officer and sister of another, and presented at Court, theBayford ladies were prepared to consider her a fine lady, and whenthey found her peculiarly simple, were the more aggrieved, as if hercontempt were ironically veiled. Her walks, her dress, herintercourse with the clergy, were all airs, and Lucy spared her noneof the remarks. Albinia might say, 'Don't tell me all Aunt Mariasays, ' but it was impossible not to listen; and whether in mirth orvexation, she was sure to be harmed by what she heard. 

And yet, except for the tale-bearing, Lucy was really giving lesstrouble than her sister, she was quick, observant, and obliging, andunder Albinia's example, the more salient vulgarities of speech andmanner were falling off. There had seldom been any collision, sinceit had become evident that Mrs. Kendal could and would hold her own;and that her address and air, even while criticised, were regarded assomething superior, so that it was a distinction to belong to her. How many of poor Albinia'a so-called airs should justly have beenlaid to Lucy's account?

On the other hand, Sophy would attend to a word from her father, where she had obstinately opposed her step-mother's wishes, makingher obedience marked, as if for the very purpose of enforcing thecontrast. It was a character that Albinia could not as yet fathom. In all occupations and amusements, Sophy followed the lead of herelder sister, and in her lessons, her sole object seemed to be to getthings done with as little trouble as possible, and especiallywithout setting her mind to work, and yet in the very effort toescape diligence or exertion, she sometimes showed signs of so muchability as to excite a longing desire to know of what she would becapable when once aroused and interested; but the surly, ungracioustemper rendered this apparently impossible, and whatever Albiniaattempted, was sure, as if for the very reason that it came from her, to be answered with a redoubling of the growl of that odd hoarsevoice. 

On Lucy's birthday, there was an afternoon party of her youngfriends, including Miss Durant. Albinia, who, among the girlhood ofFairmead and its neighbourhood, had been so acceptable a playmate, that her marriage had caused the outcry that 'there would never beany fun again without Miss Ferrars, ' came out on the lawn with thegirls, in hopes of setting them to enjoy themselves. But they lookedat her almost suspiciously, retained their cold, stiff, companymanners, and drew apart into giggling knots. She relieved them ofher presence, and sitting by the window, watched Genevieve walking upand down alone, as if no one cared to join her. Presently Lucy andLizzie Osborn spoke to her, and she went in. Albinia went to meether in the hall; she coloured and said, 'She was only come to fetchMiss Osborn's cloak. '

Albinia saw her disposing it over Lizzie's shoulders, and thenrunning in again. This time it was for Miss Louisa's cloak, and athird time for Miss Drury's shawl, which Albinia chose to take outherself, and encountering Sophia, said, 'Next time, you had betterrun on errands yourself instead of sending your guests. '

Sophy gave a black look, and she retreated, but presently the groupscoalesced, and Maria Drury and Sophy ran out to call Genevieve intothe midst. Albinia hoped they were going to play, but soon shebeheld Genevieve trying to draw back, but evidently imprisoned, therewas an echo of a laugh that she did not like; the younger girls wereskipping up in the victim's face in a rude way; she hastily turnedround as in indignation, one hand raised to her eyes, but it wasinstantly snatched down by Maria Drury, and the pitiless ring closedin. Albinia sprang to her feet, exclaiming aloud, 'They are teasingher!' and rushed into the garden, hearing on her way, 'No, we wontlet you go!--you shall tell us--you shall promise to show us--my papais a magistrate, you know--he'll come and search--Jenny, you shalltell!'

Come with me, Genevieve, ' said Albinia, standing in the midst of thetormentors, and launching a look of wrath around her, as she sawtears in the young girl's eyes, and taking her hand, found ittrembling with agitation. Fondling it with both her own, she ledGenevieve away, turning her back upon Lucy and her, 'We were only--'

The poor girl shook more and more, and when they reached the shelterof the house, gave way to a tightened, oppressed sob, and at thefirst kind words a shower of tears followed, and she took Albinia'shand, and clasped it to her breast in a manner embarrassing toEnglish feelings, though perfectly natural and sincere in her. 'Ah!si bonne! si bonne! pardonnes-moi, Madame!' she exclaimed, sobbing, and probably not knowing that she was speaking French; 'but, oh, Madame, you will tell me! Is it true--can he?'

'Can who? What do you mean, my dear?'

'The Admiral, ' said Genevieve, looking about frightened, and sinkingher voice to a whisper. 'Miss Louisa said so, that he could send andsearch--'

'Search for what, my dear?'

'For my poor little secret. Ah, Madame, assuredly I may tell you. It is but a French Bible, it belonged to my martyred ancestor, Francois Durant, who perished at the St. Barthelemi--it is stainedwith his blood--it has been handed on, from one to the other--it wasall that Jacques Durant rescued when he fled from the Dragonnades--itwas given to me by my own dear father on his death-bed, with a chargeto keep it from my grandmother, and not to speak of it--but to guardit as my greatest treasure. And now--Oh, I am not disobeying him, 'cried Genevieve, with a fresh burst of tears. 'You can feel for me, Madame, you can counsel me. Can the magistrates come and search, unless I confess to those young ladies?'

'Most decidedly not, ' said Albinia. 'Set your mind at rest, my poorchild; whoever threatened you played you a most base, cruel trick. '

'Ah, do not be angry with them, Madame; no doubt they were in sport. They could not know how precious that treasure was to me, and theywill say much in their gaiety of heart. '

'I do not like such gaiety, ' said Albinia. 'What, they wished tomake you confess your secret?'

'Yes. They had learnt by some means that I keep one of my drawerslocked, and they had figured to themselves that in it was some relicof my Huguenot ancestors. They thought it was some instrument ofdeath, and they said that unless I would tell them the whole, theAdmiral had the right of search, and, oh! it was foolish of me tobelieve them for a moment, but I only thought that the fright would, kill my grandmother. Oh, you were so good, Madame, I shall neverforget; no, not to the end of my life, how you rescued me!'

'We did not bring you here to be teased, ' said Albinia, caressingher. 'I should like to ask your pardon for what they have made youundergo. '

'Ah, Madame!' said Genevieve, smiling, 'it is nothing. I am wellused to the like, and I heed it little, except when it falls on suchsubjects as these. '

She was easily drawn into telling the full history of her treasure, as she had learnt from her father's lips, the Huguenot shot down bythe persecutors, and the son who had fled into the mountains andreturned to bury the corpse, and take the prized, blood-stained Biblefrom the breast; the escapes and dangers of the two next generations;the few succeeding days of peace; and, finally, the Dragonnade, whenthe children had been snatched from the Durant family, and the fatherand mother had been driven at length to fly in utter destitution, andhad made their way to England in a wretched, unprovisioned open boat. The child for whose sake they fled, was the only one rescued from thehands of these enemies, and the tradition of their sufferings hadbeen handed on with the faithfully preserved relic, down to theslender girl, their sole descendant, and who in early childhood haddrunk in the tale from the lips of her father. The child of thepersecutors and of the persecuted, Genevieve Durant did indeedrepresent strangely the history of her ancestral country; and asAlbinia said to her, surely it might be hoped that the faith in whichshe had been bred up, united what was true and sound in the religionof both Reformed and Romanist. 

The words made the brown cheek glow. 'Ah, Madame, did I not say Icould talk with you? You, who do not think me a heretic, as my deargrandmother's friends do, and who yet can respect my grandmother'sChurch. '

Assuredly little Genevieve was one of the most interesting andengaging persons that Albinia had ever met, and she listenedearnestly to her artless history, and pretty enthusiasms, and thestory which she could not tell without tears, of her father's care, when the reward of her good behaviour had been the reading one versein the quaint black letter of the old French Bible. 

The conversation lasted till Gilbert made his appearance, and Albiniawas glad to find that his greeting to Genevieve was cordial andaffectionate, and free from all that was unpleasant in his sisters'manner, and he joined himself to their company when Albinia proposeda walk along the broad causeway through the meadows. It was one ofthe pleasantest walks that she had taken at Bayford, with both hercompanions so bright and merry, and the scene around in all thebeauty of spring. Gilbert, with the courtesy that Albinia's verypresence had infused into him, gathered a pretty wild bouquet foreach, and Albinia talked of cowslip-balls, and found that neitherGilbert nor Genevieve had ever seen one; then she pitied them, andowned that she did not know how to get through a spring without one;and Gilbert having of course a pocketful of string, a delicious ballwas constructed, over which Genevieve went into an inexpressibleecstasy. 

All the evening, Gilbert devoted himself to Genevieve, though morethan one of the others tried to attract him, playing off the folliesof more advanced girlhood, to the vexation of Albinia, who could notbear to see him the centre of attention to silly girls, when he oughtto have been finding his level among boys. 

'Gilbert makes himself so ridiculous about Jenny Durant, ' said hissisters, when he insisted on escorting her home, and thus theybrought on themselves Albinia's pent-up indignation at their usage oftheir guest. Lucy argued in unsatisfactory self-defence, but Sophy, when shown how ungenerous her conduct had been, crimsoned deeply, andthough uttering no word of apology, wore a look that gave her step-motherfor the first time a hope that her sullenness might not be so muchfrom want of compunction, as from want of power to express it. 

Oh! for a consultation with her brother. But he and his wife weretaking a holiday among their kindred in Ireland, and for once Albiniacould have echoed the aunts' lamentation that Winifred had so manyrelations!

CHAPTER V. 

Albinia needed patience to keep alive hope and energy, for a soredisappointment awaited her. Whatever had been her annoyances withthe girls, she had always been on happy and comfortable terms withGilbert, he had responded to her advances, accommodated himself toher wishes, adopted her tastes, and returned her affection. She hadearly perceived that his father and sisters looked on him as thenaughty one of the family, but when she saw Lucy's frettinginterference, and, Sophia's wrangling contempt, she did not wonderthat an unjust degree of blame had often fallen to his share; andunder her management, he scarcely ever gave cause for complaint. That he was evidently happier and better for her presence, wascompensation for many a vexation; she loved him with all her heart, made fun with him, told legends of the freaks of her brother Mauriceand cousin Fred, and grudged no trouble for his pleasure. 

As long as The Three Musqueteers lasted, he had come constantly toher dressing-room, and afterwards she promised to find other pleasantreading; but after such excitement, it was not easy to find anythingthat did not appear dry. As the daughter of a Peninsular man, shethought nothing so charming as the Subaltern, and Gilbert seemed toenjoy it; but by the time he had heard all her oral traditions of thewar by way of notes, his attendance began to slacken; he stayed outlater, and always brought excuses--Mr. Salsted had kept him, he hadbeen with a fellow, or his pony had lost a shoe. Albinia did notcare to question, the evenings were light and warm, and the one thingshe desired for him was manly exercise: she thought it much betterfor him to be at play with his fellow-pupils, and she could notregret the gain of another hour to her hurried day. 

One morning, however, Mr. Kendal called her, and his look was sograve and perturbed, that she hardly waited till the door was shut toask in terror, what could be the matter. 

'Nothing to alarm you, ' he said. 'It is only that I am vexed aboutGilbert. I have reason to fear that he is deceiving us again; and Iwant you to help us to recollect on which days he should have been atTremblam. My dear, do not look so pale!'

For Albinia had turned quite white at hearing that the boy, on whomshe had fixed her warm affection, had been carrying on a course offalsehood; but a moment's hope restored her. 'I did keep him at homeon Tuesday, ' she said, 'it was so very hot, and he had a headache. Ithought I might. You told me not to send him on doubtful days. '

'I hope you may be able to make out that it is right, ' said Mr. Kendal, 'but I am afraid that Mr. Salsted has too much cause ofcomplaint. It is the old story!'

And so indeed it proved, when Albinia heard what the tutor had cometo say. The boy was seldom in time, often altogether missing, excusing himself by saying he was kept at home by fears of theweather; but Mr. Salsted was certain that his father could not knowhow he disposed of his time, namely, in a low style of sporting withyoung Tritton, the son of a rich farmer or half-gentleman, who wasthe pest of Mr. Salsted's parish. Ill-learnt, slurred-over lessons, with lame excuses, were nothing as compared with this, and the amountof petty deceit, subterfuge, and falsehood, was frightful, especiallywhen Albinia recollected the tone of thought which the boy had seemedto be catching from her. Unused to duplicity, except from mereignorant, unmanageable school-children, she was excessively shocked, and felt as if he must be utterly lost to all good, and had beenacting a lie from first to last. After the conviction had broken onher, she hardly spoke, while Mr. Kendal was promising to talk to hisson, threaten him with severe punishment, and keep a strict accountof his comings and goings, to be compared weekly with Mr. Salsted'snotes of his arrival. This settled, the tutor departed, and nosooner was he gone, than Albinia, hiding her face in her hands, shedtears of bitter grief and disappointment. 'My dearest, ' said herhusband, fondly, 'you must not let my boy's doings grieve you in thismanner. You have been doing your utmost for him, if any one could dohim good, it would be you. '

'O no, surely I must have made some dreadful mistake, to havepromoted such faults. '

'No, I have long known him not to be trustworthy. It is an evil oflong standing. '

'Was it always so?'

'I cannot tell, ' said he, sitting down beside her, and shading hisbrow with one hand; 'I have only been aware of it since he has beenleft alone. When the twins were together, they were led by one soulof truth and generosity. What this poor fellow was separately no onecould know, while he had his brother to guide and shield him. Thefirst time I noticed the evil was when we were recovering. Gilbertand Sophia were left together, and in one of their quarrels injured somepapers of mine. I was very weak, and had little power of self-control;I believe I terrified him too much. There was absolute falsehood, and the truth was only known by Sophia's coming forward and confessingthe whole. It was ill managed. I was not equal to dealing with him, and whether the mischief began then or earlier, it has gone on eversince, breaking out every now and then. I had hoped that with yourcare--But oh! how different it would have been with his brother!Albinia, what would I not give that you had but seen _him!_ Not afault was there; not a moment's grief did he give us, till--Owhat an overthrow of hope!' And he gave way to an excess of griefthat quite appalled her, and made her feel herself powerless to comfort. She only ventured a few words of peace and hope; but the contrastbetween the brothers, was just then keen agony, and he could not helpexclaiming how strange it was, that Edmund should be the one to be taken. 

'Nay, ' he said, 'was not he ripe for better things? May not poorGilbert have been spared that longer life may train him to be likehis brother?'

'He never will be like him, ' cried Mr. Kendal. 'No! no! Thedifference is evident in the very countenance and features. '

'Was he like you?'

'They said so, but you could not gather an idea of him from me, ' saidMr. Kendal, smiling mournfully, as he met her gaze. 'It was the mostbeautiful countenance I ever saw, full of life and joy; and therewere wonderful expressions in the eyes when he was thinking orlistening. He used to read the Greek Testament with me everymorning, and his questions and remarks rise up before me again. Thattext--You have seen it in church. '

'Because I live, ye shall live also, ' Albinia repeated. 

'Yes. A little before his illness we came to that. He rested on it, as he used to do on anything that struck him, and asked me, "whetherit meant the life hereafter, or the life that is hidden here?" Wewent over it with such comments as I could find, but his mind was notsatisfied; and it must have gone on working on it, for one night, when I had been thinking him delirious, he called me, and the lightshone out of those bright dark eyes of his as he said, joyfully, "Itis both, papa! It is hidden here, but it will shine out there, " andas I did not catch his meaning, he repeated the Greek words. '

'Dear boy! Some day we shall be glad that the full life and glorycame so soon. '

He shook his head, the parting was still too recent, and it was thefirst time he had been able to speak of his son. It was a greatsatisfaction to her that the reserve had once been broken; it seemedlike compensation for the present trouble, though that was acutelyfelt, and not softened by the curious eyes and leading questions ofthe sisters, when she returned to give what attention she could totheir interrupted lessons. 

Gilbert returned, unsuspicious of the storm, till his father's sterngravity, and her depressed, pre-occupied manner, excited hisattention, and he asked her anxiously whether anything were thematter. A sad gesture replied, and perhaps revealed the state of thecase, for he became absolutely silent. Albinia left them together. She watched anxiously, and hurried after Mr. Kendal into the study, where his manner showed her not to be unwelcome as the sharer of histrouble. 'I do not know what to do, ' he said, dejectedly. 'I canmake nothing of him. It is all prevarication and sulkiness! I donot think he felt one word that I said. '

'People often feel more than they show. '

He groaned. 

'Will you go to him?' he presently added. 'Perhaps I grew too angryat last, and I believe he loves you. At least, if he does not, hemust be more unfeeling than I can think him. You do not dislike it, dearest. '

'O no, no! If I only knew what would be best for him!'

'He may be more unreserved with you, ' said Mr. Kendal; and as he wasanxious for her to make the attempt, she moved away, though inperplexity, and in the revulsion of feeling, with a sort of disgusttowards the boy who had deceived her so long. 

She found him seated on a wheelbarrow by the pond, chucking pebblesinto the still black water, and disturbing the duckweed on thesurface. His colour was gone, and his face was dark and moody, andstrove not to relax, as she said, 'O Gilbert, how could you?'

He turned sharply away, muttering, 'She is coming to bother, now!'

It cut her to the heart. 'Gilbert!' was all she could exclaim, butthe tone of pain made him look at her, as if in spite of himself, andas he saw the tears he exclaimed in an impatient voice of rudeconsolation, 'There's nothing to take so much to heart. No onethinks anything of it!'

'What would Edmund have thought?' said Albinia; but the appeal cametoo soon, he made an angry gesture and said, 'He was nearly threeyears younger than I am now! He would not have been kept in theseabominable leading-strings. '

She was too much shocked to find an answer, and Gilbert went on, 'Watched and examined wherever I go--not a minute to myself--nothingbut lessons at Tremblam, and bother at home; driven about hither andthither, and not allowed a friend of my own, nor to do one singlething! There's no standing it, and I won't!'

'I am very sorry, ' said Albinia, struggling with choking tears. 'Ithas been my great wish to make things pleasant to you. I hope I havenot teased or driven you to--'

'Nonsense!' exclaimed Gilbert, disrespectfully indeed, but from thebottom of his heart, and breaking at once into a flood of tears. 'You are the only creature that has been kind to me since I lost mymother and Ned, and now they have been and turned you against metoo;' and he sobbed violently. 

'I don't know what you mean, Gilbert. If I stand in your mother'splace, I can't be turned against you, any more than she could, ' andshe stroked his brow, which she found so throbbing as to account forhis paleness. 'You can grieve and hurt me, but you can't prevent mefrom feeling for you, nor for your dear father's grief. '

He declared that people at home knew nothing about boys, and made anuproar about nothing. 

'Do you call falsehood nothing?'

'Falsehood! A mere trifle now and then, when I am driven to it bybeing kept so strictly. '

'I don't know how to talk to you, Gilbert, ' said Albinia, rising;'your conscience knows better than your tongue. '

'Don't go;' and he went off into another paroxysm of crying, as hecaught hold of her dress; and when he spoke again his mood waschanged; he was very miserable, nobody cared for him, he did not knowwhat to do; he wanted to do right, and to please her, but ArchieTritton would not let him alone; he wished he had never seen ArchieTritton. At last, walking up and down with him, she drew from him afull confidence, and began to understand how, when health andstrength had come back to him in greater measure than he had everbefore enjoyed, the craving for boyish sports had awakened, justafter he had been deprived of his brother, and was debarred fromalmost every wholesome manner of gratifying it. To fall in withyoung Tritton was as great a misfortune as could well have befallen aboy, with a dreary home, melancholy, reserved father, and wearisomeaunt. Tritton was a youth of seventeen, who had newly finished hiseducation at an inferior commercial school, and lived on his father'sfarm, giving himself the airs of a sporting character, and fasthurrying into dissipation. 

He was really good-natured, and Gilbert dwelt on his kindness withwarmth and gratitude, and on his prowess in all sporting accomplishmentswith a perfect effervescence of admiration. He evidently patronizedGilbert, partly from good-natured pity, and partly as flattered bythe adherence of a boy of a grade above him; and Gilbert was proudof the notice of one who seemed to him a man, and an adept in allathletic games. It was a dangerous intimacy, and her heart sank asshe found that the pleasures to which he had been introducing Gilbert, were not merely the free exercise, the rabbit-shooting and rat-huntingof the farm, nor even the village cricket-match, all of which, inother company, would have had her full sympathy. But there had beensuch low and cruel sports that she turned her head away sickened atthe notion of any one dear to her having been engaged in such amusements, and when Gilbert in excuse said that every one did it, she answeredindignantly, 'My brothers never!'

'It is no use talking about what swells do that hunt and shoot and goto school, ' answered Gilbert. 

'Do you wish you went to school?' asked Albinia. 

'I wish I was out of it all!'

He was in a very different frame. He owned that he knew how wrong ithad been to deceive, but he seemed to look upon it as a sort of fate;he wished he could help it, but could not, he was so much afraid ofhis father that he did not know what he said; Archie Tritton said noone could get on without. --There was an utter bewilderment in hisnotions, here and there showing a better tone, but obscured by thefancies imbibed from his companion, that the knowledge and practiceof evil were manly. At one moment he cried bitterly, and declaredthat he was wretched; at another he defended each particular casewith all his might, changing and slipping away so that she did notknow where to take him. However, the conclusion was far more in pitythan anger, and after receiving many promises that if she wouldshield him from his father and bear with him, he would abstain fromall she disapproved, she caressed and soothed the aching head, andreturned to his father hopeful and encouraged, certain that the evilhad been chiefly caused by weakness and neglect and believing thathere was a beginning of repentance. Since there was sorrow andconfession, there surely must be reformation. 

For a week Gilbert went on steadily, but at the end of that time hisarrivals at home became irregular, and one day there was anothergreat aberration. On a doubtful day, when it had been decided thathe might go safely between the showers, he never came to Tremblam atall, and Mr. Salsted sent a note to Mr. Kendal to let him know thathis son had been at the races--village races, managed by the sportingfarmers of the neighbourhood. There was a sense of despair, andagain a talk, bringing at once those ever-ready tears andprotestations, sorrow genuine, but fruitless. 'It was all Archie'sfault, he had overtaken him, persuaded him that Mr. Salsted would notexpect him, promised him that he should see the celebrated'Blunderbuss, ' Sam Shepherd's horse, that won the race last year. Gilbert had gone 'because he could not help it. '

'Not help it!' cried Albinia, looking at him with her clear indignanteyes. 'How can you be such a poor creature, Gilbert?'

'It is very hard!' exclaimed Gilbert; 'I must go past Robble's Leightwice every day of my life, and Archie will come out and be at me. '

'That is the very temptation you have to resist, ' said Albinia. 'Fight against it, pray against it, resolve against it; ride fast, and don't linger and look after him. '

He looked desponding and miserable. If she could only have put aspirit into him!

'Shall I walk and meet you sometimes before you get to Robbie'sLeigh!'

His face cleared up, but the cloud returned in a moment. 

'What is it?' she asked. 'Only tell me. You know I wish for nothingso much as to help you. '

He did confess that there was nothing he should like better, ifArchie would not be all the worse another time, whenever he shouldcatch him alone. 

'But surely, Gilbert, he is not always lying in ambush for you, likea cat for a mouse. You can't be his sole game. '

'No, but he is coming or going, or out with his gun, and he willoften come part of the way with me, and he is such a droll fellow!'

Albinia thought that there was but one cure. To leave Gilbert dailyexposed to the temptation must be wrong, and she laid the case beforeMr. Kendal with so much earnestness, that he allowed that it would bebetter to send the boy from home; and in the meantime, Albiniaobtained that Mr. Kendal should ride some way on the Tremblam roadwith his son in the morning, so as to convoy him out of reach of thetempter; whilst she tried to meet him in the afternoon, and managedso that he should be seldom without the hope of meeting her. 

Albinia's likings had taken a current absolutely contrary to all herpreconceived notions; Sophia, with her sullen truth, was respected, but it was not easy to like her even as well as Lucy, who, thoughpert and empty, had much good-nature and good-temper, and was notindocile; while Gilbert, in spite of a weak, shallow character, habits of deception, and low ungentlemanly tastes, had won heraffection, and occupied the chief of her time and thoughts; and shedreaded the moment of parting with him, as removing the mostavailable and agreeable of her young companions. 

That moment of parting, though acknowledged to be expedient, did notapproach. Gilbert, could not be sent to a public school without riskand anxiety which his father did not like, and which would have beenhorror to his grandmother; and Albinia herself did not feel certainthat he was fit for it, nor that it was her part to enforce it. Shewrote to her brother, and found that he likewise thought a tutorwould be a safe alternative; but then he must be a perfect man in aperfect climate, and Mr. Kendal was not the man to make researches. Mr. Dusautoy mentioned one clergyman who took pupils, Maurice Ferrarsanother, but there was something against each. Mr. Kendal wrote fourletters, and was undecided--a third was heard of, but the localitywas doubtful, and the plan went off, because Mr. Kendal could notmake up his mind to go thirty miles to see the place, and talk to astranger. 

Albinia found that her power did not extend beyond driving him from'I'll see about it, ' to 'Yes, by all means. ' Action was a length towhich he could not be brought. Mr. Nugent was very anxious that heshould qualify as a magistrate since a sensible, highly-principledman was much wanted counterbalance Admiral Osborn's misdirected, restless activity and the lower parts of the town were in a dreadfulstate. Mrs. Nugent talked to Albinia, and she urged it in vain. Tocome out of his study, examine felons, contend with the Admiral, andto meet all the world at the quarter sessions, was abhorrent to him, and he silenced her almost with sternness. 

She was really hurt and vexed, and scarcely less so by a discoverythat she made shortly after. The hot weather had made the housesbeneath the hill more close and unwholesome than ever, Simkins's wifehad fallen into a lingering illness, and Albinia, visiting herconstantly, was painfully sensible of the dreadful atmosphere inwhich she lived, under the roof, with a window that would not open. She offered to have the house improved at her own expense, but wastold that Mr. Pettilove would raise the rent if anything were laidout on it. She went about talking indignantly of Mr. Pettilove'scruelty and rapacity, and when Mr. Dusautoy hinted that Pettilove wasonly agent, she exclaimed that the owner was worse, since ignorancealone could be excused. Who was the wretch? Some one, no doubt, whonever came near the place, and only thought of it as money. 

'Fanny, ' said Mr. Dusautoy, 'I really think we ought to tell her. '

'Yes, ' said Mrs. Dusautoy, 'I think it would be better. The housesbelonged to old Mr. Meadows. '

'Oh, if they are Mrs. Meadows's, I don't wonder at anything. '

'I believe they are Gilbert Kendal's. '

They were very kind; Mr. Dusautoy strode out at the window, and hiswife would not look at Albinia during the minute's struggle to regainher composure, under the mortification that her husband should havelet her rave so much and so long about what must be in his own power. Her only comfort was the hope that he had never heard what she said, and she knew that he so extremely disliked a conference withPettilove, that he would consent to anything rather than have adiscussion. 

She was, for the first time in her life, out of spirits. Gilbert wasalways upon her mind; and the daily walk to meet him was a burthen, consuming a great deal of time, and becoming trying on hot summerafternoons, the more so as she seldom ventured to rest after it, lestdulness should drive Gilbert into mischief, or, if nothing worse, into quarrelling with Sophia. If she could not send him safely outfishing, she must be at hand to invent pleasures and occupations forhim; and the worst of it was, that the girls grudged her attention totheir brother, and were becoming jealous. They hated the walk toRobble's Leigh, and she knew that it was hard on them that theirpleasure should be sacrificed, but it was all-important to preservehim from evil. She had wished to keep the tutor-negotiations asecret, but they had oozed out, and she found that Mrs. And MissMeadows had been declaring that they had known how it would be--whatever people said beforehand, it always came to the, same thing inthe end, and as to its being necessary, poor dear Gibbie was verydifferent before the change at home. 

Albinia could not help shedding a few bitter tears. Why was she tobe always misjudged, even when she meant the best? And, oh! howhard, well-nigh impossible, to forgive and candidly to believe that, in the old lady, at least, it was partiality, and not spite. 

In September, Mr. And Mrs. Ferrars returned from their journey. Albinia was anxious to see them, for if there was a sense that shehad fallen short of her confident hopes of doing prosperously, therewas also a great desire for their sympathy and advice. But Mauricehad been too long away from his parish to be able to spare anotherday, and begged that the Kendals would come to Fairmead. Seeing thatAlbinia's heart was set on it, Mr. Kendal allowed himself to bestirred up to appoint a time for driving her over to spend a long dayat Fairmead. 

For her own pleasure and ease of mind, Albinia made a point of takingGilbert, and the girls were to spend the day with their grandmother. 

'Pretty old Fairmead!' she cried, as the beech-trees rose before her;and she was turning round every minute to point out to Gilbert someof the spots of which she had told him, and nodding to the fewscattered children who were not at school, and who looked up withmouths from ear to ear, and flushed cheeks, as they curtsied to 'MissFerrars. ' The 'Miss Ferrars' life seemed long ago. 

They came to the little green gate that led to what had been 'home'for the happiest years of Albinia's life, and from the ivy porchthere was a rush of little Willie and Mary, and close at hand theirmamma, and Maurice emerging from the school. It was very joyous andnatural. But there were two more figures, not youthful, but ofdecided style and air, and quiet but fashionable dress, and Albiniahad only time to say quickly to her husband, 'my aunts, ' before shewas fondly embraced. 

It was not at all what she had intended. Mrs. Annesley and MissFerrars were very kind aunts, and she had much affection for them;but there was an end of the hope of the unreserve and confidence thatshe wanted. She could get plenty of compassion and plenty of advice, but her whole object would be to avoid these; and, besides, Mr. Kendal had not bargained for strangers. What would become of hisopportunity of getting better acquainted with Maurice and Winifred, and of all the pleasures that she had promised Gilbert?

At least, however, she was proud that her aunts should see what afine-looking man her husband was, and they were evidently struck withhis appearance and manner. Gilbert, too was in very good looks, andwas altogether a bright, gentlemanly boy, well made, though with theair of growing too fast, and with something of uncertainty about hisexpression. 

It was quickly explained that the aunts had only decided, two daysbefore, on coming to Fairmead at once, some other engagement havingfailed them, and they were delighted to find that they should meettheir dear Albinia, and be introduced to Mr. Kendal. Setting offbefore the post came in, Albinia had missed Winifred's note to tellher of their arrival. 

'And, ' said Winifred, as she took Albinia upstairs, 'if I did suspectthat would be the case, I wont say I regretted it. I did not wish toafford Mr. Kendal the pleasures of anticipation. '

'Perhaps it was better, ' said Albinia, smiling, 'especially as Isuppose they will stay for the next six weeks, so that the days willbe short before you will be free. '

'And now let me see you, my pretty one, ' said Winifred, fondly. 'Areyou well, are you strong? No, don't wriggle your head away, I shallbelieve nothing but what I read for myself. '

'Don't believe anything you read without the notes, ' said Albinia. 'I have a great deal to say to you, but I don't expect muchopportunity thereof. '

Certainly not, for Miss Ferrars was knocking at the door. She hadnever been able to suppose that the sisters-in-law could be more toeach other than she was to her own niece. 

So it became a regular specimen of a 'long day' spent together byrelations, who, intending to be very happy, make themselves veryweary of each other, by discarding ordinary occupations, and reducingthemselves to needlework and small talk. Albinia was bent onliveliness, and excelled herself in her droll observations; but toWinifred, who knew her so well, this brilliancy did not seem likeperfect ease; it was more like effort than natural spirits. This wasno wonder, for not only had the sight of new people thrown Mr. Kendalinto a severe access of shyness and silence, but he was revolving infear and dread the expediency of asking them to Willow Lawn, andconsidering whether Albinia and propriety could make the effortbearable. Silent he sat, while the aunts talked of their wishes thatone nephew would marry, and that the other would not, and no onepresumed to address him, except little Mary, who would keep trottingup to him, to make him drink out of her doll's tea-cups. 

Mr. Ferrars took pity on him, and took him and Gilbert out to callupon Colonel Bury; but this did not lessen his wife's difficulties, for there was a general expectation that she would proceed toconfidences; whereas she would do nothing but praise the Dusautoys, ask after all the parishioners of Fairmead one by one, and consultabout French reading-books and Italian grammars. Mrs. Annesley begana gentle warning against overtaxing her strength, and Miss Ferrarsenforced it with such vehemence, that Winifred, who had been ratheron that side, began to take Albinia's part, but perceived, with someanxiety, that her sister's attempts to laugh off the admonitionalmost amounted to an admission that she was working very hard. Asto the step-daughters, no intelligence was attainable, except thatLucy would be pleased with a new crochet pattern, and that Sophy waslike her father, but not so handsome. 

The next division of time passed better. Albinia walked out at thewindow to meet the gentlemen when they came home, and materiallyrelieved Mr. Kendal's mind by saying to him, 'The aunts are settledin here till they go to Knutsford. I hope you don't think--there isnot the least occasion for asking them to stay with us. '

'Are you sure you do not wish it?' said Mr. Kendal, with greatkindness, but an evident weight removed. 

'Most certain!' she exclaimed, with full sincerity; 'I am not at allready for them. What should I do with them to entertain?'

'Very well, ' said Mr. Kendal, 'you must be the judge. If there be nonecessity, I shall be glad to avoid unsettling our habits, andprobably Bayford would hardly afford much enjoyment to your aunts. '

Albinia glanced in his face, and in that of her brother, with her ownarch fun. It was the first time that day that Maurice had seen thatpeculiarly merry look, and he rejoiced, but he was not without fearthat she was fostering Mr. Kendal's retiring habits more than wasgood for him. But it was not only on his account that she avoidedthe invitation, she by no means wished to show Bayford to herfastidious aunts, and felt as if to keep them satisfied andcomfortable would be beyond her power. 

Set free from this dread, and his familiarity with his brother-in-lawrenewed, Mr. Kendal came out to great advantage at the early dinner. Miss Ferrars was well read and used to literary society, and shestarted subjects on which he was at home, and they discussed newbooks and criticised critics, so that his deep reading showed itself, and even a grave, quiet tone of satire, such as was seldom developed, except under the most favourable circumstances. He and Aunt Gertrudewere evidently so well pleased with each other, that Albinia almostthought she had been precipitate in letting him off the visit. 

Gilbert had, fortunately, a turn for small children, and submitted tobe led about the garden by little Willie; and as far as moderateenjoyment went, the visit was not unsuccessful; but as for whatAlbinia came for, it was unattainable, except for one little spacealone with her brother. 

'I meant to have asked a great deal, ' she said, sighing. 

'If you, want me, I would contrive to ride over, ' said Maurice. 

'No, it is not worth that. But, Maurice, what is to be done when onesees one's duty, and yet fails for ever for want of tact and temper!Ah, I know what you will say, and I often say it to myself, butwhatever I propose, I always do either the wrong thing or in thewrong way!'

'You fall a hundred times a day, but are raised up again, ' saidMaurice. 

'Maurice, tell me one thing. Is it wrong to do, not the best, butonly the best one can?'

'It is the wrong common to us all, ' said Maurice. 

'I used to believe in "whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doingwell. " Now, I do everything ill, rather than do nothing at all. '

'There are only two ways of avoiding that. '

'And they are--?'

'Either doing nothing, or admiring all your own doings. '

'Which do you recommend?' said Albinia, smiling, but not far fromtears. 

'My dear, ' said Maurice, 'all I can dare to recommend, is patienceand self-control. Don't fret and agitate yourself about what youcan't do, but do your best to do calmly what you can. It will bemade up, depend upon it. '

There was no time for more, but the sound counsel, the sympathy, andplayfulness had done Albinia wonderful good, and she was almost gladthere had been no more privacy, or her friends might have guessedthat she had not quite found a counsellor at home. 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Christmas holidays did indeed put an end to the walks to meetGilbert, but only so as to make Albinia feel responsible for him allday long, and uneasy whenever he was not accounted for. She playedchess with him, found books, and racked her brains to seek amusementsfor him; but knowing all the time that it was hopeless to expect aboy of fourteen to be satisfied with them. One or two boys of hisage had come home for the holidays, and she tried to be relieved bybeing told that he was going out with Dick Wolfe or Harry Osborn, butit was not quite satisfactory, and she began to look fagged andunwell, and had lost so much of her playfulness, that even Mr. Kendalwas alarmed. 

Sophia's birthday fell in the last week before Christmas, and it hadalways been the family custom to drink tea with Mrs. Meadows. Albinia made the engagement with a sense of virtuous resignation, though not feeling well enough for the infliction, but Mr. Kendal puta stop to all notion of her going. She expected to enjoy her quietsolitary evening, but the result was beyond her hopes, for as she waswishing Gilbert good-bye, she heard the click of the study lock, andin came Mr. Kendal. 

'I thought you were gone, ' she said. 

'No. I did not like to leave you alone for a whole evening. '

If it were only an excuse to himself for avoiding the Meadows' party, it was too prettily done for the notion to occur to his wife, andnever had she spent a happier evening. He was so unusually tenderand unreserved, so desirous to make her comfortable, and, what wasfar more to her, growing into so much confidence, that it was evenbetter than what she used last year to picture to herself as herfuture life with him. It even came to what he had probably neverdone for any one. She spoke of a beautiful old Latin hymn, which shehad once read with her brother, and had never seen adequatelytranslated, and he fetched a manuscript book, where, written out withunrivalled neatness, stood a translation of his own, made many yearsago, full of scholarly polish. She ventured to ask leave to copy it. 'I will copy it for you, ' he said, 'but it must be for yourselfalone. '

She was grateful for the concession, and happy in the promise. Shebegged to turn the page, and it was granted. There were othertranslations, chiefly from curious oriental sources, and there wereabout twenty original poems, elaborated in the same exquisite manner, and with a deep melancholy strain of thought, and power of beautifuldescription, that she thought finer and more touching than almostanything she had read. 

'And these are all locked up for ever. No one has seen them. '

'So. When I was a young lad, my poor father put some lines of mineinto a newspaper. That sufficed me, ' and he shut the clasped book asif repenting of having revealed the contents. 

'No, I was not thinking of anything you would dislike with regard tothose verses. I don't like to let in the world on things precious, but (how could she venture so far!) I was thinking how many powersand talents are shut up in that study! and whether they might nothave been meant for more. I beg your pardon if I ought not to sayso. '

'The time is past, ' he replied, without displeasure; 'my youth isgone, and with it the enterprise and hopefulness that can pressforward, insensible to annoyance. You should have married a man withfreshness and energy more responsive to your own. '

'Oh, Edmund, that is a severe reproach for my impertinent speech. '

'You must not expect too much from me, ' he continued. 'I told youthat I was a broken, grief-stricken man, and you were content to bemy comforter. '

'Would that I could be so!' exclaimed Albinia, 'but to tryfaithfully, I must say what is on my mind. Dear Edmund, if you wouldonly look out of your books, and see how much good you could do, herein your own sphere, how much the right wants strengthening, how muchevil cries out to be repressed, how sadly your own poor suffer--oh!if you once began, you would be so much happier!'

She trembled with earnestness, and with fear of her own audacity, buta resounding knock at the door prevented her from even discoveringwhether he were offended. He started away to secure his book, andthe two girls came in. Albinia could hardly believe it late enoughfor their return, but they accounted for having come rather earlierby saying that Gilbert had been making himself so ridiculous when hehad come at last, that grandmamma had sent him home. 

'At last!' said Albinia. 'He set off only ten minutes after you, assoon as he found that papa was not coming. '

'All I know, ' said Lucy, 'is, that he did not come till half-pastnine, and said he had come from home. '

'And where can he be now?'

'Gone to bed, ' growled Sophy. 

'I don't know what he has been doing, ' said Lucy, who since thesuspicion of favouritism, had seemed to find especial pleasure inbringing forward her brother's faults; 'but he came in laughing likea plough-boy, and talking perfect nonsense. And when Aunt Mariaspoke to him, he answered quite rudely, that he wasn't going to bequestioned and called to order, he had enough of petticoat governmentat home. '

'No, ' said Sophy, breaking in with ungracious reluctance, as ifagainst her will conveying some comfort to her step-mother for thesake of truth, 'what he said was, that if he bore with petticoatgovernment at home, it was because Mrs. Kendal was pretty and kind, and didn't torment him out of his life for nothing, and what he stoodfrom her, he would not stand from any other woman. '

'But, Sophy, I am sure he did say Mrs. Kendal knew what she was goingto say, and said it, and it was worth hearing, and he laughed in AuntMaria's face, and told her not to make so many bites at a cherry. '

'He must have been beside himself, ' said Albinia, in a bewildermentof consternation, but Mr. Kendal's return put a stop to all, for thesisters never told tales before him, and she would not bring thesubject under his notice until she should be better informed. Hissuffering was too great, his wrath too stern, to be excited withoutserious cause; but she spent a wakeful, anxious night, revolving allimaginable evils into which the boy could have fallen, and perplexingherself what measures to take, feeling all the more grieved and boundto him by the preference that, even in this dreadful mood, he hadexpressed for her. She fell into a restless sleep in the morning, from which she wakened so late as to have no time to question Gilbertbefore breakfast. On coming down, she found that he had not made hisappearance, and had sent word that he had a bad headache, and wantedno breakfast. His father, who had made a visit of inspection, saidhe thought it was passing off, smiling as he observed upon Mrs. Meadows's mince-pie suppers and home-made wine. 

Lucy said nothing, but glanced knowingly at her sister and atAlbinia, from neither of whom did she get any response. 

Albinia did not dare to take any measures till Mr. Kendal had riddenout, and then she went up and knocked at Gilbert's door. He wasbetter, he said, and was getting up, he would be down-stairspresently. She watched for him as he came down, looking still verypale and unwell. She took him into her room, made him sit by thefire, and get a little life and warmth into his chilled hands beforeshe spoke. 'Yes, Gilbert, I don't wonder you cannot lift up yourhead while so much is on your mind. '

Gilbert started and hid his face. 

'Did you think I did not know, and was not grieved?'

'Well, ' he cried, peevishly, 'I'm sure I have the most ill-naturedpair of sisters in the world. '

'Then you meant to deceive us again, Gilbert. '

He had relapsed into the old habit--as usual, a burst of tears and adeclaration that no one was ever so badly off, and he did not knowwhat to do. 

'You _do_ know perfectly well what to do, Gilbert. There is nothingfor it but to tell me the whole meaning of this terrible affair, andI will see whether I can help you. '

It was always the same round, a few words would always bring theconfession, and that pitiful kind of helpless repentance, which hadonly too often given her hope. 

Gilbert assured her that he had fully purposed following his sisters, but that on the way he had unluckily fallen in with Archie Trittonand a friend, who had driven in to hear a man from London singingcomic songs at the King's Head, and they had persuaded him to comein. He had been uneasy and tried to get away, but the dread of beinglaughed at about his grandmother's tea had prevailed, and he had beensupping on oysters and porter, and trying to believe himself a fastman, till Archie, who had assured him that he was himself going homein 'no time, ' had found it expedient to set off, and it had beenagreed that he should put a bold face on it, and profess that he hadnever intended to do more than come and fetch his sisters home. 

That the porter had anything to do with his extraordinary manner tohis grandmother and aunt, was so shocking a notion, and the very hintmade him cry so bitterly, and protest so earnestly that he had onlyhad one pint, which he did not like, and only drank because he wasafraid of being teased, that Albinia was ready to believe that he hadbeen so elevated by excitement as to forget himself, and continue thestyle of the company he had left. It was bad enough, and she feltalmost overpowered by the contemplation of the lamentable weakness ofthe poor boy, of the consequences, and of what was incumbent on her. 

She leant back and considered a little while, then sighed heavily, and said, 'Gilbert, two things must be done. You must make anapology to your grandmother and aunt, and you must confess the wholeto your father. '

He gave a sort of howl, as if she were misusing his confidence. 

'It must be, ' she said. 'If you are really sorry, you will notshrink. I do not believe that it could fail to come to your father'sknowledge, even if I did not know it was my duty to tell him, and howmuch better to confess it yourself. '

For this, however, Gilbert seemed to have no force; he criedpiteously, bewailed himself, vowed incoherently that he would neverdo so again, and if she had not pitied him so much, would have madeher think him contemptible. 

She was inexorable as to having the whole told, though dreading theconfession scarcely less than he did; and he finally made a virtue ofnecessity, and promised to tell, if only she would not desert him, declaring, with a fresh flood of tears, that he should never do wrongwhen she was by. Then came the apology. It was most necessary, andhe owned that it would be much better to be able to tell his fatherthat his grandmother had forgiven him; but he really had not nerve toset out alone, and Albinia, who had begun to dread having him out ofsight, consented to go and protect him. 

He shrank behind her, and she had to bear the flood of Maria'ssurprises and regrets, before she could succeed in saying that he wasvery sorry for yesterday's improper behaviour, and had come to askpardon. 

Grandmamma was placable; Gilbert's white face and red eyes werepleading enough, and she was distressed at Mrs. Kendal having comeout, looking pale and tired. If she had been alone, the only dangerwould have been that the offence would be lost in petting; but Mariahad been personally wounded, and the jealousy she already felt of thestep-mother, had been excited to the utmost by Gilbert's foolishwords. She was excessively grieved, and a great deal more angry withMrs. Kendal than with Gilbert; and the want of justification for thisfeeling, together with her great excitement, distress, andembarrassment, made her attempts to be dry and dignified ludicrouslyabortive. She really seemed to have lost the power of knowing whatshe said. She was glad Mrs. Kendal could walk up this morning, sinceshe could not come at night. 

'It was not my fault, ' said Albinia, earnestly; 'Mr. Kendal forbademe. I am sure I wish we had come. '

The old lady would have said something kind about not reproachingherself, but Miss Meadows interposed with, 'It was very unlucky, tobe sure--Mr. Kendal never failed them before, not that she wouldwish--but she had always understood that to let young people runabout late in the evening by themselves--not that she meant anything, but it was very unfortunate--if she had only been aware--Betty shouldhave come down to walk up with them. '

Gilbert could not forbear an ashamed smile of intense affront at thisreproach to his manliness. 

'It was exceedingly unfortunate, ' said Albinia, trying to repress hervexation; 'but Gilbert must learn to have resolution to guardhimself. And now that he is come to ask your forgiveness, will younot grant it to him?'

'Oh, yes, yes, certainly, I forgive him from my heart. Yes, Gilbert, I do, only you must mind and beware--it is a very shocking thing--lowcompany and all that--you've made yourself look as ill--and if youknew what a cake Betty had made--almond and citron both--"but it'sfor Master Gilbert, " she said, "and I don't grudge"--and then tothink--oh, dear!'

Albinia tried to express for him some becoming sorrow at havingdisappointed so much kindness, but she brought Miss Meadows down onher again. 

'Oh, yes--she grudged nothing--but she never expected to meet withgratitude--she was quite prepared--' and she swallowed and almostsobbed, 'there had been changes. She was ready to make every excuse--she was sure she had done her best--but she understood--she didn'twant to be assured. It always happened so--she knew her homely wayswere not what Mrs. Kendal had been used to--and she didn't wonder--she only hoped the dear children--' and she was absolutely crying. 

'My dear Maria, ' said her mother, soothingly, 'you have workedyourself into such a state, that you don't know what you are saying. You must not let Mrs. Kendal think that we don't know that she isleading the dear children to all that is right and kind towards as. '

'Oh, no, I don't accuse any one. Only if they like to put me downunder their feet and trample on me, they are welcome. That's all Ihave to say. '

Albinia was too much annoyed to be amused, and said, as she rose totake leave, 'I think it would be better for Gilbert, as well as forourselves, if we were to say no more till some more cool andreasonable moment. '

'I am as cool as possible, ' said Miss Meadows, convulsively clutchingher hand; 'I'm not excited. Don't excite yourself, Mrs. Kendal--itis very bad for you. Tell her not, Mamma--oh! no, don't be excited--I mean nothing--I forgive poor dear Gibbie whatever little matters--Iknow there was excuse--boys with unsettled homes--but pray don't goand excite yourself--you see how cool I am--'

And she pursued Albinia to the garden-gate, recommending her at everystep not to be excited, for she was as cool as possible, tremblingand stammering all the time, with flushed cheeks, and tears in hereyes. 

'I wonder who she thinks is excited?' exclaimed Albinia, as theyfinally turned their backs on her. 

It was hardly in human nature to help making the observation, but itwas not prudent. Gilbert took licence to laugh, and say, 'Aunt Mariais beside herself. '

'I never heard anything so absurd or unjust!' cried Albinia, too muchirritated to remember anything but the sympathy of her auditor. 'IfI am to be treated in this manner, I have done striving to pleasethem. Due respect shall be shown, but as to intimacy andconfidence--'

'I'm glad you see it so at last!' cried Gilbert. 'Aunt Maria hasbeen the plague of my life, and I'm glad I told her a bit of mymind!'

What was Albinia's consternation! Her moment's petulance had undoneher morning's work. 

'Gilbert, ' she said, 'we are both speaking very wrongly. Iespecially, who ought to have helped you. '

Spite of all succeeding humility the outburst had been fatal, andargue and plead as she might, she could not restore the boy toanything like the half satisfactory state of penitence in which shehad led him from home. The giving way to her worse nature hadawakened his, and though he still allowed that she should prepare theway for his confession to his father, all real sense of hisoutrageous conduct towards his aunt was gone. 

Disheartened and worn out, Albinia did not feel equal even to goingto take off her walking things, but sat down in the drawing-room onthe sofa, and tried to silence the girls' questions and chatter, bydesiring Lucy to read aloud. 

By-and-by Mr. Kendal was heard returning, and she rose to arrest himin the hall. Her looks began the story, for he exclaimed, 'My dearAlbinia, what is the matter?'

'Oh, Edmund, I have such things to tell you! I have been doing sowrong. '

She was almost sobbing, and he spoke fondly. 'No, Albinia, I canhardly believe that. Something has vexed you, and you must take timeto compose yourself. '

He led her up to her own room, tried to soothe her, and would notlisten to a word till she should be calm. After lying still for alittle while, she thought she had recovered, but the very word'Gilbert' brought such an expression of anxiety and sternness overhis brow as overcame her again, and she could not speak without somuch emotion that he silenced her; and finding that she could neitherleave the subject, nor mention it without violent agitation, he saidhe would leave her for a little while, and perhaps she might sleep, and then be better able to speak to him. Still she held him, andbegged that he would say nothing to Gilbert till he had heard her, and to pacify her he yielded, passed his promise, and quitted herwith a kiss. 

CHAPTER VII. 

There was a messenger at Fairmead Parsonage by sunrise the nextmorning, and by twelve o'clock Mr. And Mrs. Ferrars were at WillowLawn. 

Mr. Kendal's grave brow and depressed manner did not reassureWinifred as he met her in the hall, although his words were, 'I hopeshe is doing well. '

He said no more, for the drawing-room door was moving to and fro, asif uneasy on the hinges, and as he made a step towards it, itdisclosed a lady with black eyes and pinched features, whom hepresented as 'Miss Meadows. '

'Well, now--I think--since more efficient--since I leave Mrs. Kendalto better--only pray tell her--my love and my mother's--if I couldhave been of any use--or shall I remain?--could I be of any service, Edmund?--I would not intrude when--but in the house--if I could be ofany further use. '

'Of none, thank you, ' said Mr. Kendal, 'unless you would be kindenough to take home the girls. '

'Oh, papa!' cried Lucy, I've got the keys. You wont be able to geton at all without me. Sophy may go, but I could not be spared. '

'Let it be as you will, ' said Mr. Kendal; 'I only desire quiet, andthat you should not inconvenience Mrs. Ferrars. '

'You will help me, will you not!' said Winifred, smiling, though shedid not augur well from this opening scene. 'May I go soon toAlbinia?'

'Presently, I hope, ' said Mr. Kendal, with an uneasy glance towardsMiss Meadows, 'she has seen no one as yet, and she is so determinedthat you cannot come till after Christmas, that she does not expectyou. '

Miss Meadows began one of her tangled skeins of words, the mosttangible of which was excitement; and Mr. Kendal, knowing by longexperience that the only chance of a conclusion was to let her runherself down, held his tongue, and she finally departed. 

Then he breathed more freely, and said he would go and prepareAlbinia to see her sister, desiring Lucy to show Mrs. Ferrars to herroom, and to take care not to talk upon the stairs. 

This, Lucy, who was in high glory, obeyed by walking upon creakingtip-toe, apparently borrowed from her aunt, and whispering at awonderful rate about her eagerness to see dear, dear mamma, and thedarling little brother. 

The spare room did not look expectant of guests, and felt still lessso. It struck Winifred as very like the mouth of a well, and thepaper showed patches of ancient damp. One maid was hastily layingthe fire, the other shaking out the curtains, in the endeavour torender it habitable, and Lucy began saying, 'I must apologize. Ifpapa had only given us notice that we were to have the pleasure ofseeing you, ' and then she dashed at the maid in all the pleasure ofauthority. 'Eweretta, go and bring up Mrs. Ferrars's trunksdirectly, and some water, and some towels. '

Winifred thought the greatest mercy to the hunted maid would be towithdraw as soon as she had hastily thrown off bonnet and cloak, andLucy followed her into the passage, repeating that papa was so absentand forgetful, that it was very inconvenient in making arrangements. Whatever was ordinarily repressed in her, was repaying itself withinterest in the pleasure of acting as mistress of the house. 

Mrs. Ferrars beheld Gilbert sitting listlessly on the deep window-seatat the end of the passage, resting his head on his hand. 

'Well!' exclaimed Lucy, 'if he is not there still! He has hardlystirred since breakfast! Come and speak to Mrs. Ferrars, Gilbert. Or, ' and she simpered, 'shall it be Aunt Winifred?'

'As you please, ' said Mrs. Ferrars, advancing towards her oldacquaintance, whom she would hardly have recognised, so different wasthe pale, downcast, slouching figure, from the bright, handsome ladshe remembered. 

'How cold your hand is!' she exclaimed; 'you should not sit in thiscold passage. '

'As I have been telling him all this morning, ' said Lucy. 

'How is she?' whispered the boy, rousing himself to look imploringlyin Winifred's face. 

'Your father seems satisfied about her. '

At that moment a door at some distance was opened, and Gilbert seemedto thrill all over as for the moment ere it closed a baby's cry washeard. He turned his face away, and rested it on the window. 'Mybrother! my brother!' he murmured, but at that moment his fatherturned the corner of the passage, saying that Albinia had heard theirarrival, and was very eager to see her sister. 

Still Winifred could not leave the boy without saying, 'You can makeGilbert happy about her, can you not? He is waiting here, watchinganxiously for news of her. '

'Gilbert himself best knows whether he has a right to be made happy, 'said Mr. Kendal, gravely. 'I promised to ask no questions till sheis able to explain, but I much fear that he has been causing hergreat grief and distress. '

He fixed his eyes on his son, and Winifred, in the belief that shewas better out of their way, hurried to Albinia's room, and was seenvery little all the rest of the day. 

She was spared, however, to walk to church the next morning with herhusband, Lucy showing them the way, and being quiet and agreeablewhen repressed by Mr. Ferrars's presence. After church, Mr. Dusautoyovertook them to inquire after Mrs. Kendal, and to make a kindproposal of exchanging Sunday duty. He undertook to drive the ponieshome on the morrow, begged for credentials for the clerk, andmessages for Willie and Mary, and seemed highly pleased with theprospect of the holiday, as he called it, only entreating that Mrs. Ferrars would be so kind as to look in on 'Fanny, ' if Mrs. Kendalcould spare her. 

'I thought, ' said Winifred to her husband, 'that you would ratherhave exchanged a Sunday when Albinia is better able to enjoy you?'

'That may yet be, but poor Kendal is so much depressed, that I do notlike to leave him. '

'I have no patience with him!' cried Winifred; 'he does not seem totake the slightest pleasure in his baby, and he will hardly let poorAlbinia do so either! Do you know, Maurice, it is as bad as I everfeared it would be. No, don't stop me, I must have it out. I alwayssaid he had no business to victimize her, and I am sure of it now! Ibelieve this gloom of his has broken down her own dear sunny spirits!There she is--so unlike herself--so anxious and fidgety about herbaby--will hardly take any one's word for his being as healthy andstout a child as I ever saw! And then, every other moment, she isrestless about that boy--always asking where he is, or what he isdoing. I don't see how she is ever to get well, while it goes on inthis way! Mr. Kendal told me that Gilbert had been worrying anddistressing her; and as to those girls, the eldest of them isintolerable with her airs, and the youngest--I asked her if she likedbabies, and she growled, "No. " Lucy said Gilbert was waiting in thepassage for news of mamma, and she grunted, "All sham!" and that'sthe whole I have heard of her! He is bad enough in himself, but withsuch a train! My poor Albinia! If they are not the death of her, itwill be lucky!'

'Well done, Winifred!'

'But, Maurice, ' said his impetuous wife, in a curiously altered tone, 'are not you very unhappy about Albinia?'

'I shall leave you to find that out for me. '

'Then you are not?'

'I think Kendal thoroughly values and appreciates her, and is veryuncomfortable without her. '

'I suppose so. People do miss a maid-of-all-work. I should not somuch mind it, if she had been only _his_ slave, but to be so to allthose disagreeable children of his too! And with so little effect. Why can't he send them all to school?'

'Propose that to Albinia. '

'She did want the boy to go somewhere. I should not care where, soit were out of her way. What creatures they must be for her to haveproduced no more effect on them!'

'Poor Albinia! I am afraid it is a hard task: but these are stillearly days, and we see things at a disadvantage. We shall be able tojudge whether there be really too great a strain on her spirits, andif so, I would talk to Kendal. '

'And I wonder what is to come of that. It seems to me like what JohnSmith calls singing psalms to a dead horse. '

'John Smith! I am glad you mentioned him; I shall desire Dusautoy tobring him here on Monday. '

'What! as poor Albinia would say, you can't exist a week without JohnSmith. '

'Even so. I want him to lay out a plan for draining the garden. That pond is intolerable. I suspect that all, yourself included, will become far more good-tempered in consequence. '

'A capital measure, but do you mean that Edmund Kendal is going tolet you and John Smith drain his pond under his very nose, and neverfind it out? I did not imagine him quite come to that. '

'Not _quite_, ' said Maurice; 'it is with his free consent, and Ibelieve he will be very glad to have it done without any trouble tohimself. He said that Albinia _thought it damp_, and when I put afew sanatory facts before him, thanked me heartily, and seemed quiterelieved. If they had only been in Sanscrit, they would have madethe greater impression. '

'One comfort is, Maurice, that however provoking you are at first, you generally prove yourself reasonable at last, I am glad you arenot Mr. Kendal. '

'Ah! it will have a fine effect on you to spend your Christmas-daytete-a-tete with him. '

Mrs. Ferrars's views underwent various modifications, like all hastyyet candid judgments. She took Mr. Kendal into favour when she foundhim placidly submitting to Miss Meadows's showers of words, in orderto prevent her gaining access to his wife. 

'Maria Meadows is a very well-meaning person, ' he said afterwards;'but I know of no worse infliction in a sick-room. '

'I wonder, ' thought Winifred, 'whether he married to get rid of her. I should have thought it justifiable had it been any one butAlbinia!'

The call on Mrs. Dusautoy was consoling. It was delightful to findhow Albinia was loved and valued at the vicarage. Mrs. Dusautoybegan by sending her as a message, John's first exclamation onhearing of the event. 'Then she will never be of any more use. ' Infact, she said, it was much to him like having a curate disabled, andshe believed he could only be consoled by the hopes of a patternchristening, and of a nursery for his school-girls; but thereWinifred shook her head, Fairmead had a prior claim, and Albinia hadlong had her eye upon a scholar of her own. 

'I told John that she would! and he must bear it as he can, ' laughedMrs. Dusautoy; and she went on more seriously to say that hergratitude was beyond expression, not merely for the actual help, though that was much, but for the sympathy, the first encouragementthey had met among their richer parishioners, and she spoke of therefreshment of the mirthfulness and playful manner, so as to convinceWinifred that they had neither died away nor been everywhere wasted. 

Winifred had no amenable patient. Weak and depressed as Albinia was, her restlessness and air of anxiety could not be appeased. There wasa look of being constantly on the watch, and once, when her door wasajar, before Winifred was aware she exerted her voice to callGilbert!

Pushing the door just wide enough to enter, and treading almostnoiselessly, he came forward, looking from side to side as with asense of guilt. She stretched out her hand and smiled, and he obeyedthe movement that asked him to bend and kiss her, but still durst notspeak. 

'Let me have the baby, ' she said. 

Mrs. Ferrars laid it beside her, and held aloof. Gilbert's eyes werefixed intently on it. 

'Yes, Gilbert, ' Albinia said, 'I know what you will feel for him. Hecan't be what you once had--but oh, Gilbert, you will do all that anelder brother can to make him like Edmund!'

Gilbert wrung her fingers, and ventured to stoop down to kiss thelittle red forehead. The tears were running down his cheeks, and hecould not speak. 

'If your father might only say the same of him! that he never grievedhim!' said Albinia; 'but oh, Gilbert--example, ' and then, pausing andgazing searchingly in his face, 'You have not told papa. '

'No, ' whispered Gilbert. 

'Winifred, ' said Albinia, 'would you be so kind as to ask papa tocome?'

Winifred was forced to obey, though feeling much to blame as Mr. Kendal rose with a sigh of uneasiness. Gilbert still stood with hishand clasped in Albinia's, and she held it while her weak voice madethe full confession for him, and assured his father of his shame andsorrow. There needed no such assurance, his whole demeanour had beensorrow all these dreary days, and Mr. Kendal could not but forgive, though his eye spoke deep grief. 

'I could not refuse pardon thus asked, ' he said. 'Oh, Gilbert, thatI could hope this were the beginning of a new course!'

Albinia looked from Gilbert to his little brother, and back again toGilbert. 

'It _shall_ be, ' she said, and Gilbert's resolution was perhaps themore sincere that he spoke no word. 

'Poor boy, ' said Albinia, half to herself and half aloud, 'I think Ifeel more strong to love and to help him!'

That interview was a dangerous experiment, and she suffered for it. As her brother said, instead of having too little life, she had toomuch, and could not let herself rest; she had never cultivated theart of being still, and when she was weak, she could not be calm. 

Still the strength of her constitution staved off the nervous feverof her spirits, and though she was not at all a comfortable patient, she made a certain degree of progress, so that though it was not easyto call her better, she was not quite so ill, and grew lessirrational in her solicitude, and more open to other ideas. 'Do youknow, Winifred, ' she said one day, 'I have been thinking myself atFairmead till I almost believed I heard John Smith's voice under thewindow. '

Winifred was obliged to look out at the window to hide her smile. Maurice, who was standing on the lawn with the very John Smith, beckoned to her, and she went down to hear his plans. He was wantedat home the next day, and asked whether she thought he had bettertake Gilbert with him. 'It is the wisest thing that has been saidyet!' exclaimed she. 'Now I shall have a chance for Albinia!' andaccordingly, Mr. Kendal having given a gracious and grateful consent, Albinia was informed; but Winifred thought her almost perverse when aperturbed look came over her, and she said, 'It is very kind inMaurice, but I must speak to him. '

He was struck by the worn, restless expression of her features, sounlike the calm contented repose of a young mother, and when shespoke to him, her first word was of Gilbert. 'Maurice, it is sokind, I know you will make him happy--but oh! take care--he is sodelicate--indeed, he is--don't let him get wet through. '

Maurice promised, but Albinia resumed with minutiae of directions, ending with, 'Oh! if he should get hurt or into any mischief, whatshould we do? Pray, take care, Maurice, you are not used to suchdelicate boys. '

'My dear, I think you may rely on me. '

'Yes, but you will not be too strict with him--' and more wasfollowing, when her brother said, 'I promise you to make him myspecial charge. I like the boy very much. I think you may bereasonable, and trust him with me, without so much agitation. Youhave not let me see my own nephew yet. '

Albinia looked with her wistful piteous face at her brother as hetook in his arms her noble-looking fair infant. 

'You are a great fellow indeed, sir, ' said his uncle. 'Now if I wereyour mamma, I would be proud of you, rather than--'

'I am afraid!' said Albinia, in a sudden low whisper. 

He looked at her anxiously. 

'Let me have him, ' she said; then as Maurice bent over her, and shehastily gathered the babe into her arms, she whispered in quick, low, faint accents, 'Do you know how many children have been born in thishouse?'

Mr. Ferrars understood her, he too had seen the catalogue in thechurch, and guessed that the phantoms of her boy's dead brethrendwelt on her imagination, forbidding her to rejoice in him hopefully. He tried to say something encouraging of the child's appearance, butshe would not let him go on. 'I know, ' she said, 'he is so now--but--' then catching her breath again and speaking very low, 'hisfather does not dare look at him--I see that he is sorry for me--Oh, Maurice, it will come, and I shall be able to do nothing!'

Maurice felt his lip quivering as his sister's voice became choked--thesister to whom he had once been the whole world, and who still couldpour out her inmost heart more freely to him than to any other. Butit was a time for grave authority, and though he spoke gently, it wasalmost sternly. 

'Albinia, this is not right. It is not thankful or trustful. No, donot cry, but listen to me. Your child is as likely to do well as anychild in the world, but nothing is so likely to do him harm as yourwant of composure. '

'I tell myself so, ' said Albinia, 'but there is no helping it. '

'Yes, there is. Make it your duty to keep yourself still, and not betroubled about what may or may not happen, but be glad of the presentpleasure. '

'Don't you think I am?' said Albinia, half smiling; 'so glad, that Igrow frightened at myself, and--' As if fain to leave the subject, she added, 'And it is what you don't understand, Maurice, but hecan't be the first to Edmund as he is to me--never--and when I getalmost jealous for him, I think of Gilbert and the girls--and oh!there is so much to do for them--they want a mother so much--andWinifred wont let me see them, or tell me about them!'

She had grown piteous and incoherent, and a glance from Winifred toldhim, 'this is always the way. '

'My dear, ' he said, 'you will never be fit to attend to them if youdo not use this present time rightly. You may hurt your health, andstill more certainly, you will go to work fretfully and impetuously. If you have a busy life, the more reason to learn to be tranquil. Calm is forced on you now, and if you give way to useless nervousbrooding over the work you are obliged to lay aside for a time, youhave no right to hope that you will either have judgment or temperfor your tasks. '

'But how am I to keep from thinking, Maurice? The weaker I am, themore I think. '

'Are you dutiful as to what Winifred there thinks wisest? Ah!Albinia, you want to learn, as poor Queen Anne of Austria did, thatdocility in illness may be self-resignation into higher Hands. Perhaps you despise it, but it is no mean exercise of strength andresolution to be still. '

Albinia looked at him as if receiving a new idea. 

'And, ' he added, bending nearer her face, and speaking lower, 'whenyou pray, let them be hearty faithful prayers that God's hand may beover your child--your children, not half-hearted faithless ones, thatHe may work out your will in them. '

'Oh, Maurice, how did you know? But you are not going? I have somuch to talk over with you. '

'Yes, I must go; and you must be still. Indeed I will watch overGilbert as though he were mine. Yes, even more. Don't speak again, Albinia, I desire you will not. Good-bye. '

That lecture had been the most wholesome treatment she had yetreceived; she ceased to give way without effort to restless thoughtsand cares, and was much less refractory. 

When at last Lucy and Sophia were admitted, Winifred found perilsthat she had not anticipated. Lucy was indeed supremely andgirlishly happy: but it was Sophy whose eye Albinia sought withanxiety, and that eye was averted. Her cheek was cold like that of adoll when Albinia touched it eagerly with her lips; and when Lucyadmonished her to kiss the dear little brother, she fairly turned andran out of the room. 

'Poor Sophy!' said Lucy. 'Never mind her, mamma, but she is odderthan ever, since baby has been born. When Eweretta came up and toldus, she hid her face and cried; and when grandmamma wanted to make uspromise to love him with all our hearts, and not make any difference, she would only say, "I wont!"'

'We will leave him to take care of that, Lucy, ' said Albinia. Butthough she spoke cheerfully, Winifred was not surprised, after alittle interval, to hear sounds like stifled weeping. 

Almost every home subject was so dangerous, that whenever Mrs. Ferrars wanted to make cheerful, innocent conversation, she began totalk of her visit to Ireland and the beautiful Galway coast, and theO'Mores of Ballymakilty, till Albinia grew quite sick of the names ofthe whole clan of thirty-six cousins, and thought, with her aunts, that Winifred was too Irish. Yet, at any other time, the historieswould have made her sometimes laugh, and sometimes cry, but the worldwas sadly out of joint with her. 

There was a sudden change when, for the first time her eye rested onthe lawn, and she beheld the work of drainage. The light glanced inher eye, the colour rose on her cheek, and she exclaimed, 'How kindof Edmund!'

Winifred must needs give her husband his share. 'Ah! you would neverhave had it done without Maurice. '

'Yes, ' said Albinia, 'Edmund has been out of the way of such things, but he consented, you know. ' Then as her eyes grew liquid, 'A duckpond is a funny subject for sentiment, but oh! if you knew what thatplace has been to my imagination from the first, and how the wreathsof mist have wound themselves into spectres in my dreams, andstretched out white shrouds now for one, now for the other!' and sheshuddered. 

'And you have gone through all this and never spoken. No wonder yournerves and spirits were tried. '

'I did speak at first, ' said Albinia; 'but I thought Edmund did nothear, or thought it nonsense, and so did I at times. But you see hedid attend; he always does, you see, at the right time. It was onlymy impatience. '

'I suspect Maurice and John Smith had more to do with it, ' saidWinifred. 

'Well, we wont quarrel about that, ' said Albinia. 'I only know thatwhoever brought it about has taken the heaviest weight off my mindthat has been there yet. '

In truth, the terror, half real, half imaginary, had been a sorerburthen than all the positive cares for those unruly children, ortheir silent, melancholy father; and the relief told in all ways--above all, in the peace with which she began to regard her child. Still she would provoke Winifred by bestowing all her gratitude onMr. Kendal, who began to be persuaded that he had made an heroicexertion. 

Winifred had been somewhat scandalized by discovering Albinia'sdeficiencies in the furniture development. She was too active andstirring, and too fond of out-of-door occupation, to regard interiordecoration as one of the domestic graces, 'her nest was rather thatof the ostrich than the chaffinch, ' as Winifred told her on thediscovery that her morning-room had been used for no other purposethan as a deposit for all the books, wedding presents, lumber, etc. , which she had never had leisure to arrange. 

'You might be more civil, ' answered Albinia. 'Remember that theringdove never made half such a fuss about her nest as the magpie. '

'Well, I am glad you have found some likeness in yourself to a dove, 'rejoined Winifred. 

Mrs. Ferrars set vigorously to work with Lucy, and rendered the roomso pretty and pleasant, that Lucy pronounced that it must be callednothing but the boudoir, for it was a perfect little bijou. 

Albinia was laid on the sofa by the sparkling fire, by her side thelittle cot, and in her hand a most happy affectionate letter fromGilbert, detailing the Fairmead Christmas festivities. She felt theinvigoration of change of room, admired and was grateful forWinifred's work, and looked so fair and bright, so tranquil and socontented, that her sister and husband could not help pausing tocontemplate her as an absolutely new creature in a state ofquiescence. 

It did not last long, and Mrs. Ferrars felt herself the unwillingculprit. Attracted by sounds in the hall, she found the two girlsreceiving from the hands of Genevieve Durant a pretty basket choicelyadorned with sprays of myrtle, saying mamma would be much obliged, and they would take it up at once; Genevieve should take home herbasket, and down plunged their hands regardless of the garniture. 

Genevieve's disappointed look caught Winifred's attention, andspringing forward she exclaimed, 'You shall come to Mrs. Kendalyourself, my dear. She must see your pretty basket, ' and yourself, she could have added, as she met the grateful glitter of the darkeyes. 

Lucy remonstrated that mamma had seen no one yet, not even AuntMaria, but Mrs. Ferrars would not listen, and treading airily, yetwith reverence that would have befitted a royal palace, Genevieve wasushered upstairs, and with heartfelt sweetness, and timid grace, presented her etrennes. 

Under the fragrant sprays lay a small white-paper parcel, tied withnarrow blue satin bows, such as no English fingers could accomplish, and within was a little frock-body, exquisitely embroidered, with abreastplate of actual point lace in a pattern like frostwork on thewindows. It was such work as Madame Belmarche had learnt in aconvent in times of history, and poor little Genevieve had almostworn out her black eyes on this piece of homage to her dear Mrs. Kendal, grieving only that she had not been able to add the length ofrobe needed to complete her gift. 

Albinia's kiss was recompense beyond her dreams, and she fairly criedfor joy when she was told that she should come and help to dress thebabe in it for his christening. Mrs. Ferrars would walk out with herat once to buy a sufficiency of cambric for the mighty skirts. 

That visit was indeed nothing but pleasure, but Mrs. Ferrars had notcalculated on contingencies and family punctilios. She forgot thatit would be a mortal offence to let in any one rather than Miss Meadows;but the rest of the family were so well aware of it, that when shereturned she heard a perfect sparrow's-nest of voices--Lucy's pertand eager, Miss Meadows's injured and shrill, and Albinia's, alas!thin and loud, half sarcasm, half fret. 

There sat Aunt Maria fidgeting in the arm-chair; Lucy stood by thefire; Albinia's countenance sadly different from what it had been inthe morning--weary, impatient, and excited, all that it ought not tobe!

Winifred would have cleared the room at once, but this was not easy, and poor Albinia was so far gone as to be determined on finishingthat endless thing, an altercation, so all three began explaining andappealing at once. 

It seemed that Mrs. Osborn was requiting Mrs. Kendal's neglect in nothaving inquired after her when the Admiral's sister's husband died, by the omission of inquiries at present; whereat Albinia laughed afeeble, overdone giggle, and observed that she believed Mrs. Osbornknew all that passed in Willow Lawn better than the inmates; and Lucydeposed that Sophy and Loo were together every day, though Sophy knewmamma did not like it. Miss Meadows said if reparation were notmade, the Osborns had expressed their intention of omitting Lucy andSophy from their Twelfth-day party. 

To this Albinia pettishly replied that the girls were to go to noChristmas parties without her; Miss Meadows had taken it very much toheart, and Lucy was declaiming against mamma making any condescensionto Mrs. Osborn, or herself being supposed to care for 'the Osborn'sparties, ' where the boys were so rude and vulgar, the girls soboisterous, and the dancing a mere romp. Sophy might like it, butshe never did!

Miss Meadows was hurt by her niece's defection, and had come to 'Oh, very well, ' and 'things were altered, ' and 'people used to begrateful to old friends, but there were changes. ' And thereby Lucygrew personal as to the manners of the Osborns, while Albiniadefended herself against the being grand or exclusive, but it was herduty to do what she thought right for the children! Yes, MissMeadows was quite aware--only grandmamma was so nervous about poordear Gibbie missing his Christmas dinner for the first time--beingabsent--Mrs. Ferrars would take great care, but damp stockings andall--

Winifred endeavoured to stem the tide of words, but in vain, betweenthe meandering incoherency of the one, and the nervous rapidity ofthe other, and they had both set off again on this fresh score, whenin despair she ran downstairs, rapped at the study door, and cried, 'Mr. Kendal, Mr. Kendal, will you not come! I can't get Miss Meadowsout of Albinia's room. '

Forth came Mr. Kendal, walked straight upstairs, and stood in fullmajesty on the threshold. Holding out his hand to Maria with gravecourtesy, he thanked her for coming to see his wife, but at the sametime handed her down, saw her out safely at the hall door, and Lucyinto the drawing-room. 

It was a pity that he had not returned to Albinia's room, for she wastoo much excited to be composed without authority. First, shescolded Winifred; 'it was the thing she most wished to avoid, that heshould fancy her teased by anything the Meadowses could say, ' and shelaughed, and protested she never was vexed, such absurdity did nothurt her in the least. 

'It has tired you, though, ' said Winifred. 'Lie quite down andsleep. '

Of course, however, Albinia would not believe that she was tired, andbegan to talk of the Osborns and their party--she was annoyed at thebeing thought too fine. 'If it were not such a penance, and if youwould not be gone home, I really would ask you to take the girls, Winifred. '

'I shall not be gone home. '

'Yes, you will. I am well, and every one wants you. '

'Did you not hear Willie's complimentary message, that he is nevernaughty now, because Gilbert makes him so happy?'

'But, Winifred, the penny club! The people must have their things. '

'They can wait, or--'

'It is very well for us to talk of waiting, ' cried Albinia, 'but howshould we like a frosty night without cloaks, or blankets, or fire?I did not think it of you, Winifred. It is the first winter I havebeen away from my poor old dames, and I did think you would havecared for them. '

And thereupon her overwrought spirits gave way in a flood of tears, as she angrily averted her face from her sister, who could have criedtoo, not at the injustice, but with compassion and perplexity lestthere should be an equally violent reaction either of remorse or ofmirth. 

It must be confessed that Albinia was very much the creature ofhealth. Never having been ill before, the depression had been so newthat it broke her completely down; convalescence made her fractious. 

Recovery, however, filled her with such an ecstasy of animal spiritsthat her time seemed to be entirely passed in happiness or in sleep, and cares appeared to have lost all power. It was so sudden a changethat Winifred was startled, though it was a very pleasant one, andshe did not reflect that this was as far from the calm, self-restrained, meditative tranquillity enjoined by Maurice, as had been the previousrestless, querulous state. Both were body more than mind, but Mrs. Ferrars was much more ready to be merry with Albinia than to moralizeabout her. And it was droll that the penny club was one of the firststages in her revival. 

'Oh, mamma, ' cried Lucy, flying in, 'Mr. Dusautoy is at the door. There is such a to do. All the women have been getting gin withtheir penny club tickets, and Mrs. Brock has been stealing the money, and Mr. Dusautoy wants to know if you paid up three-and-fourpence forthe Hancock children. '

Albinia instantly invited Mr. Dusautoy to explain in person, and heentered, hearty and pleasant as ever, but in great haste, for he hadleft his Fanny keeping the peace between five angry women, while hecame out to collect evidence. 

The Bayford clothing-club payments were collected by Mrs. Brock, thesexton's wife, and distributed by tickets to be produced at thevarious shops in the town. Mrs. Brock had detected some womenexchanging their tickets for gin, and the offending partiesretaliated by accusing her of embezzling the subscriptions, bothparties launching into the usual amount of personalities andexaggerations. 

Albinia's testimony cleared Mrs. Brock as to the three-and-fourpence, but she 'snuffed the battle from afar, ' and rushed into a scheme oftaking the clothing-club into her own hands, collecting the pence, having the goods from London, and selling them herself--she wouldpropose it on the very first opportunity to the Dusautoys. Winifredasked if she had not a good deal on her hands already. 

'My dear, I have the work in me of a young giant. '

'And will Mr. Kendal like it?'

'He would never find it out unless I told him, and very possibly notthen. Six months hence, perhaps, he may tell me he is glad that Lucyis inclined to useful pursuits, and that _is_ approval, Winifred, much more than if I went and worried him about every little pettywoman's matter. '

'Every one to her taste, ' thought Winifred, who had begun to regardMr. And Mrs. Kendal in the same relation as the king and queen atchess. 

The day before the christening, Mr. Ferrars brought back Gilbert andhis own little Willie. 

Through all the interchange of greetings, Gilbert would hardly let goAlbinia's hand, and the moment her attention was free, he earnestlywhispered, 'May I see my brother?'

She took him upstairs at once. 'Let me look a little while, ' hesaid, hanging over the child with a sort of hungry fondness andcuriosity. 'My brother! my brother!' he repeated. 'It has rung inmy ears every morning that I can say my brother once more, till Ihave feared it was a dream. '

It was the sympathy Albinia cared for, come back again! 'I hope hewill be a good brother to you, ' she said. 

'He must be good! he can't help it! He has you!' said Gilbert. 'See, he is opening his eyes--oh! how blue! May I touch him?'

'To be sure you may. He is not sugar, ' said Albinia, laughing. 'There--make an arm; you may have him if you like. Your left arm, you awkward man. Yes, that is right. You will do quite as well asI, who never touched a baby till Willie was born. There, sir, how doyou like your brother Gilbert?'

Gilbert held him reverently, and gave him back with a sigh when heseemed to have satiated his gaze and touch, and convinced himselfthat his new possession was substantial. 'I say, ' he addedwistfully, 'did you think _that_ name would bring ill-luck?

She knew the name he meant, and answered, 'No, but your father couldnot have borne it. Besides, Gibbie, we would not think him _instead_of Edmund. No, he shall learn, to look up to his other brother asyou do, and look to meeting and knowing him some day. '

Gilbert shivered at this, and made no opposition to her carrying himdownstairs to his uncle, and then Gilbert hurried off for the basketof snowdrops that he had gathered early, from a favourite spot atFairmead. That short absence seemed to have added double force tohis affection; he could hardly bear to be away from her, and everymoment when he could gain her ear, poured histories of the delightsof Fairmead, where Mr. Ferrars had devoted himself to his amusement, and had made him happier than perhaps he had ever been in his life--he had had a taste of shooting, of skating, of snowballing--he hadbeen useful and important in the village feasts, had dined twice atColonel Bury's, and felt himself many degrees nearer manhood. 

To hear of her old haunts and friends from such enthusiastic lips, delighted Albinia, and her felicity with her baby, with Mr. Kendal, with her brother and his little son, was one of the brightest thingsin all the world--the fresh young loving bloom of her matronhood waseven sweeter and more beautiful than her girlish days. 

Poor little frail, blighted Mrs. Dusautoy! Winifred could not helpwondering if the contrast pained her, when in all the glory of hermotherly thankfulness, Albinia carried her beautiful newly-christenedMaurice Ferrars Kendal to the vicarage to show him off, lying soopen-chested and dignified, in Genevieve's pretty work, with a sortof manly serenity already dawning on his baby brow. 

Winifred need not have pitied the little lady. She would not havechanged with Mrs. Kendal--no, not for that perfect health, usefulness, value--nor even for such a baby as that. No, indeed!She loved--she rejoiced in all her friend's sweet and preciousgifts--but Mrs. Dusautoy had one gift that she prized above all. 

Even grandmamma and Aunt Maria did justice to Master Maurice'sattractions, at least in public, though it came round that MissMeadows did not admire fat children, and when he had once been seenin Lucy's arms, an alarm arose that Mrs. Kendal would allow the girlsto carry him about, till his weight made them crooked, but Albiniawas too joyous to take their displeasure to heart, and it only servedher for something to laugh at. 

They had a very happy christening party, chiefly juvenile, in honourof little Willie and of Francis and Emily Nugent. Albinia was soradiantly lively and good-natured, and her assistants, Winifred, Maurice, and Mr. Dusautoy, so kind, so droll, so inventive, that evenAunt Maria forgot herself in enjoyment and novelty, and was like adifferent person. Mr. Kendal looked at her with a pleased sadwonder, and told his wife it reminded him of what she had been whenshe was nearly the prettiest girl at Bayford. Gilbert devotedhimself as usual to making Genevieve feel welcome; and she hadlikewise Willie Ferrars and Francis Nugent at her feet. Neitherurchin would sit two inches away from her all the evening, and in allgames she was obliged to obviate jealousies by being partner to bothat once. Where there was no one to oppress her, she came out withall her natural grace and vivacity, and people of a larger growththan her little admirers were charmed with her. 

Lucy was obliging, ready, and useful, and looked very pretty, theonly blot was the heavy dulness of poor Sophy, who seemed resolved totake pleasure in nothing. Winifred varied in opinion whether hermoodiness arose from ill-health, or from jealousy of her littlebrother. This latter Albinia would not believe, especially as shesaw that little Maurice's blue eyes were magnets that held the silentSophy fast, but surly denials silenced her interrogations as toillness, and made her content to acquiesce in Lucy's explanation thatSophy was only cross because the Osborns and Drurys were not asked. 

Albinia did her duty handsomely by the two families a day or twoafter, for whatever reports might come round, they were always readyto receive her advances, and she only took notice of what she saw, instead of what she heard. Her brother helped Mr. Kendal through theparty, and Winifred made a discovery that excited her more thanAlbinia thought warranted by any fact relating to the horde of Irishcousins. 

'Only think, Albinia, I have found out that poor Ellen O'More is Mr. Goldsmith's sister!'

'Indeed! But I am afraid I don't remember which Ellen O'More is. You know I never undertake to recollect any but your real cousins outof the thirty-six. '

'For shame, Albinia, I have so often told you about Ellen. I'm sureyou can't forget. Her husband is my sister's brother-in-law'scousin. '

'Oh, Winifred, Winifred!'

'But I tell you, her husband is the third son of old Mr. O'More ofBallymakilty, and was in the army. '

'Oh! the half-pay officer with the twelve children in the cottage onthe estate. '

'There now, I did think you would care when I told you of a soldier, a Waterloo man too, and you only call him a half-pay officer!'

'I do remember, ' said Albinia, taking a little pity, 'that you usedto be sorry for his good little English wife. '

'Of course. I knew she had married him very imprudently, but she hasstruggled gallantly with ill-health, and poverty, and Irishrecklessness. I quite venerate her, and it seems these Goldsmithshad so far cast her off that they had no notion of the extent of hertroubles. '

'Just like them, ' said Albinia. 'Is that the reason you wish me tomake the most of the connexion? Let me see, my sister-in-law'ssister's wife--no, husband's brother's uncle, eh?'

'I don't want you to do anything, ' said Winifred, a little hurt, 'only if you had seen Ellen's patient face you would be interested inher. '

'Well, I am interested, you know I am, Winifred. I hope youinterested our respected banker, which would be more to the purpose. '

'I think I did, ' said Winifred; 'at least he said "poor Ellen" onceor twice. I don't want him to do anything for the captain, you mightgive him a thousand pounds and he would never be the better for it:but that fourth, boy, Ulick, is without exception the nicest fellow Iever saw in my life--so devoted to his mother, so much moreconsiderate and self-denying than any of the others, and very clever. Maurice examined him and was quite astonished. We did get him sentto St. Columba for the present, but whether they will keep him thereno one can guess, and it is the greatest pity he should run to waste. I told Mr. Goldsmith all this, and I really think he seemed toattend. I wonder if it will work. '

Albinia was by this time anxious that it should take effect, and theyagreed that an old bachelor banker and his sister, both past sixty, were the very people to adopt a promising nephew. 

What had become of the multitude of things which Albinia had todiscuss with her brother? The floodtide of bliss had floated herover all the stumbling-blocks and shoals that the ebb had disclosed, and she had absolutely forgotten all the perplexities that had seemedso trying. Even when she sought a private interview to talk to himabout Gilbert, it was in full security of hearing the praises of herdarling. 

'A nice boy, a very nice boy, ' returned Maurice; 'most amiable andintelligent, and particularly engaging, from his feeling being somuch on the surface. '

'Nothing can be more sincere and genuine, ' she cried, as if this fella little flat. 

'Certainly not, at the time. '

'Always!' exclaimed Albinia. 'You must not distrust him because heis not like you or Fred, and has never been hardened and taughtreserve by rude boys. Nothing was ever more real than his affection, poor dear boy, ' and the tears thrilled to her eyes. 

'No, and it is much to his credit. His love and gratitude to you arequite touching, poor fellow; but the worst of it is that I am afraidhe is very timid, both physically and morally. '

Often as she had experienced this truth, the soldier's daughter couldnot bear to avow it, and she answered hastily, 'He has never beenbraced or trained; he was always ill till within the last few years--coddling at first, neglect afterwards, he has it all to learn, and itis too late for school. '

'Yes, he is too old to be laughed at or bullied out of cowardice. Indeed, I doubt whether there ever would have been substance enoughfor much wear and tear. '

'I know you have a turn for riotous, obstinate boys! You want Willieto be another Fred, ' said Albinia, like an old hen, ruffling up herfeathers. 'You think a boy can't be good for anything unless he is auniversal plague!'

'I wonder what you will do with your own son, ' said Maurice, amused, 'since you take Gilbert's part so fiercely. '

'I trust my boy will never be as much to be pitied as his brother, 'said Albinia, with tenderness that accused her petulance. 'At leasthe can never be a lonely twin with that sore spot in his heart. Oh, Maurice, how can any one help dealing gently with my poor Gibbie?'

'Gentle dealing is the very thing he wants, ' said Mr. Ferrars; 'and Iam thinking how to find it for him. How did his going to Travershamfail?'

'I don't know; Edmund did not like to send him without having seenTraversham, and I could not go. But I don't think there is any needfor his going away. His father has been quite enough tormented aboutit, and I can manage him very well now. He is always good and happywith me. I mean to try to ride with him, and I have promised toteach him music, and we shall garden. Never fear, I will employ himand keep him out of mischief--it is all pleasure to me. '

'And pray what are your daughters and baby to do, while you aregalloping after Gilbert?'

'Oh! I'll manage. We can all do things together. Come, Maurice, Iwont have Edmund teased, and I can't bear parting with any of them, or think that any strange man can treat Gibbie as I should. '

Maurice was edified by his sister's warm-hearted weakness, but not atall inclined to let 'Edmund' escape a 'teasing. '

Mr. Kendal's first impulse always was to find a sufficient plea fordoing nothing. If Gilbert was to go to India, it was not worth whileto give him a classical education. 

'Is he to go to India? Albinia had not told me so. '

'I thought she was aware of it; but possibly I may not have mentionedit. It has been an understood thing ever since I came home. He willhave a good deal of the property in this place, but he had betterhave seen something of the world. Bayford is no place for a man tosettle down in too young. '

'Certainly, ' said Mr. Ferrars, repressing a smile. 'Then are youthinking of sending him to Haileybury?'

He was pronounced too young, besides, it was explained that hisdestination in India was unfixed. On going home it had been a kindof promise that one of the twin brothers should have an appointmentin the civil service, the other should enter the bank of Kendal andKendal, and the survivor was unconsciously suspended between thesealternatives, while the doubt served as a convenient protection tohis father from making up his mind to prepare him for either of theseor for anything else. 

The prompt Ferrars temper could bear it no longer, and Maurice spokeout. 'I'll tell you what, Kendal, it is time to attend to your ownconcerns. If you choose to let your son run to ruin, because youwill not exert yourself to remove him from temptation, I shall notstand by to see my sister worn out with making efforts to save him. She is willing and devoted, she fancies she could work day and nightto preserve him, and she does it with all her heart; but it is notwoman's work, she cannot do it, and it is not fit to leave it to her. When Gilbert has broken her heart as well as yours, and left an evilexample to his brother, then you will feel what it is to have kept alad whom you know to be well disposed, but weak as water, in the verymidst of contamination, and to have left your young, inexperiencedwife to struggle alone to save him. If you are unwarned by theexperience of last autumn and winter, I could not pity you, whatevermight happen. '

Maurice, who had run on the longer because Mr. Kendal did not answerimmediately, was shocked at his own impetuosity; but a rattling pealof thunder was not more than was requisite. 

'I believe you are right, ' Mr. Kendal said. 'I was to blame forleaving him so entirely to Albinia; but she is very fond of him, andis one who will never be induced to spare herself, and there wereconsiderations. However, she shall be relieved at once. What do yourecommend?'

Mr. Ferrars actually made Mr. Kendal promise to set out forTraversham with him next morning, thirty miles by the railway, toinspect Mr. Downton and his pupils. 

Albinia had just sense enough not to object, though the discovery ofthe Indian plans was such a blow to her that she could not beconsoled by all her husband's representations of the advantagesGilbert would derive there, and of his belief that the Kendalconstitution always derived strength from a hot climate, and that tohimself going to India seemed going home. She took refuge in thehope that between the two Indian stools Gilbert might fall upon oneof the professions which she thought alone worthy of man's attention, the clerical or the military. 

Under Maurice's escort, Mr. Kendal greatly enjoyed his expedition;liked Traversham, was satisfied with the looks of the pupils, andvery much pleased with the tutor, whom he even begged to come toBayford for a conference with Mrs. Kendal, and this was received byher as no small kindness. She was delighted with Mr. Downton, andfelt as if Gilbert could be safely trusted in his charge; nor wasGilbert himself reluctant. He was glad to escape from his tempter, and to begin a new life, and though he hung about Mrs. Kendal, andimplored her to write often, and always tell him about his littlebrother--nay, though he cried like a child at the last, yet still hewas happy and satisfied to go, and to break the painful fetters whichhad held him so long. 

And though Albinia likewise shed some parting tears, she could notbut own that she was glad to have him in trustworthy hands; and as tothe additional time thus gained, it was disposed of in a million ofbright plans for every one's service--daughters, baby, parish, school, classes, clubs, neighbours. It almost made Winifred giddy tohear how much she had undertaken, and yet with what zest she talkedand acted. 

'There's your victim, Winifred, ' said Maurice, as they drove away, and looked back at Albinia, scandalizing Bayford by standing in theopen gateway, her face all smiles of cheerful parting, the sun andwind making merry with her chestnut curls, her baby in one arm, theother held up to wave her farewell. 

'That child will catch cold, ' began Winifred, turning to sign her togo in. 'Well, ' she continued, 'after all, I believe some people likean idol that sits quiet to be worshipped! To be sure she must wantto beat him sometimes, as the Africans do their gods. But, on thewhole, her sentiment of reverence is satisfied, and she likes theacting for herself, and reigning absolute. Yes, she is quitehappy--why do you look doubtful? Don't you admire her?'

'From my heart. '

'Then why do you doubt? Do you expect her to do anything?'

'A little too much of everything. '

CHAPTER VIII. 

Yes! Albinia was excessively happy. Her naturally high spirits wereenhanced by the enjoyment of recovery, and reaction, from her formerdepression. Since the great stroke of the drainage, every one lookedbetter, and her pride in her babe was without a drawback. He seemedto have inherited her vigour and superabundance of life, and 'thatfirst wondrous spring to all but babes unknown, ' was in him unusuallyrapid, so that he was a marvel of fair stateliness, size, strength, and intelligence, so unlike the little blighted buds which had beenwont to fade at Willow Lawn, that his father watched him with silent, wondering affection, and his eldest sister was unmerciful in herdescriptions of his progress; while even Sophia had not been proofagainst his smiles, and was proud to be allowed to carry him aboutand fondle him. 

Neither was Mr. Kendal's reserve the trial that it had once been. After having become habituated to it as a necessary idiosyncrasy, shehad become rather proud of his lofty inaccessibility. Besides, herbrother's visit, her recovery, and the renewed hope and joy in thispromising child, had not been without effect in rousing him from hisapathy. He was less inclined to shun his fellow-creatures, hadbecome friendly with the Vicar, and had even let Albinia take himinto Mrs. Dusautoy's drawing-room, where he had been fairly happy. Having once begun taking his wife out in the carriage, he found thismuch more agreeable than his solitary ride, and was in the conditionto which Albinia had once imagined it possible to bring him, in whichgentle means and wholesome influence might lead him imperceptibly outof his morbid habits of self-absorption. 

Unfortunately, in the flush of blitheness and whirl of activity, Albinia failed to perceive the relative importance of objects, and hehad taught her to believe herself so little necessary to him that shehad not learnt to make her pursuits and occupations subservient tohis convenience. As long as the drive took place regularly, all waswell, but he caught a severe cold, which lasted even to the settingin of the east winds, the yearly misery of a man who hardly grantedthat India was over-hot. Though Albinia had removed much listing, and opened various doors and windows, he made no complaints, but didhis best to keep the obnoxious fresh air out of his study, and seldomcrossed the threshold thereof but with a shiver. 

His favourite atmosphere was quite enough to account for a return ofthe old mood, but Albinia had no time to perceive that it might havebeen prevented, or at least mitigated. 

Few even of the wisest women are fit for authority and liberty solittle restrained, and happily it seldom falls to the lot of such ashave not previously been chastened by a life-long affliction. ButMrs. Kendal, at twenty-four, with the consequence conferred bymarriage, and by her superiority of manners and birth, was left asunchecked and almost as irresponsible as if she had been single or awidow, and was solely guided by the impulses of her own character, noble and highly principled, but like most zealous dispositions, without balance and without repose. 

Ballast had been given at first by bashfulness, disappointment, andanxiety, but she had been freed from her troubles with Gilbert, hadgained confidence in herself, and had taken her position at Bayford. She was beloved, esteemed, and trusted in her own set, and thoughelsewhere she might not be liked, yet she was deferred to, could noteasily be quarrelled with, so that she met with little opposition, and did not care for such as she did meet. In fact, very few personshad so much of their own way as Mrs. Kendal. 

She was generally in her nursery at a much earlier hour than anold-established nurse would have tolerated, but the little Susan, promoted from Fairmead school and nursery, was trained in energetichabits. In passing the doors of the young ladies' rooms, Albiniagave a call which she had taught them not to resist, for, like allstrong persons, she thought 'early to rise' the only way to health, wealth, or wisdom. Much work had been despatched before breakfast, after which, on two days in the week, Albinia and Lucy went tochurch. Sophy never volunteered to accompany them, and Albinia wasthe less inclined to press her, because her attitudes and attentionon Sunday were far from satisfactory. On Tuesday and ThursdayAlbinia had a class at school, and so, likewise, had Lucy, who kept ajealous watch over every stray necklace and curl, and had begunthoroughly to enjoy the importance and bustle of charity. She was auseful assistant in the penny club and lending library, whichoccupied Albinia on other mornings in the week, until the hour whenshe came in for the girls' studies. After luncheon, she enjoyed thecompany of little Maurice, who indeed pervaded all her home doingsand thoughts, for she had a great gift of doing everything at once. 

A sharp constitutional walk was taken in the afternoon. She thoughtno one could look drooping or dejected but from the air of thevalley, and that no cure was equal to rushing straight up one hilland on to the next, always walking rapidly, with a springy buoyantstep, and surprised at any one who lagged behind. Parochial cares, visits, singing classes, lessons to Sunday-school teachers, &c. , filled up the rest of the day. She had an endless number of'excellent plans, ' on which she always acted instantly, and whichkept her in a state of perpetual haste. Poor Mrs. Dusautoy hadalmost learnt to dread her flashing into the room, full of someparish matter, and flashing out again before the invalid felt as ifthe subject had been fairly entered on, or her sitting down toimpress some project with overpowering eagerness that generallycarried away the Vicar into grateful consent and admiring approval, while his wife was feeling doubtful, suspecting her hesitation ofbeing ungracious, or blaming herself for not liking the little shecould do to be taken out of her hands. 

There was nothing more hateful to Albinia than dawdling. She leftthe girls' choice of employments, but insisted on their beingveritably occupied, and many a time did she encounter a killingglance from Sophia for attacking her listless, moody position in herchair, or saying, in clear, alert tones, 'My dear, when you read, read, when you work, work. When you fix your eye in that way, youare doing neither. '

Lucy's brisk, active disposition, and great good-humour, hadresponded to this treatment; she had been obliging, instead ofofficious; repeated checks had improved her taste; her love of pettybustle was directed to better objects, and though nothing could makeher intellectual or deep, she was a really pleasant assistant andcompanion, and no one, except grandmamma, who thought her perfectbefore, could fail to perceive how much more lady-like her tones, manners, and appearance had become. 

The results with Sophy had been directly the reverse. At first shehad followed her sister's lead, except that she was always sincere, and often sulky; but the more Lucy had yielded to Albinia's moulding, the more had Sophy diverged from her, as if out of the very spirit ofcontradiction. Her intervals of childish nonsense had well nighdisappeared; her indifference to lessons was greater than ever, though she devoured every book that came in her way in a silent, butabsorbed manner, a good deal like her father. Tales and stories werenot often within her reach, but her appetite seemed to be universal, and Albinia saw her reading old-fashioned standard poetry--such asshe had never herself assailed--and books of history, travels, ormetaphysics. She wondered whether the girl derived any pleasure fromthem, or whether they were only a shield for doing nothing; but noinquiry produced an answer, and if Sophy remembered anything of them, it was not with the memory used in lesson-time. The attachment toLouisa Osborn was pertinacious and unaccountable in a person whocould have so little in common with that young lady, and there wasnothing comfortable about her except her fondness for her littlebrother, and that really seemed to be against her will. Her voicewas less hoarse and gruff since the pond had been no more, and shehad acquired an expression, so suffering, so concentrated, sothoughtful, that, together with her heavy black eyebrows, large face, profuse black hair, and unlustrous eyes, it gave her almost adwarfish air, increased by her awkward deportment, which concealedthat she was in reality tall, and on a large scale. She looked to solittle advantage in bright delicate colours, that Albinia was oftenincurring her displeasure, and risking that of Lucy, by the deepblues and sober browns which alone looked fit to be seen with thosebeetle brows and sallow features. Her face looked many years olderthan that of her fair, fresh, rosy stepmother; nay, her father'sclear olive complexion and handsome countenance had hardly so aged anaspect; and Gilbert, when he came home at Midsummer, declared thatSophy had grown as old as grandmamma. 

The compliment could not be returned; Gilbert was much more boy-likein a good sense. He had brought home an excellent character, andshowed it in every look and gesture. His father was pleased to havehim again, took the trouble to talk to him, and received suchsensible answers, that the habit of conversing was actuallyestablished, and the dinners were enlivened, instead of oppressed, byhis presence. Towards his sisters he had become courteous, he wasfairly amiable to Aunt Maria, very attentive to grandmamma, overflowing with affection to Mrs. Kendal, and as to little Maurice, he almost adored him, and awakened a reciprocity which was thedelight of his heart. 

At Midsummer came the grand penny-club distribution, the triumph forwhich Albinia had so long been preparing. One of Mrs. Dusautoy'shints as to Bayford tradesmen had been overruled, and goods had beenordered from a house in London, after Albinia and Lucy had made anincredible agitation over their patterns of calico and flannel. Mr. Kendal was just aware that there was a prodigious commotion, but heknew that all ladies were subject to linen-drapery epidemics, andAlbinia's took a more endurable form than a pull on his purse for thesweetest silk in the world, and above all, it neither came into hisstudy nor even into his house. 

It was a grand spectacle, when Mr. Dusautoy looked in on Mrs. Kendaland her staff, armed with their yard-wands. 

A pile of calico was heaped in wild masses like avalanches in onecorner, rapidly diminishing under the measurements of Gilbert, wholooked as if he took thorough good-natured delight in the frolic. Brown, inodorous materials for petticoats, blouses, and trowsers weredealt out by the dextrous hands of Genevieve, a mountain of lilacprint was folded off by Clarissa Richardson, Lucy was presidingjoyously over the various blue, buff, brown, and pink Sunday frocks, the schoolmistress helping with the other goods, the customers--somepleased with novelty, or hoping to get more for their money, otherssuspicious of the gentry, and secretly resentful for favouritedealers, but, except the desperate grumblers, satisfied with thequality and quantity of the wares--and extremely taken with thesellers, especially with Gilbert's wit, and with Miss Durant's ready, lively persuasions, varied to each one's taste, and extracting asmile and 'thank you, Miss, ' from the surliest. And the presidingfigure, with the light on her sunny hair, and good-natured, unfailinginterest in her countenance, was at her central table, calculating, giving advice, considering of complaints, measuring, folding--here, there, and everywhere--always bright, lively, forbearing, howevercomplaining or unreasonable her clients might be. 

Mr. Dusautoy went home to tell his Fanny that Mrs. Kendal was worthher weight in gold; and the workers toiled till luncheon, whenAlbinia took them home for food and wine, to restore them for thelabours of the afternoon. 

'What have you been about all the morning, Sophy? Yes, I see yourtranslation--very well--I wish you would come up and help thisafternoon, Miss Richardson is looking so pale and tired that I wantto relieve her. '

'I can't, ' said Sophy, 'I don't order you, but you are losing a great deal of fun. Supposeyou came to look on, at least. '

'I hate poor people. '

'I hope you will change your mind some day, but yon must do somethingthis afternoon. You had better take a walk with Susan and baby; Itold her to go by the meadows to Horton. '

'I don't want to walk. '

'Have you anything to do instead? No, I thought not, and it is notat all hot to signify. --It will do you much more good. Yes, you mustgo. '

In the course of the summer an old Indian friend was staying atFairmead Park, and Colonel Bury wrote to beg for a week's visit fromthe whole Kendal family. Even Sophy vouchsafed to be pleased, andLucy threw all her ardour into the completion of a blue braided cape, which was to add immensely to little Maurice's charms; she declaredthat she should work at it the whole of the last evening, while Mr. And Mrs. Kendal were at the dinner that old Mr. And Mrs. Bowlesannually inflicted on themselves and their neighbours, a dinner whichit would have been as cruel to refuse as it was irksome to accept. 

There was a great similarity in those Bayford parties, inasmuch asthe same cook dressed them all, and the same waiters waited at them, and the same guests met each other, and the principal variety on thisoccasion was, that the Osborns did not come, because the Admiral wasin London. 

The ladies had left the dining-room, when Albinia's ear caught asound of hurried opening of doors, and sound of steps, and saw Mrs. And Miss Bowles look as if they heard something unexpected. Shepaused, and forgot the end of what she was saying. The room door waspushed a little way open, but then seemed to hesitate. Miss Bowleshastened forward, and opening it, admitted a voice that made Albiniahurry breathlessly from the other side of the room, and push so thatthe door yielded, and she saw it had been Mr. Dusautoy who had beenholding it while there was some kind of consultation round Gilbert. The instant he saw her, he exclaimed, 'Come to the baby, Sophy hasfallen down with him. '

People pressed about her, trying to speak cheeringly, but sheunderstood nothing but that her husband and Mr. Bowles were gone on, and she had a sense that there had been hardness and cruelty inhesitating to summon her. Without knowing that a shawl was thrownround her, or seeing Mr. Dusautoy's offered arm, she clutchedGilbert's wrist in her hand, and flew down the street. 

The gates and front door were open, and there was a throng of peoplein the hall. Lucy caught hold of her with a sobbing, 'Oh, Mamma!'but she only framed the words with her lips--'where?'

They pointed to the study. The door was shut, but Albinia broke fromLucy, and pushed through it, in too much haste to dwell on thesickening doubt what it might conceal. 

Two figures stood under the window. Mr. Kendal, who was holding thelittle inanimate form in his arms for the doctor to examine, looking upas she entered, cast on her a look of mute, pleading, despairing agony, that was as the bitterness of death. She sprang forward herself toclasp her child, and her husband yielded him in broken-hearted pity, but at that moment the little limbs moved, the features worked, theeyes unclosed, and clinging tightly to her, as she strained him toher bosom, the little fellow proclaimed himself alive by lusty roars, more welcome than any music. Partly stunned, and far more terrified, he had been in a sort of swoon, without breath to cry, till recalledto himself by feeling his mother's arms around him. Every attemptof Mr. Bowles to ascertain whether he were uninjured produced sucha fresh panic and renewal of screams, that she begged that he mightbe left to her. Mr. Kendal took the doctor away, and gradually theterror subsided, though the long convulsive sobs still quivered upthrough the little frame, and as the twilight darkened on her, shehad time to realize the past alarm, and rejoice in trembling over thetreasure still her own. 

The opening of the door and the gleaming of a light had nearlybrought on a fresh access of crying, but it was his father whoentered, and Maurice knew the low deep sweetness of his voice, andwas hushed. 'I believe there is no harm done, ' Albinia said; and thesmile that she fain would have made reassuring gave way as her eyesfilled with tears, on feeling the trembling of the strong arm thatwas put round her, when Mr. Kendal bent to look into the child'seyes. 

'I thought my blight had fallen on you, ' was all he said. 

'Oh! the thankfulness--' she said; but she could not go on, she muststifle all that swelled within her, for the babe felt each throb ofher beating heart; and she could barely keep from bursting into tearsas his father kissed him; then, as he marked the still sobbingbreath, said, 'Bowles must see him again. '

'I don't know how to make him cry again! I suppose he must be lookedat, but indeed I think him safe. --See, this little bruise on hisforehead is the only mark I can find. What was it? How did ithappen?'

'Sophia thought proper to take him herself from the nursery to showhim to Mrs. Osborn. In crossing the street, she was frightened by aparty of men coming out of a public-house in Tibbs's Alley, and inavoiding them, slipped down and struck the child's head against agate-post. He was perfectly insensible when I took him--I thoughthim gone. Albinia, you must let Bowles see him again!'

'Is any one there?' she said. 

'Every one, I think, ' he replied, looking oppressed--'Maria, and Mrs. Osborn, and Dusautoy--but I will call Bowles. '

Apparently the little boy had escaped entirely unhurt, but thesurgeon still spoke of the morrow, and he was so startled andrestless, that Albinia feared to move, and felt the dark study arefuge from the voices and sounds that she feared to encounter, lestthey should again occasion the dreadful screaming. 'Oh, if theywould only go home!' she said. 

'I will send them, ' said Mr. Kendal; and presently she heard soundsof leave-taking, and he came back, as if he had been dispersing ariot, announcing that the house was clear. 

Gilbert and Lucy were watching at the foot of the stairs, the onepale, and casting anxious, imploring looks at her; the other witheyes red and swollen with crying, neither venturing near till shespoke to them, when they advanced noiselessly to look at their littlebrother, and it was not till they had caught his eye and made himsmile, that Lucy bethought herself of saying she had known nothing ofhis adventure, and Albinia, thus recalled to the thought of theculprit, asked where Sophy was. 

'In her own room, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'I could not bear the sight ofher obduracy. Even her aunt was shocked at her want of feeling. '

Low as he spoke, the sternness of his voice frightened the baby, andshe was obliged to run away to the nursery, where she listened to thecontrition of the little nursemaid, who had never suspected MissSophy's intention of taking him out of the house. 

'And indeed, ma'am, ' she said, 'there is not one of us servants whodares cross Miss Sophy. '

It was long before Albinia ventured to lay him in his cot, and longerstill before she could feel any security that if she ceased her low, monotonous lullaby, the little fellow would not wake again in terror, but the thankfulness and prayer, that, as she grew more calm, gainedfuller possession of her heart, made her recur the more to pity andforgiveness for the poor girl who had caused the alarm. Yet therewas strong indignation likewise, and she could not easily resolve onmeeting the hard defiance and sullen indifference which would woundher more than ever. She was much inclined to leave Sophy to herselftill morning, but suspecting that this would be vindictive, sheunclasped the arm that Lucy had wound round her waist, whispered toher to go on singing, and moved to Sophy's door. It was fastened, but before she could call, it was thrown violently back, and Sophystood straight up before her, striving for her usual rigidity, butshaking from head to foot; and though there were no signs of tears, she looked with wistful terror at her step-mother's face, and herlips moved as if she wished to speak. 

'Baby is gone quietly to sleep, ' began Albinia in a low voice, beginning in displeasure; but as she spoke, the harshness of Sophy'sface gave way, she sank down on the floor, and fell into the mostoverpowering fit of weeping that Albinia had ever witnessed. Kneeling beside her, she would have drawn the girl close to her, buta sharp cry of pain startled her, and she found the right arm, fromelbow to wrist, all one purple bruise, the skin grazed, and the bloodstarting. 

'My poor child! how you have hurt yourself!'

Sophy turned away pettishly. 

'Let me look! I am sure it must be very bad. Have you done anythingto it?'

'No, never mind. Go back to baby. '

'Baby does not want me. You shall come and see how comfortably he isasleep, if you will leave off crying, and let me see that poor arm. Did you hurt it in the fall?'

'The corner of the wall, ' said Sophy. 'Oh! did it not hurt him?' butthen, just as it seemed that she was sinking on that kind breast inexhaustion, she collected herself, and pushing Albinia off, exclaimed, 'I did it, I took him out, I fell down with him, I hurthis head, I've killed him, or made him an idiot for life. I did. '

'Who said so?' cried Albinia, transfixed. 

'Aunt Maria said so. She said I did not feel. Oh, if I could onlydie before he grows up to let one see it. Why wont you begin to hateme?'

'My dear, ' said Albinia, consoled on hearing the authority, 'peopleoften say angry things when they are shocked. Your aunt had not seenMr. Bowles, and we all think he was not in the least hurt, onlyterribly frightened. Dear, dear child, I am more distressed for youthan for him!'

Sophy could hold out no longer, she let her head drop on the kindshoulder, and seemed to collapse, with burning brow, throbbingpulses, and sobs as deep and convulsive as had been those of herlittle brother. Hastily calling Lucy, who was frightened, subdued, and helpful, Albinia undressed the poor child, put her to bed, andapplied lily leaves and spirits to her arm. The smart seemed torefresh her, but there had been a violent strain, as well as bruise, and each touch visibly gave severe pain, though she never complained. Lucy insisted on hearing exactly how the accident had happened, andpressed her with questions, which Albinia would have shunned in herpresent condition, and it was thus elicited that she had takenMaurice across the street to how him to Mrs. Osborn. He had resentedthe strange place, and strange people, and had cried so much that shewas obliged to run home with him at once. A knot of bawling men camereeling out of one of the many beer shops in Tibbs's Alley, and inher haste to avoid them, she tripped, close to the gate-post ofWillow Lawn, and fell, with only time to interpose her arm betweenMaurice's head and the sharp corner. She was lifted up at once, inthe horror of seeing him neither cry nor move, for, in fact, he hadbeen almost stifled under her weight, and all had since been to her afrightful phantom dream. Albinia was infinitely relieved by thishistory, showing that Maurice could hardly have received any realinjury, and in her declarations that Sophy's presence of mind hadsaved him, was forgetting to whom the accident was owing. Lucywanted to know why her sister could have taken him out of the houseat all, but Albinia could not bear to have this pressed at such amoment, and sent the inquirer down to order some tea, which sheshared with Sophy, and then was forced to bid her good-night, withoutdrawing out any further confessions. But when the girl raisedherself to receive her kiss, it was the first real embrace that hadpassed between them. 

