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diff --git a/41275.txt b/41275.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fcf93e3..0000000 --- a/41275.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8584 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Miles Tremenhere, Vol 1 of 2, by Annette Marie Maillard - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Miles Tremenhere, Vol 1 of 2 - A Novel - -Author: Annette Marie Maillard - -Release Date: November 3, 2012 [EBook #41275] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MILES TREMENHERE, VOL 1 OF 2 *** - - - - -Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - MILES TREMENHERE. - - "For such a love, O Rachel! years are few, - and life is short!"--LOPEZ DE VEGA. - - BY ANNETTE MARIE MAILLARD. - - AUTHORESS OF "THE COMPULSORY MARRIAGE," "ZINGRA THE GIPSY," ETC., ETC. - - - IN TWO VOLUMES. - VOL. I. - - LONDON: - G. ROUTLEDGE & CO., FARRINGDON STREET. - 1853. - - M'CORQUODALE AND CO., PRINTERS, LONDON. - WORKS--NEWTON. - - - TO - ERASMUS WILSON, ESQ., F.R.S. - - IT IS ONE OF THE HIGHEST PRIVILEGES OF AUTHORSHIP, - TO BE ENABLED TO OFFER A PUBLIC TRIBUTE, - HOWEVER HUMBLE, - TO THOSE WHO CLAIM OUR RESPECT: - - THIS BOOK - - IS DEDICATED TO ONE--THE PATRON OF STRUGGLING TALENT, - THE FRIEND OF THE POOR-- - ONE, WHOSE FRIENDSHIP IS AN ESTEEMED HONOUR. - - THE AUTHORESS. - - - - -[Illustration: Departure of Tremenhere] - - - - -MILES TREMENHERE. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -"Tick tack, tick tack, tick tack--for ever goes the large hall clock, -until my heart (imitative thing!) plays at pendulum with it! Seventeen -long years that clock has been the monitor of Time in this old house. It -commenced its career the day I came into this world, and, faithful to -its trust, not for one hour can I remember its pausing. They say it -ceased its vigilance one day; I do not remember it, but Aunt Dorcas once -told me--only once, for she cried so bitterly that I never liked asking -more about it. It was the one in which I became an orphan! My poor -mother died, and they stopped it because its ticking reminded them of -the day of my birth, when she bade them open her door to let her hear -the friend whose career commenced with my life--the friend who was to -lead me to be good and happy, warning me of every passing hour! Poor, -dear mamma! I wish I had known her--oh, how I wish that _now_!--for -though my aunts and uncle Juvenal are very kind and loving, yet 'tis not -like a mother's love, I feel that--I feel so much yearning for that -unknown thing; it must be so beautiful, but one step below divinity in -its hallowing power; and I, wicked girl, have been chiding the old hall -clock, which she had a fanciful thought to make my twin!" Here the girl -(for such was the speaker) paused awhile in her soliloquy; after a few -moments, she continued:--"But _'tis_ wearisome to sit for days and days, -with only the same routine of events which you have known for years; -even the variety of the past six months offers no amusement. The lawyer, -the parson, and the squire--the squire, the lawyer, and the parson--with -my aunts Dorcas, Sylvia, and uncle Juvenal, each one chanting the -praises of his or her pet. I daresay it is very wrong of me to think all -this; but I don't love them less, my dear aunts, my kind uncle. Oh! -especially him and aunt Dorcas; but I cannot like--rather I should say -_love_--the squire and the young clergyman, even for their sakes. I -didn't want to think of love yet; but they have set me thinking, and now -I am always dreaming of the sort of man I should like. If there be -heroes in the world I should like to find one--such a one as I _could_ -love, tall, handsome, dark, dark! Yes, dark raven hair, and Spanish -eyes, pale and thoughtful, especially"----Here the soliloquy was -disturbed by a shrill voice beneath the window, calling upwards from the -garden, "Minnie, Minnie, child!" - -"That's aunt Sylvia," said the soliloquist quietly. "I will not answer, -for if I do, I know she will want to go for a ramble somewhere, and we -shall assuredly meet the lawyer." - -The voice below continued its summons, but in the distance; the caller -evidently was seeking through the garden. - -"I wonder when my cousin Dora will come," said the Minnie of Sylvia's -seeking again. "And I wonder if she is _very_ handsome; they say -so:--though only three years older than myself, I was always afraid of -her, even as a child. She was so tall and commanding, though but a girl -of fifteen then--now she's twenty; and she looked so stern, with her -proud curling lip which never smiled; even at play, her play was queenly -and condescending. I see her now, when she was at her gymnastic -exercises; how graceful she looked flinging upwards the hoop, which -always returned unerringly to the stick, as if it durst not disobey her -will. _Mine_ often rebelled, and fell yards off; and, whilst I put -myself in a fever to catch it, _she_ was calm and pale, and if she -involuntarily sprang upwards to meet it, with what a calm grace she -lighted on the toe of one of her tiny feet with the obedient toy in her -keeping! There was pride even in that action, for her foot seemed to -disdain the earth. It was the only thing I disliked in Dora, her pride -as a child; it awed me. I hope it will not do so now. I want to love -her. We cannot love where we fear, and I hope she will love me whenever -she comes; and yet I feel so nervous at the thought of seeing her, -though"----Here another voice arose on the ear; this, too, came from -the garden. "Minnie, Minnie; where are you, Minnie?" it said. - -"That's my uncle Juvenal," whispered the girl, peeping through the -window, with its antique panes and narrow casement, "and he's not alone. -I guessed as much. How he _can_ like Marmaduke Burton, _the_ squire, I -cannot imagine." - -"Minnie," cried a soft voice, evidently in the direction of the great -hall clock, "are you up-stairs, dear?" - -"Dear aunt Dorcas," whispered the girl softly; "shall I go to her?" She -moved towards the door of her chamber. At that moment, from beneath her -window, arose a hum of voices, and Sylvia's shrilly tones called, -"Minnie;" then a man's, but a very weak one, and rougher accents, -syllabled her name; these latter ones not calling, but in conversation, -and they said, "Miss Dalzell." The one so anxiously sought sat down, and -laughed gently to herself. "My aunt and uncle, and their pets! Which -shall be mine? Whom shall I marry? Fate, direct me!" and, with a playful -air, she took up a bracelet of large coral from her table, and commenced -counting. "The last must be my choice, I suppose: let's see, coral! Whom -will you favour?" And thus she ran on, a bead for each name: "The -squire, the lawyer, the parson; the squire, the lawyer, the"--here the -string broke, and her lovers rolled in confusion on the floor! "Alas! -and alas!" she cried, with much gravity, surveying the scattered beads, -"none of them? Well, when I _have_ a lover, I'll string him on the -chords of my heart; and when they fail and let him down to earth, why, -_I_ shall be there too, in my grave, my heart's strings broken: that's -how _I_ understand love!" - -"My dear child, why did you not answer me?" asked a quiet-looking, -elderly woman, entering her room. "I have been seeking you every where." - -"Dear aunt Dorcas," said Minnie, throwing her arms tenderly round her -neck; "I was afraid to reply, for my uncle and aunt Sylvia are in the -garden--_not_ alone either--and they would have heard me." - -"Who is there with them at this early hour, dear?" As she spoke she -released the girl's arms, and seated her beside herself on a couch, -affectionately holding both her little white hands. - -"Oh!" rejoined Minnie, "that horrid Marmaduke Burton, and Mr. Dalby, the -lawyer; and I dislike them both so much, _as they appear now_." - -"How do you mean, child?" - -"Oh! why--as--as--lovers. No, not lovers--suitors." - -"Where's the distinction, Minnie?" asked her aunt, smiling. - -Minnie looked down and blushed; then, looking up half timidly in the -other's face, replied, "I think a man may take it into his head to pay -you attention, wishing to marry you, but he does not love you for all -that; and I think, if a man _really_ loved you, he wouldn't talk so much -about it. Mr. Burton says he's dying for love,"--here she smiled -roguishly, and peeped up in her aunt's face; "and he certainly has -nothing of death from grief about him!" - -"Well, the lawyer--what is your objection there?" - -"Oh, he's ten thousand times more objectionable! Mr. Burton is only a -commonplace squire, looking like one in his top-boots, talking like one, -and with a loud voice proclaiming himself lord of the manor, rooks, -hounds, horses, and whippers-in! I don't think he's a bad man, yet there -is something unreadable too about him, which debars confidence in his -goodness; but he's a very disagreeable person, always reminding me of -aunt Sylvia's glass of bark in the morning--an amiable invention, but -most unpleasant to the palate. But Mr. Dalby,--oh! he's quite another -thing!--_thing_ he is; too finical to be a man, too useless to be a -woman, he is a compound of mock sentiment and unamiability; he drawls -out his words, looking you sideways in the face, never giving you a -bold, earnest look; he treats you like a sugar-plumb, and seems afraid -of melting you by the fervour of a full-face regard, and he never has a -kind or charitable word for any one; he's an insinuating creature, but -not _in my case_, as he endeavours to be." - -"Hush, Minnie, you must not judge hastily or harshly." - -"I don't, dear aunt," and she loosed one gentle hand, and put her arm -round the other's neck; "but I have noticed so many unamiable traits in -his character--but aunt Sylvia thinks him perfection." - -"I suppose I must not now speak of my protege--our young clergyman?" - -Minnie looked embarrassed. "Dearest aunty," she said at last, "I don't -want to marry; I'm very happy: why so earnestly seek for one to take me -away from you all? Mr. Skaife is sincere, I believe, in saying, he -likes me; I like him as an acquaintance, but I shouldn't like to marry -him. He's very good, kind, and charitable, I daresay; but I think he -wants that sacred fire which, in his sacred calling, makes the chilly -approach, to cheer themselves by the glowing warmth." - -"Oh, my dear child! your heart has not spoken, this is the truth; when -it speaks, may it be for a worthy object--that's all I pray. _I_ like -Mr. Skaife: for my sake, dear, try and do so likewise." - -Before a reply could be given, the bedroom door opened with fracas, and -aunt Sylvia suddenly appeared. She was totally different in appearance -to her sister. Dorcas was plump, good-tempered, meek-looking, about -forty-five years of age. Sylvia was some five years her senior; a -little, thin, sharp-faced woman--one whose very dress looked meagre; not -the richest brocade could appear rich on so shapeless an anatomy; it -would trail on the ground, limp, and disheartened from any attempt to -look well. She had the strangest eyes in the world--a dark, dingy, -chestnut brown, of which the pupil was certainly not larger than a pin's -head; thin nose, thin lips, thin hair, hands, and voice, completed aunt -Sylvia--with the addition of the very thinnest mind in the world. It was -like a screw-press; put any thing bulky within it, it was compressed -_instanter_ to a mummy, and thence doled out in such small particles, -that it was inevitably lost in the general mass of which aunt Sylvia was -formed. - -"I declare, Minnie," she whistled forth in her shrilly tone, "you would -provoke a saint; here have I been calling you at the top of my voice -this hour, and you must have heard me! Really, Dorcas, it is too bad; -you always encourage the child--you, too, must have heard me." - -"I have only been here a few moments," placidly answered her sister. - -"Then your conversation must have been most engrossing, for such -deafness to have fallen upon you!" and she looked suspiciously from one -to the other. - -"We were speaking of----" - -Before Minnie could complete her sentence, her door opened a third time, -and admitted uncle Juvenal. We will only say of him, that he was the -bond of union between the two sisters; not stout, not thin, not cross, -not quiet; older by three years than Dorcas, younger by two than Sylvia, -being forty-eight; prim, snuff-coloured, and contented, having but one -desire in the world--the one common to the three, to see Minnie a wife. -A warm discussion ensued between him and Sylvia, relative to some words -which had passed between the squire and doctor, fostered by their mutual -hopes of gaining Minnie, which hope was encouraged--nay, the niece -promised to each--by his patron and patroness. Now, Juvenal came to seek -the cause, and chide her propensity for loneliness; and while he and -Sylvia were warmly debating their disputed points, Dorcas and Minnie -crept out of the room, and the former gained the day this time, for she -and her niece, this latter with only her garden hat on, left the hall by -a side door, accompanied by Mr. Skaife, who had been quietly waiting--it -might have been by Dorcas's cognizance--in a shrubbery through which -they passed on a visit of benevolence. Juvenal and Sylvia, finding the -birds escaped, descended to the garden, when they discovered that the -same thing had occurred respecting the squire and lawyer; both had -disappeared. So the brother and sister sat down to talk it quietly over, -which terminated as all previous talkings on the same subject had done -before--by their completely disagreeing in their respective views, and -consequently falling out; in other words, having a violent quarrel. And -poor little Minnie--the subject of all these commotions--was quietly -walking towards the village with her aunt Dorcas, and _her_ selection of -a suitor, Mr. Skaife, who, to do him justice, was the most sincere lover -of the three; he cared but little whether Minnie were rich or poor, -provided she could be brought by any means to look smilingly upon him. -He was only a poor curate, 'twas true; but then some day he hoped to be, -perhaps, a bishop--Who might say? And in either or any case, he would -have chosen her to share all with him. Perhaps she had been correct in -saying he did not possess the sacred fire necessary for his calling; but -that fault lay to the account of his parents, who had possibly brought -him up to the church as a mere profession, when it should be a voluntary -choice. If, as she supposed, he did not possess the fire necessary for -martyrdom, if summoned to that glory, he certainly _did_ the fire of -love for the fair girl beside him; and while she wished he were any -thing but a lover, both for the sake of a certain pleasure she felt in -his company, and for her aunt's sake, he was wondering whether he ever -should win her?--when?--and how?--and in this mood they walked on. Many -long years before our tale commenced, a certain country gentleman named -Formby and his wife were the residents at Gatestone Hall, the fine -old-fashioned place we have just quitted; they were homely and -primitive, and withal majestic as the oak-panelled walls of the -hospitable home which gave a welcome to many a guest in that portion of -her Majesty's domains called Yorkshire, where the "canniness" of its -inhabitants consists most in the almost unparalleled method they -possess, of winning the way to the heart by kindness and genuine homely -hospitality, of which Mr. and Mrs. Formby were well-chosen -representatives. They had five children--four daughters and one son. -They never troubled themselves as to whether these would marry--that was -an affair of nature, and nature was handmaiden at Gatestone Hall. -However, art--or some adverse god or goddess--crept in, and marred her -course. Of five, only two obeyed her law. Juliana, the eldest, a fine -dashing girl, attracted the attention of the Earl of Ripley at a race -ball; and, six weeks afterwards, became his Countess. The youngest of -all, Baby, as they called her (Jenny was her name, to the amazement of -her family, which appeared impressed with the idea, that baby she was, -and ever would remain), married, at seventeen, a poor half-pay officer -for love; and true love it was. The little god likes poverty best, after -all; he generally nestles there, though the song says otherwise. The -only change this marriage made at the Hall was, the addition of another -inmate to its cheerful circle. Lieutenant Dalzell became located there -for seven months--very short ones they were, too--with his sweet, loving -wife; and there, poor fellow! he died of an old wound won in India, -which shattered an arm, and obliged him to quit the service. Poor Baby -cried like one; nothing could console her, not even the birth of Minnie -some months afterwards: so she cried herself into the pretty green -churchyard, beneath a yew-tree, beside Dalzell; for, poor girl!--almost -a child still when he died--begged so earnestly that they wouldn't shut -up her William in the cold stone family vault, but put him where the sun -might shine upon him, and the green grass grow, that he had a grave -under the bright canopy of heaven, and there, beside him, Baby lay; and -only that day, and the one of his death, did the old hall clock cease -its rounds by her desire. Then Mr. Formby soon followed, and his wife, -leaving three unmarried children, and these three we have seen as -bachelor and spinsters still. Whatever the two sisters may have thought -of matrimony, assuredly Juvenal had given it no part of his dreams by -day or night. _Their_ spinsterhood might have been involuntary of their -inclinations, but there was no law to prevent his asking; and, had he -done so, assuredly he might have had some one at all events, for, though -not a rich man, he was Lord of Gatestone, which would only pass away -from the grasp of himself or heirs should he die childless, of which -there seemed now every chance. Caps of every possible colour, like -fly-traps, were set to catch him, by all the spinsters and widows of -the neighbourhood; carriages of every description drove up to the Hall, -with inmates perfectly free, able, and willing; but when they left, the -only impression behind them was of their carriage-wheels on the -gravelled drive. Now all these attacks had become considerably -diminished, as time had shown their inefficacy. Strange to say, though -Juvenal had evinced no desire to marry on his own part, all his energies -(they were not legion) were called into play to effect an union for his -much-loved niece; and still stranger, that the three, loving her as they -did love her, should have one only thought in common, and be all equally -bent on the same scheme, which might probably separate her from them for -ever. But it is the course of a Christopher Columbian current in our -blood, to be always desirous of exploring some unknown territory. Such -was matrimonial ground to them, and they felt curious to watch its -effect upon others, personal experience being denied, or not desired by -themselves. Minnie was sadly perplexed among them;--they forced her to -think of marriage, when she otherwise would have been much more -innocently employed; and, unfortunately for them, she had not the -slightest idea of condensing all her thoughts on any one of those whom -they had chosen. The lawyer pressed her hand--the squire conferred the -same honour on her toe, as she stepped on his hand to mount her horse; -and the most sincere, as it is ever the case, stood half awkwardly -aloof, and sighed as he whispered to the winds, which blew it heaven -knows where--"Pretty Minnie Dalzell! I shall never win her; she's too -fair for a poor curate's home!" - -Pretty she certainly was, and fair--fair as the brightest lily tinged by -a sunbeam dancing across, but not staining, its purity. Such was the -tint that flew over her cheek, every moment new and changing; the -prettiest lip, such a short upper one that the mouth scarcely closed -upon teeth of shining whiteness, like a mother-of-pearl shell wet from -the spray, so fresh they looked. Her eyes were of dark violet, with -lashes and brows darker than the hair, the former so long and thick they -were like a setting round a gem; beautiful eyes, which you lost yourself -in looking into, wondering whence came the pure, clear light, which lent -them so much chaste fire--yet they were full of soul too. In the -forehead, the blue veins wandered like silvery streams through a daisied -meadow, giving life to all;--there was the bloom, grace, and poetry of -the rarest and brightest bouquet of flowers ever collected together, in -that noble brow, and in the ever-changing expression of her sweet face; -and above all, her coronet of magnificent hair clustered in rare -brightness;--it was not golden, yet it shone like it; nor flaxen--it had -too much _expression_ in it for that. It was such hair as only a -creature like Minnie could have. It seemed as if an angel had spun it in -the sun, and waved it by moonlight. 'Twas fair, chaste-looking hair, fit -for dew spirit's gems to hang upon. You took it in your hand, and it was -flossy as unspun silk, and this unbound fell to Minnie's heel, and yet -so pliant and soft, that her little hand could bind the mass round the -beautiful head with ease and grace. She was not tall, but about middle -height, perhaps a trifle more; slight, a mere fairy in figure, and the -springing foot scorned the earth like a flying gazelle. Talk of her -marrying a mere mortal--she should have lived when angels are said to -have loved the sons of men. The curate thought of this; so no wonder he -sighed, even encouraged as he was by----Aunt Dorcas. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -It was in the month of June, the early part, when May-flowers still -bloom, and the blossoming trees are not yet in full matronly beauty, but -in their bridal robes, with wreaths of flowers, like robes of dazzling -whiteness, that Minnie and her two companions walked on (for she loved -one and liked the other), her heart giving the rein to all her wild -Arab-colt thoughts of nobility and liberty. _She_ had nothing to -conceal; all was pure and beautiful in her mind, sunny and hopeful. They -were going to visit one of Aunt Dorcas's pensioners, and on Minnie's -pretty arm hung a basket of charitable gifts, truly such, for they were -appropriate to the wants of those for whom they were destined. Gifts of -thought and consideration, not merely donations from a full purse or -plentiful larder. On they journeyed, until a lane appeared before them; -the girl turned down it. - -"Stop, Miss Dalzell," cried Skaife hastily; "we had better cross the -path-field." - -"'Tis longer round," she rejoined; "aunt Dorcas will be tired, and this -is a favourite walk of mine," and she moved on. - -"You should obey your pastors and masters," he answered, smiling, and -yet he seemed embarrassed; "and, as one of the former, I don't -_command_, but may I ask you to cross the path-field, it looks so -inviting with its tall grass; and see, there's a pet of yours--a lark -rising upwards to allure you." - -"Aunty, will it be too far for you? No? then we will oblige our pastor." - -Skaife looked delighted as he assisted Aunt Dorcas over the stile. -Minnie was over like a sportive thistledown blown by roving breeze; -scarcely had she stepped on the other side of the stile when a little -girl followed her, passed, and stopped beside Mr. Skaife. - -"Oh, if you please, good sir," she said, "my mother saw you passing at -the end of the lane, and bade me run after you with this book; you left -it at poor sick Mary Burns's," and the child tendered a book. Both Aunt -Dorcas and Minnie stopped, Mr. Skaife was colouring and confused. "Thank -you," he answered, hurriedly taking it; "that will do." He endeavoured -to pass on. - -"And if you please, sir," continued the child, "mother bid me say, that -after you left Mary Burns at three this morning, she was so much -comforted by your kind words and reading, that she slept for hours, and -when she awoke promised mother never to try and kill herself again." - -"What is this, dear?" asked Minnie, placing a hand on the child's -shoulder. - -"Nothing, never mind, Miss Dalzell," said he; "let us continue our -walk." - -"No," answered she; "I am curious, I wish to know. What was it, dear?" - -"If you please, miss, poor Mary Burns tried to drown herself yesterday, -and Mr. Skaife jumped into the water and saved her, and he sat by her -all the day yesterday, and came again in the evening, and remained until -three this morning, comforting and praying to her, and----" - -"It was only my duty," he replied, now perfectly calm, and in a cold -tone. - -"_Now_ I understand," said Aunt Dorcas, "why you declined dining with us -yesterday;" she felt how much he self-sacrificed in not spending the -privileged hours of dinner near her niece, especially as he was seldom -invited by her brother. - -"Oh, Mr. Skaife!" cried Minnie, her eyes swimming, as she held out her -ungloved hand and grasped his; "forgive me. I have been a wicked, -wrong-judging girl. I said you did not possess the sacred fire necessary -for your calling; forgive me, you are following an example in meekness, -not arrogantly dictating one--forgive me!" - -Skaife could scarcely speak as he pressed her hand. - -"Now," she said almost gaily, to remove his embarrassment, "let me -follow up this wholesome lesson to myself by an exercise of charity: we -will go and see Mary Burns; come, dear aunt;" and once more she was at -the other side of the stile, and half-way down the lane with the child, -before they overtook her. Minnie and her aunt entered the humble bedroom -of poverty, alone. Mr. Skaife left them at the door of the cottage to -pay a visit in the neighbourhood. From a neighbour sitting there, to -take care of the paralytic mother of Mary Burns, they learned that the -unfortunate girl had been driven to attempt the dreadful act of the -previous day, on account of the cruel desertion of one who had led her -from the path of right; he led her into darkness, and left her there to -fight her way through shadows to the end of a dreary maze, without a -word to cheer, or a thread to guide her footsteps. There was no one to -tell her of a far off light, which with much seeking and sorrow she -assuredly would find. Nothing but despair around her, she flew to death, -a sad thing to meet in our unrepented sin! It was to this poor wounded -heart that Mr. Skaife brought life and balm. Though humbled and -sorrowing, the girl was hopeful now; she did not, however, allude to the -one whose desertion had maddened her. Aunt Dorcas forbore questioning -her too closely, seeing her evident desire to withhold her seducer's -name; and poor Minnie sat and wept. She had learned two lessons that -day: not to judge too hastily from a calm exterior, as in the case of -Mr. Skaife's warm heart, and that there are sorrows in this world -leading often to suicide or madness, hybrids of opposite -things--confidence and deceit. They quitted the cottage, promising to -see the unhappy girl shortly, and as Minnie bade her cheer up and not -despond, she leaned over the low pallet of misery, leaving a better gift -in the sight of Heaven than the purse she hid beneath the pillow--a -sister's tear over a fallen sister; for are we not all one large family? -and of children, too, ever learning something new--Earth our school, -Heaven our home--with glad faces to rejoice over our coming thither, -when our weary lessons here shall be over! Mr. Skaife joined them -outside, and, by mutual consent, none alluded to poor Mary Burns; but -Minnie turned smilingly to the young curate, and spoke more kindly than -she had ever done before, as he walked beside her, her aunt leaning upon -his arm. However, they parted from him before arriving at Gatestone, and -the aunt and niece entered the old hall together, to receive a double -fire of indignant reproaches from Sylvia and Juvenal, though the latter -was one who appeared ever more inclined to weep than scold; he became -whining and lacrymose when injured in any way; he did not stand up -boldly to fight his enemy; there was something decidedly currish in his -disposition. "I do think," he began, "that I am hardly treated as master -here; no one obeys or consults me; Dorcas goes out without saying where -she's going, taking Minnie with her; and Sylvia blames me for -supineness;--how can I help it?--and Marmaduke Burton blames me too, and -threatens never to come again." - -"Well, that wouldn't much signify," said Sylvia, bluntly. "I don't like -Mr. Burton; he's cunning and sarcastic; you would do much better to -attach yourself to Mr. Dalby, he _is_ a charming man." - -"I don't like Dalby," hazarded the wretched man in his thin voice; "he -has a significant manner of talking which makes me quite uncomfortable; -I always fancy some one is going to law with me, or that I shall be -forced into an unavoidable lawsuit." - -"Talking of that," said Dorcas, hoping to change the current a little, -as all was more or less directed against herself and niece for their -escapade, "does Mr. Burton say any thing more about his threatened suit -with his cousin, Miles Tremenhere?" - -"Dear me, no!" answered Sylvia; "Mr. Dalby says that affair is quite at -an end; this illegitimate cousin has wisely left the country; they never -hear even of him." - -"I sincerely pity him," replied Dorcas; "it was a sad affair, and his -father was much to blame, leaving him so long in ignorance of the truth; -it was most painful." - -"What's that, aunty?" asked Minnie. - -"Well, dear! the manor-house belonged some eight years since to a Mr. -Tremenhere, a cousin of the squire's, as they call him; this Tremenhere -had an only son, a very fine, noble-hearted young man, beloved indeed by -almost all, though very haughty to those he disliked. He attained his -twenty-first year; the rejoicings were great at the manor-house; you -were at school at the time; a month passed, and the father died; -scarcely was he in his grave, when Marmaduke Burton arrived, a distant -cousin of Miles's (the son), and disputed the property with him. After a -tedious and painful investigation and suit, as no proof could be -produced of Mr. Tremenhere's marriage with Miles's mother, whom he was -said to have married at Gibraltar, Miles lost the fortune, manor, all, -and quitted the country." - -"Poor Mr. Tremenhere!" said Minnie, much affected; "what a dreadful -thing for him! and where is he, aunt?" - -"No one knows, I believe, except it may be one or two persons, tenants -of his father's, who have boldly opposed Mr. Burton in every way for his -treachery, and upheld Miles Tremenhere." - -"Oh, that was nobly done!" cried the girl enthusiastically. - -"What do you mean by treachery?" exclaimed Juvenal and Sylvia in a -breath; both joined together in one common cause against Dorcas, who -indeed was only kin by name. - -"Well, I call it treacherous, mean, and wicked," she answered decidedly, -"his having been Miles's companion and playfellow from youth, and indeed -in the house but a few weeks before old Mr. Tremenhere's death; and -scarcely was the breath out of his body, when he put forth a legal claim -to the property as next heir, which claim had been prepared, as it was -proved, months before the old man's death." Minnie sat thoughtfully -listening, but her colour came and went, like the sun passing over a -landscape on a showery day. - -"It is very evident," said Sylvia sarcastically, "why you mention this -_now_ before the child--to disgust her with Marmaduke Burton; it is kind -and sisterly towards your brother, who desires the match." Sylvia gained -two things in this speech--she never spoke unadvisedly. She pointed out -the squire's position more forcibly to her niece; and also, by a -counter-stroke, enlisted her unseeing brother on her side. - -"Exactly so," whined he; "but that's always the way with Dorcas; she's -very cunning." - -"I'm sure dear aunt is not that," cried Minnie, starting up, her face -glowing, and putting an arm round her neck. - -"What business have you interfering?" exclaimed Sylvia; "you should -listen, and say nothing." - -"Aunt Sylvia," said the girl, calmly reseating herself, "as it seems all -this discussion is about me, I am forced to speak, and say, too, that -I'd die rather than ever marry Mr. Burton!" - -"That's your doing," rejoined Sylvia, nodding at her sister. "I'm sure -Juvenal has reason to be obliged to you; and as regards you, Minnie, I -sincerely wish you were married, for you are the cause of discussion and -dissension every day, not here alone, but between friends. There's -Marmaduke Burton and Mr. Dalby, who were inseparables until you returned -six months ago from school, and now they scarce speak civilly to one -another!" - -"Were they friends?" asked Minnie, opening her eyes, "Oh, then--" she -did not finish the sentence, but the curling lip spoke what she meant. - -"Can the child help that?" said Dorcas, deprecatingly. Sylvia felt as if -she had been an indiscreet general, and was on the point of retorting -with acrimony, when a step was heard on the gravel outside the window, -and one of the subjects of the recent debate walked in--the squire. - -"Here I am again," he said, familiarly leaning on the window-sill; "came -round through the shrubbery. Oh! Miss Dalzell," and he moved his hat, -"this is indeed a pleasure; one seldom sees you." - -Had love called up the blood from her heart to her cheek, a lover might -indeed have rejoiced in the glow; as it was, the bright flush, coloured -brow, cheek, all, and the lip curled, and eye fixed cold and stern, -shedding an icy hand of scorn over that young face, as she merely bowed -her head in reply. Marmaduke bit his lip, then turning to Dorcas, said, -blandly smiling, "And you too, Miss Dorcas, are a stranger; I trust I -see you well?" - -"Quite so, I thank you," she quietly rejoined, "Minnie and I have been -strolling out together." - -"Did you call upon Mrs. Lilly?" asked Sylvia. "I promised to do so: she -will think it unkind." - -"No," replied her sister; "we did not go near the village." - -"We went," said Minnie, raising her head boldly, "with Mr. Skaife, to -see a poor girl he saved from drowning herself yesterday." As she spoke, -somehow her eye fixed itself on the squire; her thought in doing so was, -to show him, at all events, no distaste on her part to the society of -another, however she might avoid _him_. Was it annoyance at this -decision of manner which made him turn so pale, and his voice tremble -slightly, as he inquired, "May I ask where?" - -"It was poor Widow Burns's daughter," answered Dorcas; "it is a sad -affair, but, thank Heaven, Mr. Skaife saved the poor girl's life!" - -"Shot! Shot!" called Burton, quitting the window on which he had been -leaning, and turning to seek his dog; "here, sir; come here; lie there!" -and the animal howled beneath the lash of his master's whip. When he -returned to the window he was calm as usual, cold and sinister in -appearance. - -"Won't you come in, Burton?" asked Juvenal, going to the window, which -looked over the wide-spreading lawn, with its old, majestic trees in -clusters, and the cattle browsing beneath them; "won't you come in?" - -"No, I thank you," he replied carelessly. "I merely strolled this way to -inquire about Miss Dalzell's health in person, as I have so seldom the -pleasure of finding her at home. Charity, that cold dame, has much to -answer for, in depriving us, as she does, of her society." - -"You would scarcely term her _cold_," answered Minnie, "had you -witnessed the gratitude of Mary Burns to-day, towards Mr. Skaife." - -"'Pon my word!" rejoined he, in a cold, cynical tone, "your parson, -Formby (he addressed himself to Juvenal), is a _preux chevalier_; -something new in the colour of his cloth!" - -"Is humanity new?--or his act unbecoming his calling?" quietly asked -Dorcas. - -"I am scarcely competent to answer you. _I_ have a great dislike to -display: things quietly done, in my opinion, look most meritorious." - -"Oh!----" Minnie began. - -"Pray, let us change the subject," said Sylvia angrily. "I'm tired of -your charities and drowned persons. It always happens that the one who -saves, manages most cleverly for his deed to be known where he thinks it -will benefit him." - -"For shame, Sylvia!" said Dorcas. - -"Of course," rejoined Burton, with an uncertain, uneasy glance, "you had -a pathetic account of the cause; the poverty, the----" - -"It was not _poverty_ alone," answered Dorcas; "but, with your -permission, we will drop the subject." - -"'Tis best," he replied carelessly; "these people are tenants of mine, -and, I fear, bearing no very good name: we must get rid of them." - -"Talking of that," asked Juvenal, "have you succeeded in ejecting that -fellow Weld?" - -"No; I fear it will be impossible. His lease is good, and was only just -renewed for twenty-one years when----" - -He paused: something withheld him from uttering the name of Tremenhere -that day: Minnie's speaking eyes were fixed upon him. - -"Ah! yes; I see," rejoined Juvenal; "it is very annoying." - -"The impertinence of a low fellow like that, must be galling," suggested -Sylvia. - -"What is he guilty of?" asked Dorcas, who was nearly as much in the dark -about many things as Minnie herself, associating as little as possible -with the squire or Mr. Dalby. - -"Why," answered her brother, "fancy the insolence of one of Burton's -tenants, whose grounds adjoin his own, who presumes to pass him without -even touching his hat; and had the audacity to try and raise a -subscription, to which he offered to give largely (for him--being only a -small farmer), to find out the impostor, Miles Tremenhere, and support -his claims in another suit to recover the manor-house!" - -"Such audacity, indeed," chimed in Sylvia, "in a low farmer!" - -"I wonder," said Minnie, looking up in seeming calmness, but the warm -heart beat, "whether the smooth-barked poplar has more sap in it than -the rough gnarled oak?" - -"Good gracious, child!" answered Sylvia tartly; "what do _you_ know -about trees?" - -"I was not thinking of _trees_, but _men_," rejoined the girl quietly. - -"Then what did you say 'trees' for?" asked Juvenal, surprised. - -"Because, uncle, they represented men to my thought. We know that -education and associations refine; but I wonder, whether the rougher -class of men was created nearer the slave or brute than the poplar of my -thought; whether men are slaves by birth, or to a superior force which -makes them such, and makes them bow even their free opinions in -subjection to a mightier, not better power." - -"Minnie, dear!" cried Dorcas taking her hand, startled by her unusual -warmth. - -"I see Miss Dalzell is rather ruffled to-day," said Burton, taking off -his hat; "so I will say adieu. Ladies, your servant; Miss Dalzell, I -kiss your hand, even though it smite me: Formby, will you give me a call -to-morrow?" and, without awaiting a reply, he whistled his dog, and -hurried away. It would be vain to attempt portraying all the -indignation lavished by Juvenal and Sylvia on their niece, who sat, -however, tolerably calm beneath the fire. She was used to these -discussions, and these perhaps, and the necessity of upholding her right -against being forced into an unhappy marriage, had made her more -thoughtful, and less girlish, with them than her age warranted; with -Dorcas, she was an innocent child, and this was her nature. With those -where she felt the necessity of calling her firmness into play, she -became almost a thoughtful woman; and while they discussed, Marmaduke -Burton's thin, tall, spare figure walked thoughtfully homewards, and the -narrow brow contracted still more over the small grey eye, which, with -the high Roman nose, gave him the appearance of a bird of prey. He was -only thirty, but looking some years older; he had assumed the dress of a -country squire with the assumption of that title, and one was as illegal -as the other, and sat as uneasily upon him. The top-boots seemed ashamed -of his thin legs, and shrunk from them. Those things generally grace the -jovial country gentleman, yeoman, or farmer; on Marmaduke Burton they -were as misplaced, as ringing a swine with gems, to give a homely -metaphor to a homely subject. There is one person at Gatestone to whom -we have not yet introduced our readers; let us hasten to repair the -omission. This personage is Mrs. Gillett, the housekeeper. All three, -Juvenal, Sylvia, and Dorcas, involuntarily bowed down to her opinion. -Why, it would be rather difficult to define, except, perhaps, that as a -matron she acted powerfully and sustainingly on these spinster and -bachelor minds. Whatever occurred to any of them, was immediately laid -before Mrs. Gillett to decide upon; she was the repository of all their -secrets, and, strange to say, never betrayed one to the other; she heard -all, kept all, and _agreed_ with all--consequently her position was both -difficult and dangerous. Sometimes she met with an unforeseen rock, one -of those we not unfrequently may have been called upon to pass over on -the beach going to or from a boat at low tide, covered with seaweed, -wet, slippery, and full of holes, in which the sea water has lodged. -Well, over one like this Mrs. Gillett often had to pass; she slid right -and left, sometimes her shoes filled with water as she stepped into a -hole; at one moment she was _nearly_ falling into the sea, but somehow -Mrs. Gillett got safe to the end of the rock, dripping and uncomfortable -'tis true; but she gained her boat, and put out to sea, the oars at full -play, and the sail at the prow, like snow in the sun, all 'taut,' as -sailors say, and 'bellying out' gallantly before the wind. To sum up her -character in a few words, she was the essence of a thousand weathercocks -infused into one. Even Minnie owned a sort of deference for this busily -employed dame; but this was scarcely to be wondered at, it had grown up -with her, and been originally engrafted on her childish mind by means -common and pleasant to childhood--namely, sweetmeats and sugarplums. -Mrs. Gillett had the very snuggest housekeeper's room in the world, -looking into the extensive kitchen-gardens at the back of the hall, and -thither flocked her votaries. She was a woman of nearly sixty, but -robust and active; no modern fashion had disturbed her style of dress; -her 'gownd,' as she still termed it, was three-quarters high, the -gathers behind were set out by what old-fashioned ladies term 'a pad,' -that is, a thing like a quarter of a yard cut off a sand-bag at the -bottom of a door; the whitest muslin handkerchief in the world was -pinned across her well-conditioned bust, confined close to the throat by -a brooch set round with pearls, containing a lock of the defunct Mr. -Gillett's hair; her cap was of lace like snow, high-crowned, ribbonless, -but with broad lace strings pinned _exactly_ in the centre by another -brooch smaller than the first--a sort of a hoop, the first, as she told -every one, that she had ever possessed. Storr and Mortimer might not -admire it, but she did. A white apron completed this attire, not a -Frenchified thing with pockets, but a genuine old English one, gored and -sloped, perfectly tight all round. As she sat in her high-backed chair -giving audience to her visiters, she was a picture. She was the only -person who had advocated the cause of matrimony to Juvenal--it was -dreadful to her the idea of the old place passing away to another branch -of the family. When her bones had been more capable of locomotion, she -had visited all the neighbouring housekeepers for miles, on some pretext -or another, to find a wife for Juvenal--but in vain. His bent was not -matrimony for himself, and he cared but little who should inhabit -Gatestone after his death. His sisters were strangely indifferent, too; -they did not like the place especially, and, should they survive him, -proposed residing on a small property of their own near Scarborough. -Thus all their united energies were directed towards the settlement of -their niece. She was their plaything, just as her poor mother had been -eighteen years before. Mrs. Gillett's advice was perfectly conscientious -when given; she only thought of the immediate case before her, without -reference to any other prior claim which might have been made on her -attention. Unlike Lot's wife, she never looked back; consequently, had -all followed her counsel, a strange confusion would necessarily have -ensued, where _all_ were bent on the same thing--to marry Minnie, and -each to his or her favourite. She sat in state, her hands crossed over -her portly figure as she leaned back in her chair, and before her sat -Juvenal. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -"Just so, Mrs. Gillett," he said; "just as you say. I am _not_ treated -like the master in my own house; no one consults or obeys me. As for my -niece, she opposes me in every possible way!" - -"Oh! that's a pity, I'm sure," said the commiserating listener, shaking -her head; "that shouldn't be, you know: it's very wrong." - -"So I tell her," continued he, "but she persists in it, and -unhesitatingly insults Marmaduke Burton before my face--something about -some trees; I don't exactly know what she meant, but _he_ did, and -walked away quite offended." - -"Trees?" asked Gillett, musingly; "trees? Ay, that must be it! When -Squire Burton came to the property, he was much in debt, they said, and -he cut down a lot of fine old oaks about the place: don't you call it to -mind, sir?" - -"To be sure I do," he answered, his hair almost on end at this solution -of Minnie's riddle--"What a wicked thing for a girl of her age to say, -on purpose to hurt his feelings, and I was so anxious for the match!" - -"I've always remarked," rejoined his companion, dropping her words one -by one sententiously, "that the children of military men have more devil -in them than others, more quarrelsome-like; depend upon it, 'tis what -they're brought up with." She spoke as if they were young cannibals, fed -upon the trophies of war around a blazing fire; as, says an old song -there, "Where my forefathers feasted on the blood of Christians." - -"Very likely!" ejaculated Juvenal, who was growing prosy and stultified -by her reasonings, and his own over-thinking. - -"And yet her father was a poor, maimed, one-armed man after all, not at -all like a soldier. I often wondered how Baby, poor child, could love -him!" - -Juvenal evidently thought that a son of Mars should, literally and of -necessity, be a man of _arms_. "But what's to be done with Minnie?" he -uttered thoughtfully. "It would be very dreadful were she to marry the -poor curate, or even the lawyer; for her own fortune is a mere trifle. -Almost all her mother's portion was spent in paying off Dalzell's debts. -I am living, and am obliged to live, quite up to my income; her aunts -can give her nothing until their death. What is to be done, Mrs. -Gillett? pray, advise me how to act?" - -"I'd lock her up," whispered Gillett, "and not let her see any one -else." - -"But myself?" he asked; "what good would that do?" - -"No, not you--the squire. Don't let her go about with her aunts. One -wants the lawyer to have her; t'other, the parson. Lock her up; it's -just the way to tame a high spirit, and make her like the man!" - -"Well, so I've thought too, Mrs. Gillett, but there would be a dreadful -outcry were I to attempt it. How is it to be done?" - -"Well, give her, say a month, to decide; and if she don't say Yes, then -do it, and she'll soon come to. You are her guardian, and have a right -to know what's best for her." - -"So I will! so I will! your reasoning is most excellent; but don't give -a hint to my sisters, or I shall have my scheme frustrated." - -"Not for the world, sir; and I again beg of you not to name _my_ advice -to any one, or I shall lose all the confidence of the others." - -"Rest perfectly satisfied, Mrs. Gillett; I have too sincere a respect -for your excellent counsels, to risk the loss of them owing to any fault -of mine;" and he whispered, rising, "Don't let any of them know I have -consulted you." - -This the dame cheerfully promised, and she faithfully kept her word. To -do her justice, Mrs. Gillett meant no harm--far from it. If, in the -almost torpid indifference of her heart towards others, there arose -sometimes another feeling, it was certainly to do good, not evil; but -there was predominant above all else, the love, the ambition of -domination, that heaven to the narrow-minded--she held the reins of -government of all; this was her glory, not calculating, or indeed -caring, how obtained; she was an unconsciously dangerous woman--in her -heart meaning no harm, certainly. Juvenal quitted her, resolved to watch -for and seize the first excuse given, to coerce Minnie to his wishes; -and a more erring path a man never selected. Minnie would do any -thing--might have been induced to take any step (not faulty), by -kindness, or from affection; but her spirit was of that nature which -would make her stoutly rebel against oppression. Mrs. Gillett smoothed -her white apron, puckered up her mouth, folded one hand over the other, -and composed herself to take her afternoon's nap; and Juvenal walked -away, strengthened in mind by his counsellor's advice, and like a -galvanic battery, full charged, prepared to electrify poor Minnie the -first moment they came in contact. In this state of affairs days went -by: Juvenal watched in vain for open rebellion; his niece was too well -occupied elsewhere, to give herself the trouble of opposing any -attention the squire might choose to pay her. When our minds are fixed -upon one object, minor things (even if they, under other circumstances, -would be considered evils) pass us by almost unnoticed. However, the -squire had paid only hurried visits to Gatestone since the day we last -saw him there: he seemed pre-occupied about something, and this apparent -coolness on his part, agonized Juvenal, who revenged himself by -persecuting Minnie, and interrupting every conversation, with either the -lawyer or curate, which he fancied possibly agreeable to her. But she, -with perfect indifference, smiled on, unruffled and gay. Minnie had -something better at heart. We have said she was a little self-willed; -and not all the angry expostulations of Sylvia, who had discovered it, -could prevent her visiting the cottage of Mary Burns, who now was -enabled to quit her bed. Accompanied by Dorcas, she went thither almost -every day, to speak comfort to, and fortify that unhappy girl in her -good resolutions. Dorcas was one of those sensible women, who, though -they would not plunge a young, pure mind in impurity, or familiarize it -with crime, yet deem it right and healthful to teach it the beauty of -virtue by its comparison with error, guardedly, advisedly, but -practically shown. Moreover, in this case it was a duty, and that Dorcas -inculcated above all else, to succour and strengthen those in affliction -or temptation. Poor Mary forbore to name her seducer, neither did either -seek to unveil this hidden corner of her heart: the wrong had been -done--how could it alter the case to know his name? The poor girl said, -"Oh, when I knew he had deceived, and never meant to marry me--when he -told me so, coldly and scornfully, I became mad; for that I must have -been, to seek death in my sin!" Then she told Minnie how she had been -brought up, almost entirely, for years at the manor-house, while Madame -Tremenhere (so she called her) lived: but this seemed wrung from her -heart; for, with the words, the clenched hands stiffened, so bitterly -she wrung them, and her lip sternly compressed itself together, to keep -back her tears. She was a girl of manners and bearing far superior to -her station; not decidedly pretty, but quiet, well-looking, and far -above what is termed "genteel." She was ladylike in tone and manner, -showing evidence of gentle teaching and association. Her mother had -once kept the village school; and when she became paralyzed, years -before, Mary had supported her by her work, plain and fancy, which she -disposed of in the neighbouring town, Harrogate, some six miles distant. -She was, at the time our tale commences, in her twenty-fifth year. -Dorcas had taken a deep interest in this girl, and was endeavouring, -through some friends in London, to obtain a situation there for her, -whither she might remove with her poor old unconscious mother. Juvenal -could not lock up Minnie, as Mrs. Gillett had advised him to do, for -visiting this lonely cottage, however much against his wishes, because -Dorcas was a consenting party: he could but grumble, and consult with -his old crony, the housekeeper, who advised him to bide his time; and he -too felt, at her foretelling, that that would soon come. "The Countess -of Ripley and Lady Dora will shortly arrive," she said, "and then Miss -Minnie can't run about as she does." He felt this, too, and waited. But, -in the mean time, his refractory niece sped almost daily to the Burns's -cottage, where, not unfrequently, her young, fresh voice paused in its -gentle, though almost childish, counsellings, or readings, to salute Mr. -Skaife, who came also to visit his poor parishioner; and (truth must be -spoken) a little self-interest attached itself to his visits, for he was -almost certain of meeting the one he sought and loved there. One day -they met as usual: Minnie was alone, Dorcas had not accompanied her: he -had preceded her in his arrival. When she entered the cottage she found -much tribulation there. Evidently, Mr. Skaife was in the confidence of -Mary Burns; it was natural he should be, as the one who had rescued her -from so fearful a death, and also, as her spiritual master, one she was -bound to respect. Minnie found the unhappy girl in a state of the most -fearful excitement. Acting upon what he had said, of their being -improper characters, an order had been brought them that morning by the -squire's steward, to quit the cottage of which he was landlord as soon -as possible. It seemed almost beyond the power of Mr. Skaife to control -the girl's emotion to the standard of reason. When Minnie entered, Mary -stood before her pale and speechless: she stood--yet she seemed almost -incapable of supporting the weight of her body, and, still greater than -that, some heavy affliction. For some moments she could not reply to the -other's kind question of, "What had occurred?" Mr. Skaife hastened to -reply:-- - -"Oh!" he said hastily, fixing his eye on the girl to subdue her bursting -feelings, as if he dreaded her giving utterance to something; "Mr. -Burton deems it advisable another tenant should have this cottage, and -'tis best thus; Mary must leave; absence from this place is necessary, -for many reasons. I have seen Miss Dorcas this morning, and she tells me -she has succeeded in obtaining an employment for this poor girl in town, -where she can support her mother, and in more healthful scenes and -occupations redeem the past, and forget----" - -"Forget!" she almost shrieked; "forget! and _now_ to-day, when I am -ordered away, and by----" - -"Hush!" interrupted the curate sternly; "remember you are called upon to -suffer; you have purchased that right, however cruelly administered to -you; it is only by pain inflicted that physicians heal." - -"Forgive me, Mr. Skaife," she cried, in a scarcely audible tone; "I have -merited all, but I am only human, and it is very hard to bring down the -spirit to subjection, more especially in my case, when----" - -"Hush!" he said again; and Minnie felt that her presence silenced the -girl's speech. - -"And must you leave this soon?" asked Minnie; "before my aunt has -arranged all for your departure?" - -"Yes," uttered Mary, through her half-closed teeth; "we are ordered to -quit now--at once--to-day!" and, despite her efforts, the excitement of -her previous manner again overcame her. "I am very wicked," she said at -last, in deep affliction and humility, "for I have deserved all; but oh! -Miss Dalzell, may Heaven keep you from ever suffering--though innocent, -as you must be, with your strong, pure mind--what I am enduring; even -guilty as I am, it is almost more than mere human force can bear up -against." - -"You have a kind, good friend here," answered Minnie, looking up in Mr. -Skaife's face; "one whose guidance has led you to better and surer hopes -than those you had relied upon. Think of this, and be comforted. You -will soon leave this, and meanwhile you shall not quit this cottage; _I_ -will ask Mr. Burton to permit you to remain; surely his steward acts -without his concurrence, and when he knows this man's order, he -will----" - -"He!" cried Mary; "he, Mar----, Mr. Burton, I mean!" - -"Pray, Miss Dalzell," exclaimed Mr. Skaife hastily, "drop this painful -subject--oblige me; leave all to me; and if I may without rudeness ask -it, abridge your visit to-day. I will see you this evening, and inform -you where this poor girl is removed to, for leave this she must." - -"Then I will go now," answered Minnie, moving towards the door. "May -I----" - -Before she could conclude her sentence, the cottage door was hastily -pushed open, and a man entered. Mary uttered a wild scream of surprise, -and, springing forward, grasped his hand in both of hers. "Miles," she -cried, as if doubting her sense of vision. "Miles, you, you -here!