diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-07 00:54:52 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-07 00:54:52 -0800 |
| commit | b724ce43397ca85f58c5dd813b0e4e43962e324a (patch) | |
| tree | fddb8680dea42b29c433b61e19f10e8bc978b6c7 | |
| parent | 0e87e69de2aaa2715888007227fd103a24ec49c9 (diff) | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54510-0.txt | 6091 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54510-0.zip | bin | 132519 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54510-h.zip | bin | 239673 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54510-h/54510-h.htm | 6073 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54510-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 98585 -> 0 bytes |
8 files changed, 17 insertions, 12164 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3593e10 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #54510 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54510) diff --git a/old/54510-0.txt b/old/54510-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0ecf9e0..0000000 --- a/old/54510-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6091 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Athelings; vol. 1/3, by Margaret Oliphant - -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: The Athelings; vol. 1/3 - -Author: Margaret Oliphant - -Release Date: April 8, 2017 [EBook #54510] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATHELINGS; VOL. 1/3 *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - - - - THE ATHELINGS - - OR - - THE THREE GIFTS - - BY MARGARET OLIPHANT - - - “I’ the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit - The roofs of palaces; and nature prompts them, - In simple and low things, to prince it much - Beyond the trick of others.” - CYMBELINE - - - IN THREE VOLUMES - - VOL. I. - - - WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS - EDINBURGH AND LONDON - MDCCCLVII - - - ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN BLACKWOOD’S MAGAZINE. - - - - - THE ATHELINGS - - BOOK I.--BELLEVUE - - - - - THE ATHELINGS. - - - - -BOOK I.--CHAPTER I. - -IN THE STREET. - - -One of them is very pretty--you can see that at a glance: under the -simple bonnet, and through the thin little veil, which throws no cloud -upon its beauty, shines the sweetest girl’s face imaginable. It is only -eighteen years old, and not at all of the heroical cast, but it -brightens like a passing sunbeam through all the sombre line of -passengers, and along the dull background of this ordinary street. There -is no resisting that sweet unconscious influence: people smile when they -pass her, unawares; it is a natural homage paid involuntarily to the -young, sweet, innocent loveliness, unconscious of its own power. People -have smiled upon her all her days; she thinks it is because everybody is -amiable, and seeks no further for a cause. - -The other one is not very pretty; she is twenty: she is taller, paler, -not so bright of natural expression, yet as far from being commonplace -as can be conceived. They are dressed entirely alike, thriftily dressed -in brown merino, with little cloaks exact to the same pattern, and -bonnets, of which every bow of ribbon outside, and every little pink -rosebud within, is a complete fac-simile of its sister bud and bow. They -have little paper-parcels in their hands each of them; they are about -the same height, and not much different in age; and to see these twin -figures, so entirely resembling each other, passing along at the same -inconsistent youthful pace, now rapid and now lingering, you would -scarcely be prepared for the characteristic difference in their looks -and in their minds. - -It is a spring afternoon, cheery but cold, and lamps and shop-windows -are already beginning to shine through the ruddy twilight. This is a -suburban street, with shops here and there, and sombre lines of houses -between. The houses are all graced with “front gardens,” strips of -ground enriched with a few smoky evergreens, and flower-plots ignorant -of flowers; and the shops are of a highly miscellaneous character, -adapted to the wants of the locality. Vast London roars and travails far -away to the west and to the south. This is Islington, a mercantile and -clerkish suburb. The people on the omnibuses--and all the omnibuses are -top-heavy with outside passengers--are people from the City; and at this -time in the afternoon, as a general principle, everybody is going home. - -The two sisters, by a common consent, come to a sudden pause: it is -before a toy-shop; and it is easy to discover by the discussion which -follows that there are certain smaller people who form an important part -of the household at home. - -“Take this, Agnes,” says the beautiful sister; “see how pretty! and they -could both play with this; but only Bell would care for the doll.” - -“It is Bell’s turn,” said Agnes; “Beau had the last one. This we could -dress ourselves, for I know mamma has a piece over of their last new -frocks. The blue eyes are the best. Stand at the door, Marian, and look -for my father, till I buy it; but tell me first which they will like -best.” - -This was not an easy question. The sisters made a long and anxious -survey of the window, varied by occasional glances behind them “to see -if papa was coming,” and concluded by a rapid decision on Agnes’s part -in favour of one of the ugliest of the dolls. But still Papa did not -come; and the girls were proceeding on their way with the doll, a soft -and shapeless parcel, added to their former burdens, when a rapid step -came up behind them, and a clumsy boy plunged upon the shoulder of the -elder. - -“Oh, Charlie!” exclaimed Agnes in an aggrieved but undoubting tone. She -did not need to look round. This big young brother was unmistakable in -his salutations. - -“I say, my father’s past,” said Charlie. “Won’t he be pleased to find -you two girls out? What do you wander about so late for? it’s getting -dark. I call that foolish, when you might be out, if you pleased, all -the day.” - -“My boy, you do not know anything about it,” said the elder sister with -dignity; “and you shall go by yourself if you do not walk quietly. -There! people are looking at us; they never looked at us till you came.” - -“Charlie is so handsome,” said Marian laughing, as they all turned a -corner, and, emancipated from the public observation, ran along the -quiet street, a straggling group, one now pressing before, and now -lagging behind. This big boy, however, so far from being handsome, was -strikingly the opposite. He had large, loose, ill-compacted limbs, like -most young animals of a large growth, and a face which might be called -clever, powerful, or good-humoured, but certainly was, without any -dispute, ugly. He was of dark complexion, had natural furrows in his -brow, and a mouth, wide with fun and happy temper at the present moment, -which could close with indomitable obstinacy when occasion served. No -fashion could have made Charlie Atheling fashionable; but his plain -apparel looked so much plainer and coarser than his sisters’, that it -had neither neatness nor grace to redeem its homeliness. He was -seventeen, tall, _big_, and somewhat clumsy, as unlike as possible to -the girls, who had a degree of natural and simple gracefulness not very -common in their sphere. Charlie’s masculine development was unequivocal; -he was a thorough _boy_ now, and would be a manful man. - -“Charlie, boy, have you been thinking?” asked Agnes suddenly, as the -three once more relapsed into a sober pace, and pursued their homeward -way together. There was the faintest quiver of ridicule in the elder -sister’s voice, and Marian looked up for the answer with a smile. The -young gentleman gave some portentous hitches of his broad shoulders, -twisted his brow into ominous puckers, set his teeth--and at last burst -out with indignation and unrestrained vehemence-- - -“Have I been thinking?--to be sure! but I can’t make anything of it, if -I think for ever.” - -“You are worse than a woman, Charlie,” said the pretty Marian; “you -never can make up your mind.” - -“Stuff!” cried the big boy loudly; “it isn’t making up my mind, it’s -thinking what will do. You girls know nothing about it. I can’t see that -one thing’s better than another, for my part. One man succeeds and -another man’s a failure, and yet the one’s as good a fellow and as -clever to work as the other. I don’t know what it means.” - -“So I suppose you will end with being misanthropical and doing nothing,” -said Agnes; “and all Charlie Atheling’s big intentions will burst, like -Beau’s soap-bubbles. I would not have that.” - -“I won’t have that, and so you know very well,” said Charlie, who was by -no means indisposed for a quarrel. “You are always aggravating, you -girls--as if you knew anything about it! I’ll tell you what; I don’t -mind how it is, but I’m a man to be something, as sure as I live.” - -“You are not a man at all, poor little Charlie--you are only a boy,” -said Marian. - -“And we are none of us so sure to live that we should swear by it,” said -Agnes. “If you are to be something, you should speak better sense than -that.” - -“Oh, a nice pair of tutors you are!” cried Master Charlie. “I’m bigger -than the two of you put together--and I’m a man. You may be as envious -as you like, but you cannot alter that.” - -Now, though the girls laughed, and with great contempt scouted the idea -of being envious, it is not to be denied that some small morsel of envy -concerning masculine privileges lay in the elder sister’s heart. It was -said at home that Agnes was clever--this was her distinction in the -family; and Agnes, having a far-away perception of the fact, greatly -longed for some share of those wonderful imaginary advantages which -“opened all the world,” as she herself said, to a man’s ambition; she -coloured a little with involuntary excitement, while Marian’s sweet and -merry laughter still rang in her ear. Marian could afford to laugh--for -this beautiful child was neither clever nor ambitious, and had, in all -circumstances, the sweetest faculty of content. - -“Well, Charlie, a man can do anything,” said Agnes; “_we_ are obliged to -put up with trifles. If I were a man, I should be content with nothing -less than the greatest--I know that!” - -“Stuff!” answered the big boy once more; “you may romance about it as -you like, but I know better. Who is to care whether you are content or -not? You must be only what you can, if you were the greatest hero in the -world.” - -“I do not know, for my part, what you are talking of,” said Marian. “Is -this all about what you are going to do, Charlie, and because you cannot -make up your mind whether you will be a clerk in papa’s office, or go to -old Mr Foggo’s to learn to be a lawyer? I don’t see what heroes have to -do with it either one way or other. You ought to go to your business -quietly, and be content. Why should _you_ be better than papa?” - -The question was unanswerable. Charlie hitched his great shoulders, and -made marvellous faces, but replied nothing. Agnes went on steadily in a -temporary abstraction; Marian ran on in advance. The street was only -half-built--one of those quietest of surburban streets which are to be -found only in the outskirts of great towns. The solitary little houses, -some quite apart, some in pairs--detached and semi-detached, according -to the proper description--stood in genteel retirement within low walls -and miniature shrubberies. There was nothing ever to be seen in this -stillest of inhabited places--therefore it was called Bellevue: and the -inhabitants veiled their parlour windows behind walls and boarded -railings, lest their privacy should be invaded by the vulgar vision of -butcher, or baker, or green-grocer’s boy. Other eyes than those of the -aforesaid professional people never disturbed the composure of Laurel -Cottage and Myrtle Cottage, Elmtree Lodge and Halcyon House--wherefore -the last new house had a higher wall and a closer railing than any of -its predecessors; and it was edifying to observe everybody’s virtuous -resolution to see nothing where there was visibly nothing to see. - -At the end of this closed-up and secluded place, one light, shining from -an unshuttered window, made a gleam of cheerfulness through the -respectable gloom. Here you could see shadows large and small moving -upon the white blind--could see the candles shifted about, and the -sudden reddening of the stirred fire. A wayfarer, when by chance there -was one, could scarcely fail to pause with a momentary sentiment of -neighbourship and kindness opposite this shining window. It was the only -evidence in the darkness of warm and busy human life. This was the home -of the three young Athelings--as yet the centre and boundary of all -their pleasures, and almost all their desires. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -HOME. - - -The house is old for this locality--larger than this family could have -afforded, had it been in better condition,--a cheap house out of repair. -It is impossible to see what is the condition of the little garden -before the door; but the bushes are somewhat straggling, and wave their -long arms about in the rising wind. There is a window on either side of -the door, and the house is but two stories high: it is the most -commonplace of houses, perfectly comfortable and uninteresting, so far -as one may judge from without. Inside, the little hall is merely a -passage, with a door on either side, a long row of pegs fastened against -the wall, and a strip of brightly-painted oil-cloth on the floor. The -parlour door is open--there are but two candles, yet the place is -bright; and in it is the lighted window which shines so cheerily into -the silent street. The father sits by the fire in the only easy-chair -which this apartment boasts; the mother moves about on sundry nameless -errands, of which she herself could scarcely give a just explanation; -yet somehow that comfortable figure passing in and out through light and -shadow adds an additional charm to the warmth and comfort of the place. -Two little children are playing on the rug before the fire--very little -children, twins scarcely two years old--one of them caressing the -slippered foot of Mr Atheling, the other seated upon a great paper book -full of little pictures, which serves at once as amusement for the -little mind, and repose for the chubby little frame. They are rosy, -ruddy, merry imps, as ever brightened a fireside; and it is hard to -believe they are of the same family as Charlie and Agnes and Marian. For -there is a woeful gap between the elder and the younger children of this -house--an interval of heavy, tardy, melancholy years, the records of -which are written, many names, upon one gravestone, and upon the hearts -of these two cheerful people, among their children at their own hearth. -They have lived through their day of visitation, and come again into the -light beyond; but it is easy to understand the peculiar tenderness with -which father and mother bend over these last little children--angels of -consolation--and how everything in the house yields to the pretty -childish caprice of little Bell and little Beau. - -Yes, of course, you have found it out: everybody finds it out at the -first glance; everybody returns to it with unfailing criticism. To tell -the truth, the house is a very cheap house, being so large a one. Had it -been in good order, the Athelings could never have pretended to such a -“desirable family residence” as this house in Bellevue; and so you -perceive this room has been papered by Charlie and the girls and Mrs -Atheling. It is a very pretty paper, and was a great bargain; but -unfortunately it is not matched--one-half of the pattern, in two or -three places, is hopelessly divorced from the other half. They were very -zealous, these amateur workpeople, but they were not born paperhangers, -and, with the best intentions in the world, have drawn the walls awry. -At the time Mrs Atheling was extremely mortified, and Agnes overcome -with humiliation; but Charlie and Marian thought it very good fun; Papa -burst into shouts of laughter; Bell and Beau chorused lustily, and at -length even the unfortunate managers of the work forgave themselves. It -never was altered, because a new paper is an important consideration -where so many new frocks, coats, and bonnets are perpetually wanting: -everybody became accustomed to it; it was an unfailing source of family -witticism; and Mrs Atheling came to find so much relaxation from her -other cares in the constant mental effort to piece together the -disjointed pattern, that even to her there was consolation in this dire -and lamentable failure. Few strangers came into the family-room, but -every visitor who by chance entered it, with true human perversity -turned his eyes from the comfort and neatness of the apartment, and from -the bright faces of its occupants, to note the flowers and arabesques of -the pretty paper, wandering all astray over this unfortunate wall. - -Yet it was a pretty scene--with Marian’s beautiful face at one side of -the table, and the bright intelligence of Agnes at the other--the rosy -children on the rug, the father reposing from his day’s labour, the -mother busy with her sweet familiar never-ending cares; even Charlie, -ugly and characteristic, added to the family completeness. The head of -the house was only a clerk in a merchant’s office, with a modest stipend -of two hundred pounds a-year. All the necessities of the family, young -and old, had to be supplied out of this humble income. You may suppose -there was not much over, and that the household chancellor of the -exchequer had enough to do, even when assisted by that standing -committee with which she consulted solemnly over every little outlay. -The committee was prudent, but it was not infallible. Agnes, the leading -member, had extravagant notions. Marian, more careful, had still a -weakness for ribbons and household embellishments, bright and clean and -new. Sometimes the committee _en permanence_ was abruptly dismissed by -its indignant president, charged with revolutionary sentiments, and a -total ignorance of sound financial principles. Now and then there -occurred a monetary crisis. On the whole, however, the domestic kingdom -was wisely governed, and the seven Athelings, parents and children, -lived and prospered, found it possible to have even holiday dresses, and -books from the circulating library, ribbons for the girls, and toys for -the babies, out of their two hundred pounds a-year. - -Tea was on the table; yet the first thing to be done was to open out the -little paper parcels, which proved to contain enclosures no less -important than those very ribbons, which the finance committee had this -morning decided upon as indispensable. Mrs Atheling unrolled them -carefully, and held them out to the light. She shook her head; they had -undertaken this serious responsibility all by themselves, these rash -imprudent girls. - -“Now, mamma, what do you think? I told you we could choose them; and the -man said they were half as dear again six months ago,” cried the -triumphant Marian. - -Again Mrs Atheling shook her head. “My dears,” said the careful mother, -“how do you think such a colour as this can last till June?” - -This solemn question somewhat appalled the youthful purchasers. “It is a -very pretty colour, mamma,” said Agnes, doubtfully. - -“So it is,” said the candid critic; “but you know it will fade directly. -I always told you so. It is only fit for people who have a dozen -bonnets, and can afford to change them. I am quite surprised at you, -girls; you ought to have known a great deal better. Of course the colour -will fly directly: the first sunny day will make an end of that. But _I_ -cannot help it, you know; and, faded or not faded, it must do till -June.” - -The girls exchanged glances of discomfiture. “Till June!” said Agnes; -“and it is only March now. Well, one never knows what may happen before -June.” - -This was but indifferent consolation, but it brought Charlie to the -table to twist the unfortunate ribbon, and let loose his opinion. “They -ought to wear wide-awakes. That’s what they ought to have,” said -Charlie. “Who cares for all that trumpery? not old Foggo, I’m sure, nor -Miss Willsie; and they are all the people we ever see.” - -“Hold your peace, Charlie,” said Mrs Atheling, “and don’t say old Foggo, -you rude boy. He is the best friend you have, and a real gentleman; and -what would your papa do with such a set of children about him, if Mr -Foggo did not drop in now and then for some sensible conversation. It -will be a long time before you try to make yourself company for papa.” - -“Foggo is not so philanthropical, Mary,” said Papa, for the first time -interposing; “he has an eye to something else than sensible -conversation. However, be quiet and sit down, you set of children, and -let us have some tea.” - -The ribbons accordingly were lifted away, and placed in a heap upon a -much-used work-table which stood in the window. The kettle sang by the -fire. The tea was made. Into two small chairs of wickerwork, raised upon -high stilts to reach the table, were hoisted Bell and Beau. The talk of -these small interlocutors had all this time been incessant, but -untranslatable. It was the unanimous opinion of the family Atheling that -you could “make out every word” spoken by these little personages, and -that they were quite remarkable in their intelligibility; yet there were -difficulties in the way, and everybody had not leisure for the close -study of this peculiar language, nor the abstract attention necessary -for a proper comprehension of all its happy sayings. So Bell and Beau, -to the general public, were but a merry little chorus to the family -drama, interrupting nothing, and being interrupted by nobody. Like -crickets and singing-birds, and all musical creatures, their happy din -grew louder as the conversation rose; but there was not one member of -this loving circle who objected to have his voice drowned in the -jubilant uproar of those sweet small voices, the unceasing music of this -happy house. - -After tea, it was Marian’s “turn,” as it appeared, to put the little -orchestra to bed. It was well for the little cheeks that they were made -of a more elastic material than those saintly shrines and reliquaries -which pious pilgrims wore away with kissing; and Charlie, mounting one -upon each shoulder, carried the small couple up-stairs. It was touching -to see the universal submission to these infants: the house had been -very sad before they came, and these twin blossoms had ushered into a -second summer the bereaved and heavy household life. - -When Bell and Beau were satisfactorily asleep and disposed of, Mrs -Atheling sat down to her sewing, as is the wont of exemplary mothers. -Papa found his occupation in a newspaper, from which now and then he -read a scrap of news aloud. Charlie, busy about some solitary study, -built himself round with books at a side-table. Agnes and Marian, with -great zeal and some excitement, laid their heads together over the -trimming of their bonnets. The ribbon was very pretty, though it was -unprofitable; perhaps in their secret hearts these girls liked it the -better for its unthrifty delicacy, but they were too “well brought up” -to own to any such perverse feeling. At any rate, they were very much -concerned about their pretty occupation, and tried a hundred different -fashions before they decided upon the plainest and oldest fashion of -all. They had taste enough to make their plain little straw-bonnets very -pretty to look at, but were no more skilled in millinery than in -paperhanging, and timid of venturing upon anything new. The night flew -on to all of them in these quiet businesses; and Time went more heavily -through many a festive and courtly place than he did through this little -parlour, where there was no attempt at pleasure-making. When the bonnets -were finished, it had grown late. Mr Foggo had not come this night for -any sensible conversation; neither had Agnes been tempted to join -Charlie at the side-table, where lay a miscellaneous collection of -papers, packed within an overflowing blotting-book, her indisputable -property. Agnes had other ambition than concerned the trimming of -bonnets, and had spoiled more paper in her day than the paper of this -parlour wall; but we pause till the morning to exhibit the gift of Agnes -Atheling, how it was regarded, and what it was. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -AGNES. - - -Dearest friend! most courteous reader! suspend your judgment. It was not -her fault. This poor child had no more blame in the matter than Marian -had for her beauty, which was equally involuntary. Agnes Atheling was -not wise; she had no particular gift for conversation, and none whatever -for logic; no accomplishments, and not a very great deal of information. -To tell the truth, while it was easy enough to discover what she had -not, it was somewhat difficult to make out precisely what she had to -distinguish her from other people. She was a good girl, but by no means -a model one; full of impatiences, resentments, and despairs now and -then, as well as of hopes, jubilant and glorious, and a vague but grand -ambition. She herself knew herself quite as little as anybody else did; -for consciousness of power and prescience of fame, if these are signs of -genius, did not belong to Agnes. Yet genius, in some kind and degree, -certainly did belong to her, for the girl had that strange faculty of -expression which is as independent of education, knowledge, or culture -as any wandering angel. When she had anything to say (upon paper), she -said it with so much grace and beauty of language, that Mr Atheling’s -old correspondents puzzled and shook their grey heads over it, charmed -and astonished without knowing why, and afterwards declared to each -other that Atheling must be a clever fellow, though they had never -discovered it before; and a clever fellow he must have been indeed, -could he have clothed these plain sober sentiments of his in such a -radiant investiture of fancy and youth. For Agnes was the letter-writer -of the household, and in her young sincerity, and with her visionary -delight in all things beautiful, was not content to make a dutiful -inquiry, on her mother’s part, for an old ailing country aunt, or to -convey a bit of city gossip to some clerkish contemporary of her -father’s, without induing the humdrum subject with such a glow and glory -of expression that the original proprietors of the sentiment scarcely -knew it in its dazzling gear. She had been letting her pearls and her -diamonds drop from her lips after this fashion, with the prodigality of -a young spendthrift--only astonishing the respectable people who were on -letter-writing terms with Mr and Mrs Atheling--for two or three years -past. But time only strengthened the natural bent of this young -creature, to whom Providence had given, almost her sole dower, that gift -of speech which is so often withheld from those who have the fullest and -highest opportunity for its exercise. Agnes, poor girl! young, -inexperienced, and uninstructed, had not much wisdom to communicate to -the world--not much of anything, indeed, save the vague and splendid -dreams--the variable, impossible, and inconsistent speculations of -youth; but she had the gift, and with the gift she had the sweet -spontaneous impulse which made it a delight. They were proud of her at -home. Mr and Mrs Atheling, with the tenderest exultation, rejoiced over -Marian, who was pretty, and Agnes, who was clever; yet, loving these two -still more than they admired them, they by no means realised the fact -that the one had beauty and the other genius of a rare and unusual kind. -We are even obliged to confess that at times their mother had -compunctions, and doubted whether Agnes, a poor man’s daughter, and like -to be a poor man’s wife, ought to be permitted so much time over that -overflowing blotting-book. Mrs Atheling, when her own ambition and pride -in her child did not move her otherwise, pondered much whether it would -not be wiser to teach the girls dress-making or some other practical -occupation, “for they may not marry; and if anything should happen to -William or me!--as of course we are growing old, and will not live for -ever,” she said to herself in her tender and anxious heart. But the -girls had not yet learned dress-making, in spite of Mrs Atheling’s -fears; and though Marian could “cut out” as well as her mother, and -Agnes, more humble, worked with her needle to the universal admiration, -no speculations as to “setting them up in business” had entered the -parental brain. So Agnes continued at the side-table, sometimes writing -very rapidly and badly, sometimes copying out with the most elaborate -care and delicacy--copying out even a second time, if by accident or -misfortune a single blot came upon the well-beloved page. This -occupation alternated with all manner of domestic occupations. The young -writer was as far from being an abstracted personage as it is possible -to conceive; and from the momentous matter of the household finances to -the dressing of the doll, and the childish play of Bell and Beau, -nothing came amiss to the incipient author. With this sweet stream of -common life around her, you may be sure her genius did her very little -harm. - -And when all the domestic affairs were over--when Mr Atheling had -finished his newspaper, and Mrs Atheling put aside her work-basket, and -Mr Foggo was out of the way--then Papa was wont to look over his -shoulder to his eldest child. “You may read some of your nonsense, if -you like, Agnes,” said the household head; and it was Agnes’s custom -upon this invitation, though not without a due degree of coyness, to -gather up her papers, draw her chair into the corner, and read what she -had written. Before Agnes began, Mrs Atheling invariably stretched out -her hand for her work-basket, and was invariably rebuked by her husband; -but Marian’s white hands rustled on unreproved, and Charlie sat still at -his grammar. It was popularly reported in the family that Charlie kept -on steadily learning his verbs even while he listened to Agnes’s story. -He said so himself, who was the best authority; but we by no means -pledge ourselves to the truth of the statement. - -And so the young romance was read: there was some criticism, but more -approval; and in reality none of them knew what to think of it, any more -than the youthful author did. They were too closely concerned to be cool -judges, and, full of interest and admiration as they were, could not -quite overcome the oddness and novelty of the idea that “our Agnes” -might possibly one day be famous, and write for the world. Mr Atheling -himself, who was most inclined to be critical, had the strangest -confusion of feelings upon this subject, marvelling much within himself -whether “the child” really had this singular endowment, or if it was -only their own partial judgment which magnified her powers. The family -father could come to no satisfactory conclusion upon the subject, but -still smiled at himself, and wondered, when his daughter’s story -brought tears to his eyes, or sympathy or indignation to his heart. It -moved _him_ without dispute,--it moved Mamma there, hastily rubbing out -the moisture from the corner of her eyes. Even Charlie was disturbed -over his grammar. “Yes,” said Mr Atheling, “but then you see she belongs -to us; and though all this certainly never could have come into _my_ -head, yet it is natural I should sympathise with it; but it is a very -different thing when you think of the world.” - -So it was, as different a thing as possible; for the world had no -anxious love to sharpen _its_ criticism--did not care a straw whether -the young writer was eloquent or nonsensical; and just in proportion to -its indifference was like to be the leniency of its judgment. These good -people did not think of that; they made wonderful account of their own -partiality, but never reckoned upon that hypercritical eye of love which -will not be content with a questionable excellence; and so they pondered -and marvelled with an excitement half amusing and half solemn. What -would other people think?--what would be the judgment of the world? - -As for Agnes, she was as much amused as the rest at the thought of being -“an author,” and laughed, with her bright eyes running over, at this -grand anticipation; for she was too young and too inexperienced to see -more than a delightful novelty and unusualness in her possible fame. In -the mean time she was more interested in what she was about than in the -result of it, and pleased herself with the turn of her pretty sentences, -and the admirable orderliness of her manuscript; for she was only a -girl. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -MARIAN. - - -Marian Atheling had as little choice in respect to her particular -endowment as her sister had; less, indeed, for it cost her nothing--not -an hour’s thought or a moment’s exertion. She could not help shining -forth so fair and sweet upon the sober background of this family life; -she could not help charming every stranger who looked into her sweet -eyes. She was of no particular “style” of beauty, so far as we are -aware; she was even of no distinct complexion of loveliness, but wavered -with the sweetest shade of uncertainty between dark and fair, tall and -little. For hers was not the beauty of genius--it was not exalted and -heroical expression--it was not tragic force or eloquence of features; -it was something less distinct and more subtle even than these. Hair -that caught the sunshine, and brightened under its glow; eyes which -laughed a sweet response of light before the fair eyelids fell over them -in that sweet inconsistent mingling of frankness and shyness which is -the very charm of girlhood; cheeks as soft and bloomy and fragrant as -any flower,--these seemed but the appropriate language in which alone -this innocent, radiant, beautiful youth could find fit expression. For -beauty of expression belonged to Marian as well as more obvious -beauties; there was an entire sweet harmony between the language and the -sentiment of nature upon this occasion. The face would have been -beautiful still, had its possessor been a fool or discontented; as it -was, being only the lovely exponent of a heart as pure, happy, and -serene as heart could be, the face was perfect. Criticism had nothing to -do with an effect so sudden and magical: this young face shone and -brightened like a sunbeam, touching the hearts of those it beamed upon. -Mere admiration was scarcely the sentiment with which people looked at -her; it was pure tenderness, pleasure, unexpected delight, which made -the chance passengers in the street smile as they passed her by. Their -hearts warmed to this fair thing of God’s making--they “blessed her -unaware.” Eighteen years old, and possessed of this rare gift, Marian -still did not know what rude admiration was, though she went out day by -day alone and undefended, and would not have faltered at going anywhere, -if her mother bade or necessity called. _She_ knew nothing of those -stares and impertinent annoyances which fastidious ladies sometimes -complained of, and of which she had read in books. Marian asserted -roundly, and with unhesitating confidence, that “it was complete -nonsense”--“it was not true;” and went upon her mother’s errands through -all the Islingtonian streets as safely as any heroine ever went through -ambuscades and prisons. She believed in lovers and knights of romance -vaguely, but fervently,--believed even, we confess, in the melodramatic -men who carry off fair ladies, and also in disguised princes and Lords -of Burleigh; but knew nothing whatever, in her own most innocent and -limited experience, of any love but the love of home. And Marian had -heard of bad men and bad women,--nay, _knew_, in Agnes’s story, the most -impossible and short-sighted of villains--a true rascal of romance, -whose snares were made on purpose for discovery,--but had no more fear -of such than she had of lions or tigers, the Gunpowder Plot, or the -Spanish Inquisition. Safe as among her lawful vassals, this young girl -went and came--safe as in a citadel, dwelt in her father’s house, -untempted, untroubled, in the most complete and thorough security. So -far as she had come upon the sunny and flowery way of her young life, -her beauty had been no gift of peril to Marian, and she had no fear of -what was to come. - -And no one is to suppose that Mrs Atheling’s small means were strained -to do honour to, or “set off,” her pretty daughter. These good people, -though they loved much to see their children happy and well esteemed, -had no idea of any such unnecessary efforts; and Marian shone out of her -brown merino frock, and her little pink rosebuds, as sweetly as ever -shone a princess in the purple and pall of her high estate. Mrs Atheling -thought Marian “would look well in anything,” in the pride of her heart, -as she pinched the bit of white lace round Marian’s neck when Mr Foggo -and Miss Willsie were coming to tea. It was indeed the general opinion -of the household, and that other people shared it was sufficiently -proved by the fact that Miss Willsie herself begged for a pattern of -that very little collar, which was so becoming. Marian gave the pattern -with the greatest alacrity, yet protested that Miss Willsie had many -collars a great deal prettier--which indeed was very true. - -And Marian was her mother’s zealous assistant in all household -occupations--not more willing, but with more execution and practical -power than Agnes, who, by dint of a hasty anxiety for perfection, made -an intolerable amount of blunders. Marian was more matter-of-fact, and -knew better what she could do; she was constantly busy, morning and -night, keeping always in hand some morsel of fancy-work, with which to -occupy herself at irregular times after the ordinary work was over. -Agnes also had bits of fancy-work in hand; but the difference herein -between the two sisters was this, that Marian finished _her_ pretty -things, while Agnes’s uncompleted enterprises were always turning up in -some old drawer or work-table, and were never brought to a conclusion. -Marian made collars for her mother, frills for Bell and Beau, and a very -fine purse for Charlie; which Charlie, having nothing to put in the -same, rejected disdainfully: but it was a very rare thing indeed for -Agnes to come to an end of any such labour. With Marian, too, lay the -honour of far superior accuracy and precision in the important -particular of “cutting out.” These differences furthered the appropriate -division of labour, and the household work made happy progress under -their united hands. - -To this we have only to add, that Marian Atheling was merry without -being witty, and intelligent without being clever. She, too, was a good -girl; but she also had her faults: she was sometimes saucy, very often -self-willed, yet had fortunately thus far shown a sensible perception of -cases which were beyond her own power of settling. She had the greatest -interest in Agnes’s story-telling, but was extremely impatient to know -the end before the beginning, which the hapless young author was not -always in circumstances to tell; and Marian made countless suggestions, -interfering arbitrarily and vexatiously with the providence of fiction, -and desiring all sorts of impossible rewards and punishments. But -Marian’s was no quiet or superficial criticism: how she burned with -indignation at that poor unbelievable villain!--how she triumphed when -all the good people put him down!--with what entire and fervid interest -she entered into everybody’s fortune! It was worth while being present -at one of these family readings, if only to see the flutter and tumult -of sympathies which greeted the tale. - -And we will not deny that Marian had possibly a far-off idea that she -was pretty--an idea just so indistinct and distant as to cause a -momentary blush and sparkle--a momentary flutter, half of pleasure and -half of shame, when it chanced to glide across her young unburdened -heart; but of her beauty and its influence this innocent girl had -honestly no conception. Everybody smiled upon her everywhere. Even Mr -Foggo’s grave and saturnine countenance slowly brightened when her sweet -face shone upon him. Marian did not suppose that these smiles had -anything to do with her; she went upon her way with a joyous young -belief in the goodness of everybody, except the aforesaid impossible -people, who were unspeakably black, beyond anything that ever was -painted, to the simple imagination of Marian. She had no great -principle of abstract benevolence to make her charitable; she was -strongly in favour of the instant and overwhelming punishment of all -these imaginary criminals; but for the rest of the world, Marian looked -them all in the face, frank and shy and sweet, with her beautiful eyes. -She was content to offer that small right hand of kindliest fellowship, -guileless and unsuspecting, to them all. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -CHARLIE. - - -This big boy was about as far from being handsome as any ordinary -imagination could conceive: his large loose limbs, his big features, his -swarthy complexion, though they were rather uglier in their present -development than they were likely to be when their possessor was -full-grown and a man, could never, by any chance, gain him the moderate -credit of good looks. He was not handsome emphatically, and yet there -never was a more expressive face: that great furrowed brow of his went -up in ripples and waves of laughter when the young gentleman was so -minded, and descended in rolls of cloud when there was occasion for such -a change. His mouth was not a pretty mouth: the soft curve of Cupid’s -bow, the proud Napoleonic curl, were as different as you could suppose -from the indomitable and graceless upper-lip of Charlie Atheling. Yet -when that obstinate feature came down in fixed and steady -impenetrability, a more emphatic expression never sat on the haughtiest -curve of Greece. He was a tolerably good boy, but he had his foible. -Charlie, we are grieved to say, was obstinate--marvellously obstinate, -unpersuadable, and beyond the reach of reasoning. If anything could have -made this propensity justifiable--as nothing could possibly make it more -provoking--it was, that the big boy was very often in the right. Time -after time, by force of circumstances, everybody else was driven to give -in to him: whether it really was by means of astute and secret -calculation of all the chances of the question, nobody could tell; but -every one knew how often Charlie’s opinion was confirmed by the course -of events, and how very seldom his odd penetration was deceived. This, -as a natural consequence, made everybody very hot and very resentful who -happened to disagree with Charlie, and caused a great amount of -jubilation and triumph in the house on those occasions, unfrequent as -they were, when his boyish infallibility was proved in the wrong. - -Yet Charlie was not clever. The household could come to no satisfactory -conclusion upon this subject. He did not get on with his moderate -studies either quicker or better than any ordinary boy of his years. He -had no special turn for literature either, though he did not disdain -_Peter Simple_ and _Midshipman Easy_. These renowned productions of -genius held the highest place at present in that remote corner of -Charlie’s interest which was reserved for the fine arts; but we are -obliged to confess that this big boy had wonderfully bad taste in -general, and could not at all appreciate the higher excellences of art. -Besides all this, no inducement whatever could tempt Charlie to the -writing of the briefest letter, or to any exercise of his powers of -composition, if any such powers belonged to him. No, he could not be -clever--and yet---- - -They did not quite like to give up the question, the mother and sisters. -They indulged in the loftiest flights of ambition for him, as -heaven-aspiring, and built on as slender a foundation, as any bean-stalk -of romance. They endeavoured greatly, with much anxiety and care, to -make him clever, and to make him ambitious, after their own model; but -this obstinate and self-willed individual was not to be coerced. So far -as this matter went, Charlie had a certain affectionate contempt for -them all, with their feminine fancies and imaginations. He said only -“Stuff!” when he listened to the grand projects of the girls, and to -Agnes’s flush of enthusiastic confidence touching that whole unconquered -world which was open to “a man!” Charlie hitched his great shoulders, -frowned down upon her with all the furrows of his brow, laughed aloud, -and went off to his grammar. This same grammar he worked at with his -usual obstinate steadiness. He had not a morsel of liking for “his -studies;” but he “went in” at them doggedly, just as he might have -broken stones or hewed wood, had that been a needful process. Nobody -ever does know the secret of anybody else’s character till life and time -have evolved the same; so it is not wonderful that these good people -were a little puzzled about Charlie, and did not quite know how to -dispose of their obstinate big boy. - -Charlie himself, however, we are glad to say, was sometimes moved to -take his sisters into his confidence. _They_ knew that some ambition did -stir within that Titanic boyish frame. They were in the secret of the -great discussion which was at present going on in the breast of Charlie, -whose whole thoughts, to tell the truth, were employed about the -momentous question--What he was to be? There was not a very wide choice -in his power. He was not seduced by the red coat and the black coat, -like the ass of the problem. The syrens of wealth and fame did not sing -in his ears, to tempt him to one course or another. He had two homely -possibilities before him--a this, and a that. He had a stout intention -to be _something_, and no such ignoble sentiment as content found place -in Charlie’s heart; wherefore long, animated, and doubtful was the -self-controversy. Do not smile, good youth, at Charlie’s two -chances--they are small in comparison of yours, but they were the only -chances visible to him; the one was the merchant’s office over which Mr -Atheling presided--head clerk, with his two hundred pounds a-year; the -other was, grandiloquently--by the girls, not by Charlie--called the -law; meaning thereby, however, only the solicitor’s office, the lawful -empire and domain of Mr Foggo. Between these two legitimate and likely -regions for making a fortune, the lad wavered with a most doubtful and -inquiring mind. His introduction to each was equally good; for Mr -Atheling was confidential and trusted, and Mr Foggo, as a mysterious -rumour went, was not only most entirely trusted and confidential, but -even in secret a partner in the concern. Wherefore long and painful were -the ruminations of Charlie, and marvellous the balance which he made of -precedent and example. Let nobody suppose, however, that this question -was discussed in idleness. Charlie all this time was actually in the -office of Messrs Cash, Ledger, and Co., his father’s employers. He was -there on a probationary and experimental footing, but he was very far -from making up his mind to remain. It was an extremely difficult -argument, although carried on solely in the deep invisible caverns of -the young aspirant’s mind. - -The same question, however, was also current in the family, and remained -undecided by the household parliament. With much less intense and -personal earnestness, “everybody” went over the for and against, and -contrasted the different chances. Charlie listened, but made no sign. -When he had made up his own mind, the young gentleman proposed to -himself to signify his decision publicly, and win over this committee of -the whole house to his view of the question. In the mean time he -reserved what he had to say; but so far, it is certain that Mr Foggo -appeared more tempting than Mr Atheling. The family father had been -twenty or thirty years at this business of his, and his income was two -hundred pounds--“that would not do for me,” said Charlie; whereas Mr -Foggo’s income, position, and circumstances were alike a mystery, and -might be anything. This had considerable influence in the argument, but -was not conclusive; for successful merchants were indisputably more -numerous than successful lawyers, and Charlie was not aware how high a -lawyer who was only an attorney could reach, and had his doubts upon the -subject. In the mean time, however, pending the settlement of this -momentous question, Charlie worked at two grammars instead of one, and -put all his force to his study. Force was the only word which could -express the characteristic power of this boy, if even _that_ can give a -sufficient idea of it. He had no love for his French or for his Latin, -yet learned his verbs with a manful obstinacy worthy all honour; and it -is not easy to define what was the special gift of Charlie. It was not a -describable thing, separate from his character, like beauty or like -genius--it _was_ his character, intimate and not to be distinguished -from himself. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -PAPA AND MAMMA. - - -The father of this family, as we have already said, was a clerk in a -merchant’s office, with a salary of two hundred pounds a-year. He was a -man of fifty, with very moderate abilities, but character -unimpeachable--a perfect type of his class--steadily marching on in his -common routine--doing all his duties without pretension--somewhat given -to laying down the law in respect to business--and holding a very grand -opinion of the importance of commerce in general, and of the marvellous -undertakings of London in particular. Yet this good man was not entirely -circumscribed by his “office.” He had that native spring of life and -healthfulness in him which belongs to those who have been born in, and -never have forgotten, the country. The country, most expressive of -titles!--he had always kept in his recollection the fragrance of the -ploughed soil, the rustle of the growing grass; so, though he lived in -Islington, and had his office in the City, he was not a Cockney--a -happy and most enviable distinction. His wife, too, was country born and -country bred; and two ancestral houses, humble enough, yet standing -always among the trees and fields, belonged to the imagination of their -children. This was a great matter--for the roses on her grandmother’s -cottage-wall bloomed perpetually in the fancy of Agnes; and Marian and -Charlie knew the wood where Papa once went a-nutting, as well as--though -with a more ideal perception than, Papa himself had known it. Even -little Bell and Beau knew of a store of secret primroses blooming for -ever on a fairy bank, where their mother long ago, in the days of her -distant far-off childhood, had seen them blow, and taken them into her -heart. Happy primroses, that never faded! for all the children of this -house had dreamed and gathered them in handfuls, yet there they were for -ever. It was strange how this link of connection with the far-off rural -life refined the fancy of these children; it gave them a region of -romance, into which they could escape at all times. They did not know -its coarser features, and they found refuge in it from the native -vulgarity of their own surroundings. Happy effect to all imaginative -people, of some ideal and unknown land. - -The history of the family was a very common one. Two-and-twenty years -ago, William Atheling and Mary Ellis had ventured to marry, having only -a very small income, limited prospects, and all the indescribable hopes -and chances of youth. Then had come the children, joy, toil, and -lamentation--then the way of life had opened up upon them, step by step; -and they had fainted, and found it weary, yet, helpless and patient, had -toiled on. They never had a chance, these good people, of running away -from their fate. If such a desperate thought ever came to them, it must -have been dismissed at once, being hopeless; and they stood at their -post under the heavy but needful compulsion of ordinary duties, living -through many a heartbreak, bearing many a bereavement--voiceless souls, -uttering no outcry except to the ear of God. Now they had lived through -their day of visitation. God had removed the cloud from their heads and -the terror from their heart: their own youth was over, but the youth of -their children, full of hopes and possibilities still brighter than -their own had been, rejoiced these patient hearts; and the warm little -hands of the twin babies, children of their old age, led them along with -delight and hopefulness upon their own unwearying way. Such was the -family story; it was a story of life, very full, almost overflowing with -the greatest and first emotions of humanity, but it was not what people -call eventful. The private record, like the family register, brimmed -over with those first makings and foundations of history, births and -deaths; but few vicissitudes of fortune, little success and little -calamity, fell upon the head of the good man whose highest prosperity -was this two hundred pounds a-year. And so now they reckoned themselves -in very comfortable circumstances, and were disturbed by nothing but -hopes and doubts about the prospects of the children--hopes full of -brightness present and visible, doubts that were almost as good as hope. - -There was but one circumstance of romance in the simple chronicle. Long -ago--the children did not exactly know when, or how, or in what -manner--Mr Atheling did somebody an extraordinary and mysterious -benefit. Papa was sometimes moved to tell them of it in a general way, -sheltering himself under vague and wide descriptions. The story was of a -young man, handsome, gay, and extravagant, of rank far superior to Mr -Atheling’s--of how he fell into dissipation, and was tempted to -crime--and how at the very crisis “I happened to be in the way, and got -hold of him, and showed him the real state of the case; how I heard what -he was going to do, and of course would betray him; and how, even if he -could do it, it would be certain ruin, disgrace, and misery. That was -the whole matter,” said Mr Atheling--and his affectionate audience -listened with awe and a mysterious interest, very eager to know -something more definite of the whole matter than this concise account of -it, yet knowing that all interrogation was vain. It was popularly -suspected that Mamma knew the full particulars of this bit of romance, -but Mamma was as impervious to questions as the other head of the house. -There was also a second fytte to this story, telling how Mr Atheling -himself undertook the venture of revealing his hapless hero’s -misfortunes to the said hero’s elder brother, a very grand and exalted -personage; how the great man, shocked, and in terror for the family -honour, immediately delivered the culprit, and sent him abroad. “Then he -offered me money,” said Mr Atheling quietly. This was the climax of the -tale, at which everybody was expected to be indignant; and very -indignant, accordingly, everybody was. - -Yet there was a wonderful excitement in the thought that this hero of -Papa’s adventure was now, as Papa intimated, a man of note in the -world--that they themselves unwittingly read his name in the papers -sometimes, and that other people spoke of him to Mr Atheling as a public -character, little dreaming of the early connection between them. How -strange it was!