In the very early morning, Albinia was in the nursery, and found herlittle boy bright and healthy. As she left him in glad hope andgratitude, Sophy's door was pushed ajar, and her wan face peeped out. 'My dear child, you have not been asleep all night!' exclaimedAlbinia, after having satisfied her about the baby. 

'No. '

'Does your arm hurt you?'

'Yes. '

'Does your head ache?'

'Rather. '

But they were not the old sulky answers, and she seemed glad to haveher arm freely bathed, her brow cooled, her tossed bed composed, andher window opened, so that she might make a fresh attempt at closingher weary eyes. 

She was evidently far too much shaken to be fit for the intendedexpedition, even if her father had not decreed that she should bedeprived of it. Albinia had never seen him so much incensed, fornothing makes a man so angry as to have been alarmed; and he wasdoubly annoyed when he found that she thought Sophy too unwell to beleft, as he intended, to solitary confinement. 

He would gladly have given up the visit, for his repugnance tosociety was in full force on the eve of a party; but Albinia, byrepresenting that it would be wrong to disappoint Colonel Bury, andvery hard on the unoffending Gilbert and Lucy, succeeded inprevailing on him to accept his melancholy destiny, and to allow herto remain at home with Sophy and the baby--one of the greatestsacrifices he or she had yet made. He was exceedingly vexed, andtherefore the less disposed to be lenient. The more Albinia told himof Sophy's unhappiness, the more he hoped it would do her good, andhe could not be induced to see her, nor to send her any message offorgiveness, for in truth it was less the baby's accident that heresented, than the eighteen months of surly resistance to the baby'smother, and at present he was more unrelenting than the generous, forgiving spirit of his wife could understand, though she tried tobelieve it manly severity and firmness. 

'It would be time to pardon, ' he said, 'when pardon was asked. '

And Albinia could not say that it had been asked, except by misery. 

'She has the best advocate in you, ' said Mr. Kendal, affectionately, 'and if there be any feeling in her, such forbearance cannot fail tobring it out. I am more grieved than I can tell you at your presentdisappointment, but it shall not happen again. If you can bring herto a better mind, I shall be the more satisfied in sending her fromhome. '

'Edmund! you do not think of it!'

'My mind is made up. Do you think I have not watched your patientcare, and the manner in which it has been repaid? You havesufficient occupation without being the slave of those children'smisconduct. '

'Sophy would be miserable. Oh! you must not! She is the last girlin the world fit to be sent to school. '

'I will not have you made miserable at home. This has been a longtrial, and nothing has softened her. '

'Suppose this was the very thing. '

'If it were, what is past should not go unrequited, and the changewill teach her what she has rejected. Hush, dearest, it is not thatI do not think that you have done all for her that tenderness or goodsense could devise, but your time is too much occupied, and I cannotsee you overtasked by this poor child's headstrong temper. It isdecided, Albinia; say no more. '

'I have failed, ' thought Albinia, as he left the room. 'He decidesthat I have failed in bringing up his children. What have I done?Have I been mistaken? have I been careless? have I not prayed enough?Oh! my poor, poor Sophy! What will she do among strange girls? Oh!how wretched, how harsh, how misunderstood she will be! She willgrow worse and worse, and just when I do think I might have begun toget at her! And it is for my sake! For me that her father is setagainst her, and is driving her out from her home! Oh! what shall Ido? Winifred will promote it, because they all think I am doing toomuch! I wonder what put that in Edmund's head? But when he speaksin that way, I have no hope!'

Mr. Kendal's anger took a direction with which she better sympathizedwhen he walked down Tibbs's Alley, and counted the nine beer shops, which had never dawned on his imagination, and which so greatlyshocked it, that he went straight to the astonished Pettilove, andgave him a severe reprimand for allowing the houses to be made densof iniquity and disorder. 

He was at home in time to meet the doctor, and hear that Maurice hadsuffered not the smallest damage; and then to make anotherineffectual attempt to persuade Albinia to consign Sophy toimprisonment with Aunt Maria; after which he drove off very muchagainst his will with Lucy and Gilbert, both declaring that they didnot care a rush to go to Fairmead under the present circumstances. 

Albinia had a sad, sore sense of failure, and almost of guilt, as shelingered on the door-step after seeing them set off. The educationof 'Edmund's children' had been a cherished vision, and it hadresulted so differently from her expectations, that her heart sank. With Gilbert there was indeed no lack of love and confidence, butthere was a sad lurking sense of his want of force of character, andshe had avowedly been insufficient to preserve him from temptation;Lucy, whom externally she had the most altered, was not of a natureaccordant enough with her own for her to believe the effects deep orpermanent; and Sophia--poor Sophia! Had what was kindly calledforbearance been really neglect and want of moral courage? Would agentler, less eager person have won instead of repelling confidence?Had her multiplicity of occupations made her give but dividedattention to the more important home duty. Alas! alas! she only knewthat her husband thought his daughter beyond her management, and forthat very reason she would have given worlds to retain the uncouth, perverse girl under her charge. 

She stood loitering, for the sound of the river and the shade of thewillows were pleasant on the glowing July day, and having made allher arrangements for going from home, she had no pressing employment, and thus she waited, musing as she seldom allowed herself time to do, and thinking over each phase of her conduct towards Sophy, in theendeavour to detect the mistake; and throughout came, not exactlyanswering her query, but throwing a light upon it, her brother'swarning, that if she did not resign herself to rest quietly when restwas forced upon her, she would work amiss when she did work. 

Just then came a swinging of the gate, a step on the walk, and MissMeadows made her appearance. A message had been sent up in themorning, but grandmamma was so nervous, that Maria had trotted downin the heat so satisfy her. 

Albinia was surprised to find that womanhood had thrown all theirinstincts on the baby's side, and was gratified by the first trulykind fellow-feeling they had shown her. She took Maria into themorning room, where she had left Sophy lying on the sofa, and ran upto fetch Maurice from the nursery. 

When she came down, having left the nurse adorning him, she foundthat she had acted cruelly. Sophy was standing up with her hardestface on, listening to her aunt's well-meant rebukes on her want offeeling, and hopes that she did regret the having endangered herbrother, and deprived 'her dear mamma of the party of pleasure atFairmead; but Aunt Maria knew it was of no use to talk to Sophy, none--!'

'Pray don't, Aunt Maria, ' said Albinia, gently drawing Sophy down onthe sofa again; 'this poor child is in no state to be scolded. '

'You are a great deal too good to her, Mrs. Kendal--after suchwilfulness as last night--carrying the dear baby out in the street--Inever heard of such a thing--But what made you do it, Sophy, wont youtell me that? No, I know you won't; no one ever can get a word fromher. Ah! that sulky disposition--it is a very nasty temper--can'tyou break through it, Sophy, and confess it all to your dear mamma?You would be so much better. But I know it is of no use, poor child, it is just like her father. '

Albinia was growing very angry, and it was well that Maurice's merrycrowings were heard approaching. Miss Meadows was delighted to seehim, but as he had a great aversion to her, the interview was notprolonged, since he could not be persuaded to keep the peace by beingheld up to watch a buzzing fly, as much out of sight of her aspossible, wrinkling up his nose, and preparing to cry whenever hecaught sight of her white bonnet and pink roses. 

Miss Meadows bethought her that grandmamma was anxious, so she onlywaited to give an invitation to tea, but merely to Mrs. Kendal; shewould say nothing about Sophy since disgrace--well-merited--if theycould only see some feeling. 

'Thank you, ' said Albinia, 'some evening perhaps I may come, sinceyon are so kind, but I don't think I can leave this poor twisted armto itself. '

Miss Meadows evaporated in hopes that Sophy would be sensible of--andassurances that Mrs. Kendal was a great deal too--with finally, 'Good-bye, Sophy, I wish I could have told grandmamma that you hadshown some feeling. '

'I believe, ' said Albinia, 'that you would only be too glad if youknew how. '

Sophy gasped. 

Albinia could not help feeling indignant at the misjudgedpersecution; and yet it seemed to render the poor child more entirelyher own, since all the world besides had turned against her. 'Kissher, Maurice, ' she said, holding the little fellow towards her. Thatscratched arm of hers has spared your small brains from more than youguess. '

Sophy's first impulse was to hide her face, but he thought it was bo-peep, caught hold of her fingers, and laughed; then came to a sudden surprisedstop, and looked up to his mother, when the countenance behind thescreen proved sad instead of laughing. 

'Ah! baby, you had better have done with me, ' Sophy said, bitterly;'you are the only one that does not hate me yet, and you don't knowwhat I have done to you. '

'I know some one else that cares for you, my poor Sophy, ' saidAlbinia, 'and who would do anything to make you feel it withoutdistressing you. If you knew how I wish I knew what to do for you!'

'It is no use, ' said Sophy, moodily; 'I was born to be a misery tomyself and every one else. '

'What has put such a fancy in your head, my dear?' said Albinia, nearly smiling. 

'Grandmamma's Betty said so, she used to call me Peter Grievous, andI know it is so. It is of no good to bother yourself about me. Itcan't be helped, and there's an end of it. '

'There is not an end of it, indeed!' cried Albinia. 'Why, Sophy, doyou suppose I could bear to leave you so?'

'I'm sure I don't see why not. '

'Why not?' continued Albinia, in her bright, tender voice. 'Why, because I must love you with all my heart. You are your own dearpapa's child, and this little man's sister. Yes, and you areyourself, my poor, sad, lonely child, who does not know how to bringout the thoughts that prey on her, and who thinks it very hard tohave a stranger instead of her own mother. I know I should have feltso. '

'But I have behaved so ill to you, ' cried Sophy, as if bent onrepelling the proffered affection. 'I would not like you, and I didnot like you. Never! and I have gone against you every way I could. '

'And now I love you because you are sorry for it. '

'I'm not'--Sophy had begun, but the words turned into 'Am I?'

'I think you are, ' and with the sweetest of tearful smiles, she putan arm round the no longer resisting Sophy, and laying her cheekagainst the little brother's, she kissed first one and then theother. 

'I can't think why you are so, ' said Sophy, still struggling againstthe undeserved love, though far more feebly. 'I shall never deserveit. '

'See if you don't, when we pull together instead of contrary ways. '

'But, ' cried Sophy, with a sudden start from her, as if remembering amortal offence, 'you drained the pond!'

'I own I earnestly wished it to be drained; but had you any reasonfor regretting it, my dear?'

'Ah! you did not know, ' said Sophy. 'He and I used to be alwaysthere. '

'He--?'

'Why, will you make me say it?' cried Sophy. 'Edmund! I meanEdmund! We always called it his pond. He made the little quay forhis boats--he used to catch the minnows there. I could go and standby it, and think he was coming out to play; and now you have had itdried up, and his dear little minnows are all dead, ' and she burstinto a passion of tears, that made Maurice cry till Albinia hastilycarried him off and returned. 

'My dear, I am sorry it seemed so unkind. I do not think we couldhave let the pond stay, for it was making the house unhealthy; but ifwe had talked over it together, it need not have appeared so verycruel and spiteful. '

'I don't believe you are spiteful, ' said Sophy, 'though I sometimesthink so. '

The filial compliment was highly gratifying. 

'And now, Sophy, ' she said, 'that I have told you why we were obligedto have the pond drained, will you tell me what you wanted with babyat Mrs. Osborn's?'

'I will tell, ' said Sophy, 'but you wont like it. '

'I like anything better than concealment. '

'Mrs. Osborn said she never saw him. She said you kept him close, and that nobody was good enough to touch him; so I promised I wouldbring him over, and I kept my word. I know it was wrong--and--I didnot think you would ever forgive me. '

'But how could you do it?'

'Mrs. Osborn and all used to be so kind to us when there was nobodyelse. I wont cast them off because we are too fine and grand forthem. '

'I never thought of that. I only was afraid of your getting intosilly ways, and your papa did not wish us to be intimate there. Andnow you see he was right, for good friends would not have led you tosuch disobedience--and by stealth, too, what I should have thoughtyou would most have hated. '

Albinia had been far from intending these last words to have beentaken as they were. Sophy hid her face, and cried piteously with anutter self-abandonment of grief, that Albinia could scarcelyunderstand; but at last she extracted some broken words. 'False!shabby! yes--Oh! I have been false! Oh! Edmund! Edmund! Edmund! theonly thing I thought I still was! I thought I was true! Oh, bystealth! Why couldn't I die when I tried, when Edmund did?'

'And has life been a blank ever since?'

'Off and on, ' said Sophy. 'Well, why not? I am sure papa ismelancholy enough. I don't like people that are always making fun, Ican't see any sense in it. '

'Some sorts of merriment are sad, and hollow, and wrong, indeed, 'said Albinia, 'but not all, I hope. You know there is so much loveand mercy all round us, that it is unthankful not to have a cheerfulspirit. I wish I could give you one, Sophy. '

Sophy shook her head. 'I can't understand about mercy and love, whenEdmund was all I cared for. '

'But, Sophy, if life is so sad and hard to you, don't you see themercy that took Edmund away to perfect joy? Remember, not cuttingyou off from him, but keeping him safe for you. '

'No, no, ' cried Sophy, 'I have never been good since he went. I havegot worse and worse, but I did think I was true still, that that onething was left me--but now--' The sense of having acted a deceptionseemed to produce grief under which the stubborn pride was meltingaway, and it was most affecting to see the child weeping over thelost jewel of truth, which she seemed to feel the last link with theremarkable boy whose impress had been left so strongly on allconnected with him. 

'My dear, the truth is in you still, or you could not grieve thusover your failure, ' said Albinia. 'I know you erred, because it didnot occur to you that it was not acting openly by me; but oh! Sophy, there is something that would bring you nearer to Edmund than hardtruth in your own strength. '

'I don't know what you mean, ' said Sophy. 

'Did you ever think what Edmund is about now?'

'I don't know, ' said Sophy. 

'I only know that the one thing which is carried with us to the otherworld is love, Sophy, and love that becomes greater than we can yetimagine. If you would think of Him who redeemed and saved your dearEdmund, and who is his happiness, his exceeding great reward, yourheart would warm, and, oh! what hope and peace would come!'

'Edmund was good, ' said Sophy, in a tone as if to mark the hopelessgulf between. 

'And you are sorry. All human goodness begins from sorrow. It hadeven to be promised first for baby at his christening, you know. Oh, Sophy, God's blessing can make all these tears come to joy. '

Albinia's own tears were flowing so fast, that she broke off to hidethem in her own room, her heart panting with hope, and yet with griefand pity for the piteous disclosure of so dreary a girlhood. Afterall, childhood, if not the happiest, is the saddest period oflife--pains, griefs, petty tyrannies, neglects, and terrors havenot the alleviation of the experience that 'this also shall passaway;' time moves with a tardier pace, and in the narrower sphereof interests, there is less to distract the attention from the loadof grievances. Hereditary low spirits, a precocious mind, a reservedtemper, a motherless home, the loss of her only congenial companion, and the long-enduring effect of her illness upon her health, had allconspired to weigh down the poor girl, and bring on an almost morbidstate of gloomy discontent. Her father's second marriage, byenlivening the house, had rendered her peculiarities even morepainful to herself and others, and the cultivation of mind that wasforced upon her, made her more averse to the trifling andplayfulness, which, while she was younger, had sometimes brightenedand softened her. And this was the girl whom her father had resolvedupon sending to the selfish, inconsiderate, frivolous world ofschool-girls, just when the first opening had been made, the firstreal insight gained into her feelings, the first appearance of havingtouched her heart! Albinia felt baffled, disappointed, almostdespairing. His stern decree, once made, was, she knew, well-nighunalterable; and though resolved to use her utmost influence, shedoubted its power after having seen that look of decision. Nay, shetried to think he might be right. There might be those who wouldmanage Sophy better. Eighteen months had been a fair trial, and shehad failed. She prayed earnestly for whatever might be best for thechild, and for herself, that she might take it patiently andsubmissively. 

Sophy felt the heat of the day a good deal, but towards the eveningshe revived, and seemed so much cheered and refreshed by her tea, that, as the sound of the church bell came sweetly down in the softair, Albinia said, 'Sophy, I am going to take advantage of my holidayand go to the evening service. I suppose you had rather not come?'

'I think I will, ' returned Sophy, somewhat glumly, but Albinia hailedthe answer joyfully, as the first shamefaced effort of a reservedcharacter wishing to make a new beginning, and she took care that noremark, not even a look, should rouse the sullen sensitiveness thatcould so easily be driven back for ever. 

Slowly they crept up the steps on the shady side of the hill, watching how, beyond the long shadow it cast over the town and themeadows, the trees revelled in the sunset light, and windowsglittered like great diamonds, where in the ordinary daylight thedistance was too great for distinct vision. 

The church was cool and quiet, and there was something in Sophy'scountenance and reverent attitude that seemed as if she wereconsecrating a newly-formed resolution; her eye was often raised, asthough in spite of herself, to the name of the brother whose shortlife seemed inseparably interwoven with all the higher aspirations ofhis home. 

In the midst of the Thanksgiving, a sudden movement attractedAlbinia, and she saw Sophy resting her head, and looking excessivelypale. She put her arm round her, and would have led her out, butcould not persuade her to move, and by the time the Blessing wasgiven, the power was gone, and she had almost fainted away, when atall strong form stooped over her, and Mr. Dusautoy gathered her upin his arms, and bore her off as if she had been a baby, to the openwindow of his own drawing-room. 

'Put me down! The floor, please!' said Sophy, feebly, for all herremaining faculties were absorbed in dislike to the mode ofconveyance. 

'Yes, flat on the floor, ' said Mrs. Dusautoy, rising with full energy, and laying a cushion under Sophy's head, reaching a scent-bottle, andsending her husband for cold water and sal volatile; with readinessthat astonished Albinia, unused to illness, and especially to faintings, and remorseful at having taken Sophy out. 'Was it the pain of her armthat had overcome her?'

'No, ' said Sophy, 'it was only my back. '

'Indeed! you never told me you had hurt your back;' and Albinia begandescribing the fall, and declaring there must be a sprain. 

'Oh, no, ' said Sophy, 'kneeling always does it. '

'Does what, my dear?' said Albinia, sitting on the floor by her, andlooking up to Mrs. Dusautoy, exceedingly frightened. 

'Makes me feel sick, ' said Sophy; 'I thought it would go off, as italways does, it didn't; but it is better now. '

'No, don't get up yet, ' said Mrs. Dusautoy, as she was trying tomove; 'I would offer you the sofa, it would be more hospitable, but Ithink the floor is the most comfortable place. '

'Thank you, _much_, ' said Sophy, with an emphasis. 

'Do you ever lie down on it when you are tired?' asked the lady, looking anxiously at Sophy. 

'I always wish I might. '

Albinia was surprised at the interrogations that followed; she didnot understand what Mrs. Dusautoy was aiming at, in the closequestioning, which to her amazement did not seem to offend, butrather to be gratifying by the curious divination of all sensations. It made Albinia feel as if she had been carrying on a deliberatesystem of torture, when she heard of a pain in the back, hardly everceasing, aggravated by sitting upright, growing severe with the leastfatigue, and unless favoured by day, becoming so bad at night as totake away many hours of sleep. 

'Oh! Sophy, Sophy, ' she cried, with tears in her eyes, 'how could yougo on so? Why did you never tell me?'

'I did not like, ' began Sophy, 'I was used to it. '

Oh, that barrier! Albinia was in uncontrollable distress, that thegirl should have chosen to undergo so much suffering rather thanbestow any confidence. Sophy stole her hand into hers, and said inher odd, short way, 'Never mind, it did not signify. '

'Yes, ' said Mrs. Dusautoy, 'those things are just what one does getso much used to, that it seems much easier to bear them than to speakabout them. '

'But to let oneself be so driven about, ' cried Albinia. 'Oh! Sophy, you will never do so again! If I had ever guessed--'

'Please hush! Never mind!' said Sophy, almost crossly, and gettingup from the floor quickly, as though resolved to be well. 

'I have never minded long enough, ' sighed Albinia. 'What shall I do, Mrs. Dusautoy? What do you think it is?'

This was the last question Mrs. Dusautoy wished to be asked inSophy's presence. She had little doubt that it was spine complaintlike her own, but she had not intended to let her perceive theimpression, till after having seen Mrs. Kendal alone. However, Albinia's impetuosity disconcerted all precautions, and Sophy's twogreat black eyes were rounded with suppressed terror, as if expectingher doom. 'I think that a doctor ought to answer that question, 'Mrs. Dusautoy began. 

'Yes, yes, ' exclaimed Albinia, 'but I never had any faith in old Mr. Bowles, I had rather go to a thorough good man at once. '

'Yes, certainly, by all means. '

'And then to whom! I will write to my Aunt Mary. It seems exactlylike you. Do you think it is the spine?'

'I am afraid so. But, my dear, ' holding out her hand caressingly toSophy, 'you need not be frightened--you need not look at me as anexample of what you will come to--I am only an example of what comesof never speaking of one's ailments. '

'And of having no mother to find them out!' cried Albinia. 

'Indeed, ' said Mrs. Dusautoy, anxious to console and encourage, aswell as to talk the young step-mother out of her self-reproach, 'I donot think that if I had been my good aunt's own child, she would havebeen more likely to find out that anything was amiss. It was thefashion to be strong and healthy in that house, and I was neverreally ill--but I came as a little stunted, dwining cockney, and so Iwas considered ever after--never quite comfortable, often forgettingmyself in enjoyment, paying for it afterwards, but quite used to it. We all thought it was "only Fanny, " and part of my London breeding. Yes, we thought so in good faith, even after the largest half of mylife had been spent in Yorkshire. '

'And what brought it to a crisis? Did they go on neglecting you?'exclaimed Albinia. 

'Why, my dear, ' said the little lady, a glow lighting on her cheek, and a smile awakening, 'my uncle took a new curate, whom it was thefamily custom to call "the good-natured giant, " and whose approachput all of us young ladies in a state of great excitement. It wasall in character with his good-nature, you know, to think of draggingthe poor little shrimp up the hill to church, and I believe he didnot know how she would get on without his strong arm; for do youknow, when he had the curacy of Lauriston given him, he chose tocarry the starveling off with him, instead of any of those fine, handsome prosperous girls. Dear Mary and Bessie! how good they were, and how kind and proud for me! I never could complain of not havingsisters. '

'Well, and Mr. Dusautoy made you have advice?'

'Not he! Why, we all believed it cockneyism, you know, and besides, I was so happy and so well, that when we went to Scotland, I fairlywalked myself off my legs, and ended the honeymoon laid up in alittle inn on Loch Katrine, where John used regularly to knock hishead whenever he came into the room. It was a fortnight before Icould get to Edinburgh, and the journey made me as bad as ever. Sothe doctors were called in, and poor John learnt what a crooked stickhe had chosen; but they all said that if I had been taken in hand asa child, most likely I should have been a sound woman. The worst ofit was, that I was so thoroughly knocked up that I could not bear themotion of a carriage; besides, I suppose the doctors wanted a littleamusement out of me, for they would not hear of my going home. Sopoor John had to go to Lauriston by himself, and those were thelongest, dreariest six months I ever spent in my life, though Bessiewas so good as to come and take care of me. But at last, when I hadnearly made up my mind to defy the whole doctorhood, they gave leave, and between water and steam, John brought me to Lauriston, and eversince that, I don't see that a backbone would have made us a bithappier. '

Sophy had been intently reading Mrs. Dusautoy's face all through thenarration, from under her thick black eyelashes, and at the end shedrew a sigh of relief, and seemed to catch the smile of gladgratitude and affection. There was a precedent, which affordedincredible food to the tumultuous cravings of a heart that had beensinking in sullen gloom under the consciousness of an unpleasingexterior. The possibility of a 'good-natured giant' was far morepresent to her mind than the present probability of future sufferingand restraint. 

Ever rapid and eager, Albinia could think of nothing but immediatemeasures for Sophy's good, and the satisfaction of her ownconscience. She could not bear even to wait for Mr. Kendal's return, but, as her aunts were still in London, she resolved on carryingSophy to their house on the following day for the best advice. Itwas already late, and she knelt at the table to dash off two notes toput into the post-office as she went home. One to Mrs. Annesley, toannounce her coming with Sophy, baby, and Susan, the other asfollows:--

 'July 10th, 9 p. M. 'Dearest Edmund, 'I find I have been cruelly neglectful. I have hunted and driventhat poor child about till it has brought on spine complaint. Theonly thing I can do, is to take her to have the best advice withoutloss of time, so I am going to-morrow to my aunt's. It would taketoo long to write and ask your leave. You must forgive this, asindeed each word I have to say is, forgive! She is so generous andkind! You know I meant to do my best, but they were right, I was tooyoung. 

 'Forgive yours, 'A. K. '

The Dusautoys were somewhat taken by surprise, but they knew too wellthe need of promptitude to dissuade her; and Sophia herself sataghast at the commotion, excited by the habitual discomfort of whichshe had thought so little. The vicar, when he found Mrs. Kendal inearnest, offered to go with them and protect them; but Albinia was aveteran in independent railway travelling, and was rather affrontedby being treated as a helpless female. Mrs. Dusautoy, better awareof what the journey might be to one at least of the travellers, gaveadvice, and lent air cushions, and Albinia bade her good night withan almost sobbing 'thank you, ' and an entreaty that if Mr. Kendalcame home before them, she would tell him all about it. 

At home, she instantly sent the stupefied Sophy to bed, astonishedthe little nurse, ordered down boxes and bags, and spent half thenight in packing, glad to be stirring and to tire herself intosleeping, for her remorse and her anticipations were so painful, that, but for fatigue, her bed would have been no resting-place. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Winifred Ferrars was surprised by Mr. Kendal's walking into hergarden, with a perturbed countenance, begging her to help him to makeout what could be the meaning of a note which he had just received. He was afraid that there was much amiss with the baby, and heartilywished that he had not been persuaded to leave home; but poor Albiniawrote in so much distress, that he could not understand her letter. 

More accustomed to Albinia's epistolary habits, Winifred exclaimed atthe first glance, 'What can you mean? There is not one word of thelittle one! It is only Sophy!'

The immediate clearing of his face was not complimentary to poorSophy, as he said, 'Can you be quite sure? I had begun to hope thatAlbinia might at least have the comfort of seeing this little fellowhealthy; but let me see--she says nursed and--and danced--is it? thispoor child--'

'No, no; it is hunted and driven; that's the way she always _will_make her _h_'s; besides, what nonsense the other would be. '

'This poor child--' repeated Mr. Kendal, 'Going up to London foradvice. She would hardly do that with Sophia. '

'Who ever heard of a baby of six months old having a spinecomplaint?' cried Mrs. Ferrars almost angrily. 

'I have lost one in that way, ' he replied. 

A dead silence ensued, till Winifred, to her great relief, spied thefeminine pronoun, but could not fully satisfy Mr. Kendal that the upsand downs were insufficient for the word _him_; and each scrawl wasdiscussed as though it had been a cuneiform inscription, until he hadbeen nearly argued into believing in the lesser evil. He then waspersuaded that the Meadowses had been harassing and frighteningAlbinia into this startling measure. It was so contrary to his ownnature, that he hardly believed that it had actually taken place, andthat she must be in London by this time, but at any rate, he mustjoin her there, and know the worst. He would take the whole party toan hotel, if it were too great a liberty to quarter themselves uponMrs. Annesley. 

Winifred was as much surprised as if the chess-king had taken aknight's move, but she encouraged his resolution, assured him of awelcome at what the cousinhood were wont to call the Family Office, and undertook the charge of Gilbert and Lucy. The sorrowful, almostsupplicating tone of his wife's letter, would have sufficed to bringhim to her, even without his disquietude for his child, whichever ofthem it might be; and though Albinia's merry blue-eyed boy hadbrought a renewed spring of hope and life, his crashed spiritstrembled at the least alarm. 

Thus, though the cheerful Winifred had convinced his reason, hisgloomy anticipations revived before he reached London; and with thestern composure of one accustomed to bend to the heaviest blows, heknocked at Mrs. Annesley's door. He was told that Mrs. Kendal wasout; but on further inquiry, learnt that Sophy was in the drawing-room, where he found her curled up in the corner of the sofa, readingintently. 

She sprang to her feet with a cry of surprise, but did not approach, though he held out his arms, saying in a voice husky with anxiety, 'Is the baby well, Sophia?'

'Yes, ' she cried, 'quite well; he is out in the carriage with them. 'Then shrinking as he was stooping to kiss her, she reddened, reddening deeply, 'Papa, I did very wrong; I was sly and disobedient, and I might have killed him. '

'Do not let us speak of that now, my dear, I want to hear of--' andagain he would have drawn her into his embrace, but she held out herhand, with her repelling gesture, and burst forth in her rudehonesty, 'I can't be forgiven only because I am ill. Hear all aboutit, papa, and then say you forgive me if you can. I always was crossto mamma, because I was determined I would be; and I did not thinkshe had any business with us. The more she was kind, the more I didnot like it; and I thought it was mean in Gilbert and Lucy to be fondof her. No! I have not done yet! I grew naughtier and naughtier, till at last I have been false and sly, and--have done this to baby--and I would not have cared then--if--if she would not have been--oh!so good!'

Sophy made no farther resistance to the arm that was thrown roundher, as her father said, 'So good, that she has overcome evil withgood. My child, how should I not forgive when you are sensible ofyour mistake, and when she has so freely forgiven?'

Sophy did not speak, but she pressed his arm closer round her, andlaid her cheek gratefully on his shoulder. She only wished it couldlast for ever; but he soon lifted her, that he might look anxiouslyat her face, while he said, 'And what is all this, my dear! I amafraid you are not well. '

Her energies were recalled; and, squeezing his hand, she said, 'Mind, you will not let them say it was mamma's fault. '

'Who is accusing her, my dear?' What is the matter?'

'It is only my back, ' said Sophy; 'there always was a stupid painthere; but grandmamma's Betty said I made a fuss, and that it was alllaziness, and I would not let any one say so again, and I never toldof it, and it went on till the other night I grew faint at church, and Mrs. Dusautoy put mamma in such a fright, that we all came hereyesterday; and there came a doctor this morning, who says my spine isnot straight, and that I must lie on my back for a long time; butnever mind, papa, it will be very comfortable to lie still and read, and I shall not be cross now, ' she added reassuringly, as his grasppressed her close, with a start of dismay. 

'My dear, I am afraid you hardly know what you may have to gothrough, but I am glad you meet it bravely. '

'But you wont let them say mamma did it?'

'Who should say so?'

'Aunt Maria will, and mamma _will_ go and say so herself, ' criedSophy; 'she _will_ say it was taking walks and carrying baby, andit's not true. I told the doctor how my back ached long before babycame or she either, and he said that most likely the weakness hadbeen left by the fever. So if it is any one's mismanagement, it isAunt Maria's, and if you wont tell her so, I will. '

'Gently, Sophy, that would hardly be grateful, after the pains thatshe has taken with you, and the care she meant to give. '

'Her care was all worry, ' said Sophy, 'and it will be very lucky if Idon't tell her so, if she says her provoking things to mamma. Butyou wont believe them, papa. '

'Most certainly not. '

'Yes, you must tell her to be happy again, ' continued Sophy; 'Icannot bear to see her looking sorrowful! Last night, when shefancied me asleep, she cried--oh! till it made me miserable! Andto-day I heard Miss Ferrars say to Mrs. Annesley, that her fine spiritswere quite gone. You know it is very silly, for I am the lastperson in all the world she ought to cry for. '

'She has an infinite treasure of love, ' said Mr. Kendal, 'and we havedone very little that we should be blessed with it. '

'There, they are come home!' exclaimed Sophy, starting up as soundswere heard on the stairs, and almost at the same moment Albinia wasin the room, overflowing with contrition, gladness, and anxiety; butsomething of sweetness in the first hasty greeting made the trustovercome all the rest; and, understanding his uppermost wish, shestepped back to the staircase, and in another second had put Mauriceinto his arms, blooming and contented, and with a wide-mouthed smilefor his papa. Mr. Kendal held him fondly through all the hospitablewelcomes of the aunts, and his own explanations; but to Albinia itwas all confusion, and almost annoyance, till she could take himupstairs, and tell her own story. 

'I am afraid you have been very much alarmed, ' were his first words. 

'I have done everything wrong from beginning to end, ' said Albinia. 'Oh, Edmund, I am so glad you are come! Now you will see the doctor, and know whether it was as bad as all the rest to bring her toLondon. '

'My dearest, you must calm yourself, and try to explain. You know Iunderstand nothing yet, except from your resolute little advocatedownstairs, and your own note, which I could scarcely make out, except that you were in great trouble. '

'Ah, that note; I wrote it in one of my impetuous fits. Maurice usedto say I ran frantic, and grew irrational, and so I did not know whatI was saying to you; and I brought that poor patient girl up here inall the heat, and the journey hurt her so much, that I don't know howwe shall ever get her home again. Oh, Edmund, I am the worst wifeand mother in the world; and I undertook it all with such foolishconfidence. '

Mr. Kendal liked her impetuous fits as little as her brother did, andwas not so much used to them; but he dealt with her in his quiet, straightforward way. 'You are exaggerating now, Albinia, and I donot wonder at it, for you have had a great deal to startle and to tryyou. Walking up and down is only heating and agitating you more; sitdown here, and let me hear what gave you this alarm. '

The grave affection of his manner restrained her, and his presencesoothed the flutter of spirits; though she still devoted herself witha sort of wilfulness to bear all the blame, until he said, 'This isfoolish, Albinia; it is of no use to look at anything but the simpletruth. This affection of the spine must be constitutional, and ifneglect have aggravated the evil, it must date from a much earlierperiod than since she has been under your charge. If any one be toblame, it is myself, for the apathy that prevented me from placingthe poor things under proper care, but I was hardly then aware thatMaria's solicitude is always in the wrong place. '

'But everybody declares that it was always visible, and that no onecould look at her without seeing that she was crooked. '

'Apres le coup, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'I grant you that a person of moreexperience might perhaps have detected what was amiss sooner than youdid, but you have only to regret the ignorance you shared with usall; and you did your utmost according to your judgment. '

'And a cruel utmost it was, ' said Albinia; 'it is frightful to thinkwhat I inflicted, and she endured in silence, because I had nottreated her so that she could bear to speak to me. '

'That is over now, ' said Mr. Kendal, 'you have conquered her at last. Pride could not hold out against such sweetness. '

'It is her generosity, ' said Albinia; 'I always knew she was the bestof them all, if one could but get at her. '

'What have you done to her? I never heard her say half so much asshe voluntarily said to me just now. '

'Poor dear! I believe the key of her heart was lost when Edmunddied, and so all within was starved, ' said Albinia. 'Yes, ' as hiseyes were suddenly raised and fixed on her, 'I got to that at last. No one has ever understood her, since she lost her brother. '

'She has a certain likeness to him. I knew she was his favouritesister; but such a child as she was--'

'Children have deeper souls than you give them credit for, ' saidAlbinia. 'Yes, Edmund, you and Sophy are very much alike! You hadyour study, and poor Sophy enclosed herself in a perpetual cocoon ofstudy atmosphere, and so you never found each other out till to-day. '

Perhaps it was the influence of the frantic fit that caused her tomake so direct a thrust; but Mr. Kendal was not offended. There wasa good deal in the mere absence from habitual scenes andassociations; he always left a great deal of reserve behind him atBayford. 

'You may be right, Albinia, ' he said; 'I sometimes think that amongstus you are like the old poet's "star confined into a tomb. "'

Such a compliment was a pretty reward for her temerity. 

Returning to business, she found that her journey was treated as morejudicious than she deserved. The consequences had justified herdecision. Mr. Kendal knew it was the right thing to be done, and wasglad to have been spared the dreadful task of making up his mind toit. He sat down of his own accord to write a note to Winifred, beginning, 'Albinia was right, as she always is, ' and though his wifeinterlined, 'Albinia had no right to be right, for she wasinconsiderate, as she always is, ' she looked so brilliantly prettyand bright, and was so full of sunny liveliness, that she occasionedone of the very few disputes between her good aunts. Miss Ferrarsdeclared that poor Albinia was quite revived by the return to her oldhome, and absence of care, while Mrs. Annesley insisted on giving thecredit to Mr. Kendal. They were perfectly agreed in unwillingness topart with their guests; and as the doctor wished to see more of hispatient, the visit was prolonged, to the enjoyment of all parties. 

Sophy had received her sentence so easily, that it was suspected thatshe did not realize the tedium of confinement, and was relieved bybeing allowed to be inactive. Until she should go home, she might dowhatever did not fatigue her; but most sights, and even the motion ofthe carriage, were so fatiguing, that she was much more inclined toremain at home and revel in the delightful world of books. The kind, unobtrusive petting; the absence of customary irritations; the quiethigh-bred tone of the family, so acted upon her, as to render hersomething as agreeably new to herself as to other people. The glummask was cast aside, she responded amiably to kindness and attention, allowed herself to be drawn into conversation, and developed muchmore intelligence and depth than even Albinia had given her creditfor. 

One day, when Miss Ferrars was showing Mr. Kendal some illustrationsof Indian scenery, a question arose upon the date of the nativesovereign to whom the buildings were ascribed. Mr. Kendal could notrecollect; but Sophia, looking up, quietly pronounced the date, andgave her reasons for it. Miss Ferrars asked how she could havelearnt so much on an out-of-the-way topic. 

'I read a book of the History of India, up in the loft, ' said Sophy. 

'That book!' exclaimed her father; 'I wish you joy! I never couldget through it! It is the driest chronicle I ever read--a mere bookof reference. What could induce you to read that?'

'I would read anything about India;' and her tone, though low andsubdued, betrayed such enthusiasm as could find nothing dry, and thisin a girl who had read aloud the reign of Edward III. With stolidindifference!

'Well, I think I can promise you more interesting reading about Indiawhen we go home, ' said Mr. Kendal. 

The colour rose on Sophy's cheek. Books out of papa's study! Couldthe world offer a greater privilege?' She could scarcely pronounce, 'Thank you. '

'Very faithful to her birth-place, ' said Miss Ferrars; 'but she musthave been very young when she came home. '

'About five years old, I believe, ' said her father. 'You surely canremember nothing of Talloon. '

'I don't know, ' said Sophy, mournfully; 'I used--'

'I thought Indian children usually lost their eastern recollectionsvery early, ' said Miss Ferrars; 'I never heard of one who couldremember the sound of Hindostanee a year after coming home. '

Mr. Kendal, entertained and gratified, turned to his daughter; and, by way of experiment, began a short sentence in Hindostanee; but thefirst sound brought a glow to her cheeks, and, with a hurriedgesture, she murmured, 'Please don't, papa. '

Albinia saw that feelings were here concerned which must not beplayed on in public; and she hastily plunged into the discussion, anddrew it away from Sophy. Following her up-stairs at bed-time, shecontrived to win from her an explanation. 

Edmund had been seven years old at the time of the return to England. Fondly attached to some of the Hindoo servants, and with unusualintelligence and observation, the gorgeous scenery and orientalhabits of his first home had dwelt vividly in his imagination, and hehad always considered himself as only taken to England for a time, toreturn again to India. Thus, he had been fond of romancing of thepast and of the future, and had never let his little sister'srecollections fade entirely away. His father had likewise thoughtthat it would save future trouble to keep up the boys' knowledge ofthe language, which would by-and-by be so important to them. Gilbert's health had caused his studies to be often intermitted, butEdmund had constantly received instructions in the Indian languages, and whatever he learnt had been imparted to Sophia. It was piteousto discover how much time the poor forlorn little girl had spentsitting on the floor in the loft, poring over old grammars, andphrase-books, and translations of missionary or government school-booksthere accumulated--anything that related to India, or thatseemed to carry on what she had done with Edmund: and she hadacquired just enough to give her a keen appetite for all the higherclass of lore, which she knew to reside in the unapproachable study. Those few familiar words from her father had overcome her, because, atrivial greeting in themselves, they had been a kind of passwordbetween her and her brother. 

Mr. Kendal was greatly touched, and very remorseful for having leftsuch a heart to pine in solitude, while he was absorbed in his ownlonely grief; and Albinia ventured to say, 'I believe the greatestpleasure you could give her would be to help her to keep up thelanguage. '

He smiled, but said, 'Of what possible use could it be to her?'

'I was not thinking of future use. It would be of immense presentuse to her to do anything with you, and I can see that nothing wouldgratify her so much. Besides, I have been trying to think of all thenew things I could set her to do. She must have lessons to fill upthe day, and I want to make fresh beginnings, and not go back to theblots and scars of our old misunderstandings. '

'You want me to teach her Sanscrit because you cannot teach herItalian. '

'Exactly so, ' said Albinia; 'and the Italian will spring all thebetter from the venerable root, when we have forgotten how cross weused to be to each other over our relative pronouns. '

'But there is hardly anything which I could let her read in thoselanguages. '

'Very likely not; but you can pick out what there is. Do youremember the fable of the treasure that was to be gained by diggingunder the apple-tree, and which turned out not to be gold, but thefruit, the consequence of digging? Now, I want you to dig Sophy; aSanscrit, or a Hindostanee, or a Persian treasure will do equallywell as a pretext. If she had announced a taste for the differentialcalculus, I should have said the same. Only dig her, as Maurice dugme apropos to Homer. I wouldn't bother you, only you see no one elsecould either do it, or be the same to Sophy. '

'We will see how it is, ' said Mr. Kendal. 

With which Albinia was obliged to be content; but in the meantime shesaw the two making daily progress in intimacy, and Mr. Kendalbeginning to take a pride in his daughter's understanding andinformation, which he ascribed to Albinia, in spite of all herdisclaimers. It was as if she had evoked the spirit of his lost son, which had lain hidden under the sullen demeanour of the girl, devoidindeed of many of Edmund's charms, but yet with the same sterlingqualities, and with resemblance enough to afford infinite andunexpected joy and compensation. 

Mr. Kendal enjoyed his stay in town. He visited libraries, sawpictures, and heard music, with the new zest of having a wife able toenter into his tastes. He met old friends, and did not shrinkimmoderately from those of his wife; nay, he found them extremelyagreeable, and was pleased to see Albinia welcomed. Indeed, hissojourn in her former sphere served to make him wonder that she couldbe contented with Bayford, and to find her, of the whole party, byfar the most ready to return home. Both he himself and Sophy had anunavowed dread of the influence of Willow Lawn; but Albinia had aspring of spirits, independent of place, and though happy, wascraving for her duties, anxious to have the journey over, and afraidthat London was making her little Maurice pale. 

Miss Meadows was the first person whom they saw at Willow Lawn. Twoletters had passed, both so conventionally civil, that her state ofmind could not be gathered from them, but her first tones proved thatcoherence was more than ever wanting, and no one attempted tounderstand anything she said, while she enfolded Sophy in an agitatedembrace, and marshalled them to the drawing-room, where the chief ofthe apologies were spent upon Sophy's new couch, which had been sentdown the day before by the luggage-train, and which she and Ewerettahad attempted to put together in an impossible way, failing which, they had called in the carpenter, who had made it worse. 

It was an untold advantage that she had to take the initiative inexcuses. Sophy was so meek with weariness, that she took pretty wellall the kind fidgeting that could not be averted from her, and MissMeadows's discourse chiefly tended to assurances that Mrs. Kendal wasright, and grandmamma was nervous--and poor Mr. Bowles--it could notbe expected--with hints of the wonderful commotion the sudden flightto London had excited at Bayford. As soon as Mr. Kendal quitted theroom, these hints were converted into something betweenexpostulation, condolence, and congratulation. 

It was so very fortunate--so very lucky that dear Mr. Kendal had comehome with her, for--she had said she would let Mrs. Kendal hear, ifonly that she might be on her guard--people were so ill-natured--there never was such a place for gossip--not that she heard it fromany one but Mrs. Drury, who really now had driven in--not thatshe believed it, but to ascertain. --For Mrs. Drury had beentold--mentioning no names--oh, no! for fear of making mischief--shehad been told that Mrs. Kendal had actually been into Mr. Kendal's study, which was always kept locked up, and there she had found somethingwhich had distressed her so much that she had gone to Mr. Dusautoy, and by his advice had fled from home to the protection of her brotherin Canada. 

'Without waiting for Bluebeard's asking for the key! Oh, Maria!'cried Albinia, in a fit of laughter, while Sophia sat up on the sofain speechless indignation. 

'You may laugh, Mrs. Kendal, if you please, ' said Maria, with tartdignity; 'I have told you nothing but the truth. I should havethought for my part, but that's of no consequence, it was as well tobe on one's guard in a nest of vipers, for Edmund's sake, if not foryour own. ' And as this last speech convulsed Albinia, and renderedher incapable of reply, Miss Meadows became pathetic. 'I am sure thepains I have taken to trace out and contradict--and so nervous asgrandmamma has been--"I'm sure, Mrs. Drury, " said I, "that thoughEdmund Kendal does lock his study door, nobody ever thought anything--the housemaids go in to clean it--and I've been in myself when thewhitewashers were about the house--I'm sure Mrs. Kendal is a mostamiable young woman, and you wouldn't raise reports. " "No, " shesaid, "but Mrs. Osborn was positive that Mrs. Kendal was nearly anhour shut up alone in the study the night of Sophy's accident--and sosudden, " she said, "the carriage being sent for--not a servant knewof it--and then, " she said, "it was always the talk among the girls, that Mr. Kendal kept his study a forbidden place. "'

'Then, ' said Sophia, slowly, as she looked full at her aunt, 'it wasthe Osborns who dared to say such wicked things. '

'There now, I never meant you to be there. You ought to be gone tobed, child. It is not a thing for you to know anything about. '

'I only want to know whether it was the Osborns who invented thesestories, ' said Sophy. 

'My dear, ' exclaimed Albinia, 'what can it signify? They are only avery good joke. I did not think there had been so much imaginationin Bayford. ' And off she went laughing again. 

'They are very wicked, ' said Sophy, 'Aunt Maria, I will know if itwas Mrs. Osborn who told the story. '

Sophy's _will_ was too potent for Miss Meadows, and the admission wasextracted in a burst of other odds and ends, in the midst of whichAlbinia beheld Sophy cross the room with a deliberate, determinedstep. Flying after her, she found her in the hall, wrapping herselfup. 

'Sophy, what is this? What are you about?'

'Let me alone, ' said Sophy, straining against her detaining hand, 'Ido not know when I shall recover again, and I will go at once to tellthe Osborns that I have done with them. I stuck to them because Ithought they were my mother's friends; I did not guess that theywould make an unworthy use of my friendship, and invent wickedstories of my father and you. '

'Please don't make me laugh, Sophy, for I don't want to affront you. Yes, it is generous feeling; I don't wonder you are angry; but indeedsilly nonsense like this is not worth it. It will die away ofitself, it must be dead already, now they have seen we have not runaway to Canada. Your heroics only make it more ridiculous. '

'I must tell Loo never to come here with her hypocrisy, ' repeatedSophy, standing still, but not yielding an inch. 

Miss Meadows pursued them at the same moment with brokenprotestations that they must forget it, she never meant to makemischief, &c. , and the confusion was becoming worse confounded whenMr. Kendal emerged from the study, demanding what was the matter, tothe great discomfiture of Maria, who began hushing Sophy, and makingsigns to Albinia that it would be dangerous for him to know anythingabout it. 

But Albinia was already exclaiming, 'Here's a champion wanting to dobattle with Louisa Osborn in our cause. Oh, Edmund! our neighbourscould find no way of accounting for my taking French leave, but bysupposing that I took advantage of being shut in there, while poorlittle Maurice was squalling so furiously, to rifle your secrets, anddetect something so shocking, that away I was fleeing to William inCanada. '

'Obliging, ' quietly said Mr. Kendal. 

'Now, dear Edmund--I know--for my sake--for everything's sake, remember you are a family man, don't take any notice. '

'I certainly shall take no notice of such folly, ' said Mr. Kendal, 'and I wish that no one else should. What are you about, Sophia?'

'Tell mamma to let me go, papa, ' she exclaimed, 'I must and will tellLouisa that I hate her baseness and hypocrisy, and then I'll neverspeak to her again. Why will mamma laugh? It is very wicked ofthem. '

'Wrong in them, but laughing is the only way to treat it, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'Go back to your sofa and forget it. Your aunt and I haveheard Bayford reports before. '

Sophy obeyed unwillingly, she was far too much incensed to forget. On her aunt's taking leave, and Mr. Kendal offering his escort up thehill, she rose up again, and would have perpetrated a denunciation byletter, had not Albinia seriously argued with her, and findingridicule, expediency, and Christian forgiveness all fail of hittingthe mark, said, 'I don't know with what face you could attack Louisa, when you helped her to persecute poor Genevieve because you thoughtshe had an instrument of torture in her drawer. '

'It was not I who said that, ' said Sophy, blushing. 

'You took part with those who did. And poor Genevieve was a muchmore defenceless victim than papa or myself. '

'I would not do so now. '

'It does not take much individual blackness of heart to work up afine promising slander. A surmise made in jest is repeated inearnest, and all the other tale-bearers think they are telling simplefacts. Depend upon it, the story did not get off from the Osborns byany means as it came back to Aunt Maria. '

'I should like to know. '

'Don't let us make it any worse; and above all, do not let us tellLucy. '

'Oh, no!' said Sophy, emphatically. 

To Albinia's surprise no innuendo from Mrs. Or Miss Meadows everreferred to her management having caused Sophy's misfortune, and shesecretly attributed this silence to Mr. Kendal's having escorted hissister-in-law to her own house. 

Sophy's chief abode became the morning-room, and she seemed veryhappy and tranquil there--shrinking from visitors, but grateful forthe kindness of parents, brother and sister. 

Mr. Kendal, finding her really eager to learn of him, began teachingher Persian, and was astonished at her promptness and intelligence. He took increasing pleasure in her company, gave her books to read, and would sometimes tell the others not to stay at home for her sake, as he should be 'about the house. '

He really gave up much time to her, and used to carry her, when theweather served, to a couch in the garden, for she could not bear themotion of wheels, and was forbidden to attempt walking, though shewas to be in the air as much as possible, so that Albinia spent moretime at home. The charge of Sophy was evidently her business, andafter talking the matter over with Mrs. Dusautoy, she resigned, though not without a pang, the offices she had undertaken in the timeof her superfluous activity, and limited herself to occasionalsuperintendence, instead of undertaking constant employment in theparish. Though she felt grieved and humiliated, Willow Lawn throvethe better for it, and so did her own mind, yes, and even her temper, which was far less often driven by over-haste into quick censure, orunconsidered reply. 

Her mistakes about Sophia had been a lesson against one-sidedgovernment. At first, running into the other extreme, she was readyto imagine that all the past ill-humour had been the effect of herneglect and cruelty; and Sophy's amiability almost warranted thenotion. The poor girl herself had promised 'never to be crossagain, ' and fancied all temptation was over, since she had 'found outmamma, ' and papa was so kind to her. But all on a sudden, down camethe cloud again. Nobody could detect any reason. Affronts abounded--not received with an explosion that would have been combated, laughed at, and disposed of, but treated with silence, and eachsinking down to be added to the weight of cruel injuries. There wasno complaint; Sophy obeyed all orders with her old form of dismalsubmission, but everything proposed to her was distasteful, and heranswers were in the ancient surly style. If attempts were made toprobe the malady, her reserve was impenetrable--nothing was thematter, she wanted nothing, was vexed at nothing. She pursued herusual occupations, but as if they were hardships; she was sullentowards her mamma, snappishly brief with her aunt and sister, and soungracious and indifferent even with her father, that Albiniatrembled lest he might withdraw the attention so improperly received. When this dreary state of things had lasted more than a week, he didtell her that if she were tired of the lessons, it was not worthwhile to proceed; but that he had hoped for more perseverance. 

The fear of losing these, her great pride and pleasure, overcame her. She maintained her grim composure till he had left her, but then fellinto a violent fit of crying, in which Albinia found her, and whichdissolved the reserve into complaints that every one was very crueland unkind, and she was the most miserable girl in all the world;papa was going to take away from her the only one thing that made ittolerable!

Reasoning was of no use; to try to show her that it was her ownbehaviour that had annoyed him, only made her mamma appear equallyhard-hearted, and she continued wretched all the rest of the day, refusing consolation, and only so far improved that avowed discontentwas better than sullenness. The next morning, she found out that itwas not the world that was in league against her, but that she hadfallen into the condition which she had thought past for ever. Thiswas worst of all, and her disappointment and dejection lasted notonly all that long day, but all the next, making her receive allkindnesses with a broken-down, woebegone manner, and reply to allcheerful encouragements with despair about anything ever making hergood. Albinia tried to put her in mind of the Source of allgoodness; but any visible acceptance of personal applications ofreligious teaching had not yet been accomplished. 

Gradually all cleared up again, and things went well till for somefresh trivial cause or no cause, the whole process was repeated--sulking, injured innocence, and bitter repentance. This time, Mr. Kendal pronounced, 'This is low spirits, far more than temper, ' andhe thenceforth dealt with these moods with a tender considerationthat Albinia admired, though she thought at times that to treat themmore like temper than spirits might be better for Sophy; but it wasevident that the poor child herself had at present little if anypower either of averting such an access, or of shaking it off. Thedanger of her father's treatment seemed to be, that the humours wouldbe acquiesced in, like changes in the weather, and that she might beencouraged neither to repent, nor to struggle; while her captivitymade her much more liable to the tedium and sinking of heart thatpredisposed her to them. 

There seemed to be nothing to be done but to bear patiently with themwhile they lasted, to console the victim afterwards, lead her toprayer and resolute efforts, and above all to pray for her, as wellas to avoid occasions of bringing them on; but this was not possible, since no one could live without occasional contradiction, and Sophycould sometimes bear a strong remonstrance or great disappointment, when at others a hint, or an almost imperceptible vexation, destroyedher peace for days. 

Mr. Kendal bore patiently with her variations, and did his best toamuse away her gloom. It was wonderful how much of his own was gone, and how much more alive he was. He had set himself to attack thefive public-houses and seven beer-shops in Tibbs's Alley, and sincehis eyes had been once opened, it seemed as if the disorders becamemore flagrant every day. At last, he pounced on a misdemeanour whichhe took care should come before the magistrates, and he was muchannoyed to find the case dismissed for want of evidence. One Sundayhe beheld the end of a fray begun during service-time; he caused aninformation to be laid, and went himself to the petty sessions torepresent the case, but the result was a nominal penalty. TheAdmiral was a seeker of popularity, and though owning that the townwas in a shocking state, and making great promises when talked to ongeneral points, yet he could never make up his mind to punish any'poor fellow, ' unless he himself were in a passion, when he would goany length. The other magistrates would not interfere; and all thesatisfaction Mr. Kendal obtained was being told how much he waswanted on the bench. 

One of the few respectable Tibbs's Alleyites told him that it was ofno use to complain, for the publicans boasted of their impunity, snapped their fingers at him, and drank Admiral Osborn's health astheir friend. The consequence was, that Mr. Kendal took amagnanimous resolution, ordered a copy of Burn's Justice, and at theSeptember Quarter Sessions actually rode over to Hadminster, and tookthe oaths. 

On the whole, the expectation was more formidable than the reality. However much he disliked applying himself to business, no oneunderstood it better. The value of his good sense, judgment, andacuteness was speedily felt. Mr. Nugent, the chairman, depended onhim as his ally, and often as his adviser; and as he was thus made tofeel himself of weight and importance, his aversion subsided, and healmost learnt to look forward to a chat with Mr. Nugent; or whetherhe looked forward to it or not, there could be no doubt that heenjoyed it. Though still shy, grave, silent, and inert, there was agreat alteration in him since the time when he had had no friends, nointerests, no pursuits beyond his study; and there was every reasonto think that, in spite of the many severe shocks to his mauvaisehonte, he was a much happier man. 

His wife could not regret that his magisterial proceedings led to acoolness with the Osborns, augmented by a vestry-meeting, at whichMr. Dusautoy had begged him to be present. The Admiral and his partysurpassed themselves in their virulence against whatever the vicarproposed, until they fairly roused Mr. Kendal's ire, and 'he came outupon them all like a lion;' and with force appearing the greater frombeing so seldom exerted, he represented Mr. Dusautoy's conduct inappropriate terms, showing full appreciation of his merits, andholding up their own course before them in its true light, till theyhad nothing to say for themselves. It was the vicar's first visiblevictory. The increased congregation showed how much way he had madewith the poor, and Mr. Kendal taking his part openly, drew over manyof the tradespeople, who had begun to feel the influence of hishearty nature and consistent uprightness, and had become used to whathad at first appeared innovations. Mr. Dusautoy, in thanking Mr. Kendal, begged him to allow himself to be nominated his churchwardennext Easter, and having consented while his blood was up, there wasno danger that, however he might dislike the prospect, he wouldfalter when the time should come. 

CHAPTER X. 

It was 'a green Yule, ' a Christmas like an April day, and even thelengthening days and strengthening cold of January attaining tonothing more than three slight hoar-frosts, each quickly melting intomud, and the last concluding in rain and fog. 

'What would Willow Lawn have been without the drainage?' Albiniaoften thought when she paddled down the wet streets, and saw thefields flooded. The damp had such an effect upon Sophy's throat, temper, and whole nervous system, that her moods had few intervals, and Albinia wrote to the surgeon a detail of her symptoms, asking ifshe had not better be removed into a more favourable air. But hepronounced that the injury of the transport would outbalance thecasual evils of the bad weather, and as the rain and fog mitigated, she improved; but there were others on whom the heavy moist air had amore fatal effect. 

One morning, Mr. Kendal saw his wife descending the picturesquerugged stone staircase that led outside the house to the upperstories of the old block of buildings under the hill, nearly oppositeto Willow Lawn. She came towards him with tears still in her eyes asshe said, 'Poor Mrs. Simkins has just lost her little girl, and I amafraid the two boys are sickening. '

'What do you mean? Is the fever there again?' exclaimed Mr. Kendalin the utmost consternation. 

'Did you not know it? Lucy has been very anxious about the child, who was in her class. '

'You have not taken Lucy to a house with a fever!'

'No, I thought it safer not, though she wanted very much to go. '

'But you have been going yourself!'

'It was a low, lingering fever. I had not thought it infectious, andeven now I believe it is only one of those that run through anover-crowded family. The only wonder is, that they are ever well insuch a place. Dear Edmund, don't be angry; it is what I used to docontinually at Fairmead. I never caught anything; and there isplenty of chloride of lime, and all that. I never imagined you woulddisapprove. '

'It is the very place where the fever began before!' said Mr. Kendal, almost under his breath. 

Instead of going into the house, he made her turn into the garden, where little Maurice was being promenaded in the sun. He stretchedout from his nurse's arms to go to them, and Albinia was goingtowards him, but her husband held her fast, and said, 'I beg you willnot take the child till you have changed your dress. '

Albinia was quite subdued, alarmed at the effect on him. 

'You must go away at once, ' he said presently. 'How soon can you beready? You had better take Lucy and Maurice at once to yourbrother's. They will excuse the liberty when they know the cause. '

'And pray what is to become of poor Sophy?'

'Never going out, there may be the less risk for her. I will takecare of her myself. '

'As if I was going to endure that!' cried Albinia. 'No, no, Edmund, I am not likely to run away from you and Sophy! You may send Lucyoff, if you like, but certainly not me, or if you do I shall comeback the same evening. '

'I should be much happier if you were gone. '

'Thank you, but what should I be? No, if it were to be caught here, which I don't believe, now the pond is gone, it would be of no use tosend me away, after I have been into the house with it. '

Her resolution and Sophy's need prevailed, and most unwillingly Mr. Kendal gave up the point. She was persuaded that he was acting on apanic, the less to be wondered at after all he had suffered. Shethought the chief danger was from the effect of his fears, and wouldfain have persuaded him to remain at Fairmead with Lucy, but she wasnot prepared to hear him insist on likewise removing Maurice. Shehad promised not to enter the sick room again, and pleaded that thelittle boy need never be taken into the street--that the fever wasnot likely to come across the running stream--that the Fairmeadnursery was full enough already. 

Mr. Kendal was inexorable. 'I hope you may never see what I haveseen, ' he said gravely, and Albinia was silenced. 

A man who had lost so many children might be allowed to be morbidlyjealous of the health of the rest. But it was a cruel stroke to herto be obliged to part with her noble little boy, just when his dailyadvances in walking and talking made him more charming than ever. Her eyes were full of tears, and she struggled to choke back somepettish rebellious words. 

'You do not like to trust him with Susan, ' said Mr. Kendal; 'you hadbetter come with him. '

'No, ' said Albinia, 'I ought to stay here, and if you judge it right, Maurice must go. I'll go and speak to Susan. '

And away she ran, for she had no power just then to speak in a wifelymanner. It was not easy to respect a man in a panic so extremelyinconvenient. 

He was resolved on an immediate start, and the next few hours werespent in busy preparation, and in watching lest the excited Lucyshould frighten her sister. Albinia tried to persuade Mr. Kendal atleast to sleep at Fairmead that night, and after watching him driveoff, she hurried, dashing away the tears that would gather again andagain in her eyes, to hold council with the Dusautoys on the bestmeans of stopping the course of the malady, by depriving it of itsvictims. 

She had a quiet snug evening with Sophy, whom she had so muchinterested in the destitution of the sick children as to set her towork at some night-gear for them, and she afterwards sat long overthe fire trying to read to silence the longing after the little softcheek that had never yet been laid to rest without her caress, andforeboding that Mr. Kendal would return from his dark solitary drivewith his spirits at the lowest ebb. 

So late that she had begun to hope that Winifred had obeyed herbehest and detained him, she heard his step, and before she could runto meet him, he had already shut himself into the study. 

She was at the door in a moment; she feared he had thought herself-willed in the morning, and she was the more bent on rousing him. She knocked--she opened the door. He had thrown himself into hisarm-chair, and was bending over the dreary, smouldering, sulky log andwhite ashes, and his face, as he raised his head, was as if the wholeload of care and sorrow had suddenly descended again. 

'I am sorry you sat up, ' was of course his beginning, conveyinganything but welcome; but she knew that this only meant that he wasin a state of depression. She took hold of his hand, chilled withholding the reins, told him of the good fire in the morning-room, andfairly drew him up-stairs. 

There the lamp burnt brightly, and the red fire cast a merry glowover the shining chintz curtains, and the two chairs drawn so cosilytowards the fire, the kettle puffing on the hearth, and Albinia'schoice little bed-room set of tea-china ready on the small table. The cheerfulness seemed visibly to diffuse itself over his face, buthe still struggled to cherish his gloom, 'Thank you, but I would nothave had you take all this trouble, my dear. '

'It would be a great deal more trouble if you caught a bad cold. Imeant you to sleep at Fairmead. '

'Yes, they pressed me very kindly, but I could not bear not to comehome. '

'And how did Maurice comport himself?'

'He talked to the horse and then went to sleep, and he was not at allshy with his aunt after the first. He watched the children, but hadnot begun to play with them. Still I think he will be quite happywith Lucy there, and I hope it will not be for long. '

It was a favourable sign that Mr. Kendal communicated all theseparticulars without being plied with questions, and Albinia went onwith the more spirit. 

'No, I hope it may not be for long. We have been holding a greatcouncil against the enemy, and I do hope that we have really donesomething. No, you need not be afraid, I have not been there again, but we have been routing out the nucleus, and hope we may starve outthe fever for want of victims. You never saw such a swarm as we hadto turn out. There were twenty-three people to be considered for. '

'Twenty-three! Have you turned out the whole block?'

'No, I wish we had; but that would have been seventy-five. This isonly from those two tenements with one door!'

'Impossible!'

'I should have thought so; but the lawful inhabitants make upsixteen, and there were seven lodgers. '

Mr. Kendal gave a kind of groan, and asked what she had done; shedetailed the measures. 

'Twenty-three people in those two houses, and seventy-five in thewhole block of building?'

'Too true. And if you could only see the rooms! The windows thatwont open; the roofs that open too much; the dirt on the staircases, and, oh! the horrible smells!'

'It shall not go on, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'I will look over the place. '

'Not till the fever is out of it, ' hastily interposed Albinia. 

He made a sign of assent, and went on: 'I will certainly talk toPettilove, and have the place repaired, if it be at my own expense. '

Albinia lifted up her eyes, not understanding at whose expense itshould be. 

'The fact is, ' continued Mr. Kendal, 'that there has been little toinduce me to take interest in the property. Old Mr. Meadows was, asyou know, a successful solicitor, and purchased these various towntenements bit by bit, and then settled them very strictly on hisgrandson. He charged the property with life incomes to his widow anddaughters, and to me; but the land is in the hands of trustees untilmy son's majority, and Pettilove is the only surviving trustee. '

The burning colour mantled in Albinia's face, and almost inaudiblyshe said, 'I beg your pardon, Edmund; I have done you moat grievousinjustice. I thought you _would_ not see--'

'You did not think unjustly, my dear. I ought to have paid moreattention to the state of affairs, and have kept Pettilove in order. But I knew nothing of English affairs, and was glad to be spared theunpleasant charge. The consequence of leaving a man like thatirresponsible never occurred to me. His whole conscience in thematter is to have a large sum to put into Gilbert's hands when hecomes of age. Why, he upholds those dens of iniquity in Tibbs'sAlley on that very ground!'

'Poor Gilbert! I am afraid a large sum so collected is not likely todo him much good! and at one-and-twenty--! But that is one notion offaithfulness!'

Albinia was much happier after that conversation. She could betterendure to regret her own injustice than to believe her husband thecruel landlord; and it was no small advance that he had afforded heran explanation which once he would have deemed beyond the reach offemale capacity. 

In spite of the lack of little Maurice's bright presence, which, toAlbinia's great delight, his father missed as much as she did, theperiod of quarantine sped by cheerfully. Sophy had not a singlesullen fit the whole time, and Albinia having persuaded Mr. Kendalthat it would be a sanatory measure to whitewash the study ceiling, hewas absolutely forced to turn out of it and live in the morning-room, with all his books piled up in the dining-room. And on thatgreat occasion Albinia abstracted two fusty, faded, green canvasblinds from the windows, carried them off with a pair of tongs, andpushed them into a bonfire in the garden, persuaded they were thelast relics of the old fever. She had the laurels cut, the curtainschanged, the windows cleaned, and altogether made the room so muchlighter, that when Mr. Kendal again took possession, he did not lookat all sure whether he liked it; and though he was courteouslygrateful, he did not avail himself of the den half so much as when ithad more congenial gloom. But then he had the morning-room as aresort, and it was one of Albinia's bargains with herself, that asfar as her own influence could prevent it, neither he nor Sophyshould ever render it a literal boudoir. 

The sense of snugness that the small numbers produced was one greatcharm, and made Mr. Kendal come unusually far out of his shell. Hischief sanatory precaution was to take Albinia out for a drive or walkevery day, and these expeditions were greatly enjoyed. 

One day, after a visit from her old nurse, Sophy received Albiniawith the words, --

'Oh, mamma, ' she said, 'old nurse has been telling me such things. Ishall never be cross with Aunt Maria again. It is such a sad story, just like one in a book, if she was but that kind of person. '

'Aunt Maria! I remember Mrs. Dusautoy once saying she gave her theidea of happiness shattered, but--'

'Did she?' exclaimed Sophy. 'I never thought Aunt Maria could havedone anything but fidget everybody that came near her; but old nursesays a gentleman was once in love with her, and a very handsome younggentleman too. Old Mr. Pringle's nephew it was, a very fine youngofficer in the army. I want you to ask papa if it is true. Nursesays that he wrote to make an offer for her, very handsomely, butgrandpapa did not choose that both his daughters should go quiteaway; so he locked the letter up, and said no, and never told her, and she thought the captain had been trifling and playing her false, and pined and fretted, till she got into this nervous way, and fairlywore herself out, nurse says, and came to be what she is now, insteadof the prettiest young lady in the town! And then, mamma, whengrandpapa died, she found the letter in his papers, and one insidefor her, that had never been given to her; and by that time there wasno hope, for Captain Pringle had gone out with his regiment, andmarried a rich young lady in the Indies! Oh, mamma! you see shereally is deserted, and it is all man's treachery that has broken herheart. I thought people always died or went into convents--I don'tmean that Aunt Maria could have done that, but I did not think thatway of hers was a broken heart!'

'If she has had such troubles, it should indeed make us try to bevery forbearing with her, ' said Albinia. 

'Will you ask papa about it?' entreated Sophy. 

'Yes, certainly; but you must not make sure whether he will think itright to tell us. Poor Aunt Maria; I do think some part of it mustbe true!'

'But, mamma, is that really like deserted love?'

'My dear, I don't think I ever saw deserted love, ' said Albinia, rather amused. 'I suppose troubles of any kind, if not--I mean, Isuppose, vexations--make people show their want of spirits in the waymost accordant with their natural dispositions, and so your poor aunthas grown querulous and anxious. '

'If she has such a real grand reason for being unhappy, I shall notbe cross about it now, except--'

Sophy gave a sigh, and Albinia bade her good night. 

Mr. Kendal had never heard the story before, but he remembered manycircumstances in corroboration. He knew that Mr. Pringle had anephew in the army, he recollected that he had made a figure inMaria's letters to India; and that he had subsequently married a ladyin the Mauritius, and settled down on her father's estate. Hetestified also to the bright gay youth of poor Maria, and hissurprise at the premature loss of beauty and spirits; and from hisknowledge of old Mr. Meadows, he believed him capable of such an actof domestic tyranny. Maria had always been looked upon as a merechild, and if her father did not choose to part with her, he wouldthink it for her good, and his own peace, for her not to be aware ofthe proposal. He was much struck, for he had not suspected hissister-in-law to be capable of such permanent feeling. 

'There was little to help her in driving it away, ' said Albinia. 'Few occupations or interests, and very little change, to prevent itfrom preying on her spirits. '

'True, ' said Mr. Kendal; 'a narrow education and limited sphere aresad evils in such cases. '

'Do you think anything can be a cure for disappointment?' askedSophy, in such a solemn, earnest tone, that Albinia was disposed tolaugh; but she knew that this would be a dire offence, and was muchsurprised that Sophy had so far broken through her reserve, as tomingle in their conversation on such a subject. 

'Occupation, ' said Mr. Kendal, but speaking rather as if from dutythan from conviction. 'There are many sources of happiness, even ifshipwreck have been made on one venture. Your aunt had few resourcesto which to turn her mind. Every pursuit or study is a help storedup against the vacuity which renders every care more corroding. '

'Well!' said Sophy, in her blunt, downright way, 'I think it wouldtake all the spirit out of everything. '

'I hope you will never be tried, ' said Mr. Kendal, with a mournfulsmile, as if he did not choose to confess that she had divined toorightly the probable effect of trouble upon her own temperament. 

'I suppose, ' said Albinia, 'that the real cure can be but one thingfor that, as for any other trouble. I mean, "Thy will be done. " Idon't suppose anything else would give energy to turn to otherduties. But it would be more to the purpose to resolve to be moreconsiderate to poor Maria. '

'I shall never be impatient with her again, ' said Sophy. 

And though at first the discovery of so romantic a cause for poorMiss Meadows's fretfulness dignified it in Sophy's eyes, yet it didnot prove sufficient to make it tolerable when she tormented thewindow-blinds, teased the fire, was shocked at Sophy's favouritestudies, or insisting on her wishing to see Maria Drury. Nay, thebathos often rendered her petty unconscious provocations the moreharassing, and Sophy often felt, in an agony of self-reproach, thatshe ought to have known herself too well to expect to showforbearance with any one when she was under the influence of ill-temper. 

In Easter week Mr. Ferrars brought Lucy and Maurice home, and Gilbertcame for a short holiday. 

Gilbert was pleased when he was called to go over the empty houseswith his father, Mr. Ferrars, and a mason. 

Back they came, horrified at the dreadful disrepair, at the narrowarea into which such numbers were crowded, and still more at the illodours which Mr. Ferrars and the mason had gallantly investigated, till they detected the absence of drains, as well as convincedthemselves that mending roofs, floors, or windows, would be a meremockery unless the whole were pulled down. 

Mr. Ferrars was more than ever thankful to be a country parson, andmused on the retribution that the miasma, fostered by the avarice ofthe grandfather and the neglect of the father, had brought on thefamily. Dives cannot always scorn Lazarus without suffering even inthis life. 

Gilbert, in the glory of castle-building, was talking eagerly of thethorough renovation that should take place, the sweep that should bemade of all the old tenements, and the wide healthy streets and modelcottages that should give a new aspect to the town. 

Mr. Kendal prepared for the encounter with Pettilove, and his sonbegged to go with him, to which he consented, saying that it was timeGilbert should have an opinion in a matter that affected him sonearly. 

Gilbert's opinion of the interview was thus announced on his return:'If there ever was a brute in the world, it is that Pettilove!'

'Then he wont consent to do anything?'

'No, indeed! Say what my father or I would to him, it was all of notthe slightest use. He smiled, and made little intolerable nods, andregretted--but there were the settlements, and his late lamentedpartner! A parcel of stuff. Not so much as a broken window will hemend! He says he is not authorized!'

'Quite true, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'The man is warranted in hisproceedings, and thinks them his duty, though I believe he has asatisfaction in the power of thwarting me. '

'I'm sure he has!' cried Gilbert. 'I am sure there was spite in hisgrin when he pulled out that horrid old parchment, with the lines ayard long, and read us out the abominable old crabbed writing, allabout the houses, messuages, and tenements thereupon, and a lot oflawyer's jargon. I'm sure I thought it was left to Peter Pettilovehimself. And when I came to understand it, one would have thought ittook my father to be the worst enemy we had in the world, bent oncheating us!'

'That is the assumption on which settlements are drawn up, Gilbert, 'said his father. 

'Can nothing be done, then?' said Albinia. 

'Thus much, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'Pettilove will not object to ourputting the houses somewhat in repair, as, in fact, that will bemaking a present to Gilbert; but he will not spend a farthing on themof the trust, except to hinder their absolute falling, nor will hemake any regulation on the number of lodgers. As to taking themdown, that is, as I always supposed, out of the question, though Ithink the trustees might have stretched a point, being certain ofboth my wishes and Gilbert's. '

'Don't you think, ' said Mr. Ferrars, looking up from his book, 'thata sanatory commission might be got to over-ride Gilbert's guardian?'

'My guardian! do not call him so!' muttered Gilbert. 

'I am afraid, ' said Mr. Kendal, 'that unless your commission emulatedof Albinia and Dusautoy they would have little perception of theevils. Our local authorities are obtuse in such matters. '

'Agitate! agitate!' murmured Mr. Ferrars, going on with his book. 

'Well, ' said Albinia, 'at least there is one beer-shop less inTibbs's Alley. And if there are tolerable seasons, I daresay paint, whitewash, and windows to open, may keep the place moderatelywholesome till--Are you sixteen yet, Gilbert? Five years. '

'Yes, and then--'

Gilbert came and sat down beside her, and they built a scheme for thealmshouses so much wanted. Gilbert was sure the accumulation wouldeasily cover the expense, and Albinia had many an old woman, who itwas hoped might live to enjoy the intended paradise there. 

'Yes, yes, I promise, ' cried Gilbert, warming with the subject, 'thefirst thing I shall do--'

'No, don't promise, ' said Albinia. 'Do it from your heart, or not atall. '

'No, don't promise, Gilbert, ' said Sophy. 

'Why not, Sophy?' he said good-humouredly. 

'Because you are just what you feel at the moment, ' said Sophy. 

'You don't think I should keep it?'

'No. '

The grave answer fell like lead, and Albinia told her she was notkind or just to her brother. But she still looked steadily at him, and answered, 'I cannot help it. What is truth, is truth, andGilbert cares only for what he sees at the moment. '

'What is truth need not always be fully uttered, ' said Albinia. 'Ihope you may find it untrue. '

But Sophy's words would recur, and weigh on her painfully. 

CHAPTER XI. 

The summer had just begun, when notice was given that a Confirmationwould take place in the autumn; and Lucy's name was one of the firstsent in to Mr. Dusautoy. His plan was to collect his candidates inweekly classes of a few at a time, and likewise to see as much as hecould of them in private. 

'Oh! mamma!' exclaimed Lucy, returning from her first class, 'Mr. Dusautoy has given us each a paper, where we are to set down ourchristening days, and our godfathers and godmothers. And only think, I had not the least notion when I was christened. I could tellnothing but that Mr. Wenlock was my godfather! It made me feel quitefoolish not to know my godmothers. '

'We were in no situation to have things done in order, ' said Mr. Kendal, gravely. 'If I recollect rightly, one of your godmothers wasCaptain Lee's pretty young wife, who died a few weeks after. '

'And the other?' said Lucy. 

'Your mother, I believe, ' he said. 

Lucy employed herself in filling up her paper, and exclaimed, 'Now Ido not know the date! Can you tell me that, papa?'

'It was the Christmas-day next after your birth, ' he said. 'Iremember that, for we took you to spend Christmas at the neareststation of troops, and the chaplain christened you. '

Lucy wrote down the particulars, and exclaimed, 'What an old baby Imust have been! Six months old! And I wonder when Sophy waschristened. I never knew who any of her godfathers and godmotherswere. Did you, Sophy?'

'No--' she was looking up at her father. 

A sudden flush of colour came over his face, and he left the room inhaste. 

'Why, Sophy!' exclaimed Lucy, 'one would think you had not beenchristened at all!'

Even the light Lucy was alarmed at the sound of her own words. Thesame idea had thrilled across Albinia; but on turning her eyes onSophy, she saw a countenance flushed, anxious, but full rather oftrembling hope than of dismay. 

In a few seconds Mr. Kendal came back with a thick red pocket-book inhis hand, and produced the certificate of the private baptism ofSophia, daughter of Edmund and Lucy Kendal, at Talloon, March 17th, 1838. 

Sophy's face had more disappointment in it than satisfaction. 

'I can explain the circumstances to you now, ' said her father. 'AtTalloon we were almost out of reach of any chaplains, and, as youknow, were almost the only English. We always intended to take youto the nearest station, as had been done with Lucy, but your dearmother was never well enough to bear the journey; and when our nextlittle one was born, it was so plain that he could not live, that Isent in haste to beg that the chaplain would come to us. It was thenthat you were both baptized, and before the week was over, he buriedlittle Henry. It was the first of our troubles. We never again hadhealth or spirits for any festive occasion while we continued inIndia, and thus the ceremony was never completed. In fact, I takeshame to myself for having entirely forgotten that you had never beenreceived into the congregation. '

'Then I have told a falsehood whenever I said the Catechism!' burstout Sophy. Lucy would have laughed, and Albinia could almost havebeen amused at the turn her displeasure had taken. 

'It was not your fault, ' said Mr. Kendal, quietly. 

He evidently wished the subject to be at an end, excepting that insilence he laid before Albinia's eyes the certificate of the baptismof the twin-brothers, not long after the first arrival in India. Hethen put the book in his pocket, and began, as usual, to read aloud. 

'Oh, don't go, mamma, ' said Sophy, when she had been carried to herown room at bed-time, and made ready for the night. 

Albinia was only too glad to linger, in the hope to be admitted intosome of the recesses of that untransparent nature, and by way ofassistance, said, 'I was not at all prepared for this discovery. '

Sophy drew a long sigh, and said, 'If I had never been christened, Ishould have thought there was some hope for me. '

'That would have been too dreadful. How could you imagine your papacapable--?'

'I thought I had found out why I am so horrid! exclaimed Sophy. 'Oh, if I could only make a fresh beginning! Mamma, do pray give me aPrayer Book. '

Albinia gave it to her, and she hastily turned the pages to the Orderfor Private Baptism. 

'At least I have not made the promises and vows!' she said, as if herstern conscientiousness obtained some relief. 

'Not formally made them, ' said Albinia; 'but you cannot have a rightto the baptismal blessings, except on those conditions. '

'Mamma, then I never had the sign of the cross on my forehead! Itdoes not feel blest!' And then, hastily and low, she muttered, ' Oh!is that why I never could bear the cross in all my life!'

'Nay, my poor Sophy, yon must not think of it like a spell. Manybear the cross no better, who have had it marked on their brows. '

'Can it be done now?' cried Sophy, eagerly. 

'Certainly; I think it ought to be done. We will see what yourfather says. '

'Oh, mamma, beg him, pray him!' exclaimed Sophy. 'I know it willmake me begin to be good! I can't bear not to be one of those markedand sealed. Oh! and, mamma, you will be my godmother? Can't you?If the gleams of goodness and brightness do find me out, they arealways from you. '

'I think I might be, dear child, ' said Albinia, 'but Mr. Dusautoymust tell us whether I may. But, indeed, I am afraid to see youreckon too much on this. The essential, the regenerating grace, isyours already, and can save you from yourself, and Confirmation addsthe rest--but you must not think of any of these like a charm, whichwill save you all further trouble with yourself. They do not killthe faults, but they enable you to deal with them. Even baptismitself, you know, has destroyed the guilt of past sin, but does nothinder subsequent temptation. '

Albinia hardly knew how far Sophy attended to this caution, for allshe said was to reiterate the entreaty that the omitted ceremonymight be supplied. 

Mr. Kendal gave a ready consent, as soon as he was told that Sophy soardently wished for it--so willing, indeed, that Albinia wassurprised, until he went on to say, 'No one need be aware of thematter beyond ourselves. Your brother and sister would, I have nodoubt, act as sponsors. Nay, if Ferrars would officiate, we needhardly mention it even to Dusautoy. It could take place in yoursitting-room. '

'But, Edmund!' began Albinia, aghast, 'would that be the right thing?I hardly think Maurice would consent. '

'You are not imagining anything so preposterous or inexpedient as towish to bring Sophia forward in church, ' said Mr. Kendal; 'even ifshe were physically capable of it, I should not choose to expose herto anything so painful or undesirable. '

'I am afraid, then, ' said Albinia, 'that it will not be done at all. It is not receiving her into the congregation to have this serviceread before half-a-dozen people in my sitting-room. '

'Better not have it done at all, then, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'It is notessential. I will not have her made a spectacle. '

'Will you only consult Mr. Dusautoy?'

'I do not wish Mr. Dusautoy to interfere in my family regulations. Imean, that I have a great respect for him, but as a clergyman, andone wedded to form, he would not take into account the great evil ofmaking a public display, and attracting attention to a girl of herage, station, and disposition. And, in fact, ' added Mr. Kendal, withthe same scrupulous candour as his daughter always showed, 'for thesake of my own position, and the effect of example, I should not wishthis unfortunate omission to be known. '

'I suspect, ' said Albinia, 'that the example of repairing it wouldspeak volumes of good. '

'It is mere absurdity to speak of it!' said Mr. Kendal. 'The poorchild is not to leave her couch yet for weeks. '

Sophy was told in the morning that the question was underconsideration, and Lucy was strictly forbidden to mention thesubject. 

When next Mr. Kendal came to read with Sophy, she said imploringly, 'Papa, have you thought?'

'Yes, ' he said, 'I have done so; but your mamma thinks, and, onexamination of the subject, I perceive she is right, that the servicehas no meaning unless it take place in the church. '

'Yes, ' said Sophy; 'but you know I am to be allowed to go about inJuly. '

'You will hardly be equal to any fatigue even then, I fear, my dear;and you would find this publicity extremely trying and unpleasant. '

'It would not last ten minutes, ' said Sophy, 'and I am sure I shouldnot care! I should have something else to think about. Oh! papa, when my forehead aches with surliness, it does feel so unblest, souncrossed!' and she put her hand over it, 'and all the books andhymns seem not to belong to me. I think I shall be able to keep offthe tempers when I have a right in the cross. '

'Ah! my child, I am afraid the tempers are a part of your physicalconstitution, ' he returned, mournfully. 

'You mean that I am like you, papa, ' said Sophy. 'I think I might atleast learn to be really like you, and if I must feel miserable, notto be unkind and sulky! And then I should leave off even the beingunhappy about nothing. '

Her eyes brightened, but her father shook his head sadly, and said, 'You would not be like me, my dear, if depression never made youselfish. But, ' he added, with an effort, 'you will not suffer somuch from low spirits when you are in better health, and able to moveabout. '

'Oh, no!' exclaimed Sophy; 'I often feel so sick of lying here, thatI feel as if I never could be sulky if only I might walk about, andgo from one room to another when I please! But papa, you will let mebe admitted into the Church when I am able, will you not?'

'It shall be well weighed, Sophy. '

Sophy knew her father too well, and had too much reticence to say anymore. He was certainly meditating deeply, and reading too, indeed hewould almost have appeared to have a fit of the study, but for littleMaurice, a tyrannical little gentleman, who domineered over theentire household, and would have been grievously spoilt, if hismother had not taken all the crossing the stout little will uponherself. He had a gallant pair of legs, and the disposition of ayoung Centaur, he seemed to divide the world into things that couldbe ridden on, and that could not; and when he bounced at the studydoor, with 'Papa! gee! gee!' and lifted up his round, rosy face, anddespotic blue eyes, Mr. Kendal's foot was at his service, and thestudy was brown no longer. 

The result of Mr. Kendal's meditations was an invitation to his wifeto drive with him to Fairmead. 

That was a most enjoyable drive, the weather too hot and sunny, perhaps, for Albinia's preferences, but thoroughly penetrating, andgiving energy to, her East-Indian husband, and making the wholecountry radiant with sunny beauty--the waving hay-fields fallingbefore the mower's scythe, the ranks of hay-makers tossing thefragrant grass, the growing corn softly waving in the summer breeze, the river blue with reflected sky, the hedges glowing with statelyfox-gloves, or with blushing wreaths of eglantine. And how cool, fresh, and fair was the beech-avenue at Fairmead. 

Yet though Albinia came to it with the fond tenderness of oldassociation, it was not with the regretful clinging of the firstvisit, when it seemed to her the natural home to which she stillreally belonged. Nor had she the least thought about producing animpression of her own happiness, and scarcely any whether 'Edmund'would be amused and at ease, though knowing he had a stranger toencounter in the person of Winifred's sister, Mary Reid. 

That was not a long day. It was only too short, though Mr. And Mrs. Kendal stayed three hours longer than on the last occasion. Mr. Kendal faced Mary Reid without flinching, and she, having beenpreviously informed that Albinia's husband was the most silent andshy man in existence, began to doubt her sister's veracity. AndAlbinia, instead of dealing out a shower of fireworks, to hide what, if not gloom, was at least twilight, was now 'temperately bright, 'talking naturally of what most concerned her with the sprightlinessof her happy temper, but without effort; and gratifying Winifred by agreat deal more notice of the new niece and namesake than she hadever bestowed on either of her predecessors in their infant days. Moreover, Lucy's two long visits had made Mrs. Ferrars feel a stronginterest in her, and, with a sort of maternal affection, she inquiredafter the cuttings of the myrtle which she had given her. 

'Ah!' said Albinia, 'I never honoured gardening so much. '

'I know you would never respect it in me. '

'As you know, I love a walk with an object, and never could abidebreaking my back, pottering over a pink with a stem that wont supportit, and a calyx that wont hold it. '

'And Lucy converted you when I could not!'

'If you had known my longing for some wholesome occupation for her, such as could hurt neither herself nor any one else, and the pleasureof seeing her engrossed by anything innocent, making it so easy togratify her. Why, a new geranium is a constant fund of ecstasy, andI do not believe she was ever so grateful to her father in her lifeas when he gave her a forcing-frame. Anything is a blessing thatmakes people contented at home, and takes them out of themselves. '

'Lucy is a very nice, pleasant inmate; her ready obligingness andfacility of adapting herself make her very agreeable. '

'Yes, ' said Albinia, 'she is the "very woman, " taking her complexionfrom things around, and so she will go smoothly through the world, and be always preferred to my poor turbid, deep-souled Sophy. '

'Are you going to be very angry with me?'

'Ah! you do not know Sophy! Poor, dear child! I do so long that shecould have--if it were but one day, one hour, of real, free, glowinghappiness! I think it would sweeten and open her heart wonderfullyjust to have known it! If I could but see any chance of it, but I amafraid her health will always be against her, and oh! that dreadfulsense of depression! Do you know, Winifred, I do think love would bethe best chance. Now, don't laugh; I do assure you there is noreason Sophy should not be very handsome. '

'Quite as handsome as the owl's children, my dear. '

'Well, the owls are the only young birds fit to be seen. But I tellyou, Sophy's profile is as regular as her father's, and animationmakes her eyes beautiful, and she has grown immensely since she hasbeen lying down, so that she will come out without thatdisproportioned look. If her eyebrows were rather less marked, andher complexion--but that will clear. '

'Yes, we will make her a beauty when we are about it. '

'And, after all, affection is the great charm, and if she wereattached, it would, be so intensely--and happiness would develop somuch that is glorious, only hidden down so deep. '

'I hope you may find her a male Albinia, ' said Winifred, a littlewickedly, 'but take care. It might be kill or cure, and I fancy whensunshine is attracted by shadow, it is more often as it was in yourcase than vice versa. '

'Take care!' repeated Albinia, affronted. 'You don't fancy I amgoing beyond a vague wish, do you?'

'And rather a premature one. How old is Sophy?'

'Towards fourteen, but years older in thought and in suffering. '

Albinia did not hear the result of the conference with her brothertill she had resumed her seat in the carriage, after having beensurprised by Mr. Kendal handing in three tall theological tomes. They both had much to think over as they drove home in thelengthening shadows. Albinia was greatly concerned that Winifred'shealth had become affected, and that her ordinary home duties werebeyond her strength. Albinia had formerly thought Fairmead parsonagedid not give her enough to do, but now she saw the gap that she hadleft; and she had fallen into a maze of musings over schemes forhelping Winifred, before Mr. Kendal spoke, telling her that he hadresolved that Sophia's admission into the Church should take place assoon as she was equal to the exertion. 

Albinia asked if she should speak to Mr. Dusautoy, but the manlinessof Mr. Kendal's character revolted from putting off a confession uponhis wife; so he went to church the next morning, and saw the vicarafterwards. 

Mr. Dusautoy's first thought was gratitude for the effort that theresolution must have cost both Mr. Kendal and his daughter; his next, how to make the occasion as little trying to their feelings as wasconsistent with his duty and theirs. He saw Sophy, and tried to drawher out, but, though far from sullen, she did not reply freely. However, he was satisfied, and he wished her, likewise, to considerherself under preparation for Confirmation in the autumn. She didall that he wished quietly and earnestly, but without much remark, her confidence only came forth when her feelings were stronglystirred, and it was remarkable that throughout this time ofpreparation there was not the remotest shadow of ill-temper. 

Mr. Kendal insisted that her London doctor should come to see her atthe year's end. The improvement had not been all that had beenhoped, but it was decided that though several hours of each day muststill be spent on her back, she might move about, join the meals, anddo whatever she could without over-fatigue. It seemed a greatrelease, but it was a shock to find how very little she could do atfirst, now that she had lost the habit of exertion, and of disregardof her discomforts. She had quite shot up to more than the ordinarywoman's height, and was much taller than her sister--but this hardlygave the advantage Albinia had hoped, for she had a weak, overgrownlook, and could not help stooping. A number of people in a room, oreven the sitting upright during a morning call, seemed quite toovercome and exhaust her: but still the return to ordinary life wassuch great enjoyment, that she endured all with good temper. 

But now the church-going was possible, a fit of exceeding dread cameupon her. Albinia found her with the tears silently rolling down hercheeks, almost as if she were unconscious of them. 

'Oh, mamma, I can never do it! I know what I am. I can't let themsay I will keep all the commandments always! It will not be true!'

'It will be true that you have the steadfast purpose, my dear. '

'How can it be steadfast when I know I can't?'

It was the old story, and all had to be argued through again how theobligation was already incurred at her baptism, and how it wasneedful that she should be sworn to her own side of the greatcovenant--how the power would be given, and the grace supplied, butthat the will and purpose to obey was required--and then Sophyrecurred to that blessing of the cross for which she longed soearnestly, and which again Albinia feared she was regarding in thelight of a talisman. 

Mr. Ferrars was to be her godfather. Mr. Kendal had wished AuntWinifred, as Lucy called her, to be the godmother, but Sophy hadbegged earnestly for Mrs. Dusautoy, whose kindness had made a greatimpression. 

There was not much liking between Mrs. Ferrars and Sophy. PerhapsSophy had been fretted and angered by her quick, decided ways, andrather disgusted by the enthusiasm of her brother and sister aboutFairmead; and she was not gratified by hearing that Winifred was toaccompany her husband in order to try the experiment of a shortabsence from cares and children. 

Albinia, on the contrary, was highly pleased to have Winifred tonurse, and desirous of showing off Sophy's reformation. Winifredarrived late in the day, with an invalid look, and a greatinclination to pine for her baby. She was so much tired, thatAlbinia took her upstairs very soon, and put her to bed, sitting withher almost all the evening, hoping that downstairs all was going onwell. 

The next morning, too, went off very well. Mr. Ferrars sought aprivate talk with his old godchild, and though Sophy scarcelyanswered, she liked his kind, frank, affectionate manner, and showedsuch feeling as he wished, so that he fully credited all that hissister thought of her. 

Otherwise, Sophy was kept quiet, to gave her strength and collect herthoughts. 

At seven o'clock in the evening, there was not a formidablecongregation. Miss Meadows, who had been informed as late as couldsave offence, had treated it as a freak of Mrs. Kendal, resented theinjunction of secrecy, and would neither be present herself, nor lether mother come out. Genevieve, three old men, and a child or two, were the whole number present. The daily service at Bayford was anoffering made in faith by the vicar, for as yet there was very littleattendance. 'But, ' said Mr. Dusautoy, 'it is the worship of God, notan entertainment to please man--it is all nonsense to talk of itsanswering or not answering. '

Mr. Kendal was in a state of far greater suffering from shame thanhis daughter, as indeed he deserved, but he endured it with agallant, almost touching resignation. He was the only witness of herbaptism, and it seemed like a confession, when he had to reply to thequestions, by whom, and with what words this child had been baptized, when she stood beside him overtopping her little godmother. Shestood with tightly-locked hands, and ebbing colour, which came backin a flood when Mr. Dusautoy took her by the hand, and said, 'Wereceive this child into the congregation, ' and when he traced thecross on her brow, she stood tremblingly, her lips squeezed closetogether, and after she returned to her place no one saw her face. 

Albinia, with her brother and Lucy, were at home by the short cutbefore the carriage could return. She met Sophy at the hall-door, kissed her, and said, 'Now, my dear, you had better lie down, and bequite quiet;' then followed Winifred into the drawing-room, and tookher shawl and bonnet from her, lingering for a happy twilightconversation. Lucy came down, and went to water her flowers, andby-and-by tea was brought, the gentlemen came in from their walk, andMr. Kendal asked whether Sophy was tired. Albinia went up to see. She found her on her couch in the morning room, and told her that teawas ready. There was something not promising in the voice thatreplied; and she said, 'No, don't move, my dear, I will bring it to you; you are tired. '

'No--I'll go down, thank you. ' It was the gruff voice!

'Indeed you had much better not, my dear. It is only an hour tobed-time, and you would only tire yourself for nothing. '

'I'll go. '

'You are tired, Sophy, ' said her father. 'You had better lie downwhile you have your tea. '

'No, thank you, ' growled Sophy, as though hurt by being told to liedown before company. 

Her father put a sofa-cushion behind her, but though she mumbled someacknowledgment, it was so surly, that Mrs. Ferrars looked up insurprise, and she would not lean back till fatigue gained theascendancy. Mr. Kendal asking her, got little in reply but such agrunt, that Mrs. Ferrars longed to shake her, but her father fetcheda footstool, and put it under her feet, and grew a little abstractedin his talk, as if watching her, and his eye had something of the oldhabitual melancholy. 

So it went on. The night's rest did not carry off the temper. Sophywas monosyllabic, displeased if not attended to, but receivingattention like an affront, wanting nothing, but offended if it werenot offered. Albinia was exceedingly grieved. She had somesuspicion that Sophy might have been hurt by her going to Mrs. Ferrars instead of to her on their return from church, and made anattempt at an apology, but this was snubbed like an additionalaffront, and she could only bide the time, and be greatlydisappointed at such an exhibition before the guests. 

Winifred looked on, forbearing to hurt Albinia's feelings by remarks, but in private compensating by little outbreaks with her husband, teasing him about his hopeful goddaughter, laughing at Albinia'sinfatuation, and railing at Mr. Kendal's endurance of the ill-humour, which she declared he promoted. 

Maurice, as usual, was provoking. He had no notion of giving up hisgodchild, he said, and he had no doubt that Edmund Kendal couldmanage his own child his own way. 

'Because of his great success in that line. '

'He is not what he was. He uses his sense and principle now, andwhen they are fairly brought to bear, I know no one whom I would moreentirely trust. '

'Well! it will be great good luck if I do not fall foul of Miss Sophyone of these days, if no one else will!'

Winifred was slightly irritable herself from weakness, and on thelast morning of her stay she could bear the sight no longer. Sophyhad twice been surly to Lucy's good offices, had given Albinia a looklike thunder, and answered her father with a sulky displeasure thatmade Mrs. Ferrars exclaim, as soon as he had left the room, 'I shouldnever allow a child of mine to peak to her father in that manner!'

Sophy swelled. She did not think Mrs. Ferrars had any right tointerfere between her and her father. Her silence provoked Winifredto continue, 'I wonder if you have any compunction for having spoiltall your--all Mrs. Kendal's enjoyment of our visit. '

'I am not of consequence enough to spoil any one's pleasure. '

That was the last effort. Albinia came into the room, with littleMaurice holding her hand, and flourishing a whip. He trotted up tothe sofa, and began instantly to 'whip sister Sophy;' serve herright, if I had but the whip, thought Mrs. Ferrars, as his motherhurried to snatch him off. Leaning over Sophy's averted face, shesaw a tear under her eyelashes, but took no notice. 

Three seconds after, Sophy reared herself up, and with a rigid faceand slow step walked out of the room. 

'Have you said anything to her?' asked Albinia. 

'I could not help it, ' said Winifred, narrating what had past. 'HaveI done wrong?'

'Edmund cannot bear to have anything harsh said to her in thesemoods, especially about her behaviour to himself. He thinks shecannot help it--but it may be well that she should know how itappears to other people, for I cannot bear to see his patientkindness spurned. Only, you know, she values it in her heart. I amafraid we shall have a terrible agony now. '

Albinia was right. It was the worst agony poor Sophy had everundergone. She had been all this time ignorant that it was a crossfit, only imagining herself cruelly neglected and cast aside for thesake of Mrs. Ferrars; but the wakening time had either arrived, orhad been brought by that reproach, and she beheld her conduct in themost abhorrent light. After having desired to be pledged to hershare of the covenant, and earnestly longed to bear the cross, to besworn in as soldier and servant, to have put her neck under the yokeof her old master ere the cross had dried upon her brow, to have beenmeanly jealous, ungrateful, disrespectful, vindictive!! oh! misery, misery! hopeless misery! She would take no word of comfort whenAlbinia tried to persuade her that it had been partly the reaction ofa mind wrought up to an occasion very simple in its externals, and ofa body fatigued by exertion; and then in warm-hearted candourprofessed that she herself had been thoughtless in neglecting Sophyfor Winifred. Still less comfort would she take in her father's freeforgiveness, and his sad entreaties that she would not treat thesefits of low spirits as a crime, for they were not her fault, but thatof her constitution. 

'Then one can't help being hateful and wicked! Nothing is of anyuse! I had rather you had told me I was mad!' said poor Sophy. 

She was so spent and exhausted with weeping, that she could not comedown--indeed, between grief and nervousness she would not eat; andAlbinia found Mr. Kendal mournfully persuading her, when a sterncommand would have done more good. Albinia spoke it: 'Sophy, youhave put your father to a great deal of pain already; if you arereally grieving over it, you will not hurt him more by makingyourself ill. '

The strong will came into action on the right side, and Sophy sat up, took what was offered, but what was she that they should care forher, when she had spoilt mamma's pleasure? Better go and be happywith Mrs. Ferrars. 

Sophy's next visitor came up with a manly tread, and she almostfeared that she had made herself ill enough for the doctor; but itwas Mr. Ferrars, with a kind face of pitying sympathy. 

'May I come to wish my godchild good-bye?' he said. 

Sophy did not speak, and he looked compassionately at the pronedejection of the whole figure, and the pale, sallow face, sopiteously mournful. He took her hand, and began to tell her of thegodfather's present, that he had brought her--a little book ofdevotions intended for the time when she should be confirmed. Sophyuttered a feeble 'thank you, ' but a hopeless one. 

'Ah! you are feeling as if nothing would do you any good, ' said Mr. Ferrars. 

'Papa says so!' she answered. 

'Not quite, ' said Mr. Ferrars. 'He knows that your low spirits arethe effect of temperament and health, and that you are not able toprevent yourself from feeling unhappy and aggrieved. And perhaps youreckoned on too much sensible effect from Church ordinances. Nowjoy, help, all these blessings are seldom revealed to ourconsciousness, but are matters of faith; and you must be content towork on in faith in the dark, before you feel comfort. I cannot buthope that if you will struggle, even when you are hurt and annoyed, to avoid the expression of vexation, the morbid temper will wear out, and you will both be tempted and suffer less, as you grow older. And, Sophy--forgive me for asking--do you pray in this unhappystate?'

'I cannot. It is not true. '

'Make it true. Take some verse of a Psalm. Shall I mark you some?Repeat them, even if you seem to yourself not to feel them. There isa holy power that will work on you at last; and when you can trulypray, the dark hour will pass. '

'Mark them, ' said Sophy. 

There was some space, while she gave him the book, and he showed herthe verses. Then he rose to go. 

'I wish I had not spoilt the visit, ' she said, wistfully, at last. 

'We shall see you again, and we shall know each other better, ' hesaid, kindly. 'You are my godchild now, Sophy, and you know that Imust remember you constantly in prayer. '

'Yes, ' she faintly said. 

'And will you promise me to try my remedy? I think it will softenyour heart to the graces of the Blessed Comforter. And even if allseems gloom within, look out, see others happy, try to rejoice withthem, and peace will come in! Now, goodbye, my dear godchild, andthe God of Peace bless you, and give you rest. 

CHAPTER XII. 

Mr. Dusautoy had given notice of the day of the Confirmation, whenMr. Kendal called his wife. 

'I wonder, ' he said, 'my dear, whether Sophia can spare you to take awalk with me before church. '

Sophy, who was well aware that a walk with him was the greatest andrarest treat to his wife, gave gracious permission, and in a fewminutes they were walking by the bright canal-side, under the calmevening sunshine and deep blue sky of early autumn. 

Mr. Kendal said not a word, and Albinia, leaning on his arm, listened, as it were, to the stillness, or rather to the sounds thatmarked it--the gurgling of the little streams let off into thewater-courses in the meadows; the occasional plunge of the rat fromthe banks, the sounds from the town, softened by distance, and thefar-off cawings of the rooks, which she could just see wheeling aboutas little black specks over the plantations of Woodside, or watchingthe swallows assembling for departure sitting in long ranks, like anornament along the roof of a neighbouring barn. 

Long, long it was before Mr. Kendal broke silence, but when at lengthhe did speak, his words amazed her extremely. 

'Albinia, poor Sophia's admission into the Church has not been theonly neglect. I have never been confirmed. I intend to speak toDusautoy this evening, but I thought you would wish to know itfirst. '

'Thank you. I suppose you went out to India too young. '

'Poor Maria says truly that no one thought of these things in ourday, at least so far as we were concerned. I must explain to you, Albinia, how it is that I see things very differently now from thelight in which I once viewed them. I was sent home from India, atsix years old, to correspondents and relations to whom I was aburthen. I was placed at a private school, where the treatment wasof the harsh style so common in those days. The boys always had moretasks than they could accomplish, and were kept employed by beingalways in arrears with their lessons. This pressed less heavily uponme than on most; but though I seldom incurred punishment, there was asort of hard distrust of me, I believe because the master could noteasily overwhelm me with work, so as to have me in his power. I knowI was often unjustly treated, and I never was popular. '

'Yes, I can imagine you extremely miserable. '

'You can understand my resolution that my boys should not be sent toEngland to be homeless, and how I judged all schools by my ownexperience. I stayed there too late, till I was beyond bothtormentors and masters, and was left to an unlimited appetite forbooks, chiefly poetry. Our religious instruction was a nullity, andI am only surprised that the results were not worse. India was notlikely to supply what education had omitted. Looking back on oldjournals and the like, I am astonished to see how unsettled mynotions were--my sublimity, which was really ignorant childishness, and yet my perfect unconsciousness of my want of Christianity. '

'I dare say you cannot believe it was yourself, any more than I can. What brought other thoughts!'

'Practical obligations made me somewhat less dreamy, and my dear boy, Edmund, did much for me, but all so insensibly, that I can rememberno marked change. I do not know whether you will understand me, whenI say that I had attained to somewhat of what I should call personalreligion, such as we often find apart from the Church. '

'But, Edmund, you always were a Churchman. '

'I was; but I viewed the Church merely as an establishment--human, not divine. I had learnt faith from Holy Scripture, from my boy, from the infants who passed away so quickly, and I better understoodhow to direct the devotional tendencies that I had never beenwithout, but the sacramental system had never dawned on mycomprehension, nor the real meaning of Christian fellowship. Thencemy isolation. '

'You had never fairly seen the Church. '

'Never. It might have made a great difference to me if Dusautoy hadbeen here at the time of my trouble. When he did come, I had sunkinto a state whence I could not rouse myself to understand hisprinciples. I can hardly describe how intolerable my life hadbecome. I was almost resolved on returning to India. I believe Ishould have done so if you had not come to my rescue. '

'What would you have done with the children?'

'To say the truth I had idolized their brother to such an exclusivedegree, that I could not turn to the others when he was taken fromme. I deserved to lose him; and since I have seen this unfortunatestrain of melancholy developed in poor Sophia, who so much resembleshim, I have been the more reconciled to his having been removed. Inever understood what the others might be until you drew them out. '

Albinia paused, afraid to press his reserve too far; and the nextthing she said was, 'I think I understand your distinction betweenpersonal religion and sacramental truth. It explains what has oftenpuzzled me about good devout people who did not belong to the Church. The Visible Church cannot save without this individual personalreligion but without having recourse to the Church, there is--' shecould not find the word. 

'There is a loss of external aid, ' he said; 'nay, of much more. There is no certainty of receiving the benefits linked by DivinePower to her ordinances. Faith, in fact, while acknowledging thegreat Object of Faith, refuses or neglects to exercise herself uponthe very subjects which He has set before her; and, in effect, wouldaccept Him on her terms, not on His own. '

'It was not refusal on your part, ' said Albinia. 

'No, it was rather indifference and imaginary superiority. But Ihave read and thought much of late, and see more clearly. If Ithought of this rite of Confirmation at all, it was only as a meansof impressing young minds. I now see every evidence that it is thecompletion of Baptismal grace, and without, like poor Sophia, expecting that effects would ever have been perceptible, I think thathad I known how to seek after the Spirit of Counsel and GhostlyStrength, I might have given way less to the infirmities of mycharacter, and have been less wilfully insensible to obvious duties. '

'Then you have made up your mind?'

'Yes. I shall speak to Mr. Dusautoy at once. '

'And, ' she said, feeling for his sensitive shyness, 'no one else needknow it--at least--'

'I should not wish to conceal it from the children, ' he answered, with his scrupulous candour. He was supine when thought more ill ofthan he deserved, but he always defended himself from undeservedcredit. 

'Whom do you think I have for a candidate?' said Mr. Dusautoy thatevening. 

'Another now! I thought you were talking to Mr. Kendal about theonslaught on the Pringle pew. '

'What do you think of my churchwarden himself?'

'You don't mean that he has never been confirmed!'

'So he tells me. He went out to India young, and was never in the wayof such things. Well, it will be a great example. '

'Take care what you do. He will never endure having it talked of. '

'I think he has made up his mind, and is above all nonsense. I amsure it is well that I need not examine him. I should soon getbeyond my depth. '

'And what good did his depth ever do to him, ' indignantly cried Mrs. Dusautoy, 'till that dear good wife of his took him in hand? Don'tyou remember what a log he was when first we came--how I used to sayhe gave you subscriptions to get rid of you. '

'Well, well, Fanny, what's the use of recollecting all our foolishfirst impressions. I always told you he was the most able man in theparish. '

'Fanny' laughed merrily at this piece of sagacity, as she said 'Ay, the most able and the least practicable; and the best of it is, thathis wife has not the most distant idea that she has been the makingof him. She nearly quarrelled with me for hinting it. She wouldhave it that "Edmund" had it all in him, and had only recovered hishealth and spirits. '

And, indeed, it was no wonder she was happy. This step taken of freewill by Mr. Kendal, was an evidence not only of a powerful reasoningintellect bowed to an act of simple faith but of a victory over thefalse shame that had always been a part of his nature. Nor did itapparently cost him as much as his consent to Sophy's admission intothe Church; the first effort had been the greatest, and he was nowtoo much taken up with deep thoughts of devotion to be sensitive asto the eyes and remarks of the world. The very resolution to bend infaithful obedience to a rite usually belonging to early youth and notobviously enforced to human reason, nor made an express condition ofsalvation, was as a pledge that he would strive to walk for thefuture in the path of self-denying obedience. Who that saw the manlywell-knit form kneeling among the slight youthful ones around, andthe thoughtful, sorrow-marked brow bowed down beneath the Apostolichand, could doubt that such faith and such humble obedience wouldsurely be endowed with a full measure of the Spirit of Ghostly Might, to lead him on in his battle with himself? Those young ones neededthe 'sevenfold veil between them and the fires of youth, ' but surelythe freshening and renewing came most blessedly to the man wearyalready with sin and woe, and tired out alike with himself and theworld, because he had lived to himself alone. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Old Mr. Pringle never stirred beyond his parlour, and was invisibleto every one, except his housekeeper and doctor, but his tall, square, curtained pew was jealously locked up, and was a grievance tothe vicar, who having been foiled in several attempts, was meditatinga fresh one, if, as he told his wife, he could bring his churchwardenup to the scratch, when one Sunday morning the congregation waselectrified by the sound of a creak and a shake, and beheld a stouthale sunburnt gentleman, fighting with the disused door, and finallygaining the victory by strength of hand, admitting himself and a boyamong the dust and the cobwebs. 

Had Mr. Pringle, or rather his housekeeper, made a virtue ofnecessity? and if so, who could it be?

Albinia hailed the event as a fertile source of conjecture whichmight stave off dangerous subjects in the Sunday call, but there wasno opportunity for any discussion, for Maria was popping about, settling and unsettling everything and everybody, in a state ofgreater confusion than ever, inextricably entangling her inquiriesfor Sophy with her explanations about the rheumatism which had keptgrandmamma from church, and jumping up to pull down the Venetianblind, which descended awry, and went up worse. The lines got intosuch a hopeless complication, that Albinia came to help her, whileMr. Kendal stood dutifully by the fire, in the sentry-like manner inwhich he always passed that hour, bending now and then to listen andrespond to some meek remark of old Mrs. Meadows, and now and thenoriginating one. As to assisting Maria in any pother, he well knewthat would be a vain act of chivalry, and he generally contrived tobe insensible to her turmoils. 

'Who could that have been in old Pringle's seat?' he presently began, appropriating Albinia's cherished morsel of gossip; but he was notallowed to enjoy it, for Miss Meadows broke out, 'Oh, Edmund! this blind, I beg your pardon, but if you would help--'

He was obliged to move to the window, and nervously clutching hisarm, she whispered, 'You'll excuse it, I know, but don't mention it--not a word to mamma. ' Mr. Kendal looked at Albinia to gather whatcould be this dreadful subject, but the next words made it no longerdoubtful. 'Ah, you were away, there's no use in explaining--but nota word of Sam Pringle. It would only make her uneasy--' she gaspedin a floundering whisper, stopping suddenly short, for at that momentthe stranger and his son were entering the garden, so near them, thatthey might have seen the three pairs of eyes levelled on them, through the wide open end of the unfortunate blind, which was now inthe shape of a fan. 

Albinia's cheeks glowed with sympathy, and she longed for the powerof helping her, marvelling how a being so nervously restless anddevoid of self-command could pass through a scene likely to be sotrying. The bell sounded, and the loud hearty tones of a manly voicewere heard. Albinia looked to see whether her help were needed, butMiss Meadows's whole face was brightened, and moving across the roomwith unusually even steps, she leant on the arm of her mother'schair, saying, 'Mamma, it is Captain Pringle. You remember SamuelPringle? He settled in the Mauritius, you know, and he was at churchthis morning with his little boy. '

There was something piteous in the searching look of inquiry thatMrs. Meadows cast at her daughter's face, but Maria had put it asidewith an attempt at a smile, as 'Captain Pringle' was announced. 

He trod hard, and spoke loud, and his curly grizzled hair was thrownback from a bronzed open face, full of broad heartiness, as he walkedin with outstretched hand, exclaiming, 'Well, and how do you do?'shaking with all his might the hand that Maria held out. 'And howare you, Mrs. Meadows? You see I could not help coming back to seeold friends. '

'Old friends are always welcome, sir, ' said the old lady, warmly. 'My son, Mr. Kendal, sir--Mrs. Kendal, ' she added, with a becomingold-fashioned movement of introduction. 

'Very glad to meet you, ' said the captain, extending to each such ahearty shake of the hand, that Albinia suspected he was taking her ontrust for Maria's sister. 