--forgive me," she uttered, dropping his hand, as if it blistered -hers in the contact, and, stepping back, "I forget myself always _now_, -Mr. Tremenhere. Oh, Heavens!" And she covered her face with her hands, -and burst into tears. - -"Miles--Miles still and ever--dear Mary!" exclaimed the man, putting his -arms around her fondly, and drawing her on his breast, quite unconscious -of, or indifferent to all observers. "Still, my girl, as when a better -than any now on earth sanctioned it." And his voice trembled, yet it was -a fine manly one too, and in keeping with the speaker's appearance. He -was tall, very tall, muscular in frame, but slight, dark-haired, with -dark earnest eyes; a rather projecting but perfect brow gave more depth -to them--it was shade above their intense fire; an aquiline nose of -chiselled outline, a mouth compressed and firm; all combined, made Miles -Tremenhere a portrait worthy the pencil of the most scrupulous of the -old masters. He was quite Spanish in style; for a complexion dark and -bronzed, gave colouring to that face of wild, half-savage beauty, from -its daring, haughty expression. A thick, dark moustache curled down -either side of the mouth, veiling, but not concealing, the line of its -speaking firmness, even in silence. He appeared quite unconscious of the -presence of any one but Mary, like a man accustomed to be alone and -friendless in a crowd. Minnie looked at him, in wonder at first at a -manly beauty she might have dreamed of, but never saw before; then a -sensation of bitter pain came over her, succeeded by the glow of maiden -shame when first brought in contact with guilt; for she fancied Mary's -seducer before her, and she felt shame for one of her sex who could thus -daringly avow it, as Mary's action seemed to do; she made an effort to -creep away, then turning her eyes towards Mr. Skaife, expecting to see -reprehension or anger on his countenance, she beheld a quiet, benevolent -smile cross his expressive, but not handsome, face. She stopped, feeling -in an instant that Mr. Tremenhere could not be the one who had wronged -the girl, for him to look thus. "Mary," continued Miles, still holding -her in his arms. "What dreadful thing is this I hear? I only arrived in -this neighbourhood yesterday night, and Weld, my ever true friend, told -me, to my horror, that you had been rescued from death by some one. -What, Mary, has your fine spirit become so daunted, that a little -poverty could grind it down to despair? Shame on you, my girl! You told -me, when things changed at the old place, that poverty should not quell -_you_; you bade me cheer up, and look to you for courage. Is this your -practice of that excellent theory, Mary?" - -While he was speaking, her head gradually turned from his gaze; in vain -he tried to force her eyes to meet his; she held her face downwards, -and, shrinking from his arms, dropped on her knees, bowed to earth in -bitterness, worse than any death could have been; she had yet to teach -this noble heart to despise her. What could death be compared with that? -He tried to raise her. "Come," he said with the gentleness of a woman, -"I did not mean to scold you; never be cast down with a few rough words -from a rough fellow like myself." - -A hand was on his arm; he started, so forgetful had he become of all -around, seeing only her, for her poor old mother sat in an arm-chair, -perfectly unconscious to all around in hearing, and stone blind--Miles -turned hastily--the smile had changed to a frown. "Mr. Tremenhere," said -Skaife, for 'twas his touch upon him, "do not let me startle or alarm -you," he hurriedly added, feeling the start. - -"Sir!" exclaimed the other proudly, "I neither know fear nor timidity," -and he shook his arm free from the clasp. - -"You mistake me," answered Skaife calmly; "though a stranger to you, -from report I well know, that, but--" he hesitated a moment in -confusion, not well knowing how to continue. - -The poor girl came to his aid, rising slowly, whilst her knees trembled -beneath her from emotion. She advanced a step; her first impulse of -rushing into Miles's arms was passed, and now she durst not touch even -his hand, but stood, and with a wave of her hand motioned to Skaife. - -"Miles," she said, "that is our curate, good, kind Mr. Skaife. But for -him, my poor mother would now have been childless, and probably in the -workhouse--_he_ rescued me!" At the thought of her old mother, -paralyzed, deaf, and blind, in that spectre-house of misery, the tears -dropped from her eyes, which were strained wide open, to try and see -through that crowding flood of despair. - -"I seldom offer my hand," exclaimed Tremenhere, at the same time -extending his towards Skaife, "it has been so often repulsed; but take -it now in warm thanks for what you have done for one, almost a sister." - -All coldness and pride were banished from that fine noble face; his -every feature lit up with the rich, bland smile, which left you almost -speechless with admiration, so exalted the expression became. Two worthy -of each other in heart and mind clasped hands warmly, and looking in -Skaife's face, Miles, whose wrongs had made him a keen observer of -countenance, ever dreading an enemy, with his hand gave a feeling of -friendship which time well matured. - -"Now, I remember," he added, "Weld spoke of your kindness; but my brain -was so bewildered I had forgotten it, and other harsh events to deal -with, prevented my coming over here last night, as I was assured of -Mary's safety by my good farmer friend where I am staying." - -"And now," said Skaife looking expressively at him, "will you accompany -me a short distance, merely across a couple of fields, whilst I offer my -protection as far as her own grounds, to Miss Dalzell." And he turned to -where Minnie stood, almost concealed by the curtains of the humble bed. - -"Miss Dalzell!" exclaimed Tremenhere; and again the first haughty -expression mantled his face with scorn. "Allow me to use the privilege -of my calling," said Skaife, "and take upon me what, as another, I might -not dare assume--the liberty of presenting you to one another,--Miss -Dalzell, Mr. Tremenhere." - -The latter raised his hat coldly, but respectfully, yet he seemed -annoyed at the meeting. - -"Honour Miss Dalzell, for _my_ sake," whispered poor Mary, well knowing -why he looked so troubled; "for she has come here day after day, as an -angel, to visit a suffering creature, and bring balm to a wretched -sinner." The last word was unheard by Miles; he stood beside Minnie, -whose face was covered by a deep blush. - -"This," he said, "has been a day of much surprise, if of sorrow too; I -came, expecting every hand and heart against me--every hand cold, every -heart stone; I have met two generous ones, or faces are sad traitors. -Forgive me, Miss Dalzell, but in your home, the bitterest against me, -the almost dwelling-place of Marmaduke Burton, my _worthy_ cousin, I -scarcely expected to find a bosom with human blood in it; a thousand, -and a thousand thanks for Mary's sake." - -"Mr. Tremenhere has been intimate with my thoughts for some time," -answered Minnie more calmly, "and believe me as friend, not foe." - -"Indeed!" and a bright glowing look was fixed in her face, "I never -dreamed of a personal friend at Gatestone, even in thought. This is -truly the prodigal's welcome home! May I accompany you and Mr. Skaife -across the two fields he named? I know them well! I may? Thank you; -Mary!"--He turned to the poor girl, and his face saddened as he -approached her, for she was weeping bitterly; the very floor seemed to -tremble with her emotion, as Skaife whispered lowly to her--"Mary, I -will return soon--soon, my girl; don't be so cast down, better times -will come for all. Hope, Mary; _I_ do to-day," and he grasped her -reluctant hand, "just a few moments, and I will return." - -Skaife whispered, "Remember your solemn promise to me, to Heaven. He -_must_ know all; cheer up, poor girl, I am sure he will only feel _pity_ -for you!" _Only_ pity where we were once loved and respected, is indeed -an icedrop on a burning surface, soon passed away, soon absorbed, and -not long even the memory of it left. - -Minnie, Tremenhere, and Skaife, passed out. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -Tremenhere had two distinct characters; with those he disliked, he had -more than the coldness ascribed to Englishmen in general; there was -something almost despotic in his manner. With those to whom his -affections kindled, he was not alone gentleness itself, but forbearing, -bending, loving, the almost habitual frown quitted his face, and left it -youthful, bland, and joyous in expression. Poor Miles! he had suffered, -and been made to endure, keenly; he had been forced to graft suspicion -on a noble nature, and this destroyed the bud of much good fruit. There -was so much wild nature about him, that not unfrequently the usages of -society suffered from his bluntness; what he thought, he spoke freely. - -"Miss Dalzell knows, I presume," he said, as the three entered the -path-field, "my history--as I was--as I am?" - -"But slightly," she answered, rather embarrassed. - -"Well, 'tis best, perhaps, little known to one so young and pure as -yourself. It would show you a capability of vice in the human heart, -which you may never discover in your personal career--so better ignore -it; it might, too, tarnish your mind's purity, to see so dark a current -in a life's ocean; but what I wished to allude to, is this, when I -first saw you, and heard your name mentioned, it recalled you to me as -one whom I have recently heard of as the elected bride of my hopeful -cousin, Marmaduke Burton. My first thought of you was darker than -dislike--'twas contempt; no good, true heart could love that man for -himself." - -"Stop, Mr. Tremenhere," cried Skaife hastily, and in evidently painful -emotion. "Do not judge harshly what woman's weakness or love may lead -her to forget, or forgive, for herself or another." - -"Good heavens, Mr. Skaife!" cried Minnie, amazed and in almost horror; -"what do you suppose?" - -Skaife had forgotten her, he was thinking of another. Tremenhere stopped -suddenly, and flushed deeply, as he fixed his earnest eyes on her-- - -"Have I, can I have been mistaken? Has my own wary judgment in general, -deceived me this once? I thought," he almost uttered these last words to -himself, "no one could cheat my watchfulness now." - -"Mr. Tremenhere," exclaimed she in much embarrassment, yet anxious to -cast from her a garment so hateful as the one which should cloak her as -Burton's wife in his or any eyes, "I may be speaking boldly for a girl, -and to you, a stranger too, but I would not have any one suppose, much -less you, an injured man, that I can ever become your cousin's wife. Mr. -Skaife, pray assure Mr. Tremenhere you did not allude to me!" - -"Indeed," said Skaife, much puzzled by his own awkwardness, "I had -forgotten all present; I will explain my meaning to you," and he turned -to Miles. - -"Oh!" answered this man again, reassured in confidence, and smiling his -own peculiar smile on Minnie. "I ill deserve this kindness, this haste -to soothe my wounds. Believe me, they are deep and cankering when I -think of Burton, not for myself, but another. You have been so Christian -in kindness to poor Mary, that I could not bear, Miss Dalzell, to -associate any one I respected in even my thoughts with that traitor. -Thought," he continued, musingly, "is a gift of the soul; you will -inhabit mine, linked with that unfortunate girl, whom I much love." - -"Am I to understand," asked Skaife aside to him in surprise, "that you -know all?" - -"All?" and the other stared, astonished at the question to himself. -"Could any know it better? what else has again brought me to this place? -what drove me from it?" - -"Then, indeed, you are to be pitied, Mr. Tremenhere--deeply pitied; but -I feared something of this, from your emotion in the humble cottage we -have quitted." - -Skaife was playing with shadows of his own creating. He fancied -Tremenhere loved Mary, with whom he had been brought up from childhood; -and he also thought he (Tremenhere) knew all her painful story. Skaife's -last words demanded an explanation. Before the other could ask it, -Minnie uttered an exclamation, and over the stile, the last one, near -which they stood, struggled Mrs. Gillett--for struggle it was--whether -she should overcome the stile, or the stile lay her in the ditch. -However, she arrived safely on the side where stood the three, -smoothed her dress, settled her apron, picked up a patten which she had -dropped (she always carried these, even in the finest weather, to cross -the brooks on,) and then she looked up over her spectacles, which were -on the tip of her nose, and stood transfixed. At a glance she knew Miles -Tremenhere. Mrs. Gillett had one excellent quality--she was no -talebearer; she kept circumstances to herself; they only oozed out in -imperceptible drops in her counsellings, making her seem an OEdipus -for soothsaying and guessing. Her hearers were amazed when truths came -to light which she had foretold, without any seeming foreknowledge of -them: herein lay her strength and power over all. "Mussiful powers!" she -mentally said; "here's a pretty business! What am I to do with _him_?" -She was thinking of all the lovers for Minnie she had already on hand, -with their leaders. Skaife was the first to recover self-possession. -"Perhaps, Miss Dalzell," he said, "you will allow me"--he did not say -"us," for Mrs. Gillett was, perhaps, ignorant who Tremenhere was; he -might seem as a stranger to Minnie in her eyes--"to hand over my escort, -however unwillingly done, to Mrs. Gillett; and I and my friend (he -glanced at Miles) will continue our walk of business." - -But Tremenhere stepped boldly forward; something more than his usual -candour forbade disguise, even if practicable: "Mrs. Gillett," he said, -"you and I are old friends. Surely you remember the 'sweet youth,' as -you were used to call me when I visited Gatestone and your cosey room -there!" - -Mrs. Gillett shrunk back--she was on her slippery rock: had they been -alone, she would gladly have spoken to Miles, before witnesses she durst -not. She looked down, and, affecting not to hear, stooped, resting on -one toe to support her knee, on which, placing a patten, she very -assiduously begun tying its string. Miles laughed aloud: it was a cold, -contemptuous, unpained laugh. "Miss Dalzell," he said, lowly bowing, and -changing his tone to one of feeling, "I do indeed thank you for to-day, -for all your gentle words. Whenever I revisit this spot, here shall I -pause to salute the shade of one whose kindness will be ever present -with me." He was turning sadly away: "Good bye, Mr. Tremenhere," she -cried, extending her hand; "and when we meet again, may you be very -differently circumstanced to what you are to-day." - -He grasped her hand, and all the speeches ever formed could not have -been half so eloquent, as his tremulous "I thank you deeply and -sincerely, may your kind wish be heard;" and with a sigh, which we often -grant to sympathy, though refusing it to our own hardened feelings, he -turned away with Skaife, who shook Minnie kindly by the hand; it was a -parting of three very kindred spirits. As they walked off, Mrs. Gillett -rose from her occupation. "Your dear aunts sent me to meet you, -darling," she said, glancing round cautiously, "and I always like to -bring my pattens with me; I don't like damp grass, it don't agree with -my rheumatics." At that moment Tremenhere paused in his walk, and turned -round, as if irresolute whether to return, and perhaps say something -left unsaid. Mrs. Gillett saw it, and, once more stooping, she gave a -violent tug to her patten string; she had raised herself three inches -upon those kind of young stilts, which even yet old-fashioned country -folks wear. "Bless the tie!" she cried, bent nearly double, her back -curved like a boy at leap-frog; "bless the tie, it always comes undone, -or gets into a knot--I never see such strings!" Minnie saw nothing of -this; she could not have comprehended Mrs. Gillett's policy; then, too, -her thoughts were more knotted than even the patten tie;--who might -unweave and straighten them? Alas! a few moments will often entangle the -skein of our existence, knotting up hopes, fears, and cares, in one -unravelable mass. Tremenhere turned, and walked on; Minnie had seen the -action, and it troubled her, "What had he wished to say? would he tell -Skaife? could she serve him in any way? poor fellow--poor Miles -Tremenhere!" Every one knows the reputed relationship between friendship -and love; they have a family likeness, and are not unfrequently mistaken -for one another, till the latter pirouettes, and then we find the -arrowless quiver, (_they_ remain with us,) and the extended wings,--who -may clip them? - -"Your aunts were very anxious about you," continued Minnie's companion, -peering over her spectacles to read if the other had read _her_; "poor, -dear ladies, I'm sure it's a great blessing for you to have such -relations in your orphan state; and then your kind uncle, too, he is -more sensible, and judges better what's good for you than any, as in -course he should--in course he should," here she paused, and peeped at -the thoughtful girl. "The lawyer Mr. Dalby's very well," ran on Mrs. -Gillett, "and so is Mr. Skaife--oh, he's a pious young man! and his -sermons are quite edifying; but then, I've always remarked, your very -pious young men don't make _very_ good husbands, or happy homes. A man -should only think of his wife, and how can the clargy do that when -they're the fathers of the whole parish? and I'm sure Mr. Skaife has -enough to do hereabouts, for they are an ill broughtened-up set as ever -I met with, and, as his housekeeper says, when he isn't writin' his -sermons, he's _astonishing_ some one," (_query_, admonishing?) "Now, as -to marrying him, with all his occupation, it might do very well for Miss -Sylvia, or Miss Dorcas, but for a fine young lady like you, why, you -should have horses, and carriages, and servants at command, and be the -grandest lady in the neighbourhood. Then, as for Mr. Dalby, why, what -with latty_cats_, _re_jectments, and briefs, it's but little time _he'd_ -find to pay you proper attention." - -"Mrs. Gillett!" exclaimed Minnie, so suddenly that she almost frightened -her off her pattens, "don't you know Mr. Tremenhere? didn't you know him -as a boy?" - -"Bless me, Miss Minnie, what _are_ you talking of! don't speak of that -dreadful young man, Miss; it's unbecoming a modest young lady to know -there's such a person living." - -"Mrs. Gillett!" and the girl stood still in amazement. - -"To be sure," responded the woman, "he must be a bad character--wasn't -his mother? and how could he be good?--Don't a cat always have kittens?" - -"Mrs. Gillett," cried Minnie, again grasping her arm, and her eyes -looked deepest violet with emotion. "You would be a very wicked woman to -think what you say; that was Miles Tremenhere with Mr. Skaife. I pitied -him before knowing him, and now, if I could by any means see him -righted, I'd lend my hand to the good work, and I do hope some day he -may be at the manor-house again!" - -"That Mr. Tremenhere!" exclaimed the politic Gillett. "How boys _do_ -alter, to be sure!" She evaded replying to the other things said; it -would not do, too decidedly, to take any side of the question; the womb -of Time is very prolific--we never know what offspring it may produce. -They were in the shrubberies of Gatestone by this time; a few moments' -silence ensued, interrupted only by the click-clack of Mrs. Gillett's -pattens. - -"Mrs. Gillett, why will you wear those horrid things on the gravel -walks? you cut them up terribly," said a voice behind them. Minnie -turned, her companion stopped, and stooped to disencumber her feet of -their appendages, by which movement Juvenal nearly fell over her. She -was pitched forward on her hands and knees by the concussion, with a -scream; another picked her up--'twas the squire. Juvenal was evidently -cross, or he would not have spoken so disrespectfully to his matron -housekeeper. - -"I hope I see Miss Dalzell well?" said Burton, offering his hand. - -"Well, thank you," answered she, not appearing to notice it--he bit his -lip, and dropped beside her. - -"I really should like to know where you go every day--where you have -been this morning, Minnie?" asked her uncle crossly. - -"Shall I tell you, uncle?" she answered, and then, without giving -herself a moment to consider possible consequences to herself or others, -with the too hasty candour of a generous mind anxious to espouse the -weaker side, she continued, addressing herself this time to Marmaduke -Burton,--"I've been to Mary Burns's cottage, and there I met Mr. Skaife, -and your cousin, Mr. Burton, Mr. Tremenhere." Certainly she created an -effect; the squire tottered and became ghastly pale, Juvenal looked -amazed and annoyed. "What--together?" he cried. "How came that about? -Where is Mr. Tremenhere? and how dare you become acquainted with that -man?" - -"Your surprise equals mine," said Burton, recovering himself partially, -then added ironically--"Our young curate might do better composing his -sermons, than becoming bear-leader to an impostor, and a man of Mr. -Tremenhere's character. As _cousin_, Miss Dalzell, allow me to disavow -him; he is none such by law, and I have no desire to outstep any bounds -to claim that enviable distinction." - -"I only judge the law of humanity," she replied, in a slightly tremulous -tone; she began to be afraid of the storm of such passions as his face -bespoke working in his frame. "And no man should be condemned for the -faults--if faults there were--of his parents." - -"If faults there were," said Burton, echoing her words. "Allow me, Miss -Dalzell, to reject, in all politeness, the right your speech offers me, -of standing in Mr. Tremenhere's position. He or I am an impostor, a -claimant to an unjust title of proprietorship; besides, there are more -personal faults appertaining to that gentleman, at variance with my -ideas of honour." - -For an instant a doubt crossed her mind about Mary and Miles; could -Burton allude to this? But her heart repudiated the thought. - -"Did he become suddenly so wicked?" she calmly asked. "As boys -together--as men, indeed--up to the period of his father's death, had he -the deep hypocrisy to conceal all this?" - -"Miss Dalzell seems well informed of my history," he said, through his -half-closed teeth. "I cannot but feel flattered by the kind interest it -evinces in me." He bowed low. - -"Really, Minnie," said her uncle, "you have chosen a strange subject; -pray, drop it. How could you have become acquainted with that man? This -comes of your running about alone--it must be seen to, and quickly: Mrs. -Gillett!" The woman stepped forward at his call; and now she blessed her -forethought and policy in having ignored Tremenhere's identity! - -"Mrs. Gillett," said her master, while the other two walked on in -silence, "what do you know about this? You were with Miss Dalzell: where -did you find her, and how?" The woman was quite calm under this criminal -examination--she felt so sure of her innocence. - -"I know nothing of it, master," she said decidedly: "I met Miss Dalzell, -dear child, in the holly field; just as I stepped over the stile, my -patten came undone; I was busy settling it; I saw Mr. Skaife and another -gentleman, but I'm sure I couldn't swear to him; I never looked in his -face--it isn't my custom so to do to them above me, 'specially -gentlemen!" and she smoothed her virginal-looking apron, tied over her -modest heart with wide tape strings. - -Sylvia and Dorcas came out to meet the approaching group. "Where was the -child?" demanded the former at the top of her voice. Juvenal looked, and -was, much excited. "Mrs. Gillett found her," he replied, "with an -improper--a most improper--character!" - -"What a dreadful thing!" screamed Sylvia; "who was it?" - -Dorcas was by the girl's side, calmly speaking, and inquiring the cause -of her protracted stay, which had alarmed them. She knew, however, that -Minnie was not in any wilful harm, yet her affection made her fearful of -ill. We will leave them to their explanations, to which Mr. Burton was -not a witness, having taken his leave hastily of all. Poor Minnie had a -sad trial, and a severe lesson and lecture, the consequences of her warm -heart and candour--two things, bad guides in this world of brambles; -with these her garments would be, haplessly, frequently rent and -disfigured. - -We will ask our readers to step into the holly field with us, to where -we left Skaife and Miles Tremenhere, both of them walking back in deep -thought. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -From some ambiguous words dropped by Miles in the cottage, and during -Minnie's stay with them, it will be remembered that Skaife was impressed -with the idea that Tremenhere had, as a boy probably, loved Mary Burns, -who had been a _protegee_ of his mother's at the manor-house; and the -curate also thought that the other was aware of her sad fate. For some -time the silence was unbroken, then Miles, suddenly turning towards his -companion, said, like one awakening from a dream, "Pardon me, Mr. -Skaife, but I am an uncouth man, much alone, little in humanized -society; my chief companions are stocks and stones, and the native -inhabitants of wild nature; forgive me again, I had forgotten to thank -you, which I do most sincerely, for your kindness to poor Mary Burns, -and also to myself personally; few, indeed, would have had the courage -to notice, and be thus publicly seen with one at so low a discount as I -am in this neighbourhood." - -"Believe me sincere, when I assure you, Mr. Tremenhere," rejoined the -other, "that from all I have heard, and now seen, no one can more truly -deplore your misfortunes than I do." - -"Do you know them all?" - -"I think, I believe I do," hesitated the curate; he feared uttering -something painful. - -"Do you know that for upwards of twenty-one years I was brought up at -the manor-house, beloved by a father and mother, the best Heaven ever -formed--oh! especially the latter; I can scarcely speak of her now." He -paused, and seemed choking with emotion. "To be brief," he continued, -after a pause, "in one year I lost all; she died first, my father soon -followed her, and then, while my sorrow was still green, my cousin, -Marmaduke Burton, put in a claim for the property, on the ground of my -illegitimacy! I was stricken, I had not a word to offer, proof I had -none to the contrary; my father's marriage had taken place, for -_marriage there was_, at Gibraltar; my mother was Spanish, of not -exalted parentage, I believe,--from thence sprung the great difficulty -of proof. Only an obscure family to deal with, that ruffian Marmaduke -gained all--the property was tied up until the event should be known; I -had few wealthy friends--he, both friends and money. Most of my earlier -days had passed in studies abroad; I came only at stated periods to my -home--I was a stranger among my own countrymen;--he had secured himself -allies (I will not call them friends, of these he could have none); he -was assisted too, by a greater scamp than himself, a mean, cold-blooded -villain of the name of Dalby. In my bewilderment, my horror, at _her_ -name--my pure, holy mother's name--being dragged forward for public -scorn, I lost all nerve and power; then too, I was poor,--the result you -know. Mr. Skaife, I am a wanderer--_he_, in my halls; but all is not -lost yet. I may find my way to sunlight, even like the blind mole." - -"And, Mr. Burton," asked the other, hesitatingly, "was he not a frequent -visiter at the manor-house?" - -"Why man, the reptile was there as my friend and brother; whenever I -returned from my rambles, or school, in earlier days, 'twas 'Marmaduke' -and 'Miles' with us from boyhood's youngest hours; he was with me -_soothing_, when she, my mother, died--and there, too, when I put on my -orphan state of master and lord of the manor-house. A week afterwards -the long prepared claim was put in; the morning he left for that worthy -purpose, he shook me by the hand, and said as usual, 'Good bye old -fellow, we shall meet soon;' and we did--_in court_." - -"And it was at the manor he knew Mary Burns?" asked Skaife, deeply -affected. - -"Ay, at the old place she had been as companion, almost child to my -mother, from her childhood. Then when her old mother became paralyzed, -and lost her school, Mary went to reside with her in that cottage; but -it was comfortable then. My mother, and a little of her own industry in -fancy work, kept them. Alas, poor Mary! I loved her dearly, as ever man -loved a sister, she was so exemplary a girl under many trials." - -"I fancied," said Skaife, "I scarcely know why, but I fancied there had -been a warmer attachment." To his own surprise, he found himself -conversing with this almost stranger as with an old friend, so certain -is it, that kindred souls know no time, to limit their flight to meet -their fellow spirits. Tremenhere coloured even through the bronze of his -dark complexion; at the last words he was silent some moments, and then -said hastily, but not haughtily: "Mary was a playfellow, as a sister to -me--I never loved her," and he seemed desirous of changing the subject. -This proud man appreciated the other's qualities and his goodness; with -him he was no longer the cold, guarded person which circumstances had -made him generally in his intercourse with all. - -"It is a painful subject with you, I see," said Skaife, much embarrassed -how to proceed; "but my mind is greatly relieved on one point--I feared -you had loved this poor girl; that not having been the case, my duty is -easier, for one it is, to consult with you what had best be done for -her." - -"Yes, poor girl! I had for a moment lost sight of her case in other -thoughts--selfish ones, too--we are such mere automatons to our ruling -passions. Poor girl! I hear that hopeful cousin of mine has ordered them -to quit the cottage; so I presume they must--but where go? that's the -question. I am so hampered myself by other cares, I scarcely know how to -help them; could he not be prevailed upon to allow them to remain -another six months--what do you think?" - -Skaife's blood chilled within him; he felt like a disappointed man. Here -was the person who had known Mary from childhood, almost a brother, so -coolly wishing her to remain on the sufferance of Marmaduke Burton, as -he knew him, and believed the other too, equally enlightened on several -points. - -"No," he coldly said, "I do not think she can, or ought to remain under -circumstances; think of the dreadful crime she has almost committed, Mr. -Tremenhere,--suicide!" - -"True, but she has promised not to attempt that again. In our toiling -passage to the attainment of any object, we must drink many a bitter -draught. She must try and submit for a while, I fear, to a few -annoyances: poor Mary--what can I do?" - -"Pardon me, Mr. Tremenhere," answered Skaife in a cold but decided tone; -"with _my_ consent, as curate of this parish, she shall not remain. She -might not commit suicide; but men are strange creatures, and the woman -they cast from them to-day, they might kneel to, to-morrow, were she to -appear indifferent; this girl shall never know the temptation such an -act on his part might be." - -Tremenhere stopped as if transfixed by a bolt of iron, and stared in -speechless wonder in his companion's face. Skaife continued speaking, -mistaking the dark cloud of demoniacal expression crossing that handsome -face, for indignation towards himself for his free speech; for this he -little cared. - -"Mr. Burton's ardent, but heartless, pursuit of the girl till her ruin -ensued, proves a deeper motive, I fear, than passion; the same revenge -towards you, may urge----" He said no more. - -"Stop!" cried Miles, in a voice of thunder, and he grasped the other's -arm, and arrested his footsteps. His whole power of utterance above a -whisper seemed to have been expended in that one word; for his voice -became a mere breath like a dying man's, as he asked, while that strong, -robust frame tottered beneath his heart's weight in his agony, "Do I -understand you aright, that Mary Burns has been seduced, and by -Marmaduke Burton?" - -"Alas, yes! I thought you understood so from your words in that -cottage." Poor Skaife was pale with emotion; the other had not changed, -his blood stood still, only the muscles had given way beneath the blow. -There was a long silence; Miles still grasped his arm till it fell from -that clasp at last, powerless to hold it--they were near the stile -leading into the lane where Mary's cottage was situated. - -"Does Miss Dalzell know this?" inquired Miles, as if one thought, -rushing with the many through his brain, found an outlet. - -"The ruin, but not the man," answered Skaife. - -"God bless her, then!" burst from the suffering man's lips, and with -that blessing the blood flowed once more through his frame. It was as a -gush of molten lead, forcing its way outwards, burning as it rushed; his -face became dark and lurid, and his flashing eyes looked wildly forward. - -"I have not words to thank you with, for all you have done," he cried in -a hoarse, unnatural voice, grasping Skaife's hand. "We shall soon, very -soon, meet again;" and with one bound he cleared the stile, and almost -like thought stood before the terrified Mary Burns, who had sunk in a -chair when they departed, almost fainting, from fear of the result of -their conversation; and now she felt how well grounded that terror had -been when Miles strode into the cottage. She knew his ungovernable -passion when excited by injury or villainy in another--in her terror she -rose before him: "Miles!" she almost screamed. - -"Not Miles!" he cried, "but the spirit of his mother returned to condemn -you; an angel who breathed on you from her own pure lip, who strove to -instil her purity into your polluted soul--Devil's child!" and he -grasped her trembling arm--he was pitiless, scarcely human, in his rage -then--as he continued, "to hear such counsels, to breathe the atmosphere -of such a presence, and turn to your hell again! Could not even her -dying blessing, which fell united on both of us, cleanse you? Could you -find no fitter object for your impure love than him, the man who has -branded her memory with so foul a stain, who has driven her son, almost -your brother, forth, a beggar, and nameless! If there's one drop of -human blood in you, woman, shed it in tears for your baseness! Oh, -heavens!" and he looked fixedly forward like a man in a trance, "give me -power to call down on this creature the reward of her foul work!" - -"Do not curse me, Miles," she shrieked, dropping on her knees and -clasping them, "have mercy on me--have mercy on me!" - -It was a fearful picture on which the curate at that moment looked -unseen through the open door; _they_, in their agony, and the poor old -mother totally unconscious of all, some happy thoughts evidently -crossing her mind, for she was smiling, and endeavouring to rub her -paralyzed hands together at the joyous dream. Skaife involuntarily drew -back, and leaned against the door-post to keep away other witnesses, -should the voices within attract notice in the adjoining cottages. -Miles's hand was passed painfully over his face and brow--he had flung -his hat aside. - -"Have pity, Miles!" she cried, her eyes streaming with tears which -nearly choked her, as she clasped her hands, and kneeling, looked up to -where he stood, for he had shaken her off as she clung to him. "But if -you knew what dreadful struggles of nearly maddening power ground my -heart down to bitterness, and _revenge_," (she almost whispered the last -word,) "before I committed this fearful sin against myself, _you_, and, -far more than all, the memory of your sainted mother, you might find -some excuse. You cannot forget how my presumptuous heart, forgetting all -but her more than woman's kindness, dared to lose sight, from her -gentleness, of the distance between us, and loved you. You cannot forget -the day I dreamed you returned it, and boldly confessed mine; you were -calm, dignified, manly, and generous, when you said you never could -return it--that I had mistaken you, and you hoped myself, and when you -drew me to your heart with a _brother's_ love--Oh, may you never know -such humiliation as _I_ felt then, which turned to a blacker feeling -afterwards, fostered by him; for when you, for my sake, absented -yourself from home for months, you cannot know how this weak heart was -worked upon by _him_. He had seen all, guessed all; and, unsuspecting -his motives, I one day confessed the truth to him. From that hour he -became the friend, the comforter; he alone spoke hope to me--a hope his -every action discredited faith in. Then your mother died; events were -drawing to a close; you returned, no thought of love in your heart; I -repressed my mad affection for you, but I was weighed to earth by the -effort. I was but a girl of eighteen in a villain's hands, when the -downfall of all came; your father's death, your banishment----" - -"And did not all these sad events, Mary," and his voice was low and -trembling as he looked down upon the cowering woman, "soften your heart -to pity, not revenge? Our affections are not our own; we are not masters -of these but by many a hard struggle. I never could have loved you more -than as a sister: it was not pride, Mary; we have none of that with -those we love. I loved you very truly for your own sake, for the sake of -our happy days of childhood together, and for my mother's sake." As the -last words fell from him, the man, for a moment spirit-broken and -agonized, sunk down on a chair, and, leaning his head on his arm across -the table, wept like any woman over the ruin before him, and his memory -of another. He had not one selfish thought; he was iron for -himself,--for others, as a child at heart in love and gentleness. She -rose, and, creeping to his side, took the hand which, clenched in its -agony, rested on his knee, and, dropping on hers, she covered it with -tears and kisses. "Forgive me, Miles," she sobbed, "for you know not -all I endured of trial before I fell. He told me you had scoffed at my -love--to him. It was not the work of a day or hour; it is nearly eight -long years since you quitted this place; for more than four we have not -met; for less than that space I have been the guilty creature I now am!" - -Insensibly his hand unclenched and clasped her's; she continued sobbing -between each scarcely-articulate word, "When, by every artifice man -could employ, he led me to error; and, ever since, this most bitter -repentance. 'Twas done under the promise of making me his wife, to show -_you_ that _he_ appreciated my worth. And when he said you not only had -repulsed my love, but scorned it----" - -"He lied, Mary, he lied!" articulated the sorrowing man, looking up; -"from _me_ he never heard of our love; he must have divined it." - -"God help me!" she uttered, kissing his clasping hand, "for I have -suffered much; and it was my refusal (for years now) to continue in my -error, which has made him persecute me so of late. I told him last time -we met, that _I loved you still, and ever should_." These last words -were scarcely breathed. - -"Heaven help you, my poor girl!" cried Miles, looking at her as he -placed a hand gently on her head; "for what can that love bring -you?--Sorrow and disheartenment in every effort for existence; a log to -hamper every step of your pathway to independence! Rise up, Mary," and -he drew her on his heart; "come what may, my girl, these arms will -shelter you still from the cold, heartless world. I am richer now, -Mary, and to-morrow you and that poor old woman shall leave this place; -and once away, oh, then!----" He spoke the last words with a stern -resolution. - -"What, Miles?" and she clasped his clenched hand in her's, and gazed -terrified in his flashing eyes. - -"I'll return to my home abroad," he uttered, dropping them to conceal -_their_ speech, lest she should read aright. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -"I'm sure," said Sylvia Formby, rocking herself backwards and forwards -in her chair, about an hour after Minnie's return, "I don't know what -_can_ be done with this girl; she certainly is a dreadful cause of -anxiety to all, and especially to poor me!" She was one of those who -delighted in being miserable. One would really have imagined, from her -manner and conversation about her, that Minnie was one of the very worst -girls in existence--an unruly, impossible-to-govern creature. Aunt -Sylvia was in her own room; and opposite to her, shaking her head in -sorrowing sympathy, perched on the edge of a chair, sat Mrs. Gillett. - -"Young ladies is a dreadful responsibility," ejaculated the latter -guardedly, (it was safe speaking in general terms;) "all ar'n't as you -was, Miss Sylvia!" - -"I'm sure I don't know what _is_ to be done with my niece," continued -the other, unnoticing the compliment. "I feel some harm will happen to -her, if she be not married out of the way. What with your master's -obstinacy, and Miss Dorcas's dulness of comprehension, the girl will -assuredly be lost unless I exert myself." - -"In coorse, Miss," ventured the listener. - -"She never will marry the squire; that she positively asserts, and her -manner proves it. Then, Mr. Skaife--what is he? Only a poor curate, who -has just bread enough for himself, and nothing to spare; and she don't -like him. Now, Mr. Dalby has the whole patronage of the neighbourhood, -except Mr. Burton's, and he's a very charming man: what more can she -desire?" - -"And he'll have Squire Burton's business again, Miss; that's for -sartain, for they were seen walking together yesterday." - -"I don't exactly know how he lost it," said Sylvia. "Do you?" - -"All along _of_ Miss Minnie," was the response. "Mr. Dalby, when the old -squire died, Mr. Tremenhere, conducted the business for Mr. Burton; -indeed he had known the facts long before, they say--that is, the -servants say; howsomdever, since they both have been coming a-coortin' -Miss, they haven't been such friends. But I'll tell you what I think, -Miss Sylvia," here the sybil lowered her voice to a whisper--"and mind -I'm seldom wrong, and I wouldn't say this to any one but yourself--I -believe, if Miss isn't looked after, just for contrariness sake, if he -stays hereabouts, she'll get a-coortin' with that young Mr. Tremenhere!" - -"An illegitimate child!" shrieked the virtuous Sylvia, in horror. - -"Yes, Miss Sylvia, with him; and, as you say, it's dreadful, for he -hasn't a name in the world to call his own, except Miles, and what sort -of a _cognation_, as master calls it, is that for her to marry? He -hasn't his father's nor his mother's; he's a outlaw, and any one that -pleased might shoot him like a dog, I hear." - -Sylvia had only heard a portion of this sentence, the prophecy about -Miles and Minnie. She had extraordinary faith in the worldly -perceptiveness of Mrs. Gillett. She anxiously inquired the foundation -for the other's suspicion; but the good generalship of the matron -forbade any undue confidence respecting her reasons, merely contenting -herself with alarming her listener to the fullest extent of her powers, -by persisting in her belief, as arising _principally_, she laid a stress -on this word, thereby implying that she held back more cogent articles -for her belief, from the fact of Miss Minnie's own statement, that she -had been walking with this Miles Tremenhere, for to no one would this -very politic woman confess, that she had recognised him herself at a -glance. Mrs. Gillett was a very cautious person indeed, one of those -whose opinions would never choke them from a too hasty formation of -them, nor her words leave a bitterness in her mouth from an -inconsiderate utterance of them. She was a perfect reflector, throwing -her light upon others, and not suffering thereby herself. Minnie had a -sorry day of it; first, Sylvia had lectured her, then Juvenal, and -lastly, Dorcas commenced questioning, but this latter did it, as she -ever acted with her beloved niece, in kindness. As for the others, they -would fain have bent her to their separate wills; but Minnie had learned -to judge for herself coolly and dispassionately, else where would she -have been, occurring as it did, that all three had fixed upon a -different object for her husband? To Dorcas she was all affection, -rendering full justice to that aunt's interest in her, and correct -judgment; but it so happens that in affairs of the heart, our very -dearest and best friends are too frequently incapable of judging what -would be most conducive to our real happiness, though, in a mere worldly -point of view, they may be right. A little counsel, a little guidance, -and much sincere interest in our welfare, are the best methods after -all; _certainly not_ coercion, that makes us infallibly look with -premature dislike on the one for whom we are persecuted. - -"I do wonder, dear aunt," said Minnie to the one she loved so well, "why -you are so anxious to make me marry, never having done so yourself--how -is it?" - -The truth never crossed Minnie's mind. Dorcas looked down, and a pale -blush of something resembling shame crossed her cheek; then she looked -up with candour and affection. "My dear child," she said, "Sylvia would -not perhaps like my telling the exact truth, which is this, that in fact -no one ever asked either of us!" - -"Is it possible!" exclaimed her niece, amazed beyond measure. How could -she, worried as she was by an excess of suitors, guess the extraordinary -position of a woman who never had one? and aunt Dorcas had been -assuredly pretty, and still was very comely. "My dear aunt," she cried -again, after a silence of thought on both sides. "It must have been your -own fault. Oh! pray, endeavour to induce Sylvia to seek a husband for -herself, and leave me alone; or do make her busy herself for uncle, and -then you and I shall be at peace. I shouldn't like _you_ to marry. I'm -very selfish, dear aunt; but I should be so much afraid of losing your -love," and she fondly kissed her cheek. - -"I never shall now, dear Minnie; but when you marry, you will love -another better than me--I shall only be your aunt, and so it should be." - -"Do you know," answered her niece, fixing her sweet eyes upon her, "I -often think I never shall marry; I have heard so much about it, that the -subject has become quite distasteful to me." - -"Oh! you will change your mind, Minnie, when the one you can, and -_should_ love, comes." - -"What do you mean, aunt, by should love?" - -"There are those in the world we ought to guard our affections against; -their loss might bring misery." - -"Whom are they? would--would, now, supposing an impossible case--would -Mr. Tremenhere, if he loved me, be such a one?" - -"Why do you think of him, child?" and her aunt looked scrutinizingly in -her face. - -"Oh, because," answered the blushing Minnie, "he is the first stranger I -have met likely to enter into my ideas of such a case: all the constant -visitors here have the consent of some one of my relatives,--the mere -acquaintances I meet when we go any where, have nothing against them,--I -daresay, if I liked one of them, every one of you would, though perhaps -reluctantly, say 'yes;' but Mr. Tremenhere--he is different, poor -fellow! How I pity him! I do indeed, aunt, and he is so agreeable." - -The aunt, unworldly wise as she was, had fallen into a reverie; before -she aroused herself to reply, the sound of carriage-wheels without drew -her attention to the window. Minnie was the first there,--"Whom have we -here? two ladies!" Her aunt was beside her. - -"Why Minnie, these are your aunts, Lady Ripley and Dora!" exclaimed she. - -"That Dora!" cried her niece, as a tall handsome girl stepped from the -carriage; "how altered she is,--I wonder if she will know me?" and -though something like a chill had fallen on her heart at sight of her -cousin, she sprang across the room to meet her. It was not Dora's beauty -which had pained Minnie--she did not know what jealousy was then, -certainly, of mere personal charms--but it was the chilling influence of -pride which spoke in every movement of her cousin; even in the act of -stepping from her carriage, she looked like a priestess of that spirit, -following in her footsteps. As she entered the hall, Minnie--simple and -beautiful Minnie--stood half abashed before her. Dora's fine eyes were -wandering over the group, as she coldly returned the embraces of her -aunt Sylvia and Juvenal; at last they rested on Minnie, who had just -appeared,--the cold smile warmed, and the cousins were in each other's -arms. - -"Dear Minnie!" said Dora, "I have longed so much to see you," and she -embraced her tenderly. - -"I was afraid you would have forgotten me," answered the delighted girl. - -"Oh! I never forget those whom I have loved; I often have wished you -with me in Italy;" and her fine face, lit up with warmth and sincerity, -became perfectly beautiful. The girls sat down side by side, and hand in -hand, conversing, after Dora had duly embraced all. Lady Ripley was -different to the other members of her family. She appeared more like a -composition of all, with a cloak of pride over the whole, in which she -completely wrapped herself up; only now and then, when the cloak opened, -some of her realities slipped out. She had less of Dorcas than of either -of the others,--silly as Juvenal, worldly like Sylvia, and a little bit -of Dorcas's good-nature composed the whole. She had married, most -unexpectedly, one far above herself in rank and station. Not having had -time to familiarize herself with the position before entering upon it, -she plunged in, and became for awhile overwhelmed. The country -gentleman's daughter forgot the real dignity of the ladylike person, who -may pass without comment any where in the rank of countess, so suddenly -forced upon her; then, too, the Earl was one of the coldest, proudest -men in the world, and lived long enough to engraft a sufficient quantity -of the _vice_ of pride (when attached to mere station) upon his only -child's really noble nature, for a dozen scions of nobility. Lady Dora's -keen perception, as she grew up, readily detected the real from the -assumed; and having much loved, respected, and looked up to her father, -his vice became a virtue in her eyes,--a natural one; whereas her -mother's assumption of it, made her, without becoming undutiful, still -look upon her as a merely bad copy; consequently, her aunts and uncle -became sharers of her species of contempt. Indeed, she had carried that -impression away with her when she quitted them and England, three years -before, for Italy; and the knowledge of the world acquired since then, -had rather strengthened the feeling. Since that period she had lost her -father, and this keenly-felt loss hardened the girl's softer emotions. -She seemed incapable of any thing like warmth of affection; for, the -first ebullition of joy over on seeing Minnie, whom she really liked -better than any person almost in the world, she sat like a beautiful -statue, just warmed enough to life to speak and listen;--the face had -become colourless again, the smile cold and proud, and the haughty eyes -and haughtier brow, seemed to glance or bend with equal indifference on -all around her. She was perfect in her beauty as Minnie--one, was the -damask rose for richness, the other, the chaste lily; for when Dora's -colour rose, nothing could surpass that ripe sunset glow,--it was -magnificent from its eastern brightness and depth; whereas Minnie's -never became more than a beautiful blush, flitting and returning like a -swallow over a wave. Dora's hair was the very darkest chestnut, yet this -it was, a colour seldom seen, nothing resembling black nor brown, but -the exact colour of the nut itself, rich and mellow. Her eyes--there was -her charm of face, they were so dark and lustrous--_velvet eyes_, with -the sun shining on them; extravagant, too, for they expended their -glances right and left on all, not from a desire to slay her thousands, -but, like the donation of the rich and proud to the beggar, she flung -her gold away, not caring who might gather it up; it was flung from an -inexhaustible source of wealth--it was the natural love of expenditure, -inherent in the generous mind giving of its profusion. No one had ever -seen her move quickly, scarcely even as a child; when she rose from her -seat, she seemed to rise by some quiet galvanism, majestically, -gracefully, but without energy or effort; so it was with all; grace -presided over all--cold natural grace. Where her mother used violent -force to seem dignified, and often thus destroyed the lady, Dora without -a thought, so to seem, was an empress in majesty. Minnie was slight and -girlish, her cousin matured in form, though not too much so for her -height and bearing, with a waist the hand might almost have circled; one -curl on either side of her oval face fell quite to that slender waist in -unrestrained perfection, heavy and glossy, veiling, but not concealing -the beautiful, but strongly marked eyebrow. - -The cousins escaped as soon as possible to Minnie's room; there is a -natural restraint ever felt by the least checked before their -elders--girls have a language apart of their own. Alas! for the wintry -day, when the falling snow of worldly care chills the ideality of -thought, and brings to the lip only the sterner realities of life. The -two sat and talked of old days, even to them. Dora spoke of Italy, of -her father's death soon after she and Minnie parted, and the proud eyes -forgot their pride when nature bade them weep--how Minnie loved her -then! there was so much softness in _her_ nature. She folded her gentle -arms round Dora, and soothed her so lovingly, that the eyes looked up -upon her in gratitude and affection. Then, to divert her attention, -Minnie told her all her troubles--squire, parson, and lawyer; but she -did not breathe the name of Miles Tremenhere. He had so completely won -upon her sympathy, that she dreaded to hear Dora speak of him, either in -contempt, or else mere worldly policy; so they sat and talked, until -Lady Ripley summoned her daughter, by the voice of a French maid, "to -dress for dinner." - -"I am sure," whispered Aunt Sylvia to Mrs. Gillett on the stairs, when -she was retiring to bed that night, "I and Lady Ripley shall not agree -long, if she prolongs her stay; for 'tis quite absurd, Gillett, the idea -of her dressing in such a style for our quiet dinner, only ourselves, -and her annoyance because my niece, Lady Dora, refused to do the same! -It is putting notions of dress into Miss Minnie's head, which will make -her look down on every one here. I shall tell her so to-morrow; I always -like to give my candid opinion, though she mightn't like it!" - -"So I would, Miss," answered her agreeing listener. "For no one can be a -better judge of every thing than yourself; for I'm sure, as I say to -every body, 'just look at our Miss Sylvia, why, she's like a busy bee! -she's a pattern--that she is!'" - -Mrs. Gillett walked down the corridor, and, coming from her daughter's -room, she met Lady Ripley. - -"Ah, Gillett!" said that lady, patronisingly; "I'm glad to see you -looking so well." - -Gillett curtsied to the ground. "I'm sure, my lady," she replied, "it's -only the reflections of your ladyship's presence which make me look so; -for, as I've just been saying below, it is a pleasure to see a lady look -as you do, younger by years than you were, years ago, and know too, -what's due to herself, and dress every day as if she was going to court! -Ah! it's a pity the dear ladies, Miss Sylvia and Miss Dorcas, is so -plain in their ways; it's quite spoiling sweet Miss Minnie, who cares no -more for dress or state than if she had been born, if I may be so bold -as to say it of your ladyship's niece, in a poor cottage of a mother -always knitting woolly stockings!" - -"I must see what's to be done, Gillett," answered her ladyship in a -queenly tone; "I will have some serious conversation with my brother -about her to-morrow." - -"If your ladyship will please not to say I said any thing," whispered -the politic housekeeper. - -"I never quote other's opinions, my good woman," was the haughty reply, -as she sailed into her room, with a majestic "Good-night to you." - -"To think," soliloquized Gillett, as she toiled up a second flight of -stairs, "she should be so amazing proud now, when I remember her setting -herself off to the best advantage to attract the notice of our passan -then, the late recumbent!" There in an hour in every one's life, when he -or she is candid and natural; generally it falls between locking the -bedroom door at night, and snuffing out the candle--'tis an hour of -thoughtful soliloquy! - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -People are early in the country--"early to bed, early to rise." It was -just ten by Minnie's hall clock as Mrs. Gillett became confidential to -herself, and at that hour another person, some distance from Gatestone, -was struggling with the voices of nature and truth united, which rung -the word "shame" in his ears--this was the squire. He sat alone. All the -servants had retired; his own man even dismissed. He sat in a small -study adjoining his bedroom--not that he studied much, but the room had -so been planned and arranged, and so he left it. A few additions of his -own had been made, such as a brace of favourite pistols, a gun or two, -spurs, whips, fishing-rods, and their accompaniments; the books on their -neglected shelves were as silent memory. They spoke to no one; no one -sought or conversed with them; their thoughts were sealed within their -own breasts--like glowing eyes gazing on the sightless, no looks lit up -to meet their glances. Beautiful, cheering things, among which we might -live alone for ever, nor feel our loneliness. _Man_ would perhaps sink -off into drowsy rest; but the _soul_ creeping forth, cheered by the -stillness, could seek its companions in those leaves clinging together -with the damp of years, and live with them in long ages gone by, when -they were permitted to speak above the mere practical spirits of the -present day. Poetry was there in sorrowing maidenhood, as she glanced -upwards at an old mandolin with chords, suspended against the wall, the -loving once, now dumb suitor, who has sung her praises, and wooed her to -smile! It was strange that old mandolin should be still there: it was -the one on which Miles's mother had often played and sung to him in -infancy and boyhood! It was strange, then, that Marmaduke Burton should -sit, as he sat on that evening, facing it. While he turned over piles of -gloomy-looking papers and parchments, his brow was scowling, more so -than usual; his face, that cold, livid colour, which the warm heart -never avows as its index. At his feet lay an uncouth-looking bulldog; he -seldom was seen without this companion. Somehow, if the dog were absent, -Marmaduke became uneasy; cowards seldom rely upon themselves alone. -Every paper, as it passed through his hands, was carefully examined, and -then as carefully folded up and placed within a large drawer by his -side, evidently one of some old cabinet. "Nothing," he whispered to -himself. "Dalby said there was nothing--no proof; for, after all, I -would not have it on my conscience to say, I _knew_ there was proof, and -withheld it. 