--but no entreaty and no persecution could prevail upon -Papa to disclose his name. “Suppose we should meet him some time!” -exclaimed Agnes, whose imagination sometimes fired with the thought of -reaching that delightful world of society where people always spoke of -books, and genius was the highest nobility--a world often met with in -novels. “If you did,” said Mr Atheling, “it will be all the better for -you to know nothing about this,” and so the controversy always ended; -for in this matter at least, firm as the most scrupulous old knight of -romance, Papa stood on his honour. - -As for the good and tender mother of this house, she had no story to -tell. The girls, it is true, knew about _her_ girlish companions very -nearly as well as if these, now most sober and middle-aged personages, -had been playmates of their own; they knew the names of the pigeons in -the old dovecote, the history of the old dog, the number of the apples -on the great apple-tree; also they had a kindly recollection of one old -lover of Mamma’s, concerning whom they were shy to ask further than she -was pleased to reveal. But all Mrs Atheling’s history was since her -marriage: she had been but a young girl with an untouched heart before -that grand event, which introduced her, in her own person, to the -unquiet ways of life; and her recollections chiefly turned upon the -times “when we lived in---- Street,”--“when we took that new house in -the terrace,”--“when we came to Bellevue.” This Bellevue residence was a -great point in the eyes of Mrs Atheling. She herself had always kept her -original weakness for gentility, and to live in a street where there was -no straight line of commonplace houses, but only villas, detached and -semi-detached, and where every house had a name to itself, was no small -step in advance--particularly as the house was really cheap, really -large, as such houses go, and had only the slight disadvantage of being -out of repair. Mrs Atheling lamed her most serviceable finger with -attempts at carpentry, and knocked her own knuckles with misdirected -hammering, yet succeeded in various shifts that answered very well, and -produced that grand _chef-d’œuvre_ of paperhanging which made more -amusement than any professional decoration ever made, and was just as -comfortable. So the good mother was extremely well pleased with her -house. She was not above the ambition of calling it either Atheling -Lodge, or Hawthorn Cottage, but it was very hard to make a family -decision upon the prettiest name; so the house of the Athelings, with -its eccentric garden, its active occupants, and its cheery -parlour-window, was still only Number Ten, Bellevue. - -And there in the summer sunshine, and in the wintry dawning, at eight -o’clock, Mr Atheling took his seat at the table, said grace, and -breakfasted; from thence at nine to a moment, well brushed and buttoned, -the good man went upon his daily warfare to the City. There all the day -long the pretty twins played, the mother exercised her careful -housewifery, the sweet face of Marian shone like a sunbeam, and the -fancies of Agnes wove themselves into separate and real life. All the -day long the sun shone in at the parlour window upon a thrifty and -well-worn carpet, which all his efforts could not spoil, and dazzled the -eyes of Bell and Beau, and troubled the heart of Mamma finding out spots -of dust, and suspicions of cobwebs which had escaped her own detection. -And when the day was done, and richer people were thinking of dinner, -once more, punctual to a moment, came the well-known step on the gravel, -and the well-known summons at the door; for at six o’clock Mr Atheling -came home to his cheerful tea-table, as contented and respectable a -householder, as happy a father, as was in England. And after tea came -the newspaper and Mr Foggo; and after Mr Foggo came the readings of -Agnes; and so the family said good-night, and slept and rested, to rise -again on the next morning to just such another day. Nothing interrupted -this happy uniformity; nothing broke in upon the calm and kindly usage -of these familiar hours. Mrs Atheling had a mighty deal of thinking to -do, by reason of her small income; now and then the girls were obliged -to consent to be disappointed of some favourite project of their -own--and sometimes even Papa, in a wilful fit of self-denial, refused -himself for a few nights his favourite newspaper; but these were but -passing shadows upon the general content. Through all these long winter -evenings, the one lighted window of this family room brightened the -gloomy gentility of Bellevue, and imparted something of heart and -kindness to the dull and mossy suburban street. They “kept no company,” -as the neighbours said. That was not so much the fault of the Athelings, -as the simple fact that there was little company to keep; but they -warmed the old heart of old Mr Foggo, and kept that singular personage -on speaking terms with humanity; and day by day, and night by night, -lived their frank life before their little world, a family life of love, -activity, and cheerfulness, as bright to look at as their happy open -parlour-window among the closed-up retirements of this genteel little -street. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -THE FIRST WORK. - - -“Now,” said Agnes, throwing down her pen with a cry of triumph--“now, -look here, everybody--it is done at last.” - -And, indeed, there it was upon the fair and legible page, in Agnes’s -best and clearest handwriting, “The End.” She had written it with -girlish delight, and importance worthy the occasion; and with admiring -eyes Mamma and Marian looked upon the momentous words--The End! So now -it was no longer in progress, to be smiled and wondered over, but an -actual thing, accomplished and complete, out of anybody’s power to check -or to alter. The three came together to look at it with a little awe. It -was actually finished--out of hand--an entire and single production. The -last chapter was to be read in the family committee to-night--and then? -They held their breath in sudden excitement. What was to be done with -the Book, which could be smiled at no longer? That momentous question -would have to be settled to-night. - -So they piled it up solemnly, sheet by sheet, upon the side-table. Such -a manuscript! Happy the printer into whose fortunate hands fell this -unparalleled _copy_! And we are grieved to confess that, for the whole -afternoon thereafter, Agnes Atheling was about as idle as it is possible -even for a happy girl to be. No one but a girl could have attained to -such a delightful eminence of doing nothing! She was somewhat unsettled, -we admit, and quite uncontrollable,--dancing about everywhere, making -her presence known by involuntary outbursts of singing and sweet -laughter; but sterner lips than Mamma’s would have hesitated to rebuke -that fresh and spontaneous delight. It was not so much that she was glad -to be done, or was relieved by the conclusion of her self-appointed -labour. She did not, indeed, quite know what made her so happy. Like all -primal gladness, it was involuntary and unexplainable; and the event of -the day, vaguely exciting and exhilarating on its own account, was novel -enough to supply that fresh breeze of excitement and change which is so -pleasant always to the free heart of youth. - -Then came all the usual routine of the evening--everything in its -appointed time--from Susan, who brought the tea-tray, to Mr Foggo. And -Mr Foggo stayed long, and was somewhat prosy. Agnes and Marian, for -this one night, were sadly tired of the old gentleman, and bade him a -very hasty and abrupt good-night when at last he took his departure. -Even then, with a perverse inclination, Papa clung to his newspaper. The -chances were much in favour of Agnes’s dignified and stately withdrawal -from an audience which showed so little eagerness for what she had to -bestow upon them; but Marian, who was as much excited as Agnes, -interposed. “Papa, Agnes is done--finished--done with her story--do you -hear me, papa?” cried Marian in his ear, shaking him by the shoulder to -give emphasis to her words--“she is going to read the last chapter, if -you would lay down that stupid paper--do you hear, papa?” - -Papa heard, but kept his finger at his place, and read steadily in spite -of this interposition. “Be quiet, child,” said the good Mr Atheling; but -the child was not in the humour to be quiet. So after a few minutes, -fairly persecuted out of his paper, Papa gave in, and threw it down; and -the household circle closed round the fireside, and Agnes lifted her -last chapter; but what that last chapter was, we are unable to tell, -without infringing upon the privacy of Number Ten, Bellevue. - -It was satisfactory--that was the great matter: everybody was satisfied -with the annihilation of the impossible villain and the triumph of all -the good people--and everybody concurred in thinking that the -winding-up was as nearly perfect as it was in the nature of mortal -winding-up to be. The MS. accordingly was laid aside, crowned with -applauses and laurels;--then there was a pause of solemn -consideration--the wise heads of the house held their peace and -pondered. Marian, who was not wise, but only excited and impatient, -broke the silence with her own eager, sincere, and unsolicited opinion; -and this was the advice of Marian to the family committee of the whole -house: “Mamma, I will tell you what ought to be done. It ought to be -taken to somebody to-morrow, and published every month, like Dickens and -Thackeray. It is quite as good! Everybody would read it, and Agnes would -be a great author. I am quite sure that is the way.” - -At which speech Charlie whistled a very long “whew!” in a very low -under-tone; for Mamma had very particular notions on the subject of -“good-breeding,” and kept careful watch over the “manners” even of this -big boy. - -“Like Dickens and Thackeray! Marian!” cried Agnes in horror; and then -everybody laughed--partly because it was the grandest and most -magnificent nonsense to place the young author upon this astonishing -level, partly because it was so very funny to think of “our Agnes” -sharing in ever so small a degree the fame of names like these. - -“Not quite that,” said Papa, slowly and doubtfully, “yet I think -somebody might publish it. The question is, whom we should take it to. I -think I ought to consult Foggo.” - -“Mr Foggo is not a literary man, papa,” said Agnes, somewhat -resentfully. She did not quite choose to receive this old gentleman, who -thought her a child, into her confidence. - -“Foggo knows a little of everything,--he has a wonderful head for -business,” said Mr Atheling. “As for a literary man, we do not know such -a person, Agnes; and I can’t see what better we should be if we did. -Depend upon it, business is everything. If they think they can make -money by this story of yours, they will take it, but not otherwise; for, -of course, people trade in books as they trade in cotton, and are not a -bit more generous in one than another, take my word for that.” - -“Very well, my dear,” said Mamma, roused to assert her dignity, “but we -do not wish any one to be generous to Agnes--of course not!--that would -be out of the question; and nobody, you know, could look at that book -without feeling sure of everybody else liking it. Why, William, it is so -natural! You may speak of Thackeray and Dickens as you like; I know -they are very clever--but I am sure I never read anything of theirs like -that scene--that last scene with Helen and her mother. I feel as if I -had been present there my own self.” - -Which was not so very wonderful after all, seeing that the mother in -Agnes’s book was but a delicate, shy, half-conscious sketch of this -dearest mother of her own. - -“I think it ought to be taken to somebody to-morrow,” repeated Marian -stoutly, “and published every month with pictures. How strange it would -be to read in the newspapers how everybody wondered about the new book, -and who wrote it!--such fun!--for nobody but _us_ would know.” - -Agnes all this time remained very silent, receiving everybody’s -opinion--and Charlie also locked up his wisdom in his own breast. There -was a pause, for Papa, feeling that his supreme opinion was urgently -called for, took time to ponder upon it, and was rather afraid of giving -a deliverance. The silence, however, was broken by the abrupt -intervention, when nobody expected it, of the big boy. - -“Make it up into a parcel,” said Master Charlie with business-like -distinctness, “and look in the papers what name you’ll send it to, and -I’ll take it to-morrow.” - -This was so sudden, startling, and decisive, that the audience were -electrified. Mr Atheling looked blankly in his son’s face; the young -gentleman had completely cut the ground from under the feet of his papa. -After all, let any one advise or reason, or argue the point at his -pleasure, this was the only practical conclusion to come at. Charlie -stopped the full-tide of the family argument; they might have gone on -till midnight discussing and wondering; but the big boy made it up into -a parcel, and finished it on the spot. After that they all commenced a -most ignorant and innocent discussion concerning “the trade;” these good -people knew nothing whatever of that much contemned and long-suffering -race who publish books. Two ideal types of them were present to the -minds of the present speculators. One was that most fatal and fictitious -savage, the Giant Despair of an oppressed literature, who sits in his -den for ever grinding the bones of those dismal unforgettable hacks of -Grub Street, whose memory clings unchangeably to their profession; the -other was that bland and genial imagination, equally fictitious, the -author’s friend--he who brings the neglected genius into the full -sunshine of fame and prosperity, seeking only the immortality of such a -connection with the immortal. If one could only know which of these -names in the newspapers belonged to this last wonder of nature! This -discussion concerning people of whom absolutely nothing but the names -were known to the disputants, was a very comical argument; and it was -not concluded when eleven o’clock struck loudly on the kitchen clock, -and Susan, very slumbrous, and somewhat resentful, appeared at the door -to see if anything was wanted. Everybody rose immediately, as Susan -intended they should, with guilt and confusion: eleven o’clock! the -innocent family were ashamed of themselves. - -And this little room up-stairs, as you do not need to be told, is the -bower of Agnes and of Marian. There are two small white beds in it, -white and fair and simple, draped with the purest dimity, and covered -with the whitest coverlids. If Agnes, by chance or in haste--and Agnes -is very often “in a great hurry”--should leave her share of the -apartment in a less orderly condition than became a young lady’s room, -Marian never yielded to such a temptation. Marian was the completest -woman in all her simple likings; their little mirror, their -dressing-table, everything which would bear such fresh and inexpensive -decoration, was draped with pretty muslin, the work of these pretty -fingers. And there hung their little shelf of books over Agnes’s head, -and here upon the table was their Bible. Yet in spite of the quiet night -settling towards midnight--in spite of the unbroken stillness of -Bellevue, where every candle was extinguished, and all the world at -rest, the girls could not subdue all at once their eager anticipations, -hopes, and wondering. Marian let down all her beautiful hair over her -shoulders, and pretended to brush it, looking all the time out of the -shining veil, and throwing the half-curled locks from her face, when -something occurred to her bearing upon the subject. Agnes, with both her -hands supporting her forehead, leaned over the table with downcast -eyes--seeing nothing, thinking nothing, with a faint glow on her soft -cheek, and a vague excitement at her heart. Happy hearts! it was so easy -to stir them to this sweet tumult of hope and fancy; and so small a -reason was sufficient to wake these pure imaginations to all-indefinite -glory and delight. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -CHARLIE’S ENTERPRISE. - - -It was made into a parcel, duly packed and tied up; not in a delicate -wrapper, or with pretty ribbons, as perhaps the affectionate regard of -Agnes might have suggested, but in the commonest and most matter-of-fact -parcel imaginable. But by that time it began to be debated whether -Charlie, after all, was a sufficiently dignified messenger. He was only -a boy--that was not to be disputed; and Mrs Atheling did not think him -at all remarkable for his “manners,” and Papa doubted whether he was -able to manage a matter of business. But, then, who could go?--not the -girls certainly, and not their mother, who was somewhat timid out of her -own house. Mr Atheling could not leave his office; and really, after all -their objections, there was nobody but Charlie, unless it was Mr Foggo, -whom Agnes would by no means consent to employ. So they brushed their -big boy, as carefully as Moses Primrose was brushed before he went to -the fair, and gave him strict injunctions to look as grave, as -sensible, and as _old_ as possible. All these commands Charlie received -with perfect coolness, hoisting his parcel under his arm, and remaining -entirely unmoved by the excitement around him. “_I_ know well -enough--don’t be afraid,” said Charlie; and he strode off like a young -ogre, carrying Agnes’s fortune under his arm. They all went to the -window to look after him with some alarm and some hope; but though they -were troubled for his youth, his abruptness, and his want of “manners,” -there was exhilaration in the steady ring of Charlie’s manful foot, and -his own entire and undoubting confidence. On he went, a boyish giant, to -throw down that slender gage and challenge of the young genius to all -the world. Meanwhile they returned to their private occupations, this -little group of women, excited, doubtful, much expecting, marvelling -over and over again what Mr Burlington would say. Such an eminence of -lofty criticism and censorship these good people recognised in the -position of Mr Burlington! He seemed to hold in his hands the universal -key which opened everything: fame, honour, and reward, at that moment, -appeared to these simple minds to be mere vassals of his pleasure; and -all the balance of the future, as Agnes fancied, lay in the doubtful -chance whether he was propitious or unpropitious. Simple imaginations! -Mr Burlington, at that moment taking off his top-coat, and placing his -easy-chair where no draught could reach it, was about as innocent of -literature as Charlie Atheling himself. - -But Charlie, who had to go to “the office” after he fulfilled his -mission, could not come home till the evening; so they had to be patient -in spite of themselves. The ordinary occupations of the day in Bellevue -were not very novel, nor very interesting. Mrs Atheling had ambition, -and aimed at gentility; so, of course, they had a piano. The girls had -learned a very little music; and Marian and Agnes, when they were out of -humour, or disinclined for serious occupation, or melancholy (for they -were melancholy sometimes in the “prodigal excess” of their youth and -happiness), were wont to bethink themselves of the much-neglected -“practising,” and spend a stray hour upon it with most inconsistent and -variable zeal. This day there was a great deal of “practising”--indeed, -these wayward girls divided their whole time between the piano and the -garden, which was another recognised safety-valve. Mamma had not the -heart to chide them; instead of that, her face brightened to hear the -musical young voices, the low sweet laughter, the echo of their flying -feet through the house and on the garden paths. As she sat at her work -in her snug sitting-room, with Bell and Beau playing at her feet, and -Agnes and Marian playing too, as truly, and with as pure and -spontaneous delight, Mrs Atheling was very happy. She did not say a -word that any one could hear--but God knew the atmosphere of unspoken -and unspeakable gratitude, which was the very breath of this good -woman’s heart. - -When their messenger came home, though he came earlier than Papa, and -there was full opportunity to interrogate him--Charlie, we are grieved -to say, was not very satisfactory in his communications. “Yes,” said -Charlie, “I saw him: I don’t know if it was the head-man: of course, I -asked for Mr Burlington--and he took the parcel--that’s all.” - -“That’s all?--you little savage!” cried Marian, who was not half as big -as Charlie. “Did he say he would be glad to have it? Did he ask who had -written it? What did he say?” - -“Are you sure it was Mr Burlington?” said Agnes. “Did he look pleased? -What do you think he thought? What did you say to him? Charlie, boy, -tell us what you said?” - -“I won’t tell you a word, if you press upon me like that,” said the big -boy. “Sit down and be quiet. Mother, make them sit down. I don’t know if -it was Mr Burlington; I don’t think it was: it was a washy man, that -never could have been head of that place. He took the papers, and made a -face at me, and said, ‘Are they your own?’ I said ‘No’ plain enough; and -then he looked at the first page, and said they must be left. So I left -them. Well, what was a man to do? Of course, that is all.” - -“What do you mean by making a face at you, boy?” said the watchful -mother. “I do trust, Charlie, my dear, you were careful how to behave, -and did not make any of your faces at him.” - -“Oh, it was only a smile,” said Charlie, with again a grotesque -imitation. “‘Are they your own?’--meaning I was just a boy to be laughed -at, you know--I should think so! As if I could not make an end of -half-a-dozen like him.” - -“Don’t brag, Charlie,” said Marian, “and don’t be angry about the -gentleman, you silly boy; he always must have something on his mind -different from a lad like you.” - -Charlie laughed with grim satisfaction. “He hasn’t a great deal on his -mind, that chap,” said the big boy; “but I wouldn’t be him, set up there -for no end but reading rubbish--not for--five hundred a-year.” - -Now, we beg to explain that five hundred a-year was a perfectly -magnificent income to the imagination of Bellevue. Charlie could not -think at the moment of any greater inducement. - -“Reading rubbish! And he has Agnes’s book to read!” cried Marian. That -was indeed an overpowering anti-climax. - -“Yes, but how did he look? Do you think he was pleased? And will it be -sure to come to Mr Burlington safe?” said Agnes. Agnes could not help -having a secret impression that there might be some plot against this -book of hers, and that everybody knew how important it was. - -“Why, he looked--as other people look who have nothing to say,” said -Charlie; “and I had nothing to say--so we got on together. And he said -it looked original--much he could tell from the first page! And so, of -course, I came away--they’re to write when they’ve read it over. I tell -you, that’s all. I don’t believe it was Mr Burlington; but it was the -man that does that sort of thing, and so it was all the same.” - -This was the substance of Charlie’s report. He could not be prevailed -upon to describe how this important critic looked, or if he was pleased, -or anything about him. He was a washy man, Charlie said; but the -obstinate boy would not even explain what washy meant, so they had to -leave the question in the hands of time to bring elucidation to it. They -were by no means patient; many and oft-repeated were the attacks upon -Charlie--many the wonderings over the omnipotent personage who had the -power of this decision in his keeping; but in the mean time, and for -sundry days and weeks following, these hasty girls had to wait, and to -be content. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -A DECISION. - - -“I’ve been thinking,” said Charlie Atheling slowly. Having made this -preface, the big boy paused: it was his manner of opening an important -subject, to which the greater part of his cogitations were directed. His -sisters came close to him immediately, half-embracing this great fellow -in their united arms, and waiting for his communication. It was the -twilight of an April evening, soft and calm. There were no stars in the -sky--no sky even, except an occasional break of clear deep heavenly blue -through the shadowy misty shapes of clouds, crowding upon each other -over the whole arch of heaven. The long boughs of the lilac-bushes -rustled in the night wind with all their young soft leaves--the prim -outline of the poplar was ruffled with brown buds, and low on the dark -soil at its feet was a faint golden lustre of primroses. Everything was -as still--not as death, for its deadly calm never exists in nature; but -as life, breathing, hushing, sleeping in that sweet season, when the -grass is growing and the bud unfolding, all the night and all the day. -Even here, in this suburban garden, with the great Babel muffling its -voices faintly in the far distance, you could hear, if you listened, -that secret rustle of growth and renewing which belongs to the sweet -spring. Even here, in this colourless soft light, you could see the -earth opening her unwearied bosom, with a passive grateful sweetness, to -the inspiring touch of heaven. The brown soil was moist with April -showers, and the young leaves glistened faintly with blobs of dew. Very -different from the noonday hope was this hope of twilight; but not less -hopeful in its silent operations, its sweet sighs, its soft tears, and -the heart that stirred within it, in the dark, like a startled bird. - -These three young figures, closely grouped together, which you could see -only in outline against the faint horizon and the misty sky, were as -good a human rendering as could be made of the unexpressed sentiment of -the season and the night--they too were growing, with a sweet -involuntary progression, up to their life, and to their fate. They stood -upon the threshold of the world innocent adventurers, fearing no evil; -and it was hard to believe that these hopeful neophytes could ever be -made into toil-worn, care-hardened people of the world by any sum of -hardships or of years. - -“I’ve been thinking;”--all this time Charlie Atheling had added nothing -to his first remarkable statement, and we are compelled to admit that -the conclusion which he now gave forth did not seem to justify the -solemnity of the delivery--“yes, I’ve made up my mind; I’ll go to old -Foggo and the law.” - -“And why, Charlie, why?” - -Charlie was not much given to rendering a reason. - -“Never mind the why,” he said, abruptly; “that’s best. There’s old Foggo -himself, now; nobody can reckon his income, or make a balance just what -he is and what he has, and all about him, as people could do with us. We -are plain nobodies, and people know it at a glance. My father has five -children and two hundred a-year--whereas old Foggo, you see--” - -“_I_ don’t see--I do not believe it!” cried Marian, impatiently. “Do you -mean to say, you bad boy, that Mr Foggo is better than papa--_my_ -father? Why, he has mamma, and Bell and Beau, and all of us: if anything -ailed him, we should break our hearts. Mr Foggo has only Miss Willsie: -he is an old man, and snuffs, and does not care for anybody: do you call -_that_ better than papa?” - -But Charlie only laughed. Certain it was that this lad had not the -remotest intention of setting up Mr Foggo as his model of happiness. -Indeed, nobody quite knew what Charlie’s ideal was; but the boy, spite -of his practical nature, had a true boyish liking for that margin of -uncertainty which made it possible to surmise some unknown power or -greatness even in the person of this ancient lawyer’s clerk. Few lads, -we believe, among the range of those who have to make their own fortune, -are satisfied at their outset to decide upon being “no better than -papa.” - -“Well,” said Agnes, with consideration, “I should not like Charlie to be -just like papa. Papa can do nothing but keep us all--so many -children--and he never can be anything more than he is now. But -Charlie--Charlie is quite a different person. I wish he could be -something great.” - -“Agnes--don’t! it is such nonsense!” cried Marian. “Is there anything -great in old Mr Foggo’s office? He is a poor old man, _I_ think, living -all by himself with Miss Willsie. I had rather be Susan in our house, -than be mistress in Mr Foggo’s: and how could _he_ make Charlie anything -great?” - -“Stuff!” said Charlie; “nobody wants to be _made_; that’s a man’s own -business. Now, you just be quiet with your romancing, you girls. I’ll -tell you what, though, there’s one man I think I’d like to be--and I -suppose you call him great--I’d like to be Rajah Brooke.” - -“Oh, Charlie! and hang people!” cried Marian. - -“Not people--only pirates,” said the big boy: “wouldn’t I string them up -too! Yes, if that would please you, Agnes, I’d like to be Rajah Brooke.” - -“Then why, Charlie,” exclaimed Agnes--“why do you go to Mr Foggo’s -office? A merchant may have a chance for such a thing--but a lawyer! -Charlie, boy, what do you mean?” - -“Never mind,” said Charlie; “your Brookes and your Layards and such -people don’t begin by being merchants’ clerks. I know better: they have -birth and education, and all that, and get the start of everybody, and -then they make a row about it. I don’t see, for my part,” said the young -gentleman meditatively, “what it is but chance. A man may succeed, or a -man may fail, and it’s neither much to his credit nor his blame. It is a -very odd thing, and I can’t understand it--a man may work all his life, -and never be the better for it. It’s chance, and nothing more, so far as -I can see.” - -“Hush, Charlie--say Providence,” said Agnes, anxiously. - -“Well, I don’t know--it’s very odd,” answered the big boy. - -Whereupon there began two brief but earnest lectures for the good of -Charlie’s mind, and the improvement of his sentiments. The girls were -much disturbed by their brother’s heterodoxy; they assaulted him -vehemently with the enthusiastic eagerness of the young faith which had -never been tried, and would not comprehend any questioning. Chance! when -the very sparrows could not fall to the ground--The bright face of Agnes -Atheling flushed almost into positive beauty; she asked indignantly, -with a trembling voice and tears in her eyes, how Mamma could have -endured to live if it had not been God who did it? Charlie, rough as he -was, could not withstand an appeal like this: he muttered something -hastily under his breath about success in business being a very -different thing from _that_, and was indisputably overawed and -vanquished. This allusion made them all very silent for a time, and the -young bright eyes involuntarily glanced upward where the pure faint -stars were gleaming out one by one among the vapoury hosts of cloud. -Strangely touching was the solemnity of this link, not to be broken, -which connected the family far down upon the homely bosom of the -toilsome earth with yonder blessed children in the skies. Marian, saying -nothing, wiped some tears silently from the beautiful eyes which turned -such a wistful, wondering, longing look to the uncommunicating heaven. -Charlie, though you could scarcely see him in the darkness, worked those -heavy furrows of his brow, and frowned fiercely upon himself. The long -branches came sweeping towards them, swayed by the night wind; up in the -east rose the pale spring moon, pensive, with a misty halo like a saint. -The aspect of the night was changed; instead of the soft brown gloaming, -there was broad silvery light and heavy masses of shadow over sky and -soil--an instant change all brought about by the rising of the moon. As -swift an alteration had passed upon the mood of these young speculators. -They went in silently, full of thought--not so sad but that they could -brighten to the fireside brightness, yet more meditative than was their -wont; even Charlie--for there was a warm heart within the clumsy form of -this big boy! - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -MR FOGGO. - - -They went in very sedately out of the darkness, their eyes dazzled with -the sudden light. Bell and Beau were safely disposed of for the night, -and on the side-table, beside Charlie’s two grammars and Agnes’s -blotting-book, now nearly empty, lay the newspaper of Papa; for the -usual visitor was installed in the usual place at the fireside, opposite -Mr Atheling. Good companion, it is time you should see the friend of the -family: there he was. - -And there also, it must be confessed, was a certain faint yet expressive -fragrance, which delicately intimated to one sense at least, before he -made his appearance, the coming of Mr Foggo. We will not affirm that it -was lundyfoot--our own private impression, indeed, is strongly in favour -of black rappee--but the thing was indisputable, whatever might be the -species. He was a large brown man, full of folds and wrinkles; folds in -his brown waistcoat, where secret little sprinklings of snuff, scarcely -perceptible, lay undisturbed and secure; wrinkles, long and forcible, -about his mouth; folds under his eyelids, deep lines upon his brow. -There was not a morsel of smooth surface visible anywhere even in his -hands, which were traced all over with perceptible veins and sinews, -like a geographical exercise. Mr Foggo wore a wig, which could not by -any means be complimented with the same title as Mr Pendennis’s “’ead of -’air.” He was between fifty and sixty, a genuine old bachelor, perfectly -satisfied with his own dry and unlovely existence. Yet we may suppose it -was something in Mr Foggo’s favour, the frequency of his visits here. He -sat by the fireside with the home-air of one who knows that this chair -is called his, and that he belongs to the household circle, and turned -to look at the young people, as they entered, with a familiar yet -critical eye. He was friendly enough, now and then, to deliver little -rebukes and remonstrances, and was never complimentary, even to Marian; -which may be explained, perhaps, when we say that he was a Scotsman--a -north-country Scotsman--with “peculiarities” in his pronunciation, and -very distinct opinions of his own. How he came to win his way into the -very heart of this family, we are not able to explain; but there he was, -and there Mr Foggo had been, summer and winter, for nearly half-a-score -of years. - -He was now an institution, recognised and respected. No one dreamt of -investigating his claims--possession was the whole law in his case, his -charter and legal standing-ground; and the young commonwealth recognised -as undoubtingly the place of Mr Foggo as they did the natural throne and -pre-eminence of Papa and Mamma. - -“For my part,” said Mr Foggo, who, it seemed, was in the midst of what -Mrs Atheling called a “sensible conversation,”--and Mr Foggo spoke -slowly, and with a certain methodical dignity,--“for my part, I see -little in the art of politics, but just withholding as long as ye can, -and giving as little as ye may; for a statesman, ye perceive, be he -Radical or Tory, must ever consent to be a stout Conservative when he -gets the upper hand. It’s in the nature of things--it’s like father and -son--it’s the primitive principle of government, if ye take my opinion. -So I am never sanguine myself about a new ministry keeping its word. How -should it keep its word? Making measures and opposing them are two as -different things as can be. There’s father and son, a standing example: -the young man is the people and the old man is the government,--the lad -spurs on and presses, the greybeard holds in and restrains.” - -“Ah, Foggo! all very well to talk,” said Mr Atheling; “but men should -keep their word, government or no government--that’s what I say. Do you -mean to tell me that a father would cheat his son with promises? No! no! -no! Your excuses won’t do for me.” - -“And as for speaking of the father and son, as if it was natural they -should be opposed to each other, I am surprised at _you_, Mr Foggo,” -said Mrs Atheling, with emphatic disapproval. “There’s my Charlie, now, -a wilful boy; but do you think _he_ would set his face against anything -his papa or I might say?” - -“Charlie,” said Mr Foggo, with a twinkle of the grey-brown eye which -shone clear and keen under folds of eyelid and thickets of eyebrow, “is -an uncommon boy. I’m speaking of the general principle, not of -exceptional cases. No! men and measures are well enough to make a noise -or an election about; but to go against the first grand rule is not in -the nature of man.” - -“Yes, yes!” said Mr Atheling, impatiently; “but I tell you he’s broken -his word--that’s what I say--told a lie, neither more nor less. Do you -mean to tell me that any general principle will excuse a man for -breaking his promises? I challenge your philosophy for that.” - -“When ye accept promises that it’s not in the nature of things a man can -keep, ye must even be content with the alternative,” said Mr Foggo. - -“Oh! away with your nature of things!” cried Papa, who was unusually -excited and vehement,--“scarcely civil,” as Mrs Atheling assured him in -her private reproof. “It’s the nature of the man, that’s what’s wrong. -False in youth, false in age,--if I had known!” - -“Crooked ways are ill to get clear of,” said Mr Foggo oracularly. -“What’s that you’re about, Charlie, my boy? Take you my advice, lad, and -never be a public man.” - -“A public man! I wish public men had just as much sense,” said Mrs -Atheling in an indignant under-tone. This good couple, like a great many -other excellent people, were pleased to note how all the national -businesses were mismanaged, and what miserable ’prentice-hands of pilots -held the helm of State. - -“I grant you it would not be overmuch for them,” said Mr Foggo; “and -speaking of government, Mrs Atheling, Willsie is in trouble again.” - -“I am very sorry,” exclaimed Mrs Atheling, with instant interest. “Dear -me, I thought this was such a likely person. You remember what I said to -you, Agnes, whenever I saw her. She looked so neat and handy, I thought -her quite the thing for Miss Willsie. What has she done?” - -“Something like the Secretary of State for the Home Department,” said Mr -Foggo,--“made promises which could not be kept while she was on trial, -and broke them when she took office. Shall I send the silly thing -away?” - -“Oh, Mr Foggo! Miss Willsie was so pleased with her last week--she could -do so many things--she has so much good in her,” cried Marian; “and then -you can’t tell--you have not tried her long enough--don’t send her -away!” - -“She is so pretty, Mr Foggo,” said Agnes. - -Mr Foggo chuckled, thinking, not of Miss Willsie’s maid-servant, but of -the Secretary of State. Papa looked at him across the fireplace -wrathfully. What the reason was, nobody could tell; but Papa was visibly -angry, and in a most unamiable state of mind: he said “Tush!” with an -impatient gesture, in answer to the chuckle of his opponent. Mr Atheling -was really not at all polite to his friend and guest. - -But we presume Mr Foggo was not sensitive--he only chuckled the more, -and took a pinch of snuff. The snuff-box was a ponderous silver one, -with an inscription on the lid, and always revealed itself most -distinctly, in shape at least, within the brown waistcoat-pocket of its -owner. As he enjoyed this refreshment, the odour diffused itself more -distinctly through the apartment, and a powdery thin shower fell from Mr -Foggo’s huge brown fingers. Susan’s cat, if she comes early to the -parlour, will undoubtedly be seized with many sneezes to-morrow. - -But Marian, who was innocently unconscious of any double meaning, -continued to plead earnestly for Miss Willsie’s maid. “Yes, Mr Foggo, -she is so pretty,” said Marian, “and so neat, and smiles. I am sure Miss -Willsie herself would be grieved after, if she sent her away. Let mamma -speak to Miss Willsie, Mr Foggo. She smiles as if she could not help it. -I am sure she is good. Do not let Miss Willsie send her away.” - -“Willsie is like the public--she is never content with her servants,” -said Mr Foggo. “Where’s all the poetry to-night? no ink upon Agnes’s -finger! I don’t understand that.” - -“I never write poetry, Mr Foggo,” said Agnes, with superb disdain. Agnes -was extremely annoyed by Mr Foggo’s half-knowledge of her authorship. -The old gentleman took her for one of the young ladies who write verses, -she thought; and for this most amiable and numerous sisterhood, the -young genius, in her present mood, had a considerable disdain. - -“And ink on her finger! You never saw ink on Agnes’s finger--you know -you never did!” cried the indignant Marian. “If she did write poetry, it -is no harm; and I know very well you only mean to tease her: but it is -wrong to say what never was true.” - -Mr Foggo rose, diffusing on every side another puff of his peculiar -element. “When I have quarrelled with everybody, I reckon it is about -time to go home,” said Mr Foggo. “Charlie, step across with me, and get -some nonsense-verses Willsie has been reading, for the girls. Keep in -the same mind, Agnes, and never write poetry--it’s a mystery; no man -should meddle with it till he’s forty--that’s _my_ opinion--and then -there would be as few poets as there are Secretaries of State.” - -“Secretaries of State!” exclaimed Papa, restraining his vehemence, -however, till Mr Foggo was fairly gone, and out of hearing--and then Mr -Atheling made a pause. You could not suppose that his next observation -had any reference to this indignant exclamation; it was so oddly out of -connection that even the girls smiled to each other. “I tell you what, -Mary, a man should not be led by fantastic notions--a man should never -do anything that does not come directly in his way,” said Mr Atheling, -and he pushed his grizzled hair back from his brow with heat and -excitement. It was an ordinary saying enough, not much to be marvelled -at. What did Papa mean? - -“Then, papa, nothing generous would ever be done in the world,” said -Marian, who, somewhat excited by Mr Foggo, was quite ready for an -argument on any subject, or with any person. - -“But things that have to be done always come in people’s way,” said -Agnes; “is not that true? I am sure, when you read people’s lives, the -thing they have to do seems to pursue them; and even if they do not want -it, they cannot help themselves. Papa, is not that true?” - -“Ay, ay--hush, children,” said Mr Atheling, vaguely; “I am busy--speak -to your mother.” - -They spoke to their mother, but not of this subject. They spoke of Miss -Willsie’s new maid, and conspired together to hinder her going away; and -then they marvelled somewhat over the book which Charlie was to bring -home. Mr Foggo and his maiden sister lived in Bellevue, in one of the -villas semi-detached, which Miss Willsie had named Killiecrankie Lodge, -yet Charlie was some time absent. “He is talking to Mr Foggo, instead of -bringing our book,” said Marian, pouting with her pretty lips. Papa and -Mamma had each of them settled into a brown study--a very brown study, -to judge from appearances. The fire was low--the lights looked dim. -Neither of the girls were doing anything, save waiting on Charlie. They -were half disposed to be peevish. “It is not too late; come and practise -for half an hour, Agnes,” said Marian, suddenly. Mrs Atheling was too -much occupied to suggest, as she usually did, that the music would wake -Bell and Beau: they stole away from the family apartment unchidden and -undetained, and, lighting another candle, entered the genteel and -solemn darkness of the best room. You have not been in the best room; -let us enter with due dignity this reserved and sacred apartment, which -very few people ever enter, and listen to the music which nobody ever -hears. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -THE BEST ROOM. - - -The music, we are grieved to say, was not at all worth listening to--it -would not have disturbed Bell and Beau had the two little beds been on -the top of the piano. Though Marian with a careless hand ran over three -or four notes, the momentary sound did not disturb the brown study of -Mrs Atheling, and scarcely roused Susan, nodding and dozing, as she -mended stockings by the kitchen fire. We are afraid this same practising -was often an excuse for half an hour’s idleness and dreaming. Sweet -idleness! happy visions! for it certainly was so to-night. - -The best room was of the same size exactly as the family sitting-room, -but looked larger by means of looking prim, chill, and uninhabited--and -it was by no means crowded with furniture. The piano in one corner and a -large old-fashioned table in another, with a big leaf of black and -bright mahogany folded down, were the only considerable articles in the -room, and the wall looked very blank with its array of chairs. The sofa -inclined towards the unlighted fire, and the round table stood before -it; but you could not delude yourself into the idea that this at any -time could be the family hearth. Mrs Atheling “kept no company;” so, -like other good people in the same condition, she religiously preserved -and kept in order the company-room; and it was a comfort to her heart to -recollect that in this roomy house there was always an orderly place -where strangers could be shown into, although the said strangers never -came. - -The one candle had been placed drearily among the little coloured glass -vases on the mantel-shelf; but the moonlight shone broad and full into -the window, and, pouring its rays over the whole visible scene without, -made something grand and solemn even of this genteel and silent -Bellevue. The tranquil whiteness on these humble roofs--the distinctness -with which one branch here and there, detached and taken possession of -by the light, marked out its half-developed buds against the sky--the -strange magic which made that faint ascending streak of smoke the -ethereal plaything of these moonbeams--and the intense blackness of the -shadow, deep as though it fell from one of the pyramids, of these homely -garden-walls--made a wonderful and striking picture of a scene which had -not one remarkable feature of its own; and the solitary figure crossing -the road, all enshrined and hallowed in this silvery glory, but itself -so dark and undistinguishable, was like a figure in a vision--an -emblematic and symbolical appearance, entering like a picture to the -spectator’s memory. The two girls stood looking out, with their arms -entwined, and their fair heads close together, as is the wont of such -companions, watching the wayfarer, whose weary footstep was inaudible in -the great hush and whisper of the night. - -“I always fancy one might see ghosts in moonlight,” said Marian, under -her breath. Certainly that solitary passenger, with all the silvered -folds of his dress, and the gliding and noiseless motion of his -progress, was not entirely unlike one. - -“He looks like a man in a parable,” said Agnes, in the same tone. “One -could think he was gliding away mysteriously to do something wrong. See, -now, he has gone into the shadow. I cannot see him at all--he has quite -disappeared--it is so black. Ah! I shall think he is always standing -there, looking over at us, and plotting something. I wish Charlie would -come home--how long he is!” - -“Who would plot anything against us?” said innocent Marian, with her -fearless smile. “People do not have enemies now as they used to have--at -least not common people. I wish he would come out again, though, out of -that darkness. I wonder what sort of man he could be.” - -But Agnes was no longer following the man; her eye was wandering vaguely -over the pale illumination of the sky. “I wonder what will happen to us -all?” said Agnes, with a sigh--sweet sigh of girlish thought that knew -no care! “I think we are all beginning now, Marian, every one of us. I -wonder what will happen--Charlie and all?” - -“Oh, I can tell you,” said Marian; “and you first of all, because you -are the eldest. We shall all be famous, Agnes, every one of us; all -because of you.” - -“Oh, hush!” cried Agnes, a smile and a flush and a sudden brightness -running over all her face; “but suppose it _should_ be so, you know, -Marian--only suppose it for our own pleasure--what a delight it would -be! It might help Charlie on better than anything; and then what we -could do for Bell and Beau! Of course it is nonsense,” said Agnes, with -a low laugh and a sigh of excitement, “but how pleasant it would be!” - -“It is not nonsense at all; I think it is quite certain,” said Marian; -“but then people would seek you out, and you would have to go and visit -them--great people--clever people. Would it not be odd to hear real -ladies and gentlemen talking in company as they talk in books?” - -“I wonder if they do,” said Agnes, doubtfully. “And then to meet people -whom we have heard of all our lives--perhaps Bulwer even!--perhaps -Tennyson! Oh, Marian!” - -“And to know they were very glad to meet _you_,” exclaimed the sister -dreamer, with another low laugh of absolute pleasure: that was very near -the climax of all imaginable honours--and for very awe and delight the -young visionaries held their breath. - -“And I think now,” said Marian, after a little interval, “that perhaps -it is better Charlie should be a lawyer, for he would have so little at -first in papa’s office, and he never could get on, more than papa; and -you would not like to leave all the rest of us behind you, Agnes? I know -you would not. But I hope Charlie will never grow like Mr Foggo, so old -and solitary; to be poor would be better than that.” - -“Then I could be Miss Willsie,” said Agnes, “and we should live in a -little square house, with two bits of lawn and two fir-trees; but I -think we would not call it Killiecrankie Lodge.” - -Over this felicitous prospect there was a great deal of very quiet -laughing--laughing as sweet and as irrepressible as any other natural -music, but certainly not evidencing any very serious purpose on the -part of either of the young sisters to follow the example of Miss -Willsie. They had so little thought, in their fair unconscious youth, of -all the long array of years and changes which lay between their sweet -estate and that of the restless kind old lady, the mistress of Mr -Foggo’s little square house. - -“And then, for me--what should I do?” said Marian. There were smiles -hiding in every line of this young beautiful face, curving the pretty -eyebrow, moving the soft lip, shining shy and bright in the sweet eyes. -No anxiety--not the shadow of a shade--had ever crossed this young -girl’s imagination touching her future lot. It was as rosy as the west -and the south, and the cheeks of Maud in Mr Tennyson’s poem. She had no -thought of investigating it too closely; it was all as bright as a -summer day to Marian, and she was ready to spend all her smiles upon the -prediction, whether it was ill or well. - -“Then I suppose you must be married, May. I see nothing else for you,” -said Agnes, “for there could not possibly be two Miss Willsies; but I -should like to see, in a fairy glass, who my other brother was to be. He -must be clever, Marian, and it would be very pleasant if he could be -rich, and I suppose he ought to be handsome too.” - -“Oh, Agnes! handsome of course, first of all!” cried Marian, laughing, -“nobody but you would put that last.” - -“But then I rather like ugly people, especially if they are clever,” -said Agnes; “there is Charlie, for example. If he was _very_ ugly, what -an odd couple you would be!--he ought to be ugly for a balance--and very -witty and very pleasant, and ready to do anything for you, May. Then if -he were only rich, and you could have a carriage, and be a great lady, I -think I should be quite content.” - -“Hush, Agnes! mamma will hear you--and now there is Charlie with a -book,” said Marian. “Look! he is quite as mysterious in the moonlight as -the other man--only Charlie could never be like a ghost--and I wonder -what the book is. Come, Agnes, open the door.” - -This was the conclusion of the half-hour’s practising; they made -grievously little progress with their music, yet it was by no means an -unpleasant half-hour. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -A SERIOUS QUESTION. - - -Mrs Atheling has been calling upon Miss Willsie, partly to intercede for -Hannah, the pretty maid, partly on a neighbourly errand of ordinary -gossip and kindliness; but in decided excitement and agitation of mind -Mamma has come home. It is easy to perceive this as she hurries -up-stairs to take off her shawl and bonnet; very easy to notice the -fact, as, absent and preoccupied, she comes down again. Bell and Beau -are in the kitchen, and the kitchen-door is open. Bell has Susan’s cat, -who is very like to scratch her, hugged close in her chubby arms. Beau -hovers so near the fire, on which there is no guard, that his mother -would think him doomed did she see him; but--it is true, although it is -almost unbelievable--Mamma actually passes the open kitchen-door without -observing either Bell or Beau! - -The apples of her eye! Mrs Atheling has surely something very important -to occupy her thoughts; and now she takes her usual chair, but does not -attempt to find her work-basket. What can possibly have happened to -Mamma? - -The girls have not to wait very long in uncertainty. The good mother -speaks, though she does not distinctly address either of them. “They -want a lad like Charlie in Mr Foggo’s office,” said Mrs Atheling. “I -knew that, and that Charlie could have the place; but they also want an -articled clerk.” - -“An articled clerk!--what is that, mamma?” said Agnes, eagerly. - -To tell the truth, Mrs Atheling did not very well know what it was, but -she knew it was “something superior,” and that was enough for her -motherly ambition. - -“Well, my dear, it is a gentleman,” said Mrs Atheling, “and of course -there must be far greater opportunities of learning. It is a superior -thing altogether, I believe. Now, being such old friends, I should think -Mr Foggo might get them to take a very small premium. Such a thing for -Charlie! I am sure we could all pinch for a year or two to give him a -beginning like _that_!” - -“Would it be much better, mamma?” said Marian. They had left what they -were doing to come closer about her, pursuing their eager -interrogations. Marian sat down upon a stool on the rug where the -fire-light brightened her hair and reddened her cheek at its pleasure. -Agnes stood on the opposite side of the hearth, looking down upon the -other interlocutors. They were impatient to hear all that Mrs Atheling -had heard, and perfectly ready to jump to an unanimous opinion. - -“Better, my dear!” said Mrs Atheling--“just as much better as a young -man learning to be a master can be better than one who is only a -servant. Then, you know, it would give Charlie standing, and get him -friends of a higher class. I think it would be positively a sin to -neglect such an opportunity; we might never all our lives hear of -anything like it again.” - -“And how did you hear of it, mamma?” said Marian. Marian had quite a -genius for asking questions. - -“I heard of it from Miss Willsie, my love. It was entirely by accident. -She was telling me of an articled pupil they had at the office, who had -gone all wrong, poor fellow, in consequence of----; but I can tell you -that another time. And then she said they wanted one now, and then it -flashed upon me just like an inspiration. I was quite agitated. I do -really declare to you, girls, I thought it was Providence; and I -believe, if we only were bold enough to do it in faith, God would -provide the means; and I feel sure it would be the making of Charlie. I -think so indeed.” - -“I wonder what he would say himself?” said Agnes; for not even Mrs -Atheling knew so well as Agnes did the immovable determination, when he -had settled upon anything, of this obstinate big boy. - -“We will speak of it to-night, and see what your papa says, and I would -not mind even mentioning it to Mr Foggo,” said Mrs Atheling: “we have -not very much to spare, yet I think we could all spare something for -Charlie’s sake; we must have it fully discussed to-night.” - -This made, for the time, a conclusion of the subject, since Mrs -Atheling, having unburthened her mind to her daughters, immediately -discovered the absence of the children, rebuked the girls for suffering -them to stray, and set out to bring them back without delay. Marian sat -musing before the fire, scorching her pretty cheek with the greatest -equanimity. Agnes threw herself into Papa’s easy-chair. Both hurried off -immediately into delightful speculations touching Charlie--a lawyer and -a gentleman; and already in their secret hearts both of these rash girls -began to entertain the utmost contempt for the commonplace name of -clerk. - -We are afraid Mr Atheling’s tea was made very hurriedly that night. He -could not get peace to finish his third cup, that excellent papa: they -persecuted him out of his ordinary play with Bell and Beau; his -invariable study of the newspaper. He could by no means make out the -cause of the commotion. “Not another story finished already, Agnes?” -said the perplexed head of the house. He began to think it would be -something rather alarming if they succeeded each other like this. - -“Now, my dears, sit down, and do not make a noise with your work, I beg -of you. I have something to say to your papa,” said Mrs Atheling, with -state and solemnity. - -Whereupon Papa involuntarily put himself on his defence; he had not the -slightest idea what could be amiss, but he recognised the gravity of the -preamble. “What _is_ the matter, Mary?” cried poor Mr Atheling. He could -not tell what he had done to deserve this. - -“My dear, I want to speak about Charlie,” said Mrs Atheling, becoming -now less dignified, and showing a little agitation. “I went to call on -Miss Willsie to-day, partly about Hannah, partly for other things; and -Miss Willsie told me, William, that besides the youth’s place which we -thought would do for Charlie, there was in Mr Foggo’s office a vacancy -for an articled clerk.” - -Mrs Atheling paused, out of breath. She did not often make long -speeches, nor had she frequently before originated and led a great -movement like this, so she showed fully as much excitement as the -occasion required. Papa listened with composure and a little surprise, -relieved to find that he was not on his trial. Charlie pricked his big -red ears, as he sat at his grammar, but made no other sign; while the -girls, altogether suspending their work, drew their chairs closer, and -with a kindred excitement eagerly followed every word and gesture of -Mamma. - -“And you must see, William,” said Mrs Atheling, rapidly, “what a great -advantage it would be to Charlie, if he could enter the office like a -gentleman. Of course, I know he would get no salary; but we could go on -very well for a year or two as we are doing--quite as well as before, -certainly; and I have no doubt Mr Foggo could persuade them to be -content with a very small premium; and then think of the advantage to -Charlie, my dear!” - -“Premium! no salary!