'Your little boy?' asked Mrs. Meadows. 

'Ay--Arthur, come and make the most of yourself, my man, ' said he, thumping the shy boy on the back to give him courage. 'I've broughthim home for his schooling--quite time, you see, though what on earthI'm to do without him--'

The boy looked miserable at the words. 'Ay, ay, ' continued hisfather, 'you'll do well enough. I'm not afraid for you, master, butthat you'll be happy as your father was before you, when once youhave fellows to play with you. Here is Mr. Kendal will tell you so. '

It was an unfortunate appeal, but Mr. Kendal made the best of it, saying that his boy was very happy at his tutor's. 

'A private tutor, eh?' said the rough captain, 'I'd not thought ofthat--neither home nor school. I had rather do it thoroughly, andtrust to numbers to choose friends from, and be licked into shape. '

Poor little Arthur looked as if the process would be severe; and byway of consolation, Mrs. Meadows suggested, a piece of cake. Mariamoved to ring the bell. It was the first time she had stirred sincethe visitor came in, and he getting up at the same time, that shemight not trouble herself, their eyes met. 'I'm very glad to see youagain, ' he exclaimed, catching hold of her hand for another shake;'but, bless me! you are sadly altered! I'm sorry to see you lookingso ill. '

'We all grow old, you know, ' said Maria, endeavouring to smile, buthalf strangled by a tear, and looking at that moment as she mighthave done long ago. 'You find many changes. '

'I hope you find Mr. Pringle pretty well, ' said Albinia, thinkingthis might be a relief, and accordingly, the kind-hearted captainbegan, ruefully to describe the sad alterations that time hadwrought. Then he explained that he had had little correspondencewith home, and had only landed three days since, so that he wasignorant of all Bayford tidings, and began asking after a multitudeof old friends and acquaintance. 

The Kendals thought all would go on the better in their absence, andescaped from the record of deaths and marriages, each observing tothe other as they left the house, that there could be little doubtthat nurse's story was true, but both amazed by the effect on Maria, who had never been seen before to sit so long quiet in her chair. Was his wife alive? Albinia thought not, but could not be certain. His presence was evidently happiness to Miss Meadows, but would thislast? Would this renewal soothe her, or only make her more restlessand unhappy?

Albinia found that Sophy's imagination bad been quicker than her own. Lucy had brought home the great news of the stranger, and she hadleapt at once to the conclusion that it must be the hero of nurse'sstory, but she had had the resolution to keep the secret from hersister, who was found reproaching her with making mysteries. WhenLucy heard that it was Captain Pringle, she was quite provoked. 

'Only Mr. Pringle's nephew?' she said, disdainfully. 'What was theuse of making a fuss? I thought it was some one interesting!'

Sophy was able to walk to church in the evening, but was made to goin to rest at the vicarage before returning home. While this wasbeing discussed before the porch, Albinia felt a pressure on her arm, and looking round, saw Maria Meadows. 

'Can you spare me a few moments?' she said; and Albinia turned asidewith her to the flagged terrace path between the churchyard andvicarage garden, in the light of a half-moon. 

'You were so kind this morning, ' began Maria, 'that I thought--yousee it is very awkward--not that I have any idea--but if you wouldspeak to Edmund--I know he is not in the habit--morning visits and--'

'Do you wish him to call? He had been thinking of it. '

Maria would have been unbounded in her gratitude, but catchingherself up, she disclaimed all personal interest--only she saidEdmund knew nothing of anything that had passed--if he did, he wouldsee they would feel--

'I think, ' said Albinia, kindly, 'that we do know that you had sometroubles on that score. Old nurse said something to Sophy, but noother creature knows it. '

'Ah!' exclaimed Maria, 'that is what comes of trusting any one. Iwas so ill when I found out how it had been, that I could not keep itfrom nurse, but from mamma I did--my poor father being just gone andall--I could not have had her know how much I felt it--the discoveryI mean--and it is what I wish her never to do. But oh! Mrs. Kendal, think what it was to find out that when I had been thinking he hadbeen only trifling with me all those years, to find that he had beenso unkindly treated. There was his own dear letter to me neverunsealed; and there was another to my father saying in a proud-spiritedway that he did not know what he had done to be so served, and hewished I might find happiness, for I would never find one that lovedme as well. I who had turned against him in my heart!'

'It was cruel indeed! And you kept it from your mother!' saidAlbinia, beginning to honour her. 

'My poor father was just gone, you know, and I could not be grievingher with what was passed and over, and letting her know that myfather had broken my heart, as indeed I think he did, though he meantit all for the best. But oh! I thought it hard when Lucy had marriedthe handsomest man in the country, and gone out to India, without aword against it, that I might not please myself, because I was papa'sfavourite. '

'It was very hard not to be made aware of his intentions. '

'Yea, ' said Maria; 'for it gave me such a bitter, restless feelingagainst him--though I ought to have known him better than to think hewould give one minute's pain he could help; and then when I knew thetruth, the bitterness all went to poor papa's memory, and yet perhapshe never meant to be unkind either. '

Albinia said some kind words, and Maria went on:

'But what I wanted to say was this--Please don't let mamma suspectone bit about it; and next, if Edmund would not mind showing him alittle attention. Do you think he would, my dear? I do so wish thathe should not think we were hurt by his marriage, and you see, twolone women can do nothing to make it agreeable; besides that, itwould not be proper. '

'Is his wife living?'

'My dear, I could not make up my tongue to ask--the poor dear boythere and all--but it is all the same. I hope she is, for I wouldnot see him unhappy, and you don't imagine I have any folly in myhead--oh, no! for I know what a fright the fret and the wear of thishave made me; and besides, I never could leave mamma. So I trust hiswife is living to make him happy, and I shall be more at peace now Ihave seen him again, since he turned his horse at Bobble's Leigh, andsaid I should soon hear from him again. '

'Indeed I think you will be happier. There is something verysoothing in taking up old feelings and laying them to rest. I hopeeven now there is less pain than pleasure. '

'I can't help it, ' said Maria. 'I do hope it is not wrong; but hisvery voice has got the old tone in it, as if it were the old lullabythat my poor heart has been beating for all these years. '

Who would have thought of Maria speaking poetically? But her wordsdid indeed seem to be the truth. In spite of the embarrassment ofher situation and the flutter of her feelings, she was in a state ofcomposure unexampled. Albinia had just gratified her greatly by afew words on Captain Pringle's evident good-nature, when a tread camebehind them. 

'Ha! you here?' exclaimed the loud honest voice. 

'We were taking a turn in the moonlight, ' said Albinia. 'A beautifulnight. '

'Beautiful! Arthur and I have been a bit of the way home with oldGoldsmith. There's an evergreen, to be sure; and now--are you boundhomewards, Maria?'

Maria clung to Albinia's arm. Perhaps in the days of the lastparting, she had been less careful to be with a chaperon. 

'Ah! I forgot, ' said the captain; 'your way lies the other side ofthe hill. I had very nearly walked into Willow Lawn this morning, only luckily I bethought me of asking. '

'I hope you will yet walk into Willow Lawn, ' said Albinia. 

'Ah! thank you; I should like to see the old place. I dare say itmay be transmogrified now, but I think I could find my way blindfoldabout the old garden. I say, Maria, do you remember that jollytea-party on the lawn, when the frog made one too many?'

'That I do--' Maria could not utter more, and Albinia said she wasafraid he would miss a great deal. 

'I reckoned on that when I came home. Changes everywhere; but afterthe one great change, ' he added, mournfully, 'the others tell less. One has the less heart to care for an old tree or an old path. '

Albinia felt sure he could mean only one great change, but they werenow at Mrs. Meadows's door, and Maria wished them good night, givinga most grateful squeeze of the hand to Mrs. Kendal. 

'Where are you bound now?' asked the captain. 

'Back to the vicarage, to take up my husband and the girls, ' saidAlbinia, 'but good night. I am not afraid. '

The captain, however, chose to continue a squire of dames, and walkedat her side, presently giving utterance to a sound of commiseration. 'Ah! well, poor Maria, I never thought to see her so altered. Why, she had the prettiest bloom--I dare say you remember--but, I beg yourpardon, somehow I thought you were her _elder_ sister. '

'Mr. Kendal's first wife was, ' said Albinia, pitying the poor man;but Captain Pringle was not a man for awkwardness, and the shortwhistle with which he received her answer set her off laughing. 

'I beg your pardon, ' he said, recovering himself; 'but you see I amall astray, like a man buried and dug up again, so no wonder I makestrange blunders; and my poor uncle is grown so childish, that hedoes not know one person from another, and began by telling me MariaMeadows had married and gone out to India. I had not had a letterthese seven years, so I thought it was high time to bring my boyhome, and renew old times, though how I am ever to go back withouthim--'

'Is be your only one?'

'Yes. I lost his mother when he was six years old, and we have beenall the world to each other since, till I began to think I wasspoiling him outright, and it was time he should see what Old Englandwas made of. '

Albinia had something like a discovery to impart now; but she hatedthe sense of speculating on the poor man's intentions. He talked somuch, that he saved her trouble in replying, and presently resumedthe subject of Maria's looks. 

'She has had a harassed life, I fear, ' said Albinia. 

'Eh! old Meadows was a terrible old tyrant, I believe; but she washis pet. I thought he refused her nothing--but there's no trustingsuch a Turk! Oh! ah! I dare say, ' as if replying to somethingwithin. And then having come to the vicarage wicket, Albinia tookleave of him and ran indoors, answering the astonished queries as tohow she had been employed, 'Walking home with Aunt Maria and CaptainPringle !'

It was rather a relief at such a juncture that Lucy's curious eyesshould be removed. Mr. Ferrars came to talk his wife's state overwith his sister. Her children were too much for Winifred, and hewished to borrow Lucy for a few weeks, till a governess could befound for them. 

It struck Albinia that this would be an excellent thing for GenevieveDurant, and she at once contrived to ask her to tea, and privatelypropound the plan. 

Genevieve faltered much of thanks, and said that Madame was verygood; but the next morning a note was brought in, which caused asudden change of countenance:

'My dear Madame, 'I was so overwhelmed with your kindness last night, and sounwilling to appear ungrateful, that perhaps I left you under afalse impression. I entreat you not to enter on the subject withmy grandmamma or my aunt. They would grieve to prevent what theywould think for my advantage, and would, I am but too sure, makeany sacrifice on my account; but they are no longer young, andthough my aunt does not perceive it, I know that the real work ofthe school depends on me, and that she could not support thefatigue if left unassisted. They need their little Genevieve, likewise, to amuse them in their evenings; and, forgive me, madame, I could not, without ingratitude, forsake them now. Thus, thoughwith the utmost sense of your kindness, I must beg of you to pardonme, and not to think me ungrateful if I decline the situation sokindly offered to me by Mr. Ferrars, thanking you ten thousand timesfor your too partial recommendation, and entreating you to pardon

 'Your most grateful and humble servant, GENEVIEVE CELESTE DURANT. '

'There!' said Albinia, tossing the note to her brother, who was theonly person present excepting Gilbert. 

'Poor Albinia, ' he said, 'it is hard to be disappointed in a bit ofpatronage. '

'I never meant it as patronage, ' said Albinia, slightly hurt. 'Ithought it would help you, and rescue her from that school. Therewill she spend the best years of her life in giving a second-rateeducation to third-rate girls, not one of whose parents canappreciate her, till she will grow as wizened and as wooden asMademoiselle herself. '

'Happily, ' said Mr. Ferrars, 'there are worse things than being spentin one's duty. She may be doing an important work in her sphere. '

'So does a horse in a mill, ' exclaimed Albinia; 'but you would notput a hunter there. Yes, yes, I know, education, and these girlswanting right teaching; but she, poor child, has been but halfeducated herself, and has not time to improve herself. If she doesgood, it is by force of sheer goodness, for they all look down uponher, as much as vulgarity can upon refinement. '

'I told her so, ', exclaimed Gilbert; 'I told her it was the only wayto teach them what she was worth. '

'What did you know of the matter?' asked Albinia; and the colourmounted in the boy's face as he muttered, 'She was overcome when shecame down, she said you had been so kind, and we were obliged to walkup and down before she could compose herself, for she did not wantthe old ladies to know anything about it. '

'And did she not wish to go?'

'No, though I did the best I could. I told her what a jolly place itwas, and that the children would be a perfect holiday to her. And Ishowed her it would not be like going away, for she might come overhere whenever she pleased; and when I have my horse, I would come andbring her word of the old ladies once a week. '

'Inducements, indeed!' said Mr. Ferrars. 'And she could not beincited by any of these?'

'No, ' said Gilbert, 'she would not hear of leaving the old women. She was only afraid it would vex Mrs. Kendal, and she could not bearnot to take the advice of so kind a friend, she said. You are notgoing to be angry with her, ' he added. 

'No, ' said Albinia, 'one cannot but honour her motives, though Ithink she is mistaken; and I am sorry for her; but she knows betterthan to be afraid of me. '

With which assurance Gilbert quitted the room, and the next moment, hearing the front door, she exclaimed, 'I do believe he is gone totell her how I took the announcement. '

Maurice gave a significant 'Hem!' to which his sister replied, 'Nonsense!'

'Very romantic consolations and confidences. '

'Not at all. They have been used to each other all their lives, andhe used to be the only person who knew how to behave to her, so nowonder they are great friends. As to anything else, she is nineteen, and he not sixteen. '

'One great use of going to school is to save lads from that sillypastime. I advise you to look to these moonlight escortings!'

'One would think you were an old dowager, Maurice. I suppose ColonelBury may not escort Miss Mary. '

'Ah, Albinia, you are a very naughty child still. '

'Of course, when you are here to keep me in order, I wish I neverwere so at other times when it is not so safe. '

Mr. Kendal was kind and civil to Captain Pringle, and though theboisterous manner seemed to affect him like a thunderstorm, Mariaimagined they were delighted with one another. 

Maria was strangely serene and happy; her querulous, nervous mannersmoothed away, as if rest had come to her at last; and even if therenewed intercourse were only to result in a friendship, there washope that the troubled spirit had found repose now thatmisunderstandings were over, and the sore sense of ill-usageappeased. 

Yet Albinia was startled when one day Mr. Kendal summoned her, saying, 'It is all over, she has refused him!'

'Impossible; she could only have left half her sentence unsaid. '

'Too certain. She will not leave her mother. '

'Is that all?'

'Of course it is. He told me the whole affair, and certainly Mr. Meadows was greatly to blame. He let Maria give this man everyencouragement, believing his property larger, and his expectationsmore secure than was the case; and when the proposal was made, havingdiscovered his mistake, he sent a peremptory refusal, giving himreason to suppose her a party to the rejection. Captain Pringlesailed in anger; but it appears that his return has revived hisformer feelings, and that he has found out that poor Maria was agreater sufferer than himself. '

'Why does he come to you?'

'To consult me. He wishes me to persuade poor old Mrs. Meadows to goout to the Mauritius, which is clearly impossible, but Maria must notbe sacrificed again. Would the Drurys make her comfortable? Orcould she not live alone with her maid?'

'She might live here. '

'Albinia! Think a little. '

'I can think of nothing else. Let her have the morning room, andSophy's little room, and Lucy and I would do our best for her. '

'No, that is out of the question. I would not impose such chargeupon you on any consideration!'

Albinia's face became humble and remorseful. 'Yes, ' she said, 'perhaps I am too impatient and flighty. '

'That was not what I meant, ' he said; 'but I do not think it rightthat a person with no claims of relationship should be made a burthenon you. '

'No claims, Edmund, ' said she, softly. 'In whose place have you putme?'

He was silent: then said, 'No, it must not be, my kind Albinia. Sheis a very good old lady, but Sophy and she would clash, and I cannotexpose the child to such a trial. '

'I dare say you are right, ' pensively said Albinia, perceiving thather plan had been inconsiderate, and that it would require thewisdom, tact, and gentleness of a model woman to deal with suchdiscordant elements. 'What are you going to do?' as he took up hishat. 'Are you going to see Maria? May I come with you?'

'If you please; but do not mention this notion. There is nonecessity for such a tax on you; and such arrangement should never berashly made. '

He asked whether Miss Meadows could see him, and awaited her alone inthe dining-room, somewhat to the surprise of his wife; but either hefelt that there was a long arrear of kindness owing, or feared totrust Albinia's impulsive generosity. 

Meantime Albinia found the poor old lady in much uneasiness anddistress. Her daughter fancied it right to keep her in ignorance ofthe crisis; but Maria was not the woman to conceal her feelings, andher nervous misery had revealed all that she most wished to hide. Too timid to take her confidence by storm, her mother had onlyexchanged surmises and observations with Betty, and was in a troubledcondition of affectionate curiosity and anxiety. Albinia was awelcome visitor since it was a great relief to hear what had reallytaken place and to know that Mr. Kendal was with Maria. 

'Ah! that is kind, ' she said; 'but he must tell her not to think ofme. I am an old woman, good for nothing but to be put out of theway, and she has gone through quite enough! You will not let hergive it up! Tell her I have not many more years to live, andanything is good enough for me. '

'That would hardly comfort her, ' said Albinia, affectionately; 'butindeed, dear grandmamma, I hope we shall convince her that we can dosomething to supply her place. '

'Ah! my dear, you are very kind, but nobody can be like a daughter!But don't tell Maria so--poor dear love--she may never have anotherchance. Such a beautiful place out there, and Mr. Pringle's propertymust come to him at last! Bless me, what will Sarah Drury say? Andsuch a good attentive man--besides, she never would hear of any oneelse--her poor papa never knew--Oh! she must have him! it is allnonsense to think of me! I only wish I was dead out of the way!'

There was a strong mixture of unselfish love, and fear of solitude;of the triumph of marrying a daughter, and dread of separation; ofaffection, and of implanted worldliness; touching Albinia at onemoment, and paining her at another; but she soothed and caressed theold lady, and was a willing listener to what was meant for a historyof the former transaction; but as it started from old Mr. Pringle'sgrandfather, it had only proceeded as far as the wedding of theCaptain's father and mother, when it was broken off by Mr. Kendal'sentrance. 

'Oh! my dear Mr. Kendal, and what does poor Maria say? It is so kindin you. I hope you have taken her in hand, and told her it is quiteanother thing now, and her poor dear papa would think so. She mustnot let this opportunity pass, for she may never have another. Didyou tell her so?'

'I told her that, under the circumstances, she has no alternative butto accept Captain Pringle. '

'Oh! thank you. And does she?'

'She has given me leave to send him to her. '

'I am so much obliged. I knew that nobody but you could settle itfor her, poor dear girl; she is so young and inexperienced, and oneis so much at a loss without a gentleman. But this is very kind; Idid not expect it in you, Mr. Kendal. And will you see Mr. Pettilove, and do all that is proper about settlements, as her poordear papa would have done. Poor Pettilove, he was once very much inlove with Maria!'

In this mood of triumph and felicity, the old lady was left toherself and her daughter. Albinia, on the way home, begged to hearhow Mr. Kendal had managed Maria; and found that he had simply toldher, in an authoritative tone, that after all that had passed, shehad no choice but to accept Captain Pringle, and that he had added apromise, equally vague and reassuring, of being a son to Mrs. Meadows. Such injunctions from such a quarter had infused new lifeinto Maria; and in the course of the afternoon, Albinia met theCaptain with the mother and daughter, one on each arm, Maria inrecovered bloom and brilliancy, and Mrs. Meadows's rheumatismforgotten in the glory of exhibiting her daughter engaged. 

For form's sake, secrecy had been mentioned; but the world of Bayfordhad known of the engagement a fortnight before took place. Sophy hadbeen questioned upon it by Mary Wolfe two hours ere she wasofficially informed, and was sore with the recollection of her ownungracious professions of ignorance. 

'So it is true, ' she said. 'I don't mind, since Arthur is not agirl. '

Mr. Kendal laughed so heartily, that Sophy looked to Albinia forexplanation; but even on the repetition of her words, she failed toperceive anything ridiculous in them. 

'Why, mamma, ' she said, impressively, 'if you had been like AuntMaria, I should--' she paused and panted for sufficient strength ofphrase--'I should have run away and begged! Papa laughs, but I amsure he remembers when grandmamma and Aunt Maria wanted to come andlive here!'

He looked as if he remembered it only too well. 

'Well, papa, ' pursued Sophy, 'we heard the maids saying that theyknew it would not do, for all Mr. Kendal was so still and steady, forMiss Meadows would worret the life out of a lead pincushion. '

'Hem!' said Mr. Kendal. 'Albinia, do you think after all we aredoing Captain Pringle any kindness?'

'He is the best judge. '

'Nay, he may think himself bound in honour and compassion--he may bereturning to an old ideal. '

'People like Captain Pringle are not apt to have ideals, ' saidAlbinia; 'nor do I think Maria will be so trying. Do you rememberthat creeper of Lucy's, all tendrils and catching leaves, which usedto lie sprawling about, entangling everything till she gave it aprop, when it instantly found its proper development, and offered nofurther molestation?'

All was not, however, smooth water as yet. The Captain invaded Mr. Kendal the next morning in despair at Maria having recurred to theimpossibility of leaving her mother, and wanting him to wait till hecould reside in England. This could not be till his son was grownup, and ten years were a serious delay. Mr. Kendal suspected her ofa latent hope that the Captain would end by remaining at home; but hewas a man sense and determination, who would have thought itunjustifiable weakness to sacrifice his son's interests and his ownusefulness. He would promise, that if all were alive and well, hewould bring Maria back in ten or twelve years' time; but he would notsooner relinquish his duties, and he was very reluctant to becomeengaged on such terms. 

'No one less silly than poor Maria would have thought of such aproposal, ' was Mr. Kendal's comment afterwards to his wife. 'Twelveyears! No one would be able to live with her by that time!'

'I cannot help respecting the unselfishness, ' said Albinia. 

'One sided unselfishness, ' quoth Mr. Kendal. 'I am sick of the wholebusiness, I wish I had never interfered. I cannot get an hour tomyself. '

He might be excused for the complaint on that day of negotiations andcounter-negotiations, which gave no one any rest, especially afterMrs. Drury arrived with all the rights of a relation, set on makingit evident, that whoever was to be charged with Mrs. Meadows, it wasnot herself; and enforcing that nothing could be more comfortablethan that Lucy Kendal should set up housekeeping with her deargrandmamma. Every one gave advice, and nobody took it; Mrs. Meadowscried, Maria grew hysterical, the Captain took up his hat and walkedout of the house; and Albinia thought it would be very good in himever to venture into it again. 

The next morning Mr. Kendal ordered his horse early, and hastened hisbreakfast; told Albinia not to wait dinner for him, and rode off byone gate, without looking behind him, as the other opened to admitCaptain Pringle. She marvelled whither he had fled, and thoughtherself fortunate in having only two fruitless discussions in hisabsence. Not till eight o'clock did he make his appearance, and thenit was in an unhearing, unseeing mood, so that nothing could beextracted, except that he did not want any dinner; and it was nottill late in the evening that he abruptly announced, 'Lucy is cominghome on Wednesday. Colonel Bury will bring her to Woodside. '

What? have you heard from Maurice?'

'No; I have been at Fairmead. '

You! To-day! How was Winifred?'

'Better--I believe. '

'How does she like the governess?'

'I did not hear. '

Gradually something oozed out about Lucy having been happy andvaluable, and after Sophy had gone to bed, he inquired how thecourtship was going on?

'Worse than ever, ' Albinia said. 

'I suppose it must end in this?'

'In what!'

'If there is no more satisfactory arrangement, I suppose we mustreceive Mrs. Meadows. '

If Albinia could but have heard what a scolding her brother wasundergoing from his vivacious wife!

'As if poor Albinia had not enough on her hands! Of all inmates inthe world! When Mr. Kendal himself did not like it! Well! Mauricewould certainly have advised Sinbad to request the honour of takingthe Old Man of the Sea for a promenade a cheval. There was an end ofAlbinia. There would never be any room in her house, and she wouldnever be able to come from home. And after having seen her worked todeath, he to advise--'

'I did not advise, I only listened. What he came for was to silencehis conscience and his wife by saying, "Your brother thinks it out ofthe question. " Now to this my conscience would not consent. '

'More shame for it, then!'

'I could not say I thought these two people's happiness should besacrificed, or the poor old woman left desolate. Albinia has spiritsand energy for a worse infliction, and Edmund Kendal himself is thebetter for every shock to his secluded habits. If it is a step Iwould never dare advise, still less would I dare dissuade. '

'Well! I thought Mr. Kendal at least had more sense. '

'Ay, nothing is so provoking as to see others more unselfish thanourselves. '

'All I have to say, ' concluded Mrs. Ferrars, walking off, 'is, I wishthere was a law against people going and marrying two wives. '

Albinia was in no haste to profit by her husband's consent to herproposal. The more she revolved it, the more she foresaw thediscomfort for all parties. She made every effort to devise the'more satisfactory arrangement, ' but nothing would occur. The Druryswould not help, and the poor old lady could not be left alone. Hermaid Betty, who had become necessary to her comfort, was not atrustworthy person, and could not be relied on, either for honesty, or for not leaving her mistress too long alone; and when the notionwas broached of boarding Mrs. Meadows with some family in the place, the conviction arose, that when she had grandchildren, there was noreason for leaving her to strangers. 

Finally, the proposal was made, and as instantly rejected by Maria. It was very kind, but her mother could never be happy at Willow Lawn, never; and the tone betrayed some injury at such a thing beingthought possible. But just as the Kendals had begun to rejoice athaving cleared their conscience at so slight a cost, Captain Pringleand Miss Meadows made their appearance, and Maria presently requestedthat Mrs. Kendal would allow her to say a few words. 

'I am afraid you thought me very rude and ungrateful, ' she began, 'but the truth was, I did not think dear mamma would ever bear tolive here, my poor dear sister and all; but since that, I have beentalking it over with the dear Captain--thinks that since you are sokind, and dear Edmund--more than I could ever have dared to expect--that I could not do better than just to sound mamma. '

There was still another vicissitude. Mrs. Meadows would not hear ofbeing thrust on any one, and was certain that Maria had extorted aninvitation; she would never be a burden upon any one; young peopleliked company and amusement, and she was an old woman in every one'sway; she wished she were in her coffin with poor dear Mr. Meadows, who would have settled it all. Maria fell back into the depths ofdespair, and all was lugubrious, till Mr. Kendal, in the most tenderand gentle manner, expressed his hopes that Mrs. Meadows wouldconsider the matter, telling her that his wife and children wouldesteem it a great privilege to attend on her, and that he should bevery grateful if she would allow them to try to supply Maria's place. And Albinia, in her coaxing tone, described the arrangement; how theold furniture should stand in the sitting-room, and how Lucy wouldattend to her carpet-work, and what nice walks the sunny garden wouldafford, and how pleasant it would be not to have the long hillbetween them, till grandmamma forgot all her scruples in thefascination of that sweet face and caressing manner, she owned thatpoor old Willow Lawn always was like home, and finally promised tocome. Before the evening was over the wedding-day was fixed. 

What Sophy briefly termed 'the fuss about Aunt Maria, ' had been sotedious, that it almost dispelled all poetical ideas of courtship. If Captain Pringle had been drowned at sea, and Aunt Maria pinedherself into her grave, it would have been much more proper andaffecting. 

Sophy heard of the arrangement without remark, and quietly listenedto Albinia's explanation that she was not to be sent up to theattics, but was to inhabit the spare room, which was large enough toserve her for a sitting-room. But in the evening Mr. Kendal happenedin her absence to take up the book which she had been reading, anddid not perceive at once on her entrance that she wanted it. When hedid so, he yielded it with a few kind words of apology, but thisvexation had been sufficient to bring down the thunder-cloud whichhad been lowering since the morning. There were no signs ofclearance the next day; but Albinia had too much upon her hands towatch the symptoms, and was busy making measurements for thefurniture in the morning-room when Mr. Kendal came in. 

'I have been thinking, ' he said, 'that it is a pity to disturb thisroom. I dare say Mrs. Meadows would prefer that below-stairs. Itused to be her parlour, where she always sat when I first knew thehouse. '

'The dining-room? How could we spare that?'

'No, the study. '

Albinia remained transfixed. 

'We could put the books here and in the dining-room, ' he continued, 'until next spring, when, as your brother said, we can build a newwing on the drawing-room side. '

'And what is to become of you?' she continued. 

'Perhaps you will admit me here, ' he said, smiling, for he waspleased with himself. 'Turn me out when I am in the way. '

'Oh! Edmund, how delightful! See, we shall put your high desk underthe window, and your chair in your own corner. This will be thepleasantest place in the house, with you and your books! DearWinifred! she did me one of her greatest services when she made mekeep this room habitable!'

'And I think Sophy will not object to give up her present little roomfor my dressing-room. Shall you, my dear?' said he, anxious to judgeof her temper by her reply. 

'I don't care, ' she said; 'I don't want any difference made to pleaseme; I think that weak. '

'Sophy!' began Albinia, indignantly, but Mr. Kendal stopped her, andmade her come down, to consider of the proposal in the study. 

That study, once an oppressive rival to the bride, now not merelyvanquished, but absolutely abandoned by its former captive!

'Don't say anything to her, ' said Mr. Kendal, as they wentdownstairs. 'Of course her spirits are one consideration, but wereit otherwise, I could not see you give up your private room. '

'It is very kind in you, but indeed I can spare mine better than youcan, ' said Albinia. 'I am afraid you will never feel out of thewhirl. '

'Yours would be a loss to us all, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'The moreinmates there are in a house, the more needful to have them wellassorted. '

'Just so; and that makes me afraid--'

'Of me? No, Albinia, I will try not to be a check on your spirits. '

'You! Oh! I meant that we should disturb you. '

'You never disturb me, Albinia; and it is not what it was when thechildren's voices were untrained and unsubdued. '

'I can't say much for Master Maurice's voice. '

He smiled, he had never yet found those joyous notes de trop, and hecontinued, 'Your room is of value and use to us all; mine has been oflittle benefit to me, and none to any one else. I wish I could aseasily leave behind me all the habits I have fostered there. '

'Edmund, it is too good! When poor Sophy recovers her senses shewill feel it, for I believe that morning room would have been a greatloss to her. '

'It was too much to ask in her present state. I should have come tothe same conclusion without her showing how much this plan cost her, for nothing can be plainer than that while she continues subject tothese attacks, she must have some retreat. '

'Yet, ' ventured Albinia, 'if you think solitude did you no good, doyou think letting these fits have their swing is good for Sophy?'

'I _cannot_ drive her about! They must not be harshly treated, ' heanswered quickly. 'Resistance can only come from within; compulsionis worse than useless. Poor child, it is piteous to watch that stateof dull misery! On other grounds, I am convinced this is the bestplan. The communication with the offices will prevent that maid frombeing always on the stairs. Mrs. Meadows will have her own visitorsmore easily, and will get out of doors sooner, and I think she willbe better pleased. '

'Yes, it will be a much better plan for every one but Mr. Kendalhimself, ' said Albinia; 'and if he can be happy with us, we shall beall the happier. So this was the old sitting-room!' 'Yes, I knewthem first here, ' he said. 'It used to be cheerful then, and I daresay you can make it the same again. We must dismantle it before Mrs. Meadows or Maria come to see it, or it will remind them of nothingbut the days when I was recovering, and anything but grateful fortheir attention. Yes, ' he added, 'poor Mrs. Meadows bore most gentlyand tenderly with a long course of moroseness. I am glad to have itin my power to make any sort of amends, though it is chiefly throughyou. '

Albinia might well be very happy! It was her moment of triumph, andwhatever might be her fears for the future, and uneasiness at Sophy'sdiscontent, nothing could take away the pleasure of finding herselfdeliberately preferred to the study. 

Sophy did not fail to make another protest, and when told that 'itwas not solely on her account, ' the shame of having fancied herselfso important, rendered her ill-humour still more painful anddeplorable. It was vain to consult her about the arrangements, shewould not care about anything, except that by some remarkable effectof her perverse condition, she had been seized with a penchant formaize colour and blue for the bridesmaids, and was deeply offendedwhen Albinia represented that they would look like a procession ofmacaws, and her aunt declared that Sophy herself would be the mostsacrificed by such colours. She made herself so grim that Mariabroke up the consultation by saying good-humouredly, 'Yes, we willsettle it when Lucy comes home. '

'Yes, ' muttered Sophy, 'Lucy is ready for any sort of nonsense. '

Mr. And Mrs. Kendal went to Woodside to meet Lucy, hoping thatsolitude would be beneficial. Albinia grieved at the manifestationsof these, her sullen fits, if only because they made Lucy feelherself superior. In truth, Lucy was superior in temper, amiability, and all the qualities that smooth the course of life, and it was verypleasant to greet her pretty bright face, so full of animation. 

'Dear grandmamma going to live with us? Oh, how nice! I can alwaystake care of her when you are busy, mamma. '

That accommodating spirit was absolute refreshment, and long beforeAlbinia reached home the task of keeping the household contentedseemed many degrees easier. 

A grand wedding was 'expected, ' so all the Bayford flys were bespokenthree deep, a cake was ordered from Gunter, and so many invitationssent out, that Albinia speculated how all were to come alive out ofthe little dining-room. 

And Mr. Kendal the presiding gentleman!

He had hardly seemed aware of his impending fate till the lastevening, when, as the family were separating at night, he sigheddisconsolately, and said, 'I am as bad as you are, Sophy. '

It awoke her first comfortable smile. 

Experience had, however, shown him that such occasions might besurvived, and he was less to be pitied than his daughter, who felt asif she and her great brown face would be the mark of all beholders. Poor Sophy! all scenes were to her like daguerreotypes in a badlight, she saw nothing but herself distorted!

And yet she was glad that the period of anticipation had consumeditself and its own horrors, and found herself not insensible to theexcitement of the occasion. Lucy was joyous beyond description, looking very pretty, and solicitously decorating her sister, whileboth bestowed the utmost rapture on their step-mother's appearance. 

Having learnt at last what Bayford esteemed a compliment, she hadcommissioned her London aunts to send her what she called 'anunexceptionable garment, ' and so well did they fulfil their orders, that not only did her little son scream, 'Mamma, pretty, pretty!' andGilbert stand transfixed with admiration, but it called forth Mr. Kendal's first personal remark, 'Albinia, you look remarkably well;'and Mrs. Meadows reckoned among the honours done to her Maria, thatMrs. Kendal wore a beautiful silk dress, and a lace bonnet, sent downon purpose from London!

Maria Meadows made a very nice bride, leaning on her brother-in-law, and not more agitated than became her well. The haggard restlesslook had long been gone, repose had taken away the lean sharpness ofcountenance, the really pretty features had fair play, and she wasastonishingly like her niece Lucy, and did not look much older. Herbridegroom was so beaming and benignant, that it might fairly behoped that even if force of habit should bring back fretfulness, hehad a stock of happiness sufficient for both. The chairs were jammedso tight round the table, that it was by a desperate struggle thatpeople took their seats, and Mr. Dusautoy's conversation was a seriesof apologies for being unable to keep his elbows out of hisneighbours' way while carving, and poor Sophy, whose back was not twofeet from the fire, was soon obliged to retreat. She had gained thedoor before any one perceived her, and then her brother and sisterboth followed; Albinia was obliged to leave her to their care, beingin the innermost recesses, where moving was impossible. 

There was not much the matter, she only wanted rest, and Gilbertundertook to see her safely home. 

'I shall be heartily glad to get away, ' he said. 'There is nobreathing in there, and they'll begin talking the most intolerablenonsense presently. Besides, I want to be at home to take baby downto the gate to halloo at the four white horses from the King's Head. Come along, Sophy. '

'Mind you don't make her walk too fast, ' said the careful Lucy, 'andtake care how you take off your muslin, Sophy, you had better go tothe nursery for help. '

Gilbert did not seem inclined to hurry his sister as they came nearMadame Belmarche's. He lingered, and presently said, 'Should you betoo tired to come in here for a moment? it was an intolerable shamethat none of them were asked. '

'Mamma did beg for Genevieve, but there was so little room, and theDrurys did not like it. Mrs. Drury said it would only be giving hera taste for things above her station. '

'Then Mrs. Drury should never come out of the scullery. I am sureshe looks as if her station was to black the kettles!' cried Gilbert, with some domestic confusion in his indignation. 'Didn't she looklike a housekeeper with her mistress's things on by mistake?'

'She did not look like mamma, certainly, ' said Sophy. 'Mamma lookedno more aware that she had on those pretty things than if she hadbeen in her old grey--'

'Mamma--yes--Mrs. Drury might try seventy years to look like mamma, or Genevieve either! Put Genevieve into satin or into brown holland, you couldn't help her looking ten times more the lady than Mrs. Druryever will! But come in, I have got a bit of the cake for them here, and they will like to see you all figged out, as they have missed allthe rest of the show. Aunt Maria might have cared for her oldmistress!'

Sophy wished to be amiable, and refrained from objecting. 

It was a holiday in honour of cette chere eleve of five-and-twentyyears since, and the present pupils were from their several homeswatching for the first apparition of the four greys from the King'sHead, with the eight white satin rosettes at their eight ears. 

Madame Belmarche and her daughter were discovered in the parlour, cooking with a stew pan over the fire a concoction which Sophyguessed to be a conserve of the rose-leaves yearly begged of thepupils, which were chiefly useful as serving to be boiled up at anyleisure moment, to make a cosmetic for Mademoiselle's complexion. She had diligently used it these forty-five years, but the effect wasnot encouraging, as brown, wrinkled, with her frizzled front awry, with not stainless white apron, and a long pewter spoon, she turnedround to confront the visitors in their wedding finery. 

But what Frenchwoman ever was disconcerted? Away went the spoon, forward she sprang, both hands outstretched, and her little blackeyes twinkling with pleasure. 'Ah! but this is goodness itself, 'said she, in the English wherein she flattered herself no Frenchidiom appeared. 'You are come to let us participate in yourrejoicing. Let me but summon Genevieve, the poor child is at everyfree moment trying to perfectionnate her music in the school-room. '

Madame Belmarche had arisen to receive the guests with her dignifiedcourtesy and heartfelt felicitations, which were not over whenGenevieve tripped in, all freshness and grace, with her neat littlecollar, and the dainty black apron that so prettily marked herslender waist. One moment, and she had arranged a resting-place forSophy, and as she understood Gilbert's errand, quickly produced froma corner-cupboard a plate, on which he handed it to the two otherladies, who meanwhile paid their compliments in the most perfectstyle. 

The history of the morning was discussed, and Madame Belmarchedescribed her sister's wedding, and the curiosity which she hadshared with the bride for the first sight of 'le futur, ' when the twosisters had been brought from their convent for the marriage. 

'But how could she get to like him?' cried Sophy. 

'My sister was too well brought up a young girl to acknowledge apreference, ' replied Madame Belmarche. 'Ah! my dear, you areEnglish; you do not understand these things. '

'No, ' said Sophy, 'I can't understand how people can marry withoutloving. How miserable they must be!'

'On the contrary, my dear, especially if one continued to live withone's mother. It is far better to earn the friendship and esteem ofa husband than to see his love grow cold. '

'And was your sister happy?' asked Sophy, abruptly. 

'Ah, my dear, never were husband and wife more attached. Mybrother-in-law joined the army of the Prince de Conde, and never wasseen after the day of Valmy; and my sister pined away and died ofgrief. My daughter and granddaughter go to the Catholic burying-groundat Hadminster on her fete day, to dress her grave with immortelles. '

Now Sophy knew why the strip of garden grew so many of the grey-leaved, woolly-stemmed, little yellow-and-white everlasting flowers. Goodmadame began to regret having saddened her on this day of joy. 

'Oh! no, ' said Sophy, 'I like sad things best. '

'Mais, non, my child, that is not the way to go through life, ' saidthe old lady, affectionately. 'Look at me; how could I have livedhad I not always turned to the bright side? Do not think of sorrow, it, is always near enough. '

This conversation had made an impression on Sophy, who took the firstopportunity of expressing her indignation at the system of mariagesde convenance. 

'And, mamma, she said if people began with love, it always grew cold. Now, has not papa loved you better and better every day?'

Albinia could not be displeased, though it made her blush, and shecould not answer such a home push. 'We don't quite mean the samethings, ' she said evasively. 'Madame is thinking of passionindependent of esteem or confidence. But, Sophy, this is enough evenfor a wedding-day. Let us leave it off with our finery, and resumedaily life. '

'Only tell me one thing, mamma. '

'Well?'

She paused and brought it out with an effort. It had evidentlyoccupied her for a long time. 'Mamma, must not every one withfeeling be in love once in their life?'

'Well done, reserve!' thought Albinia--'but she is only a child, after all; not a blush, only those great eyes seeming ready to devourmy answer. What ought it to be? Whatever it is, she will brood onit till her time comes. I must begin, or I shall grow nervous: "DearSophy, these are not things good to think upon. There is quiteenough to occupy a Christian woman's heart and soul without that--noneed for her feelings to shrivel up for want of exercise. No, Idon't believe in the passion once in the life being a fate, and praydon't you, my Sophy, or you may make yourself very silly, or veryunhappy, or both. "'

Sophy drew up her head, and her brown skin glowed. Albinia fearedthat she had said the wrong thing, and affronted her, but it was allworking in the dark. 

At any rate the sullenness was dissipated, and there were no tokensof a recurrence. Sophy set herself to find ways of making amends forthe past, and as soon as she had begun to do little services forgrandmamma, she seemed to have forgotten her gloomy anticipations, even while some of them were partly realized. For as it would bemore than justice to human nature to say that Mrs. Meadows'sresidence at Willow Lawn was a perfect success, so it would be lessthan justice to call it a failure. 

To put the darker side first. Grandmamma's interest in life was toknow the proceedings of the whole household, and comment on each. Now Albinia could endure housewifely advice, some espionage on herservants, and even counsel about her child; but she could not awaywith the anxiety that would never leave Sophy alone, tried to forceher sociability, and regretted all extra studies, unable to perceivethe delicate treatment her disposition needed. And Sophy, in theintolerance of early girlhood, was wretched at hearing poorgrandmamma's petty views, and narrow, ignorant prejudices. She mightresolve to be filial and agreeable, but too often found herself justachieving a moody, disgusted silence, or else bursting out with sometrue but unbecoming reproof. 

On the whole, all did well. Mrs. Meadows was happy; she enjoyed theanimation of the larger party, liked their cheerful faces, grew fondof Maurice, and daily more dependent on Lucy and Mrs. Kendal. Probably she had never before had so much of her own way, and hergentle placid nature was left to rest, instead of being constantlyworried. Her son-in-law was kind and gracious, though few wordspassed between them, and he gave her a sense of protection. Indeed, his patience and good-humour were exemplary; he never complained evenwhen he was driven from the dining-room by the table-cloth, to findMaurice rioting in the morning-room, and a music lesson in thedrawing-room, or still worse, when he heard the Drurys everywhere;and he probably would have submitted quietly for the rest of hislife, had not Albinia insisted on bringing forward the plan ofbuilding. 

When Captain and Mrs. Pringle returned to Bayford to take leave, theyfound grandmamma so thoroughly at home, that Maria could find nowords to express her gratitude. Maria herself could hardly have beenrecognised, she had grown so like her husband in look and manner! Ifher sentences did not always come to their legitimate development, they no longer seemed blown away by a frosty wind, but pushed asideby fresh kindly impulses, and her pride in the Captain, and the restin his support, had set her at peace with all the world and withherself. A comfortable, comely, happy matron was she, and even herfew weeks beyond the precincts of Bayford had done something toenlarge her mind. 

It was as if her education had newly begun. The fixed aim, and theunion with a practical man, had opened her faculties, not deficientin themselves, but contracted and nipped by the circumstances whichshe had not known how to turn to good account. Such a fresh stage inmiddle life comes to some few, like the midsummer shoot to repair thefoliage that has suffered a spring blight; but it cannot be reckoned on, and Mrs. Pringle would have been a more effective and self-possessedwoman, a better companion to her husband, and with more root in herself, had Maria Meadows learnt to tune her nerves and her temper in theoverthrow of her early hopes. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Maurice Ferrars was a born architect, with such a love of brick andmortar, that it was meritorious in him not to have overbuilt Fairmeadparsonage. With the sense of giving him an agreeable holiday, hissister wrote to him in February that Gilbert's little attic was athis service if he would come and give his counsel as to the buildingproject. 

Mr. Kendal disliked the trouble and disturbance as much as Mauriceloved it; but he quite approved and submitted, provided they askedhim no questions; he gave them free leave to ruin him, and set out totake Sophy for a drive, leaving the brother and sister to theircalculations. Of ruin, there was not much danger, Mr. Kendal had ahandsome income, and had always lived within it; and Albinia'sfortune had not appeared to her a reason for increased expense, sothere was a sufficient sum in hand to enable Mr. Ferrars to plan withfreedom. 

A new drawing-room, looking southwards, with bedrooms over it, wasthe matter of necessity; and Albinia wished for a bay-window, andwould like to indulge Lucy by a conservatory, filling up the angle tothe east with glass doors opening into the drawing-room and hall. Maurice drew, and she admired, and thought all so delightful, thatshe began to be taken with scruples as to luxury. 

'No, ' said Maurice, 'these are not mere luxuries. You have fullmeans, and it is a duty to keep your household fairly comfortable andat ease. Crowded as you are with rather incongruous elements, youare bound to give them space enough not to clash. '

'They don't clash, except poor Sophy. Gilbert and Lucy are elementsof union, with more plaster of Paris than stone in their nature. '

'Pray, has Kendal made up his mind what to do with Gilbert?'

'I have heard nothing lately; I hope he is grown too old for India. '

'Gilbert is rather too well off for his good, ' said Mr. Ferrars; 'thebenefit of a profession is not evident enough. '

'I know what I wish! If he could but be Mr. Dusautoy's curate, infive or six years' time, what glorious things we might do with theparish!'

'Eh! is that his wish?'

'I have sometimes hoped that his mind is taking that turn. He isready to help in anything for the poor people. Once he told me henever wished to look beyond Bayford for happiness or occupation; butI did not like to draw him out, because of his father's plans. Why, what have you drawn? The alms-houses?'

'I could do no other when I was improving Gilbert's house for him. '

'That would be the real improvement! How pretty! I will keep themfor him. '

The second post came in, bringing a letter from Gilbert to hisfather, and Albinia was so much surprised, that her brother askedwhether Gilbert were one of the boys who only write to their fatherwith a reason. 

'He can write more freely to me, ' said Albinia; 'and it comes to thesame thing. I am not in the least afraid of anything wrong, butperhaps he may be making some proposal for the future. I want toknow how he is. Fancy his being so foolish as to go out bathing. Iam afraid of his colds. '

Many times during the consultation did Mr. Ferrars detect Albinia'seye stealing wistfully towards that 'E. Kendal, Esq. ;' and when theproper owner came in, he was evidently as much struck, for he paused, as if in dread of opening the letter. Her eyes were on hiscountenance as he read, and did not gather much consolation. 'I amafraid this is serious, ' at last he said. 

'His cold?' exclaimed Albinia. 

'Yes, ' said Mr. Kendal, reading aloud sentence by sentence, withgravity and consideration. 

'I do not wish to alarm Mrs. Kendal, and therefore address myself at onceto you, for I do not think it right to keep you in ignorance that I havehad some of the old symptoms. I do not wish to make any one uneasy aboutme, and I may have made light of the cold I caught a month since; but Icannot conceal from myself that I have much painful cough, an inclinationto shortness of breath, and pain in the back and shoulders, especiallyafter long reading or writing. I thought it right to speak to Mr. Downton, but people in high health can understand nothing short of araging fever; however, at last he called in the parish surgeon, a stupid, ignorant fellow, who understands my case no more than his horse, andtreats me with hyoscyamus, as if it were a mere throat-cough. I thoughtit my duty to speak openly, since, though I am quite aware thatcircumstances make little difference in constitutional cases, I know youand dear Mrs. Kendal will wish that all possible means should be used, and I think it--'

Mr. Kendal broke down, and handed the letter to his wife, whoproceeded, 'I think it best you should be prepared for the worst, as I wish andendeavour to be; and truly I see so much trial and disappointment in thecourse of life before me, that it would hardly be the worst to me, except--'

That sentence finished Albinia's voice, and stealing her hand intoher husband's, she read on in silence, 'for the additional sorrow to you, and my grief at bringing pain to mymore than mother, but she has long known of the presentiment that hasalways hung over me, and will be the better prepared for its realization. If it would be any satisfaction to you, I could easily take a ticket, and go up to London to see any physician you would prefer. I could gowith Price, who is going for his sister's birthday, and I could sleepat his father's house; but, in that case, I should want three poundsjourney money, and I should be very glad if you would be so kind as tolet me have a sovereign in advance of my allowance, as Price knows ofa capital secondhand bow and arrows. With my best love to all, 'Your affectionate son, 'GILBERT KENDAL. '

Albinia held the letter to her brother, to whom she looked forsomething cheering, but, behold! a smile was gaining uncontrollablyon the muscles of his cheeks, though his lips strove hard to keepclosely shut. She would not look at him, and turning to her husband, exclaimed, 'We will take him to London ourselves!'

'I am afraid that would be inconvenient, ' observed Maurice. 

'That would not signify, ' continued Albinia; 'I must hear myself whatis thought of him, and how I am to nurse him. Oh! taking it in time, dear Edmund, we need not be so much afraid! Maurice will not mindmaking his visit another time. '

'I only meant inconvenient to the birthday party, ' drily said herbrother. 

'Maurice!' cried she, 'you don't know the boy!'

'I have no doubt that he has a cold. '

'And I know there is a great deal more the matter!' cried Albinia. 'We have let him go away to be neglected and badly treated! My poor, dear boy! Edmund, I will fetch him home to-morrow. '

'You had better send me, ' said Maurice, mischievously, for he saw hewas diminishing Mr. Kendal's alarm, and had a brotherly love ofteasing Albinia, and seeing how pretty she looked with her eyesflashing through wrathful tears, and her foot patting impetuously onthe carpet. 

'You!' she cried; 'you don't believe in him! You fancy all boys aremade of iron and steel--you would only laugh at him--you made us sendhim there--I wish--'

'Gently, gently, my dear Albinia, ' said her husband, dismayed at hervehemence, just when it most amused her brother. 'You cannot expectMaurice to feel exactly as we do, and I confess that I have much hopethat this alarm may be more than adequate. '

'He thinks it all a scheme!' said Albinia, in a tone of great injury. 

'No, indeed, Albinia, ' answered her brother, seriously, 'I fullybelieve that Gilbert imagines all that he tells you, but you cannotsuppose that either the tutor or doctor could fail to see if he wereso very ill. '

'Certainly not, ' assented Mr. Kendal. 

'And low spirits are more apt to accompany a slight ailment, thansuch an illness as you apprehend. '

'I believe you are right, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'Where is the letter?'

Albinia did not like it to come under discussion, but could notwithhold it, and as she read it again, she felt that neither Mauricenor her cousin Fred could have written the like, but she was only themore impelled to do battle, and when she came to the unluckyconclusion, she exclaimed, 'I am sure that was an afterthought. Idare say Price asked him while he was writing. '

'What's this?' asked Mr. Kendal, coming to the 'presentiment. '

She hesitated, afraid both of him and of Maurice, but there was noalternative. 'Poor Gilbert!' she said. 'It was a cry or call fromhis brother just at last. It has left a very deep impression. '

'Indeed!' said his father, much moved. 'Yes. Edmund gave a cry suchas was not to be forgotten, ' and the sigh told how it had haunted hisown pillow; 'but I had not thought that Gilbert was in a condition tonotice it. Did he mention it to you?'

'Yes, not long after I came, he thinks it was a call, and I havenever known exactly how to deal with it. '

'It is a case for very tender handling, ' said Maurice. 

'I should have desired him never to think of it again, ' said Mr. Kendal, decidedly. 'Mere nonsense to dwell on it. Their names werealways in Edmund's mouth, and it was nothing but accident. Youshould have told him so, Albinia. '

And he walked out of the room. 

'Ah! it will prey upon him now, ' said Albinia. 

'Yes, I thought he only spoke of driving it away because it was whathe would like to be able to do. But things do not prey on people ofhis age as they do on younger ones. '

'I wonder if I did right, ' said Albinia. 'I never liked to ask you, though I wished it. I could not bear to treat it as a fancy. Howwas I to know, if it may not have been intended to do him good? Andyou see his father says it was very remarkable. '

'Do you imagine that it dwells much upon his mind?'

'Not when he is well--not when it would do him good, ' said Albinia;'it rather haunts him the instant he is unwell. '

'He makes it a superstition, then, poor boy! You thought me hard onhim, Albinia; but really I could not help being angry with him for solamentably frightening his father and you. '

'Let us see how he is before you find fault with him, ' said Albinia. 

'You're as bad as if you were his mother, or worse!' exclaimedMaurice. 

'Oh! Maurice, I can't help it! He had no one to care for him till Icame, and he is such a very dear fellow--he wants me so much!'

Mr. Ferrars agreed to go with Mr. Kendal to Traversham. He thoughthis father would be encouraged by his presence, and he was not devoidof curiosity. Albinia would not hear of staying at home; in fact, Maurice suspected her of being afraid to trust Gilbert to his mercy. 

With a trembling heart she left the train at the little Travershamstation, making resolutions neither to be too angry with thenegligent tutor, nor to show Gilbert how much importance she attachedto his illness. 

As they walked into the village, they heard a merry clamour oftongue, and presently met five or six boys, and, a few paces behindthem, Mr. Downton. 

'Ah!' he exclaimed, 'I am glad you are come. I would have writtenyesterday, but that I found your boy had done so. I shall be veryglad to have him cheered up about himself. I will turn back withyou. You go on, Price. They are setting out for one of Hullah'sclasses, so we shall have the house clear. '

'I hope there is not much amiss?' said Mr. Kendal. 

'A tedious cold, ' said the tutor; 'but the doctor assures me thatthere is nothing wrong with his chest, and I do believe he would notcough half so much, if he were not always watching himself. '

'Who has been attending him?'

'Lee, the union doctor, a very good man, with a large family, '(Albinia could have beaten him). 'Indeed, ' he continued perceivingsome dissatisfied looks, 'I think you will find that a little changeis all that he wants. '

'I hope you can give a good account of him in other respects?' saidMr. Kendal. 

'Oh! yes, in every way; he is the most good-natured lad in the world, and quite the small boys' friend. Perhaps he has been a little moresentimental of late, but that may be only from being rather out oforder. I'll call him. '

The last words were spoken as they entered the parsonage, whereopening a door, he said, 'Here, Kendal, here's a new prescription foryou. '

Albinia had a momentary view of a tabby-cat and kitten, a volume ofpoetry, a wiry-haired terrier, and Gilbert, all lying promiscuouslyon the hearth-rug, before the two last leaped up, the one to bark, and the other to come forward with outstretched hand, and gladcountenance. 

He looked flushed and languid, but the roaring fire and close roommight account for that, and though, when the subject was mentioned, he gave a short uncomfortable cough, Albinia's mind was so farrelieved, that she was in doubt with whom to be angry, and preparedto stand on the defensive, should her brother think him too well. 

The gentlemen went away together, and Gilbert, grasping her hand, gave way to one of his effusions of affection--'So kind to come tohim--he knew he had her to trust to, whatever happened'--and he leanthis cheek on his hand in a melancholy mood. 

'Don't be so piteous, Gibbie, ' she said. 'You were quite right totell us you were not well, only you need not have been so verydoleful, I don't like papa to be frightened. '

'I thought it was no use to go on in this way, ' said Gilbert, with acough: 'it was the old thing over again, and nobody would believe Ihad anything the matter with me. '

And he commenced a formidable catalogue of symptoms which satisfiedher that Maurice would think him fully justified. Just at a pointwhere it was not easy to know what next to say, the kitten began toplay tricks with her mother's tail, and a happy diversion was made;Gilbert began to exhibit the various drolleries of the animals, toexplain the friendship between dog and cat, and to leave off coughingas he related anecdotes of their sagacity; and finally, when thegentlemen returned, laughing was the first sound they heard, and Mrs. Kendal was found sitting on the floor at play with the livestock. 

They had come to fetch her to see the church and schools, and ongoing out, she found that Mr. Ferrars had moved and carried thatGilbert should be taken home at once, and, on the way, be shown to aphysician at the county town. From this she gathered that Mauricewas compassionate, and though, of course, he would make no suchadmission, she had reason afterwards to believe that he had shown Mr. Downton that the pupil's health ought to have met with a shade moreattention. 

With Gilbert wrapped up to the tip of his nose, they set off, andfound the doctor at home. Nothing could have been more satisfactoryto Albinia, for it gave her a triumph over her brother, without toomuch anxiety for the future. The physician detected the injury tothe lungs left by an attack that the boy had suffered from in hisfirst English winter, and had scarcely outgrown when Albinia firstknew him. The recent cold had so far renewed the evil, that thoughno disease actually existed, the cough must be watched, and exposureavoided; in fact, a licence for petting to any extent was bestowed, and therewith every hope of recovery. 

Albinia and her son sat in their corners of the carriage in secretsatisfaction, while Mr. Kendal related the doctor's opinion to Mr. Ferrars, but one of them, at least, was unprepared for the summing-up. 'Under the circumstances, Gilbert is most fortunate. A few yearsin his native climate will quite set him up. '

'Oh! but he is too old for Haileybury, ' burst out Albinia, in herconsternation. 

'Nearly old enough for John Kendal's bank, eh, Gilbert?'

'Oh!' cried Albinia, 'pray don't let us talk of that while poorGilbert is so ill. '

'Hm!' said Mr. Kendal with interrogative surprise, almostdispleasure, and no more was said. 

Albinia felt guilty, as she remembered that she had no more intendedto betray her dislike to the scheme, than to gratify Gilbert bycalling him 'so ill. ' Aristocratic and military, she had no love forthe monied interest, and had so sedulously impressed on her friendsthat Mr. Kendal had been in the Civil Service, and quite unconnectedwith the bank, that Mr. Ferrars had told her she thought hisrespectability depended on it, and she was ashamed that her brothershould hear her give way again so foolishly to the weakness. 

Gilbert became the most talkative as they drew near home, and was thefirst to spring out and open the hall door, displaying his twosisters harnessed tandem-fashion with packthread, and driven at fullspeed by little Maurice, armed with the veritable carriage whip! Thenext moment it was thrown down, with a rapturous shout, and Mauricewas lost to everything but his brother!

'Oh! girls, how could you let him serve you so?' began the horrifiedAlbinia. 'Sophy will be laid up for a week!'

'Never mind, ' said Sophy, dropping on a chair. 'Poor little fellow, he wished it so much!'

'I tried to stop her, mamma, ' said Lucy, 'but she will do as Mauricepleases. '

'See, this is the way they will spoil my boy, the instant my back isturned!' said Albinia. 'What's the use of all I can do with him, ifevery one else will go and be his bond-slave! I do believe Sophywould let him kill her, if he asked her!'

'It is no real kindness, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'Their good-nature oughtnot to go beyond reason. '

The elder Maurice could hardly help shrugging his shoulders. Welldid he know that Mr. Kendal would have joined the team if such hadbeen the will of that sovereign in scarlet merino, who stood with onehand in Gilbert's, and the whip in the other. 

'Come here, Maurice, ' quoth Albinia; 'put down the whip, ' and sheextracted it from his grasp, with grave resolution, against which hemade no struggle, gave it to Lucy to be put away, and seated him onher knee. 'Now listen, Maurice; poor sister Sophy is tired, and youare never to make a horse of her. Do you hear?'

'Yes, ' said Maurice, fidgeting. 

'Mind, if ever you make a horse of Sophy, mamma will put you into theblack cupboard. You understand?'

'Sophy shan't be horse, ' said Maurice. 'Sophy naughty, lazy horse. Boy has Gibbie--'

'There's gratitude, ' said Mr. Ferrars, as 'Boy' slid off his mamma'sknee, stood on tiptoe to pull the door open, and ran after Gilbert tograndmamma's room. 

'Yes, ' said Albinia, 'no one is grateful for services beyond allreason. So, Sophy, mind, into the cupboard he goes, the very nexttime you are so silly as to be a horse. '

'To punish which of them?' asked her brother. 

'Sophy knows, ' said Albinia. 

Sophy was too miserable to smile. Sarah Anne Drury had been calling, and on hearing of Gilbert's indisposition, had favoured them with'mamma's remarks, ' and when Mrs. Kendal was blamed, Sophy hadindignantly told Sarah Anne that she knew nothing about it, and hadno business to interfere. Then followed the accusation, that Mrs. Kendal had set the whole family against their old friends, and Sophyhad found all her own besetting sins charged upon her step-mother. 

'My dear!' said Albinia, 'don't you know that if a royal tiger wereto eat up your cousin John in India, the Drurys would say Mrs. Kendalalways let the tigers run about loose! Nor am I sure that yourfaults are not my fault. I helped you to be more exclusive andintolerant, and I am sure I tried your temper, when I did not knowwhat was the matter with you--'

'No--no, ' said the choked voice. It would have been an immensecomfort to cry, or even to be able to return the kiss; but she was agreat deal too wretched to be capable of any demonstration;physically exhausted by being driven about by Maurice; mentally wornout by the attempts to be amiable, which had degenerated intowrangling, full of remorse for having made light of her brother'sillness, and, for that reason, persuaded that she was to be punishedby seeing it become fatal. Not a word of all this did she say, but, dejected and silent, she spent the evening in a lonely corner of thedrawing-room, while her brother, in the full pleasure of returninghome, and greatly enjoying his invalid privileges, was discussing theprojected improvements. 

Talking at last brought back his cough with real violence, and he wassent to bed; Albinia went up with him to see that his fire burnt. Heset Mr. Ferrars's drawing of the alms-houses over his mantelshelf. 'I shall nail it up to-morrow, ' he said. 'I always wanted a picturehere, and that's a jolly one to look to. '

'It would be a beautiful beginning, ' she said. 'I think your lifewould go the better for it, Gibbie. '

'I suppose old nurse would be too grand for one, ' he said, 'but Ishould like to have her so near! And you must mind and keep old Mrs. Baker out of the Union for it. And that famous old blind sailor! Ishall put him up a bench to sit in the sun, and spin his yarns on, and tell him to think himself at Greenwich. '

Albinia went down, only afraid that his being so very good was adangerous symptom. 

Sophy was far from well in the morning, and Albinia kept herupstairs, and sent her godfather to make her a visit. He always didher good; he knew how to probe deeply, and help her to speak, and hegave her advice with more experience than his sister, and moreencouragement than her father. 

Sophy said little, but her eyes had a softened look. 

'One good thing about Sophy, ' said he afterwards to his sister, 'is, that she will never talk her feelings to death. '

'That reserve is my great pain. I don't get at the real being oncein six months. '

'So much the better for people living together. '

'Well, I was thinking that you and I are a great deal more intimateand confidential when we meet now, than we used to be when we werealways together. '

'People can't be often confidential from the innermost when they livetogether, ' said Maurice. 

'Since I have been a Kendal, such has been my experience. '

'It was the same before, only we concealed it by an upper surface ofchatter, ' said Maurice. '"As iron sharpeneth iron, so doth a man thecountenance of his friend;" but if the mutual sharpening went onwithout intermission, both irons would wear away, and no work wouldbe done. Aren't you coming with me? Edmund is going to drive me toWoodside to meet the pony-carriage from home. '

'I wish I could; but you see what happens when I go out pleasuring!'

'Well, you can take one element of mischief with you--that imp, Maurice. '

'Ye--es. Papa would like it, if you do. '

'I should like you to come on worse terms. '

'Very well, then; and Sophy is safe; I had already asked Genevieve tocome and read to her this afternoon. If Gilbert can spare me, I willgo. '

Gilbert did not want her, and begged Lucy not to think of stayingindoors on his account. He was presently left in solitary possessionof the drawing-room, whereupon he rose, settled his brown locks atthe glass, arranged his tie, brushed his cuffs, leisurely walkedupstairs, and tapped at the door of the morning-room, meekly asking, 'May I come in?' with a cough at each end of the sentence. 

'Oh! Gilbert!' cried his anxious sister, starting up. 'Are you cometo see me?' and she would have wheeled round her father's arm-chairfor him, but Genevieve was beforehand with her, and he sank into it, saying pathetically, 'Ah! thank you, Miss Durant; you are come to aperfect hospital. Oh! this is too much, ' as she further gave him afootstool. 'Oh! no, thank you, Sophy, ' for she would have handedGenevieve her own pillow for his further support; 'this isdelightful!' reclining pathetically in his chair. 'This is not likeTraversham. '

'Where they would not believe he was ill!' said Sophy. 

'I hope he does not look so very ill, ' said Genevieve, cheerfully, but this rather hurt the feelings of both; the one said, 'Oh! but heis terribly pale, ' the other coughed, and said, 'Looks aredeceitful. '

'That is the very reason, ' said Genevieve. 'You don't look deceitfulenough to be so ill--so ill as Miss Sophie fears; now you are athome, and well cared for, you will soon be well. '

'Care would have prevented it all, ' said Sophy. 

'And not brought me home!' said Gilbert. 'Home is home on any terms. No one there had the least idea a fellow could ever be unwell or outof spirits!'

'Ah! you must have been ill, ' cried his sister, 'you who never usedto be miserable!'

Gilbert gave a sigh. 'They were such mere boys, ' he said. 

'Monsieur votre Precepteur?' asked Genevieve. 

'Ah! he was otherwise occupied!'

'There is some mystery beneath, ' said Genevieve, turning to Sophy, who exclaimed abruptly, 'Oh! is he in love?'

'Sophy goes to the point, ' said Gilbert, smiling, the picture oflanguid comfort; 'but I own there are suspicious circumstances. Healways has a photograph in his pocket, and Price has seen him lookingat it. '

'Ah! depend upon it, Miss Sophy, it is all a romance of these younggentlemen, ' said Genevieve, turning to her with a droll provoking airof confidence; 'ce pauvre Monsieur had the portrait of his sister!'

'Catch me carrying Sophy's face in my waistcoat pocket, criedGilbert, forgetting his languor. 

'Speak for yourself, Mr. Gilbert, ' laughed Genevieve. 

'And he writes letters every day, and wont let any of us put theminto the post for him; but we know the direction begins with Miss--'

'Oh! the curious boys!' cried Genevieve. 'If I could only hint tothis poor tutor to let them read Miss Downton on one!'

'I assure you, ' cried Gilbert, 'Price has laid a bet that she's anheiress with forty thousand pounds and red hair. '

'Mr. Price is an impertinent! I hope you will inform me how he lookswhen he is the loser. '

'But he has seen her! He met Mr. Downton last Christmas in RegentStreet, in a swell carriage, with a lady with such carrots, hethought her bonnet was on fire; and Mr. Downton never saw Price, though he bowed to him, and you know nobody would marry a woman withred hair unless she was an heiress. '

'Miss Sophy, ' whispered Genevieve, 'prepare for a red-hairedsister-in-law. I predict that every one of the pupils of the respectableMr. Downton will marry ladies with lively chestnut locks. '

'What, you think me so mercenary, Genevieve?' said Gilbert. 

'I only hope to see this school-boy logic well revenged!' saidGenevieve. 'Mrs. Price shall have locks of orange red, and for Mrs. Gilbert Kendal--ah! we will content ourselves with her having a palershade--sandy gold. '

'No, ' said Gilbert, speaking slowly, turning round his eyes. 'Icould tell you what Mrs. G. Kendal's hair will be--'

Genevieve let this drop, and said, 'You do not want me: good-bye, Miss Sophie. '

'Going! why, you came to read to me, Genevieve, ' exclaimed Sophy. 

'Ah! I beg your pardon, I have been interrupting you all this time, 'cried Gilbert; 'I never meant to disturb you. Pray let me listen. '

And Genevieve read while Gilbert resumed his reclining attitude, withhalf-closed eyes, listening to the sweet intonations and prettyrefined accent of the ancien regime. 

Sophy enjoyed this exceedingly, she made it her especial occupationto take care of Gilbert, and enter into his fireside amusements. This indisposition had drawn the two nearer together, and essentiallyunlike as they were, their two characters seemed to be fitting wellone into the other. His sentiment accorded with her strain ofromance, and they read poetry and had discussions as they sat overthe fire, growing constantly into greater intimacy and confidence. Sophy waited on him, and watched him perpetually, and her assiduitywas imparting a softness and warmth quite new to her, while theconstant occupation kept affronts and vexations out of her sight, andmade her amiable. 

Gilbert's health improved, though with vicissitudes that enforced thenecessity of prudence. Rash when well, and desponding at eachrenewal of illness, he was not easy to manage, but he was always sogentle, grateful, and obliging, that he endeared himself to the wholehousehold. It was no novelty for him to be devoted to his step-motherand his little brother, but he was likewise very kind to Lucy, and spent much time in helping in her pursuits; he was becomingcompanionable to his father, and could play at chess sufficientlywell to be a worthy antagonist in Mr. Kendal's scientific andinterminable games. He would likewise play at backgammon withgrandmamma, and could entertain her for hours together by listeningto her long stories of the old Bayford world. He was a favourite inher little society, and would often take a hand at cards to make up arubber, nay, even when not absolutely required, he was very apt tobestow his countenance upon the little parties, where he had thepleasure of being treated as a great man, and which, at least, hadthe advantage of making a variation in his imprisonment during theeast winds. 

Madame Belmarche and her daughter and grandchild were sometimes ofthe party, and on these occasions, Sophy always claimed Genevieve, and usually succeeded in carrying her off when Gilbert would oftenjoin them. Their books and prints were a great treat to her; Gilberthad a beautiful illustrated copy of Longfellow's poems, and theengravings and 'Evangeline' were their enjoyment; Gilbert regularlyproffering the loan of the book, and she as regularly refusing it, and turning a deaf ear to gentle insinuations of the pleasure ofknowing that an book of his was in her hands. Gilbert had never hadmuch of the schoolboy manner, and he was adopting a gentle, pathetictone, at which Albinia was apt to laugh, but in her absence was oftenverged upon tendresse, especially with Genevieve. She, however, byher perfect simplicity and lively banter, always nipped the bud ofhis sentiment, she had known him from a child, and never lost thesense of being his elder, treating him somewhat as a boy to be playedwith. Perfectly aware of her own position, her demeanour, frank andgracious as it was, had something in it which kept in check otherBayford youths less gentlemanlike than Gilbert Kendal. If she neverforgot that she was dancing-master's daughter, she never let any oneelse forget that she was a lady. 

When the building began, Gilbert had a wholesome occupation, savinghis father some trouble and--not quite so much expense by overlookingthe workmen. Mr. Kendal was glad to be spared giving orders andspeaking to people, and would always rather be overcharged than be atthe pains of bargaining or inquiring. 'It was Gilbert's own house, 'he said, 'and it was good for the boy to take an interest in it, andnot to be too much interfered with. ' So the bay window and theconservatory were some degrees grander than Mr. Ferrars had proposedbut all was excused by the pleasure and experience they affordedGilbert, and it was very droll to see Maurice following him aboutafter the workmen, watching them most knowingly, and deep in mischiefat every opportunity. Once he had been up to his knees in a temptingblancmanger-like lake of lime, many times had he hammered or cut hisfingers, and once his legs had gone through the new drawing-roomceiling, where he hung by the petticoats screaming till rescued byhis brother. The room was under these auspices finished, and was avery successful affair--the conservatory, in which the hallterminated, and into which a side door of the drawing-room opened, gave a bright fragrant, flowery air to the whole house; and the lowfireplace and comfortable fan-shaped fender made the room verycheerful. Fresh delicately-tinted furniture, chosen con amore by theLondon aunts, had made the apartment very unlike old Willow-Lawn, andAlbinia had so much enjoyed setting it off to the best advantage, that she sent word to Winifred that she was really becoming afurniture fancier. 

It was a very pretty paper, and some choice prints hung on it, butAlbinia and Sophy had laid violent hands on all the best-lookingbooks, and kept them for the equipment of one of the walls. The restwere disposed, for Mr. Kendal's delectation, in the old drawing-room, henceforth to be named the library. Lucy thought it sounded better, and he was quite as willing as Albinia was that the name of studyshould be extinct. Meantime Mr. Downton had verified the boys'prediction by writing to announce that he was about to marry and giveup pupils. 

Gilbert was past seventeen, and it was time to decide on hisprofession. Albinia had virtuously abstained from any hint adverseto the house of Kendal and Kendal, for she knew it hurt her husband'sfeelings to hear any disparagement of the country where he had spentsome of his happiest years. He was fond of his cousins, and knewthat they would give his son a safe and happy home, and he believedthat the climate was exactly what his health needed. 

Sophy fired at the idea. Her constant study of the subject and hervivid imagination had taken the place of memory, which could supplynothing but the glow of colouring and the dazzling haze whichenveloped all the forms that she would fain believe that sheremembered. She and her father would discuss Indian scenery as ifthey had been only absent from it a year, she envied Gilbert hisreturn thither, but owned that it was the next thing to goingherself, and was already beginning to amass a hoard of English giftsfor the old ayahs and bearers who still lived in her recollection, inpreparation for the visit which on his first holiday her brother mustpay to her birthplace and first home. 

Gilbert, however, took no part in this enthusiasm, he made noopposition, but showed no alacrity; and at last his father askedAlbinia whether she knew of any objection on his part, or any designwhich he might be unwilling to put forward. With a beating heart sheavowed her cherished scheme. 

'Is this his own proposal?' asked Mr. Kendal. 

'No; he has never spoken of it, but your plan has always seemed sodecided that perhaps he thinks he has no choice. '

'That is not what I wish, ' said his father. 'If his inclinations beotherwise, he has only to speak, and I will consider. '

'Shall I sound him?' suggested Albinia, dreading the timidity thatalways stood between the boy and his father. 

'Do not inspire him with the wish and then imagine it his own, ' saidMr. Kendal; and then thinking he had spoken sternly, added 'I knowyou would be the last to wish him to take holy orders inconsiderately, but you have such power over him, that I question whether he wouldknow his wishes from yours. '

Albinia began to disavow the desire of actuating him. 

'You would not intend it, but he would catch the desire from you, andI own I would rather he were not inspired with it. If he now shouldexpress it, I should fear it was the unconscious effort to escapefrom India. If it had been his brother Edmund, I would have made anysacrifice, but I do not think Gilbert has the energy or force ofcharacter I should wish to see in a clergyman, nor do I feel willingto risk him at the university. '

'Oh! Edmund, why will you distrust Oxford? Why will you not believewhat I know through Maurice and his friends?'

'If my poor boy had either the disposition or the discipline of yourbrother, I should not feel the same doubt. '

'Maurice had no discipline except at school and when William lickedhim, ' cried Albinia. 'You know he was but eleven years old when myfather died, and my aunts spoilt us without mitigation. '

'I said the disposition, ' repeated Mr. Kendal; 'I can see nothing inGilbert marking him for a clergyman, and I think him susceptible tothe temptations that you cannot deny to exist at any college. Norwould I desire to see him fixed here, until he has seen something oflife and of business, for which this bank affords the greatestfacilities with the least amount of temptation. He would also bedoing something for his own support; and with the life-interests uponhis property, he must be dependent on his own exertions, unless Iwere to do more for him than would be right by the other children. '

'Then I am to say nothing to him?'

'I will speak to him myself. He is quite old enough to understandhis prospects and decide for himself. '

'But, Edmund, ' cried Albinia, with sudden vehemence, 'you are notsacrificing Gilbert for Maurice's sake?'

She had more nearly displeased him than she had ever done before, though he looked up quietly, saying, 'Certainly not. I am notsacrificing Gilbert, and I should do the same if Maurice were not inexistence. '

She was too much ashamed of her foolish fancy to say more, and shecooled into candour sufficient to perceive that he was wise indistrusting her tact where her preference was so strong. But sheforesaw that Gilbert would shrink and falter before his father, andthat the conference would lead to no discovery of his views, and shewas not surprised when her husband told her that he could notunderstand the boy, and believed that the truth was, that he wouldlike to do nothing at all. It had ended by Mr. Kendal, in a sort ofdespair, undertaking to write to his cousin John for a statement ofwhat would be required, after which the decision was to be made. 

Meantime Mr. Kendal advised Gilbert to attend to arithmetic andbook-keeping, and offered to instruct him in his long-forgottenHindostanee. Sophy learnt all these with all her heart, but Gilbertalways had a pain in his chest if he sat still at any kind of study!

CHAPTER XV. 

Colonel Bury was the most open-hearted old bachelor in the country. His imagination never could conceive the possibility of everybody notbeing glad to meet everybody, his house could never be too full, hisdinner-parties of 'a few friends' overflowed the dining-room, and his'nobody' meant always at least six bodies. Every season was fertilein occasions of gathering old and young together to be made happy, and little Mary Ferrars, at five years old, had told her mamma that'the Colonel's parties made her quite dissipated. '

One bright summer day, his beaming face appeared at Willow-Lawn witha peremptory invitation. His nephew and heir had newly married afriend of Albinia's girlhood, and was about to pay his wedding visit. Too happy to keep his guests to himself, the Colonel had fixed thenext Thursday for a fete, and wanted all the world to come to it--theKendals, every one of them--if they could only sleep there--butAlbinia brought him to confession that he had promised to lodge fivepeople more than the house would hold; and the aunts were at theparsonage, where nobody ventured to crowd their servants. 

But there was a moon--and though Mr. Kendal would not allow that shewas the harvest moon, the hospitable Colonel dilated on her as if shehad been bed, board, and lodging, and he did not find much difficultyin his persuasions. 

Few invitations ever gave more delight; Albinia appreciated a holidayto the utmost, and the whole family was happy at Sophy's chance of atlength seeing Fairmead, and taking part in a little gaiety. And ifMr. Kendal's expectations of pleasure were less high, he submittedvery well, smiled benignantly at the felicity around him, and was notonce seen to shudder. 

Sarah Anne Drury had been invited to enliven grandmamma, and everyone augured a beautiful day and perfect enjoyment. The morning wasbeautiful, but alas! Sophy was hors de combat, far too unwell tothink of making one of the party. She bore the disappointmentmagnanimously, and even the pity. Every one was sorry, and Gilbertwanted her to go and wait at Fairmead Parsonage for the chance ofimproving, promising to come and fetch her for any part of theentertainment; and her father told her that he had looked to her ashis chief companion while the gay people were taking their pleasure. No one was uncomfortably generous enough to offer to stay at homewith her; but Lucy suggested asking Genevieve to come and take careof her. 

'Nay, ' said Sophy, 'it would be much better if she were to go in mystead. '

Gilbert and Lucy both uttered an exclamation; and Sophy added, 'Shewould have so much more enjoyment than I could! Oh, it would quitemake up for my missing it!'

'My dear, ' said grandmamma, 'you don't know what you are talking of. It would be taking such a liberty. '

'There need be no scruples on that score, ' said Albinia; 'the Colonelwould only thank me if I brought him half Bayford. '

'Then, ' cried Sophy, 'you think we may ask her? Oh, I should like torun up myself;'--and a look of congratulation and gratitude passedbetween her and her brother. 

'No, indeed, you must not, let me go, ' said Lucy, 'I'll just finishthis cup of tea--'

'My dear, my dear, ' interposed Mrs. Meadows, 'pray consider. She isa very good little girl in her way, but it is only giving her a tastefor things out of her station'

'Oh! don't say that, dear grandmamma, ' interposed Albinia, 'one goodfestival does carry one so much better through days of toil!'

'Ah, well! my dear, you will do as you think proper; but consideringwho the poor child is, I should call it no kindness to bring herforward in company. '

Something passed between the indignant Gilbert and Sophy about Frenchcounts and marquises, but Lucy managed much better. 'Dear me, grandmamma, nobody wishes to bring her forward. She will only playwith the children, and see the fireworks, and no one will speak toher. '

Albinia averted further discussion till grandmamma had left thebreakfast-table, when all four appealed with one voice to Mr. Kendal, who saw no objection, whereupon Lucy ran off, while Albinia finishedher arrangements for the well-being of grandmamma, Sophy, andMaurice, who were as difficult to manage as the fox, goose, andcabbage. At every turn she encountered Gilbert, touching up histoilette at each glass, and seriously consulting her and Sophy uponthe choice between lilac and lemon-coloured gloves, and upon the bowsof his fringed neck-tie. 

'My dear Gilbert, ' said Albinia, on the fifth anxious alternative, 'it is of no use. No living creature will be the wiser, and do whatyou will, you will never look half so well as your father. '

Gilbert flung aside, muttering something about 'fit to be seen, ' butjust then Lucy hurried in. 'Oh! mamma, she wont go--she is very muchobliged, but she can't go. '

'Can't! she must, ' cried Albinia and Gilbert together. 

'She says you are very kind, but that she cannot. I said everythingI could; I told her she should wear Sophy's muslin mantle, or mysecond best polka. '

'No doubt you went and made a great favour of it, ' said Gilbert. 

'No, I assure you I did not; I persuaded her with all my might; Isaid mamma wished it, and we all wished it; and I am sure she wouldreally have been very glad if she could have gone. '

'It can't be the school, it is holiday time, ' said Gilbert. 'I'll goand see what is the matter. '

'No, I will go, ' said Albinia, 'I will ask the old ladies to luncheonhere, and that will make her happy, and make it easier for Sophy toget on with Sarah Anne Drury. '

Lucy had seen Genevieve alone; Albinia took her by storm beforeMadame Belmarche, whose little black eyes sparkled as she assuredMrs. Kendal that the child merited that and every other pleasure; andwhen Genevieve attempted to whisper objections, silenced her with anembrace, saying, 'Ah! my love, where is your gratitude to Madame?Have no fears for us. Your pleasure will be ours for months tocome. '

The liquid sweetness of Genevieve's eyes spoke of no want ofgratitude, and with glee which she no longer strove to repress, shetripped away to equip herself, and Albinia heard her clear youngvoice upstairs, singing away the burthen of some queer old Frenchditty. 

Albinia found Gilbert and Sophy in disgrace with Lucy for havinggathered the choicest flowers, which they were eagerly making up intobouquets. Genevieve's was ready before she arrived in the prettiesttremor of gratitude and anticipation, and presented to her byGilbert, whilst Sophy looked on, and blushed crimson, face, neck, andall, as Genevieve smelt and admired the white roses that had socruelly been reft from Lucy's beloved tree. 

With every advantage of pretty features, good complexion, and nicefigure, the English Lucy, in her blue-and-white checked silk, workedmuslin mantle, and white chip bonnet with blue ribbons, was eclipsedby the small swarthy French girl, in that very old black silk dress, and white trimmed coarse straw bonnet, just enlivened by little pinkbows at the neck and wrists. It had long been acknowledged thatGenevieve was unrivalled in the art of tying bows, and those pinkones were paragons, redolent of all her own fresh sprightly archnessand refinement. Albinia herself was the best representative ofEnglish good looks, and never had she been more brilliant, her richchestnut hair waving so prettily on the rounded contour of her happyface, her fair cheek tinted with such a healthy fresh bloom, her greyeyes laughing with merry softness, her whole person so alert andelastic with exuberant life and enjoyment, that grandmamma was ashappy in watching her as if she had been her own daughter, andstroked down the broad flounces of her changeable silk, and admiredher black lace, as if she felt the whole family exalted by Mrs. Kendal's appearance. 

It was a merry journey, through the meadows and corn-fields, laughingin the summer sunshine, and in due time they saw the flag uponFairmead steeple, and Albinia nodded to curtseying old friends at thecottage doors. The lodge gate swung open wide, and the well-knownstriped marquee was seen among the trees in the distance, as theywent up the carriage road; but at the little iron gate leading to theshrubbery there was a halt; Mr. Ferrars called to the carriage tostop, and opened the door. At the same moment Albinia gave a cry ofwonder, and exclaimed, 'Why, Fred? is William here?'

'No; at Montreal, but very well, ' was the answer, with a hearty shakeof the hand. 

'Edmund, it is Fred Ferrars, ' said Albinia. 'Why, Maurice, you nevertold us. '

'He took us by surprise yesterday. '

'Yes; I landed yesterday morning, went to the Family Office, foundBelraven was nowhere, and the aunts at Fairmead, and so came onhere, ' explained Fred, as be finished shaking hands with all theparty, and walked on beside Albinia. He was tall, fresh-coloured, agood deal like her, with a long fair moustache, and light, handsomefigure; and Lucy, though rather disconcerted at Genevieve being takenfor one of themselves, began eagerly to whisper her conviction thathe was Lord Belraven's brother, mamma's first cousin, captain in the25th Lancers, and aide-de-camp to General Ferrars. 

It was the first meeting since an awkward parting. The only son of afoolish second marriage, and early left an orphan, Frederick Ferrarsbad grown up under the good aunts' charge, somewhat neglected by hishalf-brother, by many years his senior. He was little older thanAlbinia, and a merry, bantering affection had always subsistedbetween them, till he had begun to give it the air of something morethan friendship. Albinia was, however, of a nature to seek forsomething of depth and repose, on which to rely for support andanchorage. Fred's vivacious disposition had never for a moment wonher serious attachment; she was 'very fond of him, ' but no more; herheart was set on sharing her brother's life as a country pastor. Shewent to Fairmead, Fred was carried off by the General to Canada, andshe presently heard of his hopeless attachment to a lovely Yankee, whom he met on board the steamer. All this was now cast behind theseven most eventful years of Albinia's life; and in the dignity ofher matronhood, she looked more than ever on 'poor Fred' as a boy, and was delighted to see him again, and to hear of her brotherWilliam. 

A few steps brought them to the shade of the large cedar-tree, wherewas seated Winifred, and Mrs. Annesley was with her. The greetingshad hardly been exchanged before the Colonel came upon them in allhis glory, with his pretty shy bride niece on his arm, looking verylike the Alice Percy of the old times, when Fred used to tease thetwo girls. 

Genevieve was made heartily welcome, and Sophia's absence deplored, and then the Colonel carried off the younger ones to the archery, giving his arm to the much-flattered Lucy, and followed by Gilbertand Genevieve, with Willie and Mary adhering to them closely, andtheir governess in sight. 

Mr. Ferrars and Mr. Kendal fell into one of their discussions, andpaced up and down the shady walk, while Albinia sat, in the completecontentment, between Alice and Winifred, with Fred Ferrars on theturf at their feet, living over again the bygone days, laughing overancient jokes, resuscitating past scrapes, tracing the lot of oldcompanions, or telling mischievous anecdotes of each other, for thevery purpose of being contradicted. They were much too light-heartedto note the lapse of time, till Maurice came to take his wife home, thinking she had had fatigue enough. Mrs. Annesley went with her, and Albinia, on looking for her husband, was told that he had fallenin with some old Indian acquaintances; and Charles Bury presentlycame to find his wife, and conduct the party to luncheon. There wasno formal meal, but a perpetual refection laid out in the dining-room, for relays of guests. Fred took care of Albinia and here they metMiss Ferrars, who had been with one of her old friends, to whom shewas delighted to exhibit her nephew and niece in their prime ofgood looks. 

'But I must go, ' said Albinia; 'having found the provisions, I mustsecure that Mr. Kendal and the children are not famished. '

Fred came with her, and she turned down the long alley leading to thearchery-ground. He felt old times so far renewed as to resume theirhabits of confidence, and began, 'I suppose the General has not toldyou what has brought me home?'

'He has not so much as told me you were coming. '

'Ay, ay, of course you know how he treats those things. '

'Oh--h!' said Albinia, perfectly understanding. 

'But, ' continued Frederick, eagerly, 'even he confesses that she isthe very sweetest--I mean, ' as Albinia smiled at this evidentembellishment, 'even he has not a word of objection to make exceptthe old story about married officers. '

'And who is _she_, Fred?'

'Oh, mamma, there you are!' and Lucy joined them as they emerged onthe bowling-green, where stood the two bright targets, and the groupsof archers, whose shafts, for the most part, flew far and wide. 

'Where are the rest, my dear? are they shooting?'

'Yes; Gilbert has been teaching Genevieve--there, she is shootingnow. '

The little light figure stood in advance. Gilbert held her arrows, and another gentleman appeared to be counselling her. There seemedto be general exultation when one of her arrows touched the whitering outside the target. 

'That has been her best shot, ' said Lucy. 'I am sure I would notshoot in public unless I knew how!'

'Do you not like shooting?' asked Captain Ferrars; and Lucy smiled, and lost her discontented air. 

'It hurts my fingers, she said; 'and I have always so much to do inthe garden. '

Albinia asked if she had had anything to eat. 

'Oh, yes; the Colonel asked Gilbert to carve in the tent there, forthe children and governesses, ' said Lucy, 'he and Genevieve were verybusy there, but I found I was not of much use so, I came away withthe Miss Bartons to look at the flowers, but now they are shooting, and I could not think what had become of you. '

And Lucy bestowed her company on Albinia and the Captain, reducinghim to dashing, disconnected talk, till they met Mr. Kendal, searching for them in the same fear that they were starving, andanxious to introduce his wife to his Indian friends. When at the endof the path, Albinia looked round, the Lancer had disappeared, andLucy was walking by her father, trying to look serenely amused by adiscussion on the annexation of the Punjaub. 

The afternoon was spent in pleasant loitering, chiefly with MissFerrars, who asked much after Sophy, lamented greatly over Winifred'sdelicate health, and was very anxious to know what could have broughtFred home, being much afraid it was some fresh foolish attachment. 

Ominous notes were heard from the band, and the Colonel came to tellthem that there was to be dancing till it was dark enough for thefireworks, his little Alice had promised him her first country-dance. Fred Ferrars emerged again with a half-laughing, half-imploring, 'Forthe sake of old times, Albinia! We've been partners before!'

'You'll take care of Lucy, ' said Albinia, turning to her aunt; butMr. Winthrop had already taken pity on her, and Albinia was led offby her cousin to her place in the fast lengthening rank. How sheenjoyed it! She had cared little for London balls after the firstnovelty, but these Fairmead dances on the turf had always had anArcadian charm to her fancy, and were the more delightful after solong an interval, in the renewal of the old scene, and therecognition of so many familiar faces. 

With bounding step and laughing lips, she flew down the middle, moreexhilarated every moment, exchanging merry scraps of talk with herpartner or bright fragments as she poussetted with pair after pair;and when the dance was over, with glowing complexion and eyes stilldancing, she took Fred's arm, and heard the renewal of his brokenstory--the praise of his Emily, the fairest of Canadians, whom eventhe General could not dislike, though, thorough soldier as he was, hewould fain have had all military men as devoid of encumbrances ashimself, and thought an officer's wife one of the most misplacedarticles in the world. Poor Fred had been in love so often, that helaboured under the great vexation of not being able to persuade anyof his friends to regard his passion seriously, but Albinia was quitesisterly enough to believe him this time, and give full sympathy tohis hopes and fears. Far less wealth had fallen to his lot than tothat of his cousins, and his marriage must depend on what his brotherwould 'do for him, ' a point on which he tried to be sanguine, andAlbinia encouraged him against probability, for Lord Belraven wasnever liberal towards his relations, and had lately married anexpensive wife, with whom he lived chiefly abroad. 

This topic was not exhausted when Fred fell a prey to the Colonel, who insisted on his dancing again, and Albinia telling him to do hisduty, he turned towards a group that had coalesced round MissFerrars, consisting of Lucy, Gilbert, Genevieve, and the childrenfrom the parsonage, and at once bore off the little Frenchwoman, leaving more than one countenance blank. Lucy and Willie did theirbest for mutual consolation, while Albinia undertook to preside overher niece and a still smaller partner in red velvet, in a quadrille. It was amusing to watch the puzzled downright motions of the sturdylittle bluff King Hal, and the earnest precision of the prim littledamsel, and Albinia hovering round, now handing one, now pointing tothe other, keeping lightly out of every one's way, and far moreplayful than either of the small performers in this solemnundertaking. As it concluded she found that Mr. Kendal had beenwatching her, with much entertainment, and she was glad to take hisarm, and assure herself that he had not been miserable, but had beendown to the parsonage, where he had read the newspaper in peace, andhad enjoyed a cup of tea in quiet with Winifred and Mrs. Annesley. 

The dancing had been transferred to the tent, which presented a verypretty scene from without, looking through the drooping festoons ofevergreens at the lamps and the figures flitting to and fro in theirmeasured movements, while the shrubs and dark foliage of the treesfell into gloom around; and above, the sky assumed the deep tranquilblue of night, the pale bright stars shining out one by one. TheKendals were alone in the terrace, far enough from the gay tumult tobe sensible of the contrast. 

'How beautiful!' said Albinia: 'it is like a poem. '

'I was just thinking so, ' he answered. 

'This is the best part of all, ' she said, feeling, though hardlyexpressing to herself the repose of his lofty, silent serenity, standing aloof from gaiety and noise. She could have compared himand her lively cousin to the evening stillness contrasted with themirthful scene in the tent; and though her nature seemed to belong tothe busy world, her best enjoyment lay with what calmed and raisedher above herself; and she was perfectly happy, standing still withher arm upon that of her silent husband. 

'These things are well imagined, ' said he. 'The freedom and absenceof formality give space for being alone and quiet. '

'Yes, ' said Albinia, saucily, 'when that is what you go into societyfor. '

'You have me there, ' he said, smiling; 'but I must own how much Ienjoyed coming back from the parsonage by myself. I am glad webrought that little Genevieve; she seems to be so perfectly in herelement. I saw her amusing a set of little children in theprettiest, most animated way; and afterwards, when the young peoplewere playing at some game, her gestures were so sprightly andgraceful, that no one could look at the English girls beside her. Indeed I think she was making quite a sensation; your cousin seemedto admire her very much. If she were but in another station, shewould shine anywhere. '

'How much you have seen, Edmund!'

'I have been a spectator, you an actor, ' he said, smiling. 

Her quiescence did not long continue, for the poor people had begunto assemble on the gravel road before the front door to see thefireworks, and she hurried away to renew her acquaintance with hervillage friends, guessing at them in the dark, asking after oldmothers and daughters at service, inquiring the names of new babies, and whether the old ones were at school, and excusing herself forhaving become 'quite a stranger. '

In the midst--whish--hiss, with steady swiftness, up shot in the darkpurple air the first rocket, bursting and scattering a rain of stars. There was an audible gasp in the surrounding homely world, a fewlittle cries, and a big boy clutched tight hold of her arm, saying, 'I be afeard. ' She was explaining away his alarms, when she heardher brother's voice, and found her arm drawn into his. 

'Here you are, then, ' he said; 'I thought I heard your voice. '

'Oh! Maurice, I have hardly seen you. Let us have a nice quiet turnin the park together. '

He resisted, saying, 'I don't approve of parents and guardians losingthemselves. What have you done with all your children?'

'What have you done with yours?' retorted she. 

'I left Willie and Mary at the window with their governess, I came tosee that these other children of mine were orderly. '

'Most proper, prudential, and exemplary Maurice!' his sister laughed. 'Now I have an equally hearty belief in my children being somewhere, sure to turn up when wanted. Come, I want to get out from the treesto look for Colonel Bury's harvest moon, for I believe she is animposition. '

'No, I'm not coming. You, don't understand your duties. Your youngladies ought always to know where to find you, and you where to findthem. '

'Oh! Maurice, what must you have suffered before you importedWinifred to chaperon me!'

'You are in so mad a mood that I shall attempt only one moral maxim, and that is, that no one should set up for a chaperon, till she hasretired from business on her own account. '

'That's a stroke at my dancing with poor Fred, but it was his onlychance of speaking to me. '

'Not particularly at the dancing. '

'Well, then--'

'You'll see, by-and-bye. It was not your fault if those girls werenot in all sorts of predicaments. '

'I believe you think life is made up of predicaments. And I want tohear whether William has written to you anything about poor Fred. '

'Only that he is more mad than ever, and that he let him go, thinkingthat there is no chance of Belraven helping him, but that it may wearitself out on the journey. '

A revolving circle shedding festoons of purple and crimson jets offire made all their talk interjectional, and they had by this timereached the terrace, where all the company were assembled, the openwindows at regular intervals casting bewildering lights on the headsand shoulders in front of them. Then out burst a grand wheat-sheafof yellow flame with crimson ears and beards, by whose light Albiniarecognised Gilbert standing close to her in the shadow, and asked himwhere the rest where. '

'I can't tell; Lucy and my father were here just now. '

'Are you feeling the chill, Gilbert?' asked Albinia, struck bysomething in his tone. 'You had better look from the window. '

He neither moved nor made answer, but a great illumination of ColonelBury's coat-of-arms, with Roman candles and Chinese trees at the fourcorners, engrossed every eye, and flashing on every face, enabledAlbinia to join Mr. Kendal, who was with Lucy and Miss Ferrars. Noone knew where Genevieve was, but Albinia was confident that shecould take good care of herself, and was not too uneasy to enjoy thegrand representation of Windsor Castle, and the finale of interlacedciphers amidst a multitude of little fretful sputtering tongues offlame. Then it was, amid good nights, donning of shawls, andannouncing of carriages, that Captain Ferrars and Miss Durant madetheir appearance together, having been 'looking everywhere for Mrs. Kendal, ' and it was not in the nature of a brother not to look alittle arch, though Albinia returned him as resolute and satisfied aglance as could express 'Well, what of that?'

In consideration of the night air, Mr. Kendal put Gilbert inside thecarriage, and mounted the box, to revel in the pleasures of silence. The four within talked incessantly and compared adventures. Lucy hadbeen gratified by being patronized by Miss Ferrars, and likewise hadmuch to say of the smaller fry, and went into raptures about many a'dear little thing, ' none of whom would, however, stand a comparisonwith Maurice; Gilbert was critical upon every one's beauty; andGenevieve was more animated than all, telling anecdotes with greatpiquancy, and rehearsing the comical Yankee stories she had heardfrom Captain Ferrars. She had enjoyed with the zest and intensity ofa peculiarly congenial temperament, and she seemed not to be able tocease from working off her excitement in repetitions of her thanks, and in discussing the endless delights the day had afforded. 

But the day had begun early, and the way was long, so remarks becamescanty, and answers were brief and went astray, and Albinia thoughtshe was travelling for ever to Montreal, when she was startled by apettish exclamation from Lucy, 'Is that all! It was not worth whileto wake me only to see the moon. '

'I beg your pardon, ' said Genevieve, 'but I thought Mrs. Kendalwished to see it rise. '

'Thank you, Genevieve, ' said Albinia, opening her sleepy eyes; 'sheis as little worth seeing as a moon can well be, a waning moon doeswell to keep untimely hours. '

'Why do you think she is so much more beautiful in the crescent, Mrs. Kendal?' said Genevieve, in the most wakeful manner. 

'I'm sure I don't know, ' said Albinia, subsiding into her corner. 

'Is it from the situation of the mountains in the moon?' continuedthe pertinacious damsel. 

'In Africa!' said Albinia, well-nigh asleep, but Genevieve's laughroused her again, partly because she thought it less mannerly thanaccorded with the girl's usual politeness. No mere sleep was allowedher; an astronomical passion seemed to have possessed the young lady, and she dashed into the tides, and the causes of the harvest-moon, and volcanoes, and thunderbolts, and Lord Rosse's telescope, forcingher tired friend to reply by direct appeals, till Albinia almostwished her in the moon herself; and was rejoiced when in the dimgreyness of the early summer dawn, the carriage drew up at MadameBelmarche's house. As the light from the weary maid's candle flashedon Genevieve's face, it revealed such a glow of deep crimson on eachbrown cheek, that Albinia perceived that the excitement must havebeen almost fever, and went to bed speculating on the strange effectsof a touch of gaiety on the hereditary French nature, startling herat once from her graceful propriety and humility of demeanour, intosuch extraordinary obtrusive talkativeness. 

She heard more the next morning that vexed her. Lucy was seriouslyof opinion that Genevieve had not been sufficiently retiring. Sheherself had heedfully kept under the wing of Mary's governess, mamma, or Miss Ferrars, and nobody had paid her any particular attention;but Genevieve had been with Gilbert half the day, had had all thegentlemen round her at the archery and in the games, had no end ofpartners in the dances, and had walked about in the dark with CaptainFerrars. Lucy was sure she was taken for her sister, and whenevershe had told people the truth, they had said how pretty she was. 

'You are jealous, Lucy, ' Sophy said. 

Lucy protested that it was quite the reverse. She was glad poorlittle Jenny should meet with any notice, there was no cause forjealousy of _her_, and she threw back her head in conscious beauty;'only she was sorry for Jenny, for they were quite turning her head, and laughing at her all the time. '

Albinia's candour burst out as usual, 'Say no more about it, my dear;it was a mistake from beginning to end. I was too much taken up withmy own diversion to attend to you, and now you are punishing me forit. I left you to take care of yourselves, and exposed poor littleGenevieve to unkind remarks. '

'I don't know what I said, ' began Lucy. 'I don't mean to blame her;it was just as she always is with Gilbert, so very French. '

That word settled it--Lucy pronounced it with ineffable pity andcontempt--she was far less able to forgive another for beingattractive, than for trying to attract. 

Sophy looked excessively hurt and grieved, and in private asked herstep-mother what she thought of Genevieve's behaviour. 

'My dear, I cannot tell; I think she was off her guard withexcitement; but all was very new to her, and there was every excuse. I was too happy to be wise, so no wonder she was. '

'And do you think Captain Ferrars was laughing at her? I wish youwould tell her, mamma. Gilbert says he is a fine, flourishingofficer in moustaches, who, he is sure, flirts with and breaks theheart of every girl he meets. If he is right, mamma, it would cureGenevieve to tell her so, and you would not mind it, though he isyour cousin. '

'Poor Fred!' said Albinia. 'I am sorry Gilbert conceived such anotion. But Genevieve's heart is too sensible to break in that way, even if Fred wished it, and I can acquit him of such savageintentions. I never should have seen any harm in all that Genevievedid last night if she had not talked us to death coming home! StillI think she was off her balance, and I own I am disappointed. But wedon't know what it is to be born French!'

CHAPTER XVI. 

'Mrs. Kendal, dear Madame, a great favour, could you spare me a fewmoments?'

A blushing face was raised with such an expression of contritetimidity, that Albinia felt sure that the poor little Frenchwoman hadrecovered from her brief intoxication, and wanted to apologize and becomforted, so she said kindly, 'I was wishing to see you, my dear; I was afraid the day had been toomuch for you; I was certain you were feverish. '

'Ah! you were so good to make excuses for me. I am so ashamed when Ithink how tedious, how disagreeable I must have been. It was why Iwished to speak to you. '

'Never mind apologies, my dear; I have felt and done the like many atime--it is the worst of enjoying oneself. '

'Oh! that was not all--I could not help it--enjoyment--no!' stammeredGenevieve. 'If you would be kind enough to come this way. '

She opened her grandmother's back gate, the entrance to a slip ofgarden smothered in laurels, and led the way to a small green arbour, containing a round table, transformed by calico hangings into whatthe embroidered inscription called 'Autel a l'Amour filial etmaternel, ' bearing a plaster vase full of fresh flowers, but ereAlbinia had time to admire this achievement of French sentiment, Genevieve exclaimed, clasping her hands, 'Oh, madame, pardon me, youwho are so good! You will tell no one, you will bring on him notrouble, but you will tell him it is too foolish--you will give himback his billet, and forbid him ever to send another. '

Spite of the confidence about Emily, spite of all unreason, such wasthe family opinion of Fred's propensity to fall in love, thatAlbinia's first suspicion lighted upon him, but as her eye fell onthe pink envelope the handwriting concerned her even more nearly. 

'Gilbert!' she cried. 'My dear, what is this? Do you wish me toread it?'

'Yes, for I cannot. ' Genevieve turned away, as in his best hand, andbad it was, Albinia read the commencement--

"My hope, my joy, my Genevieve!"

In mute astonishment Albinia looked up, and met Genevieve's eyes. 'Oh, madame, you are displeased with me!' she cried in despair, misinterpreting the look, 'but indeed I could not help it. '

'My dear child, ' said Albinia, affectionately putting her arm roundher waist, and drawing her down on the seat beside her, 'indeed I amnot displeased with you; you are doing the very best thing possibleby us all. Think I am your sister, and tell me what is the meaningof all this, and then I will try to help you. '

'Oh, madame, you are too good, ' said Genevieve, weeping; and kindlyholding the trembling hand, Albinia finished the letter, herself. 'Silly boy! Genevieve, dear girl, you must set my mind at rest; thisis too childish--this is not the kind of thing that would touch youraffections, I am sure. '

'Oh! pour cela non, ' said Genevieve. 'Oh! no; I am grateful to Mr. Gilbert Kendal, for, even as a little boy, he was always kind to me, but for the rest--he is so young, madame, even if I could forget--'

'I see, ' said Albinia. 'I am sure that you are much too good andsensible at your age to waste a moment's thought or pain on such afoolish boy, as he certainly is, Genevieve, though not so foolish inliking you, whatever he may be in the way of expressing it. Thoughof course--' Albinia had floundered into a dreadful bewildermentbetween her sense of Genevieve's merits and of the incompatibility oftheir station, and she plunged out by asking, 'And how long has thisbeen going on?'

Genevieve hesitated. 'To speak the truth, madame, I have long seenthat, like many other youths, he would be--very attentive if one werenot guarded; but I had known him so long, that perhaps I did not soonenough begin, to treat him en jeune homme. 

'And this is his first letter?'

'Oh! yes, madame. '

'He complains that you will not hear him? Do you dislike to tell meif anything had passed previously?'

'Thursday, ' was slightly whispered. 

'Thursday! ah! now I begin to understand the cause of your beingsuddenly moon-struck. '

'Ah! madame, pardon me!'

'I see--it was the only way to avoid a tete-a-tete!' said Albinia. 'Well done, Genevieve. What had he been saying to you, my dear?'

Poor Genevieve cast about for a word, and finally faltered out, 'Dessottises, Madame. '

'That I can well believe, ' said Albinia. 'Well, my dear--'

'I think, ' pursued Genevieve, 'that he was vexed because I would notlet him absorb me exclusively at Fairmead; and began to reproach me, and protest--'

'And like a wise woman you waked the sleeping dragon, ' said Albinia. 'Was this all?'

'No, madame; so little had passed, that I hoped it was only theexcitement, and that he would forget; but on Saturday he met me inthe flagged path, and oh! he said a great deal, though I did my bestto convince him that he could only make himself be laughed at. Ihoped even then that he was silenced, and that I need not mention it, but I see he has been watching me, and I dare not go out alone lest Ishould meet him. He called this morning, and not seeing me left thisnote. '

'Do your grandmother and aunt know?'

'Oh, no! I would far rather not tell them. Need I? Oh! madame, surely you can speak to him, and no one need ever hear of it?'implored Genevieve. 'You have promised me that no one shall betold!'

'No one shall, my dear. I hope soon to tell you that he is heartilyashamed of having teased you. No one need be ashamed of thinking youvery dear and good--you can't help being loveable, but Master Gibbiehas no right to tell you so, and we'll put an end to it. He willsoon be in India out of your way. Good-bye!'

Albinia kissed the confused and blushing maiden, and walked away, provoked, yet diverted. 

She found Gilbert alone, and was not slow in coming to the point, endeavouring to model her treatment on that of her brother, theGeneral, towards his aide-de-camp in the like predicaments. 

'Gilbert, I want to speak to you. I am afraid you have been makingyourself troublesome to Miss Durant. You are old enough to knowbetter than to write such a note as this. '

He was all one blush, made an inarticulate exclamation, and burstout, 'That abominable treacherous old wooden doll of a mademoiselle. '

'No, Miss Belmarche knows nothing of it. No one ever shall if youwill promise to drive this nonsense out of your head. '

'Nonsense! Mrs. Kendal!' with a gesture of misery. 

'Gilbert, you are making yourself absurd. '

He turned about, and would have marched out of the room, but shepursued him. 'You must listen to me. It is not fit that you shouldcarry on this silly importunity. It is exceedingly distressing toher, and might lead to very unpleasant and hurtful remarks. ' Seeinghim look sullen, she took breath, and considered. 'She came to me ingreat trouble, and begged me to restore your letter, and tell younever to repeat the liberty. '

He struck his hand on his brow, crying vehemently, 'Cruel girl! Shelittle knows me--you little know me, if you think I am to be silencedthus. I tell you I will never cease! I am not bound by your pride, which has sneered down and crushed the loveliest--'

'Not mine, ' said Albinia, disconcerted at his unexpected violence. 

'Yes!' he exclaimed. 'I know you could patronize! but a step beyond, and it is all the same with you as with the rest--you despise thejewel without the setting. '

'No, ' said Albinia, 'so far from depreciating her, I want to convinceyou that it is an insult to pursue her in this ridiculous underhandway. '

'You do me no justice, ' said Gilbert loftily; 'you little understandwhat you are pleased to make game of, ' and with one of his suddenalternations, he dropped into a chair, calling himself the mostmiserable fellow in the world, unpitied where he would gladly offerhis life, and his tenderest feelings derided, and he was so nearlyready to cry, that Albinia pitied him, and said, 'I'll laugh no moreif I can help it, Gibbie, but indeed you are too young for all thismisery to be real. I don't mean that you are pretending, but onlythat this is your own fancy. '

'Fancy!' said the boy solemnly. 'The happiness of my life is atstake. She shall be the sharer of all that is mine, the moment myproperty is in my own hands. '

'And do you think so high-minded a girl would listen to you, and takeadvantage of a fancy in a boy so much younger, and of a differentclass?'

'It would be ecstasy to raise her, and lay all at her feet!'

'So it might, if it were worthy of her to accept it. Gilbert, if youknew what love is, you would never wish her to lower herself byencouraging you now. She would be called artful--designing--'

'If she loved me--' he said disconsolately. 

'I wish I could bring you to see how unlikely it is that a sensible, superior woman could really attach herself to a mere lad. Anunprincipled person might pretend it for the sake of your property--asilly one might like you because you are good-looking and well-mannered;but neither would be Genevieve. '

'There is no use in saying any more, ' he said, rising in offendeddignity. 

'I cannot let you go till you have given me your word never toobtrude your folly on Miss Durant again. '

'Have you anything else to ask me?' cried Gilbert in a melodramatictone. 

'Yes, how would you like your father to know of this? It is hersecret, and I shall keep it, unless you are so selfish as to continuethe pursuit, and if so, I must have recourse to his authority. '

'Oh! Mrs. Kendal, ' he said, actually weeping, 'you have alwayspitied me hitherto. '

'A man should not ask for pity, ' said Albinia; 'but I am sorry foryou, for she is an admirable person, and I see you are very unhappy;but I will do all I can to help you, and you will get over it, if youare reasonable. Now understand me, I will and must protectGenevieve, and I shall appeal to your father unless you promise me todesist from this persecution. '

The debate might have been endless, if Mr. Kendal had not been heardcoming in. 'You promise?' she said. 'Yes, ' was the faint reply, innervous terror of immediate reference to his father; and they hurrieddifferent ways, trying to look unconcerned. 

'Never mind, ' said Albinia to herself. 'Was not Fred quite as badabout me, and look at him now! Yes, Gilbert must go to India, itwill cure him, or if it should not, his affection will berespectable, and worth consideration. If he were but older, and thiswere the genuine article, I would fight for him, but--'

And she sat down to write a loving note to Genevieve. Her sanguinedisposition made her trust that all would blow over, but herexperience of the cheerful buoyant Ferrars temperament was no guideto the morbid Kendal disposition, Gilbert lay on the grass limp anddoleful till the fall of the dew, when he betook himself to a sofa;and in the morning turned up his eyes reproachfully at her instead ofeating his breakfast. 

About eleven o'clock the Fairmead pony-carriage stopped at the door, containing Mr. Ferrars, the Captain, Aunt Gertrude, and littleWillie. Albinia, her husband, and Lucy, were soon in the drawing-roomwelcoming them; and Lucy fetched her little brother, who hadbeen vociferous for three days about Cousin Fred, the real soldier, but now, struck with awe at the mighty personage, stood by his mamma, profoundly silent, and staring. He was ungracious to his aunt, andstill more so to Willie, the latter of whom was despatched underLucy's charge to find Gilbert, but they came back unsuccessful. Nordid Sophy make her appearance; she was reported to be reading tograndmamma--Mrs. Meadows preferred to Miss Ferrars! there was more inthis than Albinia could make out, and she sat uneasily till she couldexchange a few words with Lucy. 'My dear, what is become of theother two?'

'I am sure I don't know what is the matter with them, ' said Lucy. 'Gilbert is gone out--nobody knows where--and when I told Sophy whowas here, she said Captain Ferrars was an empty-headed coxcomb, andshe did not want to see him!'

'Oh! the geese!' murmured Albinia to herself, till the comicalsuspicion crossed her mind that Gilbert was jealous, and that Sophywas afraid of falling a victim to the redoubtable lady killer. 

Luncheon-time produced Sophy, grave and silent, but no Gilbert, andMr. Kendal, receiving no satisfactory account of his absence, said, 'Very strange, ' and looked annoyed. 

Captain Ferrars seemed to have expected to see his bright littlepartner of Thursday, for he inquired for her, and Willie imparted theinformation that Fred had taken her for Sophy all the time! Fredlaughed, and owned it, but asked if she were not really thegoverness? 'A governess, ' said Albinia, 'but not ours, ' and anexplanation followed, during which Sophy blushed violently, and heldup her head as if she had an iron bar in her neck. 