'Tis not for me to _search_ for writings or witnesses -_against_ myself," this was added after a thoughtful pause. After awhile -he continued, "Besides, it is scarcely probable that old Tremenhere ever -married that poor Spanish girl; those girls at Gibraltar are not of -very noted virtue. I should have been a fool indeed, to sit down quietly -and allow another to enjoy mine by right, from a mere idea of honour. -Had he succeeded, he would not have shared with me. I _did_ offer him a -competency," all this time he had been assorting the papers. "Nothing -here," he continued. "What's this? oh! a letter from old Tremenhere, -written after his mar--after his connection" (he corrected himself) -"with that woman Helene Nunoz, he, evidently being here, and she still -abroad, in Paris--eh? not Gibraltar. What says he?" For some moments he -attentively read. "I have seen two or three of his letters," he said -thoughtfully, "among old papers, and in all he speaks of one 'Estree.' -Who can he be? here it is again." He read aloud a passage, accentuating -every word, and dwelling on his own final comment thoughtfully for some -moments. "'Do you see D'Estree often? Is he kind as ever to my Helena? -his child, as he calls her. I should much like _ours_ to be christened -by him; might he not be induced to return with us?' This must have been -some clergyman or priest," was the thoughtful comment. At that moment -his dog arose uneasily from the carpet at his feet, and walked towards -the door. "What's the matter, Viper?" asked his master, starting -timidly. "Look to it, dog--good dog;" but the dog returned quietly to -its former place, and Marmaduke concluded the letter, which only spoke -of love, and regret at absence. In the concluding lines again Viper -moved to the door, and snuffed the air beneath the crevice. His master -grew uneasy; he watched the dog, and, while doing so, tore up the -letter he held, and flung it into a basket beneath the table. Viper -moved about whining, not in anger, but more in satisfaction and -impatience of restraint. The squire arose, and somewhat nervously -approached the door. These letters had unnerved him; his hand was on the -lock, the dog sprung up with pleasure; another hand turned the handle -from the outside, it opened, and Mary Burns entered. As she did so, the -dog fawned upon her. - -"I might have guessed it!" ejaculated Marmaduke, falling back and -scowling upon her. "Only you would Viper meet in such a manner; the -dog's faithful to old acquaintance, I see." She stood quite still, -silent, and very pale. "Down, poor animal, down!" she whispered at last -to the dog, which was jumping up to caress her hand. - -"I have yet to learn why you are here?" asked Marmaduke, sullenly, "and -how?" - -"I came to restore you this," she uttered, holding up a key in her hand; -"this will explain how I am here." - -"Oh, true! I had forgotten you came through the quiet gate leading by -the shrubbery; I trust the reminiscence of the past, which such a walk -must inevitably have awakened, procured you pleasure?" - -"Sneer on, Marmaduke Burton! I came prepared to suffer all to-night. I -came to restore you this, and also to implore a favour at your hands?" - -"At mine! what can I do for you? I thought the hour of solicitation had -passed between us--will you not be seated?" He offered her a chair; she -appeared choking with emotion; and yet, though almost powerless to -stand, waved her hand in token of dissent, as he pushed a seat towards -her, and merely laid one hand upon the back of it for support. - -"As you will," he said coldly, noticing the action; "and perhaps you -will pardon my asking you as much as possible to abridge this visit; you -see I am engaged." He pointed to the table of papers. - -"I come," she said at last with great effort, "to implore one favour at -your hands, as some mitigation of the deep remorse I feel. Miles -Tremenhere is here--I do beseech you," here she clasped her hands, "not -to make my burthen heavier to bear, by seeking to injure him farther." - -"Woman!" he cried, standing erect before her, "do you remember to whom -you are speaking? How have I injured him? Am I not heir--lawful -heir--here? I wish to hear no more; go, you have chosen to place a -barrier yourself between us--henceforth, 'tis as you have willed it. I -offered you independence and oblivion of all, away from this, and you -have refused, so you must take the consequences." - -"I beseech you!" she exclaimed again, not heeding his words, "to have -pity on that man, for the sake of his mother, who was one to me." - -"That is perceptible," he said scornfully, "in the good fruit of her -cultivation--vice seldom produces----" - -"Hold!" she cried, springing towards him, and grasping his arm; "revile -me as you will, but not her--she was pure as an angel, and you know it! -And I adjure you by the wrong you have done her son--to spare him now; -let him go in peace." - -"Woman, I bid you go," he cried, shaking her touch from him, "before my -patience becomes exhausted; what am I doing, or going to do to that man? -Let him go as he will, I shall not molest him unless he cross my path; -then woe betide him, whatever may be done, I'll do, nor ask whether he -be relative or stranger." - -"I only pray you," she continued, "should he seek you, as I fear he may, -to be temperate, remembering what you were to each other, what you are -in blood." She tried to soothe; had that not been the case, she would -have fearlessly spoken all her thought of his treachery. - -"Why do you think he will seek me?" he asked, and the eye, ever -uncertain in its glance, shrunk from her's. He began to dread a possible -meeting. - -"Because, because!" she hesitated a moment; then, by an effort over her -emotion, added more resolutely, "because he knows _all_, and Miles is -not one silently to pass over wrong to one he once loved and respected." - -"Oh, that's it--is it?" Rising, he advanced a step towards the trembling -woman; but suddenly paused, and hastily turned round. "What was that?" -he exclaimed, looking fixedly at a door behind him, at which Viper had -sprung growling. - -The study had two doors in it, one leading through the corridor--the one -by which Mary had entered; the other leading to a dressing-room, -adjoining Marmaduke's bedroom--it was at this one the dog lay growling. -"Curse that dog!" he cried angrily, "he makes one fanciful and nervous. -Did you hear any thing?" - -"Nothing," she rejoined, trembling with a strange tremor. - -Marmaduke turned paler too than even he generally was--it was a coward -pallor. Reaching a book from the table, he flung it at Viper, who -startled, but not cowed, sprung under the table, upsetting the basket as -he did so, which contained the torn papers; and then, as his master -turned away, he returned again to his post at the door, and commenced -scratching and growling at it. Marmaduke uttered a deep oath, and, -seizing the animal by the throat, hastily opened the door leading -towards the corridor, and flung him out. As he turned his back, a -sudden, uncontrollable impulse seized Mary to stoop, and, unseen by him, -grasp and conceal a paper which had fallen from the basket as Viper -upset it. She felt that any thing written by that man might be of value -to Miles; moreover, she saw how he (Marmaduke) had been employed with -old papers and parchments, which made the one she held possibly more -valuable. - -"Now," he said, closing the door, "let us have a few final words, and -then leave me; and if we meet again at your seeking, it will be a day of -sorrow to you. I wish to do you no injury, for I liked you once--do not -mistake," he hastily added, seeing she was about to speak; "I never -_loved_ you--no, that was man's right of speech when I said so; we are -bound to employ the same weapons others use against ourselves." - -"What do you mean?" - -"I mean lying and deceit. You never loved _me_--_I_ never had that -feeling for you; you have this evening shown me why you became mine. He -had loved you, and then forsook--revenge dictated the act which made you -give me a claim to call you mine; dislike to every thing fostering -affection for that impostor and base-born hound, made me resolve to win -you, and well have I succeeded! False to his affection for you, which -you have confessed, and thereby made me doubly glad in having ruined -you! false to me, if he so please it, I doubt not. Take back that garden -key, woman, how do you know but that this impostor may some day be -master here, and you require it for your secret visits to the -manor-house? Verily, you love the place! feline in your affections, 'tis -the place, not person, you care for!" As he concluded, he drew the -deep-drawn breath of a man suffocating with overwhelming thoughts, -bursting like deadly missiles from a shell, scattering death around; -for, as he discharged them forth, the woman, stricken with shame and -sorrow, cowered down, and buried her face in her hands. Marmaduke's deep -sigh, as he concluded, was echoed by one still deeper--it was a groan, -and came from the doorway leading into the dressing-room; he had but -time to turn half round, when a heavy hand was on his arm. - -"Unsay those words, 'impostor' and 'base-born hound,'" said Miles -Tremenhere ('twas he) beneath his breath; "or the world shall add the -other to them, and a _true_ one, 'avenger;'--as I am a living man this -night, unless you do, or you, or I shall not quit this room alive!" - -The presence even of that trembling woman imparted a feeling of -protection to Marmaduke's coward heart. By a sudden jerk he disengaged -his arm, and with one stride reached the opposite door. To think and do -had been the work of an instant, the coward's self-shield through -another. With a trembling hand he opened the door, and called "Viper," -and the dog sprang in. No word was needed; the brave brute knew all -enemies to his master, and a second spring would have brought him to -Miles's throat, had that man not, foreseeing treachery, been on his -guard. With one blow of his small, but muscular fist, he felled the -animal, and, before it could recover itself, his hand grasped its -throat; the woman shrieked--a true woman's heart is tender to every -living thing. "Spare it, Miles!" she cried. "Poor, faithful brute!" - -But Miles had no thought otherwise; while Marmaduke stood in a species -of panic, which rendered further effort for an instant vain, the other -strode to the door near which he stood, and, flinging the dog forth, -calmly turned the key, and placed it in his pocket. This act alarmed -Marmaduke; there is something to the cowardly man fearful in the calm of -a resolute one. He turned hastily to fly, his hand was on the lock of -the door leading to the corridor, but another's reached his before he -turned it, and, without one uttered word, he felt his nerveless grasp -withdrawn. The key grated in the lock beneath Miles's fingers; he saw -him, too, with perfect composure, look around, and then, a feat of -child's play to him, tear down the bell-rope, to prevent the possibility -of Marmaduke's summoning assistance; this done, Miles turned calmly -round to where his cousin stood. Mary had dropped, powerless to stand, -in a chair, and, with eyes distended by terror, watched every movement -of the quiet desperation Miles portrayed. - -"Now," he said, in untrembling resolution, as he fixed his eyes on his -cousin, the stern brow knit over their intense gaze, "retraction full, -and immediate!" - -"Of what?" asked the other, endeavouring to seem calm and unconscious. - -"Of 'impostor,' and 'base-born hound!'" - -"Do you call it a noble act, to enter, as you have done this evening -here, with the connivance of that traitress, and play eavesdropper?" -cried Marmaduke, endeavouring to evade the demand of _retraction_ of his -tongue's hasty aspersion. - -"Tis false, that too!" answered Miles. "I followed this girl, 'tis true; -I feared she might be again led to attempt suicide,--I saw her enter by -the shrubbery gate,--strangely enough, I, too, had purposed visiting you -this night by that entrance, to which I also have a key," (he held one -up as he spoke,) "mine, since when we often entered thereby together, -cousin Marmaduke. But I had intended my visit to have been made some -hours later, deeming that possibly the hospitable lord of the -manor-house might keep open house for his numerous friends, whose -pleasures I would not have interrupted for worlds. My business is of a -private nature; but, as she entered, I followed, and, knowing all the -intricacies of the old place, why, I came by the private stair to the -adjoining rooms; these rooms were mine!" - -The man's voice slightly trembled as he uttered these words; for, in -looking round, his eye rested on the old mandolin; it awakened a chord -in his heart, not like its own--broken. Marmaduke perceived this -emotion, and deemed it an advantage gained, not having seen whence arose -that softened tone; but Mary had seen, and her eye following his, the -tears gathered in a heavy cloud over her vision, as she looked up to the -thing to which she had often danced, a light-hearted child; for her -heart was now as powerless of joy as the mandolin of tone; error and -death had worked their will in stilling both. - -"I should like much to know why you are here? why you purposed coming?" -inquired Marmaduke, gaining courage. - -"Before I reply to that," answered Miles, himself once more, "I must -have retraction. I tell you so; so let it be quickly done, for she heard -it,--to her you shall unsay it, and then our interview must be alone." - -"I will not leave you, Miles," uttered the girl, clasping his hand, -which hung down, as she crept beside him; but he neither heard nor saw -her. - -"When I came to this neighbourhood again," said Miles, "it was not to -seek you; it was for one reason only--to visit in peace some old haunts, -old friends. I yet have a few left--on all, I found _your_ hand. He who -knew me from childhood, my father's respected tenant, you have striven -to drive forth--and, look there," he pointed to Mary; "this is your work -too, cowardly villain, to war with a woman, and urge her to destruction -by goading her to madness with falsehood and calumny; but this must pass -awhile. First you shall clear from your lip by retraction the words you -have said of my sainted mother; your act has, _for awhile_--mind I say -only _for awhile_--cast a slur upon her fame; but the lion only -slumbers, cousin Marmaduke--he will awake soon. But this night was the -first time you ever, in my hearing, uttered the words to blast her; -indeed, until to-night you have kept hidden from my vengeance. When you -commenced your worthy suit against me, after the first day you left -others to complete it, and fled, hidden like a reptile in sunlight,--you -came forth at night to spread your venom around; but for all that, a day -of retribution will come, only for to-night, I demand retraction." - -Marmaduke felt chilled: there was something fearful in Miles's resolute -calmness. - -"If," he said, yet not daring to look up, "you will go and take that -woman in peace (for I would not have it known, for many reasons, that -_she_ had been here,) I will say this, that I ought perhaps not to have -spoken before her of family affairs." - -"Man!" cried Miles, in a voice of thunder, "say all was a lie, an -invention; it will not take your devil-bought position here from you, -but retract every word _you shall_!" - -"Hush!" whispered Marmaduke, as the other strode towards him, putting up -his hands to ward off his coming; "hush! some one may hear us, and -report this visit." - -"Whom does he fear?" asked Miles, turning to Mary. - -"He fears lest Miss Dalzell should be informed, probably," uttered the -shrinking woman. - -"Miss Dalzell!" cried Miles, awakening as from a dream; "she will -_never_ become the wife of this man; it would be profaning a creature -stainless as the created day, before man made it blush for his sin; or -looks and words only rank as liars." - -Marmaduke glared on him, but durst not speak; he was awed by his -cousin's sternness. - -"Speak!" commanded Miles again impatiently; "I have yet a task to -perform before we part, so hasten this; she must not see the rest. Come, -man!" he uttered contemptuously, as the other visibly trembled, "speak -the words: I promise you, reckless as _I_ am of life, I have no purpose -of taking yours, _if you speak_." There was that about him which -terrified the other; it was the first time they had met out of court -since the suit. - -"I spoke hastily, angrily," stammered Marmaduke at last, his eyes bent -on the ground, one of his hands nervously turning a letter on the table, -the other in his bosom; "but this woman goaded me to it." - -"'Tis well," uttered Miles scornfully, "well done, to accuse another to -shield our own fault. You know my mother to have been pure as ever woman -was, only the _law_ wanted proof." - -"I believe she was a good woman," ejaculated the other, fearing some -snare before witnesses. - -"Fellow," cried Miles, seeing his hesitation, "I am not here to catch -you in your words: you have calumniated, you shall restore; you have -lied, you shall unlie. Do you not know in your heart that, though proof -be wanting, my mother was a wife?" He made a movement towards where his -cousin stood. - -"I believe it," fell from the lips of the awed coward; "but you know the -law will have----" - -"Enough!" exclaimed Miles, waving his hand contemptuously. "I have -devoted my life, with all its energies, to prove her to have been such, -not for the sake of the land and tenements around us, but to rebuild in -splendour an angel's darkened fame. Now, Mary, you have heard his -retraction, leave us awhile, I will rejoin you before you have quitted -the grounds." - -"Let me stay, I beseech you, Miles," she whispered, her frame trembling -with fear as he approached to put her forth. - -"There can be no secrets she may not hear," hazarded Marmaduke, in -terror himself at the idea of being alone with Miles. All the fear he -had experienced as a boy of the other, when as children they quarrelled, -stood before him, for Miles was of strong build, and great stature; he -seemed to tower above his cousin, though actually less in height. A -strange expression passed over Miles's face, as he looked from the one -to the other. - -"Well," he said, and a grim smile stole across his lip, and then -disappeared--a mere phantom--"perhaps it is just it should be so. The -man who honourably offends us, we meet in honourable fight; the cur -which, coward like, yelps at and tears our heels, what does it deserve? -A cur's chastisement," he added, not waiting for a reply. Before -Marmaduke had time to think, or the woman had time to rush between them, -Miles seized him by the collar, and at the same moment, drawing a -thickly knotted whip from his pocket, with all the force of his vigorous -arm, he applied the lash over the other's shoulders. Mary shrieked in -terror, and sunk fainting on her chair. - -"Howl like a hound in your craven fear!" shouted Miles, as his cousin -groaned and writhed beneath the lash, helpless in that strong hand. -"Come Mary, girl, look up; this is for your wrong, a coward's act--a -cur's punishment. There," he continued, flinging him almost lifeless -from him at last, and panting himself with the effort. "You'll remember -the first meeting with Miles Tremenhere;--one thing more," he took down -his mother's mandolin from its place. "Poor, senseless thing," he said, -"yet speaking words of love to me, you have been made to look on -desecrating words, deeds, and thoughts, in this man's presence. You have -lost your purity, like all of us, since _she_ left you!" In his -bitterness he forgot the suffering woman, who was weeping bitterly -beside him. "Desecrated no more, speechless henceforth, and mute to all -of the ruin around you!" he put the thing, which seemed as a breathing -creature to him, beneath his foot, and with one stamp of his heel it -flew into pieces. Crash after crash succeeded, until only a mass lay -without shape on the floor. Marmaduke was speechless with terror and -pain. - -"Come Mary, my girl, look up now!" said Miles, kindly taking her hand. -"I have avenged you as well as I can; he will not forget us--come!" - -And, almost carrying the terror-stricken girl, he passed out by the -corridor, carefully locking the door on the other side, to avoid -interruption, and so he quitted his own halls. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -Minnie had been so severely lectured by all, about her too frequent -visits to the cottage of Mary Burns, and other rambles in thoughtful -loneliness, that she felt embarrassed how to act. We have seen Dora was -not yet wholly in her confidence; there was as yet a barrier of three -years' width between them, which she hesitated at overleaping at -once--it was one separating girlhood from womanhood. She had no one to -consult but herself, and in her great anxiety to know what had been -decided upon for this poor girl, in whom she felt so much interest, as -Mr. Skaife had informed her, that assuredly Tremenhere would decide -immediately something about her, she resolved to rise with the early -bird of morn, which rose to song and heaven beneath her windows, and -seek Mary's cottage. Only the gardener was at work, as she brushed the -dew off the smoothly turfed lawn, at six the morning, after Tremenhere's -meeting with his cousin, and bidding the man a kind good-morning, she -hastened through the shrubbery, then light as a fawn skimmed over the -path-fields, and reached Mary's cottage. The shutters were closed, and -all in stillness; but the hour was so early, that she hesitated about -awakening the inmates. For some moments she stood irresolute, and -walked round the spot. There is something in internal desolation, which -always leaves an outward trace on the features, as on an abode. -Something of this she felt; and at last gently rapped at the door--all -was silent; then she repeated it--and each time with the like result. -There was a latch, so she raised it, looked in, and then the cold truth -became apparent; the place was tenantless!--all gone, and not a vestige -left. Minnie stood in mute astonishment. How should she be enabled to -discover the girl's fate?--from Mr. Skaife, perhaps; and then a chill -came over her warm heart. Had this girl, whom she had so befriended, -quitted without one word to express gratitude, or resolution of -well-doing? and then, a something crossed her mind of regret. She should -have liked to see Miles Tremenhere once more; he was so manly under his -persecution by Marmaduke Burton. It is painful in our path through life -to have that path crossed by a vision which flits away, only leaving a -trace, and never again seen--such things often leave a memory for years. -Minnie walked sadly home. It is something very undeceiving to the young -heart--it's first lesson in worldly selfishness and ingratitude. She -felt Mary must be an ungrateful girl so to depart; and, thinking all -this, she walked up to her own room. No one had discovered her -departure; and an hour afterwards she descended to the breakfast -parlour, which looked over the beautiful lawn and flower-garden, and -there she found all the family waiting, except Lady Ripley, who always -breakfasted in her own room. The day passed in busy occupations to all, -yet amidst all she felt a chill at heart--the chill of disappointed -confidence. Many neighbouring families called to pay homage to Lady -Ripley; and the report was brought by more than one, that Mr. Burton was -seriously indisposed, and hints were thrown out of a hostile meeting -having taken place between the cousins, as it was known that desperate -character, (alas! for those no longer Fortune's favourites,) Miles -Tremenhere, had been seen in the neighbourhood. - -"It must have been late yesterday, then, if they met," said Juvenal, -"for Burton was here in the afternoon." - -"It is not known when it took place, but he has been confined to his bed -all day, and his lawyer, Dalby, sent for. Though Mr. Burton denies it -himself, there is every reason to suppose 'tis true," rejoined the -visiter. - -"Some means of ascertaining the fact should be resorted to, and such a -character banished the neighbourhood," said Sylvia, acrimoniously; "it -is a natural consequence of an ill-conducted mother, that the child -should be infamous." - -"Oh, aunt!" cried Minnie, "don't say such a wicked thing; for all say -Mrs. Tremenhere was good, and mild!" - -"Besides," said the peacemaker, Dorcas, "you should give her the benefit -of the doubt; many believe her to have been married, though proof was -wanting." - -"Always my good, charitable aunt," whispered Minnie, taking her hand -affectionately. - -"Ah! Lady Dora," exclaimed the visiter, rising as the other entered, "I -am charmed to see you here once more, and looking so lovely; and her -ladyship, too," continued the old dame, as Lady Ripley sailed into the -room after her daughter, "you are really as a sister, in appearance, to -your beautiful child!" - -This is one of the most pleasing compliments in the world to a mamma -with a grown-up daughter,--it deadens the sound of Time's wheels, as he -hurries his chariot onwards,--it is like laying down tan over that -rugged road of matronism, which has an ugly stage beyond, beginning with -"grand,"--Lady Ripley graciously received the compliment, and, smiling -blandly, slid into a corner of the sofa whereon the visiter sat. "There -always has been considered a great likeness existing between us," said -the Countess; "we were painted in full length in one picture at -Florence, and the likeness has been considered remarkable, by all -visiting Loughton Castle, whither I sent it. By the way, Dora, what was -the name of the artist, a very promising young man, whom I patronised at -the request of Lord Randolph Gray, who had taken him by the hand? I -always forget names." - -"Mamma, you should remember that," answered Lady Dora, and a slight -colour passed over her cheek; yet soon fled abashed before the stern, -proud eye, it was only momentary; "for we had a neighbour here, near my -aunt's, of the same name--Tremenhere." - -"Tremenhere!" cried several simultaneously; but Minnie's struck most -forcibly on Lady Dora's ear; she turned towards her, and, looking -fixedly upon her, said, "Do _you_ know Mr. Tremenhere, Minnie?" - -"Only since yesterday," answered she; "but before then I had learned to -pity him, but we cannot mean the same person: I do not think Mr. -Tremenhere is an artist." - -"How can you tell what he may, or may not be?" said Juvenal, crossly; -"I'm sure, after his unnatural conduct towards his cousin, you should -wonder at nothing." - -"Of course," said Lady Dora, quite composedly, "they cannot be the same -person; but I assure you, the Mr. Tremenhere we knew, was a -distinguished young artist, much sought after, though only an artist. Of -his family, we never inquired." - -"This is, in my opinion," said Lady Ripley, "the great error of society -abroad; and I fear it is creeping into English habits--the mixed nature -of society. This Mr. Tremenhere was received unquestioned, nay, sought -after every where, for his talents. - -"It is only the good old English families which know how to keep up -proper distinctions," chimed in Sylvia, to the accompaniment of an -approving "Assuredly," from the visiter. - -"I think _real_ talent should always be upheld--'tis a noble gift, to -which we owe homage," said the gentle Dorcas. - -Minnie smiled "yes," but did not like to utter her opinion too decidedly -before a stranger; besides, she was thinking. - -"What are you thinking of, Minnie?" whispered her cousin. - -"Of the narrow-mindedness of the world," she answered boldly. "I'd -rather see a man ennoble his name by good deeds or talents, than bear a -merely empty title--would you not, Dora?" - -"I think position should be upheld and respected," rejoined the other, -"or else we should become republican at once. I respect, revere genius; -but even that has, in my opinion, no right to overstep certain -barriers." Lady Dora Vaughan had been nurtured on family pride, which -digests badly, and chokes up many good things with its prejudice. - -Here the conversation took a different turn. Other persons called, and -the Tremenheres--one, or different individuals--were no more alluded to. -Even her cousin's presence, failed entirely to remove the weight from -Minnie's heart, she was so saddened by disappointment, and none came to -cheer or possibly explain--for Mr. Skaife even had not appeared. The -shades of evening set in, and she and her cousin were strolling together -in the various alleys and walks of the beautiful gardens round -Gatestone, and in that same half hour Mrs. Gillett sat in her -housekeeper's room, inhaling the odour of the garden into which it -looked. She had been trimming a cap--something had come over her mind--a -question of whether she should put a bow on the said cap, as -Mademoiselle Julie, the countess's French maid, had suggested, or leave -it alone. The war within herself, between the accustomed snowy lace and -a pink ribbon, had ended in a prostration of the nervous system, and -consequent sleep ensued. She was sitting opposite the window with the -cap in one hand, the ribbon in the other, when Morpheus seized upon her, -and she slept, and dreamed that she was a Maypole bedizened with -many-coloured ribbons, and the village girls dancing round her. "What -curious things one dreams!" to be sure, she exclaimed waking up at last; -and putting both articles on the table beside her, and she rubbed her -eyes, not yet half cleared from sleep. "How them peas do grow!" she -continued, gazing dizzily out of the window in the evening duskiness and -her own dreamy state. "Why, it seems only yesterday I was saying to John -Gardener that they never would pod; and now they darkens up this window, -there's no seeing out! Lauks-a-marcy!" she exclaimed, shrinking back in -her chair in terror, as a cluster of them, sticks and all, appeared to -her half-awakened sight to advance nearer, taking a human form as they -did so. "Lauks-a-marcy! what's a going to happen to us?" Her fears were -certainly not groundless, for the humanized peas drew close to the -window, stooped, and stepped in. The window of this room was on a level -with the walk outside; and through this, Minnie as a child, and even -Dora, had been in the habit of entering as by a door, for a chair -generally stood at it, which answered the purpose of a mere step to -enter by. - -"Good-evening, Mrs. Gillett," said Miles Tremenhere, as he did so with -perfect composure. "You would not speak to me last time we met; so I -have come to my old haunt, and as I was used to do when a boy, to have -some conversation with you." By an involuntary movement, without -uttering a word, she staggered to her feet, grasped her cap and ribbons -in her hand, and was making towards the door, but Tremenhere intercepted -her quietly before she was half-way there. "Stop," he said gently, -smiling as he spoke, "I don't mean to harm, or alarm you; listen quietly -to me, good Mrs. Gillett. Come, you cannot have quite forgotten the -sweet youth who has so often sat in this room with you; and i'faith, -too, I remember those hospitable cupboards" (and he glanced around) -"wherein I discovered many a treasure hidden for 'good Madame -Tremenhere's son,' as you were used to call me." A sigh half choked the -lighter tone as he spoke. Gillett stood still, and looked at him. She -was not a bad woman--far from it; but only a very politic one. She would -gladly have pleased all parties; but the peculiarity of the case -sometimes, as in Minnie's for instance--forbad it. - -"Lock the door," she whispered, pointing behind him; "then speak low, -and tell me what you want." Her commands were soon obeyed; and, like two -conspirators, they sat down in a corner and began talking. - -"You see, Master Miles," she whispered, "times is sadly changed, and I -am obliged to be friends with my betters; and, then you know that I -don't want to hurt your feelin's--but there have been queer tales about -your----" - -"Hush!" he said emphatically, grasping her hands, "not a word against -_her_. Mrs. Gillett, you know what she was to all--you know that the day -she died, this village had but one voice to bewail her--but one sentence -to mourn her with. 'Heaven gave her for awhile to shew what angels may -walk the earth'--this you know, Mrs. Gillett; and you _know_, too, that -she has been cruelly maligned. No," he cried, rising energetically, -forgetful of all necessity for secrecy, "as Heaven hears me, I do not -care for the loss of all, save that, in losing that, a mother's sacred -fame has been trampled upon." - -"There," cried Mrs. Gillett, following and taking his hand, not without -emotion; "sit down, I know it has been a sad cut-up for you; but times -will change, maybe, and you be better off, and all forgot." - -"Never!" he emphatically exclaimed. "A mothers wrongs should never be -forgotten by a son until washed away." - -"Talking of washing away," said his attentive listener; "there be a -rumour to-day, that summut happened up at the house last night; you -haven't done nothing of that sort to the squire, have you, Master -Miles?" - -"No," he replied, thoughtfully; "my great debt remains yet unpaid." - -"Well, I'm sure it's a pity," she added, "that all parties can't agree; -there be plenty for both on 'e up at the manor-house; and such friends -as you were as boys!" - -"Why didn't you speak to me yesterday, Mrs. Gillett?" he asked. "Were -you afraid of Miss Dalzell, or Mr. Skaife? Both seem to my judgment -good, excellent creatures, apart from the generality of the world, for -they did not fear the contact with a fallen man; but I suppose I must -not ask you----" He appeared to be seeking time or courage to speak his -more earnest motive in seeking her. - -"Well," said she at last, hesitatingly, "I must speak it out, though you -bid me not; so don't go to be offended, for I wouldn't hurt your -feelings for the world; but them as does wrong, brings much on their -children. You have been cruelly treated by your parents, to be left so -long in----" - -"Mrs. Gillett!" he cried, rising in agitation, "even from you, my old -friend, I cannot hear this. Do not let others lead your kind heart to do -wrong, even in thought; some day _all_ shall know my mother as I do, or -I will die in the struggle with her enemies." - -"Oh! don't do nothing of that sort," cried she, mistaking his meaning; -"getting killed a'n't the way to right her; and this I will say, that a -better lady never lived--and in the hearts of the poor; the best home to -have, after all. But it a'n't a thing I'm component to judge, Master -Miles; for foreigners, they say, don't see them things as we do." - -"Well," he replied, reseating himself, and passing his hand over his -brow; "let's change the subject, it always pains me; but _her_ day of -retribution will come--my sainted mother!" and involuntarily he raised -his hat, in reverential awe, as if an angel were looking down upon him. - -"Don't be cast down, Master Miles," said the woman, "and don't talk on -them miserable subj_ecs_, all in the dark here, as one may say; it makes -one oncomfortable and queer. Now, tell me, what do you want with me?" - -"I want to see Miss Dalzell. Can you manage that for me?" - -"Mussiful powers! no," she exclaimed, in surprise and horror. - -"It must be accomplished somehow, Mrs. Gillett; see her I _must_." - -"Well, if I didn't think so!" she said, thinking aloud of what she had -previously hinted to Sylvia. - -"Think what--what do you mean?" - -"Oh nothink, nothink--there, _do_ go; pray, do'e go!" she energetically -cried, alarmed at the phantom her imagination had conjured up. "It won't -do, depend upon it; _they_ would stir up the whole earth to find and -punish you, if you did it; for she's the darling of all, and they'd all -_ignite_ against you--lawyer, parson, squire, master, mississes, and -all!" - -"In the name of patience, my good Mrs. Gillett, what _do_ you mean?" he -asked laughing. - -"Why, I saw it--I said it--I knew it--though I ain't a Dippibus, as -master calls fortune-tellers; but don't go any farther--leave off where -you are!" and she crunched up her cap in her energy. - -"Are you mad?" he exclaimed, securing her reckless hands. "I tell you I -_must_ see Miss Dalzell, if only for a moment. I have a message for -her." - -Mrs. Gillett was rocking in her chair in agony; her position exceeded -any thing embarrassing she had ever conceived. What could she do? Here -she was locked in with a desperate man, who only said "must." How could -she ever reconcile this difficulty to practicable action? how bind this -wild horse to her daily care of every body's necessities? their calls -upon her to bear their burthens--her carrier's cart of packages--she was -in fearful perplexity. - -"Is there any thing so dreadful in my demand?" he asked. "Let it be -here, for five minutes. We met yesterday--you know we did, though you -would not recognise me. She will not refuse, I know." - -"Can't you say what you have to say through the passan, Master Miles," -she uttered at last, struggling for a straw. - -"No; I must see herself. Why do you fear me so much? Do you suppose I -would insult, or injure one, whom report says so good and kind--a woman, -too? Fie Mrs. Gillett--fie! to wrong me so much, the man you've known -from boyhood." - -"Oh! Master Miles, it ain't that--it ain't, indeed; but we oftentimes -harms without meaning it," and she looked meaningly at him. He seemed to -awaken as from a dream. - -"You cannot suppose," he cried, "that I, a poor outcast now, come here -to woo any woman; still less Miss Dalzell, whose whole family are my -bitterest enemies. I tell you no, Mrs. Gillett; I have no such thought. -From all I have heard--the little I saw of her yesterday, for the first -time--I respect, admire, and reverence Miss Dalzell, but more I never -shall now--I have another at heart." He alluded to his self-imposed task -of duty and love, to re-establish his mother's fame. - -"You a'n't deceiving me, Master Miles," she said looking up, mistaking -his meaning. - -"I solemnly assure you I am not." - -"Oh, then, there can be no harm, that I see!" she cried confidently. -Alas! poor Mrs. Gillett, she had but skin-deep knowledge of the human -heart. Not seeing that what we should avoid, we fly to--what hate, -generally love, if cast in our path--ties, vows, resolutions--all are -things created, but to be immolated on love's altar. - -"There she just is!" she exclaimed, looking from the window; "she's come -round by the shrubbery into the fruit-garden, and Lady Dora's with her." - -"Lady Dora!" he ejaculated, looking surprised, and going to the window. - -"Come back, Master Miles, do, come back," she cried; "I wouldn't have -Miss Minnie's cousin see you for the world, in here." - -"Is that Miss Dalzell's cousin?" he again asked, gazing from his corner -at the two wandering together at the end of a long walk. "Lady Dora -Vaughan, Lady Ripley's daughter,--true," he added after a pause, talking -aloud, "I have a faint memory of the name here; but boys do not -recollect these things as in after years; the name seemed familiar to me -in Italy." - -"Lauks!" exclaimed Mrs. Gillett, "have you met Lady Dora before?" - -"Yes," he answered hesitatingly; "but how is it, Mrs. Gillett, that I -never met her or Miss Dalzell here before?" Alas! the man was in old -familiar scenes, forgetting that eight long dreary years of exile had -been his. - -"Why, you see, Master Miles--and lauk, if I a'n't forgettin' too, -calling you Master--well, never mind, it's more homely: Miss Minnie will -be only seventeen come next month, and eight years have gone by -since----" - -"True, true!" he hastily answered, interrupting her, "and Miss Dalzell -was then but a little child"--he sighed, that man of eight-and-twenty -felt so old. - -"And Miss Minnie was seldom at home then. She lived almost entirely with -Lady Ripley, for her ladyship's child's sake; but you must have seen -her, too, Master Miles." - -"Yes," he said thoughtfully; "I now recall, at times, a pretty little -fairy thing flitting about the grounds and gardens when I came home; for -_then_ my first visit was ever here, to see you Mrs. Gillett, and good, -kind Miss Dorcas, and to teaze your master and Miss Sylvia with my -wilful spirits." - -"Lauk, yes!" said she sadly; and the memory of all brought the joyous -boy in so much bitter comparison with the outcast, saddened man, that -Mrs. Gillett, kind at heart, began to cry. - -"Come, come!" he said kindly taking her hand; "don't be sorrowful. I -thank you for those evidences that I am not forgotten by all." - -"Oh, not by me, Master Miles; but I've a hard card to play here amongst -'em all, and that hardens the heart--for they all want the same thing. -They all wish Miss Minnie to marry some one of their own choosing, and, -as I say, she can't be a bigamy, and marry all, so there's no use -wurrittin' her about it so." - -"And does she not love any one?" - -"Law bless you, no--not one more than t'other; my belief is, she likes -her black mare 'Jet' better nor any of them." - -Miles felt glad to hear this, for he had heard of none worthy of the -fair girl who had been poor Mary's Christian support in her trouble. -Even Skaife he did not deem fitting for that beautiful gem; she merited -a more gorgeous setting than a homely curate's home could be. She was no -longer as a stranger to his thought; he forgot the past eight bitter -years of his life, and remembered himself a boy again, looking on a -rosy, lovely child. Mrs. Gillett's doubts were all cleared away, and an -open path before her. Age, and the prejudices of others, had made her -regard Miles with fear, and almost aversion. Now the better influence of -woman's nature prevailed, and she remembered him only as the comely -youth she had once liked so much. Cranky people make others cross and -disagreeable. She was accustomed to nothing but complaints from Juvenal -and Sylvia, with a milder portion, in the way of advice required, by -Dorcas; and thus she had had all the juices of her nature drying up -beneath this fire of unhappy prognostications from all. With Miles she -became almost young again, and fearlessly promised to procure him the -desired interview, provided _no one knew it_, which he faithfully -promised they should not, from him; and, while they were consulting how -it should be accomplished, the girl herself advanced to the window with -her cousin. Miles drew back in a corner, and his heart beat for more -reasons than one. - -"Good-evening, Mrs. Gillett," said Lady Dora, in an affable tone. "You -really improve in good looks every time we meet." Poor Mrs. Gillett was -red as a peony with agitation, and could only utter, "Your ladyship's -very good to notice _me_!" - -"Gillett, dear," cried Minnie, in her girlish, ringing tone, "we are -coming in to have a chat with you; put a chair for us to step on!" - -"Not for the world, miss," almost shrieked the alarmed woman. "Oh dear! -no; maybe you'll hurt yourself." - -"Good gracious--no, Gillett! you know I always come in this way," and -she stooped as if to enter. - -"No, miss--oh dear, no!" continued the other, dragging away the chair in -her terror. "I never will consent; it mustn't be." - -"Are you mad?" exclaimed the amazed girl. The woman caught Miles's face; -he was smiling. Altogether her position was so critical, she became -doubly confused, and said something incoherent about "Lady Dora's -dignity." - -"I see what it is," said that lady. "Mrs. Gillett has forgotten the girl -she used to scold once; so, Minnie, we will sit outside here, and I will -make her better acquaintance as a woman," and the cousins, suiting the -action to the word, sat down each on a garden-chair, which they drew -close to the window. This was a thousand times worse than any position -she ever had been in; no blindness, no pattens, could save her here. -She was not a free agent--What would they say? what do? and besides, the -door was locked--should any one rap! It was the hour when the servants -generally required her advice or presence to prepare for supper; her -agony was intense. She durst not move lest Minnie should step in, using -her own chair for that purpose. Every possible thought crossed her mind -to terrify her--should Miles sneeze? and, in the midst of all this, -Minnie began-- - -"Now," she said, "Gillett, I've come to scold you for your cruelty -yesterday to poor Mr. Tremenhere." - -Mrs. Gillett was seized with a violent fit of coughing; could _any_ -subject more terrible under circumstances have been selected? Miles was -all attention. - -"You've a bad cough," said Lady Dora, kindly, for her; but she wanted -Minnie's homely warmth of speech. - -"Th-an-k you-r la-dy-ship, I ha-ve," coughed the woman. - -"You should be careful at your age," continued the other. "Colds are the -forerunners of all disease, they say." - -"So o-ur doc-tor tel-ls me," uttered the housekeeper, perplexed how to -keep up the cough; "and he sa-ys I sh-ou-l-d avoid dr-aughts!" - -"And here we are," cried the feeling Minnie, "keeping you in one." She -rose hastily. Mrs. Gillett began in all gratitude, thanking her lucky -star for taking them away, as she supposed that luminary so intended to -do; when, lo! at that instant, a hand tried the lock, then -rap--rap--rap, succeeded--then Sylvia's voice! The housekeeper was -nearly frantic. She hurried half-way to the door, then returned. Miles -stood perfectly still and composed. - -"I'll go round by the garden, Minnie," said Lady Dora, rising. "Don't -remain long with Mrs. Gillett," and she turned away with her slow, -majestic walk. Minnie put her chair in at the window, stepping in like a -cat upon it. Gillett indistinctly saw all this; she wrung her hands, -hurried to the assailed door, opened it, slipping through a crevice she -would have dreamed an impossible feat of performance an hour before, and -speaking loudly as she did so. - -"Oh! Miss Sylvia, I'm so flusterated I don't know what I'm a-doing of; -there's a strange cat come into my room, and gone into a fit--don't go -in!" she screamed, as the courageous Sylvia attempted to do so. "It will -bite, maybe! I'll lock it in; the window is open--it will go as it -comed, I daresay!" and, suiting the action to the word, she tremblingly -turned the key, which she had taken outside with her. Presence of mind -is woman's greatest gift. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -"They must settle it between them," she muttered to herself as she did -so. "After what he told me, I ain't afeard of him! And very fortunate it -is, to be sure, that he should be thinking of another, or else he'd be -sartain to fall in love with Miss Minnie, and _that_ wouldn't do!" And, -consoling herself in her error, she trotted down the passage after -Sylvia. - -"Gillett--Mrs. Gillett!" cried Minnie, flying across the room to the -closing door; "let me out!" - -But the door was locked in an instant. Sylvia had turned away, and -Gillett followed, blessing herself for the clever manner in which she -met poor Miles's wishes (for she really liked him,) without actually -compromising herself by arranging a meeting. Minnie turned, and was -going out by the window, as she had entered, wondering much at the -housekeeper's strange behaviour, when, in turning, she beheld Miles. She -started back, uttering a half scream. - -"Pray, do not be alarmed, Miss Dalzell," he said, advancing -courteously--"'tis I, Miles Tremenhere, here, and with Mrs. Gillett's -consent; may I speak a word to you?" - -"_You_ here, Mr. Tremenhere--and with Mrs. Gillett's connivance?" - -"I here, Miss Dalzell--you may indeed be amazed; but pray, pardon my -audacity, but I have something to tell you, for which reason I am here. -May I act most unceremoniously in your own house, and offer you a -chair?" - -She bowed as he did so, and seated herself, though in much perplexity of -thought. - -"I would speak to you," he said seriously, standing beside her, "of one -you take an interest in." - -"Mary Burns!" she cried. "Oh! pray be seated, and tell me of her. I went -to the cottage at six this morning, but it was vacant." - -"Did you, indeed!" he exclaimed, gazing in deep admiration upon the -lovely face raised to his in confidence and innocence. "I wish I had -divined that; how very good you are, Miss Dalzell!--this will much -gratify poor Mary, she is so crushed and bowed down." - -"Oh! do not say I am good; 'tis a sacred duty we owe a distressed fellow -creature. We should not trample upon the fallen, lest they rise against -us, and themselves in bitterness: where is she, Mr. Tremenhere?" - -But Tremenhere's thoughts had changed their current; might he not be -pardoned for seeking a motive to interest in his fate that young heart? -Within the last half hour he had been searching the haunts of memory, -and she had given him back a sunny day, ten long years gone by. - -"It is a great tax on a memory so young as yours, Miss Dalzell," he -said, without having even heard her question, "to ask it to look back -ten years; can you recall the time when you were seven years of age?" - -"Oh, well!" she answered unhesitatingly, as if she had known him all the -intervening space between that, and the present. "I had never quitted -home then, since when, I have been much at Loughton, with my cousin -Dora; but I remember that happy time well. I was a very, very joyous -child. They say, those kind of children know much and early trouble; but -I don't believe that--do you?" - -"Heaven keep you from it!" he energetically said, "_I_ was a _very_ -happy boy." - -Minnie looked up in his handsome face, and her bright blue eyes clouded -over--"Poor Miles Tremenhere!" she thought. - -"You used to ride," he continued, "on a pretty grey pony, and a large -dog always followed it." - -"Yes!" she answered amazed; "and old Thomas, my uncle's coachman, walked -beside me; but how do you know this, Mr. Tremenhere?" - -"One day," he replied, "a young man's horse ran away with him, in the -long lane skirting your grounds at Gatestone, and upset the grey pony -and its pretty burthen. As soon as he recovered the command of his -horse, he returned and found the little girl, not hurt, but very much -frightened; so he dismounted and took the pretty child on his knee, and -her little arms clung round his neck, as she assured him she was not -hurt. He often thought of that sweet girl, and her long flaxen curls; -but somehow, he lost her recollection, amidst the waves of the troubled -life he afterwards was doomed to. He only found it again, half an hour -ago; then he again saw, as now he sees in Memory's magic glass, that -sweet infant face, the little arms so confidently round his neck, and -the kiss she gave him on both cheeks. _I_ was that young man--man _even -then_,--_you_, that pretty loving child, Miss Dalzell." - -Minnie was rosy red to her very brow as he spoke of that kiss; then with -a native grace, all her own, she held out both her tiny hands, and all -smiles as he grasped them, said--"Oh, Mr. Tremenhere! I _do remember_ -it; I am so delighted we have met before this sad time to you; it gives -me a right to defend, and think well of you." - -What would Mrs. Gillett have said, had she seen Miles's dark moustache -pressed upon Minnie's lovely hands, in speechless gratitude? - -"I don't know how it happened," he said, after a moment's silence; "but -there was but little intimacy between our families. _I_ came frequently -here, but then I rambled every where; moreover, I had, and have, a -passion for my pencil, and strolled about the grounds, sketching every -thing, I had so many favourite old trees and sites here." - -"And do you sketch now? have you any of these? I should much like to see -them." - -"Yes, I sketch still, and, more than that, I paint, chisel my thoughts -in marble--all." - -"What a delicious pastime!" she cried, enthusiastically. - -"'Tis more than that to me," he answered, and a cloud passed over his -brow; "it is _now_ a profession to me--one ardently pursued, for a -motive hallows it!" - -"Your mother!" she uttered. - -"Thank you, for that good, sympathetic thought, Miss Dalzell. I may -freely speak to you--we are not strangers in soul--I feel _that_. Yes; -my mother--my good, pure, calumniated mother! I have vowed every energy -of my life to one cause--the re-establishment of her fame. Only money -can do it: I am poor: I have powerful and rich enemies to fight against; -but patience, if wealth is to be gained, I will win it; and then there -is not a corner of the wide world I will leave unsearched, till I prove -her to all, what I know her to be. Every thought of my soul is in this -good work." - -"Oh, may Heaven prosper so pure a wish!" she cried. "Would that I were -rich! I would say, Mr. Tremenhere, for the sake of a sister woman's -fame, let me join you in this holy deed." - -Minnie spoke in all the enthusiasm of her gentle, but energetic nature; -and as she desired, so would she have done, had fortune willed it. -Tremenhere's outcast heart was in fearful danger; had she sought through -all Cupid's quiver for an arrow the most deadly, she could not have -found one better, than this interest in his mother, to win Miles's -affections. For some moments they did not speak; he felt that the -weakness creeping over him must be checked. His cause was too sacred a -one to be relinquished, like a second Marc Anthony's, for woman's love. -And what Cleopatra could ever have ranked in power with Minnie Dalzell? -He felt this, and changed the subject, telling her that Mary and her -mother had that day quitted Yorkshire for London, to avoid persecution. -It was a delicate subject to touch upon to Minnie, therefore he did so -as lightly as possible; but not so much so but that she discovered, to -her increased horror of him, that Marmaduke Burton had been Mary's -betrayer. But time flew--it flies ever when we require its stay--it -flies, carrying with it our joys and smiles; and oh, how it lingers over -our tears! Bathed in them, its wings know no vigour or volition. Minnie -would gladly have remained longer; but she knew her absence would -shortly cause inquiry and search. Miles durst not solicit another -meeting; for how excuse the request? What interests had they in common, -now Mary was gone? Alas! none, which either might avow. Little as they -were acquainted, it was a moment of regret to each, when, without a word -asked of future hope, or promise given, Miles stepped through the -window, in the now deepened shades of evening--almost night. He could -but thank and bless her gentle heart, and say, how truly! that he never -should forget her kindness and confidence,--that he probably, on the -following day, should be far from Gatestone; but, at her request, he -would send some sketches to Mrs. Gillett for her, in memory of their -meeting; and one should be of their first one. Twice he turned to say -good-bye; and the last time he lingered, and lingered, over the little -white hand, on which the lip, though half in fear, fell at last; and he -bade Heaven bless her, for his mother's sake. She watched his tall -figure as he strode through the garden--then the night concealed him -from her view--she crept to the window and listened, but the footsteps -were lost on the turf; and here Mrs. Gillett turned the key in the door, -and entered. Minnie turned hastily round. - -"Is he gone?" asked the woman, in a whisper. - -"Yes," uttered Minnie sadly. "Poor man--poor creature! Oh, Gillett, what -a wicked man Marmaduke Burton is!" - -"Is he? Oh! may be not--he thinks he's right; may be he is, may be he -isn't--who can say?" Policy had stepped in again, her handmaiden. "One -thing I'm very glad of, Miss Minnie, that Mr. Miles is an engaged man." - -"Engaged!" cried the girl, surprised; "to whom?" - -"I don't know, but he solemnly assured me he was, or else be sure I -wouldn't have consented to his seeing you alone. People soon fall in -love--I know _I_ did with poor, dear Gillett; but I never knew it till -he fell out of the apple-tree, and dessicated his shoulder. And I'm -sure, when they strapped him down in the chair, to pull it back again, -(it was sadly put out,) I felt in such an agonized state, as if vultures -were feedin' on my vitals! Ah! that's true love, Miss Minnie--I hope you -may never know how sharp its tooth is, for it gnaws through every -barricade, as one may say." - -Minnie was in deep thought, thinking and wondering what sort of person -Miles loved: Was she dark?