--get on for a year or two! Are you dreaming, Mary?” -exclaimed Mr Atheling. “Why, this is a perfect craze, my dear. Charlie -an articled clerk in Foggo’s office! it is pure nonsense. You don’t mean -to say such a thought has ever taken possession of _you_. I could -understand the girls, if it was their notion--but, Mary! you!” - -“And why not me?” said Mamma, somewhat angry for the moment. “Who is so -anxious as me for my boy? I know what our income is, and what it can do -exactly to a penny, William--a great deal better than you do, my dear; -and of course it would be my business to draw in our expenses -accordingly; and the girls would give up anything for Charlie’s sake. -And then, except Beau, who is so little, and will not want anything much -done for him for many a year--he is our only boy, William. It was not -always so,” said the good mother, checking a great sob which had nearly -stopped her voice--“it was not always so--but there is only Charlie left -of all of them; and except little Beau, the son of our old age, he is -our only boy!” - -She paused now, because she could not help it; and for the same reason -her husband was very slow to answer. All-prevailing was this woman’s -argument; it was very near impossible to say the gentlest Nay to -anything thus pleaded in the name of the dead. - -“But, my dear, we cannot do it,” said Mr Atheling very quietly. The good -man would have given his right hand at that moment to be able to procure -this pleasure for the faithful mother of those fair boys who were in -heaven. - -“We could do it if we tried, William,” said Mrs Atheling, recovering -herself slowly. Her husband shook his head, pondered, shook his head -again. - -“It would be injustice to the other children,” he said at last. “We -could not keep Charlie like a gentleman without injuring the rest. I am -surprised you do not think of that.” - -“But the rest of us are glad to be injured,” cried Agnes, coming to her -mother’s aid; “and then I may have something by-and-by, and Charlie -could get on so much better. I am sure you must see all the advantages, -papa.” - -“And we can’t be injured either, for we shall just be as we are,” said -Marian, “only a little more economical; and I am sure, papa, if it is so -great a virtue to be thrifty, as you and Mr Foggo say, you ought to be -more anxious than we are about this for Charlie; and you would, if you -carried out your principles--and you must submit. I know we shall -succeed at last.” - -“If it is a conspiracy, I give in,” said Mr Atheling. “Of course you -must mulct yourselves if you have made up your minds to it. I protest -against suffering your thrift myself, and I won’t have any more economy -in respect to Bell and Beau. But do your will, Mary--I don’t interfere. -A conspiracy is too much for me.” - -“Mother!” said Charlie--all this time there had been nothing visible of -the big boy, except the aforesaid red ears; now he put down his grammar -and came forward, with some invisible wind working much among the -furrows of his brow--“just hear what I’ve got to say. This won’t do--I’m -not a gentleman, you know; what’s the good of making me like one?--of -course I mean,” said Charlie, somewhat hotly, in a parenthesis, as -Agnes’s eyes flashed upon him, “not a gentleman, so far as being idle -and having plenty of money goes;--I’ve got to work for my bread. Suppose -I was articled, at the end of my time I should have to work for my bread -all the same. What is the difference? It’s only making a sham for two -years, or three years, or whatever the time might be. I don’t want to go -against what anybody says, but you wouldn’t make a sham of me, would -you, mother? Let me go in my proper place--like what I’ll have to be, -all my life; then if I rise you will be pleased; and if I don’t rise, -still nobody will be able to say I have come down. I can’t be like a -gentleman’s son, doing nothing. Let me be myself, mother--the best thing -for me.” - -Charlie said scarcely any more that night, though much was said on every -side around; but Charlie was the conqueror. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -KILLIECRANKIE LODGE. - - -Killiecrankie Lodge held a dignified position in this genteel locality: -it stood at the end of the road, looking down and superintending -Bellevue. Three square houses, all duly walled and gardened, made the -apex and conclusion of this suburban retirement. The right-hand one was -called Buena Vista House; the left-hand one was Green View Cottage, and -in the centre stood the lodge of Killiecrankie. The lodge was not so -jealously private as its neighbours: in the upper part of the door in -the wall was an open iron railing, through which the curious passenger -might gain a beatific glimpse of Miss Willsie’s wallflowers, and of the -clean white steps by which you ascended to the house-door. The -corresponding loopholes at the outer entrance of Green View and Buena -Vista were carefully boarded; so the house of Mr Foggo had the sole -distinction of an open eye. - -Within the wall was a paved path leading to the house, with a square -bit of lawn on either side, each containing in its centre a very small -round flower-plot and a minute fir-tree. These were the pine forests of -the Islingtonian Killiecrankie; but there were better things within the -brief enclosure. The borders round about on every side were full of -wallflowers--double wallflower, streaked wallflower, yellow wallflower, -brown wallflower--every variety under the sun. This was the sole -remarkable instance of taste displayed by Miss Willsie; but it gave a -delicate tone of fragrance to the whole atmosphere of Bellevue. - -This is a great day at Killiecrankie Lodge. It is the end of April now, -and already the days are long, and the sun himself stays up till after -tea, and throws a slanting golden beam over the daylight table. Miss -Willsie, herself presiding, is slightly heated. She says, “Bless me, -it’s like July!” as she sets down upon the tray her heavy silver teapot. -Miss Willsie is not half as tall as her brother, but makes up the -difference in another direction. She is stout, though she is so -restlessly active. Her face is full of wavering little lines and -dimples, though she is an old lady; and there are the funniest -indentations possible in her round chin and cheeks. You would fancy a -laugh was always hiding in those crevices. Alas! Hannah knows better. -You should see how Miss Willsie can frown! - -But the old lady is in grand costume to-night; she has her brown satin -dress on, her immense cairngorm brooch, her overwhelming blue turban. -This sublime head-dress has an effect of awe upon the company; no one -was prepared for such a degree of grandeur, and the visitors -consequently are not quite at their ease. These visitors are rather -numerous for a Bellevue tea-party. There is Mr Richards from Buena -Vista, Mrs Tavistock from Woburn Lodge, and Mr Gray, the other Scotch -inhabitant, from Gowanbrae; and there is likewise Mr Foggo Silas -Endicott, Miss Willsie’s American nephew, and her Scotch nephew, Harry -Oswald; and besides all this worshipful company, there are all the -Athelings--all except Bell and Beau, left, with many cautions, in the -hands of Susan, over whom, in fear and self-reproach, trembles already -the heart of Mamma. - -“So he would not hear of it--he was not blate!” said Miss Willsie. “My -brother never had the like in his office--that I tell you; and there’s -no good mother at home to do as much for Harry. Chairles, lad, you’ll -find out better some time. If there’s one thing I do not like, it’s a -wilful boy!” - -“But I can scarcely call him wilful either,” said Mrs Atheling, hastily. -“He is very reasonable, Miss Willsie; he gives his meaning--it is not -out of opposition. He has always a good reason for what he does--he is a -very reasonable boy.” - -“And if there’s one thing I object to,” said Miss Willsie, “it’s the -assurance of these monkeys with their reasons. When we were young, we -were ill bairns, doubtless, like other folk; but if I had dared to make -my excuses, pity me! There is Harry, now, will set up his face to me as -grand as a Lord of Session; and Marian this very last night making her -argument about these two spoiled babies of yours, as if she knew better -than me! Misbehaviour’s natural to youth. I can put up with that, but I -cannot away with their reasons. Such things are not for me.” - -“Very true--_so_ true, Miss Willsie,” said Mrs Tavistock, who was a -sentimental and sighing widow. “There is my niece, quite an example. I -am sadly nervous, you know; and that rude girl will ‘prove’ to me, as -she calls it, that no thief could get into the house, though I know they -try the back-kitchen window every night.” - -“If there’s one thing I’m against,” said Miss Willsie, solemnly, “it’s -that foolish fright about thieves--thieves! Bless me, what would the -ragamuffins do here? A man may be a robber, but that’s no to say he’s an -idiot; and a wise man would never put his life or his freedom in -jeopardy for what he could get in Bellevue.” - -Mrs Tavistock was no match for Miss Willsie, so she prudently abstained -from a rejoinder. A large old china basin full of wallflowers stood -under a grim portrait, and between a couple of huge old silver -candlesticks upon the mantelpiece; Miss Willsie’s ancient tea-service, -at present glittering upon the table, was valuable and massive silver: -nowhere else in Bellevue was there so much “plate” as in Killiecrankie -Lodge; and this was perfectly well known to the nervous widow. “I am -sure I wonder at your courage, Miss Willsie; but then you have a -gentleman in the house, which makes a great difference,” said Mrs -Tavistock, woefully. Mrs Tavistock was one of those proper and -conscientious ladies who make a profession of their widowhood, and are -perpetually executing a moral suttee to the edification of all -beholders. “I was never nervous before. Ah, nobody knows what a -difference it makes to me!” - -“Young folk are a troublesome handful. Where are the girls--what are -they doing with Harry?” said Miss Willsie. “Harry’s a lad for any kind -of antics, but you’ll no see Foggo demeaning himself. Foggo writes poems -and letters to the papers: they tell me that in his own country he’s a -very rising young man.” - -“He looks intellectual. What a pleasure, Miss Willsie, to you!” said the -widow, with delightful sympathy. - -“If there’s one thing I like worse than another, it’s your writing young -men,” said Miss Willsie, vehemently. “I lighted on a paper this very -day, that the young leasing-maker had gotten from America, and what do -you think I saw therein, but just a long account--everything about -us--of my brother and me. My brother Robert Foggo, as decent a man as -there is in the three kingdoms--and _me_! What do you think of that, Mrs -Atheling?--even Harry in it, and the wallflowers! If it had not been for -my brother, he never should have set foot in this house again.” - -“Oh dear, how interesting!” said the widow. Mrs Tavistock turned her -eyes to the other end of the room almost with excitement. She had not -the least objection, for her own part, in the full pomp of sables and -sentiment, to figure at full length in the _Mississippi Gazette_. - -“And what was it for?” said Mrs Atheling, innocently; “for I thought it -was only remarkable people that even the Americans put in the papers. -Was it simply to annoy you?” - -“Me!--do you think a lad like yon could trouble _me_?” exclaimed Miss -Willsie. “He says, ‘All the scenes through which he has passed will be -interesting to his readers.’ That’s in a grand note he sent me this -morning--the impertinent boy! My poor Harry, though he’s often in -mischief, and my brother thinks him unsteady--I would not give his -little finger for half-a-dozen lads like yon.” - -“But Harry is doing well _now_, Miss Willsie?” said Mrs Atheling. There -was a faint emphasis on the now which proved that Harry had not always -done well. - -“Ay,” said Miss Willsie, drily; “and so Chairles has settled to his -business--that’s aye a comfort. If there’s one thing that troubles me, -it is to see young folk growing up in idleness; I pity them, now, that -are genteel and have daughters. What are you going to do, Mrs Atheling, -with these girls of yours?” - -Mrs Atheling’s eyes sought them out with fond yet not untroubled -observation. There was Marian’s beautiful head before the other window, -looking as if it had arrested and detained the sunbeams, long ago -departed in the west; and there was Agnes, graceful, animated, and -intelligent, watching, with an affectionate and only half-conscious -admiration, her sister’s beauty. Their mother smiled to herself and -sighed. Even her anxiety, looking at them thus, was but another name for -delight. - -“Agnes,” said Marian at the other window, half whispering, half -aloud--“Agnes! Harry says Mr Endicott has published a book.” - -With a slight start and a slight blush Agnes turned round. Mr Foggo S. -Endicott was tall, very thin, had an extremely lofty mien, and a pair of -spectacles. He was eight-and-twenty, whiskerless, sallow, and by no -means handsome: he held his thin head very high, and delivered his -sentiments into the air when he spoke, but rarely bent from his -altitude to address any one in particular. But he heard the whisper in a -moment: in his very elbows, as you stood behind him, you could see the -sudden consciousness. He perceived, though he did not look at her, the -eager, bright, blushing, half-reverential glance of Agnes, and, -conscious to his very finger-points, raised his thin head to its fullest -elevation, and pretended not to hear. - -Agnes blushed: it was with sudden interest, curiosity, reverence, made -more personal and exciting by her own venture. Nothing had been heard -yet of this venture, though it was nearly a month since Charlie took it -to Mr Burlington, and the young genius looked with humble and earnest -attention upon one who really had been permitted to make his utterance -to the ear of all the world. He _had_ published a book; he was a real -genuine printed author. The lips of Agnes parted with a quick breath of -eagerness; she looked up at him with a blush on her cheek, and a light -in her eye. A thrill of wonder and excitement came over her: would -people by-and-by regard herself in the same light? - -“Oh, Mr Endicott!--is it poems?” said Agnes, shyly, and with a deepening -colour. The simple girl was almost as much embarrassed asking him about -his book, as if she had been asking about the Transatlantic lady of this -Yankee young gentleman’s love. - -“Oh!” said Mr Endicott, discovering suddenly that she addressed -him--“yes. Did you speak to me?--poems?--ah! some little fugitive -matters, to be sure. One has no right to refuse to publish, when -everybody comes to know that one does such things.” - -“Refuse?--no, indeed; I think not,” said Agnes, in spite of herself -feeling very much humbled, and speaking very low. This was so elevated a -view of the matter, and her own was so commonplace a one, that the poor -girl was completely crestfallen. She so anxious to get into print; and -this _bonâ fide_ author, doubtless so very much her superior, explaining -how he submitted, and could not help himself! Agnes was entirely put -down. - -“Yes, really one ought not to keep everything for one’s own private -enjoyment,” said the magnanimous Mr Endicott, speaking very high up into -the air with his cadenced voice. “I do not approve of too much reserve -on the part of an author myself.” - -“And what are they about, Mr Endicott?” asked Marian, with respect, but -by no means so reverentially as Agnes. Mr Endicott actually looked at -Marian; perhaps it was because of her very prosaic and improper -question, perhaps for the sake of the beautiful face. - -“About!” said the poet, with benignant disdain. “No, I don’t approve of -narrative poetry; it’s after the time. My sonnets are experiences. I -live them before I write them; that is the true secret of poetry in our -enlightened days.” - -Agnes listened, much impressed and cast down. She was far too simple to -perceive how much superior her natural bright impulse, spontaneous and -effusive, was to this sublime concentration. Agnes all her life long had -never lived a sonnet; but she was so sincere and single-minded herself, -that, at the first moment of hearing it, she received all this nonsense -with unhesitating faith. For she had not yet learned to believe in the -possibility of anybody, save villains in books, saying anything which -they did not thoroughly hold as true. - -So Agnes retired a little from the conversation. The young genius began -to take herself to task, and was much humiliated by the contrast. Why -had she written that famous story, now lying storm-stayed in the hands -of Mr Burlington? Partly to please herself--partly to please -Mamma--partly because she could not help it. There was no grand motive -in the whole matter. Agnes looked with reverence at Mr Endicott, and sat -down in a corner. She would have been completely conquered if the -sublime American had been content to hold his peace. - -But this was the last thing which occurred to Mr Endicott. He continued -his utterances, and the discouraged girl began to smile. She was no -judge of character, but she began to be able to distinguish nonsense -when she heard it. This was very grand nonsense on the first time of -hearing, and Agnes and Marian, we are obliged to confess, were somewhat -annoyed when Mamma made a movement of departure. They kept very early -hours in Bellevue, and before ten o’clock all Miss Willsie’s guests had -said good-night to Killiecrankie Lodge. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -THE HOUSE OF FOGGO. - - -It was ten o’clock, and now only this little family circle was left in -the Lodge of Killiecrankie. Miss Willsie, with one of the big silver -candlesticks drawn so very close that her blue turban trembled, and -stood in jeopardy, read the _Times_; Mr Foggo sat in his armchair, doing -nothing save contemplating the other light in the other candlestick; and -at the unoccupied sides of the table, between the seniors, were the two -young men. - -These nephews did not live at Killiecrankie Lodge; but Miss Willsie, who -was very careful, and a notable manager, considered it would be unsafe -for “the boys” to go home to their lodgings at so late an hour as -this--so her invitations always included a night’s lodging; and the kind -and arbitrary little woman was not accustomed to be disobeyed. Yet “the -boys” found it dull, we confess. Mr Foggo was not pleased with Harry, -and by no means “took” to Endicott. Miss Willsie could not deny herself -her evening’s reading. They yawned at each other, these unfortunate -young men, and with a glance of mutual jealousy thought of Marian -Atheling. It was strange to see how dull and disenchanted this place -looked when the beautiful face that brightened it was gone. - -So Mr Foggo S. Endicott took from his pocket his own paper, the -_Mississippi Gazette_, and Harry possessed himself of the half of Miss -Willsie’s _Times_. It was odd to observe the difference between them -even in manner and attitude. Harry bent half over the table, with his -hands thrust up into the thick masses of his curling hair; the American -sat perfectly upright, lifting his thin broadsheet to the height of his -spectacles, and reading loftily his own lucubrations. You could scarcely -see the handsome face of Harry as he hung over his half of the paper, -partly reading, partly dreaming over certain fond fancies of his own; -but you could not only see the lofty lineaments of Foggo, which were not -at all handsome, but also could perceive at a glance that he had “a -remarkable profile,” and silently called your attention to it. -Unfortunately, nobody in the present company was at all concerned about -the profile of Mr Endicott. That philosophical young gentleman, -notwithstanding, read his “Letter from England” in his best manner, and -demeaned himself as loftily as if he were a “portrait of a distinguished -literary gentleman” in an American museum. What more could any man do? - -Meanwhile Mr Foggo sat in his armchair steadily regarding the candle -before him. He loved conversation, but he was not talkative, especially -in his own house. Sometimes the old man’s acute eyes glanced from under -his shaggy brow with a momentary keenness towards Harry--sometimes they -shot across the table a momentary sparkle of grim contempt; but to make -out from Mr Foggo’s face what Mr Foggo was thinking, was about the -vainest enterprise in the world. It was different with his sister: Miss -Willsie’s well-complexioned countenance changed and varied like the sky. -You could pursue her sudden flashes of satisfaction, resentment, -compassion, and injury into all her dimples, as easily as you could -follow the clouds over the heavens. Nor was it by her looks alone that -you could discover the fluctuating sympathies of Miss Willsie. Short, -abrupt, hasty exclamations, broke from her perpetually. “The -vagabond!--to think of that!” “Ay, that’s right now; I thought there was -something in _him_.” “Bless me--such a story!” After this manner ran on -her unconscious comments. She was a considerable politician, and this -was an interesting debate; and you could very soon make out by her -continual observations the political opinions of the mistress of -Killiecrankie. She was a desperate Tory, and at the same moment the -most direful and unconstitutional of Radicals. With a hereditary respect -she applauded the sentiments of the old country-party, and clung to -every institution with the pertinacity of a martyr; yet with the same -breath, and the most delightful inconsistency, was vehement and -enthusiastic in favour of the wildest schemes of reform; which, we -suppose, is as much as to say that Miss Willsie was a very feminine -politician, the most unreasonable of optimists, and had the sublimest -contempt for all practical considerations when she had convinced herself -that anything was _right_. - -“I knew it!” cried Miss Willsie, with a burst of triumph; “he’s out, and -every one disowning him--a mean crew, big and little! If there’s one -thing I hate, it’s setting a man forward to tell an untruth, and then -letting him bear all the blame!” - -“He’s got his lawful deserts,” said Mr Foggo. This gentleman, more -learned than his sister, took a very philosophical view of public -matters, and acknowledged no particular leaning to any “party” in his -general interest in the affairs of state. - -“I never can find out now,” said Miss Willsie suddenly, “what the like -of Mr Atheling can have to do with this man--a lord and a great person, -and an officer of state--but his eye kindles up at the name of him, as -if it was the name of a friend. There cannot be ill-will unless there is -acquaintance, that’s my opinion; and an ill-will at this lord I am sure -Mr Atheling has.” - -“They come from the same countryside,” said Mr Foggo; “when they were -lads they knew each other.” - -“And who is this Mr Atheling?” said Endicott, speaking for the first -time. “I have a letter of introduction to Viscount Winterbourne myself. -His son, the Honourable George Rivers, travelled in the States a year or -two since, and I mean to see him by-and-by; but who is Mr Atheling, to -know an English Secretary of State?” - -“He’s Cash and Ledger’s chief clerk,” said Mr Foggo, very laconically, -looking with a steady eye at the candlestick, and bestowing as little -attention upon his questioner as his questioner did upon him. - -“Marvellous! in this country!” said the American; but Mr Endicott -belonged to that young America which is mightily respectful of the old -country. He thought it vulgar to do too much republicanism. He only -heightened the zest of his admiration now and then by a refined little -sneer. - -“In this country! Where did ye ever see such a country, I would like to -know?” cried Miss Willsie. “If it was but for your own small concerns, -you ought to be thankful; for London itself will keep ye in writing -this many a day. If there’s one thing I cannot bear, it’s ingratitude! -I’m a long-suffering person myself; but that, I grant, gets the better -of me.” - -“Mr Atheling, I suppose, has not many lords in his acquaintance,” said -Harry Oswald, looking up from his paper. “Endicott is right enough, -aunt; he is not quite in the rank for that; he has better----” said -Harry, something lowering his voice; “I would rather know myself welcome -at the Athelings’ than in any other house in England.” - -This was said with a little enthusiasm, and brought the rising colour to -Harry Oswald’s brow. His cousin looked at him, with a curl of his thin -lip and a somewhat malignant eye. Miss Willsie looked at him hastily, -with a quick impatient nod of her head, and a most rapid and emphatic -frown. Finally, Mr Foggo lifted to the young man’s face his acute and -steady eye. - -“Keep to your physic, Harry,” said Mr Foggo. The hapless Harry did not -meet the glance, but he understood the tone. - -“Well, uncle, well,” said Harry hastily, raising his eyes; “but a man -cannot always keep to physic. There are more things in the world than -drugs and lancets. A man must have some margin for his thoughts.” - -Again Miss Willsie gave the culprit a nod and a frown, saying as plain -as telegraphic communication ever said, “I am your friend, but this is -not the time to plead.” Again Mr Endicott surveyed his cousin with a -vague impulse of malice and of rivalry. Harry Oswald plunged down again -on his paper, and was no more heard of that night. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -THE PROPOSAL. - - -“I suppose we are not going to hear anything about it. It is very hard,” -said Agnes disconsolately. “I am sure it is so easy to show a little -courtesy. Mr Burlington surely might have written to let us know.” - -“But, my dear, how can we tell?” said Mrs Atheling; “he may be ill, or -he may be out of town, or he may have trouble in his family. It is very -difficult to judge another person--and you don’t know what may have -happened; he may be coming here himself, for aught we know.” - -“Well, I think it is very hard,” said Marian; “I wish we only could -publish it ourselves. What is the good of a publisher? They are only -cruel to everybody, and grow rich themselves; it is always so in books.” - -“He might surely have written at least,” repeated Agnes. These young -malcontents were extremely dissatisfied, and not at all content with Mrs -Atheling’s explanation that he might be ill, or out of town, or have -trouble in his family. Whatever extenuating circumstances there might -be, it was clear that Mr Burlington had not behaved properly, or with -the regard for other people’s feelings which Agnes concluded to be the -only true mark of a gentleman. Even the conversation of last night, and -the state and greatness of Mr Endicott, stimulated the impatience of the -girls. “It is not for the book so much, as for the uncertainty,” Agnes -said, as she disconsolately took out her sewing; but in fact it was just -because they had so much certainty, and so little change and commotion -in their life, that they longed so much for the excitement and novelty -of this new event. - -They were very dull this afternoon, and everything out of doors -sympathised with their dulness. It was a wet day--a hopeless, heavy, -persevering, not-to-be-mended day of rain. The clouds hung low and -leaden over the wet world; the air was clogged and dull with moisture, -only lightened now and then by an impatient shrewish gust, which threw -the small raindrops like so many prickles full into your face. The long -branches of the lilacs blew about wildly with a sudden commotion, when -one of these gusts came upon them, like a group of heroines throwing up -their arms in a tragic appeal to heaven. The primroses, pale and -drooping, sullied their cheeks with the wet soil; hour after hour, with -the most sullen and dismal obstinacy, the rain rained down upon the -cowering earth; not a sound was in Bellevue save the trickle of the -water, a perfect stream, running strong and full down the little channel -on either side the street. It was in vain to go to the window, where not -a single passenger--not a baker’s boy, nor a maid on pattens, nobody but -the milkman in his waterproof-coat--hurrying along, a peripatetic -fountain, with little jets of water pouring from his hat, his cape, and -his pails--was visible through the whole dreary afternoon. It is -possible to endure a wet morning--easy enough to put up with a wet -night; but they must have indeed high spirits and pleasurable -occupations who manage to keep their patience and their cheerfulness -through the sullen and dogged monotony of a wet afternoon. - -So everybody had a poke at the fire, which had gone out twice to-day -already, and was maliciously looking for another opportunity of going -out again; every person here present snapped her thread and lost her -needle; every one, even, each for a single moment, found Bell and Beau -in her way. You may suppose, this being the case, how very dismal the -circumstances must have been. But suddenly everybody started--the outer -gate swung open--an audible footstep came towards the door! Fairest of -readers, a word with you! If you are given to morning-calls, and love to -be welcomed, make your visits on a wet day! - -It was not a visitor, however welcome--better than that--ecstatic sound! -it was the postman--the postman, drenched and sullen, hiding his crimson -glories under an oilskin cape; and it was a letter, solemn and -mysterious, in an unknown hand--a big blue letter, addressed to Miss -Atheling. With trembling fingers Agnes opened it, taking, with awe and -apprehension, out of the big blue envelope, a blue and big enclosure and -a little note. The paper fell to the ground, and was seized upon by -Marian. The excited girl sprang up with it, almost upsetting Bell and -Beau. “It is in print! Memorandum of an agreement--oh, mamma!” cried -Marian, holding up the dangerous instrument. Agnes sat down immediately -in her chair, quite hushed for the instant. It was an actual reality, Mr -Burlington’s letter--and a veritable proposal--not for herself, but for -her book. - -The girls, we are obliged to confess, were slightly out of their wits -for about an hour after this memorable arrival. Even Mrs Atheling was -excited, and Bell and Beau ran about the room in unwitting exhilaration, -shouting at the top of their small sweet shrill voices, and tumbling -over each other unreproved. The good mother, to tell the truth, would -have liked to cry a little, if she could have managed it, and was much -moved, and disposed to take this, not as a mere matter of business, but -as a tender office of friendship and esteem on the part of the -unconscious Mr Burlington. Mrs Atheling could not help fancying that -somehow this wonderful chance had happened to Agnes because she was “a -good girl.” - -And until Papa and Charlie came home they were not very particular about -the conditions of the agreement; the event itself was the thing which -moved them: it quickened the slow pace of this dull afternoon to the -most extraordinary celerity; the moments flew now which had lagged with -such obstinate dreariness before the coming of that postman; and all the -delight and astonishment of the first moment remained to be gone over -again at the home-coming of Papa. - -And Mr Atheling, good man, was almost as much disturbed for the moment -as his wife. At first he was incredulous--then he laughed, but the laugh -was extremely unsteady in its sound--then he read over the paper with -great care, steadily resisting the constant interruptions of Agnes and -Marian, who persecuted him with their questions, “What do you think of -it, papa?” before the excellent papa had time to think at all. Finally, -Mr Atheling laughed again with more composure, and spread out upon the -table the important “Memorandum of Agreement.” “Sign it, Agnes,” said -Papa; “it seems all right, and quite business-like, so far as I can see. -She’s not twenty-one, yet--I don’t suppose it’s legal--that child! Sign -it, Agnes.” - -This was by no means what Papa was expected to say; yet Agnes, with -excitement, got her blotting-book and her pen. This innocent family were -as anxious that Agnes’s autograph should be _well written_ as if it had -been intended for a specimen of caligraphy, instead of the signature to -a legal document; nor was the young author herself less concerned; and -she made sure of the pen, and steadied her hand conscientiously before -she wrote that pretty “Agnes Atheling,” which put the other ugly -printer-like handwriting completely to shame. And now it was done--there -was a momentary pause of solemn silence, not disturbed even by Bell and -Beau. - -“So this is the beginning of Agnes’s fortune,” said Mr Atheling. “Now -Mary, and all of you, don’t be excited; every book does not succeed -because it finds a publisher; and you must not place your expectations -too high; for you know Agnes knows nothing of the world.” - -It was very good to say “don’t be excited,” when Mr Atheling himself was -entirely oblivious of his newspaper, indifferent to his tea, and -actually did not hear the familiar knock of Mr Foggo at the outer door. - -“And these half profits, papa, I wonder what they will be,” said Agnes, -glad to take up something tangible in this vague delight. - -“Oh, something very considerable,” said Papa, forgetting his own -caution. “I should not wonder if the publisher made a great deal of -money by it: _they_ know what they’re about. Get up and get me my -slippers, you little rascals. When Agnes comes into her fortune, what a -paradise of toys for Bell and Beau!” - -But the door opened, and Mr Foggo came in like a big brown cloud. There -was no concealing from him the printed paper--no hiding the overflowings -of the family content. So Agnes and Marian hurried off for half an -hour’s practising, and then put the twins to bed, and gossiped over the -fire in the little nursery. What a pleasant night it was! - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -FAMILY EXCITEMENT. - - -It would be impossible to describe, after that first beginning, the -pleasant interest and excitement kept up in this family concerning the -fortune of Agnes. All kinds of vague and delightful magnificences -floated in the minds of the two girls: guesses of prodigious sums of -money and unimaginable honours were constantly hazarded by Marian; and -Agnes, though she laughed at, and professed to disbelieve, these -splendid imaginations, was, beyond all controversy, greatly influenced -by them. The house held up its head, and began to dream of fame and -greatness. Even Mr Atheling, in a trance of exalted and exulting fancy, -went down self-absorbed through the busy moving streets, and scarcely -noticed the steady current of the Islingtonian public setting in strong -for the City. Even Mamma, going about her household business, had -something visionary in her eye; she saw a long way beyond to-day’s -little cares and difficulties--the grand distant lights of the future -streaming down on the fair heads of her two girls. It was not possible, -at least in the mother’s fancy, to separate these two who were so -closely united. No one in the house, indeed, could recognise Agnes -without Marian, or Marian without Agnes; and this new fortune belonged -to both. - -And then there followed all those indefinite but glorious adjuncts -involved in this beginning of fate--society, friends, a class of people, -as those good dreamers supposed, more able to understand and appreciate -the simple and modest refinement of these young minds;--all the world -was to be moved by this one book--everybody was to render homage--all -society to be disturbed with eagerness. Mr Atheling adjured the family -not to raise their expectations too high, yet raised his own to the most -magnificent level of unlikely greatness. Mrs Atheling had generous -compunctions of mind as she looked at the ribbons already half faded. -Agnes now was in a very different position from her who made the -unthrifty purchase of a colour which would not bear the sun. Mamma held -a very solemn synod in her own mind, and was half resolved to buy new -ones upon her own responsibility. But then there was something shabby in -building upon an expectation which as yet was so indefinite. And we are -glad to say there was so much sobriety and good sense in the house of -the Athelings, despite their glorious anticipations, that the ribbons -of Agnes and Marian, though they began to fulfil Mrs Atheling’s -prediction, still steadily did their duty, and bade fair to last out -their appointed time. - -This was a very pleasant time to the whole household. Their position, -their comfort, their external circumstances, were in no respect changed, -yet everything was brightened and radiant in an overflow of hope. There -was neither ill nor sickness nor sorrow to mar the enjoyment; everything -at this period was going well with them, to whom many a day and many a -year had gone full heavily. They were not aware themselves of their -present happiness; they were all looking eagerly forward, bent upon a -future which was to be so much superior to to-day, and none dreamed how -little pleasure was to be got out of the realisation, in comparison with -the delight they all took in the hope. They could afford so well to -laugh at all their homely difficulties--to make jokes upon Mamma’s grave -looks as she discovered an extravagant shilling or two in the household -accounts--or found out that Susan had been wasteful in the kitchen. It -was so odd, so _funny_, to contrast these minute cares with the golden -age which was to come. - -And then the plans and secret intentions, the wonderful committees which -sat in profound retirement; Marian plotting with Mamma what Agnes -should have when she came into her fortune, and Agnes advising, with the -same infallible authority, for the advantage of Marian. The vast and -ambitious project of the girls for going to the country--the country or -the sea-side--some one, they did not care which, of those beautiful -unknown beatific regions out of London, which were to them all fairyland -and countries of magic. We suppose nobody ever did enjoy the sea breezes -as Agnes and Marian Atheling, in their little white bed-chamber, enjoyed -the imaginary gale upon the imaginary sands, which they could perceive -brightening the cheek of Mamma, and tossing about the curls of the -twin-babies, at any moment of any night or day. This was to be the grand -triumph of the time when Agnes came into her fortune, though even Mamma -as yet had not heard of the project; but already it was a greater -pleasure to the girls than any real visit to any real sea-side in this -visible earth ever could be. - -And then there began to come, dropping in at all hours, from the -earliest post in the morning to the last startling delivery at nine -o’clock at night, packets of printed papers--the proof-sheets of this -astonishing book. You are not to suppose that those proofs needed much -correcting--Agnes’s manuscript was far too daintily written for that; -yet every one read them with the utmost care and attention, and Papa -made little crosses in pencil on the margin when he came to a doubtful -word. Everybody read them, not once only, but sometimes twice, or even -three times over--everybody but Charlie, who eat them up with his bread -and butter at tea, did not say a word on the subject, and never looked -at them again. All Bellevue resounded with the knocks of that incessant -postman at Number Ten. Public opinion was divided on the subject. Some -people said the Athelings had been extravagant, and were now suffering -under a very Egyptian plague, a hailstorm of bills; others, more -charitable, had private information that both the Miss Athelings were -going to be married, and believed this continual dropping to be a -carnival shower of flowers and _bonbons_, the love-letters of the -affianced bridegrooms; but nobody supposed that the unconscious and -innocent postman stood a respectable deputy for the little Beelzebub, to -whose sooty hands of natural right should have been committed the -custody of those fair and uncorrectable sheets. Sometimes, indeed, this -sable emissary made a hasty and half-visible appearance in his own -proper person, with one startling knock, as loud, but more solemn than -the postman--“That’s the Devil!” said Charlie, with unexpected -animation, the second time this emphatic sound was heard; and Susan -refused point-blank to open the door. - -How carefully these sheets were corrected! how punctually they were -returned!--with what conscientious care and earnestness the young author -attended to all the requirements of printer and publisher! There was -something amusing, yet something touching as well, in the sincere and -natural humbleness of these simple people. Whatever they said, they -could not help thinking that some secret spring of kindness had moved Mr -Burlington; that somehow this unconscious gentleman, most innocent of -any such intention, meant to do them all a favour. And moved by the -influence of this amiable delusion, Agnes was scrupulously attentive to -all the suggestions of the publisher. Mr Burlington himself was somewhat -amused by his new writer’s obedience, but doubtful, and did not half -understand it; for it is not always easy to comprehend downright and -simple sincerity. But the young author went on upon her guileless way, -taking no particular thought of her own motives; and on with her every -step went all the family, excited and unanimous. To her belonged the -special joy of being the cause of this happy commotion; but the pleasure -and the honour and the delight belonged equally to them all. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -AN AMERICAN SKETCH. - - -“Here! there’s reading for you,” said Miss Willsie, throwing upon the -family table a little roll of papers. “They tell me there’s something of -the kind stirring among yourselves. If there’s one thing I cannot put up -with, it’s to see a parcel of young folk setting up to read lessons to -the world!” - -“Not Agnes!” cried Marian eagerly; “only wait till it comes out. I know -so well, Miss Willsie, how you will like her book.” - -“No such thing,” said Miss Willsie indignantly. “I would just like to -know--twenty years old, and never out of her mother’s charge a week at a -time--I would just like any person to tell me what Agnes Atheling can -have to say to the like of me!” - -“Indeed, nothing at all,” said Agnes, blushing and laughing; “but it is -different with Mr Endicott. Now nobody must speak a word. Here it is.” - -“No! let me away first,” cried Miss Willsie in terror. She was rather -abrupt in her exits and entrances. This time she disappeared -instantaneously, shaking her hand at some imaginary culprit, and had -closed the gate behind her with a swing, before Agnes was able to begin -the series of “Letters from England” which were to immortalise the name -of Mr Foggo S. Endicott. The New World biographist began with his -voyage, and all the “emotions awakened in his breast” by finding himself -at sea; and immediately thereafter followed a special chapter, headed -“Killiecrankie Lodge.” - -“How delightful,” wrote the traveller, “so many thousand miles from -home, so far away from those who love us, to meet with the sympathy and -communion of kindred blood! To this home of the domestic affections I am -glad at once to introduce my readers, as a beautiful example of that Old -England felicity, which is, I grieve to say, so sadly outbalanced by -oppression and tyranny and crime! This beautiful suburban retreat is the -home of my respected relatives, Mr F. and his maiden sister Miss -Wilhelmina F. Here they live with old books, old furniture, and old -pictures around them, with old plate upon their table, old servants in -waiting, and an old cat coiled up in comfort upon their cosy hearth! A -graceful air of antiquity pervades everything. The inkstand from which I -write belonged to a great-grandfather; the footstool under my feet was -worked by an old lady of the days of the lovely Queen Mary; and I cannot -define the date of the china in that carved cabinet: all this, which -would be out of place in one of the splendid palaces of our buzy -citizens, is here in perfect harmony with the character of the inmates. -It is such a house as naturally belongs to an old country, an old -family, and an old and secluded pair. - -“My uncle is an epitome of all that is worthy in man. Like most -remarkable Scotsmen, he takes snuff; and to perceive his penetration and -wise sagacity, one has only to look at the noble head which he carries -with a hereditary loftiness. His sister is a noble old lady, and -entirely devoted to him. In fact, they are all the world to each other; -and the confidence with which the brother confides all his cares and -sorrows to the faithful bosom of his sister, is a truly touching sight; -while Miss Wilhelmina F., on her part, seldom makes an observation -without winding up by a reference to ‘my brother.’ It is a long time -since I have found anywhere so fresh and delightful an object of study -as the different characteristics of this united pair. It is beautiful to -watch the natural traits unfolding themselves. One has almost as much -pleasure in the investigation as one has in studying the developments of -childhood; and my admirable relatives are as delightfully unconscious of -their own distinguishing qualities as even children could be. - -“Their house is a beautiful little suburban villa, far from the noise -and din of the great city. Here they spend their beautiful old age in -hospitality and beneficence; beggars (for there are always beggars in -England) come to the door every morning with patriarchal familiarity, -and receive their dole through an opening in the door, like the ancient -buttery-hatch; every morning, upon the garden paths crumbs are strewed -for the robins and the sparrows, and the birds come hopping fearlessly -about the old lady’s feet, trusting in her gracious nature. All the -borders are filled with wallflowers, the favourite plant of Miss -Wilhelmina, and they seemed to me to send up a sweeter fragrance when -she watered them with her delicate little engine, or pruned them with -her own hand; for everything, animate and inanimate, seems to know that -she is good. - -“To complete this delightful picture, there is just that shade of -solicitude and anxiety wanting to make it perfect. They have a nephew, -this excellent couple, over whom they watch with the characteristic -jealousy of age watching youth. While my admirable uncle eats his egg at -breakfast, he talks of Harry; while aunt Wilhelmina pours out the tea -from her magnificent old silver teapot, she makes apologies and excuses -for him. They will make him their heir, I do not doubt, for he is a -handsome and prepossessing youth; and however this may be to _my_ -injury, I joyfully waive my claim; for the sight of their tender -affection and beautiful solicitude is a greater boon to a student of -mankind like myself than all their old hereditary hoards or patrimonial -acres; and so I say, Good fortune to Harry, and let all my readers say -Amen!” - -We are afraid to say how difficult Agnes found it to accomplish this -reading in peace; but in spite of Marian’s laughter and Mrs Atheling’s -indignant interruptions, Agnes herself was slightly impressed by these -fine sentiments and pretty sentences. She laid down the paper with an -air of extreme perplexity, and could scarcely be tempted to smile. -“Perhaps that is how Mr Endicott sees things,” said Agnes; “perhaps he -has so fine a mind--perhaps--Now, I am sure, mamma, if you had not known -Miss Willsie, you would have thought it very pretty. I know you would.” - -“Do not speak to me, child,” cried Mrs Atheling energetically. “Pretty! -why, he is coming here to-night!” - -And Marian clapped her hands. “Mamma will be in the next one!” cried -Marian; “and he will find out that Agnes is a great author, and that we -are all so anxious about Charlie. Oh, I hope he will send us a copy. -What fun it would be to read about papa and his newspaper, and what -everybody was doing at home here in Bellevue!” - -“It would be very impertinent,” said Mrs Atheling, reddening with anger; -“and if anything of the kind should happen, I will never forgive Mr -Foggo. You will take care to speak as little as possible to him, Marian; -he is not a safe person. Pretty! Does he think he has a right to come -into respectable houses and make his pretty pictures? You must be very -much upon your guard, girls. I forbid you to be friendly with such a -person as _that_!” - -“But perhaps”--said Agnes. - -“Perhaps--nonsense,” cried Mamma indignantly; “he must not come in here, -that I am resolved. Go and tell Susan we will sit in the best room -to-night.” - -But Agnes meditated the matter anxiously--perhaps, though she did not -say it--perhaps to be a great literary personage, it was necessary to -“find good in everything,” after the newest fashion, like Mr Endicott. -Agnes was much puzzled, and somewhat discouraged, on her own account. -She did not think it possible she could ever come to such a sublime and -elevated view of ordinary things; she felt herself a woeful way behind -Mr Endicott, and with a little eagerness looked forward to his visit. -Would he justify himself--what would he say? - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -COMPANY. - - -The best room was not by any means so bright, so cheerful, or so kindly -as the family parlour, with its family disarrangement, and the amateur -paperhanging upon its walls. Before their guests arrived the girls made -an effort to improve its appearance. They pulled the last beautiful -bunches of the lilac to fill the little glass vases, and placed candles -in the ornamental glass candlesticks upon the mantelpiece. But even a -double quantity of light did not bring good cheer to this dull and -solemn apartment. Had it been winter, indeed, a fire might have made a -difference; but it was early summer--one of those balmy nights so sweet -out of doors, which give an additional shade of gloom to -dark-complexioned parlours, shutting out the moon and the stars, the -night air and the dew. Agnes and Marian, fanciful and visionary, kept -the door open themselves, and went wandering about the dark garden, -where the summer flowers came slowly, and the last primrose was dying -pale and sweet under the poplar tree. They went silently and singly, one -after the other, through the garden paths, hearing, without observing, -the two different footsteps which came to the front door. If they were -thinking, neither of them knew or could tell what she was thinking -about, and they returned to the house without a word, only knowing how -much more pleasant it was to be out here in the musical and breathing -darkness, than to be shut closely within the solemn enclosure of the -best room. - -But there, by the table where Marian had maliciously laid his paper, was -the stately appearance of Mr Endicott, holding high his abstracted head, -while Harry Oswald, anxious, and yet hesitating, lingered at the door, -eagerly on the watch for the light step of which he had so immediate a -perception when it came. Harry, who indeed had no great inducement to be -much in love with himself, forgot himself altogether as his quick ear -listened for the foot of Marian. Mr Endicott, on the contrary, added a -loftier shape to his abstraction, by way of attracting and not -expressing admiration. Unlucky Harry was in love with Marian; his -intellectual cousin only aimed at making Marian in love with _him_. - -And she came in, slightly conscious, we admit, that she was the heroine -of the night, half aware of the rising rivalry, half-enlightened as to -the different character of these two very different people, and of the -one motive which brought them here. So a flitting changeable blush went -and came upon the face of Marian. Her eyes, full of the sweet darkness -and dew of the night, were dazzled by the lights, and would not look -steadily at any one; yet a certain gleam of secret mischief and -amusement in her face betrayed itself to Harry Oswald, though not at all -to the unsuspicious American. She took her seat very sedately at the -table, and busied herself with her fancy-work. Mr Endicott sat opposite, -looking at her; and Harry, a moving shadow in the dim room, hovered -about, sitting and standing behind her chair. - -Besides these young people, Mr Atheling, Mr Foggo, and Mamma, were in -the room, conversing among themselves, and taking very little notice of -the other visitors. Mamma was making a little frock, upon which she -bestowed unusual pains, as it seemed; for no civility of Mr Endicott -could gain any answer beyond a monosyllable from the virtuous and -indignant mistress of the house. He was playing with his own papers as -Agnes and Marian came to the table, affectionately turning them over, -and looking at the heading of the “Letter from England” with a loving -eye. - -“You are interested in literature, I believe?” said Mr Endicott. Agnes, -Marian, and Harry, all of them glancing at him in the same moment, -could not tell which he addressed; so there was a confused murmur of -reply. “Not in the slightest,” cried Harry Oswald, behind Marian’s -chair. “Oh, but Agnes is!” cried Marian; and Agnes herself, with a -conscious blush, acknowledged--“Yes, indeed, very much.” - -“But not, I suppose, very well acquainted with the American press?” said -Mr Endicott. “The bigotry of Europeans is marvellous. We read your -leading papers in the States, but I have not met half-a-dozen people in -England--actually not six individuals--who were in the frequent habit of -seeing the _Mississippi Gazette_.” - -“We rarely see any newspapers at all,” said Agnes, apologetically. “Papa -has his paper in the evenings, but except now and then, when there is a -review of a book in it----” - -“That is the great want of English contemporary literature,” interrupted -Mr Endicott. “You read the review--good! but you feel that something -else is wanted than mere politics--that votes and debates do not supply -the wants of the age!” - -“If the wants of the age were the wants of young ladies,” said Harry -Oswald, “what would become of my uncle and Mr Atheling? Leave things in -their proper place, Endicott. Agnes and Marian want something different -from newspaper literature and leading articles. Don’t interfere with the -girls.” - -“These are the slavish and confined ideas of a worn out civilisation,” -said the man of letters; “in my country we respect the opinions of our -women, and give them full scope.” - -“Respect!--the old humbug!” muttered Harry behind Marian’s chair. “Am I -disrespectful? I choose to be judged by you.” - -Marian glanced over her shoulder with saucy kindness. “Don’t quarrel,” -said Marian. No! Poor Harry was so glad of the glance, the smile, and -the confidence, that he could have taken Endicott, who was the cause of -it, to his very heart. - -“The functions of the press,” said Mr Endicott, “are unjustly limited in -this country, like most other enlightened influences. In these days we -have scarcely time to wait for books. It is not with us as it was in old -times, when the soul lay fallow for a century, and then blossomed into -its glorious epic, or drama, or song! Our audience must perceive the -visible march of mind, hour by hour and day by day. We are no longer -concerned about mere physical commotions, elections, or debates, or -votes of the Senate. In these days we care little for the man’s -opinions; what we want is an advantageous medium for studying the man.” - -As she listened to this, Agnes Atheling held her breath, and suspended -her work unawares. It sounded very imposing, indeed--to tell the truth, -it sounded something like that magnificent conversation in books over -which Marian and she had often marvelled. Then this simple girl believed -in everybody; she was rather inclined to suppose of Mr Endicott that he -was a man of very exalted mind. - -“I do not quite know,” said Agnes humbly, “whether it is right to tell -all about great people in the newspapers, or even to put them in books. -Do you think it is, Mr Endicott?” - -“I think,” said the American, solemnly, “that a public man, and, above -all, a literary man, belongs to the world. All the exciting scenes of -life come to us only that we may describe and analyse them for the -advantage of others. A man of genius has no private life. Of what -benefit is the keenness of his emotions if he makes no record of them? -In my own career,” continued the literary gentleman, “I have been -sometimes annoyed by foolish objections to the notice I am in the habit -of giving of friends who cross my way. Unenlightened people have -complained of me, in vulgar phrase, that I ‘put them in the newspapers.’ -How strange a misconception! for you must perceive at once that it was -not with any consideration of them, but simply that my readers might see -every scene I passed through, and in reality feel themselves travelling -with _me_!” - -“Oh!” Agnes made a faint and very doubtful exclamation; Harry Oswald -turned on his heel, and left the room abruptly; while Marian bent very -closely over her work, to conceal that she was laughing. Mr Endicott -thought it was a natural youthful reverence, and gave her all due credit -for her “ingenuous emotions.” - -“The path of genius necessarily reveals certain obscure individuals,” -said Mr Endicott; “they cross its light, and the poet has no choice. I -present to my audience the scenes through which I travel. I introduce -the passengers on the road. Is it for the sake of these passengers? No. -It is that my readers may be enabled, under all circumstances, to form a -just realisation of _me_. That is the true vocation of a poet: he ought -to be in himself the highest example of everything--joy, delight, -suffering, remorse, and ruin--yes, I am bold enough to say, even crime. -No man should be able to suppose that he can hide himself in an -indescribable region of emotion where the poet cannot follow. Shall -murder be permitted to attain an experience beyond the reach of genius? -No! Everything must be possessed by the poet’s intuitions, for he -himself is the great lesson of the world.” - -“Charlie,” said Harry Oswald behind the door, “come in, and punch this -fellow’s head.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -CONVERSATION. - - -Charlie came in, but not to punch the head of Mr Endicott. The big boy -gloomed upon the dignified American, pushed Harry Oswald aside, and -brought his two grammars to the table. “I say, what do you want with -me?” said Charlie; he was not at all pleased at having been disturbed. - -“Nobody wanted you, Charlie,--no one ever wants you, you disagreeable -boy,” said Marian: “it was all Harry Oswald’s fault; he thought we were -too pleasant all by ourselves here.” - -To which complimentary saying Mr Endicott answered by a bow. He quite -understood what Miss Marian meant! he was much flattered to have gained -her sympathy! So Marian pleased both her admirers for once, for Harry -Oswald laughed in secret triumph behind her chair. - -“And you are still with Mr Bell, Harry,” said Mrs Atheling, suddenly -interposing. “I am very glad you like this place--and what a pleasure -it must be to all your sisters! I begin to think you are quite settled -now.” - -“I suppose it was time,” said Harry the unlucky, colouring a little, but -smiling more as he came out from the shadow of Marian’s chair, in -compliment to Marian’s mother; “yes, we get on very well,--we are not -overpowered with our practice; so much the better for me.” - -“But you ought to be more ambitious,--you ought to try to extend your -practice,” said Mrs Atheling, immediately falling into the tone of an -adviser, in addressing one to whom everybody gave good advice. - -“I might have some comfort in it, if I was a poet,” said Harry; “but to -kill people simply in the way of business is too much for me.