'A pity, ' said the Lancer, when he had heard who she was, and underhis moustache he murmured to Albinia, 'She is rather in Emily'sstyle. '

'Oh, Fred, ' thought Albinia, 'after all, it may be lucky that youaren't going to stay here!'

When Albinia was alone with her brother, she could not help saying, 'Maurice, you were right to scold me; I reproached you with thinkinglife made up of predicaments. I think mine is made of blunders!'

'Ah! I saw you were harassed to-day, ' said her brother kindly. 

'Whenever one is happy, one does something wrong!'

'I guess--'

'You are generous not to say you warned me months ago. Mind, it isno fault of hers, she is behaving beautifully; but oh! the absurdity, and the worst of it is, I have promised not to tell Edmund. '

'Then don't tell me. You have a judgment quite good enough for use. '

'No, I have not. I have only sense, and that only serves me for whatother people ought to do. '

'Then ask Albinia what Mrs. Kendal ought to do. '

Gilbert came in soon after their departure, with an odd, dishevelled, abstracted look, and muttering something inaudible about not knowingthe time. His depression absolutely courted notice, but as a slightcough would at any time reduce him to despair, he obtained noparticular observation, except from Sophy, who made much of him, flushed at Genevieve's name, and looked reproachful, that it wasevident that she was his confidante. Several times did Albinia tryto lead her to enter on the subject, but she set up her screen ofsilence. It was disappointing, for Albinia had believed betterthings of her sense, and hardly made allowance for the differentaspect of the love-sorrows of seventeen, viewed from fifteen ortwenty-six--vexatious, too, to be treated with dry reserve, andprobably viewed as a rock in the course of true love; and provokingto see perpetual tete-a-tetes that could hardly fail to fill Sophy'sromantic head with folly. 

At the end of another week, Albinia received the following note:--

'Dear and most kind Madame, 'I would not trouble you again, but this is the third within four days. Ireturned the two former ones to himself, but he continues to write. May Iask your permission to speak to my relatives, for I feel that I ought tohide this no longer from them, and that we must take some measures forending it. He does me the honour to wait near the house, and I never darego out, since--for I will confess all to you, madame--he met me by theriver on Monday. I am beginning to fear that his assiduities have beenobserved, and I should be much obliged if you would tell me how to act. Your kind perseverance in your goodness towards me is my greatest comfort, and I hope that you will still continue it, for indeed it is mostunwillingly that I am a cause of perplexity and vexation to you. Entreating your pardon, 'Your most faithful and obliged servant, Genevieve Celeste Durant. '

What was to be done? That broken pledge overpowered Albinia with apersonal sense of shame, and though it set her free to tell all toher husband, she shrank from provoking his stern displeasure towardshis son, and feared he might involve Genevieve in his anger. Shedashed off a note to her poor little friend, telling her to do as shethought fit by her aunt and grandmother, and then sought anotherinterview with the reluctant Gilbert, to whom she returned theletter, saying, 'Oh, Gilbert, at least I thought you would keep yourword. '

'I think, ' he said, angrily, trying for dignity, though bewrayed byhis restless eyes and hands--'I think it is too much to accuse meof--of--when I never said--What word did I ever give?'

'You promised never to persecute her again. '

'There may be two opinions as to what persecution means, ' saidGilbert. 

'I little thought of subterfuges. I trusted you. '

'Mrs. Kendal! hear me, ' he passionately cried. 'You knew not themisery you imposed. To live so near, and not a word, not a look! Ibore it as long as I could; but when Sophy would not so much as takeone message, human nature could not endure. '

'Well, if you cannot restrain yourself like a rational creature, somemeans must be taken to free Miss Durant from a pursuit so injuriousand disagreeable to her. '

'Ay, ' he cried, 'you have filled her with your own prejudices, andinspired her with such a dread of the hateful fences of society, thatshe does not dare to confess--'

'For shame, Gilbert, you are accusing her of acting a part. '

'No!' he exclaimed, 'all I say is, that she has been so thrust downand forced back, that she cannot venture to avow her feelings even toherself!'

'Oh!' said Albinia, 'you conceited person!'

'Well!' cried the boy, so much nettled by her sarcasm that he did notknow what he said, 'I think--considering--considering our situations, I might be worth her consideration!'

'Who put that in your head?' asked Albinia. 'You are too much agentleman for it to have come there of its own accord. '

He blushed excessively, and retracted. 'No, no! I did not meanthat! No, I only mean I have no fair play--she will not even think. Oh! if I had but been born in the same station of life!'

Gilbert making entrechats with a little fiddle! It had nearlyoverthrown her gravity, and she made no direct answer, only saying, 'Well, Gilbert, these talks are useless. I only thought it right togive you notice that you have released me from my engagement not tomake your father aware of your folly. '

He went into an agony of entreaties, and proffers of promises, but nomore treaties of secrecy could he obtain, she would only say that sheshould not speak immediately, she should wait and see how thingsturned out. By which she meant, how soon it might be hoped that hewould be safe in the Calcutta bank, where she heartily wished him. 

She sought a conference with Genevieve, and took her out walking inthe meadows, for the poor child really needed change and exercise, the fear of Gilbert had made her imprison herself within the littlegarden, till she looked sallow and worn. She said that hergrandmother and aunt had decided that she should go in a couple ofdays to the Convent at Hadminster, to remain there till Mr. Gilbertwent to India--the superior was an old friend of her aunt, andGenevieve had often been there, and knew all the nuns. 

Albinia was startled by this project. 'My dear, I had much rathersend you to stay at my brother's, or--anywhere. Are you sure you arenot running into temptation?'

'Not of that kind, ' said Genevieve. 'The priest, Mr. O'Hara, is agood-natured old gentleman, not in the least disposed to troublehimself about my conversion. '

'And the sisters?'

'Good old ladies, they have always been very kind to me, and pettedme exceedingly when I was a little child, but for the rest--' stillseeing Albinia's anxious look--'Oh! they would not think of it; Idon't believe they could argue; they are not like the new-fashionedRoman Catholics of whom you are thinking, madame. '

'And are there no enthusiastic young novices?'

'I should think no one would ever be a novice there, ' said Genevieve. 

'You seem to be bent on destroying all the romance of convents, Genevieve!'

'I never thought of anything romantic connected with the reverendmothers, ' rejoined Genevieve, 'and yet when I recollect how they cameto Hadminster, I think you will be interested. You know the familyat Hadminster Hall in the last century were Roman Catholics, and adaughter had professed at a convent in France. At the time of therevolution, her brother, the esquire, wrote to offer her an asylum athis house. The day of her arrival was fixed--behold! a stage-coachdraws up to the door--black veils inside--black veils clustered onthe roof--a black veil beside the coachman, on the box--eighteen nunsalight, and the poor old infirm abbess is lifted out. They had noteven figured to themselves that the invitation could be to onewithout the whole sisterhood!'

'And what did the esquire do with the good ladies?'

'He took them as a gift from Providence, he raised a subscriptionamong his friends, and they were lodged in the house at Hadminster, where something like a sisterhood had striven to exist ever since thedays of James II. '

'Are any of these sisters living still?'

'Only poor old Mother Therese, who was a little pensionnaire whenthey came, and now is blind, and never quits her bed. There are onlyseven sisters at present, and none of them are less than five-and-forty. '

'And what shall you do there, Genevieve?'

'If they have any pupils from the town, perhaps I may help to teachthem French. And I shall have plenty of time for my music. Oh!madame, would you lend me a little of your music to copy?'

'With all my heart. Any books?'

'Oh! that would be the greatest kindness of all! And if it were notpresuming too much, if madame would let me take the pattern of thatbeautiful point lace that she sometimes wears in the evening, then Ishould make myself welcome!'

'And put out your eyes, my dear! But you may turn out my wholelace-drawer if you think anything there will be a pleasure to the oldladies. '

'Ah! you do not guess the pleasure, madame. Needlework andembroidery is their excitement and delight. They will ask me closelyabout all I have seen and done for months past, and the history ofthe day at Fairmead will be a fete in itself. '

'Well! my dear, it is very right of you; and I do feel very thankfulto you for treating the matter thus. Pray tell your grandmamma andaunt to pardon the sad revolution we have made in their comfort, andthat I hope it will soon be over!'

Genevieve took no leave. Albinia sent her a goodly parcel of booksand work-patterns, and she returned an affectionate note; but did notattempt to see Lucy and Sophy. 

The next Indian mail brought the expected letter, giving an exactaccount of the acquirements and habits that would be required ofGilbert, with a promise of a home where he would be treated as a son, and of admission to the firm after due probation. The letter was sosensible and affectionate, that Mr. Kendal congratulated his son uponsuch an advantageous outset in life. 

Gilbert made slight reply, but the next morning Sophy sought Albiniaout, and with some hesitation began to tell her that Gilbert was veryanxious that she would intercede with papa not to send him toCalcutta. 

'You now, Sophy!' cried Albinia. 'You who used to think nothingequal to India!'

'I wish it were I, ' said Sophy, 'but you know--'

'Well, ' said Albinia, coldly. 

Sophy was too shy to begin on that tack, and dashed off on another. 

'Oh, mamma, he is so wretched. He can't bear to thwart papa, but hesays it would break his heart to go so far away, and that he knows itwould kill him to be confined to a desk in that climate. '

'You know papa thinks that nothing would confirm his health so muchas a few years without an English winter. '

'One's own instinct--' began Sophy; then breaking off, she added, 'Mamma, you never were for the bank. '

'I used not to see the expediency, and I did not like the parting;but now I understand your father's wishes, and the sort of allegiancehe feels towards India, so that Gilbert's reluctance will be a greatmortification to him. '

'So it will, ' said Sophy, mournfully, 'I am sure it is to me. Ialways looked forward to Gilbert's going to Talloon, and seeing thedear old bearer, and taking all my presents there, but you see, ofcourse, mamma, he cannot bear to go--'

'Sophy, dear, ' said Albinia, 'you have been thinking me a veryhard-hearted woman this last month. I have been longing to have it out. '

'Not hard-hearted, ' said Sophy, looking down, 'only I had alwaysthought you different from other people. '

'And you considered that I was worldly, and not romantic enough. Isthat it, Sophy?'

'I thought you knew how to value her for herself, so good and soadmirable--a lady in everything--with such perfect manners. Ithought you would have been pleased and proud that Gilbert's choicewas so much nobler than beauty, or rank, or fashion could make it, 'said Sophy, growing enthusiastic as she went on. 

'Well, my dear, perhaps I am. '

'But, mamma, you have done all you could to separate them: you haveshut Genevieve up in a convent, and you want to banish him. '

'It sounds very grand, and worthy of a cruel step-dame, ' saidAlbinia; 'but, my dear, though I do think Genevieve in herself anadmirable creature, worthy of any one's love, what am I to think ofthe way Gilbert has taken to show his admiration?'

'And is it not very hard, ' cried Sophy, 'that even you, who own allher excellences, should turn against him, and give in to all thismiserable conventionality, that wants riches and station, andtrumpery worldly things, and crushes down true love in two younghearts?'

'Sophy dear, I am afraid the love is not proved to be true in the oneheart, and I am sure there is none in the other!'

'Mamma! 'Tis her self-command--'

'Nonsense! His attentions are nothing but distress to her! Sensiblegrown-up young women are not apt to be flattered by importunity fromsilly boys. Has he told you otherwise?'

'He thinks--he hopes, at least--and I am sure--it is all stifled byher sense of duty, and fear of offending you, or appearingmercenary. '

'All delusion!' said Albinia; 'there's not a spark of consciousnessabout her! I see you don't like to believe it, but it is my greatcomfort. Think how she would suffer if she did love him! Nay, think, before you are angry with me for not promoting it, how itwould bring them into trouble and disgrace with all the world, evenif your father consented. Have you once thought how it would appearto him?'

'You can persuade papa to anything !'

'Sophy! you ought to know your father better than to say that!' criedAlbinia, as if it had been disrespect to him. 

'Then you think he would never allow it! You really think that sucha creature as Genevieve, as perfect a lady as ever existed, mustalways be a victim to these hateful rules about station. '

'No, ' said Albinia, 'certainly not; but if she were in the very samerank, if all else were suitable, Gilbert's age would make the pursuitridiculous. '

'Only three years younger, ' sighed Sophy. 'But if they were the sameage? Do you mean that no one ever ought to marry, if they love everso much, where the station is different?'

'No, but that they must not do so lightly, but try the love first tosee whether it be worth the sacrifice. If an attachment last throughmany years of adverse circumstances, I think the happiness of thepeople has been shown to depend on each other, but I don't think itsafe to disregard disparities till there has been some test that thelove is the right stuff, or else they may produce ill-temper, regrets, and unhappiness, all the rest of their lives. '

'If Gilbert went on for years, mamma?'

'I did not say that, Sophy. '

'Suppose, ' continued the eager girl, 'he went out to Calcutta, andworked these five years, and was made a partner. Then he would betwo-and-twenty, nobody could call him too young, and he would comehome, and ask papa's consent, and you--'

'I _should_ call that constancy, ' said Albinia. 

'And he would take her out to Calcutta, and have no Drurys andOsborns to bother her! Oh! It would be beautiful! I would watchover her while he was gone! I'll go and tell him!'

'Stop, Sophy, not from me--that would never do. I don't think papawould think twenty-two such a great age--'

'But he would have loved her five years!' said Sophy. 'And you saidyourself that would be constancy!'

'True, but, Sophy, I have known a youth who sailed broken-hearted, and met a lady "just in the style" of the former one, on board thesteamer--'

Sophy made a gesture of impatient disdain, and repeated, 'Do youallow me to tell Gilbert that this is the way?'

'Not from me. I hold out no hope. I don't believe Genevieve caresfor him, and I don't know whether his father would consent--' butseeing Sophy's look of disappointment, 'I see no harm in yoursuggesting it, for it is his only chance with either of them, andwould be the proof that his affection was good for something. '

'And you think her worth it?'

'I think her worth anything in the world--the more for her behaviourin this matter. I only doubt if Gilbert have any conception how muchshe is worth. '

Away went Sophy in a glow that made her almost handsome, whileAlbinia, as usual, wondered at her own imprudence. 

At luncheon Sophy avoided her eye, and looked crestfallen, and whenafterwards she gave a mute inquiring address, shook her headimpatiently. It was plain that she had failed, and was too muchpained and shamed by his poorness of spirit to be able as yet tospeak of it. 

Next came Gilbert, who pursued Albinia to the morning-room to entreather interference in his behalf, appealing piteously to her kindness;but she was obdurate. If any remonstrance were offered to hisfather, it must be by himself. 

Gilbert fell into a state of misery, threw himself about upon thechairs, and muttered in the fretfulness of childish despair somethingabout its being very hard, when he was owner of half the town, to besent into exile--it was like jealousy of his growing up and beingmaster. 

'Take care, Gilbert!' said Albinia, with a flash of her eye that hefelt to his backbone. 

'I don't mean it, ' cried Gilbert, springing towards her insupplication. 'I've heard it said, that's all, and was as angry asyou, but when a fellow is beside himself with misery at being drivenaway from all he loves--not a friend to help him--how can he keepfrom thinking all sorts of things?'

'I wonder what people dare to say it!' cried Albinia wrathfully; buthe did not heed, he was picturing his own future misfortunes--toil--climate--fevers--choleras--Thugs--coups de soleil--genuine dread andrepugnance working him up to positive agony. 

'Gilbert, ' said Albinia, 'this is trumpery self-torture! You knowthis is a mere farrago that you have conjured up. Your father wouldneither thrust you into danger, nor compel you to do anything towhich you had a reasonable aversion. Go and be a man about it in oneway or the other! Either accept or refuse, but don't make thesechildish lamentations. They are cowardly! I should be ashamed oflittle Maurice if he behaved so!'

'And you will not speak a word for me!'

'No! Speak for yourself!' and she left the room. 

Days passed on, till she began to think that, after all, Gilbertpreferred Calcutta, cholera, Thugs, and all, to facing his father;but at last, he must have taken heart from his extremity, for Mr. Kendal said, with less vexation than she had anticipated, 'So ourplans are overthrown. Gilbert tells me he has an invincible disliketo Calcutta. Had you any such idea?'

'Not till your cousin's letter arrived. What did you say to him?'

'He was so much afraid of vexing me that I was obliged to encouragehim to speak freely, and I found that he had always had a strongdistaste to and dread of India. I told him I wished he had made meaware of it sooner, and desired to know what profession he reallypreferred. He spoke of Oxford and the Bar, and so I suppose it mustbe. I do not wonder that he wishes to follow his Traversham friends, and as they are a good set, I hope there may not be much temptation. I see you are not satisfied, Albinia, yet your wishes were one of mymotives. '

'Thank you--once I should, ' said Albinia; 'but, Edmund, I see howwrong it was to have concealed anything from you;' and thereupon sheinformed him of Gilbert's passion for Genevieve Durant, whichastonished him greatly, though he took it far less seriously than shehad expected, and was not displeased at having been kept in ignoranceand spared the trouble of taking notice of it, and thus giving itimportance. 

'It will pass off, ' he said. 'She has too much sense and principleto encourage him, and if you can get her out of Bayford for a fewyears he will be glad to have it forgotten. '

'Poor Genevieve! She must break up her grandmother's home afterall!'

'It will be a great advantage to her. You used to say that it wouldbe most desirable for her to see more of the world. Away from thisplace she might marry well. '

'Any one's son but yours, ' said Albinia, smiling. 

'The connexion would be worse here than anywhere else; but I was notthinking of any one in our rank of life. There are many superior menin trade with whom she might be very happy. '

'Poor child!' sighed Albinia. 'I cannot feel that it is fair thatshe should be banished for Gilbert's faults; and I am sorry for theschool; you cannot think how much the tone was improving. '

'If it could be done without hurting her feelings, I should gladlygive her a year at some superior finishing school, which might eitherqualify her for a governess, or enable her to make this one moreprofitable. '

'Oh! thank you!' cried Albinia; 'yet I doubt. However, her serviceswould be quite equivalent in any school to the lessons she wants. I'll write to Mrs. Elwood--' and she was absorbed in the register-officein her brain, when Mr. Kendal continued--

'This is quite unexpected. I could not have supposed the boy sofoolish! However, if you please, I will speak to him, tell him thatI was unaware of his folly, and insist on his giving it up. '

'I should be very glad if you would. '

Gilbert was called, and the result was more satisfactory than Albiniathought that Genevieve deserved. His frenzy had tended to wearitself out, and he had been so dreadfully alarmed about India and hisfather, that in his relief, gratitude, and fear of being sent out, hewas ready to promise anything. Before his father he could go into norhapsodies, and could only be miserably confused. 

'Personally, ' said Mr. Kendal, 'it is creditable that you should beattracted by such estimable qualities, but these are not the soleconsideration. Equality of station is almost as great a requisite asthese for producing comfort or respectability, and nothing but youryouth and ignorance could excuse your besetting any young woman withimportunities which she had shown to be disagreeable to her. '

There was no outcry of despair, only a melancholy muttering. ThenMr. Kendal pronounced his decree in terms more explicit than those inwhich Albinia had exacted the promise. He said nothing aboutpersecution, nor was he unreasonable enough to command an instantimmolation of the passion; he only insisted that Gilbert should payno marked attention, and attempt no unsanctioned or underhandcommunication. Unless he thought he had sufficient self-command toabstain, his father must take 'further measures. '

As if fearing that this must mean 'Kendal and Kendal, ' he raised hishead, and with a deep sigh undertook for his own self-command. Mr. Kendal laid his hand on his shoulder with kind pity, told him he wasdoing right, and that while he acted openly and obediently, he shouldalways meet with sympathy and consideration. 

Two difficult points remained--the disposing of the young people. Gilbert was still over young for the university, as well as verybackward and ill-prepared, and the obstinate remains of the coughmade his father unwilling to send him from home. And his presencemade Genevieve's absence necessary. 

The place had begun to loom in the distance. A former governess ofAlbinia's, who would have done almost anything to please her, hadlately been left a widow, and established herself in a suburb ofLondon, with a small party of pupils. She had just begun to feel theneed of an additional teacher, and should gladly receive Genevieve, provided she fulfilled certain requisites, of which, luckily, Frenchpronunciation stood the foremost. The terms were left to Albinia, who could scarcely believe her good fortune, and went in haste todiscuss the matter with the Belmarches. 

It almost consoled her for what she had been exceedingly ashamed toannounce, the change of purpose with regard to Gilbert, which was asentence of banishment to the object of his folly. Nothing painedher more than the great courtesy and kindness of the two old ladiesto whom it was such a cruel stroke, they evidently felt for her, andappeared to catch at Mrs. Elwood's offer, and when Albinia proposedthat her salary should be a share in the instructions of the masters, agreed that this was the very thing they had felt it their duty toprovide for her, if they had been able to bring themselves to partwith her. 

'So, ' said good Madame Belmarche, smiling sadly, 'you see it has beenfor the dear child's real good that our weakness has been conquered. '

Genevieve was written to, and consented to everything, and when Mr. Kendal took Gilbert away to visit an old friend, his wife called forGenevieve at the convent to bring her home. Albinia could not divestherself of some curiosity and excitement in driving up to theold-fashioned red brick house, with two tall wings projecting towardsthe street, and the front door in the centre between them, with stepsdown to it. She had not been without hopes of a parlour with agrille, or at least that a lay sister would open the door; but shesaw nothing but a very ordinary-looking old maid-servant, and closebehind her was Genevieve, with her little box, quite ready--no excusefor seeing anything or anybody else. 

If Genevieve were sad at the proposal of leaving home and going amongstrangers, she took care to hide all that could pain Mrs. Kendal, andher cheerful French spirit really enjoyed the prospect of new scenes, and bounded with enterprise at the hope of a new life and fresh fieldof exertion. 

'Perhaps, after all, ' she said, smiling, 'they may make of mesomething really useful and valuable, and it will all be owing toyou, dear madame. Drawing and Italian! When I can teach them, Ishall be able to make grandmamma easy for life!'

Genevieve skipped out of the carriage and into her aunt's arms, as ifalive only to the present delight of being at home again. It was acontrast to Sophy's dolorous visage. Poor Sophy! she was living in aperpetual strife with the outward tokens of sulkiness, forcingherself against the grain to make civil answers, and pretend to beinterested when she felt wretched and morose. That Gilbert, after somany ravings, should have relinquished, from mere cowardice, that onehope of earning Genevieve by honourable exertion, had absolutelylowered her trust in the exalting power of love, and her sense ofjustice revolted against the decision that visited the follies of theguilty upon the innocent. She was yearning over her friend with allher heart, pained at the separation, and longing fervently to makesome demonstration, but the greater her wish, the worse was herreserve. She spent all her money upon a beautiful book as a partinggift, and kept it beside her, missing occasion after occasion ofpresenting it, and falling at each into a perfect agony behind thatimpalpable, yet impassable, barrier of embarrassment. 

It was not till the very last evening, when Genevieve had actuallywished her good-bye and left the house, that she grew desperate. Shehastily put on bonnet and cloak, and pursued Genevieve up the street, overtaking her at last, and causing her to look round close to herown door. 

'My dear Miss Sophy, ' cried Genevieve, 'what is the matter? You arequite overcome. '

'This book--' said Sophy--it was all she could say. 

'Love--yes, ' said Genevieve. 'Admiration--no. '

'You shall not say that, ' cried Sophy. 'I have found what is reallydignified and disinterested, and you must let me admire you, Jenny, it makes me comfortable. '

Genevieve smiled. 'I would not commit an egoism, ' she said; but ifthe sense of admiration do you good, I wish it had a worthier cause. '

'There's no one to admire but you, ' said Sophy. 'I think it veryunfair to send you away, and though it is nobody's fault, I hate goodsense and the way of the world!'

'Oh! do not talk so. I am only overwhelmed with wonder at thegoodness I have experienced. If it had happened with any otherfamily, oh! how differently I should have been judged! Oh! when Ithink of Mrs. Kendal, I am ready to weep with gratitude!'

'Yes, mamma is mamma, and not like any one else, but even she isobliged to be rational, and do the injustice, whatever she feels, 'said Sophy. 

'Oh! not injustice--kindness! I shall be able to earn more forgrandmamma!'

'It is injustice!' said Sophy, 'not hers, perhaps, but of the world!It makes me so angry, to think that you--you should never do anythingbut wear yourself out in drudging over tiresome little children--'

'Little children are my brothers and sisters, as I never had any, 'said Genevieve. 'Oh! I always loved them, they make a home whereverthey are. I am thankful that my vocation is among them. '

In dread of a token from Gilbert, Genevieve would not notice it, butpursued, 'You must come in and rest--you must have my aunt's salts. '

'No--no--' said Sophy, 'not there--' as Genevieve would have takenher to the little parlour, but opening the door of the school-room, she sank breathless into a sitting position on the carpetless boards. 

Genevieve shut the door, and kneeling down, found Sophy's arms thrownround her, pressing her almost to strangulation. 

'Oh! I wanted to do it--I never could. Wont you have the book, Genevieve? It is my keepsake--only I could not give it because--'

'Is it your keepsake, indeed, dear Miss Sophy?' said Genevieve. 'Oh!if it is yours--how I shall value it--but it is too beautiful--'

'Nothing is too beautiful for you, Genevieve, ' said Sophy fervently. 

'And it is your gift! But I am frightened--it must have cost--!'began Genevieve, still a little on her guard. 'Dear, dear MissSophy, forgive me if I do seem ungrateful, but indeed I ought toask--if--if it is all your own gift?'

'Mine? yes!' said Sophy, on the borders of offence. 'I know what youmean, Genevieve, but you may trust me. I would not take you in. '

Genevieve was blushing intensely, but taking courage she bestowed ashower of ardent embraces and expressions of gratitude, mingled withexcuses for her precaution. 'Oh! it was so very kind in Miss Sophy, 'she said; 'it would be such a comfort to remember, she had feared shetoo was angry with her. '

'Angry? oh, no!' cried Sophy, her heart quite unlocked; 'but the moreI loved and admired, the more I could not speak. And if they driveyou to be a governess? If you had a situation like what we read of?'

'Perhaps I shall not, ' said Genevieve, laughing. 'Every one has beenso good to me hitherto! And then I am not reduced from anythinggrander. I shall always have the children, you know. '

'How I should hate them!' quoth Sophy. 

'They are my pleasure. Besides I have always thought it a blessingthat my business in life, though so humble, should be what may dodirect good. If only I do not set them a bad example, or teach themany harm. '

'Not much danger of that, ' said Sophy, smiling. 'Well, I can'tbelieve it will be your lot all your life. You will find some onewho will know how to love you. '

'No, ' said Genevieve, 'I am not in a position for marriage--grandmammahas often told me so!'

'Things sometimes happen, ' pursued Sophy. 'Mamma said if Gilbert hadbeen older, or even if--if he had been in earnest and steady enoughto work for you in India, then it might--And surely if Gilbert couldcare for you--people higher and deeper than he would like you betterstill. '

'Hush, ' said Genevieve; 'they would only see the objections morestrongly. No, do not put these things in my head. I know thatunless a teacher hold her business as her mission, and put all otherschemes out of her mind, she will work with an absent, distracted, half-hearted attention, and fail of the task that the good God hascommitted to her. '

'Then you would never even wish--'

'It would be seeking pomps and vanities to wish, ' said Genevieve; 'aschool-room is a good safe cloister, probably less dull than theconvent. If I wish at all, it will be that I may be well shut upthere, for I know that in spite of myself my manners are differentfrom your English ones. I cannot make them otherwise, and thatamuses people; and I cannot help liking to please, and so I becomeexcited. I enjoy society so much that it is not safe for me! Sodon't be sorry, dear Sophy, it is a fit penance for the vanity thatelated me too much that evening at Fairmead!'

Mademoiselle Belmarche was here attracted by the voices. Sophystarted up from the ground, made some unintelligible excuse, andwhile Mademoiselle was confounded with admiration at the sight of thebook, inflicted another boa-constrictor embrace, and hurried away. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Planets hostile to the tender passion must have been in theascendant, for the result of Captain Ferrars's pursuit of his brotherto Italy was the wholesome certainty that his own slender portion wasall he had to reckon upon. Before returning to Canada, he came toBayford to pour out his troubles to his cousin, and to induce her, ifhe could induce no one else, to advise his immediate marriage. Itwas the first time he had been really engaged, and his affection hadnot only stood three months' absence, but had so much elevated hisshatter-brained though frank and honest temperament, that Albiniaconceived a high opinion of 'Emily, ' and did her best to persuade himto be patient, and wait for promotion. 

Sophy likewise approved of him this time, perhaps because he was soopposite a specimen of the genus lover from that presented by herbrother. Gilbert had not been able to help enjoying himself whilefrom home, but his spirits sank on his return; he lay about on thegrass in doleful dejection, studied little but L. E. L. , lostappetite, and reproachfully fondled his cough; but Albinia was nowmore compassionate than Sophy, whom she was obliged to rebuke for anunsisterly disregard toward his woes. 

'I can't help it, ' said Sophy; 'I can't believe in him now!'

'Yes, you ought to believe that he is really unhappy, and be moregentle and considerate with him. '

'If it had been earnest, he would have sacrificed himself instead ofGenevieve. '

'Ah! Sophy, some day you will learn to make excuses for other people, and not be so intolerant. '

'I never make excuses. '

'Except for Maurice, ' said Albinia. 'If you viewed other people asyou do him, your judgments would be gentler. '

Sophy's conscientiousness, like her romance, was hard, high, andstrict; but while she had as little mercy on herself as on others, and while there were some soft spots in her adamantine judgment, there was hope that these would spread, and, without lowering hertone, make her more merciful. 

She corresponded constantly with Genevieve, who seemed very happilyplaced; Mrs. Elwood was delighted with her, and she with Mrs. Elwood;and her lively letters showed no signs of pining for home. Sophyfelt as if it were a duty to her friend, to do what in her lay toprevent the two old ladies from being dull, and spent an hour withthem every week, not herself contributing much to their amusement, but pleasing them by the attention, and hearing much that was verycurious of their old-world recollections. 

Ever since that unlucky penny-club-day, when she had declared thatshe hated poor people, she had been let alone on that subject; andthough principle had made her use her needle in their behalf, shynessand reserve had kept her back from all intercourse with them; but inher wish to compensate for Genevieve's absence, she volunteered totake charge of her vacant Sunday-school class, and obtained leave tohave the girls at home on the afternoons for an hour and a half. This was enough for one who worked as she did, making a conscience ofevery word, and toiling to prepare her lessons, writing out herquestions beforehand, and begging for advice upon them. 

'My dear, ' said Albinia, 'you must alter this--you see this questiondoes not grow out of the last answer. '

'Yes, ' said Sophy, 'that must have been what puzzled them lastSunday: they want connexion. '

'Nothing like logic to teach one to be simple, ' said Albinia. 

'I can't see the use of all this trouble, ' put in Lucy. 'Why can'tyou ask them just what comes into your head, as I always do?'

'Suppose mistakes came into my head. '

'Oh! they would not find it out if they did! I declare!--what'sthis--Persian? Are you going to teach them Persian?'

'No; it is Greek. You see it is a piece of a Psalm, a quotationrather different in the New Testament. I wrote it down to ask papawhat it is in Hebrew. '

'By-the-bye, Sophy, ' continued Lucy, 'how could you let Susan Pricecome to church with lace sleeves--absolute lace sleeves!'

'Had she?'

'There--you never see anything! Mamma, would not it be more sensibleto keep their dress in order, than to go poking into Hebrew, whichcan't be of use to any one?'

There was more reason than might appear in what Lucy said: the girlsof her class were more orderly, and fonder of her than Sophy's of thegrave young lady whose earnestness oppressed them, and whose shynesslooked dislike and pride. As to finding fault with their dress, sheprivately told Albinia that she could not commit such a discourtesy, and was answered that no one but Mrs. Dusautoy need interfere. 

'I will go and ask Mrs. Dusautoy what she wishes, ' said Albinia. 'Ishould be glad if she would modify Lucy's sumptuary laws. To fallfoul of every trifle only makes the girls think of their, dress. '

Albinia found Mrs. Dusautoy busied in writing notes on mourningpaper. 

'Here is a note I had written to you, ' she said. 'I am sending overto Hadminster to see if any of the curates can take the servicesto-morrow. '

Albinia looked at the note while Mrs. Dusautoy wrote on hurriedly. She read that there could be no daily services at present, the Vicarhaving been summoned to Paris by the sudden death of Mrs. CavendishDusautoy. As the image of a well-endowed widow, always trying toforce her way into higher society, arose before Albinia, she couldhardly wait till the letter was despatched, to break out inamazement, 'Was she a relation of yours? Even the name never made me think ofit!'

'It is a pity she cannot have the gratification of hearing it, poorwoman, ' said Mrs. Dusautoy, 'but it is a fact that she did poorGeorge Dusautoy the honour to marry him. '

'Mr. Dusautoy's brother?'

'Ay--he was a young surgeon, just set up in practice, exactly likeJohn--nay, some people thought him still finer-looking. She was aMiss Greenaway Cavendish, a stock-broker's heiress of a certain age. '

'Oh!' expressively cried Albinia. 

'You may say so, ' returned Mrs. Dusautoy. 'She made him put away hisprofession, and set up for taste and elegant idleness. '

'And he submitted?'

'There was a great deal of the meek giant in him, and he believedimplicitly in the honour she had done him. It would have been verytouching, if it had not been so provoking, to see how patiently andhumbly that fine young man gave up all that would have made himhappy, to bend to her caprices and pretensions. '

'Did you ever see them together?'

'No, I never saw her at all, and him only once. I never knew Johnreally savage but once, and that was at her not letting him come toour wedding; but she did give him leave of absence for one fortnight, when we were at Lauriston. How happy the brothers were! It did onegood to hear their great voices about the house; and they were likeboys on a stolen frolic, when John took him to prescribe for some ofour poor people. He used to talk of bringing us his little son--theone pleasure of his life--but he never was allowed. Oh, how I usedto long to stir up a mutiny!' cried Mrs. Dusautoy, quite unknowingthat she ruled her own lion with a leash of silk. 'If she hadappreciated him, it would have been bearable; but to her he was nomore than the handsome young doctor, whom she had made a gentleman, and not a very good piece of work of it either! Little she recked ofthe great loving heart that had thrown itself away on her, and thepatience that bore with her; and she tried to hinder all the liberalbountiful actions that were all he cared to do with his means! Iwish the boy may remember him!'

'How long has he been dead?'

'These ten years. He was drowned in a lake storm in Switzerland--peopleclung to him, and he could not swim. It was John's one great grief--hecannot mention him even now. And really, ' she added, smiling, 'I dobelieve he has brought himself to fancy it was a very happy marriage. She has always been very civil; but she has been chiefly abroad, andnever would take his advice about sending her boy to school. '

'What becomes of him now?'

'He is our charge. She was on the way home from Italy, when she wastaken ill at Paris, and died at the end of the week. '

'How old is he?'

'About nineteen, I fancy. He must have had an odd sort of education;but if he is a nice lad, it will be a great pleasure to John to havesomething young about the house. '

'I was thinking that Mr. Dusautoy hardly wanted more cares. '

'So have I, ' said her friend, smiling, 'and I have been laying a plotagainst him. You see, he is as strong as a lion, and never yet wastoo tired to sleep; but it is rather a tempting of Providence to keep3589 people and fourteen services in a week resting upon one man!'

'Exactly what his churchwarden has preached to him. '

'Moreover, he cannot be in two places at once, let alone half-a-dozen. Now, my Lancashire people have written in quest of a title for holyorders for a young man who has just gone through Cambridge withgreat credit, and it strikes me that he might at once help John, and cram Master Algernon. '

'And Gilbert!' cried Albinia. 'Oh, if you will import a tutor forGilbert, we shall be for ever beholden to you!'

'I had thought of him. I have no doubt that he is much better taughtthan Algernon; but I am not afraid of this poor fellow bringing homebad habits, and they will be good companions. I reckon upon you andMr. Kendal as great auxiliaries, and I don't think John will be ableto withstand our united forces. '

On the way home, on emerging from the alley, Albinia encounteredGilbert, just parting with another youth, who walked off quickly onthe Tremblam road, while she inquired who it was. 

'That?' said Gilbert; 'oh! that was young Tritton. He has been awaylearning farming in Scotland. We speak when we meet, for oldacquaintance sake and that. '

The Bayford mind was diverted from the romance of Genevieve, by theenormous fortune of the Vicar's nephew, whose capital was in theirmouths and imaginations swelled into his yearly income. Swarms ofcards of inquiry were left at the vicarage; and Mrs. Meadows and Lucyenjoyed the reflected dignity of being able to say that Mrs. Kendalwas continually there. And so she was, for Mrs. Dusautoy wasdrooping, though more in body than visibly in spirit, and needed bothcompanionship and assistance in supporting the charge left by herabsent Atlas. 

He was not gone a moment longer than necessary, and took her bysurprise at last, while Albinia and Sophy were sitting on the lawnwith her, when she welcomed the nephew and the Vicar, holding out ahand to each, and thanked them for taking care of 'Fanny. ' 'Here, Algernon, ' he continued, 'here are two of our best friends, Mrs. Kendal and Miss Sophy. '

There was a stiff bow from a stiff altitude. The youth was on thegigantic Dusautoy scale, looking taller even than his uncle, from hismanner of holding himself with his chin somewhat elevated. He had agood ruddy sun-burnt complexion, shining brown hair, and regularfeatures; and Albinia could respond heartily to the good Vicar'sexclamation, as he followed her down to the gate for the sake ofsaying, 'Well-grown lad, isn't that? And a very good-hearted fellow too, poor boy--the very picture of his dear father. Well, and how hasFanny been?'

He stayed to be reassured that his return was all his Fanny wanted, and then hurried back to her, while Albinia and Sophy pursued theirway down the hill. 

'News for grandmamma. We must give her a particular description ofthe hero. '

'How ugly he thought me!' said Sophy, quaintly. 

'My dear, I believe that is the first thing you think of when youmeet a stranger!'

'I saw it this time, ' returned Sophy. 'His chin went up in the airat once. He set me down for Mrs. Kendal, and you for Miss Sophy. '

'Nonsense, ' said Albinia, for the inveterate youthfulness of herbright complexion and sunny hair was almost a sore subject with her. 'Your always fancying that every one is disgusted with you, is assilly as if you imagined yourself transcendently beautiful. It ismere self-occupation, and helps to make you blunt and shy. '

'Mamma, ' said Sophy, 'tell me one thing. Did you ever think yourselfpretty?'

'I have thought myself looking so, under favourable circumstances, but that's all. You are as far from ugliness as I am, and have aslittle need to think of it. As far as features go, there's themaking of a much handsomer woman in you than in me. '

Sophy laughed. A certain yearning for personal beauty was a curiouspart of her character, and she would have been ashamed to own thepleasure those few words had given her, or how much serenity andforbearance they were worth; and her good-humour was put to the proofthat evening, for grandmamma had a tea-party, bent on extracting thefull description of the great Algernon Greenaway Cavendish Dusautoy, Esquire. Lucy's first sight was less at her ease. Elizabeth Osborn, with whom she kept up a fitful intimacy, summoned her mysteriouslyinto her garden, to show her a peep-hole through a little dustywindow in the tool-house, whence could be descried the vicaragegarden, and Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy, as, with a cigar in his mouth, and his hands in his pockets, 'Stately stept he east the wa', and stately stept he west. '

Lucy was so much amused, that she could not help reporting it athome, where Gilbert forgot his sorrows, in building up a mischievousromance in honour of the hole in the 'sweet and lovely wall. '

But the parents' feud did not seem likely to hold out. A hundredthousand pounds on one side of the wall, and three single daughterson the other, Mrs. Osborn was not the woman to trust to the 'wall'shole;' and so Mr. Dusautoy's enemy laid down her colours; and he wastoo kind-hearted to trace her sudden politeness to the source. 

Mr. Dusautoy acceded to the scheme devised by his wife, and measureswere at once taken for engaging the curate. When Albinia went totalk the matter over at the parsonage, Lucy accompanied her; but theobject of her curiosity was not in the room; and when she had heardthat he was fond of drawing, and that his horses were to be kept atthe King's Head stables, the conversation drifted away, and she grewrestless, and begged Mrs. Dusautoy to allow her to replenish thefaded bouquets on the table. No sooner was she in the garden, thanMrs. Dusautoy put on an arch look, and lowering her voice, said, 'Oh! it is such fun! He does despise us so immensely. '

'Despise--you?'

'He is a good, boy, faithful to his training. Now his poor mother'saxioms were, that the English are vulgar, country English morevulgar, Fanny Dusautoy the most vulgar! I wish we always as heartilyaccepted what we are taught. '

'He must be intolerable. '

'No, he is very condescending and patronizing to the savages. Hereally is fond of his uncle; and John is so much hurt it I notice hispeculiarities, that I have been dying to have my laugh out. '

'Can Mr. Dusautoy bear with pretension?'

'It is not pretension, only calm faith in the lessons of his youth. Look, ' she added, becoming less personal at Lucy's re-entrance, andpointing to a small highly-varnished oil-painting of a red terracotta vase, holding a rose, a rhododendron before it, and half awater-melon grinning behind, newly severed by a knife. 

'Is that what people bring home from Italy now-a-days?' said Albinia. 

'That is an original production. '

'Did Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy do that?' cried Lucy. 

'Genre is his style, ' was the reply. 'His mother was resolved heshould be an amateur, and I give his master great credit. '

'Especially for that not being a Madonna, ' said Albinia. 'Icongratulate you on his having so safe an amusement. '

'Yes; it disposes of him and of the spare room. He cannot existwithout an atelier. '

Just then the Vicar entered. 

'Ah! Algernon's picture, ' began he, who had never been known to lookat one, except the fat cattle in the Illustrated News. 'What do youthink of it? Has he not made a good hand of the pitcher?'

Albinia gratified him by owning that the pitcher was round; and Lucywas in perfect rapture at the 'dear little spots' in therhododendron. 

'A poor way of spending a lad's time, ' said the uncle; 'but it isbetter than nothing; and I call the knife very good: I declare youmight take it up, ' and he squeezed up his eyes to enhance theillusion. 

A slow and wide opening of the door admitted the lofty presence ofAlgernon Cavendish Dusautoy, with another small picture in his hand. Becoming aware of the visitors, he saluted them with a dignifiedmovement of his head, and erecting his chin, gazed at them over it. 

'So you have brought us another picture, Algernon, ' said his uncle. 'Mrs. Kendal has just been admiring your red jar. '

'Have you a taste for art?' demanded Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy, turningto her with magnificent suavity. 

'I used to be very fond of drawing. '

'Genre is my style, ' he pursued, almost overthrowing her gravity bythe original of his aunt's imitation. 'I took lessons of oldBarbouille--excellent master. Truth and nature, those were hismaxims; and from the moment I heard them, I said, "This is my man. "We used positively to live in the Borghese. There!' as he walkedbackwards, after adjusting his production in the best light. 

'A snipe, ' said Albinia. 

'A snipe that I killed in the Pontine marshes. '

'There is very good shooting about Anxur, ' said Albinia. 

'You have been at Rome?' He permitted himself a little animation atdiscovering any one within the pale of civilization. 

'For one fortnight in the course of a galloping tour with my twobrothers, ' said Albinia. 'All the Continent in one long vacation!'

'That was much to be regretted. It is my maxim to go through everymuseum thoroughly. '

'I can't regret, ' said Albinia. 'I should be very sorry to give upmy bright indistinct haze of glorious memories, though I was tooyoung to appreciate all I saw. '

'For my part, I have grown up among works of art. My whole existencehas been moulded on them, and I feel an inexpressible void withoutthem. I shall be most happy to introduce you into my atelier, andshow you my notes on the various Musees. I preserved them merely asa trifling memorial; but many connoisseurs have told me that I oughtto print them as a Catalogue raisonnee, for private circulation, ofcourse. I should be sorry to interfere with Murray, but on the wholeI decided otherwise: I should be so much bored with applications. '

Mrs. Dusautoy's wicked glance had so nearly demolished the restrainton her friend's dimples, that she turned her back on her, andcommended the finish of a solitary downy feather that lay detachedbeside the bird. 

'My maxim is truth to nature, at any cost of pains, ' said the youth, not exactly gratified, for homage was his native element, butgraciously proceeding to point out the merits of the composition. 

Albinia's composure could endure no more, and she took her leave, Mr. Dusautoy coming down the hill with her to repeat, and this timesomewhat wistfully, 'A fine lad, is he not, poor fellow?'

With perfect sincerity, she could praise his good looks. 

'He has had a quantity of sad stuff thrust on him by the people whohave been about his poor mother, ' said Mr. Dusautoy. 'She couldnever bear to part with him, and no wonder, poor thing; and she musthave let a very odd sort of people get about her abroad--they'veflattered that poor lad to the top of his bent, you see, but he's avery good boy for all that, very warm-hearted. '

'He must be very amiable for his mother to have been able to managehim all this while. '

'Just what I say!' cried the Vicar, his honest face clearing. 'Manyyouths would have run into all that is bad, brought up in that way;but only consider what disadvantages he has had! When we get him tosee his real standing a little better--I say, could not you let ushave your young people to come up this evening, have a little music, and make it lively? I suppose Fanny and I are growing old, though Inever thought so before. Will you come, Lucy, there's a good girl, and bring your brother and sister? The lads must be capitalfriends. '

Lucy promised with sparkling eyes, and the Vicar strode off, sayinghe should depend on the three. 

Gilbert 'supposed he was in for it, ' but 'did not see the use of it, 'he was sick of the name of 'that polysyllable, ' and 'should seeenough of him when Mr. Hope came, worse luck. '

The result of the evening was, that Lacy was enraptured at thediscovery that this most accomplished hero sang Italian songs to theloveliest guitar in the world, and was very much offended with Sophyfor wishing to know whether mamma really thought him so very clever. 

Immediately after the Ordination arrived Mr. Hope, a very youthful, small, and delicate-looking man, whom Mr. Dusautoy could have liftedas easily as his own Fanny, with short sight, timid nature, scholarlyhabits, weak nerves, and an inaudible voice. 

Of great intellect, having read deeply, and reading still moredeeply, he had the utmost dread of ladies, and not even hiscountrywoman, Mrs. Dusautoy, could draw him out. He threw his wholesoul into the work, winning the hearts of the infant-school and theold women, but discomfiting the congregation by the weakness of hisvoice, and the length and depth of his sermons. There was one inespecial which very few heard, and no one entered into except Sophy, who held an hour's argument over it with her father, till theyarrived at such lengthy names of heresies, that poor grandmamma askedif it were right to talk Persian on a Sunday evening. 

He conscientiously tutored his two pupils, but there was no commonground between him and them. Excepting his extra intellect, therewas no boyhood in him. A town-bred scholar, a straightconstitutional upon a clean road was his wildest dream of exercise;he had never mounted a horse, did not know a chicken from apartridge, except on the table, was too short-sighted for pictures, and esteemed no music except Gregorians. 

The two youths were far more alive to his deficiencies than to hisendowments: Algernon contemned him for being a book-seller's son, with nothing to live on but his fellowship and curacy, and Gilbertlooked down on his ignorance of every matter of common life, andexcessive bashfulness. Mr. Dusautoy would have had less satisfactionin the growing intimacy between the lads, had he known that it hadbeen cemented by inveigling poor Mr. Hope into a marsh in search ofcotton-grass, which, at Gilbert's instigation, Algernon avouched tobe a new sort of Indian corn, grown in Italy for feeding silkworms. 

An intimacy there was, rather from constant intercourse than frompositive liking. Gilbert saw through and disdained young Dusautoy'sdulness and self-consequence; but good-natured, kindly, andunoccupied, he had no objection to associate with him, showing himEnglish ways, trying to hinder him from needlessly exposing himself, and secretly amused with his pretension. Algernon, with his finehorses, expensive appointments, and lofty air, was neither adiscreditable nor unpleasing companion. Mr. Kendal had given his sona horse, which, without costing the guineas that Algernon had'refused' for each of his steeds, was a very respectable-lookinganimal, and the two young gentlemen, starting on their daily ride, were a grand spectacle for more than little Maurice. 

Gilbert had suffered some eclipse. Once he had been the grand parti, the only indisputable gentleman, but now Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy hadentirely surpassed him both in self-assertion and in the grounds forit. His incipient dandyisms faded into insignificance beside thesplendours of the heir of thousands; and he, who among all his faultshad never numbered conceit or forwardness, had little chance besidesuch an implicit believer in his own greatness. 

Nor was Bayford likely to diminish that faith. The non-adorers mightbe easily enumerated--his uncle and aunt, his tutor, his groom, Mr. And Mrs. Kendal, Gilbert and Sophy; the rest all believed in him asthoroughly as he did in himself. His wealth was undoubted, hisaccomplishments were rated at his own advertisement, and hismagnanimous condescension was esteemed at full value. Reallyhandsome, good-natured and sociable, he delighted to instruct hisworshippers by his maxims, and to bend graciously to their homage. The young ladies had but one cynosure! Few eyes were there that didnot pursue his every movement, few hearts that did not bound at hisapproach, few tongues that did not chronicle his daily comings andgoings. 

'It would save much trouble, ' said Albinia, 'if a court circularcould be put into the Bayford paper. '

The Kendals were the only persons whom Algernon regarded as in anyway on a footing with him. Finding that the lady was a Ferrars, andhad been in Italy, he regarded her as fit company, and whenever theymet, favoured her with the chief and choicest of his maxims, littleknowing how she and his aunt presumed to discuss him in private. 

Without being ill-disposed, he had been exceedingly ill taught; hismother, the child of a grasping vulgar father, had little religiousimpression, and that little had not been fostered by the lax habitsof a self-expatriated Englishwoman, and very soon after his arrivalat Bayford his disregard of ordinary English proprieties had madeitself apparent. On the first Sunday he went to church in themorning, but spent the evening in pacing the garden with a cigar; andon the afternoon of that day week his aunt was startled by the soundof horse's hoofs on the road. Mr. Dusautoy was at school, and shestarted up, met the young gentleman, and asked him what strangemistake could have been made. He made her a slight bow, and loftilysaid he was always accustomed to ride at that hour! 'But not onSunday!' she exclaimed. He was not aware of any objection. She toldhim his uncle would be much displeased, he replied politely that hewould account to his uncle for his conduct, begged her pardon, but hecould not keep his horse waiting. 

Mrs. Dusautoy went back, fairly cried at the thought of her husband'svexation, and the scandal to the whole town. 

The Vicar was, of course, intensely annoyed, though he still couldmake excuses for the poor boy, and laid all to the score of ignoranceand foreign education. He made Algernon clearly understand that theSunday ride must not be repeated. Algernon mumbled something aboutcompromising his uncle and offending English prejudices, by which hereserved to himself the belief that he yielded out of magnanimity, not because he could not help it; but he could not forgive his auntfor her peremptory opposition; he became unpleasantly sullen andmorose as regularly as the Sunday came round, and revenged himself bypacing the verandah with his cigar, or practising anything but sacredmusic on his key-bugle in his painting-room. 

The youth was really fond of his uncle, but he had imbibed all hismother's contempt for her sister-in-law. Used to be wheedled by anidolizing mother, and to reign over her court of parasites, he had nonotion of obeying, and a direct command or opposition roused hissullen temper of passive resistance. When he found 'that littlenobody of a Mrs. John Dusautoy' so far from being a flatterer, or anadorer of his perfections, inclined to laugh at him, and bent onkeeping him in order, all the enmity of which he was capable arose inhis mind, and though in general good-natured and not aggressive, hehad a decided pleasure in doing what she disapproved, and thusasserting the dignity of a Greenaway Cavendish Dusautoy. 

The atelier was a happy invention. Certainly wearisome noises, andan aroma of Havannahs would now and then proceed therefrom, but hewas employed there the chief part of the day, and fortunately hispictures were of small size, and took an infinite quantity of labour, so that they could not speedily outrun all the Vicarage walls. 

He favoured the University of Oxford by going up with Gilbert formatriculation, when, to the surprise of Mr. Hope, he was not plucked. They were to begin their residence at the Easter term. Mrs. Dusautoydid not confess even to Albinia how much she looked forward toEaster. 

In early spring, a sudden and short illness took away MadameBelmarche's brave spirit to its rest, after sixty years of exile andpoverty, cheerfully borne. 

There had been no time to summon Genevieve, and her aunt would notsend for her, but decided on breaking up the school, which could nolonger be carried on, and going to live in the Hadminster convent. And thus, as Mr. Kendal hoped, all danger of renewed intercoursebetween his son and Genevieve ended. Gilbert looked pale andwretched, and Sophy hoped it was with compunction at having banishedGenevieve at such a moment, but not a word was said--and that page ofearly romance was turned!

CHAPTER XVIII. 

It was a beautiful July afternoon, the air musical with midsummerhum, the flowers basking in the sunshine, the turf cool and green inthe shade, and the breeze redolent of indescribable freshness andsweetness compounded of all fragrant odours, the present legacy of apast day's shower. Like the flowers themselves, Albinia was feelingthe delicious repose of refreshed nature, as in her pretty pinkmuslin, her white drapery folded round her, and her bright hairunbonnetted, she sat reclining in a low garden chair, at the door ofthe conservatory, a little pale, a little weak, but with a sweethappy languor, a soft tender bloom. 

There was a step in the conservatory, and before she could turnround, her brother Maurice bent over her, and kissed her. 

'Maurice! you have come after all!'

'Yes, the school inspection is put off. How are you?' as he sat downon the grass by her side. 

'Oh, quite well! What a delicious afternoon we shall have! Edmundwill be at home directly. Mrs. Meadows has absolutely let Gilberttake her to drink tea at the Drurys! Only I am sorry Sophy shouldmiss you, for she was so good about going, because Lucy wanted to dosomething to her fernery. Of course you are come for Sunday, and thechristening?'

'Yes, --that is, to throw myself on Dusautoy's mercy. '

'We will send Mr. Hope to Fairmead, ' said Albinia, 'and see whetherWinifred can make him speak. We can't spare the Vicar, for he is ourgodfather, and you must christen the little maiden. '

'I thought the three elder ones were to be sponsors. '

'Gilbert is shy, ' said Albinia, 'afraid of the responsibility, andperhaps he is almost too near, the very next to ourselves. Hisfather would have preferred Mr. Dusautoy from the first, and onlyyielded to my wish. I wish you had come two minutes sooner, she wasbeing paraded under that wall, but now she is gone in asleep. '

'Her father writes grand things of her. '

'Does he?' said Albinia, colouring and smiling at what could not beheard too often; 'he is tolerably satisfied with the young woman!And he thinks her like Edmund, and so she must be, for she is justlike him. She will have such beautiful eyes. It is very good of herto take after him, since Maurice won't!'

'And she is to be another Albinia. '

'I represented the confusion, and how I always meant my daughter tobe Winifred, but there's no doing anything with him! It is only tobe a second name. A. W. K. ! Think if she should marry a Mr. Ward!'

'No, she would not be awkward, if she were so a-warded. '

'It wont spell, Maurice, ' cried Albinia, laughing as their nonsense, as usual, rose to the surface, 'but how is Winifred?'

'As well as could be hoped under the affliction of not being able tocome and keep you in order. '

'She fancied me according to the former pattern, ' said Albinia, smiling, 'I could have shown her a better specimen, not that it wasany merit, for there were no worries, and Edmund was so happy, thatit was pleasure enough to watch him. '

'I was coming every day to judge for myself, but I thought thingscould not be very bad, while he wrote such flourishing accounts. '

'No, there were no more ponds!' said Albinia, 'and grandmamma happilywas quite well, cured, I believe, by the excitement. Lucy took careof her, and Sophy read to me--how we have enjoyed those readings!Oh! and Aunt Gertrude has found a delightful situation for Genevieve, a barrister's family, with lots of little children--eighty pounds ayear, and quite ready to value her, so she is off my mind. '

'Maurice, boy! come here, ' she called, as she caught sight of acreature prancing astride on one stick, and waving another. Onperceiving a visitor, the urchin came careering up, bouncing fulltilt upon her, and clasping her round with both his stalwart arms. 'Gently, gently, boy, ' she said, bending down, and looking with prouddelight at her brother, as she held between her hands a face muchlike her own, as fair and freshly tinted, but with a peculiarsquareness of contour, large blue eyes, with dark fringes, brimmingover with mischief and fun, a bold, broad brow, and thick, lightcurls. There was a spring and vigour as of perpetual irrepressiblelife about the whole being, and the moment he had accepted hisuncle's kiss, he poised his lance, and exclaimed, 'You are Bonaparte, I'm the Duke!'

'Indeed, ' said Mr. Ferrars, at once seizing a wand, and bestridingthe nearest bench. Two or three charges rendered the boy souproarious, that presently he was ordered off, and to use the oldapple tree as Bonaparte. 

'What a stout fellow!' said Mr. Ferrars, as he went off at a plunginggallop, 'I should have taken him for at least five years old!'

'So he might be, ' said Albinia, 'for strength and spirit--he isutterly fearless, and never cries, much as he knocks himself about!He will do anything but learn. The rogue! he once knew all hisletters, but no sooner did he find they were the work of life, thanhe forgot every one, and was never so obstreperous as when calledupon to say them. I gave up the point, but I foresee some finescenes. '

'His minding no one but you is an old story. I hope at least theexception continues. '

'I have avoided testing it. I want all my forces for a decisivebattle. I never heard of such a masterful imp, ' she continued, withmuch more exultation than anxiety, 'his sisters have no chance withhim, he rules them like a young Turk. There's the pony! Sophy willlet him have it as a right, and it is the work of my life to see thatshe is not defrauded of her rides. '

'You don't mean that that child rides anything but a stick. '

'One would think he had been born in boots and spurs. Legitimatelyhe only rides with some one leading the pony, but I have mysuspicions that by some preternatural means he has been on the pony'sback, and round the yard alone, and that papa prudentially concealedit from me!'

'I confess I should not like it, ' said her brother gravely. 

'Oh! I don't mind that kind of thing. A real boy can't be hurt, andI don't care how wild he runs, so long as he is obedient andtruthful. And true I think he is to the backbone, and I know he isreverend. We had such a disturbance because he would not say hisprayers. '

'Proof positive!'

'Yes, it was, ' said Albinia. 'It did not seem to him orthodoxwithout me, and when he was let into my room again, it was theprettiest sight! When he had been told of his little sister, all hesaid was that he did not want little girls--girls were stupid--'

'Ah! that came of your premature introduction to my Albinia, '

'Not at all. It was partly as William's own nephew, and partlybecause pleasure was expected from him. But when he actually saw thelittle thing, that sturdy face grew so very soft and sweet, and whenwe told him he was her protector, he put both his hands tighttogether, and said, "I'll be so good!" When he is with her, anotherchild seems to shine out under the bluff pickle he generally is--hewalks so quietly, and thinks it such an honour to touch her. '

'She will be his best tutor, ' said Maurice, smiling, but breakingoff--

A sudden shriek of deadly terror rang out over the garden from theriver! A second or two sufficed to show them Lucy at the other endof the foot-bridge, that led across the canal to the towing-path. She did not look round, till Albinia, clutching her, demanded, 'Whereis he?'

Unable to speak, Lucy pointed down the towing-path, along which ahorse was seen rushing wildly--a figure pursuing it. 'It was hitchedup here--he must have scrambled up by the gate! Oh! mamma! mamma!He has run after him, but oh!'

Mr. Ferrars gave Lucy's arm a squeeze, a hint not to augment thehorror. Something he said of 'Let me--and you had better--' butAlbinia heard nothing, and was only bent on pressing forward. 

The canal and path took a wide sweep round the meadow, and the horsewas still in sight, galloping at full speed, with a small heap on itsback, as they trusted, but the rapid motion, and their eyes strainedand misty with alarm, caused an agony of uncertainty. 

Albinia pointed across the meadows in anguish at not being able tomake herself understood, and hoarsely said, 'The gate!'

Mr. Ferrars caught her meaning, and the next moment had leaped overthe gutter, and splashed into the water meadow, but in utterhopelessness of being beforehand with the runaway steed! How couldthat gate be other than fatal? The horse was nearing it--the pursuerfar behind--Mr. Ferrars not half way over the fields. 

There was a loud cry from Lucy. --'He is caught! caught!'

A loud shout came back, was caught up, and sent on by both thepursuers, 'All right!'

Albinia had stood in an almost annihilation of conscious feeling. Even when her brother strode back to her repeating 'All safe, thanksbe to God, ' she neither spoke nor relaxed that intensity of watching. A few seconds more, and she sprang forward again as the horse was ledup by a young man at his side; and on his back, laughing andchattering, sat Master Maurice. Algernon Dusautoy strode a few stepsbehind, somewhat aggrieved, but that no one saw. 

The elder Maurice lifted down the younger one, who, as he was claspedby his mother, exclaimed, 'Oh! mamma, Bamfylde went so fast! I am toride home again! He said so--he's my cousin!'

Albinia scarcely heard; her brother however had turned to thank thestranger for her, and exclaimed, 'I should say you were an O'More. '

'I'm Ulick, from the Loughside Lodge, ' was the answer. 'Is cousinWinifred here?'

'No, this is my sister, Mrs. Kendal, but--'

Albinia held out her hand, and grasped his; 'I can't--Maurice, speak, ' she said. 

The little Maurice persisted in his demand to be remounted for thetwelve yards to their own gate, but nobody heard him; his uncle wassaying a few words of explanation to the stranger, and AlgernonDusautoy was enunciating something intended as a gracious receptionof the apologies which no one was making. All Albinia thought of wasthat the little unruly hand was warm and struggling, prisoned in herown; all her brother cared for was to have her safely at home. Heled her across the bridge, and into the garden, where they met Mr. Kendal, who had taken alarm from her absence; Lucy ran up with herstory, and almost at the same moment, Albinia, springing to him, murmured, 'Oh! Edmund, the great mercy--Maurice;' but there she foundherself making a hoarse shriek; with a mingled sense of fright andshame, she smothered it, but there was an agony of suffocation, shefelt her husband's arms round her, heard his voice, and her boy'sscream of terror--felt them all unable to help her, and sank intounconsciousness. 

Mr. Ferrars helped Mr. Kendal to carry his wife's inanimate form toher room. They used all means of restoration, but it was a long, heavy swoon, and a slow, painful revival. Mr. Kendal would have beenin utter despair at hearing that the doctor was out, but for hisbrother, with his ready resources and cheerful encouragement; andfinally, she lifted her eyelids, and as she felt the presence of hertwo dearest guardians, whispered, 'Where is he?'

Lucy reported that he was with Susan, and Albinia, after hearing herhusband again assure her that he was quite safe, lay still fromexhaustion, but so calm, that her brother thought them best alone, and drew Lucy away. 

In about a quarter of an hour Mr. Kendal came down, saying that shewas quietly asleep, and he had left the nurse with her. He had yetto hear the story, and when he understood that the child had beenmadly careering along the towing-path, on the back of youngDusautoy's most spirited hunter, and had been only stopped when thehorse was just about to leap the tall gate, he was completelyovercome. When he spoke again, it was with the abrupt exclamation, 'That child! Lucy, bring him down!'

In marched the boy, full of life and mischief, though with a largered spot beneath each eye. 

'Maurice!' Gilbert had often heard that tone, but Maurice never, andhe tossed back his head with an innocent look of fearless wonder. 'Maurice, I find you have been a very naughty, disobedient boy. Whenyou rode the pony round the yard, did not I order you never to do soagain?'

'I did not do it again, ' boldly rejoined Maurice. 

'Speak the truth, sir. What do you mean by denying what you havedone?' exclaimed his father, angrily. 

'I didn't ride the pony, ' indignantly cried the child, 'I rode ahorse, saddled and bridled!'

'Don't answer me in that way!' thundered Mr. Kendal, and muchincensed by the nice distinction, and not appreciating the sincerityof it, he gave the child a shake, rough enough to bring the red intohis face, but not a tear. 'You knew it was very wrong, and you wereas near as possible breaking your neck. You have frightened yourmamma, so as to make her very ill, and I am sorry to find you mostmischievous and unruly, not to be trusted out of sight. Now, listento me, I shall punish you very severely if you act in thisdisobedient way again. '

Papa angry, was a novel spectacle, at which Maurice looked asinnocently and steadily as ever, so completely without fear orcontrition, that he provoked a stern, 'Do you hear me, sir?' andanother shake. Maurice flushed, and his chest heaved, though he didnot sob, and his father, uncomfortable at such sharp dealing with soyoung a child, set him aside, with the words, 'There now, recollectwhat I have told you!' and walked to the window, where he stoodsilent for some seconds, while the boy stood with rounded shoulders, perplexed eye, and finger on his pouting lip, and Mr. Ferrars, newspaper in hand, watched him under his eyelids, and speculated whatwould be the best sort of mediation, or whether the young gentlemanyet deserved it. He knew that his own Willie would have been a merequaking, sobbing mass of terror, under such a shake, and he wouldlike to have been sure whether that sturdy silence were obstinacy orfortitude. 

The sound of the door-bell made Mr. Kendal turn round, and laying hishand on the little fellow's fair head, he said, 'There, Maurice, we'll say no more about it if you will be a good boy. Run away now, but don't go into your mamma's room. '

Maurice looked up, tossed his curls out of his eyes, shook himself, felt the place on his arm where the grip of the hand had been, andgalloped off like the young colt that he was. 

Albinia awoke, refreshed, though still shaken and feeble, andsurprised to find that dinner was going on downstairs. Her own mealpresently put such new force into her, that she felt able to speakMaurice's name without bursting into tears, and longing to see bothher little ones beside her, she told the nurse to fetch the boy, butreceived for answer, 'No, Master Maurice said he would not come, ' andthe manner conveyed that it had been defiantly said. Master Mauricewas no favourite in the nursery, and he was still less so, when hismamma, disregarding all mandates, set out to seek him. Already sheheard from the stairs the wrangling with Susan that accompanied allhis toilettes, and she found him the picture of firm, solid fairness, in his little robe de nuit, growling through the combing of histangled locks. Though ordinarily scornful of caresses, he sprang toher and hugged her, as she sat down on a low chair, and he knelt inher lap, whispering with his head on her shoulder, and his arms roundher neck, 'Mamma, were you dead?'

'No, Maurice, ' she answered with something of a sob, 'or I should nothave my dear, dear little boy throttling me now! But why would younot come down to me?'

'Papa said I must not. '

Oh, that was quite right, my boy;' and though she unclasped the tightarms, she drew him nestling into her bosom. 'Oh, Maurice, it hasbeen a terrible day! Does my little boy know how good the great Godhas been to him, and how near he was never seeing mamma nor hislittle sister again. '

Her great object was to make him thankful for his preservation, butwith a child, knowing nothing of death and heedless of fear, this wasvery difficult. The rapid motion had been delightful excitement, orif there had been any alarm, it was forgotten in the triumph. Shehad to change her note, and represent how the poor horse might haverun into the river, or against a post! Maurice looked serious, andthen she came to the high moral tone--mounting strangers' horseswithout leave--would papa, would Gilbert, think of such a thing? Thefull lip was put out, as though under conviction, and he hung hishead. 'You wont do it again?' said she. 

'No. '

She told him to say his prayers, guiding the confession andthanksgiving that she feared he did not fully follow. As he rose up, and saw the tears on her cheeks, he whispered, 'Mamma, did it makeyou _so_?'

Cause and effect were a great puzzle to him, but that swoon was theonly thing that brought home to him that he had been guilty ofsomething enormous, and when she owned that his danger had been theoccasion, he stood and looked; then, standing bolt upright, withclasped hands, and rosy feet pressed close together, he said, with along breath, 'I'll never get on Bamfylde again till I'm a big boy. '

As he spoke, Mr. Kendal pushed open the half-closed door, andAlbinia, looking up, said, 'Here's a boy who knows he has done wrong, papa. '

Never was more welcome excuse for lifting the gallant child to hisbreast, and lavishing caresses that would have been tender but forthe strong spirit of riot which turned them into a game at romps, cutshort by Mr. Kendal, as soon as the noise grew very outrageous. 'That's enough to-night; good night. ' And when they each had kissedthe monkey face tossing about among the clothes, Maurice might haveheard more pride than pain in the 'I never saw such a boy!' withwhich they shut the door. 

'This is not prudent!' said Mr. Kendal. 

'Do you think I could have rested till I had seen him? and he saidyou had told him not to come down. '

'I would have brought him to you. You are looking very ill; you hadbetter go to bed at once. '

'No, I should not sleep. Pray let me grow quiet first. Now you knowyou trust Maurice, --old Maurice, and I'll lie on the sofa like anymouse, if you'll bring him up and let him talk. You know it will bean interesting novelty for you to talk, and me to listen! and he hasnot seen the baby. '

Albinia gained her point, but Mr. Kendal and Lucy first tucked her upupon the sofa, till she cried out, 'You have swathed me hand andfoot. How am I to show off that little Awk?'

'I'll take care of that, ' said Mr. Kendal; and so he did, fully doingthe honours of the little daughter, who had already fastened on hisheart. 

'But, ' cried Albinia, breaking into the midst, 'who or what are we, ungrateful monsters, never to have thought of the man who caught thatdreadful horse!'

'You shall see him as soon as you are strong enough, ' said Mr. Kendal; 'your brother and I have been with him. '

'Oh, I am glad; I could not rest if he had not been thanked. And cananything be done for him? What is he? I thought he was agentleman. '

Maurice smiled, and Mr. Kendal answered, 'Yes, he is Mr. Goldsmith'snephew, and I am pleased to find that he is a connexion of yourbrother. '

'One of the O'Mores, ' cried Albinia. 'Oh, Maurice, is it really oneof Winifred's O'Mores?'

'Even so, ' replied Mr. Ferrars; the very last person I should haveexpected to meet on the banks of the Baye! It was that clever son ofthe captain's for whose education Mr. Goldsmith paid, and it seemshad sent for, to consider of his future destination. He only arrivedyesterday. '

'A very fine young man, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'I was particularly pleasedwith his manner, and it was an act of great presence of mind anddexterity. '

'It is all a maze and mystery to me, ' said Albinia; 'do tell me allabout it. I can't make out how the horse came there. '

'I understood that young Dusautoy was calling here, ' said Mr. Kendal;'I wondered at even his coolness in coming in by that way, and atyour letting him in. '

'I saw nothing of him, ' said Albinia. 'Perhaps he was looking forGilbert. '

'No, ' said Lucy, looking up from her work, with a slight blush, anddemure voice of secret importance; 'he had only stepped in for aminute, to bring me a new fern. '

'Indeed, ' said her father; 'I was not aware that he took interest inyour fernery. '

'He knows everything about ferns, ' said Lucy. 'Mrs. CavendishDusautoy once had a conservatory filled with the rarest specimens, and he has given me a great many directions how to manage them. '

'Oh! if he could get you to listen to his maxims, I don't wonder atanything, ' exclaimed Albinia. 

'He had only just come in with the Adiantium, and was telling me howhydraulic power directed a stream of water near the roots among hismother's Fuci, ' said Lucy, rather hurt. 'He had fastened up hishorse quite securely, and nobody could have guessed that Mauricecould have opened that gate to cross the bridge, far less haveclimbed up the rail to the horse's back. I never shall forget myfright, when we heard the creature's feet, and Mr. Cavendish Dusautoybegan to run after it directly. '

'As foolish a thing as he could have done, ' said Mr. Kendal, notimpressed with Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy's condescension in givingchase. 'It was well poor little Maurice was not abandoned to yourdiscretion, and his resources. '

'It seems, ' continued Mr. Ferrars, 'that young O'More was taking awalk on the towing-path, and was just so far off as to see, withoutbeing able to prevent it, this little monkey scramble from the gateupon the horse's neck. How it was that he did not go down between, Ican't guess; the beast gave a violent start, as well it might, jerkedthe reins loose, and set off full gallop. Seeing the child clingingon like a young panther, he dashed across the meadow, to cut him offat the turn of the river; and it was a great feat of swiftness, Iassure you, to run so lightly through those marshy meadows, so as toget the start of the runaway; then he crept up under cover of thehedge, so as not to startle the horse, and had hold of the bridle, just as he paused before leaping the gate! He said he could hardlybelieve his eyes when he saw the urchin safe, and looking moreexcited than terrified. '

'Yes, he was exceedingly struck with Maurice's spirit, ' said Mr. Kendal, who, when the fright and anger were over, could begin to beproud of the exploit. 

'They fraternized at once, ' said Mr. Ferrars. 'Maurice imparted thathis name was Maurice Ferrars Kendal, and Ulick, in all good faith andIrish simplicity, discovered that they were cousins!'

'Oh! Edmund, he must come to the christening dinner!'

'Mind, ' said Maurice, 'you, know he is not even my wife's cousin;only nephew to her second cousin's husband. '

'For shame, Maurice, cousin is that cousinly does!'

'Very well, only don't tell the aunts that Winifred saddled all theO'Mores upon you. '

'Not an O'More but should be welcome for his sake!'

'Nor an Irishman, ' said Mr. Ferrars. 

Albinia suffered so much from the shock, that she could not make herappearance till noon on the following day. Then, after sitting alittle while in the old study, to hear that grandmamma had not beenable to sleep all night for thinking of Maurice's danger, and beingtold some terrible stories of accidents with horses, she felt oneduty done, and moved on to the drawing-room in search of her brother. 

She found herself breaking upon a tete-a-tete. A sweet, full voice, with strong cadences, was saying something about duty and advice, andshe would have retreated, but her brother and the stranger bothsprang up, and made her understand that she was by no means to goaway. No introduction was wanted; she grasped the hand that wasextended to her, and would have said something if she could, but shefound herself not strong enough to keep from tears, and only said, 'Iwish little Maurice were not gone out with his brother, but you willdine with us, and see him to-morrow. '

'With the greatest pleasure, if my uncle and aunt will spare me. '

'They must, ' said Albinia, 'you must come to meet your old friend and_cousin_, ' she added, mischievously glancing at Maurice, but he didnot look inclined to disavow the relationship, and the youth was nota person whom any one would wish to keep at a distance. He seemedabout nineteen or twenty years of age, not tall, but well made, andwith an air of great ease and agility, rather lounging and careless, yet alert in a moment. The cast of his features at once betrayed hiscountry, by the rounded temples, with the free wavy hair; thecircular form of the eyebrow; the fully opened dark blue eye, lookingalmost black when shaded; the short nose, and the well-cut chin andlips, with their outlines of sweetness and of fun, all thoroughlyIrish, but of the best style, and with a good deal of thought andmind on the brow, and determination in the mouth. Albinia hadscarcely a minute, however, for observation, for he seemed agitated, and in haste to take leave, nor did her brother press him to remain, since she was still looking very white and red, and too fragile foranything but rest. With another squeeze of the hand she let him go, while he, with murmured thanks, and head bent in enthusiastic honourto the warm kindness of one so sweet and graceful, took leave. Mr. Ferrars followed him into the hall, leaving the door open, so thatshe heard the words, 'Good-bye, Ulick; I'll do my best for you. AllI can say is, that I respect you. '

'Don't respect me too soon, ' he answered; 'maybe you'll have tochange your mind. The situation may like me no better than I thesituation. '

'No, what you will, you can do; I trust to your perseverance. '

'As my poor mother does! Well, with patience the snail got to Rome, and if it is to lighten her load, I must bear it. Many thanks, Mr. Ferrars. Good morning. '

'Good morning; only, Ulick, excuse me, but let me give you a hint; ifthe situation is to like you, you must mind your Irish. '

'Then you must not warm my heart with your kindness, ' was the answer. 'No, no, never fear, when I'm not with any one who has seenBallymakilty, I can speak English so that I could not be known for aGalway man. Not that I'm ashamed of my country, ' he added; and thenext moment the door shut behind him. 

'How could you scold him for his Irish?' exclaimed Albinia, as herbrother re-entered; 'it sounds so pretty and characteristic. '

'I fear Mr. Goldsmith may think it too characteristic!'

'I am sure Edmund might well call him prepossessing. I hope Mr. Goldsmith is going to do something handsome for him!'

'Poor lad! Mr. Goldsmith considers that he has purchased him for apermanent fixture on a high stool. It is a sad disappointment, forhe had been doing his utmost to prepare himself for college, and hehas so far distinguished himself at school, that I see that a verylittle help would soon enable him to maintain himself at theUniversity. I could have found it in my heart to give it to himmyself; it would please Winifred. '

'Oh, let us help; I am sure Edmund would be glad. '

'No, no, this is better for all. Remember this is the Goldsmith'sonly measure of conciliation towards their sister since her marriage, and it ought not to be interfered with. Poor Ulick says he knowsthis is the readiest chance of being of any use to his family, andthat his mother has often said she should be happy if she could butsee one of the six launched in a way to be independent! There arethose three eldest, little better than squireens, never doing a thingbut loafing about with their guns. I used to long for a horse-whipto lay about them, till they spoke to me, and then not one of therogues but won my heart with his fun and good-nature. '

'Then I suppose it is a great thing to have one in the way ofmoney-making. '

'Hem! The Celtic blood is all in commotion! This boy's business wasto ask my candid opinion whether there were anything ungentlemanlikein a clerkship in a bank. It was well it was not you!'

'Now, Maurice, don't you know how glad I should have been if Gilbertwould have been as wise!'

'Yes, you have some common sense after all, which is more than Ulickattributes to his kith and kin. When I had proved the respectabilityof banking to his conviction, I'll not say satisfaction, he made mepromise to write to his father. He is making up his mind to what isnot only a great vexation to himself, and very irksome employment, but he knows he shall be looked down upon as having lost caste withall his family!'

'It really is heroism!' cried Albinia. 

'It is, ' said Mr. Ferrars; 'he does not trust himself to face theclan, and means to get into harness at once, so as to clench hisresolution, and relieve his parents from his maintenanceimmediately. '

'Is he to live with that formal Miss Goldsmith?'

'No. In solitary lodgings, after that noisy family and easy home! Ican't think how he will stand it. I should not wonder if theGalwegian was too strong after all. '

'We must do all we can for him, ' cried Albinia; 'Edmund likes himalready. Can't he dine with us every Sunday?'

'I know you will be kind, ' said Mr. Ferrars. 'Only see how thingsturn out before you commit yourself. Ah! I have said the unluckyword which always makes you fly off!'

There was little fear that Ulick O'More would not win his way withMr. And Mrs. Kendal, recommended as he was, and with considerableattractions in the frankness and brightness of his manner. He was avery pleasant addition to the party who dined at Willow Lawn, afterthe christening. No one had time to listen to Mr. CavendishDusautoy's maxims, and he retired rather sullenly, to lean againstthe mantelpiece, and marvel why the Kendals should invite an Irishbanker's clerk to meet _him_. Gilbert likewise commented on theguest with a muttered observation on his sisters' taste; 'Last yearit was all the Polysyllable, now it would be all the Irishman!'

CHAPTER XIX. 

There was a war of supremacy in the Kendal household. Albinia andher son were Greek to Greek, and if physical force were on her side, her own tenderness was against her. As to allies, Maurice had by farthe majority of the household; the much-tormented Susan was hermistress's sole supporter; Mr. Kendal and Sophy might own itinexpedient to foster his outrecuidance, but they so loved to do hisbidding, so hated to thwart him, and so grieved at his beingpunished, that they were little better than Gilbert, Lucy, grandmamma, or any of the maids or men. 

The moral sense was not yet stirred, and the boy seemed to be tryingthe force of his will like the strength of his limbs. Even as hedelighted to lift a weight the moment he saw that it was heavy, so acommand was to him a challenge to see how much he would undergorather than obey, but his resistance was so open, gay, and free, thatit could hardly be called obstinacy, and he gloried in disappointingpunishment. The dark closet lost all terror for him; he stood thereblowing the horn through his hand, content to follow an imaginarychase, and when untimely sent to bed, he stole Susan's scissors, andcut a range of stables in the sheets. The short, sharp infliction ofpain answered best, but his father, though he could give a shake whenangry, could _not_ strike when cool, and Albinia was forced to turnexecutioner, though with such tears and trembling that her culpritlooked up reassuringly, saying, 'Never mind, mamma, I shan't!' Hedid, however, _mind_ her tears, they bore in upon him the sense ofguilt; and after each transgression, he could not be at peace till hehad marched up to her, holding out his hand for the blow, and makingup his face not to wince, and then would cling round her neck to feelhimself pardoned. Justice came to him in a most fair and motherlyshape! The brightest, the merriest of all his playmates was mamma;he loved her passionately, and could endure no cloud between himselfand her, so that he was slowly learning that submission to her waspeace and pleasure, and rebellion mere pain to both. She establishedten minutes of daily lessons, but even she could not reach beyond thecapture of his restless person, his mind was out of reach, and keenas he was in everything else, towards "a + b = ab" he was anunmitigated dunce. Nor did he obey any one who did not use authorityand force of will, and though perfectly simple and sincere, he wastoo young to restrain himself without the assistance of thecontrolling power, so that in his mother's absence he was tyrannicaland violent, and she never liked to have him out of her sight, andnever was so sure that he was deep in mischief as when she had notheard his voice for a quarter of an hour. 

'Albinia, ' said Mr. Kendal, one relenting autumn day, when Novemberstrove to look like April, 'I thought of walking to pay Farmer Gravesfor the corn. Will you come with me?'

'Delightful, I want to see what Maurice will say to the turkey-cock. '

'Is it not too far for him?'

'He would run quite as many miles in the garden, ' said Albinia, whowould have walked in dread of a court of justice on her return, hadnot the scarlet hose been safely prancing on the road before her. 

'This way, then, ' said Mr. Kendal; 'I must get this draft changed atthe bank. Come, Maurice, you will see a friend there. '

'Do you know, Edmund, ' said Albinia, as they set forth, 'myconscience smites me as to that youth; I think we have neglectedhim. '

'I cannot see what more we could have done. If his uncle does notbring him forward in society, we cannot interfere. '

'It must be a forlorn condition, ' said Albinia; 'he is above theother clerks, and he seems to be voted below the Bayford Elite, sincethe Polysyllable has made it so very refined! One never meets himanywhere now it is too dark to walk after the banking hours. Cannotwe ask him to come in some evening?'

'We cannot have our evenings broken up, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'I shouldbe glad to show him any kindness, but his uncle seems to have ruledit that he is to be considered more as his clerk than as one of hisfamily, and I doubt if it would be doing him any service tointerfere. '

They were now at the respectable old freestone building, with'Goldsmith' inscribed on the iron window-blinds, and a venerable datecarved over the door. Inside, those blinds came high, and let in butlittle light over the tall desks, at which were placed the black-horsehairperches of the clerks, old Mr. Goldsmith himself occupying a lowerthrone, more accessible to the clients. One of the high stools stoodempty, and Albinia making inquiry, Mr. Goldsmith answered, with a dry, dissatisfied cough, that More, as he called him, had struck work, andgone home with a headache. 

'Indeed, ' said Albinia, 'I am sorry to hear it. Mr. Hope said hethought him not looking well. '

'He has complained of headache a good deal lately, ' said Mr. Goldsmith. 'Young men don't find it easy to settle to business. '

Albinia's heart smote her for not having thought more of her son'srescuer, and she revolved what could or what might have been done. It really was not easy to show him attention, considering Gilbert'sprejudice against his accent, and Mr. Kendal's dislike to aninterrupted evening, and all she could devise was a future call onMiss Goldsmith. But for Maurice, it would have been a silent walk, and though her mind was a little diverted by his gallant attempt tobestride the largest pig in the farm-yard, she was sure Mr. Kendalwas musing on the same topic, and was not surprised when, as theyreturned, he exclaimed, 'I have a great mind to go and see after thatpoor lad. '

'This way, then, ' said Albinia, turning down a narrow muddy streetparallel with the river. 

'Impossible!' said Mr. Kendal; 'he can never live at the Wharves?'

'Yes, ' said Albinia; 'he told me that he lodged with an old servantof the Goldsmiths, Pratt's wife, at the Lower Wharf. '

She pointed to the name of Pratt over a shop-window in a house thathad once seen better days, but which looked so forlorn, that Mr. Kendal would not look the slatternly maid in the face while so absurda question was asked as whether Mr. O'More lived there. 

The girl, without further ceremony, took them up a dark stair, andopened the door of a twilight room, where Albinia's first glimpseshowed her the young man with his head bent down on his arms on thetable, as close as possible to the forlorn, black fire, of the grim, dull, sulky coal of the county, which had filled the room with smokeand blacks. The window, opened to clear it, only admitted the sicklyscent of decaying weed from the river to compete with the perfume ofthe cobbler's stock-in-trade. Ulick started up pale and astonished, and Mr. Kendal, struck with consternation, chiefly thought of takingaway his wife and child from the infected atmosphere, and made signsto Albinia not to sit down; but she was eagerly compassionate. 

'It was nothing, ' said Ulick, 'only his head was rather worse thanusual, and he thought it time to give in when the threes putlapwings' feathers in their caps just like the fives. '

'Are you subject to these headaches?'

'It is only home-sickness, ' he said. 'I'll have got over it soon. '

'I must come and see after you, my good friend, ' said Mr. Kendal, with suppressed impatience and anxiety. 'I shall return in a momentor two, but I am sure you are not well enough for so many visitorstaking you by surprise. Come. '

He was so peremptory, that Albinia found herself on the staircasebefore she knew what she was about. The fever panic had seized Mr. Kendal in full force; he believed typhus was in the air, and insistedon her taking Maurice home at once, while he went himself to fetchMr. Bowles. She did not in the least credit fever to be in the chilltouch of that lizard hand, and believed that she could have been thebest doctor; but there was no arguing while he was under this alarm, and she knew that she might be thankful not to be ordered to observea quarantine. 

When Mr. Kendal returned home he looked much discomposed, though hisfirst words were, 'Thank Heaven, it is no fever! Albinia, we mustlook after that poor lad; he is positively poisoned by thatpestiferous river and bad living! Bowles said he was sure he was noteating meat enough. I dare say that greasy woman gives him nothingfit to eat! Albinia, you must talk to him--find out whether oldGoldsmith gives him a decent salary!'

'He ought not to be in those lodgings another day. I suppose MissGoldsmith had no notion what they were. I fancy she never saw theLower Wharf in her life. '

'I never did till to-day, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'It was all of a piece--the whole street--the room--the furniture--why the paper was comingoff the walls! What could they be dreaming of! And there he was, trying to read a little edition of Prodentius, printed at Salamanca, which he picked up at a bookstall at Galway. It must have belongedto some priest educated in Spain. He says any Latin book wasinvaluable to him. He is infinitely too good for his situation, andthe Goldsmiths are neglecting him infamously. Look out some roomsfit for him, Albinia. '

'I will try. Let me see--if I could only recollect any; but Mr. Hopehas the only really nice ones in the place. '

'Somewhere he must be, if it is in this house. '

'There is poor old Madame Belmarche's still empty, with Bridgetkeeping it. I wish he could have rooms there. '

'Well, why not? Pettilove told me it must be let as two tenements. If the old woman could take half, a lodger would pay her rent, ' saidMr. Kendal, promptly. 'You had better propose it. '

'And the Goldsmiths?' asked Albinia. 

'I will show him the Lower Wharf. '

The next afternoon Mr. Kendal desired his wife to go to the Bank andborrow young O'More for her walking companion. 

'Really I don't know whether I have the impudence. '

'I will come and do it for you. You will do best alone with the lad;I want you to get into his confidence, and find out whether oldGoldsmith treats him properly. I declare, but that I know JohnKendal so well, this would be enough to make me rejoice that Gilbertis not thrown on the world!'

Albinia knew herself to be so tactless, that she saw little hopeother doing anything but setting him against his relations; but herhusband was in no frame to hear objections, so she made none, andonly trusted she should not be very foolish. At least, the walkwould be a positive physical benefit to the slave of the desk. 

Ulick O'More was at his post, and said his head was well, but hishair stuck up as if his fingers had been many times run through it;he was much thinner, and the wearied countenance, whitenedcomplexion, and spiritless sunken eyes, were a sad contrast to theglowing freshness and life that had distinguished him in the summer. 

Mr. Kendal told the Banker that it had been decided that his nephewneeded exercise, and that Mrs. Kendal would be glad of his company ina long walk. Mr. Goldsmith seemed rather surprised, but consented, whereupon the young clerk lighted up into animation, and bounded outof his prison house, with a springy step learnt upon mountainheather. Mr. Kendal only waited to hear whither they were bound. 

'Oh! as far as we can go on the Woodside road, ' said Albinia. 'Ithink the prescription I used to inflict on poor Sophy will not bethrown away here. I always fancy there is a whiff of sea air uponthe hill there. '

Ulick smiled at such a fond delusion, bred up as he had been upon thewildest sea-coast, exposed to the full sweep of the Atlantic storm!She set him off upon his own scenery, to the destruction of hislaborious English, as he dwelt on the glories of his beloved rocksrent by fierce sea winds and waves into fantastic, grotesque, orlovely shapes, with fiords of exquisite blue sea between, the varietyof which had been to him as the gentle foliage of tamer countries. Not a tree stood near the 'town' of Ballymakilty, but the wild crags, the sparkling waters, the broad open hills, and the bogs, with theirintensely purple horizon, held fast upon his heart; and he told ofwhite sands, reported to be haunted by mermaids, and crevices of rockwhere the tide roared, and gave rise to legends of sea monsters, andgiants turned to stone. He was becoming confidential and intimatewhen, in a lowered voice, he mentioned the Banshee's crag, where theshrouded messenger of doom never failed to bewail each dying child ofthe O'More, and where his own old nurse had actually beheld herkeening for the uncle who was killed among the Caffres. Albiniabegan to know how she ought to respect the O'Mores. 

They were skirting the side of the hill, with a dip of greenmeadow-land below them, rising on the other side into coppices. Thetwang of the horn, and the babbling cry of the hounds, reminded Albiniathat the hunting season had begun, and looking over a gate, shewatched the parti-coloured forms of the dogs glancing among thebrushwood opposite, and an occasional red coat gleaming out throughthe hedge above. Just then the cry ceased, the dogs became silent, and scattered hither and thither bewildered. Ulick looked eagerly, then suddenly vaulted over the gate, went forward a few steps, lookedagain, pointed towards some dark object which she could barelydiscern, put his finger in his ear, and uttered an unearthly screech, incomprehensible to her, but well understood by the huntsman, andthrough him by the dogs, which at once simultaneously dashed in onedirection, and came pouring into the meadow over towards him, downwent their heads, up went their curved tails, the clatter and rushingof hoofs, and the apparition of red coats, showed the hunters allgoing round the copse, while at the same moment, away with wingedsteps bounded her companion, flying headlong like the wind, so as tomeet the hunt. 

 'Ask me not what the lady feels, Left in that dreadful hour alone, '

laughed Albinia to herself. 'Well done, speed! Edmund might besatisfied there's not much amiss! Through the hedge--over themeadow--a flying leap over the stream--it is more like a bird than aman--up again. Does he mean to follow the hunt all the rest of theway? Rather Irish, I must say! And I do believe they will all comedown this lane! I must walk on; it wont do to be overtaken herebetween these high hedges. Ah! I thought he was too much of agentleman to leave me--here he comes. How much in his way I must be!I never saw such a runner; not a bit does he slacken for the hill--andwhat bright cheeks and eyes! What good it must have done him!'

'I beg ten thousand pardons!' cried he, as he came up, scarcely outof breath. 'I declare I forgot you, I could not help it, when I sawthem at a check !'

'You feel for the hunter as I do for the fox, ' said Albinia. 'Isyours one of the great hunting neighbourhoods?'

'That it is!' he cried. 'My grandfather had the grand stud! He andhis seven sons were out three times in the week, and there was amount for whoever wanted it!'

'And this generation is not behind the last?'

'Ah! and why would it be?' exclaimed the boy, the last remnant ofEnglish pronunciation forsaking him. 'My Uncle Connel has the bestmare on this side the bridge of Athlone! I mean that side. '

'And how is it with you?' asked Albinia. 

'We've got no horses--that is, except my father's mare, and the colt, and Fir Darrig--the swish-tailed pony--and the blind donkey thatbrings in the turf. So we younger ones mostly go hunting on foot;and after all I believe that's the best sport. Bryan always comes inbefore any of the horses, and we all think it a shame if we don't!'

'I see where you learnt the swiftness of foot that was so useful lastJuly, ' said Albinia. 

'That? oh! but Bryan would have been up long before me, ' said Ulick. 'He'd have made for the lock, not the gate! You should see whatsport we have when the fox takes to the Corrig Dearg up among therocks--and little Rosie upon Fir Darrig, with her hair upon the wind, and her colour like the morning cloud, glancing in and out among therocks like the fairy of the glen. There are those that think her thebest part of the hunt; they say the English officers at Ochlochtimorewould never think it worth coming out but for her. I don't believethat, you know, ' he added, laughing, 'though I like to fetch a riseout of Ulick at the great house by telling him of it. '

'How old is she?'

'Fifteen last April, and she is like an April wind, when it comeswarm and frolicking over the sea! So wild and free, and yet sogentle and soft! Ellen and Mary are grave and steady, and work hard--every stitch of my stockings was poor Mary's knitting, except whatpoor old Peggy would send up for a compliment; but Rosie--I don'tthink she does a thing but sing, and ride, and row the boat, and keepthe house alive! My mother shakes her head, but I don't know whatshe'll say when she gets my aunt's letter. My Aunt Goldsmith pursesup her lips, and says, "I'll write to advise my sister to send herdaughters to some good school. " Ellen, maybe, might bear one, butah! the thought of little Rosie in a good school!'

'Like her brother Ulick in a good bank, eh?'

'Why, ' he cried, 'they always called me the steady Englishman!'

Albinia laughed, but at that moment the sounds of the hunt againoccupied them, and all were interpreted by Ulick with the keenestinterest, but he would not run away again, though she exhorted himnot to regard her. Presently it swept on out of hearing, and by-and-byethey reached the summit of the hill, and looked forth on the darkpine plantations on the opposite undulation, standing out in blackrelief against a sky golden with a pale, pure, pearly November sunset, a 'daffodil sky' flecked with tiny fleeces of soft bright-yellow light, reminding Albinia of Fouque's beautiful dream of Aslauga's goldenhair showing the gates of Heaven to her devoted knight. She lookedfor her companion's sympathy in her admiration, but the woods seemedto oppress him, and his panting sigh showed how real a thing was _he-men_. 

'Oh! my poor sun!' he broke out, 'I pity you for having to go downbefore your time into these black, stifling woods that rise up tosmother you like giants--and not into your own broad, cool Atlantic, laughing up your own sparkles of light. '

'We inland people can hardly appreciate your longing for space. '

'It's a very prison, ' said Ulick; 'the horizon is choked all round, and one can't breathe in these staid stiff hedges and enclosures!'And he threw out his arms and flapped them over his breast with agesture of constraint. 

'You seem no friend to cultivation. '

'Why, your meadows would be pretty things if they were a littlegreener, ' said Ulick; 'but one gets tired of them, and of thosestraight lines of ploughed field. There's no sense of liberty; it islike the man whose prison walls closed in upon him!' And he gaveanother weary sigh, his step lost elasticity, and he moved onheavily. 

'You are tired; I have brought you too far. '

'Tired by a bit of a step like this?' cried the boy, disdainfully, ashe straightened himself, and resumed his brisk tread. But it did notlast. 

'I had forgotten that you had not been well, ' she said. 

'Pshaw!' muttered Ulick; then resumed, 'Aye, Mr. Kendal brought inthe doctor upon me--very kind of him--but I do assure you 'tisnothing but home sickness; I was nearly as bad when I went to St. Columba, but I got over it then, and I will again!'

'It may be so in part, ' said Albinia, kindly; 'but let me beimpertinent, Ulick, for my sister Winifred told me to look after you;surely you give it every provocation. Such a change of habits isenough to make any one ill. Should you not ask your uncle for aholiday, and go home for a little while?'

'Don't name it, I beg of you, ' cried the poor lad in an agitatedvoice, 'it would only bring it all over again! I've promised mymother to do my part, and with His help I _will_! Let the columnsrun out to all eternity, and the figures crook themselves asspitefully as they will, I've vowed to myself not to stir till I'vegot the better of the villains!'

'Ah!' said Albinia, 'they have blackened your eyes like the bruisesof material antagonists! Yes, it is a gallant battle, but indeed youmust give yourself all the help you can, for it would be doing yourmother no good to fall ill. '

'I've no fears, ' said Ulick; 'I know very well what is the matterwith me, and that if I don't give way, it will go off in time. You've given it a good shove with your kindness, Mrs. Kendal, ' headded, with deep emotion in his sensitive voice; 'only you must nottalk of my going home, or you'll undo all you have done. '

'Then I won't; we must try to make you a home here. And in the firstplace, those lodgings of yours; you can never be comfortable inthem. '

'Ah! you saw my fire smoking. I never shall learn to make a coalfire burn. '

'Not only that, ' said Albinia, 'but you might easily find rooms muchbetter furnished, and fitter for you. '

'I do assure you, ' exclaimed Ulick, 'you scarcely saw it! Why, Idon't think there's a room at the big house in better order, or sogood!'

'At least, ' said Albinia, repressing her deduction as to the bighouse of Ballymakilty, 'you have no particular love for thelocality--the river smell--the stock of good leather, &c. '

'It's all Bayford and town smell together, ' said Ulick; 'I neverthought one part worse than another, begging your pardon, Mrs. Kendal. '

'And I am sure, ' she continued, 'that woman can never make your mealscomfortable. Yes, I see I am right, and I assure you hard head-workneeds good living, and you will never be a match for the rogues inblack and white without good beef-steaks. Now confess whether shegives you dinners of old shoe-leather. '

'A man can't sit down to dinner by himself, ' cried Ulick, impatiently. 'Tea with a book are all that is bearable. '

'And you never go out--never see any one. '

'I dine at my uncle's every Sunday, ' said Ulick. 

'Is that all the variety you have?'

'Why, my uncle told me he would not have me getting into what hecalls idle company. I've dined once at the vicarage, and drunk teatwice with Mr. Hope, but it is no use thinking of it--I couldn'tafford it, and that's the truth. '

'Have you any books? What can you find to do all the evening?'

'I have a few that bear reading pretty often, and Mr. Hope as lent mesome. I've been trying to keep up my Greek, and then I do believethere's some way of simplifying those accounts by logarithms, if Icould but work it out. But my mother told me to walk, and I assureyou I do take a constitutional as soon as I come out at half-pastfour every day. '

'Well, I have designs, and mind you don't traverse them, or I shallhave to report you at home. I have a lodging in my eye for you, awayfrom the river, and a nice clean, tidy Irishwoman to keep you inorder, make your fires, and cram you, if you wont eat, and see if shedoes not make a man of you--'

'Stop, stop, Mrs. Kendal!' cried Ulick, distressed. 'You are verykind, but it can't be. '

'Excuse me, it is economy of the wrong sort to live in a gutter, andcatch agues and fevers. Only think, if it was my boy Gilbert, shouldI not be obliged to any one that would tyrannize over him for hisgood! Besides, what I propose is not at all beyond such means as Mr. Kendal tells me are the least Mr. Goldsmith ought to give you. Doyou dislike going into particulars with me? You know I am used tothink for Gilbert, and I am a sort of cousin. '

'You are kindness itself, ' said Ulick; 'and there! I suppose I mustgo to the bottom of it, and it is no news that pence are not plentyamong the O'Mores, though it is no fault of my uncle. See there whatmy poor dear mother says. '

He drew a letter from his pocket, and gave a page to her. 

'I miss you sorely, my boy, ' it said; 'I know the more what a supportand friend you have been to me now that you are so far away; but allis made up to me in knowing you to be among my own people, and theinstrument of reconciliation with my brother, as you well know howgreat has been the pain of the estrangement caused by my own prideand wilfulness. I cannot tell you how glad I am that he approves ofyou, and that you are beginning to get used to the work that was myown poor father's for so long. Bred up as you have been, my mountainlad, I scarcely dared to hope that you would be able to sit downquietly to it, with all our hopes of making you a scholar so suddenlyfrustrated; but I might have put faith in your loving heart and senseof duty to carry you through anything. I feel as if a load were offmy mind since you and Bryan are so happily launched. The boy has notonce applied for money since he joined; and if you write to him, praybeg him to be careful, for it would well-nigh drive your father madto be pressed any more--the poor mare has been sold at a dead lossand the Carrick-humbug quarry company pays no dividends, so how weare to meet the Christmas bills I cannot guess. But, as youremember, we have won over worse times, and now Providence has beenso good to you and Bryan, what have I to do but be thankful and hopethe best. '

Ulick watched her face, and gave her another note, saying mournfully, 'You see they all, but my mother, think, that if I am dragging ourfamily honour through the mire, I've got something by it. PoorBryan, he knows no better--he's younger than me by two years. '

The young ensign made a piteous confession of the first debt he hadbeen able to contract, for twenty pounds, with a promise that if hisbrother would help him out of this one scrape, he would never runinto another. 

'I am very sorry for you, Ulick, ' said Albinia, 'and I hate to adviseyou to be selfish, but it really is quite impossible for you to bepaymaster for all your brothers' debts. '

'If it were Connel, I know it would be of no use, ' said Ulick. 'ButBryan--you see he has got a start--they gave him a commission, and heis the finest fellow of us all, and knows what his word is, and keepsit! Maybe, if I get on, I may be able to save, and help him to hisnext step, and then if Redmond could get to college, my mother wouldbe a happy woman, and all thanks to my uncle. '

'Then it is this twenty pounds that is pinching you now? Is thatit?'

'You see my uncle said he would give me enough to keep me as agentleman and his nephew, but not enough to keep all the family, ashe said. After my Christmas quarter I shall be up in the worldagain, and then there will be time to think of the woman you spokeof--a Connaught woman, did you say?'

When Albinia reported this dialogue to her husband, he was much movedby this simple self-abnegation. 

'There is nothing for it, ' he said, 'but to bring him here tillChristmas, and by that time we will take care that the new lodgingsare cheap enough for him. He must not be left to the mercy of oldGoldsmith and his sister!'

Even Albinia was astonished, but Mr. Kendal carried out hisintentions, and went in quest of his new friend; while no one thoughtof objecting except grandmamma. 

'I suppose, my dear, ' she said, 'that you know what Mr. Goldsmithmeans to do for this young man. '

'I am sure I don't, ' said Albinia. 

'Really! Ah! well, I'm an old woman, and I may be wrong, but my poordear Mr. Meadows would never encourage a banker's clerk about thehouse unless he knew what were his expectations. Irish too! Ifthere was a thing Mr. Meadows disliked more than another, it was anIrishman! He said they were all adventurers. '

However, Ulick's first evening at Willow Lawn was on what he called'a headache day. ' He could not have taken a better measure forovercoming grandmamma's objections. Poor dear Mr. Meadows' worldlywisdom was not sufficiently native to her to withstand the sight ofanything so pale and suffering, especially as he did not rebelagainst answering her close examination, which concluded in herpronouncing these intermitting attacks to be agueish, and prescribingquinine. To take medicines is an effectual way of gaining an oldlady's love. Ulick was soon established in her mind as 'a verypretty behaved young gentleman. '

In the evenings, when Mr. Kendal read aloud, Ulick listened, andenjoyed it from the corner where he sheltered his eyes from thelight. He was told that he ought to go to bed quickly, but after theladies were in their rooms, a long buzzing murmur was heard in thepassage, and judicious peeping revealed the two gentlemen, each, candle in hand, the one with his back against the wall at the top ofthe stairs, the other leaning upon the balusters three steps below, and there they stayed, till the clock struck one, and Ulick's candleburnt out. 

'What could you be talking about?' asked the aggrieved Albinia. 

'Prometheus Vinctus, ' composedly returned Mr. Kendal. 

Ulick's eagerness in collecting every crumb of scholarship was agreat bond of union; but there was still more in the bright, open, demonstrative nature of the youth, which had a great attraction forthe reserved, serious Mr. Kendal, and scarcely a day had passedbefore they were on terms of intimacy, almost like an elder andyounger brother. Admitted into the family as a connexion, Ulick atonce viewed the girls as cousins, and treated them with the same easygrace of good-natured familiarity as if they had been any of thenineteen Miss O'Mores around Ballymakilty. 

'How is your head now?' asked Mr. Kendal. 'You are late thisevening. '

'Yes, ' said Ulick, entering the drawing-room, which was ruddy withfirelight, and fragrant with the breath of the conservatory, andleaning over an arm-chair, as he tried to rub the aching out of hisbrow; 'there were some accounts to finish up and my additions cameout different every time. '

'A sure sign that you ought to have left off. '

'I was just going to have told my uncle I was good for nothing to-day, when I heard old Johns mumbling something to him about Mr. Morebeing unwell, and looking up, I saw that cold grey eye twinkling atme, as much as to say he was proud to see how soon an Irishman couldbe beaten. So what could I do but give him look for look, and go onwith eight and seven, and five and two, as unconcerned as he was. '

'Well, ' said Mr. Kendal, 'you know I think that your uncle's apparentindifference may be his fashion of being your best friend. '

'I'd take it like sunshine in May from a stranger, and be proud todisappoint him, ' said Ulick, 'but to call himself my uncle, and usemy mother's own eyes to look at me that way, that's the stroke! andto think that I'm only striving to harden myself by force of habit tobe exactly like him! I'd rather enlist to-morrow, if that would notbe his greatest triumph!' he cried, pressing his hands hard on histemple. 'It is very childish, but I could forgive him anything butusing my mother's eyes that way!'

'You will yet rejoice in the likeness, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'You mustbelieve in more than you can trace, and when your perseverance hasconquered his esteem, the rest will follow. '

'Follow? The rest, as you call it, would go before at home, ' sighedUlick, wearily. 'Esteem is like fame! what I want begins without it, and lives as well with or without it!'

'Perhaps, ' said his friend, 'Mr. Goldsmith would think it weakness toshow preference to a relation before it was earned. '

'Ah then, ' cried Ulick, in a quaint Irish tone, 'Heaven have mercy onthe little children!'

'Yes, the doctrine can only be consistently held by a solitary man. '

'Where would we be but for inconsistency?' exclaimed Ulick. 

'I do not like to hear you talk in that manner, ' said Sophy. 'Inconsistency is mere weakness. '

'Ah! then you are the dangerous character, ' said Ulick, with a drollgesture of sheltering himself behind the chair. 

'I did not call myself consistent, I wish I were, ' she said, gravely. 

'How she must love the French!' returned Ulick, confidentiallyturning to her father. 

'Not at all, I detest them. '

'Then you are inconsistent, for they're the very models ofuncompromising consistency. '

'Yes, to bad principles, ' said Sophy. 

'Robespierre was a prime specimen of consistency to good principle!'

Sophy turned to her father, and with an odd dubious look, asked him, 'Is be teasing me?'

'He'd be proud to have the honour, ' Ulick made answer, so that Mr. Kendal's smile grew broad. It was the funniest thing to see Ulicksporting with Sophy's gravity, constraining her to playfulness, withsomething of the compulsion exercised by a large frolicsome puppyupon a sober old dog of less size and strength. 

'I do not like to see powers wasted on paradox, ' she said, even asthe grave senior might roll up his lip and snarl. 

'I'm in earnest, Sophy, ' pursued Ulick, changing his note toeagerness. 'La grande nation herself finds that logic was her bane. Consistency was never made for man! Why where would this world be ifit did not go two ways at once?'

Sophy did laugh at this Irish version of the centripetal andcentrifugal forces, but she held out. 'The earth describes a circle;I like straight lines. '

'Much we shall have of the right direction, unless we are content toturn right about face, ' said Ulick. 'The best path of life is but aherring-bone pattern. '

'What does he know of herring-boning?' asked Mrs. Kendal, coming inat the moment, with a white cashmere cloak folded picturesquely overher delicate blue silk. Ulick in a moment assumed a less carelessattitude, as he answered--

'I found my poetical illustration on the motion of the earth too muchfor her, so I descended to the herring-bone as more suited to hercapacity. '

'There he is, mamma, ' said Sophy, 'pleading that consistency is themost ruinous thing in the world. '

'I thought as much, ' said Albinia. 'Prometheus and his kin do mostabound when Ulick's head is worst, and papa is in greatest danger ofbeing late. '

Mr. Kendal turned round, looked at the time-piece, and marched off. 

'But mamma!' continued Sophy, driving straight at her point, 'what doyou think of consistency?'

'Oh, mamma!' cried Lucy, coming into the room in a flutter of white;'there you are in your beautiful blue! Have you really put it on forthe Drurys?'

Sophy bit her lip, neither pleased at the interruption, nor at thetaste. 

'Have you a graduated scale of dresses for all your friends, Lucy?asked Ulick. 

'Everybody has, I suppose, ' said Lucy. 

'Ah! then I shall know how to judge how I stand in your favour. Inever knew so well what the garb of friendship meant. '

'You must know which way her scale goes, ' said Albinia, laughing atSophy's evident affront at the frivolous turn the conversation hadtaken. 

'That needs no asking, ' quoth Ulick, 'Unadorned, adorned the most forthe nearest the hearth. '

'That's all conceit, ' said Lucy. 'Maybe familiarity breedscontempt. '

'No, no, when young ladies despise, they use a precision that says, "'Tis myself I care for, and not you. "'

'What an observer!' cried Lucy. 'Now then, interpret my dress to-night!'

'How can you, Lucy!' muttered the scandalized Sophy. 

'Well, Sophy, as you will have him to torment with philosophy thiswhole evening, I think you might give him a little respite, ' saidLucy, good-humouredly. 'I want to know what my dress reveals tohim!' and drawing up her head, where two coral pins contrasted withher dark braids, and spreading out her full white skirts and cerisetrimmings, she threw her figure into an attitude, and darted a merrychallenge from her lively black eyes, while Ulick availed himself ofthe permission to look critically, and Sophy sank back disgusted. 

'Miss Kendal can, when she is inclined, produce as much effect withher beams of the second order as with all her splendours displayed. '

'Stuff, ' said Lucy. 

'Stuff indeed, ' more sincerely murmured Sophy. 

'Say something in earnest, ' said Lucy. 'You professed to tell what Ithought of the people. '

'I hope you'll never put on such new white gloves where I'm the partychiefly concerned. '

'What do you mean?'

'They are a great deal too unexceptionable. '

If there were something coquettish in the manner of these two, it didnot give Albinia much concern. It was in him 'only Irish;' and FredFerrars had made her believe that it was rather a sign of the absenceof love than of its presence. She saw much more respect and interestin his mischievous attacks on Sophy's gravity, and though Lucy bothpitied him and liked chattering with him, it was all the while underthe secret protest that he was only a banker's clerk. 

Sophy was glad of the presence of a third person to obviate theperils of her evenings with grandmamma, and she beheld the trio setoff to their dinner-party, without the usual dread of being betrayedinto wrangling. Mr. O'More devoted himself to the old lady'sentertainment, he amused her with droll stories, and playedbackgammon with her. Then she composed herself to her knitting, anddesired them not to mind her, she liked to hear young people talkcheerfully; whereupon Sophy, by way of light and cheerfulconversation, renewed the battle of consistency with a wholebroadside of heavy metal. 

When the diners-out came home, they found the war raging as hotly asever; a great many historical facts and wise sayings having beenfired off on both sides, and neither having found out that each meantthe same thing. 

However, the hours had gone imperceptibly past them, which could notbe said for the others. The half-yearly dinners at Mr. Drury's wereAlbinia's dread nearly as much as Mr. Kendal's aversion. He wascertain, whatever he might intend, to fall into a fit of absence, andshe was almost equally sure to hear something unpleasant, and toregret her own reply. On the whole, however, Mr. Kendal came away onthis evening the least dissatisfied, for Mr. Goldsmith had asked himwith some solicitude, whether he thought 'that lad, young More, 'positively unwell; and had gone the length of expressing that heseemed to be fairly sharp, and stuck to his work. Mr. Kendal seizedthe moment for telling his opinion, of Ulick, and though Mr. Goldsmith coughed and looked dry and almost contemptuous, he wasperceptibly gratified, and replied with a maxim evidently intendedboth as an excuse for himself and as a warning to the Kendals, thatyoung men were always spoilt by being made too much of--in hisyounger days--&c. 

Lucy, meantime, was undergoing the broad banter of her unrefinedcousins on the subject of the Irish clerk. A very little grace inthe perpetration would have made it grateful to her vanity, but thiswas far too broad raillery, and made her hold up her head withprotestations of her perfect indifference, to which her cousinsmanifested incredulity, visiting on her with some petty spite theirsmall jealousies of her higher pretensions, and of the attentionwhich had been paid to her by Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy. 

'Not that he will ever look at you again, Lucy, you need not flatteryourself, ' said the amiable Sarah Anne. 'Harry Wolfe writes that hewas flirting with a beautiful young lady who came to see Oxford, andthat he is spending quantities of money. '

'It is nothing to me, I am sure, ' retorted Lucy. 'Besides, Gilbertsays no such thing. '

'Gilbert! oh, no!' exclaimed Miss Drury; 'why, he is just as badhimself. Papa said, from what Mrs. Wolfe told him, he would not take500 pounds to pay Mr. Gilbert's bills. '

Albinia had been hearing much the same story from Mrs. Drury, thoughnot so much exaggerated, and administered with more condolence. Shedid not absolutely believe, and yet she could not utterly disbelieve, so the result was a letter to Gilbert, with an anxious exhortation tobe careful, and not to be deluded into foolish expenditure inimitation of the Polysyllable; and as no special answer was returned, she dismissed the whole from her mind as a Drury allegation. 