--fair? and, above all, did she love him _very -much_? She thought--indeed, she was sure--that she should love such a -man! In a very meditative mood, she entered the drawing-room. - -Miles sped away across fields, once his, to the homely farmer's, (Weld,) -where, we have said, he had taken up his abode. He, too, was in deep -cogitation; his mind filled with thoughts of Minnie. With an artist's -eye, he remembered every outline of her lovely face and form: there was -something so seraphic in it: for a while it obliterated all bitterer -memories--cousin, mother, all. Then, as he awoke from a day-dream of -what might _possibly_ have been, a double flood of indignation and -hatred rushed through his heart towards Marmaduke. "I would have -willingly shared all with him," he cried aloud, "so he had left me name, -and _her_ fame; with these I might _perhaps_ have won----" He paused. -"Lady Dora her cousin, too! strange I should never have thought of -_that_! But, then, 'tis ever so; we sit down contentedly under a happy -influence of sunlight, unquestioning whether it will last, or wherefore -it shines, whence it comes. _That_ would have been the maddest dream of -any. Proud! oh, Juno herself fabled Juno not prouder! There were many -things in that girl I could not fathom: Was she really so proud? or, Had -her heart a softer feeling beneath that mantle? or, Was it merely -woman's love of enchaining, which made her so gentle, yielding, _almost_ -loving, only to frown down upon the half-uttered hopes her manner gave -birth to? I remember the day she was leaving; I am not a vain man, but -assuredly there was a tear in her eye, and the hand, for the first -time, touched mine--how cold her's was! _That_ was vanity. Her manners -piqued me, her beauty dazzled; but I forgot her a week afterwards, and -worked at the statue for which she had been my model, as calmly as if no -line of it were drawn in vain imitation of her matchless grace. But I -forgot _her_!--could I forget Miss Dalzell?" He was silent for a long -time, and walked onward in thought. "I will leave this place," he said -at last, speaking aloud--that habit which denotes the lonely -man--speaking aloud, not to forget the _tone_ of a human voice. "I will -leave this, and then forget that sweet, fair face; I cannot allow my -heart the luxury even of that thought. I require all its energies--it -must be vigorous, Miles, vigorous, for it's worldly encounter, not -enervated by love! Pshaw! leave love to boys--I am a man--a sad, -stricken man--what have I to do with love? Why, my hair will be -silvering soon, and how might I mingle such, with those glorious wreaths -of golden shade, as she lay on my bosom! Away, away!" he cried, groaning -deeply. "This is a devil's vision, to tempt me aside, from duty to a -saint! What a beautiful thing nature is!" he continued, after a pause. -"What act of art, however gorgeous her colouring, could compete with -that one--so beautiful--so pure--so perfect--when Minnie Dalzell put her -two fair hands in childish confidence in mine!" Again he walked on in -silence, and as he entered Farmer Weld's door, he muttered, "I will -leave this place to-morrow!" - -The morrow rose. Does she in rising lay in her lap, and survey all the -deeds of the day? or is it an act at eve, when retiring? In either case, -how she must sigh over those of omission and commission, and regret that -she should be the involuntary parent of them all! She rose, and with her -Lady Dora, earlier than usual; she looked thoughtful, pale, and -irresolute. Were these caused by Minnie--who had spent two good hours -the previous night in her dressing-room, confiding to her cousinly ear -all about Miles Tremenhere? Dora had listened, and Minnie was too little -accustomed herself to conceal her feelings, to note the painful struggle -the other had, to be in seeming quite calm. Much she argued with -Minnie--mere cold, worldly motives, for not seeing Miles, for refusing -to do so _peremptorily_, should he seek her; as if Minnie could do any -thing in a peremptory manner, especially a thing calculated to wound -this fallen man! Dora found her resolute, however, in one way--not to do -so, but leave all to chance. He was going--she pitied him--always had -done so since she heard his story. She hated Marmaduke Burton--always -had--and would now, more than ever--_she would_. In vain Dora spoke of -position; he was rich, Minnie had nothing, and her aunts were resolved -she should settle near them. "Well, they cannot force me to marry at -all," answered she; "so I'll die an old maid, or rather live one first, -with dear aunt Dorcas." - -But Dora could gain no promise about Miles Tremenhere. - -"I may never seek him," said Minnie. "I'm not in love--oh! not at all; -but, if we _do_ meet, I will hold out my hand if the squire and all the -household are by to see! Has he not known me since I was seven years of -age? and do you think I am going to turn away from a friend because he -is poor? No, cousin dear, I wish I were a man, I'd fight for Miles -Tremenhere--poor fellow!" - -It is questionable whether, had she been one, she would have blushed so -deeply, and spoken so enthusiastically, though her generous nature would -have made her uphold the wronged. A handsome man is very dry fuel near a -young lady's warm heart--her enthusiasm soon glows into a blaze. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -Our readers must not suppose that Lady Dora Vaughan was in love with -Miles Tremenhere. The outcast of society could never find a cherished -home in a heart so proud as her's. True, we cannot always command our -feelings; but we can check them. Her's towards him were, more bordering -on hate than love--And why? because she had _nearly_ loved, and her -pride revolted so much against her weakness, that dislike towards the -object had followed; still, her sensations were far from agreeable. Do -as she might, she could not despise the man; she was bound to admire, -and even while doing so, feel that it would be worse than any marriage -with age or decrepitude (rank and wealth of course accompanying them,) -to love this noble-hearted man, simply because the laws of society -condemned him as an outcast, for his mother's supposed error. And this -frightful fault of pride, was the bane of a host of good qualities and -virtues in Lady Dora. It marred them all; making her seem worldly, cold, -and heartless, whereas a good, simple-minded mother would have created a -jewel of price in this girl. She had met Miles in Florence--met him -merely as an artist, whose rising talent entitled him to portray her -fine features for the admiration of posterity. As a very young man, when -wealth and position were his, Miles had studied painting as an art to -which inspiration called him. Sculpturing, too, he practised, but less -than the other. Perhaps it was, next to his mother's wrongs, the -severest blow of his unhappy fate, when he found himself driven from his -studio at the manor-house, where his happiest hours had been spent. He -had passed years of his life at different periods, since boyhood, in -Italy, and studied with the best masters. When his troubles seemed to -have quite overwhelmed him, after flinging back with scorn the hundred a -year his base cousin dared offer him--as indeed he would have done -thousands, from his, or any hand in charity--he had recourse to his -talents for support. He returned to Italy; and now every energy of his -genius was directed towards the acquirement of wealth, for the purpose -we have shown. This was the man Lady Dora had sat to; and, though she -did not admit the fact at Gatestone, she, but not her mother, had been -perfectly aware that he was the once master of the manor-house. Even -while under his pencil at Florence she had, struck by the name, sought -his confidence, which he freely gave her--only from her mother was it -withheld. Lady Dora never spoke of herself; imagining that every one -must know her rank and family, she merely spoke of having been at -Gatestone, and he inquired no farther. Under the mask with which pride -concealed the working of her features and heart, Lady Dora had warm -affections. Though she did not fully enter into the merits of -Tremenhere's case, neither did she believe that, had his mother been -innocent, he could be so much wronged; still she felt much sympathy for -one brought up in ignorance, so many years, and driven to the bitter -extremity, as she deemed it, of earning his existence; not knowing, that -the bread we honestly earn, is made sweeter to the palate, than that -which comes to us from parents and kindred--the cold household bread, -baked from our birth for us! The depth of thought, intelligence, and -something above any one she had ever met, made her involuntarily bow -before the commanding nature of this man. Of his plans or purposes she -knew nothing; merely supposing that, like hundreds of other artists, he -was earning his living. It was not to a girl like this one, that the -sacred motive of all his acts would be confided. Still it was impossible -to be thrown into the society of Lady Dora, and not admire her deeply, -especially a man like this; for he was too keen an observer--a -scrutinizer of all--not to perceive that under her pride lay feeling and -depth of soul. Insensibly this cold man began to watch for the days of -his visits at the Palazzo Nuovo, whither he went to complete the -portraits of herself, and the countess; but it was to his studio Lady -Dora came, accompanied by a waiting-woman, and sometimes her mother, to -mark the progress of her marble statue; and here, in his own home, his -household gods around him, Miles became so perfectly himself--at ease, -graceful, and courteous in manner, such as few could be, none surpass, -that insensibly Lady Dora felt her heart question her pride as to the -possibility of reconciliation; for with her they were two enemies at -open war--still she was not in love. Surrounded by admirers--sought -every where--chidden by her mother for her coldness--it was a bitter -pang to her, the discovery that this painter-sculptor, for such he was, -should give her heart an awakening start. At first she gave herself up -to the enjoyment of a new sensation; then, when she discovered how -dangerous the feeling might become, she drew back into her shell, which -lay outwardly cold and empty; whereas within beat a warm heart. -Tremenhere, however, guessed a part of the whole. There is a look, not -to be mistaken, in the downcast lid which lowers over the traitor -glance--there is the young blood, which will rush up rejoicing to the -cheek. No caution can check this tide, no dam limit its flow. More than -once her blush had made his heart question itself; and though that heart -acknowledged a warmer feeling than towards a mere acquaintance, still -it's joy was not full, the cup was not filled to overflowing, nor any -thing resembling it. Lady Dora had passed a sleepless night after the -conversation with Minnie. Minnie she had loved as a child--loved her now -as a girl; moreover, she was a part of herself, her flesh and -blood--degradation to one, would necessarily fall upon the other; and -knowing, as she knew the fascination of Miles, even acting upon -herself--the girl accustomed to society and adulation--she doubly -dreaded it in the case of an unsophisticated girl like her cousin. Lady -Dora, we have said, arose, it was about seven o'clock, a thing most -unusual for her to do. She dressed herself without the attendance of -her maid, and after a moment's thoughtful pause, put on a close -straw-bonnet and shawl, and, opening her door gently, crept down-stairs. -It will be remembered that Lady Dora had often been, as a child, a -resident at Gatestone; consequently, under the unavoidable influence of -Mrs. Gillett, the presiding goddess of the house. To her room, through -the gardens, Lady Dora resolved to go, as if accidentally in an early -walk, and implore her not to countenance in any way the -inter-communication of Minnie and Tremenhere. Poor Lady Dora quite -forgot, or disbelieved, that there is a communion of kindred spirits on -earth, and that vain is all earthly power to separate them. Thinking on -various things in deep cogitation, she skirted the gardens, passed -through the shrubbery, and was on the point of entering the -fruit-gardens leading to Mrs. Gillett's window, when she suddenly -paused. Through an opening of the majestic trees in the long walk called -the shrubbery, she saw in the distance a man's figure. He was slowly -walking in the holly-field before alluded to. She drew near the hedge -separating the grounds from this last named, and looked earnestly -through the interstices of the hedge; he was evidently strolling about, -on nothing especial bent. She paused in thought. "Was he, could he, be -expecting any one? if so----Surely not Minnie? oh, no! she was too -candid and retiring to deceive, or be guilty of such an act on so slight -an acquaintance." These questions answered, her decision was soon made; -it was far better to speak to him candidly, than through any servant -attain her object. Her pride made her sufficiently self-relying, and -placed her on too high a pedestal to fear, as a merely ordinary girl of -her age might have done. Thus resolved, she returned on her footsteps, -and walking hastily through the grounds, opened a small door leading to -the fields, and without further hesitation proceeded straight towards -the man, as matinal as herself; whom, at a glance, she had recognized, -as Tremenhere. He, too, had passed a restless night--a thing to him of -frequent occurrence; poor Miles had much to banish sleep from his -pillow, at all times. He never stayed to woo Morpheus, but rose at once, -however early it might be, in Aurora's reign. He had been up nearly two -hours, and something impelled him to visit this path, remembering that -one day's hour of waking, generally is succeeded by a parallel act, next -morning. Minnie had been across these fields at six the previous day, -and might she not do the like this? So much worth was his resolution to -quit the spot, and see her no more. His back was however, now turned -from Gatestone, and he sat upon a stile watching busy nature; he was too -sad to sing, or he would have united his voice with the tone of the -lark, and busy bee, as they rose above, or flew past him. No! he sat in -thought. Lady Dora's light step was unheard; it might have been a flying -hare's, 'twas so gently placed on the grass; a cough, however, startled -him, and then a cold untrembling. - -"Mr. Tremenhere, pardon my interruption of your reverie, but may I speak -to you?" - -"Good heavens! Lady Dora Vaughan!" and he was beside her. - -"You naturally feel astonished at my being here, Mr. Tremenhere," she -coldly said, after an obeisance of the body which placed a barrier like -the Jura mountains between them--"precipitately steep." "But I was -walking in the gardens, and perceiving you, have come without -hesitation, well assured that you can place no false construction on the -otherwise hazardous act." - -"Lady Dora must be fully aware that presumption, or self-appreciation -_above_ what I deserve, is not a fault of mine; what I am, I -know--_more_, I never shall seek to be." - -He was to the full as proud as herself in word and look; she felt his -meaning, and thought they stood _equal_ in mental strength; but his was -the real, sterling pride, grounded on uprightness of cause--hers, the -worldly thing, born by accident of birth; but, like many unreal things, -it looked as pure as the other to the eye. - -"Believe me, Mr. Tremenhere, I do full justice to you in all things. I -feel so much sympathy for a position so painful as yours, especially as -it must be here, in this neighbourhood." - -He merely bowed. She scarcely knew well how to enter upon the subject of -Minnie; even to her undaunted mind, it was a most difficult one. "May I -ask," she said at last, "without a seeming impertinence, foreign to my -thought, whether your stay will be greatly prolonged here?" - -He stood surprised; but, fixing his gaze upon her cold, impassive face, -he read nothing to point a suspicion of any personal interest on her -part. - -"May I inquire your ladyship's motive for the question? I shall then, -possibly, be better enabled to reply with brevity and decision to it, as -I presume the dew still lying on the grass, induces you naturally, to -abridge this visit, as much as possible, once its motive explained. I -regret I cannot offer a more agreeable place of rest, than the grassy -turf." - -"Thank you, Mr. Tremenhere. I like the country--its walks and -associations." - -"Indeed! I thought I remembered other opinions in Florence; but we all -are liable to change. Let us hope it may ever be for the better, as your -decision for the sweet country and rural nature decidedly is." - -"We will walk, if you please," she coldly replied, moving onwards. They -had been standing near the stile: there was another awkward pause. - -"Mr. Tremenhere," she said at length, hastily, "I was made acquainted -last evening by my cousin, Miss Dalzell, with her extraordinary meeting -with yourself. 'Tis of that I would speak." - -"Extraordinary! Lady Dora--why extraordinary? I naturally wished to see -an old acquaintance of boyhood, Mrs. Gillett. I have bad taste; but the -humble have often charms for me beyond many more sought after. Then I -had a message to give, which only Mrs. Gillett might be charged with; -then--I confess my audacity towards _your_ cousin, I had an earnest -desire once more to behold Miss Dalzell, and thank her for her candidly -expressed and warm sympathy with a _now_ disregarded man--one drooping, -but not _crushed_, Lady Dora." - -The woman's heart softened at this tone; it was one of so much noble -pride, and knowledge of his rights. Her voice was gentler as she said-- - -"Whatever your misfortunes may have been, or are at this moment, I most -sincerely----" - -He bowed, and interrupted her. "Your ladyship, I think, came here to -speak on some subject more interesting than my wrongs, I believe; pardon -me for reminding you of it." - -She bit her lip. She saw that every word uttered in the pride of her -heart at Florence, when he had almost dared to speak of love, was -remembered against her. - -"I thank you for recalling me to my immediate business in being here, -Mr. Tremenhere. I _know_ I am speaking to a man of the highest honour." - -"You only do me justice," he replied. "'Twas born with me from _both_ -parents." - -"I would speak to you of my cousin, Miss Dalzell, and implore you to -quit this neighbourhood, or else avoid any further meeting with her." -Lady Dora committed a grievous error. She should not have permitted such -a thought to intrude upon her, as the possibility of her cousin -degrading herself, as she deemed it would be, by any attachment to -Tremenhere; still less should she have allowed him to imagine such a -thing within the nature of probability, as Minnie ever returning any -affection of his. She had opened a door in his heart, difficult to -close again; certainly _she_ could not accomplish it. Naturally he asked -himself, "What had Miss Dalzell said of him, so much to alarm her -cousin?" And through that open gate passed many sweet hopes into the -lone man's heart. - -"May I ask," he said hastily, "whether your ladyship comes _from_ Miss -Dalzell thus requesting?" - -"You cannot imagine, sir," and she drew her proud figure up, "that my -cousin could be unwomanly enough to make so strange a request--implying -fear of herself? No; _I_ fear for her, only because she is a -warm-hearted girl. Her sympathies are awakened for you; her uncle and -aunts have chosen otherwise for her; a marriage with you would be most -distasteful to them _on that account_," she hastily added, to soften the -real meaning of her heart, which she had nearly betrayed in her haste. -She would not wilfully pain any one. "And by some unfortunate event you -have met. It is paying you a compliment to say I fear for her." - -"Paying _me_ a compliment," he sternly replied, "at the expense of one -whose memory I revere. Were I the acknowledged master of the -manor-house, my visits as a suitor would not be less pleasing than those -of my worthless cousin, Marmaduke Burton. As it is, Lady Dora Vaughan -ought to know how little there is to be feared from myself in attaching -any one; for, let my station be what it may, the heart knows of none, -and for one worthy of its love, will fearlessly speak. Thus, then, there -cannot really exist in your ladyship's mind the fear your words express. -You have _proved_ how, in all confidence, I may be trusted near -disengaged hearts; I will conclude some kinder motive impelled you to -seek me to-day--some old scenes to recall to memory--_together_ to speak -some friendly word, which will bear repetition--something in short of -the past; or a friend, to inquire about. All are well, I believe; were, -when I left. Lord Randolph Gray perfectly recovered from his fall, -though they say, from some hidden cause, sad at heart. Or it may be only -an artistic visit this,--has your ladyship's portrait grown pale? -Colours fade sometimes, however much we may have endeavoured to make -them proof against so great sacrilege, to a lovely original. Shall I -call, when in the neighbourhood of Loughton Castle, and retouch it? or -will your ladyship send it to the artist's studio in town? I wait your -commands." - -All this was uttered in a tone of _badinage_, leaving her abashed and -speechless. How she despised herself for having ever allowed a momentary -weakness of heart at Florence, to leave a dream on that man's mind that -she had almost loved him. How she hated him for having excited that -affection, and _now_ even forcing her to respect him. In her -self-abasement, she would have rejoiced in proving _him_ base, that she -might banish him, as she then could, from her thoughts. And, as the last -pain is ever keenest, she more than all else deplored her ill-advised -morning walk. She felt she had injured her cause, and, resolving to -abridge this meeting, also came to the decision of watching over Minnie, -and imploring her Aunt Dorcas to reason with her. How people hurry on -events by too much forethought, sometimes. - -"I fear," she answered, after a moment's pause, stopping in her walk -with a frigidity of manner which would have convinced many of their -first error in supposing she had even dreamed of love. But Tremenhere -was not a superficial observer. "I fear, Mr. Tremenhere, that you -totally mistake my meaning and intention. Lest a greater error than the -first should ensue, we will, if you please, stop here in our -conversation. I trust I misjudge my cousin's warm heart, and that it -will never lead her into an act which would deprive her of all her -friend's sympathy. Nay, do not take any personal offence; but she is too -unsophisticated to trust her own judgment in all things." - -"May I without offence say," said he, completely changing the -conversation, and smiling blandly, "that I regret much your ladyship's -portrait should have been entrusted to my care under the influence of a -more southern sky? Assuredly there can be nothing in nature to equal the -beauty of the dazzling English complexion!" And he gazed respectfully, -but admiringly on her glowing cheek. She certainly was beautiful at that -moment; many emotions combined to heighten the colouring of the fresh -morning air. Again she bit her lip. This man had beaten her; and not -alone doing it, but he knew he had done so, and made her feel it. She -merely bowed; and as they turned in their walk, finding herself near the -door entering Gatestone shrubbery, stopped. Then for the first time her -abased self-confidence made her dread lest any one should have seen her -with him. What would be thought, said, reported? And in this unenviable -state of mind, she took a cold, haughty leave of Tremenhere, who was -smiling, and courteous in the extreme. As he replaced his hat, he turned -away, and she hastily entered the grounds. Lady Dora almost forgot her -dignity enough to hurry towards the house; perhaps she would quite have -done so, had she seen Minnie concealed within the shrubs, with distended -eyes, full of wonder, and a little regret, earnestly watching her. Poor -girl! she did not know what to do or think. Her first movement had been -to join Dora; then one of delicacy withheld her--the other evidently -wished her visit unknown. Minnie had been matinal, too; and looking from -her window before descending, _not_ to seek Miles, but to walk in the -fresh garden among dew and flowers, she saw Dora pass out. Deeming the -other's motive like her own, she hastened her toilet, and just arrived -in the shrubbery as Dora joined Miles at the stile. Him she knew at a -glance; then her heart questioned, "What are they to each other?" She -knew they had met. Had she been confiding her admiration of him to one -who loved him? one perhaps beloved? She would ask Dora--no, she would -wait till they were alone--Dora would surely speak of the morning's -walk. So in this final decision Minnie paused, and, unseen by the other, -followed her to the house, where they shortly after met at breakfast. - -"Dora, you are late," said Minnie, as she entered the breakfast parlour. - -"Yes," was the reply, "we sleep well in country air." - -"She will tell me when we are alone," thought Minnie. And when that -occurred, and the other kept silence of lip, and looked so thoughtful, -Minnie felt sadly disappointed. Dora was not all candour, and her pure -nature sickened at the worldly lesson. A first deception where we -trusted, _often_ mars a life; at all events, it taints life's current, -and breeds suspicion--_frequently_, error, on our part. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -Some one else had also seen Lady Dora--this was Aunt Sylvia. This busy, -restless woman, had one decided affection--a love of gardening in all -its branches. Her greatest crony after Dame Gillett, was John Gardener, -as he had been surnamed, consequent upon his profession; for every thing -is a profession now,--the humble trade eschews its name to become such, -and professions, as they still are, are for the most part unmeaning -words and falsehoods. Sylvia loved a garden, every atom of it,--kitchen, -fruit, and flowers. She delighted in getting out _spudding_ in it, as -she termed it--a corruption of spading, we presume; but it was her own -coined word, and meant, digging, weeding, sowing, and planting, a -composite word of much meaning. This morning, like many others, she was -up, and busily inspecting some little green tips just bursting through -the earth, which she pronounced "loves of things;" when raising her -head, to push back the spectacles she had put on for a closer inspection -of her budding flowers, she saw Lady Dora pass through the little door -into the fields. Her niece had not perceived her; she was bent double -nearly, and in a grass-coloured muslin, which made her appear, in the -distance, like a heap of short, newly-mown turf on the lawn. Up she -jumped at this vision. "My niece, Lady Dora!" she exclaimed--even in -_thought_ she was "Lady Dora" to her--"where can she be going? I declare -the young ladies of the present day, have the oddest manner of creeping -about early in the morning; no good ever can come of it!" Thus -soliloquizing, she stole after her, and, to her amazement, saw a man in -the distance; who it was, she had not the slightest idea, not once -dreaming of Tremenhere. Startled at the responsibility of so great a -secret to herself alone, she hastened through the kitchen-garden to Mrs. -Gillett's window, and rapping hastily until she summoned that familiar -spirit to her aid, she imparted all her surprise to her no less -astonished ear. Mrs. Gillett was literally lost in wonder; for she at -once suspected that Tremenhere was the man, though she kept her -suspicions to herself. This, then, was his engagement to which he had -alluded; but how had it come about. She knew nothing about the portrait -and Florence, or all would have seemed clear as noonday. In deep -perplexity, with Sylvia's aid she mounted on a chair; and thus getting -into the garden, accompanied her to the end of it, where they might, -through the thick hedge on that side, see beyond. It was thus Minnie -escaped seeing them, or their observing her. - -"Can you imagine who the creature is?" (_man_ she meant,) Sylvia asked. - -"He's come a purpose!" ejaculated Gillett, pursuing her own private -thoughts, not heeding the other's question. - -"Who has come on purpose?" asked Sylvia, impatiently. - -"Why, he, miss--you know who I mean. Lauks-a-mercy me! here'll be a to -do! Lauks-a-mercy! and my lady, too!" - -"Good gracious, Mrs. Gillett! will you tell me what you mean? Will you -tell me what you mean?--who's that man?" - -"Why, Mr. Tremenhere, to be sure!" answered the other, amazed at the -question. Sylvia was silent. In the bottom of her heart she felt -something like pleasure; she hated all men, _pour cause_, as the French -so impressively say. She hoped some one would shoot this one for his -audacity--he deserved it; then, too, she even felt a something of -jealousy towards Lady Ripley, for marrying at all when she remained -single, and especially an earl. She had a sort of idea, that only a -certain quantum of mankind was by fate allotted to each family, and that -this one, by his exalted rank, had appropriated all, and bestowed it -upon only one--else, why were she and Dorcas single? In this mood of -mind, she rejoiced at any thing to lower Lady Ripley's pride, and -resolved silently to watch the course of events, and be guided by them -how to act. Accordingly she bound down Mrs. Gillett to profound secresy; -and, having watched the two separate at the garden gate, she entered the -house by the back-door, leaving her confidant more puzzled than ever -what to do, finding herself the repository of so many opposite secrets, -and fearing events, should they clash in any way. Sylvia noticed every -turn in Dora's countenance at breakfast, and, without surprise, listened -to a half-smothered sigh. All seemed as clear as day to her idea. There -was a private communication existing between Miles and Lady Dora; that -was why he had come so unexpectedly to the neighbourhood--she was the -magnet. She was in a mood to hate all--rejoice at any annoyance to -others; for it was a little wounding, after all the trouble she had -taken to bring about events, to see her pet, Mr. Dalby, quietly -resigning, as was the case, his pretensions to Minnie's hand. Dalby was -a prudent man, and, seeing the girl's evident repugnance towards -himself, wisely said, "I shall never succeed; if I pursue her, I shall -lose my friend--if I give her up at this stage of the affair, her -dislike is not so apparent to others, but that the squire should owe me -a debt of gratitude for withdrawing in his favour--I'll choose the -squire!" Accordingly he resigned, and was once more reinstated in -Marmaduke Burton's favour as one in whom he could trust. It was a -complete game of cross purposes with almost all, under cloak of which -the ones most interested passed comparatively unnoticed. One thing Lady -Dora had accomplished by her morning walk. Miles Tremenhere turned -thoughtfully away, and the result of his cogitations was a determination -to remain some short time longer at Farmer Weld's--he must do so--had he -not promised Minnie a sketch of Gatestone, and the surrounding scenery? -In common politeness he must remain; so "common politeness," like many -other things, bore the burthen which of right belonged to -another--"inclination." Some days passed away. Lady Ripley spoke of -shortly leaving for town. Dora had never spoken of her walk to Minnie, -and she, grieved and wounded at this reserve, firmly resisted all -manoeuvring on the other's part to discover her thoughts about -Tremenhere. Marmaduke Burton was a constant visitor: he paid court to -Lady Dora, in order (he thought) to pique Minnie. The fact was, Lady -Dora's species of hatred towards Tremenhere made her, even though he -could not see it, rejoice in showing favour to his rival cousin. This -gave a zest--a sort of dreamy hope to his attentions; though in reality -liking Minnie better, he would have preferred her proud, titled cousin: -this was the man's meanness. Juvenal rejoiced, for both were his nieces, -and, either way, his pet squire would be happily mated. Mr. Skaife was -absent from the village for a while; so Dorcas looked on, in happy -ignorance of much; whilst Sylvia, in the greatest error of any, held -consultations with Mrs. Gillett, whose mind was nearly distracted by -many confidences, and whose only consolation amidst all was, that, "most -fortunately, Master Tremenhere didn't love Miss Minnie, so she was safe; -and no blame could ever attach to her (Mrs. Gillett) for connivance in -their meetings!" - -Nearly two weeks passed thus, and Minnie sat alone in her own little -room, where we first saw her; but the door is bolted, and she is sitting -at the table in the centre of that room, on which several sketches in -crayon are displayed. One little white hand supports her head, which is -bent over these, and these represent, with a bold master-stroke, -"Gatestone," seen from north, south, east, and west. Then there are -sites and majestic trees, ruins and ivy-covered walls; all the most -beautiful views on the banks of the Nidd are spread before her, over -which her eyes wander; but the little white fingers close on one, and -she raises it up, and looks almost tenderly upon it. 'Tis the sketch of -a little girl on a pony, a large dog beside her, and leaning on the neck -of the former animal is a tall young man. "Very like him even now," -whispered she; "but what a little thing I was then! and to think he -should have remembered it! Poor, dear Miles Tremenhere!" and she pressed -the card-board to her lip. Was it the little girl's effigy she kissed? -in truth, we fear it must be owned such was not the case. Moreover, our -readers will perceive that Pity had strengthened her cause--he was -"dear" as well as "poor" now. Lady Dora had much suffered from the -various annoyances of her position: afraid to speak to Minnie, watching -all, dreading all, and enraged with herself for a contradiction of -feeling which would arise within her, despite every effort, when she -thought of Miles. His pride had conquered her's: she had been foiled, -and, in her discomfiture, she knew not where to seek comfort. Somehow, -she could not banish him from her thoughts. She and her mother had left -for a few days, on a visit near Ripon, and Gatestone had sunk into -seeming peace. No one watched Minnie, she was in outward appearance as -usual; but, while others planned for her, or permitted all care for the -present to rest, she was weaving her own fate, and not as a child -weaves, flowers: there were many thorns set within that band, which -would bind her, perhaps. Minnie, unwatched, walked and rode as usual; in -the latter case, with the fat old coachman as attendant, who had -followed her even in the time of the grey pony. Poor, old, half-blind -Thomas!--what knew he of love, or love's various ways? And when, one -day, Minnie left him in charge of her black mare at a wayside house, -after first dropping her at the ruins of an old castle, where she was -going to wander a while and sketch, some four miles from home--how could -he possibly guess that she would scarcely be seated on a moss-covered -stone, before another human being would be beside her, her hand gently -pressed in his? All this was very wrong, but the grey pony commenced it -years before. Early associations accomplish more in half an hour than -recent acquaintances in months: the childish heart takes an impression -freely. Minnie had become the little, fair baby thing again, whilst -conversing with Miles; and how or when they had met again, after the -evening in Mrs. Gillett's room, matters little; they met accidentally -_on her part_, and, like a child, she held out her hands rejoicing; and -it was not till more than one of these meetings had taken place, that -she discovered - - "I am now no more a 'child,' - And there's a gulf 'twixt thee and me!" - -And in making that discovery, she also awoke to the fact in her case--a -most unhappy one--that as a woman, she loved. To whom could she tell -that love? there was but one, Dora, and her secresy had engendered -coldness. In the candour of her heart she had asked Miles why Dora had -sought him that morning? but he merely attributed it to accident, and -Dora's silence, made her convinced some other motive had induced her to -seek him. Of his love towards herself she had no assurance--no -promise--no pledge. She met him this day because he asked her to do so, -to sketch with, and talk to him. More than once she had been on the -point of telling "dear aunt Dorcas" all--her heart abhorred deceit; but -then, when next she met Miles, he implored her so earnestly not to do -so, that her lips became sealed; besides, until this day the meetings -had been accidental--though hoped for, by her, watched for, by him. - -"Minnie Dalzell," he said, "think what I should be here, were I -prevented from seeing you; here I must remain a while. I have some -business which forces my stay, and none to speak with but Farmer Weld's -family; though good, excellent people, yet think how lost I should be -without 'Baby Minnie' and her sketch-book to superintend and correct?" - -And "Baby Minnie" feeling no harm to herself, certainly no wrong to -another--held her peace "for pity's sake." "Should he ever say any thing -more--more tender," she added, after a pause in her soliloquy, "then -I'll tell aunt Dorcas!" Was it policy on his part not to startle, till -he had secured, his timid bird? or was it that he really did not love -her, that kept him silent? A little of both. He was not _quite_ sure of -his own heart; it had been so bound up in the one great object of his -life, that he feared lest he were incapable of loving Minnie as she -should be loved; he was perfectly unselfish. Accustomed to deep -suffering, he would rather have gone, leaving his love untold, and -bearing even the charge, on her part, of being a mere trifler, than give -her only a half affection. It was true his heart bounded when they met, -and every moment in her absence was a thought of love for her. He walked -alone, and conversed alone, to the spirit at his side, ever present with -him; but he knew man's nature so completely under the control of his -passions, that for her sake he resolved to prove his own heart before he -offered it to her. If he felt he _ever_ could change, or love another, -then would he leave without awakening her to the knowledge of her own -affection, which he saw, but looked upon as a fledgling, which, by some -accident, might never take wing. - -"Again here!" she said, on the day we have spoken of, in the old ruin. -"Do you know this must terminate soon? Dora will return, and Mr. Skaife; -and when he is here, Aunt Dorcas generally accompanies me, with him to -escort us." - -"But not riding. She is not a horsewoman, you say?" - -"True; but Mr. Skaife, at her request, becomes my companion, then Dora -will be with me every day." - -"Do you mean, Miss Dalzell, that I am never to see you?" and something -like a sigh escaped him. - -"Oh! I hope not, indeed. I should feel grieved at so sad a termination -to our many pleasant hours together; but what can be done to smooth our -rugged path, for we cannot disguise from ourselves that a very rugged -one lies between us?" - -"I never forget that! Would to heaven I could remove it! Time -may--_will_, I should say," he cried, with energy; "but, to accomplish -that glorious end, I must toil--toil--toil, and far away from this -place, and----" he was going to say "you," he substituted "Yorkshire." - -"'Tis very hard that, when we have known one another from childhood----" - -"You forget I was a man _then_ even." - -"Well, then," she continued, "from _my_ childhood, that we should be -debarred from meeting freely; but why do you always correct me when I -say _our_ childhood? why are you so very anxious to make me remember -that you are so much older than myself?" - -"I say it, lest _I_ should forget it." - -"How do you mean? Where would be the harm?" - -He looked at her so deeply, that her eyes fell beneath his glance, and -she blushed. - -"Where is your sketch-book?" he hastily said, looking away from her -glowing face; but his eyes went lingeringly to other things. - -"You have it in your hand! What are you thinking of, Mi--, Mr. -Tremenhere?" she hastily substituted. - -The sketch-book fell from his hand, and he grasped hers involuntarily, -and the deep, dark eye grew full of passion, as it fixed itself on her -face. "Call me," he whispered, "by that half-uttered name, and I will -tell you why I always recall to my memory our difference of age." - -But she was silent, trembling, and incapable of speech. - -"_Do_ say it; pray, utter it this once, and I will dare to believe you -will not forget me--a poor, lonely man--when I go." - -"I shall never forget you, Miles Tremenhere," she answered, gravely -looking up. There was no blush or hesitation: there was only truth, and -its ever accompanying fearlessness. - -"Do you know, child," he exclaimed almost painfully, as he clasped her -hand convulsively, "what you are doing this day? You are bending a -strong, stern man, to womanly weakness; you are tearing every other -thought from my heart, to engraft yourself there. Minnie, I have dreaded -this moment; yet I had not the courage to fly you. I have said every -day, 'To-morrow;' and that morrow has never come in which I could quit -this neighbourhood." - -"Hush!" she cried in alarm, looking round; "I heard a footstep." Her -voice trembled with many emotions. - -"There's no one here," he answered, scarcely glancing round. "It was -perhaps my heart you heard beat; there are footfalls in that--those of -remorse for my weakness--those of my mother's spirit deserting me; for I -have sworn _only_ to think of her. And yet, Minnie, do you know, amidst -all this wild passion to-day, which your word, your utterance of my -name, has called forth, I am not _sure_ I truly love you! Were I certain -of that, nothing could ever reconcile me to a separation from you. I -would strain every nerve of my soul to make you love me; and, loving -thus, ask you to be mine--in toil and poverty perhaps--assured that -_nothing_ could surpass in misery, separation from each other." - -"Is your heart more difficult for you to read, than mine is for myself?" -she asked, looking up in child-like confidence. "Mine is an open page, I -_know_----" - -"Do not speak what you _think_ you read there, Minnie; hearts are -deceitful things, like words in dead tongues: we must search well, to -define the real signification of things written there. Love has a -counterfeit--passion. If I knew mine, purely, truly yours, worthy of -you--or if I knew you truly loved me--there is not that power on earth -which should part us!" - -"Surely," she whispered, in terror grasping his arm, "there is some one -in that archway, yonder--I heard a step!" - -"No, 'tis fancy," he replied, looking round; "my earnestness has -startled you, poor child--poor child, indeed, if you loved me!--an -outcast, a wanderer. Forget all we have been saying, Minnie," he added, -sorrowfully; "for be sure of this, if we _really_ love, or are to love, -some great event will call that affection to light--prove and hallow it; -for it will be based on esteem, else you had not trusted me so far, nor -I, been so confident towards you. Come, let us leave this old ruin; you -are terrified to-day. I will see you outside of its huge walls, and then -we must part; once on your black mare, with old Thomas beside you, you -will forget this. Let us go, child; why, you tremble still!" and, more -with fatherly care than aught else, he drew her arm beneath his own, -and they silently quitted the ruin. - -"Now, will you doubt my perspicacity again, Formby?" cried Marmaduke -Burton, stepping from beneath the dark archway, and dragging the half -alive Juvenal after him. "I told you they met in secret. I wish we could -have heard all they said." - -"I'm horror-stricken!" shivered Juvenal, with genuine truthfulness. -"What is to be done with her?" - -"Lock her up! we'll soon hunt him out of this neighbourhood. Come out -through this side-passage, my buggy's there; they must not know we heard -them yet!" - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -Minnie returned home at a quick gallop. She felt as if pursued by some -visionary being. Not once did she pause or look back, after the one -gentle wave of her hand to Miles, who stood statue-like, watching her, -beside the old ruin, as she passed. Even poor, old Thomas could not -extract a word from her, she flew so quickly homewards. On alighting -from "Jet," she hastened to her own room, and, throwing off the hat -which bound her brows, sat down to think, and thus she sat some silent -moments; then rising gently, as though she had held communing with some -spirit, she crept quietly about, as she changed her riding-suit for her -ordinary one. When this was accomplished, she opened her door, and -stealing down the passage, rapped at her aunt Dorcas's room. "Come in," -answered the quiet voice which ever fell soothingly on her ear, and -Minnie was in an instant beside her. A few desultory remarks passed -about her ride, where she had been, etc.; to these Minnie replied with -evident constraint. Dorcas at last noticed her manner, and, looking up -from a purse she was knitting, exclaimed, "My child, are you not well? -Why do you seem so much oppressed?" - -This was all the young heart required to unburthen itself. She flung her -arms round her aunt's neck, and burst into tears. "Dear, dear aunt!" she -sobbed; "forgive me--forgive Minnie--for deceiving you, though not for -long, dear aunt." - -"My child, what do you mean? Good heavens! what has occurred?" and she -folded her arms around her. - -"Aunt, I have wickedly deceived you," sobbed the girl still; "I--I----." -She was unable to continue for her tears. - -"Tell me, Minnie, my own dear child; I forgive you before knowing," -exclaimed the gentle woman. "I am sure you exaggerate some slight fault; -be calm, tell me all: what do you mean?" - -For some moments Minnie could not summon courage to reply; then at last, -by a supreme effort, she confessed her many accidental meetings with -Miles Tremenhere at first, and this one by appointment. - -"Dear Aunty," she whispered, "I know now how very wrong it has been; but -I feared telling you, lest you should betray me to the others. And -though I know you will be just, they would not perhaps, but by coercion, -endeavour to force me to their wills; they have spoken of such things, -and I couldn't bear that!" - -Dorcas was pained beyond measure. Her surprise left her speechless; for -the suspicions instilled into Juvenal's mind by Burton, were strangers -to her. Sylvia, we have seen, was on a wrong road altogether; thus, she -had been kept in complete ignorance. She durst scarcely question her -niece: she feared lest some new sorrow might come to light--some -positive engagement. In her alarm, she dreaded almost to hear that they -were married. Minnie mistook her silence, and, clasping her again in her -arms, besought her not to betray her. "I was so wretched in deceiving -you," she cried; "but do not let my uncle, or aunt Sylvia, know; and oh, -not Dora!" And she shuddered with a blind terror, not seeing the phantom -of her fear: "They will lock me up, and be unkind, and harsh--I know -they will; and then I will answer for nothing I may do!" - -"Minnie, Minnie--my child--my own child, do not say such things--there," -and she fondly kissed her; "be calm; you have done wrong, but no one -shall know it, so you promise me never to meet him again without my -knowledge." - -"I promise all, aunt--my mother; for indeed you have been one to the -motherless child. I never will conceal any thing again from you; and you -won't tell Dora?" - -"No one, Minnie; but why especially not Dora?" - -Minnie looked down in thought. "It is not my secret," she said at last, -looking in Dorcas's face; "but I will tell you, for I cannot understand -it." And she related the morning's meeting between the two. Dorcas -started! "Something of this Sylvia has hinted to me," she said; "how did -she know it? I paid little attention to it, she fancies so many things." - -"She must have been in the garden, too!" exclaimed Minnie. "It is a -strange mystery; for Dora professes to hate him, and is always speaking -against him to me." - -"Beware, my child!" said her aunt, sadly; "men, they say, are deceitful. -Take a lesson of what his father was; for we have _no proof_, however we -may believe his mother innocent. Then his cousin, Marmaduke Burton, is a -wicked, bad man." She thought of Mary Burns. "Wickedness often takes -root, as a canker in a family: this Miles Tremenhere----" - -"Oh!" cried Minnie, with a glowing face, "do not say he is a bad man, -dear aunt, for my sake;" and she grasped her hand, and the eye filled -with the tears of a noble soul defending an oppressed person: "he is all -goodness--worth. Think to what he has devoted himself; but you do not -know all." And here the quick tongue depicted all his wrongs--his labour -of duty and love, for his mother's sake. - -Dorcas sighed deeply. "Minnie," she said, "you love this man. Oh! -promise me to see him no more. If really he love you, he will struggle -for a good purpose _alone_. I will see him, and should he prove himself -hereafter worthy of you, you are a mere child; well, you can wait for -the proof of his affection, in his constancy." - -Much more was said. Dorcas was lost in perplexity how to act for the -best; she, the ignorant woman in all the affairs of the heart. One thing -she promised, to see and calmly listen to Tremenhere; she was too truly -just a woman to mar Minnie's happiness for any whim of her own. Much as -she would have wished Skaife to be her niece's choice, she resolved to -weigh all well; and if Tremenhere hereafter proved himself worthy of -the girl, to support their affections in every way. Still she hoped it -was a merely passing fancy, which would soon, in absence, be forgotten -by both; for he must shortly leave--this Minnie had assured her--and for -the present there was nothing to fear. In this mood she dismissed Minnie -fondly; and, closing her door, sat down to ruminate on what was to be -done. As a last resource, she determined to confide in the confidant of -all, Mrs. Gillett, and ask her advice; she, as a matron, might be -enabled to guide her more ignorant thoughts in such matters. But with -the worthy housekeeper her comfort was small. We have said that this -good woman made a point of never betraying the confidence of one person -to another; nevertheless, she reserved to herself the satisfaction of -casting forth on the troubled waters around her, her innuendoes, which, -as an invariable rule, troubled them still more. Thus she left Dorcas in -the most uncomfortable state of doubt and fear, above both of which -feelings there predominated a dread that Miles Tremenhere was a villain, -trifling, for some unworthy purpose, with the affections of both her -nieces, whom, by strange chance, he had become acquainted with. While -she sat with Mrs. Gillett, Minnie was above in her room, much happier -and light-hearted for the confidence she had made to her "dear aunty," -and full of love and faith in Tremenhere. Lady Ripley and her daughter -returned from Ripon, and thus diversified many gloomy thoughts and -fears, by their presence. Minnie and Dora warmly embraced. Minnie's -first movement was all delight at seeing her cousin again; and Dora, -the seemingly cold Dora, held her in her arms in one long embrace. But -it was an _awkward_ kiss--in the midst of it Minnie thought of -Tremenhere and her cousin! A kiss should be all self-absorbing; the -moment you are sufficiently collected to _think_, the embrace should -cease, for the fire is extinct, and only ashes remain on the lip. Both -girls simultaneously loosened their hold of one another, and turned -away. Somehow, both actions arose from one cause--Miles. Dinner was -over: Juvenal had been in a state of the greatest discomfort all the -time; he ate little or nothing, snapped at every one. Dorcas was -thoughtful; so was Minnie. Lady Ripley alone was in spirits; something -had pleased her on her journey; she had learned that Lord Randolph Gray, -whom she had mentally decided upon as Dora's husband, would shortly be -in town. Dora was calm, though rather pensively disposed, when suddenly -Sylvia awoke the bright blush in her cheek, and a displeased and amazed -frown on her brow, by remarking, "Dora, you look paler than when you -left us; I fear you have not taken your usually early walk before -breakfast." And before any one could reply, asked, as if the previous -sentence were allied to the latter question--"How far is it from -Gatestone to Ripon?