--Well, -uncle, it is no fault of mine. I never did any honour to my doctorship. -I am as well content to throw physic to the dogs as any Macbeth in the -world.” - -“Ay, Harry,” said Mr Foggo; “but I think it is little credit to a man to -avow ill inclinations, unless he has the spirit of a man to make head -against them. That’s my opinion--but I know you give it little weight.” - -“A curious study!” said Mr Endicott, reflectively. “I have watched it -many times,--the most interesting conflict in the world.” - -But Harry, who had borne his uncle’s reproof with calmness, reddened -fiercely at this, and seemed about to resent it. The study of character, -though it is so interesting a study, and so much pursued by superior -minds, is not, as a general principle, at all liked by the objects of -it. Harry Oswald, under the eye of his cousin’s curious inspection, had -the greatest mind in the world to knock that cousin down. - -“And what do you think of our domestic politics, on the other side of -the Atlantic?” asked Papa, joining the more general conversation: “a -pretty set of fellows manage us in Old England here. I never take up a -newspaper but there’s a new job in it. If it were only for other -countries, they might have a sense of shame!” - -“Well, sir,” said Mr Endicott, “considering all things--considering the -worn-out circumstances of the old country, your oligarchy and your -subserviency, I am rather disposed, on the whole, to be in favour of the -government of England. So far as a limited intelligence goes, they -really appear to me to get on pretty well.” - -“Humph!” said Mr Atheling. He was quite prepared for a dashing -republican denunciation, but this cool patronage stunned the humble -politician--he did not comprehend it. “However,” he continued, reviving -after a little, and rising into triumph, “there is principle among them -yet. They cannot tolerate a man who wants the English virtue of keeping -his word; no honourable man will keep office with a traitor. -Winterbourne’s out. There’s some hope for the country when one knows -that.” - -“And who is Winterbourne, papa?” asked Agnes, who was near her father. - -Mr Atheling was startled. “Who is Lord Winterbourne, child? why, a -disgraced minister--everybody knows!” - -“You speak as if you were glad,” said Agnes, possessed with a perfectly -unreasonable pertinacity: “do you know him, papa,--has he done anything -to you?” - -“I!” cried Mr Atheling, “how should I know him? There! thread your -needle, and don’t ask ridiculous questions. Lord Winterbourne for -himself is of no consequence to me.” - -From which everybody present understood immediately that this unknown -personage _was_ of consequence to Mr Atheling--that Papa certainly knew -him, and that he had “done something” to call for so great an amount of -virtuous indignation. Even Mr Endicott paused in the little account he -proposed to give of Viscount Winterbourne’s title and acquirements, and -his own acquaintance with the Honourable George Rivers, his lordship’s -only son. A vision of family feuds and mysteries crossed the active -mind of the American: he stopped to make a mental note of this -interesting circumstance; for Mr Endicott did not disdain to embellish -his “letters” now and then with a fanciful legend, and this was -certainly “suggestive” in the highest degree. - -“I remember,” said Mrs Atheling, suddenly, “when we were first married, -we went to visit an old aunt of papa’s, who lived quite close to -Winterbourne Hall. Do you remember old Aunt Bridget, William? We have -not heard anything of her for many a day; she lived in an old house, -half made of timber, and ruinous with ivy. I remember it very well; I -thought it quite pretty when I was a girl.” - -“Ruinous! you mean beautiful with ivy, mamma,” said Marian. - -“No, my dear; ivy is a very troublesome thing,” said Mrs Atheling, “and -makes a very damp house, I assure you, though it looks pretty. This was -just upon the edge of a wood, and on a hill. There was a very fine view -from it; all the spires, and domes, and towers looked beautiful with the -morning sun upon them. I suppose Aunt Bridget must still be living, -William? I wonder why she took offence at us. What a pleasant place that -would have been to take the children in summer! It was called the Old -Wood Lodge, and there was a larger place near which was the Old Wood -House, and the nearest house to that, I believe, was the Hall. It was a -very pretty place; I remember it so well.” - -Agnes and Marian exchanged glances; this description was quite enough to -set their young imaginations a-glow;--perhaps, for the sake of her old -recollections, Mamma would like this better than the sea-side. - -“Should you like to go again, mamma?” said Agnes, in a half whisper. -Mamma smiled, and brightened, and shook her head. - -“No, my dear, no; you must not think of such a thing--travelling is so -very expensive,” said Mrs Atheling; but the colour warmed and brightened -on her cheek with pleasure at the thought. - -“And of course there’s another family of children,” said Papa, in a -somewhat sullen under-tone. “Aunt Bridget, when she dies, will leave the -cottage to one of them. They always wanted it. Yes, to be sure,--to him -that hath shall be given,--it is the way of the world.” - -“William, William; you forget what you say!” cried Mrs Atheling, in -alarm. - -“I mean no harm, Mary,” said Papa, “and the words bear that meaning as -well as another: it is the way of the world.” - -“Had I known your interest in the family, I might have brought you some -information,” interposed Mr Endicott. “I have a letter of introduction -to Viscount Winterbourne--and saw a great deal of the Honourable George -Rivers when he travelled in the States.” - -“I have no interest in them--not the slightest,” said Mr Atheling, -hastily; and Harry Oswald moved away from where he had been standing to -resume his place by Marian, a proceeding which instantly distracted the -attention of his cousin and rival. The girls were talking to each other -of this new imaginary paradise. Harry Oswald could not explain how it -was, but he began immediately with all his skill to make a ridiculous -picture of the old house, which was half made of timber, and ruinous -with ivy: he could not make out why he listened with such a jealous pang -to the very name of this Old Wood Lodge. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -AUNT BRIDGET. - - -“Very strange!” said Mr Atheling--he had just laid upon the -breakfast-table a letter edged with black, which had startled them all -for the moment into anxiety,--“very strange!” - -“What is very strange?--who is it, William?” asked Mrs Atheling, -anxiously. - -“Do you remember how you spoke of her last night?--only last night--my -Aunt Bridget, of whom we have not heard for years? I could almost be -superstitious about this,” said Papa. “Poor old lady! she is gone at -last.” - -Mrs Atheling read the letter eagerly. “And she spoke of us, then?--she -was sorry. Who could have persuaded her against us, William?” said the -good mother--“and wished you should attend her funeral. You will -go?--surely you must go.” But as she spoke, Mrs Atheling paused and -considered--travelling is not so easy a matter, when people have only -two hundred a-year. - -“It would do her no pleasure now, Mary,” said Mr Atheling, with a -momentary sadness. “Poor Aunt Bridget; she was the last of all the old -generation; and now it begins to be our turn.” - -In the mean time, however, it was time for the respectable man of -business to be on his way to his office. His wife brushed his hat with -gravity, thinking upon his words. The old old woman who was gone, had -left no responsibility behind her; but these children!--how could the -father and the mother venture to die, and leave these young ones in the -unfriendly world! - -Charlie had gone to his office an hour ago--other studies, heavier and -more discouraging even than the grammars, lay in the big law-books of Mr -Foggo’s office, to be conquered by this big boy. Throughout the day he -had all the miscellaneous occupations which generally fall to the lot of -the youngest clerk. Charlie said nothing about it to any one, but went -in at these ponderous tomes in the morning. They were frightfully tough -reading, and he was not given to literature; he shook his great fist at -them, his natural enemies, and went in and conquered. These studies were -pure pugilism so far as Charlie was concerned: he knocked down his -ponderous opponent, mastered him, stowed away all his wisdom in his own -prodigious memory, and replaced him on his shelf with triumph. “Now that -old fellow’s done for,” said Charlie--and next morning the young student -“went in” at the next. - -Agnes and Marian were partly in this secret, as they had been in the -previous one; so these young ladies came down stairs at seven o’clock to -make breakfast for Charlie. It was nine now, and the long morning began -to merge into the ordinary day; but the girls arrested Mamma on the -threshold of her daily business to make eager inquiry about the Aunt -Bridget, of whom, the only one among all their relatives, they knew -little but the name. - -“My dears, this is not a time to ask me,” said Mrs Atheling: “there is -Susan waiting, and there is the baker and the butterman at the door. -Well, then, if you must know, she was just simply an old lady, and your -grandpapa’s sister; and she was once governess to Miss Rivers, and they -gave her the old Lodge when the young lady should have been married. -They made her a present of it--at least the old lord did--and she lived -there ever after. It had been once in your grandpapa’s family. I do not -know the rights of the story--you can ask about it some time from your -papa; but Aunt Bridget took quite a dislike to us after we were -married--I cannot tell you why; and since the time I went to the Old -Wood Lodge to pay her a visit, when I was a bride, I have never heard a -kind word from her, poor old lady, till to-day. Now, my dears, let me -go; do you see the people waiting? I assure you that is all.” - -And that was all that could be learned about Aunt Bridget, save a few -unimportant particulars gleaned from the long conversation concerning -her, which the father and the mother, much moralising, fell into that -night. These young people had the instinct of curiosity most healthily -developed; they listened eagerly to every new particular--heard with -emotion that she had once been a beauty, and incontinently wove a string -of romances about the name of the aged and humble spinster; and then -what a continual centre of fancy and inquiry was that Old Wood Lodge! - -A few days passed, and Aunt Bridget began to fade from her temporary -prominence in the household firmament. A more immediate interest -possessed the mind of the family--the book was coming out! Prelusive -little paragraphs in the papers, which these innocent people did not -understand to be advertisements, warned the public of a new and original -work of fiction by a new author, about to be brought out by Mr -Burlington, and which was expected to make a sensation when it came. -Even the known and visible advertisements themselves were read with a -startling thrill of interest. _Hope Hazlewood, a History_--everybody -concluded it was the most felicitous title in the world. - -The book was coming out, and great was the excitement of the household -heart. The book came out!--there it lay upon the table in the family -parlour, six fair copies in shiny blue cloth, with its name in letters -of gold. These Mr Burlington intended should be sent to influential -friends: but the young author had no influential friends; so one copy -was sent to Killiecrankie Lodge, to the utter amazement of Miss Willsie, -and another was carefully despatched to an old friend in the country, -who scarcely knew what literature was; then the family made a solemn -pause, and waited. What would everybody say? - -Saturday came, full of fate. They knew all the names of all those dread -and magnificent guides of public opinion, the literary newspapers; and -with an awed and trembling heart, the young author waited for their -verdict. She was so young, however, and in reality so ignorant of what -might be the real issue of this first step into the world, that Agnes -had a certain pleasure in her trepidation, and, scarcely knowing what -she expected, knew only that it was in the highest degree novel, -amusing, and extraordinary that these sublime and lofty people should -ever be tempted to notice her at all. It was still only a matter of -excitement and curiosity and amusing oddness to them all. If the young -adventurer had been a man, this would have been a solemn crisis, full of -fate: it was even so to a woman, seeking her own independence; but Agnes -Atheling was only a girl in the heart of her family, and, looking out -with laughing eyes upon her fortune, smiled at fate. - -It is Saturday--yes, Saturday afternoon, slowly darkening towards the -twilight. Agnes and Marian at the window are eagerly looking out, Mamma -glances over their bright heads with unmistakable impatience, Papa is -palpably restless in his easy-chair. Here he comes on flying feet, that -big messenger of fortune--crossing the whole breadth of Bellevue in two -strides, with ever so many papers in his hands. “Oh, I wonder what they -will say!” cries Marian, clasping her pretty fingers. Agnes, too -breathless to speak, makes neither guess nor answer--and here he comes! - -It is half dark, and scarcely possible to read these momentous papers. -The young author presses close to the window with the uncut _Athenæum_. -There is Papa, half-risen from his chair; there is Mamma anxiously -contemplating her daughter’s face; there is Marian, reading over her -shoulder; and Charlie stands with his hat on in the shade, holding fast -in his hand the other papers. “One at a time!” says Charlie. He knows -what they are, the grim young ogre, but he will not say a word. - -And Agnes begins to read aloud--reads a sentence or two, suddenly stops, -laughs hurriedly. “Oh, I cannot read that--somebody else take it,” cried -Agnes, running a rapid eye down the page; her cheeks are tingling, her -eyes overflowing, her heart beating so loud that she does not hear her -own voice. And now it is Marian who presses close to the window and -reads aloud. Well! after all, it is not a very astonishing paragraph; it -is extremely condescending, and full of the kindest patronage; -recognises many beauties--a great deal of talent; and flatteringly -promises the young author that by-and-by she will do very well. The -reading is received with delight and disappointment. Mrs Atheling is not -quite pleased that the reviewer refuses entire perfection to _Hope -Hazlewood_, but by-and-by even the good mother is reconciled. Who could -the critic be?--innocent critic, witting nothing of the tumult of kindly -and grateful feelings raised towards him in a moment! Mrs Atheling -cannot help setting it down certainly that he must be some unknown -friend. - -The others come upon a cooled enthusiasm--nobody feels that they have -said the first good word. Into the middle of this reading Susan suddenly -interposes herself and the candles. What tell-tales these lights are! -Papa and Mamma, both of them, look mighty dazzled and unsteady about the -eyes, and Agnes’s cheeks are burning crimson-deep, and she scarcely -likes to look at any one. She is half ashamed in her innocence--half as -much ashamed as if they had been love-letters detected and read aloud. - -And then after a while they come to a grave pause, and look at each -other. “I suppose, mamma, it is sure to succeed now,” says Agnes, very -timidly, shading her face with her hand, and glancing up under its -cover; and Papa, with his voice somewhat shaken, says solemnly, -“Children, Agnes’s fortune has come to-night.” - -For it was so out of the way--so uncommon and unexpected a fortune, to -their apprehension, that the father and the mother looked on with wonder -and amazement, as if at something coming down, without any human -interposition, clear out of the hand of Providence, and from the -treasures of heaven. - -Upon the Monday morning following, Mr Atheling had another letter. It -was a time of great events, and the family audience were interested even -about this. Papa looked startled and affected, and read it without -saying a word; then it was handed to Mamma: but Mrs Atheling, more -demonstrative, ran over it with a constant stream of comment and -exclamation, and at last read the whole epistle aloud. It ran thus:-- - - “DEAR SIR,--Being intrusted by your Aunt, Miss Bridget Atheling, - with the custody of her will, drawn up about a month before her - death, I have now to communicate to you, with much pleasure, the - particulars of the same. The will was read by me, upon the day of - the funeral, in presence of the Rev. Lionel Rivers, rector of the - parish; Dr Marsh, Miss Bridget’s medical attendant; and Mrs - Hardwicke, her niece. You are of course aware that your aunt’s - annuity died with her. Her property consisted of a thousand pounds - in the Three per Cents, a small cottage in the village of - Winterbourne, three acres of land in the hundred of Badgeley, and - the Old Wood Lodge. - - “Miss Bridget has bequeathed her personal property, all except the - two last items, to Mrs Susannah Hardwicke, her niece--the Old Wood - Lodge and the piece of land she bequeaths to you, William Atheling, - being part, as she says, ‘of the original property of the family.’ - She leaves it to you ‘as a token that she had now discovered the - falseness of the accusations made to her, twenty years ago, against - you, and desires you to keep and to hold it, whatever attempts may - be made to dislodge you, and whatever it may cost.’ A copy of the - will, pursuant to her own directions, will be forwarded to you in a - few days. - - “As an old acquaintance, I gladly congratulate you upon this - legacy; but I am obliged to tell you, as a friend, that the - property is not of that value which could have been desired. The - land, which is of inferior quality, is let for fifteen shillings an - acre, and the house, I am sorry to say, is not in very good - condition, is very unlikely to find a tenant, and would cost half - as much as it is worth to put it in tolerable repair--besides - which, it stands directly in the way of the Hall, and was, as I - understand, a gift to Miss Bridget only, with power, on the part of - the Winterbourne family, to reclaim after her death. Under these - circumstances, I doubt if you will be allowed to retain possession; - notwithstanding, I call your attention to the emphatic words of my - late respected client, to which you will doubtless give their due - weight.--I am, dear sir, faithfully yours, - - “FRED. R. LEWIS, _Attorney_.” - - - -“And what shall we do? If we were only able to keep it, William--such a -thing for the children!” cried Mrs Atheling, scarcely pausing to take -breath. “To think that the Old Wood Lodge should be really ours--how -strange it is! But, William, who could possibly have made false -accusations against _you_?” - -“Only one man,” said Mr Atheling, significantly. The girls listened with -interest and astonishment. “Only one man.” - -“No, no, my dear--no, it could not be----,” cried his wife: “you must -not think so, William--it is quite impossible. Poor Aunt Bridget! and so -she found out the truth at last.” - -“It is easy to talk,” said the head of the house, looking over his -letter; “very easy to leave a bequest like this, which can bring nothing -but difficulty and trouble. How am I ‘to keep and to hold it, at -whatever cost?’ The old lady must have been crazy to think of such a -thing: she had much better have given it to my Lord at once without -making any noise about it; for what is the use of bringing a quarrel -upon me?” - -“But, papa, it is the old family property,” said Agnes, eagerly. - -“My dear child, you know nothing about it,” said Papa. “Do you think I -am able to begin a lawsuit on behalf of the old family property? How -were we to repair this tumble-down old house, if it had been ours on the -securest holding? but to go to law about it, and it ready to crumble -over our ears, is rather too much for the credit of the family. No, no; -nonsense, children; you must not think of it for a moment; and you, -Mary, surely you must see what folly it is.” - -But Mamma would not see any folly in the matter; her feminine spirit was -roused, and her maternal pride. “You may depend upon it, Aunt Bridget -had some motive,” said Mrs Atheling, with a little excitement, “and -real property, William, would be such a great thing for the children. -Money might be lost or spent; but property--land and a house. My dear, -you ought to consider how important it is for the children’s sake.” - -Mr Atheling shook his head. “You are unreasonable,” said the family -father, who knew very well that he was pretty sure to yield to them, -reason or no--“as unreasonable as you can be. Do you suppose I am a -landed proprietor, with that old crazy Lodge, and forty-five shillings -a-year? Mary, Mary, you ought to know better. We could not repair it, I -tell you, and we could not furnish it; and nobody would rent it from us. -We should gain nothing but an enemy, and that is no great advantage for -the children. I do not remember that Aunt Bridget was ever remarkable -for good sense; and it was no such great thing, after all, to transfer -her family quarrel to me.” - -“Oh, papa, the old family property, and the beautiful old house in the -country, where we could go and live in the summer!” said Marian. “Agnes -is to be rich--Agnes would be sure to want to go somewhere in the -country. We could do all the repairs ourselves--and mamma likes the -place. Papa, papa, you will never have the heart to let other people -have it. I think I can see the place; we could all go down when Agnes -comes to her fortune--and the country would be so good for Bell and -Beau.” - -This, perhaps, was the most irresistible of arguments. The eyes of the -father and mother fell simultaneously upon the twin babies. They were -healthy imps as ever did credit to a suburban atmosphere--yet somehow -both Papa and Mamma fancied that Bell and Beau looked pale to-day. - -“It is ten minutes past nine,” exclaimed Mr Atheling, solemnly rising -from the table. “I have not been so late for years--see what your -nonsense has brought me to. Now, Mary, think it over reasonably, and I -will hear all that you have to say to-night.” - -So Mr Atheling hastened to his desk to turn over this all-important -matter as he walked and as he laboured. The Old Wood Lodge obliterated -to the good man’s vision the very folios of his daily companionship--old -feelings, old incidents, old resentment and pugnacity, awoke again in -his kindly but not altogether patient and self-commanded breast. The -delight of being able to leave something--a certain patrimonial -inheritance--to his son after him, gradually took possession of his mind -and fancy; and the pleasant dignity of a house in the country--the happy -power of sending off his wife and his children to the sweet air of his -native place--won upon him gradually before he was aware. By slow -degrees Mr Atheling brought himself to believe that it would be -dishonourable to give up this relic of the family belongings, and make -void the will of the dead. The Old Wood Lodge brightened before him into -a very bower for his fair girls. The last poor remnant of his yeoman -grandfather’s little farm became a hereditary and romantic nucleus, -which some other Atheling might yet make into a great estate. “There is -Charlie--he will not always be a lawyer’s clerk, that boy!” said his -father to himself, with involuntary pride; and then he muttered under -his breath, “and to give it up to _him_!” - -Under this formidable conspiracy of emotions, the excellent Mr Atheling -had no chance: old dislike, pungent and prevailing, though no one knew -exactly its object or its cause, and present pride and tenderness still -more strong and earnest, moved him beyond his power of resistance. There -was no occasion for the attack, scientifically planned, which was to -have been made upon him in the evening. If they had been meditating at -home all day upon this delightful bit of romance in their own family -history, and going over, with joy and enthusiasm, every room and closet -in Miss Bridget’s old house, Papa had been no less busy at the office. -The uncertain tenor of a lawsuit had no longer any place in the good -man’s memory, and the equivocal advantage of the ruinous old house -oppressed him no longer. He began to think, by an amiable and agreeable -sophistry, self-delusive, that it was his sacred duty to carry out the -wishes of the dead. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -A LAW STUDENT. - - -Steadily and laboriously these early summer days trudged on with -Charlie, bringing no romantic visions nor dreams of brilliant fortune to -tempt the imagination of the big boy. How his future looked to him no -one knew. Charlie’s aspirations--if he had any--dwelt private and secure -within his own capacious breast. He was not dazzled by his sudden -heirship of the Old Wood Lodge; he was not much disturbed by the growing -fame of his sister; those sweet May mornings did not tempt him to the -long ramble through the fields, which Agnes and Marian did their best to -persuade him to. Charlie was not insensible to the exhilarating morning -breeze, the greensward under foot, and the glory of those great -thorn-hedges, white with the blossoms of the May--he was by no means a -stoic either, as regarded his own ease and leisure, to which inferior -considerations this stout youth attached their due importance; but still -it remained absolute with Charlie, his own unfailing answer to all -temptations--he had “something else to do!” - -And his ordinary day’s work was not of a very elevating character; he -might have kept to that for years without acquiring much knowledge of -his profession; and though he still was resolute to occupy no sham -position, and determined that neither mother nor sisters should make -sacrifices for him, Charlie felt no hesitation in making a brief and -forcible statement to Mr Foggo on the subject. Mr Foggo listened with a -pleased and gracious ear. “I’m not going to be a copying-clerk all my -life,” said Charlie. He was not much over seventeen; he was not -remarkably well educated; he was a poor man’s son, without connection, -patronage, or influence. Notwithstanding, the acute old Scotsman looked -at Charlie, lifting up the furrows of his brow, and pressing down his -formidable upper-lip. The critical old lawyer smiled, but believed him. -There was no possibility of questioning that obstinate big boy. - -So Mr Foggo (acknowledged to be the most influential of chief clerks, -and supposed to be a partner in the firm) made interest on behalf of -Charlie, that he might have access, before business hours, to the law -library of the house. The firm laughed, and gave permission graciously. -The firm joked with its manager upon his credulity: a boy of seventeen -coming at seven o’clock to voluntary study--and to take in a -Scotsman--old Foggo! The firm grew perfectly jolly over this capital -joke. Old Foggo smiled too, grimly, knowing better; and Charlie -accordingly began his career. - -It was not a very dazzling beginning. At seven o’clock the office was -being dusted; in winter, at that hour, the fires were not alight, and -extremely cross was the respectable matron who had charge of -the same. Charlie stumbled over pails and brushes; dusters -descended--unintentionally--upon his devoted head; he was pursued into -every corner by his indefatigable enemy, and had to fly before her big -broom with his big folio in his arms. But few people have pertinacity -enough to maintain a perfectly unprofitable and fruitless warfare. Mrs -Laundress, a humble prophetic symbol of that other virago, Fate, gave in -to Charlie. He sat triumphant upon his high stool, no longer incommoded -by dusters. While the moted sunbeams came dancing in through the dusty -office window, throwing stray glances on his thick hair, and on the -ponderous page before him, Charlie had a good round with his enemy, and -got him down. The big boy plundered the big books with silent -satisfaction, arranged his spoil on the secret shelves and pigeon-holes -of that big brain of his, all ready and in trim for using; made his own -comments on the whole complicated concern, and, with his whole mind bent -on what was before him, mastered that, and thought of nothing else. Let -nobody suppose he had the delight of a student in these strange and -unattractive studies, or regarded with any degree of affectionateness -the library of the House. Charlie looked at these volumes standing in -dim rows, within their wired case, as Captain Bobadil might have looked -at the army whom--one down and another come on--he meant to demolish, -man by man. When he came to a knotty point, more hard than usual, the -lad felt a stir of lively pleasure: he scorned a contemptible opponent, -this stout young fighter, and gloried in a conquest which proved him, by -stress and strain of all his healthful faculties, the better man. If -they had been easy, Charlie would scarcely have cared for them. -Certainly, mere literature, even were it as attractive as _Peter -Simple_, could never have tempted him to the office at seven o’clock. -Charlie stood by himself, like some primitive and original champion, -secretly hammering out the armour which he was to wear in the field, and -taking delight in the accomplishment of gyve and breastplate and morion, -all proved and tested steel. Through the day he went about all his -common businesses as sturdily and steadily as if his best ambition was -to be a copying-clerk. If any one spoke of ambition, Charlie said -“Stuff!” and no one ever heard a word of his own anticipations; but on -he went, his foot ringing clear upon the pavement, his obstinate purpose -holding as sure as if it were written on a rock. While all the household -stirred and fluttered with the new tide of imaginative life which -brightened upon it in all these gleams of the future, Charlie held -stoutly on, pursuing his own straightforward and unattractive path. With -his own kind of sympathy he eked out the pleasure of the family, and no -one of them ever felt a lack in him; but nothing yet which had happened -to the household in the slightest degree disturbed Charlie from his own -bold, distinct, undemonstrative, and self-directed way. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -ANOTHER EVENT. - - -We will not attempt to describe the excitement, astonishment, and -confusion produced in the house of the Athelings by the next -communication received from Mr Burlington. It came at night, so that -every one had the benefit, and its object was to announce the astounding -and unexampled news of A Second Edition! - -The letter dropped from Agnes’s amazed fingers; Papa actually let fall -his newspaper; and Charlie, disturbed at his grammar, rolled back the -heavy waves of his brow, and laughed to himself. As for Mamma and -Marian, each of them read the letter carefully over. There was no -mistake about it--_Hope Hazelwood_ was nearly out of print. True, Mr -Burlington confessed that this first edition had been a small one, but -the good taste of the public demanded a second; and the polite publisher -begged to have an interview with Miss Atheling, to know whether she -would choose to add or revise anything in the successful book. - -Upon this there ensued a consultation. Mrs Atheling was doubtful as to -the proprieties of the case; Papa was of opinion that the easiest and -simplest plan was, that the girls should call; but Mamma, who was -something of a timid nature, and withal a little punctilious, hesitated, -and did not quite see which was best. Bellevue, doubtless, was very far -out of the way, and the house, though so good a house, was not “like -what Mr Burlington must have been accustomed to.” The good mother was a -long time making up her mind; but at last decided, with some -perturbation, on the suggestion of Mr Atheling. “Yes, you can put on -your muslin dresses; it is quite warm enough for them, and they always -look well; and you must see, Marian, that your collars and sleeves are -very nice, and your new bonnets. Yes, my dears, as there are two of you, -I think you may call.” - -The morning came; and by this time it was the end of June, almost -midsummer weather. Mrs Atheling herself, with the most anxious care, -superintended the dressing of her daughters. They were dressed with the -most perfect simplicity; and nobody could have supposed, to see the -result, that any such elaborate overlooking had been bestowed upon their -toilette. They were dressed well, in so far that their simple -habiliments made no pretension above the plain pretty inexpensive -reality. They were not intensely fashionable, like Mrs Tavistock’s -niece, who was a regular Islingtonian “swell” (if that most felicitous -of epithets can be applied to anything feminine), and reminded everybody -who saw her of work-rooms and dressmakers and plates of the fashions. -Agnes and Marian, a hundred times plainer, were just so many times the -better dressed. They were not quite skilled in the art of gloves--a -difficult branch of costume, grievously embarrassing to those good -girls, who had not much above a pair in three months, and were -constrained to select thrifty colours; but otherwise Mrs Atheling -herself was content with their appearance as they passed along Bellevue, -brightening the sunny quiet road with their light figures and their -bright eyes. They had a little awe upon them--that little shade of sweet -embarrassment and expectation which gives one of its greatest charms to -youth. They were talking over what they were to say, and marvelling how -Mr Burlington would receive them; their young footsteps chiming as -lightly as any music to her tender ear--their young voices sweeter than -the singing of the birds, their bright looks more pleasant than the -sunshine--it is not to be wondered at if the little street looked -somewhat dim and shady to Mrs Atheling when these two young figures had -passed out of it, and the mother stood alone at the window, looking at -nothing better than the low brick-walls and closed doors of Laurel House -and Green View. - -And so they went away through the din and tumult of the great London, -with their own bright young universe surrounding them, and their own -sweet current of thought and emotion running as pure as if they had been -passing through the sweetest fields of Arcadia. They had no eyes for -impertinent gazers, if such things were in their way. Twenty stout -footmen at their back could not have defended them so completely as did -their own innocence and security. We confess they did not even shrink, -with a proper sentimental horror, from all the din and all the commotion -of this noonday Babylon; they liked their rapid glance at the wonderful -shop-windows; they brightened more and more as their course lay along -the gayest and most cheerful streets. It was pleasant to look at the -maze of carriages, pleasant to see the throngs of people, exhilarating -to be drawn along in this bright flood-tide and current of the world. -But they grew a little nervous as they approached the house of Mr -Burlington--a little more irregular in their pace, lingering and -hastening as timidity or eagerness got the upper hand--and a great deal -more silent, being fully occupied with anticipations of, and -preparations for, this momentous interview. What should Agnes--what -would Mr Burlington say? - -This silence and shyness visibly increased as they came to the very -scene and presence of the redoubtable publisher--where Agnes called the -small attendant clerk in the outer office “Sir” and deferentially asked -for Mr Burlington. When they had waited there for a few minutes, they -were shown into a matted parlour containing a writing-table and a -coal-scuttle, and three chairs. Mr Burlington would be disengaged in a -few minutes, the little clerk informed them, as he solemnly displaced -two of the chairs, an intimation that they were to sit down. They sat -down accordingly, with the most matter-of-course obedience, and held -their breath as they listened for the coming steps of Mr Burlington. But -the minutes passed, and Mr Burlington did not come. They began to look -round with extreme interest and curiosity, augmented all the more by -their awe. There was nothing in the least interesting in this bare -little apartment, but their young imaginations could make a great deal -out of nothing. At Mr Burlington’s door stood a carriage, with a grand -powdered coachman on the box, and the most superb of flunkies gracefully -lounging before the door. No doubt Mr Burlington was engaged with the -owner of all this splendour. Immediately they ran over all the great -names they could remember, forgetting for the moment that authors, even -of the greatest, are not much given, as a general principle, to gilded -coaches and flunkies of renown. Who could it be? - -When they were in the very height of their guessing, the door suddenly -opened. They both rose with a start; but it was only the clerk, who -asked them to follow him to the presence of Mr Burlington. They went -noiselessly along the long matted passage after their conductor, who was -not much of a Ganymede. At the very end, a door stood open, and there -were two figures half visible between them and a big round-headed -window, full of somewhat pale and cloudy sky. These two people turned -round, as some faint sound of the footsteps of Ganymede struck aside -from the matting. “Oh, what a lovely creature!--what a beautiful girl! -Now I do hope that is the one!” cried, most audibly, a feminine voice. -Marian, knowing by instinct that she was meant, shrank back grievously -discomfited. Even Agnes was somewhat dismayed by such a preface to their -interview; but Ganymede was a trained creature, and much above the -weakness of a smile or hesitation--_he_ pressed on unmoved, and hurried -them into the presence and the sanctum of Mr Burlington. They came into -the full light of the big window, shy, timid, and graceful, having very -little self-possession to boast of, their hearts beating, their colour -rising--and for the moment it was scarcely possible to distinguish which -was the beautiful sister; for Agnes was very near as pretty as Marian in -the glow and agitation of her heart. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -A NEW FRIEND. - - -The big window very nearly filled up the whole room. The little place -had once been the inmost heart of a long suite of apartments when this -was a fashionable house--now it was an odd little nook of seclusion, -with panelled walls, painted of so light a colour as to look almost -white in the great overflow of daylight; and what had looked like a pale -array of clouds in the window at a little distance, made itself out now -to be various blocks and projections of white-washed wall pressing very -close on every side, and leaving only in the upper half-circle a clear -bit of real clouds and unmistakable sky. The room had a little table, a -very few chairs, and the minutest and most antique of Turkey carpets -laid over the matting. The walls were very high; there was not even a -familiar coal-scuttle to lessen the solemnity of the publisher’s retreat -and sanctuary; and Mr Burlington was not alone. - -And even the inexperienced eyes of Agnes and Marian were not slow to -understand that the lady who stood by Mr Burlington’s little table was a -genuine fine lady, one of that marvellous and unknown species which -flourishes in novels, but never had been visible in such a humble -hemisphere as the world of Bellevue. She was young still, but had been -younger, and she remained rich in that sweetest of all mere external -beauties, the splendid English complexion, that lovely bloom and -fairness, which is by no means confined to the flush of youth. She -looked beautiful by favour of these natural roses and lilies, but she -was not beautiful in reality from any other cause. She was lively, -good-natured, and exuberant to an extent which amazed these shy young -creatures, brought up under the quiet shadow of propriety, and -accustomed to the genteel deportment of Bellevue. They, in their simple -girlish dress, in their blushes, diffidence, and hesitation--and she, -accustomed to see everything yielding to her pretty caprices, arbitrary, -coquettish, irresistible, half a spoiled child and half a woman of the -world--they stood together, in the broad white light of that big window, -like people born in different planets. They could scarcely form the -slightest conception of each other. Nature itself had made difference -enough; but how is it possible to estimate the astonishing difference -between Mayfair and Bellevue? - -“Pray introduce me, Mr Burlington; oh pray introduce me!” cried this -pretty vision before Mr Burlington himself had done more than bow to his -shy young visitors. “I am delighted to know the author of _Hope -Hazlewood_! charmed to be acquainted with Miss Atheling! My dear child, -how is it possible, at your age, to know so much of the world?” - -“It is my sister,” said Marian very shyly, almost under her breath. -Marian was much disturbed by this mistake of identity; it had never -occurred to her before that any one could possibly be at a loss for the -real Miss Atheling. The younger sister was somewhat indignant at so -strange a mistake. - -“Now that is right! that is poetic justice! that is a proper -distribution of gifts!” said the lady, clasping her hands with a pretty -gesture of approval. “If you will not introduce me, I shall be compelled -to do it myself, Mr Burlington: Mrs Edgerley. I am charmed to be the -first to make your acquaintance; we were all dying to know the author of -_Hope Hazlewood_. What a charming book it is! I say there has been -nothing like it since _Ellen Fullarton_, and dear Theodosia herself -entirely agrees with me. You are staying in town? Oh I am delighted! You -must let me see a great deal of you, you must indeed; and I shall be -charmed to introduce you to Lady Theodosia, whose sweet books every one -loves. Pray, Mr Burlington, have you any very great secrets to say to -these young ladies, for I want so much to persuade them to come with -me?” - -“I shall not detain Miss Atheling,” said the publisher, with a bow, and -the ghost of a smile: “we will bring out the second edition in a week or -two; a very pleasant task, I assure you, and one which repays us for our -anxiety. Now, how about a preface? I shall be delighted to attend to -your wishes.” - -But Agnes, who had thought so much about him beforehand, had been too -much occupied hitherto to do more than glance at Mr Burlington. She -scarcely looked up now, when every one was looking at her, but said, -very low and with embarrassment, that she did not think she had any -wishes--that she left it entirely to Mr Burlington--he must know best. - -“Then we shall have no preface?” said Mr Burlington, deferentially. - -“No,” said Agnes, faltering a little, and glancing up to see if he -approved; “for indeed I do not think I have anything to say.” - -“Oh that is what a preface is made for,” cried the pretty Mrs Edgerley. -“You dear innocent child, do you never speak except when you have -something to say? Delightful! charming! I shall not venture to -introduce you to Lady Theodosia; if she but knew, how she would envy me! -You must come home with me to luncheon--you positively must; for I am -quite sure Mr Burlington has not another word to say.” - -The two girls drew back a little, and exchanged glances. “Indeed you are -very good, but we must go home,” said Agnes, not very well aware what -she was saying. - -“No, you must come with me--you must positively; I should break my -heart,” said their new acquaintance, with a pretty affectation of -caprice and despotism altogether new to the astonished girls. “Oh, I -assure you no one resists me. Your mamma will not have a word to say if -you tell her it is Mrs Edgerley. Good morning, Mr Burlington; how -fortunate I was to call to-day!” - -So saying, this lady of magic swept out, rustling through the long -matted passages, and carrying her captives, half delighted, half afraid, -in her train. They were too shy by far to make a pause and a commotion -by resisting; they had nothing of the self-possession of the trained -young ladies of society. The natural impulse of doing what they were -told was very strong upon them, and before they were half aware, or had -time to consider, they were shut into the carriage by the sublime -flunky, and drove off into those dazzling and undiscovered regions, as -strange to them as Lapland or Siberia, where dwells The World. Agnes was -placed by the side of the enchantress; Marian sat shyly opposite, rather -more afraid of Mrs Edgerley’s admiring glance than she had ever been -before of the gaze of strangers. It seemed like witchcraft and sudden -magic--half-an-hour ago sitting in the little waiting-room, looking out -upon the fairy chariot, and now rolling along in its perfumy and warm -enclosure over the aristocratic stones of St James’s. The girls were -bewildered with their marvellous position, and could not make it out, -while into their perplexity stole an occasional thought of what Mamma -would say, and how very anxious she would grow if they did not get soon -home. - -Mrs Edgerley in the meanwhile ran on with a flutter of talk and -enthusiasm, pretty gestures, and rapid inquiries, so close and constant -that there was little room for answer and none for comment. And then, -long before they could be at their ease in the carriage, it drew up, -making a magnificent commotion, before a door which opened immediately -to admit the mistress of the house. Agnes and Marian followed her humbly -as she hastened up-stairs. They were bewildered with the long suite of -lofty apartments through which their conductress hurried, scarcely -aware, they supposed, that they, not knowing what else to do, followed -where she led, till they came at last to a pretty boudoir, furnished, as -they both described it unanimously, “like the Arabian Nights!” Here Mrs -Edgerley found some letters, the object, as it seemed, of her search, -and good-naturedly paused, with her correspondence in her hand, to point -out to them the Park, which could be seen from the window, and the books -upon the tables. Then she left them, looking at each other doubtfully, -and half afraid to remain. “Oh, Agnes, what will mamma say?” whispered -Marian. All their innocent lives, until this day, they had never made a -visit to any one without the permission or sanction of Mamma. - -“We could not help it,” said Agnes. That was very true; so with a -relieved conscience, but very shyly, they turned over the pretty -picture-books, the pretty nicknacks, all the elegant nothings of Mrs -Edgerley’s pretty bower. Good Mrs Atheling could very seldom be tempted -to buy anything that was not useful, and there was scarcely a single -article in the whole house at home which was not good for something. -This being the case, it is easy to conceive with what perverse youthful -delight the girls contemplated the hosts of pretty things around, which -were of no use whatever, nor good for anything in the world. It gave -them an idea of exuberance, of magnificence, of prodigality, more than -the substantial magnitude of the great house or the handsome equipage. -Besides, they were alone for the moment, and so much less embarrassed, -and the rose-coloured atmosphere charmed them all the more that they -were quite unaccustomed to it. Yet they spoke to each other in whispers -as they peeped into the sunny Park, all bright and green in the -sunshine, and marvelled much what Mamma would say, and how they should -get home. - -When Mrs Edgerley returned to them, they were stooping over the table -together, looking over some of the most splendid of the “illustrated -editions” of this age of sumptuous bookmaking. When they saw their -patroness they started, and drew a little apart from each other. She -came towards them through the great drawing-room, radiant and rustling, -and they looked at her with shy admiration. They were by no means sure -of their own position, but their new acquaintance certainly was the -kindest and most delightful of all sudden friends. - -“Do you forgive me for leaving you?” said Mrs Edgerley, holding out both -her pretty hands; “but now we must not wait here any longer, but go to -luncheon, where we shall be all by ourselves, quite a snug little party; -and now, you dear child, come and tell me everything about it. What was -it that first made you think of writing that charming book?” - -Mrs Edgerley had drawn Agnes’s arm within her own, a little to the -discomposure of the shy young genius, and, followed closely by Marian, -led them down stairs. Agnes made no answer in her confusion. Then they -came to a pretty apartment on the lower floor, with a broad window -looking out to the Park. The table was near the window; the pretty scene -outside belonged to the little group within, as they placed themselves -at the table, and the room itself was green and cool and pleasant, not -at all splendid, lined with books, and luxurious with easy-chairs. There -was a simple vase upon the table, full of roses, but there was no -profusion of prettinesses here. - -“This is my own study; I bring every one to see it. Is it not a charming -little room?” said Mrs Edgerley (it would have contained both the -parlours and the two best bedrooms of Number Ten, Bellevue); “but now I -am quite dying to hear--really, how did it come into your head to write -that delightful book?” - -“Indeed I do not know,” said Agnes, smiling and blushing. It seemed -perfectly natural that the book should have made so mighty a sensation, -and yet it was rather embarrassing, after all. - -“I think because she could not help it,” said Marian shyly, her -beautiful face lighting up as she spoke with a sweet suffusion of -colour. Their hearts were beginning to open to the kindness of their new -friend. - -“And you are so pleased and so proud of your sister--I am sure you -are--it is positively delightful,” said Mrs Edgerley. “Now tell me, were -you not quite heartbroken when you finished it--such a delightful -interest one feels in one’s characters--such an object it is to live -for, is it not? The first week after my first work was finished I was -_triste_ beyond description. I am sure you must have been quite -miserable when you were obliged to come to an end.” - -The sisters glanced at each other rather doubtfully across the table. -Everybody else seemed to have feelings so much more elevated than -they--for they both remembered with a pang of shame that Agnes had -actually been glad and jubilant when this first great work was done. - -“And such a sweet heroine--such a charming character!” said Mrs -Edgerley. “Ah, I perceive you have taken your sister for your model, and -now I shall always feel sure that she is Hope Hazlewood; but at your age -I cannot conceive where you got so much knowledge of the world. Do you -go out a great deal? do you see a great many people? But indeed, to tell -the truth,” said Mrs Edgerley, with a pretty laugh, “I do believe you -have no right to see any one yet. You ought to be in the schoolroom, -young creatures like you. Are you both _out_?” - -This was an extremely puzzling question, and some answer was necessary -this time. The girls again looked at each other, blushing over neck and -brow. In their simple honesty they thought themselves bound to make a -statement of their true condition--what Miss Willsie would have called -“their rank in life.” - -“We see very few people. In our circumstances people do not speak about -coming out,” said Agnes, hesitating and doubtful--the young author had -no great gift of elegant expression. But in fact Mrs Edgerley did not -care in the slightest degree about their “circumstances.” She was a -hundred times more indifferent on that subject than any genteel and -respectable matron in all Bellevue. - -“Oh then, that is so much better,” said Mrs Edgerley, “for I see you -must have been observing character all your life. It is, after all, the -most delightful study; but such an eye for individuality! and so young! -I declare I shall be quite afraid to make friends with you.” - -“Indeed, I do not know at all about character,” said Agnes hurriedly, as -with her pretty little ringing laugh, Mrs Edgerley broke off in a pretty -affected trepidation; but their patroness shook her hand at her, and -turned away in a graceful little terror. - -“I am sure she must be the most dreadful critic, and keep you quite in -awe of her,” said their new friend, turning to Marian. “But now pray -tell me your names. I have such an interest in knowing every one’s -Christian name; there is so much character in them. I do think that is -the real advantage of a title. There is dear Lady Theodosia, for -instance: suppose her family had been commoners, and she had been called -Miss Piper! Frightful! odious! almost enough to make one do some harm to -oneself, or get married. And now tell me what are your names?” - -“My sister is Agnes, and I am Marian,” said the younger. Now we are -obliged to confess that by this time, though Mrs Edgerley answered with -the sweetest and most affectionate of smiles and a glance of real -admiration, she began to feel the novelty wear off, and flagged a little -in her sudden enthusiasm. It was clear to her young visitors that she -did not at all attend to the answer, despite the interest with which she -had asked the question. A shade of weariness, half involuntary, half of -will and purpose, came over her face. She rushed away immediately upon -another subject; asked another question with great concern, and was -completely indifferent to the answer. The girls were not used to this -phenomenon, and did not understand it; but at last, after hesitating and -doubting, and consulting each other by glances, Agnes made a shy -movement of departure, and said Mamma would be anxious, and they should -have to go away. - -“The carriage is at the door, I believe,” said Mrs Edgerley, with her -sweet smile; “for of course you must let me send you home--positively -you must, my love. You are a great author, but you are a young lady, and -your sister is much too pretty to walk about alone. Delighted to have -seen you both! Oh, I shall write to you very soon; do not fear. -Everybody wants to make your acquaintance. I shall be besieged for -introductions. You are engaged to me for Thursday next week, remember! I -never forgive any one who disappoints me. Good-by! Adieu! I am charmed -to have met you both.” - -While this valedictory address was being said, the girls were slowly -making progress to the door; then they were ushered out solemnly to the -carriage which waited for them. They obeyed their fate in their going as -they did in their coming. They could not help themselves; and with -mingled fright, agitation, and pleasure, were once more shut up by that -superbest of flunkies, but drove off at a slow pace, retarded by the -intense bewilderment of the magnificent coachman as to the locality of -Bellevue. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -GOING HOME. - - -Driving slowly along while the coachman ruminated, Agnes and Marian, in -awe and astonishment, looked in each other’s faces--then they put up -their hands simultaneously to their faces, which were a little heated -with the extreme confusion, embarrassment, and wonder of the last two -hours--lastly, they both fell into a little outburst of low and somewhat -tremulous laughter--laughing in a whisper, if that is possible--and -laughing, not because they were very merry, but because, in their -extreme amazement, no other expression of their sentiments occurred to -them. Were they two enchanted princesses? and had they been in -fairyland? - -“Oh Agnes!” exclaimed Marian under her breath, “what will mamma say?” - -“I do not think mamma can be angry,” said Agnes, who had gained some -courage, “for I am sure we could not help ourselves. What could we -do?--but when they see us coming home like this--oh May!” - -There was another pause. “I wonder very much what she has written. We -have never heard of her,” said Marian, “and yet I suppose she must be -quite a great author. How respectful Mr Burlington was! I am afraid it -will not be good for you, Agnes, that we live so much out of the -world--you ought to know people’s names at least.” - -Agnes did not dispute this advantage. “But I don’t quite think she can -be a great author,” said the young genius, looking somewhat puzzled, -“though I am sure she was very kind--how kind she was, Marian! And do -you think she really wants us to go on Thursday? Oh, I wonder what mamma -will say!” - -As this was the burden of the whole conversation, constantly recurring, -as every new phase of the question was discussed, the conversation -itself was not quite adapted for formal record. While it proceeded, the -magnificent coachman blundered towards the unknown regions of Islington, -much marvelling, in his lofty and elevated intelligence, what sort of -people his mistress’s new acquaintances could be. They reached Bellevue -at last by a grievous roundabout. What a sound and commotion they made -in this quiet place, where a doctor’s brougham was the most fashionable -of equipages, and a pair of horses an unknown glory! The dash of that -magnificent drawing-up startled the whole neighbourhood, and the -population of Laurel House and Buena Vista flew to their bedroom windows -when the big footman made that prodigious assault upon the knocker of -Number Ten. Then came the noise of letting down the steps and opening -the carriage door; then the girls alighted, almost as timid as Susan, -who stood scared and terror-stricken within the door; and then Agnes, in -sudden temerity, but with a degree of respectfulness, offered, to the -acceptance of the footman, a precious golden half-sovereign, intrusted -to her by her mother this morning, in case they should want anything. -Poor Mrs Atheling, sitting petrified in her husband’s easy-chair, did -not know how the coin was being disposed of. They came in--the humble -door was closed--they stood again in the close little hall, with its -pegs and its painted oil-cloth--what a difference!