The horse chanced to be lame, so that Gilbert could not be met atHadminster on his return from Oxford, but much earlier than theomnibus usually lumbered into Bayford, he astonished Sophy, who waslying on the sofa in the morning-room, by marching in with a free andeasy step, and a loose coat of the most novel device. 

'No one else at home?' he asked. 

'Only grandmamma. We did not think the omnibus would come in sosoon, but I suppose you took a fly, as there were three of you. '

'As if we were going to stand six miles of bus with the Wolfe cub!No, Dusautoy brought his horse down with him, and I took a fly!' saidGilbert. 'Well, and what's the matter with Captain; has the Irishmanbeen riding him?'

Sophy bit her lip to prevent an angry answer, and was glad thatMaurice rushed in, fall of uproarious joy. 'Hollo! boy, how yougrow! What have you got there?'

'It's my new pop-gun, that Ulick made me, I'll shoot you, ' criedMaurice, retiring to a suitable distance. 

'I declare the child has caught the brogue! Is the fellow herestill?'

'What fellow?' coldly asked Sophy. 

'Why, this pet of my father's. '

'Bang!' cried Maurice, and a pellet passed perilously close toGilbert's eyes. 

'Don't, child. Pray is this banker's clerk one of our fixtures, Sophy?'

'I don't know why you despise him, unless it is because it is whatyou ought to be yourself, ' Sophy was provoked into retorting. 

'Apparently my father has a monomania for the article. ' Gilbertintended to speak with provoking coolness; but another fraternalpellet hit him fall in the nose, and the accompanying shout of gleewas too much for an already irritated temper. With passion mostunusual in him, he caught hold of the child, and exclaiming, 'Youlittle imp, what do you mean by it?' he wrenched the weapon out ofhis hand, and dashed it into the fire, in the midst of an energetic'For shame!' from his sister. Maurice, with a furious 'NaughtyGilbert, ' struck at him with both his little fists clenched, and thenprecipitated himself over the fender to snatch his treasure from thegrate, but was instantly captured and pulled back, struggling, kicking, and fighting with all his might, till, to the equal reliefof both brothers, Sophy held up the pop-gun in the tongs, one endstill tinged with a red glow, smoky, blackened, and perfumed. Maurice made one bound, she lowered it into his grasp as the last redspark died out, and he clasped it as Siegfried did the magic sword!

'There, Maurice, I didn't mean it, ' said Gilbert, heartily ashamedand sorry; 'kiss and make it up, and then put on your hat, and we'llcome up to old Smith's and get such a jolly one!'

The forgiving child had already given the kiss, glad to atone for hisaggressions, but then was absorbed in rubbing the charred wood, amazed that while so much black came off on his fingers, the effecton the weapon was not proportionate, and then tried another shot in asafer direction. 'Come, ' said Gilbert, 'put that black affair intothe fire, and come along. '

'No!' said Maurice; 'it is my dear gun that Ulick made me, and itshan't be burnt. '

'What, not if I give you a famous one--like a real one, with a stockand barrel?' said Gilbert, anxious to be freed from the tokens of hisebullition. 

'No! no!' still stoutly said the constant Maurice. 'I don't want newguns; I've got my dear old one, and I'll keep him to the end of hisdays and mine!' and he crossed his arms over it. 

'That's right, Maurice, ' said Sophy; 'stick to old friends that haveborne wounds in your service!'

'Well, it's his concern if he likes such a trumpery old thing, ' saidGilbert. 'Come here, boy; you don't bear malice! Come and have aride on my back. '

The practical lesson, 'don't shoot at your brother's nose, ' wouldnever have been impressed, had not mamma, on coming in, found Mauriceand his pop-gun nearly equally black, and by gradual unfolding ofcause and effect, learnt his forgotten offence. She reminded him ofancient promises never to aim at human creatures, assured him thatGilbert was very kind not to have burnt it outright; and to the greatdispleasure, and temporary relief of all the family, sequestrated theweapon for the rest of the evening. 

Sophy told her in confidence that Gilbert had been the most to blame, which she took as merely an instance of Sophy's blindness toMaurice's errors; for the explosion had so completely worked off theOxford dash, that he was perfectly meek and amiable. Considering theantecedents, such a contrast to himself as young O'More could hardlyfail to be an eyesore, walking tame about the home, and speciallyrecommended to his friendship; but so good-natured was he, and soattractive was the Irishman, that it took much influence fromAlgernon Dusautoy to keep up a thriving aversion. Albinia marvelledat the power exercised over Gilbert by one whose intellect andpretensions he openly contemned, but perceived that obstinacy andundoubting self-satisfaction overmastered his superior intelligenceand principle, and that while perceiving all the follies of thePolysyllable, Gilbert had a strange propensity for his company, andtherein always resumed the fast man, disdainful of the clerk. He didnot like Ulick better for being the immediate cause of the removal ofthe last traces of the Belmarche family from their old abode, whichhad been renovated by pretty shamrock chintz furniture, the pride ofthe two Irish hearts. Indeed it was to be feared that Bridget wouldassist in the perpetuation of those rolling R's which caused Mr. Goldsmith's brow to contract whenever his nephew careered along uponone. 

His departure from Willow Lawn was to take place at Christmas. TheFerrars party were coming to keep the two consecutive birthdays ofSophy and Maurice at Bayford, would take him back for Christmas-dayto Fairmead, and on his return he would take possession of his newrooms. 

Maurice's fete was to serve as the occasion of paying off civilitiesto a miscellaneous young party; but as grandmamma's feelings wouldhave been hurt, had not Sophy's been equally distinguished, it wasarranged that Mrs. Nugent should then bring her eldest girl to meetthe Ferrarses at an early tea. 

Just as Albinia had descended to await her guests, Gilbert came down, and presently said, with would-be indifference, 'Oh, by-the-by, Dusautoy said he would look in. '

'The Polysyllable!' cried Albinia, thunderstruck; 'what possessed youto ask him, when you knew I sacrificed Mr. Dusautoy rather than havehim to spoil it all?'

'I didn't ask him exactly, ' replied Gilbert; 'it was old Bowles, whomet us, and tried to nail us to eat our mutton with him, as he calledit. I had my answer, and Dusautoy got off by saying he was engagedto us, and desired me to tell you he would make his excuses inperson. '

'He can make no excuse for downright falsehood. '

'Hem!' quoth Gilbert. 'You wouldn't have him done into drinking oldBowles's surgery champagne. '

'One comfort is that he wont get any dinner, ' said Albinia, vindictively. 'I hope he'll be ravenously hungry. '

'He may not come after all, ' said Gilbert; and Albinia, laying holdof that hope, had nearly forgotten the threatened disaster, as herparty appeared by instalments, and Winifred owned to her that Sophyhad grown better-looking than could have been expected. Her eyes hadbrightened, the cloudy brown of her cheeks was enlivened, she heldherself better, and the less childish dress was much to heradvantage. But above all, the moody look of suffering was gone, andher face had something of the grave sweetness and regular beauty ofthat of her father. 

'Seventeen, ' said Mrs. Ferrars; 'by the time she is seventy, she maybe a remarkably handsome woman!'

The tea-drinking was in lively operation, when after a thunderingknock, Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy was ushered in, with the air of aprince honouring the banquet of his vassals, saying, 'I told Kendal Ishould presume on your hospitality, I beg you will make no differenceon my account. '

Of which gracious permission Albinia was resolved to avail herself. She left all the insincerity to her husband, and would by no meansallow grandmamma to abdicate the warm corner. She suspected that hewanted an introduction to Mrs. Nugent, and was resolved to defeatthis object, unless he should condescend to make the request, so shewas well satisfied to see him wedged in between papa and Sophy, whilea prodigious quantity of Irish talk was going on between Mrs. Nugentand Mr. O'More, with contributions of satire from Mr. Ferrars whichkept every one laughing except little Nora Nugent and Mary Ferrars, who were deep in the preliminaries of an eternal friendship, and heldthe ends of each other's crackers like a pair of doves. Lucy, however, was ill at ease at the obscurity which shrouded theillustrious guest, and in her anxiety, gave so little attention toher two neighbours, that Willie Ferrars, affronted at some neglect, exclaimed, 'Why, Lucy, what makes you screw your eyes about so! youcan't attend to any one. '

'It is because Polly Silly is there, ' shouted Master Maurice from histhrone beside his mamma. 

To the infinite relief of the half-choked Albinia, little MaryFerrars, with whom her cousin had been carrying on a direful warfareall day, fitted on the cap, shook her head gravely at him, and afteran appealing look of indignation, first at his mamma, then at herown, was overheard confiding to Nora Nugent that Maurice was a verynaughty boy--she was sorry to say, a regular spoilt child. 

'But how should you hinder Miss Kendal from attending?'

'I'll tell you, darling. Poor Lucy! she is very fond of me, and Idare say she wanted me to sit next to her, but you know she will haveme for three days, and I have you only this one evening. I'll go andspeak to her after tea, when we go into the drawing-room, and thenshe wont mind. '

Lucy, after an agony of blushes, had somewhat recovered on findingthat no one seemed to apply her brother's speech, and when thebenevolent Mary made her way to her, and thrust a hand into hers, only a feeble pressure replied to these romantic blandishments, soanxious was she to carry to Mrs. Kendal the information that Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy had been so obliging as to desire his servant tobring his guitar and key-bugle. 

'We are much obliged, ' said Albinia, 'but look at that face!' and sheturned Lucy towards Willie's open-mouthed, dismayed countenance. Youmust tell him the company are not sufficiently advanced in musicalscience. '

'But mamma, it would gratify him!'

'Very likely'--and without listening further, Albinia turned toWillie, who had all day been insisting that papa should introduce herto the new game of the Showman. 

Infinitely delighted to be relieved from the fear of the guitar, Willie hunted all who would play into another room; whence they wereto be summoned, one by one, back to the drawing-room by the showman, Mr. Ferrars, who shrugged his shoulders at the task, but undertookit, and first called for Mrs. Kendal. 

She found him stationed before the red curtains, which were closelydrawn, and her husband and the three elder ladies sitting by asaudience. 

'Pray, madam, may I ask what animal you would desire to haveexhibited to you, out of the vast resources that my menageriecontains. Choose freely, I undertake that whatever you may select, you shall not be disappointed. '

'What, not if I were to ask for a black spider monkey?' said Albinia, to whom it was very charming to be playing with Maurice again. 

Mr. Kendal looked up in entertained curiosity, Mrs. Nugent smiled asif she thought the showman's task impossible, and Winifred stretchedout to gain a full view. 

'A black spider monkey, ' he said, slowly. 'Allow me to ask, madam, if you are acquainted with the character of the beast?'

'It doesn't scratch, does it?' said she, quickly. 

'That is for you to answer. '

'I never knew it do so. It does chatter a great deal, but it neverscratched that I knew of. '

'Nor I, ' said the showman, 'since it was young. Do you think agerenders it graver and steadier?'

'Not a bit. It is always frisky and troublesome, and I never knew itget a bit better as it grew older. '

Winifred laughed outright. Mr. Kendal's lips were parted by hissmile. 'I wonder what sort of a mother it would make?' said theshowman. 

'All animals are good mothers, of course. '

'I meant, is it a good disciplinarian?'

'If you mean cuffing its young one for playing exactly the sametricks as itself. '

'Exactly; and what would be the effect of letting it and its youngone loose in a great scholar's study?'

'There wouldn't be much study left. '

'And would it be for his good?'

'Really, Mr. Showman, you ask very odd questions. Shall we try?'said Albinia, with a skip backward, so as to lay her hand on theshoulder of her own great scholar, while the showman drew back thecurtain, observing--'I wish, ma'am, I could show "it and its youngone" together, but the young specimen is unfortunately asleep. Behold the original black spider monkey!'

There stood the monkey, with sunny brown locks round the laughingglowing face, and one white paw still lying on the scholar'sshoulder--while his face made no assurance needful that it was verygood for him! The mirror concealed behind the curtains was themenagerie! Albinia clapped her hands with delight, and pronounced itthe most perfect of games. 

'And now let us have Willie, ' said Mrs. Ferrars; 'it will conduce tothe harmony of the next room. '

Willie, already initiated, hoped to puzzle papa as a platypusornithoryncus, but was driven to allow that it was a nondescriptanimal, neither fish, flesh, nor good red-herring, useless, and veryfond of grubbing in the mud; and if it were not at Botany Bay, itought to be! The laughter that hailed his defence of its nose as'well, nothing particular, ' precipitated the drawing up of thecurtain and his apparition in the glass: and then Nora Nugent beingcalled, the inseparable Mary accompanied her, arm-in-arm, simperingan announcement that they liked nothing so well as a pair of dearlittle love-birds. 

Oh, unpitying papa! to draw from the unsuspicious Nora the admissionthat they were very dull little birds, of no shape at all, who alwayssat hunched up in a corner without any fun, and people said theirlove was all stupidity and pretence; in fact, if she had one sheshould call it Silly Polly or Polly Silly!

To silence Willie's exultation in his sister's discomfiture, he wassent to fetch Lucy, whose impersonation of an argus pheasant wouldnot have answered well but for a suggestion of Albinia, that she waseyes all over for any delinquency in school. Ulick O'More, owningwith a sigh that he should like to see no beast better than a snipe, gave rise to much ingenuity by being led to describe it as of a classmigratory, hard to catch, food for powder, given to long bills. There he guessed something, and stood on the defensive, but could notdeny that its element was bogs, but that it had been seen skimmingover water meadows, and finding sustenance in banks, whereupon thecurtain rose. Ulick rushed upon the battles of his nation, and wasonly reduced to quiescence by the entrance of Sophy, who expressed adesire to see a coral worm, apparently perplexing the showman, who, to gain time, hemmed, and said, 'A very unusual species, ma'am, 'which set all the younger ones in a double giggle, such as confusedSophy, to find herself standing up, with every one looking at her, and listening for her words. 'I thought you undertook for anyimpossibility in earth air or water. '

'Well, ma'am, do you take me for a mere mountebank? But when ladiesand gentlemen take such unusual fancies--and for an animal that--youwould not aver that it is often found from home?'

'Never, I should say. '

'Nor that it is accessible?'

'Certainly not. '

'And why is it so, ma'am?'

'Why, ' said Sophy, bewildered into forgetting her natural history, 'it lives at the bottom of the sea; that's one thing. '

'Where Truth lives, ' said a voice behind. 

'I beg to differ, ' observed Albinia. 'Truth is a fresh water fish atthe bottom of a well; besides, I thought coral worms were alwaysclose to the surface. '

'But below it--not in everybody's view, ' said Sophy--an answer whichseemed much to the satisfaction of the audience, but the showmaninsisted on knowing why, and whether it did not conceal itself. 'Itmakes stony caves for itself, out of sight, ' said Sophy, almostdoubting whether she spoke correctly. 'Well, surely it does so. '

'Most surely, ' said an acclamation so general that she did not likeit. If she had been younger, she would have turned sulky upon thespot, and Mr. Ferrars almost doubted whether to bring ont his finalquery. 'Pray, ma'am, do you think this creature out of reach in itsself-made cave, at the bottom--no, below the surface of the sea, would be popular enough to repay the cost of procuring it. '

'Ah! that's too bad, ' burst out the Hibernian tones. 'Why, is notthe best of everything hidden away from the common eye? Out ofsight--stony cave--It is the secret worker that lays the true solidfoundation, raises the new realms, and forms the precious jewels. 'The torrent of r's was irresistible!

'Police! order!' cried the showman. 'An Irish mob has got in, andthere's an end of everything. ' So up went the curtain, and the polypappeared, becoming rapidly red coral as she perceived what theexhibition was, and why the politeness of the Green Isle revoltedfrom her proclaiming her own unpopularity. But all she did was toturn gruffly aside, and say, 'It is lucky there are no more ladies tocome, Mr. Showman, or the mob would turn everything to a compliment. '

Gilbert's curiosity was directed to the Laughing Jackass, and withtoo much truth he admitted that it took its tone from whatever itassociated with, and caught every note, from the song of the lark tothe bray of the donkey; then laughed good-humouredly when thecharacter was fitted upon himself. 

'That is all, is it not?' asked the showman. 'I may retire intoprivate life. '

'Oh no, ' cried Willie; 'you have forgotten Mr. Dusautoy. '

'I was afraid you had, ' said Lucy, 'or you could not have left him tothe last. '

'I am tempted to abdicate, ' said Mr. Ferrars. 

'No, ' Albinia said. 'He must have his share, and no one but you cando it. Where can he be? the pause becomes awful!'

'Willie is making suggestions, ' said Gilbert; 'his imagination wouldnever stretch farther than a lion. It's what he thinks himself andno mistake. '

'He is big enough to be the elephant, ' said little Mary. 

'The half-reasoning!' said Ulick, softly; 'and I can answer for histrunk, I saw it come off the omnibus. '

'Ladies and gentlemen, if you persist in such disorderly conduct, theexhibition will close, ' cried the showman, waving his wand as Willietrumpeted Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy in, and on the demand what animal hewanted to see, twitched him as Flibbertigibbet did the giant warder, and caused him to respond--'The Giraffe. '

'Has it not another name, sir? A short or a long one, more or lesssyllables!'

'Camelopard. A polysyllabic word, certainly, ' said Algernon, lookingwith a puzzled expression at the laughers behind; and almostimagining it possible that he could have made an error, he repeated, 'Camel-le-o-pard. Yes, it is a polysyllable'--as, indeed, he hadadded an unnecessary syllable. 

'Most assuredly, ' said the showman, looking daggers at hissuffocating sister. 'May I ask you to describe the creature?'

'Seventeen feet from the crown to the hoof, but falls off behind, 'said the accurate Mr. Dusautoy; 'beautiful tawny colour. '

'Nearly as good as a Lion, ' added Gilbert; but Algernon, fancying thegame was by way of giving useful instruction to the children, went onin full swing. 'Handsomely mottled with darker brown; a ruminatinganimal; so gentle that in spite of its size, none of my littlefriends need be alarmed at its vicinity. Inhabits the Africandeserts, but may be bred in more temperate latitudes. I myself sawan individual in the Jardin des Plantes, which was popularly saidnever to bend its neck to the ground, but I consider this a vulgardelusion, for on offering it food, it mildly inclined its head. '

'Let us hope the present specimen is equally condescending, ' said Mr. Ferrars. 

'Eh! what! I see myself!' said Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy, with a tone soinappreciably grand in mystification, that the showman had no choicebut to share the universal convulsion of laughter, while Willierolling on the floor with ecstasy, shouted, 'Yes, it is you that arethe thing with such a long name that it can't bend its head to theground!'

'But too good-natured to be annoyed at folly, ' said Mr. Ferrars, perceiving that it was no sport to him. 

'This is the way my mischievous uncle has served us all in turn, 'said Lucy, advancing; 'we have all been shown up, and there was mammaa monkey, and I an argus pheasant--'

'Ah! I see, ' said the gentleman. 'These are your rural pastimes ofthe season. Yes, I can take my share in good part, just as I havepelted the masks at the Carnival. '

'Even a giraffe can bend his head and do at Rome as Rome does, 'murmured Ulick. But instead of heeding the audacious Irishman, Algernon patronized the showman by thanks for his exhibition; andthen sitting down by Lucy, asked if he had ever told her of thetricks that he and il Principe Odorico Moretti used to play at Ems onthe old Baron Sprawlowsky, while Mr. Ferrars, leaning over hissister's chair, said aside, 'I beg your pardon, Albinia; I should nothave yielded to Willie. This "rural pastime" is only in season enfamille. '

'Never mind, it served him right. '

'It may have served him right, but had we the right to serve him?'

'I forgive your prudence for the sake of your folly. Could notOxford have lessened his pomposity?'

'It comes too late, ' said Maurice. 

Before Ulick went to bed his pen and ink had depicted the entirecaravan. The love-birds were pressed up together, with theindividual features of the two young ladies, and completely littleparrots; the snipe ran along the bars of the cage, looking exactlylike all the O'Mores. The monkey showed nothing but the hands, butone held Maurice, and the other was clenched as if to cuff him, andgrandest of all was, as in duty bound, Camelopardelis giraffa, thrownsomewhat backwards, with such a majestic form, such a stalkingattitude, loftily ruminating face, and legs so like the CavendishDusautoy's last new pair of trousers, that Albinia could not helpreserving it for the private delectation of his Aunt Fanny. 

'It and its young one, ' said Mr. Kendal, as he looked at herportrait; and the name delighted him so much, that he for some timeapplied it with a smile whenever his wife gave him cause to rememberhow much there was of the monkey in her composition. 

It was the merriest Christmas ever known at Willow Lawn, and thefirst time there had been anything of the atmosphere of family frolicand fun. The lighting up of Sophy was one great ingredient; hithertomirth had been merely endured by her, whereas now, improved healthand spirits had made her take her share, amuse others and be amused, and cease to be hurt by the jarring of chance words. Lucy was livelyas usual, but rather more excited than Albinia altogether liked; shewas doubly particular about her dress; more disdainful of the commonherd, and had a general air of exaltation that made Albinia rejoicewhen the Polysyllable, the horses, the key-bugle, and genre paintingdisappeared from the Bayford horizon. 

CHAPTER XX. 

If the end of the vacation were a relief on Lucy's account, Albiniawould gladly have lengthened it on Gilbert's. Letters from his tutorhad disquieted his father; there had been an expostulation followedby promises, and afterwards one of the usual scenes of argument, complaint, excuse, lamentation, and wish to amend; but lastly, amurmur that it was no use to talk to a father who had never been atthe University, and did not know what was expected of a man. 

The aspect of Oxford had changed in Albinia's eyes since the days ofher brother. Alma Mater had been a vision of pealing bells, chantingvoices, cloistered shades, bright waters--the source of her mostcherished thoughts, the abode of youth walking in the old paths ofpleasantness and peace; and she knew that to faithful hearts, oldOxford was still the same. But to her present anxious gaze it hadbecome a field of snares and temptations, whither she had been themeans of sending one, unguarded and unstable. 

Once under the influence of a good sound-hearted friend, he mighthave been easily led right, but his intimacy with young Dusautoyseemed to cancel all hope of this, and to be like a rope about hisneck, drawing him into the same career, and keeping aloof all betterinfluences. Algernon, with his pride, pomposity, and falserefinement, was more likely to run into ostentations expenditure, than into coarse dissipation, and it might still be hoped that thetwo youths would drag through without public disgrace; but this wasfelt to be a very poor hope by those who felt each sin to be a fatalblot, and trembled at the self-indulgent way of life that might be amore fatal injury than even the ban of the authorities. 

She saw that the anxiety pressed heavily on Mr. Kendal, and thoughboth shrank from giving their uneasiness force by putting it intowords, each felt that it was ever-present with the other. Mr. Kendalwas deeply grieving over the effects, for the former state ofignorance and apathy of the evils of which he had only recentlybecome fully sensible. Living for himself alone, without cognizanceof his membership in one great universal system, he had needed thesense of churchmanship to make him act up to his duties as father, neighbour, citizen, and man of property; and when aroused, he foundthat the time of his inaction had bound him about with fetters. Atone of mind had grown up in his family from which only Sophy hadbeen entirely freed; seeds of ineradicable evil had been sown, mischiefs had grown by neglect, abuses been established by custom;and his own personal disadvantages, his mauvaise honte, his reserved, apparently proud manner, his slowness of speech, dislike tointerruption, and over-vehemence when excited, had so much increasedupon him, as, in spite of his efforts, to be serious hindrances. Kind, liberal, painstaking, and conscientious as he had become, hewas still looked upon as hard, stern, and tyrannical. His ten yearsof inertness had strewn his path with thorns and briars, even beyondhis own household; and when he looked back to his neglect of his son, he felt that even the worst consequences would be but justretribution. 

Once such feelings would have wrapt him in morbid gloom; now hestrove against his disposition to sit inert and hidden, he did hiswork manfully, and endeavoured not to let his want of spirits saddenthe household. 

Nor was he insensible to the cheerful healthy atmosphere of animationwhich had diffused itself there; and the bright discussions of thetrifling interests of the day. Ulick O'More was also a care to him, which did him a great deal of good. 

That young gentleman now lived at his lodgings, but was equally athome at Willow Lawn, and his knock at the library door, when hewished to change a book, usually led to some 'Prometheus' discussion, and sometimes to a walk, if Mr. Kendal thought him looking pale; orto dining and to spending the evening. 

His scrapes were peculiar. He had thoroughly mastered his work, andhis active mind wanted farther scope, so that he threw himself withavidity into deeper studies, and once fell into horrible disgrace forbeing detected with a little Plato on his desk. Mr. Goldsmith nearlygave him up in despair, and pronounced that he would never make a manof business. He made matters worse by replying that this was thebest chance of his not being a man of speculation. If he wereallowed to think of nothing but money, he should speculate for thesake of something to do!

Before Mr. Goldsmith had half recovered the shock, Mr. Dusautoy andMr. Hope laid violent hands upon young O'More for the evening schooltwice a week, which almost equally discomposed his aunt. She hadnever got over the first blow of Mr. Dusautoy's innovations, and feltas if her nephew had gone over to the enemy. She was doublyungracious at the Sunday dinner, and venomously critical of thechoir's chanting, Mr. Hope's voice, and the Vicar's sermons. 

The worst scrape came in March. The Willow Lawn ladies were in thelower end of the garden, which, towards the river, was separated fromthe lane that continued Tibb's Alley, by a low wall surmounted byspikes, and with a disused wicket, always locked, and nearlyconcealed by a growth of laurels; when out brake a horriblehullabaloo in that region of evil report, the shouts and yells comingnearer, and becoming so distinct that they were about to retreat, when suddenly a dark figure leapt over the gate, and into the garden, amid a storm of outcries. As he disappeared among the laurels, Albinia caught up Maurice, Lucy screamed and prepared to fly, andSophy started forward, exclaiming, 'It is Ulick, mamma; his face isbleeding!' But as he emerged, she retreated, for she had a nervousterror of the canine race, and in his hand, at arm's length he heldby the neck a yellow dog, a black pot dangling from its tail. 

'Take care, ' he shouted, as Albinia set down Maurice, and was runningup to him; 'he may be mad. '

Maurice was caught up again, Lucy shrieked, and Sophy, totteringagainst an apple-tree, faintly said, 'He has bitten you!'

'No, not he; it was only a stone, ' said Ulick, as best he might, witha fast bleeding upper lip. 'They were hunting the poor beast todeath--I believe he's no more mad than I am--only with the fright--but best make sure. '

'Fetch some milk, Lucy, ' said Albinia. 'Take Maurice with you. No, don't take the poor thing down to the river, he'll only think you aregoing to drown him. Go, Maurice dear. '

Maurice safe, Albinia was able to find ready expedients after SirFowell Buxton's celebrated example. She brought Ulick the gardener'sthick gauntlets from the tool-house, and supplied him with her knife, with which he set the poor creature free from the instrument oftorture, and then let him loose, with a pan of milk before him, inthe old-fashioned summer-house, through the window of which he couldobserve his motions, and if he looked dangerous, shoot him. 

Nothing could look less dangerous; the poor creature sank down on thefloor and moaned, licked its hind leg, and then dragged itself as iffamished to the milk, lapped a little eagerly, but lay down againwhining, as if in pain. Ulick and Albinia called to it, and itlooked up and tried to wag its tail, whining appealingly. 'My poorbrute!' he cried, 'they've treated you worse than a heathen. That'sall--let me see what I can do for you. '

'Yes, but yourself, Ulick, ' said Albinia, as in his haste he tookdown his handkerchief from his mouth; 'I do believe your lip is cutthrough! You had better attend to that first. '

'No, no, thank you, ' said Ulick, eagerly, 'they've broken the poorwretch's leg!' and he was the next moment sitting on the summer-housefloor, lifting up the animal tenderly, regardless of herexpostulation that the injured, frightened creature might not knowits friends. But she did it injustice; it wagged its stumpy tail, and licked his fingers. 

She offered to fetch rag for his surgery, and he farther begged forsome slight bits of wood to serve as splints, he and his brothers hadbeen dog-doctors before. As she hurried into the house, Sophy, whohad sunk on a sofa in the drawing-room, looking deadly pale, calledout, 'Is he bitten?'

'No, no, ' cried Albinia, hurrying on, 'the dog is all safe. It hasonly got a broken leg. '

Maurice, with whom Lucy had all this time been fighting, came outwith her to see the rest of the adventure; and thought it very cruelthat he was not permitted to touch the patient, which bore theoperation with affecting fortitude and gratitude, and was thenconsigned to a basket lined with hay, and left in the summer-house, Mr. Kendal being known to have an almost eastern repugnance to dogs. 

Then Ulick had leisure to be conducted to the morning-room, and berendered a less ghastly spectacle, by some very uncomfortablesticking-plaster moustaches, which hardly permitted him to narratehis battle distinctly. He thought the boys, even of Tibb's Alley, would hardly have ventured any violence after he had interfered, butfor some young men who aught to have known better; he fancied he hadseen young Tritton of Robbles Leigh, and he was sure of an insolentgroom whom Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy, to the great vexation of hisuncle, had recently sent down with a horse to the King's Head. Theyhad stimulated the boys to a shout of Paddy and a shower of stones, and Ulick expected credit for great discretion, in having fledinstead of fought. 'Ah! if Brian and Connel had but been there, wouldn't we have put them to the rout?'

Nothing would then serve him but going back to Tibb's Alley to tracethe dog's history, and meantime Lucy, from the end of the passage, beckoned to Albinia, and whispered mysteriously that 'Sophy would nothave any one know it for the world--but, ' said Lucy, 'I found herabsolutely fainting away on the sofa, only she would not let me callyou, and ordered that no one should know anything about it. But, mamma, there was a red-hot knitting-needle sticking out of the fire, and I am quite sure that she meant if Ulick was bitten, to burn outthe place. '

Albinia believed Sophy capable of both the resolution and itsconsequence; but she agreed with Lucy that no notice should be taken, and would not seem aware that Sophy was much paler than usual. 

The dog, as well as Ulick could make out, was a waif or stray, belonging to a gipsy deported that morning by the police, and on whomits master's sins had been visited. So without scruple he carriedthe basket home to his lodgings, and on the way, had the misfortuneto encounter his uncle, while shirtfront, coat, and waistcoat werefresh from the muddy and bloody fray, and his visage in the height ofdisfigurement. 

Mr. Goldsmith looked on the whole affair as an insult to everyGoldsmith of past ages! A mere street row! He ordered Mr. More tohis lodgings, and said be should hear from him to-morrow. Ulick camedown to Willow Lawn in the dark, almost considering himself asdismissed, not knowing whether to be glad or sorry; and wanting toconsult Mr. Kendal whether it would be possible to work his way atcollege as Mr. Hope had done, or even wondering whether he mightventure to beg for a recommendation to 'Kendal and Kendal. '

Mr. Kendal was so strongly affected, that he took up his hat and wentstraight to Mr. Goldsmith, 'to put the matter before him in a truelight. '

True light or false, it was intolerable in the banker's eyes, and ittook a great deal of eloquence to persuade him that his nephew wasworth a second trial. Fighting in Tibb's Alley over a gipsy's dog, and coming back looking like a ruffian! Mr. Goldsmith wished him noharm, but it would be a disgrace to the concern to keep him on, andMiss Goldsmith, whom Mr. Kendal heartily wished to gag, chimed inwith her old predictions of the consequences of her poor sister'sfoolish marriage. The final argument, was Mr. Kendal's declarationof the testimonials with which he would at once send him out toCalcutta, to take the situation once offered to his own son. Nosooner did Mr. Goldsmith hear that his nephew had an alternative, than he promised to be lenient, and finally dispatched a letter toU. More, Esquire, with a very serious rebuke, but a promise that hisconduct should be overlooked, provided the scandal were not repeated, and he should not present himself at the bank till his face should befit to be seen. 

Mr. Kendal mounted him the next morning on Gilbert's horse, and senthim to Fairmead. The dog was left in charge of Bridget, who treatedit with abundant kindness, but failed to obtain the exclusiveaffection which the poor thing lavished upon its rescuer. By thetime Ulick came home, it had arrived at limping upon three legs, andwas bent on following him wherever he went. Disreputable andheinously ugly it was, of tawny currish yellow (whence it was knownas the Orange-man), with a bull-dog countenance; and the legs thatdid not limp were bandy. Albinia called it the Tripod, but somehowit settled into the title of Hyder Ali, to which it was said to'answer' the most readily, though it would in fact answer anythingfrom Ulick, and nothing from any one else. . 

Ever at his heels, the 'brazen Tripod' contrived to establish anentrance at Willow Lawn; scratched till Mr. Kendal would interrupt a'Prometheus talk' to let him in at the library door; and graduallymade it a matter of course to come into the drawing-room, and reposeupon Sophy's flounces. 

This was by way of compensation for his misadventures elsewhere. Hewas always bringing Ulick into trouble; shut or tie him up as hemight, he was sure to reappear when least wanted. He had been atchurch, he had been in Miss Goldsmith's drawing-room, he had beenfound times without number curled up under Ulick's desk. Mr. Goldsmith growled hints about hanging him, and old Mr. Johns, whoreally was fond of his bright young fellow clerk, gave grave counsel;but Ulick only loved his protege the better, and after havingexhausted an Irish vocabulary of expostulation, succeeded inprevailing on him to come no farther than the street; except on verywet days, when he would sometimes be found on the mat in the entry, looking deplorably beseeching, and bringing on his master an irate, 'Here's that dog again!'

'Would that no one fell into worse scrapes, ' sighed Mr. Dusautoy, when he heard of Ulick's disasters with Hyder Ali, and it was a sighthat the house of Kendal re-echoed. 

Nobody could be surprised when, towards the long vacation, tidingscame to Bayford, that after long forbearance on the part of theauthorities, the insubordination and riotous conduct of the two youngmen could be endured no longer. It appeared that young Dusautoy, with his weak head and obstinate will, had never attempted to bend torules, but had taken every reproof as an insult and defiance. Youngmen had not been wanting who were ready to take advantage of hislavish expenditure, and to excite his disdain for authorities. Theyhad promoted the only wit he did understand, broad practical jokesand mischief; and had led him into the riot and gambling to which hewas not naturally prone. Gilbert Kendal, with more sense andprinciple, had been led on by the contagion around him, and at lastan outrageous wine party had brought matters to a crisis. The mostguilty were the most cunning, and the only two to whom the affaircould actually be brought home, were Dusautoy and Kendal. Thesentence was rustication, and the tutor wrote to Mr. Dusautoy, as theleast immediately affected, to ask him to convey the intelligence toMr. Kendal. 

The vicar was not a man to shrink from any task, however painful, buthe felt it the more deeply, as, in spite of his partiality, he wasforced to look on his own favourite Algernon as the misleader ofGilbert; and when he overtook the sisters on his melancholy way downthe hill, he consulted them how their father would bear it. 

'Oh! I don't know, ' said Lucy; 'he'll be terribly angry. I shouldnot wonder if he sent Gilbert straight off to India; should you, Sophy?'

'I hope he will do nothing in haste, ' exclaimed Mr. Dusautoy. 'I dobelieve if those two lads were but separated, or even out of suchcompany, they would both do very well. '

'Yes, ' exclaimed Lucy; 'and, after all, they are such absurdregulations, treating men like schoolboys, wanting them to keep suchregular troublesome hours. Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy told me that therewas no enduring the having everything enforced. '

'If things had been enforced on poor Algernon earlier, this mightnever have been, ' sighed his uncle. 

'I'm sure I don't see why papa should mind it so much, ' continuedLucy. 'Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy told me his friend Lord ReginaldRaymond had been rusticated twice, and expelled at last. '

'What do you think of it, Sophy?' asked the vicar, anxiously. 

'I don't feel as if any of us could ever look up again, ' she answeredvery low. 

'Why, no; not that exactly. It is not quite the right way to takethese things, Sophy, ' said Mr. Dusautoy. 'Boys may be very foolishand wrong-headed, without disgracing their family. '

Sophy did not answer--it was all too fresh and sore, and she did notfind much consolation in the number of youths whom Lucy reckoned upas having incurred the like penalty. When they entered the house, and Mr. Dusautoy knocked at the library door, she followed Lucy intothe garden, without knowing where she was going, and threw herselfdown upon the grass, miserable at the pain which was being inflictedupon her father, and with a hardened resentful feeling, betweencontempt and anger, against the brother, who, for very weakness, could so dishonour and grieve him. She clenched her hand in theintensity of her passionate thoughts and impulses, and sat like astatue, while Lucy, from time to time, between the tying up offlowers and watering of annuals, came up with inconsistentexhortations not to be so unhappy--for it was not expulsion--it wassure to be unjust--nobody would think the worse of them because youngmen were foolish--all men of spirit did get into scrapes--

It was lucky for Lucy that all this passed by Sophy's ear as unheededas the babbling of the brook. She did not move, till roused by UlickO'More, coming up from the bridge, telling that he had met some Irishhaymakers in the meadows, and saying he wanted to beg a frock for oneof their children. 

'I think I can find you one, ' said Lucy, 'if you will wait a minute;but don't go in, Mr. Dusautoy is there. '

'Is anything the matter?' he exclaimed. 

'Every one must soon know, ' said Lucy; 'it is of no use to keep itback, Sophy. Only my brother and Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy have gotinto a scrape about a wine party, and are going to be rusticated. But wait, I'll fetch the frock. '

Sophy had almost run away while her sister spoke, but the kind lookof consternation and pity on Ulick's face deterred her, he insoliloquy repeated, as if confounded by the greatness of themisfortune, 'Poor Gilbert!'

'Poor Gilbert!' burst from Sophy in irritation at misplaced sympathy;'I thought it would be papa and mamma you cared for!'

'With reason, ' returned Ulick, 'but I was thinking how it must breakhis heart to have pained such as they. '

'I wish he would feel it thus, ' exclaimed Sophy; 'but he never will!'

'Oh! banish that notion, Sophy, ' cried Ulick, recoiling at theindignation in her dark eyes, 'next to grieving my mother, I declarenothing could crush me like meeting a look such as that from a sisterof mine. '

'How can I help it?' she said, reserve breaking down in hervehemence, 'when I think how much papa has suffered--how much Gilberthas to make up to him--how mamma took him for her own--how they haveborne with him, and set their happiness on him, and yielded to hisfancies, only for him to disappoint them so cruelly, and just becausehe can't say No! I hope he wont come home; I shall never know how tospeak to him !'

'But all that makes it so much the worse for him, ' said Ulick, in atone of amazement. 

'Yes, you can't understand, ' she answered; 'if he had had one sparkof feeling like you, he would rather have died than have gone on ashe has done. '

'Surely many a man may be overtaken in a fault, and never be wrong atheart, ' said Ulick. 'There's many a worse sin than what the worldsets a blot upon, and I believe that is just why homes were made. '

Lucy came back with the frock, and Ulick, thanking her, sped away;while Sophy slowly went upstairs and hid herself on her couch. For awoman to find a man thinking her over-hard and severe, is sure eitherto harden or to soften her very decidedly, and it was a hard strugglewhich would be the effect. There was an inclination at first toattribute his surprise to the lax notions and foolish fondness of hishome, where no doubt far worse disorders than Gilbert's were treatedas mere matters of course. But such strong pity for the offender didnot seem to accord with this; and the more she thought, the more sureshe became that it was the fresh charity and sweetness of an innocentspirit, 'believing all things, ' and separating the fault from theoffender. His words had fallen on her ear in a sense beyond what hemeant. Pride and uncharitable resentment might be worse sins thanmere weakness and excess. She thought of the elder son in theparable, who, unknowing of his brother's temptation and sorrow, closed his heart against his return; and if her tears would havecome, she would have wept that she could not bring herself to look onGilbert otherwise than as the troubler of her father's peace. 

When her mother at last came upstairs, she only ventured to askgently, 'How does papa bear it?'

'It did not come without preparation, ' was the answer; 'and at firstwe were occupied with comforting Mr. Dusautoy, who takes to himselfall the shame his nephew will not feel, for having drawn poor Gilbertinto such a set. '

'And papa?' still asked Sophy. 

'He is very quiet, and it is not easy to tell. I believe it was agreat mistake, though not of his making, to send Gilbert to Oxford atall, and I doubt whether he will ever go back again. 

'Oh, mamma, not conquer this, and live it down!' cried Sophy; butthen changing, she sighed and said, 'If he would--'

'Yes, a great deal depends upon how he may take this, and whatbecomes of Algernon Dusautoy; though I suppose there is no lack ofother tempters. Your papa has even spoken of India again; he stillthinks he would be more guarded there, but all depends on the spiritin which we find him. One thing I hope, that I shall leave it all tohis father's judgment, and not say one word. '

The next post brought a penitent letter from Gilbert, submittingcompletely to his father; only begging that he might not see any oneat home until he should have redeemed his character, and promising towork very hard and deny himself all relaxation if he might only go toa tutor at a distance. 

This did not at all accord with Mr. Kendal's views. He had anunavowed distrust of Gilbert's letters, he did not fancy a tutor thusselected, and believed the boy to be physically incapable of theproposed amount of study. So he wrote a very grave but mercifulsummons to Willow Lawn. 

Albinia went to meet the delinquent at Hadminster, and was struck bythe different deportment of the two youths. Algernon Dusautoy, whoseservant had met him, sauntered up to her as if nothing had happened, carelessly hoped all were well at Bayford, and, in spite of herexceeding coldness, talked on with perfect ease upon the chances of awar with Russia, and had given her three or four maxims, beforeGilbert came up with the luggage van, with a bag in his hand, and ahurried bewildered manner, unable to meet her eye. He handed herinto the carriage, seated himself beside her, and drove off withoutone unnecessary word, while Algernon, mounting his horse, waved thema disengaged farewell, and cantered on. Albinia heard a heavy sigh, and saw her companion very wan and sorrowful, dejection in everyfeature, in the whole stoop of his figure, and in the nervous twitchof his hands. The contrast gave an additional impulse to her loveand pity, and the first words she said were, 'Your father is quiteready to forgive. '

'I knew he would be so, ' he answered, hardly able to command hisvoice; 'I knew you would all be a great deal too kind to me, and thatis the worst of all. '

'No, Gilbert, not if it gives you resolution to resist the nexttime. '

He groaned; and it was not long before she drew from him a sincereavowal of his follies and repentance. He had been led on byassurances that 'every one' did the like, by fear of betraying hisown timidity, by absurd dread of being disdained as slow; all thisworking on his natural indolence and love of excitement, had combinedto involve him in habits which had brought on him this disgrace. Itwas a hopeful sign that he admitted its justice, and accused no oneof partiality; the reprimand had told upon him, and he was toocompletely struck down even to attempt to justify himself;exceedingly afraid of his father, and only longing to hide himself. Such was his utter despair, that Albinia had no scruples inencouraging him, and assuring him with all her heart, that if takenrightly, the shock that brought him to his senses, might be theblessing of his life. He did not take comfort readily, thoughsoothed by her kindness; he could not get over his excessive dread ofhis father, and each attempt at reassurance fell short. At last itcame out that the very core of his misery was this, that he had foundhimself for part of the journey, in the same train with Miss Durantand two or three children. He could not tell her where he was goingnor why, and he had leant back in the carriage, and watched her onthe platform by stealth, as she moved about, 'lovelier and moregraceful than ever!' but how could he present himself to her in hisdisgrace and misery? 'Oh, Mrs. Kendal, I forgive my father, but mylife was blighted when I was cut off from her!'

'No, Gilbert, you are wrong. There is no blighting in a worthy, disinterested attachment. To be able to love and respect such awoman is a good substantial quality in you, and ought to make you ahigher and better man. '

Gilbert turned round a face of extreme amazement. 'I thought, ' hesaid, 'I thought you--' and went no farther. 

'I respect your feeling for her more than when it was two yearsyounger, ' she said; 'I should respect it doubly if instead of makingyou ashamed, it had saved you from the need of shame. '

'Do you give me any hope?' cried Gilbert, his face gleaming intosudden eager brightness. 

'Things have not become more suitable, ' said Albinia; and his looklapsed again into despondency; but she added, 'Each step towards realmanhood, force of character, and steadiness, would give you weightwhich might make your choice worth your father's consideration, andyou worth that of Genevieve. '

'Oh! would you but have told me so before!'

'It was evident to your own senses, ' said Albinia; and she thought ofthe suggestion that Sophy had made. 

'Too late! too late!' sighed Gilbert. 

'No, never too late! You have had a warning; you are very young, andit cannot be too late for winning a character, and redeeming thetime!'

'And you tell me I may love her!' repeated Gilbert, so intoxicatedwith the words, that she became afraid of them. 

'I do not tell you that you may importune her, or disobey yourfather. I only tell you that to look up and work and deny yourself, in honour of one so truly noble, is one of the best and most savingof secondary motives. I shall honour you, Gilbert, if you do so useit as to raise and support you, though of course I cannot promisethat she can be earned by it, and even that motive will not do alone, however powerful you may think it. '

Neither of them said more, but Gilbert sighed heavily several times, and would willingly have checked their homeward speed. He grew paleas they entered the town, and groaned as the gates swung back, andthey rattled over the wooden bridge. It was about four o'clock, andhe said, hurriedly, as with a sort of hope, 'I suppose they are allout. '

He was answered by a whoop of ecstasy, and before he was well out ofthe carriage, he was seized by the joyous Maurice, shouting that hehad been for a ride with papa, without a leading rein. Happy age forboth, too young to know more than that the beloved playfellow was athome again!

Little Albinia studied her brother till the small memory came back, and she made her pretty signs for the well-remembered dancing in hisarms. From such greetings, Gilbert's wounded spirit could notshrink, much as he dreaded all others; and, carrying the baby andpreceded by Maurice, while he again muttered that of course no onewas at home, he went upstairs. 

Albinia meantime tapped at the library door. She knew Mr. Kendal tobe there, yearning to forgive, but thinking it right to have hispardon sought; and she went in to tell him of his son's keen remorse, and deadly fear. Displeased and mournful, Mr. Kendal sighed. 'Hehas little to fear from me, would he but believe so! He ought tohave come to me, but--'

That 'but' meant repentance for over-sternness in times past. 

'Let me send him to you. '

'I will come, ' said Mr. Kendal, willing to spare his son the terrorof presenting himself. 

There was a pretty sight in the morning-room. Gilbert was on thefloor with the two children, Maurice intent on showing how nearlylittle Albinia could run alone, and between ordering and coaxing, drawing her gently on; her beautiful brown eyes opened very seriouslyto the great undertaking, and her round soft hands, with a mixture ofconfidence and timidity, trusted within the sturdy ones of her smallelder, while Gilbert knelt on one knee, and stretched out aprotecting arm, really to grasp the little one, if the more childishbrother should fail her, and his countenance, lighted up withinterest and affection, was far more prepossessing than when solately it had been, full of cowering, almost abject apprehension. 

Was it a sort of instinctive feeling that the little sister would behis best shelter, that made him gather the child into his arms, andhold her before his deeply blushing face as he rose from the floor?She merrily called out, 'Papa!' Maurice loudly began to recount herexploits, and thus passed the salutation, at the end of which Gilbertfound that his father was taking the little one from him, and givingher to her mother, who carried her away, calling Maurice with her. 

'Have you nothing to say to me?' said Mr. Kendal, after waiting forsome moments; but as Gilbert only looked up to him with a piteous, scared, uncertain glance, be added; 'You need not fear me; I believeyou have erred more from weakness than from evil inclinations, and Itrust in the sincerity of your repentance. '

These kind words softened Gilbert; he assured his father of histhanks for his kindness, no one could grieve more deeply, or be moreanxious to atone in any possible manner for what he had unwittinglydone. 

'I believe you, Gilbert, ' said his father; 'but you well know thatthe only way of atoning for the past, as well as of avoiding suchwretchedness and disgrace for the future, is to show greaterfirmness. '

'I know it is, ' said Gilbert, sorrowfully. 

'I cannot look into your heart, ' added Mr. Kendal. 'I can only hopeand believe that your grief for the sin is as deep, or deeper, thanthat for the public stigma, for which comparatively, I care little. '

Gilbert exclaimed that so indeed it was, and this was no more thanthe truth. Out of sight of temptation, and in that pure atmosphere, the loud revel and coarse witticisms that had led him on, were onlyloathsome and disgusting, and made him miserable in the recollection. 

'I am ready to submit to anything, ' he added, fervently. 'As long asyou forgive me, I am ready to bear anything. '

'I forgive you from my heart, ' said Mr. Kendal, warmly. 'I only wishto consider what may be most expedient for you. I should scarcelylike to send you back to Oxford to retrieve your character, unless Iwere sure that you would be more resolute in resisting temptation. No, do not reply; your actions during this time of penance will be afar more satisfactory answer than any promises. I had thought ofagain applying to your cousin John, to take you into his bank, thoughyou could not now go on such terms as you might have done when therewas no error in the background, and I still sometimes questionwhether it be not the safer method. '

'Whatever you please, ' said Gilbert; 'I deserve it all. '

'Nay, do not look upon my decision, whatever it may be, aspunishment, but only as springing from my desire for your realwelfare. I will write to your cousin and ask whether he still has avacancy, but without absolutely proposing you to him, and we willlook on the coming months as a period of probation, during which wemay judge what may be the wisest course. I will only ask one otherquestion, Gilbert, and you need not be afraid to answer me fully andfreely. Have you any debts at Oxford?'

'A few, ' stammered Gilbert, with a great effort. 

'Can you tell me to whom, and the amount?'

He tried to recollect as well as he could, while completelyfrightened and confused by the gravity with which his father wasjotting them down in his pocket-book. 

'Well, Gilbert, ' he concluded, 'you have dealt candidly with me, andyou shall never have cause to regret having done so. And now we willonly feel that you are at home, and dwell no longer on the cause thathas brought you. Come out, and see what we have been doing in themeadow. '

Gilbert seemed more overthrown and broken down by kindness than byreproof. He hardly exerted himself even to play with Maurice, or toamuse his grandmother; and though his sisters treated him as usual, he never once lifted up his eyes to meet Sophy's glance, and scarcelyused his voice. 

Nothing could be more disarming than such genuine sorrow; and Sophy, pardoning him with all her heart, and mourning for her past want ofcharity, watched him, longing to do something for his comfort, and toevince her tenderness; but only succeeded in encumbering every pettyservice or word of intercourse with a weight of sad consciousness. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

'I had almost written to ask your pardon, ' said Mrs. Dusautoy, asAlbinia entered her drawing-room on the afternoon following. 'Ishould like by way of experiment to know what _would_ put that boyout of countenance. He listened with placid graciousness to hisuncle's lecture, and then gave us to understand that he was obligedfor his solicitude, and that there was a great deal of jealousy andmisrepresentation at Oxford; but he thought it best always to submitto authorities, however unreasonable. And this morning, afteramiably paying his respects to me, he said he was going to inquirefor Gilbert. I intimated that Willow Lawn was the last place wherehe would be welcome, but he was far above attending to me. DidGilbert see him?'

'Gilbert was in the garden with us when we were told he was in thehouse. Poor fellow, he shuddered, and looked as if he wanted me toguard him, so I sent him out walking with Maurice while I went in, and found Lucy entertaining the gentleman. I made myself as cold andinhospitable as I could, but I am afraid he rather relishes adignified retenue. '

'Poor boy! I wonder what on earth is to be done with him. I neverbefore knew what John's love and patience were. '

'Do you think he will remain here?'

'I cannot tell; we talk of tutors, but John is really, I believe, happier for having him here, and besides one can be sure the worst heis doing is painting a lobster. However, much would depend on whatyou and Mr. Kendal thought. If he and Gilbert were doing harm toeach other, everything must give way. '

'If people of that age will not keep themselves out of harm's way, nobody can do it for them, ' said Albinia, 'and as long as Gilbertcontinues in his present mood, there is more real separation involuntarily holding aloof, than if they were sent far apart, only tocome together again at college. '

Gilbert did continue in the same mood. The tender cherishing of hishome restored his spirits; but he was much subdued, and deeplygrateful, as he manifested by the most eager and affectionatecourtesy, such as made him almost the servant of everybody, withoutany personal aim or object, except to work up his deficient studies, and to avoid young Dusautoy. He seemed to cling to his family as hisprotectors, and to follow the occupations least likely to lead to ameeting with the Polysyllable; he was often at church in the week, rode with his father, went parish visiting with the ladies, and wasresponsible when Maurice fished for minnows in the meadows. Nothingcould be more sincerely desirous to atone for the past and enter on adifferent course, and no conduct could be more truly humble orendearing. 

The imaginary disdain of Ulick O'More was entirely gone, andperceiving that the Irishman's delicacy was keeping him away fromWillow Lawn, Gilbert himself met him and brought him home, in thedelight of having heard of a naval cadetship having been offered tohis brother, and full of such eager joy as longed for sympathy. 

'Happy fellow!' Gilbert murmured to himself. 

Younger in years, more childish in character, poor Gilbert hadmanaged to make his spirit world-worn and weary, compared with thefresh manly heart of the Irishman, all centered in the kindred'points of Heaven and home, ' and enjoying keenly, for the very reasonthat he bent dutifully with all his might to a humble and uncongenialtask. 

Yet somehow, admire and esteem as he would, there arose no intimacyor friendship between Gilbert and Ulick; their manners were frank andeasy, but there was no spontaneous approach, no real congeniality, nor exchange of mind and sympathy as between Ulick and Mr. Kendal. Albinia had a theory that the friendship was too much watched totake; Sophy hated herself for the recurring conviction that 'Gilbertwas not the kind of stuff, ' though she felt day by day how far heexcelled her in humility, gentleness, and sweet temper. 

When the Goldsmiths gave their annual dinner-party, Albinia felt asudden glow at the unexpected sight of Ulick O'More. 

'I am only deputy for the Orange man, ' he said; 'it is Hyder Ali whoought to be dining here! Yes, it is his doing, I'd back him againstany detective!'

'What heroism have you been acting together?'

'We had just given Farmer Martin L120 in notes, when as he went out, we heard little Hyder growling and giving tongue, and a fellowswearing as if he was at the fair of Monyveagh, and the farmerhallooing thieves. I found little Hyder had nailed the rascal fastby the leg, just as he had the notes out of the farmer's pouch. Icollared him, Johns ran for the police, and the rascal is fast. '

'What a shame to cheat Mr. Kendal of the committal. '

'The policeman said he was gone out, so we had the villain up to theAdmiral with the greater satisfaction, as he was a lodger in one ofthe Admiral's pet public-houses in Tibb's Alley. '

'Ah, when Gilbert is of age, ' said Albinia, 'woe to Tibb's! So youare a testimonial to the Tripod?'

'So I suspect, for I found an invitation when I came home, I wouldhave run down to tell you, but I had been kept late, and one takessome getting up for polite society. '

There was a great deal of talk about Hyder's exploit, and somedisposition to make Mr. O'More the hero of the day; but this wasquickly nipped by his uncle's dry shortness, and the superciliousnesswith which Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy turned the conversation to theprovision of pistols, couriers, and guards, for travelling throughthe Abruzzi. The polysyllabic courage, and false alarms on such ascale, completely eclipsed a real pick-pocket, caught by a gipsy'scur and a banker's clerk. 

Not that Ulick perceived any disregard until later in the evening, when the young Kendals arrived, and of course he wanted each and allto hear of his Tripod's achievement. He met with ready attentionfrom Sophy and Gilbert, who pronounced that as the cat was toWhittington, so was Hyder to O'More; but when in his overflowing heproceeded to Lucy, she had neither eyes nor ears for him, and whenthe vicar told her Mr. O'More was speaking to her, she turned with anair of petulance, so that he felt obliged to beg her pardon andretreat. 

The Bayford parties never lasted later than a few minutes after ten, but when once Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy and Miss Kendal had possessionof the piano and guitar, there was no conclusion. Song succeededsong, they wanted nothing save their own harmony, and hardly waitedfor Miss Goldsmith's sleepy thanks. The vicar hated late hours, andthe Kendals felt every song a trespass upon their hosts, but themusicians had their backs to the world, and gave no interval, so thatit was eleven o'clock before Mr. Kendal, in desperation, laid hishand on his daughter, and barbarously carried her off. 

The flirtation was so palpable, that Albinia mused on the means ofrepressing it; but she believed that to remonstrate, would only be togive Lucy pleasure, and held her peace till a passion for ridingseized upon the young lady. The old pony had hard service betweenSophy's needs and Maurice's exactions, but Lucy's soul soared farabove ponies, and fastened upon Gilbert's steed. 

'And pray what is Gilbert to ride?'

'Oh! papa does not always want Captain, or Mr. Cavendish Dusautoywould lend him Bamfylde. '

'Thank you, ' returned Gilbert, satirically. 

Next morning Lucy, radiant with smiles, announced that all wassettled. Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy's Lady Elmira would be brought downfor her to try this afternoon, so Gilbert might keep his own horseand come too, which permission he received with a long whistle andglance at Mrs. Kendal, and then walked out of the room. 

'How disobliging!' said Lucy. 'Well then, Sophy, you must make yourold hat look as well as you can, for I suppose it will not quite doto go without anyone. '

Sophy, like her brother, looked at Mrs. Kendal, and with an eye ofindignant appeal and entreaty, while Albinia's countenance was sofull of displeasure, that Lucy continued earnestly, 'O, mamma, youcan't object. You used to go out riding with papa when he was atColonel Bury's. '

'Well, Lucy!' exclaimed her sister, 'I did not think even you capableof such a comparison. '

'It's all the same, ' said Lucy tartly, blushing a good deal. 

Sophy leapt up to look at her, and Albinia trying to be calm andjudicious, demanded, 'What is the same as what?'

'Why, Algernon and _me_, ' was the equally precise reply. 

In stately horror, Sophy rose and seriously marched away, leaving, byher look and manner, a species of awe upon both parties, and someseconds passed ere, with crimson blushes, Albania ventured to invitethe dreaded admission, by demanding, 'Now, Lucy, will you be so goodas to tell me the meaning of this extraordinary allusion?'

'Why, to be sure--I know it was very different. Papa was so old, and_there were us_, ' faltered Lucy, 'but I meant, you would know how itall is--how those things--'

'Stop, Lucy, am I to understand by those things, that you wish me tobelieve you and Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy are on the game terms as--No, I can't say it. '

'I don't know what you mean, ' said Lucy, growing frightened, 'I neverthought there could be such an uproar about my just going outriding. '

'You have led me to infer so much more, that it becomes my duty tohave an explanation, at least, ' she added, thinking this soundedcold, 'I should have hoped you would have given me your confidence. '

'O, but you always would make game of him!' cried Lucy. 

'Not now; this is much too serious, if you have been led to believethat his attentions are not as I supposed, because you are the onlygirl about here whom he thinks worthy of his notice. '

'It's a great deal more, ' said Lucy, with more feeling and lessvanity than had yet been apparent. 

'And what has he been making you think, my poor child?' said Albinia. 'I know it is very distressing, but it would be more right and safeif I knew what it amounts to. '

'Not much after all, ' said Lucy, her tone implying the reverse, andthough her cheeks were crimson, not averse to the triumph of theavowal, nor enduring as much embarrassment as her auditor, 'only hemade me sure of it--he said--(now, mamma, you have made me, so Imust) that he had changed his opinion of English beauty--you know, mamma. And another time he said he had wandered Europe over to--tofind loveliness on the banks of the Baye. Wasn't it absurd? And hesays he does not think it half so much that a woman should beaccomplished herself, as that she should be able to appreciate otherpeople's talents--and once he said the Principessa Bianca di Morettiwould be very much disappointed. '

'Well, my dear, ' said Albinia, kindly putting her arm round Lucy'swaist, 'perhaps by themselves the things did not so much require tobe told. I can hardly blame you, and I wish I had been more on myguard, and helped you more. Only if he seems to care so little aboutdisappointing this lady might he not do the same by you?'

'But she's an Italian, and a Roman Catholic, ' exclaimed Lucy. 

Albinia could not help smiling, and Lucy, perceiving that this washardly a valid excuse for her utter indifference towards herGrandison's Clementina, continued, 'I mean--of course there wasnothing in it. '

'Very possibly; but how would it be, if by-and-by he told somebodythat Miss Kendal would be very much disappointed?'

'O, mamma, ' cried Lucy, hastily detaching herself, 'you don't know!'

'I cannot tell, my poor Lucy, ' said Albinia. 'I fear there must begrief and trouble any way, if you let yourself attend to him, for youknow, even if he were in earnest, it would not be right to think of aperson who has shown so little wish to be good. '

Lucy stood for a few moments before the sense reached her mind, thenshe dropped into a chair, and exclaimed, 'I see how it is! You'll treat him as grandpapa treated CaptainPringle, but I shall break my heart, quite!' and she burst intotears. 

'My dear, your father and I will do our best for your happiness, andwe would never use concealment. Whatever we do shall be as Christianpeople working together, not as tyrants with a silly girl. '

Lucy was pleased, and let Albinia take her hand. 

'Then I will write to decline the horse. It would be far toomarked. '

'But oh, mamma! you wont keep him away!'

'I shall not alter our habits unless I see cause. He is much tooyoung for us to think seriously of what he may have said; and Ientreat you to put it out of your mind, for it would be very sad foryou to fix your thoughts on him, and then find him not in earnest, and even if he were, you know it would be wrong to let affection growup where there is no real dependence upon a person's goodness. '

The kindness soothed Lucy, and though she shed some tears, she didnot resist the decision. Indeed she was sensible of that calmdetermination of manner, which all the family had learnt to mean thatthe measures thus taken were unalterable, whereas the impetuousimpulses often were reversed. 

Many a woman's will is like the tide, ever fretting at the verge ofthe boundary, but afraid to overpass it, and only tempting the utmostlimit in the certainty of the recall, and Lucy perhaps felt a kind ofprotection in the curb, even while she treated it as an injury. Sheliked to be the object of solicitude, and was pleased with Albinia'sextra kindness, while, perhaps, there was some excitement in thebelief that Algernon was missing her, so she was particularlyamenable, and not much out of spirits. 

The original Meadows character, and Bayford breeding, had for a timebeen surmounted by Albinia's influence and training; but so ingrainwas the old disposition, that a touch would at once re-awaken it, andthe poor girl was in a neutral state, coloured by whicheverimpression had been most recent. Albinia's hopes of prevailing inthe end increased when Mrs. Dusautoy told her, with a look ofintelligence, that Algernon was going to stay with a connexion of hismother, a Mr. Greenaway, with six daughters, very stylish youngladies. 

Six stylish young ladies! Albinia could have embraced them all, andactually conferred a cordial nod on Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy when shemet him on the way home. 

But as she entered the house, so ominous a tone summoned her to thelibrary, that she needed not to be told that Mr. Cavendish Dusautoyhad been there. 

'I told him, ' said Mr. Kendal, 'that he was too young for me toentertain his proposal, and I intimated that he had character toredeem before presenting himself in such capacity. '

'I hope you made the refusal evident to his intellect. '

'He drove me to be more explicit than I intended. I think he wasastonished. He stared at me for full three minutes before he couldbelieve in the refusal. Poor lad, it must be real attachment, therecould be no other inducement. '

'And Lucy is exceedingly pretty. '

Mr. Kendal glanced at the portrait over the mantelpiece smiled sadly, and shook his head. 

'Poor dear, ' continued Albinia, 'what a commotion there will be inher head; but she has behaved so well hitherto, that I hope we maysteer her safely through, above all, if one of the six cousins willbut catch him in the rebound! Have you spoken to her?'

'Is it necessary?'

'So asked her grandfather, ' said Albinia, smiling, as he, a littleout of countenance, muttered something of 'foolish affair--merechild--and turn her head--'

'That's done!' said Albinia, 'we have only to try to get it straight. Besides, it would hardly be just to let her think he had meantnothing, and I have promised to deal openly with her, otherwise wecan hardly hope for plain dealing from her. '

'And you think it will be a serious disappointment?'

'She is highly flattered by his attention, but I don't know how deepit may have gone. '

'I wish people would let one's daughters alone!' exclaimed Mr. Kendal. 'You will talk to her then, Albinia, and don't let her thinkme more harsh than you can help, and come and tell me how she bearsit. '

'Won't you speak to her yourself?'

'Do you think I must?' he said, reluctantly; 'you know so much betterhow to manage her. '

'I think you must do this, dear Edmund, ' she said, between decisionand entreaty. 'She knows that I dislike the man, and may fancy it mydoing it she only hears it at second hand. If you speak, there willbe no appeal, and besides there are moments when the really nearestshould have no go-betweens. '

'We were not very near without you, ' he said. 'If it were Sophy, Ishould know better what to be about. '

'Sophy would not put you in such a fix. '

'So I have fancied--' he paused, smiling, while she waited in eagercuriosity, such as made him finish as if ashamed. 'I have thoughtour likings much the same. Have you never observed what I mean?'

'Oh! I never observe anything. I did not find out Maurice andWinifred till he told me. Who do you think it is? I always thoughtlove would be the making of Sophy. I see she is another being. Whatis your guess, Mr. Hope?'

Mr. Kendal made a face of astonishment at such an improbable guess, and was driven into exclaiming, 'How could any one help thinking ofO'More?'

'Oh! only too delightful!' cried Albinia. 'Why didn't I think ofit--but then his way is so free and cousinly with us all. '

'There may be nothing in it, ' said Mr. Kendal; 'and under presentcircumstances it would hardly be desirable. '

'If old Mr. Goldsmith acts as he ought, ' continued Albinia, 'weshould never lose our Sophy--and what a son we should have! he has soexactly the bright temper that she needs. '

'Well, well, that is all in the clouds, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'I wishthe present were equally satisfactory. '

'Ah, I had better call poor Lucy. '

'Come back with her, pray, ' called Mr. Kendal, nervously. 

Albinia regretted her superfluous gossip when Lucy appeared with eyesso sparkling, and cheeks so flushed, that it was plain that she hadbeen in all the miseries of suspense. Her countenance glowed withfeeling, that lifted her beyond her ordinary doll-like prettiness. Albinia's heart sank with compassion as she held her hand, and herfather stood as if struck by something more like the vision or hisyouth than he had been prepared for; each feeling that somethinggenuine was present, and respecting it accordingly. 

'Lucy, ' said Mr. Kendal, tenderly, 'I see I need not tell you why Ihave sent for you. You are very young, my dear, and you must trustus to care for your happiness. '

'Yes. ' Lucy looked up wistfully. 

'This gentleman has some qualities such as may make him shine in theeyes of a young lady; but it is our duty to look farther, and I amafraid I know nothing of him that could justify me in trusting himwith anything so precious to me. '

Lucy's face became full of consternation, her hand lay unnerved inAlbinia'a pressure, and Mr. Kendal turned his eyes from her to hiswife, as he proceeded, 'I have seen so much wretchedness caused by want of religiousprinciple, that even where the morals appeared unblemished, I shouldfeel no confidence where I saw no evidence of religion, and I shouldconsider it as positively wrong to sanction an engagement with such aperson. Now you must perceive that we have every means of forming anopinion of this young man, and that he has given us no reason tothink he would show the unselfish care for your welfare that weshould wish to secure. '

Albinia tried to make it comprehensible. 'You know, my dear, we havealways seen him resolved on his own way, and not caring how he mayinconvenience his uncle and aunt. We know his temper is not alwaysamiable, and differently as you see him, you must let us judge. '

Wrenching her hand away, Lucy burst into tears. Her father looked atAlbinia, as if she ought to have saved him this infliction, and shebegan a little whispering about not distressing papa, which checkedthe sobs, and enabled him to say, 'There, that's right, my dear, Isee you are willing to submit patiently to our judgment, and Ibelieve you will find it for the best. We will do all in our powerto help you, and make you happy, ' and bending down he kissed her, andleft her to his wife. 

In such family scenes, logic is less useful than the power of comingto a friendly conclusion; Lucy's awe of her father was a greatassistance, she was touched with his unwonted softness, and did notapprehend how total was the rejection. But what he was spared, wasreserved for Albinia. There was a lamentable scene of sobbing andweeping, beyond all argument, and only ending in physical exhaustion, which laid her on the bed all the rest of the day. 

Gilbert and Sophy could not but be aware of the cause of herdistress. The former thought it a great waste. 

'Tell Lucy, ' he said, 'that if she wishes to be miserable for life, she has found the best way! He is a thorough-bred tyrant at heart, pig-headed, and obstinate, and with the very worst temper I ever cameacross. Not a soul can he feel for, nor admire but himself. Hiswife will be a perfect slave. I declare I would as soon sell her toLegree. '

Sophy's views of the gentleman were not more favourable, but she wasin terror lest Lucy should have a permanently broken heart, after theprecedent of Aunt Maria. And on poor Sophy fell the misfortune ofbeing driven up by grandmamma's inquiries, to own that the proposalhad been rejected. 

Shade of poor dear Mr. Meadows, didst thou not stand aghast! Fivethousand a year refused! Grandmamma would have had a fit if she hadnot conceived a conviction, that imparted a look of shrewdness to hermild, simple old face. Of course Mr. Kendal was only holding offtill the young man was a little older. He could have no intention ofletting his daughter miss such a match, and dear Lucy would have hercarriage, and be presented at court. 

Sophy argued vehemently against this, and poor grandmamma, who hadwith difficulty been taught worldly wisdom as a duty, and alwaysthought herself good when she talked prudently, began to cry. Sophy, quite overcome, was equally distressing with her apologies; Albiniafound them both in tears, and Sophy was placed on the sick-list byone of her peculiar headaches of self-reproach. 

It was a time of great perplexity. Lucy cried incessantly, burstingout at every trifle, but making no complaints, and submitting someekly, that the others were almost as unhappy as herself. 

She was first cheered by the long promised visit from Mrs. Annesleyand Miss Ferrars. Albinia had now no fears of showing off home orchildren, and it was a great success. 

The little Awk was in high beauty, and graciously winning, andMaurice's likeness to his Uncle William enchanted the aunts, thoughthey were shocked at his mamma's indifference to his constantimperilling of life and limb, and grievously discomfited his sistersby adducing children who talked French and read history, whereas hecould not read d-o-g without spelling, and had peculiar views as to band d, p and q. However, if he could not read he could ride, and Mrs. Annesley scarcely knew the extent of the favour she conferred, whenshe commissioned Gilbert to procure for him a pony as his privateproperty. 

Miss Ferrars had not expected one of the thirty-six O'Mores to turnup here. She gave some good advice about hasty intimacies, and as itwas received with a defence of the gentility of the O'Mores, the twogood ladies agreed that dear Albinia was quite a child still, not fitfor the care of those girls, and it would be only acting kindly totake Lucy to Brighton, and show her something of the world, orAlbinia would surely let her fall a prey to that Irish clerk. 

They liked Lucy's pretty face and obliging ways, and were fond ofhaving a young lady in their house; they saw her looking ill anddepressed, and thought sea air would be good for her, and though Lucyfancied herself past caring for gaiety, and was very sorry to leavehome and mamma, she was not insensible to the refreshment of herwardrobe, and the excitement and honour of the invitation. At nightshe cried lamentably, and clung round Albinia'a neck, sobbing, 'Oh, mamma, what will become of me without you?' but in the morning shewent off in very fair spirits, and Albinia augured hopefully thatsoon her type of perfection would be no longer Polysyllabic. Herfirst letters were deplorable, but they soon became cheerful, as hermornings were occupied by lessons in music and drawing, and herevenings in quiet parties among the friends whom the aunts met atBrighton. Aunt Gertrude wrote to announce that her charge hadrecovered her looks and was much admired, and this was corroboratedby the prosperous complacency of Lucy's style. Albinia was morerelieved than surprised when the letters dwindled in length andnumber, well knowing that the Family Office was not favourable toleisure; and devoid of the epistolary gift herself, she alwayswondered more at people's writing than at their silence, and scarcelyreciprocated Lucy's effusions by the hurried notes which she enclosedin the well-filled envelopes of Gilbert and Sophy, who, like theirfather, could cover any amount of sheets of paper. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

'There!' cried Ulick O'More, 'I may wish you all good-bye. There'san end of it. '

Mr. Kendal stood aghast. 

'He's insulted my father and my family, ' cried Ulick, 'and does hethink I'll write another cipher for him?'

'Your uncle?'

'Don't call him my uncle. I wish I'd never set eyes on his woodenold face, to put the family name and honour in the power of such ashe. '

'What has he done to you?'

'He has offered to take me as his partner, ' cried Ulick, withflashing eyes; and as an outcry arose, not in sympathy with hisresentment, he continued vehemently, 'Stay, you have not heard!'Twas on condition I'd alter my name, leave out the O that has comedown to me from them that were kings and princes before hisgrandfathers broke stones on the road. '

'He offered to take you into partnership, ' repeated Mr. Kendal. 

'Do you think I could listen to such terms!' cried the indignant lad. 'Give up the O! Why, I would never be able to face my brothers!'

'But, Ulick--'

'Don't talk to me, Mr. Kendal; I wouldn't sell my name if you were toargue to me like Plato, nor if his bank were the Bank of England. Imight as well be an Englishman at once. '

'Then this was the insult?'

'And enough too, but it wasn't all. When I answered, speaking ascoolly, I assure you, as I'm doing this minute, what does he do, butcall it a folly, and taunt us for a crew of Irish beggars! Beggarswe may be, but we'll not be bought by him. '

'Well, this must have been an unexpected reception of such aproposal. '

'You may say that! The English think everything may be bought withmoney! I'd have overlooked his ignorance, poor old gentleman, if hewould not have gone and spoken of my O as vulgar. Vulgar! So when Ibegan to tell him how it began from Tigearnach, the O'More ofBallymakilty, that was Tanist of Connaught, in the time of King MacMurrough, and that killed Phadrig the O'Donoghoe in single combat atthe fight of Shoch-knockmorty, and bit off his nose, calling it asweet morsel of revenge, what does he do but tell me I was mad, andthat he would have none of my nonsensical tales of the savage Irish. So I said I couldn't stand to hear my family insulted, and then--wouldyou believe it? he would have it that it was I that was insolent, and when I was not going to apologize for what I had borne from him, he said he had always known how it would be trying to deal with oneof our family, no better than making a silk purse out of a sow's ear. "And I'm obliged for the compliment, " said I, quite coolly and politely, "but no Irish pig would sell his ear for a purse;" and so I came away, quite civilly and reasonably. Aye, I see what you would do, Mr. Kendal, but I beg with all my heart you won't. There are some things a gentlemanshould not put up with, and I'll not take it well of you if you call itmy duty to hear my father and his family abused. I'll despise myselfif I could. _You_ don't--' cried he, turning round to Albinia. 

'Oh, no, but I think you should try to understand Mr. Goldsmith'spoint of view. '

'I understand it only too well, if that would do any good. Point ofview--why, 'tis the farmyard cock's point of view, strutting on thetop of that bank of his own, and patronizing the free pheasant out inthe woods. More fool I for ever letting him clip my wings, but he'sseen the last of me. No, don't ask me to make it up. It can't bedone--'

'What can be done to the boy?' asked Albinia; 'how can he be broughtto hear reason?'

'Leave him alone, ' Mr. Kendal said, aside; while Ulick in a torrentof eager cadences protested his perfect sanity and reason, and Mr. Kendal quietly left the room, again to start on a peace-makingmission, but it was unpromising, for Mr. Goldsmith began by declaringhe would not hear a single word in favour of the ungrateful youngdog. 

Mr. Kendal gathered that young O'More had become so valuable, andthat cold and indifferent as Mr. Goldsmith appeared, he had beengrowing so fond and so proud of his nephew, as actually to resolve ongiving him a share of the business, and dividing the inheritancewhich had hitherto been destined to a certain Andrew Goldsmith, brought up in a relation's office at Bristol. Surprised at his owngraciousness, and anticipating transports of gratitude, his dismayand indignation at the reception of his proposal were extreme, especially as he had no conception of the offence he had givenregarding the unfortunate O as a badge of Hibernianism and vulgarity. 'I put it to you, Mr. Kendal, as a sensible man, whether it would notbe enough to destroy the credit of the bank to connect it with such aname as that, looking like an Irish haymaker's. I should be ashamedof every note I issued. '

'It is unlucky, ' said Mr. Kendal, 'and a difficulty the lad couldhardly appreciate, since it is a good old name, and the O is aspecial mark of nobility. '

'And what has a banker to do with nobility? Pretty sort of nobilitytoo, at that dog-kennel of theirs in Ireland, and his father, a mereadventurer if ever there lived one! But I swore when he carried offpoor Ellen that his speculation should do him no good, and I've keptmy word. I wish I hadn't been fool enough to meddle with one of theconcern! No, no, 'tis no use arguing, Mr. Kendal, I have done withhim! I would not make him a partner, not if he offered to change hisname to John Smith! I never thought to meet with such ingratitude, but it runs in the breed! I might have known better than to makemuch of one of the crew. Yet it is a pity too, we have not had sucha clear-headed, trustworthy fellow about the place since young Bowlesdied; he has a good deal of the Goldsmith in him when you set him towork, and makes his figures just like my poor father. I thought itwas his writing the other day till I looked at the date. Clever lad, very, but it runs in the blood. I shall send for Andrew Goldsmith. '

One secret of Mr. Kendal's power was that he never interrupted, butlet people run themselves down and contradict themselves; and all heobserved was, 'However it may end, you have done a great deal forhim. Even if you parted now, he would be able to find a situation. '

'Why--yes, ' said Mr. Goldsmith, 'the lad knew nothing serviceablewhen he came, we had an infinity of maggots about algebra andlogarithms to drive out of his head; but now he really is nearly asgood an accountant as old Johns. '

'You would be sorry to part with him, and I cannot help hoping thismay be made up. '

'You don't bring me any message! I've said I'll listen to nothing. '

'No; the poor boy's feelings are far too much wounded, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'Whether rightly or wrongly, he fancies that his father andfamily have been slightingly spoken of, and he is exceedingly hurt. '

'His father! I'm sure I did not say a tenth part of what the fellowrichly deserves. If the young gentleman is so touchy, he had bettergo back to Ireland again. '

Nothing more favourable could Mr. Kendal obtain, though he thoughtMr. Goldsmith uneasy, and perhaps impressed by the independence ofhis nephew's attitude. 

It was an arduous office for a peace-maker, where neither party couldcomprehend the feelings of the other, but on his return he found thatUlick had stormed himself into comparative tranquillity, and waslistening the better to the womankind, because they had paid duehonour to the amiable ancestral Tigearnach and all his gutturalposterity, whose savage exploits and bloody catastrophes acted assuch a sedative, that by the time he had come down to Uncle Bryan ofthe Kaffir war, he actually owned that as to the mighty 'O, ' Mr. Goldsmith might have erred in sheer ignorance. 

'After all, ' said Albinia, 'U. O'More is rather personal in writingto a creditor'

'It might be worse, ' said Ulick, laughing, 'if my name was John. I. O'More would be a dangerous confession. But I'll not be come roundeven by your fun, Mrs. Kendal, I'll not part with my father's name. '

'No, that would be base, ' said Sophy. 

'Who would wish to persuade you?' added Albinia. 'I am sure you areright in refusing with your feelings; I only want you to forgive youruncle, and not to break with him. '

'I'd forgive him his ignorance, but my mother herself could not wishme to forgive what he said of my father. '

'And how if he thinks this explosion needs forgiveness?'

'He must do without it, ' said Ulick. 'No, I was cool, I assure you, cool and collected, but it was not fit for me to stand by and hear myfather insulted. '

Albinia closed the difficult discussion by observing that it was timeto dress, and Sophy followed her from the room burning with indignantsympathy. 'It would be meanly subservient to ask pardon fordefending a father whom he thought maligned, ' said Albinia, and Sophytook exception at the word 'thought. '

'Ah! of course _he_ cannot be deceived!' said Albinia--but no soonerwere the words spoken than she was half-startled, half-charmed byfinding they had evoked a glow of colour. 

'How do you think it will end?' asked Sophy. 

'I can hardly fancy he will not be forgiven, and yet--it might bebetter. '

'Yes, I do think he would get on faster in India, ' said Sophyeagerly; 'he could do just as Gilbert might have done. '

Was it possible for Albinia to have kept out of her eyes asignificant glance, or to have disarmed her lips of a merry smile ofamused encouragement! How she had looked she knew not, but the reddeepened on Sophy's whole face, and after one inquiring gaze from theeyes they were cast down, and an ineffable brightness came over theexpression, softening and embellishing. 

'What have I done?' thought Albinia. 'Never mind--it must have beenall there, or it would not have been wakened so easily--if he goesthey will have a scene first. '

But when Mr. Kendal came back he only advised Ulick to go to his deskas usual the next day, as if nothing had happened. 

And Ulick owned that, turn out as things might, he could not quit hiswork in the first ardour of his resentment, and with a great exertionof Christian forgiveness, he finally promised not to give notice ofhis retirement unless his uncle should repeat the offence. This timeAlbinia durst not look at Sophy. 

Rather according to his friend's hopes than his own, he was able toreport at the close of the next day, that he had not 'had a word fromhis uncle, except a nod;' and thus the days passed on, AndrewGoldsmith did not appear, and it became evident that he was to remainon sufferance as a clerk. Nor did Albinia and Sophy venture to renewthe subject between themselves. At first there was consciousness intheir silence; soon their minds were otherwise engrossed. 

Mrs. Meadows was suddenly stricken with paralysis, and was thought tobe dying. She recovered partial consciousness in the course of thenext day, but was constantly moaning the name of her eldest andfavourite granddaughter, and when telegraph and express train broughthome the startled and trembling Lucy, she was led at once to the sickbed--where at her name there was the first gleam of anything likepleasure. 

'And where have you been, my dear, this long time?'

'I've been at--at Brighton, dear grandmamma, ' said Lucy, so muchagitated as scarcely to be able to recall the name, or utter thewords. 

'And--I say, my dear love, ' said Mrs. Meadows, earnestly andmysteriously, 'have you seen _him_?'

Poor Lucy turned scarlet with distress and confusion, but she washeld fast, and grandmamma pursued, 'I'm sure he has not his equal forhandsomeness and stateliness, and there must have been a pair ofyou. '

'Dear grandmamma, we must let Lucy go and take off her things; sheshall come back presently, but she has had a long journey, 'interposed Albinia, seeing her ready to sink into the earth. 

But Mrs. Meadows had roused into eagerness, and would not let her go. 'I hope you danced with him, dear, ' she went on; 'and it's allnonsense about his being high and silent. Your papa is bent on it, and you'll live like a princess in India. '

'She takes you for your mother--she means papa, whispered Albinia, not without a secret flash at once of indignation at perceiving howhis first love had been wasted, yet of exultation in finding that noone but herself had known how to love him; but poor Lucy, completelyand helplessly overcome, could only exclaim in a faltering voice:'Oh, grandmamma, don't--' and Albinia was forced to disengage her, support her out of the room, and leaving her to her sister, hastenback to soothe the old lady, who had been terrified by her emotion. It had been a great mistake to bring her in abruptly, when tired withher journey, and not fully aware what awaited her. But there was atthat time reason to think all would soon be over, and Albinia wasstartled and confused. 

Albinia had hitherto been the only efficient nurse of the family. Sophy's presence seemed to stir up instincts of the old wranglinghabits, and the invalid was always fretful when left to her, so thatto her own exceeding distress she was kept almost entirely out of thesick room. 

Lucy, on the other hand, was extremely valuable there, her brightmanner and unfailing chatter always amused if needful, and her lightstep and tender hand made her useful, and highly appreciated by theregular nurse. 

For the first few days, they watched in awe for the last dreadsummons, but gradually it was impossible not to become in a mannerhabituated to the suspense, so that common things resumed theirinterest, and though Sophy was pained by the incongruity, it couldnot have been otherwise without the spirits and health giving wayunder the strain. Nothing could be more trying than to have the mindwrought up to hourly anticipation of the last parting, and then thedelay, without the reaction of recovery, the spirit beyond all reachof intercourse, and the mortal frame languishing and drooping. Mr. Kendal had from the first contemplated the possibility of the longduration of such lingering, and did his utmost to promote suchenlivenment and change for the attendants as was consistent withtheir care of the sufferer. They never dared to be all beyond callat once, since a very little agitation might easily suffice to bringon a fatal attack, and Albinia and Lucy were forced to share thehours of exercise and employment between them, and often Albiniacould not leave the house and garden at all. 

Gilbert was an excellent auxiliary, and would devote many an hour tothe cheering of the poor shattered mind. His entrance seldom failedto break the thread of melancholy murmurs, and he had exactly thegentle, bright attentive manner best fitted to rouse and enliven. Nothing could be more irreproachable, than his conduct, and hisconsideration and gentleness so much endeared him, that he had neverbeen so much at peace. All he dreaded was the leaving what was trulyto him the sanctuary of home, he feared alike temptation and theeffort of resistance and could not bear to go away when hisgrandmother was in so precarious a state, and he could so muchlighten Mrs. Kendal's cares both by being with her, and by watchingover Maurice. His parents were almost equally afraid of trusting himin the world; and the embodiment of the militia for the countyoffered a quasi profession, which would keep him at home and yet givehim employment. He was very anxious to be allowed to apply for acommission, and pleaded so earnestly and humbly that it would be hisbest hope of avoiding his former errors, that Mr. Kendal yielded, though with doubt whether it would be well to confine him to sonarrow a sphere. Meantime the corps was quartered at Bayford, andfilled the streets with awkward louts in red jackets, who wereinveterate in mistaking the right for the left, Gilbert had a certainshy pride in his soldiership, and Maurice stepped like a young FieldMarshal when he saw his brother saluted. 

Nothing had so much decided this step as the finding that youngDusautoy was to return to his college after Easter. He was at theVicarage again, marking his haughty avoidance of the Kendal family, and to their great joy, Lucy did not appear distressed, she wascompletely absorbed in her grandmother, and shrank from all allusionto her lover. Had the small flutter of vanity been cured by aglimpse beyond her own corner of the world?

But soon Albinia became sensible of an alteration in Gilbert. He hadno sooner settled completely into his new employment, than a certainrestless dissatisfaction seemed to have possessed him. He wasfastidious at his meals, grumbled at his horse, scolded the groom, had fits of petulance towards his brother, and almost neglected Mrs. Meadows. No one could wonder at a youth growing weary of suchattendance, but his tenderness and amiability had been his bestpoints, and it was grievous to find them failing. Albinia would havecharged the alteration on his brother officers, if they had not beena very steady and humdrum set, whose society Gilbert certainly didnot prefer. She was more uneasy at finding that he sometimes sawAlgernon Dusautoy, though for Lucy's sake, he always avoided bringinghis name forward. 

A woman was ill in the bargeman's cottage by the towing-path, andAlbinia had walked to see her. As she came down-stairs, she heardvoices, and beheld Mr. Hope evidently on the same errand withherself, talking to Gilbert. She caught the words, ere she couldsafely descend the rickety staircase, Gilbert was saying, 'Oh! some happy pair from the High Street!'

'I beg your pardon, ' said Mr. Hope, 'I am so blind, I really took itfor your sister, but our shopkeepers' daughters do dress so!'

Albinia looking in the same direction, beheld in a walk that skirtedthe meadow towards the wood, two figures, of which only one wasclearly visible, it was nearly a quarter of a mile off, but there wassomething about it that made her exclaim, 'Why, that's Mr. CavendishDusautoy! whom can he be walking with?'

Gilbert started violently at hearing her behind him, and a word ortwo of greeting passed with Mr. Hope, then there was some spying atthe pair, but they were getting further off, and disappeared in thewood, while Gilbert, screwing up his eyes, and stammering, declaredhe did not know; it might be, he did not think any one could berecognised at such a distance; and then saying that he had fallen inwith Mr. Hope by chance, he hastened on. The curate made a briefvisit, and walked home with her, examining her on her impression thatthe gentleman was young Dusautoy, and finally consulting her on theexpediency of mentioning the suspicion to the vicar, in case heshould be deluding some foolish tradesman's daughter. Albiniastrongly advised his doing so; she had much faith in her own keeneyesight, and could not mistake the majestic mien of Algernon; shethought the vicar ought at once to be warned, but felt relieved thatit was not her part to speak. 

She was very glad when Mr. Hope took an opportunity of telling herthat young Dusautoy was going to the Greenaways in a day or two. 

As to Gilbert, it was as if this departure had relieved him from anincubus; he was in better spirits from that moment, and returned tohis habits of kindness to both grandmamma and Maurice. 

The manifold duties of head sick-nurse, governess, and housekeeper, were apt to clash, and valiant and unwearied as Albinia was, she wasobliged perforce to leave the children more to others than she wouldhave preferred. Little Albinia was all docility and sweetness, andalready did such wonders with her ivory letters, that the exultingSophy tried to abash Maurice by auguring that she would be the firstto read; to which, undaunted, he replied, 'She'll never be a boy!'Nevertheless Maurice was developing a species of conscience, rendering him trustworthy and obedient out of sight, better, in fact, alone with his own honour and his mother's commands, than with anyauthority that he could defy. He knew when his father meant to beobeyed, and Gilbert managed him easily; but he warred with Lucy, ruled Sophy, and had no chivalry for any one but little Albinia, norobedience except for his mother, and was a terror to maid-servantsand elder children. With much of promise, he was anything but anagreeable child, and whilst no one but herself ever punished, contradicted, or complained of him, Albinia had a task that wouldhave made her very uneasy, had not her mind been too fresh and strongfor over-sense of responsibility. Each immediate duty in its turnwas sufficient for her. 

Maurice's shadow-like pursuit of Gilbert often took him off herhands. It might sometimes be troublesome to the elder brother, andnow and then rewarded with a petulant rebuff, but Maurice was onlythe more pertinacious, and on the whole his allegiance was requitedwith ardent affection and unbounded indulgence. Nay, once whenMaurice and his pony, one or both, were swept on by the whole hunt, and obliged to follow the hounds, Gilbert in his anxiety took leapsthat he shuddered to remember, while the urchin sat the firstgallantly, and though he fell into the next ditch, scrambled up onthe instant, and was borne by his spirited pony over two more, amiduniversal applause. Mr. Nugent himself rode home with the brothersto tell the story; papa and mamma were too much elated at his prowessto scold. 

The eventful year 1854 had begun, and General Ferrars was summonedfrom Canada to a command in the East. On his arrival in England, hewrote to his brother and sister to meet him in London, and the aunts, delighted to gather their children once more round them, sentpressing invitations, only regretting that there was not room enoughin the Family Office for the younger branches. 

Mr. Ferrars' first measure was to ride to Willow Lawn. Knocking atthe door of his sister's morning-room, he found Maurice with apouting lip, back rounded, and legs twisted, standing upon hiselbows, which were planted upon the table on either side of a calicospelling-book. Mr. Kendal stood up straight before the fire, lookingdistressed and perplexed, and Albinia sat by, a little worn, a littleirritable, and with the expression of a wilful victim. 

All greeted the new-comer warmly, and Maurice exclaimed, 'Mamma, Imay have a holiday now!'

'Not till you have learnt your spelling. ' There was some sharpnessin the tone, and Maurice's shoulder-blades looked sulky. 

'In consideration of his uncle, ' began Mr. Kendal, but she put herhand on the boy, saying, 'You know we agreed there were to be noholidays for a week, because we did not use the last properly. '

He moved off disconsolately, and his father said, 'I hope you arecome to arrange the journey to London. Is Winifred coming with you?'

'No; a hurry and confusion, and the good aunts would be too much forher, you will be the only one for inspection. '

'Yes, take him with you, Maurice, ' said Albinia, 'he must seeWilliam. '

'You must be the exhibitor, then, ' her brother replied. 

'Now, Maurice, I know what you are come for, but you ought to knowbetter than to persuade me, when you know there are six good reasonsagainst my going. '

'I know of one worth all the six. '

'Yes, ' said Mr. Kendal; 'I have been telling her that she isconvincing me that I did wrong in allowing her to burthen herselfwith this charge. '

'That's nothing to the purpose, ' said Albinia; 'having undertaken it, when you all saw the necessity, I cannot forsake it now--'

'If Mrs. Meadows were in the same condition as she was in two monthsago, there might be a doubt, ' said Mr. Kendal; but she is lessdependent on your attention, and Lucy and Gilbert are most anxious todevote themselves to her in your absence. '

'I know they all wish to be kind, but if anything went wrong, Ishould never forgive myself!'

'Not if you went out for pleasure alone, ' said her brother; 'butrelationship has demands. '

'Of course, ' she said, petulantly, 'if Edmund is resolved, I must go, but that does not convince me that it is right to leave everything torun riot here. '

Mr. Kendal looked serious, and Mr. Ferrars feared that the wintercares had so far told on her temper, that perplexity made her wilfulin self-sacrifice. There was a pause, but just as she began toperceive she had said something wrong, the lesser Maurice burst outin exultation, 'There, it is not indestructible!'

'What mischief have you been about?' The question was needless, forthe table was strewn with snips of calico. 

'This nasty spelling-book! Lucy said it was called indestructible, because nobody could destroy it, but I've taken my new knife to it. And see there!'

'And now can you make another?' said his uncle. 

'I don't want _to_. '

'Nor _one_ either, sir, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'What shall we have totell Uncle William about you! I'm afraid you are one of the chiefcauses of mamma not knowing how to go to London. '

Maurice did not appear on the way to penitence, but his mother said, 'Bring me your knife. '

He hung down his head, and obeyed without a word. She closed it, andlaid it on the mantel-shelf, which served as a sort of pound forproperties in sequestration. 

'Now, then, go, ' she said, 'you are too naughty for me to attend toyou. '

'But when will you, mamma?' laying a hand on her dress. 

'I don't know. Go away now. '

He slowly obeyed, and as the door shut, she said, 'There!' in a toneas if her view was established. 

'You must send him to Fairmead, ' said the uncle. 

'To "terrify" Winifred? No, no, I know better than that; Gilbert canlook after him. I don't so much care about that. '

The admission was eagerly hailed, and objection after objectionremoved, and having recovered her good humour, she was candid, andowned how much she wished to go. 'I really want to make acquaintancewith William. I've never seen him since I came to my senses, andhave only taken him on trust from you. '

'I wish equally that he should see you, ' said her brother. 'It wouldbe good for him, and I doubt whether he has any conception what youare like. '

'I'd better stay at home, to leave you and Edmund to depict for hisbenefit a model impossible idol--the normal woman. '

Maurice looked at her, and shook his head. 

'No--it would be rather--it and its young one, eh?'

Maurice took both her hands. 'I should not like to tell William whatI shall believe if you do not come. '

'Well, what--'

'That Edmund is right, and you have been overtasked till you arecareful and troubled about many things. '

'Only too much bent on generous self-devotion, ' said Mr. Kendal, eagerly; 'too unselfish to cast the balance of duties. '

'Hush, Edmund, ' said Albinia. 'I don't deserve fine words. Ihonestly believe I want to do what is right, but I can't be sure whatit is, and I have made quite fuss enough, so you two shall decide, and then I shall be made right anyway. Only do it from yourconsciences. '

They looked at each other, taken aback by the sudden surrender. Mr. Ferrars waited, and her husband said, 'She ought to see her brother. She needs the change, and there is no sufficient cause to detainher. '

'She must be content sometimes to trust, ' said Mr. Ferrars. 

'Aye, and all that will go wrong, when my back is turned. '

'Let it, ' said her brother. 'The right which depends on a singlehuman eye is not good for much. Let the weeds grow, or you can'tpull them up. '

'Let the mice play, that the cat may catch them, ' said Albinia, striving to hide her care. 'One good effect is, that Edmund has notbegun to groan. '

Indeed, in his anxiety that she should consent to enjoy herself, hehad not had time to shrink from the introduction. 

Outside the door they found Maurice waiting, his spelling learnt froma fragment of the indestructible spelling-book, and the questionfollowed, 'Now, mamma, you wont say I'm too naughty for you to go toLondon and see Uncle William?'

'No, my little boy, I mean to trust you, and tell Uncle William thatmy young soldier is learning the soldier's first duty--obedience. '

'And may I have my knife, mamma?'

Papa had settled that question by himself taking it off the chimney-pieceand restoring it. If mamma wished the penance to have been longer, she neither looked it nor said it. 

The young people received the decision with acclamation, and the twoelder ones vied with one another in attempts to set her mind at restby undertaking everything, and promising for themselves and thechildren perfect regularity and harmony. Sophy, with a bluntnessthat King Lear would have highly disapproved, said, 'She was gladmamma was going, but she knew they should be all at sixes and sevens. She would do her best, and very bad it would be. '

'Not if you don't make up your mind beforehand that it must be bad, 'said her uncle. 

Sophy smiled, she was much less impervious to cheerful auguries, andspoke with gladness of the pleasure it would give her friendGenevieve to see Mrs. Kendal. 

Mr. Ferrars had a short interview with Ulick, and was amused byobserving that little Maurice had learnt as much Irish as Ulick haddropped. After the passing fever about his O had subsided, he wasparting with some of his ultra-nationality. The whirr of his R's andhis Irish idioms were far less perceptible, and though a word ofattack on his country would put him on his mettle, and bring out theKelt in full force, yet in his reasonable state, his good sense andlove of order showed an evident development, and instead ofcontending that Galway was the most perfect county in the world, heonly said it might yet be so. 

'Isn't he a noble fellow?' cried Albinia, warmly. 

'Yes, ' said her brother; 'I doubt whether all the O'Mores puttogether have ever made such a conquest as he has. '

'It was fun to see how the aunts were dismayed to find one of thehorde in full force here. I believe it was as a measure ofprecaution that they took Lucy away. I was very glad for Lucy to go, but hers was not exactly the danger. '

'Ha!' said Maurice; and Albinia blushed. Whereupon he saidinterrogatively, 'Hem?' which made her laugh so consciously that headded, 'Don't you go and be romantic about either of your youngladies, or there will be a general burning of fingers. '

'If you knew all our secrets, Maurice, you would think me a model ofprudence and forbearance. '

'Ho!' was his next interjection, 'so much the worse. For my ownpart, I don't expect prudence will come to you naturally till thelittle Awk has a lover. '

'Won't it come any other way?'

'Yes, in _one_ way, ' he said, gravely. 

'And that way is not easily found by those who have neither humilitynor patience, ' she said, sadly, 'who rush on their own will. '

'Nay, Albinia, it is being sought, I do believe; and remember thelines--

 "Thine own mild energy bestow, And deepen while thou bidst it flow, More calm our stream of love. "'

Forced to resign herself to her holiday, Albinia did so with a goodgrace, in imitation of her brother, who assured her that he hadbrought a bottle of Lethe, and had therein drowned wife, children, and parish. Mr. Kendal's spirits, as usual, rose higher every milefrom Bayford, and they were a very lively party when they arrived inMayfair. 

The good aunts were delighted to have round them all those whom theycalled their children; all except Fred, whom the new arrangements hadsent to rejoin his regiment in Ireland. 

Sinewy, spare, and wiry, with keen gray eyes under straight brows, narrow temples, a sunburnt face, and alert, upright bearing and quickstep, William Ferrars was every inch a soldier; but nothing so muchstruck Mr. And Mrs. Kendal as the likeness to their little Maurice, though it consisted more in air and gesture than in feature. Hisspeech was brief and to the point, softened into delicately-polishedcourtesy towards womankind, in the condescension of strength toweakness--the quality he evidently thought their chief characteristic. 

Albinia was amused as she watched him with grown-up eyes, andcompared present with past impressions. She could now imagine thatshe had been an inconvenient charge to a young soldier brother, andthat he had been glad to make her over to the aunts, only petting andindulging her as a child; looking down on her fancies, and smiling ather sauciness when she was an enthusiastic maiden--treatment whichshe had so much resented, that she had direfully offended Maurice bypronouncing William a mere martinet, when she was hurt at his neitherreading the Curse of Kehama, nor entering into her plans for Fairmeadschool. 

Having herself become a worker, she could better appreciate a man whohad seen and acted instead of reading, recollected herself as anemanation of conceit, and felt shy and anxious, even more for herhusband than for herself. How would the scholar and the soldier faretogether? and could she and Maurice keep them from wearying of eachother? She had little trust in her own fascinations, though she sawthe General's eye approvingly fixed on her, and believing herself tobe a more pleasing object in her womanly bloom than in her unformedgirlhood. 

'How does the Montreal affair go on?' she asked. 

'What affair?'

'Fred and Miss Kinnaird. '

'I am sorry to say he has not put it out of his head. '

'Surely she is a very nice person. '

'Pshaw! He has no right to think of a wife these dozen years. '

'Not even think? When he is not to have one at any rate till he is afield officer!'

'And he is a fool to have one then. A mere encumbrance to himselfand the entire corps. '

'Yes, I know, ' said Albinia, 'she always gets the best cabin. '

'And that is no place for her! No man, as I have told Fred over andover again, ought to drag a woman into hardships for which she is notfitted, and where she interferes with his effectiveness and thecomfort of every one else. '

The identical lecture of twelve years since, when he had fearedAlbinia's becoming this inconvenient appendage! If he had repeatedit on all like occasions, she did not wonder that it had wearied hisaide-de-camp. 

'Perhaps, ' she said, 'the backwoods may have fitted Miss Emily forthe life; and I can't but be glad of Fred's having been steady toanything. '

Considering this speech like the Kehama days, the General went on todilate on the damage that marriage was to the 'service, ' removing thebest officers, first from the mess, and then from the army. 

'What a pity William was born too late to be a Knight of St. John!'said Albinia. 

All laughed, but she doubted whether he were pleased, for headdressed himself to one of the aunts, while Maurice spoke to her inan under tone--'I believe he is quite right. Homes are better forthe individual man, but not for the service. How remarkably theanalogy holds with this other service!'

'You mean what St. Paul says of the married and unmarried?'

'I always think he and his sayings are the most living lessons I knowon the requirements of the other army. '

Albinia mused on the insensible change in Maurice. He had notembraced his profession entirely by choice. It had always beenunderstood that one of the younger branches must take the familyliving; and as Fred had spurned study, he had been bred up toconsider it as his fate, and if he had ever had other wishes, he hadentirely accepted his destiny, and sincerely turned to his vocation. The knowledge that he must be a clergyman had ruled him and formedhim from his youth, and acting through him on his sister, hadrendered her more than the accomplished, prosperous young lady heraunts meant to have made her. Yet, even up to a year or two afterhis Ordination, there had been a sense of sacrifice; he lovedsporting, and even balls, and it had been an effort to renounce them. He had avoided coming to London because his keen enjoyment of societytended to make him discontented with his narrow sphere; she had evenknown him to hesitate to ride with the staff at a review, lest heshould make himself liable to repinings. And now how entirely hadall this passed away, not merely by outgrowing the enterprisingtemper and boyish habits, nor by contentment in a happy home, but bythe sufficiency and rest of his service, the engrossment in thecharge from his great Captain. Without being himself aware of it, hehad ceased to distrust a holiday, because it was no longer atemptation; and his animation and mirth were the more free, becauseself-regulation was so thoroughly established, that restraint was nolonger felt. 

Mrs. Annesley was talking of the little Kendals, who she had ruledshould be at Fairmead. 

'No, ' said Maurice, 'Albinia thought her son too mighty for Winifred. Our laudable efforts at cousinly friendship usually produce war-whoopsthat bring the two mammas each to snatch her own offspring from thefray, with a scolding for the sake of appearances though believing theother the only guilty party. '

'Now, Maurice, ' cried Albinia, 'you confess how fond Mary is ofsetting people to rights. '

'Well--when Maurice bullies Alby. '

'Aye, you talk of the mammas, and you only want to make out poorMaurice the aggressor. '

'Never mind, they will work in better than if they were fabulouschildren. Ah, you are going to contend that yours is a fabulouschild. Take care I don't come on you with the indestructible--'

'Take care I don't come on you with Mary's lessons to Colonel Bury onthe game-law. '

'Does it not do one good to see those two quarrelling just like oldtimes?' exclaimed one aunt to the other. 

'And William looking on as contemptuous as ever?' said Albinia. 

'Not at all. I rejoice to have this week with you. I should like tosee your boy. Maurice says he is a thorough young soldier. '

Mr. Kendal looked pleased. 

The man of study had a penchant for the man of action, and thebrothers-in-law were drawing together. Mars, the great geographicalmaster, was but opening his gloomy school on the Turkish soil, andthe world was discovering its ignorance beyond the Pinnock'sCatechisms of its youth. Maurice treated Mr. Kendal as a dictionary, and his stores of Byzantine, Othman, and Austrian lore, chimed inwith the perceptions of the General, who, going by military maps, described plans of operations which Mr. Kendal could hardly believehe had not found in history, while he could as little credit that Mr. Kendal had neither studied tactics, nor seen the spots of which hecould tell such serviceable minutiae. 

They had their heads together over the map the whole evening, and thenext morning, when the General began to ask questions about Turkish, his sister was proud to hear her husband answering with thedirectness and precision dear to a military man. 

'That's an uncommonly learned man, Albinia's husband, ' began theGeneral, as soon as he had started with his brother on a round oferrands. 

'I never met a man of more profound and universal knowledge. '

'I don't see that he is so grave and unlike other people. Fredreported that he was silence itself, and she might as well havemarried Hamlet's ghost. '

'Fred saw him at a party, ' said Maurice; then remembering that thismight not be explanatory, he added, 'He shines most when at ease, andevery year since his marriage has improved and enlivened him. '

'I am satisfied. I hardly knew how to judge, though I did not thinkmyself called upon to remonstrate against the marriage, as the auntswished. I knew I might depend on you, and I thought it high timethat she should be settled. '

'I have been constantly admiring her discernment, for I own that atfirst his reserve stood very much in my way, but since she has raisedhis spirits, and taught him to exert himself, he has been a mostvaluable brother to me. 

'Then you think her happy? I was surprised to see her such a fine-lookingwoman; my aunts had croaked so much about his children and his mother, that I thought she would be worn to a shadow. '

'Very happy. She has casual troubles, and a great deal of work, butthat is what she is made for. '

'How does she get on with his children?'

'Hearty love for them has carried her through the first difficulties, which appalled me, for they had been greatly mismanaged. I am afraidthat she has not been able to undo some of the past evil; and withall her good intentions, I am sometimes afraid whether she is oldenough to deal with grown-up young people. '

'You don't mean that Kendal's children are grown up? I should thinkhim younger than I am. '

'He is so, but civil servants marry early, and not always wisely; andthe son is about twenty. Poor Albinia dotes on him, and has donemore for him than ever his father did; but the lad is weak and tenderevery way, with no stamina, moral or physical, and with just enoughproperty to do him harm. He has been at Oxford and has failed, andnow he is in the militia, but what can be expected of a boy in acountry town, with nothing to do? I did not like his looks lastweek, and I don't think his being there, always idle, is good forthat little manly scamp of Albinia's own. '

'Why don't they put him into the service?'

'He is too old. '

'Not too old for the cavalry!'

'He can ride, certainly, and is a tall, good-looking fellow; but Ishould not have thought him the stuff to make a dragoon. He hasalways been puling and delicate, unfit for school, wanting force. '

'Wanting discipline, ' said the General. 'I have seen a year in agood regiment make an excellent officer of that very stamp ofyoungster, just wanting a mould to give him substance. '

'The regiment should be a very good one, ' said Mr. Ferrars; 'he wouldbe only too easily drawn in by the bad style of subaltern. '

'Put him into the 25th Lancers, ' said the General, 'and set Fred tolook after him. Rattlepate as he is, he can take excellent care of alad to whom he takes a fancy, and if Albinia asked him, he would doit with all his heart. '

'I wish you would propose it, though I am afraid his father willnever consent. I would do a great deal to get him away before he hasled little Maurice into harm. '

'This consideration moved the Rector of Fairmead himself to broachthe subject, but neither Mr. Kendal nor Albinia could think ofventuring their fragile son in the army, though assured that therewas little chance that the 25th Lancers would be summoned to theeast, and they would only hold out hopes of little Maurice by and by. 

Albinia's martial ardour was revived as she listened with greatergrasp of comprehension to subjects familiar in her girlhood. Sheagain met old friends of her father, the lingering glories of thePeninsula and Waterloo, who liked her for her own sake as well as forher father's, while Maurice looked on, amused by her husband's silentpride in her, and her hourly progress in the regard of the General, who began to talk of making a long visit to Fairmead, after what heexpected would be a slight demonstration on the Danube. He evenbegan to regret the briefness of the time that he could spend intheir society. 

Much was crowded into that week, but Albinia contrived to find anhour for a call on her little French friend, to whom she had alreadyforwarded the parcels she had brought from home--a great barm-brackfrom Biddy, and a store of delicate convent confections fromHadminster. 

She was set down at a sober old house in the lawyers' quarter of theworld, and conducted to a pretty, though rather littered drawing-room, where she found a delicate-looking young mamma, and various smallchildren. 

'I'm so glad, ' said little Mrs. Rainsforth, 'that you have been ableto come; it will be such a pleasure to dear Miss Durant; and whileone of the children was sent to summon the governess, the ladycontinued, nervously but warmly, 'I hope you will think Miss Durantlooking well; I am afraid she shuts herself up too much. I'm sureshe is the greatest comfort, the greatest blessing to us. '

Albinia's reply was prevented by a rush of children, followed by thedear little trim, slight figure. There was no fear that Genevievedid not look well or happy. Her olive complexion was healthy; herdark eyes lustrous with gladness; her smile frank and unquelled; hermovements full of elastic life. 

She led the way to the back parlour, dingy by nature, but bearingliving evidence to the charm which she infused into any room. Scratched table, desks, copybooks, and worn grammars, had more theair of a comfortable occupation than of the shabby haunt of irksometaskwork. There were flowers in the window, and the children'streasures were arranged with taste. Genevieve loved her school-room, and showed off its little advantages with pretty exultation. If Mrs. Kendal could only see how well it looked with the curtains down, after tea!

And then came the long, long talk over home affairs, and the historyof half the population of Bayford, Genevieve making inquiries, anddrinking in the answers as if she could not make enough of herenjoyment. 

Not till all the rest had been discussed, did she say, with droppedeyelids, and a little blush, 'Is Mr. Gilbert Kendal quite strong?'

'Thank you, he has been much better this winter, and so useful andkind in nursing grandmamma!'

'Yes, he was always kind. '

'He was going to beg me to remember him to you, but he broke off, andsaid you would not care. '

'I care for all goodness towards me, ' answered Genevieve, lifting hereyes with a flash of inquiry. 

'I am afraid he is as bad as ever, poor fellow, ' said Albinia, with alittle smile and sigh; 'but he has behaved very well. I must tellyou that you were in the same train with him on his journey fromOxford, and he was ashamed to meet your eye. '

'Ah, I remember well. I thought I saw him. I was bringing Georgeand Fanny from a visit to their aunts, and I was sure it must be Mr. Gilbert. '

'As prudent as ever, Genevieve. '

'It would not have been right, ' she said, blushing; 'but it was sucha treat to see a Bayford face, that I had nearly sprung out of thewaiting-room to speak to him at the first impulse. '

'My poor little exile!' said Albinia. 

'No, that is not my name. Call me my aunt's bread-winner. That's mypride! I mean my cause of thankfulness. I could not have earnedhalf so much at home. '

'I hope indeed you have a home here. '

'That I have, ' she fervently answered. 'Oh, without being a homelessorphan, one does not learn what kind hearts there are. Mr. And Mrs. Rainsforth seemed only to fear that they should not be good enough tome. '

'Do you mean that you found it a little oppressive?'

'Fi donc, Madame! Yet I must own that with her timid uneasy way, andhis so perfect courtesy, they did alarm me a little at first. Ipitied them, for I saw them so resolved not to let me feel myself detrop, that I knew I was in their way. '

'Did not that vex you?'

'Why, I suppose they set their inconvenience against the needs oftheir children, and my concern was to do my duty, and be as littletroublesome as possible. They pressed me to spend my evenings withthem, but I thought that would be too hard on them, so I told them Ipreferred the last hours alone, and I do not come in unless there areothers to prevent their being tete-a-tete. '

'Very wise. And do you not find it lonely?'

'It is my time for reading--my time for letters--my time for being athome!' cried Genevieve. 'Now however that I hope I am no longer aweight on them, Mrs. Rainsforth will sometimes ask me to come andsing to him, or read aloud, when he comes home so tired that hecannot speak, and her voice is weak. Alas! they are both so fragile, so delicate. '

Her soul was evidently with them and with her charges, of whom therewas so much to say, that the carriage came all too soon to hurryAlbinia away from the sight of that buoyant sweetness and capacity ofhappiness. 

She was rather startled by Miss Ferrars saying, 'By-the-by, Albinia, how was it that you never told us of the development of the Infantprodigy?

'I don't know what you mean, Aunt Gertrude. '

'Don't you remember that boy, that Mrs. Dusautoy Cavendish's son, whom that poor little companion of hers used to call l'Enfantprodigue. I did not know he was a neighbour of yours, as I find fromLucy. '

'What did Lucy tell you about him? She did not meet him!' criedAlbinia, endeavouring not to betray her alarm. 'I mean, did she meethim?'

'Indeed, ' said Miss Ferrars, 'you should have warned us if you hadany objection, my dear. '

'Well, but what did happen?'

'Oh, nothing alarming, I assure you. They met at a ball at Brighton;Lucy introduced him, and said he was your vicar's nephew; they dancedtogether. I think only once. '

'I wish you had mentioned it. When did it happen?'