--I mean to----Court, where you were staying?" - -"About ten miles, I think, are there not, Dora?" said Lady Ripley. - -"A mere canter for a gentleman before breakfast," observed Sylvia, -before the other could reply. Several looked embarrassed, for various -reasons. Lady Dora was deeply confused, and evidently still more annoyed -and amazed. Juvenal alone seemed a stranger to all conversation, only -busy with his own thoughts. Now and then he looked at his watch, then at -the door. At last, a horse's hoof sounded on the gravelled drive, -outside the window; the bell rung, and, a few moments afterwards, -Marmaduke Burton was ushered in. He looked paler than usual, and his -hand trembled as he shook hands with all, but Minnie, who merely bowed; -as she did so, he bit his lip, and a cold smile of triumph passed over -his face. At that moment, the servant opened the door. - -"If you please, sir," he said, addressing Burton, "the groom bade me say -'Viper' is not with your horse; and, as he always accompanies you, he -thought you must have lost him." - -"I have," answered the other, scowling malignantly; "he's dead!" - -"Dead!" exclaimed Juvenal. "Why, you had him to-day!" - -"True, Formby; never mind now--he's dead;" and he turned to Lady Dora, -and made some commonplace remark. - -Before we proceed further, we will step back to where Marmaduke Burton -quitted the manor-house that evening, followed by his dog, in the good -guardianship of which he had much faith. Juvenal had consulted with him -on the best plan to be pursued as regarded Minnie; and it had been -decided upon, that Marmaduke should drop in, as if accidentally, in the -evening, and that then her uncle should, thus fortified, lecture her -before "a friend of the family," on her great imprudence. This was the -very worst plan which could have been adopted with a girl of her spirit. -Any thing just, might have been accomplished by kindness; but bad -management, and too many to order and control, had deteriorated the -character of an else perfect creature. Minnie was a little headstrong -and wilful, having too much good sense blindly to submit to injustice. -Burton anticipated the results: he really loved her as much as he could -love; he thought, by judiciously taking her part, to win her -gratitude--a great step, when he saw her every feeling went against him; -and, should she be resolute in her rejection, from want of affection, or -even toleration of him, perhaps a feeling of shame to know, that he -might blight her good name elsewhere, by speaking of her secret meetings -with Miles, might weigh with her prudence. Any thing, so he gained her, -now more than ever, for he no longer could doubt a mutual attachment, -though, perhaps, not very firmly knit, between her and his cousin. Thus -ruminating, he quitted home on a bright summer's evening. The -manor-house was about three miles, by the road, from Gatestone. His -horse's rein was on its neck, his dog at the animal's heels, when -suddenly a man, in a turning in the road, stood before him. One glance -was sufficient for Marmaduke. Had he dared, he would have turned hastily -homewards again; something like shame withheld him. - -"Stop!" cried Miles, calmly standing before his horse's head, and -grasping the rein. "One word, cousin Marmaduke!" - -"Unhand the rein!" exclaimed the other, "or I will spur the animal over -you, fellow!" - -"Pshaw!" said Miles, contemptuously, "you'll but unhorse yourself; I -wish not to detain you long--a few brief words will suffice; do not be -alarmed, I have come without a cudgel to-night, so hear me quietly." - -"I swear to you!" cried Burton, though his voice slightly trembled with -an alarm Miles ever inspired him with. "Unless you loosen your hold, and -let me pass, I will do as I said--one prick of my rowel in his flank, -and this good servant of mine will pass over you; but I do not wish to -harm you." - -"No; or else you would bid your familiar there at your side, attack me!" - -Burton in his terror had forgotten Viper, who stood at his side, shewing -his range of huge tusks, ready at a word to spring upon Miles, whom he -knew for an enemy. Burton raised his hand in signal. - -"Stop him!" cried Miles, still grasping the horse firmly. "I would not -kill the brave brute, but I tell you I am prepared to do so--for hear me -you shall. I mean no violence, I have never interfered with you, save -when your coward acts obliged me; leave me in peace, and I will not war -with you, except on our day of retribution, _for it will come_--but I -have something to say to you to-day----" - -Before he could complete the sentence, at a quiet signal from his -master, Viper flew at his throat; at the same moment, Marmaduke gave -the rowel into the horse's flank, which sprang forward. This spring -threw Viper back, or else the day had been Burton's in flight, for the -dog aimed at the other's throat. Miles was firm, and on his guard -against treachery. The dog reeled with a blow from the horse's shoulder; -Miles drew the rein with a jerk, which almost brought the animal on his -haunches, and Marmaduke from his saddle. Quick as thought Miles drew a -small pocket-pistol from his bosom, and just as Viper was making a -second rush towards him, he shot him dead. Burton groaned with terror. -The horse made a mad effort to escape; then, finding the strong grasp on -his rein, stood still, trembling with fear. - -"Poor brute!" said Miles, putting back his pistol and looking at the -dead dog; "but 'tis better so, he might have been made to do some bad -deed some day, in bad hands. I thought he would be made your protector -again, so I came prepared. Now we are two--man to man--hear me." - -Burton could scarcely keep his seat from a coward fear, thus quite alone -with the man he had so much injured. - -"To-day," continued Miles, "you were in the old ruin by the river's -side--you and her uncle: I saw you, but she did not--for this, I -abridged her stay. I did not know your companion, till I watched you -creep forth, like a base hound as you are, ever working in secret and -darkness; and now, hear me--I love that girl--love her, as _I_ love and -hate, with all my soul, if all the powers of earth stood between us, -she shall be mine, or none other's. She does not yet know all my feeling -towards herself. I would not expend all the force of that affection in -one interview. I garner it up, like my hatred for you; and now I tell -you, that unsleeping as my hatred is, so is my love undying, and I will -accomplish both! What I have to say to you is, do not come between her -and me; you will not prevent, but you may cause her pain; and every hair -of her fair head is counted in my heart to hang loving thoughts upon, -and woe betide if the weight of one of these be lost to her in peace, -through you. Now I have said all I wished to say, you may go; but stay," -he added, again grasping the loosening rein, "remember, not by -counsellings of others, darken one moment of her life, neither watch, -report, nor seek her; yours she never will be, and I am here to avenge -any grief to her; I have more friends at Gatestone, perhaps, than you -think--now, go; and if you advise, let it be wisely done!" He dropped -the rein, and Marmaduke, who had vainly looked about, stealthily, hoping -for some friendly face, some one to witness against Miles for violence, -but all was silent, putting spurs to his horse, reached Gatestone. No -wonder, then, he looked pale with his cousin's words ringing in his -ears; especially those, "I have more friends at Gatestone, perhaps, than -you think." He was in a mood to utter every syllable in fear and -trembling before the person he had started from home with the intention -of confounding--namely, poor little Minnie. As he seated himself, he -caught Juvenal's eye, and made a sign which he intended for one -imploring silence. He was afraid of his shadow just then; but Juvenal -was not one of very vivid intellect--he saw the sign--he had been -awaiting the other's coming to speak. Thinking this the right moment, he -commenced. Marmaduke coughed--all went as encouragement into Juvenal's -ear; so, fixing his eyes on the thoughtful Minnie, he began in his -peculiarly nasal twang to give utterance to a speech he had been conning -over an hour before. - -"We are all friends here, Marmaduke Burton. I look upon you _already_ as -almost one of the family; therefore I choose you to be witness of my -just resentment, and firm resolution to have things amended. I see you -approve me," he added, catching Burton's grimace, and mistaking its -meaning. "You have blamed me, my friend, for supineness; you shall see -how resolute I can be!" - -All looked up in amazement; Sylvia fixed her eyes on Dora, who began, -even she, to feel uncomfortable. Such prefaces are like bats flying -round a room in some old house; every one fears them, not knowing on -whom they may alight. Minnie was most unconcerned of all, until her -uncle, pitching his voice in its most tenor and unpleasant key, -exclaimed--"Minnie Dalzell, I am addressing myself to you. This day I, -and my worthy friend Burton, were in the old ruin, when you, forgetting -all maiden modesty, left your horse and old Thomas, the coachman, to sit -upon a heap of ruins with----" - -"For mercy's sake, uncle, not before him!" almost shrieked Minnie, -springing up in terror of something, she scarcely knew what, and -glancing at Burton. - -"Brother, brother!" cried Dorcas, grasping his arm, herself pale with -anguish for her beloved niece; she knew Minnie better than any one else -did, and dreaded the consequences of this ill-advised exposure, which -would only harden a resolute mind, where reasoning and love might have -soothed, and turned away from its will. - -"But I will speak, Dorcas!" cried he. "I am advised to do so, and -publicly, to show her what people will think of her. Minnie, I say, was -sitting alone on a heap of ruins with that scoundrel, Miles Tremenhere, -this worthy man's base-born cousin." - -"Not base-born, uncle," cried Minnie, starting up again; she had dropped -on her chair. At these words she forgot all but Miles's sacred love for -his mother, who, by this slander of him, was doubly calumniated. "Not -base-born, uncle, though that man say it. His mother was as pure as my -own, or she had never given birth to so worthy a son!" then a sense of -her shame, before so many, coming over her, she sank on her chair, and, -covering her face, sobbed aloud. Dorcas clasped her in her arms; Dora, -too, though trembling, pressed her hands, as she drew them from the -face, which turned in maiden shame into Dorcas's neck. - -"Brother," cried Sylvia, with self-satisfied scorn, "you always are -discovering some wonder. You are wrong--quite wrong--as usual. _If_ -Minnie were there, 'twas wrong; but others are more to blame than she, -and, I make no doubt, _could_ explain, _if they would_." She glanced -angrily at Dora, who certainly was colouring, though without noticing -Sylvia's personality. Lady Ripley looked amazement on all. Juvenal was -completely thrown out; he had made up a complete discourse, questions, -answers, prayers, confessions, and final forgiveness--for he loved -Minnie dearly, in his little way. Marmaduke almost would have preferred -the lane and Miles's society, to this scene. There, he knew in his -heart, he had no actual violence to fear, for every day was not one of -retributive justice, as when his cousin avenged poor Mary Burns's case; -but here he dreaded some unseen trap, to draw him into something which -would bring Miles in revenge down upon him. - -"I ask you, Burton," cried the perplexed Juvenal, at length, "whether we -did not discover Minnie and your worthless cousin together? and whether -you did not suggest our following her, on the assurance that they -frequently met in secret? Come, speak out, Burton--they won't believe -me," whined the wretched man. Dora raised her fine eyes, and fixed them -intently upon the traitor. Lady Ripley rose. "Why--why," stammered -Burton, "this is a most unpleasant affair--a family one--I have no right -to be here. I would rather not reply," and he too rose. - -"Stay!" cried Lady Dora, looking very pale, but with much dignity, -placing herself in his way. "Mr. Burton has been chosen, or been -selected, most unadvisedly by my uncle, to hear accusations against my -dear cousin Minnie, who is, I am certain, innocent of all wrong. I am -called upon to confess the truth, now--that _I_ have sought, met, and -walked, early in the morning with Mr. Tremenhere. My motive for so doing -I will answer to my mother, and I _know_ him to be incapable of wrong -towards Minnie!" - -"But, pardon me, Lady Dora!" exclaimed the amazed Burton, gaining -courage from surprise. "You were assuredly not the person who met Mr. -Tremenhere to-day." - -"She wasn't here--she wasn't here!" cried the perplexed and heated -Juvenal, almost in a fit from anxiety. "She only returned home before -dinner." - -Minnie tried to speak. "Hush!" exclaimed Dora, taking her hand. "Do not -compromise yourself for me. You met him on my business. _I_ will explain -that satisfactorily, when I am bound so to do." - -"I knew it--I knew it!" cried the delighted Sylvia, rejoicing in her own -perspicacity. - -"She is taking my fault on herself," sobbed Minnie, with streaming eyes. -"I alone am to blame!" - -"Can any one understand this, or them?" asked Juvenal, almost whining. - -"Come, Lady Dora," said the mother, haughtily. "This requires -explanation elsewhere," and she sailed away, followed by Dora, who -stopped, however, first, and whispered softly to her cousin, as she -embraced her. "Do not betray yourself. _I_ have saved you this -time--_save yourself_ before it be too late." Poor Minnie was too weak -with weeping to reply; she could only press her hand. Dorcas too arose, -and, taking her niece fondly round the waist, led her away, and the door -closed on Marmaduke, Sylvia, and Juvenal, and these three decided that -it would be well if Lady Dora left. There was a mystery no one could -fathom. Sylvia then related Dora's morning walk, which certainly still -further obscured the affair, and then she too left the room, to consult -with Mrs. Gillett; and, when quite alone with Juvenal, no longer fearing -traitors, Marmaduke related his meeting with his cousin--the -threats--the acknowledgment of his love for Minnie, and thereupon these -two worthies decided; one, that it would be best to prevent any more -meetings by a little gentle coercion, and Juvenal at once resolved that -she should be locked up! - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -"Hush!" said Dora, soothingly, some hours later, as she sat in Minnie's -room beside her, holding a hand in her own. "All will be fair and bright -soon, dear Minnie. Mr. Burton has been the mover in all this, to win -you; I think that man loves you, in truth I do." - -"And would _you_ counsel me," cried the sobbing girl, "to marry so -unworthy a creature?--this prying, mean, wicked man?" - -Dora was silent a moment, in embarrassed thought; then she looked up and -answered, though not at ease, evidently, "Why, he may seem many harsh -things now; jealous of his cousin, he knows scarcely which way to act. I -think you might be happy with him." - -"With Marmaduke Burton!" she exclaimed, and her tears dried up in her -starting eyes with wonder. "Marry him! I'd die sooner than even harbour -the thought a moment! Oh, Dora! can _you_ counsel me to so terrible a -thing?" - -"I do it, Minnie, to save you," her cousin replied, looking on the -ground, and half-sighing as she spoke. "I dread your being led into some -entanglement with--with--Mr. Tremenhere." - -"And if I loved him, Dora, what then?" - -"Oh, 'twould be a disgrace--an irretrievable, false step!" cried the -other in agitation. "Think what he is! A man without name, position, -character, perhaps--what do you know of him?" - -"And what do you know _against_ him, Dora?" asked Minnie, no longer -sobbing, but in a low, firm voice. - -"This--that, in my opinion, no honourable family should forget its -dignity, and become allied to a blighted name, a name with the stain -of----" - -"Do not say that!" exclaimed her cousin, rising with energy, and pacing -the room for an instant; then, as suddenly stopping before Dora, she -continued, "Do not so harshly, and I am sure unjustly, judge a -fellow-sister. 'Tis only in the hand of Time, the fate which may await -ourselves; perhaps, calumnies we may suffer from--innocent now, innocent -then, too. Dora, I love that man; I never knew how well, until I weighed -it by my tears. I love him the deeper for every one I have shed this day -for him!" - -Dora was very pale, and did not reply. - -Minnie continued: "Why do you hate him so much? Why did you seek him? -Dora, dear Dora, tell me that!" She knelt before her cousin, on a stool -at her feet, and, taking both hands, looked up in her face. - -For some moments Dora was painfully silent. "No," she thought, "I will -not tell her how weak I once was, in nearly loving him." This was the -war within her. "I met him," she said at last, aloud, evading the first -question, "because I feared you might love him. He bore the character, -in Florence, of a reckless man--such a man as you, my innocent cousin, -should not marry; I sought and begged him to quit this place and you!" - -"Oh!" cried Minnie, blushing at the picture before her mind's eye, "he -must have fancied I had spoken of him with love, and we had scarcely met -then, except as strangers. I hope he does not think this now. How could -you have sought him for such a motive as that?--how touch on so delicate -a subject?" - -"I feared nothing," answered Dora haughtily; "my own dignity prevented a -false construction being placed upon what I said or did. You are a child -in the ways of the world, and, in your innocence, might compromise -yourself, family, all, with this nameless man. I do not say any thing -personally against him, but _our_ name has ever been without stain; do -not you, Minnie, by a base alliance, stamp it with a reproach." - -"Dora," and the girl spoke low and impressively, "I may never, perhaps, -meet Miles Tremenhere again; I feel certain, if I do, that only trouble -will arise from it, for all seem against him, poor fellow; but this -believe, that, if I truly know myself--if that man love me, unless I -become his wife, I never will marry another; for he is so surrounded in -my heart by every noble sentiment, from his wrongs, and the holy mission -he has taken upon himself, that none other could hold the place in my -esteem which he does. Do you know, Dora, I thought you loved him, and -for that reason I dreaded my own heart's inclination towards him; now I -am assured you do not, I seek no longer to check my affections; for -though I may never be his wife, there can be no error in my love, for I -never shall marry another." - -Dora could not reply. The brow contracted--the cheek slightly flushed as -in scorn--and then she grew pale and calm. "It is useless speaking to -you," she said, after a thoughtful pause; "not now, at least--to-morrow -we will resume our conversation. I will leave you now, Minnie; I do not -wish my mother to know I have been here--she would question me, and I -wish this conversation unknown to her." She rose hastily, as if some -newly-formed plan impelled her to do so. "Good-night, dear cousin, and -pray, think of all I have said; 'tis fondly meant." - -"I know that well, Dora," answered Minnie, tenderly embracing her. Dora -seemed impatient to leave. Taking her taper in her hand, she hurried -down the passage, and rapped gently at Aunt Dorcas's room-door; first -assuring herself that Minnie's was closed. She remained for some time -with Aunt Dorcas, and, briefly relating her unsuccessful suit with her -cousin, implored Dorcas to act for her. Surely some motive more than -deep interest in Minnie guided her, though possibly unknown to herself; -for this anxiety and fear for consequences were far beyond the usual -forethought of a young girl. Such, generally, see all _couleur de rose_ -where two love, especially if young and handsome: futurity, interest, -etc., they leave to older hearts, to cause heart-ache and care. The -results were various next day, of all these plottings and consultations. -The first was, Lady Ripley, to her daughter's surprise, sent her word -early in the morning, by her maid, to prepare for their departure for -town. Truth to say, Lady Ripley was delighted to find a good excuse for -leaving Gatestone, where she had promised to remain a month longer. She -was anxious to return to town on Lord Randolph Gray's account, as we -have seen; and she made poor Minnie's imprudence the excuse. In vain -Lady Dora endeavoured to make her change her determination, urging the -necessity of some one to watch over Minnie. She felt terrified, -agitated, beyond expression, at the thought of leaving; but all her -efforts to remain were fruitless. Lady Ripley _would_ go; and she told -Juvenal, that Minnie's misconduct obliged her to remove her innocent -daughter from her influence, lest _her_ name should become in any way -compromised. This more than ever decided him on secluding Minnie in her -room, to mark his disapprobation. And, as this conversation took place -late the previous evening--in fact, while Dora was with Minnie--the -latter was not a little overwhelmed with shame and indignation, when -ordered next morning to "remain in her own room, until something should -be decided about her." Sylvia was furious--all her jealousy of Lady -Ripley broke forth in invectives against her intriguing daughter, as she -termed Dora. Dora implored for Minnie; Dorcas argued the imprudence, not -to say injustice, of so erroneous a step as thus degrading the girl in -all eyes; it would make her lose all self-respect, and only engender -recklessness. But Juvenal was like all fools--obstinate. Moreover, he -was backed by Marmaduke Burton, himself too short-sighted to foresee -the consequences which might ensue. He hoped by hypocritically -expressing his regret in some manner, by letter or personally, as -Juvenal promised _he_ should see her, to win at least a kind feeling -through gratitude. Narrow-minded persons reckon only naturally, to the -extent of their powers of reasoning. Minnie read him as she would an -open page, and despised him tenfold more, if possible, for his narrow -policy. Dora, in consternation and regret, took leave of the weeping -Minnie. Alas! those tears would soon be dried by the wrong course -pursued with her, and only give birth to silent resolution and suspicion -of all, even for awhile of her dearly loved aunt, Dorcas. Dora was gone; -Sylvia in earnest consultation with Mrs. Gillett, both agreeing that the -master of the house, and Minnie's guardian, to do as he willed with -her--was an idiot; for had not Lady Dora acknowledged that she alone was -in fault; and had they not both witnessed the lovers meeting? Poor -Minnie had been selected by them as a go-between. It was dreadful; but -Mrs. Gillett, with her usual caution, said but half what she really -thought, and in an after scene with Juvenal, though she pleaded for -Minnie's liberty, at the same time so impressed him with the idea of her -condemnation of all but himself--and this without any great deceit on -her part, for the last speaker always had most reason in Mrs. Gillett's -mind--that he fearlessly gave her free permission to visit Minnie, how -and when she pleased; indeed, the key of the rooms (for there was a -small music one where she was in the habit of practising, adjoining her -bedroom) was intrusted to the housekeeper's safe keeping. "I tell you, -Mrs. Gillett," he said, "it will do her good--one excellent lesson like -this will save the girl--she has grown very headstrong of late." - -Poor, blind Juvenal; his excellent lesson was as a stepping-stone to -many sorrows--a finger-post down a long dark lane hedged with care, like -thorns! Dorcas, as usual, did the most sensible thing of any of them. -She walked over quietly, and in a spirit of conciliation, to Farmer -Weld's, where Tremenhere was staying, and, requesting an interview, was -shown into the room where he sat, but not alone--to her great surprise -Mr. Skaife was his companion. Tremenhere rose in surprise, and some -slight confusion. Had the farmer himself been there, the entrance might -have been accomplished with more difficulty; as it was, only a servant -was in the outer hall (a sort of large, homely, perfect old English farm -kitchen) as she entered, and, innocent of wrong, shewed her in to where -the two sat. After the momentary movement of embarrassment, Tremenhere -offered her a chair, and in his own quiet gentlemanly manner, expressed -his pleasure, whatever the cause, at her visit. He knew she was Minnie's -almost mother, and he regarded her accordingly. Skaife rose, and coming -forward said, "You are doubtless surprised to meet me here, and -especially before visiting Gatestone. But I returned late last night, -and this morning called to see Mr. Tremenhere--whom I may call my -friend, I believe--in an affair interesting to both of us." - -"Do you mean Miss Dalzell?" exclaimed Dorcas in astonishment. - -"Oh, no!" answered Skaife, looking equally amazed at this abrupt -question--being, as he was, totally ignorant of the recent events; "I -allude to that poor girl, Mary Burns, whom I have placed in safety from -further insult, at the request of Mr. Tremenhere, as business prevented -his leaving this neighbourhood himself." - -"It is kindly and rightly done by both," said Dorcas, scarcely knowing -what she should next say--then added, without farther consideration of -how far it might be prudent to inform Tremenhere of all--"But I may be -pardoned for regretting that Mr. Tremenhere should not have been -occupied elsewhere, as the events of the past few days threaten more -painful results, I fear, than he anticipated when engaging in them." - -"Good heavens! what do you mean, madam?" he asked, starting up aghast. -Skaife sat like one petrified; something painful was paralyzing his -faculties; he could not speak at first. Tremenhere glanced at him, after -the first exclamation had escaped him. "I beg pardon," he said, in -agitation. "I should, perhaps, be an importunate witness. I will go," -and he prepared to do so. - -"No, stay; pray, remain, Mr. Skaife," cried Dorcas. "I am glad you are -here: you may perhaps exert your influence as a clergyman, as well as a -friend, with Mr. Tremenhere." - -Women who have never loved overlook and ignore many penalties attached -to such chains round the heart; they are like a felon's irons, -resounding with every step we take, and galling somewhere, especially -when but little hope is linked with them. Such was poor Skaife's case, -and something now whispered him, that that _little_ would soon be lost. -Her next words confirmed this fear; for, neither of them answering her -last speech, she continued hastily, as if resolved to utter all the -worst at once, addressing herself to Miles--"You are perhaps not aware, -Mr. Tremenhere, that your most imprudent--most unfortunate meetings of -late, with Miss Dalzell, have been discovered, and reported to all, but -first to her uncle and guardian--my brother." - -"I am aware of that," he articulated through his set teeth. - -Skaife felt cold at heart, and he felt, too, the blood deserting his -cheek. For an instant a movement of indignation arose against Miles, as -if he had deceived him; then the justice of the man triumphed, and -bitter as his regret, his awakening regret, was--for he felt some -painful revelation was about taking place--he exonerated the other from -all wrong towards himself, ignorant as he was of his affection for -Minnie, and, even if he had been acquainted with it, bound by no -friendship or honour to him, to act otherwise than his inclinations -dictated. - -"All is known," continued Dorcas, in a sad tone; "and my heaviest grief -is, that her uncle should have taken, I fear, so ill-advised a step as -the one of coercion with Minnie." - -"Coercion!" exclaimed both Miles and Skaife in a breath. - -"Yes; he has determined upon keeping her confined to her room, until -you, Mr. Tremenhere, shall have quitted the neighbourhood, as the only -means of separating you; but I fear he has done a rash thing with a girl -of Minnie's high spirit." - -Tremenhere rose hastily from his seat, and grasped the arm of his chair, -as if to subdue his feelings; he only ejaculated "Oh!" but there were -volumes of thought in that one word, and the resolute compression of his -stern lip, as he half-smiled. Dorcas was looking thoughtfully on the -ground. Skaife's eyes were fixed upon Tremenhere's face; he read his -fate there, if her affection equalled his, in intensity and firmness. -Tremenhere caught his eye, and, smiling in friendly confidence, as -seeming to say, "You shall know all," dropped silently into his chair. - -"I have come," said Dorcas, more composedly, "to ask, to implore you, -Mr. Tremenhere, by the friendship which no unfortunate circumstance has -banished from my thoughts--to leave this place, and forget any foolish -words which may have passed between you and Minnie. Believe me, all -pursuit will be vain--her uncle _never_ will consent." - -Skaife looked anxiously for the reply. Tremenhere rose -impetuously:--"Madam," he cried, "in what light am I to regard this -visit, with which you have honoured me?--as a friendly one, or as one -dictated by Mr. Formby?" - -"I come at my own heart's dictating," she answered meekly, "to one whom -I liked, even though a wayward, impetuous boy--to one whom I sincerely -pity; but whom, nevertheless, I cannot countenance as a suitor to my -niece." - -"As all these I gladly welcome you, except when bearing the last -prohibition," Tremenhere replied, as he took her hand gently, and -pressed his lip upon it with deep respect. "And, as Miss Dalzell's -much-loved aunt, I reverence you, dear madam; nevertheless, in all -candour, I must not deceive you. If Miss Dalzell love me, as I now -believe her to do, not all the uncles or guardians in the world, could -keep her so carefully but that my love and perseverance should reach, to -confirm her in her affection, by the assurance of mine, unalterably -hers!" - -"Unless I am in great error," said Skaife, after a moment's intense -thought, "the acquaintance between yourself and Miss Dalzell is of very -recent date?" - -"It cannot be of many weeks," answered Dorcas, clinging to the hope that -Skaife's words implied, of its being little matured. - -"What signifies date in love?" cried Tremenhere. "The heart rejects all -such. The brightest flowers are those blushing to light in half an -hour's sunshine!" - -"And they fade as soon!" ejaculated Dorcas. "Oh, pray, Mr. Tremenhere! -relinquish this mad thought; or leave here for awhile: let time decide -upon the durability of your affections." - -"And leave her," he cried, with a scornful laugh, "to the tender mercies -of a guardian, who, for so slight a seeming fault as half an hour passed -in an old ruin, with one she knew from childhood, can dare to use -violence towards her? Oh, no! Had you, dear madam, unadvisedly done so, -I would plead to your good sense and justice; but with men I war as a -man should. What I may do, I know not; but whilst Miss Dalzell is -confined on my account, and unjustly treated, I am bound by honour, as -well as love, to stay and defend her." - -"Then you knew one another long since?" said Skaife, sadly. With this -admission from Miles, he saw every hope fade for himself. - -"Oh, yes!" answered the other, and the voice grew gentle with the -thought of that fair child; "when yet she was but a baby girl--a fair, -flaxen-haired little thing; and, as we talked of those days together, -year after year like melting icebergs faded away, and we stood side by -side again in confidence and affection, with the sun shining upon us!" - -Skaife and Dorcas both simultaneously looked at each other; and the -looks said, "All is over--'tis vain wrestling with fate!" - -"Besides," continued Miles, as if reading their thoughts, "there is a -fate in all things. Our meeting has been one; it was so pre-ordained." - -"Do not let that urge you," said Skaife, in forlorn hope of influencing -him. "All things are not ordained at our birth; we may turn many evils -aside, though placed in our path, by decision; they are as temptations -and stumbling-blocks--rush on heedlessly, and they overthrow us--avoid -them, they will not follow, but, like daunted cowards, shrink back! This -temptation may be to lure you from a noble thought!" - -"By heavens! you do well to remind me of that; I had wellnigh -overlooked it!" exclaimed Miles, standing up in all the majesty of his -proud beauty. "This is a double incentive to win Miss Dalzell, to boldly -stand on the ground her generosity has awarded me; in winning her, I -shall struggle with redoubled energy to _prove_ myself what I _know_ I -am! Thank you, Skaife--thank you; and you, dear madam, pray bear in -mind, that whatever my acts may be, they shall be dictated in all true -affection towards your niece, so that you, the generous, Christian woman -towards myself, may approve me." - -"'Tis vain urging you more, Mr. Tremenhere," she said, rising; "I can -but now appeal to my niece's affection for me, and duty towards -herself." She curtsied, and was turning away. - -"Not thus," he cried, taking her hand. "Let the man be boy again, and -take the hand in friendship once never refused him; think that all which -may be done, will be done for Miss Dalzell's happiness. I do assure you -I have never told her I loved her, nor has she confessed her's; but I am -well-assured she has read mine, though _my_ hope may be too -presumptuous. Let this comfort you, dear madam--Miss Dalzell holds the -decision in her hands, it is not in mine!" - -A faint hope rushed to Dorcas's heart. Skaife had none. He looked upon -Miles, and felt she _must_ love so noble-minded a man, whose soul sat -upon his brow, to record its worth in open day. - -The men shook hands, Skaife promising to return soon; and, escorted by -him, Dorcas quitted the farm-house, leaving Tremenhere a prey to many -wild thoughts and schemes. - -This day, after a lengthened interview with Juvenal, to confirm him in -his severity and watchfulness, Marmaduke Burton quitted the manor-house. -Somehow he durst not remain after having told all to Juvenal. He -remembered Miles's threats, and so he quitted for awhile, leaving Dalby -to watch and report, as Juvenal also had promised to do; and, above all, -keep the refractory Minnie under lock and key! - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - -We have said that Minnie was in a state of the greatest consternation -when made acquainted with her uncle's stern resolution of coercion. At -first she was too much pained to think--all power of reasoning had given -way before the shock; she felt overwhelmed with shame, shame of -herself--that much to be dreaded feeling in a young girl's heart. In -Minnie's, after the power of memory returned, it created a sense of deep -degradation, followed by recklessness--two dangerous things with which -to start in that new phase in existence--love; for the latter would make -her care little for consequences, the former bid her oppressed heart -cling with double affection to the bosom where her head might lie in -peace, love, and a true appreciation of her worth, and indignation for -her wrongs. She sat and reviewed all her conduct, and then her swelling -heart revolted against her uncle's injustice; for, in point of fact, she -had but _once_ met Tremenhere by consent, on the fatal day in which they -were discovered. We have seen their first acquaintance through Mr. -Skaife; then in Mrs. Gillett's room; subsequently, Miles had watched for -her, 'tis true: but she was innocent of all, except concealing these -meetings--and to whom confide them, knowing well how unpopular he was? -Once or twice he had met her even in her uncle's grounds, as she sat -sketching; he took pleasure in directing her pencil. Then, when he -proposed to sketch her favourite old ruin for her, if she would come, -what harm could she see in the request? It was a fact, he ever seemed -more, to her mind's eye, as a dear brother, friend, playfellow of -childhood, than a man to be shunned for love's sake. Without a dream of -harm, she went there; and it was that day, for the first time, that her -heart awoke to its real state, and her own danger. We have seen how she -flew, in confidence and love, to repose all in the bosom of her beloved -aunt. We say all this, because we would plead Minnie's case with prudes -and worldly-wise folks, who might shake their heads in grave -reprehension, or accuse her of more error than, in honest truth, she was -guilty of. All these scenes she reviewed in her quiet chamber; and then, -the deep sense of wrong and degradation overwhelming her, she dropped on -her knees, and, compressing her throbbing temples with her hands, wept -long and bitterly. She was as a statue mourning over itself, as the base -of its pedestal from which it had been rudely hurled in scorn and -derision by some senseless mob. In this mood Dorcas visited her, and -endeavoured to soothe, though even she blamed, her. Then Sylvia came, -and inveighed against her brother's mad blindness; for, "Had not Dora -confessed?--to be sure she had. Minnie was too good a girl to deceive -any one, or compromise herself by meeting this Tremenhere!" Whereupon, -Minnie, taking Dora's part, declared that she alone was to blame for -all. Sylvia's anger arose at this "mock sentimentality," as she termed -it. "It is positively absurd," she cried, "endeavouring to screen Dora! -All, but my foolish brother, know that you are quite innocent in this -affair. A pretty thing, indeed, to accuse yourself of so disgraceful, -unpardonable, indelicate an act, as privately meeting any man!" - -This certainly did not soothe her; but the crowning of all was when -Juvenal entered, and, reproaching her as a disgrace to them all, -declared she should not quit her room until she consented to marry -Marmaduke! Oh! then Minnie's spirit rebelled; she paced the room when he -was gone, and nothing scarcely could have been desperate enough to -satisfy her exasperation at that moment, by way of revenge! Poor girl, -revenge, like curses, sends its chickens home to roost! Thus passed the -first day, and the second something like it, and then evening came. -Juvenal, like other little bodies, was a great man in a brief temporary -power; he was master of Gatestone, and resolved to show all that he was -so. All this was Burton's counselling; consequently, when the second day -came, and Minnie still was obdurate, and firmly refused even to see -Marmaduke Burton, should he come, her uncle resolved to tighten her -chains, and so he forbade even Dorcas or Sylvia to see her, only Dame -Gillett and himself! Even the squire had confidence in the housekeeper, -he had made her frequent presents, for which she had been very grateful; -moreover, he knew she had favoured his suit with Minnie; he and -Juvenal--indeed all were more or less ignorant of her great error about -Miles's affections being placed on Lady Dora--and none knew that she had -not quite cast from her regards the "comely boy" Tremenhere. She -certainly urged _for_ Marmaduke, when she went to Minnie's room, and as -certainly did she ignorantly add fresh fuel to feed her love for his -cousin, by beguiling the time to the prisoner, relating how Master Miles -had come last night again to her room, frightening her out of her wits -for fear he should be seen, and how he was nearly mad himself to see -Minnie--poor young man! "just to speak, of course, of Lady Dora; and she -didn't think that lady had behaved well to him, and she pitied him from -the _very_ bottom of her heart," &c. &c. &c. Minnie was learning worldly -caution; she saw Mrs. Gillett's error. All her protestations to her aunt -Sylvia had been disregarded, in clearing her cousin of any imprudence, -and Mrs. Gillett was Sylvia's echo in all. She at first, from sheer -disheartenment, left this latter in her error, and then permitted her to -remain in it, as she seemed resolved to do so. This, too, Tremenhere was -doing, but with more active motives. Braving all risk the previous -evening to see Mrs. Gillett, and speaking of his love, incline this -woman to assist them to a meeting, provided Minnie would consent, he -found, after five minutes' conversation, on what an erroneous path the -housekeeper was walking, so he paused in his revelation of love. Might -not this serve him better than confiding the truth? Men are generally -less scrupulous than women in telling stories. Some rejoice in them; -for nothing would Minnie utter one wilfully--she abhorred them as mean, -and devil's snares too, ever leading somehow to sorrow; but Tremenhere -only thought of how to accomplish a meeting with her. Mrs. Gillett's -mistake might render it practicable; so he not only permitted her to -think him in love, and beloved by Dora, but favoured the deception of -judgment in every way! "Time will prove the real facts," he said to -himself. "It cannot injure Lady Dora; Mrs. Gillett I _know_ to be one to -confide in fearlessly, so let it pass!--'tis a straw of hope." - -We are not, reader, painting a _rara avis_ in Tremenhere; but a -noble-hearted, generous man--headstrong, full of wild passions--but -honourable in every dictate of his soul. Still, a mere mortal man, -driven to desperation by various causes; and resolved, however it might -be done, to _see_ Minnie, and know his fate from her own lips. If she -loved him--then all would be clear before him. Mrs. Gillett, however, -was too much alarmed then, to second any interview, but she gave him -leave to come again in the dusk; no one was near, and she pitied the -poor fellow! What _real_ woman is deaf to a tale of love and locksmiths? -if she can give nothing more, she awards her sincere sympathy. Mr. -Tremenhere left, and stealthily crept through the garden and shrubbery, -gaining the fields beyond unperceived. Next evening he again sallied -forth towards his confidant's. It must not be supposed that Mrs. Gillett -felt annoyed at being thus sought--far from it; it increased her -consequence, giving her _power_, which no one totally despises. She felt -sometimes as much embarrassed with all these various plots and plans in -hand, as a charioteer in a ring, driving a dozen wild horses at once. -The only thing to prevent concussion, was the keeping them well in hand, -with perfect self-possession; and these things she always kept in view. -Besides, she was not wronging her master's confidence in her: he was in -error, and she felt she should rather be obliging him, by removing all -fear about Miss Minnie, by favouring the loves of this man and Lady -Dora. On this evening, Tremenhere, at ten o'clock, was to bring her a -letter for Minnie, which she faithfully promised and purposed giving to -her; all relating to lady Dora, of course, understood. At a quarter to -ten, Miles stole through the shrubbery gate, of which she had given him -a key. It was a lovely starlight night in June--no moon to betray his -wandering--just light enough to lead him onward in safety. He closed the -gate, and stood for a moment looking around--then a lover's thought--a -perfect lover's one, arose in his mind, to go and look at Minnie's -window. We always like to know the aspect of such things, in such cases. -He had learned from Minnie herself, which were her's. In a few moments -he stood before them, on the soft turf, looking upwards. There was a -light within, but the window was open--'twas a lattice; for Gatestone -was not a modern built structure, but a good old family seat, like so -many we meet with in the north of England, especially in Yorkshire. It -was the sort of lattice window from which one could have fancied a dame -in the olden time, waving a snowy scarf to a departing warrior! Before -this comfortable-looking, homely window, hung a curtain. This side of -the house was facing the south, and a wide-spreading vine mingled with -the ivy on the wall, creeping around it. There are many cruel -temptations in life, thrown in our path. Now Tremenhere had merely, -lover-like, stolen round to look upon his "ladye's" window; but whilst -gazing upwards at it, something against the wall attracted his -attention. He drew nearer, cautiously. This temptation was a ladder, -which John Gardener had left, after nailing the vines. In an instant, a -thought--a desire, crept into Miles's heart; this was naturally, to make -use of this ladder! It was an impulse--an irresistible one. Cautiously -he moved it nearer Minnie's window, and crept half-way upwards. A voice -struck on his ear!--then another!--the first was Juvenal's, the last -Minnie's. This latter seemed scarcely able to articulate distinctly from -emotion. Some would have mounted higher, and listened. Miles's -conscience forbade this. Though tricking's all fair in love, he felt it -would not be strictly honourable; so down he crept again. The man's -voice rose--the woman's seemed scarcely a breath--then a door closed -violently, and all was for a moment still within that chamber, or -rather, the little music-room; for this it was. Then the voice rose -higher, and the girl was sobbing in her solitude and affliction. Juvenal -closed the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket, sagely -shaking his head as he did so. "She shall never quit that room till she -consents to marry Burton!" he soliloquized, as he dropped step by step -ploddingly down stairs, nodding as he did so. "Burton was quite right," -he continued; "I have been too lenient--I'll be master now--it is just a -little obstinacy; of course, I must know better than she can what's for -her ultimate benefit. Her spirit will soon give in, and, as Burton -says," (Juvenal was like the assinine tribe, he wouldn't move without a -goad--Burton was his,) "she'll soon surrender; and as for that -Tremenhere, why he will tire in a short time, when he finds it -impossible to see her, and leave the neighbourhood. This good key in my -pocket," here he smiled and nodded in perfect contentment and peace, "I -defy him!" As _he_ uttered these last words, Tremenhere, regardless of -every thing but poor sobbing Minnie, pushed aside the curtain, and -darkened the casement before stepping in. She uttered a faint scream of -terror. - -"There you may scream!" cried Juvenal, who heard her; "but I shall not -let you out. Was there ever so obstinate a girl? Could any one have -believed it?" - -"Minnie, dear Minnie!" whispered Tremenhere, stepping in. "For Heaven's -sake, hush! 'tis I, Miles," and he clasped the hand of the terrified -girl. - -"Go--go!" she cried, releasing her hand, and retreating in breathless -alarm, she scarcely knew why. "Go! this is madness; it will ruin me -should they discover you. Oh! Mr. Tremenhere, pray, pray, leave me!" - -"Mr. Tremenhere!" he said sadly. "Is it indeed only this? Oh! then I -have done wrong in coming, and doubly wrong in causing you so much -suffering, which I am powerless to alleviate by my devotedness!" - -"You wrong me--you do wrong me, _Miles_!" she exclaimed, much agitated; -"but I am so overwhelmed with my uncle's cruelty, I scarcely know what I -say." - -As the word "Miles" fell from her lips, he was at her side, her hands in -both of his again, and his deep, loving eyes bent down upon the -trembling girl. "Do not speak again, if it should be to unsay that kind -word, Minnie," he whispered; "but let me look at you silent, and watch -the emotion on your face, whilst I tell you all I now can say. _That_ -emotion will be my best answer. Minnie dear--_dearest_, I love you. I -would not say these words when last we met; I feared lest I had mistaken -a wilder, more evanescent feeling for this all-absorbing one; but our -separation has proved me. I know myself. Had passion alone guided me, I -should not be here; _that_, with me, is fleeting as a star seeking the -sea; but my love--oh! this is as the sea itself. It may seem for a while -to roll outwards--lost in the world, as wave in wave; but it will flow -back to break upon its own shores, and go wherever I may, my love will -ever return to cast itself at your feet." - -"And what can this love avail us, Miles?" she whispered timidly, fearful -of saying too much. "We must part soon, and how may we ever hope to -meet, with so many to oppose us?" - -"Does this daunt you already?" he asked, smiling. "If you love me, I -fear nothing; this assurance is all I ask. Think well, dear girl, before -you reply; for I do not seek a mere confession of your heart's -prompting affections _now_. I ask you to ponder well, and say whether -you are sure, Minnie, that above every man you ever may see, you can -love me? whether, for my sake, you are willing, under all circumstances, -to share my fate?" - -"I have asked myself this, Miles," she said seriously, "before to-night; -I need not pause to weigh my own affections; I never shall love any man -as I love you." - -"Minnie," he whispered, for he trembled with emotion as he drew her -gently towards his supporting arm, "do not mistake your feelings, it -would be destruction to me; for my every thought is united to you. Do -not wreck them, as so many others have been wrecked in my sad fate. I am -wrong," he added, more joyously. "If you love me truly, when our lives -shall be one, O then, in that happiness I shall become another man, and -doubly energetic in my appointed task, for your dear sake, to raise you -where you should and shall be!" - -"I don't know how it is, Miles," she said seriously, for it seemed as if -the child had all departed, leaving a grave, thoughtful woman; "but I -never thought of love, as they say most young girls do; it was rather -distasteful to me, I heard so much about marriage until we met; and now, -my love for you has so much of reverence with it, I _know_ I never could -feel for another as I do for you." - -"Darling," he whispered, smiling, "I don't half like that word -'reverence'--you must not feel too much of that, or I shall dread the -disparity of our years as engendering fear, more than love: love, dear -child, should be all-confiding, all-fearless, childish, and innocent." - -"I do not fear you, Miles, believe me; but I love. I look upon you with -so many combined feelings, as brother, father--_all_ those affections -which I have never known, they seem to gather round you: how, then, can -I do otherwise than reverence you?" - -He was silent some moments; then, removing the arm which had clasped her -waist, he took her hand in both of his, and said seriously--"My ideas, -dearest, of what a wife should be, are perhaps more rigid than those of -the many, and how that wife should be won. There was a time, long ago, I -might perhaps, in the impetuosity of youth and prosperity, have urged -you to fly with me. _Now_, I would not do so; for, Minnie, though love -_at first_ may excuse all, there might come a time when the husband -would reflect. I am a very jealous man; do not let this alarm you. You -never would arouse it by act of yours, I feel assured; still, we are -mortal. Some day I might remember how I had won you, if you outstepped -the bounds of strict prudence, and this might raise the demon Suspicion -in my mind. You see how candid I am!" - -"I love you for it the better, Miles. Our love is not an ordinary one. -In wedding you, I espouse your sacred duty, to work hand in hand with -you, and urge you on, should a momentary lethargy overtake you. Such an -engagement should not be lightly accepted; for, in marrying you, I marry -a man of care, and heavy obligation." - -"Dearest Minnie, now I have no further fear; so let us speak of our -plans. I came to-night--'twas an impulse done without consideration, or -I should not have been here--for your fame's sake, lest a discovery -might be made. I will not come again; you must meet me elsewhere." - -"How, Miles?" she asked, smiling in his face; "you forget I am a -prisoner!" - -"I think I can arrange it, with the connivance of Dame Gillett. She----" -He had commenced this speech smiling; something, however, crossed his -mind. So pure was Minnie in his thought, so pure would he keep her, that -the idea of making her a party to his own little ruse with the -housekeeper, pained him. No; he preferred the risk of that woman -discovering the truth, rather than make Minnie do one thing, not clear -as noonday, _even had she consented_, which probably she would not. -"She," he said, correcting his first thought "likes me; I saw her last -evening; she permits me again to play the boy, and creep through that -pretty window, by which Minnie, too, has learned the way; I will induce -her to smuggle you down there." - -"Will she, do you think?" she asked joyously. - -"I hope so, and now for another point, my darling girl. My wife must be -boldly--manfully sought; secure of your love, I will ask your hand from -your uncle." - -"My uncle!" she exclaimed in terror. "He never will consent; he will be -doubly severe with me, urged on, I know, by Marmaduke Burton." - -"Confide in me, Minnie; this must be done. Let them not say of me, that -I came only in secret, afraid of the light. I have formed no plans; only -this first necessary act must be put in practice: let time decide the -rest. It was the assurance of your more than passing love, that I -required, before appealing to your relations. I do not doubt you now, so -my path is clear before me!" - -For some time longer he argued with her, before, in her terror, she -could see the necessity of this active measure; but when he showed her -how soon he should be obliged, by engagements elsewhere, to quit this -neighbourhood, and leave her, these circumstances, coupled with the -absence of Marmaduke Burton, induced her to give a trembling consent, on -condition that nothing should be hinted about their having met since her -incarceration. Time, which always flies when we are happy, warned them -to separate, and yet, with all his stoicism, when he turned towards the -window, his courage to leave her failed him. "I am weaker than I -thought, Minnie," he whispered, clasping her to his bosom, and kissing -the fair open brow, which blushed beneath his embrace; "for I know not -how to leave you in the great uncertainty of our meeting again soon. -What if I lost you!" and, at the thought, his strong frame trembled. "I -feel _that_ would make me more than a desperate man--a perfectly -reckless one! Child, how is it you have made me love you so well? how -have you brought life where every feeling seemed dead? Remember, Minnie, -when they urge, or, possibly, endeavour to coerce your will--remember -what you hold in your keeping, and be firm!" - -Minnie, in woman's weakness, wept, where he prayed. Weeping and prayers -are bad sponsors for an affection--they baptize it in sorrow! One more -embrace, and yet his dark eyes, clouding in trouble, could scarcely -withdraw from her uplifted face; he turned again and again, and when his -hand quitted hers, and his foot descended the ladder, he felt a -desolation _never_ felt before, not even when name and home were lost to -him! - -While Miles was thus pursuing the love which had sprung up in his heart, -amid so many weeds, one sweet choice flower, scattered there by -accident; his cousin Marmaduke was staying in Lancashire with an old -maiden aunt. All, that such are represented, when sketched by an -unloving pencil, and there he received daily reports from Juvenal, of -the progress of his suit by proxy with Minnie. We have said fear made -him quit the manor-house. People, when they scheme, trace out a -suppositious line over which all their personages pass in succession; -and they are sadly perplexed, when, by some most unforeseen -circumstance, they step out of the road. 