--while the fairy -coach and the magical bay-horses, the solemn coachman and the superb -flunky, drove back into the world again with a splendid commotion, which -deafened the ears and fluttered the heart of all Bellevue. - -“My dears, where have you been? What have you been doing, girls? Was -that Mr Burlington’s carriage? Have you seen any one? Where have you -been?” asked Mrs Atheling, while Agnes cried eagerly, “Mamma, you are -not to be angry!” and Marian answered, “Oh, mamma! we have been in -fairyland!” - -And then they sat down upon the old hair-cloth sofa beside the family -table, upon which, its sole ornaments, stood Mrs Atheling’s full -work-basket, and some old toys of Bell’s and Beau’s; and thus, sometimes -speaking together, sometimes interrupting each other, with numberless -corrections on the part of Marian and supplementary remarks from Agnes, -they told their astonishing story. They had leisure now to enjoy all -they had seen and heard when they were safe in their own house, and -reporting it all to Mamma. They described everything, remembered -everything, went over every word and gesture of Mrs Edgerley, from her -first appearance in Mr Burlington’s room until their parting with her; -and Marian faithfully recorded all her compliments to _Hope Hazlewood_, -and Agnes her admiration of Marian. It was the prettiest scene in the -world to see them both, flushed and animated, breaking in, each upon the -other’s narrative, contradicting each other, after a fashion; -remonstrating “Oh Agnes!” explaining, and adding description to -description; while the mother sat before them in her easy-chair, -sometimes quietly wiping her eyes, sometimes interfering or commanding, -“One at a time, my dears,” and all the time thinking to herself that the -honours that were paid to “girls like these!” were no such wonder after -all. And indeed Mrs Atheling would not be sufficiently amazed at all -this grand and wonderful story. She was extremely touched and affected -by the kindness of Mrs Edgerley, and dazzled with the prospect of all -the great people who were waiting with so much anxiety to make -acquaintance with the author of _Hope Hazlewood_, but she was by no -means properly _surprised_. - -“My dears, I foresaw how it would be,” said Mrs Atheling with her simple -wisdom. “I knew quite well all this must happen, Agnes. I have not read -about famous people for nothing, though I never said much about it. To -be sure, my dear, I knew people would appreciate you--it is quite -natural--it is quite proper, my dear child! I know they will never make -you forget what is right, and your duty, let them flatter as they will!” - -Mrs Atheling said this with a little effusion, and with wet eyes. Agnes -hung her head, blushed very deeply, grew extremely grave for a moment, -but concluded by glancing up suddenly again with a little overflow of -laughter. In the midst of all, she could not help recollecting how -perfectly ridiculous it was to make all this commotion about _her_. -“Me!” said Agnes with a start; “they will find me out directly--they -must, mamma. You know I cannot talk or do anything; and indeed everybody -that knew me would laugh to think of people seeing anything in _me_!” - -Now this was perfectly true, though the mother and the sister, for the -moment, were not quite inclined to sanction it. Agnes was neither -brilliant nor remarkable, though she had genius, and was, at twenty and -a half, a successful author in her way. As she woke from her first awe -and amazement, Agnes began to find out the ludicrous side of her new -fame. It was all very well to like the book; there was some reason in -that, the young author admitted candidly; but surely those people must -expect something very different from the reality, who were about to -besiege Mrs Edgerley for introductions to “_me_!” - -However, it was very easy to forget this part of the subject in -returning to the dawn of social patronage, and in anticipating the -invitation they had received. Mrs Atheling, too, was somewhat -disappointed that they had made so little acquaintance with Mr -Burlington, and could scarcely even describe him, how he looked or what -he said. Mr Burlington had quite gone down in the estimation of the -girls. His lady client had entirely eclipsed, overshadowed, and taken -the glory out of the publisher. The talk was all of Mrs Edgerley, her -beauty, her kindness, her great house, her approaching party. They began -already to be agitated about this, remembering with terror the important -article of dress, and the simple nature and small variety of their -united wardrobe. Before they had been an hour at home, Miss Willsie made -an abrupt and sudden visit from Killiecrankie Lodge, to ascertain all -about the extraordinary apparition of the carriage, and to find out -where the girls had been; and it did not lessen their own excitement to -discover the extent of the commotion which they had caused in Bellevue. -The only drawback was, that a second telling of the story was not -practicable for the instruction and advantage of Papa--for, for the -first time in a dozen years, Mr Atheling, all by himself, and solitary, -was away from home. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -PAPA’S OPINION. - - -Papa was away from home. That very day on which the charmed light of -society first shone upon his girls, Papa, acting under the instructions -of a family conference, hurried at railway speed to the important -neighbourhood of the Old Wood Lodge. He was to be gone three days, and -during that time his household constituents expected an entire -settlement of the doubtful and difficult question which concerned their -inheritance. Charlie, perhaps, might have some hesitation on the -subject, but all the rest of the family believed devoutly in the -infallible wisdom and prowess of Papa. - -Yet it was rather disappointing that he should be absent at such a -crisis as this, when there was so much to tell him. They had to wonder -every day what he would think of the adventure of Agnes and Marian, and -how contemplate their entrance into the world; and great was the family -satisfaction at the day and hour of his return. Fortunately it was -evening; the family tea-table was spread with unusual care, and the best -china shone and glistened in the sunshine, as Agnes, Marian, and Charlie -set out for the railway to meet their father. They went along together -very happily, excited by the expectation of all there was to tell, and -all there was to hear. The suburban roads were full of leisurely people, -gossiping, or meditating like old Isaac at eventide, with a breath of -the fields before them, and the big boom of the great city filling all -the air behind. The sun slanted over the homely but pleasant scene, -making a glorious tissue of the rising smoke, and brightening the dusky -branches of the wayside trees. “If we could but live in the country!” -said Agnes, pausing, and turning round to trace the long sun-bright line -of road, falling off into that imaginary Arcadia, or rather into the -horizon, with its verge of sunny and dewy fields. The dew falls upon the -daisies even in the vicinity of Islington--let students of natural -history bear this significant fact in mind. - -“Stuff! the train’s in,” said Charlie, dragging along his half-reluctant -sister, who, quite proud of his bigness and manly stature, had taken his -arm. “Charlie, don’t make such strides--who do you think can keep up -with you?” said Marian. Charlie laughed with the natural triumphant -malice of a younger brother; he was perfectly indifferent to the fact -that one of them was a genius and the other a beauty; but he liked to -claim a certain manly and protective superiority over “the girls.” - -To the great triumph, however, of these victims of Charlie’s obstinate -will, the train was not in, and they had to walk about upon the platform -for full five minutes, pulling (figuratively) his big red ear, and -waiting for the exemplary second-class passenger, who was scrupulous to -travel by that golden mean of respectability, and would on no account -have put up with a parliamentary train. Happy Papa, it was better than -Mrs Edgerley’s magnificent pair of bays pawing in superb impatience the -plebeian causeway. He caught a glimpse of three eager faces as he looked -out of his little window--two pretty figures springing forward, one big -one holding back, and remonstrating. “Why, you’ll lose him in the -crowd--do you hear?” cried Charlie. “What good could you do, a parcel of -girls? See! you stand here, and I’ll fetch my father out.” - -Grievously against their will, the girls obeyed. Papa was safely evolved -out of the crowd, and went off at once between his daughters, leaving -Charlie to follow--which Charlie did accordingly, with Mr Atheling’s -greatcoat in one hand and travelling-bag in the other. They made quite a -little procession as they went home, Marian half dancing as she clasped -Papa’s arm, and tantalised him with hints of their wondrous tale; Agnes -walking very demurely on the other side, with a pretence of rebuking her -giddy sister; Charlie trudging with his burden in the rear. By way of -assuring him that he was not to know till they got home, Papa was put in -possession of all the main facts of their adventure, before they came -near enough to see two small faces at the bright open window, shouting -with impatience to see him. Happy Papa! it was almost worth being away a -year, instead of three days, to get such a welcome home. - -“Well, but who is this fine lady--and how were you introduced to -her--and what’s all this about a carriage?” said Papa. “Here’s Bell and -Beau, with all their good sense, reduced to be as crazy as the rest of -you. What’s this about a carriage?” - -For Bell and Beau, we are constrained to confess, had made immense ado -about the “two geegees” ever since these fabulous and extraordinary -animals drew up before the gate with that magnificent din and concussion -which shook to its inmost heart the quiet of Bellevue. - -“Oh, it is Mrs Edgerley’s, papa,” said Marian; “such a beautiful pair of -bay horses--she sent us home in it--and we met her at Mr Burlington’s, -and we went to luncheon at her house--and we are going there again on -Thursday to a great party. She says everybody wishes to see Agnes; she -thinks there never was a book like _Hope_. She is very pretty, and has -the grandest house, and is kinder than anybody I ever saw. You never saw -such splendid horses. Oh, mamma, how pleasant it would be to keep a -carriage! I wonder if Agnes will ever be as rich as Mrs Edgerley; but -then, though _she_ is an author, she is a great lady besides.” - -“Edgerley!” said Mr Atheling; “do you know, I heard that name at the Old -Wood Lodge.” - -“But, papa, what about the Lodge? you have never told us yet: is it as -pretty as you thought it was? Can we go to live there? Is there a -garden? I am sure _now_,” said Agnes, blushing with pleasure, “that we -will have money enough to go down there--all of us--mamma, and Bell and -Beau!” - -“I don’t deny it’s rather a pretty place,” said Mr Atheling; “and I -thought of Agnes immediately when I looked out from the windows. There -is a view for you! Do you remember it, Mary?--the town below, and the -wood behind, and the river winding about everywhere. Well, I confess to -you it _is_ pretty, and not in such bad order either, considering all -things; and nothing said against our title yet, Mr Lewis tells me. Do -you know, children, if you were really to go down and take possession, -and then my lord made any attempt against us, I should be tempted to -stand out against him, cost what it might?” - -“Then, papa, we ought to go immediately,” said Marian. “To be sure, you -should stand out--it belonged to our family; what has anybody else got -to do with it? And I tell you, Charlie, you ought to read up all about -it, and make quite sure, and let the gentleman know the real law.” - -“Stuff! I’ll mind my own business,” said Charlie. Charlie did not choose -to have any allusion made to his private studies. - -“And there are several people there who remember us, Mary,” said Mr -Atheling. “My lord is not at home--that is one good thing; but I met a -youth at Winterbourne yesterday, who lives at the Hall they say, and is -a--a--sort of a son; a fine boy, with a haughty look, more like the old -lord a great deal. And what did you say about Edgerley? There’s one of -the Rivers’s married to an Edgerley. I won’t have such an acquaintance, -if it turns out one of them.” - -“Why, William?” said Mrs Atheling. “Fathers and daughters are seldom -very much like each other. I do not care much about such an acquaintance -myself,” added the good mother, in a moralising tone. “For though it may -be very pleasant for the girls at first, I do not think it is good, as -Miss Willsie says, to have friends far out of our own rank of life. My -dear, Miss Willsie is very sensible, though she is not always pleasant; -and I am sure you never can be very easy or comfortable with people whom -you cannot have at your own house; and you know such a great lady as -that could not come _here_.” - -Agnes and Marian cast simultaneous glances round the room--it was -impossible to deny that Mrs Atheling was right. - -“But then the Old Wood Lodge, mamma!” cried Agnes, with sudden relief -and enthusiasm. “There we could receive any one--anybody could come to -see us in the country. If the furniture is not very good, we can improve -it a little. For you know, mamma----.” Agnes once more blushed with shy -delight and satisfaction, but came to a sudden conclusion there, and -said no more. - -“Yes, my dear, I know,” said Mrs Atheling, with a slight sigh, and a -careful financial brow; “but when your fortune comes, papa must lay it -by for you, Agnes, or invest it. William, what did you say it would be -best to do?” - -Mr Atheling immediately entered _con amore_ into a consideration of the -best means of disposing of this fabulous and unarrived fortune. But the -girls looked blank when they heard of interest and percentage; they did -not appreciate the benefits of laying by. - -“Are we to have no good of it, then, at all?” said Agnes disconsolately. - -Mr Atheling’s kind heart could not resist an appeal like this. “Yes, -Mary, they must have their pleasure,” said Papa; “it will not matter -much to Agnes’s fortune, the little sum that they will spend on the -journey, or the new house. No, you must go by all means; I shall fancy -it is in mourning for poor old Aunt Bridget, till my girls are there to -pull her roses. If I knew you were all there, I should begin to think -again that Winterbourne and Badgely Wood were the sweetest places in the -world.” - -“And there any one could come to see us,” said Marian, clapping her -hands. “Oh, papa, what a good thing for Agnes that Aunt Bridget left you -the Old Wood Lodge!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -MRS EDGERLY’S THURSDAY. - - -Mr Atheling’s visit to the country had, after all, not been so necessary -as the family supposed; no one seemed disposed to pounce upon the small -bequest of Miss Bridget. The Hall took no notice either of the death or -the will which changed the proprietorship of the Old Wood Lodge. It -remained intact and unvisited, dilapidated and picturesque, with Miss -Bridget’s old furniture in its familiar place, and her old maid in -possession. The roses began to brush the little parlour window, and -thrust their young buds against the panes, from which no one now looked -out upon their sweetness. Papa himself, though his heart beat high to -think of his own beautiful children blooming in this retired and -pleasant place, wept a kindly tear for his old aunt, as he stood in the -chamber of her long occupation, and found how empty and mournful was -this well-known room. It was a quaint and touching mausoleum, full of -relics; and good Mr Atheling felt himself more and more bound to carry -out the old lady’s wishes as he stood in the vacant room. - -And then it would be such a good thing for Agnes! That was the most -flattering and pleasant view of the subject possible; and ambitious -ideas of making the Old Wood Lodge the prettiest of country cottages, -entered the imagination of the house. It was pretty enough for anything, -Papa said, looking as he spoke at his beautiful Marian, who was -precisely in the same condition; and if some undefined notion of a -prince of romance, carrying off from the old cottage the sweetest bride -in the world, did flash across the thoughts of the father and mother, -who would be hard enough to blame so natural a vision? As for Marian -herself, she thought of nothing but Agnes, unless, indeed, it was Mrs -Edgerley’s party; and there must, indeed, have been quite a moral -earthquake in London had all the invitees to this same party been as -much disturbed about it as these two sisters. They wondered a hundred -times in a day if it was quite right to go without any further -invitation--if Mrs Edgerley would write to them--who would be there? and -finally, and most momentous of all, if it would be quite proper to go in -those simple white dresses, which were, in fact, the only dresses they -could wear. Over these girlish robes there was great discussion, and -councils manifold; people, however, who have positively no choice, have -facilities for making up their minds unknown to more encumbered -individuals, and certainly there was no alternative here. - -Another of these much discussed questions was likewise very shortly set -to rest. Mrs Edgerley did write to Agnes the most affectionate and -emphatic of notes--deeply, doubly underscored in every fourth word, -adjuring her to “_remember_ that I NEVER _forgive_ any one who _forgets_ -my _Thursday_.” Nobody could possibly be more innocent of this -unpardonable crime than Agnes and Marian, from whose innocent minds, -since they first heard of it, Mrs Edgerley’s Thursday had scarcely been -absent for an hour at a stretch; but they were mightily gratified with -this reminder, and excited beyond measure with the prospect before them. -They had also ascertained with much care and research the names of their -new acquaintance’s works--of which one was called _Fashion_, one -_Coquetry_, and one _The Beau Monde_. On the title-page of these famous -productions she was called the Honourable Mrs Edgerley--a distinction -not known to them before; and the girls read with devotion the three -sets of three volumes each, by which their distinguished friend had made -herself immortal. These books were not at all like _Hope Hazlewood_. It -was not indeed very easy to define what they were like; they were very -fine, full of splendid upholstery and elevated sentiments, diamonds of -the finest water, and passions of the loftiest strain. The girls -prudently reserved their judgment on the matter. “It is only some people -who can write good books,” said Marian, in the tone of an indulgent -critic; and nobody disputed the self-evident truth. - -Meanwhile Mr Foggo continued to pay his usual visit every night, and -Miss Willsie, somewhat curious and full of disapprovals, “looked in” -through the day. Miss Willsie, who in secret knew _Hope Hazlewood_ -nearly by heart, disapproved of everything. If there was one thing she -did not like, it was young people setting up their opinion, and -especially writing books; and if there was one thing she could not bear, -it was to see folk in a middling way of life aiming to be like their -betters. Miss Willsie “could not put up with” Mrs Edgerley’s presumption -in sending the girls home in her carriage; she thought it was just as -much as taunting decent folk because they had no carriage of their own. -Altogether the mistress of Killiecrankie was out of temper, and would -not be pleased--nothing satisfied her; and she groaned in spirit over -the vanity of her young _protégés_. - -“Silly things!” said Miss Willsie, as she came in on the eventful -morning of Thursday itself, that golden day; “do you really think -there’s satisfaction in such vanities? Do you think any person finds -happiness in the pleasures of this world?” - -“Oh, Miss Willsie! if they were not very pleasant, why should people be -so frightened for them?” cried Marian, who was carefully trimming, with -some of her mother’s lace, the aforesaid white dress. - -“And then we are not trying to _find_ happiness,” said Agnes, looking up -from her similar occupation with a radiant face, and a momentary -perception of the philosophy of the matter. After all, that made a -wonderful difference. Miss Willsie was far too Scotch to remain -unimpressed by the logical distinction. - -“Well, that’s true,” acknowledged Miss Willsie; “but you’re no to think -I approve of such a way of spending your happiness, though ye have got -it, ye young prodigals. If there is one thing I cannot endure, it’s -countenancing the like of you in your nonsense and extravagance; but I’m -no for doing things by halves either--Here!” - -Saying which, Miss Willsie laid a parcel upon the table and disappeared -instantly, opening the door for herself, and closing it after her with -the briskest energy. There was not much time lost in examining the -parcel; and within it, in a double wrapper, lay two little pairs of -satin shoes, the whitest, daintiest, prettiest in the world. - -Cinderella’s glass slippers! But Cinderella in the story was not half so -much disturbed as these two girls. It seemed just the last proof -wanting of the interest all the world took in this momentous and -eventful evening. Miss Willsie, the general critic and censor, who -approved of nothing! If it had not been for a little proper pride in the -presence of Susan, who just then entered the parlour, Marian and Agnes -would have been disposed for half a minute to celebrate this pleasure, -in true feminine fashion, by a very little “cry.” - -And then came the momentous duties of the toilette. The little white -bedchamber looked whiter to-night than it had done all its days before, -under the combined lustre of the white dresses, the white ribbons, and -the white shoes. They were both so young and both so bright that their -colourless and simple costume looked in the prettiest harmony imaginable -with their sweet youth--which was all the more fortunate, that they -could not help themselves, and had nothing else to choose. One of those -useful and nondescript vehicles called “flies” stood at the door. -Charlie, with his hat on, half laughing, half ashamed of his office, -lingered in the hall, waiting to accompany them. They kissed Bell and -Beau (dreadfully late for this one night, and in the highest state of -exultation) with solemnity--submitted themselves to a last inspection on -the part of Mrs Atheling, and with a little fright and sudden terror -were put into the “carriage.” Then the carriage drove away through the -late summer twilight, rambling into the distance and the darkness. Then -at last Mamma ventured to drop into the easy-chair, and rest for a -moment from her labours and her anxieties. At this great crisis of the -family history, small events looked great events to Mrs Atheling; as if -they had been going out upon a momentous enterprise, this good mother -paused awhile in the darkness, and blessed them in her heart. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -THE WORLD. - - -They were bewildered, yet they lost nothing of the scene. The great -rooms radiant with light, misty with hangings, gleaming with -mirrors--the magnificent staircase up which they passed, they never -could tell how, ashamed of the echo of their own names--the beautiful -enchantress of a hostess, who bestowed upon each of them that light -perfumy kiss of welcome, at the momentary touch of which the girls -blushed and trembled--the strange faces everywhere around them--their -own confusion, and the shyness which they thought so awkward. Though all -these things together united to form a dazzling jumble for the first -moment, the incoherence of the vision lasted no longer. With a touch of -kindness Mrs Edgerley led them (for of course they were scrupulously -early, and punctual to the hour) to her pretty boudoir, where they had -been before, and which was not so bright nor like to be so thronged as -the larger rooms. Here already a young matron sat in state, with a -little circle of worshippers. Mrs Edgerley broke into the midst of them -to introduce to the throned lady her young strangers. “They have no one -with them--pray let them be beside you,” whispered the beautiful hostess -to her beautiful guest. The lady bowed, and stared, and assented. When -Mrs Edgerley left them, Agnes and Marian looked after her wistfully, the -only face they had ever seen before, and stood together in their shy -irresolute grace, blushing, discouraged, and afraid. They supposed it -was not right to speak to any one whom they had not been introduced to; -but no one gave them any inconvenience for the moment in the matter of -conversation. They stood for a short time shyly, expecting some notice -from their newly-elected chaperone, but she had half-a-dozen flirtations -in hand, and no leisure for a charge which was a bore. This, it must be -confessed, was somewhat different from Mrs Edgerley’s anticipation of -being “besieged for introductions” to the author of _Hope Hazlewood_. -The young author looked wistfully into the brightness of the great -drawing-room, with some hope of catching the eye of her patroness; but -Mrs Edgerley was in the full business of “receiving,” and had no eye -except for the brilliant stream of arrivals. Marian began to be -indignant, and kept her beautiful eyes full upon Agnes, watching her -sister with eager sympathy. Never before, in all their serene and quiet -lives, had they needed to be proud. For a moment the lip of Agnes curved -and quivered--a momentary pang of girlish mortification passed over her -face--then they both drew back suddenly to a table covered with books -and portfolios, which stood behind them. They did not say a word to each -other--they bent down over the prints and pictures with a sudden impulse -of self-command and restraint: no one took the slightest notice of them; -they stood quite alone in these magnificent rooms, which were slowly -filling with strange faces. Agnes was afraid to look up, lest any one -should see that there were actual tears under her eyelids. How she -fancied she despised herself for such a weakness! But, after all, it was -a hard enough lesson for neophytes so young and innocent,--so they stood -very silent, bending closely over the picture-books, overcoming as they -could their sudden mortification and disappointment. No one disturbed -them in their solitary enjoyment of their little table, and for once in -their life they did not say a word to each other, but bravely fought out -the crisis within themselves, and rose again with all the pride of -sensitive and imaginative natures to the emergency. With a sudden -impulsive movement Agnes drew a chair to the table, and made Marian sit -down upon it. “Now, we will suppose we are at the play,” said Agnes, -with youthful contempt and defiance, leaning her arm upon the back of -the chair, and looking at the people instead of the picture-books. -Marian was not so rapid in her change of mood--she sat still, shading -her face with her hand, with a flush upon her cheek, and an angry cloud -on her beautiful young brow. Yes, Marian was extremely angry. -Mortification on her own account did not affect her--but that all these -people, who no doubt were only rich people and nobodies--that they -should neglect Agnes!--this was more than her sisterly equanimity could -bear. - -Agnes Atheling was not beautiful. When people looked at her, they never -thought of her face, what were its features or its complexion. These -were both agreeable enough to make no detraction from the interest of -the bright and animated intelligence which was indeed the only beauty -belonging to her. She did not know herself with what entire and -transparent honesty her eyes and her lips expressed her sentiments; and -it never occurred to her that her own looks, as she stood thus, somewhat -defiant, and full of an imaginative and heroical pride, looking out upon -all those strangers, made the brightest comment possible upon the scene. -How her eye brightened with pleasure as it fell on a pleasant face--how -her lip laughed when something ridiculous caught her rapid -attention--how the soft lines on her forehead drew together when -something displeased her delicate fancy--and how a certain natural -delight in the graceful grouping and brilliant action of the scene -before her lighted up all her face--was quite an unknown fact to Agnes. -It was remarkable enough, however, in an assembly of people whose looks -were regulated after the most approved principles, and who were -generally adepts in the admirable art of expressing nothing. And then -there was Marian, very cloudy, looking up under the shadow of her hand -like an offended fairy queen. Though Mrs Edgerley was lost in the stream -of her arriving guests, and the beautiful young chaperone she had -committed them to took no notice whatever of her charge, tired eyes, -which were looking out for something to interest them, gradually fixed -upon Agnes and Marian. One or two observers asked who they were, but -nobody could answer the question. They were quite by themselves, and -evidently knew no one; and a little interest began to rise about them, -which the girls, making their own silent observations upon everything, -and still sometimes with a little wistfulness looking for Mrs Edgerley, -had not yet begun to see. - -When an old gentleman came to their table, and startled them a little by -turning over the picture-books. He was an ancient beau--the daintiest of -old gentlemen--with a blue coat and a white waistcoat, and the most -delicate of ruffles. His hair--so much as he had--was perfectly white, -and his high bald forehead, and even his face, looked like a piece of -ivory curiously carved into wrinkles. He was not by any means a handsome -old man, yet it was evident enough that this peculiar look and studied -dress belonged to a notability, whose coat and cambric, and the great -shining diamond upon whose wrinkled ashen-white hand, belonged to his -character, and were part of himself. He was an old connoisseur, critic, -and fine gentleman, with a collection of old china, old jewels, rare -small pictures, and curious books, enough to craze the whole dilettanti -world when it came to the prolonged and fabulous sale, which was its -certain end. And he was a connoisseur in other things than silver and -china. He was somewhat given to patronising young people; and the common -judgment gave him credit for great kindness and benignity. But it was -not benignity and kindness which drew Mr Agar to the side of Agnes and -Marian. Personal amusement was a much more prevailing inducement than -benevolence with the dainty old dilettante. They were deceived, of -course, as youth is invariably; for despite the pure selfishness of the -intention, the effect, as it happened, was kind. - -Mr Agar began a conversation by remarking upon the books, and drew forth -a shy reply from both; then he managed gradually to change his -position, and to survey the assembled company along with them, but with -his most benign and patriarchal expression. He was curious to hear in -words those comments which Agnes constantly made with her eyes; and he -was pleased to observe the beauty of the younger sister--the perfect -unconscious grace of all her movements and attitudes. They thought they -had found the most gracious of friends, these simple girls; they had not -the remotest idea that he was only a connoisseur. - -“Then you do not know many of those people?” said Mr Agar, following -Agnes’s rapid glances. “Ah, old Lady Knightly! is that a friend of -yours?” - -“No; I was thinking of the old story of ‘Thank you for your Diamonds,” -said Agnes, who could not help drawing back a little, and casting down -her eyes for the moment, while the sound of her own voice, low as it -was, brought a sudden flush to her cheek. “I did not think diamonds had -been so pretty; they look as if they were alive.” - -“Ah, the diamonds!” said the old critic, looking at the unconscious -object of Agnes’s observation, who was an old lady, wrinkled and -gorgeous, with a leaping, twinkling band of light circling her -time-shrivelled brow. “Yes, she looks as if she had dressed for a -masquerade in the character of Night--eh? Poor old lady, with her lamps -of diamonds! Beauty, you perceive, does not need so many tapers to show -its whereabouts.” - -“But there are a great many beautiful people here,” said Agnes, “and a -great many jewels. I think, sir, it is kind of people to wear them, -because all the pleasure is to us who look on.” - -“You think so? Ah, then beauty itself, I suppose, is pure generosity, -and _we_ have all the pleasure of it,” said the amused old gentleman; -“that is comfortable doctrine, is it not?” And he looked at Marian, who -glanced up blushingly, yet with a certain pleasure. He smiled, yet he -looked benignant and fatherly; and this was an extremely agreeable view -of the matter, and made it much less embarrassing to acknowledge oneself -pretty. Marian felt herself indebted to this kind old man. - -“And you know no one--not even Mrs Edgerley, I presume?” said the old -gentleman. They both interrupted him in haste to correct this, but he -only smiled the more, and went on. “Well, I shall be benevolent, and -tell you who your neighbours are; but I cannot follow those rapid eyes. -Yes, I perceive you have made a good pause for a beginning--that is our -pretty hostess’s right honourable papa. Poor Winterbourne! he was sadly -clumsy about his business. He is one of those unfortunate men who cannot -do a wicked thing without doing it coarsely. You perceive, he is -stopping to speak to Lady Theodosia--dear Lady Theodosia, who writes -those sweet books! Nature intended she should be merry and vulgar, and -art has made her very fine, very sentimental, and full of tears. There -is an unfortunate youth wandering alone behind everybody’s back. That is -a miserable new poet, whom Mrs Edgerley has deluded hither under the -supposition that he is to be the lion of the evening. Poor fellow! he is -looking demoniacal, and studying an epigram. Interested in the -poet--eh?” - -“Yes, sir,” said Agnes, with her usual respect; “but we were thinking of -ourselves, who were something the same,” she added quickly; for Mr Agar -had seen the sudden look which passed between the sisters. - -“Something the same! then I am to understand that you are a poet?” said -the old gentleman, with his unvarying benignity. “No!--what then? A -musician? No; an artist? Come, you puzzle me. I shall begin to suppose -you have written a novel if you do not explain.” - -The animated face of Agnes grew blank in a moment; she drew farther -back, and blushed painfully. Marian immediately drew herself up and -stood upon the defensive. “Is it anything wrong to write a novel?” said -Marian. Mr Agar turned upon her with his benignant smile. - -“It is so, then?” said the old gentleman; “and I have not the least -doubt it is an extremely clever novel. But hold! who comes here? Ah, an -American! Now we must do our best to talk very brilliantly, for friend -Jonathan loves the conversation of distinguished circles. Let me find a -seat for you, and do not be angry that I am not an enthusiast in -literary matters. We have all our hobbies, and that does not happen to -be mine.” - -Agnes sat down passively on the chair he brought for her. The poor girl -felt grievously ashamed of herself. After all, what was that poor little -book, that she should ground such mighty claims upon it? Who cared for -the author of _Hope Hazlewood_? Mr Agar, though he was so kind, did not -even care to inquire what book it was, nor showed the smallest curiosity -about its name. Agnes was so much cast down that she scarcely noticed -the upright figure approaching towards them, carrying an abstracted head -high in the air, and very like to run over smaller people; but Mr Agar -stepped aside, and Marian touched her sister’s arm. “It is Mr -Endicott--look, Agnes!” whispered Marian. Both of them were stirred with -sudden pleasure at sight of him; it was a known face in this dazzling -wilderness, though it was not a very comely one. Mr Endicott was as much -startled as themselves when glancing downward from his lofty altitude, -his eye fell upon the beautiful face which had made sunshine even in the -shady place of that Yankee young gentleman’s self-admiring breast. The -sudden discovery brightened his lofty languor for a moment. He hastened -to shake hands with them, so impressively that the pretty lady and her -cloud of admirers paused in their flutter of satire and compliment to -look on. - -“This is a pleasure I was not prepared for,” said Mr Endicott. “I -remember that Mr Atheling had an early acquaintance with Viscount -Winterbourne--I presume an old hereditary friendship. I am rejoiced to -find that such things are, even in this land of sophistication. This is -a brilliant scene!” - -“Indeed I do not think papa knows Lord Winterbourne,” said Agnes -hastily; but her low voice did not reach the ears which had been so far -enlightened by Mr Endicott. “Hereditary friendship--old connections of -the family; no doubt daughters of some squire in Banburyshire,” said -their beautiful neighbour, in a half-offended tone, to one of her -especial retainers, who showed strong symptoms of desertion, and had -already half-a-dozen times asked Marian’s name. Unfortunate Mr Endicott! -he gained a formidable rival by these ill-advised words. - -“I find little to complain of generally in the most distinguished -circles of your country,” said Mr Endicott. “Your own men of genius may -be neglected, but a foreigner of distinction always finds a welcome. -This is true wisdom--for by this means we are enabled to carry a good -report to the world.” - -“I say, what nice accounts these French fellows give of us!” burst in -suddenly a very young man, who stood under the shadow of Mr Endicott. -The youth who hazarded this brilliant remark did not address anybody in -particular, and was somewhat overpowered by the unexpected honour of an -answer from Mr Agar. - -“Trench journalists, and newspaper writers of any country, are of course -the very best judges of manners and morals,” said the old gentleman, -with a smile; “the other three estates are more than usually fallible; -the fourth is the nearest approach to perfection which we can find in -man.” - -“Sir,” said Mr Endicott, “in my country we can do without Queen, Lords, -and Commons; but we cannot do without the Press--that is, the exponent -of every man’s mind and character, the legitimate vehicle of instructive -experiences. The Press, sir, is Progress--the only effective agency ever -invented for the perfection of the human race.” - -“Oh, I am sure I quite agree with you. I am quite in love with the -newspapers; they do make one so delightfully out of humour,” said Mrs -Edgerley, suddenly making her appearance; “and really, you know, when -they speak of society, it is quite charming--so absurd! Sir Langham -Portland--Miss Atheling. I have been so longing to come to you. Oh, and -you must know Mr Agar. Mr Agar, I want to introduce you to my charming -young friend, the author of _Hope Hazlewood_; is it not wonderful? I was -sure you, who are so fond of people of genius, would be pleased to know -her. And there is dear Lady Theodosia, but she is so surrounded. You -must come to the Willows--you must indeed; I positively insist upon it. -For what can one do in an evening? and so many of my friends want to -know you. We go down in a fortnight. I shall certainly calculate upon -you. Oh, I never take a refusal; it was _so_ kind of you to come -to-night.” - -Before she had ceased speaking, Mrs Edgerley was at the other end of the -room, conversing with some one else, by her pretty gestures. Sir Langham -Portland drew himself up like a guardsman, as he was, on the other side -of Marian, and made original remarks about the picture-books, somewhat -to the amusement, but more to the dismay of the young beauty, -unaccustomed to such distinguished attentions. Mr Agar occupied himself -with Agnes; he told her all about the Willows, Mrs Edgerley’s pretty -house at Richmond, which was always amusing, said the old gentleman. He -was very pleasantly amused himself with Agnes’s bright respondent face, -which, however, this wicked old critic was fully better pleased with -while its mortification and disappointment lasted. Mr Endicott remained -standing in front of the group, watching the splendid guardsman with a -misanthropic eye. This, however, was not very amusing; and the -enlightened American gracefully took from his pocket the daintiest of -pocket-books, fragrant with Russia leather and clasped with gold. From -this delicate enclosure Mr Endicott selected with care a letter and a -card, and, armed with these formidable implements, turned round upon the -unconscious old gentleman. When Mr Agar caught a glimpse of this -impending assault, his momentary look of dismay would have delighted -himself, could he have seen it. “I have the honour of bearing a letter -of introduction,” said Mr Endicott, closing upon the unfortunate -connoisseur, and thrusting before his eyes the weapons of offence--the -moral bowie-knife and revolver, which were the weapons of this young -gentleman’s warfare. Mr Agar looked his assailant in the face, but did -not put forth his hand. - -“At my own house,” said the ancient beau, with a gracious smile: “who -could be stoic enough to do justice to the most distinguished of -strangers, under such irresistible distractions as I find here?” - -Poor Mr Endicott! He did not venture to be offended, but he was -extinguished notwithstanding, and could not make head against his double -disappointment; for there stood the guardsman speaking through his -mustache of Books of Beauty, and holding his place like the most -faithful of sentinels by Marian Atheling’s side. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -A FOE. - - -“I shall have to relinquish my charge of you,” said the young chaperone, -for the first time addressing Agnes. Agnes started immediately, and -rose. - -“It is time for us to go,” she said with eager shyness, “but I did not -like. May we follow you? If it would not trouble you, it would be a -great kindness, for we know no one here.” - -“Why did you come, then?” said the lady. Agnes’s ideas of politeness -were sorely tried to-night. - -“Indeed,” said the young author, with a sudden blush and courage, “I -cannot tell why, unless because Mrs Edgerley asked us; but I am sure it -was very foolish, and we will know better another time.” - -“Yes, it is always tiresome, unless one knows everybody,” said the -pretty young matron, slowly rising, and accepting with a careless grace -the arm which somebody offered her. The girls rose hastily to follow. Mr -Agar had left them some time before, and even the magnificent guardsman -had been drawn away from his sentryship. With a little tremor, looking -at nobody, and following very close in the steps of their leader, they -glided along through the brilliant groups of the great drawing-room. -But, alas! they were not fated to reach the door in unobserved safety. -Mr Endicott, though he was improving his opportunities, though he had -already fired another letter of introduction at somebody else’s head, -and listened to his heart’s content to various snatches of that most -brilliant and wise conversation going on everywhere around him, had -still kept up a distant and lofty observation of the lady of his love. -He hastened forward to them now, as with beating hearts they pursued -their way, keeping steadily behind their careless young guide. “You are -going?” said Mr Endicott, making a solemn statement of the fact. “It is -early; let me see you to your carriage.” - -But they were glad to keep close to him a minute afterwards, while they -waited for that same carriage, the Islingtonian fly, with Charlie in it, -which was slow to recognise its own name when called. Charlie rolled -himself out as the vehicle drew up, and came to the door like a man to -receive his sisters. A gentleman stood by watching the whole scene with -a little amusement--the shy girls, the big brother, the officious -American. This was a man of singularly pale complexion, very black -hair, and a face over which the skin seemed to be strained so tight that -his features were almost ghastly. He was old, but he did not look like -his age; and it was impossible to suppose that he ever could have looked -young. His smile was not at all a pleasant smile. Though it came upon -his face by his own will, he seemed to have no power of putting it off -again; and it grew into a faint spasmodic sneer, offensive and -repellent. Charlie looked him in the face with a sudden impulse of -pugnacity--he looked at Charlie with this bloodless and immovable smile. -The lad positively lingered, though his fly “stopped the way,” to bestow -another glance upon this remarkable personage, and their eyes met in a -full and mutual stare. Whether either person, the old man or the youth, -were moved by a thrill of presentiment, we are not able to say; but -there was little fear hereafter of any want of mutual recognition. -Despite the world of social distinction, age, and power which lay -between them, Charlie Atheling looked at Lord Winterbourne, and Lord -Winterbourne looked at Charlie. It was their first point of contact; -neither of them could read the fierce mutual conflict, the ruin, -despair, and disgrace which lay in the future, in that first look of -impulsive hostility; but as the great man entered his carriage, and the -boy plunged into the fly, their thoughts for the moment were full of -each other--so full that neither could understand the sudden distinct -recognition of this first touch of fate. - -“No; mamma was quite right,” said Agnes; “we cannot be great friends nor -very happy with people so different from ourselves.” - -And the girls sighed. They were pleased, yet they were disappointed. It -was impossible to deny that the reality was as far different from the -imagination as anything could be; and really nobody had been in the -smallest degree concerned about the author of _Hope Hazlewood_. Even -Marian was compelled to acknowledge that. - -“But then,” cried this eager young apologist, “they were not literary -people; they were not good judges; they were common people, like what -you might see anywhere, though they might be great ladies and fine -gentlemen; it was easy to see _we_ were not very great, and they did not -understand _you_.” - -“Hush,” said Agnes quickly; “they were rather kind, I think--especially -Mr Agar; but they did not care at all for us: and why should they, after -all?” - -“So it was a failure,” said Charlie. “I say, who was that man--that -fellow at the door?” - -“Oh, Charlie, you dreadful boy! that was Lord Winterbourne,” cried -Marian. “Mr Agar told us who he was.” - -“Who’s Mr Agar?” asked Charlie. “And so that’s him--that’s the man that -will take the Old Wood Lodge! I wish he would. I knew I owed him -something. I’d like to see him try!” - -“And Mrs Edgerley is his daughter,” said Agnes. “Is it not strange? And -I suppose we shall all be neighbours in the country. But Mr Endicott -said quite loud, so that everybody could hear, that papa was a friend of -Lord Winterbourne’s. I do not like people to slight us; but I don’t like -to deceive them either. There was _that_ gentleman--that Sir Langham. I -suppose he thought _we_ were great people, Marian, like the rest of the -people there.” - -In the darkness Marian pouted, frowned, and laughed within herself. “I -don’t think it matters much what Sir Langham thought,” said Marian; for -already the young beauty began to feel her “greatness,” and smiled at -her own power. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -FAMILY SENTIMENTS. - - -When the fly jumbled into Bellevue, the lighted window, which always -illuminated the little street, shone brighter than ever in the profound -darkness of this late night, when all the respectable inhabitants for -more than an hour had been asleep. Papa and Mamma, somewhat drowsily, -yet with a capacity for immediate waking-up only to be felt under these -circumstances, had unanimously determined to sit up for the girls; and -the window remained bright, and the inmates wakeful, for a full hour -after the rumbling “fly,” raising all the dormant echoes of the -neighbourhood, had rolled off to its nightly shelter. The father and the -mother listened with the most perfect patience to the detail of -everything, excited in spite of themselves by their children’s -companionship with “the great,” yet considerably resenting, and much -disappointed by the failure of those grand visions, in which all night -the parental imagination had pictured to itself an admiring assembly -hanging upon the looks of those innocent and simple girls. Mr and Mrs -Atheling on this occasion were somewhat disposed, we confess, to make -out a case of jealousy and malice against the fashionable guests of Mrs -Edgerley. It was always the way, Papa said. They always tried to keep -everybody down, and treated aspirants superciliously; and in the climax -of his indignation, under his breath, he added something about those -“spurns which patient merit of the unworthy takes.” Mrs Atheling did not -quote Shakespeare, but she was quite as much convinced that it was their -“rank in life” which had prevented Agnes and Marian from taking a -sovereign place in the gay assembly they had just left. The girls -themselves gave no distinct judgment on the subject; but now that the -first edge of her mortification had worn off, Agnes began to have great -doubts upon this matter. “We had no claim upon them--not the least,” -said Agnes; “they never saw us before; we were perfect strangers; why -should they trouble themselves about us, simply because I had written a -book?” - -“Do not speak nonsense, my dear--do not tell me,” said Mrs Atheling, -with agitation: “they had only to use their own eyes and see--as if they -often had such an opportunity! My dear, I know better; you need not -speak to me!” - -“And everybody has read your book, Agnes--and no doubt there are scores -of people who would give anything to know you,” said Papa with dignity. -“The author of _Hope Hazlewood_ is a different person from Agnes -Atheling. No, no--it is not that they don’t know your proper place; but -they keep everybody down as long as they can. Now, mind, one day you -will turn the tables upon them; I am very sure of that.” - -Agnes said no more, but went up to her little white room completely -unconvinced upon the subject. Miss Willsie saw the tell-tale light in -this little high window in the middle of the night--when it was nearly -daylight, the old lady said--throwing a friendly gleam upon the two -young controversialists as they debated this difficult question. Agnes, -of course, with all the heat of youth and innovation, took the extreme -side of the question. “It is easy enough to write--any one can write,” -said the young author, triumphant in her argument, yet in truth somewhat -mortified by her triumph. “But even if it was not, there are greater -things in this world than books, and almost all other books are greater -than novels; and I do think it was the most foolish thing in the world -to suppose that clever people like these--for they were all clever -people--would take any notice of me.” - -To which arguments, all and several, Marian returned only a direct, -unhesitating, and broad negative. It was _not_ easy to write, and there -were _not_ greater things than books, and it was not at all foolish to -expect a hundred times more than ever their hopes had expected. “It is -very wrong of you to say so, Agnes,” said Marian. “Papa is quite right; -it will all be as different as possible by-and-by; and if you have -nothing more sensible to say than that, I shall go to sleep.” - -Saying which, Marian turned round upon her pillow, virtuously resisted -all further temptations, and closed her beautiful eyes upon the faint -grey dawn which began to steal in between the white curtains. They -thought their minds were far too full to go to sleep. Innocent -imaginations! five minutes after, they were in the very sweetest -enchanted country of the true fairyland of dreams. - -While Charlie, in his sleep in the next room, laboriously struggled all -night with a bloodless apparition, which smiled at him from an open -doorway--fiercely fought and struggled against it--mastered it--got it -down, but only to begin once more the tantalising combat. When he rose -in the morning, early as usual, the youth set his teeth at the -recollection, and with an attempt to give a reason for this instinctive -enmity, fiercely hoped that Lord Winterbourne would try to take from his -father his little inheritance. Charlie, who was by no means of a -metaphysical turn, did not trouble himself at all to inquire into the -grounds of his own unusual pugnacity. He “knew he owed him something,” -and though my Lord Winterbourne was a viscount and an ex-minister, and -Charlie only a poor man’s son and a copying-clerk, he fronted the great -man’s image with indomitable confidence, and had no more doubt of his -own prowess than of his entire goodwill in the matter. He did not think -very much more of his opponent in this case than he did of the big -folios in the office, and had as entire confidence in his own ability to -bring the enemy down. - -But it was something of a restless night to Papa and Mamma. They too -talked in their darkened chamber, too proper and too economical to waste -candlelight upon subjects so unprofitable, of old events and people half -forgotten;--how the first patroness of Agnes should be the daughter of -the man between whom and themselves there existed some unexplained -connection of old friendship or old enmity, or both;--how circumstances -beyond their guidance conspired to throw them once more in the way of -persons and plans which they had heard nothing of for more than twenty -years. These things were very strange and troublous events to Mr -Atheling and his wife. The past, which nearer grief and closer -pleasure--all their family life, full as that was of joy and sorrow--had -thrown so far away and out of remembrance, came suddenly back before -them in all the clearness of youthful recollection. Old feelings -returned strong and fresh into their minds. They went back, and took up -the thread of this history, whatever it might be, where they had dropped -it twenty years ago; and with a thrill of deeper interest, wondered and -inquired how this influence would affect their children. To themselves -now little could happen; their old friend or their old enemy could do -neither harm nor benefit to their accomplished lives--but the -children!--the children, every one so young, so hopeful, and so well -endowed; all so strangely brought into sudden contact, at a double -point, with this one sole individual, who had power to disturb the rest -of the father and the mother. They relapsed into silence suddenly, and -were quieted by the thought. - -“It is not our doing--it is not our seeking,” said Mr Atheling at -length. “If the play wants a last act, Mary, it will not be your -planning nor mine; and as for the children, they are in the hands of -God.” - -So in the grey imperfect dawn which lightened on the faces of the -sleeping girls, whose sweet youthful rest was far too deep to be broken -even by the growing light, these elder people closed their eyes, not to -sleep, but to pray. If evil were about to come--if danger were lurking -in the air around them--they had this only defence against it. It was -not the simple faith of youth which dictated these prayers; it was a -deeper and a closer urgency, which cried aloud and would not cease, but -yet was solemn with the remembrance of times when God’s pleasure was not -to grant them their petitions. The young ones slept in peace, but with -fights and triumphs manifold in their young dreams. The father and the -mother held a vigil for them, holding up holy hands for their defence -and safety; and so the morning came at last, brightly, to hearts which -feared no evil, or when they feared, put their apprehensions at once -into the hand of God. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -AGNES’S FORTUNE. - - -The morning, like a good fairy, came kindly to these good people, -increasing in the remembrance of the girls the impression of pleasure, -and lessening that of disappointment. They came, after all, to be very -well satisfied with their reception at Mrs Edgerley’s. And now her -second and most important invitation remained to be discussed--the -Willows--the pretty house at Richmond, with the river running sweetly -under the shadow of its trees; the company, which was sure to include, -as Mr Agar said, _some_ people worth knowing, and which that ancient -connoisseur himself did not refuse to join. Agnes and Marian looked with -eager eyes on the troubled brow of Mamma; a beautiful vision of the lawn -and the river, flowers and sunshine, the sweet silence of “the country,” -and the unfamiliar music of running water and rustling trees, possessed -the young imaginations for the time to the total disregard of all -sublunary considerations. _They_ did not think for a moment of Lord -Winterbourne’s daughter, and the strange chance which could make them -inmates of her house; for Lord Winterbourne himself was not a person of -any importance in the estimation of the girls. But more than that, they -did not even think of their wardrobe, important as that consideration -was; they did not recollect how entirely unprovided they were for such a -visit, nor how the family finances, strait and unelastic, could not -possibly stretch to so new and great an expenditure. But all these -things, which brought no cloud upon Agnes and Marian, conspired to -embarrass the brow of the family mother. She thought at the same moment -of Lord Winterbourne and of the brown merinos; of this strange -acquaintanceship, mysterious and full of fate as it seemed; and of the -little black silk cloaks which were out of fashion, and the bonnets with -the faded ribbons. It was hard to deny the girls so great a pleasure; -but how could it be done? - -And for a day or two following the household remained in great -uncertainty upon this point, and held every evening, on the engrossing -subject of ways and means, a committee of the whole house. This, -however, we are grieved to say, was somewhat of an unprofitable -proceeding; for the best advice which Papa could give on so important a -subject was, that the girls must of course have everything proper if -they went. “If they went!