'I can hardly tell. I think she had been about a fortnight with us, but she seemed so indifferent that I should never have thought itworth mentioning. I remember my sister thought of asking him to alittle evening party of ours, and Lucy dissuading her. Now, really, Albinia, don't look as if we had been betraying our trust. You nevergave us any reason to think--'

'No, no. I beg your pardon, dear aunt. I hope there's no harm done. If I could have thought of his turning up, I would--But I hope it isall right. '

Such good accounts came from both homes, and the General was sounwilling to part with his brother and sister, that he persuaded themto accompany him to Southampton for embarkation. They all felt thatthese last days, precious now, might be doubly precious by-and-by, and alone with them and free from the kindly scrutiny of the goodaunts, William expanded and evinced more warm fraternal feeling thanhe had ever manifested. He surprised his sister by thanking herwarmly for having come to meet him. 'I am glad to have been withyou, Albinia; I am glad to have seen your husband. I have toldMaurice that I am heartily rejoiced to see you in such excellenthands. '

'You must come and see the children, and know him better. '

'I hope so, when this affair is over, and I expect it will be soonsettled. Anyway, I am glad we have been together. If we meet again, we will try to see more of one another. '

He had said much more to his brother, expressing regret that he hadbeen so much separated from his sister. Thorough soldier as he was, and ardent for active service, the sight of her and her husband hadrenewed gentler thoughts, and he was so far growing old that the ideaof home and rest came invitingly before him. He was softened at theparting, and when he wrung their hands for the last time on the deckof the steamer, they were glad that his last words were, 'God blessyou. '

There had been some uncertainty as to the time of his sailing, andFairmead and Bayford had been told that unless their travellersarrived by the last reasonable train on Friday, they were not to beexpected till the same time on Saturday, Maurice having concocted ascheme for crossing by several junction lines, so as to save waiting;but they had not reckoned on the discourtesies of two rival companieswhose lines met at the same station, and the southern train was onlyin time to hear the parting snort of the engine that it professed tocatch. 

The Ferrars' nature, above all when sore with farewells, was not madeto submit to having time wasted by treacherous trains on a coldwintry day, and at a small new station, with an apology for awaiting-room, no bookstall, and nothing to eat but greasy gingerbreadand hard apples. 

Maurice relieved his feelings by heartily rowing all the officials, but he could obtain no redress, as he knew full well the whole time, nor would any train pick them up for full three hours. 

So indignant was he, that amusement rendered Albinia patient, especially when he took to striding up and down the platform, devising cases in which the delay might be actionable, andvituperating the placability of Mr. Kendal, who having wrapt up hiswife in plaids and seated her on the top of the luggage, had set hisback to the wall, and was lost to the present world in a book. 

'Never mind, Maurice, ' said Albinia; 'in any other circumstances weshould think three hours of each other a great boon. '

'If anything could be an aggravation, it would be to see Albiniaphilosophical. '

'You make me so on the principle of the Helots and Spartans. '

It was possible to get to Hadminster by half-past seven, and on toBayford by nine o'clock, but Fairmead lay further from the line, andthe next train did not stop at the nearest station, so Maurice agreedto sleep at Bayford that night; and this settled, set out with hissister to explore the neighbourhood for eatables and churcharchitecture. They made an ineffectual attempt to rouse Mr. Kendalto go with them, but he was far too deep in his book, and onlymuttered something about looking after the luggage. They found astale loaf of bread, and a hideous church, but it was a merry walk, and brought them back in their liveliest mood, which lasted even topronouncing it 'great fun' that the Hadminster flies were all at aball, and that the omnibus must convey them home by the fullmoonlight. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Slowly the omnibus rumbled over the wooden bridge, and then with asudden impulse it thundered up to the front door. 

Albinia jumped out, and caught Sophy in her arms, exclaiming, 'Andhow are you all, my dear?'

'We had quite given you up, ' Gilbert was saying. 'The fire is in thelibrary, ' he added, as Mr. Kendal was opening the drawing-room door, and closing it in haste at the sight of a pale, uninviting patch ofmoonlight, and the rush of a blast of cold wind. 

'And how is grandmamma? and the children? My Sophy, you don't lookwell, and where's Lucy?'

Ere she could receive an answer, down jumped, two steps at a time, ahalf-dressed figure, all white stout legs and arms which werespeedily hugging mamma. 

'There's my man!' said Mr. Kendal, 'a good boy, I know. '

'No!' cried the bold voice. 

'No?' (incredulously) what have you been doing?'

'I broke the conservatory with the marble dog, and--' he looked atGilbert. 

'There's my brave boy, ' said Mr. Kendal, who had suffered so muchfrom his elder son's equivocation as to be ready to overlook anythingfor the sake of truth. 'Here, Uncle Maurice, shake hands with yourgodson, who always tells truth. '

The urchin folded his arms on his bosom, and looked like a youngBonaparte. 

'Where's your hand? said his uncle. 'Wont you give it to me?'

'No. '

'He will be wiser to-morrow, if you are so good as to try him again, 'said Albinia, who knew nothing did him more harm than creating acommotion by his caprices; 'he is up too late, and fractious withsleepiness. Go to bed now, my dear. '

'I shall not be wiser to-morrow, ' quoth the child, marching out ofthe room in defiance. 

'Monkey! what's the matter now?' exclaimed Albinia; 'I suppose youhave all been spoiling him. But what's become of Lucy?'

'Gilbert said she was at the Dusautoys, ' replied Sophy; 'but if youwould but come to grandmamma! She found out that you were expected, and she is in such a state that we have not known what to do. '

'I'll come, only, Sophy dear, please order tea and something to eat. Your uncle looks ravenous. '

She broke off, as there advanced into the room a being like Lucy, butcovered with streams and spatters of flowing sable tears, like aheraldic decoration, over face, neck, and dress. 

All unconscious, she came with outstretched hands and words ofwelcome, but an astonished cry of 'Lucy!' met her, and casting hereyes on her dress, she screamed, 'Oh goodness! it's ink!'

'Where can you have been? what have you been doing?'

'I--don't know--Oh! it was the great inkstand, and not the scent--Oh!it is all over me! It's in my hair!' shuddering. 'Oh, dear! ohdear! I shall never get it out!' and off she rushed, followed byGilbert, and was soon heard calling the maids to bring hot water toher room. 

'What is all this?' asked Mr. Kendal. 

'I do not know, ' mournfully answered Sophy. 

Albinia left the library, and taking a candle, went into the emptydrawing-room. The moonlight shone white upon the table, and showedthe large cut-glass ink-bottle in a pool of its own contents; and thesofa-cover had black spots and stains as if it had partaken of thelibation. 

Sophy saw, and stood like a statue. 

'You know nothing, I am sure, ' said Albinia. 

'Nothing!' repeated Sophy, with a blank look of wretchedness. 

'If you please, ma'am, ' said the nurse at the door, 'could you bekind enough to come to Mrs. Meadows, she will be quieter when she hasseen you?'

'Sophy dear, we must leave it now, ' said Albinia. 'You must see totheir tea, they have had nothing since breakfast. '

She hastened to the sick room, where she found Mrs. Meadows in apainful state of agitation and excitement. The nurse said that untilthis evening, she had been as usual, but finding that Mrs. Kendal wasexpected, she had been very restless; Miss Kendal was out, andneither Miss Sophy nor Mr. Gilbert could soothe her. 

She eagerly grasped the hand of Albinia who bent down to kiss her, and asked how she had been. 

'Oh! my dear, very unwell, very. They should not leave me to myselfso long, my dear. I thought you would never come back, ' and shebegan to cry, and say, 'no one cared for an old woman. '

Albinia assured her that she was not going away, and restrained herown eager and bewildered feelings to tranquillize her, by prosing onin the lengthy manner which always soothed the poor old lady. It wasa great penance, in her anxiety to investigate the mysteries thatseemed to swarm in the house, but at last she was able to leave thebedside, though not till she had been twice summoned to tea. 

Sophy, lividly pale, was presiding with trembling hands; Gilbert, flushed and nervous, waiting on every one, and trying to be livelyand at ease, but secret distress was equally traceable in each. 

She durst only ask after the children, and heard that her littlenamesake had been as usual as good and sweet as child could be. AndMaurice?

'He's a famous fellow, went on capitally, ' said Gilbert. 

'Yes, till yesterday, ' hoarsely gasped Sophy, sincerity wrenching outthe protest by force. 

'Ah, what has he been doing to the conservatory?'

'He let the little marble dog down from the morning-room window withmy netting silk; it fell, and made a great hole, ' said Sophy. 

'What, as a form of dawdling at his lessons?'

'Yes, but he has not been at all tiresome about them except to-dayand yesterday. '

'And he has told the exact truth, ' said Mr. Kendal, 'his gallantconfession has earned the little cannon I promised him. '

'I believe, ' said Albinia, 'that it would be greater merit in Mauriceto learn forbearance than to speak truth and be praised for it. Ihave never seen his truth really tried. '

'I value truth above all other qualities, ' said Mr. Kendal. 

'So do I, ' said Albinia, 'and it is my greatest joy in that littlefellow; but some time or other it must cost him something, or it willnot be tested. '

Mr. Kendal did not like this, and repeated that he must have hiscannon. Albinia fancied that she heard something like a groan fromGilbert. 

When they broke up for the night, she threw her arm round Sophy asthey went upstairs, saying, 'My poor dear, you look half dead. Havethings been going very wrong?'

'Only these two days, ' said Sophy, 'and I don't know that they haveeither. I am glad you are come!'

'What kind of things?' said Albinia, following her into her room. 

'Don't ask, ' at first began Sophy, but then, frowning as if she couldhardly speak, she added, 'I mean, I don't know whether it is my ownhorrid way, or that there is really an atmosphere of something Idon't make out. '

'Didn't you tell me Lucy was at the Vicarage?' said Albinia, suddenly. 

'Gilbert said yes, when I asked if she could be with the Dusautoys, 'said Sophy, 'when grandmamma wanted her and she did not come. Mamma, please don't think of what I said, for very likely it is only that Iam cross, because of being left alone with grandmamma so long thisevening, and then Maurice being slow at his lessons. '

'You are not cross, Sophy; you are worn out, and perplexed, andunhappy. '

'Oh! not now you are come home, ' and Sophy laid her head on hershoulder and cried with relief and exhaustion. Albinia caressed her, saying, 'My trust, my mainstay, my poor Sophy! There, go to bed and sleep, and don't think of it now. Only first tell me one thing, is thatAlgernon at home?'

'No!' said Sophy, vehemently, 'certainly not!'

Albinia breathed more freely. 

'Everybody, ' said Sophy, collecting herself, 'has gone on well, Gilbert and Lucy have been as kind as could be, and Maurice verygood, but yesterday morning he went on in his foolish way at lessons, and Gilbert took him out riding before he had finished them. Theycame in very late, and I think Maurice must have been overtired, forhe was so idle this morning, that I threatened to tell, and put himin mind of the cannon papa promised him; but somehow I must havemanaged badly for he only grew more defiant, and ended by letting themarble dog out of window, so that it went through the roof of theconservatory. '

'Yes, of course it was your fault, or the marble dog's, ' saidAlbinia, smiling, and stroking her fondly. 'Ah! we ought to havecome home at the fixed time, and not left you to their mercy; but onecould not hurry away from William, when he was so much more sorry toleave us than we ever expected. '

'Oh! mamma, don't talk so! We were so glad. If only we could helpbeing such a nuisance!'

Albinia contrived to laugh, and withdrew, intending to make a visitof inquiry to Lucy, but she could not refuse herself the refreshmentof a kiss to the little darling who could have no guile to hide, nowrong to confess. She had never so much realized the value of thecertainty of innocence as when she hung over the crib, and thoughtthat when those dark fringed lids were lifted, the eyes would flashwith delight at meeting her, without one drawback. 

Suddenly a loud roar burst from the little room next to Gilbert's, inwhich Maurice had lately been installed. She hurried swiftly in thatdirection, but a passage and some steps lay between, and Gilbert hadbeen beforehand with her. 

She heard the words, 'I don't care! I don't care if it is manly! Iwill tell; I can't bear this!' then as his brother seemed to behushing him, he burst out again, 'I wouldn't have minded if papawouldn't give me the cannon, but he will, and that's as bad astelling a lie!' I can't sleep if you wont let me off my promise!'

Trembling from head to foot, her voice low and quivering withconcentrated, incredulous wrath, Albinia advanced. 'Are you teachingmy child falsehood?' she said; and Gilbert felt as if her look wereworse to him than a thousand deaths. 

'O mamma! mamma! Gilbert! let me tell her, ' cried the child; andAlbinia, throwing herself on her knees, clasped him in her arms, asthough snatching him from the demon of deceit. 

'Tell all, Maurice, ' said Gilbert, folding his arms; 'it is to yourcredit, if you would believe so. I shall be glad to have this miseryended any way! It was all for the sake of others. '

'Mamma, ' Maurice said, in the midst of these mutterings of hisunhappy brother, 'I can't have the cannon without papa knowing itall. I couldn't shake hands with Uncle Maurice for telling thetruth, for I had not told it. '

'And what is it, my boy?' tell me now, no one can hinder you. '

'I scratched and fought him--Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy--I kicked downthe decanter of wine. They told me it was manly not to tell, and Ipromised. '

He was crying with the exceeding pain and distress of a child whosetears were rare, and Albinia rocked him in her arms. 

Gilbert cautiously shut the door, and said sadly, 'Maurice behavednobly, if he would only believe so. You would be proud of your sonif you had seen him. They wanted to make him drink wine, and he wasfighting them off. '

'And where were you, Gilbert, you to whom I trusted him?'

'I could not help it, ' said Gilbert; then as her lip curled withcontempt, and her eye spoke disappointment, he cast himself on theground, exclaiming, 'Oh, if you knew how I have been mixed up withothers, and what I have gone through, you would pity me. Oh, Maurice, don't cry, when I would give worlds to be like you. Why doyou let him cry? why don't you tell him what a brave noble boy heis?'

'I don't know what to think or believe, ' said Albinia, coldly, butreturning vehemently to her child, she continued, 'Maurice, my dear, no one is angry with you! You, at least, I can depend on. Tell mewhere you have been, and what they have been doing to you. '

Even with Gilbert's explanations, she could hardly understandMaurice's narrative, but she gathered that on Thursday, the brothershad ridden out, and were about to turn homewards, when ArchieTritton, of whom to her vexation Maurice spoke familiarly, had toldGilbert that a friend was waiting for him at the inn connected withthe training stables, three miles farther on. Gilbert had demurred, but was told the matter would brook no delay, and yielded on beingpressed. He tried to suppress the friend's name, but Maurice hadcalled him Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy. 

While Gilbert was engaged with him, Tritton had introduced Maurice tothe horses and stable boys, whose trade had inspired him with suchemulation, that he broke off in the midst of his confession to askwhether he could be a jockey and also a gentleman. All this haddetained them till so late, that they had been drawn into staying todinner. Maurice had gone on very happily, secure that he was rightin Gilbert's hands, and only laying up a few curious words forexplanation; but when he was asked to drink wine, he stoutly answeredthat mamma did not allow it. 

Idle mischief prompted Dusautoy and Tritton to set themselves tooverpower his resistance. Gilbert's feeble remonstrances weretreated as a jest, and Algernon, who could brook no opposition, sworethat he would conquer the little prig. Maurice found himselfpinioned by strong arms, but determined and spirited, he made avigorous struggle, and so judiciously aimed a furious kick, that Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy staggered back, stumbling against the table, andcausing a general overthrow. 

The victory was with Maurice, but warned as he had often been againstusing his natural weapons, he thought himself guilty of a greatcrime. The others, including, alas! Gilbert, strove to persuade himit was a joke, and, above all, to bind him to silence, for Trittonand Dusautoy would never have ventured so far, could they haveimagined the possibility of such terms as those on which he livedwith his parents. They attacked the poor child on the score of hismanly aspirations, telling him it was babyish to tell mamma andsisters everything, a practice fit for girls, not for boys or men. These assurances extracted a pledge of secrecy, which was kept aslong as his mother was absent, and only rendered him reckless by thesense that he had forfeited the prize of good conduct; but the sightof her renewed the instinct of confidence, and his father's relianceon his truth so acted on his sense of honour, that he could not holdhis peace. 

'May I tell papa? and will he let me have the cannon?' he finished. 

'You shall certainly tell him, my dear, dear little boy, and we willsee what he says about the cannon, ' she said, fervently kissing him. 'It will be some comfort for him to hear how you have behaved, myprecious little man. I thank God with all my heart that He has savedyou from putting anything before truth. I little thought I wasleaving you to a tempter!'

The child did not fully understand her. His was a very simplenature, and he was tired out by conflicting emotions. His breast wasrelieved, and his mother caressed him; he cared for nothing more, anddrawing her hand so as to rest his cheek on it, he looked up in herface with soft weary happiness in his eyes, then let the lids sinkover them, and fell peacefully asleep, while the others talked on. 'At least you will do me the poor justice of believing it was notwillingly, ' said Gilbert. 

'I wish you would not talk to me, ' she answered, averting her faceand speaking low as if to cut the heart; 'I don't want to reproachyou, and I can't speak to you properly. '

'If you would only hear me, my only friend and helper! But it wasall that was wanting! I have forfeited even your toleration! Iwonder why I was born!'

He was taking up his light to depart, but Albinia's fear of her owntemper made her suspect that she had spoken vindictively, and shesaid, 'What can I do, Gilbert? Here is this poor child, whom Itrusted to you, who can never again be ignorant of the sound of evilwords, and only owes it to God's mercy on his brave spirit that thishas not been the beginning of destruction. I feel as if you had beentrying to snatch away his soul!'

'And will you, can you not credit, ' said Gilbert, nearly inaudibly, 'that I did not act by my free will? I had no notion that any suchthing could befall him, and would never have let them try to silencehim, but to shield others. '

'Others! Yes, Archie Tritton and Algernon Dusautoy! I know whatyour free-will is in their hands, and yet I thought you cared foryour brother enough to guard him, if not yourself. '

'If you knew the coercion, ' muttered Gilbert. 'I protest, as I wouldto my dying day, that I had no intention of going near the stableswhen I set out, and would never have consented could I have helpedit. '

'And why could not you help it?'

Gilbert gasped. 'Tritton brought me a message from Dusautoy, insisting on my meeting him there. It was too late to take Mauricehome, and I could not send him with Archie. I expected only toexchange a few words at the door. It was Tritton who took Mauriceaway to the stables. '

'I hear, but I do not see the compulsion, only the extraordinaryweakness that leads you everywhere after those men. '

'I must tell you, I suppose, ' groaned Gilbert; 'I can bear anythingbut this. There's a miserable money entanglement that lays me undera certain obligation to Dusautoy. '

'Your father believed you had told him of all your debts, ' she said, in a tone of increased scorn and disappointment. 

'I did--I mean--Oh! Mrs. Kendal, believe me, I intended to have toldhim the utmost farthing--I thought I had done so--but this was athing--Dusautoy had persuaded me into half consenting to have somewine with him from a cheating Portuguese--then ordered more than everI knew of, and the man went and became bankrupt, and sent in a greatabominable bill that I no more owned, nor had reason to expect thanmy horse. '

'So you preferred intriguing with this man to applying openly to yourfather?'

'It was no doing of mine. It was forced upon me, and, in fact, theaccount was mixed up with his. It was the most evil hour of my lifewhen I consented. I've not had a moment's peace or happiness since, and it was the promise of the bill receipted that led me to thisplace. '

'And why was this place chosen for the meeting? You and Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy live only too near one another. '

'He is not at the Vicarage, ' faltered Gilbert. 

Albinia suddenly grew pale with apprehension. 'Gilbert, ' she said, 'there is only one thing that could make this business worse;' and asshe saw his change of countenance, she continued, 'Then it is so, andLucy is his object. '

'He did not speak, but his face was that of a convicted traitor, andfresh perceptions crowded on her, as she exclaimed, horror struck, 'The ink! Yes, when you said she was with the Dusautoys! Iunderstand! He has been in hiding, he has been here! And thisexpedition was to arrange a clandestine meeting between them underyour father's own roof! You conniving! you who said you would soonersee your sister sold to Legree!'

'It is all true, ' said Gilbert, moodily, his elbows on the table andhis face in his hands, 'and if the utmost misery for weeks pastcould be any atonement, it would be mine. But at least I have donenothing willingly to bring them together. I have only gone on in thehope and trust that I was some protection to poor Lucy. '

'Fine protection, ' sighed Albinia. 'And how has it been? how does itstand?'

'Why, they met at Brighton, I believe. She used to walk on the chainpier before breakfast, and he met her there. If he chooses, he canmake any one do what he likes, because he does not understand no foran answer. Then when she came home, he used to meet her on thebridge, when you sent her out for a turn in the evening, andsometimes she would make me take her out walking to meet him. Don'tyou see how utterly miserable it was for me; when they hadvolunteered this help all out of kindness, it was impossible for meto speak to you. '

Albinia made a sound of contempt, and said, 'Go on. '

'That time when you and Mr. Hope saw them, Lucy was frightened, andthey had a quarrel, he went away, and I hoped and trusted it had diedout. I heard no more till yesterday, when I was dragged into givinghim this meeting. It seems that he had only just discovered yourabsence, and wanted to take the opportunity of seeing her. I was inhopes you would have come back; I assured him you would; but he choseto watch, till evening, and then Lucy was to meet him in theconservatory. Poor Lucy, you must not be very angry with her, forshe was much averse to it, and I enclosed a letter from her to forbidhim to come. I thought all was safe, till I actually heard theirvoices, and grandmamma got into an agitation, and Sophy was runningabout wild to find Lucy. When you came home, papa's opening the doorfrightened Lucy, and it seems that Dusautoy thought that she wasgoing to faint and scream, and laid hold of the ink instead of theeau-de-cologne. There! I believe the ink would have betrayed itwithout me. Now you have heard everything, Mrs. Kendal, and canbelieve there is not a more wretched and miserable creature breathingthan I am. '

Albinia slowly rose, and put her hand to her brow, as though confusedwith the tissue of deceit and double dealing. 

'Oh! Mrs. Kendal, will you not speak to me?' I solemnly declarethat I have told you all. '

'I am thinking of your father. '

With a gesture of acquiescent anguish and despair, he let her pass, held open the door, and closed it softly, so as not to awaken thehappy sleeper. 

'Good night, ' she said, coldly, and turned away, but his mournful, resigned 'Good night, ' was so utterly broken down that her heart wastouched, and turning she said, 'Good night, Gilbert, I am sorry foryou; I believe it is weakness and not wickedness. '

She held out her hand, but instead of being shaken, it was pressed tohis lips, and the fingers were wet with his tears. 

Feeling as though the bad dreams of a night had taken shape and life, Albinia stood by the fire in her sitting-room the next morning, trying to rally her judgment, and equally dreading the sight of thosewho had caused her grief, and of those who would share the shock shehad last night experienced. 

The first knock announced one whom she did not expect--Gilbert, wretchedly pale from a sleepless night, and his voice scarcelyaudible. 

'I beg your pardon, ' he said; 'but I thought I might have led you tobe hard on Lucy: I do believe it was against her will. '

Before she could answer, the door flew wide, and in rushed Maurice, shouting, 'Good morning, mamma;' and at his voice Mr. Kendal'sdressing-room door was pushed back, and he called, 'Here, Maurice. '

As the boy ran forward, he was met and lifted to his father's breast, while, with a fervency he little understood, though he never forgotit, the words were uttered, 'God bless you, Maurice, and give you grace to go on to withstandtemptation, and speak the truth from your heart!'

Maurice was impressed for a moment, then he recurred to his leadingthought--

'May I have the cannon, papa? I did kick--I broke the bottle, butmay I have the cannon?'

'Maurice, you are too young to understand the value of yourresistance. Listen to me, my boy, for you must never forget this:you have been taken among persons who, I trust, will never be yourcompanions. '

'Oh!' interrupted Maurice, 'must I never be a jockey?'

'No, Maurice. Horses are perverted to bad purposes by thoughtlessmen, and you must keep aloof from such. You were not to blame, foryou refused to do what you knew to be wrong, and did not know it wasan improper place for you. '

'Gilbert took me, ' said Maurice, puzzled at the gravity, whichconvinced him that some one was in fault, and of course it must behimself. 

'Gilbert did very wrong, ' said Mr. Kendal, 'and henceforth you mustlearn that you must trust to your own conscience, and no longerbelieve that all your brother tells you is right. '

Maurice gazed in inquiry, and perceiving his brother's downcast air, ran to his mother, crying, 'Is papa angry?'

'Yes, ' said Gilbert, willing to spare her the pain of a reply, 'he isjustly angry with me for having exposed you to temptation. Oh, Maurice, if I had been made such as you, it would have been betterfor us all!'

It was the first perception that a grown person could do wrong, andthat person his dear Gilbert. As if the grave countenances wereinsupportable, he gave a long-drawn breath, hid his face on hismother's knee, and burst into an agony of weeping. He was lifted onher lap in a moment, father and mother both comforting him withassurances that he was a very good boy, and that papa was muchpleased with him, Mr. Kendal even putting the cannon into his hand, as a tangible evidence of favour; but the child thrust aside the toy, and sliding down, took hold of his brother's languid, dejected hand, and cried, with a sob and stamp of his foot, 'You shan't say you are naughty: I wont let you!'

Alas! it was a vain repulsion of the truth that this is a wickedworld. Gilbert only put him back, saying, 'You had better go away from me, Maurice: you cannot understand whatI have done. Pray Heaven yon may never know what I feel!'

Maurice did but cling the tighter, and though Mr. Kendal had not yetaddressed the culprit, he respected the force of that innocent lovetoo much to interfere. The bell rang, and they went down, Mauricestill holding by his brother, and when his uncle met them, it wastouching to see the generous little fellow hanging back, and notgiving his own hand till he had seen Gilbert receive the ordinarygreeting. 

Though Mr. Ferrars had been told nothing, he could not but be awareof the symptoms of a family crisis--the gravity of some, and thepale, jaded looks of others. Lucy was not one of these; she camedown with little Albinia in her arms, and began to talk ratherairily, excusing herself for not having come down in the eveningbecause that 'horrid ink' had got into her hair, and tittering alittle over the absurdity of her having picked up the inkstand in thedark. Not a word of response did she meet, and her gaiety died awayin vague alarm. Sophy, the most innocent, looked wretched, andMaurice absolutely began to cry again, at the failure of somemanoeuvre to make his father speak to Gilbert. 

His tears broke up the breakfast-party. His mother led him away toreason with him, that, sad as it was, it was better that peopleshould be grieved when they had transgressed, as the only hope oftheir forgiveness and improvement. Maurice wanted her to reverse thedeclaration that Gilbert had done wrong; but, alas! this could notbe, and she was obliged to send him out with his little sister, hoping that he would work off his grief by exercise. It was mournfulto see the first shadow of the penalty of sin falling on the Eden ofhis childhood!

With an aching heart, she went in search of Lucy, who had takensanctuary in Mrs. Meadows's room, and was not easily withdrawn fromthence to a tete-a-tete. Fearful of falsehood, Albinia began bytelling her she knew all, and how little she had expected such arequital of trust. 

Lucy exclaimed that it had not been her fault, she had always wantedto tell, and gradually Albinia drew from her the whole avowal, halfshamefaced, half exultant. 

She had never dreamt of meeting Algernon at Brighton--it was quite bychance that she came upon him at the officers' ball when he wasstaying with Captain Greenaway. He asked her to dance, and she hadsaid yes, all on a sudden, without thinking, and then she fancied hewould go away; she begged him not to come again, but whenever shewent out on the chain-pier before breakfast, there he was. 

Why did she go thither? She hung her head. Mrs. Annesley haddesired her to walk; she could not help it; she was afraid to writeand tell what was going on--besides, he would come, though she toldhim she would not see him; and she could not bear to make himunhappy. Then, when she came home, she had been in hopes it was allover, but she had been very unhappy, and had been on the point oftelling all about it many times, when mamma looked at her kindly; butthen he came to the Vicarage, and he would wait for her at thebridge, and write notes to her, and she could not stop it; but shehad always told him it was no use, she never would be engaged to himwithout papa's consent. She had only promised that she would notmarry any one else, only because he was so very desperate, and shewas afraid to break it off entirely, lest he should go and marry thePrincipessa Bianca, a foreigner and Papist, which would be soshocking for him and his uncle. Gilbert could testify how grievedshe was to have any secrets from mamma; but Mr. Cavendish Dusautoywas so dreadful when she talked of telling, that she did not knowwhat would happen. 

When he went away, and she thought it was all over--mamma mightrecollect how hard it was for her to keep up, and what a force sheput upon herself--but she would rather have pined to death than havesaid one word to bring him back, and was quite shocked when Gilbertgave her his note, to beg her to let him see her that evening, beforethe party returned; she said, with all her might, that he must notcome, and when he did, she was begging him all the time to go away, and she was so dreadfully frightened when they actually came, thatshe had all but gone into hysterics, or fainted away, and that wasthe way he came to throw the ink at her--she was so very muchshocked, and so would he be--and really she felt the misfortune tothe beautiful new sofa-cover as a most serious calamity andaggravation of her offence. 

It was not easy to know how to answer; Albinia was scornful of thesofa-cover, and yet it was hard to lay hold of a tangible subject onwhich to show Lucy her error, except in the concealment, which, byher own showing, she had lamented the whole time. She had alwayssaid no, but, unluckily, her noes were of the kind that might easilybe made to mean yes, and she evidently had been led on partly by herown heart, partly by the force of the stronger will, though herbetter principles had filled her with scruples and misgivings atevery stage. She had been often on the point of telling all, andasking forgiveness; and here it painfully crossed Albinia, that ifshe herself had been less hurried, and less disposed to takeeverything for granted, a little tenderness might have led to avoluntary confession. 

Still Lucy defended herself by the compulsion exercised on her, andshe would hear none of the conclusions Albinia drew therefrom; shewould not see that the man who drove her to a course of disobedienceand subterfuge could be no fit guide, and fired up at a word ofcensure, declaring that she knew that mamma had always hated him, andthat now he was absent, she would not hear him blamed. The one dropof true love made her difficult to deal with, for the heart wasreally made over to the tyrant, and Albinia did not feel herselfsufficiently guiltless of negligence and imprudence to rebuke herwith a comfortable conscience. 

Mr. Kendal had been obliged to attend to some justice business--better for him, perhaps, than acting as domestic magistrate--andmeanwhile the Vicar of Fairmead found himself forgotten. He wantedto be at home, yet did not like to leave his sister in unexplainedtrouble, though not sure whether he might not be better absent. 

Time passed on, he finished the newspaper, and wrote letters, andthen, seeing no one, he had gone into the hall to send for aconveyance, when Gilbert, coming in from the militia parade, becamethe recipient of his farewells, but apparently with so littlecomprehension, that he broke off, struck by the dejected countenance, and wandering eye. 

'I beg your pardon, ' Gilbert said, passing his hand over his brow, 'Idid not hear. '

'I was only asking you to tell my sister that I would not disturbher, and leaving my good-byes with you. '

'You are not going?'

'Thank you; I think my wife will grow anxious. '

'I had hoped'--Gilbert sighed and paused--'I had thought thatperhaps--'

The wretchedness of his tone drove away Mr. Ferrars's purpose ofimmediate departure, and returning to the drawing-room he said, 'Ifthere were any way in which I could be of use. '

'Then you do not know?' said Gilbert, veiling his face with his hand, as he leant on the mantel-shelf. 

'I know nothing. I could only see that something was amiss. I waswishing to know whether my presence or absence would be best for youall. '

'Oh! don't go!' cried Gilbert. Nobody must go who can be any comfortto Mrs. Kendal. '

A few kind words drew forth the whole piteous history that lay soheavily on his heart. Reserves were all over now; and irregularlyand incoherently he laid open his griefs and errors, his gradualabsorption into the society with which he had once broken, and theinextricable complication of mischief in which he had been involvedby his debt. 

'Yet, ' he said, 'all the time I longed from my heart to do well. Itwas the very thing that led me into this scrape. I thought if theman applied to my father, as he threatened, that I should besuspected of having concealed this on purpose, and be sent to India, and I was so happy, and thought myself so safe here. I did believethat home and Mrs. Kendal would have sheltered me, but my destinymust needs hunt me out here, and alienate even her!'

'The way to find the Devil behind the Cross, is to cower beneath itin weak idolatry, instead of grasping it in courageous faith, ' saidMr. Ferrars. 'Such faith would have made you trust yourselfimplicitly to your father. Then you would either have gone forth inhumble acceptance of the punishment, or else have stayed at home, free, pardoned, and guarded; but, as it was, no wonder temptationfollowed you, and you had no force to resist it. '

'And so all is lost! Even dear little Maurice can never be trustedto me again! And his mother, who would, if she could, be stillmerciful and pitying as an angel, she cannot forget to what I exposedhim! She will never be the same to me again! Yet I could lay downmy life for any of them!'

Mr. Ferrars watched the drooping figure, crouching on his chairs, elbows on knees, head bowed on the supporting hands, and face hidden, and, listening to the meek, affectionate hopelessness of the tone, heunderstood the fond love and compassion that had often surprised himin his sister, but he longed to read whether this were penitencetowards God, or remorse towards man. 

'Miserable indeed, Gilbert, ' he said, 'but if all were irretrievablyoffended, there still is One who can abundantly pardon, whererepentance is true. '

'I thought'--cried Gilbert--'I thought it had been true before! Ifpain, and shame, and abhorrence could so render it, I know it waswhen I came home. And then it was comparative happiness; I thought Iwas forgiven, I found joy and peace where they are promised'--theburning tears dropped between his fingers--but it was all delusion;not prayers nor sacraments can shield me--I am doomed, and all I askis to be out of the way of ruining Maurice!'

'This is mere despair, ' said Mr. Ferrars. 'I cannot but believe yourcontrition was sincere; but steadfast courage was what you needed, and you failed in the one trial that may have been sent you tostrengthen and prove you. The effects have been terrible, but thereis every hope that you may retrieve your error, and win back thesense of forgiveness. '

'If I could dare to hope so--but I cannot presume to take home tomyself those assurances, when I know that I only resolve, that I mayhave resolutions to break. '

'Have you ever laid all this personally before Mr. Dusautoy?'

'No; I have thought of it, but, mixed up as this is with his nephewand my sister, it is impossible! But you are a clergyman, Mr. Ferrars!' he added, eagerly. 

Mr. Ferrars thought, and then said, 'If you wish it, Gilbert, I will gladly do what I can for you. Ibelieve that I may rightly do so. '

His face gleamed for a moment with the light of grateful gladness, asif at the first ray of comfort, and then he said, 'I am sure none wasever more grieved and wearied with the burden of sin--if that beall. '

'I think, ' said Mr. Ferrars, 'that it might be better to give time tocollect yourself, examine the past, separate the sorrow for the sinfrom the disgrace of the consequences, and then look earnestly at thesole ground of hope. How would it be to come for a couple of nightsto Fairmead, at the end of next week?'

Gilbert gratefully caught at the invitation; and Mr. Ferrars gave himsome advice as to his reading and self-discipline, speaking to him asgently and tenderly as Albinia herself. Both lingered in case theother should have more to say, but at last Gilbert stood up, saying, 'I would thankfully go to Calcutta now, but the situation is filledup, and my father said John Kendal had been enough trifled with. IfI saw any fresh opening, where I should be safe from hurtingMaurice!'

'There is no reason you and your brother should not be a blessing toeach other. '

'Yes, there is. Till I lived at home, I did not know how impossibleit is to keep clear of old acquaintance. They are good-naturedfellows--that Tritton and the like--and after all that has come andgone, one would be a brute to cut them entirely, and Maurice isalways after me, and has been more about with them than his motherknows. Even if I were very different, I should be a link, and thoughit might be no great harm if Maurice were a tame mamma's boy--yousee, being the fellow he is, up to anything for a lark, and franticabout horses--I could never keep him from them. There's no suchgreat harm in themselves--hearty, good-natured fellows they are--butthere's a worse lot that they meet, and Maurice will go all lengthswhenever he begins. Now, so little as he is now, if I were oncegone, he would never run into their way, and they would never get ahold of him. '

Mr. Ferrars had unconsciously screwed up his face with dismay, but herelaxed it, and spoke kindly. 

'You are right. It was a mistake to stay at home. Perhaps yourregiment may be stationed elsewhere. '

'I don't know how long it may be called out. If it were but possibleto make a fresh beginning. '

'Did you hear of my brother's suggestion?'

'I wish--but it is useless to talk about that. I could not presumeto ask my father for a commission--Heaven knows when I shall dare tospeak to him!'

'You have not personally asked his pardon after full confession. '

'N-o--Mrs. Kendal knows all. '

'Did you ever do such a thing in your life?'

'You don't know what my father is. '

'Neither do you, Gilbert. Let that be the first token of sincerity. '

Without leaving space for another word, Mr. Ferrars went through theconservatory into the garden, where, meeting the children, he tookthe little one in his arms, and sent Maurice to fetch his mamma. Albinia came down, looking so much heated and harassed, that he wasgrieved to leave her. 

'Oh, Maurice, I am sorry! You always come in for some catastrophe, 'she said, trying to smile. 'You have had a most forlorn morning. '

'Gilbert has been with me, ' he said. 'He has told me all, my dear, and I think it hopeful: I like him better than I ever did before. '

'Poor feather, the breath of your lips has blown him the other way, 'said Albinia, too unhappy for consolation. 

'Well, it seems to me that you have done more for him than I everquite believed. I did not expect such sound, genuine religiousfeeling. '

'He always had plenty of religious sentiment, ' said Albinia, sadly. 

'I have asked him to come to us next week. Will you tell Edmund so?'

'Yes. He will be thankful to you for taking him in hand. Poor boy, I know how attractive his penitence is, but I have quite left offbuilding on it. '

Mr. Ferrars defended him no longer. He could not help being muchmoved by the youth's self-abasement, but that might be only becauseit was new to him, and he did not even try to recommend him to hermercy; he knew her own heart might be trusted to relent, and it wouldnot hurt Gilbert in the end to be made to feel the full weight of hisoffence. 

'I must go, ' he said, 'though I am sorry to leave you in perplexity. I am afraid I can do nothing for you. '

'Nothing--but feel kindly to Gilbert, ' said Albinia. 'I can't do soyet. I don't feel as if I ever could again, when I think what he wasdoing with Maurice. Yes, and how easily he could have brought poorLucy to her senses, if he had been good for anything! Oh! Maurice, this is sickening work! You should be grateful to me for notscolding you for having taken me from home!'

'I do not repent, ' said her brother. 'The explosion is better thanthe subterranean mining. '

'It may be, ' said Albinia, 'and I need not boast of the good I did athome! My poor, poor Lucy! A little discreet kindness andwatchfulness on my part would have made all the difference! It wasall my running my own way with my eyes shut, but then, I had alwayslived with trustworthy people. Well, I wont keep you listening to mymaundering, when Winifred wants you. Oh! why did that Polysyllableever come near the place?'

Mr. Ferrars said the kindest and most cheering things he coulddevise, and drove away, not much afraid of her being unforgiving. 

He was disposed to stake all his hopes of the young man on the issueof his advice to make a direct avowal to his father. And Gilbertmade the effort, though rather in desperation than resolution, knowing that his condition could not be worse, and seeing no hopesave in Mr. Ferrars' counsel. He was the first to seek Mr. Kendal, and dreadful to him as was the unaltering melancholy displeasure ofthe fixed look, the steadily penetrating deep dark eyes, and thesubdued sternness of the voice, he made his confession fully, withoutreserve or palliation. 

It was more than Mr. Kendal had expected, and more, perhaps, than heabsolutely trusted, for Gilbert had not hitherto inspired faith inhis protestations that he spoke the whole truth and nothing but thetruth, nor had he always the power of doing so when overpowered byfright. The manner in which his father laid hold of any inadvertentdiscrepancy, treating it as a wilful prevarication, was terror andagony; and well as he knew it to be the meed of past equivocation, hefelt it cruel to torture him by implied suspicion. Yet how could itbe otherwise, when he had been introducing his little brother to hisown corrupters, and conniving at his sister's clandestinecorrespondence with a man whom he knew to be worthless?'

The grave words that he obtained at last, scarcely amounted topardon; they implied that he had done irreparable mischief and acteddisgracefully, and such forgiveness as was granted was only madeconditional on there being no farther reserves. 

Alas! even with all tender love and compassion, no earthly parent canforgive as does the Heavenly Father. None but the Omniscient cantest the fulness of the confession, nor the sincerity of 'Father, Ihave sinned against Heaven and before Thee, and am no more worthy tobe called Thy son. ' This interview only sent the son away morecrushed and overwhelmed, and yearning towards the more deeplyoffended, and yet more compassionate Father. 

Mr. Kendal, after this interview, so far relaxed his displeasure asto occasionally address Gilbert when they met at luncheon after thisdeplorable morning, while towards Lucy he observed a completesilence. It was not at first that she perceived this, and even thenit struck more deeply on Sophia than it did on her. 

Mr. Kendal shrank from inflicting pain on the good vicar, and it wasdecided that the wives should be the channel through which theinformation should be imparted. Albinia took the children, sendingthem to play in the garden while she talked to Mrs. Dusautoy. Shefound that keen little lady had some shrewd suspicions, but haddiscovered nothing defined enough to act upon, and was relieved tohave the matter opened at last. 

As to the ink, no mortal could help laughing over it; even Albinia, who had been feeling as if she could never laugh again, was suddenlystruck by the absurdity, and gave way to a paroxysm of merriment. 

'Properly managed, I do think it might put an end to the wholeaffair, ' said Mrs. Dusautoy. 'He could not stand being laughed at. '

'I'm afraid he never will believe that he can be laughed at. '

'Yes, that is unlucky, ' said Mrs. Dusautoy, gravely; but recollectingthat she was not complimentary, she added, 'You must not think weundervalue Lucy. John is very fond of her, and the only objectionis, that it would require a person of more age and weight to dealwith Algernon. '

'Never mind speeches, ' sighed Albinia; 'we know too well that nothingcould be worse for either. Can't you give him a tutor and send himto travel. '

'I'll talk to John; but unluckily he is of age next month, andthere's an end of our power. And John would never keep him away fromhence, for he thinks it his only chance. '

'I suppose we must do something with Lucy. Heigh-ho! People usednot to be always falling in love in my time, except Fred, and thatwas in a rational way; that could be got rid of!'

The effect of the intelligence on the vicar was to make him set outat once to the livery-stables in quest of his nephew, but he foundthat the young gentleman had that morning started for London, whitherhe proposed to follow him on the Monday. Lucy cried incessantly, inthe fear that the gentle-hearted vicar might have some truculentintentions towards his nephew, and was so languid and unhappy that noone had the heart to scold her; and comforting her was still moreimpossible. 

Mr. Kendal used to stride away from the sight of her swollen eyes, and ask Albinia why she did not tell her that the only good thingthat could happen to her would be, that she should never see nor hearof the fellow again. 

Why he did not tell her so himself was a different question. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

'Well, Albinia, ' said Mr. Kendal, after seeing Mr. Dusautoy on hisreturn from London. 

There was such a look of deprecation about him, that she exclaimed, 'One would really think you had been accepting this charming son-in-law. '

'Suppose I had, ' he said, rather quaintly; then, as he saw her handsheld up, 'conditionally, you understand, entirely conditionally. What could I do, when Dusautoy entreated me, with tears in his eyes, not to deprive him of the only chance of saving his nephew?'

'Umph, ' was the most innocent sound Albinia could persuade herself tomake. 

'Besides, ' continued Mr. Kendal, 'it will be better to have theaffair open and avowed than to have all this secret plotting going onwithout being able to prevent it. I can always withhold my consentif he should not improve, and Dusautoy declares nothing would be suchan incentive. '

'May it prove so!'

'You see, ' he pursued, 'as his uncle says, nothing can be worse thandriving him to these resorts, and when he is once of age, there's anend of all power over him to hinder his running straight to ruin. Now, when he is living at the Vicarage, we shall have far moreopportunity of knowing how he is going on, and putting a check ontheir intercourse, if he be unsatisfactory. '

'If we can. '

'After all, the young man has done nothing that need blight hisfuture life. He has had great disadvantages, and his steadyattachment is much in his favour. His uncle tells me he promises tobecome all that we could wish, and, in that case, I do not see that Ihave the right to refuse the offer, when things have gone so far--conditionally, of course. ' He dwelt on that saving clause like asalve for his misgivings. 

'And what is to become of Gilbert and Maurice, with him always aboutthe house?' exclaimed Albinia. 

'We will take care he is not too much here. He will soon be atOxford. Indeed, my dear, I am sorry you disapprove. I should havebeen as glad to avoid the connexion as you could be, but I do notthink I had any alternative, when Mr. Dusautoy pressed me so warmly, and only asked that he should be taken on probation; and besides, when poor Lucy's affections are so decidedly involved. '

Albinia perceived that there had been temper in her tone, and couldobject no further, since it was too late, and as she could notbelieve that her husband had been weak, she endeavoured to acquiescein his reasoning, and it was a strong argument that they should seeLucy bright again. 

'I suppose, ' he said, 'that you would prefer that I should announcemy decision to her myself!'

It was a more welcome task than spreading gloom over her countenance, but she entered in great trepidation, prepared to sink under somestern mandate, and there was nothing at first to undeceive her, forher father was resolved to atone for his concession by sparing her nopreliminary thunders, and began by depicting her indiscretion anddeceit, as well as the folly of attaching herself to a man withoutother recommendations than figure and fortune. 

How much Lucy heard was uncertain; she leant on a chair with droopinghead and averted face, trembling, and suppressing a sob, apparentlytoo much frightened to attend. Just when the exordium was over, and'Therefore I lay my commands on you' might have been expected, itturned into, 'However, upon Mr. Dusautoy's kind representation, Ihave resolved to give the young man a trial, and provided heconvinces me by his conduct that I may safely entrust your happinessto him, I have told his uncle that I will not withhold my sanction. '

With a shriek of irrepressible feeling, Lucy looked from father tomother, and clasped her hands, unable to trust her ears. 

'Yes, Lucy, ' said Albinia, 'your father consents, on condition thatnothing further happens to excite his doubts of Mr. CavendishDusautoy. It rests with yourself now, it is not too late. After allthat has passed, you would incur much deserved censure if you put anend to the affair; but even that would be better, far better, thanentering into an engagement with a man without sound principle. '

'Your mother is quite right, Lucy, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'This is theonly time. Gratified vanity has led you too far, and you have actedas I hoped no child of mine would ever act, but you have notforfeited our tenderest care. You are not engaged to this man, andno word of yours would be broken. If you hesitate to commit yourselfto him, you have only to speak, and we would gladly at once doeverything that could conduce to make you happy. '

'You don't want me to give him up!' cried Lucy. 'Oh! mamma, did nothe say he had consented?'

'I said it rested with yourself Lucy. Do not answer me now. Come tome at six o'clock, and tell me, after full reflection, whether I amto consider you as ready to pledge yourself to this young man. '

It was all that could be done. Albinia had a dim hope that the senseof responsibility, and dread of that hard will and selfish temper, might so rise upon Lucy as to startle her, but then, as Mr. Kendalobserved, if she should decide against him, she would have used himso extremely ill, that they should feel nothing but shame. 

'Yes, ' said Albinia, 'but it would be better to be ashamed of agirl's folly, than to see her made miserable for life. Poor Lucy! ifshe decide against him, she will become a woman at once, if not, I'mafraid it will be the prediction about Marie Antoinette over again--very gay, and coming right through trial. '

They were obliged to tell Sophy of the state of things. She stood upstraight, and said, slowly and clearly, 'I do not like the world atall. '

'I don't quite see what you mean. '

'Every one does what can't be helped, and it is not _the_ thing. '

'Explain yourself, Sophy, ' said her father, amused. 

'I don't think Lucy ought to be making the decision at all, ' saidSophy. She did that long ago, when first, she attended to what hesaid to her. If she does not take him now, it will be swearing toher neighbour, and disappointing him, because it is to her ownhindrance. '

'Yes, Sophy; but I believe it is better to incur the sin of breakinga promise, than to go on when the fulfilment involves not onlysuffering, but mischief. Lucy has repeatedly declared there was noengagement. '

'I know it could not be helped; but Mr. Dusautoy ought not to haveasked papa. '

'Nor papa to have consented, my Suleiman ben Daood, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'Ah! Sophy, we all have very clear, straightforward views at eighteenof what other people ought to do. '

'Papa--I never meant--I did not think I was saying anything wrong. I only said I did not like the world. '

'And I heartily agree with you, Sophy, and if I had lived in it asshort a time as you have, perhaps "considerations" would not affectmy judgment. '

'I am always telling Sophy she will be more merciful as she growsolder, ' said Albinia. 

'If it were only being more merciful, it would be very well, ' saidMr. Kendal; 'but one also becomes less thorough-going, becausepractice is more painful than theory, and one remembers consequencesthat have made themselves felt. It is just as well that there shouldbe young people to put us in mind what our flights once were. '

Albinia and Sophy left Lucy to herself; they both wished to avoid theuseless 'What shall I do?' and they thought that, driven back on herown resources, even _her_ own mind might give her better counsel thanthe seven watchmen aloft in a high tower. 

She came down looking exceedingly pale. Mr. Kendal regarded heranxiously, and held his hand out to her kindly. 

'Papa, ' she said, simply, 'I can't give it up. I do love him. '

'Very well, my dear, ' he answered, 'there is no more to be said thanthat I trust he will merit your affection and make you happy. '

Good Mr. Dusautoy was as happy as a king; he took Lucy in his arms, and kissed her as if she had been his child, and with her handsfolded in his own, he told her how she was to teach his dear Algernonto be everything that was good, and to lead him right by herinfluence. She answered with caresses and promises, and whoever hadwatched her eye, would have seen it in a happy day-dream ofAlgernon's perfection, and his uncle thanking her for it. 

She had expected that grandmamma would have been very happy; butmarriage had, with the poor old lady, led to so much separation, thather weakened faculties took the alarm, and she received the tidingsby crying bitterly, and declaring that every one was going away andleaving her. Lucy assured her over and over again that she was nevergoing to desert her, and as Mr. Kendal had made it a condition thatAlgernon should finish his Oxford career respectably, there waslittle chance that poor Mrs. Meadows would survive until themarriage. 

All along Gilbert made no remark. Though he had been left out of thefamily conclaves, and his opinion not asked, he submitted with theutmost meekness, as one who knew that he had forfeited all right tobe treated as son and heir. The more he was concerned at theengagement, the greater stigma he would place on his own connivance;so he said nothing, and only devoted himself to his grandmother, asthough the attendance upon her were a refuge and relief. More gentleand patient than ever, he soothed her fretfulness, invented pleasuresfor her, and rendered her so placid and contented, that her healthbegan to improve. 

Not for a moment did he seem to forget his error; and Albinia'sresolution to separate Maurice from him, could not hold when hehimself silently assumed the mournful necessity, and put the childfrom him when clamorous for rides, till there was an appeal to papaand mamma. Mr. Kendal gave one look of inquiry at Albinia, and shebegan some matter-of-course about Gilbert being so kind--whereuponthe brothers were together as before. When Albinia visited herlittle boy at night, she found that Gilbert had been talking to himof his eldest brother, and she heard more of Edmund's habits andtastes from the little fellow who had never seen him, than fromeither the twin-brother or the sister who had loved him so devotedly. It was as if Gilbert knew that he could be doing Maurice no harm whenleading him to think of Edmund, and perhaps he felt some intrinsicresemblance in the deep loving strength of the two natures. 

The invitation to Fairmead spared him the pain and shame of AlgernonDusautoy's first reception as Lucy's accepted lover. He went earlyon Saturday morning, and young Dusautoy, arriving in the evening, wasfirst ushered into the library; while Albinia did her best to soothethe excited nerves and fluttering spirits of Lucy, who wasexceedingly ashamed to meet him again under the eyes of others, aftersuch a course of stolen interviews, and what she had been told of herinfluence doing him good only alarmed her the more. 

Well she might, for if ever character resembled that of the iron potborne down the stream in company with the earthen one, it was theobject of her choice. Poor pipkin that Gilbert was, the contact hadcost him a smashing blow, and for all clay of the more fragile mould, the best hope was to give the invulnerable material a wide berth. Talk of influence! Mr. Dusautoy might as well hope that a Wedgwoodcream-jug would guide a copper cauldron and keep verdigris aloof. 

His attraction for Lucy had always been a mystery to her family, whoperhaps hardly did justice to the magnetism of mere force of purpose. Better training might have ennobled into resolution that which wasnow doggedness and obstinacy, and, even in that shape, the realelement of strength had a tendency to work upon softer natures. Thusit had acted in different ways with the Vicar, with Gilbert, and withLucy; each had fallen under the power of his determination, with moreor less of their own consent, and with Lucy the surrender wascomplete; she no sooner sat beside Algernon than she was completelyhis possession, and his complacent self-satisfaction was reflected onher face in a manner that told her parents that she was their own nolonger, but given up to a stronger master. 

Albinia liked neither to see nor to think about it, and kept aloof asmuch as she could, dividing herself between grandmamma and thechildren. On Tuesday morning, during Maurice's lessons, there was aknock at the sitting-room door. She expected Gilbert, but wasdelighted to see her brother. 

'I thought you were much too busy to come near us?'

'So I am; I can't stay; so if Kendal be not forthcoming you must givethis fellow a holiday. '

'He is gone to Hadminster, so--'

'Where's Gilbert?' broke in little Maurice. 

'He went to his room to dress to go up to parade, ' said Mr. Ferrars, and off rushed the boy without waiting for permission. 

Albinia sighed, and said, 'It is a perfect passion. '

'Don't mourn over it. Love is too good a thing to be lamented over, and this may turn into a blessing. '

'I used to be proud of it. '

'So you shall be still. I am very much pleased with that poor lad. '

She would not raise her eyes, she was weary of hoping for Gilbert, and his last offence had touched her where she had never been touchedbefore. 

'Whatever faults he has, ' Mr. Ferrars said, 'I am much mistaken ifhis humility, love, and contrition be not genuine, and what more canthe best have?'

'Sincerity!' said Albinia, hopelessly. 'There's no truth in him!'

'You should discriminate between deliberate self-interesteddeception, and failure in truth for want of moral courage. Both arebad enough, but the latter is not "loving a lie, " not such a ruinoustaint and evidence of corruption as the former. '

'It is curious to hear you repeating my old excuses for him, ' saidAlbinia, 'now that he has cast his glamour over you. '

'Not wrongly, ' said her brother. 'He is in earnest; there is noacting about him. '

'Yes, that I believe; I know he loves us with all his heart, poorboy, especially Maurice and me, and I think he had rather go rightthan wrong, if he could only be let alone. But, oh! it is all"unstable as water. " Am I unkind, Maurice? I know how it would beif I let him talk to me for ten minutes, or look at me with thosepleading brown eyes of his!'

Mr. Ferrars knew it well, and why she was steeled against him, but heput this aside, saying that he was come to speak of the future, notof the past, and that he wanted Edmund to reconsider William'sadvice. He told her what Gilbert had said of the difficulty ofbreaking off old connexions, and the danger to Maurice from hisacquaintance. An exchange into another corps of militia might be forthe worse, the occupation was uncertain, and Mr. Ferrars believedthat a higher position, companions of a better stamp, and theprotection of a man of lively manners, quick sympathy, and soundprinciple, like their cousin Fred, might be the opening of a newlife. He had found Gilbert most desirous of such a step, regardingit as his only hope, but thinking it so offensively presumptuous topropose it to his father under present circumstances, his Oxfordterms thrown away, and himself disgraced both there and at home, thatthe matter would hardly have been brought forward had not Mr. Ferrarsundertaken to press it, under the strong conviction that remaining athome would be destruction, above all, with young Dusautoy making partof the family. 

'I declare, ' said Mr. Ferrars, 'he looked so much at home in thedrawing-room, and welcomed Gilbert with such an air of patronage, that I could have found it in my heart to have knocked him down!'

It was a treat to hear Maurice speak so unguardedly, and Albinialaughed, and asked whether he thought it very wrong to hope that thePolysyllable would yet do something flagrant enough to open Lucy'seyes. 

'I'll allow you to hope that _if_ he should, her eyes _may_ beopened, ' said Maurice. 

Albinia began a vehement vindication for their having tolerated theengagement, in the midst of which her brother was obliged to depart, amused at her betrayal of her own sentiments by warfare against whathe had never said. 

She had treated his counsel as chimerical, but when she repeated itto her husband, she thought better of it, since, alas! it had becomeher great object to part those two loving brothers. Mr. Kendal firstasked where the 25th Lancers were, then spoke of expense, andinquired what she knew of the cost of commissions, and of hercousin's means. All she could answer for was, that Fred's portionwas much smaller than Gilbert's inheritance, but at least she knewhow to learn what was wanted, and if her friends, the old Generals, were to be trusted, she ought to have no lack of interest at theHorse Guards. 

Gilbert was taken into counsel, and showed so much right spirit andgood sense, that the discussion was friendly and unreserved. Itended in the father and son resorting to Pettilove's office toascertain the amount of ready money in his hands, and what incomeGilbert would receive on coming of age. The investigation somewhatdisappointed the youth, who had never thoroughly credited what hisfather told him of the necessity of his exerting himself for his ownmaintenance, nor understood how heavy a drain on his property werethe life-interests of his father and grandmother, and the settlementon his aunt. By-and-by, he might be comparatively a rich man, but atfirst his present allowance would be little more than doubled, andthe receipts would be considerably diminished by an alteration ofexisting system of rents, such as had so long been planned. It wasplain that the almshouses were the unsubstantial fabric of a dream, but no one now dared to refer to them, and Mr. Kendal desired Albiniato write to consult her cousin. 

Captain Ferrars was so much flattered at her asking his protectionfor anything, that he would have promised to patronize Cousin Slenderhimself for her sake. He praised the Colonel and lauded the mess tothe skies, and economy being his present hobby, he representedhimself as living upon nothing, and saving his pay. He further gavenotice of impending retirements, and advised that the applicationshould be made without loss of time, lamenting grievously himselfthat there was no chance for the 25th, of a touch at the Russians. 

Something in his letter put every one into a hurry, and acorrespondence began, which resulted in Gilbert's being summoned toSandhurst for an examination, which he passed creditably. Thepurchase-money was deposited, and the household was daily thrown intoa state of excitement by the arrival of official-looking envelopes, which turned out to contain solicitations from tailors andoutfitters, bordered with portraits of camp-beds and portable baths, until, at last, when the real document appeared, Gilbert tossed itaside as from 'another tailor:' but Albinia knew the article too wellto mistake it, and when the long blue cover was opened, it proved toconvey more than they had reckoned upon. 

Gilbert Kendal held a commission in the 25th Lancers, and the corpswas under immediate orders for the East. The number of officersbeing deficient, he was to join the headquarters at Cork, withoutgoing to the depot, and would thence sail with a stated minimum ofbaggage. 

Albinia could not look up. She knew her husband had not intendedthus to risk the last of his eldest-born sons; and though hersoldier-spirit might have swelled with exultation had her own braveboy been concerned, she dreaded the sight of quailing or dismay inGilbert. 

'Going really to fight the Russians, ' shouted Maurice, as the meaningreached him. 'Oh! Gibbie, if I was but a man to go with you!'

'You will do your duty, my boy, ' said his father. 

'By God's help, ' was the reverent answer which emboldened Albinia tolook up at him, as he stood with Maurice clinging by both hands tohim. She had done him injustice, and her heart bounded at the sightof the flush on his cheek, the light in his eyes, and the expressionon his lips, making his face finer and more manly than she had everseen it, as if the grave necessity, and the awe of the unseenglorious danger, were fixing and elevating his wandering purpose. Tohave no choice was a blessing to an infirm will, and to be inevitablyout of his own power braced him and gave him rest. She held out herhand to him, and there was a grasp of inexpressible feeling, thefirst renewal of their old terms of sympathy and confidence. 

There was no time to be lost; Mr. Kendal would go to London with himby the last train that day, to fit him out as speedily as possible, before he started for Cork. 

Every one felt dizzy, and there was no space for aught but action. Perhaps Albinia was glad of the hurry, she could not talk to Gilberttill she had learnt to put faith in him, and she would rather do himsubstantial kindnesses than be made the sharer of feelings that hadtoo often proved like the growth of the seed which found no depth ofearth. 

She ran about for him, worked for him, contrived for him, and gavehim directions; she could not, or would not, perceive his yearningfor an effusion of penitent tenderness. He looked wistfully at herwhen he was setting out to take leave at the Vicarage, but she hadabsorbed herself in flannel shirts, and would not meet his eye, nordid he venture to make the request that she would come with him. 

Indeed, confidences there could be but few, for Maurice and Albiniahung on either side of him, so that he could hardly move, but heresisted all attempt to free him even from the little girl, who washardly out of his arms for ten minutes together. It was only fromher broken words that her mother understood that from the vicarage hehad gone to the church. Poor little Albinia did not like it at all. 'Why was brother Edmund up in the church, and why did Gilbert cry?'

Maurice angrily enunciated, 'Men never cry, ' but not a word of thevisit to the church came from him. 

Algernon Dusautoy had wisely absented himself, and the two sistersdevoted themselves to the tasks in hand. Sophy worked as hard as didMrs. Kendal, and spoke even less, and Lucy took care of Mrs. Meadows, whose nerves were painfully excited by the bustle in the house. Ithad been agreed that she should not hear of her grandson's intentiontill the last moment, and then he went in, putting on a cheerfulmanner, to bid her good-bye, only disclosing that he was going toLondon, but little as she could understand, there was an instinctabout her that could not be deceived, and she began to cry helplesslyand violently. 

Mrs. Kendal and Lucy were summoned in haste; Gilbert lingered, tryingto help them to restore her to composure. But time ran short; hisfather called him, and they hardly knew that they had received hislast hurried embrace, nor that he was really gone, till they heardMaurice shouting like a Red Indian, as he careered about in thegarden, his only resource against tears; and Sophy came in verystill, very pale, and incapable of uttering a word or shedding atear. Albinia was much concerned, for she could not bear to havesent him away without a more real adieu, and word of blessing andgood augury; it made her feel herself truly unforgiving, and perhapsturned her heart back to him more fully and fondly than any exchangeof sentiment would have done. But she had not much time to dwell onthis omission, for poor Mrs. Meadows missed him sorely, and after twodays' constant fretting after him, another paralytic stroke renewedthe immediate danger, so that by the time Mr. Kendal returned fromLondon she was again hovering between life and death. 

Mr. Kendal, to his great joy, met Frederick Ferrars at the 'FamilyOffice. ' The changes in the regiment had given him his majority, andhe had flashed over from Ireland to make his preparations for thecampaign. His counsel had been most valuable in Gilbert's equipment, especially in the knotty question of horses, and he had shown himselfso amiable and rational that Mr. Kendal was quite delighted, andrejoiced in committing Gilbert to his care. He had assumed the trustin a paternal manner, and, infected by his brilliant happiness andhopefulness, Gilbert had gone off to Ireland in excellent spirits. 

'Another thing conduced to cheer him, ' said Mr. Kendal afterwards tohis wife, with a tone that caused her to exclaim, 'You don't meanthat he saw Genevieve?'

'You are right. We came upon her in Rivington's shop, while we werelooking for the smallest Bible. I saw who it was chiefly by hischange of colour, and I confess I kept out of the way. The whole didnot last five minutes; she had her pupils with her, and soon wentaway; but he thanked me, and took heart from that moment. Poor boy, who would have thought the impression would have been so lasting?'

'Well, by the time he is a field-officer, even William will let himplease himself, ' said Albinia, lightly, because her heart was toofull for her to speak seriously. 

She tried, by a kind letter, to atone for the omitted farewell, andit seemed to cheer and delight Gilbert. He wrote from Cork as if hehad imbibed fresh hope and enterprise from his new companions, heliked them all, and could not say enough of the kindness of MajorFerrars. Everything went smoothly, and in the happiest frame hesailed from Cork, and was heard of again at Malta and Gallipoli, direfully sea-sick, but reviving to write most amusing longdescriptive letters, and when he reached the camp at Yarna, hereported as gratefully of General Ferrars as the General did kindlyof him. 

Those letters were the chief pleasures in a harassing spring andsummer. It was well that practice had trained Sophia in thequalities of a nurse, for Lucy was seldom available when AlgernonDusautoy was at home; she was sure to be riding with him, or sittingfor her picture, or the good Vicar, afraid of her overworkingherself, insisted on her spending the evening at the vicarage. 

She yielded, but not with an easy conscience, to judge by hernumerous apologies, and when Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy returned toOxford, she devoted herself with great assiduity to the invalid. Her natural gifts were far more efficient than Sophy's laboriously-earnedgentleness, and her wonderful talent for prattling about nothing hada revivifying influence, sparing much of the plaintive weariness whichaccompanied that mournful descent of life's hill. 

Albinia had reckoned on a rational Lucy until the Oxford term shouldbe over. She might have anticipated a failure in the responsions, (who, in connexion with the Polysyllable, could mention being pluckedfor the little-go?) but it was more than she did expect that hisrejection would send him home in sullen resentment resolved to punishOxford by the withdrawal of his august name. He had been quizzed bythe young, reprimanded by the old, plucked by the middle-aged, and hereturned with his mouth, full of sentences against blind, benightedbigotry, and the futility of classical study, and of declamations, asan injured orphan, against his uncle's disregard of the intentions ofhis dear deceased parent, in keeping him from Bonn, Jena, Heidelberg, or any other of the outlandish universities whose guttural names heshowered on the meek Vicar's desponding head. 

He was twenty-one, and could not be sent whither he would not go. His uncle's resource was Mr. Kendal, who strongly hoped that the linkwas about to snap, when, summoning the gentleman to the library, hegave him to understand that he should consider a refusal to resumehis studies as tantamount to a dissolution of the engagement. A longspeech ensued about dear mothers, amiable daughters, classics, languages, and foreign tours. That was all the account Mr. Kendalcould give his wife of the dialogue, and she could only infer thatAlgernon's harangue had sent him into such a fit of abstraction, thathe really could not tell the drift of it. However, he was clear thathe had himself given no alternative between returning to Oxford andresigning Lucy. 

That same evening, Lucy, all blushes and tears, faltered out that shewas very unwilling, she could not bear to leave them all, nor deargrandmamma, but dear Algernon had prevailed on her to say nextAugust!

When indignant astonishment permitted Albinia to speak, she remindedLucy that a respectable career at Oxford had been the condition. 

'I know, ' said Lucy, 'but dear Algernon convinced papa of theunreasonableness of such a stipulation under the circumstances. '

Albinia felt the ground cut away under her feet, and all she couldattempt was a dry answer. 'We shall see what papa says; but you, Lucy, how can you think of marrying with your grandmamma in thisstate, and Gilbert in that camp of cholera--'

'I told Algernon it was not to be thought of, ' said Lucy, her tearsflowing fast. But I don't know what to do, no one can tell how longit may go on, and we have no right to trifle with his feelings. '

'If he had any feelings for you, he would not ask it. '

'No, mamma, indeed!' cried Lucy, earnestly; 'it was his feeling forme; he said I was looking quite languid and emaciated, and that hecould not allow my--good looks and vivacity to be diminished by myattendance in a sick chamber. I told him never to mind, for it didnot hurt me; but he said it was incumbent on him to take thought forme, and that he could not present me to his friends if I were not infull bloom of beauty; yes, indeed, he said so; and then he said itwould be the right season for Italy. '

'It is impossible you can think of going so far away! Oh, Lucy! youshould not have consented. '

'I could not help it, ' said Lucy, sobbing. 'I could not bear tocontradict him, but please, mamma, let papa settle it for me. Idon't want to go away; I told him I never would, I told him I hadpromised never to leave dear grandmamma; but you see he is soresolute, and he cannot bear to be without me. Oh! do get him to putit off--only if he is angry and goes to Italy without me, I know Ishall die!'

'We will take care of you, my dear. I am sure we shall be able toshow him how impossible a gay wedding would be at present; and I donot think he can press it, ' said Albinia, moved into soothing thepresent distress, and relieved to find that there was noheartlessness on Lucy's side. 

What a grand power is sheer obstinacy! It has all the momentum of astone, or cannon-ball, or any other object set in motion withoutinconvenient sensations to obstruct its course!

Algernon Dusautoy had decided on being married in August, and takinghis obedient pupil-wife through a course of lectures on thecontinental galleries of art; and his determined singleness of aimprevailed against the united objections and opposition of fourpeople, each of double or quadruple his wisdom and weight. 

His first great advantage was, that, as Albinia surmised, Mr. Kendalcould not recal the finale of their interview, and having lost thethread of the rigmarole, did not know to what his silence had beensupposed to assent. Next, Algernon conquered his uncle byrepresenting Lucy as on the road to an atrophy, and persuading himthat he should be much safer on the Continent with a wife thanwithout one: and though the two ladies were harder to deal with inthemselves, they were obliged to stand by the decision of theirlords. Above all, he made way by his sincere habit of taking forgranted whatever he wished, and by his magnanimous oblivion ofremonstrance and denial; so that every day one party or the otherfound that assumed, as fixed in his favour, which had the day beforebeen most strenuously refused. 

'If you consented to this, I thought I could not refuse that. '

'I consent! I told him it was the last thing I could think of. '

'Well, I own I was surprised, but he told me you had readily comeinto his views. '

Such was the usual tenor of consultations between the authorities, until their marvel at themselves and each other came to a height whenthey found themselves preparing for the wedding on the very dayoriginally chosen by Algernon. 

Mr. Kendal's letter to Gilbert was an absolute apology. Gilbert inTurkey was a very different person from Gilbert at Bayford, and hadassumed in his father's mind the natural rights of son and heir; heseemed happy and valued, and the heat of the climate, pestiferous toso many, seemed but to give his Indian constitution the vigour itneeded. When his comrades were laid up, or going away for betterair, much duty was falling on him, and he was doing it with heartygood-will and effectiveness. Already the rapid changes had made hima lieutenant, and he wrote in the highest spirits. Moreover, he hadfallen in with Bryan O'More, and had been able to do him sundrykindnesses, the report of which brought Ulick to Willow Lawn in anoverflow of gratitude. 

It was a strange state of affairs there. Albinia was ashamed of theplea of 'could not help it, ' and yet that was the only one to reston; the adherence to promises alone gave a sense of duty, and when orhow the promises had been given was not clear. 

Besides, no one could be certain even about poor Lucy's presentsatisfaction; she sometimes seemed like a little bird flutteringunder the fascination of a snake. She was evidently half afraid ofAlgernon, and would breathe more freely when he was not at hand; butthen a restlessness would come on if he did not appear as soon as sheexpected, as if she dreaded having offended him. She had violentbursts of remorseful tears, and great outpourings of fondness towardsevery one at home, and she positively did look ill enough to justifyAlgernon in saying that the present condition of matters was hurtfulto her. Still she could not endure a word that remotely tendedtowards advising her to break off the engagement, or even to retardthe wedding, and her admiration of her intended was unabated. 

Indeed, his affection could not be doubted; he liked her adoration ofall his performances, and he regarded her with beneficent protection, as a piece of property; he made her magnificent presents, andconceded to her that the wedding tour should not be beyond Clifton, whence they would return to Willow Lawn, and judge ere deciding ongoing abroad. 

He said that it would be 'de bon ton' to have the marriage strictlyprivate. Even he saw the incongruity of festivity alongside of thatchamber of decay and death; and besides, he had conceived such adistaste to the Drury family, that he had signified to Lucy that theymust not make part of the spectacle. 

Albinia and Sophy thought this so impertinent, that they manfullyfought the battles of the Drurys, but without prevailing; Albiniatook her revenge, by observing that this being the case, it wasimpossible to ask her brother and little Mary, whose well-soundingnames she knew Algernon ambitionated for the benefit of the countypaper. 

Always doing what was most contrary to the theories with which shestarted in life, Albinia found herself taking the middle course thatshe contemned. She was marrying her first daughter with an aching, foreboding heart, unable either to approve or to prevent, and obligedto console and cheer just when she would have imagined herselfinsisting upon a rupture at all costs. 

Sophy had said from the first that her sister could not go back. Sheexpected her to be unhappy, and believed it the penalty of thewrongdoings in consenting to the clandestine correspondence; andtreated her with melancholy kindness as a victim under sentence. Shewas very affectionate, but not at all consoling when Lucy was sad, and she was impatient and gloomy when the trousseau, or any of theprivileges of a fiancee brought a renewal of gaiety and importance. A broken heart and ruined fortunes were the least of the consequencesshe augured, and she went about the house as if she had realized themboth herself. 

The wedding-day came, and grandmamma was torpid and only halfconscious, so that all could venture to leave her. The bride was notallowed to see her, lest the agitation should overwhelm both; for thepoor girl was indeed looking like the victim her sister thought her, pale as death, with red rings round her extinguished eyes, andtrembling from head to foot, the more at the apprehension thatAlgernon would think her a fright. 

After all that lavender and sal-volatile could do for her, she wassuch a spectacle, that when her father came to fetch her he wasshocked, and said, tenderly, 'Lucy, my child, this must not be. Sayone word, and all shall be over, and you shall never hear a word ofreproach. '

But Lucy only cast a frightened glance around, and rising up with theaccents of perfect sincerity, said, 'No, papa; I am quite ready; I amquite happy. I was only silly. '

Her mind was evidently made up, and it was past Albinia's divinationwhether her agitation were composed of fear of the future and remorsefor the past, or whether it were mere love of home and hurry ofspirits, exaggerated by belief that a bride ought to weep. Probablyit was a compound of all, and the whole of her reply perfect truth, especially the final clause. 

So they married her, poor child, very much as if they had beenattending her to the block. Sophy's view of the case had infectedthem all beyond being dispelled by the stately complacency of thebridegroom, or the radiant joy and affection of his uncle. 

They put her into a carriage, watched her away, and turned back tothe task which she had left them, dreading the effects of herabsence. She was missed, but less than they feared; the facultieshad become too feeble for such strong emotion as had followedGilbert's departure; and the void was chiefly perceptible by theplaintive and exacting clinging to Albinia, who had less and lesstime to herself and her children, and was somewhat uneasy as to theconsequences as regarded Maurice. While Gilbert was at home, thechild had been under some supervision; but now his independent andunruly spirit was left almost uncontrolled, except by his ownintermittent young conscience, his father indulged him, and enduredfrom him what would have been borne from no one else; and Sophy washis willing slave, unable to exact obedience, and never complaining, save under the most stringent necessity or sense of duty. He was tooyoung for school, and there was nothing to be done but to go on, fromday to day, in the trust that no harm could eventually ensue inconsequence of so absolute a duty as the care of the sufferer; andthat while the boy's truth and generosity were sound, though he mightbe a torment, his character might be all the stronger afterwards forthat very indocility. 

It was not satisfactory, and many mothers would have been miserable;but it was not in Albinia's nature to be miserable when her handswere full, and she was doing her best. She had heard her brother saythat when good people gave their children sound principles and spoiltthem, they gave the children the trouble of self-conquest instead ofdoing it for them. She had great faith in Maurice's undertaking thistask in due time; and while she felt that she still had her hand onthe rein she must be content to leave it loose for a while. 

Besides, when his father and sisters, and, least of all, herself, didnot find him a plague, did it much matter if other people did?

CHAPTER XXV. 

Exulting peals rang out from the Bayford tower, and as Mr. And Mrs. Cavendish Dusautoy alighted from their carriage at Willow Lawn, thecry of the vicar and of the assembled household was, 'Have you heardthat Sebastopol is taken?'

'Any news of Gilbert?' was Lucy's demand. 

'No, the cavalry were not landed, so he had nothing to do with it. '

'I say, uncle, ' said Algernon, 'shall I send up a sovereign to thoseringers?'

'Eh! poor fellows, they will he very glad of it, thank you; only Imust take care they don't drink it up. I'm sure they must be tiredenough; they've been at it ever since the telegraph came in!'

'There!' exclaimed Algernon; 'Barton must have telegraphed from thestation when we set out!'

'You? Did you think the bells were ringing for _you_, ' exclaimed hisuncle, 'when there's a great battle won, and Sebastopol taken?'

'Telegraphs are always lies!' quoth Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy, tersely, 'I don't believe anything has happened at all!' and he re-pocketedthe sovereign. 

Meantime Lucy was in a rapture of embracing. She was spread out withstiff silk flounces and velvet mantle, so as to emulate her husband'simportance, and her chains and bracelets clattered so much, that Mr. Kendal could not help saying, 'You should have taken lessons of yourAyah, to learn how to manage your bangles. '

'Oh! papa, ' said she, with a newly-learnt little laugh, 'I could nothelp it; Louise could not find room for them in my dressing-case. '

They were not, however, lost upon the whole of the family. Grandmamma's dim eyes lighted when she recognised her favouritegrand-daughter in such gorgeous array, and that any one should havecome back again was so new and delightful, that it constantlyrecurred as a fresh surprise and pleasure. 

All were glad to have her again--their own Lucy, as she still was, though somewhat of the grandiose style and self-consequence of herhusband had overlaid the original nature. She was as good-naturedand obliging as ever, and though beginning by conferring her favoursas condescensions, she soon would forget that she was the great Mrs. Cavendish Dusautoy, and quickly become the eager, helpful Lucy. Shewas in very good looks, and bright and happy, admiring Algernon, rejoicing to obey his behests, and enhancing his dignity and her ownby her discourses upon his talents and importance. How far she wasat ease with him, Albinia sometimes doubted; there now and then wasan air of greater freedom when he left the room, and some of herfavourite old household avocations were tenderly resumed by stealth, as though she feared he might think them unworthy of his wife. 

She gave her spare time to the invalid, who was revived by herpresence as by a sunbeam; and Albinia, in her relief and gratitude, did her utmost to keep Algernon happy and contented. She resigned aroom to him as an atelier, and let the little Awk be captured to haveher likeness taken, she promoted the guitar and key-bugle, andabstained from resenting his strictures on her dinners. 

Such a guest reduced Mr. Kendal to absolute silence, but she did notthink he suffered much therefrom, and he was often relieved, for allthe neighbourhood asked the young couple to dinner. Mrs. CavendishDusautoy's toilette was as good as a play to the oldest and youngestinhabitants of the house, her little sister used to stand by thedressing-table with her small fingers straightened to sustain acolumn of rings threaded on them, and her arm weighed down withbracelets, and grandmamma's happiest moments were when she was raisedup to contemplate the costly robes, jewelled neck, and garlanded headof her darling. 

When it turned out that Sebastopol was anything but taken, Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy's incredulity was a precious confirmation of hisesteem for his own sagacity, more especially as Ulick O'More andMaurice had worn out the little brass piece of ordnance in firingfeux de joie. 

'But, ' said Maurice, 'papa always said it was not true. Now you onlysaid so when you found the bells were ringing for that, and not foryou. '

Maurice's observations were not always convenient. Algernon, withmuch pomp, had caused a horse to be led to the door, for which he hadlately paid eighty guineas, and he was expatiating on its merits, when Maurice broke out, 'That's Macheath, the horse that ArchieTritton bought of Mr. Nugent's coachman for twenty pounds. '

'Hush, Maurice!' said his father, 'you know nothing of it; and Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy pursued, 'It was bred at Lord Lewthorp's, and soldbecause it was too tall for its companion. Laing was on the point ofsending it to Tattersalls, where he was secure of a hundred, but hewas willing to oblige me, as we had had transactions before. '

'Papa!' cried Maurice, 'I know it is Macheath, for Mr. Tritton showedhim to Gilbert and me, when he had just got him, and said he was ashowy beast, but incurably lame, so he should get what he could forhim from Laing. Now, James, isn't it?' he called to the servant whowas sedulously turning away a grinning face, but just muttered, 'Same, sir. '

Mr. Kendal charitably looked the other way, and Algernon mutteredsome species of imprecation. 

Thenceforth Maurice took every occasion of inquiring what had becomeof Macheath, whether Laing had refunded the price, and what had beendone to him for telling stories. 

If the boy began in innocence, he went on in mischief; he was justold enough to be a most aggravating compound of simplicity andmalice. He was fully aware that Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy was heldcheap by his own favourites, and had been partly the cause of hisdear Gilbert's troubles, and his sharp wits and daring nature wereexcited to the utmost by the solemn irritation that he produced. Notonly was it irresistibly droll to tease one so destitute of fun, buthe had the strongest desire to see how angry it was possible to makethe big brother-in-law, of whom every one seemed in awe. 

First, he had recourse to the old term Polysyllable, and when Lucyremonstrated, he answered, 'I've a right to call my brother what Iplease. '

'You know how angry mamma would be to hear you. '

'Mamma calls him the Polysyllable herself, ' said Maurice, lookingfull at his victim. 

Lucy, who would have given the world to hinder this epithet fromcoming to her husband's knowledge, began explaining something aboutGilbert's nonsense before he knew him, and how it had been longdisused. 

'That's not true, Lucy, ' quoth the tormentor. 'I heard mamma tellSophy herself this morning to write for some fish-sauce, because shesaid that Polysyllable was so fanciful about his dinner. '

Lucy was ready to cry, and Algernon, endeavouring to recal his usualdignity, exclaimed, 'If Mrs. Kendal--I mean, Mrs. Kendal has it inher power to take liberties, but if I find you repeating such again, you little imp, it shall be at your risk. '

'What will you do to me?' asked the sturdy varlet. 

'Dear Maurice, I hope you'll never know! Pray don't try!' criedLucy; but if she had had any knowledge of character, she would haveseen that she had only provoked the little Berserkar's curiosity, andhad made him determined on proving the undefined threat. So theunfortunate Algernon seldom descended the stairs without two childishfaces being protruded from the balusters of the nursery-flight over-head, pursuing him with hissing whispers of 'Polysyllable' and 'Polly-silly, 'and if he ventured on indignant gestures, Maurice returned them withnutcracker grimaces and provoking assurances to his little sister thathe could not hurt her. 

Algernon could not complain without making himself ridiculous, andAlbinia was too much engaged to keep watch over her son, so that thepersecution daily became more intolerable, and barren indications ofwrath were so diverting to the little monkey, that the presence ofthe heads of the family was the sole security from his tricks. PoorLucy was the chief sufferer, unable to restrain her brother, andenduring the brunt of her husband's irritation, with the greatdisappointment of being unable to make him happy at her home, andfearing every day that he would fulfil his threat of not stayinganother week in the house with that intolerable child, for the sakeof any one's grandmother. 

Tidings came, however, that completely sobered Maurice, and made themunable to think of moving. It was the first rumour of the charge ofBalaklava, with the report that the 25th Lancers were cut to pieces. In spite of Algernon's reiteration that telegraphs were lies, all thehousehold would have been glad to lose the sense of existence duringthe time of suspense. Albinia's heart was wrung as she thought ofthe cold hurried manner of the last farewell, and every look she castat her husband's calm melancholy face, seemed to be asking pardonthat his son was not safe in India. 

Late that evening the maid came hurriedly in with a packet of papers. 'A telegraph, ma'am, come express from Hadminster. '

It was to Mrs Kendal from one of her friends at the Horse Guards. She did not know how she found courage to turn her eyes on it, buther shriek was not of sorrow. 

'Major the Honourable F. Ferrars, severely wounded--right armamputated. '

'Lieutenant Gilbert Kendal, slightly wounded--contusion, rib broken. '

She saw the light of thankfulness break upon Mr. Kendal's face, andthe next moment flew up to her boy's bed-side. He started up, halfasleep, but crying out, Mamma, where's Gibbie?'

'Safe, safe! Maurice dearest, safe; only slightly wounded! Oh, Maurice, God has been very good to us!'

He flung his arms round her neck, as she knelt beside his crib in thedark, and thus Mr. Kendal found the mother and son. As he bent tokiss them, Maurice exclaimed, with a sort of anger, 'Oh, mamma, whyhave I got a bullet in my throat?'

Albinia laughed a little hysterically, as if she had the like bullet. 

'It was very kind of Lord H----, ' fervently exclaimed Mr. Kendal;'you must write to thank him, Albinia. Gilbert may be consideredsafe while he is laid up. Perhaps he may be sent home. What shouldyou say to that, Maurice?'

'Oh! I wouldn't come home to lose the fun, ' said Maurice. 'Oh, mamma, let me get up to tell Awkey, and run up to Ulick! Gilbertwill be the colonel when I'm a cornet! Oh! I must get up!'

His outspoken childish joy seemed to relieve Albinia's swellingheart, too full for the expression of thankfulness, and theexcitement was too much even for the boy, for he burst intopassionate sobs when forbidden to get up and waken his little sister. 

The sobering came in Mr. Kendal's mention of Fred. Albinia wasobliged to ask what had happened to him, and was shocked at havingoverlooked so terrible a misfortune; but Maurice seemed to be quitesatisfied. 'You know, mamma, it said they were cut to pieces. Can'tthey make him a wooden arm?' evidently thinking he could be repairedas easily as the creatures in his sister's Noah's Ark. Even Algernonshowed a heartiness and fellow-feeling that seemed to make him morelike one of the family. Moreover, he was so much elevated at thereceipt of a telegraph direct from the fountain-head, that he rodeabout the next day over all the neighbourhood with the tidings andcomported himself as though he had private access to all LordRaglan's secrets. 

The unwonted emotion tamed Maurice for several days, and hisbehaviour was the better for his daily rides with papa to Hadminster, to forestall the second post. At last, on his return, his voice rangthrough the house. 'Mamma, where are you? The letter is come, andGilbert shot two Russians, and saved Cousin Fred!'

'I opened your letter, Albinia, ' said Mr. Kendal; and, as she took itfrom him, he said, 'Thank God, I never dared hope for such a day asthis!'

He shut himself into the library, while Albinia was sharing withSophy the precious letter, but with a moment's disappointment atfinding it not from Gilbert, but from her brother William. 

'Before you receive this, ' he wrote, 'you will have heard of theaffair of to-day, and that our two lads have come out of it betterthan some others. There are but nine officers living, and only fourunhurt out of the 25th Lancers, and Fred's escape is entirely owingto your son. '

Then followed a brief narrative of the events of Balaklava, thatfatal charge so well described as 'magnifique mais pas la guerre, ' ahistory that seemed like a dream in connexion with the timid Gilbert. His individual story was thus:--He safely rode the 'half a league'forward, but when more than half way back, his horse was struck tothe ground by a splinter of the same shell that overthrew MajorFerrars, at a few paces' distance from him. Quickly disengaginghimself from his horse, Gilbert ran to assist his friend, andsucceeded in extricating him from his horse, and supporting himthrough the remainder of the terrible space commanded by thebatteries. Fred, unable to move without aid, and to whom each stepwas agony, had entreated Gilbert to relinquish his hold, and notperil himself for a life already past rescue; but Gilbert had notseemed to hear, and when several of the enemy came riding down onthem, he had used his revolver with such effect, as to lay two of thenumber prostrate, and deter the rest from repeating the attack. 

'All this I heard from Fred, ' continued the General; 'he is in hisusual spirits, and tells me that he feels quite jolly since his armhas been off, and he has been in his own bed, but I fear he has agood deal to suffer, for his right side is terribly lacerated, and Ishall be glad when the next few days are over. He desires me to saywith his love that the best turn you ever did him was putting youngKendal into the 25th. Tell your husband that I congratulate him onhis son's conduct, and am afraid that his promotion without purchaseis only too certain. Gilbert's only message was his love. Speakingseems to give him pain, and he is altogether more prostrated than soslight a wound accounts for; but when I saw him, he had just beentold of the death of his colonel and several of his brother officers, among them young Wynne, who shared his tent; and he was completelyovercome. There is, however, no cause for uneasiness; he had noteven been aware that he was hurt, until he fainted while Fred wasunder the surgeon's hands, and was then found to have an uglycontusion of the chest, and a fracture of the uppermost rib on theleft side. A few days' rest will set all that to rights, and Iexpect to see him on horseback before we can ship poor Fred forScutari. In the meantime they are both in Fred's tent, which isfairly comfortable. '

Albinia understood whence came Gilbert's heroism. He had charged atfirst, as he had hunted with Maurice, because there was no doingotherwise, and in the critical moment the warm heart had done therest, and equalled constitutional courage: but then, she saw thegentle tender spirit sinking under the slight injury, and far more atthe suffering of his friend, the deadly havoc among his comrades, andhis own share in the carnage. The General coolly mentioned the twoenemies who had fallen by his pistol, and Maurice shouted about themas if they had been two rabbits, but she knew enough of Gilbert to besure that what he might do in the exigency of self-defence, wouldshock and sicken him in recollection. Poor Fred! how little wouldshe once have believed that his frightful wound could be a secondarymatter with her, only enhancing her gratitude on account of another. 

That was a happy evening; Maurice was sent to ask Ulick to dinner, and at dessert drank the healths of his soldier relatives, among whomMr. Kendal with a smile at Ulick, included Bryan O'More. 

In the universal good-will of her triumph, Albinia having read herprecious letter to every one, resolved to let the Drurys hear it, before forwarding it to Fairmead. Lucy's neglect of that family wasbecoming flagrant, and Albinia was resolved to take her to make thecall. Therefore, after promulgating her intentions too decidedly forAlgernon to oppose them, she set out with Lucy in the most virtuousstate of mind. Maurice was to ride out with his father, and Sophywas taking care of grandmamma, so she made her expedition with aneasy mind, and absolutely enjoyed the change of scenery. 

The war had drawn every one nearer together, and Mrs. Drury wasreally anxious about Gilbert, and grateful for the intelligence. Nordid Lucy meet with anything unpleasant. Mrs. Cavendish Dusautoy, inwaist-deep flounces, a Paris bonnet, and her husband's dignity, impressed her cousins, and whatever use they might make of theirtongues, it was not till after she was gone. 

As the carriage stopped at the door, Sophy came out with such aperturbed an expression, as seemed to prelude fatal tidings; and Lucywas pausing to listen, when she was hastily summoned by her husband. 

'Oh! mamma, he has struck Maurice such a blow!' cried Sophy. 

'Algernon? where's Maurice? is he hurt?'

'He is in the library with papa. '

She was there in a moment. Maurice sat on his father's knee, listening to Pope's Homer, leaning against him, with eye, cheek, andnose exceedingly swelled and reddened; but these were symptoms ofwhich she had seen enough in past days not to be greatly terrified, even while she exclaimed aghast. 

'Aye!' said Mr. Kendal, sternly. 'What do you think of youngDusautoy's handiwork?'

'What could you have done to him, Maurice?'

'I painted his image. '

'The children got into the painting-room, ' said Mr. Kendal, 'and didsome mischief; Maurice ought to have known better, but that was noexcuse for his violence. I do not know what would have been theconsequence, if poor little Albinia's screams had not alarmed me. Ifound Algernon striking him with his doubled fist. '

'But I gave him a dig in the nose, ' cried Maurice, in exultation; 'Ipulled ever so much hair out of his whiskers. I had it just now. '

'This sounds very sad, ' said Albinia, interrupting the search for thetrophy. 'What were you doing in the painting-room? You know you hadno business there. '

'Why, mamma, little Awk wanted me to look at the pictures that Lucyshows her. And then, don't you know his image? the little white bareboy pulling the thorn out of his foot. Awkey said he was naughty notto have his clothes on, and so I thought it would be such fun to makea militiaman of him, and so the paints were all about, and so I gavehim a red coat and black trousers. '

'Oh, Maurice, Maurice, how could you?'

'I couldn't help it, mamma! I did so want to see what Algernon woulddo!'

'Well. '

'So he came up and caught us. And wasn't he in a jolly good rage?that's all. He stamped, and called me names, and got hold of me toshake me, but I know I kicked him well, and I had quite a handful outof his whisker; but you see poor little Awkey is only a girl, andcouldn't help squalling, so papa came up. '

'And in time!' said Mr. Kendal; 'he reeled against me, almoststunned, and was hardly himself for some moments. His nose bledviolently. That fellow's fist might knock down an ox. '

'But he didn't knock _me_ down, ' said Maurice. 'You told me he didnot, papa. '

'That's all he thinks of!' said Mr. Kendal, in admiration. 

'Not a cry nor a tear from first to last. I told Sophy to let meknow when Bowles came. '

'For a black eye?' cried the hard-hearted mother, laughing. 'Youshould have seen what Maurice and Fred used to do to each other. '

'Oh, tell me, mamma, ' cried Maurice, eagerly. 

'Not now, master, ' she said, not thinking his pugnacity in need ofsuch respectable examples. 'It would be more to the purpose to askMr. Cavendish Dusautoy's pardon for such very bad behaviour. '

Mr. Kendal looked at her in indignant surprise. 'Ours is not theside for the apology, ' he said. 'If Dusautoy has a spark of properfeeling, he must excuse himself for such a brutal assault. '

'I am afraid Maurice provoked it; I hope my little boy is sorry forhaving been so mischievous, and sees that he deserves--'

Mr. Kendal silenced her by an impatient gesture, and feeling thatanything was better than the discussion before the boy, she tried tospeak indifferently, and not succeeding, left the room, much annoyedthat alarm and indignation had led the indulgent father to pet andcoax the spirit that only wanted to be taken down, and as if herdiscipline had received its first real shock. 

Mr. Kendal followed her upstairs, no less vexed. 'Albinia, this isabsurd, ' he said. 'I will not have the child punished, or made toask pardon for being shamefully struck. '

'It was shameful enough, ' said Albinia; 'but, after all, I can'twonder that Algernon was in a passion; Maurice did behave very ill, and it would be much better for him if you would not make him moreimpudent than he is already. '

'I did not expect you to take part against your own child, when hehas been so severely maltreated, ' said he, with such unreasonabledispleasure, that almost thinking it play, she laughed and said, 'Youare as bad as the mothers of the school-children, when they wont havethem beaten. '

He gave a look as if loth to trust his ears, walked into his room, and shut the door. The thrill of horror came over her that this wasthe first quarrel. She had been saucy when he was serious, and hadoffended him. She sprang to the door, knocked and called, and was inagony at the moment's delay ere he returned, with his face stillstern and set. Pleading and earnest she raised her eyes, andsurrendered unconditionally. 'Dear Edmund, don't be vexed with me, Ishould not have said it. '

'Never mind, ' he said, affectionately; 'I do not wish to interferewith your authority, but it would be impossible to punish a child whohas suffered so severely; and I neither choose that Dusautoy shouldbe made to think himself the injured party, nor that Maurice shouldbe put to the pain of apologizing for an offence, which the otherparty has taken on himself to cancel with interest. '

Albinia was too much demolished to recollect her two arguments, thatpride on their side would only serve to make Algernon prouder, andthat she did not believe that asking pardon would be so bitter a pillto Maurice as his father supposed. She could only feel thankful tohave been forgiven for her own offence. 

When they met at dinner, all were formal, Algernon stiff and haughty, ashamed, but too grand to betray himself, and Lucy restless anduneasy, her eyes looking as if she had been crying. When Mauricecame in at dessert, the fourth part of his countenance emulating theunlucky cast in gorgeous hues of crimson and violet, Algernon wasstartled, and turning to Albinia, muttered something about 'neverhaving intended, ' and 'having had no idea. '

He might have said more, if Mr. Kendal, with Maurice on his knee, hadnot looked as if he expected it; and that look sealed Albinia's lipsagainst expressing regret for the provocation; but Maurice exclaimed, 'Never mind, Algernon, it was all fair, and it doesn't hurt now. Iwouldn't have touched your image, but that I wanted to know what youwould do to me. Shake hands; people always do when they've had agood mill. '

Mr. Kendal looked across the table to his wife in a state ofunbounded exultation in his generous boy, and Albinia felt infinitelyrelieved and grateful. Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy took the firm youngpaw, and said with an attempt at condescension, 'Very well, Maurice, the subject shall be mentioned no more, since you have received aseverer lesson than I intended, and appear sensible of your error. '

'It wasn't you that made me so, ' began Maurice, with defiant eye; butwith a strong sense of 'let well alone, ' his father cut him shortwith, 'That's enough, my man, you've said all that can be wished, 'lifted him again on his knee, and stopped his mouth with almonds andraisins. 

The subject was mentioned no more; Lucy considered peace asproclaimed, and herself relieved from the necessity of such anunprecedented deed as preferring an accusation against Maurice, andAlbinia, unaware of the previous persecution, did not trace thatMaurice considered himself as challenged to prove, that experience ofhis brother-in-law's fist did not suffice to make him cease from his'fun. '

Two days after, Algernon was coming in from riding, when a simplevoice upon the stairs observed, 'Here's such a pretty picture!'

'Eh! what?' said Algernon; and Maurice held it near to him as hestood taking off his great coat. 

'Such a pretty picture, but you mustn't have it! No, it is Ulick's. '

'Heavens and earth!' thundered Algernon, as he gathered up themeaning. 'Who has dared--? Give it me--or--' and as soon as he wasfreed from the sleeves, he snatched at the paper, but the boy hadalready sprung up to the first landing, and waving his treasure, shouted, 'No, it's not for you, I'll not give you Ulick's picture. '

'Ulick !' cried Algernon, in redoubled fury. 'You're put up to this!Give it me this instant, or it shall be the worse for you;' but erehe could stride up the first flight, Maurice's last leg wasdisappearing round the corner above, and the next moment theexhibition was repeated overhead in the gallery. Thither didAlgernon rush headlong, following the scampering pattering feet, tillthe door of Maurice's little room was slammed in his face. Burstingit open, he found the chamber empty, but there was a shout of elvishlaughter outside, and a cry of dismay coming up from the garden, impelled him to mount the rickety deal-table below the deep sunkdormer window, when thrusting out his head and shoulders, he beheldhis wife and her parents gazing up in terror from the lawn. Nowonder, for there was a narrow ledge of leading without, upon whichMaurice had suddenly appeared, running with unwavering steps till ina moment he stooped down, and popped through the similar window ofGilbert's room. 

While still too dizzy with horror to feel secure that the child wasindeed safe within, those below were startled by a frantic shout fromAlgernon: 'Let me out! I say, the imp has locked me in! Let meout!'

Albinia flew into the house and upstairs. Maurice was flourishingthe key, and executing a war-dance before the captive's door, with achant alternating of war-whoops, 'Promise not to hurt it, and I'lllet you out!' and 'Pity poor prisoners in a foreign land!'

She called to him to desist, but he was too wild to be checked by hervoice, and as she advanced to capture him, he shot like an arrow tothe other end of the passage, and down the back-stairs. She promisedspeedy rescue, and hurried down, hoping to seize the culprit in thehall, but he had whipped out at the back-door, and was making for thegarden gate, when his father hastened down the path to meet him, andseeing his retreat cut off, he plunged into the bushes, and spranglike a cat up a cockspur-thorn, too slender for ascent by a heavierweight, and thence grinned and waved his hand to his prisoner at thewindow. 

'Maurice, ' called his father, 'what does this mean?'

'I only want to take home Ulick's picture. Then I'll let him out. '

'What picture?'

'That's my secret. '

'This is not play, Maurice, ' said Albinia. 'Attend to papa. '

The boy swung the light shrub about with him in a manner fearful tobehold, and looked irresolute. Lucy put in her cry, 'You verynaughty child, give up the key this moment, ' and above, Algernonbawled appeals to Mr. Kendal, and threats to Maurice. 

'Silence!' said Mr. Kendal, sternly. 'Maurice, this must not be. Come down, and give me the key of your room. '

'I will, papa, ' said Maurice, in a reasonable voice. 'Only pleasepromise not to let Algernon have Ulick's picture, for I got itwithout his knowing it. '

'I promise, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'Let us put an end to this. '

Maurice came down, and brought the key to his father, and while Lucyhastened to release her husband, Mr. Kendal seized the boy, findinghim already about again to take flight. 

'Papa, let me take home Ulick's picture before he gets out, ' saidMaurice, finding the grasp too strong for him; but Mr. Kendal hadtaken the picture out of his hand, and looked at it with changedcountenance. 

It depicted the famous drawing-room scene, in its native element, themoon squinting through inky clouds at Lucy swooning on the sofa, while the lofty presence of the Polysyllable discharged the fluidfrom the inkstand. 

'Did Mr. O'More give you this?' asked Mr. Kendal. 

'No, it tumbled out of his paper-case. You know he said I might goto his rooms and get the Illustrated News with the picture ofBalaklava, and so the newspaper knocked the paper-case down, and allthe things tumbled out, so I picked this up, and thought I would seewhat Algernon would say to it, and then put it back again. Let mehave it, papa, if he catches me, he'll tear it to smithereens. '

'Don't talk Irish, sir, ' said his father. 'I see where yourimpertinence comes from, and I will put a stop to it. '

Maurice gave back a step, amazed at his father's unwonted anger, butfar greater wrath was descending in the person of Mr. CavendishDusautoy, who came striding across the lawn, and planting himselfbefore his father-in-law, demanded, 'I beg to know, sir, if it isyour desire that I should be deliberately insulted in this house?'

'No one can be more concerned than I am at what has occurred. '

'Very well, sir; then I require that this intolerable child besoundly flogged, that beggarly Irishman kicked out, and that infamouslibel destroyed!'

'Oh, papa, ' cried Maurice, 'you promised me the picture should besafe!'

'I promise you, you impudent brat, ' cried Algernon, 'that you shalllearn what it is to insult your elders! You shall be flogged tillyou repent it!'

'You will allow me to judge of the discipline of my own family, ' saidMr. Kendal. 

'Ay! I knew how it would be! You encourage that child in every sortof unbearable impudence; but I have endured it long enough, and Igive you warning that I do not remain another night under this roofunless I see the impertinence flogged out of him. '

'Papa never whips me, ' interposed Maurice. 'You must ask mamma. '

Mr. Kendal bit his lips, and Albinia could have smiled, but theirsense of the ludicrous inflamed Algernon, and like one besidehimself, he swung round, and declaring he should ask his uncle ifthat were proper treatment, he marched across the lawn, while Mr. Kendal exclaimed, 'More childish than Maurice!'

'Oh, mamma, what shall I do?' was Lucy's woful cry, as she turnedback, finding herself unable to keep up with his huge step, and hercalls disregarded. 

'My dear, ' said Albinia, affectionately, 'you had better composeyourself and follow him. His uncle will bring him to reason, andthen you can tell him how sorry we are. '

'You may assure him, ' said Mr. Kendal, 'that I am as much hurt as hecan be, that such an improper use should have been made of O'More'sintimacy here, and I mean to mark my sense of it. '

'And, ' said Lucy, 'I don't think anything would pacify him so much asMaurice being only a little beaten, not to hurt him, you know. '

'If Maurice be punished, it shall not be in revenge, ' said Mr. Kendal. 

'I'm afraid nothing else will do, ' said Lucy, wringing her hands. 'He has really declared that he will not sleep another night hereunless Maurice is punished; and whatever he says, he'll do, and Iknow it would kill me to go away in this manner. '

Her father confidently averred that he would do no such thing, butshe cried so much as to move Maurice into exclaiming, 'Look here, Lucy, I'll come up with you, and let him give me one good punch, andthen we shall all be comfortable again. '

'I don't know about the punching, ' said Albinia; 'but I think theleast you can do, Maurice, is to go and ask his forgiveness forhaving been so very naughty. You were not thinking what you wereabout when you locked him in. '

This measure was adopted, Mr. Kendal accompanying Lucy and the boy, while Albinia went in search of Sophy, whom she found in grandmamma'sroom, looking very pale. 'Well?' was the inquiry, and she told whathad passed. 

'I hope Maurice will be punished, ' said Sophy; so unwonted asentiment, that Albinia quite started, though it was decidedly herown opinion. 

'That meddling with papers was very bad, ' she said, with anextenuating smile. 

'Fun is a perfect demon when it becomes master, ' said Sophy. It wasplain that it was not Maurice that she was thinking of, but thecaricature. Her sister should have been sacred from derision. 

'We must remember, ' she said, 'that it was only through Maurice'smeddling that we became aware of the existence of this precious work. It is not as if ho had shown it to any one. 

'How many of the O'Mores have made game of it?' asked Sophy, bitterly. 'No, I am glad I know of it, I shall not be deceived anymore. '

With these words she withdrew, evidently resolved to put an end tothe subject. Her face was like iron, and Albinia grieved for thedeep resentment that the man whom she had ventured to think of asdevoted to herself, had made game of her sister. Poor Sophy, to herthat tryste had been a subject of unmitigated affliction and shame, and it was a cruel wound that Ulick O'More should, of all men, haveturned it into ridicule. What would be the effect on her?

In process of time Mr. Kendal returned. 'Albinia, ' he said, 'this isa most unfortunate affair. He is perfectly impracticable, insists onstarting for Paris to-morrow, and I verily believe he will. '

'Poor Lucy. '

'She is in such distress, that I could not bear to look at her, buthe will not attend to her, nor to his uncle and aunt. Mrs. Dusautoyproposed that they should come to the vicarage, where there would beno danger of collisions with Maurice; but his mind can admit no ideabut that he has been insulted, and that we encourage it, and hethinks his dignity concerned in resenting it. '

'Not much dignity in being driven off the field by a child of sixyears old. '

'So his aunt told him, but he mixes it up with O'More, and insists onmy complaining to Mr. Goldsmith, and getting the lad dismissed for alibellous caricaturist, as he calls it. Now, little as I should haveexpected such conduct from O'More, it could not be made a ground ofcomplaint to his uncle. '

'I should think not. No one with more wit than Algernon would havedreamt of it! But if Ulick came and apologized? Ah! but I forgot!Mr. Goldsmith sent him to London this morning. Well, it may bebetter that he should be out of the way of Algernon in his presentmood. '

'Humph!' said Mr. Kendal. 'It is the first time I ever allowed astranger to be intimate in my family, and it shall be the last. Inever imagined him aware of the circumstance. '

'Nor I; I am sure none of us mentioned it. '

'Maurice told him, I suppose. It is well that we should be aware whohas instigated the child's impertinence. I shall keep him as much aspossible with me; he must be cured of Irish brogue and Irish coolnessbefore they are confirmed. '

Mr. Kendal's conscience was evidently relieved by transferring to theIrishman the imputation of fostering Maurice's malpractices. 

They were interrupted by Lucy's arrival. She was come to take leaveof home, for her lord was not to be dissuaded from going to London bythe evening's train. The greater the consternation, the sweeter hisrevenge. Never able to see more than one side of a question, hecould not perceive how impossible it was for the Kendals to fulfilhis condition with regard to Ulick O'More, and he sullenly adhered tohis obstinate determination. Lucy was in an agony of grief, andperhaps the most painful blow was the perception how little he wasswayed by consideration for her. Her maid packed, while her parentstried to console her. It was easier when she bewailed the terrors ofthe voyage, and the uncertainty of hearing of dear grandmamma anddear Gilbert, than when she sobbed about Algernon having no feelingfor her. It might be only too true, but her wifely submission oughtnot to have acknowledged it, and they would not hear when they couldnot comfort; and so they were forced to launch her on the world, witha tyrant instead of a guide, and dreading the effect of dissipationon her levity of mind, as much as they grieved for her feeble spirit. It was a piteous parting--a mournful departure for a bride--a heavypenalty for vanity and weakness. 

Unfortunately the result is to an action as the lens through which itis viewed, and the turpitude of the deed seems to increase ordiminish according to the effect it produces. 

Had it been in Algernon Dusautoy's nature to receive the jokegood-humouredly, it might have been regarded as an audacious exercise ofwit, and have been quickly forgotten, but when it had actually made abreach between him and his wife's family, and driven him from Bayfordwhen everything conspired to make his departure unfeelingly cruel, the caricature was regarded as a serious insult and an abuse ofintimacy. Even Mr. Kendal was not superior to this view, feeling theoffence with all the sensitiveness of a hot-tempered man, a proudreserved guardian of the sanctities of home, and of a father who hadseen his daughter's weakest and most faulty action turned intoridicule, and he seemed to feel himself bound to atone for not goingto all the lengths to which Algernon would have impelled him, byshowing the utmost displeasure within the bounds of common sense. 

Albinia, better appreciating the irresistibly ludicrous aspect of theadventure, argued that the sketch harmlessly shut up in a paper-caseshowed no great amount of insolence, and that considering how thediscovery had been made, it ought not to be visited. She thought thedrawing had better be restored without remarks by the same hand thathad abstracted it; but Mr. Kendal sternly declared this wasimpossible, and Sophy's countenance seconded him. 

'Well, then, ' said Albinia, 'put it into my hands. I'm a bad managerin general, but I can promise that Ulick will come down so shockedand concerned, that you will not have the heart not to forgive him. '

'The question is not of forgiveness, ' said Sophy, in the most rigidof voices, as she saw yielding in her father's face; if any one hadto forgive, it was poor Lucy and Algernon. All we have to do, is tobe on our guard for the future. '

'Sophy is right, ' said Mr. Kendal; 'intimacy must be over with onewho has so little discretion or good taste. '

'Then after his saving Maurice, he is to be given up, because hequizzed the Polysyllable?' cried Albinia. 

'I do not give him up, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'I highly esteem his goodqualities, and should be happy to do him a service, but I cannot havemy family at the mercy of his wit, nor my child taught disrespect. We have been unwisely familiar, and must retreat. '

'And what do you mean us to do?' exclaimed Albinia. 'Are we to cuthim systematically?'

'I do not know what course you may adopt, ' said Mr. Kendal, in a tonewhose grave precision rebuked her half petulant, half facetiousinquiry. 'I have told you that I do not mean to do anythingextravagant, nor to discontinue ordinary civilities, but I think youwill find that our former habits are not resumed. '

'And Maurice must not be always with him, ' said Sophy. 

'Certainly not; I shall keep the boy with myself. '

It was with the greatest effort that Albinia held her tongue. Tohave Sophy not only making common cause against her, but inciting herfather to interfere about Maurice, was well-nigh intolerable, and sheonly endured it by sealing her lips as with a bar of iron. 

By-and-by came the reflection that if poor Sophy had a secret causeof bitterness, it was she herself who had given those thoughtssubstance and consciousness, and she quickly forgave every one saveherself and Algernon. 

As to her little traitor son, she took him seriously in hand atbedtime, and argued the whole transaction with him, representing thedreadful consequences of meddling with people's private papers undertrust. Here was poor Lucy taken away from home, and papa made veryangry with Ulick, because Maurice had been meddlesome andmischievous; and though he had not been beaten for it, he would findit a worse punishment not to be trusted another time, nor allowed tobe with Ulick. 

Maurice turned round with mouth open at hearing of papa's anger withUlick, and the accusation of having brought his friend into trouble. 

'Why, Maurice, you remember how unhappy we were, Gilbert and all. Itwas because it was sadly wrong of Gilbert and Lucy to have letAlgernon in without papa's knowing it, and it was not right orfriendly in Ulick to laugh at what was so wrong, and grieved us allso much. '

'It was such fun, ' said Maurice. 

'Yes, Maurice; but fun is no excuse for doing what is unkind andmischievous. Ulick would not have been amused if he had cared asmuch for us as we thought he did, but, after all, his drawing thepicture would have done no harm but for a little boy, whom hetrusted, never thinking that an unkind wish to tease, would betraythis foolish action, and set his best friends against him. '

'I did not know I should, ' said Maurice, winking hard. 

'No; you did not know you were doing what, if you were older, wouldhave been dishonourable. '

That word was too much! First he hid his face from his mother, andcried out fiercely, 'I've not--I've not been that and clenched hisfist. 'Don't say it, mamma. '

'If you had known what you were doing, it would have beendishonourable, ' she repeated, gravely. 'It will be a long timebefore you earn trust and confidence again. '

There was a great struggle with his tears. She had punished him, andalmost more than she could bear to see, but she knew the conquestmust be secured, and she tried, while she caressed him, to make himlook at the real cause of his lapse; he declared that it was 'suchfun' to provoke Algernon, and a little more brought out a confessionof the whole course of persecution, the child's voice becoming quitetriumphant as he told of the success of his tricks, and his mother, though appalled at their audacity, with great difficulty hinderingherself from manifesting her amusement. 

She did not wonder at Algernon's having found it intolerable, andthough angry with him for having made himself such fair game, she setto work to impress upon Maurice his own errors, and the hatefulnessof practical jokes, and she succeeded so far as to leave him cryinghimself to sleep, completely subdued, while she felt as if all thetears ought to have been shed by herself for her want of vigilance. 

Conflicting duties! how hard to strike the balance! She had readilygiven up her own pleasures for the care of Mrs. Meadows, but when itcame to her son's training, it was another question. 

She much wished to see the note with which Mr. Kendal returned theunfortunate sketch, but one of the points on which he was sensitive, was the sacredness of his correspondence, and all that she heard was, that Ulick had answered 'not at all as Mr. Kendal had expected; hewas nothing but an Irishman, after all. ' But at last she obtained asight of the note. 

 'Bayford, Nov. 20th, 1854. 'Dear Sir, 'I was much astonished at the contents of your letter of thismorning, and greatly concerned that Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy shouldhave done so much honour to any production of mine, as to alter hisarrangements on that account. 

'As the scrawl in question was not meant to meet the eye of anyliving being, I should, for my own part, have considered it proper totake no notice of what was betrayed by mere accident. I should haveconsidered it more conducive to confidence between gentlemen. Ifully acquiesce in what you say of the cessation of our former termsof acquaintance, and with many thanks for past kindness, believe me, 'Your obedient servant, 'U. O'MORE. '

Nothing was more evidently written in a passion at the invasion ofthese private papers, and Albinia, though she had always feared hemight consider himself the aggrieved party, had hardly expected somuch proud irritation and so little regret. Mr. Kendal called him'foolish boy, ' and tried to put the matter aside, but he was muchhurt, and Ulick put himself decidedly in the wrong by passing in thestreet with a formal bow, when Mr. Kendal, according to his purposeof ordinary civility without an open rupture, would have shakenhands. 