'Tis like a railway carriage -running off the line; it frequently upsets all the others. It had never -entered into the calculation of either Marmaduke or Juvenal, that Miles -could in any manner hold converse or communication with Minnie, still -less, have the audacity _openly_ to seek her. Great then was the -consternation of both--for one knew it nearly as soon as the other--when -a letter arrived for Juvenal, written in manliness and dignity, before -which, both, though unacknowledged, bowed in respect; stating, that -well assured nothing could change either his love for Minnie, or her's -for himself, he wrote, imploring Juvenal to consent to their union. He -(Miles) had assured himself of her unalterable affection, the stronger -for the coercion to which they endeavoured to subject it; and he could -but implore her uncle and guardian, to consider how far he was acting in -love towards her, to oppose this; that assured as he was of his own -legitimacy, he only wanted time to prove it, until when he felt -convinced Minnie would be happier as an artist's wife; for such was the -profession he had made choice of, than as mistress of thousands, if they -were separated. He then apologized for a seeming vanity in speaking thus -positively; but he only quoted the words of lips incapable of speaking -untruthfully--hers. He had not wealth to offer; but an unblemished -name--_and this he would prove_--love unbounded, and the best wealth in -the world--that earned by those talents which are spirits' gifts, etc., -etc. We said, great was the consternation this letter aroused. Every -line was an enigma. How had they met? How communicated with one another? -Evidently they had done so, recently. Juvenal rushed off with the letter -to Minnie's room. She grew very pale--then she thought of Miles, and her -heart strengthened itself--it leaned on his love, and grew strong and -fearless. Unhesitatingly she confirmed all the letter said, adding more, -"That she never would marry another. She could not in honour; for all -her affections were his." But she obstinately refused to hint even how -they had communicated with one another. And Juvenal could only rail, -and declare, that "Now she _should_ marry Burton, and that right soon." -Thus saying, he double-locked the door, and hurried off to Mrs. Gillett. -Even with this evidence she would not believe that Minnie was the _real_ -object--'twas some trick! And she shook her head, as if she knew a great -deal more than she gave utterance to. All this drove Juvenal nearly mad; -like all persons of little mind, he was extremely curious; and this -feeling predominated over even his annoyance at her firm refusal to -marry Burton. He could not imagine how they had met. A ladder was the -last means of communication he should have dreamed of. From Mrs. Gillett -he flew to Sylvia, who joined in one common cause with him in perplexing -her brains. Between them, they settled the blame somehow on Dorcas; for -neither loved her--she was too unlike them. Sylvia blessed her own -prudence, which had never inclined her to the love of any man! How -easily we can abuse the thing which has never been offered to our -acceptance! And here Juvenal committed the two most grievous errors he -had yet been guilty of, in Minnie's case; he allowed Sylvia to visit -her, who, by her harshness and reviling of Miles, Dorcas, and all whom -the other loved or liked, only strengthened her love and resolution. -Dorcas, who might have led her, was forbidden to have access; for -Juvenal could be a tyrant when he pleased. The other error he committed, -was by Burton's advice, leaving Tremenhere's letter unanswered--a -contemptuous silence, which would raise a storm over his own head. This -evening Tremenhere did not wander under Minnie's window, but went -straight towards Mrs. Gillett's room, and in the beaten path, which lay -in an unbroken line before his mind's eye, without hesitation he -confessed to her, that her own error had induced his acquiescence about -Lady Dora, that now, by no crooked ways, would he win his wife--for wife -she should be; and he begged her to think of her young days, and of -those when he was a favoured guest at Gatestone, now, driven hence for -no fault of his own; and, in consideration of all these things, to -procure him an interview with Minnie. She could easily arrange it, by -bringing her to her room when all were at rest--for, by eleven o'clock, -Gatestone was generally in profound repose--quiet, at all events. Mrs. -Gillett was aghast at this confession. At first anger moved her; then -her woman's kinder nature arose triumphant, and she consented for -once--only once, to "do her best"--which meant, complete success, for -she had the entire confidence of Juvenal, and keys of the prisoner's -room. Mrs. Gillett was but a mere woman, though the oracle of so many; -and, as she looked upon the tall handsome man pleading so earnestly -before her, she could not resist him. She was not a woman to be bribed -by money; power and flattering of her talents did much, however! It had -been a day of great excitement to all; for Dorcas had sought Skaife, in -his double capacity as friend and curate of the parish, and implored him -to speak to and reason with her brother--_she_ feared _all_ from his -ill-advised conduct towards his niece. Skaife was manliness itself; he -felt much the loss of Minnie. Nevertheless, he never had permitted hope -to lead him much astray as regarded her affection for himself. Miles he -liked--their hearts kindled towards one another; and now, with every -wish to serve him, even at his own expense, he sought Juvenal. In vain, -however, he urged the injustice of condemning Tremenhere even if the law -had rejected him as heir to the manor-house, it was his parent's error, -if really he were illegitimate. - -"If," said Juvenal, in his shrillest tenor; "I tell you he is, and a -scamp into the bargain!" - -"Pardon me, Mr. Formby," said the other, mildly, "if I ask your -authority? I have made diligent inquiry before undertaking this -mediation between you; which, let me add, is not from any solicitation -of his. I say, I have made diligent inquiry; and Mr. Tremenhere, as son -and master, bore the highest character in the neighbourhood, and is now -spoken of by many with tears of regret." - -"If he were a respectable man," said the irate Juvenal, "why did he go -so often from home, and live many months together abroad?" - -"By his parents' wish, and with their full consent. He is an artist of -great and rising fame; his studio, until destroyed at the manor-house, -attested that, I understand." - -"This proves what I say!" cried the _liberal_-minded Juvenal; "no -gentleman would have turned painter; and it also proves he knew of his -illegitimacy, and was providing against his fall from a false -position." - -Skaife bit his lip to keep down the angry reply. He came to conciliate. -He said at last,-- - -"I cannot agree with you, Mr. Formby, but will not reply. I come now on -a mission of peace, and for, I conscientiously believe, the benefit of -all. Mr. Tremenhere is attached to Miss Dalzell--his affection is quite -returned," (his voice trembled as he said this;) "it is for you to -consider, as one loving her so well, how far you are acting kindly in -blighting those affections. I should not think Miss Dalzell one to love -lightly or unworthily. Think, too, to what extremities you may drive -them?" - -"I defy them--I defy them!" squealed the other; "I have her in -safety--she shall marry Marmaduke Burton; and in proof, I purpose -sending her to his aunt's care in Lancashire, where he is now staying." - -Juvenal unwittingly let this escape him. Skaife started in amazement and -agitation. - -"Surely!" he cried, unable to control his emotion, "you do not seriously -intend doing this? Pause awhile, and reflect, Mr. Formby, on your -niece's sufferings so undeserved; for she was, at most, guilty only of a -little pardonable imprudence. Mr. Tremenhere had known her as a child." - -"I thought," replied Juvenal coarsely, "that _you_ had been a suitor -yourself? All this seems very strange to me, and not at all clear. What -do you hope for by giving her to another?" and he glanced suspiciously -at him. - -Skaife coloured deeply; and, taking his hat from the table, said with -dignity, "I hope, Mr. Formby, for the approval of my own heart, in a -cause which I, as a clergyman, condemn, one of unjust oppression--pardon -me this intrusion!" He bowed quietly and quitted the room, leaving -Juvenal abashed, angry, and more resolved, from sheer annoyance and -petty spite, than ever. Skaife quitted in deep thought. He deemed it -better not to inform Tremenhere of what had escaped Juvenal--namely, his -intention of sending Minnie to Lancashire. It might not be true; it -would perhaps urge him to some act of desperation. Even Skaife was -ignorant of how the delinquents had met, which naturally made him more -cautious, suspecting, and truly, that Tremenhere's honour was a safer -barrier against his elopement with Minnie, than all her uncle's locks -and keys. On the evening of these events, Miles, as we have said, sought -Mrs. Gillett, whom, strange to say, no one suspected of being an -accessory, favourable to Tremenhere and Minnie. The clock struck eleven, -as the latter on tiptoe crept down the long passage after the trembling -Mrs. Gillett, who was completely bewildered between the enormity of the -deed she was committing, its responsibility, and her fear of being -caught. However, they reached her room in safety, and not even her -presence prevented Miles from clasping Minnie in his arms, as he called -her by his favourite appellation, "My darling child!" - -"Ay--child, child!" muttered Mrs. Gillett, shaking her head. "It's all -very well, calling her that; but if you only loved her as one, we -shouldn't be all of us in a peck of trouble!" - -"Forgive me, dear Mrs. Gillett," said Minnie, holding out one hand to -her, the other was clasped in Miles's, who looked down, all love and -devotion, on her lovely, smiling face, which, child-like, was lit up -with the present joy, forgetful of past or future care. - -"Mrs. Gillett," he said, "you will be the first to laugh and rejoice, -when you come with us to the Old Place yonder"--thus he always spoke of -the manor-house; "for I tell you again, _we shall return there in -gladness_!" - -"Ah! well may it be so, Master Miles; but I cannot just see how that is -to take place. He as is there, won't be so soon got out, and I shouldn't -speak against him neither; he's been civil enough to me, and master -wishes it; but there, Miss, don't; and there's been so much said one way -and the t'other lately, that I'm conglomerated, and don't know what to -say." - -"Gillett, you're a good soul!" exclaimed the happy Miles. - -"It's very well calling me so, but I don't know that I'm doing quite -right; but there, Master Miles, I cannot forget when you were a boy, and -used to come in at the window and steal my preserves, and laugh in my -face when you'd done so; and I don't think you're as bad as they say; -and though I do let you see her--poor, dear child!--don't go and steal -her as you did my----Lauks-a-marcy! what's that?" she cried alarmed, -changing her tone. The others started up in alarm. "Marciful luck! if it -a'n't master's voice and step a-comin' here!" and she flitted about, -wringing her hands in terror. There was a sofa in the room, and a large -housekeeper's cupboard; this was whence Miles had often pilfered in -olden times--well he knew it; it was the act of a moment, to draw Minnie -in, and close the door. Mrs. Gillett dropped, more dead than alive, on -the sofa as the door opened, and Juvenal cautiously peeped in, in his -dressing-gown, and, with only his head to be seen, scanned every corner -of the room. - -"Hist, Gillett," he whispered, as the terrified woman stared at him, -"it's only I. I've heard the strangest noises in the house--come, and -search with me;" and he walked cautiously in. "I always take a strong -cup of green tea the last thing going to bed," he whispered; "Mr. Burton -said it was a good thing to make one wakeful, and so I find it; one -cannot be too much so while that horrid man's in the neighbourhood. -(Minnie clasped Miles's hand.) But there's one blessing--my niece won't -be here much longer; I'll take her to Lancashire, to Miss Burton's, next -week; I've decided upon that! How scared you look, Mrs. Gillett! Have -you been disturbed, too? Good, faithful creature, that's why you are up -so late! Come, and help me search!" - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -Mrs. Gillett was destined to be placed in embarrassing circumstances in -her own room, as on a former occasion, so she was now afraid to move; -the window was open--what if she went out with Juvenal, and Minnie -should run away! Her blood ran cold at the thought. No, stay she must, -and risk any thing her master might say. She looked up, the key was in -the cupboard where the two were hidden--should Juvenal go there! Her -agony shewed itself on her countenance, which the other at last noticed. -"I have alarmed you," he said; "come, compose yourself; there is nothing -wrong, I trust; only I assuredly heard footsteps passing by my door, -then noises in the house." - -"Lauk, Sir!" exclaimed the woman, though still trembling; "it was that -green tea--it always gives one strange fancies." - -"Well, maybe so, Gillett, but it will do no harm to search; but first -let us shut down this window--it is not prudent to have it open so late, -and that man in the neighbourhood." - -"Marcy upon us!" she cried, impatiently, "one would really think, from -all the fuss made, that Mr. Tremenhere was an evil spirit, master, and -not a young man we all liked once." - -Juvenal stopped suddenly, and stared at her; then, turning round, walked -silently to the window and fastened it. His hand was stretched towards -the cupboard door, when a sharp clanging sound on the floor startled -him--he was any thing but brave; and the hour, the half-lighted room, -and assuredly not least, the cup of green tea, made him nervous. He -sprang round, "What was that?" he cried. - -"I heard nothing," she responded sulkily; now her first alarm had a -little subsided, a sort of dogged restlessness succeeded. Juvenal looked -on the floor, but so superficially that he did not notice a key which -had fallen from his pocket. "Come along!" he said, forgetting the -cupboard, "let us search the house--stop," he cried, putting his hand in -his pocket; "what have I done with the key of Miss Minnie's room? Oh! -here it is," and he took one from the table. "I just peeped in as I came -down--all was quite silent and secure there." - -"That's my key, master!" exclaimed Mrs. Gillett. - -"I beg your pardon, Gillett, I put it out of my hand when I came in," -and he pocketed it; and, a little better than the last one, which had -hung in the orifice, and thus fell out--Mrs. Gillett felt more -reconciled now the window was fastened; so leaving her light, and -following Juvenal, she quitted the room, locking the door carefully -after her, and withdrawing the key. As she did so, the cupboard door -opened, and Miles and his terrified companion stepped out. - -"Minnie," he said "reckon to me to-night all the degradation I have -felt; obliged to hide, for your sake, and that good woman's, like a -thief. I am indeed thankful to Heaven that he did not find me--it would -have crushed my heart." - -"I will weigh it against my affection, dear Miles," she said, "and you -will forget it." - -"What could he mean," he asked, suddenly, "by speaking of your journey -to Lancashire? Surely no such project is in view?" - -"I have not heard of it, Miles; it must be one of my uncle's sudden -fancies. He is always starting some unformed idea--oh! that could never -be intended!" and involuntarily she clung to him with dread. - -"May his good angel keep him from such thoughts, Minnie, dearest; for if -he should seriously intend, then I will answer for no good resolution of -mine resisting against so much wrong." - -"What do you mean, Miles? Don't look so stern--you terrify me." - -"Poor child!" he said tenderly, drawing her to a seat, "how you tremble. -In truth, Minnie, our love has been set in sorrow--grown in care; well, -it will be the stronger for it. Flowers are soon uprooted, weeds -tenacious, and difficult to tear from the earth. Minnie, have you -thought what we should do, if all gentle measures failed?" - -"I have not dared to do so," she whispered. - -"Neither have I until the last half-hour. Those words of your uncle -distract my mind, and excite thoughts. What, Minnie, if they should -thus seek to part us--what if force and tyranny be used? There would not -always be a Mrs. Gillett, perhaps, to help us--what should we do?" - -"Do not let us think of it, dear Miles, they never--my uncle would never -act so towards me." - -"Not of himself, perhaps; but he is in the hands of as dark-hearted a -man as ever lived, Marmaduke Burton. Promise me one thing to-night, dear -child--swear to me, that no power shall ever make you marry another." - -"Miles, it needs no oath; even the thought is as little tangible as -falling snow, which melts in the outstretched hand. I cannot even -imagine the possibility of losing you." - -"Thanks, darling--thanks, dear Minnie, for that assurance. Now will I -wait patiently; work heart and soul to win the favour of your friends; -defy fate and my worthless enemy; and, above all, be patient, and wait." - -How often do we make excellent resolutions, which we think nothing can -overthrow, and some mocking devil has already crumbled the rock on which -we built them, to sand! A step was heard in the passage; they rose -hastily, when Mrs. Gillett coughed, in signal of safety, as she turned -the key outside. As Miles arose, his foot struck against something on -the floor; he stooped, 'twas a key. A sudden thought, an impulse, urged -him to conceal it, unseen even by Minnie. At that moment the housekeeper -entered alone, and closing the door cautiously, locked it. - -"Now," she cried, as she did so, "never again--no, never, will I have -any thing to do with this affair; there's twice I have been nearly -caught. No, never again!" and she dropped, really exhausted from -emotion, into a chair. - -"My dear Gillett," coaxed Minnie, putting a hand on her shoulder, "don't -be angry; was it our fault that uncle came down? What shall we do -without you?" - -"You do not mean it--do you, Mrs. Gillett?" asked Miles, drawing a chair -near her, and trying to catch the hand she drew pettishly away. - -"Yes, but I do, though," she crossly answered; "and as for you, I really -don't think you have behaved so well to me; you deceived me about Lady -Dora, you----" - -"You deceived yourself, dear Mrs. Gillett. Come, be just." - -"Well, you didn't contradict me? No; I've been deceived, and nobody -cares for me. Who would have thought of master coming sneaking down at -this hour? drat his green tea!" and, as she spoke, she rose and began -searching every where, in her pockets, and on the table, chairs, -sofa--every place. Poor Minnie, half in despair, whispered Miles--"Don't -say any more to-night; she is cross: I know her humour. Leave her to -herself; it will be all right to-morrow." - -"What are you whispering about, Miss Minnie?" cried the crabbed woman, -turning towards where they stood, his hand clasping both hers. "Ugh!" -she continued, twisting away again, "it's all very pleasant, -love-making, I daresay. You don't care for me, or any thing else. I want -to know where's the key?" - -"What key?" asked the really innocent Minnie. - -"What key? why, the one of your door, to be sure. Musn't I lock you up? -and how are you to get in without the key?" - -Miles bit his lip to conceal a smile; he was quite resolved, unless in a -case of absolute necessity, to keep it--why? he had not asked himself. -Neither he nor Minnie felt the least alarm; they were again like two -children their trouble over, all smiles. - -"Can't you help me to search for it?" cried the almost crying Mrs. -Gillett; "it must be here somewheres." - -A silent search commenced; Miles enjoyed it, scarcely answering to -himself wherefore he felt so light-hearted. We often feel thus before -care and grief. All at once Mrs. Gillett uttered a cry between a groan -and a scream. "I have it--I have it!" she exclaimed, in agony. "It was -mine master took off the table! Oh, marciful! what am I to do now? -You're lost, Miss Minnie, if they find out that you have left your room; -they'll send you off before next week to Lancashire! We're all lost--all -of us! How are you to get in? you can't creep through the keyhole," and -she flung herself on the sofa in complete prostration of all power of -thought. - -"Tell me," said Miles, pale as death, and now the serious, anxious man -again, "is what you say true? Are they really going to send Minnie away -_there_?" - -"Well, there's no use disguising it. I thought I wouldn't tell you yet; -sorrow comes soon enough. Yes it is all settled," and Mrs. Gillett was -again her kind self. Poor Minnie began crying bitterly. Miles had been -on the point of giving up the key; when he heard this, he again restored -it to his pocket. He felt he might find friendly aid through it. -"Minnie, dearest," he said, enclosing the crying girl in his arms, -"don't weep _yet_, we have time before us. Trust to me, and my love -neither will desert nor fail you. You shall never go there. This is a -time _now_ to act, to meet force with the strength my great love for you -gives me. Come, Minnie, cheer up; don't let me leave you in tears." - -"Don't leave me!" she cried, clinging to him. "I have so strong a fear -upon me." - -He was trembling himself, and nearly overcome. By a great effort he -recovered himself; for, had he followed his heart's promptings, she -would have quitted all for him that night. He knew, he felt his power -over her, and trembled for his own resolution. - -"Oblige me, darling," he whispered, with quivering lips. "Return to your -room, confide in my unsleeping watchfulness over you; _you never shall -go to Lancashire_. In the last extremity, rely upon my being there to -save--_now_ I cannot, _will_ not; I should say, to do so, I should have -to reproach myself." She looked up, not knowing his meaning, in answer -to what her prayer had seemed to implore, namely, flight. She did not -know what she uttered, in her terror at the idea of separation. - -"It is all very well bidding her go to her room," chimed in Mrs. -Gillett; "but tell me how is it to be done?" - -"Search," he answered, now perfectly calm, though pale. "You must have -many keys--search, you will find one." - -In a moment, the woman shook bunch after bunch out of basket, pocket, -and cupboard. After a long and anxious examination, she selected three -as "likely ones," and, armed with these, crept up-stairs alone, to try -them first. - -"Dearest," whispered he hurriedly, after she left the room, "there are -things we must trust no one with--never name my visit to your room. I -might, possibly, come again thus, but I will not; I would not have your -fame endangered--oh, not even if by those visits I could win you! But do -this: look from your window at eleven to-morrow night, and I will devise -some means of communicating safely with you. I fear Gillett will serve -us no more; the poor woman is alarmed at possible consequences." - -"Hush! here she comes," ejaculated Minnie; and, as she spoke, the woman -came hastily in: there was joy on her countenance. - -"Come," she said, in a low tone, "I've found one; and, if they catch me -at these tricks again, they may leave me in the lurch!" She was -evidently addressing her thoughts to some invisible Fates. No entreaties -could move her obdurate determination--she was firm. - -Embarrassments chill the old heart, and quicken the young. The two -parted, as such a parting would naturally be, in the uncertainty of soon -meeting. Miles was turned out unceremoniously, first; and then the -tearful Minnie was taken up to her prison; and Mrs. Gillett promised -"to think it over, and see what could be done." And thus she left her to -her reflections, which were any thing but cheering. Poor girl! had her -mother lived, and been a good, sensible woman, the child would have been -like a lovely parterre, rich in beautiful flowers, from among which the -weeds had been judiciously eradicated. As it was, full of warm and -generous affections, they had been badly directed by contrary interests. -Her aunts and uncle all conceived, and justly, that they had an equal -right to her regard, duty, and obedience. Most unfortunately, all pulled -different ways. Juvenal and Sylvia wore her spirit by bad, peevish -tempers; only Dorcas could have supplied a mother's place, and her power -was almost neutralized by the other two. Thus, Minnie had grown up with -an independence of mind not often met with at her age. She loved Dorcas -dearly; but her keen perception made her perfectly alive to all the -absurdity of Juvenal and Sylvia. Her heart had nursed up almost all its -warmth of love, to cast the whole of it on one die--Tremenhere's faith -and love. She had, fortunately, chosen a worthy object, and yet one -unfitting herself in many ways. - -He was impassioned, impetuous, jealous: one to exact all from her; and -even then, when her soul lay bare before him, suspect that a warmer -affection might be found there, if he but knew the talisman which would -unlock the secret recesses of it. He had a want of confidence in -himself, which would cause him many a bitter hour. Had she loved and -married Skaife, her life would have been one of the most complete -happiness this earth could have afforded. As it was, her whole soul was -given to Tremenhere--he absorbed all. In the confidence of her young, -childish heart, she could conceal no part of it from him: she loved like -a slave, ready to obey him blindly in all things, unquestioning, -undoubting. He was her master, before whom she crouched in perfect -contempt of self, and hugged her chains. And this was the man they -threatened to separate her from! Though the mortal woman wept at her -oppression, the immortal soul laughed them to scorn!--they _could not_ -make her forget him! - -The day following these events, Miles had a long interview with Skaife, -to whom he had become deeply indebted in gratitude for his efforts in -his favour. A sincere friendship had sprung up between them, yet not -without some bitterness to Skaife, who could not yet eradicate Minnie's -thought from his heart. Though graven there in bitterness, he sincerely -wished to make her happy, and felt she would, in all human probability, -be so with Tremenhere--loving him, and so well beloved. But even this -desire of promoting her happiness, made him conscientiously refuse to -accede to a solicitation of Tremenhere's, namely, to perform a private -marriage between them. It will be seen this latter's resolutions were -fading away before the probable trouble before them--thus it occurred. -On leaving Minnie the evening they met, as we have seen, he walked -homeward in deep thought; the more he reflected upon her threatened -removal, the more he trembled for the result. He did not know her -sufficiently well--he deemed that, like most girls, though all -affection then, once removed--persecuted, threatened, coerced--her -spirit would give way, and she, perhaps, become the wife of his -cousin--Minnie, his Minnie! It was a spiritualized madness the thought; -for he felt it would haunt him even in the grave--that nothing could -throw a veil of oblivion over it. He had never spoken _half_ his -passionate love to her--he feared lest, in giving vent to it, it might -master and carry him away to some deed he afterwards should bitterly -regret--such, for instance, as eloping with her. His ideas of women, -were more than ordinarily rigid, in young men. He had thought and -suffered so much on his mother's account, in whose case, though he did -not for an instant suspect her virtue, still, he feared there had been -some imprudence--some laxity in necessary caution, to have created this -long, and as yet unavailing, search for proof of her marriage. He -fancied it had been private, or by some minister not of legal -ordination--he scarcely knew what to imagine. And yet, in the face of -all this--driven by the fear of losing Minnie, he implored Skaife to -marry them privately. - -"I have yet one more effort to make," he said, "to gain her uncle's -consent--if that fail me, then there will only be ourselves to rely -upon." - -"Knowing you as I do, even in this short space of time," answered -Skaife, "let me implore you _never_ to lead her, however slightly, from -the path of duty. I know--I am sure--it would rise in your heart against -her, some day." - -"I would not dream of it, except in an extreme case," said Tremenhere; -"but if they take her away, what will my position then be? _There_ she -will be under the eye of one--my cousin--who has the devil's cunning. -They will act upon her heart in every way. Poor child!--what would she -be in their hands?" - -"And what would your feelings then be, were she privately your wife? How -could you endure in absence all she would be made to suffer?" - -"I should have a security, Skaife. They could not force her; and we -could but acknowledge our union, even though before the time I myself -should wish to do so. I would be again master of the house yonder, -before I claimed her." - -"You are too sanguine, I fear, in your hopes. I do not for an instant -suspect your rights; but I do your power of proving them. There have -been too wily persons at work for you ever to discover the lost clue. -Seven years have passed, and, were Miss Dalzell your wife, could you -patiently wait and labour as many more--perhaps even then without -success--and leave her your unacknowledged wife?" - -"Pshaw!" replied Tremenhere impatiently, "you argue like a man--a -clergyman, bound to give good advice--and one who has never loved!" - -He was quite ignorant that the other had ever been a suitor of Minnie's. -Skaife looked fixedly at him--then, turning aside, choked down a sigh, -and answered with seeming calmness-- - -"Not as a mere clergyman by profession--bound to throw in his advice on -every occasion where there is an opportunity, for form's sake; but as a -sincere friend to both. Tremenhere, I beseech you, think well on all you -do respecting Miss Dalzell. _I_ believe her to possess strong -affections, and far more strength of mind than you give her credit for." - -"It may be so. I am sure she loves me now; but she is very young, and -ignorant of the world. How could she be certain of resisting the threats -and importunities of my enemies?" - -"If so weak, how would she be able to pass through the world, and its -many devious paths? How never swerve from the straight one? You wrong -her; believe me, she is stronger than you imagine in soul and mind." - -"Well, perhaps so--I hope so; but, as my wife, _I_ should ever be there -to sustain her." - -"Not always, perhaps. Depend upon it, a woman never shows her true -strength, of either virtue or forbearance, until she has to rely upon -herself _alone_. Much as I wish to oblige you, Tremenhere, my anxiety to -_serve_ both, is greater. I cannot be a party to any secret marriage. I -_know_ it would not be for the happiness of either." - -"Thank you, Skaife," answered the other, offering his hand in all -candour of heart. "I know whatever you do, is conscientiously done; so -now for my last hope. In peace, adieu!" And they parted. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -Juvenal sat in the library, concocting a letter to his counsellor and -friend, Burton, when the servant threw open the door, and announced "Mr. -Tremenhere." Juvenal was not a very courageous man, more especially -unsupported; the pen slid from his fingers, and he staggered to his -feet. "Stop!" he cried to the servant, but the voice was so faint that -the man did not hear it; then he made a sort of rush towards the bell, -but catching the other's calm, contemptuous smile, he stopped -irresolute. "Pardon me, Mr. Formby," said Miles quietly; "but I think -this interview were as well between ourselves: I see you are about -summoning witnesses." - -"Pray, sir," asked Juvenal, forcing an appearance of calmness most -foreign to his real state, "may I ask the motive of this intrusion?" - -"One," answered the other, "which I think scarcely merits so harsh a -term, Mr. Formby. I came to save you the trouble of answering a letter I -sent, presuming that, as a gentleman, you purpose doing so, even though -probably time has not permitted you to accomplish that intention yet." -Tremenhere's indignation overcame his prudence, when he found himself -in the presence of Minnie's persecutor. - -"Do you come here to insult me, sir?" asked Juvenal, amazed at this tone -and manner. - -"Pardon me, Mr. Formby; no. I was led away by an excusable surprise at -your want of courtesy towards one, with whom you were once on terms, at -all events, of harmony; one, myself, who has never, by any act, -forfeited his right to your good opinion." - -Juvenal was dreadfully embarrassed. He did not like summoning an -attendant to listen to perhaps a few unpleasant truths against himself; -he felt Tremenhere's cause was the just one. - -"Pray, sir," he said at last, "what do you call your unjustifiable -pursuit of my niece, Miss Dalzell?" - -"That is a recent crime in your eyes. I was alluding to a prejudice -against _poor_ Miles Tremenhere, who, as master of the manor-house, was -permitted to style himself your acquaintance at least; but it is not of -wrongs--of _past_ wrongs--I come to speak. I come, Mr. Formby, to you, -as Miss Dalzell's uncle and guardian, seeking an answer to my solicited -permission to address her as a suitor." - -"Your audacity surpasses all I ever heard of," cried Juvenal, bounding -from his chair, into which he had dropped. "It more than surpasses all I -have been told you were capable of." - -"By my worthy cousin, but you are wrong. I come in no insolence of tone -or manner, however your dislike may so construe them; but as gentleman -to gentleman--suitor, _accepted_ suitor by the lady, to solicit her -hand from her guardian." He stood calm and dignified as he spoke; he had -evidently set himself a task in this visit--one to go through, before -more decided steps, but with little hope of success. - -"My answer," said Juvenal, decidedly, though his tone was querulous and -weak, "is--that nothing shall ever induce me to consent to Miss -Dalzell's marriage with yourself!" - -"May I ask your reasons?" - -"I do not consider myself obliged to give any; one, however, I will -accord you--the lady is engaged." - -"Of that I am fully aware--irrevocably engaged." - -"If you mean to yourself," cried Juvenal, his anger mastering his fear, -"I tell you, I defy you--I forbid it. She shall never marry a nameless, -unprincipled man like yourself--one who could attack my friend, -Marmaduke Burton, in the ruffianly manner you have done." - -"Hush!" said the other, advancing with a soft, calm step; "not a breath -even against the dead. You term me a nameless man; that will be proved -incorrect some day soon, I hope." - -Juvenal shrunk back alarmed. "Keep back!" he cried, "or I will summon -aid." - -"Do not alarm yourself, Mr. Formby," said Tremenhere, retreating -contemptuously. "I would not touch, still less harm, any one dear to, or -allied to Miss Dalzell--rest well assured of that; for all I have done -to Marmaduke Burton, I would do it again in my just indignation. Did he -tell you all? Did he tell you of our first meeting in his apartment, -when I chastised the cowardly cur for his base seduction of one almost a -sister to me?" - -"_His_ seduction?" exclaimed Juvenal--"_your's_, you mean?" - -"_Mine!_" ejaculated Miles, under his breath from surprise at this -infamous charge. "Mine!--did he tell you this?" - -"Tell me?--yes! and you know it to be true; he spoke of it with regret, -and of your infatuation in guilt, in having taken the girl away to town, -where she awaits your coming--and it is to your base arms you would take -my innocent niece!" - -"'Tis false--false as his own black heart!" thundered Miles, and the red -blood mantled in his face, the eyes shot fire. "If this alone be the -cause of your _just_ dislike to me--believing this--if I _prove_ it -false, may I then hope to win Miss Dalzell at your hands?" - -In his heart, Juvenal did not believe this of Miles; he cared little who -had been the seducer of Mary Burns, but it suited his purpose to think -Miles guilty. - -"You cannot prove your innocence," he said; but his uncertain glance -shrank from the other's bold, steadfast one. - -"I can, and will, if that be the only barrier!" exclaimed the hopeful -man. "By the girl herself, Mr. Skaife, your sister Miss Dorcas -Formby--by many." - -"It could not alter my determination," stammered Juvenal. "I care little -about proving, or disproving it, as either way, I should never consent -to your marriage with my niece." - -Miles's foot beat impatient time on the floor, on which his gaze was -fixed, with the knitted brow above it. By an immense effort over -himself, he at last looked up, in appearance composed. "I came -resolved," he said, "to bear all, suffer any insult for her sake--I came -to conciliate if _possible_; and now, once and again, Mr. Formby, I ask -you to consent, or, if not that, give her her liberty; give me hope, and -I will make a name to win her with, better than any mere birth could -bring me; but _that_ too, I feel, I shall regain, and triumph over my -enemy. I will win wealth--all--only give me hope; you see I implore now, -for both our sakes." - -"Hope to you--liberty to her?" laughed Juvenal, ironically, encouraged -by Miles's softened tone. "I tell you she shall regain her liberty as -Marmaduke Burton's wife--only then." - -"You are resolved?--take time to consider." Miles's voice was low and -emphatic. - -"I need no consideration," answered the excited man; "my mind is -made-up, and my word pledged!" He felt in himself that Miles was too -noble for him to have personal violence to dread at his hands--he spoke -undauntedly. - -"Then, hear me!" said Miles, striding close to him, and whispering -hoarsely from intense feeling; "I, too, pledge you my word, that if you -and all the powers of earth leagued against it, Minnie Dalzell shall be -mine! Now, look to it. I have nothing now to restrain my impulse. I -have offered you every honourable proposition that man could offer; she -loves me--this I know; and war let it be between us, and the victory and -Minnie mine! So, look to it! You have driven me to my own resources--do -not hereafter blame either her or me!" - -"I defy you!--you can do nothing!" shouted Juvenal, rushing to the bell, -intending to order him out by a servant. Miles made no further reply, -but, striding to the door, went forth as if the meeting had been one in -all good fellowship. As he quitted the house, Juvenal stood petrified, -gazing after him. But the tall figure strode on, and never once turned -or hesitated. - -"He cannot--he cannot approach her!" said Juvenal confidently. "I'll -watch--Gillett shall watch; and next week I'll take her to Lancashire. -No one but Burton shall know the day, or my plans: and _then_ we can -indeed defy him!" And the self-confident man sat down to finish his -letter to Burton, resolved to mention Tremenhere's visit to no one else, -unless questioned about it. Days passed, and nothing had occurred to -arouse a suspicion in his mind that Miles was at work. He was not a man -to suspect the under-current of a stream, smooth on the surface. He was -planning, and another was watching. Even yet, Miles could not find -resolution to urge Minnie to an extreme step; they had not met since the -night in Mrs. Gillett's room, but they had _seen_ each other. The age of -romance will never quite expire, even in this one of matter-of-fact: -while Love exists, he will summon his own regal court around him, where -pure hearts are in his keeping, and their love-knots not gilded. Juvenal -never dreamed of watchings and wooings in those later hours of the -night, when even his green tea failed to keep him wakeful; and, in those -hours, Tremenhere stood beneath Minnie's window, and a cord from a -trembling hand was their telegraphic wire to speed their communications -from one to another. No one had seen Tremenhere since the day he quitted -Juvenal, who became impressed with the idea that he had quitted in -despair; but the cleverer general was quietly watching events from -Farmer Weld's, who was too true to him to betray his concealment to any -one. Even Mrs. Gillett thought he had left, and blessed her stars, and -every thing else of lucky influence, which had induced him to quit, for -now her mind was at rest. Only Burton suspected the truth; he knew -Miles's disposition too well, and, consequently, strongly urged Juvenal -to bring Minnie off, at a moment's notice, _at night_; and this the -other resolved to do. Dorcas had a long interview with Skaife, and a -certain want of energy in her character was gently censured by him, for -her leaving Minnie so long without even a line: "What can I do?" she -asked, irresolute; "my brother will not let me see her; I am waiting -quietly till his strange humour pass away." - -"And meanwhile you leave Miss Dalzell under, I must say, an -unwarrantable oppression, which will prey on her proud spirit, -unsupported, uncomforted. She will unquestionably think herself deserted -by all, and the consequences may be fatal." - -Skaife would not say more, or betray Miles even by a hint. Dorcas, -acting upon this advice, wrote to Minnie, and Mrs. Gillett bore it--but -the missive came too late. The girl's heart had brooded so long in -silence, and supposed neglect, which, as far as Dorcas was concerned, -had been want of decision, and that energy which might have brought -Juvenal to reason, for her every thought had been her niece's; but she -resigned herself too quietly to her brother's prohibition of visits. -Dorcas said to herself, "I'll wait patiently--his humour will -change--Minnie knows I love her." When, however, we are in trouble, a -little _assurance_ of affectionate watching is very comforting--silence -often breeds doubt--it did in Minnie's case. She was on one hand -persecuted by Juvenal and Sylvia, and unsupported on the other; 'tis -then not to be wondered at, if she threw all her confidence and -affection on the one who so well returned her love--Tremenhere; and her -aunt's letter fell cold, uncared for, from her hand, and the resolution -to act for herself grew only stronger. While she was in this state, -Tremenhere was silently watching all. When men are very much in love, -they are very like the fabled bucket, through which every drop of water -passed again as soon as drawn from the well. Juvenal had a pet -groom--his right-hand man in all things--his factotum, and he certainly -merited his master's confidence; but--he fell in love! and a sort of -Montague and Capulet affair it was with a dairymaid at, and poor -relation of, Farmer Weld's. This stout wench was in the confidence of -her master, and a firm adherent of Tremenhere's, so she listened to the -wooing of her lover, not from any persuasion of the little blind god, -but simply to know all that was passing at Gatestone. It is not from -evil propensities that servants always speak of their master's affairs, -but because persons not gifted with imagination, speak everyday facts; -thus groom Thomas, like the bucket in question, drew all from the well -of his master's heart, to moisten the greedy clay of woman's curiosity; -and, in return, he got chaff which blew away before the winds, of -service to no one. Thomas, too, was very wise in his own conceit, and -said to himself, "Poor gal, she's so much in love with me, she can't -keep nothing to herself!" and he posted off to his master with accounts -of letters received from Tremenhere from town, and, while he carried off -his winnowings, Sally trudged home with many a good oat-cake at his -expense. This continued about a week; and every night, owl-like, Miles -crept forth, and Minnie's soft voice whispered "Good-night, dearest!" as -she let down, and drew up their respective letters. - -One day Sally returned from an evening walk with Thomas, in a state of -much agitation; she learned from him that Mr. Dalby, the lawyer, was -always now closeted with his master, and that Thomas had been sent in -solemn secresy to Harrogate, to order a chaise and posters for the -following evening at eight; and his master had told him to be sure and -say nothing to _anybody_ about it, especially not to Miss Formby, or -Miss Dorcas, as he was going to take off Miss Dalzell to Lancashire at a -minute's notice; so all must be prepared, and he, Thomas, ready to go -with them--that a word in the house would ruin all! - -"Lor'!" ejaculated the really astonished Sally. - -"Ain't it fine?" said the man; "and won't Miss be taken by surprise? as -master says it's very wrong of her to fly in his face, as she does--in -coorse, he must know best what's good for her; and nobody sha'n't know -it from me, I'll take precious care of that!" and he rubbed his hands, -and winked knowingly. - -"And don't Miss Minnie suspect, think ye?" - -"Not she, nor nobody; it's all been done main clever, I can tell you; -and as the shay drives round to the front door, Master and Mr. Dalby -goes up and brings her down, and we postesses two posts, that there -mayn't be no row in this part, 'cause she might kick up a to-do at the -station, and Mr. Dalby goes part ways on the dicky with me!" - -"Does he?" said Sally, colouring at this treachery. "He's quite given up -young Miss himself, then?" - -"Oh, yes! from all I hears, and I'm pretty 'cute, he and the squire be -all in all; it's to Miss Burton's young miss be goin'." This latter -speech was uttered in a whisper. - -"Ah!" ejaculated Sally, in thought. - -"What be 'e thinkin' on?" asked Thomas, pressing the arm which reposed -on his own. "I guess you be thinkin' there won't be all this fuss when -we marries," etc., etc., etc. Here the amorous swain rushed off into a -maze of love's intricacies, little interesting to the reader, or indeed -to Sally, who took the earliest opportunity of finding the silken cord, -and getting out of it, leaving the cautious Thomas watching, in the -twilight, her buxom figure as she sped homewards. Red and excited she -entered the farm kitchen, and, flying up the stairs, tapped at a door, -and then bounced in. Tremenhere sat there, and not less than her own, -was his agitation, when she unloaded her budget; he thanked his faithful -messenger for her vigilance, and after a consultation with the homely -farmer, who was summoned to the room, this latter started off for -Harrogate, to discover if really the chaise had been ordered, as -reported. With some little manoeuvring he found out, beyond a doubt, -that it was a fact. What he then did--what they had mutually decided -upon--will be shortly seen. To have carried off Minnie at that late hour -would have been impracticable--How succeed? this was their first -thought, but no posters could be obtained as relays; there would be no -train to assist them so advanced in the night, for he could not see -Minnie to convey the intelligence until nearly midnight. To fly, and be -overtaken, were worse than all. Poor Miles paced his room in an agony of -mind nothing can paint; until that supreme moment he did not know how -dear Minnie was, all his energy seemed for a while crushed; he clenched -his hands, and the thick, knotted veins swelled in his forehead, as the -heaving breast sent the boiling blood to his brain. He cursed his own -folly, his scruples for waiting so long, now all these had disappeared; -present fears, future reflections on imprudence, all were cast aside: -he only saw Minnie separated from himself, in Marmaduke's and her -uncle's power, with Dalby to back them in villainy. He cared for nothing -which might be said, he forgot all his mother's wrongs, from perhaps a -want of strict prudence, (of error he never dreamed,) which had so long -upheld him in a resolution to only win _his_ wife before all the world, -and by all its most rigid laws of prudence and right. He sat down at -last, with his watch clutched in his hand, counting the weary moments -till he could visit Gatestone. A cold sweat hung on his brow, as he -thought some unforeseen event, impossible to conquer, might mar all, and -thus he sat, in the bitter agony of a lone heart, which, though it may -find kind, sympathizing friends, finds not one to comprehend all its -suffering--not one to speak as it would. As the weary hours crept by, he -was worn almost to woman's weakness; for at a moment when he needed all -to support himself in calmness, Farmer Weld, or perhaps Sally, would -enter his room, or the farmer's good dame, and by their well-meant, but -quiet reasoning, nearly drive his warm temperament frantic; it was not -only one fear he had, but dozens came crowding around him, for all was -cast on one chance. He could not say--"If this fail--well, to-morrow." - -No, there was no morrow for him if the project crumbled to earth. She -would be away under coercion and watchings, and these doubled, if they -discovered any attempt of his, even though it should prove abortive. In -this fearful state, he at last quitted the farm. The night air revived -him, and he felt calm as he stopped under Minnie's window; more -especially when her little white hand drew aside the curtain, and she -looked forth. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - -The night passed--then succeeded morning--noon--and evening. Juvenal had -been very busy all day. Nobody but Dalby, who was closeted with him, and -the trusty Thomas, knew wherefore. The two first worthies had it all to -themselves; for Sylvia felt piqued with her recreant _protege_ for -preferring interest to love. Dorcas disliked him much. It therefore was -not a very sociable dinner party that day at six, when the four sat down -together. We will leave them in their monosyllabic conversation, spiced -with occasional words of secret meaning between Juvenal and his guest, -and go up-stairs with Mrs. Gillett, to Minnie's room, when she entered -with the prisoner's dinner. The latter was sitting at a table; before -her was a casket, out of which all the little treasures of her young -life were taken, and spread on the table, and as she eyed them, her eyes -were swimming in tears; yet she looked flushed, and nervous. When -Gillett entered, she involuntarily sprang up, and turned pale, as in -terror. - -"Dear heart alive!" exclaimed the woman, "how very nervous you are, poor -child! And so I told master to-day, and he has promised you shall soon -be at liberty; so cheer up, there's a dear." She spoke very kindly; but -Minnie looked fixedly at her, to read if she too were plotting against -her. She was beginning that worst pain--suspicion of all. But poor -Gillett was white as snow in this affair; and thus Minnie read her -clear, kind look, and she stretched out her hand and clasped her's; and -with the act, tears rolled down her cheek. Juvenal, by Dalby's advice, -trusted no woman. This man had an instinctive dread and knowledge, that -the female heart is _generally_ too kind to unite in a wrong act, unless -the possessor be unworthy her sex. Man acts without thought often, and -consents without reflection, to a crooked deed of seeming uprightness. -Perhaps woman's natural love of diving into mysteries makes her fathom -all, and _then_ judge for herself. - -"Now, don't--there's a dear!" cried Mrs. Gillett, dropping on one knee, -and taking Minnie's hand in both of her's; "don't cry. I hate to see you -cry, Miss, indeed, I do; it always reminds me of your poor dear mamma; -she used to sit and cry, so silent like, till she went after the -captain." - -"Don't talk of her _now_, Gillett--my good Gillett!" whispered the girl, -shuddering; "I've been looking at her picture--see, here it is." She -took a miniature from the table, "And--and--don't you think she looks -frowningly upon me? I have thought so all day." - -"Lauk, dear! how can the picture change? There it is; and it can't look -sweeter, nor crosser--poor, dear lady!--she never looked cross on any -one." - -"Don't speak of her!" cried Minnie, in agony, dropping her head on the -woman's shoulder, and sobbing. - -"I told your uncle how it would be," said the other, trying to soothe -Minnie, as she would have done a child, by patting her back; "but come, -look up, it will all go right soon, you'll get out; and now, Master -Miles is gone (and I'm sure I'm glad of it) all will be as before, -and----" - -Minnie rose hastily, and stood looking at the woman, as if uncertain how -to act; her tears were burning on her cheeks--her lips opened to speak. -Then Miles's cautions came over her, and she turned away with a sigh. -Mrs. Gillett rose, and, smoothing down her apron, began laying the table -with perfect composure, and confidence that all would soon be well. -Suddenly Minnie approached, and, grasping her arm, said, so wildly that -the other herself stood transfixed, "Remember, Gillett--my good -Gillett--whatever may happen, they drove me to it. Do not let them say -all unchecked against me;--remind them how they locked me up--remind -Aunt Dorcas how she left me, and did not insist upon seeing, to comfort -me--remind them, that I only met Mr. Tremenhere once, wilfully, and that -he had known me as a little child--do not forget all this, Gillett, but -remind them often of it." And she burst into a passionate flood of -tears, and turned away. - -"Poor darling!" said the housekeeper, "they have been cruel; but it was -not their faults--Master listens to them as he shouldn't listen -to--Come, eat a bit of chicken--just a bit: I watched it cooking for you -myself--do, there's a dear!" But all her coaxing was vain. "I'll come -and sleep on the sofa in her room to-night," said Gillett to herself; -"she's low and narvous, poor child!" - -"What's that?" cried Minnie, stopping in her hurried walk round the -room. - -"Only the time, dear, striking; it's half-past six!" - -"The old hall clock!" whispered the girl--"my mother's clock--I wonder -if I shall ever hear it again after to-night! I hope I may--I hope to -Heaven I may!" And she slid gently on her knees, and raised her hands -upwards. Gillett stood looking on in amazement, not unmixed with deep -emotion. - -"Miss Minnie, dear, shall I stay, or go?" she whispered, touching her -arm. Minnie started up. - -"Go," she said, hurriedly, looking towards the door--"go, and don't tell -any one I have been agitated, or crying. Let me be quiet a short time, -and--and--Heaven bless you, dear Gillett, for all your kindness--I -_never_ shall forget it!" - -She threw her arms round the woman's neck, and kindly embraced her; -then, opening the door, said hurriedly, "Now, go, dear Gillett, and -leave me quiet awhile." - -The simple woman, without the slightest suspicion of harm, quitted the -room gently, and locked the door. Minnie stood one moment, with clasped -hands, listening, then turning round, she seemed, by a great effort, to -shake off all lethargy and doubt. Reverentially placing her mother's -picture, and a gift of aunt Dorcas's, in her bosom, she drew from her -pocket a key, and with hasty hands threw over her shoulders a shawl; -then, putting on her bonnet, she stood one instant in deep thought--it -was the final thought--one of war between resolution and doubt. - -Near the old stile, in the holly-field, stood Miles Tremenhere. He was -no longer the wild, excited man; a cold, stern resolution had replaced -all other emotions. He stood there, resolved _to do_, even now, by -force, should other means fail. It had been in vain he toiled with his -brain to arrange things otherwise: all had seemed to go against him, -trains, posters--all, and here he was, expecting Minnie at seven, -knowing that at eight she would leave with her uncle, if his scheme -failed. - -"But it will not," he said between his teeth; "she has the key; they -will be at table, and she can better escape down the stairs now than -earlier. Should she _not_ come, I will go up boldly and tear her from -their power!" - -He was desperate enough then to have attempted it. His face was cold and -damp with the dew of suspense, his eyes strained with watching the way -she should come; he had become so acutely wakeful, that he felt he could -have heard her cry for help even there; and as moment after moment -passed, and the heavy church clock in the distance chimed a quarter past -seven, he groaned aloud. "Only three quarters more, and _they_ will be -there for her. Minnie! oh, Minnie! if they tore you from me now, I -should smile on _any_ deed to recover you! She does not come!" - -He stood like a statue, only watching the way through the shrubbery. "I -will go up and claim her," he cried at last, in desperation. "Hush! were -those wheels? _theirs_, to complete their good work. Hush!" and he -listened, while his heart audibly beat. A hand was on his arm, and a -voice, weak and thrilling like a nestling bird's, whispered, "Miles, I -am here--let us go--'tis late--I have been seen." With the first word -and touch, a cry burst from him, and Minnie was in an embrace of iron. -What force might tear her from it? Outside the hedge a chaise was -waiting, and to this he almost carried the nearly fainting girl; they -had not far to drive, but a few short miles at the pace of their good -quadrupeds; and before the clock struck eight, Tremenhere's heart beat -wildly with rejoicing, beside his run-away bride, flying at the rate of -Gretna steam-power, and an express train, to the north. Eight o'clock -struck, and with the last stroke wheels were heard creaking on the -gravel at Gatestone. - -"Now, Dalby," said Juvenal, "the time's come, mind you are resolute; no -woman's work. I daresay she'll make a fuss, but it is for her ultimate -benefit, and besides I will not have my authority questioned." Sylvia -and Dorcas had retired, quite ignorant of all. "Tell Mrs. Gillett to -come here, and accompany us to Miss Dalzell's room," said Juvenal to the -footman. - -"I don't think Miss Dalzell has returned," said the man, innocently. -"She only went out a few minutes since!" Dalby started, but Juvenal was -quite composed. "You must be mistaken, Willis," he said. "Miss Dalzell -is in her room. You probably saw one of the other ladies. Send Mrs. -Gillett at once." - -"Oh, dear me! no, sir," responded the man. "I couldn't mistake my -mississes for Miss Minnie; she passed me in the hall with her bonnet on, -and said in her kind way, 'How d'ye do, Willis?' and I was so glad to -see her about again, that I watched her through the gardens." - -"Why the deuce didn't you mention this before?" exclaimed Dalby, -alarmed. He was the first to recover himself. - -"Well, sir," answered the man, trembling, "I thought master knew it. -'Twasn't for me to speak." - -"There's something wrong," cried Juvenal, tumbling over Dalby's chair in -his hurried rush towards the door. The other was half-way up-stairs, -muttering a deep oath. If Minnie were lost to his master Marmaduke -Burton, then would he be doubly a fool, having lost a good chance with -the girl, backed as he had been by Sylvia; and of course he should be -disgraced with the other. - -By this time the house was alarmed--Dorcas stood very pale, clasping her -cold hands together--Sylvia wouldn't believe it possible--and poor Mrs. -Gillett was lamenting loudly, as Juvenal with trembling hands opened the -door. There still was hope, for the door was well locked. All rushed in -in a body: every thing was as we have seen it, but Minnie--the dinner -untouched. How had she escaped? Not by the window, surely? No, that -could not be. Willis had met her in the passage, and 'twas this -unexpected meeting which had made her go round by the gardens instead of -the shrubbery. This was the only hour in which Miles saw a chance for -her escape, while all were at table. 