--that is exactly the question,” said the -provoked and impatient ruler of all. “But are they to go? and how are we -to get everything proper for them?” To these difficult questions Mr -Atheling attempted no answer. He was a wise man, and knew his own -department, and prudently declined any interference in the legitimate -domain of the other head of the house. - -Mrs Atheling was by no means addicted to disclosing the private matters -of her own family life, yet she carried this important question through -the faded wallflowers to crave the counsel of Miss Willsie. Miss Willsie -was not at all pleased to have such a matter submitted to her. _Her_ -supreme satisfaction would have lain in criticising, finding fault, and -helping on. Now reduced to the painful alternative of giving an opinion, -the old lady pronounced a vague one in general terms, to the effect that -if there was one thing she hated, it was to see poor folk striving for -the company of them that were in a different rank in life; but whenever -this speech was made, and her conscience cleared, Miss Willsie began to -inquire zealously what “the silly things had,” and what they wanted, and -set about a mental turning over of her own wardrobe, where were a great -many things which she had worn in her own young days, and which were -“none the worse,” as she said--but they were not altogether adapted for -the locality of the Willows. Miss Willsie turned them over not only in -her own mind, but in her own parlour, where her next visitor found her -as busy with her needle and her shears as any cottar matron ever was, -and anxiously bent on the same endeavour to “make auld things look -amaist as weel’s the new.” It cost Miss Willsie an immense deal of -trouble, but it was not half so successful a business as the repairs of -that immortal Saturday Night. - -But the natural course of events, which had cleared their path for them -many times before, came in once more to make matters easy. Mr -Burlington, of whom nothing had been heard since the day of that -eventful visit to his place--Mr Burlington, who since then had brought -out a second edition of _Hope Hazlewood_, announced himself ready to -“make a proposal” for the book. Now, there had been many and great -speculations in the house on this subject of “Agnes’s fortune.” They -were as good at the magnificent arithmetic of fancy as Major Pendennis -was, and we will not say that, like him, they had not leaped to their -thousands a-year. They had all, however, been rather prudent in -committing themselves to a sum--nobody would guess positively what it -was to be--but some indefinite and fabulous amount, a real fortune, -floated in the minds of all: to the father and mother a substantial -provision for Agnes, to the girls an inexhaustible fund of pleasure, -comfort, and charity. The proposal came--it was not a fabulous and -magnificent fortune, for the author of _Hope Hazlewood_ was only Agnes -Atheling, and not Arthur Pendennis. For the first moment, we are -compelled to confess, they looked at each other with blank faces, -entirely cast down and disappointed: it was not an inexhaustible fairy -treasure--it was only a hundred and fifty pounds. - -Yes, most tender-hearted reader! these were not the golden days of Sir -Walter, nor was this young author a literary Joan of Arc. She got her -fortune in a homely fashion like other people--at first was grievously -disappointed about it--formed pugnacious resolutions, and listened to -all the evil stories of the publishing ghouls with satisfaction and -indignant faith. But by-and-by this angry mood softened down; by-and-by -the real glory of such an unrealisable heap of money began to break upon -the girls. A hundred and fifty pounds, and nothing to do with it--no -arrears to pay--nothing to make up--can any one suppose a position of -more perfect felicity? They came to see it bit by bit dawning upon them -in gradual splendour--content blossomed into satisfaction, satisfaction -unfolded into delight. And then to think of laying by such a small sum -would be foolish, as the girls reasoned; so its very insignificance -increased the pleasure. It was not a dull treasure, laid up in a bank, -or “invested,” as Papa had solemnly proposed to invest “Agnes’s -fortune;” it was a delightful little living stream of abundance, already -in imagination overflowing and brightening everything. It would buy -Mamma the most magnificent of brocades, and Bell and Beau such frocks as -never were seen before out of fairyland. It would take them all to the -Old Wood Lodge, or even to the seaside; it would light up with books and -pictures, and pretty things, the respectable family face of Number Ten, -Bellevue. There was no possibility of exhausting the capacities of this -marvellous sum of money, which, had it been three or four times as much, -as the girls discovered, could not have been half as good for present -purposes. The delight of spending money was altogether new to them: they -threw themselves into it with the most gleeful abandonment (in -imagination), and threw away their fortune royally, and with genuine -enjoyment in the process; and very few millionaires have ever found as -much pleasure in the calculation of their treasures as Agnes and Marian -Atheling, deciding over and over again how they were to spend it, found -in this hundred and fifty pounds. - -In the mean time, however, Papa carried it off to the office, and locked -it up there for security--for they all felt that it would not be right -to trust to the commonplace defences of Bellevue with such a prodigious -sum of money in the house. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -EXTRAVAGANCE. - - -It was a July day, brilliant and dazzling; the deep-blue summer sky -arched over these quiet houses, a very heaven of sunshine and calm; the -very leaves were golden in the flood of light, and grateful shadows fell -from the close walls, and a pleasant summer fragrance came from within -the little enclosures of Bellevue. Nothing was stirring in the silent -little suburban street--the very sounds came slow and soft through the -luxurious noonday air, into which now and then blew the little -capricious breath of a cool breeze, like some invisible fairy fan making -a current in the golden atmosphere. Safe under the shelter of green -blinds and opened windows, the feminine population reposed in summer -indolence, mistresses too languid to scold, and maids to be improved by -the same. In the day, the other half of mankind, all mercantile and -devoted to business, deserted Bellevue and perhaps were not less drowsy -in their several offices, where dust had to answer all the purpose of -those trim venetian defences, than their wives and daughters were at -home. - -But before the door of Number Ten stood a vehicle--let no one scorn its -unquestioned respectability,--it was The Fly. The fly was drawn by an -old white horse, of that bony and angular development peculiar to this -rank of professional eminence. This illustrious animal gave character -and distinction at once to the equipage. The smartest and newest -brougham in existence, with such a steed attached to it, must at once -have taken rank, in the estimation of all beholders, as a true and -unmistakable Fly. The coachman was in character; he had a long white -livery-coat, and a hat very shiny, and bearing traces of various -indentations. As he sat upon his box in the sunshine, he nodded in -harmony with the languid branches of the lilac-bushes. Though he was not -averse to a job, he marvelled much how anybody who could stay at home -went abroad under this burning sun, or troubled themselves with -occupations. So too thought the old white horse, switching his old white -tail in vain pursuit of the summer flies which troubled him; and so even -thought Hannah, Miss Willsie’s pretty maid, as she looked out from the -gate of Killiecrankie Lodge, shading her eyes with her hand, -marvelling, half in envy, half in pity, how any one could think even of -“pleasuring” on such a day. - -With far different sentiments from these languid and indolent observers, -the Athelings prepared for their unusual expedition. Firmly compressed -into Mrs Atheling’s purse were five ten-pound notes, crisp and new, and -the girls, with a slight tremor of terror enhancing their delight, had -secretly vowed that Mamma should not be permitted to bring anything in -the shape of money home. They were going to spend fifty pounds. That was -their special mission--and when you consider that very rarely before had -they helped at the spending of more than fifty shillings, you may fancy -the excitement and delight of this family enterprise. They had -calculated beforehand what everything was to cost--they had left a -margin for possibilities--they had all their different items written -down on a very long piece of paper, and now the young ladies were -dancing Bell and Beau through the garden, and waiting for Mamma. - -For the twin babies were to form part of this most happy party. Bell and -Beau were to have an ecstatic drive in that most delightful of carriages -which the two big children and the two little ones at present stood -regarding with the sincerest admiration. If Agnes had any doubt at all -about the fly, it was a momentary fear lest somebody should suppose it -to be their own carriage--a contingency not at all probable. In every -other view of the question, the fly was scarcely second even to Mrs -Edgerley’s sublime and stately equipage; and it is quite impossible to -describe the rapture with which this magnificent vehicle was -contemplated by Bell and Beau. - -At last Mamma came down stairs in somewhat of a flutter, and by no means -satisfied that she was doing right in thus giving in to the girls. Mrs -Atheling still, in spite of all their persuasions, could not help -thinking it something very near a sin to spend wilfully, and at one -doing, so extraordinary a sum as fifty pounds--“a quarter’s income!” she -said solemnly. But Papa was very nearly as foolish on the subject as -Agnes and Marian, and the good mother could not make head against them -all. She was alarmed at this first outbreak of “awful” extravagance, but -she could not quite refuse to be pleased either with the pleasant piece -of business, with the delight of the girls, and the rapture of the -babies, nor to feel the glory in her own person of “shopping” on so -grand a scale-- - - “My sister and my sister’s child, - Myself and children three.” - -The fly was not quite so closely packed as the chaise of Mrs Gilpin, yet -it was very nearly as full as that renowned conveyance. They managed to -get in “five precious souls,” and the white horse languidly set out -upon his journey, and the coachman, only half awake, still nodded on his -box. Where they went to, we will not betray their confidence by telling. -It was an erratic course, and included all manner of shops and -purchases. Before they had got nearly to the end of their list, they -were quite fatigued with their labours, and found it rather cumbrous, -after all, to choose the shops they wanted from the “carriage” windows, -a splendid but inconvenient necessity. Then Bell and Beau grew very -tired, wanted to go home, and were scarcely to be solaced even with -cakes innumerable. Perfect and unmixed delights are not to be found -under the sun; and though the fly went back to Bellevue laden with -parcels beyond the power of arithmetic; though the girls had -accomplished their wicked will, and the purse of Mrs Atheling had shrunk -into the ghost of its former size, yet the accomplished errand was not -half so delightful as were those exuberant and happy intentions, which -could now be talked over no more. They all grew somewhat silent, as they -drove home--“vanity of vanities--” Mrs Atheling and her daughters were -in a highly reflective state of mind, and rather given to moralising; -while extremely wearied, sleepy, and uncomfortable were poor little Bell -and Beau. - -But at last they reached home--at last the pleasant sight of Susan, and -the fragrance of the tea, which, as it was now pretty late in the -afternoon, Susan had prepared to refresh them, restored their flagging -spirits. They began to open out their parcels, and fight their battles -over again. They examined once more, outside and inside, the pretty -little watches which Papa had insisted on as the first of all their -purchases. Papa thought a watch was a most important matter--the money -spent in such a valuable piece of property was _invested_; and Mrs -Atheling herself, as she took her cup of tea, looked at these new -acquisitions with extreme pride, good pleasure, and a sense of -importance. They had put their bonnets on the sofa--the table overflowed -with rolls of silk and pieces of ribbon half unfolded; Bell and Beau, -upon the hearth-rug, played with the newest noisiest toys which could be -found for them; and even Susan, when she came to ask if her mistress -would take another cup, secretly confessed within herself that there -never was such a littered and untidy room. - -When there suddenly came a dash and roll of rapid wheels, ringing into -all the echoes. Suddenly, with a gleam and bound, a splendid apparition -crossed the window, and two magnificent bay-horses drove up before the -little gate. Her very watch, new and well-beloved, almost fell from the -fingers of Agnes. They looked at each other with blank faces--they -listened in horror to the charge of artillery immediately discharged -upon their door--nobody had self-possession to apprehend Susan on the -way, and exhort her to remember the best room. And Susan, greatly -fluttered, forgot the sole use of this sacred apartment. They all stood -dismayed, deeply sensible of the tea upon the table, and the -extraordinary confusion of the room, when suddenly into the midst of -them, radiant and splendid, floated Mrs Edgerley--Mayfair come to visit -Bellevue. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -A GREAT VISITOR. - - -Mayfair came in, radiant, blooming, splendid, with a rustle of silks, a -flutter of feathers, an air of fragrance, like a fairy creature not to -be molested by the ruder touches of fortune or the world. Bellevue stood -up to receive her in the person of Mrs Atheling, attired in a black silk -gown which had seen service, and hastily setting down a cup of tea from -her hand. The girls stood between the two, an intermediate world, -anxious and yet afraid to interpret between them; for Marian’s beautiful -hair had fallen down upon her white neck, and Agnes’s collar had been -pulled awry, and her pretty muslin dress sadly crushed and broken by the -violent hands of Bell and Beau. The very floor on which Mrs Edgerley’s -pretty foot pressed the much-worn carpet, was strewed with little frocks -for those unruly little people. The sofa was occupied by three bonnets, -and Mamma’s new dress hung over the back of the easy-chair. You may -laugh at this account of it, but Mamma, and Marian, and Agnes were a -great deal more disposed to cry at the reality. To think that, of all -days in the world, this great lady should have chosen to come to-day! - -“Now, pray don’t let me disturb anything. Oh, I am so delighted to find -you quite at home! It is quite kind of you to let me come in,” cried Mrs -Edgerley--“and indeed you need not introduce me. When one has read _Hope -Hazlewood_, one knows your mamma. Oh, that charming, delightful book! -Now, confess you are quite proud of her. I am sure you must be.” - -“She is a very good girl,” said Mrs Atheling doubtfully, flattered, but -not entirely pleased--“and we are very deeply obliged to Mrs Edgerley -for the kindness she has shown to our girls.” - -“Oh, I have been quite delighted,” said Mayfair; “but pray don’t speak -in the third person. How charmingly fragrant your tea is!--may I have -some? How delightful it must be to be able to keep rational hours. What -lovely children! What beautiful darlings! Are they really yours?” - -“My youngest babies,” said Bellevue, somewhat stiffly, yet a little -moved by the question. “We have just come in, and were fatigued. Agnes, -my dear!” - -But Agnes was already gone, seizing the opportunity to amend her -collar, while Marian put away the bonnets, and cleared the parcels from -the feet of Mrs Edgerley. With this pretty figure half-bending before -her, and the other graceful cup-bearer offering her the homely -refreshment she had asked for, Mrs Edgerley, though quite aware of it, -did not think half so much as Mrs Atheling did about their “rank in -life.” The great lady was not at all nervous on this subject, but was -most pleasantly and meritoriously conscious, as she took her cup of tea -from the hand of Agnes, that by so doing she set them all “at their -ease.” - -“And pray, do tell me now,” said Mrs Edgerley, “how you manage in this -quarter, so far from everything? It is quite delightful, half as good as -a desolate island--such a pretty, quiet place! You must come to the -Willows--I have quite made up my mind and settled it: indeed, you must -come--so many people are dying to know you. And I must have your mamma -know,” said the pretty flutterer, turning round to Mrs Atheling with -that air of irresistible caprice and fascinating despotism which was the -most amazing thing in the world to the family mother, “that no one ever -resists me: I am always obeyed, I assure you. Oh, you _must_ come; I -consider it quite a settled thing. Town gets so tiresome just at this -time--don’t you think so? I always long for the Willows--for it is -really the sweetest place, and in the country one cares so much more for -one’s home.” - -“You are very kind,” said Mrs Atheling, not knowing what other answer to -make, and innocently supposing that her visitor had paused for a reply. - -“Oh, I assure you, nothing of the kind--perfectly selfish, on the -contrary,” said Mrs Edgerley, with a sweet smile. “I shall be so charmed -with the society of my young friends. I quite forgot to ask if you were -musical. We have the greatest little genius in the world at the Willows. -Such a voice!--it is a shame to hide such a gift in a drawing-room. She -is--a sort of connection--of papa’s family. I say it is very good of him -to acknowledge her even so far, for people seldom like to remember their -follies; but of course the poor child has no position, and I -have even been blamed for having her in my house. She is quite a -genius--wonderful: she ought to be a singer--it is quite her duty--but -such a shy foolish young creature, and not to be persuaded. What -charming tea! I am quite refreshed, I assure you. Oh, pray, do not -disturb anything. I am so pleased you have let me come when you were -_quite_ at home. Now, Tuesday, remember! We shall have a delightful -little party. I know you will quite enjoy it. Good-by, little darlings. -On Tuesday, my love; you must on no account forget the day.” - -“But I am afraid they will only be a trouble--and they are not used to -society,” said Mrs Atheling, rising hastily before her visitor should -have quite flown away; “they have never been away from home. Excuse -me--I am afraid----” - -“Oh, I assure you, nobody ever resists me,” cried Mrs Edgerley, -interrupting this speech; “I never hear such a naughty word as No. It is -not possible--you cannot conceive how it would affect me; I should break -my heart! It is quite decided--oh, positively it is--Tuesday--I shall so -look forward to it! And a charming little party we shall be--not too -many, and _so_ congenial! I shall quite long for the day.” - -Saying which, Mrs Edgerley took her departure, keeping up her stream of -talk while they all attended her to the door, and suffering no -interruption. Mrs Atheling was by no means accustomed to so dashing and -sudden an assault. She began slowly to bring up her reasons for -declining the invitation as the carriage rolled away, carrying with it -her tacit consent. She was quite at a loss to believe that this visit -was real, as she returned into the encumbered parlour--such haste, -patronage, and absoluteness were entirely out of Mrs Atheling’s way. - -“I have no doubt she is very kind,” said the good mother, puzzled and -much doubting; “but I am not at all sure that I approve of her--indeed, -I think I would much rather you did not go.” - -“But she will expect us, mamma,” said Agnes. - -That was unquestionable. Mrs Atheling sat very silent all the remainder -of the day, pondering much upon this rapid and sudden visitation, and -blaming herself greatly for her want of readiness. And then the “poor -child” who had no position, and whose duty it was to be a singer, was -she a proper person to breathe the same air as Agnes and Marian? -Bellevue was straiter in its ideas than Mayfair. The mother reflected -with great self-reproach and painful doubts; for the girls were so -pleased with the prospect, and it was so hard to deny them the expected -pleasure. Mrs Atheling at last resigned herself with a sigh. “If you -must go, I expect you to take great care whom you associate with,” said -Mrs Atheling, very pointedly; and she sent off their new purchases -up-stairs, and gave her whole attention, with a certain energy and -impatience, to the clearing of the room. This had not been by any means -a satisfactory day. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - -GOING FROM HOME. - - -“My dear children,” said Mrs Atheling solemnly, “you have never been -from home before.” - -Suddenly arrested by the solemnity of this preamble, the girls -paused--they were just going up-stairs to their own room on the last -evening before setting out for the Willows. Marian’s pretty arms were -full of a collection of pretty things, white as the great apron with -which Susan had girded her. Agnes carried her blotting-book, two or -three other favourite volumes, and a candle. They stood in their pretty -sisterly conjunction, almost leaning upon each other, waiting with -youthful reverence for the address which Mamma was about to deliver. It -was true they were leaving home for the first time, and true also that -the visit was one of unusual importance. They prepared to listen with -great gravity and a little awe. - -“My dears, I have no reason to distrust your good sense,” said Mrs -Atheling, “nor indeed to be afraid of you in any way--but to be in a -strange house is very different from being at home. Strangers will not -have the same indulgence as we have had for all your fancies--you must -not expect it; and people may see that you are of a different rank in -life, and perhaps may presume upon you. You must be very careful. You -must not copy Mrs Edgerley, or any other lady, but _observe_ what they -do, and rule yourselves by it; and take great care what acquaintances -you form; for even in such a house as that,” said Mamma, with emphasis -and dignity, suddenly remembering the “connection of the family” of whom -Mrs Edgerley had spoken, “there may be some who are not fit companions -for you.” - -“Yes, mamma,” said Agnes. Marian looked down into the apronful of lace -and muslin, and answered nothing. A variable blush and as variable a -smile testified to a little consciousness on the part of the younger -sister. Agnes for once was the more matter-of-fact of the two. - -“At your time of life,” continued the anxious mother, “a single day may -have as much effect as many years. Indeed, Marian, my love, it is -nothing to smile about. You must be very careful; and, Agnes, you are -the eldest--you must watch over your sister. Oh, take care!--you do not -know how much harm might be done in a single day.” - -“Take care of what, mamma?” said Marian, glancing up quickly, with that -beautiful faint blush, and a saucy gleam in her eye. What do you suppose -she saw as her beautiful eyes turned from her mother with a momentary -imaginative look into the vacant space? Not the big head of Charlie, -bending over the grammars, but the magnificent stature of Sir Langham -Portland, drawn up in sentry fashion by her side; and at the -recollection Marian’s pretty lip could not refuse to smile. - -“Hush, my dear!--you may easily know what I mean,” said Mrs Atheling -uneasily. “You must try not to be awkward or timid; but you must not -forget how great a difference there is between Mrs Edgerley’s friends -and you.” - -“Nonsense, Mary,” cried her husband, energetically. “No such thing, -girls. Don’t be afraid to let them know who you are, or who you belong -to. But as for inferiority, if you yield to such a notion, you are no -girls of mine! One of the Riverses! A pretty thing! _You_, at least, can -tell any one who asks the question that your father is an honest man.” - -“But I suppose, papa, no one is likely to have any doubt upon the -subject,” said Agnes, with a little spirit. “It will be time enough to -publish that when some one questions it; and that, I am sure, was not -what mamma meant.” - -“No, my love, of course not,” said Mamma, who was somewhat agitated. -“What I meant is, that you are going to people whom we used to know--I -mean, whom we know nothing of. They are great people--a great deal -richer and higher in station than we are; and it is possible Papa may be -brought into contact with them about the Old Wood Lodge; and you are -young and inexperienced, and don’t know the dangers you may be subjected -to;--and, my dear children, what I have to say to you is, just to -remember your duty, and read your Bibles, and take care!” - -“Mamma! we are only going to Richmond--we are not going away from you,” -cried Marian in dismay. - -“My dears,” said Mrs Atheling, putting her handkerchief to her eyes, “I -am an old woman--I know more than you do. You cannot tell where you are -going; you are going into the world.” - -No one spoke for the moment. The young travellers themselves looked at -their mother with concern and a little solemnity. Who could tell? All -the young universe of romance lay at their very feet. They might be -going to their fate. - -“And henceforward I know,” said the good mother, rising into homely and -unconscious dignity, “our life will no longer be your boundary, nor our -plans all your guidance. My darlings, it is not any fault of yours; you -are both as obedient as when you were babies; it is Providence, and -comes to every one. You are going away from me, and both your lives may -be determined before you come back again. You, Marian! it is not your -fault, my love; but, oh! take care.” - -Under the pressure of this solemn and mysterious caution, the girls at -length went up-stairs. Very gravely they entered the little white room, -which was somewhat disturbed out of its usual propriety, and in -respectful silence Marian began to arrange her burden. She sat down upon -the white bed, with her great white apron full of snowy muslin and -dainty morsels of lace, stooping her beautiful head over them, with her -long bright hair falling down at one side like a golden framework to her -sweet cheek. Agnes stood before her holding the candle. Both were -perfectly grave, quite silent, separating the sleeves and kerchiefs and -collars as if it were the most solemn work in the world. - -At length suddenly Marian looked up. In an instant smiles irrestrainable -threaded all the soft lines of those young faces. A momentary electric -touch sent them both from perfect solemnity into saucy and conscious but -subdued laughter. “Agnes! what do you suppose mamma could mean?” asked -Marian; and Agnes said “Hush!” and softly closed the door, lest Mamma -should hear the low and restrained overflow of those sudden sympathetic -smiles. Once more the apparition of the magnificent Sir Langham gleamed -somewhere in a bright corner of Marian’s shining eye. These incautious -girls, like all their happy kind, could not be persuaded to regard with -any degree of terror or solemnity the fate that came in such a shape as -this. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - -EVERYBODY’S FANCIES. - - -But the young adventurers had sufficient time to speculate upon their -“fate,” and to make up their minds whether this journey of theirs was -really a fortnight’s visit to Richmond, or a solemn expedition into the -world, as they drove along the pleasant summer roads on their way to the -Willows. They had leisure enough, but they had not inclination; they -were somewhat excited, but not at all solemnised. They thought of the -unknown paradise to which they were going--of their beautiful patroness -and her guests; but they never paused to inquire, as they bowled -pleasantly along under the elms and chestnuts, anything at all about -their fate. - -“How grave every one looked,” said Marian. “What are all the people -afraid of? for I am sure Miss Willsie wanted us to go, though she was so -cross; and poor Harry Oswald, how he looked last night!” - -At this recollection Marian smiled. To tell the truth, she was at -present only amused by the gradual perception dawning upon her of the -unfortunate circumstances of these young gentlemen. She might never have -found it out had she known only Harry Oswald; but Sir Langham Portland -threw light upon the subject which Marian had scarcely guessed at -before. Do you think she was grateful on that account to the handsome -Guardsman? Marian’s sweet face brightened all over with amused -half-blushing smiles. It was impossible to tell. - -“But, Marian,” said Agnes, “I want to be particular about one thing. We -must not deceive any one. Nobody must suppose we are great ladies. If -anything _should_ happen of any importance, we must be sure to tell who -we are.” - -“That you are the author of _Hope Hazlewood_,” said Marian, somewhat -provokingly. “Oh! Mrs Edgerley will tell everybody that; and as for me, -I am only your sister--nobody will mind me.” - -So they drove on under the green leaves, which grew less and less dusty -as they left London in the distance, through the broad white line of -road, now and then passing by orchards rich with fruit--by suburban -gardens and pretty villakins of better fashion than their own; now and -then catching silvery gleams of the river quivering among its low green -banks, like a new-bended bow. They knew as little where they were going -as what was to befall them there, and were as unapprehensive in the one -case as in the other. At home the mother went about her daily business, -pondering with a mother’s anxiety upon all the little embarrassments and -distresses which might surround them among strangers, and seeing in her -motherly imagination a host of pleasant perils, half alarming, half -complimentary, a crowd of admirers and adorers collected round her -girls. At Messrs Cash and Ledger’s, Papa brooded over his desk, thinking -somewhat darkly of those innocent investigators whom he had sent forth -into an old world of former connections, unfortified against the ancient -grudge, if such existed, and unacquainted with the ancient story. Would -anything come of this acquaintanceship? Would anything come of the new -position which placed them once more directly in the way of Lord -Winterbourne? Papa shook his head slowly over his daybook, as ignorant -as the rest of us what might have to be written upon the fair blank of -the very next page--who could tell? - -Charlie meanwhile, at Mr Foggo’s office, buckled on his harness this -important morning with a double share of resolution. As his brow rolled -down with all its furrows in a frown of defiance at the “old fellow” -whom he took down from the wired bookcase, it was not the old fellow, -but Lord Winterbourne, against whom Charlie bit his thumb. In the depths -of his heart he wished again that this natural enemy might “only try!” -to usurp possession of the Old Wood Lodge. A certain excitement -possessed him regarding the visit of his sisters. Once more the youth, -in his hostile imagination, beheld the pale face at the door, the -bloodless and spasmodic smile. “I knew I owed him something,” muttered -once more the instinctive enmity; and Charlie was curious and excited to -come once more in contact with this mysterious personage who had raised -so active and sudden an interest in his secret thoughts. - -But the two immediate actors in this social drama--the family doves of -inquiry, who might bring back angry thorns instead of olive -branches--the innocent sweet pioneers of the incipient strife, went on -untroubled in their youthful pleasure, looking at the river and the -sunshine, dreaming the fairy dreams of youth. What new life they verged -and bordered--what great consequences might grow and blossom from the -seedtime of to-day--how their soft white hands, heedless and -unconscious, might touch the trembling strings of fate--no one of all -these anxious questions ever entered the charmed enclosure of this -homely carriage, where they leant back into their several corners, and -sung to themselves, in unthinking sympathy with the roll and hum of the -leisurely wheels, conveying them on and on to their new friends and -their future life. They were content to leave all questions of the kind -to a more suitable season--and so, singing, smiling, whispering (though -no one was near to interrupt them), went on, on their charmed way, with -their youth and their light hearts, to Armida and her enchanted -garden--to the world, with its syrens and its lions--forecasting no -difficulties, seeing no evil. They had no day-book to brood over like -Papa. To-morrow’s magnificent blank of possibility was always before -them, dazzling and glorious--they went forward into it with the freshest -smile and the sweetest confidence. Of all the evils and perils of this -wicked world, which they had heard so much of, they knew none which -they, in their happy safety, were called upon to fear. - -END OF VOL. I. - -PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH. - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Athelings; vol. 1/3, by Margaret Oliphant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATHELINGS; VOL. 1/3 *** - -***** This file should be named 54510-0.txt or 54510-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/5/1/54510/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at 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. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -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 - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/54510-0.zip b/old/54510-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index e043318..0000000 --- a/old/54510-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/54510-h.zip b/old/54510-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index ce7c284..0000000 --- a/old/54510-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/54510-h/54510-h.htm b/old/54510-h/54510-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index b41fdd1..0000000 --- a/old/54510-h/54510-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6073 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" -"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="en"> - <head> <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> -<title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Athelings; v. 1/3, by Margaret Oliphant. -</title> -<style type="text/css"> - p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} - -.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - -.lftspc {margin-left:.25em;} - -.ltspc {letter-spacing:.2em;} - -.nind {text-indent:0%;} - -.r {text-align:right;margin-right: 5%;}.rt {text-align:right;} - -small {font-size: 70%;} - -big {font-size: 130%;} - - h1 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both; -letter-spacing:.25em;} - - h2 {margin-top:4%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; - font-size:120%;} - - hr {width:90%;margin:2em auto 2em auto;clear:both;color:black;} - - hr.full {width: 60%;margin:2% auto 2% auto;border-top:1px solid black; -padding:.1em;border-bottom:1px solid black;border-left:none;border-right:none;} - - table {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;border:none;} - - body{margin-left:4%;margin-right:6%;background:#ffffff;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} - -a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - - link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - -a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} - -a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} - -.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:100%;} - - img {border:none;} - -.blockquot {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;} - -.figcenter {margin-top:3%;margin-bottom:3%;clear:both; -margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - @media print, handheld - {.figcenter - {page-break-before: avoid;} - } - -div.poetry {text-align:center;} -div.poem {font-size:90%;margin:auto auto;text-indent:0%; -display: inline-block; text-align: left;} -.poem .stanza {margin-top: 1em;margin-bottom:1em;} -.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: .45em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - -.poem span.i15 {display: block; margin-left: 14em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - -.pagenum {font-style:normal;position:absolute; -left:95%;font-size:55%;text-align:right;color:gray; -background-color:#ffffff;font-variant:normal;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;text-decoration:none;text-indent:0em;} -@media print, handheld -{.pagenum - {display: none;} - } -</style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Athelings; vol. 1/3, by Margaret Oliphant - -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: The Athelings; vol. 1/3 - -Author: Margaret Oliphant - -Release Date: April 8, 2017 [EBook #54510] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATHELINGS; VOL. 1/3 *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="320" height="500" alt="cover" title="" /> -</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="border: 2px black solid;margin:auto auto;max-width:50%; -padding:1%;"> -<tr><td> - -<p class="c">Contents.</p> -<p class="nind"> -<a href="#BOOK_I_CHAPTER_I">Book I.—Chapter I., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II"> II., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III"> III., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV"> IV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_V"> V., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VI"> VI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VII"> VII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"> VIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IX"> IX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_X"> X., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XI"> XI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XII"> XII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"> XIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"> XIV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XV"> XV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"> XVI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"> XVII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"> XVIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"> XIX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XX"> XX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"> XXI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"> XXII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"> XXIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV"> XXIV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV"> XXV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI"> XXVI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII"> XXVII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII"> XXVIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX"> XXIX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXX"> XXX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI"> XXXI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII"> XXXII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII"> XXXIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV"> XXXIV.</a> -</p> -<p class="c">(etext transcriber's note)</p></td></tr> -</table> - -<h1>THE ATHELINGS</h1> - -<p class="c"><small>OR</small></p> - -<p class="c">THE THREE GIFTS<br /><br /><br /> -BY MARGARET OLIPHANT -</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I’ the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The roofs of palaces; and nature prompts them,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">In simple and low things, to prince it much<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Beyond the trick of others.”<br /></span> -<span class="i15"><small>CYMBELINE</small><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="c"> -IN THREE VOLUMES<br /> -<br /> -VOL. I.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS<br /> -EDINBURGH AND LONDON<br /> -MDCCCLVII<br /> -<br /><br /><small> -ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN BLACKWOOD’S MAGAZINE.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_001" id="page_001"></a>{1}</span><br /> -</small></p> - -<h1> -THE ATHELINGS</h1> -<p class="c"> -BOOK I.—BELLEVUE<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_002" id="page_002"></a>{2}</span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_003" id="page_003"></a>{3}</span> </p> - -<h1>THE ATHELINGS.</h1> - -<h2><a name="BOOK_I_CHAPTER_I" id="BOOK_I_CHAPTER_I"></a>BOOK I.—<span class="ltspc"><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER I</span></span>.<br /><br /> -<small>IN THE STREET.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">One</span> of them is very pretty—you can see that at a glance: under the -simple bonnet, and through the thin little veil, which throws no cloud -upon its beauty, shines the sweetest girl’s face imaginable. It is only -eighteen years old, and not at all of the heroical cast, but it -brightens like a passing sunbeam through all the sombre line of -passengers, and along the dull background of this ordinary street. There -is no resisting that sweet unconscious influence: people smile when they -pass her, unawares; it is a natural homage paid involuntarily to the -young, sweet, innocent loveliness, unconscious of its own power. People -have smiled upon her all her days; she thinks it is because everybody is -amiable, and seeks no further for a cause.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_004" id="page_004"></a>{4}</span></p> - -<p>The other one is not very pretty; she is twenty: she is taller, paler, -not so bright of natural expression, yet as far from being commonplace -as can be conceived. They are dressed entirely alike, thriftily dressed -in brown merino, with little cloaks exact to the same pattern, and -bonnets, of which every bow of ribbon outside, and every little pink -rosebud within, is a complete fac-simile of its sister bud and bow. They -have little paper-parcels in their hands each of them; they are about -the same height, and not much different in age; and to see these twin -figures, so entirely resembling each other, passing along at the same -inconsistent youthful pace, now rapid and now lingering, you would -scarcely be prepared for the characteristic difference in their looks -and in their minds.</p> - -<p>It is a spring afternoon, cheery but cold, and lamps and shop-windows -are already beginning to shine through the ruddy twilight. This is a -suburban street, with shops here and there, and sombre lines of houses -between. The houses are all graced with “front gardens,” strips of -ground enriched with a few smoky evergreens, and flower-plots ignorant -of flowers; and the shops are of a highly miscellaneous character, -adapted to the wants of the locality. Vast London roars and travails far -away to the west and to the south. This is Islington, a mercantile and -clerkish suburb. The people on the omnibuses—and all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_005" id="page_005"></a>{5}</span> omnibuses are -top-heavy with outside passengers—are people from the City; and at this -time in the afternoon, as a general principle, everybody is going home.</p> - -<p>The two sisters, by a common consent, come to a sudden pause: it is -before a toy-shop; and it is easy to discover by the discussion which -follows that there are certain smaller people who form an important part -of the household at home.</p> - -<p>“Take this, Agnes,” says the beautiful sister; “see how pretty! and they -could both play with this; but only Bell would care for the doll.”</p> - -<p>“It is Bell’s turn,” said Agnes; “Beau had the last one. This we could -dress ourselves, for I know mamma has a piece over of their last new -frocks. The blue eyes are the best. Stand at the door, Marian, and look -for my father, till I buy it; but tell me first which they will like -best.”</p> - -<p>This was not an easy question. The sisters made a long and anxious -survey of the window, varied by occasional glances behind them “to see -if papa was coming,” and concluded by a rapid decision on Agnes’s part -in favour of one of the ugliest of the dolls. But still Papa did not -come; and the girls were proceeding on their way with the doll, a soft -and shapeless parcel, added to their former burdens, when a rapid step -came up behind them, and a clumsy boy plunged upon the shoulder of the -elder.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_006" id="page_006"></a>{6}</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, Charlie!” exclaimed Agnes in an aggrieved but undoubting tone. She -did not need to look round. This big young brother was unmistakable in -his salutations.</p> - -<p>“I say, my father’s past,” said Charlie. “Won’t he be pleased to find -you two girls out? What do you wander about so late for? it’s getting -dark. I call that foolish, when you might be out, if you pleased, all -the day.”</p> - -<p>“My boy, you do not know anything about it,” said the elder sister with -dignity; “and you shall go by yourself if you do not walk quietly. -There! people are looking at us; they never looked at us till you came.”</p> - -<p>“Charlie is so handsome,” said Marian laughing, as they all turned a -corner, and, emancipated from the public observation, ran along the -quiet street, a straggling group, one now pressing before, and now -lagging behind. This big boy, however, so far from being handsome, was -strikingly the opposite. He had large, loose, ill-compacted limbs, like -most young animals of a large growth, and a face which might be called -clever, powerful, or good-humoured, but certainly was, without any -dispute, ugly. He was of dark complexion, had natural furrows in his -brow, and a mouth, wide with fun and happy temper at the present moment, -which could close with indomitable obstinacy<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_007" id="page_007"></a>{7}</span> when occasion served. No -fashion could have made Charlie Atheling fashionable; but his plain -apparel looked so much plainer and coarser than his sisters’, that it -had neither neatness nor grace to redeem its homeliness. He was -seventeen, tall, <i>big</i>, and somewhat clumsy, as unlike as possible to -the girls, who had a degree of natural and simple gracefulness not very -common in their sphere. Charlie’s masculine development was unequivocal; -he was a thorough <i>boy</i> now, and would be a manful man.</p> - -<p>“Charlie, boy, have you been thinking?” asked Agnes suddenly, as the -three once more relapsed into a sober pace, and pursued their homeward -way together. There was the faintest quiver of ridicule in the elder -sister’s voice, and Marian looked up for the answer with a smile. The -young gentleman gave some portentous hitches of his broad shoulders, -twisted his brow into ominous puckers, set his teeth—and at last burst -out with indignation and unrestrained vehemence—</p> - -<p>“Have I been thinking?—to be sure! but I can’t make anything of it, if -I think for ever.”</p> - -<p>“You are worse than a woman, Charlie,” said the pretty Marian; “you -never can make up your mind.”</p> - -<p>“Stuff!” cried the big boy loudly; “it isn’t making up my mind, it’s -thinking what will do. You girls know nothing about it. I can’t see that -one thing’s better than another, for my part. One man succeeds<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_008" id="page_008"></a>{8}</span> and -another man’s a failure, and yet the one’s as good a fellow and as -clever to work as the other. I don’t know what it means.”</p> - -<p>“So I suppose you will end with being misanthropical and doing nothing,” -said Agnes; “and all Charlie Atheling’s big intentions will burst, like -Beau’s soap-bubbles. I would not have that.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t have that, and so you know very well,” said Charlie, who was by -no means indisposed for a quarrel. “You are always aggravating, you -girls—as if you knew anything about it! I’ll tell you what; I don’t -mind how it is, but I’m a man to be something, as sure as I live.”</p> - -<p>“You are not a man at all, poor little Charlie—you are only a boy,” -said Marian.</p> - -<p>“And we are none of us so sure to live that we should swear by it,” said -Agnes. “If you are to be something, you should speak better sense than -that.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, a nice pair of tutors you are!” cried Master Charlie. “I’m bigger -than the two of you put together—and I’m a man. You may be as envious -as you like, but you cannot alter that.”</p> - -<p>Now, though the girls laughed, and with great contempt scouted the idea -of being envious, it is not to be denied that some small morsel of envy -concerning masculine privileges lay in the elder sister’s heart. It was -said at home that Agnes was clever—this was her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_009" id="page_009"></a>{9}</span> distinction in the -family; and Agnes, having a far-away perception of the fact, greatly -longed for some share of those wonderful imaginary advantages which -“opened all the world,” as she herself said, to a man’s ambition; she -coloured a little with involuntary excitement, while Marian’s sweet and -merry laughter still rang in her ear. Marian could afford to laugh—for -this beautiful child was neither clever nor ambitious, and had, in all -circumstances, the sweetest faculty of content.</p> - -<p>“Well, Charlie, a man can do anything,” said Agnes; “<i>we</i> are obliged to -put up with trifles. If I were a man, I should be content with nothing -less than the greatest—I know that!”</p> - -<p>“Stuff!” answered the big boy once more; “you may romance about it as -you like, but I know better. Who is to care whether you are content or -not? You must be only what you can, if you were the greatest hero in the -world.”</p> - -<p>“I do not know, for my part, what you are talking of,” said Marian. “Is -this all about what you are going to do, Charlie, and because you cannot -make up your mind whether you will be a clerk in papa’s office, or go to -old Mr Foggo’s to learn to be a lawyer? I don’t see what heroes have to -do with it either one way or other. You ought to go to your business -quietly, and be content. Why should <i>you</i> be better than papa?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_010" id="page_010"></a>{10}</span></p> - -<p>The question was unanswerable. Charlie hitched his great shoulders, and -made marvellous faces, but replied nothing. Agnes went on steadily in a -temporary abstraction; Marian ran on in advance. The street was only -half-built—one of those quietest of surburban streets which are to be -found only in the outskirts of great towns. The solitary little houses, -some quite apart, some in pairs—detached and semi-detached, according -to the proper description—stood in genteel retirement within low walls -and miniature shrubberies. There was nothing ever to be seen in this -stillest of inhabited places—therefore it was called Bellevue: and the -inhabitants veiled their parlour windows behind walls and boarded -railings, lest their privacy should be invaded by the vulgar vision of -butcher, or baker, or green-grocer’s boy. Other eyes than those of the -aforesaid professional people never disturbed the composure of Laurel -Cottage and Myrtle Cottage, Elmtree Lodge and Halcyon House—wherefore -the last new house had a higher wall and a closer railing than any of -its predecessors; and it was edifying to observe everybody’s virtuous -resolution to see nothing where there was visibly nothing to see.</p> - -<p>At the end of this closed-up and secluded place, one light, shining from -an unshuttered window, made a gleam of cheerfulness through the -respectable gloom. Here you could see shadows large and small moving<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_011" id="page_011"></a>{11}</span> -upon the white blind—could see the candles shifted about, and the -sudden reddening of the stirred fire. A wayfarer, when by chance there -was one, could scarcely fail to pause with a momentary sentiment of -neighbourship and kindness opposite this shining window. It was the only -evidence in the darkness of warm and busy human life. This was the home -of the three young Athelings—as yet the centre and boundary of all -their pleasures, and almost all their desires.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_012" id="page_012"></a>{12}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER II</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>HOME.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> house is old for this locality—larger than this family could have -afforded, had it been in better condition,—a cheap house out of repair. -It is impossible to see what is the condition of the little garden -before the door; but the bushes are somewhat straggling, and wave their -long arms about in the rising wind. There is a window on either side of -the door, and the house is but two stories high: it is the most -commonplace of houses, perfectly comfortable and uninteresting, so far -as one may judge from without. Inside, the little hall is merely a -passage, with a door on either side, a long row of pegs fastened against -the wall, and a strip of brightly-painted oil-cloth on the floor. The -parlour door is open—there are but two candles, yet the place is -bright; and in it is the lighted window which shines so cheerily into -the silent street. The father sits by the fire in the only easy-chair -which this apartment boasts; the mother moves about on sundry nameless<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_013" id="page_013"></a>{13}</span> -errands, of which she herself could scarcely give a just explanation; -yet somehow that comfortable figure passing in and out through light and -shadow adds an additional charm to the warmth and comfort of the place. -Two little children are playing on the rug before the fire—very little -children, twins scarcely two years old—one of them caressing the -slippered foot of Mr Atheling, the other seated upon a great paper book -full of little pictures, which serves at once as amusement for the -little mind, and repose for the chubby little frame. They are rosy, -ruddy, merry imps, as ever brightened a fireside; and it is hard to -believe they are of the same family as Charlie and Agnes and Marian. For -there is a woeful gap between the elder and the younger children of this -house—an interval of heavy, tardy, melancholy years, the records of -which are written, many names, upon one gravestone, and upon the hearts -of these two cheerful people, among their children at their own hearth. -They have lived through their day of visitation, and come again into the -light beyond; but it is easy to understand the peculiar tenderness with -which father and mother bend over these last little children—angels of -consolation—and how everything in the house yields to the pretty -childish caprice of little Bell and little Beau.</p> - -<p>Yes, of course, you have found it out: everybody finds it out at the -first glance; everybody returns to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_014" id="page_014"></a>{14}</span> it with unfailing criticism. To tell -the truth, the house is a very cheap house, being so large a one. Had it -been in good order, the Athelings could never have pretended to such a -“desirable family residence” as this house in Bellevue; and so you -perceive this room has been papered by Charlie and the girls and Mrs -Atheling. It is a very pretty paper, and was a great bargain; but -unfortunately it is not matched—one-half of the pattern, in two or -three places, is hopelessly divorced from the other half. They were very -zealous, these amateur workpeople, but they were not born paperhangers, -and, with the best intentions in the world, have drawn the walls awry. -At the time Mrs Atheling was extremely mortified, and Agnes overcome -with humiliation; but Charlie and Marian thought it very good fun; Papa -burst into shouts of laughter; Bell and Beau chorused lustily, and at -length even the unfortunate managers of the work forgave themselves. It -never was altered, because a new paper is an important consideration -where so many new frocks, coats, and bonnets are perpetually wanting: -everybody became accustomed to it; it was an unfailing source of family -witticism; and Mrs Atheling came to find so much relaxation from her -other cares in the constant mental effort to piece together the -disjointed pattern, that even to her there was consolation in this dire -and lamentable failure. Few strangers<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_015" id="page_015"></a>{15}</span> came into the family-room, but -every visitor who by chance entered it, with true human perversity -turned his eyes from the comfort and neatness of the apartment, and from -the bright faces of its occupants, to note the flowers and arabesques of -the pretty paper, wandering all astray over this unfortunate wall.