Sophy looked white, stern, and cold, but said not a word; shedeepened her father's displeasure quite sufficiently by hercountenance. His was grave disappointment in a youth whom he foundless grateful than he thought he had a right to expect; hers was therankling of what she deemed an insult to her sister, and thefestering of a wound of which she was ashamed. She meant to bear itwell, but it made her very hard and rigid, and even the childrencould hardly extract a smile from her. She seemed to have made adetermination to do all that Lucy or herself had ever done, and moretoo, and listened to no entreaties to spare herself. Commands weremet with sullen resignation, entreaties were unavailing, and both inthe sickroom and the parish, she insisted on working beyond herpowers. It was a nightly battle to send her to bed, and Albiniasuspected that she did not sleep. Meantime Lucy had sailed, and waspresently heard of in a whirl of excitement that shortened herletters, and made them joyous and self-important. 

'Ah!' said Sophy, 'she will soon forget that she ever had a home. '

'Poor dear! Wait till trouble comes, and she will remember it onlytoo sadly, ' sighed Albinia. 

'Trouble is certain enough, ' said Sophy; 'but I don't think what wedeserve does us much good. '

Sophy could see nothing but the most ungentle and gloomy aspects. Gilbert had not yet written, and she was convinced that he was eithervery ill, or had only recovered to be killed at Inkermann, and shewould only sigh at the Gazette that announced Lieutenant GilbertKendal's promotion to be Captain, and Major the Honourable FrederickFerrars to be Lieutenant-Colonel. 

The day after, however, came the long expected letter from thecaptain himself. It was to Mrs. Kendal, and she detected a shade ofdisappointment on her husband's face, so she would have handed it tohim at once, but he said, 'No, the person to whom the letter isaddressed, should always be the first to read it. '

The letter began with Gilbert's happiness in those from home, whichhe called the greatest pleasure he had ever known. He feared he hadcaused uneasiness by not writing sooner, but it had been out of hispower while Fred Ferrars was in danger. Then followed the account ofthe severe illness from which Fred was scarcely beginning to rally, though that morning, on hearing that he was to be sent home as soonas he could move, he had talked about Canada and Emily. Gilbert saidthat not only time but strength had been wanting for writing, forattendance on Fred had been all that he could attempt, since movingproduced so much pain and loss of breath, that he had been forced tobe absolutely still whenever he was not wanted, but he was now muchbetter. 'Though, ' he continued, 'I do not now mind telling you thatI had thought myself gone. You, who have known all my feelings, andhave borne with them so kindly, will understand the effect upon me, when on the night previous to the 25th, I distinctly heard my ownname, in Edmund's voice, at the head of my bed, just as he used tocall me when he had finished his lessons, and wanted me to come outwith him. As I started up, I heard it again outside the tent. I ranto the door, but of course there was nothing, nor did poor Wynne hearanything. I lay awake for some time, but slept at last, and hadforgotten all by morning. It did not even occur to me when I saw thepleasant race they had cut out for us, nor through the whole affair. Do not ask me to describe it, the scene haunts me enough. When Ifound that I had not come off unhurt, and it seemed as if I could notask for one of our fellows but to hear he was dead or dying, poorWynne among them, then the voice seemed a summons. I was thoroughlydone up, and could not even speak when General Ferrars came to me; Ionly wanted to be let alone to die in peace. I fancy I slept, forthe next thing I heard was the Major's voice asking for some water, too feebly to wake the fellow who had been left in charge. I got up, and found him in a state of high fever and great pain, and from thattime to the present, I have hardly thought of the circumstance, andknow not why I have now written it to you. Did my danger actuallybring Edmund nearer, or did its presence act on my imagination? Bethat as it may, I think, after the first impression of awe andterror, the having heard the dear old voice braced me, and gave me asense of being near home and less lonely. Not that my hurt has beenfor an instant dangerous, and I am mending every day; if it werewarmer I should get on faster, but I cannot stir into the air withoutbringing on cough. Tell Ulick O'More that we entertained his brotherat tea last evening, we were obliged to desire him to bring his owncup, and he produced the shell of a land tortoise; it was very likethe fox and the crane. Poor fellow, it was the first good meal hehad for weeks, and I was glad he came in for some famous bread thatthe General had sent us in. He made us much more merry than wasconvenient to either of us, not being in condition for laughing. Heis a fine lad, and liked by all. ' Then came a break, and the letterclosed with such tidings of Inkermann as had reached the invalid'stent. 

A few lines from General Ferrars spoke of the improvement in bothpatients, adding that Fred had had a hard struggle for his life, andhad only been saved, by Gilbert's unremitting care by day and night. 

Heroism had not transformed Gilbert, and Albinia's old fondnessglowed with double ardour as she mused over his history of thebattle-eve. His father attributed the impression to a mind full ofpresage and excitement, acted upon by strong memory; but woman-like, Albinia preferred the belief that the one twin might have been anactual messenger to cheer and strengthen the other for the comingtrial. Sophy only said, 'Gilbert's fancies as usual. '

'This was not like fancy, ' said Albinia. 'This is an unkind way oftaking it. '

'It is common sense, ' she bluntly answered. 'I don't see why heshould think that Edmund has nothing better to do than to call him. It would be childish. '

Albinia did not reply, disturbed by this display of jealousy andharshness, as if every bud of tenderness had been dried up andwithered, and poor Sophy only wanted to run counter to any obvioussentiment. 

Albinia was grateful for the message which gave her an excuse forseeking Ulick out, and endeavouring to conciliate him. Mr. Kendalmade no objection, and expressed a hope that he might have becomereasonable. She therefore contrived to waylay him in the Novemberdarkness, holding out her hand so that he took it at unawares, as ifnot recollecting that he was offended, but in the midst his grasprelaxed, and his head went up. 

'I have a message for you from Gilbert about your brother Bryan, ' shesaid, and he could not defend himself from manifesting eagerinterest, as she told of the tea-party; but that over, it was instiff formal English that he said, 'I hope you had a good account. '

It struck a chill, and she answered, almost imploringly, 'Gilbert ismuch better, thank you. '

'I am glad to hear it;' and he was going to bow and pass on, when sheexclaimed, 'Ulick, why are we strangers?'

'It was agreed on all hands that things past could not be undone, ' hefrigidly replied. 

'Too true, ' she said; 'but I do not think you know how sorry we arefor my poor little boy's foolish trick. '

'I owe no displeasure to Maurice. He knew no more what he was doingthan if he had been a gust of wind; but if the wind had borne aprivate paper to my feet, I would never have acted on the contents. '

'Unhappily, ' said Albinia, 'some revelations, though received againstour will, cannot help being felt. We saw the drawing before we knewhow he came by it, and you cannot wonder that it gave pain to findthat a scene so distressing to us should have furnished you withamusement. It was absurd in itself, but we had hoped it was asecret, and it wounded us because we thought you would have beentender of our feelings. '

'You don't mean that it was fact!' cried Ulick, stopping suddenly;and as her silence replied, he continued, 'I give you my word andhonour that I never imagined there was a word of truth in the farragoold Biddy told me, and I'll not deny that I did scrawl the scene downas the very picture of a bit of slander. I only wonder I'd notbrought it to yourself. '

'Pray let me hear what she told you. '

'Oh! she said they two had been colloguing together by moonlight, andyou came home in the midst, and Miss Kendal fainted away, so hecatches up the ink and throws it over her instead of water, and youand Mr. Kendal came in and were mad entirely; and Mr. Kendalthreatened to brain him with the poker if he did not quit it thatinstant, and sent Gilbert for a soldier for opening the door to him, but you and Lucy went down on your bare knees to get him to relent. '

'Well, I own the poker does throw an air of improbability over thewhole. Minus that and the knees, I am afraid it is only too true. I suppose it got abroad through the servants. '

'It was an unlucky goose-quill that lay so handy, ' exclaimed Ulick;'but you may credit me, no eye but my own ever saw the scrawl, norwould have seen it. '

'Then, Ulick, if we all own that something is to be regretted, why dowe stand aloof, and persist in quarrelling?'

'I want no quarrel, ' said Ulick, stiffly. 'Mr. Kendal intimated tome that he did not wish for my company, and I'm not the man to forceit. '

'Oh, Ulick, this is not what I hoped from you!'

'I'll tell you what, Mrs. Kendal, you could talk over the Giant'sCauseway if you had a mind, ' said Ulick, with much agitation; 'butyou must not talk over me, for your own judgment would be against it. You know what I am, and what I came of, and what have I in the worldexcept the honour of a gentleman? Mr. Kendal and yourself have beenmy kindest friends, and I'll be grateful to my dying day; but if Mr. Kendal thinks I can submit tamely when he resents what he never oughtto have noticed, why, then, what have I to do but to show him thedifference? If his kindness was to me as a gentleman and his equal, I love and bless him for it, but if it be a patronizing of the poorclerk, why, then, I owe it to myself and my people to show that I canstand alone, without cringing, and being thankful for affronts. '

'Did it ever occur to you to think whether pride be a sin?'

''Tis not pride!' cried Ulick. It is my duty to my family and myname. You'd say yourself, as you allowed before now, that it wouldbe mere meanness and servility to swallow insults for one's ownprofit; and if I were to say "you're welcome, with many thanks, toshuffle over my private papers, and call myself to account, " I'dbetter have given up my name at once, for I'd have left the gentlemanbehind me. '

'I do believe it is solely for the O'Mores that you are making a dutyof implacability!'

'It is a duty not to run from one's word, and debase oneself forone's own advantage. '

'One would think some wonderful advantage was held out to you. '

'The pleasantest hours of my life, ' murmured he sadly, under hisbreath. 

'Well, Ulick, ' she said, holding out her hand, 'I'm not quitedissatisfied; I think some day even an O'More will see that there isno exception from the law of forgiveness in their special favour, andthat you will not be able to go on resenting what we have sufferedfrom the young of the spider-monkey. '

Even this allusion produced no outward effect; he only shook handsgravely, saying, 'I never did otherwise than forgive, and regret theconsequences: I am very thankful for all your past kindness. '

Worse than the Giant's Causeway, thought Albinia as she parted fromhim. Nothing is so hopeless as that sort of forgiveness, because itsatisfies the conscience. 

Mr. Kendal predicted that, the Keltic dignity having been asserted, good sense and principle would restore things to a rational footing. What this meant might be uncertain, but he certainly missedPrometheus, and found Maurice a poor substitute. Indulgence itselfcould hardly hold out in unmitigated intercourse with an obstreperousdunce not seven years old, and Maurice, deprived of Gilbert, cut offfrom Ulick, with mamma busy, and Sophy out of spirits, underwent moresnubbing than had ever yet fallen to his lot. Not that he was muchconcerned thereat; and Mr. Kendal would resume his book after alecture upon good manners, and then be roused to find his library agigantic cobweb, strings tied to every leg of table or chair, andMaurice and the little Awk enacting spider and fly, heedless of theunwilling flies who might suffer by their trap. Such being the case, his magnanimity was the less amazing when he said, 'Albinia, there isno reason that O'More should not eat his Christmas dinner here. '

'Very well. I trust he will not think it needful still to beself-denying. '

'It is not our part to press advances which are repelled, ' saidSophy. 

'Indeed, Sophy, ' said her father, smiling, 'I see nothing attractivein the attitude of rocks rent asunder. '

The undesigned allusion must have gone deep, for she coloured to apurple crimson, and said in a freezing tone, 'I thought youconsidered that to take him up again would be a direct insult to Lucyand her husband. '

'They do not show much consideration for us, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'Howlong ago was the date of her last letter?'

'Nearly three weeks, ' said Albinia. 'Poor child, how could she writewith the catalogue raisonnee of the Louvre to learn by heart?'

The Dusautoys yearly gave a Christmas tea-party to the teachers inthe Sunday-school, who had of late become more numerous, as Mr. Dusautoy's influence had had more time to tell. Mrs. Kendal wasreckoned on as one of the chief supporters of the gaiety of theevening, but on this occasion she was forced to send Sophia alone. 

Sophy regarded it as a duty and a penance, and submitted the morereadily because it was so distasteful. It was, however, more thanshe had reckoned on to find that the party had been extended to themale teachers, an exceedingly good and lugubrious-looking youthlately apprenticed to Mr. Bowles, and Ulick O'More. It was the firsttime she had met the latter since his offence. She avoided seeinghim as long as possible, though all his movements seemed to thrillher, and so confused the conversation which she was trying to keepup, that she found herself saying that Genevieve Durant had lost anarm, and that Gilbert would spend Christmas in London. 

She felt him coming nearer; she knew he was passing the MissNorthover in the purple silk and red neck-ribbon; she heard himexchanging a few civil words with the sister with the hair strainedoff her face; she knew he was coming; she grew more eager in herfears for Mr. Rainsforth's chest. 

Tea was announced. Sophy held back in the general move, Ulick made astep nearer, their eyes met, and if ever eyes spoke, hers ordered himto keep his distance, while he glanced affront for affront, bowed andstepped back. 

Sophy sat by Miss Jane Northover, and endeavoured to make her talk. Anything would have been better than the echoes of the sprightlinessat the lower end of the table, where Ulick was talking what he wouldhave called blarney to Miss Susan Northover and Miss Mary AnneHiggins, both at once, till he excited them into a perpetual giggle. Mr. Dusautoy was delighted, and evidently thought this brilliantsuccess; Mrs. Dusautoy was less at her ease--the mirth was less soberand more exclusive than she had intended; and Sophy, finding nothingcould be made of Miss Jane, turned round to her other neighbour, Mr. Hope, and asked his opinion of the Whewell and Brewster controversyon the Plurality of Worlds. 

Mr. Hope had rather a good opinion of Miss Sophia, and as she hadnever molested him, could talk to her, so he straightway becameengrossed in the logical and theological aspects of the theory; andMrs. Dusautoy could hardly suppress her smile at this unconsciousponderous attempt at a counter flirtation, with Saturn and Jupiter asweapons for light skirmishing. 

Ulick received the invitation to dinner, and did not accept it. Hesaid he had an engagement--Albinia wondered what it could be, and hadreason afterwards to think that he had the silent young apothecary toa Christmas dinner in his own rooms--an act of charity at least, ifnot of forgiveness. Mr. Johns, the senior clerk, whose health hadlong been failing, was about to retire, and this announcement wasfollowed by the appearance of a smart, keen-looking young man of sixor seven-and-twenty, whom Miss Goldsmith paraded as her cousin, Mr. Andrew Goldsmith, and it was generally expected that he would betaken into partnership, and undertake old John's work, but in afortnight he disappeared, and young O'More was promoted to the vacantpost with an increase of salary. It was mortifying only to beinformed through Mr. Dusautoy, instead of by the lad himself. 

The Eastern letters were the chief comfort. First came tidings thatGilbert, not having yet recovered his contusion, was to accompanyColonel Ferrars to Scutari, and then after a longer interval came abrief and joyous note--Gilbert was coming home! On his voyage fromthe Crimea he had caught cold, and this had brought on severeinflammation on the injured chest, which had laid him by for manydays at Scutari. The colonel had become the stronger of the two, inspite of a fragment of shell lodged so deeply in the side, that themedical board advised his going to London for its removal. Both wereordered home together with six months' leave, and Gilbert's noteoverflowed with glad messages to all, including Algernon, of whosedeparture he was still in ignorance. 

Mr. Kendal knew not whether he was most gratified or discomfited bythe insinuating ringer who touched his hat, hoping for due notice ofthe captain's arrival in time to welcome him with a peal of bells. Indeed, Bayford was so excited about its hero, that there weresymptoms of plans for a grand reception with speeches, cheers, andtriumphal arches, which caused Sophy to say she hoped that he wouldcome suddenly without any notice, so as to put a stop to all thatnonsense; while Albinia could not help nourishing a strange vagueexpectation that his return would be the beginning of better days. 

At last, Sophia, with a touch of the old penny club fever, toiledover the school clothing wilfully and unnecessarily for two hours, kept up till evening without owning to the pain in her back, butfinally returned so faint and dizzy that she was forced to be carriedhelpless to her room, and the next day could barely drag herself tothe couch in the morning-room, where she lay quite prostrated, andgrieved at increasing instead of lessening her mother's cares. 

'Oh, mamma, don't stay with me. You are much too busy. '

'No, I am not. The children are out, and grandmamma asleep, and I amgoing to write to Lucy, but there's no hurry. Let me cool yourforehead a little longer. '

'How I hate being another bother!'

'I like you much better so, than when you would not let me speak toyou, my poor child. '

'I could not, ' she said, stifling her voice on the cushion, andaverting her head; but in a few moments she made a great effort, andsaid, 'You think me unforgiving, mamma. It was not entirely that. It was hating myself for an old fancy, a mere mistake. I have gotover it; and I will not be in error again. '

'Sophy dear, if you find strength in pride, it will only woundyourself. '

'I do not think I am proud, ' said Sophy, quietly. 'I may have beenheadstrong, but I despise myself too much for pride. '

'Are you sure it was mere fancy? It was an idea that occurred tomore than to you. '

'Hush!' cried Sophy. 'Had it been so, could he have ridiculed Lucy?Could he have flown out so against papa? No; that caricatureundeceived me, and I am thankful. He treated us as cousins--nomore--he would act in the same manner by any of the Miss O'Mores ofBallymakilty, nay, by Jane Northover herself. We did not allow forIrish manner. '

'If so, he had no right to do so. I shall never wish to see him hereagain. '

'No, mamma, he did not know the folly he had to deal with. Next timeI meet him, I shall know how to be really indifferent. Now, this isthe last time we will mention the subject!'

Albinia obeyed, but still hoped. It was well that hope remained, forher task was heavier than ever; Mrs. Meadows was feebler, but morerestless and wakeful, asking twenty times in an hour for Mrs. Kendal. The doctors thought it impossible that she should hold out anotherfortnight, but she lived on from day to day, and at times Albiniahardly could be absent from her for ten minutes together. Sophy wasso completely knocked up that she could barely creep about the house, and was forbidden the sick-room; but she was softened and gentle, andwas once more a companion to her father, while eagerly lookingforward to devoting herself to Gilbert. 

A letter with the Malta post-mark was eagerly opened, as theharbinger of his speedy arrival. 

 'Royal Hotel, Malta, February 10th, 1855. 

'Dearest Mrs. Kendal, 'I am afraid you will all be much disappointed, though your griefcannot equal mine at the Doctor's cruel decree. We arrived here theday before yesterday, but I had been so ill all the voyage with painin the side and cough, that there was no choice but to land, and callin Dr. ----, who tells me that my broken rib has damaged my lungs somuch, that I must keep perfectly quiet, and not think of going hometill warm weather. If I am well enough to join by that time, I shallnot see you at all unless you and my father could come out. Am Inourishing too wild a hope in thinking it possible? Since Lucy hasbeen so kind as to promise never to leave grandmamma, I cannot helphoping you might be spared. I do not think my proposal is selfish, since my poor grandmother is so little conscious of your cares; andFerrars insists on remaining with me till he sees me in your hands, though they say that the splinter must be extracted in London, andevery week he remains here is so much suffering, besides delaying hisexpedition to Canada. I have entreated him to hasten on, but he willnot hear of it. He is like a brother or a father to me, and nursesme most tenderly, when he ought to be nursed himself. We arefamishing for letters. I suppose all ours have gone up to Balaklava, and thence will be sent to England. If we were but there! We areboth much better for the quiet of these two days, and are to moveto-morrow to a lodging that a friend of Fred's has taken for us atBormola, so as to be out of the Babel of these streets--we stipulatedthat it should be large enough to take in you and my father. I wishSophy and the children would come too--it would do them all the goodin the world; and Maurice would go crazy among the big guns; I amonly afraid we should have him enlisting as a drummer. The happypair would be very glad to have the house to themselves, and wouldpersuade themselves that it was another honeymoon. 

'Good-bye. Instead of looking for a letter, I shall come down tomeet you at the Quarantine harbour. Love to all. 

 'Your most affectionate 'GILBERT KENDAL. '

How differently Gilbert wrote when really ill, from his despondingstyle when he only fancied himself so, thought Albinia, as, perplexedand grieved, she handed the letter to her husband, and opened theenclosure, written in the laboured, ill-formed characters of a left-handnot yet accustomed to doing the offices of both. 

'Dear Albinia, 'Come, if possible. His heart is set upon it, though he does notrealize his condition, and I cannot bear to tell him. Only theutmost care can save him. I am doing my best for him, but my nursingis as left-handed as my writing. 

 'Ever yours, 'F. F. '

His wife's look of horror was Mr. Kendal's preparation for thisemphatic summons, perhaps a shock less sudden to him than to her, forhe had not been without misgivings ever since he had heard of thesituation of the injury. He read and spoke not, till the silencebecame intolerable, and she burst out almost with a scream, 'Oh!Edmund, I knew not what I did when I took grandmamma into thishouse!'

'This is very perplexing, ' he said, his feelings so intense that hedared only speak of acting; 'I must set out to-night. '

'Order me to come with you, ' she said breathlessly. 'That willcancel everything else. '

'Would Mrs. Drury take charge of her aunt?' said he, with a moment'shesitation; and Albinia felt it implied his impression that they werebound by her repeated promises never to quit the invalid, but sheonly spoke the more vehemently--

'Mrs Drury? She might--she would, under the circumstances. Shecould not refuse. If you desire me to come, I should not be doingwrong; and grandmamma might never even miss me. Surely--oh surely, ayoung life, full of hope and promise, that may yet be saved, is notto be set against what cannot be prolonged more than a few weeks. '

'As to that, ' said Mr. Kendal, in the deliberate tone which denoteddissatisfaction, 'though of course it would be the greatest blessingto have you with us, I think you may trust Gilbert to my care. Andwe must consider poor Sophia. '

'She could not bear to be considered. '

'No; but it would be leaving her in a most distressing position, whenshe is far from well, and with most uncongenial assistants. You see, poor Gilbert reckons on Lucy being here, which would make it verydifferent. But think of poor Sophia in the event of Mrs. Meadows notsurviving till our return!'

'You are right! It would half kill her! My promise was sacred; Iwas a wretch to think of breaking it. But when I think of my boy--myGilbert pining for me, and I deserting him--'

'For the sake of duty, ' said her husband. 'Let us do right, andtrust that all will be overruled for the best. I shall go with aneasier mind if I leave you with the other children, and I can be thesooner with him. '

'I could travel as fast. '

'I may soon bring him home to you. Or you might bring the others tojoin us in the south of France. You will all need change. '

The decision was made, and her judgment acquiesced, though she couldhardly have cast the balance for herself. She urged no more, evenwhen relentings came over her husband at the thought of the trials towhich he was leaving her, and of those which he should meet insolitude; yet not without a certain secret desire to make himselfsufficient for the care and contentment of his own son. He castabout for all possible helpers for her, but could devise nothingexcept a note entreating her brother to be with her as much aspossible, and commending her to the Dusautoys. It was a less decidedkindness that he ordered Maurice's pony to be turned out to grass, soas to prevent rides in solitude, thinking the boy too young to betrusted, and warned by the example of Gilbert's temptations. 

Going up to the bank to obtain a supply of gold, he found youngO'More there without his uncle. The tidings of Gilbert's danger hadspread throughout the town, and one heart at least was softened. Ulick wrung the hand that lately he would not touch, and Mr. Kendalforgot his wrath as he replied to the warm-hearted inquiry forparticulars. 

'Then Mrs. Kendal cannot go with you?'

'No, it is impossible. There is no one able to take charge of Mrs. Meadows. '

'Ah! and Mrs. Cavendish Dusautoy is gone! I grieve for the hour whenmy pen got the better of me. Mr. Kendal, this is worse than Ithought. Your son will never forgive me when he knows I'm at thebottom of his disappointment. '

'There is something to forgive on all hands, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'Thatmeddlesome boy of mine has caused worse results than we could havecontemplated. I believe it has been a lesson to him. '

'I know it has to some one else, ' said Ulick. 'I wish I could doanything! It would be the greatest comfort you could give me to tellme of a thing I could do for Gilbert or any of you. If you'd send meto find Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy, and tell him 'twas all my fault, andbring them back--'

'Rather too wild a project, thank you, ' said Mr. Kendal, smiling. 'No; the only thing you could do, would be--if that boy of mine havenot completely forfeited your kindness--'

'Maurice! Ah! how I have missed the rogue. '

'Poor little fellow, I am afraid he may be a burthen to himself andevery one else. It would be a great relief if you could be kindenough now and then to give him the pleasure of a walk. '

Maurice did not attend greatly to papa's permission to go out withMr. O'More. Either it was clogged with too many conditions ofdiscretion, and too many reminiscences of the past; or Maurice's mindwas too much bent on the thought of his brother. Both childrenhaunted the packing up, entreating to send out impossible presents. Maurice could hardly be persuaded out of contributing a perilous-lookingboomerang, which he argued had some sense in it; while he scoffed at thelittle Awk, who stood kissing and almost crying over the chinacountenance of her favourite doll, entreating that papa would takedear Miss Jenny because Gibbie loved her the best of all, and alwaysput her to sleep on his knees. At last matters were compromised bySophy, who roused herself to do one of the few things for which shehad strength, engrossing them by cutting out in paper an interminablehunt with horses and dogs adhering together by the noses and tails, which, when brilliantly painted according to their united taste, theymight safely imagine giving pleasure to Gilbert, while, at any rate, it would do no harm in papa's pocket-book. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

The day after Mr. Kendal's departure, Mrs. Meadows had anotherattack, but a fortnight still passed before the long long task wasover and the weary spirit set free. There had been no realconsciousness and no one could speak of regret; of anything butrelief and thankfulness that release had come at last, when Albiniahad redeemed her pledge and knew she should no more hear of thedreary 'very bad night, ' nor be greeted by the low, restless moan. The long good-night was come, and, on the whole, there was peace andabsence of self-condemnation in looking back on the past connexion. Forbearance and unselfishness were recompensed by the calm tendernesswith which she could regard one who at the outset had appeared likelyto cause nothing but frets and misunderstandings. 

Had she and Sophy been left to themselves, there would have beennothing to break upon this frame of mind, but early the next dayarrived Mr. And Mrs. Drury, upsetting all her arrangements, implyingthat it had been presumptuous to exert any authority withoutrelationship. It did seem hard that the claims of kindred should beonly recollected in order to unsettle her plans, and offend herunostentatious tastes. 

Averse both to the proposals, and to the discussion, she feltunprotected and forlorn, but her spirit revived as she heard herbrother's voice in the hall, and she hastened to put herself in hishands. He declined doing battle, he said it would be better to yieldthan to argue, and leave a grudge for ever. 'It will not vexEdmund, ' he said, 'and though you and Sophy may be pained byincongruities, they will hurt you less than disputing. '

She felt that he was right, and by yielding the main points hecontrived amicably to persuade Mr. Drury out of the numerousinvitations and grand luncheon as well as to adhere to the day thatshe had originally fixed for the funeral, after which he hoped totake her and the young ones home with him and give her the thoroughchange and rest of which the over-energy of her manner betrayed theneed. 

Not that she consented. She could not bear not to meet her lettersat once; or suppose Edmund and Gilbert should return to an empty, unaired house, and she thought herself selfish, when it might do somuch good to Sophy, &c. , &c. , &c. --till Mr. Ferrars, going home for anight, agreed with Winifred, that domineering would be the only wayto deal with her. 

On his return he found Albinia on the stairs, and boxes and trunkscarried down after her. Running to him, she exclaimed, abruptly, 'Iam going to Malta, Maurice, to-morrow evening!'

'Has Edmund sent for you?'

'Not exactly--he did not know--but Gilbert is dying, and wretched atmy not coming. I never wished him good-by--he thinks I did notforgive him. Don't say a word--I shall go. '

He held her trembling hands, and said, 'This is not the way to beable to go. Come in here, sit down and tell me. '

'It is no use to argue. It is my duty now, ' said Albinia; but shelet him lead her into the room, where Sophy was changing the brightborder of a travelling-cloak to crape, and Maurice stood watching, asif stunned. 

'It is settled, ' continued she, rapidly. 'Sophy and the children goto the vicarage. Yes, I know, you are very kind, but Maurice wouldbe troublesome, and Winifred is not well enough, and the Dusautoyswish it. '

'Yes, that may be the best plan, as I shall be absent. '

She turned round, startled. 

'I cannot let you go alone. '

'Nonsense--Winifred--Sunday--Lent--I don't want any one. Nothingcould happen to me. '

Mr. Ferrars caught Sophy's eye beaming with sudden relief andgratitude, and repeated, 'If you go, I must take you. '

'I can't wait for Sunday, ' she said. 

'What have you heard?'

She produced the letter, and read parts of it. The whole stoodthus:--

 'Bormola, 11 p. M. , February 28th, 1855. 'Dearest Albinia, 'I hope all has gone fairly well with you in my absence, and thatSophia is well again. Could I have foreseen the condition of affairshere, I doubt whether I could have resolved on leaving you at home, though you may be spared much by not being with us. I landed at noonto-day, and was met in the harbour by your cousin, who had come offin a boat in hopes of finding you on board. He did his best toprepare me for Gilbert's appearance, but I was more shocked than Ican express. There can no longer be any doubt that it is a case ofrapid decline, brought on by exposure, and, aggravated by the injuryat Balaklava. Colonel Ferrars fancies that Gilbert's exertions onhis behalf in the early part of his illness may have done harm, bypreventing the broken bone from uniting, and causing it to press onthe lungs; but knowing the constitutional tendency, we need not dwellon secondary causes, and there is no one to whom we owe a deeper debtof gratitude than to your cousin, for his most assiduous andaffectionate attendance at a time when he is very little equal toexertion. They are like brothers together, and I am sure nothing hasbeen wanting to Gilbert that he could devise for his comfort. Theyare in a tolerably commodious airy lodging, where I found Gilbertpropped up with cushions on a large chair by the window, flushed witheager watching. Poor fellow, to see how his countenance fell when hefound I was alone, was the most cutting reproach I ever received inmy life. He was so completely overcome, that he could not restrainhis tears, though he strove hard to command himself in this fear ofwounding my feelings; but there are moments when the truth will haveits way, and you have been more to him than his father has ever been. May it be granted that he may yet know how I feel towards him! Hisfirst impression was that you had never forgiven him for hisunfortunate adventure with Maurice, and could never feel towards himas before; and though I trust I have removed this idea, perhaps sucha letter as you can write might set his heart at rest. Ferrars saysthat hitherto his spirits have kept up wonderfully, though latterlyhe had been evidently aware of his condition, but he has been verymuch depressed this evening, probably from the reaction of excitedexpectation. On learning the cause of Lucy's desertion, he seemed toconsider that his participation in the transactions of that night hadrecoiled upon himself, and deprived him of your presence. It wasvery painful to see how he took it. He was eager to be told of thechildren, and the only time I saw him brighten was when I gave himtheir messages. I am writing while I hope he sleeps. I am glad tobe here to relieve the Colonel, who for several nights past has slepton the floor, in his room, not thinking the Maltese servanttrustworthy. He looks very ill and suffering, but seems to have nothought but for Gilbert, and will not hear of leaving him; and, intruth, they cling together so affectionately, that I could not bearto urge their parting, even were Fred more fit to travel home alone. I will close my letter to-morrow after the doctor's visit. '

The conclusion was even more desponding; the physician had spoken ofthe case as hopeless, and likely to terminate rapidly; and Gilbert, who was always at the worst in the morning, had shown no symptom thatcould lead his father to retract his first impression. 

Mr. Ferrars saw that it would be useless and cruel to endeavour todetain his sister, and only doubted whether in her precipitation, shemight not cross and miss her husband in a still sadder journeyhomeward, and this made him the more resolved to be her escort. Whenshe dissuaded him vehemently as though she were bent on doingsomething desperate, he replied that he was anxious about Fred, andif she and her husband were engrossed by their son, he should be ofservice in bringing him home; and this somewhat reconciled her towhat was so much to her benefit. Only she gave notice that he mustnot prevent her from travelling day and night, to which he made noanswer, while Sophy hoarsely said that but for knowing herself to bea mere impediment, she should have insisted on going, and her unclemust not keep mamma back. Then Maurice imitatively broke out, 'Mamma, take me to Gilbert, I wont be a plague, I promise you. ' Hewas scarcely silenced before Mr. Dusautoy came striding in to urge onher that Fanny and himself should be much happier if he werepermitted to conduct Mrs. Kendal to Malta (the fact being that Fannywas persuaded that Mr. Ferrars would obviate such necessity). Albinia almost laughed, as she had declared that she had set all theparsons in the country in commotion, and Mr. Dusautoy was obliged tolimit his good offices to the care of the children, and theresponsibility of the Fairmead Sunday services. 

The good hard-worked brother had hardly time to eat his luncheon, before he started to inform his wife, and prepare for his journey. Winifred was a very good sister on an emergency; she had not oncegrowled since poor Mrs. Meadows had been really ill; and though shehad been feeding on hopes of Albinia's visit, and was far fromstrong, she quashed her husband's misgivings, and cheerily strove toconvince him that he would be wanted by no one, least of all byherself. A slight vituperation of the polysyllabic pair was all therelief she permitted herself, and who could blame her for that, wheneven Mr. Dusautoy called the one 'that foolish fellow, ' and the other'poor dear Lucy?'

Albinia and Sophy safe over the fire that evening, after theirsorrowful tasks unable to turn to anything else, wondering how andwhen they should meet again, and their words coming slowly, and withlong intervals of silence. 

'Dear child, ' said Albinia, 'promise me to take care of yourself, andto let Mrs. Dusautoy judge what you can do. '

'I'm not worth taking care of, ' muttered Sophy. 

'We think you worth our anxiety, ' said Albinia, tenderly. 

'I will not make it worse for you, ' meekly replied Sophy. 'I don'tthink I'm cross now, I could not be--'

'No, indeed you are not, my dear. We have leant on each other, andwhen we come home, you will make our welcome. '

'The children will. '

'Ah! I think Maurice will behave well. He is very much subdued. Itold him he was to do no lessons, and he fairly burst out crying. '

'Oh, mamma!' exclaimed Sophy, hurt, indignant, and nearly ready tofollow his example. 

'I do not think he has mastery over himself, so as to help beingunruly and idle, when he is chained to a spelling-book. I would notfor the world set him and you to worry each other for an hour a day, and I shall start afresh with him all the better, when he knows whatabsence of lessons is, and has forgotten all the old associations. '

'How could you make him cry?' said Sophy, in reproach. 

'I believe the tears only wanted an excuse. I _did_ put it on hisnaughtiness, which usually would have elated him; but his heart wasso full as to make even a long holiday a punishment. That boy oftenshows me what a thorough Kendal he is; things sink into him as theynever did into us at the same age, when my aunts used to think I hadno feeling. Oh, Sophy! how will you comfort him?'

'His will be an unstained sorrow, ' said Sophy, from the depths of herheart. 'O, mamma, only tell Gilbert what you know I feel--no, youdon't, no one can, but what I would not give, to change all I havefelt towards him? If I had been like Edmund, and prized hisgentleness and sweetness, and the humility that was the best worth ofall, how different it would be! But I was proud of despising wheretruth was wanting. '

'I should have thought I should have done the same, ' said Albinia;but there was no keeping from loving Gibbie. Besides, he wassincere, except when he was afraid, and he was miserable when he wasdeceiving. '

'Yes, after you came, ' said Sophy; 'but I believe I helped him tothink truth disagreeable. I showed my scorn for his want ofboldness, instead of helping him. Think of my having fancied _he_had no courage. '

'Kindness taught him courage, ' said Albinia. 'It might perhaps haveearlier taught him moral courage. If you and he could have leantagainst each other, and been fused together, you would have madesomething like what Edmund was, I suppose. '

'I drove him off, ' cried Sophy. 'I was no sister to him. Will youbring me his forgiveness?'

'Indeed I will; and you may feel sure of it already, dearest. Itwill make you gentler all your life. '

'No, I shall grow harder and harsher the longer I live, and the fewerI have to love me in spite of myself. '

'I think not, ' said Albinia. 'Humility will make your severity moregentle, and you will soften, and win love and esteem. '

She looked up, but cried, 'I shall never make up to Gilbert nor tograndmamma!'

Albinia felt it almost as hard to leave her as the two little ones. 

When once on her journey, and feeling each moment an advance towardsthe goal, Albinia was less unhappy than she could have thoughtpossible; she trusted to her brother, and enjoyed the absence ofresponsibility, and while he let her go on, could give her mind towhat pleased and interested him, and he, who was an excellentcourier, so managed that there were few detentions to overthrow herequanimity on the way to Marseilles. 

But when the Vectis came in sight of the rocky isle, with its whitestony heights, the heart-sickness of apprehension grew over her, andshe saw, as in a mist, the noble crescent-shaped harbour, the statelyramparts, mighty batteries, the lofty terraces of flat-roofeddwellings, apparently rather hewn out of, than built on, the dazzlingwhite stone, between the intense blue of the sky above and of the seabelow. Her eye roamed as in a dream over the crowds of gay boatswith white awnings, and the motley crowds of English and natives, theboatmen screaming and fighting for the luggage, and beggarsplaintively whining out their entreaties for small coins. Herbrother Maurice had been at Malta as a little boy, and remembered thehabits of the place enough, as soon as they had set foot on shore, tosecure a brown-skinned loiterer, in Phrygian cap, loose trousers, andcrimson sash, to act as guide and porter. 

Along the Strada San Giovanni, a street of stairs, shut in by highstone walls, with doors opening on either side, they went not as fastas Albinia's quivering limbs would fain have moved, yet too fast whenher breath came thick with anxiety--down again by the stone stairscalled 'Nix Mangiare' (nothing to eat), from the incessant cry of thebeggars that haunt them--then again in a boat, which carried themamid a strange world of shipping to the bottom of the dockyard creek, where, again landing, she was told she had but to ascend, and shewould be at Bormola. 

She could have paused, in dread; and she leant heavily on herbrother's arm when they presently turned up a lane, no broader than apassage, with low stone steps at irregular intervals. They werecome!

The summons at the door was answered by a dark-visaged Maltese, andwhile Maurice was putting the question whether Colonel Ferrars andCaptain Kendal lived here, a figure appeared on the stairs, andbeckoned, ascending noiselessly with languid steps and slipperedfeet, and leading the way into a slightly furnished room, with greenbalcony and striped blind. There he turned and held out his hand;but Albinia hardly recognised him till he said, 'I thought I heardyour voice, Maurice;' and then the low subdued tone, together withthe gaunt wasted form, haggard aged face, the long beard, and wornundress uniform, with the armless sleeve, made her so realize hissufferings, that, clasping his remaining hand in both her own, shecould utter nothing but, 'Oh! Fred! Fred!'

He looked at her brother with such inquiry, perplexity, andcompassion, that almost in despair Maurice exclaimed, 'We are not toolate!'

'No, thank God!' said Frederick. 'We did hope you might come! Sitdown, Albinia; I'll--'

'Edmund! Is he there!' she said, scarcely alive to what was passing, and casting another expressively sorrowful look at Maurice, Fredanswered, 'Yes, I will tell him: I will see if you can come in. '

'Stay, ' said Mr. Ferrars; 'she should compose herself, or she willonly hurt herself and Gilbert. '

'I don't know, ' murmured Fred, hastily leaving them. 

Maurice understood that Gilbert was even then summoned by one whowould brook no delays; but Albinia, too much agitated to noticeslight indications, was about to follow, when her brother took herhand, and checked her like a child. 'Wait a minute, my dear, he willsoon come back. '

'Where's Edmund? Why mayn't I go to Gilbert?' she said, stillbewildered. 

'Fred is gone to tell them. Sit down, my dear; take off your bonnet, you are heated, you will be better able to go to him, if you arequiet. '

She passively submitted to be placed on a chair, and to remove herbonnet; and seeing some dressing apparatus through an open door, Maurice brought her some cold water to refresh her burning face. Shelooked up with a smile, herself again. 'There thank you, Maurice: Iwont be foolish now. '

'God support you, my dear!' said her brother, for the longer theColonel tarried, the worse were his forebodings. 

'Perhaps the doctor is there, ' she proceeded. 'That will be well. Ask him everything, Maurice. But oh! did you ever see any one somuch altered as poor Fred! He looks twenty years older! Ah! I amquite good now! I may go now!' she cried, as the door opened. 

But as Frederick returned, there was that written on his brow, whichlifted her out of the childishness of her agitation. 

'My dear Albinia, ' he said in a trembling voice, 'Mr. Kendal cannotleave him to come to you. He has been much worse since last night, 'and as her face showed that she was gathering his meaning, he pursuedin a lower and more awe-struck tone: 'We think he is sensible, but wecannot tell. It could not hurt him for you to come in, and perhapshe may know you, but are you able to bear it? Is she, Maurice?'

'Yes, I am, ' she answered; and the calm firmness of her tone provedthat she was a woman again. Her hand shook less than did that of hercousin, as silently and reverently he took it, and led her intoanother room on the same floor. 

There, in the subdued light, she saw her husband, seated on the bed, holding in his arms his son, who lay lifted up and supported upon hisbreast, with head resting on his shoulder, and eyes closed. Therewas no greeting, no sound save the long, heavily drawn, gaspingbreaths. Mr. Kendal raised his eyes to her; she silently knelt downand took the wasted hand that lay helplessly on the coverlet, but itmoved feebly from her as though harassed by the touch. 

'Gilbert, dear boy, ' said his father, earnestly, 'she is come! Speakto him, Albinia. '

She hardly knew her own voice as she said, 'Gilbert, Gibbie dear, here I am. '

Those large brown eyes were shown for a few moments beneath the heavylids, and met hers. The mouth, hitherto only gasping for air, endeavoured to form a word; the hand sought hers. She kissed him, and his eyes opened wide and brightened, while he said, 'I think itis pardon now. '

'Pardon indeed!' said his father, with a greater look of relief thanAlbinia understood, 'you are resting in His Merits. '

Gilbert's look brightened, and he said, 'I know it now. '

'Thank God, ' said Mr. Kendal. 

His eyes closed, and Fred whispered to the father, 'Maurice is heretoo. '

Again the light woke in the eye, with almost a smile, the look thatalways welcomed the little brother; and Albinia grieved to say, 'Notlittle Maurice, though he longed to come; it is my brother. ' But theair of eagerness did not pass away, and he seemed satisfied when Mr. Ferrars came in. It was as a priest, speaking words not his own; andAlbinia and Fred knelt with him. At the close of each prayer orpsalm, Gilbert signed imploringly for more, even like our mightydying queen; and at each short pause, the distressed agonizedexpression would again contract the brow, though in the sound of theholy words all was peace. The Psalm of the Good Shepherd with theRod and Staff in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, recurred sostrongly to Maurice, that he repeated it like a cadence after eachpenitential supplication, every time bringing a look of peace to thecountenance of the sufferer. 

They must have remained long thus, Fred had grown exhausted withkneeling and had been forced to sit on the floor, and Maurice's voicewaxed low and hoarse; yet he durst not pause, though doubting whetherGilbert could follow the meaning. At length the eyes were againraised. With a start as of haste, Gilbert looked full at Albinia, and said, 'Thank you. Tell Maurice--' He could not finish, and therewas an agony for breath, then as his father raised him, he contrivedto say, 'Father--mother--kiss me; it is forgiven!'

Another look brought Fred to press his hand, and he smiled histhanks. 

There were a few more terrible minutes, from which they would fainhave led away Albinia, but suddenly his brow grew smooth, his eyeswere eagerly fixed as on something before him, and as if replying toa call, he said, 'Yes!' with a start and a quiver of all his limbs, and then--

The first words were Mr. Kendal's. 'Edmund has come for him!'

It was to the rest as if the father had been in some manner consciousof the presence of the one twin-brother, and, were resigning theother to his charge, for he calmly kissed the forehead, closed theeyes, laid down the form, he had so long held in his arms, and aftera few moments on his knees, with his face hidden, in his hands, herose with composure, and said to his wife, 'I am glad you were intime. '

Had he given way, Albinia would have been strong, but there was noneed to support to counteract the force of disappointment and grief, acting upon overwrought spirits, and a fatigued, exhausted frame. Were these half-conscious looks and broken words all she had comefor, all she should ever have of Gilbert? This was the moment'spredominant sensation; she was past thinking; and though she stillcontrolled herself, she cast a wild, piteous eye on her husband, andas he lifted her up, she sank on his breast, not fainting, notsobbing, but utterly prostrated, and needing all his support as heled her out, and laid her on a couch in the next room, speakingsoftly as if hoping his voice would restore her. 'We had some fainthope of you; we knew you would wish it, so you see all is ready. Butyou have done too much, my dear: Maurice should not have let youtravel so fast. '

'No, no, ' said Albinia, catching her breath. 'Oh! not to have comesooner!' and she gave way to a violent burst of tears, during whichhe fondled and soothed her till she suddenly said, 'I did not comehere to behave in this way! I came to help you! Edmund, what shallI do?' and she would have started up. 

'Only lie still, and let me take care of you, ' said he. 'Nothingcould be to me like your coming, ' and she was forced to believe hisglistening eyes and voice of tenderness. 

'Can you keep quiet a little while, ' said Mr. Kendal, wistfully, 'while I go to speak to your brother? It was very good in him tocome! Don't speak; I will come back directly. '

She did lie still, for she was too much spent to move, and thesilence was good for her; for if the overwhelming sensation of griefwould sweep over her, on the other hand, there was the remembrance ofthe look of peace, and the perception that her husband was not as yetso struck to the earth as she had feared. He was not long inreturning, bringing some coffee for her and for himself, and speakingwith the same dreamy serenity, though looking excessively pale. 'Your brother told me to give you this, ' he said. 'I am glad thecolonel is under such care, for he is terribly distressed and not atall fit to bear it. I could not make him go to bed all last night. '

'You were up all last night, and many nights before, ' said Albinia;'and all alone! Oh! why was I not here to help!'

'Fred was a great comfort, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'I cannot describe mygratitude to him. And dearest--' He paused, and added withhesitation, 'I do not now regret the having come out alone. Afterthe first disappointment, I think that my boy and I learnt to knoweach other better. If he had left me nothing but the recollectionthat I had been too severe and unsympathizing to win his confidence, I hardly know how I could have borne it. '

'He was able to talk to you, then?' cried Albinia. 'That was what Ialways wished! Yes, it _was_ right, so it came right. I had gotbetween you as I ought not to have done, and it was well you shouldhave him to yourself. '

'Not as you ought not, ' he fondly answered. 'You always were hisbetter angel, and you came at last as a messenger of peace. Therewas relief and hope from the moment that he knew you. '

He told her what could scarcely have passed his lips save in thoseearlier hours of affliction. It had been a time of grievous mentaldistress. Neither natural temperament nor previous life had beensuch as to arm poor Gilbert to meet the King of Terrors; and as dayby day he felt the cold grasp tightening on him, he had flutteredlike a bird in the snare of the fowler, physically affrighted at thedeath-pang, shrinking from the lonely entrance into the unknownfuture, and despairing of the acceptableness of his own repentance. He believed that he had too often relapsed, and he could not takeheart to grasp the hope of mercy and rest in the great atonement. The last Communion had been melancholy, the contrite spirit unable tolift itself up, and apparently only sunk the lower by the weight oflove and gratitude, deepening the sense of how much had beendisregarded. There had since been a few hopeful gleams, but dimmedby bodily suffering and terror; and doubly mournful had been theweary hours of the night and morning, while he lay gasping away hislife upon his father's breast. Having at first taken the absence ofhis stepmother as a sign that she had not forgiven him, he had onlylaid aside this notion for a more morbid fancy that the deprivationwas a token of wrath from above; and there could be little doubt thather final appearance was hailed as a seal of pardon not merely fromher. Her brother, who had raised him up after his last fall, waslikewise the person above all others to bring the message of mercy tospeed him to the Unseen, where, as his look and gesture had persuadedhis father, his brother, or some yet more blessed one, had receivedand welcomed the frail and trembling spirit. 

That last farewell, that dawn of peace, so long prayed for, soardently desired, had given Mr. Kendal such thankfulness and reliefas sustained him, and enabled him to support his wife, who knew nothow to meet her first home grief; whereas to him sorrow had long beena household guest more familiar than joy; and he was more at restabout his son than he had been for many a year. He could dwell onhim together with Edmund, instead of connecting him with shame, grief, and pain; though how little could he have borne to think thatthus it would end, when in the springtime of his manhood he hadrejoiced over his beautiful twin boys. 

He knew his son better than heretofore. After the first day'sdisappointment, Gilbert had found him all-sufficient, and had restedon his tenderness. All sternness had ceased on one side, allconcealment on the other, and the sweetness of both characters hadhad full scope. Gilbert's ardent love of home had shown itself inevery word, and his last exertion, had been to write a long letter tohis little brother, which had been completed and despatched by aprivate hand a few days previously. He had desired that Mauriceshould have his sword, and mentioned the books which he wished hissisters to share, talking of Sophy as one whom he honoured much, andwished he had known better; but much pained by hearing nothing fromLucy, and lamenting his share in her union with Algernon. He hadsaid something about his wish that the almshouses should be built, but his father had turned away the subject, knowing that in case ofhis dying intestate and unmarried, the property was settled on thesisters, and seeing little chance of any such work being carried outwith the co-operation of Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy. Latterly he hadspoken of Genevieve Durant; he knew better how unworthy of her he hadbeen, and how harassing his pursuit must have appeared, but he couldnot help entreating that her pardon might be asked in his name, thatshe might hear that he had loved her to the last, and above all, thathis father would never lose sight of her; and Mr. Kendal's promise toregard her as the next thing to his daughters had been requited witha look of the utmost gratitude and affection. 

This was the substance of what Mr. Kendal told his wife as they sattogether, unwitting of the lapse of time, and shrinking from anyinterruption that might mar their present peace and renew the senseof bereavement. 

Mr. Ferrars was the first to knock at the door. He had been doinghis utmost to spare both them and Fred, who needed all his care. These four months of mutual dependence had been even more endearingthan the rescue of Fred's life on the battlefield; and he declaredthat Gilbert had done him more good than any one else. They had beenso thrown together as to make the 'religious sentiment' of theyounger tell upon the warm though thoughtless heart of the elder. They had been most fondly attached; and in his present state, reducedby wounds and exhausted by watching, Fred was more overpowered thanthose more closely concerned. He could hardly speak collectedly whenan officer of the garrison called to consult him with regard to amilitary funeral, and it was for this that Maurice was obliged torefer to the father. There were indeed none of his regiment in theisland, but there was a universal desire in the garrison to do honourto the distinguished young officer, for whom great interest had beenfelt and the compliment brought a glow of exultation to Mr. Kendal'sface, as he expressed his warm thanks, but desired that the decisionmight rest with Fred himself, as his son's lieutenant-colonel. 

Maurice felt himself fully justified in his expedition when he foundthat all devolved on him, even writing to Sophy, and making the mostnecessary arrangements; for the colonel was incapable of exertion, Albinia was prostrated by the shock, and Mr. Kendal appeared to belulled into a strange calm by the effects of the excessive bodilyweariness consequent on the exhausting attendance of the last fewdays. They all depended upon Mr. Ferrars, and recognised hispresence as an infinite comfort. 

In the morning Albinia came forth like one who had been knocked downand shattered, weary and gentle, and with the tears ever welling intoher eyes, above all when she endeavoured to write to Sophy; and sheshowed her ordinary earnestness only when she entreated to see herboy once more. Her husband took her to look on the countenancesettled into the expression of unearthly peace, but she was notsatisfied; it was not her own Gilbert, boyish, sensitive, dependent, and shrinking. The pale brow, the marked manly features, the lowerones concealed by the brown moustache, belonged to the hero who haddared the deadly ride and borne his friend through the storm of shotand shell; the noble, settled, steadfast face was the face of astranger, and gave her a thrill of disappointment. She gloried inthe later Gilbert, but the last she had seen of him whom she lovedfor his weakness, had been when she had not heeded his farewell. 

It made the pang the less when evening came and he was carried to hisresting-place. They would have persuaded Frederick to spare himself, but as the only officer of the same corps, as well as for the sake ofmany closer ties, he would not hear of being absent, and made hiscousin Maurice do his best to restore the smart soldierly air whichhe for the first time thought of regretting. 

Gilbert's horse had perished at Balaklava, but his cap, sword, andspurs, were laid on the coffin, and from her shaded window Albiniawatched it borne between the files of soldiers with arms reversed;and the procession of officers whose bright array contrasted with thecolonel's war-worn dress, ghastly cheek, and empty sleeve, tokens ofthe reality of war amid its pageantry, as all moved slowly away tothe deep tones of the solemn Dead March, music well befitting thecalm grandeur of the face she had seen, and leaving her heartthrobbing with the deep exulting awe and pathos of a soldier'sfuneral. She knelt alone, and followed the burial service in thestillness of the room overlooking the broad expanse of blue sea andsky; and by-and-by, through the window came the sound of the volleyfired over the grave, the farewell of the army to the soldier atrest, his battles ended. 

'There was peace, and there was glory; but she could not divestherself of a sense of unreality. She could not feel as if it werereally and truly Gilbert, and she were mourning for him. All waslike a dream--that solemn military spectacle--the serene, gravesunshine on the fortress-harbour stretching its mailed arms into thesea--the roofs of the knightly old monastic city rising in steps fromthe bay crowded with white sails--and even those around her weredifferent, her husband pale and still, as in a region above commonlife, and her cousin like another man, without his characteristicjoyousness and insouciance. She could hardly induce herself, in herdrowsy state, to believe that all was indeed veritable and tangible. 

There was nothing to detain them at Malta, and Mr. Ferrars, whoarranged everything, thought the calm of a sea-voyage would be betterfor them all than the bustle and fatigue of a land journey. 

'Kendal himself does not care about getting home, ' he said to Fred, who was afraid this was determined on his account. 'I fear manyannoyances are in store for him. His son-in-law will not be pleasantto deal with about the property. '

With an exclamation Fred started from the chairs on which he had beenresting, and dived into his sabre-tasch which hung from the wall. 'Inever liked to begin about it, ' he said, 'but I ought to have giventhem this. It was done when he was so bad at Scutari. One night heworked himself into a fever lest he should not live till hisbirthday, and said a great deal about this Dusautoy making himself anannoyance, perhaps insisting on a sale and turning his father out. Nothing pacified him till, the very day he was of age, we got thevice-consul to draw up what he wanted, and witness it, and so did Iand the doctor, and here it is. Afterwards he warned me to saynothing of it when Mr. Kendal came, for he said if the other fellowmade a row, it would be better his father should be able to say hehad known nothing of the matter. '

'Does he make his father his heir?'

'That's the whole of it. He said his sisters would see it was theonly way to get things even, and I was to tell Albinia somethingabout building cottages or almshouses. Ay, "his father was to dowhat ought to have been done. "'

'Well, there's the best deed of poor Gilbert's life!'

'Thank you, ' mumbled Fred, hall drolly, half gravely. 

'Ay, Kendal and Albinia will do more good with that property than youhave thought of in all your life, sir. '

'Their future and my past, ' laughed Fred, adding more gravely, 'Scampas I am, there's more responsibility coming on me now, and I havegone through some preparation for it. If I can get out to Canada--'

'You will not lessen your responsibilities, ' said Maurice, smiling, 'nor your competency to meet them. '

'I _trust_ not, ' said Fred. 

Mr. Ferrars read in his countenance far more than was implied bythose words. The General, by treating him as a boy, had kept himone, and perhaps his levity had been prolonged by the rejection ofhis first love; but a really steady attachment had settled hischaracter, and he had been undergoing much training through his ownsufferings, Gilbert's illness, and the sense of the new position thatawaited him as commanding officer; and for the first time Maurice, who had always been very fond of him, felt that he was talking to ahigh-principled and right-minded man instead of the family pet andlaughing-stock. 

'I suppose, ' he said, 'that you cannot have heard often from Montrealsince you have been in the East. '

'No. If my letters are anywhere, it is at the Family Office. Idesired them to be forwarded thither from head-quarters, notexpecting to be detained here. But, ' cried Fred with animation, 'what think you of the General actually writing to Mr. Kinnaird fromBalaklava?'

'It would have been too bad if he had not. '

'I believe he did so solely to make me sleep, but it is the firsttime he has deigned to treat the affair as anything but a delusion, and he can't retract now. Since that, poor Gilbert has made a scrapor two of mine presentable, and there's all that I have been able toaccomplish; but I hope it may have set her mind at rest. '

'Shall I be secretary?'

'Thank you, I think not. She would only worry herself about what isbefore me; and if the doctors let me off easy, I had rather report ofmyself in person. '

His eyes danced, and Maurice thought his unselfishness deserved areward. 

'My poor Gilbert's last secret, ' said Mr. Kendal, as he laid beforehis wife the brief document by which his son had designated him ashis sole heir and executor. 'A gift to you, and a trust to me. '

Albinia looked up for explanation. 

'While he intrusts his sisters to my justice, he tacitly commends tome the works which you wished to see accomplished. '

'The almshouses! The improvements! Do you mean to undertake them?'

'It shall be my most sacred duty. '

'Oh! that we could have planned it with him!'

'Perhaps I value this the more from the certainty that it isspontaneous, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'It showed great consideration andforethought, that he said nothing of his intention to me. Had hementioned it, I should have thought it right to suggest his leavinghis sisters their share; and yet, as we are situated with youngDusautoy, it would have been awkward to have interfered. He did welland wisely to be silent. '

'You don't expect Algernon to be discontented. Impossible, at such atime, and so well off as he is!'

'I wish it may be impossible. '

'What do you mean, to do?'

'As far as I can see at present, I shall do this. I fear neither themode of acquisition nor the management of that property was such asto bring a blessing, and I believe my poor boy has made it over to mein order to free his sisters from the necessity of winking atoppression and iniquity. Had it gone to them, matters must have beenlet alone till Sophia came of age, and even then, all improvementsmust have depended on Algernon's consent. The land and houses wewill keep, and sufficient ready money for the building and repairs;and to this, Sophia, at least, will gladly agree. The rest--something under twenty thousand, if I remember correctly--is thegirls' right. I will settle Lucy's share on her so as to be out ofher husband's power, and Sophia shall have hers when she comes ofage. '

'I am sure that will take from Algernon all power of grumbling, though I cannot believe that even he could complain. '

'You approve, then?'

'How can yon ask? It is the first thing that has seemed likehappiness, if it did not make one long for him to talk it over!' Thewound was still very recent, and her spirits very tender, and themore she felt the blessing of the association with Gilbert in thework of love, the more she wept, though not altogether in sorrow. 

Mortified at having come so much overworked and weakened, as tooccasion only trouble and anxiety, she yielded resignedly whenforbidden to wear out strength and spirits by a visit to the burial-groundbefore her embarkation. She must content herself with Maurice'sdescription of the locality, and carry away in her eye only the generalpicture of the sapphire ocean and white rock fortress of the holywarriors vowed to tenderness and heroism, as the last resting-placeof her cherished Gilbert, when 'out of weakness he had been made strong'in penitence and love. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Had Sophia's wishes been consulted, she would have preferred nursingher sorrows at home; but no choice had been left, and at the vicaragethe fatherly kindness of Mr. Dusautoy, and the considerate let-alonesystem of his wife, kept her at ease and not far from cheerful, albeit neither the simplicity of the one nor the keenness of theother was calculated to draw her into unreserve: comfort was in thechildren. 

The children clung to her as if she made their home, little Albiniapreferring her even to Uncle John, as he had insisted on being calledever since Lucy had become his niece, and Maurice invoking caresses, the bestowal of which was his mother's rare privilege. The boy wasdull and listless, and though riot and mirth could be only too easilyexcited, his wildest shouts and most frantic gesticulations were likeefforts to throw off a load at his heart. Time hung heavy on hishands, and he would lie rolling and kicking drearily on the floor, watching with some envy his little sister as she spelt her wayprosperously through 'Little Charles, ' or daintily and distinctlyrepeated her hymns. 'Nothing to do' was the burthen of his song, andwith masculine perverseness he disdained every occupation suggestedto him. Sophy might boast of his obedience and quiescence, but Mrs. Dusautoy pitied all parties, and wondered when he would be disposedof at school. 

Permission to open letters had been left with Sophy, who with silentresignation followed the details of poor Gilbert's rapid decay. Atlast came the parcel by the private hand, containing a small packetfor each of the family. Sophy received a silver Maltese Cross, andlittle Albinia a perfumy rose-leaf bracelet. There was a Russiangrape-shot for Maurice, and with it a letter. 

With childish secrecy, he refused to let any one look at so much asthe envelope, and ran away with it, shouting 'It's mine. ' Sophy wasgrieved that it should be treated like a toy, and fearing that, whileplaying at importance, he would lose or destroy it, without coming toa knowledge of the contents, she durst not betray her solicitude, lest she should give a stimulus to his wilfulness and precipitate itsfate. However, when he had galloped about enough, he calledimperatively, 'Sophy;' and she found him lying on his back on thegrass, the black cat an unwilling prisoner on his chest. 

'You may read it to Smut and me, ' he said. 

It bore date the day after his father's arrival, but it had evidentlybeen continued at many different times; and as the handwriting becamemore feeble, the style grew more earnest, so that, but for herhoarse, indifferent voice, Sophy could hardly have accomplished thereading. 

'My dear Maurice, 'Many, many thanks to you and dear little Awkey for your present. Ihave set it up like a picture, and much do I like to look at it, andguess who chose the colours and who are the hunters. I am sure thefat man in the red coat is the admiral. It makes the place seem likehome to see what tells so plainly of you and baby. 

'Kiss my little Awk for me, and thank her for wanting to send me MissJenny, dear little maid; I like to think of it. You will not let herquite forget me. You must show her my name if it is put up inchurch, like Edmund's and all the little ones'; and you willsometimes tell her about dear old Ned on a Sunday evening when youare both very good. 

'I think you know that you and she will never again run out into thehall to pull Gibbie almost down between you. Perhaps by the time youread this, you will be the only son, with all the comfort and hope ofthe house resting upon you. My poor Maurice, I know what it is to betold so, and only to feel that one has no brother; but at least itcannot be to you as it was with me, when it was as if half myselfwere gone, and all my stronger, better, braver self. 

'My father has been reading to me the Rich Man and Lazarus. Maurice, when you read of him and the five brethren, think of me, and how Ipray that I may not have left seeds of temptation for you. In thetime of my loneliness, Tritton was good-natured, but I ought to haveavoided him; and that to which he introduced me has been the bane ofmy life. Nothing gives me such anguish as to think I have made youacquainted with that set. Keep out of their way! Never go nearthose pigeon-shootings and donkey-races; they seem good fun, but itis disobedience to go, and the things that happen there are like thestings of venomous creatures; the poison was left to fester even whenyour mother seemed to have cured me. Neither now nor when you areolder resort to such things or such people. Next time you meetTritton and Shaw tell them I desired to be remembered to them; afterthat have nothing to do with them; touch your hat and pass on. Theymeant it in good nature, and thought no harm, but they were my worstenemies; they led me astray, and taught me deception as a matter ofcourse. Oh! Maurice, never think it manly to have the smallestreserve with your parents. I would give worlds to have sooner knownthat truth would have been freedom and rest. Thank Heaven, yourfaults are not my faults. If you go wrong, it will be with a highhand, but you would wring hearts that can ill bear further grief anddisappointment. Oh! that I were more worthy to pray that you may useyour strength and spirit the right way; then you will be gladness toour father and mother, and when you lie down to die, you will behappier than I am. 

'I want to tell you more, but it hurts me to write long. If I couldonly see you--not only in my dreams. I wake, and my heart sickenswith longing for a sight of my brave boy's merry face, till I almostfeel as if it would make me well; but it is a blessing past hope tohave my father with me, and know him as I have never done before. Give little Albinia these beads, with my love, and be a betterbrother to her than I was to poor Lucy. 

'Good-by, Maurice. No one can tell what you have been to me sinceyour mother put you into my arms, and I felt I had a brother again. God bless you and cancel all evil you may have caught from me. Papawill give you my sword. Perhaps you will wear it one day, and undermy colonel. I have never been so happy as in the time it was mine. When you look at it, always say this to yourself: "Fear God, and fearnothing else. " O that I had done so!

'Let your dear, dear mother be happy in you: it will be the only wayto make her forgive me in her heart. Good-by, my own dear, braveboy. 

 'Your most affectionate brother, 'G. KENDAL. '

'I say, Smut, ' quoth Maurice, 'I think you and our Tabby would maketwo famous horses for Awkey's little cart. I shall take you home andharness you. '

Sophy sat breathless at his indifference. 'You mustn't, ' she said inhasty anger; 'Smut is not yours. '

'Well, Jack said that our Tabby had two kittens up in the loft; Ithink they'll make better ponies. I shall go and try them!'

'Don't plague the kittens. '

'I'll not plague them; I'll only make ponies of them. Give me theletter. '

'No, not to play with the cats. I thought you would have cared aboutsuch a letter!'

'You have no right to keep it! It is mine; give it me!' criedMaurice, passionately. 

'Promise to take real care of it. '

He only tore it from her, and was gone. 

'I'm a fool to expect anything from such a child, ' she thought. 

At two o'clock the Vicar hurried into the bank. 'Good morning, Mr. Goldsmith, I beg your pardon; I wanted to ask if Mr. O'More has seenlittle Maurice Kendal. '

'Not since yesterday--what's the matter?'

'The child is not come in to dinner. He is nowhere at home or atWillow Lawn. '

'Ha!' cried Ulick. 'Can he be gone to see his pony at Hobbs's!'

'No, it has been sent to Fairmead. Then you have no notion where thechild can be? Sophy is nearly distracted. She saw him last aboutten o'clock, bent on harnessing some kittens, but he's not in thehay-loft!'

'He may be gone to the toy-shop after the harness. Or has anyonelooked in the church-tower--he was longing to go up it, and if thedoor were open--'

'The very thing!' cried the Vicar. 'I'll go this moment. '

'Or there's old Peter, the sailor, ' called Ulick; 'if he wanted anytackle fitted, he might go to him. '

'You had better go yourself, More, ' said Mr. Goldsmith. 'One wouldnot wish to keep poor Miss Kendal in suspense, though I dare say theboy is safe enough. '

Mr. Goldsmith was thanked, and Ulick hurried out, Hyder Ali leapingup in amazement at his master being loose at that time of day. 

Everybody had thought the child was with somebody else till dinner-time, and the state of the vicarage was one of dire alarm and self-reproach. Sophy was seeking and calling in every possible place, and had justbrought herself to own the message of remembrance in Gilbert's letter, thinking it possible Maurice might have gone to deliver it at RobblesLeigh; and Mr. Hope had undertaken to go thither in quest of him. Ulickand Mr. Dusautoy, equally disappointed by the tower and the sailor, went again to Willow Lawn to interrogate the servants. The gardener'sboy had heard Maurice scolding and the cat squalling, and the cook hadheard his step in the house. They hurried into his little room--hewas not there, but the drawers had been disturbed. 

'He may be gone to Fairmead!' cried the Vicar. 

'How?' said Ulick. 'Ha! Hyder, sir!' holding up a little shoe. 'Seek! That's my fine doggie--they only call you a mongrel becauseyou have all the canine virtues united. See what you can do assleuth hound. Ha! We'll nose him out for you in no time, Mr. Dusautoy!'

After sniffing round the drawers, the yellow tripod made an ungainlydescent of the stairs, his nose down all the way, then across thehall and out at the gate; but when, after poking about, the animalset off on the turnpike-road, the Vicar demurred. 

'Stay; the poor dog only wants to get you out for a walk. He ismaking for the Hadminster road. '

'And why wouldn't he, if the child is nowhere in Bayford?

'I can't answer it to his mother wasting time in this way. You maydo as you like. I shall go to the training-stables, where he hasonce been, if not on to Fairmead. I can't see Sophy till he isfound!'

'I shall abide by my little Orangeman, ' said Ulick; and they parted. 

Hyder Ali pursued his way in the March dust, while Ulick eagerlyscanned for the traces of a child's foot. Four miles did the dog goon, evidently following a scent, but Ulick's mind misgave him asHadminster church-tower rose before him, and the dog took the ascentto the station. 

Ulick made his way in as a train stood panting before the platform. He had a glimpse of a square face and curly hair at the window of asecond-class carriage. 

'Maurice, come back!' he cried. 'Here, guard! this little boy mustcome back!'

'Go on!' shouted Maurice. 'I've got my ticket. 'No one can stop me. I'm going to Malta!' and he tried to get to the other side of astout traveller, who defended his legs from him, and said, 'Ha!Running away from school, young master! Here's your usher. '

'No, I'm not running away! I'm not at school! I'm Maurice Kendal!I'm going to my brother at Malta!'

'He is the son of Mr. Kendal of Bayford, ' said Ulick to thestation-master, ' his parents are from home, and there will be dreadfuldistress if he goes in this way. Maurice, your sister has troublesenough already. '

'I've my ticket, and can't be stopped. '

But even as he spoke, the stout traveller picked him up by thecollar, and dropped him like a puppy dog into Ulick's arms, just asthe train was getting into motion; and a head protruded from everywindow to see the truant, who was pommelling Ulick in a violent fury, and roaring, 'Let me go; I will go to Gilbert!'

'Behave like a man, ' said Ulick; 'don't disgrace yourself in thatway. '

The boy coloured, and choking with passion and disappointment, andstraining against Ulick's hold of his shoulder. 

'Indeed, sir, ' said the station-master, 'if we had recognised theyoung gentleman, we would have made more inquiries, but he asked soreadily for his ticket, not seeming at a loss, and we have so manyyoung travellers, that we thought of nothing amiss. Will you have afly, sir?'

'I'm not going home, ' said the boy, undaunted. 

'You must submit, Maurice. You do not wish to make poor Sophymiserable. '

'I must go to Malta, ' the boy persisted. 'Gilbert says it would makehim well to see me. I know my way; I saw it in the map, and I've aroll, and the end of a cold tongue, and a clean shirt, and my ownsovereign, and four shillings, and a half-crown, and a half-penny inmy pocket; and I'm going!'

'But, Maurice, this gentleman will tell you that your whole sovereignwould not carry you a quarter of the way to Malta. '

The station-master gave so formidable a description of theimpossibilities of the route, that the hardy little fellow's look ofdecision relaxed into dejection, his muscles lost their tension, andhe struggled hard with his tears. 

He followed Ulick to the carriage, and hid his face in a corner, while orders were given to stop at the post-office in case there werefresh letters. There was one for Miss Kendal, in Mr. Ferrars'writing, and with black borders. Ulick felt too surely what it mustbe, and hardly could bear to address Maurice, who had shrunk from himwith some remains of passion, but hearing suppressed sobs, he put hishand on him and said, 'My poor little man. '

'Get away, ' said Maurice, shaking him off. 'Why did you come andbother?'

'I came because it would have almost killed your sister and motherfor you to be lost. If you had seen Sophy's face, Maurice!'

'I don't care. Now I shall never see Gilbert again, and he did wantme so!' Maurice hid his face, and his frame shook with sobs. 

'Yes, ' said Ulick, 'every one knew he wanted you; but if it had beenpossible for you to go, your mamma would have taken you. If youruncle had to take care of her how could you go alone?'

'I'd have got there somehow, ' cried Maurice. 'I'd have seen andheard Gilbert. He's written me a letter to say he wants to see me, and I can't even make that out!'

'Has not your sister read it to you!'

'I hate Sophy's reading!' cried Maurice. 'It makes it all grumpy, like her. Take it, Ulick--you read it. '

That rich, sensitive, modulated voice brought out the meaning of theletter, though there were places where Ulick had nearly broken down;and Maurice pressed against him with the large tears in his eyes, andwas some minutes without speaking. 

'He does not think of your coming; he does not expect you, dear boy, 'said Ulick. 'It is a precious letter to have. I hope you will keepit and read it often, and heed it too. '

'I can't read it, ' said Maurice, ruefully. 'If I could, I shouldn'tmind. '

'You soon will. You see how he tells you you are to be a comfort;and if you are a good boy, you'll quickly leave the dunce behind. '

'I can't, ' said Maurice. 'Mamma said I should not do a bit of alesson with Sophy, or I should tease her heart out. Would it comequite out?'

'Well, I think you've gone hard to try to-day, ' said Ulick. 

'Mamma said my being able to read would be a comfort, and papa sayshe never saw such an ignorant boy! so what's the use of mindingGilbert's letter? It wont let me. '

'What wont let you?'

'Fun!' said Maurice, with a sob. 

'He is a rogue!' cried Ulick, vehemently; 'but a stout heart and goodwill can get him under yet. Think of what your brother says ofmaking your father and mother happy!'

'If I could do something to please them very, very much! Oh! if Icould but learn to read all at once. '

'You can read--anybody can read!' said Ulick, pulling a book out ofhis pocket. 'There! try. '

There was some laughing over this; and then Maurice leant out ofwindow, and grew sleepy. They had descended into the wide basin ofalluvial land through which the Baye dawdled its meandering course, and were just about to cross the first bridge about two miles fromBayford, when Maurice shouted, 'There's Sophy!--how funny. '

It was a tall figure, in deep mourning, slowly moving along thetowing-path, intently gazing into the river; but so strange was it tosee Sophy so far from home, that Ulick paused a moment ere calling tothe driver to stop. 

As he hastily wrenched open the door, she raised up her face, and hewas shocked. She looked as if she had lived years of sorrow, andeven Maurice was struck with consternation. 

'Sophy! Sophy!' he cried, hanging round her. 'I wouldn't have gonewithout telling you, if I had thought you would mind it. Speak tome, Sophy!'

She could say nothing save a hoarse 'Where?' as with both arms shepressed him as if she could never let him go again. 

'In the train--intending to go to Malta, ' said Ulick. 

'I didn't know I could not; I didn't mean to vex you, Sophy, 'continued the child. 'I'm come home now, and I wont try again. '

'Oh! Maurice, what would have become of you?' She held out her handto Ulick, the first time for months. 

'And we've got a letter for you, proceeded Maurice. 

Ulick would fain have withheld it, but he had not the choice. Shecaught at it, still holding Maurice fast, and ere he could proposeher opening it in the carriage while he walked home she had torn itopen, and the same moment she had sunk down, seated on the path, withan arm round her brother. 'Oh! Maurice, it is well you are here!You would not have found them--it is over!'

She had found one brother to lose the other; but the relief ofMaurice's safety had so softened the blow, that her tears gushedforth freely. 

The sense of Ulick's presence restrained her, but raising her head, she missed him, and felt lonely, desolate, deserted, almost fainting, and in a strange place. 

'Is he dead?' said Maurice, in a solemn low voice, and she wepthelplessly, while the little fellow stood sustaining her weight likea small pillar, perplexed and dismayed. 

'Are you poorly, Sophy? What shall I do?' said he, as she almostfell back, but a stronger arm held her up. 

'Lean on me, dear Sophy, ' said Ulick, who had returned, bringing somewater from a small house near at hand, and supported her and soothedher like a brother. 

The mists cleared away, the sense of desertion was gone, and sherose, but could not stand without his arm, and he almost lifted herinto the carriage, where her appealing eye and helpless gesture madehim follow her, and take Maurice on his knee. No one spoke; Mauricenestled close to his friend; awe-struck but weighed down by wearinessand excitement. The blow had in reality been given when he wasforced to relinquish the hope of seeing his brother again, and theactual certainty of his death fell with less comparative force. Perhaps he did not enter into the fact enough to ask for particulars. After a short space Sophy recovered herself enough to take out theletter, and read it over with greater comprehension. 

'They were come!' she said. 

'In time. I am glad. '

'In time to bring him peace, my uncle says! He knew mamma. I couldnever have borne it if I had deprived him of her!'

'Nor I, ' said Ulick, from his heart. 'Did one but know the upshot ofone's idle follies!'

Sophy looked towards Maurice. 

'Asleep!' said Ulick. 'No wonder. He has walked four miles! He hasa heart that might have been born in Ireland;' and as he looked atthe fair young face softened and sweetened by sleep, 'What an infantit is to have even fancied such an undertaking!'

'Poor child!' sighed Sophy. 'He will never be the same!'

'Nay, grief at that age does not check the spirits for life. '

'You have never known, ' said Sophy. 

'No; our number has never yet been broken; but for this little man, Itrust that the sense of duty may be deepened, and with it his love toyou all; and surely that is not what will quench the blithe temper. '

'May it be so!' said Sophy. 'He may have enough of his mother in himto be happy. '

'I must think that the recollection of so loving a brother, and hispride in him for a hero, may make the stream flow more deeply, butnot more darkly. '

'There never was a cloud between them, ' said Sophy. 

'Clouds are all past and gone now between those who can with him"take part in that thanksgiving lay, "' answered Ulick, kindly. 

'Yes, ' said Sophy. 'My uncle says it was peace at last! Oh! ifhumbleness and penitence could win it, one might be sure it would behis. '

'True, ' said Ulick. 'It was a beautiful thing to find the lovingsweetness and kindness refined into self-devotion and patience, andgrowing into something brighter and purer as it came near the last. It will be a precious recollection. '

'To those who have no self-reproach, ' sighed Sophy; and after a pauseshe abruptly resumed, 'You once blamed me for being hard with him. Nothing was more true. '

'Impossible--when could I have presumed?'

'When? You remember. After Oxford. '

'Oh! you should not have let what I said dwell with you. I was avery raw Irishman then, and thought it barbarity to look cold on alittle indiscretion, but I have learnt to think differently, ' and hesighed. 'The severity that leads to repentance is truer affectionthan is shown by making light of foolishness. '

'If it had been affection and not wounded pride. '

'The dross has been refined away, if there were any, ' said Ulick. 'You will be able to love him better now than ever you did in life. '

His comprehension met her half way, and gave her more relief andsoothing than anything she had experienced for months. There wasthat response and intercommunion of spirit for which her nature hadyearned the more because of the inability to express the craving; thevery turn of the dark blue eyes, and the inflexions of the voice, didnot merely convey pity, but an entering into the very core of hersorrow, namely, that she had never loved her brother enough, norforgiven him for not being his fellow-twin. Whatever he said tendedto reveal to her that there had been more justice, rectitude, sisterly feeling, and wholesome training than she had given herselfcredit for, and, above all, that Gilbert had loved her all the time. She was induced to dwell on the exalting and touching circumstancesof his last redeeming year, and her tears streamed calmly and softly, not with the harshness that had hitherto marred her grief. Neithercould have believed that there had been so long and marked aseparation in feeling, or that Ulick O'More had not always been onewith the Kendal family. It was all too soon that the conversationended, and Maurice wakened suddenly at the vicarage wicket. Mrs. Dusautoy herself came to meet them as the little boy was lifted out. She had never been seen on her own feet so far from the house before!But no one ever knew the terror she had suffered, when of all herthree charges not one was safe but the little Albinia, whose 'poorMaurice' and 'all gone' were as trying as her alternations ofmerriment. The vicar, the curate, the parish clerk, the servants ofthe two establishments, and four policemen, were all gone differentways; and poor Mrs. Dusautoy's day had been spent in hearing theresults of their fruitless researches, or in worse presages, inwhich, as it now appeared, the river had played its part. 

She kissed Maurice, and he did not rebel! She kissed Sophy, andcould have shaken off Ulick's hand, but he only waited to hold upHyder Ali as the real finder, before he ran off to desire the school-bellto be rung--the signal for announcing a discovery. It was wellthat Maurice was too much stunned and fatigued to be sensible what acommotion he had excited, or he might have thought it good fun. 

The tidings from Malta came in almost as something secondary. Thecase had been too hopeless for anything else to be looked for, andwhen Mrs. Dusautoy consigned her charge to a couch, with entreatiesto her not to move, there was calm tenderness in Sophy's voice as shetold what needed to be told, and did not shrink from sympathy. Shewas grateful and gentle, and lay all the rest of the day, sad andphysically worn out, but quietly mournful, and no longer dwelling onthe painful side of past transactions, her remorse had given way toresigned acquiescence, and desolation to a sense that there was onewho understood her. The sweet tones, and, above all, those twowords, '_dear_ Sophy, ' would come chiming back from some involuntaryecho, and the turbid depths were at peace. 

When Mr. Dusautoy came to her side, and held out his hand, his honesteyes brimming over, there was no repulsion in her manner of sayingaffectionately, 'You have had a great deal of trouble for my naughtylittle brother. ' So different was her whole tone, that her kindfriends thought how much better for some minds was any certainty thansuspense. She bethought herself of sending to the Drurys, and showedrather gratification than her ordinary impatience at the manifoldreports of the general sympathy, and of Bayford's grief for its hero. The poison was gone from her mind. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

The Family Office had been asked to receive the whole party on theirreturn. Mr. Kendal had business in London, and could not bear topart with the colonel till he had seen him safely lodged, and heardthe surgeon's opinion. 

Mr. Ferrars was laying himself out to guard his brother-in-law frombeing oppressed by the sympathetic welcome of the good aunts; butthough the good ladies never failed in kindness, all the excess wasdirected into a different channel; Albinia herself was but secondaryto the wounded hero, for whom alone they had eyes and ears. Theywould hardly let him stand erect for a moment; easy-chairs andcouches were offered, soup and wine, biscuits and coffee weresuggested, and questions were crowded on him, while he, poor fellow, wistfully gazed at the oft-directed pile of foreign letters on theside-table, and in pure desperation became too fatigued to go down toluncheon. 

When the others returned, he was standing on the rug, curling hismoustaches. There was a glow of colour on his hollow cheek, and hiseyes danced; he put out his hand, and catching Albinia's with boyishplayfulness, he squeezed it triumphantly, with the words, 'Albinia, she's a brick!'

They went their several ways, Fred to rest, Maurice to make anappointment for him with the doctor, and Albinia to Genevieve, whomMr. Kendal regarded like his son's widow, forgetting that theattachment had been neither sanctioned nor returned. He could notrest without seeing her, and delivering that last message, but he wasglad to have the way prepared by his wife, and proposed to call forher when his law business should be over. 

Albinia sent in her card, and asked whether Miss Durant were atliberty. Genevieve came hurrying to her with outstretched hands:'Dear Mrs. Kendal, this is kind!' and led her to the back drawing-room, where they were with one impulse enfolded in each other's tearfulembrace. 

'Oh! madame, how much you have suffered!'

'You know all?' said Albinia. 

'O no, very little. My aunt knows little of Bayford now, and hersight is too weak for much writing. '

Genevieve pushed back her hair; she looked ill and heavy-eyed, withthe extinguished air that sorrow gave her. Gilbert had distressed, perplexed her, and driven her from home, but what could beremembered, save the warm affection he had lavished on her, and thepain she had inflicted? Uneasiness and sorrow, necessarily unavowed, had preyed on the poor girl for weeks in secret; and even now shehardly presumed to give way, relief, almost luxury, as it was to bepressed in those kind arms, and suffered to weep freely for thechampion of her younger days. When she had heard how he had thoughtof her to the last, her emotion grew less controllable; and Albiniawas touched by the idea that there had all along been a stifledpreference. Embellished as Gilbert now was, she could not but wishto believe that his affection had not been wasted; and his constancymight well be touching in one of the heroes of the six hundred. Atleast, Genevieve had a most earnest and loving appetite for everydetail, and though the afternoon was nearly gone, neither felt as ifhalf an hour had passed when admittance was asked for Mr. Kendal. 

It was a trying moment, but Genevieve was too simple, genuine, andgrateful to pause in selfish embarrassment. Had she toyed withGilbert's affection, she could not have met his father with suchmaidenly modesty, and sweet sympathy and respect in her blushingcheek and downcast, tearful eyes. 

He took her hand, speaking in the kindest tone of his mellow voice:'My dear, Mrs. Kendal has told you what brings us here, and how muchwe feel for and with you. '

'So kind in you, ' said Genevieve, faltering. 

'Poor child, she has suffered grievously for want of fuller tidings, 'said Albinia; 'she has been keeping her sorrow pent up all thistime. '

'She has acted, as she has done throughout, most consistently, ' saidMr. Kendal. 'My dear, though it was inexpedient to show mysentiments, I always respected my son for having placed hisaffections so worthily, and though circumstances were unfortunatelyadverse, I cannot thank you enough for your course of action and theinfluence you exercised. '

'I never did, ' murmured Genevieve. 

'Not perhaps consciously; but unswerving rectitude of conduct is oneof the strongest earthly influences. He was sensible of it. He bademe tell you that whenever higher and better thoughts came to him, youwere connected with them; and when to his surprise, poor boy, hefound that he was thought to have distinguished himself, his firstthought was that it might be a step to your esteem. He desired me tothank you for all that you have been to him, to entreat you to pardonthe annoyance of which he was the occasion, and to beg you to wearthis for his sake, if you could think of his presumption withforgiveness and toleration. Those were his words; but I trust you donot retain displeasure, for though, perhaps, foolishly andobtrusively expressed, it was sincere and lasting affection. '

'Oh, sir!' exclaimed Genevieve, 'do not speak thus! What can I feelsave that it will be my tenderest and deepest pride to have been soregarded. Oh! that I could thank him! but, ' clasping her handstogether, 'I cannot even thank you. '

'The best way to gratify us, ' he said, 'will be always to rememberthat you have a home at Willow Lawn, and a daughter's place in ourhearts. Think of me like a father, Genevieve;' and he kissed herdrooping forehead. 

'Oh! Mr. Kendal, this is goodness. '

He turned to Albinia to suggest, 'It must be intolerable to be hereat present. Speak to Mrs. Rainsforth, let us take her home, if it bebut for a week. '

Leaving him to make the proposition to Genevieve, Albinia gainedadmittance to the other drawing-room, which she found all over littlechildren, and their mother looking unequal to dispensing with theirdeputy. She said she had feared Miss Durant was looking ill, and hadsomething weighing on her spirits, though she was always so cheerfuland helpful, but baby had not been well, and Mr. Rainsforth was notat all strong, and her views had evidently taken no wider range. 

Albinia began to think her proposal cruel, and prefaced it by a fewwords on the state of the case. The little bit of romance touchedthe kind heart. Mrs. Rainsforth was shocked to think of the griefthe governess must have suffered in secret while aiding to bear herburdens, and was resolved on letting her have this respite, goingeagerly to assure her that she could well be spared; baby was better, and papa was better, and the children would be good. 

But Genevieve knew too well how necessary she was, and had beentelling Mr. Kendal of the poor little mother's anxieties with hermany delicate children, and her husband's failing health. She couldnot leave them with a safe conscience; and she would not show how shelonged after quiet, the country, and her aunt. She stood firm, andAlbinia could not say that she was not right. Mrs. Rainsforth wasdistressed, though much relieved, and was only pacified by theengagement that Miss Durant should, when it was practicable, spend along holiday with her friends. 

'At home!' said Mr. Kendal, and the responsive look of mournfulgratitude from beneath the black dewy eyelashes dispelled all marvelat his son's enduring attachment. 

He was wonderfully patient when Mrs. Rainsforth could not be contentwithout Mrs. Kendal's maternal and medical opinion of the baby, onthe road to and from the nursery consulting her on all theMediterranean climates, and telling her what each doctor had said ofMr. Rainsforth's lungs, in the course of which Miss Durant and herromance were put as entirely out of the little lady's mind as if shehad never existed. 

The next day the Kendals set their faces homewards, leaving Mauricetill the surgeon's work should be done, and Fred, as the aunts fondlyhoped, to be their nursling. 

But, behold! Sunday and Monday Colonel Fred spent in bed, smilingincessantly; Tuesday and Wednesday on the sofa; Thursday in goingabout London; Friday he was off to Liverpool; Saturday had sailed forCanada. 

Albinia was coming nearer to the home that was pulling her by theheart-strings. Hadminster was past, and she had heard the welcomewards, 'All well, ' from the servant who brought the carriage; but howmuch more there was to know than Sophy's detailed letters couldconvey--Sophy, whose sincerity, though one of the most trustworthythings in the world, was never quite to be relied on as to her ownhealth or Maurice's conduct. 

At the gate there was a little chestnut curled being in a short blackfrock, struggling to pull the heavy gate open with her plump arms, and standing for one moment with her back to it, screaming 'Mamma!Papa!' then jumping and clapping her hands in ecstasy and oblivionthat the swing of the gate might demolish her small person between itand the horse. But there was no time for fright. Sophy caught herand secured the gate together; and the first glimpse assured Albiniathat the hard gloom was absent. And there was Maurice, leaningagainst the iron rail of the hall steps; but he hardly moved, and hisface was so strangely white and set, that Albinia caught him in herarms, crying, 'Are you well, my boy? Sophy, is he well?'

'Quite well, ' said Sophy; but the boy had wriggled himself loose, stood but for an instant to receive his father's kiss, and had holdof the sword. The long cavalry sabre was almost as tall as himself, and he stood with both arms clasped round it; but no sooner did hefeel their eyes upon him, than he turned about and ran upstairs. 

It was not gracious, but they excused it; they had their littleAlbinia comfortably and childishly happy, as yet without thosetroublesome Kendal feelings that always demonstrated themselves insome perverse manner. 

And Sophy stood among them--that brighter, better Sophy who had solong been obscured, happy to have them at home; talking and askingquestions eagerly about the journey, and describing the kindness ofthe Dusautoys and the goodness of the children. 

'Have you heard from Lucy?' asked Mr. Kendal, as Albinia went inpursuit of her little boy. 

'Yes--poor Lucy?'

'Is there no letter from him?'

'Not for you, papa. '

'What? Did he write to his uncle?'

'No, papa--he wrote to me and to Mr. Pettilove. Cannot he bestopped, papa? Can he do any harm? Mr. Dusautoy and Mr. Pettilovethink he can. '

'You mean that he wishes to question the will? You may be quitesecure, my dear. Nothing can be more safe. '

'Oh, papa! I am so very glad. Not to be able to hinder him was sodreadful, when he wanted to pit Lucy and me against you. I couldnever have looked at you. I should always have felt that you hadsomething to forgive me. '

'I could not well have confounded you with Algernon, my dear, ' saidMr. Kendal. 'What did Pettilove mean? Do you know?'

'Not exactly; something about grandpapa's old settlement; whichfrightened the Vicar, though Mrs. Dusautoy said that it was only thathe fancied nobody could do anything right without his help. Mr. Dusautoy is more angry with Algernon than I thought he could be withanybody. '

'No one but Algernon would have ever thought of it, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'I am sorry he has molested you, my dear. Have you any objection tolet me see his letter?'

'I kept it for you, papa, and a copy of my answer. I thought thoughI am not of age, perhaps my saying I would have nothing to do with itmight do some good. '

Algernon magniloquently condoled with his sister-in-law on theinjustice from which she and her sister had suffered, in consequenceof the adverse influence which surrounded her brother, and generouslyinformed her that she had a champion to defeat the machinationsagainst their rights. He had little doubt of the futility of thedocument, and had written to the legal adviser of the late Mr. Meadows to inquire whether the will of that gentleman did not bar anypower on the part of his grandson to dispose of the property. Shemight rely on him not to rest until she should be put in possessionof the estate, unless it should prove to have been her grandfathersintention, in case of the present melancholy occurrence, that theelder sister should be the sole inheritrix, and he congratulated heron having such a protector, since, under the unfortunatecircumstances, the sisters would have had no one to uphold theircause against their natural guardian. 

Sophy's answer was--

'Dear Algernon, 'I prefer my _natural guardian_ to any other whatever. I shall formy part owe you no thanks for attempting to frustrate my dearbrother's wishes, and to raise an unbecoming dissension. I desirethat no use of my name may be made, and you may rest assured that Ishould find nothing so difficult to forgive as any such interferencein my behalf. 

 'Yours truly, 'SOPHIA KENDAL. '

'Certainly, ' said Mr. Kendal, 'no family ill-will is complete unlessmoney matters be brought in to aggravate it. '

'Do you think I did right, and spoke strongly enough, papa?'

'Quite strongly enough, ' said Mr. Kendal, suppressing a smile. 'Ihope you wrote kindly to Lucy at the same time. '

'One could not help that, papa; but I did say a great deal about theoutrageous impropriety of raising the question, because I thoughtAlgernon might be ashamed. '

'Riches kept for the owners thereof to their hurt, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'Your grandfather's acquisitions have brought us little but evilhitherto, and now I fear that our dear Gilbert's endeavour to breakthe net which bound us into that system of iniquity and oppression, may cause alienation from poor Lucy. Sophy, you must allow noapparent coldness or neglect on her part to keep you from writingoften and affectionately. '

Maurice here came down with his mother, and as soon as there was amoment's pause, laid hold of the first book he met with, and began:--

'I do not see the justness of the analogy to which Onuphrio refers, but there are many parts of that vision on which I should wish tohear the explanations of Philalethes. '

All broke out in amazement, 'Why, Maurice, has Mrs. Dusautoy beenmaking a scholar of you?'

'Oh! Maurice, was this your secret?' cried Sophy. 

He had hidden his face in his mother's lap, and when she raised itstruggled to keep it down, and she felt him sobbing and panting forbreath. Mr. Kendal stroked his hair, and they tried to soothe him, but he started up abruptly. 

'I don't mean ever to be a plague again! So I did it. But there--when Ulick said it would be a comfort, you are all going to cryagain, papa and all, and that's worse!' and stamping his footpassionately, he would have rushed out of the room, but was held fastin his father's arms, and indeed tears were flowing fast from eyesthat his brother's death had left dry. 

'My child! my dear child!' said Mr. Kendal, 'it is comfort. No onecan rule you as by God's grace you can rule yourself, and yourendeavours to do this are the greatest blessing I can ask. '

One more kiss from his mother, and she let him go. He did not knowhow to deal with emotion in himself, and hated the sight of it inothers; so that it was better to let him burst away from them, whilewith one voice they admired, rejoiced, and interrogated Sophy. 

'I know now, ' she said, the rosy glow mantling in her cheek; 'it musthave been Mr. O'More. '

'Ah! has he been with you?' said her father. 

'Only once, ' said Sophy, her colour deepening; 'but Maurice has beenin a great hurry every day to go to him, and I saw there was somesecret. One day, Susan asked me to prevent Master Maurice fromteaching baby such ugly words, that she could not sleep--not badwords, but she thought they were Latin. So I watched, and I heardMaurice singing out some of the legend of Hiawatha, and insisting onpoor little Awkey telling him what m-i-s-h-e-n-a-h-m-a, spelt. Poorlittle Awk stared, as well she might, and obediently made the utmostefforts to say after him, Mishenahma, king of fishes, but he wasterribly discomposed at getting nothing but Niffey-ninny, king offithes. I went to her rescue, and asked what they were about; butMaurice thundered down on me all the Delawares and Mohawks, and theChoctaws and Cameches; and baby squeaked after him as well as shecould, till I fairly stopped my ears. I thought Ulick must bereading the legend to him. Now I see he must have been teaching himto read it. '

'Can it be possible?' said Mr. Kendal. 'He could not read words offive letters without spelling. '

'He always could do much more when he pleased than when he did notplease, ' said Albinia. 'I believe the impulse to use hisunderstanding was all that was wanting, and I am very glad theimpulse came from such a motive. '

Mr. Kendal ordained that Maurice's reward should be learning Latinfrom himself, a perilous trial; but it proved that Mr. Kendal wasreally a good teacher for a child of spirit and courage, and Mauricehad early come to the age when boys do better with man than withwoman. He liked the honour and the awe of papa's tutorship, andlearnt so well, that his father never believed in his past dunceship;but over studies that he did not deem sufficiently masculine, hecould be as troublesome as ever, his attention absent, and hisrestlessness most wearisome. To an ordinary eye, he was littlechanged; but his mother felt that the great victory of the will hadbeen gained, and that his _self_ was endeavouring to get the betterof the spirit of insubordination and mischief. Night after night shefound him sleeping with the Balaklava sword by his side, and his handclasped over it; and he always crept out of the way of Crimean news, though that he gathered up the facts was plain when he committed hissovereign to Ulick, with a request that it might be devoted to thecomforts preparing to be sent to the 25th Lancers. 

Ulick wished him to consult his mother, but this he repelled. Hecould not endure the sight of a tear in her eye, and she could notrestrain them when that chord was touched. It was a propensity shemuch disliked, the more because she thought it looked likeaffectation beside Sophy, whose feelings never took that course, butthe more ill-timed the tears, the more they would come, at the mostcommon-place condolence or remote allusion. It was the effect of thelong strain on her powers, and the severe shock coming suddenly afterso much pressure and fatigue; moreover, her habits had been so longdisorganized that her time seemed blank, and she could not rouseherself from a feeling of languor and depression. Then Gilbert hadbeen always on her mind, whether at home or absent; and it did notseem at first as if she had enough to fill up time or thoughts--sheabsolutely found herself doing nothing, because there was nothing shecared to do. 

Mr. Kendal's first object was the fulfilment of Gilbert's wishes; butAlbinia soon felt how much easier it is for women and boys to makeschemes, than for men to bring them to effect, and how rash it ishastily to condemn those who tolerate abuses. 

The whole was carefully looked over with a surveyor, and it was onlythen understood how complicated were the tenures, and how varied thecovenants of the numerous small tenements which old Mr. Meadows hadamassed. It was not possible to be free of the legal difficultiesunder at least a year, and plans of drainage might be impeded forwant of other people's consent. Even if all had been smooth, thesacrifice of income, by destroying Tibb's Alley, and reducing thenumber of cottages, would be considerable. Meantime, the inspectionhad brought to light worse iniquities and greater wretchedness thanMr. Kendal had imagined, and his eagerness to set to work wastenfold. His table was heaped with sanitary reports, and his fits ofabstraction were over the components of bad air or builder'sestimates. 

It only depended on Ulick to have resumed his intimacy at WillowLawn; but the habit once broken was not resumed. He was often there, but never without invitation; and he was not always to be had. Hehad less leisure, he was senior clerk, and the junior was dull anduntrained; and he often had work to do far into the evening. Helooked bright and well, as though possessed of a sense of beingvaluable in his own place, more conducive to happiness than evencongeniality of employment; and Sophy, though now and thendisappointed at his non-appearance, always had a good reason for it, and continued to justify Mr. Dusautoy's boast that the air of thehill had made another woman of her. 

Visiting cards had, of course, come in numbers to Willow Lawn, butAlbinia seemed to have caught her husband's aversions, and it wouldbe dangerous to say how long it was before she lashed herself intosetting off for a round of calls. 

Nothing surprised her more than Miss Goldsmith's reception. Conscious of her neglect, she expected the stiff manner to be moreformal than ever; but the welcome was almost warm, and there wassomething caressing in her fears that Miss Kendal would be tired. Mr. Goldsmith was not quite well, there were threatenings of gout, and his sister had persuaded him to visit the relations at Bristolnext week; everything might safely be trusted to young More, andtherewith came such praise of his steadiness and ability, thatAlbinia did not know which way to look when all was ascribed to Mr. Kendal's great kindness to him. 

It was too palpable to be altogether pleasant. Sophia Kendal washeiress enough to be a very desirable connexion for the bank. Albinia was afraid she should see through the lady's graciousness, and took her leave in haste; but Sophy only said, 'Do you remember, mamma, when the Goldsmiths thought we unsettled him?'

Before Albinia had disarmed her reply of the irony on the tip of hertongue, the omnibus came lumbering round the corner, and a voiceproceeded from the rear, the door flew open, and there was a rapidexit. 

Face and voice, light step, and gay bearing, all were Fred--the emptysleeve, the sole resemblance to the shattered convalescent of a fewweeks back. 

'There, Albinia! I said you should see her first. You haven't gotany change, have you?' the last being addressed either to Albinia, the omnibus conductor, or a lady, who made a tender of two shillings, while Albinia ordered the luggage on to Willow Lawn, though somethingwas faintly said about the inn. 

'And there!' cried Fred, with an emphatic twist of his moustache, 'isn't she all I ever told you?'

'The last thing was a brick, ' said Albinia, laughing, as she lookedat the smiling, confiding, animated face, not the less pleasant for aFrench Canadian grace that recalled Genevieve. 

'The right article for building a hut, I hope, ' she said, merrily. 

'But how and when could you have come?'

'This morning, from Liverpool. We did not mean to storm you in thismanner; we meant to have settled ourselves at the inn, and walkeddown; Emily was very particular about it. '

'But you see, when he saw you, he forgot all my lectures!' saidEmily, taking his welcome for granted. 

'Very proper of him! But, Fred, I don't quite believe it yet. Howlong is it since we parted?'

'Six weeks; just enough to go to Canada and back, with a fortnight inthe middle to spare. '

'And pray how long has Mrs. Fred existed?'

'Three weeks and two days;' and turning half round to give her thebenefit of his words, 'it was on purely philanthropic principles, because I could not tie my own necktie. '

'Now could I, ' said Emily pleadingly to Sophy--'now could I let himgo back again alone, when he came so helpless, and looking sodreadfully ill?'

'And what are you going to do?' asked Albinia. 'You can't joinagain. '

'Join! why not? Here's a hand for a horse, and an arm for a wife, and the rest will be done much better for me than ever it wasbefore. '

'But with her? and at Sebastopol!'

'That's the very thing'' cried the colonel, again turning about. 'Nothing will serve her but to show how a backwoodsman's daughter canlive in a hut. '

'And what will the general say?'

'The general, ' cried Emily, 'will endure me better as a fact than asa prospect; and we will teach him that a lady is not all made ofnerves and of fancies! See what he will say if we let him into ourparadise!'

Fred brightened, though Albinia's inquiry had for a moment taken hima little aback. The one being whom he dreaded was General Ferrars, for whom he cared a thousand times more than for his own elderbrother, and he was soon speculating, with his usual insouciance, asto how his announcement might have been received by his lordship, andwhether the aunts would look at them as they went through London. 

Mr. Kendal met them at the gate, amazed at the avalanche of luggage, but well pleased, for he had grown very fond of Fred, and had beenvery anxious about him, thinking him broken and enfeebled for life, and hardly expecting him to return from his mad expedition. He wasslow to believe his eyes and ears when he beheld a hale, handsome, vigorous man, full of life and activity, but his welcome andcongratulations were of the warmest. He could far better stand asudden inroad than if he had had to meditate for a week onentertaining the bride. Not that the bride wanted entertainment, except waiting upon her husband, who let himself be many degrees lesshandy than at Malta, for the pleasure of her attentions. 

Perhaps the person least gratified was Maurice; for the child shrankwith shy reverence from him whom his brother had saved, and would assoon have thought of making a plaything of Gilbert's sword as ofhaving fun with the survivor. The sight of such a merry man was ashock, and he abruptly repelled all attempts at playing with him, andkept apart with a big book on a chair before him, a Kendalism forwhich he amply compensated when familiarity had diminished his awe. 

Mr. Kendal, though little disposed to exert himself to talk, liked towatch his wife reviving into animation, and Sophy taking a full sharein the glee with which Emily enjoyed turning the laugh against thegood-natured soldier. In the midst of their flush of joy there was atender consideration about the young couple, such as to hinder theirtone from jarring. Indeed, it was less consideration than fellow-feeling, for Gilbert Kendal had become enshrined in the depths of Fred's heart;while to Emily the visit was well-nigh a pilgrimage. All her hero-worshipwas directed to the youth who had guarded her soldier's life, nursedhim in his sickness, and, as he averred, inspired him with seriousthoughts. Poor, failing, timid, penitent Gilbert was to her a verySt. George, and every relic of him was viewed with reverence; shecomposed a countenance for him from his father's fine features, andfitted the fragments of his history into an ideal, till Sophy, afterbeing surprised and gratified, began to view Gilbert through a likehalo, and to rank him with his twin brother. Friendship was a new andagreeable phase of life to Sophy, who found a suitable companion insuch an open-hearted person, simpler in nature, and fresher than herself, free from English commonplaces, though older and of more standing. She expanded and brightened wonderfully, and Emily, imagining her afemale Gilbert, was devoted to her, and thought her a marvel of learning, depth, goodness, and humility, the more striking for her tinge of gravepensiveness. 

'Why, Albinia, ' said the colonel, 'didn't I hear that it was yourhandsome daughter who is married?'

'Yes, poor Lucy was always called our pretty one. '

'More admired than her sister? Why, she never could have had acountenance!'

'Yes, ' said Albinia, highly gratified by the opinion of such aconnoisseur. 'I always told Winifred that Sophy was the beauty, butshe has only lately had health or animation to set her off'

'I declare, when we overtook you in the street, she looked a perfectSpanish princess, in her black robes and great shady hat. You oughtalways to keep her in black. Ha! Emily, what are you smiling at?'

His wife looked up into his face with mischievous shyness in hereyes, as if she wanted him to say what would be a liberty in her. Somebody else had overtaken the ladies nearly at the same moment, andAlbinia exulted in perceiving that the embellishment had beenobserved by others besides herself. She did not look so severe butthat Fred was encouraged to repeat, 'Only lately had health oranimation? When Irish winds blow this way, I fancy--But what willthe aunts say?'

'They are not Sophy's aunts, whatever they are to you. '

'What will Kendal say? which is more to the purpose. '

'Oh! he saw it first; he will be delighted; but you must not say aword to him, for it can't come to anything just now. '

Albinia was thus confirmed in her anticipations, and the bridal pair, only wishing everybody to be as happy as themselves, took the matterup with such vivid interest and amusement, that she was rather afraidof a manifestation such as to shock either her husband or the partiesthemselves; but Fred was too much of a gentleman, and Emily tooconsiderate, for anything perilously marked. Only she thought Emilyneed not have been so decided in making room for Ulick next to Sophy, when they were all looking out at the young moon at the conservatory-doorthat evening. 

And then Emily took her husband's arm, and insisted on going down thegarden to be introduced to English nightingales; and though she wastold they never had come there in the memory of man, she was bent ondoing as she would be done by, and drew him alone the silvered paths, among the black shadows of the trees; and Ulick asked Sophy if shewished to go too. She looked as if she should like it very much; hefetched a couple of cloaks ont of the hall, put her into one, and ranafter Mrs. Ferrars with the other. 

'Well!' thought Albinia, as she stood at the conservatory-door, 'howmuch more boldness and tact some people have than others! If I hadlived a hundred years, I should not have managed it so well!'

'What's become of them?' said Mr. Kendal, as she went back to thedrawing-room. 

'Gone to listen for nightingales!'

'Nightingales! How could you let them go into the river-fog?'

'Emily was bent upon it; she is too much of a bride not to have herway. '

'Umph! I wonder Sophy was so foolish. '

They came back in a quarter of an hour. No nightingales; and Fredwas indulging in reminiscences of bull-frogs; the two ladies wererapturous on the effect of the moonbeams in the ripple of the waters, and the soft furry white mist rising over the meadows. Ulickshivered, and leant over the fire to breathe a drier air, banteringthe ladies for their admiration, and declaring that Mrs. Ferrars hadtaken the moan of an imprisoned house-dog for the nightingale, whichhe disdainfully imitated with buzz, zizz, and guggle, assuring hershe had had no loss; but he looked rather white and chilled. Sophywhispered something to her papa, who rang the bell, and ordered inwine and hot water. 

'There, Emily, ' said Albinia, when he had taken his leave; 'whatshall we say to your nightingales, if Mr. O'More catches his agueagain?'

'Oh, there are moments when people don't catch agues, ' said Fred. 'He would be a poor fellow to catch an ague after all that, though, by-the-bye, it is not a place to go to at night without a cigar. '

Albinia was on thorns, lest Sophy should be offended; but though hercheeks lighted up, and she was certainly aware of some part of theirmeaning, either she did not believe in the possibility of any onebantering her, or else the assumption was more agreeable than thepresumption was disagreeable. She endured with droll puzzleddignity, when Fred teased her anxiety the next day to know whetherMr. O'More had felt any ill effects; and it really appeared as if sheliked him better for what might have been expected to be a direaffront; but then he was a man whose manner enabled to do and saywhatever he pleased. 

Emily never durst enter on the subject with her, but had more thanone confidential little gossip with Albinia, and repeatedly declaredthat she hoped to be in England when 'it' took place. Indeed thatweek's visit made them all so intimate, that it was not easy tobelieve how recent was the acquaintance. 

The aunts had been so much disappointed at Fred's desertion, so muchdiscomfited at his recovery contrary to all predictions, and so muchannoyed at his marriage, that it took all their kindness, and hisCrimean fame, to make them invite him and his colonial wife to theFamily Office, to be present at the royal distribution of medals. However, the good ladies did their duty; and Emily and Sophy partedwith promises of letters. 

The beginning of the correspondence was as full a description of thepresentation of the medals as could be given by a person who only sawone figure wherever she went, and to whom the great incident of theday was, that the gracious and kindhearted Queen had herself fastenedthe left-handed colonel's medal as well as Emily could have done itherself! There was another medal, with two clasps, that came toBayford, and which was looked at in pensive but not unhappy silence. 'You shall have it some day, Maurice, but not now, ' said Mr. Kendal, and all felt that now meant his own lifetime. It was placed whereGilbert would well have liked to see it, beside his brother Edmund'swatch. 

Emily made Mrs. Annesley and Miss Ferrars more fond of her in threedays, than eleven years had made them of Winifred; too fond, indeed, for they fell to preaching to Fred upon the horrors of Sebastopol, till they persuaded him that he was a selfish wretch, and brought himto decree that she should stay with them during his absence. But, asEmily observed, that was not what she left home for; she demolishedhis arguments with a small amount of playing at petulance, andtriumphantly departed for the East, leaving Aunt Mary crying over heras a predestined victim. 

The last thing Fred did before sailing, was to send Albinia a letterfrom his brother, that she might see 'how very kind and cordialBelraven was, ' besides something that concerned her more nearly. 

Lord Belraven was civil when it cost him nothing, and had latelyregarded his inconvenient younger brother with favour, as bringinghim distinction, and having gained two steps without purchase, removed, too, by his present rank, and the pension for his wound, from being likely to become chargeable to him; so he had written suchbrotherly congratulations, that good honest Fred was quite affected. He was even discursive enough to mention some connexions of the youngman who had been with Fred in the Crimea, a Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy, avery good sort of fellow, who gave excellent dinners, and was apleasant yachting companion. His wife was said to be very pretty andpleasing, but she had arrived at Genoa very unwell, had been sinceconfined, and was not yet able to see any one. It was said to be theeffect of her distress for the death of her brother, and theestrangement from her family, who had behaved very ill about hisproperty. Had not Albinia Ferrars married into that family?

Albinia knew enough of her noble relative to be aware that gooddinners and obsequiousness were the way to his esteem, and Algernon'swas the sort of arrogance that would stoop to adore a coronet. Allthis was nothing, however, to the idea of Lucy, ill in that strangeplace, with no one to care for her but her hard master. Albiniasometimes thought of going to find her out at Genoa; but this was tooutterly wild and impossible, and nothing could be done but to writeletters of affectionate inquiry, enclosing them to Lord Belraven. 

Algernon's answer was solemn, and as brief as he could make anything. He was astonished that the event bad escaped the notice of the circleat Bayford, since he believed it had appeared in all the principalEuropean newspapers; and his time had been so fully occupied, that hehad imagined that intimation sufficient, since it was evident fromthe tone of the recent correspondence, that the family of Bayfordwere inclined to drop future intercourse. He was obliged for theinquiries for Lucy, and was happy to say she was recoveringfavourably, though the late unfortunate events, and the agitationcaused by letters from home, had affected her so seriously, that theyhad been detained at Genoa for nearly four months to his greatinconvenience, instead of pushing on to Florence and Rome. It hadbeen some compensation that he had become extremely intimate withthat most agreeable and superior person, Lord Belraven, who hadconsented to become sponsor to his son. 

Lucy wrote to Albinia. Poor thing, the letter was the mostchildishly expressed, and the least childishly felt, she had everwritten; its whole aspect was weak and wobegone; yet there was lessself-pity, and more endeavour to make the best of it, than before. She had the dearest little baby in the world; but he was verydelicate, and she wished mamma would send out an English nurse, forshe could not bear that Italian woman--her black eyes looked sofierce, and she was sure it was not safe to have those immense pinsin her hair. Expense was nothing, but she should never be happy tillshe had an Englishwoman about him, especially now that she wasgetting better, and Algernon would want her to come out again withhim. Dear Algernon, he had lost the Easter at Rome for her sake, butperhaps it was a good thing, for he was often out in Lord Belraven'syacht, and she could be quiet with baby. She did wish baby to havehad her dear brothers' names, but Algernon would not consent. NextTuesday he was to be christened; and then followed a string of mightynames, long enough for a Spanish princess, beginning with Belraven!!!

Lucy Dusautoy's dreary condition in the midst of all that wealthcould give, was a contrast to Emily Ferrars' buoyant delight in theburrow which was her first married home, and proved a paradise tomany a stray officer, aye, maybe, to Lieutenant-General Sir WilliamFerrars himself. Her letters were charming, especially a detail ofFred meeting Bryan O'More coming out of the trenches, grim, hungry, and tired, having recently kicked a newly alighted shell down fromthe parapet, with the cool words, 'Be off with you, you ugly basteyou;' of his wolfish appetite after having been long reduced tosimple rations, though he kept a curly black lamb loose about hishut, because he hadn't the heart to kill it; and it served him forbed if not for board, all his rugs and blankets having flown off inthe hurricane, or been given to the wounded; he had been quiteaffronted at the suggestion that a Galway pig was as well lodged ashimself--it was an insult to any respectable Irish animal!