'Twas a bold stroke; but it had -succeeded, like many a daring deed. - -"Gillett, you know something of this!" cried Sylvia, turning towards -her. Dorcas couldn't speak; she was crying bitterly; she guessed the -truth. "No, as I hopes for marcy!" exclaimed the housekeeper; "I know -nothing of it. I brought up her dinner, which you see, and she fell -a-crying, and seemed quite down-hearted. Oh, dear! oh, dear! what was it -she said, now?" and she tapped her forehead; "she told me to remind you -all of such a many things, and to think I should forget every one on -'em!" - -"Where could she have found a key?" asked Juvenal, suspiciously. - -"I don't know, I'm sure," answered Gillett, "here's mine," and she -turned the lock with it. Suddenly it flashed across her mind, the -confusion of keys in her room the night Juvenal came down, and Minnie -and Miles were concealed. She said nothing; but felt perfectly convinced -that one of them had taken a key away. At last, some one suggested that -she was perhaps in the gardens. _No one_ save Dorcas guessed the whole -truth. Juvenal and Sylvia felt certain she would be found. Dalby thought -so, too. Where could she go? Gillett was too much puzzled to think. Only -Dorcas _knew_ in her heart, that Miles was the instigator and partner of -her flight. All her thoughts now were, not to find her; she felt that -with a man so determined to organize, she was off and gone, but to -secure her happiness, and, if possible, bring all to a happy termination -and reconciliation. Gardens were searched--the house--grounds--all; but -not a trace remained--then the village. At last a lad was found who had -stood gaping at the chaise and posters in the lane, till the gentleman -and lady stepped in and "driv away;" so there was no longer room to -doubt. Dalby, hot with rage and disappointment, traced them to the -railroad, three miles distant, whence he and Juvenal started off in -pursuit. - -The chaise which was to have carried off their victim, helped them on -their errand--a rather galling reflection; for both Tremenhere and his -bride were away, and away, miles before them; they had neither of them -time to reflect on plans, on the future, which lay before them coiled -like a serpent, and perhaps as much to be dreaded. On they flew, and, as -the train stopped at each station, Minnie's heart sunk within her, -dreading somehow to see her uncle there, awaiting her; and in agony, she -clung to Miles, whose gentlest tones soothed the fair thing beside him, -with her already sorrowing, but not repenting head, hidden in his bosom. -At length the term of their journey drew to a close, they passed the -Border--with every moment now, her terror, and his anxiety, grew apace. -She could scarcely articulate; and, when a sudden whistle or stoppage -occurred, a scream involuntarily burst from her very soul; for the lip -was but the channel of utterance. But the Border was passed--the train -and its many alarms was left behind their flying steps, and they stood -side by side in a small room, awaiting the professional officiator in -such cases--clergyman, he cannot be called. Minnie looked round, and -felt how little idea of so sacred a tie as marriage, that little, low -room gave you. She turned timidly to Miles, who was gazing impatiently -at the door--she drew near him. - -"Miles--dearest," she whispered, laying a hand on his arm, "shall we not -be married again? This place carries no hallowing thoughts to the -heart." - -"My Minnie, you have echoed my intention--the moment we arrive in town, -we will doubly cement the sweet bonds of this day's forging!" - -Here the officiator entered. He was a serious, matter-of-fact-looking -man; he put on his spectacles, and scanned them closely; then, giving a -sort of grunt, intimating some sort of feeling best understood by -himself, he commenced-- - -"Stop!" cried Tremenhere; "I have forgotten a ring!" - -Minnie was trembling violently--every thing startled her. He saw this, -and, hastily glancing at his finger, said, "In such a cause, this will -but sanctify it!" and he drew off the circle of gold. "Minnie," he -whispered, "this was my mother's." - -"Oh, not that!" she cried, shrinking back. "It has been so ill-fated!" - -"You'd better not delay," suggested the man; "folks travel quickly -now-a-days, and I have _buzness_, too." - -"It will unite us the closer in our triumph over her enemies and ours, -my Minnie." - -She said no more, but a cold thrill passed over her as the ring made her -Tremenhere's wife. - -"Now ye're right," said the man, with a grim smile, which he intended to -be jocular; "an' tak' care on her, for she's a sonsy leddy--puir young -thing!" - -"Minnie--my wife--my child--my all!" whispered Miles, drawing her on his -heart. "Now we may defy them all, and fate--my own wife!" Even as he -spoke, the heart at that moment chilled: another might have felt glad in -the romance of their love and flight, Tremenhere choked down a sigh. He -would have given all he ever hoped to gain, to be standing with Minnie -in church, his licensed wife by friends, relatives, and, above all, the -rules of prudence and right. It was not his fault, these stern ideas; -circumstances had made him what he was. - -They are once more in the train, and speeding away from the Border, -towards town. Some twenty miles on their way, they stopped at a station -where a down train was waiting. Minnie drew hastily back, and turned -very pale: "My uncle," she whispered, "there--and Mr. Dalby!" She had -many a dark storm to encounter before they met again. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - -Tremenhere had in nothing deceived Minnie. He told her that in marrying -him she wedded herself to an artist's struggles for fame, wealth, and -position: this home was all he had to offer her, cheered by his devoted -love. He was considered as one rising rapidly in the profession, but he -had much still to achieve before prosperity would crown his efforts. -Hitherto, he had saved every possible farthing for the great object of -his thoughts; now, he would have to toil with double energy, not to lose -sight of that, and support his wife also. But Minnie was so simple in -her tastes, so generous, thoughtful, and loving, that it seemed to her -another Paradise, their quiet little cottage in the out-skirts of town, -which Miles had succeeded in discovering, with a studio attached--or -rather, a large room, which he converted into one. True, the gardens -were not large and beautiful, like those at Gatestone; but then their -very smallness made every flower as a friend. Each morning there was the -matinal visit to be paid, the fresh buds on some favourite tree to be -counted; and as she bent over their stem, a loving eye looked down upon -her, a gentle hand clasped her small, snowy neck, and then she looked -up smiling, and the two went in to work. Her's was not very laborious, -yet she fancied it absolutely necessary to the performance of his task: -she mixed his colours, sorted his pencils, but, more frequently, leaned -over his shoulder, with one tiny hand buried among his raven curls, -which clustered, thick and glossy, in the nape of his neck. Thus she -would watch the progress of his "Aurora chasing the Shades of Night;" -which Aurora was a figure of angel lightness, with outstretched arms and -hands, skimming through the air, her long, wavy hair flying, in the -freshness of the morning breeze, like a cloud behind her; whilst before -her fled Shades, clad in dark robes spangled with fading stars, and -supported upon the clouds. It was a beautiful group, which Miles was -painting to order. We have said Minnie had most lovely hair, like floss -silk; when she unwove the plaits, it fell almost to her heel, not -heavily, but like a vapour; you passed your hand through it, and it -separated and floated in the air like a gossamer web. It was this -magnificent mass which Miles had copied for his Aurora. He loved to look -upon it; to a painter's eye it had an appearance of something spiritual. -In vain he endeavoured to do it justice; for more than once, in despair, -he had set all aside, and clasping his little wife in his arms, -exclaimed, as he embraced it and her, "My child, I never shall -accomplish this! Surely some sprite wove this veil, and will not allow -me to represent it with my poor pencil! Not the best _artiste en -cheveux_ ever known, shall ever distort these fair locks with his vile -grasp. I am almost jealous when the air plays with them! Minnie, 'tis -dreadful to suffer from jealousy! I hope you never may be a mother, -darling; I should almost hate my own child, lying on your breast!" - -"Hush, Miles!" she whispered, laying her hand on his mouth. "Do not -speak even of jealousy; 'tis so false a passion, ever leading astray, -ever leading us down some crooked path." - -"Why, my pretty reasoner, what do you know of jealousy?" and he drew her -close to his side, and smiled up in her face. - -"Oh! I guess it, dear, from all I have read of its influence, it leads -to so much error and bitterness; and----and----I will confess, dear -Miles," she added, looking down, "I felt a pang of it myself, when you -were absent the other day, in Sussex. I was wondering all day with whom -you were walking, talking, amusing yourself; and whether you once, even, -saw my spirit flit before your path!" - -Miles looked down thoughtfully, doubtingly, a moment, then, raising his -eyes, said carelessly--"You know, darling, why I went to Uplands Park. -Lord Randolph Gray wished me to come, whilst he was down there, to -choose a good light for my 'Aurora' when I have completed it, and also -to make some other artistic arrangements, which cannot but prove of -great service to me. My Minnie knows I am only an artist, obliged to -follow as a profession what was once only pleasure." - -"Well, are we not happy, Miles?--_I_ am--oh! very--very happy--perfectly -so, since my dear aunt Dorcas has been to see her naughty niece; and, -now, tell me all the persons you met at Uplands, for I knew there were -several there, and you have always found something else to talk of, when -I asked you." - -"Oh! I paid little attention, I was so much engaged; there were his -aunt, and several ladies, and----" - -"I wonder where Dora is?" cried Minnie, hastily, like a child flying -from one subject to another. "She has not answered my letter, and I -wrote as soon as we were married in town, and that is two months -since--'tis very unkind!" - -"What an old wife you are, Minnie!" he said fondly, not paying attention -to the other portion of her speech. - -"Never mind that, Miles; let us talk of Dora. Do you know, I was half -jealous of her; I thought you admired her; I thought two such could not -meet without loving." - -Despite his self-control, he coloured slightly, and merely ejaculated, -"Pshaw!" - -"I do declare, Miles, you are colouring! Well, I fancied my aunt Lady -Ripley, and Dora, were perhaps at Uplands." - -"What could make you think so?" he asked, slightly embarrassed. - -"Because I know my aunt wishes Dora to marry Lord Randolph Gray; and, as -so many ladies were there, I thought it probable she might be one." - -"Silly child!--silly little girl!" he said, evasively. "There--get such -foolish thoughts out of your head, and give me one more sitting, -darling, for this Aurorean veil of hair." - -All else was cast aside when Miles had to be pleased. She forgot Dora, -and every thing, and stood before him with her hair streaming back from -her fair, innocent face--that face was Miles's greatest torment in his -task. It was the very one he could have desired for his picture; but for -worlds he would not have laid it upon canvass for indifferent eyes to -look upon; in vain model after model sat to him--some were very lovely; -and when he thought his wish accomplished, and but a few finishing -touches were required to complete the face--nothing but the working up, -when no model was of further use, involuntarily--his pencil, faithful to -the memory of his heart, moulded the unfinished face with an imperfect -likeness of his beloved wife; and though he sighed whilst obliterating -it, yet nothing would have tempted him to expose that to a stranger's -gaze; perhaps, a questioning one, which would seek the original of so -perfect a creation. No, she was his--only his. Could he have insisted -upon such a thing without appearing absurd, she should never have -quitted the house, unless closely veiled--his was true, all-absorbing -affection. There was no selfish vain-glory in it; that feeling which -makes a man parade the object of his idolatry before the multitude, to -delight his ears with the hum of praise her beauty might elicit, and -from the pedestal of his exclusive right, look down in pitying -compassion on the multitude doing homage to her charms--nothing of this -could move Tremenhere, except to feel contempt. His was too noble a -nature to be gratified by the injury of others--he only asked to be left -in peace and seclusion with this fair being he had so hardly won. _He_, -for the cold heartless world, to toil for her, and with it--_she_, to -solace his hours of peace and most unworldly love. We will leave them -awhile, and step back to Gatestone. At the moment her successful flight -was no longer a mystery--the only one was, how she had escaped--there -were not wanting those to instil into Juvenal's mind an idea, that he -had an enemy on his hearth; and poor Dorcas was the suspected person. -She had favoured Minnie's escape, and not all her assurances to the -contrary, could remove the impression; and, when she expressed her -determination to visit Minnie, not the slightest shadow of doubt -remained. Little-minded persons must have an imaginary trouble, if they -do not possess a real one--they could not exist without something to -worry them to death. Dorcas was the living source of sorrow to Juvenal -and Sylvia; and, had she not been patience itself, _they_ would -assuredly have driven her into her grave by their unceasing fire of -innuendoes, when they actually abstained from open accusations. However, -she bore all placidly, and finally started, to the deep indignation of -both, for town, accompanied by Mr. Skaife. This latter had become -perfectly reconciled to Minnie's marriage. His love had not been that of -a Tremenhere, but a quiet, placid affection, much more like a _hothouse_ -friendship, than actual love, riper than an ordinary out-of-door feeling -of that genus. The moment he heard that she was positively a wife, he -choked down a little sigh, and from that instant she became the wife of -one he called friend--only a being to be much respected, and served in -every way in his power; and it was strange that Tremenhere, with all his -jealousy, so thoroughly read and appreciated the other's character, that -not the slightest feeling of that kind crossed his mind, on his and -Minnie's account. They met as brother and sister might have done; and -Tremenhere looked on and smiled, as Skaife clasped her hands--an action -he could not have borne from any other; for he had the purest, warmest, -Spanish blood in his veins, not one drop of his father's calm -English--he was all his mother's child. - -It would be impossible to give an adequate idea of the fury of Juvenal, -when he discovered that he and Dalby had arrived just an hour too late -to prevent Minnie's marriage. Dalby was bitterness itself, and in every -way fostered the feeling against the delinquents. Thus he made himself -agreeable to Juvenal, and _secured_ a footing at Gatestone; as he felt -rather uncertain how Marmaduke Burton might receive him, on his being -made acquainted with the discomfiture of himself and partisans, and the -good generalship of Tremenhere. But Burton could not afford to lose such -a man as Dalby; though he blamed him in no measured terms, still, in his -heart, he knew how difficult it was to daunt or overthrow his cousin. He -accused himself more than any one else, for leaving the spot, and thus -losing so great a battery against the enemy as his own cunning would -have proved. Now this battle was lost, there only remained one thing to -him--revenge; and this pale-faced spectre haunted his every thought. - -Great was Minnie's joy when she flung herself into her dear aunt's arms; -all former annoyance was forgotten; she only saw one she loved as a -mother, one whose face was wanting to cheer her home and hearth. As soon -as Tremenhere could so arrange it after their return, they had been -again, and more sacredly, married than in their Border marriage. Nothing -was wanting, then, to Minnie's happiness, but forgiveness; and this -Dorcas promised to lose no opportunity of obtaining. How happy the young -wife was, in showing all the mysteries of her home, her excellence as a -housekeeper, her garden, her fruits, all, to her aunt! Poor child! she -was so inexperienced in all, yet withal so very anxious to save every -possible expense, that the aim of Miles's life might not be lost sight -of. "Only look, dear aunty!" she cried, raising in her pretty fingers -the leaves which partially concealed some mellowing peach on the sunny -wall,--"did you ever see such beauties? We had none so fine at -Gatestone!" Poor child, once more! there was nothing good or fair but -where Miles existed--nothing could prosper unless beneath his eye. Alas, -for the days of sorrow! when the woman shall look back, after her weary -pilgrimage through life, and remember the one sunny spot of childhood, -where winter never came--all the year one summer in her memory, the -fruits and flowers in the gardens of which, were riper, and blossomed -fairer, than any elsewhere! It is the heart--the heart--the heart -beneath which they grow!--the heart all lightness and purity! - -Skaife, we have seen, accompanied Dorcas to town; and after the first -lecture on her imprudence had, as a matter of course, been duly -delivered by the latter, all settled down in perfect happiness; for even -Skaife almost ceased to remember that, in the man before him, he saw a -successful rival. Poor Dorcas would fain have remained longer than the -fortnight she had awarded herself; but she received such fulminating -letters from home, that the thing was impracticable; and so she left the -abode of love and peace, perfectly assured of the continuance of -Minnie's happiness, and promising to do all in her power to effect a -reconciliation. This would have been easily accomplished, if she had -only had Juvenal and Sylvia to deal with; but, unhappily, Dalby and the -latter were friends again, and the former had Marmaduke Burton to back -him up in all wickedness; though now, had the uncle and aunt -reasoned--"How could the affair be improved by anger?" they might have -acted differently. But there are some persons who never reason; -decidedly, these were of that class. - -We will now take our readers to Uplands Park, the day of Miles's -expected visit there by Lord Randolph Gray. Business in town had -detained this gentleman from that rendezvous of fashionable men, in the -month of August--Scotland. It was near the end of the following month, -and a select few were assembled for shooting, and its accompaniment of -flirtation, in a country-house, where there exists so much more _laissez -aller_ than in town. Lord Randolph's aunt, the Countess of Lysson, took -the head of the lady department at her bachelor nephew's. A word about -this nephew: He was one whose mould had assuredly not been broken when -he was born--there were hundreds like him; he was one in a _cornet_ of -comfits, very nice, but very insipid--the filling up of the world -between the good and bad. A good-natured man, in short, with plenty of -money. Some one persuaded him that he was, or ought to be, passionately -fond of pictures, because he was of yachting and other fashionable -amusements. Now, what possible connection could exist between these two, -except as far as mere fashion went, it would be difficult to define. -However, he was very fond of handsome women, and these are more or less -the subject of the pencil; consequently, on his return to town from -Italy, where he had seen much of Miles in society, as a rising artist, -he sought him out, and engaged his pencil on "The Aurora," before -alluded to. Besides, he had liked the man, and discovering that even at -home, men of talent were warmly received into society, he followed the -reading of others (for he possessed not one single original idea,) and -invited him cordially to his house. But the visit to Uplands was one -more of business than pleasure, else Miles would never have quitted -Minnie. No one was aware, of his mere acquaintances, that Tremenhere was -a man who had lost the position he had lost; he was known as a man of -good family and cultivated understanding--no one inquired beyond: -married or single--who cared to inquire? He was an agreeable companion, -and therefore many sought his society. When he arrived at Uplands, the -first person almost he met was Lady Dora, who was there with her mother. -Not all her self-possession checked the deep glow which over-spread her -cheek. It was half the suddenness of the meeting, and half indignant -pride, that he should have degraded her cousin, as she deemed it, to the -level of a mere artist's wife. They met in the drawing-room before -dinner. There were only two or three persons yet assembled, and these -were dowagers, sitting cosily beside a cheering wood-blaze, before the -lamps were lighted. It was a large comfortable room, and already the -rich crimson curtains fell before the windows. It had been a chilly, -rainy day; and Lady Dora, having passed some hours of it in the -billiard-room, now sat before one of Erard's most brilliant pianos, -playing desultory strains, as they occurred to her memory. Lady Lysson -had not yet appeared, nor Lady Dora's mother. Tremenhere stood an -instant in the doorway; he had been sitting in Lord Randolph's room with -him, ever since quitting the one assigned to him, after changing his -dress for dinner. His arrival had occurred, as those things do in -country houses--a matter of no moment, or object of inquiry to any one. -He came--sat in his host's room--dressed for dinner--descended to the -drawing-room--and, until Lady Dora looked up from her own thoughts, and -saw him at the door, no one knew an addition had taken place to the -circle assembled at Uplands. As he entered, the two dowagers raised -their eyes carelessly, and glanced over him. He was some gentleman, or -he wouldn't be there,--one of the common mould, doubtless. People always -take this for granted, till the lion slips out of the ass's skin in -which their imaginations clothe him, and shows his fangs and claws; -then folks either put themselves into a position of defence, or try to -cut his claws; but this latter is rather a dangerous game, unless, like -the picture of a celebrated artist, Monsieur Camille Roqueplan, the lion -become "_amoureux_," and then any thing may be done with him by the one -loved hand. - -We digress--Miles was an ass in the dowagers' eyes--one of their host's -mould; so they glanced him over, and, _sotto voce_, continued their -perforations in somebody's character. - -Lady Dora started, and coloured--then her fingers still strolled over -the keys like a breeze among flowers, calling forth sweet odours--or a -child in a garden, culling a single leaf of different buds, and -scattering them carelessly about; for she only played a strain here and -there, nothing through. - -"I hope Lady Dora is well?" asked Miles, gently, as he stood beside her. - -"Quite so, I thank you," she coldly replied, bowing over her hands, -which did not cease. - -Though Miles had keenly felt, without expressing it to Minnie, her -cousin's neglect, still he forbore speaking of it to her, lest it might -aggravate her pain, he was so watchful over this darling wife of his; -still he fancied some engagement, fashionable indolence, or absence from -home, occasioned it; any thing but the truth--wilful slight. He was -therefore not prepared for her reception of him; he stood a moment -silent, looking down on the flying fingers, and many thoughts creeping -over his mind, scarcely leaving a trace, but faintly shadowing an idea, -that this girl had loved him, her change of manner was so extraordinary -since their parting in Italy. "I was not aware," he said at last, in -commonplace phraseology, "that I should have the pleasure of meeting -with your ladyship here." He was working with homely tools to get at a -great truth--this girl's sentiments--they puzzled him; had she replied -in a natural manner, he would have sought no farther, convinced that his -impression had been erroneous. As it was, she answered with stern -pride-- - -"It must be a matter of perfect indifference to Mr. Tremenhere;" and, -ceasing her playing, she took her gloves, fan, and handkerchief from the -piano, and without condescending to award him one look, walked -majestically to the other end of the large room, and, seating herself on -an ottoman by the fire, commenced conversing with the dowagers. Miles -leaned an instant against the piano. A smile, half of contempt, and half -triumph, played over his proud lip. Servants entered at that instant -with lights. Quietly seating himself on the music-stool, he took up a -book from a side table, and turned its leaves; but his thoughts flew off -from pride and vexation to Minnie, his own quiet little cottage -fireside, and that fairy wife, singing like a joyous bird, to soothe his -weary spirit, when worn by a day's harassing. "Minnie--my own Minnie!" -he whispered to his heart, and the dark flashing eyes of the previous -moment, melted with the loving thoughts of her presence, and he forgot -Lady Dora, all, save herself. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - -With the lights a few stragglers came dropping in,--one of the first was -Lady Lysson. This lady had much more of the foreigner than Englishwoman, -in both mind and manner, having lived many years abroad, where in fact -she had known Tremenhere, and was an ardent admirer of his genius. She -had a hasty, but most graceful manner; youthfulness of movement, not at -all unbecoming, though no longer young; at every step, every gesture, -you involuntarily said to yourself, "What a very charming girl she must -have been!" though really charming still, even at forty-five. Not the -least attraction was a sweet, half-lisping, slightly foreign accent, -perfectly natural; you felt that if she talked in her sleep, or walked, -or laughed, she would do all just as in her waking moments. She now -flitted into the room, and, spying a desolate-looking being on the -music-stool, tripped towards it, and, half dazzled by the lights, -shading her eyes with her hand, cried, "Who are you? what unfortunate -Robinson Crusoe have we on this isle? what, Mr. Tremenhere! this is -indeed an agreeable surprise; since when are you our guest?" - -"Since the last three hours, Lady Lysson," he replied cordially taking -the proffered hand, and the heart was in the clasp, to thank the -Samaritan who had not passed him by. Lady Dora coloured unseen, but it -was shame; her own soul blushed for the weakness of its mould of clay, -as she witnessed the generosity of another, and yet it was not all pride -which dictated her conduct--an unknown, unacknowledged feeling prompted -it. - -"And you are going to remain with us a week--I mean, all the time _my_ -reign lasts here?" asked Lady Lysson, gliding to a sofa beside his -stool. "There, sit down, Mr. Tremenhere, and let us have a little -pleasant vision of bygone days in sweet Florence--and how goes on your -painting? Are you very successful in town? You deserve to be so; -and--and--by the way, some old friends of your's are staying here--have -you seen them? Lady Ripley and her daughter. Is not that Lady Dora by -the fire? Lady Dora, my dear," and she gracefully waved her little -hand--raising her voice at the same time, "come here; here's an old -friend of yours, whom you will be delighted to meet again. For -shame--for shame!" she added, tapping his arm with her fan, "to bring -our horrible English coldness into my nephew's house. I, who am trying -to banish it for ever from our else unparalleled homes, and make all -cordial in meeting--regretful in parting--and not afraid to express -these feelings, as in the sweet South; and here I find one of my pet -_proteges_ crumbling my efforts to dust, and sitting cold and English on -his stool of formality, at the extreme end of my own court, and kind -friends in the distance--for shame! Dear Lady Dora, help me to scold -this refractory subject." - -Lady Dora was compelled to obey the summons; to do otherwise, would be -to betray herself. She rose; but the proud lip was compressed--the -nostril dilated with annoyance. "I have spoken to Mr. Tremenhere," she -said, in as indifferent a tone as she could command, and she seated -herself on the sofa beside Lady Lysson. Tremenhere bowed--he could -scarcely conceal a smile of satisfaction. Every triumph to himself, was -one to his little wife--his ever present magnet. "I have had the -pleasure of standing beside Lady Dora Vaughan's music-stool while she -drew forth some of the sweet strains she so well commands at will," he -said. Lady Dora fixed her haughty eyes upon him undauntedly, to read the -epigram, if one were intended--but he looked upon her with a cordial, -friendly smile. "He is no fool," she thought--"is he impervious to every -attack? I _hate_ this man," she could not think even; "I despise him." - -"Then, you wretches!" continued Lady Lysson, "why did you not take some -of the weight of a hostess' burthen off my shoulders, and enliven the -dreadful half-hour before dinner with some music? Mr. Tremenhere, I -command you to take me back to sweet Florence on one of those melodies -none can sing like yourself." - -There was an irresistible charm of nature about Lady Lysson, before -which art, constraint, and mere worldly formality, fled abashed, and -nature came forth from every breast around her, to play with its -fellow. Tremenhere threw off the cold, stern teaching of the world, and -laughed and talked again, the happy Miles of his father's home. Even -Lady Dora unbent, and condescended to ask him for one of the Tuscan airs -he sang so well. Unhesitatingly he turned round the stool on which he -sat, without rising, and running his hand over the keys, as one with old -familiar friends, he commenced, not with stentorian lungs, but in tones -scarcely to reach the fireside, so subdued they were, and yet certainly -to touch the heart of all who could hear them. He had nearly concluded -the second verse, when one of the ladies at the fire called Lady Lysson, -to decide some disputed point of genealogical origin. "One -instant--pray, don't cease!" she cried, rising to obey the summons. Lady -Dora would have given worlds to accompany her, but it could not, with -common politeness, have been accomplished; so she opened her fan, and, -with eyes fixed on the group at the fire, sat perfectly indifferent, in -seeming, to Miles and his _ariette_. The instant Lady Lysson rose, he, -without even a pause, ran his fingers over the ivory, changed the key -and air, having ceased singing in the middle of his verse; and, in a -still lower tone, as if breathing to himself, but perfectly distinctly, -commenced the hackneyed song of "My love and cottage near Rochelle." It -was so pointedly done, so _internally_ sung, (if we may so express it,) -that she could not but feel to whom he addressed it, and her fair, -neglected cousin Minnie stood, in her mind's eye, on the shore, watching -the receding vessel. - -"Mr. Tremenhere has a versatile taste," she said involuntarily. - -"Pardon me!" he replied, starting as if from a dream, and dropping his -hands from the instrument. "I was not aware Lady Dora was listening. -'Tis an old English song, speaking of home. We citizens of the world -should forget such places, especially in society. The heart, however, -turns there in thought, sometimes." - -He fixed his eyes on her, with the stern look of one judging her -severely. She dropped her's carelessly on the figures of her fan. He -rose, and moved a step towards the other group. A sudden impulse -impelled her to exclaim hastily, "Mr. Tremenhere!" He stopped, and -coldly turned towards her--"Can I oblige your ladyship in any thing?" - -"Mr. Tremenhere," she continued hastily, beneath her breath, while her -bosom swelled with her self-imposed task; "pray, be seated an instant, I -have a word to say to you." - -He bowed, and placing himself on the music-stool, awaited her next words -in cold silence. She leaned towards him; then glancing at the others -present, whose number was momentarily increasing, she whispered, moving -to give him place beside her, and pointing to it with her fan, "I wish -to speak confidentially to you." - -"Of yourself?" he asked, surprised, seating himself where she pointed. - -"No," she replied, drawing herself up in offended pride; "I should not -presume to trouble you with my personal affairs, Mr. Tremenhere." - -"You cannot wonder," he rejoined, "at my feeling the utmost surprise how -_mine_ can in any way interest your ladyship." - -"I would speak of my cousin," she faltered. - -"Oh!" and he smiled; "true--of _my wife_; it will scarcely astonish you -if I say, I had totally forgotten the relationship for the moment." - -"Let there be a truce of sarcasms," she said, hurriedly. "You judge me -harshly, I make no doubt; but there are many things which make this -union a most unfortunate, much to be regretted one." - -"Pardon me, Lady Dora Vaughan, not to those most interested. I can -boldly assert _my_ happiness is a realized dream of paradise: my only -sorrow, is in absence from the home Minnie makes such to me; and I think -I may venture to declare, that no sigh of regret ever quivers on her -lip. Those she justly prized have not forgotten her--Aunt Dorcas, for -one." - -"Yes, I am aware," she interrupted, with some confusion, "she has -visited you. Come Mr. Tremenhere," and she looked up less coldly in his -face, "make some allowances for my position; I am not quite my own -mistress. I----" - -"Lady Dora, my father was an old-fashioned man, and he had quaint -notions, you will say; he taught me that it was ungentlemanly not to -reply to a polite letter in all cases, and ungenerous in many." - -"I see," she said, haughtily, "I have a prejudiced judge. I will only -pursue this conversation sufficiently to ask a personal favour." - -"Name it. You shall, if possible, be obeyed." - -"'Tis--'tis;--in fact, no one here, except my mother, is aware of your -marriage. May I ask you to preserve it a secret?" - -He read her thought, and was resolved to bend her false pride to bare -itself before him. "I cannot see," he said, "in what my celibacy -interests any one here. There is no lady in love with me, or sighing for -leap-year to declare herself!" he laughed carelessly. - -"Mr. Tremenhere," she cried, "my meaning is this: I--my mother, too, is -most anxious that your union with Miss Dalzell should not be published. -These painful family _secrets_ are best preserved ever thus." The -blood-red spot of pride mantled on her cheek, and flashed from her eye. -He was speechless a moment; but what various passions passed over that -face then, all settled in one--utter contempt. These two persons were -the offspring of pride; but his proud spirit was the legitimate creation -of a noble mind, unjustly spurned and contemned; hers, that foul-named -thing whose father disowns it, whose mother blushes in shame as she -looks upon it. Tremenhere rose in all his soul's dignity, and stood -before her; her glance could not cross his--it shrunk, the unreal before -the real. - -"Lady Dora," he said, in his deep emphatic voice, "I have yet to learn -in how much I, the _legitimate_ son of Tremenhere of the manor, am -beneath Miss Dalzell of Gatestone, or those whom she calls kindred. -True, she is now but an artist's wife; but that artist will make his -name one to be respected by all;--he is working for a great end and -purpose. Rely upon it, till that purpose be accomplished, his wife, the -solace of all his best, happiest hours, will only keep her smiles to -cheer his home, and support him in many trials; she will not, either -from choice or necessity, lavish them on a cold, heartless society. -_There_, his path of toil and bitterness, full often, shall be alone. As -a flawless gem Minnie is to me; she needs no costly setting to prove her -worth. It is not in a world like yours--like mine--she shall be named, -to have one breath of slander dim her brightness now; but as surely as -you and I stand face to face this day, so surely shall the day of her -triumph come, and emanating from behind the cloud which now makes me so -deep a shadow over your path." His face worked with the energy of his -soul's anguish, at the thought even of his pure Minnie being dragged -forth a target for the world's scorn, and for his sake, who would gladly -shed his life's blood to save her one pang. He felt choking at the -thought. - -"So," he continued, with bitter irony, "you would have me as a tame lion -in a cage, to caress through the bars in all security; but the moment it -should dare dream of liberty, and, bursting its bonds, stand among you -free, for every arm to be raised against it--every hand to hold a weapon -to drive it back to slavery! I, Lady Dora, will be none such. I am proud -as yourself--proud of my name, _even as it is_; and I will yet make it -sound, with Fame's trumpet to herald it, unless the powers of hell -combine against me, and _then_ I will show Minnie to the world--not -before!" - -"Pardon me," she cried, looking very pale--her better genius had -triumphed; "pray, pardon me, Mr. Tremenhere; I did not mean to pain -you--I----" she was almost in tears. - -"Lady Dora," he sternly said, "you and I understand each other. You have -a noble heart; let not the blighting world profane it with its heartless -wisdom. _Your_ pride is the upas poison, withering all it touches: -_mine_ is spirit's right, riding on the winds which shall blast my -enemies, and uproot them like trees in a whirlwind,--'tis the pride of -love, too, which forbids my breathing the name of my beloved Minnie any -where, until I can proclaim her with a voice no one can still, as -Tremenhere's wife should be proclaimed! Rest satisfied," he -contemptuously added; "your pride will not be shaken from its pedestal -by the artist's wife!" He turned coldly away. - -"Mr. Tremenhere--Miles Tremenhere!" she whispered anxiously, half -rising; but he passed forward without hesitating, and joined the group -at the fire. - -"I saw you here discussing something with Lady Dora," cried the fair -hostess; "was it music, painting, or--not love, I hope? 'Tis a subject -best left unargued upon; it always reminds me of a game called 'cat's -cradle,' which I played when a child with a cousin of my own, and -through the loops of which, the fingers passed (for fingers, read -arguments and reasonings, Mr. Tremenhere,) until at last he was certain -to produce so incomprehensible a weaving of cord, that I could never -unloose it, and I was fain to sit down conquered. Don't play at 'cat's -cradle' with Lady Dora." - -"Your ladyship need be under no apprehension for the result, were I to -attempt it. Lady Dora's cleverness would undo any skein of mine." - -"I don't know that. Lady Dora, my dear; where is she? She has left the -room.----" - -'Twas true; but she returned shortly with her mother, who received Miles -with perfect good breeding as a mere acquaintance, which position he -accepted, nor desired more. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - -This same evening two persons sat after dinner sipping their wine, in a -hotel at the West End: these were Marmaduke Burton and Dalby. We must -here introduce the latter as a totally different man to what we have -seen him in Yorkshire; he was one of those who possess a serpent -facility of slipping their skin, only that _he_ performed the operation -more than annually, and at will. He had crept into good society in town; -there, where an honest, upright lawyer could not have met the views of -his clients. Perhaps we are saying too much for some cases, for there -were many men of the highest principle who employed Dalby; he was a very -useful man, and being anxious to quit the country shortly, and practise -in town, he lost no opportunity of increasing his connection. Here he -was a perfectly different being; much of the formality of manner, -necessary in the country, where levity might not have suited the -homelier ideas of those seeking his aid, was thrown aside completely. He -knew all the lessees, managers, English and foreign, of all the -theatres, all the artists' studios, the actresses, models--all were -familiar to him. Did Mr. ---- want some fair one hastily summoned from -Paris, to appear unexpectedly on the boards of his theatre, and take -the town by surprise, Dalby was off, with just a carpet-bag, to France, -and before any one imagined it possible, he had returned with the fair -one, as in nine cases out of ten he succeeded. There was a bustling -manner about him, yet not disagreeable when he pleased, which carried -much before him. He took things for granted, and often left no room for -a person to say "No." Had he entreated, it might have been otherwise; -but he said--"Oh! you must do it, you know, my dear--it will be the -making of you;" and thus many a good engagement was relinquished for an -indifferent one, by some inexperienced, and often established actress, -because it suited Dalby's policy to oblige his employer. He cared for no -one but himself. Then he had a habit of loitering near the doors of -theatres, and many a lady, distressed by the non-appearance of her -carriage, was politely addressed by Dalby. More than once he had -unceremoniously, in such a case, appropriated a bachelor friend's -brougham, and, offering it as his own, received ten thousand thanks from -some fussy dowager on a wet evening, and a cordial invitation to her -house. A half-crown to the groom, and a--"If asked whose brougham it is, -say Mr. Dalby's," made him perfectly tranquil; to the real owner he -would say, (be it remembered, he always took care to select some man of -Lord Randolph's mould--a quiet, easygoing person--for his instrument to -be played upon,) "My dear fellow, a very particular client of mine, rich -as Croesus, missed her carriage, I have lent yours for ten -minutes--you don't mind?" - -"Oh! not in the least; let's stand here, and watch the girls get into -the carriages. By Jove! there's a pretty one, who can she be? Is it Lady -This? or Miss That?" etc., etc., etc. - -We give the reader a skeleton sketch of most conversations of the kind, -just to show how Dalby had got on so well; and, by means such as these, -he was factotum to half the needy of those kind of slaves in town, so no -wonder he resolved to relinquish quiet country practice. - -"Don't I tell you," said Burton, continuing a conversation, "that I had -no idea the fellow was coming. Gray made his acquaintance in Florence, -but I never imagined it would be continued in town; the fellow is making -his way every where--curse him!" and he ground his teeth bitterly. - -"We'll clip his wings," answered Dalby; "but it must be done through -her--she is his guiding star in all. If he lost her--well; he would soon -disappear from our path." - -"I hate that man, Dalby, yet I would not seriously injure him; but why -he, an artist, cannot return to Italy, seems astonishing to me--'tis his -proper field." - -"There are too many there; moreover, he has some scheme in hand I cannot -fathom. I discovered Mary Burns. She is residing in a very humble -cottage near Kentish Town; part of the house she lets furnished, and -ekes out an existence for herself and blind mother, by morning lessons -as governess. _He_ has established her thus." - -"And does--does"--he couldn't say Mrs. Tremenhere. "Does his wife ever -call there?" - -"I think so. I looked in at an hour when Mary was absent, having -ascertained when this was the case. I called as a stranger about lessons -for my daughter, and saw the old mother; but she is deaf, blind, and -half childish. She gave me little information. All she said was, 'Kind -friends--old friends, very kind; so Mary says.' I rely more on what I -elicited, guardedly, from the servant. I think more may be done there. -The girl has a downcast look and a fixed smile, which betoken one to be -perhaps bought. Some of these blind fools to their interest, are -faithful to their employers--what business has the hireling to look to -any thing but money?" - -"True--but don't trust her too soon." - -"No, nor by myself. I will set another to work, who knows only what I -tell him--one of the red waistcoat messengers. Tell him a woman's in the -case, and he will be alert and faithful. This girl said, a sweet fair -lady and tall gentleman called sometimes--these must be _the man_ and -his wife." - -"Well, I leave it in your hands. Fancy my being obliged to leave -Uplands! Fortunately, Gray, who is the most harum-scarum host in the -world, let the name escape only the day he was expected. Of course, I -could not stay and meet him; I told him we had had some discussion, and -that the contact would be unpleasant to both. The fellow has _nouse_ -enough to keep a still tongue. No one seems acquainted with former -facts; he is only known as a rising artist, of good family, they -think;--well, so he is on one side. I hinted no relationship, and begged -Gray to insinuate _from himself_, to the dozen assembled there, that we -had been on unfriendly terms, and thus prevent my name being mentioned." - -"Oh! that was best; it may be as well he should hear little of you, if -he could be persuaded somehow to take her there. Lady Dora might arrange -that, if she so pleased----" - -"My dear fellow, the oddest thing is, no one knows he is married! Lady -Ripley drew me aside, and asked as a personal favour, that I would say -nothing about the scandalous marriage of her niece--this before his -coming was known; how they got on, all of them, I know not." - -"Whew!" ejaculated Dalby, as if a thought struck him; "a bachelor, eh! -Then what do they suppose _her_ to be?" - -"Her existence is unknown to his mere acquaintances, for I sifted Gray; -he is like a sieve of wheat. I got all the corn, and threw the dust in -his own eyes. My amount of information is this--This Miles is a capital -fellow, not caring for any woman, else he were dangerous let loose -amongst them; so deucedly good-looking, even Lady Dora might notice -that; up to any thing--the best shot, horseman--all; so he's always -welcome at Uplands--every fellow likes him." - -"That is," said Burton, "as every man _likes_ the best shot, etc., who -cuts him out in all ways. So with these qualities, and the friends they -create for a man, get to work, Dalby, and let's hunt this impostor out -of the country." - -"We'll see," said the other, rubbing his hands. "I have an idea--crude, -'tis true; give me time. As your professional friend, I deem myself -called upon to meet your natural wishes, and get rid of a nuisance. Poor -fellow! we will award him Italy; why couldn't he go there?" and he -laughed contemptuously. - -These were the creatures Sylvia and Juvenal had selected for their -niece! Poor Minnie! no wonder she ran away. Reader, did you ever feel a -desire to be an atrocious villain for five minutes? To have all the -sentiments, ideas, schemes, and infamies, engendered in the minds of -such? Think how many thousand thoughts they have to which we are total -strangers! What a peep into another world it would be--a world of -novelties! Every spectre fancy, a mental Ethiop! - -We must not make Dalby so black as Burton; the one looked upon the -matter thus:--"Burton is my client; in my heart I believe Tremenhere -legitimate; but we have no proof--'tis not for me to seek for it. In my -client's interest I must try and get this fellow out of the country -quietly; it can best be done by means of his wife--make him jealous, and -he will carry her off to the antipodes. How may this be accomplished? I -must devise some plan;" but in thus coldly calculating, he never once -considered, that in raising a cause of jealousy in a man's mind, you -destroy his happiness--you brush the bloom from the peach, and it -quickly fades. A jealous man desecrates every thing by his suspicions; -turning the mysterious and beautiful vapour around her he loves, to mist -and gloom. Is she sad?--she is regretting some one; gay?--some secret -cause for joy exists; thoughtful?--'tis of another. He feels, in short, -like a man tied to a galvanized corpse; the form is there--the spirit -fled. - -Burton's motives were different to the others. He had a darker aim in -view; he had to be revenged on both--how? he cared little, so he -accomplished it. He well knew that Miles had suffered deepest wrong at -his hands, but who had the proof? not himself even. He had destroyed -every trace which might lead to it; he had been resolved not to seek it, -thus to be enabled to say to his accusing spirit, "'Tis false, I do not -_know_ it." How many like Burton trample awhile on conscience! - -We have shown the position of Mary Burns. When Minnie had been a short -time in town, she implored Miles to let her visit this poor girl; his -natural goodness of heart had been a little warped by the world. He had -become stern from the galling chain it threw around him, in the fault it -accused his mother of; he judged woman harshly;--this, even now, made -him frequently wish that Minnie had become his otherwise than by an -elopement. At first, he peremptorily refused to permit her to go there. -Minnie, in her soul's purity, looked amazed. "Why not?" she asked. - -"Why?--why? oh, because it is not a fitting place for you to go to," was -the reply. - -"Why not, dear Miles?" - -"Minnie, though you acted like an angel in visiting this poor girl in -the country, and supporting her in her sorrow, by leading her aright; -yet you must not forget that she has turned from the straight -road--though you may pity, you must not associate with her." - -She looked down silently some moments, then raising her full eyes to his -face said, laying one fair hand on his shoulder, "Miles, dear, don't you -believe Mary Burns to be a truly penitent woman?" - -"Most truly and sincerely so." - -"My dearest husband does not need me to recall to his mind our highest -example of pardoning in a like case, I am sure? Do not be worldly and -severe, my own love; think well, and from your own good heart, where -would unhappy woman be if every door and heart closed against her?" - -"My Minnie, my child, you are an angel!" he cried, clasping her to his -bosom. "What should I be without you?