</p> - -<p>Yet it was a pretty scene—with Marian’s beautiful face at one side of -the table, and the bright intelligence of Agnes at the other—the rosy -children on the rug, the father reposing from his day’s labour, the -mother busy with her sweet familiar never-ending cares; even Charlie, -ugly and characteristic, added to the family completeness. The head of -the house was only a clerk in a merchant’s office, with a modest stipend -of two hundred pounds a-year. All the necessities of the family, young -and old, had to be supplied out of this humble income. You may suppose -there was not much over, and that the household chancellor of the -exchequer had enough to do, even when assisted by that standing -committee with which she consulted solemnly over every little outlay. -The committee was prudent, but it was not infallible. Agnes, the leading -member, had extravagant notions. Marian, more careful, had still a -weakness for ribbons and household embellishments, bright and clean and -new. Sometimes the committee <i>en permanence</i> was abruptly dismissed by -its indignant president, charged with revolutionary<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_016" id="page_016"></a>{16}</span> sentiments, and a -total ignorance of sound financial principles. Now and then there -occurred a monetary crisis. On the whole, however, the domestic kingdom -was wisely governed, and the seven Athelings, parents and children, -lived and prospered, found it possible to have even holiday dresses, and -books from the circulating library, ribbons for the girls, and toys for -the babies, out of their two hundred pounds a-year.</p> - -<p>Tea was on the table; yet the first thing to be done was to open out the -little paper parcels, which proved to contain enclosures no less -important than those very ribbons, which the finance committee had this -morning decided upon as indispensable. Mrs Atheling unrolled them -carefully, and held them out to the light. She shook her head; they had -undertaken this serious responsibility all by themselves, these rash -imprudent girls.</p> - -<p>“Now, mamma, what do you think? I told you we could choose them; and the -man said they were half as dear again six months ago,” cried the -triumphant Marian.</p> - -<p>Again Mrs Atheling shook her head. “My dears,” said the careful mother, -“how do you think such a colour as this can last till June?”</p> - -<p>This solemn question somewhat appalled the youthful purchasers. “It is a -very pretty colour, mamma,” said Agnes, doubtfully.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_017" id="page_017"></a>{17}</span></p> - -<p>“So it is,” said the candid critic; “but you know it will fade directly. -I always told you so. It is only fit for people who have a dozen -bonnets, and can afford to change them. I am quite surprised at you, -girls; you ought to have known a great deal better. Of course the colour -will fly directly: the first sunny day will make an end of that. But <i>I</i> -cannot help it, you know; and, faded or not faded, it must do till -June.”</p> - -<p>The girls exchanged glances of discomfiture. “Till June!” said Agnes; -“and it is only March now. Well, one never knows what may happen before -June.”</p> - -<p>This was but indifferent consolation, but it brought Charlie to the -table to twist the unfortunate ribbon, and let loose his opinion. “They -ought to wear wide-awakes. That’s what they ought to have,” said -Charlie. “Who cares for all that trumpery? not old Foggo, I’m sure, nor -Miss Willsie; and they are all the people we ever see.”</p> - -<p>“Hold your peace, Charlie,” said Mrs Atheling, “and don’t say old Foggo, -you rude boy. He is the best friend you have, and a real gentleman; and -what would your papa do with such a set of children about him, if Mr -Foggo did not drop in now and then for some sensible conversation. It -will be a long time before you try to make yourself company for papa.”</p> - -<p>“Foggo is not so philanthropical, Mary,” said Papa,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_018" id="page_018"></a>{18}</span> for the first time -interposing; “he has an eye to something else than sensible -conversation. However, be quiet and sit down, you set of children, and -let us have some tea.”</p> - -<p>The ribbons accordingly were lifted away, and placed in a heap upon a -much-used work-table which stood in the window. The kettle sang by the -fire. The tea was made. Into two small chairs of wickerwork, raised upon -high stilts to reach the table, were hoisted Bell and Beau. The talk of -these small interlocutors had all this time been incessant, but -untranslatable. It was the unanimous opinion of the family Atheling that -you could “make out every word” spoken by these little personages, and -that they were quite remarkable in their intelligibility; yet there were -difficulties in the way, and everybody had not leisure for the close -study of this peculiar language, nor the abstract attention necessary -for a proper comprehension of all its happy sayings. So Bell and Beau, -to the general public, were but a merry little chorus to the family -drama, interrupting nothing, and being interrupted by nobody. Like -crickets and singing-birds, and all musical creatures, their happy din -grew louder as the conversation rose; but there was not one member of -this loving circle who objected to have his voice drowned in the -jubilant uproar of those sweet small voices, the unceasing music of this -happy house.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_019" id="page_019"></a>{19}</span></p> - -<p>After tea, it was Marian’s “turn,” as it appeared, to put the little -orchestra to bed. It was well for the little cheeks that they were made -of a more elastic material than those saintly shrines and reliquaries -which pious pilgrims wore away with kissing; and Charlie, mounting one -upon each shoulder, carried the small couple up-stairs. It was touching -to see the universal submission to these infants: the house had been -very sad before they came, and these twin blossoms had ushered into a -second summer the bereaved and heavy household life.</p> - -<p>When Bell and Beau were satisfactorily asleep and disposed of, Mrs -Atheling sat down to her sewing, as is the wont of exemplary mothers. -Papa found his occupation in a newspaper, from which now and then he -read a scrap of news aloud. Charlie, busy about some solitary study, -built himself round with books at a side-table. Agnes and Marian, with -great zeal and some excitement, laid their heads together over the -trimming of their bonnets. The ribbon was very pretty, though it was -unprofitable; perhaps in their secret hearts these girls liked it the -better for its unthrifty delicacy, but they were too “well brought up” -to own to any such perverse feeling. At any rate, they were very much -concerned about their pretty occupation, and tried a hundred different -fashions before they decided upon the plainest and oldest fashion<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_020" id="page_020"></a>{20}</span> of -all. They had taste enough to make their plain little straw-bonnets very -pretty to look at, but were no more skilled in millinery than in -paperhanging, and timid of venturing upon anything new. The night flew -on to all of them in these quiet businesses; and Time went more heavily -through many a festive and courtly place than he did through this little -parlour, where there was no attempt at pleasure-making. When the bonnets -were finished, it had grown late. Mr Foggo had not come this night for -any sensible conversation; neither had Agnes been tempted to join -Charlie at the side-table, where lay a miscellaneous collection of -papers, packed within an overflowing blotting-book, her indisputable -property. Agnes had other ambition than concerned the trimming of -bonnets, and had spoiled more paper in her day than the paper of this -parlour wall; but we pause till the morning to exhibit the gift of Agnes -Atheling, how it was regarded, and what it was.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_021" id="page_021"></a>{21}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER III</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>AGNES.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Dearest</span> friend! most courteous reader! suspend your judgment. It was not -her fault. This poor child had no more blame in the matter than Marian -had for her beauty, which was equally involuntary. Agnes Atheling was -not wise; she had no particular gift for conversation, and none whatever -for logic; no accomplishments, and not a very great deal of information. -To tell the truth, while it was easy enough to discover what she had -not, it was somewhat difficult to make out precisely what she had to -distinguish her from other people. She was a good girl, but by no means -a model one; full of impatiences, resentments, and despairs now and -then, as well as of hopes, jubilant and glorious, and a vague but grand -ambition. She herself knew herself quite as little as anybody else did; -for consciousness of power and prescience of fame, if these are signs of -genius, did not belong to Agnes. Yet genius, in some kind and degree, -certainly did belong to her,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_022" id="page_022"></a>{22}</span> for the girl had that strange faculty of -expression which is as independent of education, knowledge, or culture -as any wandering angel. When she had anything to say (upon paper), she -said it with so much grace and beauty of language, that Mr Atheling’s -old correspondents puzzled and shook their grey heads over it, charmed -and astonished without knowing why, and afterwards declared to each -other that Atheling must be a clever fellow, though they had never -discovered it before; and a clever fellow he must have been indeed, -could he have clothed these plain sober sentiments of his in such a -radiant investiture of fancy and youth. For Agnes was the letter-writer -of the household, and in her young sincerity, and with her visionary -delight in all things beautiful, was not content to make a dutiful -inquiry, on her mother’s part, for an old ailing country aunt, or to -convey a bit of city gossip to some clerkish contemporary of her -father’s, without induing the humdrum subject with such a glow and glory -of expression that the original proprietors of the sentiment scarcely -knew it in its dazzling gear. She had been letting her pearls and her -diamonds drop from her lips after this fashion, with the prodigality of -a young spendthrift—only astonishing the respectable people who were on -letter-writing terms with Mr and Mrs Atheling—for two or three years -past. But time only strengthened the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_023" id="page_023"></a>{23}</span> natural bent of this young -creature, to whom Providence had given, almost her sole dower, that gift -of speech which is so often withheld from those who have the fullest and -highest opportunity for its exercise. Agnes, poor girl! young, -inexperienced, and uninstructed, had not much wisdom to communicate to -the world—not much of anything, indeed, save the vague and splendid -dreams—the variable, impossible, and inconsistent speculations of -youth; but she had the gift, and with the gift she had the sweet -spontaneous impulse which made it a delight. They were proud of her at -home. Mr and Mrs Atheling, with the tenderest exultation, rejoiced over -Marian, who was pretty, and Agnes, who was clever; yet, loving these two -still more than they admired them, they by no means realised the fact -that the one had beauty and the other genius of a rare and unusual kind. -We are even obliged to confess that at times their mother had -compunctions, and doubted whether Agnes, a poor man’s daughter, and like -to be a poor man’s wife, ought to be permitted so much time over that -overflowing blotting-book. Mrs Atheling, when her own ambition and pride -in her child did not move her otherwise, pondered much whether it would -not be wiser to teach the girls dress-making or some other practical -occupation, “for they may not marry; and if anything should happen to -William or me!—as of course we are growing old, and will not live for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_024" id="page_024"></a>{24}</span> -ever,” she said to herself in her tender and anxious heart. But the -girls had not yet learned dress-making, in spite of Mrs Atheling’s -fears; and though Marian could “cut out” as well as her mother, and -Agnes, more humble, worked with her needle to the universal admiration, -no speculations as to “setting them up in business” had entered the -parental brain. So Agnes continued at the side-table, sometimes writing -very rapidly and badly, sometimes copying out with the most elaborate -care and delicacy—copying out even a second time, if by accident or -misfortune a single blot came upon the well-beloved page. This -occupation alternated with all manner of domestic occupations. The young -writer was as far from being an abstracted personage as it is possible -to conceive; and from the momentous matter of the household finances to -the dressing of the doll, and the childish play of Bell and Beau, -nothing came amiss to the incipient author. With this sweet stream of -common life around her, you may be sure her genius did her very little -harm.</p> - -<p>And when all the domestic affairs were over—when Mr Atheling had -finished his newspaper, and Mrs Atheling put aside her work-basket, and -Mr Foggo was out of the way—then Papa was wont to look over his -shoulder to his eldest child. “You may read some of your nonsense, if -you like, Agnes,” said the household head; and it was Agnes’s custom -upon this invitation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_025" id="page_025"></a>{25}</span> though not without a due degree of coyness, to -gather up her papers, draw her chair into the corner, and read what she -had written. Before Agnes began, Mrs Atheling invariably stretched out -her hand for her work-basket, and was invariably rebuked by her husband; -but Marian’s white hands rustled on unreproved, and Charlie sat still at -his grammar. It was popularly reported in the family that Charlie kept -on steadily learning his verbs even while he listened to Agnes’s story. -He said so himself, who was the best authority; but we by no means -pledge ourselves to the truth of the statement.</p> - -<p>And so the young romance was read: there was some criticism, but more -approval; and in reality none of them knew what to think of it, any more -than the youthful author did. They were too closely concerned to be cool -judges, and, full of interest and admiration as they were, could not -quite overcome the oddness and novelty of the idea that “our Agnes” -might possibly one day be famous, and write for the world. Mr Atheling -himself, who was most inclined to be critical, had the strangest -confusion of feelings upon this subject, marvelling much within himself -whether “the child” really had this singular endowment, or if it was -only their own partial judgment which magnified her powers. The family -father could come to no satisfactory conclusion upon the subject, but -still<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_026" id="page_026"></a>{26}</span> smiled at himself, and wondered, when his daughter’s story -brought tears to his eyes, or sympathy or indignation to his heart. It -moved <i>him</i> without dispute,—it moved Mamma there, hastily rubbing out -the moisture from the corner of her eyes. Even Charlie was disturbed -over his grammar. “Yes,” said Mr Atheling, “but then you see she belongs -to us; and though all this certainly never could have come into <i>my</i> -head, yet it is natural I should sympathise with it; but it is a very -different thing when you think of the world.”</p> - -<p>So it was, as different a thing as possible; for the world had no -anxious love to sharpen <i>its</i> criticism—did not care a straw whether -the young writer was eloquent or nonsensical; and just in proportion to -its indifference was like to be the leniency of its judgment. These good -people did not think of that; they made wonderful account of their own -partiality, but never reckoned upon that hypercritical eye of love which -will not be content with a questionable excellence; and so they pondered -and marvelled with an excitement half amusing and half solemn. What -would other people think?—what would be the judgment of the world?</p> - -<p>As for Agnes, she was as much amused as the rest at the thought of being -“an author,” and laughed, with her bright eyes running over, at this -grand anticipation;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_027" id="page_027"></a>{27}</span> for she was too young and too inexperienced to see -more than a delightful novelty and unusualness in her possible fame. In -the mean time she was more interested in what she was about than in the -result of it, and pleased herself with the turn of her pretty sentences, -and the admirable orderliness of her manuscript; for she was only a -girl.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_028" id="page_028"></a>{28}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER IV</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>MARIAN.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Marian Atheling</span> had as little choice in respect to her particular -endowment as her sister had; less, indeed, for it cost her nothing—not -an hour’s thought or a moment’s exertion. She could not help shining -forth so fair and sweet upon the sober background of this family life; -she could not help charming every stranger who looked into her sweet -eyes. She was of no particular “style” of beauty, so far as we are -aware; she was even of no distinct complexion of loveliness, but wavered -with the sweetest shade of uncertainty between dark and fair, tall and -little. For hers was not the beauty of genius—it was not exalted and -heroical expression—it was not tragic force or eloquence of features; -it was something less distinct and more subtle even than these. Hair -that caught the sunshine, and brightened under its glow; eyes which -laughed a sweet response of light before the fair eyelids fell over them -in that sweet inconsistent<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_029" id="page_029"></a>{29}</span> mingling of frankness and shyness which is -the very charm of girlhood; cheeks as soft and bloomy and fragrant as -any flower,—these seemed but the appropriate language in which alone -this innocent, radiant, beautiful youth could find fit expression. For -beauty of expression belonged to Marian as well as more obvious -beauties; there was an entire sweet harmony between the language and the -sentiment of nature upon this occasion. The face would have been -beautiful still, had its possessor been a fool or discontented; as it -was, being only the lovely exponent of a heart as pure, happy, and -serene as heart could be, the face was perfect. Criticism had nothing to -do with an effect so sudden and magical: this young face shone and -brightened like a sunbeam, touching the hearts of those it beamed upon. -Mere admiration was scarcely the sentiment with which people looked at -her; it was pure tenderness, pleasure, unexpected delight, which made -the chance passengers in the street smile as they passed her by. Their -hearts warmed to this fair thing of God’s making—they “blessed her -unaware.” Eighteen years old, and possessed of this rare gift, Marian -still did not know what rude admiration was, though she went out day by -day alone and undefended, and would not have faltered at going anywhere, -if her mother bade or necessity called. <i>She</i> knew nothing of those -stares and impertinent annoyances<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_030" id="page_030"></a>{30}</span> which fastidious ladies sometimes -complained of, and of which she had read in books. Marian asserted -roundly, and with unhesitating confidence, that “it was complete -nonsense”—“it was not true;” and went upon her mother’s errands through -all the Islingtonian streets as safely as any heroine ever went through -ambuscades and prisons. She believed in lovers and knights of romance -vaguely, but fervently,—believed even, we confess, in the melodramatic -men who carry off fair ladies, and also in disguised princes and Lords -of Burleigh; but knew nothing whatever, in her own most innocent and -limited experience, of any love but the love of home. And Marian had -heard of bad men and bad women,—nay, <i>knew</i>, in Agnes’s story, the most -impossible and short-sighted of villains—a true rascal of romance, -whose snares were made on purpose for discovery,—but had no more fear -of such than she had of lions or tigers, the Gunpowder Plot, or the -Spanish Inquisition. Safe as among her lawful vassals, this young girl -went and came—safe as in a citadel, dwelt in her father’s house, -untempted, untroubled, in the most complete and thorough security. So -far as she had come upon the sunny and flowery way of her young life, -her beauty had been no gift of peril to Marian, and she had no fear of -what was to come.</p> - -<p>And no one is to suppose that Mrs Atheling’s small<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_031" id="page_031"></a>{31}</span> means were strained -to do honour to, or “set off,” her pretty daughter. These good people, -though they loved much to see their children happy and well esteemed, -had no idea of any such unnecessary efforts; and Marian shone out of her -brown merino frock, and her little pink rosebuds, as sweetly as ever -shone a princess in the purple and pall of her high estate. Mrs Atheling -thought Marian “would look well in anything,” in the pride of her heart, -as she pinched the bit of white lace round Marian’s neck when Mr Foggo -and Miss Willsie were coming to tea. It was indeed the general opinion -of the household, and that other people shared it was sufficiently -proved by the fact that Miss Willsie herself begged for a pattern of -that very little collar, which was so becoming. Marian gave the pattern -with the greatest alacrity, yet protested that Miss Willsie had many -collars a great deal prettier—which indeed was very true.</p> - -<p>And Marian was her mother’s zealous assistant in all household -occupations—not more willing, but with more execution and practical -power than Agnes, who, by dint of a hasty anxiety for perfection, made -an intolerable amount of blunders. Marian was more matter-of-fact, and -knew better what she could do; she was constantly busy, morning and -night, keeping always in hand some morsel of fancy-work, with which to -occupy herself at irregular times after the ordinary<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_032" id="page_032"></a>{32}</span> work was over. -Agnes also had bits of fancy-work in hand; but the difference herein -between the two sisters was this, that Marian finished <i>her</i> pretty -things, while Agnes’s uncompleted enterprises were always turning up in -some old drawer or work-table, and were never brought to a conclusion. -Marian made collars for her mother, frills for Bell and Beau, and a very -fine purse for Charlie; which Charlie, having nothing to put in the -same, rejected disdainfully: but it was a very rare thing indeed for -Agnes to come to an end of any such labour. With Marian, too, lay the -honour of far superior accuracy and precision in the important -particular of “cutting out.” These differences furthered the appropriate -division of labour, and the household work made happy progress under -their united hands.</p> - -<p>To this we have only to add, that Marian Atheling was merry without -being witty, and intelligent without being clever. She, too, was a good -girl; but she also had her faults: she was sometimes saucy, very often -self-willed, yet had fortunately thus far shown a sensible perception of -cases which were beyond her own power of settling. She had the greatest -interest in Agnes’s story-telling, but was extremely impatient to know -the end before the beginning, which the hapless young author was not -always in circumstances to tell; and Marian made countless suggestions, -interfering<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_033" id="page_033"></a>{33}</span> arbitrarily and vexatiously with the providence of fiction, -and desiring all sorts of impossible rewards and punishments. But -Marian’s was no quiet or superficial criticism: how she burned with -indignation at that poor unbelievable villain!—how she triumphed when -all the good people put him down!—with what entire and fervid interest -she entered into everybody’s fortune! It was worth while being present -at one of these family readings, if only to see the flutter and tumult -of sympathies which greeted the tale.</p> - -<p>And we will not deny that Marian had possibly a far-off idea that she -was pretty—an idea just so indistinct and distant as to cause a -momentary blush and sparkle—a momentary flutter, half of pleasure and -half of shame, when it chanced to glide across her young unburdened -heart; but of her beauty and its influence this innocent girl had -honestly no conception. Everybody smiled upon her everywhere. Even Mr -Foggo’s grave and saturnine countenance slowly brightened when her sweet -face shone upon him. Marian did not suppose that these smiles had -anything to do with her; she went upon her way with a joyous young -belief in the goodness of everybody, except the aforesaid impossible -people, who were unspeakably black, beyond anything that ever was -painted, to the simple imagination of Marian. She had no<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_034" id="page_034"></a>{34}</span> great -principle of abstract benevolence to make her charitable; she was -strongly in favour of the instant and overwhelming punishment of all -these imaginary criminals; but for the rest of the world, Marian looked -them all in the face, frank and shy and sweet, with her beautiful eyes. -She was content to offer that small right hand of kindliest fellowship, -guileless and unsuspecting, to them all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_035" id="page_035"></a>{35}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER V</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>CHARLIE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">This</span> big boy was about as far from being handsome as any ordinary -imagination could conceive: his large loose limbs, his big features, his -swarthy complexion, though they were rather uglier in their present -development than they were likely to be when their possessor was -full-grown and a man, could never, by any chance, gain him the moderate -credit of good looks. He was not handsome emphatically, and yet there -never was a more expressive face: that great furrowed brow of his went -up in ripples and waves of laughter when the young gentleman was so -minded, and descended in rolls of cloud when there was occasion for such -a change. His mouth was not a pretty mouth: the soft curve of Cupid’s -bow, the proud Napoleonic curl, were as different as you could suppose -from the indomitable and graceless upper-lip of Charlie Atheling. Yet -when that obstinate feature came down in fixed and steady -impenetrability, a more emphatic expression<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_036" id="page_036"></a>{36}</span> never sat on the haughtiest -curve of Greece. He was a tolerably good boy, but he had his foible. -Charlie, we are grieved to say, was obstinate—marvellously obstinate, -unpersuadable, and beyond the reach of reasoning. If anything could have -made this propensity justifiable—as nothing could possibly make it more -provoking—it was, that the big boy was very often in the right. Time -after time, by force of circumstances, everybody else was driven to give -in to him: whether it really was by means of astute and secret -calculation of all the chances of the question, nobody could tell; but -every one knew how often Charlie’s opinion was confirmed by the course -of events, and how very seldom his odd penetration was deceived. This, -as a natural consequence, made everybody very hot and very resentful who -happened to disagree with Charlie, and caused a great amount of -jubilation and triumph in the house on those occasions, unfrequent as -they were, when his boyish infallibility was proved in the wrong.</p> - -<p>Yet Charlie was not clever. The household could come to no satisfactory -conclusion upon this subject. He did not get on with his moderate -studies either quicker or better than any ordinary boy of his years. He -had no special turn for literature either, though he did not disdain -<i>Peter Simple</i> and <i>Midshipman Easy</i>. These renowned productions of -genius held the highest<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_037" id="page_037"></a>{37}</span> place at present in that remote corner of -Charlie’s interest which was reserved for the fine arts; but we are -obliged to confess that this big boy had wonderfully bad taste in -general, and could not at all appreciate the higher excellences of art. -Besides all this, no inducement whatever could tempt Charlie to the -writing of the briefest letter, or to any exercise of his powers of -composition, if any such powers belonged to him. No, he could not be -clever—and yet——</p> - -<p>They did not quite like to give up the question, the mother and sisters. -They indulged in the loftiest flights of ambition for him, as -heaven-aspiring, and built on as slender a foundation, as any bean-stalk -of romance. They endeavoured greatly, with much anxiety and care, to -make him clever, and to make him ambitious, after their own model; but -this obstinate and self-willed individual was not to be coerced. So far -as this matter went, Charlie had a certain affectionate contempt for -them all, with their feminine fancies and imaginations. He said only -“Stuff!” when he listened to the grand projects of the girls, and to -Agnes’s flush of enthusiastic confidence touching that whole unconquered -world which was open to “a man!” Charlie hitched his great shoulders, -frowned down upon her with all the furrows of his brow, laughed aloud, -and went off to his grammar. This same grammar he worked at with his -usual obstinate steadiness. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_038" id="page_038"></a>{38}</span> had not a morsel of liking for “his -studies;” but he “went in” at them doggedly, just as he might have -broken stones or hewed wood, had that been a needful process. Nobody -ever does know the secret of anybody else’s character till life and time -have evolved the same; so it is not wonderful that these good people -were a little puzzled about Charlie, and did not quite know how to -dispose of their obstinate big boy.</p> - -<p>Charlie himself, however, we are glad to say, was sometimes moved to -take his sisters into his confidence. <i>They</i> knew that some ambition did -stir within that Titanic boyish frame. They were in the secret of the -great discussion which was at present going on in the breast of Charlie, -whose whole thoughts, to tell the truth, were employed about the -momentous question—What he was to be? There was not a very wide choice -in his power. He was not seduced by the red coat and the black coat, -like the ass of the problem. The syrens of wealth and fame did not sing -in his ears, to tempt him to one course or another. He had two homely -possibilities before him—a this, and a that. He had a stout intention -to be <i>something</i>, and no such ignoble sentiment as content found place -in Charlie’s heart; wherefore long, animated, and doubtful was the -self-controversy. Do not smile, good youth, at Charlie’s two -chances—they are small in comparison of yours,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_039" id="page_039"></a>{39}</span> but they were the only -chances visible to him; the one was the merchant’s office over which Mr -Atheling presided—head clerk, with his two hundred pounds a-year; the -other was, grandiloquently—by the girls, not by Charlie—called the -law; meaning thereby, however, only the solicitor’s office, the lawful -empire and domain of Mr Foggo. Between these two legitimate and likely -regions for making a fortune, the lad wavered with a most doubtful and -inquiring mind. His introduction to each was equally good; for Mr -Atheling was confidential and trusted, and Mr Foggo, as a mysterious -rumour went, was not only most entirely trusted and confidential, but -even in secret a partner in the concern. Wherefore long and painful were -the ruminations of Charlie, and marvellous the balance which he made of -precedent and example. Let nobody suppose, however, that this question -was discussed in idleness. Charlie all this time was actually in the -office of Messrs Cash, Ledger, and Co., his father’s employers. He was -there on a probationary and experimental footing, but he was very far -from making up his mind to remain. It was an extremely difficult -argument, although carried on solely in the deep invisible caverns of -the young aspirant’s mind.</p> - -<p>The same question, however, was also current in the family, and remained -undecided by the household parliament. With much less intense and -personal earnestness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_040" id="page_040"></a>{40}</span> “everybody” went over the for and against, and -contrasted the different chances. Charlie listened, but made no sign. -When he had made up his own mind, the young gentleman proposed to -himself to signify his decision publicly, and win over this committee of -the whole house to his view of the question. In the mean time he -reserved what he had to say; but so far, it is certain that Mr Foggo -appeared more tempting than Mr Atheling. The family father had been -twenty or thirty years at this business of his, and his income was two -hundred pounds—“that would not do for me,” said Charlie; whereas Mr -Foggo’s income, position, and circumstances were alike a mystery, and -might be anything. This had considerable influence in the argument, but -was not conclusive; for successful merchants were indisputably more -numerous than successful lawyers, and Charlie was not aware how high a -lawyer who was only an attorney could reach, and had his doubts upon the -subject. In the mean time, however, pending the settlement of this -momentous question, Charlie worked at two grammars instead of one, and -put all his force to his study. Force was the only word which could -express the characteristic power of this boy, if even <i>that</i> can give a -sufficient idea of it. He had no love for his French or for his Latin, -yet learned his verbs with a manful obstinacy worthy all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_041" id="page_041"></a>{41}</span> honour; and it -is not easy to define what was the special gift of Charlie. It was not a -describable thing, separate from his character, like beauty or like -genius—it <i>was</i> his character, intimate and not to be distinguished -from himself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_042" id="page_042"></a>{42}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER VI</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>PAPA AND MAMMA.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> father of this family, as we have already said, was a clerk in a -merchant’s office, with a salary of two hundred pounds a-year. He was a -man of fifty, with very moderate abilities, but character -unimpeachable—a perfect type of his class—steadily marching on in his -common routine—doing all his duties without pretension—somewhat given -to laying down the law in respect to business—and holding a very grand -opinion of the importance of commerce in general, and of the marvellous -undertakings of London in particular. Yet this good man was not entirely -circumscribed by his “office.” He had that native spring of life and -healthfulness in him which belongs to those who have been born in, and -never have forgotten, the country. The country, most expressive of -titles!—he had always kept in his recollection the fragrance of the -ploughed soil, the rustle of the growing grass; so, though he lived in -Islington, and had his office in the City, he was not a Cockney—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_043" id="page_043"></a>{43}</span>a -happy and most enviable distinction. His wife, too, was country born and -country bred; and two ancestral houses, humble enough, yet standing -always among the trees and fields, belonged to the imagination of their -children. This was a great matter—for the roses on her grandmother’s -cottage-wall bloomed perpetually in the fancy of Agnes; and Marian and -Charlie knew the wood where Papa once went a-nutting, as well as—though -with a more ideal perception than, Papa himself had known it. Even -little Bell and Beau knew of a store of secret primroses blooming for -ever on a fairy bank, where their mother long ago, in the days of her -distant far-off childhood, had seen them blow, and taken them into her -heart. Happy primroses, that never faded! for all the children of this -house had dreamed and gathered them in handfuls, yet there they were for -ever. It was strange how this link of connection with the far-off rural -life refined the fancy of these children; it gave them a region of -romance, into which they could escape at all times. They did not know -its coarser features, and they found refuge in it from the native -vulgarity of their own surroundings. Happy effect to all imaginative -people, of some ideal and unknown land.</p> - -<p>The history of the family was a very common one. Two-and-twenty years -ago, William Atheling and Mary Ellis had ventured to marry, having only -a very small<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_044" id="page_044"></a>{44}</span> income, limited prospects, and all the indescribable hopes -and chances of youth. Then had come the children, joy, toil, and -lamentation—then the way of life had opened up upon them, step by step; -and they had fainted, and found it weary, yet, helpless and patient, had -toiled on. They never had a chance, these good people, of running away -from their fate. If such a desperate thought ever came to them, it must -have been dismissed at once, being hopeless; and they stood at their -post under the heavy but needful compulsion of ordinary duties, living -through many a heartbreak, bearing many a bereavement—voiceless souls, -uttering no outcry except to the ear of God. Now they had lived through -their day of visitation. God had removed the cloud from their heads and -the terror from their heart: their own youth was over, but the youth of -their children, full of hopes and possibilities still brighter than -their own had been, rejoiced these patient hearts; and the warm little -hands of the twin babies, children of their old age, led them along with -delight and hopefulness upon their own unwearying way. Such was the -family story; it was a story of life, very full, almost overflowing with -the greatest and first emotions of humanity, but it was not what people -call eventful. The private record, like the family register, brimmed -over with those first makings and foundations of history, births and -deaths;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_045" id="page_045"></a>{45}</span> but few vicissitudes of fortune, little success and little -calamity, fell upon the head of the good man whose highest prosperity -was this two hundred pounds a-year. And so now they reckoned themselves -in very comfortable circumstances, and were disturbed by nothing but -hopes and doubts about the prospects of the children—hopes full of -brightness present and visible, doubts that were almost as good as hope.</p> - -<p>There was but one circumstance of romance in the simple chronicle. Long -ago—the children did not exactly know when, or how, or in what -manner—Mr Atheling did somebody an extraordinary and mysterious -benefit. Papa was sometimes moved to tell them of it in a general way, -sheltering himself under vague and wide descriptions. The story was of a -young man, handsome, gay, and extravagant, of rank far superior to Mr -Atheling’s—of how he fell into dissipation, and was tempted to -crime—and how at the very crisis “I happened to be in the way, and got -hold of him, and showed him the real state of the case; how I heard what -he was going to do, and of course would betray him; and how, even if he -could do it, it would be certain ruin, disgrace, and misery. That was -the whole matter,” said Mr Atheling—and his affectionate audience -listened with awe and a mysterious interest, very eager to know -something more definite of the whole matter than this concise account of -it, yet knowing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_046" id="page_046"></a>{46}</span> that all interrogation was vain. It was popularly -suspected that Mamma knew the full particulars of this bit of romance, -but Mamma was as impervious to questions as the other head of the house. -There was also a second fytte to this story, telling how Mr Atheling -himself undertook the venture of revealing his hapless hero’s -misfortunes to the said hero’s elder brother, a very grand and exalted -personage; how the great man, shocked, and in terror for the family -honour, immediately delivered the culprit, and sent him abroad. “Then he -offered me money,” said Mr Atheling quietly. This was the climax of the -tale, at which everybody was expected to be indignant; and very -indignant, accordingly, everybody was.</p> - -<p>Yet there was a wonderful excitement in the thought that this hero of -Papa’s adventure was now, as Papa intimated, a man of note in the -world—that they themselves unwittingly read his name in the papers -sometimes, and that other people spoke of him to Mr Atheling as a public -character, little dreaming of the early connection between them. How -strange it was!—but no entreaty and no persecution could prevail upon -Papa to disclose his name. “Suppose we should meet him some time!” -exclaimed Agnes, whose imagination sometimes fired with the thought of -reaching that delightful world of society where people always spoke of -books, and genius was the highest nobility—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_047" id="page_047"></a>{47}</span>a world often met with in -novels. “If you did,” said Mr Atheling, “it will be all the better for -you to know nothing about this,” and so the controversy always ended; -for in this matter at least, firm as the most scrupulous old knight of -romance, Papa stood on his honour.</p> - -<p>As for the good and tender mother of this house, she had no story to -tell. The girls, it is true, knew about <i>her</i> girlish companions very -nearly as well as if these, now most sober and middle-aged personages, -had been playmates of their own; they knew the names of the pigeons in -the old dovecote, the history of the old dog, the number of the apples -on the great apple-tree; also they had a kindly recollection of one old -lover of Mamma’s, concerning whom they were shy to ask further than she -was pleased to reveal. But all Mrs Atheling’s history was since her -marriage: she had been but a young girl with an untouched heart before -that grand event, which introduced her, in her own person, to the -unquiet ways of life; and her recollections chiefly turned upon the -times “when we lived in—— Street,”—“when we took that new house in -the terrace,”—“when we came to Bellevue.” This Bellevue residence was a -great point in the eyes of Mrs Atheling. She herself had always kept her -original weakness for gentility, and to live in a street where there was -no straight line of commonplace<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_048" id="page_048"></a>{48}</span> houses, but only villas, detached and -semi-detached, and where every house had a name to itself, was no small -step in advance—particularly as the house was really cheap, really -large, as such houses go, and had only the slight disadvantage of being -out of repair. Mrs Atheling lamed her most serviceable finger with -attempts at carpentry, and knocked her own knuckles with misdirected -hammering, yet succeeded in various shifts that answered very well, and -produced that grand <i>chef-d’œuvre</i> of paperhanging which made more -amusement than any professional decoration ever made, and was just as -comfortable. So the good mother was extremely well pleased with her -house. She was not above the ambition of calling it either Atheling -Lodge, or Hawthorn Cottage, but it was very hard to make a family -decision upon the prettiest name; so the house of the Athelings, with -its eccentric garden, its active occupants, and its cheery -parlour-window, was still only Number Ten, Bellevue.</p> - -<p>And there in the summer sunshine, and in the wintry dawning, at eight -o’clock, Mr Atheling took his seat at the table, said grace, and -breakfasted; from thence at nine to a moment, well brushed and buttoned, -the good man went upon his daily warfare to the City. There all the day -long the pretty twins played, the mother exercised her careful -housewifery, the sweet face of Marian shone like a sunbeam, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_049" id="page_049"></a>{49}</span> the -fancies of Agnes wove themselves into separate and real life. All the -day long the sun shone in at the parlour window upon a thrifty and -well-worn carpet, which all his efforts could not spoil, and dazzled the -eyes of Bell and Beau, and troubled the heart of Mamma finding out spots -of dust, and suspicions of cobwebs which had escaped her own detection. -And when the day was done, and richer people were thinking of dinner, -once more, punctual to a moment, came the well-known step on the gravel, -and the well-known summons at the door; for at six o’clock Mr Atheling -came home to his cheerful tea-table, as contented and respectable a -householder, as happy a father, as was in England. And after tea came -the newspaper and Mr Foggo; and after Mr Foggo came the readings of -Agnes; and so the family said good-night, and slept and rested, to rise -again on the next morning to just such another day. Nothing interrupted -this happy uniformity; nothing broke in upon the calm and kindly usage -of these familiar hours. Mrs Atheling had a mighty deal of thinking to -do, by reason of her small income; now and then the girls were obliged -to consent to be disappointed of some favourite project of their -own—and sometimes even Papa, in a wilful fit of self-denial, refused -himself for a few nights his favourite newspaper; but these were but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_050" id="page_050"></a>{50}</span> -passing shadows upon the general content. Through all these long winter -evenings, the one lighted window of this family room brightened the -gloomy gentility of Bellevue, and imparted something of heart and -kindness to the dull and mossy suburban street. They “kept no company,” -as the neighbours said. That was not so much the fault of the Athelings, -as the simple fact that there was little company to keep; but they -warmed the old heart of old Mr Foggo, and kept that singular personage -on speaking terms with humanity; and day by day, and night by night, -lived their frank life before their little world, a family life of love, -activity, and cheerfulness, as bright to look at as their happy open -parlour-window among the closed-up retirements of this genteel little -street.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_051" id="page_051"></a>{51}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER VII</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>THE FIRST WORK.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">Now</span>,” said Agnes, throwing down her pen with a cry of triumph—“now, -look here, everybody—it is done at last.”</p> - -<p>And, indeed, there it was upon the fair and legible page, in Agnes’s -best and clearest handwriting, “The End.” She had written it with -girlish delight, and importance worthy the occasion; and with admiring -eyes Mamma and Marian looked upon the momentous words—The End! So now -it was no longer in progress, to be smiled and wondered over, but an -actual thing, accomplished and complete, out of anybody’s power to check -or to alter. The three came together to look at it with a little awe. It -was actually finished—out of hand—an entire and single production. The -last chapter was to be read in the family committee to-night—and then? -They held their breath in sudden excitement. What was to be done with -the Book,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_052" id="page_052"></a>{52}</span> which could be smiled at no longer? That momentous question -would have to be settled to-night.</p> - -<p>So they piled it up solemnly, sheet by sheet, upon the side-table. Such -a manuscript! Happy the printer into whose fortunate hands fell this -unparalleled <i>copy</i>! And we are grieved to confess that, for the whole -afternoon thereafter, Agnes Atheling was about as idle as it is possible -even for a happy girl to be. No one but a girl could have attained to -such a delightful eminence of doing nothing! She was somewhat unsettled, -we admit, and quite uncontrollable,—dancing about everywhere, making -her presence known by involuntary outbursts of singing and sweet -laughter; but sterner lips than Mamma’s would have hesitated to rebuke -that fresh and spontaneous delight. It was not so much that she was glad -to be done, or was relieved by the conclusion of her self-appointed -labour. She did not, indeed, quite know what made her so happy. Like all -primal gladness, it was involuntary and unexplainable; and the event of -the day, vaguely exciting and exhilarating on its own account, was novel -enough to supply that fresh breeze of excitement and change which is so -pleasant always to the free heart of youth.</p> - -<p>Then came all the usual routine of the evening—everything in its -appointed time—from Susan, who brought the tea-tray, to Mr Foggo. And -Mr Foggo stayed long, and was somewhat prosy. Agnes and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_053" id="page_053"></a>{53}</span> Marian, for -this one night, were sadly tired of the old gentleman, and bade him a -very hasty and abrupt good-night when at last he took his departure. -Even then, with a perverse inclination, Papa clung to his newspaper. The -chances were much in favour of Agnes’s dignified and stately withdrawal -from an audience which showed so little eagerness for what she had to -bestow upon them; but Marian, who was as much excited as Agnes, -interposed. “Papa, Agnes is done—finished—done with her story—do you -hear me, papa?” cried Marian in his ear, shaking him by the shoulder to -give emphasis to her words—“she is going to read the last chapter, if -you would lay down that stupid paper—do you hear, papa?”</p> - -<p>Papa heard, but kept his finger at his place, and read steadily in spite -of this interposition. “Be quiet, child,” said the good Mr Atheling; but -the child was not in the humour to be quiet. So after a few minutes, -fairly persecuted out of his paper, Papa gave in, and threw it down; and -the household circle closed round the fireside, and Agnes lifted her -last chapter; but what that last chapter was, we are unable to tell, -without infringing upon the privacy of Number Ten, Bellevue.</p> - -<p>It was satisfactory—that was the great matter: everybody was satisfied -with the annihilation of the impossible villain and the triumph of all -the good<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_054" id="page_054"></a>{54}</span> people—and everybody concurred in thinking that the -winding-up was as nearly perfect as it was in the nature of mortal -winding-up to be. The MS. accordingly was laid aside, crowned with -applauses and laurels;—then there was a pause of solemn -consideration—the wise heads of the house held their peace and -pondered. Marian, who was not wise, but only excited and impatient, -broke the silence with her own eager, sincere, and unsolicited opinion; -and this was the advice of Marian to the family committee of the whole -house: “Mamma, I will tell you what ought to be done. It ought to be -taken to somebody to-morrow, and published every month, like Dickens and -Thackeray. It is quite as good! Everybody would read it, and Agnes would -be a great author. I am quite sure that is the way.”</p> - -<p>At which speech Charlie whistled a very long “whew!” in a very low -under-tone; for Mamma had very particular notions on the subject of -“good-breeding,” and kept careful watch over the “manners” even of this -big boy.</p> - -<p>“Like Dickens and Thackeray! Marian!” cried Agnes in horror; and then -everybody laughed—partly because it was the grandest and most -magnificent nonsense to place the young author upon this astonishing -level, partly because it was so very funny<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_055" id="page_055"></a>{55}</span> to think of “our Agnes” -sharing in ever so small a degree the fame of names like these.</p> - -<p>“Not quite that,” said Papa, slowly and doubtfully, “yet I think -somebody might publish it. The question is, whom we should take it to. I -think I ought to consult Foggo.”</p> - -<p>“Mr Foggo is not a literary man, papa,” said Agnes, somewhat -resentfully. She did not quite choose to receive this old gentleman, who -thought her a child, into her confidence.</p> - -<p>“Foggo knows a little of everything,—he has a wonderful head for -business,” said Mr Atheling. “As for a literary man, we do not know such -a person, Agnes; and I can’t see what better we should be if we did. -Depend upon it, business is everything. If they think they can make -money by this story of yours, they will take it, but not otherwise; for, -of course, people trade in books as they trade in cotton, and are not a -bit more generous in one than another, take my word for that.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, my dear,” said Mamma, roused to assert her dignity, “but we -do not wish any one to be generous to Agnes—of course not!—that would -be out of the question; and nobody, you know, could look at that book -without feeling sure of everybody else liking it. Why, William, it is so -natural! You may<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_056" id="page_056"></a>{56}</span> speak of Thackeray and Dickens as you like; I know -they are very clever—but I am sure I never read anything of theirs like -that scene—that last scene with Helen and her mother. I feel as if I -had been present there my own self.”</p> - -<p>Which was not so very wonderful after all, seeing that the mother in -Agnes’s book was but a delicate, shy, half-conscious sketch of this -dearest mother of her own.</p> - -<p>“I think it ought to be taken to somebody to-morrow,” repeated Marian -stoutly, “and published every month with pictures. How strange it would -be to read in the newspapers how everybody wondered about the new book, -and who wrote it!—such fun!—for nobody but <i>us</i> would know.”</p> - -<p>Agnes all this time remained very silent, receiving everybody’s -opinion—and Charlie also locked up his wisdom in his own breast. There -was a pause, for Papa, feeling that his supreme opinion was urgently -called for, took time to ponder upon it, and was rather afraid of giving -a deliverance. The silence, however, was broken by the abrupt -intervention, when nobody expected it, of the big boy.</p> - -<p>“Make it up into a parcel,” said Master Charlie with business-like -distinctness, “and look in the papers what name you’ll send it to, and -I’ll take it to-morrow.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_057" id="page_057"></a>{57}</span></p> - -<p>This was so sudden, startling, and decisive, that the audience were -electrified. Mr Atheling looked blankly in his son’s face; the young -gentleman had completely cut the ground from under the feet of his papa. -After all, let any one advise or reason, or argue the point at his -pleasure, this was the only practical conclusion to come at. Charlie -stopped the full-tide of the family argument; they might have gone on -till midnight discussing and wondering; but the big boy made it up into -a parcel, and finished it on the spot. After that they all commenced a -most ignorant and innocent discussion concerning “the trade;” these good -people knew nothing whatever of that much contemned and long-suffering -race who publish books. Two ideal types of them were present to the -minds of the present speculators. One was that most fatal and fictitious -savage, the Giant Despair of an oppressed literature, who sits in his -den for ever grinding the bones of those dismal unforgettable hacks of -Grub Street, whose memory clings unchangeably to their profession; the -other was that bland and genial imagination, equally fictitious, the -author’s friend—he who brings the neglected genius into the full -sunshine of fame and prosperity, seeking only the immortality of such a -connection with the immortal. If one could only know which of these -names in the newspapers belonged to this last wonder of nature! This -discussion concerning<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_058" id="page_058"></a>{58}</span> people of whom absolutely nothing but the names -were known to the disputants, was a very comical argument; and it was -not concluded when eleven o’clock struck loudly on the kitchen clock, -and Susan, very slumbrous, and somewhat resentful, appeared at the door -to see if anything was wanted. Everybody rose immediately, as Susan -intended they should, with guilt and confusion: eleven o’clock! the -innocent family were ashamed of themselves.