Albinia sent Maurice to summon Ulick to enjoy the letter in store forhim. He looked grave and embarrassed, and did not light up as usualat Bryan's praises. He said that his aunt, who had written to him onbusiness, had given a bad account of Mr. Goldsmith, but Albiniahardly thought this accounted for his preoccupation, and wasconsidering how to probe it, when her brother Maurice opened thedoor. 'Ulick O'More! that's right; the very man I was in search of!'

'How's Winifred, Maurice?'

'Getting on wonderfully well. I really think she is going to make astart, after all! and she is in such spirits herself. '

'And the boy?'

'Oh, a thumping great fellow! I promise you he'll be a match foryour Maurice. '

'I do believe it is to reward Winifred for sparing you in the springwhen we wanted you so much! Come, sit down, and wait for Edmund. '

'No; I've not a moment to stay. I'm to meet Bury again at Woodsideat six o'clock, he drove me there, and I walked on, looking in atyour lodgings by the way, Ulick. '

'I'm not there now. I am keeping guard at the bank. '

'So they told me. Well, I hope your guard is not too strict for youto come over to Fairmead on Sunday; we want you to do our boy thekindness to be his godfather!'

Sophy blushed with approving gratitude. 

'I don't consider that it will be a sinecure--he squalls in such acharacteristic manner that I am convinced he will rival his cousinhere in all amiable and amenable qualities; so I consider itparticularly desirable that he should be well provided with greatdisciplinarians. '

'You certainly could not find any one more accomplished in teachingdunces to read, ' said Albinia. 

'When their mammas have taught them already!' added Ulick, laughing. 'Thank you; but you know I can't sleep out; Hyder Ali and I areresponsible for a big chest of sovereigns, and all the rest of it. '

'Nor could I lodge you at present; so we are agreed. My propositionis that you should drive my sister over on Sunday morning. My wifeis wearying for a sight of her; and she has not been at Fairmead on aSunday since she left it, eh, Albinia?'

'I suppose for such a purpose it is not wrong to use the horse, ' shesaid, her eyes sparkling. 

'And you might put my friend Maurice between you, if you can't go outpleasuring without him. '

'I scorn you, sir; Maurice is as good as gold; I shall leave him athome, I think, to prove that I can--'

'That's the reward of merit!' exclaimed Sophy. 

'She expects my children to corrupt him!' quoth Mr. Ferrars. 

'For shame, Maurice; that's on purpose to make me bring him. Well, we'll see what papa says, and if he thinks the new black horse strongenough, or to be trusted with Mr. O'More. '

'I only wish 'twas a jaunting car!' cried Ulick. 

'And what's the boy's name to be? Not Belraven, I conclude, like myunfortunate grandson--Maurice, I hope. '

'No; the precedent of his namesake would be too dangerous. I believehe is to be Edmund Ulick. Don't take it as too personal, Ulick, forit was the name of our mutual connexion. '

'I take the personal part though, Maurice; and thank you, saidAlbinia, and Mr. Ferrars looked more happy and joyous than any timesince his wife's health had begun to fail. Always cheerful, andalmost always taking matters up in the most lively point of view, itwas only by comparison that want of spirits in him could be detected;and it was chiefly by the vanishing of a certain careworn, anxiousexpression about his eyes, and by the ring of his merry laugh, thatAlbinia knew that he thought better of his wife's state than for thelast five or six years. 

Albinia and Ulick drove off at six o'clock on a lovely summer Sundaymorning, with Maurice between them in a royal state of felicity. That long fresh drive, past summer hay-fields sleeping in theirsilver bath of dew, and villages tardily awakening to the well-earnedSunday rest, was not the least pleasant part of the day; and yet itwas completely happy, not even clouded by one outbreak of MasterMaurice. Luckily for him, Mary had a small class, who absorbed hersuperabundant love of rule; and little Alby was a fair-haired, apple-cheeked maiden of five, who awoke both admiration and chivalry, and managed to coquet with him and Ulick both at once, so that Williehad no disrespect to his sisters to resent. 

He was exemplary at church, well-behaved at dinner, and so little onhis mamma's mind, that she had a delightful renewal of heracquaintance with the Sunday-school, and a leisurable gossip withMrs. Reid and the two Miss Reids, collectively and individually; butthe best of all was a long quiet tete-a-tete with Winifred. 

After the evening service, Mr. Ferrars himself carried his newly-christenedboy back to the mother, and paused that his sister might come with him, and they might feel like the old times, when the three had been alonetogether. 

'Yes, ' said Winifred, when he had left them, 'it is very prettyplaying at it; but one cannot be the same. '

'Nor would one exactly wish it, ' said Albinia; 'though I think youare going to be more the same. '

'Perhaps, ' said Winifred; 'the worst of being ill is that it doeswear one's husband so! When he came in, and tried to make me fancywe were gone back to Willie's time, I could not help thinking howdifferent you both looked. '

'Well, so much the better and more respectable, ' said Albinia. 'Youknow I always wanted to grow old; I don't want to stop short likeyour sister Anne, who looks as much the child of the house as ever. 

'I wish you had as few cares as Anne. Look; I declare that's a greyhair!'

'I know. I like it; now Sophy is growing young, and I'm growing old, it is all correct. '

'Old, indeed!' ejaculated Winifred, looking at her fair freshcomplexion and bright features; 'don't try for that, when even Edmundis not grey. '

'Yes he is, ' said Albinia, gravely; 'Malta sowed many white threadsin his black head, and worry about those buildings has brought more. '

'Worry; I'm very sorry to hear of it. '

'Yes; the tenures are so troublesome, and everybody is socantankerous. If he wanted to set up some pernicious manufacture, itcould not be worse! The Osbornes, after having lived with Tibb'sAlley close to them all their lives, object to the almshouses! Mr. Baron wont have the new drains carried through his little strip ofland. The Town Council think we are going to poison the water; andPettilove, and everybody else who owns a wretched tenement, that weshall increase the wants of their tenants, and lower their rents. Ifit be carried through, it will be by that sheer force in going hisown way that Edmund can exert when he chooses. '

'And he will?'

'O, yes, no fear of that; he goes on, avoiding seeing or hearing whathe has not to act upon; but worse than all are the people themselves;Tibb's Alley all has notice to quit, but none of them can be got ridof till Martinmas, and some not till Lady-day, and the beer-housepeople are in such a rage! The turn-out of the public-houses comeand roar at our gate on Saturday nights; and they write up things onthe wall against him! and one day they threw over into the gardenwhat little Awkey called a poor dear dead pussy. I believe they tellthem all sorts of absurd things about his tyranny; poor creatures. '

'Can't you get it stopped?'

'Edmund wont summon any one, because he thinks it would do more harmthan good. He says it will pass off; but it grieves him more than heshows: he thinks he could once have made himself more popular: but Idon't know, it is a horrid set. '

'I thought you said he was in good spirits. '

'And so he is: he never gets depressed and unwilling to be spoken to. He is ready to take interest in everything; and always so busy! WhenI remember how he never seemed to be obliged to attend to anything, Ilaugh at the contrast; and yet he goes about it all so gravely andslowly, that it never seems like a change. '

In this and other home talk nearly an hour had passed, when Mr. Ferrars returned. 'Are you come to tell me to go?' said Albinia. 

'Not particularly, ' he said, in a tone that made her laugh. 

'No, no, ' said Winifred. 'I want a great deal more of her. Wherehave you been?'

'I have been to see old Wilks; Ulick walked down with me. By-the-bye, Albinia, what nonsense has Fred's wife been talking to his brother?'

'Emily does not talk nonsense!' fired up Albinia, colouring, nevertheless. 

'The worse for her, then! However, it seems Bryan has disturbed thispoor fellow very much, by congratulating him on his prospects atWillow Lawn. '

'Oh! that is what made him so distant and cautious, is it?' laughedAlbinia. 'I think Mrs. Emily might as well not have betrayed it. '

'Betrayed! What could have passed?'

'Oh! Emily and Fred saw it as plain as I did. Why, it does not docredit to your discernment, Maurice; papa found it out long ago, andtold me. '

'Kendal did?'

'Yes, that he did, and did not mind the notion at all; rather likedit, in fact. '

'Well!' said Mr. Ferrars, in a different tone, 'it is a very queerbusiness! I certainly did not think the lad showed any symptoms. Hesaid he had heard gossip about it before, and had tried to becareful; his aunt talked to him once, but, as he said, it would benothing but the rankest treason to think of such a thing, on theterms on which he is treated. '

'Ay, that's it!' said Albinia; 'he acts most perfectly. '

'Perfectly indeed, if that were acting, ' said Mr. Ferrars. 

'And what made him speak to you?' asked Winifred. 

'He wanted to consult me. He said it was very hard on him, for allthe pleasure he had came from his intercourse with Willow Lawn; andhe could not bear to keep at a distance, because it looked as if hebad not forgotten the old folly about the caricature; but he wasafraid of the report coming to your ears or Mr. Kendal's, because youwould think it so wrong and shameful an abuse of your kindness. '

'And that's his whole concern?'

'So he told me. '

'And what advice did you give him?'

'I told him Bayford was bent on gossip, and no one heeded it lessthan my respected brother and sister. '

'That was famous of you, Maurice. I was afraid you would have put itupon his honour and the state of his own heart. '

'Sooth to say, I did not think his heart appeared very ticklish. '

'Oh! Maurice, Maurice! But you've not been there to see the hotfits and the cold fits! It is a very fine thermometer whether hesays Sophy or Miss Kendal. '

'And you say Edmund perceived this?'

'Much you would trust my unassisted 'cuteness! I tell you he did, and that it will make him happier than anything. '

'Very well; then my advice will have done no harm. I did not thinkthere had been so much self-control in an Irishman. '

'Had he not better say, so much blindness in the rector of Fairmead?'laughed Albinia. 

'And pray what course is the affair to take?'

'The present, I suppose. Some catastrophe will occur at last toprove to him that we honour him, and don't view it as outrageouspresumption; and then--oh! there can be no doubt that he will have ashare in the bank; and Sophy may buy toleration for his round O. After all, he has the best of it as to ancestry, and we Kendals neednot turn up our noses at banking. '

'I think he will be too proud to address her, except on equality asto money matters. '

'Pride is sometimes quelled and love free, ' said Albinia. 'No, no;content yourself with having given the best advice in the world, withyour eyes fast shut!'

And Albinia went home in high spirits. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Not long afterwards, Ulick O'More was summoned to Bristol, where hisuncle had become suddenly worse; but he had only reached Hadminsterwhen a telegraph met him with the news of Mr. Goldsmith's death, andorders to remain at his post. 

He came to the Kendals in the evening in great grief; he had reallycome to love and esteem his uncle, and he was very unhappy at havinglost the chance of a reconciliation for his mother. As her chieffriend and confidant, he knew that she regarded the alienation of herown family as the punishment of her disobedient marriage, and thathis own appointment had been valued chiefly as an opening towardsfraternal feeling, and reproached himself for not having made moredirect efforts to induce his uncle to enter into personal intercoursewith her. 

'If I had only ventured it before he went to Bristol, ' he said; 'Iwas a fool not to have done so; and there, the Goldsmiths detest thevery name of us! Why could they not have telegraphed for me? Imight have heard what would have done my mother's heart good for therest of her life. I am sure my poor uncle wanted to ease his mind!'

'May he not have sent some communication direct to her?'

'I trust he did! I have long thought he only kept her aloof fromhabit, and felt kindly towards her all the time. '

'And never could persuade himself to make a move towards her untiltoo late, ' said Albinia. 

'Yes. Nothing comes home to one more than the words, "Agree withthine adversary quickly whiles thou art in the way with him. " Ifonce one comes to think there's creditable pride in holding out, there's no end to it, or else too much end. '

'Mr. Goldsmith was persevering in the example his father had sethim, ' said Mr. Kendal. 

'Ay! my mother never blamed either, and I'm afraid, if the truth weretold, my father was hot enough too, though it would all have beenbygones with him long ago, if they would have let it. But I wasthinking just then of my own foolishness last winter, when I wouldnot grant you it was pride, Mrs. Kendal, for fear I should have torepent of it. '

'What has brought you to see that it was?' asked she. 

'One comes to a better mind when the fit is off, ' he said. 'I hope Iwill not be as bad next time. '

'I hope we shall never give you a next time, ' said Albinia; 'forneither party is comfortable, perched on a high horse. '

'And you see, ' continued Ulick, 'it is hard for us to give up ourpride, because it is the only thing we've got of our own, and hasbeen meat, drink, and clothing to us for many a year. '

'So no wonder you make the most of it. '

'True; I think a very high born and very rich man might be humble, 'said Ulick, so meditatively that they laughed; but Sophy said, 'No, that is not a paradox; the real difficulty is not in willinglyyielding, but in taking what we cannot help. '

'Well, ' said Ulick, 'I hope it is not pride not to intend workingunder Andrew Goldsmith. '

'Do you consider that as your fate?' asked Albinia. 

'Never my fate, ' said Ulick, quickly; 'hardly even my alternative, for he would like to put up a notice, "No Irish need apply. " We hadenough of each other last winter. '

'And do you suppose, ' said Mr. Kendal, 'that Mr. Goldsmith has leftyour position exactly the same?'

'I've no reason to think otherwise. I refused all connexion with thebank if it was to interfere with my name. I don't think it unlikelythat he may have left me a small compliment in the way of shares; butif so, I shall sell them, and make them keep me at Oxford. I'm nottoo old yet!'

'Then the work of these four years is wasted, ' said Mr. Kendal, gravely. 

'No, indeed, ' cried Ulick; 'not if it takes me where I've alwayslonged to be! Or, if not, I flatter myself I'm accountant enough tobe an agent in my own country. '

'Anything to get away from here, ' said Albinia, with a shade ofasperity, provoked by the spirit of enterprise in his voice. 

'After all, it is a bit of a place, ' said Ulick; 'and the officeparlour is not just a paradise! Then 'tis all on such a narrowscale, too little to absorb one, and too much to let one do anythingelse; I see how larger transactions might be engrossing, but this ismere cramping and worrying; I know I could do better for my family inthe end than by what I can screw out of my salary now; and if it isno longer to give my poor mother a sense of expiation, as she callsit, why, then, the cage-door is open. '

His eyes glittered, and Sophy exclaimed, 'Yes; and now the trainingis over, it has made you fitter to fly. '

'It has, ' he said; 'and I'm thankful for it. Without being here, Iwould never have learnt application--nor some better things, I hope. '

They scarcely saw him again till after the funeral, when late in theday he came into the drawing-room, and saying that his aunt waspretty well and composed, he knelt down on the floor with the littleAwk, and silently built up a tower with her wooden bricks. His handtrembled nervously at first, but gradually steadied as the elevationbecame critical; and a smile of interest lighted his face as hebecame absorbed in raising the structure to the last brick, holdingback the eager child with one hand lest she should overthrow it. Completion, triumph, a shock, a downfall!

'Well, ' cried the elder Albinia, unable to submit to the suspense. 

'Telle est la vie, ' answered Ulick, smiling sadly as he passed hishand over his brow. 

'It's too bad of him, ' broke out Mrs. Kendal. 

'I thought you were prepared, ' said Sophy, severely, disappointed tosee him so much discomposed. 

'How should I be prepared, ' said he, petulantly, 'for the wholeconcern, house, and bank, and all the rest of it?'

'Left to you?' was the cry. 

'Every bit of it, and an annuity apiece charged on it to my motherand aunt for their lives! My aunt told me how it came about. It wasall that fellow Andrew's fault. '

'Or misfortune, ' murmured Albinia. 

'My poor uncle had made a will in Andrew's favour long before mytime, and at Bristol he wanted to make some arrangement for my motherand for me; but it seems Mr. Andrew took exception at me--would notpromise to continue me on, nor to give me a share in the business, and at last my uncle was so much disgusted, that be sent for a lawyerand cut Andrew out of his will altogether. My aunt says he went onasking for me, and it was Andrew's fault that they wrote instead oftelegraphing. You can't think what kind messages he sent to me;' andUlick's eyes filled with tears. 'My poor uncle, away from home, andwith that selfish fellow. '

'Did he send any message to your mother?'

'Yes! he told my aunt to write to her that he was sorry they had beenstrangers so long, and that--I'd been like a son to him. I'm sure Iwish I had been. I dare say he would have let me if I had not flownout about my O. I could have saved changing it without making suchan intolerable row, and then he might have died more at peace withthe world. '

'At peace with you at least he did. '

'I trust so. But if I could only have been by his side, and feltmyself a comfort, and thanked him with all my heart. Maybe he wouldhave listened to me, and not have sown ill-will between Andrew andme, by giving neither what we would like. '

'Do you expect us to be sorry?'

'Nay, I came to be helped out of my ingratitude and discontent atfinding the cage-door shut, and myself chained to the oar; for asthings are left, I could not get it off my hands without giving up mymother's interests and my aunt's. Besides, my poor uncle left me anentreaty to keep things up creditably like himself, and do justice bythe bank. It is as if, poor man, it was an idol that he had beenhigh priest to, and wanted me to be the same--ay, and sacrifice too. '

'Nay, there are two ways of working, two kinds of sacrifice; andbesides, you are still working for your mother. '

'So I am, but without the hope she had before. To be sure, it wouldbe affluence at home, or would be if she could have it in her ownhands. Little Redmond shall have the best of educations! And wemust mind there is something in advance by the time Bryan wants topurchase his company. '

Albinia asked how his aunt liked the arrangement. It seemed thatAndrew had offended her nearly as much as her brother, and that shewas clinging to Ulick as her great comfort and support; he did notlike to stay long away from her, but he had rushed down to WillowLawn to avoid the jealous congratulations of the cousinhood. 

'You will hardly keep from glad people, ' said Albinia. 'You mustshut yourself up if you cannot be congratulated. How rejoiced Mr. Dusautoy will be!'

'Whatever is, is best, ' sighed Ulick. 'I shall mind less when thefirst is past! I must go and entertain all these people at dinner!'and he groaned. 'Good evening. Heigh ho! I wonder if our Bansheewill think me worth keening for?'

'I hope she will have no occasion yet, ' said Albinia, as he shut thedoor; 'but she will be a very foolish Banshee if she does not, forshe will hardly find such another O'More! Well, Sophy, my dear. '

'We should have missed him, ' said Sophy, as grave as a judge. 

Albinia's heart beat high with the hope that Ulick would soonperceive sufficient consolation for remaining at Bayford, but ofcourse he could make no demonstration while Miss Goldsmith continuedwith him. She made herself very dependent on him, and he devoted hisevenings to her solace. He had few leisure moments, for thesettlement of his affairs occupied him, and full attention was mostimportant to establish confidence at this critical juncture, when itmight be feared that his youth, his nation, and Andrew Goldsmith'smurmurs might tell against him. Mr. Kendal set the example ofputting all his summer rents into his hands, and used his influenceto inspire trust; and fortunately the world had become so muchaccustomed to transacting affairs with him, that the country businessseemed by no means inclined to fall away. Still there was much hardwork and some perplexity, the Bristol connexion made themselvestroublesome, and the ordinary business was the heavier from theclerks being both so young and inexperienced that he was obliged toexercise close supervision. It was guessed, too, that he was nothappy about the effect of the influx of wealth at home, and that hefeared it would only add to the number of horses and debts. 

He soon looked terribly fagged and harassed, and owned that he enviedMr. Hope, who had just received the promise of a district church, incourse of building under Colonel Bury's auspices, about four milesfrom Fairmead. To work his way through the University and take HolyOrders had been Ulick's ambition; he would gladly have enduredprivation for such an object, and it did seem hard that suchaspirations should be so absolutely frustrated, and himself forcedinto the stream of uncongenial, unintellectual toil, in so obscureand uninviting a sphere. The resignation of all lingering hope ofescape, and the effort to be contented, cost him more than even hisoriginal breaking in; and Mr. Kendal one day found him sitting in hislittle office parlour unable to think or to speak under a terriblevisitation of his autumnal tormentor, brow-ague. 

This made Mr. Kendal take to serious expostulation. It wasimpossible to go on in this way; why did he not send for a brother tohelp him?

Ulick could not restrain a smile at the fruitlessness of thinking ofassistance of this kind from his elder brothers, and as to littleRedmond, the only younger one still to be disposed of, he hoped to dobetter things for him. 

'Then send for a sister. '

He hoped he might bring Rose over when his aunt was gone, but hecould not shut those two up together at any price. 

Then, ' said Mr. Kendal, rather angrily, 'get an experienced, trustworthy clerk, so as to be able to go from home, or give yourselfsome relaxation. '

'Yes, I inquired about such a person, but there's the salary; andwhere would be the chance of getting Redmond to school?'

'I think your father might see to that. '

Ulick had no answer to make to this. The legacy to Mrs. O'More mightnearly as well have been thrown into the sea. 

'Well, ' said Mr. Kendal, walking about the room, 'why don't you keepa horse?'

'As a less costly animal than brother, sister, or clerk?' said Ulick, laughing. 

'Your health will prove more costly than all the rest if you do nottake care. '

'Well, my aunt told me it would be respectable and promote confidenceif I lived like a gentleman and kept my horse. I'll see about it, 'said Ulick, in a more persuadable tone. 

The seeing about it resulted in the arrival of a genuine product ofcounty Galway, a long-legged, raw-boned hunter, with a wild, frightened eye, quivering, suspicious-looking ears, and an ill-omenedname compounded of kill and of kick, which Maurice alone endeavouredto pronounce; also an outside car, very nearly as good as new. Thislast exceeded Ulick's commission, but it had been such a bargain, that Connel had not been able to resist it, indeed it cost more incoming over than the original price; but Ulick nearly danced roundit, promising Mrs. And Miss Kendal that when new cushioned and newpainted they would find it beat everything. 

He was not quite so envious of Mr. Hope when he devoted the earlymorning hours to Killye-kickye, as the incorrect world called hissteed, and, if the truth must be told, he first began to realize theadvantages of wealth, when he set his name down among the subscribersto the hounds. 

Nor was this the only subscription to which he was glad to set hisname; there were others where Mr. Dusautoy wanted funds, and Mr. Kendal's difficulties were lessened by having another lord of thesoil on his side. Some exchanges brought land enough within theirpower to make drainage feasible, and Ulick started the idea that itwould be better to locate the almshouses at the top of the hill, onthe site of Madame Belmarche's old house, than to place them whereTibb's Alley at present was, close to the river, and far from church. 

Mr. Kendal's plans were unpopular, and two or three untowardcircumstances combined to lead to his being regarded as a tyrant. Hecould not do things gently, and had not a conciliating manner. Hadhe been more free spoken, real oppression would have been betterendured than benefits against people's will. He interfered toprevent some Sunday trading; and some of the Tibb's Alley tenants whoought to have gone at midsummer, chose to stay on and set him atdefiance till they had to be forcibly ejected; whereupon Ulick O'Moreshowed that he was not thoroughly Anglicised by demanding if, undersuch circumstances, it was safe to keep the window shutters unclosedat night, Mr. Kendal's head was such a beautiful mark under the lamp. 

If not a mark for a pistol, he was one for the disaffected blackguardpapers, which made up a pathetic case of a helpless widow with herbed taken away from under her, ending with certain vaguedenunciations which were read with roars of applause at the last beershop which could not be cleared till Christmas, while the closing ofthe rest sent herds thither; and papers were nightly read;representing the Nabob expelling the industrious from the belovedcottages of their ancestors, by turns, to swell his own overgrowngarden, or to found a convent, whence, as a disguised Jesuit, hemeant to convert all Bayford to popery. 

As Albinia wrote to Genevieve, they were in a state of siege, foronly in the middle of the day did Mr. Kendal allow the womankind toventure out without an escort, the evening was disturbed by howlingsat the gate, and all sorts of petty acts of spite were committed inthe garden, such as injuring trees, stealing fruit, and carrying offthe children's rabbits. Let that be as it might, Genevieve ownedherself glad to come to hospitable Willow Lawn, though sorry for thecause. 

Poor Mr. Rainsforth, after vainly striving to recruit his health atTorquay during the vacation, had been sentenced to give up hisprofession, and ordered to Madeira, and Genevieve was upon the worldagain. 

The Kendals claimed her promise of a long visit, or rather that sheshould come home, and take time and choice in making any freshengagement, nay, that she should not even inquire for a situationtill after Christmas. And after staying to the last moment when shecould help the Rainsforths, she proposed to spend a day or two withher aunt at the convent, and then come to her friends at Bayford. 

Mr. Kendal drove his ladies to fetch her. He had lately indulged thehousehold with a large comfortable open carriage with two horses, arival to Mr. O'More's notable car, where he used to drive in an easylounging fashion on one side, with Hyder Ali to balance him on theother. 

This was a grand shopping day, an endless business, and as the autumnday began to close in, even Mr. Kendal's model patience was nearlyexhausted before they called for their little friend. There wassomething very sweet and appropriate in her appearance; her dress, without presuming to share their mourning, did not insult it by gaycolouring; it was a quiet dark violet and white checked silk, a blackmantle, and black velvet bonnet with a few green leaves to the lilacflowers, and the face when at rest was softly pensive, but ready torespond with cheerful smiles and grateful looks. She had become moreEnglish, and had dropped much foreign accent and idiom, but withoutlosing her characteristic grace and power of disembarrassing those towhom she spoke, and in a few moments even Sophy had lost all sense ofmeeting under awkward or melancholy circumstances, and was talkingeagerly to her dear old sympathizing friend. 

There was a great exchange of tidings; Genevieve had much to tell ofher dear Rainsforths, the many vicissitudes of anxiety in which shehad shared, and of the children's ways of taking the parting; and ofthe dear little Fanny who seemed to have carried away so large apiece of her susceptible heart, that Sophy could not help breakingout, 'Well, I do think it is very hard to make yourself a bit of amother's heart, only to have it torn out again. '

Albinia smiled, and said, 'After all, Sophy, happiness in this worldis in such loving, only we don't find it out till the rent has beenmade. '

'And some people can get fond of anything, ' said Sophy. 

'I'm sure, ' said Genevieve, 'every one is so kind to me I can't helpit. '

'I was not blaming you, ' said Sophy. 'People are the better for it, but I cannot like except where I esteem, and that does not oftencome. '

'Oh! don't you think so?' cried Genevieve. 

'I don't mean moderate approval. That may extend far, and with itgood-will, but there is a deep, concentrated feeling which I don'tbelieve those who like every one can ever have, and that is life. '

Perhaps the deepening twilight favoured the utterance of herfeelings, for, as they were descending a hill, she said, 'Mamma, thatwas the place where Maurice was brought back to me. '

She had before passed it in silence, but in the dark she was notafraid of betraying the expression that the thrill of exquisiterecollection brought to her countenance; and leaning back in hercorner indulged in listening to the narration, as Albinia, unaware ofthe special point of the episode, related Maurice's desperateenterprise, going on to dilate on the benefit of having Mr. O'More atthe bank rather than Andrew Goldsmith. 

'Ah!' said Genevieve, 'it is he who wants to pull down our dear oldhouse. I shall quarrel with him. '

'Genevieve making common cause with the obstructives of Bayford, asif he had not enemies enough!'

'What's that light in the sky?' exclaimed Sophy, starting up to speakto her father on the driving seat. 

'A bonfire, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'If we had remembered that it was the5th of November, we would not have stayed out so late. ' The nextmoment he drew up the horses, exclaiming, 'Mr. Hope, will you have alift?'

Mr. Hope, rather to the ladies' surprise, took the vacant placebeside Sophy, instead of climbing up to the box. He had been to seehis intended parish, and was an enviable man, for he was as proud ofit as if it had been an intended wife, and Albinia, who knew it for aslice of dreary heath, was entertained with his raptures. Church, schools, and parsonage, each in their way were perfection or at leastpromised to be, and he had never been so much elevated or socommunicative. The speechless little curate seemed to have vanished. 

The road, as may be remembered, did not run parallel with the curveof the river, but cutting straight across, entered Bayford over thehill, passing a small open bit of waste land, where stood a fewcottages, the outskirts of the town. 

Suddenly coming from an overshadowed lane upon this common, a glareof light flashed on them, showing them each other's faces, andcasting the shadow of the carriage into full relief. The horsesshied violently, and they beheld an enormous bonfire raised on alittle knoll about twenty yards in front of them, surrounded by adense crowd, making every species of hideous noise. 

Mr. Kendal checked the horses' start, and Mr. Hope sprang to theirheads. They were young and scarcely trustworthy, their restlessmovements showed alarm, and it was impossible to turn them withoutboth disturbing the crowd and giving them a fuller view of the objectof their terror. Mr. Kendal came down, and reconnoitring for amoment, said, 'You had better get out while we try to lead themround, we will go home by Squash Lane. '

Just then a brilliant glow of white flame, and a tremendous roar ofapplause, put the horses in such an agony, that they would have beentoo much for Mr. Hope, had not Mr. Kendal started to his assistance, and a man standing by likewise caught the rein. He was a respectablecarpenter who lived on the heath, and touching his hat as herecognised them, said, 'Sir, if the ladies would come into my house, and you too, sir. The people are going on in an odd sort of way, andMrs. Kendal would be frightened. I'll take care of the carriage. '

Mr. Kendal went to the side of the carriage, and asked the ladies ifthey were alarmed. 

'O no!' answered Albinia, 'it is great fun;' and as the horsesfidgeted again, 'it feels like a review. '

'You had better get out, ' he said; 'I must try to back the horsestill I can turn them without running over any one. Will you go intothe house? You did not expect to find Bayford so riotous, ' he addedwith a smile, as he assisted Genevieve out. 

'You are not going to get up again, ' said Albinia, catching hold ofhim, and in her dread of his committing himself to the mercy of thehorses, returning unmeaning thanks to the carpenter's urgent requeststhat she would take refuge in his house. 

In fact, the scene was new and entertaining, and on the farther sideof the road, sheltered by the carriage, the party were entirely apartfrom the throng, which was too much absorbed to notice them, only afew heads turning at the rattling of the harness, and the ladies wereamused at the bright flame, and the dark figures glancing in and outof the light, the shouts of delight and the merry faces. 

'There's Guy Fawkes, ' cried Albinia, as a procession of scarecrowswere home on chairs amid thunders of acclamation; 'but whom have theybesides? Here are some new characters. '

'Most lugubrious looking, ' said Genevieve. 'I cannot make out theshouts. '

'It is the Nabob, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'Perhaps you do not know that ismy alias. This is my execution. '

The carpenter implored them to come in, and Mr. Hope added hisentreaties, but Mr. Kendal would not leave the horses, and the ladieswould not leave him; and they all stood still while his effigy wasparaded round the knoll, the mark of every squib, the object of everyinvective that the rabble could roar out at the top of their voices. Jesuits and Papists; Englishmen treated like blackamoor slaves in theIndies; honest folk driven out of house and home; such was theburthen of the cries that assailed the grim representative carriedaloft, while the real man stood unmoved as a statue, his tall, powerful figure unstirred, his long driving-whip resting against hisshoulder without betraying the slightest motion, neither firm lip norsteady eye changing. Genevieve, with tears in her eyes, exclaimed, 'Oh! this is madness! Will no one tell them how wicked they are?'

'Never mind, my dear, ' said Mr. Kendal, pressing the hand that in herfervour she had laid on his arm, 'they will come to their senses intime. No, Mr. Hope, I beg you will not interfere, they are in nostate for it; they have done no harm as yet. '

'I wonder what the police are about?' cried Albinia, indignantly. 

'They are too few to do any good, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'It may bebetter that they are not incensing the mob. It will all go offquietly when this explosion has relieved their feelings. '

They felt as if there were something grand in this perfectlydispassionate reception of the outrage, and they stood awed andsilenced, Sophy leaning on him. 

'It will soon be over now, ' he said, 'they are poking up the name toreceive me. '

'Hark! what's that?'

The mob came swaying back, and a rich voice swelled above all thedin, 'Boys, boys, is it burning your friends you are? Then, for thefirst time, Mr. Kendal started, and muttered, 'foolish lad! is hehere?'

Confused cries rose again, but the other voice gained the mastery. 

'So you call that undertaker-looking figure there Mr. Kendal. Smallcredit to your taste. You want to burn him. What for?'

'For being a Nabob and a tyrant, ' was the shout. 

'Much you know of Nabobs! No; I'll tell you what it's for. It isbecause his son got his death fighting for his queen and his countrya year ago, and on his death-bed bade him do his best to drive thefever from your doors, and shelter you and save you from the Union inyour old age. Is that a thing to burn him for?'

'We want no Irish papists here!' shouted a blackguard voice. 

'Serve him with the same sauce. '

'I never was a papist, ' was the indignant reply. 'No more was he;but I've said that the place shan't disgrace itself, and--'

'I'm with you, ' shouted another above all the howls of the mob. 'Gilbert Kendal was as kind-hearted a chap as ever lived, and I'llsee no wrong done to his father. '

Tremendous uproar ensued; then the well-known tones pealed out again, 'I've given my word to save his likeness. Come on, boys. Hurrah forKendal!'

The war-cry was echoed by a body of voices, there was a furious meleeand a charge towards the Nabob, who rocked and toppled down, whilestragglers came pressed backwards on all sides. 

'Here, Hope, take care of them. Stay with them, ' said Mr. Kendal, putting the whip into the curate's hand, and striding towards thenucleus of the fray, through the throng who were driven backwards. 

'O'More, ' he called, 'what's all this? Give over! Are you mad?' andthen catching up, and setting on his legs, a little fallen boy, 'Gohome; get out of all this mischief. What are you doing? Take homethat child, ' to a gaping girl with a baby. 'O'More, I say, I'llcommit every man of you if you don't give over. '

He was recognised, and those who had little appetite for the skirmishgave back from him; but the more reckless and daring small fry beganshrieking, 'The Nabob!' and letting off crackers and squibs, throughwhich he advanced upon the knot of positive combatants, who wereexchanging blows over his prostrate image in front of the fire. 

One he caught by the collar, in the act of aiming a blow. The fistwas instantly levelled at him, with the cry, 'You rascal! what do youmean by it?' But the fierce struggle failed to shake off thepowerful grasp; and at the command, 'Don't be such a fool!' Ulickburst out, 'Murder! 'tis himself!' and in the surprise was draggedsome paces before recovering his perceptions. 

The cry of police had at the same instant produced a universalscattering, and five policemen, coming on the ground, found scarcelyany one to separate or capture. Mr. Kendal relaxed his hold, saying, 'You are my prisoner. '

'I didn't think you'd been so strong, ' said Ulick, shaking himself, and looking bewildered. 'Where's the effigy?'

'What's that to you. Come away, like a rational being. '

'Ha! what's that?' as a frightful, agonizing shriek rent the air, anda pillar of flame came rushing across the now open space. It was achild, one mass of fire, and flying, in its anguish, from all whowould have seized it. One moment of horror, and it had vanished!The next, Genevieve's voice was heard crying, 'Bring me somethingmore to press on it. ' She had contrived to cross its path with herlarge carriage rug, and was kneeling over it, forcing down the rug tosmother the flames. Mr. Hope brought her a shawl, and they all stoodround in silent awe. 

'The poor child will be stifled, ' said Albinia, kneeling down to helpto unfold its face. 

Poor little face, distorted with terror and agony! One of thepolicemen recognised it as the child of the public-house in Tibb'sAlley. There were moans, but no one dared to uncover the limbs; andthe policeman and Mr. Hope proposed carrying it at once to Mr. Bowles, and then home. Mr. Kendal desired that it should be laid onthe seat of the carriage, which he would drive gently to thedoctor's. Genevieve got in to watch over the poor little boy, andthe others walked on by the side, passed the battle-field, nowentirely deserted, too much shocked for aught but conjectures on hisinjuries, and the cause of the misfortune. Either he must have beenpushed in on the fire by the runaway rabble, or have trod upon someof the scattered combustibles. 

Mr. Bowles desired that the child should be taken home at once, promising to follow instantly; so at the entrance of Tibb's Alley, the carriage stopped, and Mr. Hope lifted out the poor little wailingbundle. Albinia was following, but a decided prohibition from herhusband checked her. 'I would not have either of you go to thathouse on any account. Tell them to send to us for whatever theywant, but that is enough. '

There was no gainsaying such a command, but as they reached the doorof Willow Lawn, Mr. Kendal exclaimed, 'Where is Miss Durant?'

'She is gone with the little boy, ' said Sophy. 'She told me shehoped you would not be displeased. Mr. Hope will take care of her, and she will soon come in. '

'Every one is mad to-night!' cried Mr. Kendal. 'In such a place asthat! I will go for her directly. '

'Pray don't, ' said Albinia, 'no one could speak a rude word to her onsuch an errand. She and Mr. Hope will be much more secure fromincivility without you. '

'I believe it may be so, but I wish--'

His wish was broken off, for his little Albinia, screaming, 'Papa!papa!' clung to him in a transport of caresses, which Mauriceexplained by saying, 'Little Awkey has been crying, mamma, shethought they were burning papa in the bonnie. '

'Papa not burnt!' cried little Awkey, patting his cheeks, and layingher head on his shoulders alternately, as he held her to his breast. 'Naughty people wanted to make a fire, but they sha'n't burn papa orpoor Guy Fawkes, or any of the good men. '

'And where were you, Ulick?' cried Maurice, in an imperious, injuredway. 'You said once, perhaps you would take me to see the fire; andI went up to the bank, and they said you were gone, and it wasglaring so in the sky, and I did so want to go. '

'I am glad you stayed away, my man, ' said Albinia. 

'I did want to go, ' said Maurice; 'and I ran up to the top of thestreet, and there was Mr. Tritton; and he said if I liked a lark, hewould take care of me; but--' and there he stopped short, and thecolour came into his face. 

Albinia threw her arm round him, and kissed him, saying, 'My trustyboy! and so you came home?'

'Yes; and there was Awkey crying about their burning papa, and shewould not go up to the garret-window to see the fire, nor doanything. '

'Why, what is the sword here for?' exclaimed Sophy, finding it on thestairs. 

'Because then Awkey was not so afraid. '

For once, Maurice had been exemplary, keeping from the temptinguproar, and devoting himself to soothing his little sister. It wasworth all the vexations of the evening; but he went on to ask ifUlick could not take him now, if the fire was not out yet, 'Not exactly, ' said Mr. Kendal, drily. 

'I beg your pardon, Mr. Kendal, ' said Ulick, who had apparently onlyjust resumed the use of speech; 'don't know what I may have done whenyou collared me, but I'd no more notion of its being you than theLord Lieutenant. '

'And pray what took you there?' asked Mr. Kendal. 'The surprise wasquite as great to me. '

'Why, ' said Ulick, 'one of the little lads of my Sunday class gave mea hint the other day that those brutes meant to have a pretty go to-night, and that Jackson was getting up a figure of the Nabob to breaktheir spite upon. So I told my little fellow to give a hint to a fewmore of the right sort, and we'd go up together and not let therascals have their own way. '

'Upon my word, I wonder what the Vicar will say to the use you makeof his Sunday-school. Pretty work for his model teacher. '

'What better could the boys be taught than to fight for the goodcause? Why, no one is a scratch the worse for it. And do you thinkwe could sit by and see our best friend used worse than a dog?'

'Why not give notice to the police?'

'And would you have me hinder a fight?' cried Ulick, in the mostIrish of all his voices. 

'Oh! very well, if you like--only there will be a run on the bankto-morrow. '

'What has Ulick been doing, Sophy?' asked Maurice. 

'Only what you would have done had you been older, Maurice, ' shesaid, in a hurt voice; 'defending papa's effigy, for which he doesnot seem to meet with much gratitude. '

'Well, ' said Mr. Kendal, who all the time had had more gratitude inhis eyes than on his tongue, 'if the burning had had the sameconsequence as melting one's waxen effigy was thought to have, itmight have been worth while to interfere, but I should have thoughtit more dignified in a respectable substantial householder to letthose foolish fellows have their swing. '

'More dignified maybe, ' smiled Albinia, 'but less like an O'More. '

'No, you are not going, ' said Mr. Kendal; 'I shall not release myprisoner just yet. '

'You carried off all the honour of the day, ' said Ulick. 'I had nonotion you had such an arm. Why, you swung me round like a tom-cat, or--' and he exemplified the exploit upon Maurice, and was wellbuffeted. 

'That's a little Irish blarney to propitiate me, ' laughed Mr. Kendal, who certainly was in unusual spirits after his execution and rescueby proxy, but you wont escape prison fare. '

'There's no doubt who was the heroine of the day, ' added Sophy. 'Howone envies her!'

'What! your little governess friend?' said Ulick. 'Yes; she did showsuperior wit, when the rest of the world stood gaping round. '

'It was admirable--just like Genevieve's tenderness and dexterity, 'said Albinia. 'I dare say she is doing everything for the poorlittle fellow. '

'Yes, admirable, ' said Mr. Kendal; 'but you all behaved verycreditably, ladies. '

'Ay, ' said Albinia; 'not to scream is what a man thinks the climax ofexcellence in a woman. '

'It is generally all that is required, ' said Mr. Kendal. I don'tknow what I should have done if poor Lucy had been there. '

Thereupon the ladies went upstairs, Maurice following Sophy toextract a full account of the skirmish. The imp probably had aninstinct that she would think more of what redounded to UlickO'More's glory than of what would be edifying to his own infant mind. It was doubtful how long it would be before Guy Fawkes would arriveat his proper standing in the little Awk's opinion, after the honourof an auto-da-fe in company with papa. 

Mr. Hope escorted Genevieve home, and was kept to dinner. Theynarrated that they had found the public-house open, and the bar fullof noisy runaways. 

The burns were dreadful, but the surgeon did not think they would befatal, and the child had held Genevieve's hand throughout thedressing, and seemed so unwilling to part with her, that she hadpromised to come again the next day, and had been thanked gratefully. There seemed no positive want of comforts, and there was every hopethat all would do well. 

Genevieve looked pale after the scene she had gone through, and couldnot readily persuade herself to eat, still less rally her spirits totalk; but she managed to avoid observation at dinner-time, andafterwards a rest on the sofa restored her. She evidently felt, asshe said, that this was coming home, and her exquisite gift of tactmaking her perceive that she was to be at ease and on an equality, she assumed her position without giving her friends the embarrassmentof installing her, and Mr. Hope was in such a state of transparentadmiration, that Albinia could not help two or three timesnoiselessly clapping her hands under the table, and secretly thankingthe rioters and their tag-rag and bob-tail for having provided a homefor little Genevieve Durant. 

There was indeed a pang as she thought of Gilbert; but she believedthat Genevieve's heart had never been really touched, and was stillfresh and open. She thought she might make Mr. Kendal and Sophyequally magnanimous. Perhaps by that time Sophy would be too happyto have leisure to be hurt, and she had little fear but that Mr. Kendal's good sense would conquer his jealousy for his son, though itmight cost him something. 

Two lovers to befriend at once! Two desirable attachments to foster!There was glory! Not that Albinia fulfilled her mission to a greatextent; shamefacedness always restrained her, and she had not Emily'sgift for making opportunities. Indeed, when she did her best, soperversely bashful were the parties, that the wrong pairs resortedtogether, the two who could talk being driven into conversation bythe silence of the others. 

Of Mr. Hope's sentiments there could be no doubt. He was fairlycarried off his feet by the absorption of the passion, which wasdoubly engrossing because all ladies had hitherto appeared to him asbeings with whom conversation was an impossible duty; but after allhe had heard of Miss Durant, he might as a judicious man select herfor an excellent parsoness, and as a young man fall vehemently inlove. Nothing could be more evident to the lookers-on, but Albiniacould not satisfy herself whether Genevieve had any suspicion. 

She was not very young, knew something of the world, and was acuteand observing; but on the other hand, she had made it a principlenever to admit the thought of courtship, and she might not besufficiently acquainted with the habits of the individual to besensible of the symptomatic alteration. 

She had begged the Dusautoys to make her leisure profitable, andspent much of her time upon the schools, on her little patient inTibb's Alley, and in going about among the poor; she visited her oldshopkeeper friends, and drank tea with them much oftener thangratified Mr. Kendal, talking so openly of the pleasure of seeingthem again, that Albinia sometimes thought the blood of the O'Moreswas a little chafed. 

'There, ' said Genevieve, completing a housewife, filled with needlesready threaded, 'I wonder whether the omnibus is too protestant toleave a parcel at the convent?'

'I don't think its scruples of conscience would withstand sixpence, 'said Albinia. 

'You might post it for less than that, ' said Sophy. 

'Don't you know, ' said Ulick O'More, who was playing with the littleAwk in the window, 'that the feminine mind loves expedients? Itwould be less commonplace to confide the parcel to the conductor, than merely let him receive it as guard of the mail bag and servantof the public. '

'Exactly, ' laughed Genevieve. 'Think of the moral influence of beingselected as bearer of a token of tenderness to my aunt on her fete, instead of being treated as a mere machine, devoid of humansympathies. '

'Sophy, where were we reading of a nation which gives the simplesttransaction the air of a little romance?' said Ulick. 

'And I have heard of a nation which denudes every action ofsentiment, and leaves you the tree without the leaves, ' wasGenevieve's retort. 

'That misses fire, Miss Durant; my nation does everything by thesoul, nothing by mechanism. '

'When they _do_ do it. '

'That's a defiance. You must deprive the conductor of the moralinfluence, whether as man or machine, and entrust the parcel to me. '

'That would be like chartering a steamer to send home a Chinesepuzzle. '

'No, indeed; I must go to Hadminster. Bear me witness, Sophy, MissGoldsmith wants me to talk to the house agent. '

'Mind, if you miss St. Leocadia's day, you will miss my aunt's fete. '

Mr. O'More succeeded in carrying off the little parcel. The nextmorning, as the ladies were descending the hill, a hurried step cameafter them, and the curate said in an abrupt rapid manner, 'I begyour pardon, I was going to Hadminster; could I do anything for you?'

'Nothing, thank you, ' said Albinia, at whom he looked. 

'Did I not hear--Miss Durant had some work to send her aunt to-day?'

'How did you know that, Mr. Hope?' exclaimed Genevieve. 

'I heard something pass, when some one was admiring your work, ' hesaid, not looking at her. 'And this--I think--is St. Leocadia'sday. '

'I am very much obliged to you for remembering it, but I have sent mylittle parcel otherwise, so I need not trouble you. '

'Ah! how stupid in me! I am very sorry. I beg your pardon, ' and hehurried off, looking as if very sorry were not a mere matter ofcourse. 

'Poor man, ' thought Albinia, 'I dare say he has reckoned on it allthis time, and hunted out St. Leocadia in Alban Butler, and thentried to screw up his courage all yesterday. Ulick has managed totraverse a romance, but perhaps it is just as well, for what would bethe effect on the public of Mr. Hope in _that_ coat being seenringing at the convent door?'

'Well, Miss Durant, ' said Ulick, entering the drawing-room in thewinter twilight, 'here is evidence for you!'

'You have actually penetrated the convent, and seen my aunt?Impossible! and yet this pencilled note is her own dear writing!'

'You don't mean that you really were let in?' cried Sophy. 

'I entered quite legitimately, I assure you. It was all luck. I'djust been putting up at the Crown, when what should I see in a sortof a trance, staring right into the inn-yard, but as jolly-looking apriest as ever held a station. "An' it's long since I've seen thelike of you, " says he aloud to himself. "Is it the car?" says I. "Sure it is, " says he. "I've not laid my eyes on so iligant avehicle since I left County Tyrone. "'

'Mr. O'Hara!' exclaimed Genevieve. 

'"And I'm mistaken if you're not the master of it, " he goes on, taking the measure of me all over, ' continued Ulick, putting on hisdrollest brogue. 'You see he had too much manners to say that such apersonable young gentleman, speaking such correct English, could beno other than an Irishman, so I made my bow, and said the car and Iwere both from County Galway, and we were straight as good friends asif we'd hunted together at Ballymakilty. To be sure, he was a littletaken aback when he found I was one of the Protestant branch, of theO'Mores, but a countryman is a countryman in a barbarous land, and heasked me to call upon him, and offered to do me any service in hispower. '

'I am sure he would. He is the kindest old gentleman I know, 'exclaimed Genevieve. 'He always used to bring me barleysugar-dropswhen I was a little girl, and it was he who found out our poor oldBiddy in distress at Hadminster, and sent her to live with us. '

'Indeed! Then I owe him another debt of gratitude--in fact, he toldme that one of his flock, meaning Biddy, had spoken to him honourablyof me. "Well, " said I, "the greatest service you could do me, sir, would be to introduce me to Mademoiselle Belmarche; I have a younglady's commission for her. " "From my little Genevieve, " he said, "the darling that she is. Did you leave the child well?" And sowhen I said it was a present for her saint's day, and that your heartwas set on it--'

'But, Mr. O'More, I never did set my heart on your seeing her. '

'Well, well, you would have done it if you'd known there had been anychance of it, besides, your heart was set on her getting the work, and how could I make sure of that unless I gave it into her own hand?I wouldn't have put it into Mr. O'Hara's snuffy pocket to hindermyself from being bankrupt'

'Then he took you in?'

'So he did, like an honest Irishman as he was. He rang at the belland spoke to the portress, and had me into the parlour and sent upfor the lady; and I have seldom spent a pleasanter hall-hour. Mademoiselle Belmarche bade me tell you that she would write fullerthanks to you another day, and that her eyes would thank you everynight. '

'Was her cold gone? Did she seem well, the dear aunt?'

Genevieve was really grateful, and had many questions to ask abouther aunt, which met with detailed answers. 

'By-the-by, ' said Ulick, ' I met Mr. Hope in the street as I wascoming away, I offered him a lift, but he said he was not coming hometill late. I wonder what he is doing. '

Albinia and Sophy exchanged glances, and had almost said, 'Poor Mr. Hope!' It was very hard that the good fortune and mere good natureof an indifferent person should push him where the quiet curate somuch wished to be. Albinia would have liked to have had either alittle impudence or a little tact to enable her to give a hint toUlick to be less officious. 

St. Leocadia's feast was the 9th of December. Three days after, Genevieve received a letter which made her change countenance, andhurry to her own room, whence she did not emerge till luncheon-time. 

In the late afternoon, there was a knock at the drawing-room door, and Mr. Dusautoy said, 'Can I speak with you a minute, Mrs. Kendal?'

Dreading ill news of Lucy, she hurried to the morning-room with him. 

'Fanny said I had better speak to you. This poor fellow is in adreadful state. '

'Algernon!'

'No, indeed. Poor Hope! What has possessed the girl?'

'Genevieve has not refused him?'

'Did you not know it? I found him in his rooms as white as a sheet!I asked what was the matter, he begged me to let him go away for oneSunday, and find him a substitute. I saw how it was, and at thefirst word he broke down and told me. '

'Was this to-day?'

'Yes. What can the silly little puss be thinking of to put anexcellent fellow like that to so much pain? Going about it in suchan admirable way, too, writing to old Mamselle first, and getting aletter from her which he sends with his own, and promising toguarantee her fifty pounds a year out of his own pocket. 'I shouldlike to know what that little Jenny means by it. I gave her creditfor more sense. '

'Perhaps she thinks, under the circumstances of her coming here, within the year--'

'Ah! very proper, very pretty of her; I never thought of that; Isuppose I have your permission to tell Hope?'

'I believe all the town knew it, ' said Albinia. 

'Yes; he need not be downhearted, he has only to be patient, and hewill like her the better for it. After all, though he is as good aman as breathes, he cannot be Gilbert, and it will be a great reliefto him. I'll tell him to put all his fancies about O'More out of hishead. '

'Most decidedly, ' said Albinia; 'nothing can be greater nonsense. Tell him by no means to go away, for when she finds that our feelingsare not hurt, and has become used to the idea, I have every hope thatshe will be able to form a new--'

'Ay; ay; poor Gilbert would have wished it himself. It is very goodof you, Mrs. Kendal; I'll put the poor fellow in spirits again. '

'Did you hear whether she gave any reasons?'

'Oh! I don't know--something about her birth and station; but that'sstuff--she's a perfect lady, and much more. '

'And he is only a bookseller's son. '

'True, and though it might be awkward to have the parson's father-in-lawcutting capers if he lived in the same town, yet being dead thesefifteen or eighteen years, where's the damage?'

'Was that all?'

'I fancy that she said she never meant to marry, but that's allnonsense; she is the very girl that ought, and I hope you will talkto her and bring her to reason. There's not a couple in the wholeplace that I should be so glad to marry as those two. '

Albinia endeavoured to discuss the matter with Genevieve that nightwhen they went upstairs. It was not easy to do, for Genevieve seemedresolved to wish her good-night outside her door, but she made herentrance, and putting her arm round her little friend's waist, said, 'Am I very much in your way, my dear? I thought you might want alittle help, or at least a little talk. '

'Oh! Mrs. Kendal, I hoped you did not know!' and her eyes filled withtears. 

Mr. Dusautoy told me, my dear; poor Mr. Hope's distress betrayed him, and Mr. Dusautoy was anxious I should--'

Genevieve did not let her finish, but exclaiming, 'I did not expectthis from you, madame, ' gave way to a shower of tears. 

'My dear child, do we not all feel you the more one with ourselvesfor this reluctance?' said Albinia, caressing her fondly. 'It shallnot be forced upon you any more till you can bear it. '

'Till!' exclaimed Genevieve, alarmed. 'Oh! do not say that! Do nothold out false hopes! I never shall!'

'I do not think you are a fair judge as yet, my dear. '

'I think I am, ' said Genevieve, slowly, 'I must not let you love meon false pretences, dearest Mrs. Kendal. I do not think it is allfor--for his sake--but indeed, though I must esteem Mr. Hope, I donot believe I could ever feel for him as--' then breaking off. 'Ipray you, with all my heart, dearest friend, never to speak to me ofmarriage. I am the little governess, and while Heaven gives mestrength to work for my aunt, and you let me call this my home, I amcontent, I am blessed. Oh! do not disturb and unsettle me!'

So imploringly did she speak, that she obliterated all thought of theprudent arguments with which Albinia had come stored. It was no timefor them; there was no possibility of endeavouring to dethrone thememory of her own Gilbert, and her impulse was far more to agree thatno one else could ever be loved, than to argue in favour of a newattachment. She was proud of Gilbert for being thus recollected, anddoubly pleased with the widowed heart; nor was it till the firsteffect of Genevieve's tears had passed off that she began to reflectthat the idea might become familiar, and that romance having beenabundantly satisfied by the constancy of the Lancer, sober esteemmight be the basis of very happy married affection. 

Mr. Hope did not go away, but he shrank into himself, and grew moretimid than ever, and it was through the Dusautoys that Albinia learntthat he was much consoled, and intended to wait patiently. He hadwritten to Mdlle. Belmarche, who had been extremely disappointed, andcontinued to believe that so excellent and well brought up a younggirl as her niece would not resist her wishes with regard to a youngpastor so respectable. 

Sophy, when made aware of what was going on, did not smile or shed atear, only a strange whiteness came across her face. She made acommonplace remark with visible effort, nor was she quite herself forsome time. It was as if the reference to her brother had stirred upthe old wound. Genevieve seemed to have been impelled to manifesther determination of resuming her occupation, she wrote lettersvigorously, answered advertisements, and in spite of the unitedprotest of her friends, advertised herself as a young person ofFrench extraction, but a member of the Church of England, accustomedto tuition, and competent to instruct in French, Italian, music, andall the ordinary branches of education. Address, G. C. D. , Mr. Richardson's, bookseller, Bayford. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Miss Goldsmith went to spend Christmas with an old friend, leavingUlick more liberty than he had enjoyed for a long time. He used it agood deal at Willow Lawn, and was there of course on Christmas-day. After dinner the decoration of the church was under discussion. TheBayford neighbourhood was unpropitious to holly, and Sophy andGenevieve had hardly ever seen any, except that Genevieve rememberedthe sooty bits sold in London. Something passed about sending for aspecimen from Fairmead, but Albinia said that would not answer, forher brother's children were in despair at the absence of berries, andhad ransacked Colonel Bury's plantations in vain. 

The next day, about twilight, Albinia and Sophy were arranging someChristmas gifts for the old women, in the morning-room; Genevieve wasto come and help them on her return from the child in Tibb's Alley. 

'Oh, here she comes, up the garden, ' said Sophy, who was by thewindow. 

Presently Albinia heard a strange sound as of tightened breath, andlooking up saw Sophy deathly pale, with her eyes fixed on the window. In terror she flew to her side, but Sophy spoke not, she onlyclutched her hand with fingers cold and tight as iron, and gazed withdilated eyes. Albinia looked--

Ulick had come from the house--there was a scarlet-berried spray inGenevieve's hand, which she was trying to make him take again--hisface was all pleading and imploring--she turned hastily from him, andthey saw her cheek glowing with crimson--she tried to force back theholly spray--but her hand was caught--he was kissing it. No, she hadrent it away--she had fled in through the conservatory--they heardthe doors--she had rushed up to her own room. 

Sophy's grasp grew more rigid--she panted for breath. 

'My child! my child!' said Albinia, throwing her arms round her, expecting her to faint. 'Oh! could I have imagined such treason?'Her eyes flashed, and her frame quivered with indignation. 'He shallnever come into this house again!'

'Mamma! hush!' said Sophy, releasing herself from her embrace, andkeeping her body upright, though obliged to seat herself on thenearest chair. 'It is not treason, ' she said slowly, as though hermouth were parched. 

'Contemptible fickleness!' burst out Albinia, but Sophy imploredsilence by a gesture. 

'No, ' she said; 'it was a dream, a degrading, humiliating dream; butit is over. '

'There is no degradation except to the base trifler I once thoughtbetter things of. '

'He has not trifled, ' said Sophy. 'Wait! hush!'

There was a composure about her that awed Albinia, who stood watchingin suspense while she went to the bed-room, drank some water, cooledher brow, pushed back her hair, and sitting down again in the samecollected manner, which gave her almost a look of majesty, she said, 'Promise me, mamma, that all shall go on as if this folly had nevercrossed our minds. '

'I can't! I can't, Sophy!' said Albinia in the greatest agitation. 'I can't _unknow_ that you have been shamefully used. '

'Then you will lead papa to break his promise to Genevieve, and lowerme not only in my own eyes, but in those of every one. '

'He little knew that he was bringing her here to destroy hisdaughter's happiness. So that was why she held off from Mr. Hope, 'cried Albinia, burning with such indignation, that on some one shemust expend it, but a tirade against the artfulness of the littleFrench witch was cut off short by an authoritative--

'Don't, mamma! You are unjust! How can she help being loveable!'

'He had no business to know whether she was or not. '

'You are wrong, mamma. The absurdity was in thinking I ever was so. '

'Very little absurd, ' said Albinia, twining her arms round Sophy. 

'Don't make me silly, ' hastily said Sophy, her voice trembling for amoment; 'I want to tell you all about it, and you will see that noone is to blame. The perception has been growing on me for a longtime, but I was weak enough to indulge in the dream. It was verysweet!' There again she struggled not to break down, gained thevictory, and went on, 'I don't think I should have dared to imagineit myself, but I saw others thought it, who knew more; I knew theincredible was sometimes true, and every little kindness he did--Oh!how foolish! as if he could help doing kindnesses! My better sensetold me he did not really distinguish me; but there was somethingthat _would_ feed upon every word and look. Then last year I waswakened by the caricature business. That opened my eyes, for no onewho had _that_ in him would have turned my sister into derision. Iwas sullen then and proud, and when--when humanity and compassionbrought him to me in my distress--oh! why--why could not I have beenreasonable, and not have selfishly fed on what I thought wasrevived?'

'He had no right--' began Albinia, fiercely. 

'He could neither help saving Maurice, nor speaking comfort andsupport when he found me exhausted and sinking. It was I who was thefoolish creature--I hate myself! Well, you know how it has been--Iliked to believe it was _the thing_--I knew he cared less for methan--but I thought it was always so between men and women, and thatI would not have petty distrusts. But when she came, I saw what thetrue--true feeling is--I saw that he felt when she came into theroom--I saw how he heard her words and missed mine--I saw--' Sophycollected herself, and spoke quietly and distinctly, 'I saw his love, and that it had never been for me. '

There was a pause; Albinia could not bear to look, speak, or move. Sophy's words carried conviction that swept away her sand castle. 

'Now, mamma, ' said Sophy, earnestly, 'you own that he has not beenfalse or fickle. '

'If he has not, he has disregarded the choicest jewel that lay in hisway, ' said Albinia with some sharpness. 

'But he has not been that, ' persisted Sophy. 

'Well--no; I suppose not. '

'And no one can be less to blame than Genevieve. '

'Little flirt, I've no patience with her. '

'She can't help her manners, ' repeated Sophy, 'I feel them so muchmore charming than mine every moment. She will make him so happy. '

'What are you talking of, Sophy? He must be mad if he is in earnest. A man of his family pride! His father will never listen to it for amoment. '

'I don't know what his father may do, ' said Sophy; 'but I know what Ipray and entreat we may do, and that is, do our utmost to make thiscome to good. '

'Sophy, don't ask it. I could not, I know you could not. '

'There is no loss of esteem. I honour him as I always did, ' saidSophy. 'Yes, the more since I see it was all for papa and the right, all unselfish, on that 5th of November. Some day I shall have wornout the selfishness. '

She kept her hand tightly pressed on her heart as she spoke, andAlbinia exclaimed, 'You shall not see it; you overrate your strength;it is my business to prevent you!'

'Think, mamma, ' said Sophy, rising in her earnestness. 'Here is ahomeless orphan, whom you have taught to love you, whom papa hasbrought here as to a home, and for Gilbert's sake. Is it fair--innocent, exemplary as she is--to turn against her because she isengaging and I am not, to cut her off from us, drive her away to thefirst situation that offers, be it what it may, and with that thoughtaching and throbbing in her heart? Oh, mamma! would that be mercy orjustice?'

'You are not asking to have it encouraged in the very house withyou?'

'I do not see how else it is to be, ' said Sophy. 

'Let him go after her, if there's anything in it but Irish folly andFrench coquetry--'

'How, mamma? Where? When she is a governess in some strange place?How could he leave his business? How could she attend to him? Oh, mamma! you used to be kind: how can you wish to put two people youlove so much to such misery?'

'Because I can't put one whom I love better than both, and whodeserves it, to greater misery, ' said Albinia, embracing her. 

'Then do not put me to the misery of being ungenerous, and the shameof having my folly suspected. '

Albinia would have argued still, but the children came in, Sophy wentaway, and there was no possibility of a tete-a-tete. How strange itwas to have such a tumult of feeling within, and know that the samemust be tenfold multiplied in the hearts of those two girls, and yetgo through all the domestic conventionalities, each wearing a mask ofcommonplace ease, as though nothing had happened!

Genevieve had, Albinia suspected, been crying excessively; for therewas that effaced annihilated appearance that tears produced on her, but otherwise she did her part in answering her host, who was veryfond of her, and always made her an object of attention. Albiniafound herself betraying more abstraction, she was so anxiouslywatching Sophy, who acquitted herself best of all, had kept tearsfrom her eyes, talked more than usual, and looked brilliant, with abright colour dyeing her cheeks. She was evidently sustained byeagerness to obtain her generous purpose, and did not yet realize theprice. 

The spray of holly was lying as if it had been tossed in vexationupon the marble slab in the hall. Albinia, from the stairs, sawSophy take it up, and waited to see what she would do with it. TheSophy she had once known would have dashed it into the flames, andthen have repented. No! Sophy held it tenderly, and looked at theglossy leaves and coral fruit with no angry eye; she even raised itto her lips, but it was to pierce with one of the long prickles tillher brow drew together at the smart, and the blood started. Then shebegan to mount the stairs, and meeting Albinia, said quietly, 'I wasgoing to take this to Genevieve's room, it is empty now, but perhapsyou had better take care of it for her, out of sight. It will be hergreatest treasure to-morrow. '

Mr. Kendal read aloud as usual, but who of his audience attended?Certainly not Albinia. She sat with her head bent over her work, revolving the history of these last two years, and trying to collectherself after the sudden shock, and the angry feelings ofdisappointment that surged within, in much need of an object ofwrath. Alas! who could that object be but that blind, warm-hearted, impulsive Mistress Albinia Kendal?

She saw plain enough, now it was too late, that there had not been ashadow of sentiment in that lively confiding Irishman, used tointimacy with a herd of cousins, and viewing all connexions ascousins. She remembered his conversation with her brother and herbrother's impression; she thought of the unloverlike dread of ague inEmily's moonlight walk; she recalled the many occasions when she hadthought him remiss, and she could not but acquit him of any designedflirtation, any dangerous tenderness, or what Mdlle. Belmarche wouldcall legerete. He could not be reserved--he was naturally free andopen--and how could she have put such a construction on hisfrankness, when Sophy herself had long been gradually arriving at aconviction of the truth! It was a comfort at least to remember thatit had not been the fabrication of her own brain, she had respectableauthority for the idea, and she trusted to its prompter toparticipate in her indignation, argue Ulick out of so poor a match, and at least put a decided veto upon Sophy's Spartan magnanimity--Sophy's health and feelings being the subject, she sometimes thought, which concerned him above all. 

Ah! but the evil had not been his doing. He had but gossiped out apleasant conjecture to his wife as a trustworthy help-meet. Whatbusiness had she to go and telegraph that conjecture, with hersignificant eyes, to the very last person who ought to have sharedit, and then to have kept up the mischief by believing it herself, and acting, looking, and arranging, as on a certainty implied, thoughnot expressed? Mrs. Osborne or Mrs. Drury might have spoken morebroadly, they could not have acted worse, thought she to herself. 

The notion might never have been suggested; Sophy might have simplyenjoyed these years of intimacy, and even if her heart had beentouched, it would have been unconsciously, and the pain and shame ofunrequited affection have merely been a slight sense of neglect, asmall dreariness, lost in eagerness for the happiness of bothfriends. Now, two years of love that she had been allowed to imaginereturned and sanctioned, and love with the depth and force of Sophy'swhole nature--the shame of having loved unasked, the misery of havinglived in a delusion--how would they act upon a being of her morbidtendency, frail constitution, and proud spirit? As Albinia thoughtof the passive endurance of last year's estrangement, her heart sankwithin her! Illness--brain-fever--permanent ill-health and crushedspirits--nay, death itself she augured--and all--all her own fault!The last and best of Edmund's children so cruelly and deeply wounded, and by her folly! She longed to throw herself at his feet and askhis pardon, but it was Sophy's secret as well as hers, and how couldwomanhood betray that unrequited love? At least she thought, fornoble Sophy's sake, she would not raise a finger to hinder themarriage, but as to forwarding it, or promoting the courtship underSophy's very eyes--that would be like murdering her outright, and shewould join Mr. Kendal with all her might in removing their daughterfrom the trying spectacle. Talk of Aunt Maria! This trouble was tenthousand times worse!

Albinia began to watch the timepiece, longing to have the eveningover, that she might prepare Mr. Kendal. It ended at last, andGenevieve took up her candle, bade good-night, and disappeared. Sophy lingered, till coming forward to her father as he stood by thefire, she said, 'Papa, did you not promise Gilbert that Genevieveshould be as another daughter?'

'I wish she would be, my dear, ' said Mr. Kendal; 'but she is tooindependent, and your mamma thinks she would consider it as a merefarce to call her little Albinia's governess, but if you can persuadeher--'

'What I want you to do, papa, is to promise that she shall be marriedfrom this house, as her home, and that you will fit her out as youdid Lucy. '

'Ha! Is she beginning to relent?'

'No, papa. It will be Ulick O'More. '

'You don't mean it!' exclaimed Mr. Kendal, more taken by surprisethan perhaps he had ever been, and looking at his wife, who wasstanding dismayed, yet admiring the gallant girl who had forestalledher precautions. Obliged to speak, she said, 'I am afraid so, Sophyand I witnessed a scene to-day. '

'Afraid?' said Mr. Kendal; 'I see no reason to be afraid, if Ulicklikes it. They are two of the most agreeable and best people thatever fell in my way, and I shall be delighted if they can arrange it, for they are perfectly suited to each other. '

'But such a match!' exclaimed Albinia. 

'As to that, a sensible, economical wife will be worth more to himthan an expensive one, with however large a fortune. And for thefamily pride, I am glad the lad has more sense than I feared; he hasa full right to please himself, having won the place he has, and hemay make his father consent. He wants a wife--nothing else will keephim from running headlong into speculation, for want of something todo. Yes, I see what you are thinking of, my dear, but you know wecould not wish her, as you said yourself, never to form anotherattachment. '

'But _here_!' sighed Albinia, the ground knocked away from under her, yet still clinging to the last possible form of murmur. 

'It will cost us something, ' said Mr. Kendal, 'but no more than wewill cheerfully bear, for the sake of one who has such claims uponus; and it will be amply repaid by having such a pair of friendssettled close to us. '

'Then you will, papa?' said Sophy. 

'Will do what, my dear?'

'Treat her as--as you did Lucy, papa. '

'And with much more pleasure, and far more hope, than when we fittedout poor Lucy, ' said Mr. Kendal. 

Sophy thanked him, and said 'Good-night;' and the look whichaccompanied her kiss to her step-mother was a binding over to secrecyand non-interference. 

'Is she gone?' said Mr. Kendal, who had been musing after his lastwords. 'Gone to tell her friend, I suppose? I wanted to ask whatthis scene was. '

'Oh!' said Albinia, 'it was in the garden--we saw it from thewindow--only he brought her a bit of holly, and was trying to kissher hand. '

'Strong premises, certainly. How did she receive the advance?'

'She would not listen, but made her escape. '

'Then matters are not in such a state of progress as for me tocongratulate her? I suppose that you ladies are the best judgeswhether he may not meet with the same fate as poor Hope?'

'Sophy seems to take it for granted that he will not. '

'Irishman as he is, he must be pretty secure of his ground beforecoming to such strong measures. Well! I hope we may hear no more ofbrow-ague. But--' with sudden recollection--'I thought, Albinia, you fancied he had some inclination for Sophy?'

Was it not a good wife to suppress the 'You did'? If she couldmerrily have said, 'You told me so, ' it would have been all verywell, but her mood would admit of nothing but a grave and guardedanswer--'We did fancy so, but I am convinced it was entirely withoutreason. '

That superior smile at her lively imagination was more than humannature could bear, without the poor relief of an entreaty that hewould not sit meditating, and go to sleep in his chair. 

Albinia thought she had recovered equanimity during her night's rest, but in the midst of her morning toilette, Sophy hurried in, exclaiming, 'She'll go away! She is writing letters and packing!'and she answered, 'Well, what do you want me to do? You don'timagine that I can rush into her room and lay hands on her? She willnot go upon a wishing-carpet. It will be time to interfere when weknow more of the matter. '

Sophy looked blank, and vanished, and Albinia felt excessively vexedat having visited on the chief sufferer her universal crossness withall mankind. She knew she had only spoken common sense, but thatmade it doubly hateful; and yet she could not but wish Miss Durantanywhere out of sight, and Mr. O'More on the top of the Hill ofHowth. 

At breakfast, Sophy's looks betrayed nothing to the uninitiated, though Albinia detected a feverish restlessness and covertimpatience, and judged that her sleep had been little. Genevieve'shad perhaps been less, for she was very sallow, with sunken eyes, andher face looked half its usual size; but Albinia could not easilyhave compassion on the poor little unwitting traitress, even when shebegan, 'Dear Mrs. Kendal, will you excuse me if I take a suddenleave? I find it will answer best for me to accept Mrs. Elwood'sinvitation; I can then present myself to any lady who may wish to seeme, and, as I promised my aunt another visit, I had better go toHadminster by the three o'clock omnibus. '

Albinia was thankful for the loud opposition which drowned the faintreluctance of her own; Mr. Kendal insisting that she should not leavethem; little Awk coaxing her; and Maurice exclaiming, 'If the ladieswant her, let them come after her! One always goes to see a horse. '

'I'm not so well worth the trouble, Maurice. '

'I know Ulick O'More _would_ come in to see you when all the piebaldsfor the show were going by!'

'Some day you will come to the same good taste, ' said his father, tolessen the general confusion. 

'See a lady instead of a piebald? Never!' cried Maurice withindignation, that made the most preoccupied laugh; under cover ofwhich Genevieve effected a retreat. Sophy looked imploringly atAlbinia--Albinia was moving, but not with alacrity, and Mr. Kendalwas saying, 'I do not understand all this, ' when, scarcely pausing toknock, Ulick opened the door, cheeks and eyes betraying scarcelyrepressed eagerness. 

'What--where, ' he stammered, as if even his words were startled away;'is not Miss Durant well?'

'She was here just this moment, ' said Mr. Kendal. 

'I will go and see for her, ' said Sophy. 'Come, children. '

Whether Sophy's powers over herself or over Genevieve would avail, was an anxious marvel, but it did not last a moment, for Maurice cameclattering down to say that Genevieve was gone out into the town. Insuch a moment! She must have snatched up her bonnet, and fled oneway while Ulick entered by the other. He made one step forward, exclaiming, 'Where is she gone?' then pausing, broke out, 'Mrs. Kendal, you must make her give me a hearing, or I shall go mad!'

'A hearing?' repeated Mrs. Kendal, with slight malice. 

'Yes; why, don't you know?'

'So your time has come, Ulick, has it?' said Mr. Kendal. 

'Well, and I were worse than an old ledger if it had not, when shewas before me! Make her listen to me, Mrs. Kendal, if she do not, Ishall never do any more good in this world!'

'I should have thought, ' said Albinia, 'that an Irishman would be atno loss for making opportunities. '

'You don't know, Mrs. Kendal; she is so fenced in with scruples, humility--I know not what--that she will not so much as hear me out. I'm not such a blockhead as to think myself worthy of her, but I dothink, if she would only listen to me, I might stand a chance: andshe runs off, as if she thought it a sin to hear a word from mymouth!'

'It is very honourable to her, ' said Mr. Kendal. 

'Very honourable to her, ' replied Ulick, 'but cruelly hard upon me. '

'I think, too, ' continued Mr. Kendal, stimulated thereto by hislady's severely prudent looks, 'that you ought--granting Miss Durantto be, as I well know her to be, one of the most excellent personswho ever lived--still to count the cost of opening such an affair. It is not fair upon a woman to bring her into a situation wheredisappointments may arise which neither may be able to bear. '

'Do you mean my family, Mr. Kendal? Trust me for getting consentfrom home. You will write my father a letter, saying what you saidjust now; Mrs. Kendal will write another to my mother; and I'll justlet them see my heart is set on it, and they'll not hold out. '

'Could you bear to see her--looked down on?' said Albinia. 

'Ha!' he cried, with flashing eyes. 'No, believe me, Mrs. Kendal, the O'Mores have too much gentle blood to do like that, even if shewere one whom any one could scorn. Why, what is my mother herselfbut a Goldsmith by birth, and I'd like to see who would cast it up toany of the family that she was not as noble as an O'More! AndGenevieve herself--isn't every look and every movement full of thepurest gentility her fathers' land can show?'

'I dare say, once accepted, the O'Mores would heartily receive her;but here, in this place, there are some might think it told againstyou, and might make her uncomfortable. '

'What care I? I've lived and thriven under Bayford scorn many a day. And for her--Oh! I defy anything so base to wound a heart so high ashers, and with me to protect her!'

'And you can afford it?' said Mr. Kendal. 'Remember she has her auntto maintain. '

'I can, ' said Ulick. 'I have gone over it all again and again; andrecalling his man-of-business nature, he demonstrated that even atpresent he was well able to support Mdlle. Belmarche, as well as tobegin housekeeping, and that there was every reason to believe thathis wider and more intelligent system of management would continue toincrease his income. '

'Well, Ulick, ' said Mr. Kendal at last, 'I wish you success with allmy heart, and esteem you for a choice so entirely founded upon thequalities most certain to ensure happiness. '

'You don't mean to say that she has not the most glorious eyes, themost enchanting figure!' exclaimed Ulick, affronted at the complimentthat seemed to aver that Genevieve's external charms were not equalto her sterling merit. 

Mr. Kendal and Albinia laughed; and the former excused himself, notquite to the lover's satisfaction, by declaring the lady much moreattractive than many regularly handsome people; but he added, thatwhat he meant was, that he was sure the attachment was built upon asound foundation. Then he entreated that Mrs. Kendal would persuadeher to listen to him, for she had fled from him ever since hisbetrayal of his sentiments till he was half crazed, and had beenwalking up and down his room all night. He should do somethingdistracted, if not relieved from suspense before night! And Mr. Kendal got rid of him in the midst of his transports, and turning toAlbinia said, 'We must settle this as fast as possible, or he willlose his head, and get into a scrape. '

'I do not like such wild behaviour. It is not dignified. '

'It is only temperament, ' said Mr. Kendal. 'Will you speak to her?'

'Yes, whenever she comes in. '

'I suspect she has gone out on purpose. Could you not go to find herat the school, or wherever she is likely to be?'

'I don't know where to find her. I cannot give up the children'slessons. Nothing hurts Maurice so much as irregularity. '

He made no answer, but his look of disappointment excited her toobserve to herself that she supposed he expected her to run all overthe town without ordering dinner first, and she wondered how he wouldlike that!

Presently she heard him go out at the front door, and felt somecontrition. 

She had not the heart to seek Sophy to report progress, and did notsee her till about eleven o'clock, when she came in hastily with herbonnet on, asking, 'Well, mamma?'

'Where have you been, Sophy?'

'To school, ' she said. 'Has anything happened?'

'We have had it out, and I am to speak to her when she comes in, 'said Albinia, glad as perhaps was Sophy of the enigmatical form towhich Maurice's presence restrained the communication. 

Sophy went away, but presently returning and taking up her work, butwith eyes that betrayed how she was listening; but there was soentire an apparent absence of personal suffering, that Albinia beganto discharge the weight from her mind, and believe that the sentimenthad been altogether imaginary even on Sophy's side, and the whole amarvellous figment of her own. 

At last, Mr. Kendal's foot was heard; Sophy started up, and sat downagain. He came upstairs, and his face was all smiles. 

'Well, ' he said, 'I don't think she will go by the three o'clockomnibus. '

'You have spoken to her?' cried Albinia in compunction. 

'Has Maurice finished? Then go out, my boy, for the present. '

'Well?' said Albinia, interrogatively, and Sophy laid down her workand crossed one hand over the other on her knees, and leant back asthough to hinder visible tremor. 

'Yes, ' he said, going on with what had been deferred till Maurice wasgone. 'I thought it hard on him--and as I was going to speak toEdwards, I asked if she were at the Union, where I found her, takingleave of the old women, and giving them little packets of snuff, andsmall presents, chiefly her own work, I am sure. I took her with meinto the fields, and persuaded her at last to talk it over with me. Poor little thing! I never saw a more high-minded, conscientiousspirit: she was very unhappy about it, and said she knew it was allher unfortunate manner, she wished to be guarded, but a littleexcitement and conversation always turned her head, and she entreatedme not to hinder her going back to a school-room, out of the way ofevery one. I told her that she must not blame herself for being morethan usually agreeable; but she would not listen, and I could hardlybring her to attend to what I said of young O'More. Poor girl! Ibelieve she was running away from her own heart. '

'You have prevented her?' cried Sophy. 

'At least I have induced her to hear his arguments. I told her myopinion of him, which was hardly needed, and what I thought mighthave more weight--that he has earned the right to please himself, andthat I believed she would be better for him than riches. Sherepeated several times "Not now, " and "Not here;" and I found thatshe was shocked at the idea of the subject being brought before us. I was obliged to tell her that nothing would gratify any of us somuch, and that this was the time to fulfil her promise of consideringme as a father. '

'Oh, thank you, ' murmured Sophy. 

'So finally I convinced her that she owed Ulick a hearing, and Ithink she felt that to hear was to yield. She had certainly beenfeeling that flight was the only measure, and between her dread ofentrapping him and of hurting our feelings, had persuaded herself itwas her duty. The last thing she did was to catch hold of me as Iwas going, and ask if he knew what her father was. '

'I dare say it has been the first thing she has said to him, ' saidAlbinia. 'She is a noble little creature! But what have you donewith them now?'

'I brought him to her in the parsonage garden. I believe they arewalking in the lanes, ' said Mr. Kendal, much gratified with hismorning's work. 

'She deserves him, ' said Sophy; and then her eyes became set, as iflooking into far distance. 

The walk in the lanes had not ended by luncheon-time, and anafternoon loaded with callers was oppressive, but Sophy kept up well. At last, in the twilight, the door was heard to open, and Genevievecame in alone. They listened, and knew she must have run up to herown room. What did it portend? Albinia must be the one to go andsee, so after a due interval, she went up and knocked. Genevieveopened the door, and threw herself into her arms. 'Dear Mrs. Kendal!Oh! have I done wrong? I am so very happy, and I cannot help it!'

Albinia kissed her, and assured her she had done nothing to repentof. 

'I am so glad you think so. I never dreamt such happiness could bemeant for me, and I am afraid lest I should have been selfish andwrong, and bring trouble on him. '

'We have been all saying you deserve him. '

'Oh no--no--so good, so noble, so heroic as he is. How could hethink of the poor little French teacher! And he will pay my aunt'sfifty pounds! I told him all, and he knew it before, and yet heloves me! Oh! why are people so very good to me?'

'I could easily find an answer to that question, ' said Albinia. 'Where is he, my dear?'

'He is gone home. I would not come into the town with him. It isnothing, you know; no one must hear of it, for he must be free unlesshis parents consent--and I know they never can, ' she said, shakingher head, sadly, 'but even then I shall have one secret of happiness--I shall know what has been! But oh! Mrs. Kendal, let me go away--'

'Go away now?' exclaimed Albinia. 

'Yes--it cannot be--here, in this house! Oh! it is outraging yourkindness. '

'No, ' said Albinia; 'it is but letting us fulfil a very preciouscharge. '

Genevieve's tears flowed as she said, 'Such goodness! Mr. Kendalspoke to me in this way in the morning, when he was more kind andpatient than I can express. But tell me, dearest madame, tell mecandidly, is my remaining here the cause of any secret pain to him?'

With regard to him, Albinia could answer sincerely that it was agratification; and Genevieve owned that she should be glad to awaitthe letters from Ireland, which she tried to persuade herself shebelieved would put an end to everything, except the preciousremembrance. 

Sophy here came in with some tea. She had recollected that Genevievehad wandered all day without any bodily sustenance. 

There was great sweetness in the quiet, grave manner in which shebent over her friend and kissed her brow. All she said was, 'Papahad goes to fetch him to dinner. Genevieve, you must let me do yourhair. '

It was in Genevieve's eyes an astonishing fancy, and Albinia said, 'Come away now, my dear; she must have a thorough rest after such aday. '

Genevieve looked too much excited for rest, but that was the morereason for leaving her to herself; and besides, it was souncomfortable not to be able to be kind enough. 

However, when people are happy, a little kindness goes a great way, and there was a subdued lustre like a glory in her eyes when she camedownstairs, with the holly leaves and berries glistening in her hair, the first ornament she had ever worn there. 

'It was Sophy's doing, ' she said. 'Naughty girl; she tried to takeme by surprise. She would not let me look in the glass, but Iguessed--and oh! she was wounding her poor hands so sadly. '

I must thank her, ' said Ulick, looking ecstatic. 'Why does she notcome down?'

As she did not appear, Albinia went up, doubtful if it were wise, yettoo uneasy not to go in quest of her. 

It was startling to have so faint an answer on knocking, and onentering the room, she saw Sophy lying on her bed, upon her back, with her arms by her sides, and with a ghastly whiteness on herfeatures. 

Scarcely a pulse could be felt, and her hands were icy cold, hervoice sank to nothing, her eyelids scarcely raised, as if the strainof the day had exhausted all vital warmth or energy, and her purposeaccomplished, annihilation was succeeding. Much terrified, Albiniawould have hurried in search of remedies, but she raised her handimploringly, and murmured, 'Please don't. I'm not faint--I'm notill. If you would only let me be still. '

Albinia teased her so far as to cover her with warmed shawls, andforce on her a stimulant. She shut her eyes, but presently openedthem to say, 'Please go. '

She was so often unable to appear at dinner, that no observation wasmade; and it was to be feared that her absence was chiefly regrettedby the lovers, because it prevented them from sitting on the sameside of the table. 

Always frank and unrestrained, Ulick made his felicity so apparent, that Albinia had no toleration for him, and not much for theamusement it afforded Mr. Kendal. She would have approved of herhusband much more if he had put her into a great quandary by anxiousinquiries what was the matter with his daughter, instead of thatcareless, 'O you are going up to Sophy; I hope she will be able tocome down to tea, ' when she left him on guard over the children andthe lovers. 

'So it is with woman's martyrdoms, ' said she to herself as she walkedupstairs, chewing the cud of all the commonplaces by which womenhave, of late years, flattered themselves, and been flattered; 'butat any rate I'll have her out of sight of all their absurdity. It isenough to kill her!'

Sophy hardly stirred at her entrance, but there was less ghastlinessabout her, and as Albinia sat down she did not remove her hand, andturned slightly round, so as to lose that strange corpse-likeattitude of repose. 

'You are not so cold, dearest, ' said Albinia. 'Have you slept?'

'I think not. '

'Are you better? Have you been comfortable?'

'Oh yes. ' Then, with a pause, 'Yes--it was like being nothing!'

'You were not faint, I hope?'

'No--only lying still. Don't you know the comfort of not thinking orfeeling?'

'Yes; this has been far too much for you. You have done enough now, my generous Sophy. '

'Not generous; one can't give away what one never had. '

'I think it more gracious to yield without jealousy or bitterness--'

'Only not quite base, ' said Sophy. Then presently, turning on herpillow as though more willing to converse, she said, 'I am glad itwas not last year. '

'We had troubles enough then!'

'Not for that--because I should have been base then, and hated myselffor it all the time. '

'That you never could have been!' cried Albinia. 'But, my dear, youmust let me contrive for you; I would not betray you for all theworld, but the sight of these two is more than you ought to undergo. I will not send Genevieve away, but you must go from home. '

'I don't think I shall be cross, ' said poor Sophy, simply; 'I shouldbe ashamed. '

'Cross! It is I who am cross, because I am to blame; but, dearest, think if you are keeping up out of pride; that will never, never do. '

'I do not believe it is pride, ' said Sophy, meekly; 'at least, I hopenot. I feel humiliated enough, and I think it may be a sort ofshame, as well as consideration for them, that would make me wishthat no difference should be made. Do you not think we may letthings go on?' she said, in so humble a manner, that it broughtAlbinia's tears, and a kiss was the only answer. 'Please tell me, 'said Sophy; 'for I don't want to deceive myself. '

'I am sure I am no judge, ' cried Albinia, 'after the dreadfulmischief I have done. '

'The mischief was in me, ' said Sophy, 'or you could not have done it. I saw it all when I was lying awake last night, and how it began, orrather it was before I can remember exactly. I always had cravingafter something--a yearning for something to fix myself on--and afterI grew to read and look out into the world, I thought it must bethat. And when I knew I was ugly and disagreeable, I brooded andbrooded, and only in my better moments tried to be satisfied with youand papa and the children. '

'And the All-satisfying, Sophy dear. '

'I tried--I did--but it was duty--not heart. I used to fancy whatmight be, if I shot out into beauty and grace--not admiration, but tohave that one thing to lean on. You see it was all worldly, and onlysubmissive by fits--generally it was cross repining, yielding becauseI could not help it--and so, when the fancy came the throne was readymade, empty, swept, and garnished, for the idol. I wont talk of allthat time; but I don't believe even Genevieve, though she knows shemay, can dwell upon the thought as I did, in just the way to bringpunishment. And so I thought, by-and-by, at the caricature time, that I was punished. I looked into the fallacy, when I had got overthe temper and the pride, and I saw it all clear, and owned I wasrightly served, for it had been an earthly aim, and an idol worship. Well, the foolish hope came back again, but indeed, indeed, I think Iwas the better for all the chastening; I had seen grandmamma die, Iwas fresh from hearing of Gilbert, and I did feel as I never had donebefore, that God was first. I don't believe that feeling had passed, though the folly came back, and made me feel glad to love all theworld. There were--gleams of religions thought'--she spoke withdifficulty, but her face had a strange beauty--'that taught me how, if I was more good--there could be a fulness of joy that all the restflowed out from. And so when misgivings came, and I saw at times howlittle he could care for me--oh! it was pain enough, but not theworst sort. And yet I don't know--' She turned away and hid her faceon the pillow. It was agony, though still, as she had said, not theworst, untempered by faith or resignation. What a history of thatapparently cold, sullen, impassive spirit! what an unlocking of pent-upmysteries!

'It has been blessed to you, ' said Albinia, affectionately. 'Mydear, we always thought your character one that wanted the softeningof such--an attachment. Perhaps that made me wrongly eager for it, and ready to imagine where I ought not; I think it did soften you;but if you had not conquered what was earthly and exaggerated in it, how it would be hardening and poisoning you now!'

'I hope I may have, ' sighed Sophy, as if she were doubtful. 

'Then will you not listen to me? You have done nobly so far, and Iknow your feelings will be right in the main; but do you think youcan bear the perpetual irritation of being neglected, and seeing--whatI _must_ call rather a parade of his preference?'

'I think it would be the best cure, ' said Sophy; 'it would make mefeel it real, and I could be glad to see him--them--so happy--'

'I don't know how to judge! I don't know whether it be right for youto have him always before your mind. '

'He would be so all the more while I was away with nothing to do, 'said Sophy; 'fancy might be worse than fact. You don't know how Iused to forget the nonsense when he had been ten minutes in the room, because it was just starved out. Now, when it will be a sin, Ibelieve that strength will be given me to root it out;' her look grewdetermined, but she gasped for breath. 

'And your bodily strength, my dear?'

'If I should be ill, then it would be natural to go away, ' saidSophy, smiling; 'but I don't think I shall be. This is only the endof my fever to see it settled. Now I am thankful, and my heart hasleft off throbbing when I am still. I shall be all right to-morrow. '

'I hope so; but you must spare yourself. '

'Besides, ' she added, 'one of the worst parts has been that, in thefancy that a change was to come, I have gone about everything in anunsettled way; and now I want to begin again at my duties, myreadings and parish matters, as my life's work, steadily and inearnest. '

'Not violently, not to drive care away. '

'I have tried that once, and will not again. You shall arrange forme, and I will do just as you tell me;' and she raised her eyes withthe most deep and earnest gaze of confiding love that had evergreeted Albinia from any of the three. I'll try not to grieve you, for you are too sorry for me;' and she threw her arms round her neck. 'Oh, mamma! nothing is so bad when you help me to bear it!'

Tears fell fast at this precious effusion from the deep, sincereheart, at the moment when Albinia herself was most guilty in her owneyes. Embraces were her only answer, and how fervent!

'And, mamma, ' whispered Sophy, 'if you could only let me have somesmall part of teaching little Albinia. '

A trotting of small feet and a call of mamma was heard. The littlemaiden was come with her good-nights, and in one moment Albinia hadlifted her into her sister's arms, where she was devoured withkisses, returning them with interest, and with many a fondling 'PoorSophy, ' and 'Dear Sophy. '

When the last fond good-night had passed, and the little one had goneaway to her nest, Sophy said in a soft, natural, unconstrained voice, 'I am very sleepy. If you will be so kind as to send up my tea, Iwill go to bed. Thank you; goodnight. '

That was the redrawing of the curtain of reserve, the resignation ofsentiment, the resumption of common life. The romance of SophiaKendal's early life had ended when she wounded her fingers inwreathing Genevieve's hair. Her next romance might be on behalf ofher beautiful little sister. 

Albinia was cured of her fretfulness towards the new order of events, and her admiration of Sophy carried her through all that was yet tocome. It was the easier since Sophy did not insist on unreasonableself-martyrdoms, and in her gratitude for being allowed her purposein the main, was submissive in detail, and had mercy on her ownpowers of endurance, not inflicting the sight of the lovers onherself more than was needful, and not struggling with the languorthat was a good reason for remaining much upstairs. She worked andread, but without overdoing anything, and wisely undertook a Frenchtranslation, as likely to occupy her attention without forcing her toover-exert her powers. Not that she said so; she carefully avoidedall reference to her feelings; and Albinia could almost have deemedthe whole a dream, excepting for the occasional detection of amournful fixed gaze, which was instantaneously winked away as soon asSophy herself became aware of it. 

Her trouble, though of a kind proverbially the most hardening andexacerbating, had an entirely contrary tendency on her. The rigidityand harsh judgment which had betokened her states of morbiddepression since she had outgrown the sulky form, had passed away, and she had been right in predicting that she should not be cross, for she had become sweet and gentle towards all. Her voice waspitched more softly, and though she looked ill, and had lost thebloom which had once given her a sort of beauty, her eyes had a meeksoftness that made them finer than when they wore the stern, steadyglance that used to make poor Gilbert quail. Her strength came notfrom pride, but from Grace; and to her, disappointment was moresoftening than even the prosperous affection that Albinia hadimagined. It was love; not earthly but heavenly. 

If her father had been less busy, her pale cheek might have alarmedhim; but he was very much taken up with builders and estimates, withpersuading some of the superfluous population to emigrate, andarranging where they should go, and while she kept the family hoursand habits, he did not notice lesser indications of flagging spirits, or if he did, he was wise, and thought the cause had better not beput into words. 

Albinia had brought herself to give fair sympathy to the lovers; andwhen once she had begun it was easy to go on, not as ardently as ifshe had never indulged in her folly, but enough to gratify two suchhappy and grateful people, who wanted no one but each other, andagreed in nothing better than in thinking her a sort of guardianangel to them both. 

Genevieve had assuredly never given her heart to Gilbert, and it wasready in all the freshness of maidenly bliss to meet the manly ardourof Ulick O'More. He was almost overpoweringly demonstrative andeager, now and then making game of himself, but yet not able to helprushing down to Willow Lawn ten or twelve times a day, just tosatisfy himself that his treasure was there, and if he could not meetwith her, catching hold of Mr. Or Mrs. Kendal to rave till they drovehim back to his business. Such glee danced in his eyes, there wassuch suppressed joyousness in his countenance, and his step was somuch nearer a dance than a walk, that his very air well-nigh betrayedwhat was to be an absolute secret, till there had been an answer fromBallymakilty, until which time Genevieve would not rest in the hopeof a happy future, nor give up her fears that she had not broughtpain upon him. 

In he came at last, so exulting and so grateful, that it was a shockto discover that 'the kindest letter and fullest consent in theworld, ' meant his father's 'supposing he would do as he pleased; aslong as he asked for nothing, it was no concern of his. ' It wasdiscovered, by Ulick's delight, that he had expected to have abattle, and Albinia was scandalized, but Mr. Kendal told her itsomewhat depended on what manner of father it was, whether anindependent son could defer implicitly to his judgment; and thoughprinciple might withhold Ulick from flat disobedience, he might notscruple at extorting reluctant consent. Besides his mother, whom hehonoured far more really, had written, not without disappointment, but with full confidence in his ability to judge for himself. 

Mr. Kendal and Mr. Ferrars both wrote warmly in Genevieve's praise, and certainly her footing at Willow Lawn was the one point d'appui inbringing round the O'More family; so that as Ulick truly said, 'Itwas Mrs. Kendal whom he had to thank for the blessing of his life. 'Had poor Miss Goldsmith's description of Miss Durant's birth, parentage, and education been the only one that had reachedBallymakilty, a prohibition would assuredly have been issued; but hewas left sufficiently free to satisfy his own conscience, and beforeGenevieve had surmounted half her scruples, the whole town wasringing with the news, though no one could guess how it had got wind. To be sure the Dusautoys had been put into a state of rapture, andpoor Mr. Hope had had the fatal stroke administered to him. Helooked so like a ghost that Mr. Dusautoy contrived to release him atonce, whereupon he went to try the most unwholesome curacy he couldfind, with serious intentions of exchanging his living for it; but hefortunately became so severely and helplessly ill there, that he waspretty well cured of his mental fever, and quite content to go to hisheath, and do his work there like the humble and earnest man that hewas, perhaps all the better for having been personally taughtsomething more than could be gained from books and colleges. 

Miss Goldsmith was the most to be pitied. She would not hear a wordfrom her nephew, refused to go near Willow Lawn, packed up her goodsand went to Bath, where Ulick promised the much distressed Genevievethat she would yet relent. Genevieve was somewhat consoled by theincreasing cordiality of the Irish letters, and was carried along bythe extreme delight and triumph of her good old aunt. By somewonderful exertion of Irish faculties, Ulick succeeded in bringingmademoiselle to Bayford in his jaunting car, when she laughed, wept, sobbed, and embraced, in a bewilderment of transport; pronounced thetrousseau worthy of an angel of the ancien regime; warned Genevieveagainst expecting amour to continue instead of amitie, and carriedhome conversation for the nuns for the rest of their lives. 

That trousseau was Sophy's special charge, and most jealous was shethat it should in no respect fall short of that outfit of Lucy's forwhich she had cared so little. A hard task it was to make Genevieveaccept what Lucy had exacted, but Sophy held the purse-strings, wrotethe orders, and had her own way. 

She and her little sister were the only available bridesmaids, sinceRose O'More was not allowed to come. Having made up her mind to thisfrom the first, when the subject came forward, her open, cheerfullook and manner were meant to show that she was not afraid, and thather wish was real. Freely resigning him, why should she not be gladto join in calling down the blessing?

The wedding was fixed for Easter week, which fell early, and Albiniacast about for some excuse for taking her away afterwards. Anopportune occasion offered. Sir William Ferrars wrote from the Eastto propose the Kendals meeting him in Italy, and travelling hometogether, he was longing, he said, to see something of his sister, and he should enjoy sight-seeing ten times as much with a clever manlike her husband to tell him all about it. 

Mr. Ferrars strongly seconded the project! Clever fellow, not a worddid he say; but did not he know the secrets of that household as wellor better than the inmates themselves?'

Now that Tibb's Alley was deserted, and plans fixed, architect andclerk of the works chosen, March winds ready for building andunderground work to begin at once, what could be more prudent thanfor the inhabitants of Willow Lawn to remove far from the disturbanceof ancient drains and no drains, and betake themselves to a pureratmosphere? Mr. Kendal was of no use as a superintendent, and neededno persuasion to flee from the chance of typhus. 

As to the children, the time had come early when Maurice's wholenature cried out for school. He was much improved, and there wasthat real principle within him which made it not unsafe to launch himin a world where he might meet with more useful trials than those ofhome. Child as he was, his propensities were too much limited by thebounds of the town-house and garden, and the society of his sisters, one too old and one too young to serve as tomboys. He needed to meethis match, and work his way; Albinia felt that school had become hiselement, and Mr. Kendal only wanted to make his education the reverseof Gilbert's; so he ran nearly frantic between the real jacket andthe promise of going to school with Willie. He knew not, though hismother mourned over, the coming heart-sickness and mother-sickness ofthe first night, the first Sunday, the first trouble. It was sure tobe very severe in one of such strong and affectionate feeling, but itmust come sooner or later, and the better that it should be conqueredwhile home was still a paradise. Fairmead was not so far from hisdestination but that his uncle would keep an eye on him; and Winifredheld out a hope that if the tour lasted long enough, he should bringout both boys to spend their holidays with them. A very goodWinifred!

Albinia the Less was to become a traveller, for the good reason thatnobody could or would go without her. They were to go direct toLucy, who was at Naples with a second boy, and pining for home facesand home comforts--the inducement which perhaps worked most stronglyto make Sophy like the journey, for since her delusion had beenswept, away, a doubly deep and intense feeling had sprung up towardsher own only sister, whose foibles had been forgotten in longseparation. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

The Lake of Lucerne lay blue and dark in the shade of the mountains, on whose summits the evening sunshine was fast mounting, peak afterpeak falling into purple shadow. 

There was a small inlet where a stream rushed down between the hills, and on the green slope stood a chalet, the rich red of the roofcontrasting with the green pasture. A little boat was moored to astump near the land, and in it sat Sophia Kendal, her hat by herside, listening to and answering merrily the chatter of Maurice, whotumbled about in the boat, often causing it severe shocks, while heinspected the cut of the small sail which she was making for theminiature specimen, which he often tried in the clear cold water. 

Farther off, a little up the hill-side, Willie Ferrars was holdingthe hand of the chestnut-curled, black-eyed fairy, 'little Awk, ' whowas impressing him by her fluency in two languages at once, accordingas she chattered to him in English, or in French to a picturesquepeasant, her great ally, who was mowing his flowery crop of hay, glancing like an illumination, with an under-current of brilliantblossoms among the grass. 

Wandering with slow conversational pace up and down the beach of thelake, were Mr. Kendal and Sir William Ferrars, conversing as usual;the soldier, with quick alert comprehension, wide observation, andclearness of mind, which jumped to the very points to which thescholar's deeply-read and long-digested arguments were bringing himmore slowly. 

On a projecting point sat Albinia, her fair hair shaded under herdark hat, beneath which her English complexion glowed fresh andyouthful, as with flat tin box by her side, and block sketch-book onher knee, she mixed and she painted, and tried to catch those purplesand those blues with unabated ardour. Suddenly a great trailingfrond of mountain fern came over the brim of her hat from behind. 'Oh, Maurice, don't!' Then, looking up and laughing, 'Oh, it is you, is it? I knew Maurice would do, whichever it might be; but see, theother is quite out of mischief. '

'Unless he should upset Sophy into the lake. '

'He can't do that, the rope is too short. But is not he very muchimproved? He has quite lost his imperious manner towards her. '

'Nothing like school for making a boy behave himself to his sisters. '

'Exactly, as I learnt by experience long ago. I am glad William didnot see him till he had learnt to be agreeable. How he does admirehim!'

'You'll never make anything of that sketch; the mountain ishumpbacked, and the face of that precipice is exactly like ColonelBury;' and he caught up a pencil to help out the resemblance withnostril and eyebrow. 

'For shame, to be so mischievieous; such a great boy as you. '

'Well, we all came out here to be great boys, didn't we? I am sureyou look a dozen years younger than when I last saw you, Mrs. Grandmother. By-the-by, it was a bold stroke to encumber yourselfwith that brat; what's become of him?'

'Susan has taken him in asleep. You see, Maurice, I really could nothelp it, the poor little thing was so sickly, and had never thriven;but when they were a little while in bracing air, Lucy was longing tohave him in England, and his father, who never believes in anythingbut what he likes, _would_ not see it, and what with those Italianservants, and Algernon hunting Lucy about as he does, it would havebeen the death of him. Susan, good creature, had taken to him of herown accord the moment we came to Naples, and could not have borne toleave him, and you know the Awk is almost off her hands now, andSophy, who first proposed it, or I am sure I should never haveventured, is delighted to do anything for either of them, and alwayshas her little sister in her room. As to papa, he was very good, andthe child is very little in his way, and has been quite well eversince we have been in this delicious air. '

'How did you get Lucy to consent?'

'Poor dear, it was a melancholy business; but she had so often beenin alarm about him, and had suffered so much from having to leave himwith people she did not trust, that she caught at the proposal beforeshe fairly contemplated what the parting would be; and when she did, Algernon was too glad to be relieved from him not to keep her up toit, but it wont do to think of it, she has her baby, who ishealthier, and if they remain abroad, I suspect we shall keep littleRalph altogether; he is a dear little fellow, and Sophy has so takenpossession of Albinia, that I should be quite lost if I did not setup a private child. 

'What do you call him? I thought his name was Belraven. '

'I could not possibly call him so; and his aunts, by way of adding tothe aviary, made him Ralph the Raven, so I mean it to stick by him; Ibelieve papa has forgotten the other dreadful fact, for I caught himgiving his name as Ralph Cavendish Dusautoy. How the dear vicar ofBayford will devour him! and what work I shall have to keep him frombeing spoilt!'

'Then you think they will remain abroad?'

'Algernon hates England; and all his habits are foreign. '

'Did he make himself tolerably agreeable?'

'He really did. One could bear to be patronized by one's host betterthan by one's guest, and he was in wholesome awe of William. Besides, he is really at home in Italy, and knows his way about sowell, that he was not a bad Cicerone. I am sure Sophy could neverhave done either Vesuvius or Pompeii without his arrangements; and aslong as he had a victim for his catalogue raisonnee, he was veryplacable and obliging. That was all extracts, so it really was notso bad. '

'So you were satisfied?'

'He has a bad lot about him, that's the worst--Polish counts, disreputable artists and poets, any one who has a spurious sort offame, and knows how to flatter him. Edmund was terribly disgusted. '

'Very bad for his wife. '

'You see, she is a thorough-going mother, and no linguist. Shereally is improved, and I like her more really than ever I could, poor dear. I believe her head was once quite turned, and that heinfluenced her entirely, and made her forget everything else; but shehas a heart, though not much of a head, and sorrow and illness andchildren have brought it out, and she is what a 'very woman' becomes, I suppose, if there be any good in her, an abstract wife and mother. '

'Was it not dangerous to take away her child?'

'There was another, you know, and it was to save his life. Theduties clashed, and were destroying all comfort. '

'How does he behave to her?'

'I believe she has all the love he has to spare; he is proud of her, and dresses her up, and has endless portraits of her. Luckily shekeeps her beauty. She is more refined, and has more expression; onecould sometimes cry to watch her, and he likes to have her with him, and to discourse to her, but without the slightest perception orconsideration of what she would prefer, and with no notion ofsacrificing anything for her or the children. I know she is afraidof him; I have seen her tremble if there were any chance of his beingannoyed; and she would not object to any plan of his if it were tocost her life. I believe it would be misery to her, but I think shewould resist--ay, she _did_ resist, and in vain, for the sake of herchild. '

'Does her affection hold out, do you think?'

'Oh, yes, the spaniel and walnut-tree love, which is in us all, anddoubly in the very woman. It is very beautiful. She is so proud ofhim and of her gilded slavery, and so unconsciously submissive andpatient; but it is a harder life, I guess, than we can see. I amsure it must be, for every bit of personal vanity and levity is wornout of her; she only goes out to satisfy him; dresses to please hiseye, and talks, with her eye seeking round for him, in dread of beingrebuked for mistakes or bad French. And for the rest, her joy is tobe left in peace with little Algernon upon her lap. Yes, I hopeliving in all womanly virtues may be training and compensation, butthe saddest part of the affair is that he does not think itfashionable to be religious, and she has not moral courage to makeopen resistance. '

'May it come, ' fervently. 

'It is strange, how much more real and good a creature she is now, than when at home in the midst of all external observances. Yet itcannot be right! she surely ought to make more stand, but it is too, too literally being afraid to say her soul is her own, for she isunhappy. She does the utmost she can without offending him, andfeels it as she never did before. '

'There is no judging, ' said Maurice, as his sister looked at him witheyes full of sorrowful yearning. 'No one can tell where are theboundaries of the two duties. Poor girl! she has put herself into astate of temptation and trial; but she may be shielded by herexercise of so much that is simply good, and her womanly qualitiesmay become not idolatry, but a training in reaching higher. '

'May it be so, indeed!' said Albinia. 'Oh, Maurice! how I oncedisdained being told I was too young, and how true it was! Whatvisions I had about those three, and what failures have resulted!'

'Your visions may have vanished, but you did your work faithfully, and it has not been fruitless. '

'Ay, in shipwrecked lives. Mischiefs wherever I meant to do best!Why, I let even my own Maurice grow unmanageable while I was nursingpoor grandmamma. The voluntary duty choked the natural one, andyet--'

'And yet, ' interrupted her brother, 'that was no error. '

'Oh, no! I would not have done it for anything. '

'Nor do I think the boy the worse for it. I may venture now onsaying he was intolerable, and it hastened school, but though yourrein was loose, you never let it fall; and maybe, the self-conquestwas the best thing for him. If you had neglected him wilfully foryour own pleasure, nothing but harm could have been expected. As youwere absorbed by a sacred act of duty, I believe it will all be madeup to you in your son. '

'Oh, Maurice, if I might trust so! I believe I am doubly set on thatboy doing well, because his father must not, _must_ not have anotherpang!'

'I think he knows that. I do not imagine that he will never becarried astray by high spirits; but I am sure that he has thestrength, honour, and sweetness that are the elements of greatness!'

'Nothing we did so changed him as the loss of his brother. Oh, Maurice! there was my most earnest wish to do right, and my mostfatal mistake!'

'And greatest success. Gilbert owed everything to you. '

'Had I but silenced my foolish pride, he might have been safe inIndia now. '

'We do not know how safe he might be. I did indeed think it a pityyour influence led the other way, but things might have been farworse; if you made some blunders, your love and your earnestness wereworking on that susceptible nature, and what better hope can we wishto have than what rested with us at Malta? what better influence thanhas remained with Maurice or with Fred?'

Albinia had not yet learnt to talk calmly of Gilbert's last hours, soshe put this aside, and smiling through her tears, said, 'Ah! whenEmily writes to Sophy, that their boy is to have his name, since theycan wish nothing better for him than to be like him. '

'The past vision always a little above what is visible?'

'Hardly, Emily and Fred are as proud of each other as two peacocks, and well they may be, for--stoop down, 'tis an intense secret; but doyou know the effect of their Sebastopol den?'

'Eh?'

'Lieutenant-General Sir William Ferrars is going out in quest ofEmily's younger sister. '

'You ridiculous child! That's a trick of yours. '

'No, indeed. William was surprised into a moment of confidence, walking home in the moonlight from the Coliseum. En vrai militaire, he has begun at the right end, and written to Mr. Kinnaird to askleave to come and try his luck; and cool as he looks, I believe hewould rather prepare for Inkermann. '

'Well! if he be not making a fool of himself at his time of life, Iam sure I am very glad!'

'Time of life! He's but three years older than Edmund. If you arenot more respectful, we shall have to go out to Canada to countenancehim. '

'I shall be rejoiced to see him with a home, and finding life beyondhis profession; but I had rather he had known more of her. '

'That's what he never would do. He cannot talk to a young lady. Whyhe admires Lucy a great deal more than Sophy!'

'Well, judging by the recent brides, I think if it had been me, Ishould have gone in search of Mrs. Ulick O'More's younger sister. '

'Ah! I wanted particularly to hear of your visit at the bank. Youhad luncheon there, I think. How do they get on?'

'It is the most charming menage in the world. She looks verygraceful and elegant, and keeps him in great order, and is just thewife he wanted--a little sauciness and piquancy to spur him up at onetime, and restrain him at another, with the real ballast that bothhave, makes such a perfect compound, that it is only too delightfulto see anything so happy and so good in this world. They both seemto have such vivid enjoyment of life. '

'Pray, has any one called on Genevieve? though she could dispensewith it. '

'Oh, yes; Bryan O'More spent a fortnight there. And see what amoustache will do! The Osbornes, Drurys, Wolfes, and Co. , all dubbedthemselves dear Mrs. O'More's dearest friends. I found a circle ofthem round her, and when I observed that Bryan was not half such ahandsome fellow as his brother, you should see how I was scorned. '

'I hope Bryan may not play his father's game again. Do you know howshe was received in Ireland?'

'The whole clan adore her! Ulick, with, his Anglo-Saxontruthfulness, got into serious scrapes for endeavouring to disabusethem of the notion that she was sole heiress of the ancientmarquisate of Durant. I believe Connel was ready to call Ulick outfor disrespect to his own wife. '

'And was she happy there!'

'Very much amused, and treated like a queen; charmed with his mother, and great friends with Rose. They have brought Redmond home to lickhim into shape, and I believe Rose is to come and be tamed. '

'Always Ulick's wish, ' said Albinia, as her eye fixed upon Sophy. 

And her brother, with perhaps too obvious a connexion of ideas, said, 'Is _she_ quite strong?'

'Very well, ' said Albinia. 'I am glad we brought her. The sight ofbeauty has been like a new existence. I saw it on her brow, incalmness and rest, the first evening of the Bay of Naples. It hasseemed to soothe and elevate her, though all in her own silent way;but watch her as she sits with her face to those mountains, hear hervoice, and you will feel that the presence of grandeur and beauty isrepose and happiness to her; and I think the remembrance will alwaysbe so, even in work-a-day Bayford. '

'Yes, because remembrance of such glory connects with hope of futureglory. '

'And it is a rest from human frets and passions. She has taken tobotany, too, and I am glad, for I think those studies that draw oneoff from men's works and thoughts, do most good to the weary, self-occupied brain. And the children are a delight to her!'

'Sophy is your greatest work. '

'Not mine!' cried Albinia. 'The noblest by nature, the dearest, themost generous. '

'Great qualities; but they would have been only wretched self-preyingtorments, but for the softening of your affection, ' said Maurice. 

'Dear, dear friend and sister and child in one, ' cried Albinia. Andthen meeting her brother's eyes, she said, 'Yes, you know to the fullhow noble she is, and how--'

'I can guess how imprudent a young step-mother can be, ' said Maurice, smiling. 

'It is very strange. I don't, know how to be thankful enough for it;but really her spirits have been more equal, her temper more eventhan ever it had been, and that just when I thought my folly had beenmost ruinous. '

'Yes, Albinia. After all, it is more than man can hope or expect tomake no blunders; but I do verily believe that while an earnest willsaves us, by God's grace, from wilful sins, the effects of theinadvertences that teach us our secret faults will not be fatal, andwhile we are indeed honestly and faithfully doing our best, though weare truly unprofitable servants, that our lapses through infirmitywill be compensated, both in the training of our own character andthe results upon others. '

'If we are indeed faithfully doing our best, ' repeated Albinia. 

THE END.