--a cold, worldly wretch like those -I associate with. I feared, darling, lest the censorious, ever hearing -of it, should class your imprudence in flying with me with her deeper -error. Forgive me, dearest, we will go and visit poor Mary; it will -cheer her." - -Our readers will see how the remembrance of his wife's fault ever -haunted him; 'tis true, even in his fondest moments it would steal like -a spectre across his mind. His adoration of her made this regret the -more intense, and weakened the entire confidence he otherwise would have -felt in her prudence--a thought beyond, never entered his imagination: -but, strange though it be, such is man, naturally a _little_ -self-conceited, and yet with all that, he cannot conceive that a woman -may do for one from affection, what not all the world beside might win -her to do for another! No, they cannot make this distinction; and thus -Miles fancied Minnie too gentle, too little self-confident, to be -perfectly relied upon, as he would have done on such a one as Lady Dora, -or Minnie herself, had she suffered all sooner than have fled with him. - -He was scarcely just; but this feeling was involuntary on his part, and, -though happily unknown to her, was the thorn which rankled in his flesh. -Together they visited Mary's neat little cottage, where a quiet, -peaceful hope seemed to dwell; a faint blush rose to her pale cheek as -they entered. She had been then living some few months respected by all, -her fault unknown, and the meeting with Miles and his wife seemed like a -momentary re-union with her error, and she blushed with shame and -disgust towards herself. She had not forgotten her fault, nor the -repentance due to it, but she had learned self-respect, and their -presence for an instant degraded her again; but all was softened to -peace in the kindness of both, and the deep interest evinced in her -prosperity. - -The first painful feeling passed, the interview was one of pleasure to -all. Minnie had, even as a girl herself, upheld this sinking one; Miles -had rescued her from shame, and placed her in comfort; and, as the girl -looked from one to the other, her eyes swam in grateful tears. A lady -and gentleman had been residing with her, and would return again -shortly, meanwhile she hoped to let her rooms to others; then she had -several pupils she visited at their own homes, and her poor dear mother -had now every comfort. These words she could scarcely utter for her -swelling tears of gratitude. With light hearts Tremenhere and Minnie -quitted, promising to return soon. As they turned away he grasped his -little wife's hand and said, "Thank you, dearest, for the happiness of -to-day; when can I ever pay you my debt for all, my Minnie?" - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - -This chapter of digression was necessary, to show our readers the exact -position of all our various personages. We will now return to Miles at -Uplands; only, however, to state, that after another day passed there, -in necessary arrangements with the lordly master, he returned to town, -to the great dissatisfaction of this latter and Lady Lysson, with whom -he was a great favourite; but, beyond necessity, he never now associated -with those where Minnie was a stranger. He avoided the slightest -collision with Lady Dora, whose pride once more rose in the ascendant, -as she beheld his evident avoidance of her. He was strictly polite; but -no mortal could, from the manner of either, have imagined that they had -_nearly_ loved once, or that still Lady Dora remembered that feeling, -though in anger towards her own weakness--still less could the world -have supposed that he had married her favourite cousin--almost sister! -These are the secrets of life, hidden from a prying world, and festering -often from their bitterness in one's own heart. - -He left Uplands, and was once more beside his loving wife, whose every -thought had been his in absence. She was the model of what a wife -should be, when left alone. She did not, like too many, cry, "I am free -awhile; what shall I do, that I cannot when he is here?" Her thought -was, "What shall I do to please Miles when he returns--how surprise -him?" and the busy anxious heart sought through all its recesses to find -one, if possible, where a warmer thought might be hidden, than any he -had yet known, to welcome him with on his return. - -Men of intrigue have emissaries every where; they are never above a -little familiarity with servants of every description. These are their -best friends; for the ones money cannot purchase, may always be bought -by affability and kindness, and this without compromising one's self. -Dalby seldom was guilty of so unwary an act as this, except in extreme -cases. He found out all he wished to know adroitly; even the _purchased_ -were unaware they were selling secrets. It was through some channel of -this sort he discovered how soon Tremenhere left Uplands, and the same -day at dinner he was there. - -Lady Lysson did not like the man, but her nephew assured her he was a -capital fellow; above all, extremely useful; so she received him, and -attributed her personal antipathy to some flaw in her organ for -comprehending exactly what a capital fellow should be. Lady Dora and her -mother were beyond measure vexed. This former was hourly receiving -warnings enough, in an indirect way, to cure her of her false pride, -only they had not the effect of doing so; she did not yet see her fault. -To make a confidant of this man, neither dreamed of; and they came down -to dinner with the pleasant anticipation of hearing a dozen persons -wondering about Tremenhere's marriage, and of hearing all particulars -discussed and commented upon. They had decided upon braving the storm by -quietly disclaiming any acquaintanceship with his wife; and on that very -morning Lady Dora, under a better feeling than of late, had been asking -her mother to allow her to visit poor Minnie, when they returned to -town, but ineffectually. "We are forced to meet the _man_ occasionally," -said Lady Ripley, coldly, "but visiting one who has so disgraced her -family, is quite another thing!" - -Great was their surprise when Dalby bowed most respectfully, but -distantly to them, merely inquiring about their health. Still greater -was it, when, Lady Lysson speaking with regret of Tremenhere's absence, -the politic Dalby alluded to him as scarcely one with whose name he was -acquainted! They both mentally thanked him, and dinner passed off -delightfully. - -Lady Dora was not the affianced bride of Lord Randolph--true, he wished -her to be his--so did Lady Lysson--so did Lady Ripley; but three -affirmatives in this case, were conquered by one negative. Lady Dora -said, when he proposed to her, "We do not know one another sufficiently -yet;" and he was quite content to wait. Her beauty, position--all made -him desire to make her his wife; but in truth she was not a person to -inspire mad love in any one, except indeed, her despotic pride could -bend, and the woman be all woman; but as it was he took it very -calmly--she would be his some day, he presumed. But his love was not -that St. Vitus' genus which makes a man ever restless--hot and cold all -over, if another does but look at your love; or, like that deep-seated -affection which bound Lady Lysson at sixteen to her "cat's cradle" -cousin; and though a young lovely widow at twenty, deaf to every second -offer, not seeing the _possibility_ of calling another--husband. Neither -of these loves swayed Lord Randolph; it was a connubial and -well-disposed affection, which pulls its Templar nightcap well over its -ears, and falls asleep, perfectly assured of awaking as soon as ever it -shall be called upon to do so. - -The cloth is gone--the ladies are gone, and the gentlemen sit alone--a -cosey half-dozen. - -"So," said Dalby, at last, "I find Tremenhere, the artist, has been -here; did he make a long stay?" - -"No," answered somebody, "only a day; we were sorry he quitted so soon. -What a deuced pleasant, intelligent fellow he is!" - -"I think him very _hawnsome_," drawled a greyish-looking youth, like a -raw March morning. - -"By jingo, yes!" chimed a third; "if I were a woman, he is just the man -I'd fall over head and ears in love with." - -"Now, I don't think that," said the raw one, "he's too cold; and I don't -quite like his long moustache." - -"Well," retracted the second speaker, "perhaps I said too much; he -certainly is well-looking, but he wants style; and somehow the ladies -don't seem to admire him--they are the best judges." - -"I tell you what," exclaimed Lord Randolph; "I think him one of the -most distinguished-looking fellows I ever saw, and, were I in the -service, would give half my pay for his moustache; why, 'tis the most -perfect raven's wing I ever saw, and silky like his hair. My only -surprise is, that one has never heard of any love affair of his; and -here, as in Florence, he always moves in the best society." - -"Who is he?" asked an elderly epicure, waking up from a dream "in -memoriam" of the exquisite dinner his host had set before them. - -"Oh! a--nobody, I believe," answered some one. "A decent family, I have -heard, in the country; but then he is very unpresuming--that's one -thing." - -"Faith!" answered Lord Randolph, "he was sought after, courted, by every -one in Florence; but the fellow seemed to me to dislike society, like -one absorbed either by his art, or some secret preying thoughts." - -"Perhaps he was a _government spy_," drawled the one before alluded to. - -All this while Dalby had sat listening and smiling to himself; just what -he wanted. Lord Randolph at last noticed this, and exclaimed, -"Dalby--you who know every thing, I bet my life, know more than any of -us about Tremenhere." - -"How should I?" he answered evasively, to excite more curiosity on his -host's part. "By the way, has he finished your 'Aurora' yet?" He wished -them to think he was anxious to turn the subject. - -"No," replied Lord Randolph. "He says he cannot meet with a face to -please him for the goddess." - -"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Dalby, as if involuntarily. "That's too good a -joke!" - -"By Jove! you know something more than you tell us, Dalby. Come, man, -have it out; make a clean breast of it." - -"Pshaw, I know nothing! I only laughed at the idea of not finding a -lovely Aurorean face, even in London." - -"Come, that won't do," cried two or three; "you _do_ know -something--let's have it." - -Dalby thought a moment. To tell all these men would not do; he had -gained his point, in exciting Lord Randolph's curiosity. His very -hesitation said more than words. Finding himself rigorously attacked, he -affected to have done this to raise a storm of curiosity in their minds; -and, in the midst of their clamour, he quickly turned his eye on his -host, and, giving him a peculiar look of intelligence, said, "I assure -you, I know only this, that were I an engaged man, I should very much -hesitate in trusting my 'ladye-love' so near so fascinating a man." - -Lord Randolph gave a start; even little used as he was to solve enigmas, -he saw something was meant, and the look convinced him, for himself -alone. By a little _finesse_ he silenced the clamorous, and turned their -thoughts into another channel, and thus the after dinner passed. - -"Come, now," said Lord Randolph, as he and Dalby sat together in the -former's dressing-room, smoking a cigar, after every one else had -retired for the night, "tell me what you meant after dinner, about -Tremenhere. I confess that man, at home and abroad, has sorely puzzled -me." - -Dalby had well digested his plans, to obtain the concurrence in them -which he eventually hoped for from the other, it was necessary that he -should excite a feeling of pique against Miles; thus he went to his -worthy work, first having bound his listener to solemn secresy, on the -plea of personal interest in himself, making him guilty of an -unprofessional want of silence and caution; this obtained, he -began--"You know, perhaps, that Tremenhere is illegitimate?" - -"Not I--how the deuce should I?" - -"Well, then, he is. I should be unnecessarily exposing many painful -family secrets, to tell you what family he lays claim to kindred with; I -merely come to facts, which are true. He has been residing abroad some -years--by the way," he seemed as if suddenly enlightened by a thought, -though every word had been pre-conceived, "did he not meet Lady Dora -Vaughan in Florence?" - -"Yes; when I too met him," answered the other, not a little amazed at -this turn. - -"That, then, accounts for much." - -"What _can_ you mean, Dalby--pray, be quick?" actually Lord Randolph's -heart gave a little quiet jump. - -"Well then, in a few words, Lady Dora was recently in Yorkshire, and -there too Tremenhere was." - -"This has never been alluded to in my presence," said the listener, -uncomfortably. - -"Nor to one another, _perhaps_," emphasized Dalby. "I think there is a -coolness between them _now_." - -"By Jove! I said as much to Lady Dora, and she denied it rather angrily -and haughtily." - -The other smiled. "It was not so in Yorkshire. Her ladyship was as usual -kind, affable, and condescending, and this Tremenhere (mind I am -speaking my mind in all candour to your lordship) mistook it, I fear, -and acting thereupon, from what transpired, was rather presuming." - -"How? in what manner?" asked Lord Randolph with _hauteur_. "And how did -this occur? were they domiciled in one house?" - -"No, this made the matter more audacious, he had been driven from this -house, and used to enter surreptitiously through the grounds, and -intrude upon Lady Dora's privacy." - -"By George!" cried Lord Randolph, passing his hand through his hair, -(like a bird trying to smooth its ruffled feathers,) as if it stood on -end with horrified pride; "this comes of mixing in general society, as -they do abroad. I set my face against it then, but Lady Lysson liked it, -so I gave in; people should keep in their own class." - -"There certainly are some confoundedly presuming persons," chimed in -Dalby, not at all offended at what might have touched his sensitiveness, -had he possessed such a thing; but he was, grammatically speaking, "an -impersonal," taking nothing to himself. He made a pause here, wishing -the other to commence the next facet in the diamond he was cutting, -reserving to his own skill to polish each, according to the light -required for his scheme; it would be a precious gem worth setting when -he had completed it. - -"Lady Ripley and her daughter were staying at the former's brother's, -were they not? I have heard them speak of a homely Yorkshire family of -relatives, not known beyond their own grounds." - -"The same," answered Dalby, well pleased at the other's ignorance of the -Formby family--it furthered his plans. - -"And how did terminate?" - -"Oh! of course, as you may imagine; Tremenhere was expelled in a summary -manner, as her ladyship complained of the annoyance, and now I come to -the pith of my tale." Lord Randolph blew forth a long puff of smoke, and -drew nearer the fire; he was positively excited. "Remember," said the -other in a whisper, "I have your lordship's word that this shall be a -profound secret between us, happen what may." - -"I pledge you my sacred honour." - -"I will not mention names, but facts; this Tremenhere, under a quiet -exterior, is a libertine,--one who knows no such thing as honour by -practice, though it is a favourite theme of his. Enraged, I presume, by -Lady Dora's just repulsion of his impertinence, he carried off a most -lovely girl from the neighbourhood, to the distraction of her family, -and this girl is now residing with him near Chiswick." - -"By heavens!" exclaimed the other, "how one may be deceived! Had this -girl no brother?" - -"None; those kind of men know where they can in security work their -villanies, and when this man complained to you that he could meet with -no face worthy of his Aurora, I involuntarily thought of this girl, for -she is the perfection of beauty in fairness." - -"You know her?" - -"I have seen her often; pardon my concealing her name, for the sake of -her family." - -"Egad, Dalby, I should like to see this girl! I worship beauty; the -fellow deserves it at my hands for his impertinence to Lady Dora." - -Dalby had exactly cut his diamond as he had desired to do. "Should you?" -he said thoughtfully; "I will think how it may be done, but he is -deucedly jealous often." - -"Are they married?" asked Lord Randolph. - -"I have _heard_ so, but we hear many things which are untrue." It would -not have done to have said, Yes--for, though a fool, Lord Randolph was -not devoid of principle. - -"He is too jealous, at all events," continued the other, "to make her -'An Aurora' for others to gaze upon." - -"Is she then so beautiful?" asked his host eagerly. - -"I tell you this, my lord," was the emphatic reply. "I have seen much -beauty, many portraits--I cannot in honest truth except _even_ Lady -Dora--I never saw _any one_ to equal Mrs. Tremenhere, as they call her." - -"_By_ George!" exclaimed his lordship, throwing his cigar in the -fire--the words and action, spoke volumes of emotion, for him. - -Dalby saw his scheme had taken root; curiosity leads to more real -mischief than many another actual vice--he rose. - -"Don't go yet; here, smoke another cigar before you go: it is early--not -twelve." - -"My dear lord, I was up early; we hard-working men are unused to these -late hours of luxury. I am dead beat to-night," and he yawned -convulsively, for no sleep was near his brain; it was waking, and -watching every thing. He had done enough for one night; he would leave -his lordship food for reflection. He had several aims in view--to -revenge himself on Minnie, was one; but to serve Marmaduke, by driving -Tremenhere out of England, was the principal object, thus securing a -safe friend and patron to himself. This too, he did, with Lord Randolph, -who saw nothing of the wickedness of the plot or plotters. He was ready -to run into any mischief, for no particular motive, only from sheer -idleness; and he was in good hands to lead him astray. With Tremenhere, -he felt quite indignant; and firmly resolved, as soon as practicable, to -cut the fellow. He had ordered this "Aurora;" so he must take it. -Meanwhile, he would be very cool when they met, and let him comprehend -that any attention he had received had been condescension, not -equality. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - - -Two days after these events, the lady portion of visiters quitted -Uplands--some went one way, some another. Lady Lysson's chaperonage was -over, so she, too, quitted her bachelor nephew's, and left him to his -male companions, dogs and horses, for a while longer. Dalby remained, -and a worse than himself returned--Marmaduke Burton; worse too, that he -was more on an equality with their host than Dalby. He could work -openly; yet, too, the coward trembled lest Tremenhere should ever -discover his share in the nefarious plot--which plot we shall now permit -to work itself out, without further explanation. - -Lady Dora's better genius triumphed when she quitted Uplands. Something -remained painfully on her mind after her conversation with Miles. His -indignant pride debased her to her true littleness of conduct, and the -really good-nature, had it not been biased by a worldly mother, -triumphed; and one day her quiet, well-appointed brougham, which she -chose in preference to their britscha, as being less ostentatious, and -in better taste for her expedition, drove up to Tremenhere's pretty -cottage at Chiswick. Minnie was alone; he had gone to town on business. -She, all affection and forgiveness, had a singular memory in these times -of heartlessness and calculation; she always forgot the bad, and held a -bright sunny spot for the good deeds of all. In an instant she was in -Dora's arms, her own round the other's neck, and her bright face, -dimpling like a child's, and as innocent, held upwards for the kiss of -peace. - -"Dear, dear, Dora!" she cried, while on the setting of fringe which we -have spoken of round her soft eyes, hung gems of tears, like May morning -dew on hawthorn, "I knew you would come some day and see me." Here the -joyous tears burst forth. "And Miles thinks so too, I know; for, -whenever he returns, he always asks has any one called? well knowing no -one would so, unless it were you; and when I say, 'No one, dear,' he -takes me to his arms, and says, embracing me, 'Never mind, Minnie, I -always come back to you--never mind the world, dear child!' Oh! he is -_so_ kind, dearest Dora!" exclaimed the loving wife, "and I am so _very_ -happy!" - -"Long may it last, dear Minnie," said her cousin, as she returned the -caress; "I have been very cruel not to come sooner, but--but----" - -"Don't speak of it, dear Dora," cried Minnie, ever anxious to save -another any pain; "I know it was not your fault--my aunt wouldn't let -you; but, now you are here, _do_ stay all day, Miles will return at -five, 'tis scarcely two yet," and she drew her beside her on an ottoman, -and encircled her with her arms. - -"I cannot Minnie, mamma does not know I have come; I shall have to tell -her cautiously, for----" - -"Oh! I know, I know, I've been a very naughty girl, but why did they -lock me up? and why was my uncle going to take me to that odious Miss -Burton's? If he had confided in my honour, I _never_ should have ran -away." - -"Are you sure, Minnie--quite sure? Mr. Tremenhere is very persuasive, I -make no doubt, and handsome too; I think him much improved since his -marriage," she spoke constrainedly. - -"How do you know?" asked her cousin, amazed; "when did you see him--and -where?" - -"Did he not tell you," inquired the other, much confused, "I met him at -Uplands. Oh! I have perhaps done wrong in telling you." A strange -sensation, half triumph, half pleasure, shot through her heart; it was -one of those involuntary promptings of the evil one, which we cannot -always master. "Why," prompted this fiend, "did Tremenhere deceive his -wife? Dares he not trust himself to name me?" - -"Oh! I see it all!" cried that pure-hearted wife; "it is just like my -own dear Miles--he feared to pain me." She was sincere in this thought -_then_. - -"Come, Minnie," cried Lady Dora, hastily rising, "put on your bonnet, we -will have a quiet drive, we can then speak of all; I love a nice chat in -a cosy, half-sleepy, jog-trot pace--my country pace, I call it. Come, we -will go out for half an hour." She wished to break the thread of the -conversation, and have a little time to recover herself. - -"And then you will return with me, and remain?" - -"I don't promise; we shall see." - -The delighted Minnie was soon shawled and bonneted. It was a fine, clear -day, almost frosty; they drove on till they arrived at Kensington -Gardens; Minnie had told all, her flight, how accomplished--of her -happiness she needed not to speak; it breathed in every glance, every -tone, when his name fell from her lips. Dora more than once checked a -sigh--this might have been hers but for her pride; the soul whispered -this, the woman disavowed the thought; yet she had never loved him, or -she would have sacrificed all, and even then have sighed over the -poverty of the all she had to give. To check these thoughts, she drew -the check-string at Kensington Gardens. - -"Let us have a walk, Minnie," she cried suddenly; "the air is -refreshing." - -In an instant they were side by side, walking at a brisk pace through -the walks. Lady Dora turned off towards the Palace, to avoid any -rencontres. We often turn to avoid meeting something which is following -us. - -By chance, it so happened that Lord Randolph was riding down the road; -he recognized Lady Dora's brougham, inquired, and in less than five -minutes overtook her and her companion. What was to be done? Lady Dora -was scarlet; nothing could more have annoyed her than this. Introduce -her cousin she could not, as Mrs. Tremenhere; it would betray all. Had -she had time to think, it would have been infinitely better to have said -nothing than what she said. Pressing Minnie's arm, who, poor child, -thought all Dora did must be right, she said, "Miss Dalzell, Lord -Randolph Gray." Nevertheless, Minnie did start, and visibly; then a deep -flush rose, and added still more to her extreme beauty. He was perfectly -paralyzed. In overtaking Lady Dora, he expected in her companion to see -some familiar face. Here he met a person whose name even was unknown to -him; her confusion did not escape him either. Had they met before? Was -she an humble companion? But, no: he assuredly must have then seen her -before. And, to confirm him in the certainty of this not being the case, -this fair girl called the proud daughter of Lady Ripley "Dora," and -"dear Dora." She stood far below this latter in stature, though above -middle height; but there was a fairy grace, lightness, and exquisite -beauty about her, even his far-travelled eye had never before seen -equalled; and when she smiled, or laughed with her light, joyous, -modulated laugh, the face lit up so strangely bright, that she looked -like some inspired spirit. - -When a man or woman tries to be pleasant, he or she generally, not -_always_, is constrained, and seen to disadvantage. What with her -beauty, the surprise of the meeting, and curiosity about her, Lord -Randolph, never too brilliant, became downright enigmatical in speech, -which, together with her embarrassment, so annoyed Lady Dora, that, -hastily turning, she said-- - -"It is later than I imagined; let us return." - -"Return!" thought he; "but whither? I would give worlds to know. Oh! I -shall find out; doubtless she will often accompany Lady Dora; 'tis some -young friend, not 'out' yet. Shall I escort you?" he asked, after -handing them to the brougham. - -"'Tis useless--I thank you," answered Lady Dora, coldly; "we have a call -to make." He bowed, and they drove off. He sat round on his horse, -watching them out of sight; politeness forbade his following. It was an -immense relief to his half-affianced wife when they drove off; every -instant she had dreaded to hear Minnie talk of Miles: he was ever on her -lip. But though much pained and astonished at first at the untruth Dora -had told; afterwards, though still reprehending it, she felt assured her -cousin had done it for some good motive, so she held her tongue about -her husband. Miss Dalzell could not acknowledge one. - -"I thought it better to say you were a Miss Dalzell," said Lady Dora; -"men are so inquisitive. Who would have dreamed of meeting Lord Randolph -in Kensington Gardens? It was a fatality; I thought him still at -Uplands." - -"He said he was only in town for a day," suggested her cousin. - -"So much the better; he will forget all about you, and no one will know -you by that name, unless indeed----" She paused, looking greatly -annoyed, as Dalby and Marmaduke Burton crossed her mind. Minnie -questioned her; but turning the subject, they conversed about something -else until they reached home. Lady Dora had taken the precaution of -ascertaining whether they were followed. Minnie could not prevail upon -her to remain; she left her compliments for Tremenhere, and promised her -delighted cousin to return again soon. Lord Randolph had been found on -that road not without motive; he was going to Tremenhere's cottage on an -excuse, intending to see the reputed beauty, if possible. After the -meeting with Minnie, he changed his mind: "I will not go to-day," he -thought; "I shall be disgusted with any woman I could possibly see, -after this beautiful girl. I must find out who she is; she realized all -one's ideas of a fairy." Thus thinking, he turned his horse-homewards. - -When Tremenhere returned to his cottage, he was assailed by a variety of -feelings on hearing the events which had occurred during his absence. Of -Lady Dora's coming, he was pleased; it gratified Minnie, but he would -rather it had been done with her mother's cognizance, and in her -company. There was something galling in this secret visit, but he -forbore to say so to his little wife, she looked so joyous and happy; -not one word of annoyance that her cousin had so long deferred it, not a -harsh thought for even her aunt. All was forgiveness and sunshine in her -sweet face. - -"Verily, Minnie," said her enraptured husband, bending his fine eyes in -fondest love upon her, "you are not fit for this cold world; you must -live on a sunbeam, dearest, and be enwrapped at eve in the gorgeous -clouds fringed with gold, in which the day-god sinks to rest." - -"No, Miles," she answered laughing, her whole bright soul in his face, -robed in smiles and dimples; "_you_ shall be the day-god, rising at peep -of day, higher and higher until you arrive at meridian splendour, and -_then_ I will be the dial to mark your course, and live in your rays." - -"I will accept that position, darling, for then I shall know you only -live by my light. Minnie, Minnie, it would kill me to think any one even -approached your heart, where I must reign alone!" - -"How could that ever be possible?" she said, fondling his hand in both -her own, and then kissing it almost with reverence. - -"Now, tell me all about your drive," he inquired after a pause. Minnie -had reserved this for the last; somehow her woman's unerring wit told -even her unsophisticated nature, that it would pain Miles, and it -grieved her so much to see a cloud on his brow. Even with this -foresight, she was ill prepared for the annoyance which assailed him; he -was most indignant at Lady Dora's introducing Minnie as Miss Dalzell. -"In your position," he cried, "she should have been doubly guarded; -better not have named you at all, and to Lord Randolph Gray, of all -persons, I am sorely perplexed how to act." - -She tried as much as possible to soothe him, but there was a sting in -his heart--a sting of anticipated trouble arising out of this. He knew -Lord Randolph so well, that he felt convinced he would seek every -possible means of discovering who Minnie was: she was not a creature to -be passed in a crowd--her beauty was too rare and remarkable. He thought -at first of seeking him, and confiding the truth to him and his honour -for secresy. Well would it have been had he done so; this would have -shown the affair, when well explained, in a different light to the one -in which the other now viewed it. Had he known Marmaduke Burton and -Dalby were guests at Uplands, he would not have hesitated; but in -ignorance of much, he at last grew calmer under the erroneous idea that -perhaps Lord Randolph would think no more about her; besides, how could -he trace her--how hear any thing of her? And, to crown all, he knew the -other was leaving England on a tour in a month; so he resolved to let -matters take their natural course, and, comforted by Minnie's assurance -that his Lordship had not followed them, he dropped the subject, on her -promising to go out no more with Lady Dora, at present. - -Poor Tremenhere little imagined how much Lord Randolph really thought of -Minnie; that evening he called at Lady Ripley's, and to his surprise was -requested to enter a boudoir solely belonging to Lady Dora, where even -he had seldom been admitted. He found her sitting alone, evidently -awaiting his arrival. - -"Lord Randolph," she said with more cordiality than was usual on her -part, "I have a favour to solicit at your hands." - -"At mine?" he said, gallantly kissing the fair one she extended towards -him. "Thus let me thank the lovely messenger pleading to its companions. -I shall indeed esteem myself happy in obliging you in any way." - -"Thank you. Will you then do so by not naming to my mother, or indeed -any one, our rencounter to-day? I mean so far as regards Miss----" - -"Miss Dalzell?" he interrupted her in increased surprise. - -"I see you have a retentive memory," she answered, with slight -annoyance. She had hesitated at the name, hoping he might have forgotten -it. "The fact is, for the present, I do not wish even my mother to know -that I have seen Miss Dalzell." - -"Is the fair lady some fairy, destined to take the whole world by -surprise, in an unexpected, unannounced _debut_ shortly?" he asked. - -"Decidedly not," she replied, vexed at the evident interest he -displayed; not from jealousy of the man, but fear, lest this interest -might lead to research. "Miss Dalzell," she continued, "will be shortly -leaving town for the Continent with her--friends." - -"Indeed! 'tis a pity; she would have been a constellation of the highest -order in our spherical circle, where so few beauties are seen, next -season." - -"She seems to have captivated you, Lord Randolph." - -"Captivated! no, my heart is not free," and he bowed conventionally to -the fair speaker; "but I thought her of rare beauty. By Heavens!" he -exclaimed, as a sudden idea struck him, "that dilatory fellow, -Tremenhere, complains that he cannot meet with a model for his -'Aurora'--I wish he could see Miss Dalzell! I wonder whether she would -sit to him? Pray, ask her, dear Lady Dora: does she live in town? I'll -speak to Tremenhere about it." He was forgetting every thing she had -been asking him. Lady Dora felt dreadfully embarrassed--her colour -rose. - -"Pray," she cried, "my lord, do not do a thing which would pain and -annoy me excessively. I have requested you to forget all about Miss -Dalzell, and you talk of her sitting for some foolish picture, and of -all men on earth to Mr. Tremenhere." - -Her last words awoke other thoughts in his mind. "I am very forgetful," -he answered. "Rest assured, Lady Dora, no one shall hear her name or the -meeting from me; but may I in return ask, why less to Mr. Tremenhere -than any other person?" - -"Oh!" she answered, evasively, "artists will dare any thing for a face -which exactly meets their wants and wishes. I _particularly_ desire all -which passed to-day, forgotten by you." - -"You shall be obeyed." - -"Some day possibly, you may know all; 'tis now a most painful mystery." - -"You may rely upon me," he replied. "And now, may I ask, as one _much_ -interested in you, Lady Dora, have you not recently met Mr. Tremenhere -in the country? I do not mean at Uplands--in Yorkshire?" - -In an instant her face became extremely pale, even to the lips, which -quivered; then indignant pride at his questioning drove back the blood -in flushing bounds. "Pardon me, my lord, I do not see the right you have -to question. I was in Yorkshire with my mother." - -"I too crave pardon," he replied, "for presuming too much on hopes for -the future. I see you did meet him; the rest is no stranger to my -knowledge--I am satisfied." - -There was a calm dignity about him which she had never before seen. She -would have given worlds to know what he alluded to--what he had heard. -But she durst not do so, even _her_ pride scarcely restrained her from -questioning; her mind was in a complete maze of fears. What could he -mean? Individually, his opinion was of not the slightest importance to -her, but, as transmitted perhaps by him to the world, it was altogether -different; yet what could she say? Already she felt humbled at having -been forced to ask so great a favour as silence from him; what was still -more remarkable in this interview was, that he made no attempt whatever, -beyond the most commonplace gallantry, to hint at his own suit, he -seemed absorbed in other thoughts, and these were occasioned by her -painful confusion at the mention of Tremenhere's name; and a bitter -feeling in consequence arose in his mind against him, for his supposed -impertinent presumption. There was a silence of a few minutes, broken at -last by her coldly saying, "I believe we may now abridge this meeting, -Lord Randolph--I have your promise of silence. You proposed visiting my -mother, I think? Allow me to have you announced. I will rejoin you in -the drawing-room shortly." So saying, she rang the bell. - -"You may rely upon my discretion," he said, partially recovering -himself. "And we will leave all to old Time, he unravels wonders and -mysteries; you will not deprive me a long time of the pleasure of your -society?" - -She merely bowed, and smiled constrainedly as the servant followed him -to the drawing-room, and announced him to Lady Ripley, who little -imagined all the events of that day. - -Man is a changeable, versatile animal, ever forgetful of the old for the -new, more perfectly comprehending the fable of "sour grapes," than any -other. - -"I dare say," said Lord Randolph to himself next day, "that this very -mysterious Miss Dalzell would not have proved half so pretty on second -sight; there must be something strange about her, or why this mystery? -There are days our eyes create beauty every where--yesterday was -doubtless one of these; were she really so lovely, and a friend of Lady -Dora's, some one must have seen and spoken of her, whereas I never heard -the name even in my life until yesterday. That fellow Tremenhere," he -continued after a thoughtful pause, "I should like to be revenged on his -insolence; it won't do to cut him without an excuse, he has given me -none, and he is a favourite in many circles where these artists hold a -certain sway. I always thought it bad taste to give them too much -liberty, and the event proves my just judgment." It will be seen that -Lord Randolph was rather _arriere_ in the more genial liberality of -opinion, generally prevalent. He was of the Lady Dora school, which -fosters absurd prejudices and deformities of mind, in the shape of -circumscribing and false pride, reminding one of a village, somewhere in -the Landes, whose inhabitants are all from birth afflicted with goitres, -which hideous swelling of the throat becomes from habit a beauty in -their eyes; so much so, that 'tis told of them, that one day a healthy -person appearing among them in church, their minister bade them thank -God they were as they were, and not like that afflicted creature before -them! - -Lord Randolph's pride was in arms against the painter fellow, who had -dared raise a thought, as he imagined, towards Lady Dora; it was not -from any excessive love for her, but adherence to _caste_. In her -confusion, though it puzzled him at first, he finally thought he read -only indignation, and he awarded to himself the right, to lower his -presumption in some way. What fools we are to undertake perilous -journeys in the dark! - -The new idea banished the old: he almost forgot Miss Dalzell, and -resolved to go whither he had been going yesterday, as he mounted his -horse next morning--a fashionable morning--about two o'clock; so he -turned his horse's head towards Chiswick, where he knew Tremenhere -resided. He had never had occasion to call there before, having always -met him either at his club, in society, or his own (Lord Randolph's) -house. He was not quite certain of the cottage, but he inquired, and at -last a pretty little villa was pointed out to him as the one he sought. - -"I think the gentleman is not at home," said his informant, who looked -like a tradesman; "for I know him well, and I saw him walking towards -town an hour ago." - -This suited the other's views exactly; so, leaving his horse in charge -of a man who was loitering about, he walked quietly up to the cottage. -The front gate stood open; he walked through a prettily arranged -garden, filled with autumnal flowers, to the hall door, and rapped -gently. He came, like a good general, to surprise, not storm the -capital. A neat-looking girl answered the door. "Is Mr. Tremenhere at -home?" inquired the visiter. - -"No, sir," was the reply. "He will not return till this evening." - -"Very provoking!" exclaimed he; "I am leaving town, and wished -particularly to leave a message, or see him." - -The girl made no reply; she was not evidently accustomed to see many -visiters there. - -"Could I see any one to leave it with, or write a note?" he asked. - -"If you would please to step in, sir; I dare say you can write to -master," she said, drawing back. Lord Randolph wanted no further -invitation. In an instant he was following the girl down the passage. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - - -The girl threw open a door, and he entered; his heart was not quite free -from pulsation. He was not a man of adventure by nature--two or three -motives urged him to this one. The room was quietly, but _gracefully_ -furnished; the curtains were not of rich damask, neither were there rich -bronzes, _ormolu_, or tables to break one's neck over, or shiver to -atoms in the fall thereof half a dozen hideous idols, or Chinese cups -and saucers--no! it was not a company receiving-room, but the apartment -of a refined and domestic mind. The two generally unite, for they -emanate from our best mistress--Nature. The curtains and furniture were -of pale green chintz. There were a few choice flowers in a vase on the -table; one single dahlia, rich in colour, alone, like a queen in state -and beauty, in a rich Bohemian glass, on a centre table; and, like -attendant courtiers, in various smaller ones, were varied specimens -scattered about amidst books, pencils, half-finished bouquets, shewing -why they were there--for art to perpetuate nature. There were ottomans, -easy-chairs, and ladies' work; in short, home spoke to you in every -thing. There was an open piano, and music scattered about; and the -tables, piano, even to the frames of the mirrors, were of maple-wood. -Another door opened into a small conservatory with stained glass -windows--it was, in truth, a little paradise. A cheering fire enlivened -the whole--for though a fine day, it was chilly; yet the sun shone -without, and in the bright conservatory, where summer seemed still to -reign. "You can write a note here, sir, if you please," said the woman, -placing materials before him; "and when you have finished it, if you -will be good enough to ring the bell, I will return." Thus saying, and -not having a fear of those adventurous knights called London thieves -before her eyes, she withdrew quietly. Every thing there breathed peace, -even the placid servant. - -"What shall I write?" thought Lord Randolph. "What a fool I was, not to -ask to see the mistress of the house! it is not too late; by George, -I'll do so now!" He rose to touch the bell, a voice arrested his hand; -it was breathless, as if the owner had hurried; it came through the -conservatory, and a step, like a bounding roe, accompanied it. "Miles, -dear!" it cried, "have you forgotten any thing? I heard your rap. I was -at the end of the garden gathering violets,"--the step stopped suddenly, -"Oh, dear!" exclaimed the voice changing its tone, "I declare I've lost -them all out of my basket, hurrying to meet you! Come, and help me pick -them up!" There was an instant's silence, the visiter stood irresolute, -his eyes fixed on the conservatory door. "Miles!" called the voice -again; there was no reply, and in another instant Minnie, with eyes full -of hope and surprise, entered the room. A scream burst from her lips, -and her basket fell from her hands. Lord Randolph stood a moment -speechless. "Miss Dalzell!" he exclaimed at last; advancing like one -treading on fairy-land, so amazed he felt. Minnie was like a rose when -she entered, and her eyes looked almost black in their violet darkness -from exercise and excitement. Now she became pale and trembling, why, -she scarcely knew, 'twas perhaps presentiment. "Lord Randolph Gray!" she -ejaculated, "_you_ here!"--the very words implied deep fear of -consequences. - -"I certainly did not anticipate the happiness of meeting one so soon -again, whose memory has lived with me unfading since yesterday," he -answered with the ready gallantry of a man who deemed it could not but -be well received where he addressed it. There was admiration, not -respect in the phrase. Even unsophisticated Minnie felt this; but so -bewildered was she, that for the time she totally overlooked her actual -position as it must be in his eyes, thus, with Tremenhere, as Miss -Dalzell. "Do not let me alarm you," he continued courteously, seeing how -pale she had turned; "believe me, I am too much a gentleman in any way -to insult you. My meeting you again, though indeed I bless the good fate -which has produced it, has been purely accidental. I came to see Mr. -Tremenhere." - -"Then, my----" she checked the word uppermost, "cousin," scarcely -knowing why, "Lady Dora Vaughan," she substituted, "did not tell you -where I resided? I thought so for a moment, and wondered much, she was -so fearful yesterday, lest your lordship should follow us." - -"What can the connection between these women mean?" he thought, every -moment more perplexed. - -"Lady Dora is, I know, a girl of independent mind: has she known this -girl before her fall, and is she trying to reclaim her? If so, why walk -in public with her? Or, has she been sitting to this Tremenhere for a -portrait, and been brought in contact with this girl, and, charmed by -her manner, overlooked her position? But--oh no, no!--Lady Dora would -never act thus." It never struck him for an instant, the truth--Minnie's -marriage; the "Miss Dalzell," and confusion of Lady Dora, completely -refuted this idea. - -"Lady Dora," he answered, smiling more composedly, now resolved to leave -thought to absence, and enjoy the present pleasure of this unforeseen -good-luck, "is totally ignorant of my purposed visit here, which was -designed for Mr. Tremenhere on business." - -Minnie, too, was gradually becoming more composed, now his visit had so -natural a motive; she glided to an ottoman, and, pointing to a chair, -apologised for her previous rudeness in omitting to offer one, and -blaming her astonishment as cause of the remissness. Minnie was -guiltless of wrong any way; so, as a friend of both her cousin and -Miles, she conversed freely with her guest, whose admiration every -moment became more decided, and, in proportion, a species of mixed -jealousy and dislike towards Tremenhere, both for possessing such a -treasure, and the base means by which he had gained it--seduction. For, -with all his love of the fair sex, this was a crime in his eyes he would -have scorned. Poor Minnie forgot, in her own innocence, all about her -equivocal position, and he of course did not allude to it. He spoke of -Tremenhere, and she replied unreservedly as of her husband; but without -naming him as such. Lord Randolph did her justice in one respect; he saw -she was too simple in mind, and, strange contradiction! too pure in -thought, to be easily made to comprehend any thing like ordinary -flirtation. He, as a man of the world, though not a genius, at once -perceived that it would only be by gaining her affections she might be -won. He deemed it almost an act of justice to wrong the wronger; he -would have gloried in it! Lord Randolph was one of the many: he -possessed the genuine code of worldly morality--not a very safe bark to -sail to the end of life in. Much he said to her which she could not -comprehend; but he was Miles's friend, so she accepted his words as -meant in mere friendship. He could make himself agreeable when he -pleased; and she rejoiced in the meeting, hoping he would often call and -see Miles, who must like him; she knew they were friends. Something of -this she permitted him to understand. - -"I fear," he said, abstaining from giving her any name, "Tremenhere, -though a friend of mine, may not approve of my visits here; he has so -sedulously concealed his happiness from all." - -"Oh!" she answered, "that was on account of unfortunate family affairs, -which oblige us to live secluded; but I hope soon all will be cleared -away of annoyance--all forgiven--and then we may summon our friends to -rejoice with us." - -There was something so artless in her manner, that he involuntarily -seized her hand, and said in all sincerity, "From my soul I hope so, for -your sake!" - -At that moment he would have made any effort to restore an evidently -innocent girl at heart, to a different position; his only wonder was, -the longer he conversed with her, _how_ she could ever have fallen; and -every instant his impatience and disgust towards Tremenhere grew -stronger. And he looked with indignant feelings on the presumption of -the man who could, as he deemed he did, trample on this lovely girl as a -being beneath him, too much so to share his name. How falsely we may -judge others! and a wrong judgment is parent of many errors. At last he -rose to leave; he durst not then prolong his visit. As he did so, Minnie -inquired, "What message she should give Tremenhere?" - -"I think," he replied, "it were better not to name my visit, if I may -presume to dictate to you." - -"But," she said, smiling in all confidence, "you came to see him." - -"True; but I did not anticipate the extreme pleasure of meeting you. He -might be displeased." - -"Oh, no!" she answered in her former tone, "it cannot annoy him. I -feared so at first, as he wishes me not to see, or be seen, at present; -but when I tell him how your lordship came, he will see it could not -have been avoided. Besides, I told him of Lady Dora's introduction, and -our all walking together yesterday." - -"And what did he say?" asked the other, waking from surprise to -surprise. - -"Miles was very much annoyed with Lady Dora; he said, as a person -experienced in the world's opinions, she ought not to have presented me -to you, because----" She stopped, and coloured deeply, feeling it too -delicate a subject to enter upon with a stranger. She had been so -accustomed to speak of, hear of Lord Randolph as Dora's future husband, -that he had seemed as already a cousin to her, though, in point of fact, -almost a stranger. Poor Minnie had much worldly reserve to learn; -besides, she was speaking as she knew herself, not as he suspected her; -and there was nothing to awaken her rudely in his manner. She was as a -somnambulist, speaking in her sleep, to the wakeful. - -"Let me beg of you not to tell Tremenhere," he earnestly asked. - -"I never conceal a thought from him," was her reply; "how pass an hour -with him, and keep a secret in my heart? I should suffocate with the -weight of it alone." - -"I think I know Tremenhere better than even you can. Women rarely know -men, as their friends read them; for your own sake, let me earnestly -entreat secresy this once." - -His earnestness made her tremble, and become serious. "I do not -comprehend your lordship," she said with dignity; "have I done wrong in -conversing freely with you?" - -"Good heavens! no; I trust we may often thus converse again." - -"Then I shall tell Miles as soon as he returns; he cannot but approve my -receiving his friends with what courtesy I am mistress of. If I have -been wanting in due reserve, my lord may excuse it--I am but a country -bred girl." - -"But the most charming one I _ever_ met!" he warmly -exclaimed, endeavouring to seize her hand; but Minnie's delicacy had -taken the alarm, she drew back, and, laying her hand on the bell, said -quietly-- - -"Your lordship has no message to leave?" - -"None," he answered, slightly disconcerted by her sudden reserve--"I -cannot think of troubling you; I will write." - -The bell sounded beneath her fingers; with perfect composure she -curtsied. He durst not again attempt to take her hand, and he followed -the serious maid to the outer gate; there he turned, but no eye was -watching him, for Minnie had sunk on a seat, and was lost in memory, not -of the most agreeable sort, of many strange things her visitor had said, -which created an unpleasant sensation, and yet she could not tell where, -or why. Lord Randolph rode on in perplexed imaginings, too; she had left -an impression on his mind of pleasure and pain. The former, that -irresistible feeling we experience when gazing upon either a lovely -face, or lovely picture. The latter, was sorrow that so fair a shrine -should be desecrated; for, though a man of the world, he was no -libertine. He would rather at any time save a woman than lose her. If -he found her lost, irretrievably so, he followed the current of worldly -recklessness, and left moralizing to a more fitting occasion. Nothing -could have persuaded him that this girl had voluntarily chosen a life of -degradation--some arts, some entrapment, must have been used; and with -these thoughts in his mind he turned into Loundes Square, intending to -call upon Lady Dora. As he turned the corner of a street leading into -it, her ladyship's brougham passed him rapidly; the blinds were half -drawn down, as if she wished to avoid recognition, and she herself was -leaning back, reading a letter attentively. Evidently he had not been -noticed; for a moment he hesitated, and then, turning round, cantered -after her. Her groom drove on, however, at a rapid pace, and Lord -Randolph followed. "When she stops," he said to himself, "I'll join her; -she may be induced, perhaps, to tell me more about this unhappy girl." -But Lady Dora did not stop; and what at first had been done -unpremeditatedly, now became a sort of link in the mystery of the last -two days. Where could she be going alone at that rapid pace? Overtake -her he could not, without calling to her groom; so he followed about -twenty yards behind. At the corner of Charles Street, Soho, there was a -stoppage of carriages; hers passed, but his horse, being rather -spirited, made some demur before a coal-waggon; and, when he reached the -square, it was just in time to see Lady Dora enter the bazaar hastily, -with her veil down. To dismount, and leave his horse in a man's care, -occupied a few minutes more; then he too entered, with no idea but -one--of finding her ladyship occupied in shopping; and he deemed himself -very fortunate in having so excellent an opportunity of conversing with -her. - -We have said Lady Dora was reading a letter when Lord Randolph first saw -her; we will give its contents to our readers; she had received it by a -messenger an hour before. - -"Mr. Tremenhere presents his compliments to Lady Dora Vaughan; and -though he would not presume to intrude thus for any merely personal -business, yet as the husband of one allied so closely to Lady Dora, he -ventures to solicit half an hour's conversation about Minnie, and the -most unpleasant affair of yesterday. He dare not venture to intrude in -Loundes Square, but at three precisely, he will be in the Soho Bazaar; -and under these circumstances, hopes her ladyship will favour him, where -one dear to her is so nearly concerned." - -When Lord Randolph entered, it was to see Lady Dora and Miles Tremenhere -composedly ascending the stairs together--not arm in arm, but in close -converse. To turn, and bolt out of the bazaar, were the acts of an -instant--he was too proud to become a spy on their actions: that they -had met by appointment was evident. In a greater state of excitement -than before, he mounted his horse, and, riding to the opposite side of -the square, watched the door. Nearly half an hour elapsed, and then she -came out hurriedly alone, stepped in, and off drove the brougham again -at a quick pace. Two minutes afterwards Tremenhere came out; and, with -eyes bent on the ground in deep thought, turned through Charles into -Oxford Street. There is a natural envy in our hearts, which makes us -feel less kindly towards one superior to ourselves in every way, than we -should to one inferior; and were we judging between the two, assuredly -we would rather find a guilty flaw in the one than the other. Though -liking Tremenhere, Lord Randolph at once condemned him as every thing -that was bad; and deemed himself of wonderful perspicacity in reading -the intricate book before his mind's eye, thus:--By his power of -fascination and good looks, he had entangled both these women. (Dalby -had given him the clue.) Minnie he had lost, and by some inconceivable -means, drawn the proud Lady Dora into an acquaintance with her; and now -he was endeavouring, and from their private meeting it would seem -successfully, to accomplish some further end--marriage, of course--with -a woman too much in love, perhaps, to resist him. How else could he -account for the events before him? With all this in his mind, is it to -be wondered at that he felt the utmost disgust for Tremenhere? How to -act he knew not. As to quietly allowing these events to take their -present course, that was impossible--whom consult? Not Burton--he did -not like the man; nor Dalby--no _creature_--but a friend. So he went -off, and sought his young friend whom we have seen at Uplands--the -unfledged youth, whom we will call Mr. Vellumy; and between them the two -concocted as fatal a scheme as they could well have imagined; and done, -like many such another, with the best intention; for Mr. Vellumy, like -his friend, would rather do a good than a bad action--not that he was -one to repent in sackcloth and ashes if he accomplished a criminal one -by accident. He was "a good-intention" embodied, and stuck like a crow -on the top of a weathercock. He and Lord Randolph being bosom friends, -had run up together for two or three days from Uplands, leaving the -remaining guests at Liberty Hall to take care of themselves--bachelor -_sans ceremonie_. We will leave them awhile and follow Lady Dora, whose -brougham spun, in a short space like thought, down to Chiswick, and -stopped at Tremenhere's gate. He had, of course, not returned. Minnie -could scarce credit the evidence of her eyes when she saw her cousin -step out. - -"It is so kind--so very kind, dear Dora!" she exclaimed, embracing her, -"to return so soon." - -"I have but a few minutes to stay," answered the other, "for mamma will -wonder where I have been. But that I am not much controlled, she might -question and scold; for I have been out some time, Minnie," she added -hastily. "Do you know with whom I have been walking?" - -"I cannot guess, Dora." - -"There--read that--and see!" and she laid on her knee Miles's letter. -Minnie coloured deeply, and like a vision passed before her the -recollection of their meeting at Uplands, which he never mentioned. She -was not jealous; but it was like the sudden pain of a thorn, which makes -one wince and cry out--the flesh versus spirit; but when she read it, -the spirit conquered at once. - -"My dear husband," she said, "how he ever thinks of me! And what did he -say, Dora?" - -Dora then told her the substance of their conversation, and his -entreaties that she should seek an interview with Lord Randolph Gray, -and tell him the truth about his marriage, as it would come better from -her than from himself. If, however, she declined, he expressed his -determination to do so without delay, foreseeing possibly future -embarrassments from this unfortunate introduction. - -"I argued against it," she said; "but at last he convinced me I had not -acted prudently, and therefore, though much against my feelings, I must -explain all, and bind his lordship to secresy. It is a most unfortunate -circumstance altogether." - -Lady Dora, though too kind, when she permitted her heart sway, to pain -any one wilfully, was galled and wounded deeply in her pride by all -these events. How to tell Lord Randolph she knew not; and with -Tremenhere she admitted, it would better come from herself than from -him. "I shall probably see him to-night, or certainly to-morrow," she -added, "and then all shall be explained." - -While she was speaking, Minnie had fallen into a train of the most -intense thought; one coursing another through her brain. She was -beginning to understand much Randolph had said to her, and how tell -Miles? it would pain him. However, it would soon be explained to his -lordship, and then all would go smoothly. Poor Minnie! - -"Do you know, Dora," she said, looking up at last, seriously, "Lord -Randolph called here to-day?" - -"Here!" exclaimed her cousin, amazed. "Here! and how? on what pretence? -did you see him?" - -There was not a gleam of jealousy in this questioning. She cared little -to lose him for ever; it was his audacity, and consequences she thought -of. Minnie related every thing which passed. Though but a girl herself, -Lady Dora was one of the world, and saw much more than her simple cousin -did in this visit. Bitterly she blamed herself for her false step the -previous day, in introducing "Miss Dalzell;" now she indeed saw the -necessity of an explanation. - -"Of course," she said, "you do not intend telling Mr. Tremenhere of -this?" - -"Not tell Miles!" exclaimed Minnie in surprise. "How could I conceal it -from him?" - -"Minnie, you will be mad to do so!" answered her cousin, much agitated. -"Mr. Tremenhere, in his excited state, will see even more than was -meant, and I will answer for nothing." - -"Truth, dear Dora, always carries its own shafts to the heart. I cannot -conceal any thing from Miles; it would kill me to do so. Where should I -hide a secret from him? he reads my very soul; 'tis ever open before -him." - -"And do you wish, perhaps, for bloodshed? I cannot see where it will -terminate. Pray, let me explain all to his lordship first, then there -can be nothing to fear." - -Minnie justly argued, that Lord Randolph's visit had been made to her -husband, not knowing she was even there; but Dora overruled this. - -"Mr. Tremenhere," she said, "was in that excited state when speaking of -the possibility of insult to you, that if he know this to-day, he will -be capable of any thing. Pray, Minnie!--dear Minnie! promise me the -secret until to-morrow evening; I will come here then, and tell Mr. -Tremenhere myself, and he must acknowledge I did right. He will applaud -your good sense; whereas, if you tell, what can control his rage before -then?" - -Minnie began crying. The idea to her, of concealment from Miles, was so -dreadful, that she could not for a length of time overcome her -repugnance; but Dora so forcibly impressed upon her mind the dread of a -duel, that in the certainty of its only being for one day, and as no -untruth, only silence, was required, she consented; and Lady Dora, -embracing her cordially, with her own handkerchief dried the tearful -eyes, and left her, promising to return next evening, and in the -meanwhile see Lord Randolph, and disclose all to him. She had perfectly -arranged it herself, as we often do events; but quite overlooked such a -thing as fatality. - - -END OF VOLUME FIRST. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Miles Tremenhere, Vol 1 of 2, by -Annette Marie Maillard - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MILES TREMENHERE, VOL 1 OF 2 *** - -***** This file should be named 41275.txt or 41275.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/2/7/41275/ - -Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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