</p> - -<p>And this little room up-stairs, as you do not need to be told, is the -bower of Agnes and of Marian. There are two small white beds in it, -white and fair and simple, draped with the purest dimity, and covered -with the whitest coverlids. If Agnes, by chance or in haste—and Agnes -is very often “in a great hurry”—should leave her share of the -apartment in a less orderly condition than became a young lady’s room, -Marian never yielded to such a temptation. Marian was the completest -woman in all her simple likings; their little mirror, their -dressing-table, everything which would bear such fresh and inexpensive -decoration, was draped with pretty muslin, the work of these pretty -fingers. And there hung their little shelf of books over Agnes’s head, -and here upon the table was their Bible. Yet in spite of the quiet night -settling towards midnight—in spite of the unbroken stillness of -Bellevue, where every candle was extinguished, and all the world<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_059" id="page_059"></a>{59}</span> at -rest, the girls could not subdue all at once their eager anticipations, -hopes, and wondering. Marian let down all her beautiful hair over her -shoulders, and pretended to brush it, looking all the time out of the -shining veil, and throwing the half-curled locks from her face, when -something occurred to her bearing upon the subject. Agnes, with both her -hands supporting her forehead, leaned over the table with downcast -eyes—seeing nothing, thinking nothing, with a faint glow on her soft -cheek, and a vague excitement at her heart. Happy hearts! it was so easy -to stir them to this sweet tumult of hope and fancy; and so small a -reason was sufficient to wake these pure imaginations to all-indefinite -glory and delight.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_060" id="page_060"></a>{60}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER VIII</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>CHARLIE’S ENTERPRISE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> was made into a parcel, duly packed and tied up; not in a delicate -wrapper, or with pretty ribbons, as perhaps the affectionate regard of -Agnes might have suggested, but in the commonest and most matter-of-fact -parcel imaginable. But by that time it began to be debated whether -Charlie, after all, was a sufficiently dignified messenger. He was only -a boy—that was not to be disputed; and Mrs Atheling did not think him -at all remarkable for his “manners,” and Papa doubted whether he was -able to manage a matter of business. But, then, who could go?—not the -girls certainly, and not their mother, who was somewhat timid out of her -own house. Mr Atheling could not leave his office; and really, after all -their objections, there was nobody but Charlie, unless it was Mr Foggo, -whom Agnes would by no means consent to employ. So they brushed their -big boy, as carefully as Moses Primrose was brushed before he went to -the fair, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_061" id="page_061"></a>{61}</span> gave him strict injunctions to look as grave, as -sensible, and as <i>old</i> as possible. All these commands Charlie received -with perfect coolness, hoisting his parcel under his arm, and remaining -entirely unmoved by the excitement around him. “<i>I</i> know well -enough—don’t be afraid,” said Charlie; and he strode off like a young -ogre, carrying Agnes’s fortune under his arm. They all went to the -window to look after him with some alarm and some hope; but though they -were troubled for his youth, his abruptness, and his want of “manners,” -there was exhilaration in the steady ring of Charlie’s manful foot, and -his own entire and undoubting confidence. On he went, a boyish giant, to -throw down that slender gage and challenge of the young genius to all -the world. Meanwhile they returned to their private occupations, this -little group of women, excited, doubtful, much expecting, marvelling -over and over again what Mr Burlington would say. Such an eminence of -lofty criticism and censorship these good people recognised in the -position of Mr Burlington! He seemed to hold in his hands the universal -key which opened everything: fame, honour, and reward, at that moment, -appeared to these simple minds to be mere vassals of his pleasure; and -all the balance of the future, as Agnes fancied, lay in the doubtful -chance whether he was propitious or unpropitious. Simple imaginations! -Mr Burlington, at that moment taking<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_062" id="page_062"></a>{62}</span> off his top-coat, and placing his -easy-chair where no draught could reach it, was about as innocent of -literature as Charlie Atheling himself.</p> - -<p>But Charlie, who had to go to “the office” after he fulfilled his -mission, could not come home till the evening; so they had to be patient -in spite of themselves. The ordinary occupations of the day in Bellevue -were not very novel, nor very interesting. Mrs Atheling had ambition, -and aimed at gentility; so, of course, they had a piano. The girls had -learned a very little music; and Marian and Agnes, when they were out of -humour, or disinclined for serious occupation, or melancholy (for they -were melancholy sometimes in the “prodigal excess” of their youth and -happiness), were wont to bethink themselves of the much-neglected -“practising,” and spend a stray hour upon it with most inconsistent and -variable zeal. This day there was a great deal of “practising”—indeed, -these wayward girls divided their whole time between the piano and the -garden, which was another recognised safety-valve. Mamma had not the -heart to chide them; instead of that, her face brightened to hear the -musical young voices, the low sweet laughter, the echo of their flying -feet through the house and on the garden paths. As she sat at her work -in her snug sitting-room, with Bell and Beau playing at her feet, and -Agnes and Marian playing too, as truly, and with as pure and -spontaneous<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_063" id="page_063"></a>{63}</span> delight, Mrs Atheling was very happy. She did not say a -word that any one could hear—but God knew the atmosphere of unspoken -and unspeakable gratitude, which was the very breath of this good -woman’s heart.</p> - -<p>When their messenger came home, though he came earlier than Papa, and -there was full opportunity to interrogate him—Charlie, we are grieved -to say, was not very satisfactory in his communications. “Yes,” said -Charlie, “I saw him: I don’t know if it was the head-man: of course, I -asked for Mr Burlington—and he took the parcel—that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all?—you little savage!” cried Marian, who was not half as big -as Charlie. “Did he say he would be glad to have it? Did he ask who had -written it? What did he say?”</p> - -<p>“Are you sure it was Mr Burlington?” said Agnes. “Did he look pleased? -What do you think he thought? What did you say to him? Charlie, boy, -tell us what you said?”</p> - -<p>“I won’t tell you a word, if you press upon me like that,” said the big -boy. “Sit down and be quiet. Mother, make them sit down. I don’t know if -it was Mr Burlington; I don’t think it was: it was a washy man, that -never could have been head of that place. He took the papers, and made a -face at me, and said, ‘Are they your own?’ I said ‘No’ plain enough; and -then he looked at the first page, and said they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_064" id="page_064"></a>{64}</span> must be left. So I left -them. Well, what was a man to do? Of course, that is all.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean by making a face at you, boy?” said the watchful -mother. “I do trust, Charlie, my dear, you were careful how to behave, -and did not make any of your faces at him.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it was only a smile,” said Charlie, with again a grotesque -imitation. “<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Are they your own?’—meaning I was just a boy to be laughed -at, you know—I should think so! As if I could not make an end of -half-a-dozen like him.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t brag, Charlie,” said Marian, “and don’t be angry about the -gentleman, you silly boy; he always must have something on his mind -different from a lad like you.”</p> - -<p>Charlie laughed with grim satisfaction. “He hasn’t a great deal on his -mind, that chap,” said the big boy; “but I wouldn’t be him, set up there -for no end but reading rubbish—not for—five hundred a-year.”</p> - -<p>Now, we beg to explain that five hundred a-year was a perfectly -magnificent income to the imagination of Bellevue. Charlie could not -think at the moment of any greater inducement.</p> - -<p>“Reading rubbish! And he has Agnes’s book to read!” cried Marian. That -was indeed an overpowering anti-climax.</p> - -<p>“Yes, but how did he look? Do you think he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_065" id="page_065"></a>{65}</span> pleased? And will it be -sure to come to Mr Burlington safe?” said Agnes. Agnes could not help -having a secret impression that there might be some plot against this -book of hers, and that everybody knew how important it was.</p> - -<p>“Why, he looked—as other people look who have nothing to say,” said -Charlie; “and I had nothing to say—so we got on together. And he said -it looked original—much he could tell from the first page! And so, of -course, I came away—they’re to write when they’ve read it over. I tell -you, that’s all. I don’t believe it was Mr Burlington; but it was the -man that does that sort of thing, and so it was all the same.”</p> - -<p>This was the substance of Charlie’s report. He could not be prevailed -upon to describe how this important critic looked, or if he was pleased, -or anything about him. He was a washy man, Charlie said; but the -obstinate boy would not even explain what washy meant, so they had to -leave the question in the hands of time to bring elucidation to it. They -were by no means patient; many and oft-repeated were the attacks upon -Charlie—many the wonderings over the omnipotent personage who had the -power of this decision in his keeping; but in the mean time, and for -sundry days and weeks following, these hasty girls had to wait, and to -be content.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_066" id="page_066"></a>{66}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER IX</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>A DECISION.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">I’ve</span> been thinking,” said Charlie Atheling slowly. Having made this -preface, the big boy paused: it was his manner of opening an important -subject, to which the greater part of his cogitations were directed. His -sisters came close to him immediately, half-embracing this great fellow -in their united arms, and waiting for his communication. It was the -twilight of an April evening, soft and calm. There were no stars in the -sky—no sky even, except an occasional break of clear deep heavenly blue -through the shadowy misty shapes of clouds, crowding upon each other -over the whole arch of heaven. The long boughs of the lilac-bushes -rustled in the night wind with all their young soft leaves—the prim -outline of the poplar was ruffled with brown buds, and low on the dark -soil at its feet was a faint golden lustre of primroses. Everything was -as still—not as death, for its deadly calm never<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_067" id="page_067"></a>{67}</span> exists in nature; but -as life, breathing, hushing, sleeping in that sweet season, when the -grass is growing and the bud unfolding, all the night and all the day. -Even here, in this suburban garden, with the great Babel muffling its -voices faintly in the far distance, you could hear, if you listened, -that secret rustle of growth and renewing which belongs to the sweet -spring. Even here, in this colourless soft light, you could see the -earth opening her unwearied bosom, with a passive grateful sweetness, to -the inspiring touch of heaven. The brown soil was moist with April -showers, and the young leaves glistened faintly with blobs of dew. Very -different from the noonday hope was this hope of twilight; but not less -hopeful in its silent operations, its sweet sighs, its soft tears, and -the heart that stirred within it, in the dark, like a startled bird.</p> - -<p>These three young figures, closely grouped together, which you could see -only in outline against the faint horizon and the misty sky, were as -good a human rendering as could be made of the unexpressed sentiment of -the season and the night—they too were growing, with a sweet -involuntary progression, up to their life, and to their fate. They stood -upon the threshold of the world innocent adventurers, fearing no evil; -and it was hard to believe that these hopeful<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_068" id="page_068"></a>{68}</span> neophytes could ever be -made into toil-worn, care-hardened people of the world by any sum of -hardships or of years.</p> - -<p>“I’ve been thinking;”—all this time Charlie Atheling had added nothing -to his first remarkable statement, and we are compelled to admit that -the conclusion which he now gave forth did not seem to justify the -solemnity of the delivery—“yes, I’ve made up my mind; I’ll go to old -Foggo and the law.”</p> - -<p>“And why, Charlie, why?”</p> - -<p>Charlie was not much given to rendering a reason.</p> - -<p>“Never mind the why,” he said, abruptly; “that’s best. There’s old Foggo -himself, now; nobody can reckon his income, or make a balance just what -he is and what he has, and all about him, as people could do with us. We -are plain nobodies, and people know it at a glance. My father has five -children and two hundred a-year—whereas old Foggo, you see—”</p> - -<p>“<i>I</i> don’t see—I do not believe it!” cried Marian, impatiently. “Do you -mean to say, you bad boy, that Mr Foggo is better than papa—<i>my</i> -father? Why, he has mamma, and Bell and Beau, and all of us: if anything -ailed him, we should break our hearts. Mr Foggo has only Miss Willsie: -he is an old man, and snuffs, and does not care for anybody: do you call -<i>that</i> better than papa?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_069" id="page_069"></a>{69}</span></p> - -<p>But Charlie only laughed. Certain it was that this lad had not the -remotest intention of setting up Mr Foggo as his model of happiness. -Indeed, nobody quite knew what Charlie’s ideal was; but the boy, spite -of his practical nature, had a true boyish liking for that margin of -uncertainty which made it possible to surmise some unknown power or -greatness even in the person of this ancient lawyer’s clerk. Few lads, -we believe, among the range of those who have to make their own fortune, -are satisfied at their outset to decide upon being “no better than -papa.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Agnes, with consideration, “I should not like Charlie to be -just like papa. Papa can do nothing but keep us all—so many -children—and he never can be anything more than he is now. But -Charlie—Charlie is quite a different person. I wish he could be -something great.”</p> - -<p>“Agnes—don’t! it is such nonsense!” cried Marian. “Is there anything -great in old Mr Foggo’s office? He is a poor old man, <i>I</i> think, living -all by himself with Miss Willsie. I had rather be Susan in our house, -than be mistress in Mr Foggo’s: and how could <i>he</i> make Charlie anything -great?”</p> - -<p>“Stuff!” said Charlie; “nobody wants to be <i>made</i>; that’s a man’s own -business. Now, you just be quiet with your romancing, you girls. I’ll -tell you what,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_070" id="page_070"></a>{70}</span> though, there’s one man I think I’d like to be—and I -suppose you call him great—I’d like to be Rajah Brooke.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Charlie! and hang people!” cried Marian.</p> - -<p>“Not people—only pirates,” said the big boy: “wouldn’t I string them up -too! Yes, if that would please you, Agnes, I’d like to be Rajah Brooke.”</p> - -<p>“Then why, Charlie,” exclaimed Agnes—“why do you go to Mr Foggo’s -office? A merchant may have a chance for such a thing—but a lawyer! -Charlie, boy, what do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Never mind,” said Charlie; “your Brookes and your Layards and such -people don’t begin by being merchants’ clerks. I know better: they have -birth and education, and all that, and get the start of everybody, and -then they make a row about it. I don’t see, for my part,” said the young -gentleman meditatively, “what it is but chance. A man may succeed, or a -man may fail, and it’s neither much to his credit nor his blame. It is a -very odd thing, and I can’t understand it—a man may work all his life, -and never be the better for it. It’s chance, and nothing more, so far as -I can see.”</p> - -<p>“Hush, Charlie—say Providence,” said Agnes, anxiously.</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t know—it’s very odd,” answered the big boy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_071" id="page_071"></a>{71}</span></p> - -<p>Whereupon there began two brief but earnest lectures for the good of -Charlie’s mind, and the improvement of his sentiments. The girls were -much disturbed by their brother’s heterodoxy; they assaulted him -vehemently with the enthusiastic eagerness of the young faith which had -never been tried, and would not comprehend any questioning. Chance! when -the very sparrows could not fall to the ground—The bright face of Agnes -Atheling flushed almost into positive beauty; she asked indignantly, -with a trembling voice and tears in her eyes, how Mamma could have -endured to live if it had not been God who did it? Charlie, rough as he -was, could not withstand an appeal like this: he muttered something -hastily under his breath about success in business being a very -different thing from <i>that</i>, and was indisputably overawed and -vanquished. This allusion made them all very silent for a time, and the -young bright eyes involuntarily glanced upward where the pure faint -stars were gleaming out one by one among the vapoury hosts of cloud. -Strangely touching was the solemnity of this link, not to be broken, -which connected the family far down upon the homely bosom of the -toilsome earth with yonder blessed children in the skies. Marian, saying -nothing, wiped some tears silently from the beautiful eyes which turned -such a wistful, wondering, longing look to the uncommunicating<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_072" id="page_072"></a>{72}</span> heaven. -Charlie, though you could scarcely see him in the darkness, worked those -heavy furrows of his brow, and frowned fiercely upon himself. The long -branches came sweeping towards them, swayed by the night wind; up in the -east rose the pale spring moon, pensive, with a misty halo like a saint. -The aspect of the night was changed; instead of the soft brown gloaming, -there was broad silvery light and heavy masses of shadow over sky and -soil—an instant change all brought about by the rising of the moon. As -swift an alteration had passed upon the mood of these young speculators. -They went in silently, full of thought—not so sad but that they could -brighten to the fireside brightness, yet more meditative than was their -wont; even Charlie—for there was a warm heart within the clumsy form of -this big boy!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_073" id="page_073"></a>{73}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER X</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>MR FOGGO.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">They</span> went in very sedately out of the darkness, their eyes dazzled with -the sudden light. Bell and Beau were safely disposed of for the night, -and on the side-table, beside Charlie’s two grammars and Agnes’s -blotting-book, now nearly empty, lay the newspaper of Papa; for the -usual visitor was installed in the usual place at the fireside, opposite -Mr Atheling. Good companion, it is time you should see the friend of the -family: there he was.</p> - -<p>And there also, it must be confessed, was a certain faint yet expressive -fragrance, which delicately intimated to one sense at least, before he -made his appearance, the coming of Mr Foggo. We will not affirm that it -was lundyfoot—our own private impression, indeed, is strongly in favour -of black rappee—but the thing was indisputable, whatever might be the -species. He was a large brown man, full of folds and wrinkles; folds in -his brown waistcoat, where secret<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_074" id="page_074"></a>{74}</span> little sprinklings of snuff, scarcely -perceptible, lay undisturbed and secure; wrinkles, long and forcible, -about his mouth; folds under his eyelids, deep lines upon his brow. -There was not a morsel of smooth surface visible anywhere even in his -hands, which were traced all over with perceptible veins and sinews, -like a geographical exercise. Mr Foggo wore a wig, which could not by -any means be complimented with the same title as Mr Pendennis’s “<span class="lftspc">’</span>ead of -’air.” He was between fifty and sixty, a genuine old bachelor, perfectly -satisfied with his own dry and unlovely existence. Yet we may suppose it -was something in Mr Foggo’s favour, the frequency of his visits here. He -sat by the fireside with the home-air of one who knows that this chair -is called his, and that he belongs to the household circle, and turned -to look at the young people, as they entered, with a familiar yet -critical eye. He was friendly enough, now and then, to deliver little -rebukes and remonstrances, and was never complimentary, even to Marian; -which may be explained, perhaps, when we say that he was a Scotsman—a -north-country Scotsman—with “peculiarities” in his pronunciation, and -very distinct opinions of his own. How he came to win his way into the -very heart of this family, we are not able to explain; but there he was, -and there Mr Foggo had been, summer and winter, for nearly half-a-score -of years.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_075" id="page_075"></a>{75}</span></p> - -<p>He was now an institution, recognised and respected. No one dreamt of -investigating his claims—possession was the whole law in his case, his -charter and legal standing-ground; and the young commonwealth recognised -as undoubtingly the place of Mr Foggo as they did the natural throne and -pre-eminence of Papa and Mamma.</p> - -<p>“For my part,” said Mr Foggo, who, it seemed, was in the midst of what -Mrs Atheling called a “sensible conversation,”—and Mr Foggo spoke -slowly, and with a certain methodical dignity,—“for my part, I see -little in the art of politics, but just withholding as long as ye can, -and giving as little as ye may; for a statesman, ye perceive, be he -Radical or Tory, must ever consent to be a stout Conservative when he -gets the upper hand. It’s in the nature of things—it’s like father and -son—it’s the primitive principle of government, if ye take my opinion. -So I am never sanguine myself about a new ministry keeping its word. How -should it keep its word? Making measures and opposing them are two as -different things as can be. There’s father and son, a standing example: -the young man is the people and the old man is the government,—the lad -spurs on and presses, the greybeard holds in and restrains.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Foggo! all very well to talk,” said Mr Atheling; “but men should -keep their word, government<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_076" id="page_076"></a>{76}</span> or no government—that’s what I say. Do you -mean to tell me that a father would cheat his son with promises? No! no! -no! Your excuses won’t do for me.”</p> - -<p>“And as for speaking of the father and son, as if it was natural they -should be opposed to each other, I am surprised at <i>you</i>, Mr Foggo,” -said Mrs Atheling, with emphatic disapproval. “There’s my Charlie, now, -a wilful boy; but do you think <i>he</i> would set his face against anything -his papa or I might say?”</p> - -<p>“Charlie,” said Mr Foggo, with a twinkle of the grey-brown eye which -shone clear and keen under folds of eyelid and thickets of eyebrow, “is -an uncommon boy. I’m speaking of the general principle, not of -exceptional cases. No! men and measures are well enough to make a noise -or an election about; but to go against the first grand rule is not in -the nature of man.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes!” said Mr Atheling, impatiently; “but I tell you he’s broken -his word—that’s what I say—told a lie, neither more nor less. Do you -mean to tell me that any general principle will excuse a man for -breaking his promises? I challenge your philosophy for that.”</p> - -<p>“When ye accept promises that it’s not in the nature of things a man can -keep, ye must even be content with the alternative,” said Mr Foggo.</p> - -<p>“Oh! away with your nature of things!” cried<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_077" id="page_077"></a>{77}</span> Papa, who was unusually -excited and vehement,—“scarcely civil,” as Mrs Atheling assured him in -her private reproof. “It’s the nature of the man, that’s what’s wrong. -False in youth, false in age,—if I had known!”</p> - -<p>“Crooked ways are ill to get clear of,” said Mr Foggo oracularly. -“What’s that you’re about, Charlie, my boy? Take you my advice, lad, and -never be a public man.”</p> - -<p>“A public man! I wish public men had just as much sense,” said Mrs -Atheling in an indignant under-tone. This good couple, like a great many -other excellent people, were pleased to note how all the national -businesses were mismanaged, and what miserable ’prentice-hands of pilots -held the helm of State.</p> - -<p>“I grant you it would not be overmuch for them,” said Mr Foggo; “and -speaking of government, Mrs Atheling, Willsie is in trouble again.”</p> - -<p>“I am very sorry,” exclaimed Mrs Atheling, with instant interest. “Dear -me, I thought this was such a likely person. You remember what I said to -you, Agnes, whenever I saw her. She looked so neat and handy, I thought -her quite the thing for Miss Willsie. What has she done?”</p> - -<p>“Something like the Secretary of State for the Home Department,” said Mr -Foggo,—“made promises which could not be kept while she was on trial, -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_078" id="page_078"></a>{78}</span> broke them when she took office. Shall I send the silly thing -away?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr Foggo! Miss Willsie was so pleased with her last week—she could -do so many things—she has so much good in her,” cried Marian; “and then -you can’t tell—you have not tried her long enough—don’t send her -away!”</p> - -<p>“She is so pretty, Mr Foggo,” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>Mr Foggo chuckled, thinking, not of Miss Willsie’s maid-servant, but of -the Secretary of State. Papa looked at him across the fireplace -wrathfully. What the reason was, nobody could tell; but Papa was visibly -angry, and in a most unamiable state of mind: he said “Tush!” with an -impatient gesture, in answer to the chuckle of his opponent. Mr Atheling -was really not at all polite to his friend and guest.</p> - -<p>But we presume Mr Foggo was not sensitive—he only chuckled the more, -and took a pinch of snuff. The snuff-box was a ponderous silver one, -with an inscription on the lid, and always revealed itself most -distinctly, in shape at least, within the brown waistcoat-pocket of its -owner. As he enjoyed this refreshment, the odour diffused itself more -distinctly through the apartment, and a powdery thin shower fell from Mr -Foggo’s huge brown fingers. Susan’s cat, if she comes early to the -parlour, will undoubtedly be seized with many sneezes to-morrow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_079" id="page_079"></a>{79}</span></p> - -<p>But Marian, who was innocently unconscious of any double meaning, -continued to plead earnestly for Miss Willsie’s maid. “Yes, Mr Foggo, -she is so pretty,” said Marian, “and so neat, and smiles. I am sure Miss -Willsie herself would be grieved after, if she sent her away. Let mamma -speak to Miss Willsie, Mr Foggo. She smiles as if she could not help it. -I am sure she is good. Do not let Miss Willsie send her away.”</p> - -<p>“Willsie is like the public—she is never content with her servants,” -said Mr Foggo. “Where’s all the poetry to-night? no ink upon Agnes’s -finger! I don’t understand that.”</p> - -<p>“I never write poetry, Mr Foggo,” said Agnes, with superb disdain. Agnes -was extremely annoyed by Mr Foggo’s half-knowledge of her authorship. -The old gentleman took her for one of the young ladies who write verses, -she thought; and for this most amiable and numerous sisterhood, the -young genius, in her present mood, had a considerable disdain.</p> - -<p>“And ink on her finger! You never saw ink on Agnes’s finger—you know -you never did!” cried the indignant Marian. “If she did write poetry, it -is no harm; and I know very well you only mean to tease her: but it is -wrong to say what never was true.”</p> - -<p>Mr Foggo rose, diffusing on every side another puff of his peculiar -element. “When I have quarrelled<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_080" id="page_080"></a>{80}</span> with everybody, I reckon it is about -time to go home,” said Mr Foggo. “Charlie, step across with me, and get -some nonsense-verses Willsie has been reading, for the girls. Keep in -the same mind, Agnes, and never write poetry—it’s a mystery; no man -should meddle with it till he’s forty—that’s <i>my</i> opinion—and then -there would be as few poets as there are Secretaries of State.”</p> - -<p>“Secretaries of State!” exclaimed Papa, restraining his vehemence, -however, till Mr Foggo was fairly gone, and out of hearing—and then Mr -Atheling made a pause. You could not suppose that his next observation -had any reference to this indignant exclamation; it was so oddly out of -connection that even the girls smiled to each other. “I tell you what, -Mary, a man should not be led by fantastic notions—a man should never -do anything that does not come directly in his way,” said Mr Atheling, -and he pushed his grizzled hair back from his brow with heat and -excitement. It was an ordinary saying enough, not much to be marvelled -at. What did Papa mean?</p> - -<p>“Then, papa, nothing generous would ever be done in the world,” said -Marian, who, somewhat excited by Mr Foggo, was quite ready for an -argument on any subject, or with any person.</p> - -<p>“But things that have to be done always come in people’s way,” said -Agnes; “is not that true? I am<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_081" id="page_081"></a>{81}</span> sure, when you read people’s lives, the -thing they have to do seems to pursue them; and even if they do not want -it, they cannot help themselves. Papa, is not that true?”</p> - -<p>“Ay, ay—hush, children,” said Mr Atheling, vaguely; “I am busy—speak -to your mother.”</p> - -<p>They spoke to their mother, but not of this subject. They spoke of Miss -Willsie’s new maid, and conspired together to hinder her going away; and -then they marvelled somewhat over the book which Charlie was to bring -home. Mr Foggo and his maiden sister lived in Bellevue, in one of the -villas semi-detached, which Miss Willsie had named Killiecrankie Lodge, -yet Charlie was some time absent. “He is talking to Mr Foggo, instead of -bringing our book,” said Marian, pouting with her pretty lips. Papa and -Mamma had each of them settled into a brown study—a very brown study, -to judge from appearances. The fire was low—the lights looked dim. -Neither of the girls were doing anything, save waiting on Charlie. They -were half disposed to be peevish. “It is not too late; come and practise -for half an hour, Agnes,” said Marian, suddenly. Mrs Atheling was too -much occupied to suggest, as she usually did, that the music would wake -Bell and Beau: they stole away from the family apartment unchidden and -undetained, and, lighting another<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_082" id="page_082"></a>{82}</span> candle, entered the genteel and -solemn darkness of the best room. You have not been in the best room; -let us enter with due dignity this reserved and sacred apartment, which -very few people ever enter, and listen to the music which nobody ever -hears.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_083" id="page_083"></a>{83}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XI</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>THE BEST ROOM.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> music, we are grieved to say, was not at all worth listening to—it -would not have disturbed Bell and Beau had the two little beds been on -the top of the piano. Though Marian with a careless hand ran over three -or four notes, the momentary sound did not disturb the brown study of -Mrs Atheling, and scarcely roused Susan, nodding and dozing, as she -mended stockings by the kitchen fire. We are afraid this same practising -was often an excuse for half an hour’s idleness and dreaming. Sweet -idleness! happy visions! for it certainly was so to-night.</p> - -<p>The best room was of the same size exactly as the family sitting-room, -but looked larger by means of looking prim, chill, and uninhabited—and -it was by no means crowded with furniture. The piano in one corner and a -large old-fashioned table in another, with a big leaf of black and -bright mahogany folded down, were the only considerable articles in the -room, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_084" id="page_084"></a>{84}</span> wall looked very blank with its array of chairs. The sofa -inclined towards the unlighted fire, and the round table stood before -it; but you could not delude yourself into the idea that this at any -time could be the family hearth. Mrs Atheling “kept no company;” so, -like other good people in the same condition, she religiously preserved -and kept in order the company-room; and it was a comfort to her heart to -recollect that in this roomy house there was always an orderly place -where strangers could be shown into, although the said strangers never -came.</p> - -<p>The one candle had been placed drearily among the little coloured glass -vases on the mantel-shelf; but the moonlight shone broad and full into -the window, and, pouring its rays over the whole visible scene without, -made something grand and solemn even of this genteel and silent -Bellevue. The tranquil whiteness on these humble roofs—the distinctness -with which one branch here and there, detached and taken possession of -by the light, marked out its half-developed buds against the sky—the -strange magic which made that faint ascending streak of smoke the -ethereal plaything of these moonbeams—and the intense blackness of the -shadow, deep as though it fell from one of the pyramids, of these homely -garden-walls—made a wonderful and striking picture of a scene which had -not one remarkable<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_085" id="page_085"></a>{85}</span> feature of its own; and the solitary figure crossing -the road, all enshrined and hallowed in this silvery glory, but itself -so dark and undistinguishable, was like a figure in a vision—an -emblematic and symbolical appearance, entering like a picture to the -spectator’s memory. The two girls stood looking out, with their arms -entwined, and their fair heads close together, as is the wont of such -companions, watching the wayfarer, whose weary footstep was inaudible in -the great hush and whisper of the night.</p> - -<p>“I always fancy one might see ghosts in moonlight,” said Marian, under -her breath. Certainly that solitary passenger, with all the silvered -folds of his dress, and the gliding and noiseless motion of his -progress, was not entirely unlike one.</p> - -<p>“He looks like a man in a parable,” said Agnes, in the same tone. “One -could think he was gliding away mysteriously to do something wrong. See, -now, he has gone into the shadow. I cannot see him at all—he has quite -disappeared—it is so black. Ah! I shall think he is always standing -there, looking over at us, and plotting something. I wish Charlie would -come home—how long he is!”</p> - -<p>“Who would plot anything against us?” said innocent Marian, with her -fearless smile. “People do not have enemies now as they used to have—at -least<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_086" id="page_086"></a>{86}</span> not common people. I wish he would come out again, though, out of -that darkness. I wonder what sort of man he could be.”</p> - -<p>But Agnes was no longer following the man; her eye was wandering vaguely -over the pale illumination of the sky. “I wonder what will happen to us -all?” said Agnes, with a sigh—sweet sigh of girlish thought that knew -no care! “I think we are all beginning now, Marian, every one of us. I -wonder what will happen—Charlie and all?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I can tell you,” said Marian; “and you first of all, because you -are the eldest. We shall all be famous, Agnes, every one of us; all -because of you.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, hush!” cried Agnes, a smile and a flush and a sudden brightness -running over all her face; “but suppose it <i>should</i> be so, you know, -Marian—only suppose it for our own pleasure—what a delight it would -be! It might help Charlie on better than anything; and then what we -could do for Bell and Beau! Of course it is nonsense,” said Agnes, with -a low laugh and a sigh of excitement, “but how pleasant it would be!”</p> - -<p>“It is not nonsense at all; I think it is quite certain,” said Marian; -“but then people would seek you out, and you would have to go and visit -them—great people—clever people. Would it not be odd to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_087" id="page_087"></a>{87}</span> hear real -ladies and gentlemen talking in company as they talk in books?”</p> - -<p>“I wonder if they do,” said Agnes, doubtfully. “And then to meet people -whom we have heard of all our lives—perhaps Bulwer even!—perhaps -Tennyson! Oh, Marian!”</p> - -<p>“And to know they were very glad to meet <i>you</i>,” exclaimed the sister -dreamer, with another low laugh of absolute pleasure: that was very near -the climax of all imaginable honours—and for very awe and delight the -young visionaries held their breath.</p> - -<p>“And I think now,” said Marian, after a little interval, “that perhaps -it is better Charlie should be a lawyer, for he would have so little at -first in papa’s office, and he never could get on, more than papa; and -you would not like to leave all the rest of us behind you, Agnes? I know -you would not. But I hope Charlie will never grow like Mr Foggo, so old -and solitary; to be poor would be better than that.”</p> - -<p>“Then I could be Miss Willsie,” said Agnes, “and we should live in a -little square house, with two bits of lawn and two fir-trees; but I -think we would not call it Killiecrankie Lodge.”</p> - -<p>Over this felicitous prospect there was a great deal of very quiet -laughing—laughing as sweet and as irrepressible as any other natural -music, but certainly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_088" id="page_088"></a>{88}</span> not evidencing any very serious purpose on the -part of either of the young sisters to follow the example of Miss -Willsie. They had so little thought, in their fair unconscious youth, of -all the long array of years and changes which lay between their sweet -estate and that of the restless kind old lady, the mistress of Mr -Foggo’s little square house.</p> - -<p>“And then, for me—what should I do?” said Marian. There were smiles -hiding in every line of this young beautiful face, curving the pretty -eyebrow, moving the soft lip, shining shy and bright in the sweet eyes. -No anxiety—not the shadow of a shade—had ever crossed this young -girl’s imagination touching her future lot. It was as rosy as the west -and the south, and the cheeks of Maud in Mr Tennyson’s poem. She had no -thought of investigating it too closely; it was all as bright as a -summer day to Marian, and she was ready to spend all her smiles upon the -prediction, whether it was ill or well.</p> - -<p>“Then I suppose you must be married, May. I see nothing else for you,” -said Agnes, “for there could not possibly be two Miss Willsies; but I -should like to see, in a fairy glass, who my other brother was to be. He -must be clever, Marian, and it would be very pleasant if he could be -rich, and I suppose he ought to be handsome too.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_089" id="page_089"></a>{89}</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, Agnes! handsome of course, first of all!” cried Marian, laughing, -“nobody but you would put that last.”</p> - -<p>“But then I rather like ugly people, especially if they are clever,” -said Agnes; “there is Charlie, for example. If he was <i>very</i> ugly, what -an odd couple you would be!—he ought to be ugly for a balance—and very -witty and very pleasant, and ready to do anything for you, May. Then if -he were only rich, and you could have a carriage, and be a great lady, I -think I should be quite content.”</p> - -<p>“Hush, Agnes! mamma will hear you—and now there is Charlie with a -book,” said Marian. “Look! he is quite as mysterious in the moonlight as -the other man—only Charlie could never be like a ghost—and I wonder -what the book is. Come, Agnes, open the door.”</p> - -<p>This was the conclusion of the half-hour’s practising; they made -grievously little progress with their music, yet it was by no means an -unpleasant half-hour.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_090" id="page_090"></a>{90}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XII</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>A SERIOUS QUESTION.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Mrs Atheling</span> has been calling upon Miss Willsie, partly to intercede for -Hannah, the pretty maid, partly on a neighbourly errand of ordinary -gossip and kindliness; but in decided excitement and agitation of mind -Mamma has come home. It is easy to perceive this as she hurries -up-stairs to take off her shawl and bonnet; very easy to notice the -fact, as, absent and preoccupied, she comes down again. Bell and Beau -are in the kitchen, and the kitchen-door is open. Bell has Susan’s cat, -who is very like to scratch her, hugged close in her chubby arms. Beau -hovers so near the fire, on which there is no guard, that his mother -would think him doomed did she see him; but—it is true, although it is -almost unbelievable—Mamma actually passes the open kitchen-door without -observing either Bell or Beau!</p> - -<p>The apples of her eye! Mrs Atheling has surely something very important -to occupy her thoughts; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_091" id="page_091"></a>{91}</span> now she takes her usual chair, but does not -attempt to find her work-basket. What can possibly have happened to -Mamma?</p> - -<p>The girls have not to wait very long in uncertainty. The good mother -speaks, though she does not distinctly address either of them. “They -want a lad like Charlie in Mr Foggo’s office,” said Mrs Atheling. “I -knew that, and that Charlie could have the place; but they also want an -articled clerk.”</p> - -<p>“An articled clerk!—what is that, mamma?” said Agnes, eagerly.</p> - -<p>To tell the truth, Mrs Atheling did not very well know what it was, but -she knew it was “something superior,” and that was enough for her -motherly ambition.</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear, it is a gentleman,” said Mrs Atheling, “and of course -there must be far greater opportunities of learning. It is a superior -thing altogether, I believe. Now, being such old friends, I should think -Mr Foggo might get them to take a very small premium. Such a thing for -Charlie! I am sure we could all pinch for a year or two to give him a -beginning like <i>that</i>!”</p> - -<p>“Would it be much better, mamma?” said Marian. They had left what they -were doing to come closer about her, pursuing their eager -interrogations. Marian sat down upon a stool on the rug where the -fire-light<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_092" id="page_092"></a>{92}</span> brightened her hair and reddened her cheek at its pleasure. -Agnes stood on the opposite side of the hearth, looking down upon the -other interlocutors. They were impatient to hear all that Mrs Atheling -had heard, and perfectly ready to jump to an unanimous opinion.</p> - -<p>“Better, my dear!” said Mrs Atheling—“just as much better as a young -man learning to be a master can be better than one who is only a -servant. Then, you know, it would give Charlie standing, and get him -friends of a higher class. I think it would be positively a sin to -neglect such an opportunity; we might never all our lives hear of -anything like it again.”</p> - -<p>“And how did you hear of it, mamma?” said Marian. Marian had quite a -genius for asking questions.</p> - -<p>“I heard of it from Miss Willsie, my love. It was entirely by accident. -She was telling me of an articled pupil they had at the office, who had -gone all wrong, poor fellow, in consequence of——; but I can tell you -that another time. And then she said they wanted one now, and then it -flashed upon me just like an inspiration. I was quite agitated. I do -really declare to you, girls, I thought it was Providence; and I -believe, if we only were bold enough to do it in faith, God would -provide the means; and I feel sure it would be the making of Charlie. I -think so indeed.”</p> - -<p>“I wonder what he would say himself?” said Agnes;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_093" id="page_093"></a>{93}</span> for not even Mrs -Atheling knew so well as Agnes did the immovable determination, when he -had settled upon anything, of this obstinate big boy.</p> - -<p>“We will speak of it to-night, and see what your papa says, and I would -not mind even mentioning it to Mr Foggo,” said Mrs Atheling: “we have -not very much to spare, yet I think we could all spare something for -Charlie’s sake; we must have it fully discussed to-night.”</p> - -<p>This made, for the time, a conclusion of the subject, since Mrs -Atheling, having unburthened her mind to her daughters, immediately -discovered the absence of the children, rebuked the girls for suffering -them to stray, and set out to bring them back without delay. Marian sat -musing before the fire, scorching her pretty cheek with the greatest -equanimity. Agnes threw herself into Papa’s easy-chair. Both hurried off -immediately into delightful speculations touching Charlie—a lawyer and -a gentleman; and already in their secret hearts both of these rash girls -began to entertain the utmost contempt for the commonplace name of -clerk.</p> - -<p>We are afraid Mr Atheling’s tea was made very hurriedly that night. He -could not get peace to finish his third cup, that excellent papa: they -persecuted him out of his ordinary play with Bell and Beau; his -invariable study of the newspaper. He could by no means<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_094" id="page_094"></a>{94}</span> make out the -cause of the commotion. “Not another story finished already, Agnes?” -said the perplexed head of the house. He began to think it would be -something rather alarming if they succeeded each other like this.</p> - -<p>“Now, my dears, sit down, and do not make a noise with your work, I beg -of you. I have something to say to your papa,” said Mrs Atheling, with -state and solemnity.</p> - -<p>Whereupon Papa involuntarily put himself on his defence; he had not the -slightest idea what could be amiss, but he recognised the gravity of the -preamble. “What <i>is</i> the matter, Mary?” cried poor Mr Atheling. He could -not tell what he had done to deserve this.</p> - -<p>“My dear, I want to speak about Charlie,” said Mrs Atheling, becoming -now less dignified, and showing a little agitation. “I went to call on -Miss Willsie to-day, partly about Hannah, partly for other things; and -Miss Willsie told me, William, that besides the youth’s place which we -thought would do for Charlie, there was in Mr Foggo’s office a vacancy -for an articled clerk.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling paused, out of breath. She did not often make long -speeches, nor had she frequently before originated and led a great -movement like this, so she showed fully as much excitement as the -occasion required. Papa listened with composure and a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_095" id="page_095"></a>{95}</span> surprise, -relieved to find that he was not on his trial. Charlie pricked his big -red ears, as he sat at his grammar, but made no other sign; while the -girls, altogether suspending their work, drew their chairs closer, and -with a kindred excitement eagerly followed every word and gesture of -Mamma.</p> - -<p>“And you must see, William,” said Mrs Atheling, rapidly, “what a great -advantage it would be to Charlie, if he could enter the office like a -gentleman. Of course, I know he would get no salary; but we could go on -very well for a year or two as we are doing—quite as well as before, -certainly; and I have no doubt Mr Foggo could persuade them to be -content with a very small premium; and then think of the advantage to -Charlie, my dear!”</p> - -<p>“Premium! no salary!—get on for a year or two! Are you dreaming, Mary?” -exclaimed Mr Atheling. “Why, this is a perfect craze, my dear. Charlie -an articled clerk in Foggo’s office! it is pure nonsense. You don’t mean -to say such a thought has ever taken possession of <i>you</i>. I could -understand the girls, if it was their notion—but, Mary! you!”</p> - -<p>“And why not me?” said Mamma, somewhat angry for the moment. “Who is so -anxious as me for my boy? I know what our income is, and what it can do -exactly to a penny, William—a great deal better than you do, my dear; -and of course it would be my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_096" id="page_096"></a>{96}</span> business to draw in our expenses -accordingly; and the girls would give up anything for Charlie’s sake. -And then, except Beau, who is so little, and will not want anything much -done for him for many a year—he is our only boy, William. It was not -always so,” said the good mother, checking a great sob which had nearly -stopped her voice—“it was not always so—but there is only Charlie left -of all of them; and except little Beau, the son of our old age, he is -our only boy!”</p> - -<p>She paused now, because she could not help it; and for the same reason -her husband was very slow to answer. All-prevailing was this woman’s -argument; it was very near impossible to say the gentlest Nay to -anything thus pleaded in the name of the dead.</p> - -<p>“But, my dear, we cannot do it,” said Mr Atheling very quietly. The good -man would have given his right hand at that moment to be able to procure -this pleasure for the faithful mother of those fair boys who were in -heaven.</p> - -<p>“We could do it if we tried, William,” said Mrs Atheling, recovering -herself slowly. Her husband shook his head, pondered, shook his head -again.</p> - -<p>“It would be injustice to the other children,” he said at last. “We -could not keep Charlie like a gentleman without injuring the rest. I am -surprised you do not think of that.”</p> - -<p>“But the rest of us are glad to be injured,” cried<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_097" id="page_097"></a>{97}</span> Agnes, coming to her -mother’s aid; “and then I may have something by-and-by, and Charlie -could get on so much better. I am sure you must see all the advantages, -papa.”</p> - -<p>“And we can’t be injured either, for we shall just be as we are,” said -Marian, “only a little more economical; and I am sure, papa, if it is so -great a virtue to be thrifty, as you and Mr Foggo say, you ought to be -more anxious than we are about this for Charlie; and you would, if you -carried out your principles—and you must submit. I know we shall -succeed at last.”</p> - -<p>“If it is a conspiracy, I give in,” said Mr Atheling. “Of course you -must mulct yourselves if you have made up your minds to it. I protest -against suffering your thrift myself, and I won’t have any more economy -in respect to Bell and Beau. But do your will, Mary—I don’t interfere. -A conspiracy is too much for me.”</p> - -<p>“Mother!” said Charlie—all this time there had been nothing visible of -the big boy, except the aforesaid red ears; now he put down his grammar -and came forward, with some invisible wind working much among the -furrows of his brow—“just hear what I’ve got to say. This won’t do—I’m -not a gentleman, you know; what’s the good of making me like one?—of -course I mean,” said Charlie, somewhat hotly, in a parenthesis, as -Agnes’s eyes flashed upon him, “not a gentleman, so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_098" id="page_098"></a>{98}</span> far as being idle -and having plenty of money goes;—I’ve got to work for my bread. Suppose -I was articled, at the end of my time I should have to work for my bread -all the same. What is the difference? It’s only making a sham for two -years, or three years, or whatever the time might be. I don’t want to go -against what anybody says, but you wouldn’t make a sham of me, would -you, mother? Let me go in my proper place—like what I’ll have to be, -all my life; then if I rise you will be pleased; and if I don’t rise, -still nobody will be able to say I have come down. I can’t be like a -gentleman’s son, doing nothing. Let me be myself, mother—the best thing -for me.”</p> - -<p>Charlie said scarcely any more that night, though much was said on every -side around; but Charlie was the conqueror.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_099" id="page_099"></a>{99}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XIII</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>KILLIECRANKIE LODGE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Killiecrankie Lodge</span> held a dignified position in this genteel locality: -it stood at the end of the road, looking down and superintending -Bellevue. Three square houses, all duly walled and gardened, made the -apex and conclusion of this suburban retirement. The right-hand one was -called Buena Vista House; the left-hand one was Green View Cottage, and -in the centre stood the lodge of Killiecrankie. The lodge was not so -jealously private as its neighbours: in the upper part of the door in -the wall was an open iron railing, through which the curious passenger -might gain a beatific glimpse of Miss Willsie’s wallflowers, and of the -clean white steps by which you ascended to the house-door. The -corresponding loopholes at the outer entrance of Green View and Buena -Vista were carefully boarded; so the house of Mr Foggo had the sole -distinction of an open eye.</p> - -<p>Within the wall was a paved path leading to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a>{100}</span> house, with a square -bit of lawn on either side, each containing in its centre a very small -round flower-plot and a minute fir-tree. These were the pine forests of -the Islingtonian Killiecrankie; but there were better things within the -brief enclosure. The borders round about on every side were full of -wallflowers—double wallflower, streaked wallflower, yellow wallflower, -brown wallflower—every variety under the sun. This was the sole -remarkable instance of taste displayed by Miss Willsie; but it gave a -delicate tone of fragrance to the whole atmosphere of Bellevue.</p> - -<p>This is a great day at Killiecrankie Lodge. It is the end of April now, -and already the days are long, and the sun himself stays up till after -tea, and throws a slanting golden beam over the daylight table. Miss -Willsie, herself presiding, is slightly heated. She says, “Bless me, -it’s like July!” as she sets down upon the tray her heavy silver teapot. -Miss Willsie is not half as tall as her brother, but makes up the -difference in another direction. She is stout, though she is so -restlessly active. Her face is full of wavering little lines and -dimples, though she is an old lady; and there are the funniest -indentations possible in her round chin and cheeks. You would fancy a -laugh was always hiding in those crevices. Alas! Hannah knows better. -You should see how Miss Willsie can frown!</p> - -<p>But the old lady is in grand costume to-night; she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a>{101}</span> has her brown satin -dress on, her immense cairngorm brooch, her overwhelming blue turban. -This sublime head-dress has an effect of awe upon the company; no one -was prepared for such a degree of grandeur, and the visitors -consequently are not quite at their ease. These visitors are rather -numerous for a Bellevue tea-party. There is Mr Richards from Buena -Vista, Mrs Tavistock from Woburn Lodge, and Mr Gray, the other Scotch -inhabitant, from Gowanbrae; and there is likewise Mr Foggo Silas -Endicott, Miss Willsie’s American nephew, and her Scotch nephew, Harry -Oswald; and besides all this worshipful company, there are all the -Athelings—all except Bell and Beau, left, with many cautions, in the -hands of Susan, over whom, in fear and self-reproach, trembles already -the heart of Mamma.</p> - -<p>“So he would not hear of it—he was not blate!” said Miss Willsie. “My -brother never had the like in his office—that I tell you; and there’s -no good mother at home to do as much for Harry. Chairles, lad, you’ll -find out better some time. If there’s one thing I do not like, it’s a -wilful boy!”</p> - -<p>“But I can scarcely call him wilful either,” said Mrs Atheling, hastily. -“He is very reasonable, Miss Willsie; he gives his meaning—it is not -out of opposition. He has always a good reason for what he does—he is a -very reasonable boy.”</p> - -<p>“And if there’s one thing I object to,” said Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a>{102}</span> Willsie, “it’s the -assurance of these monkeys with their reasons. When we were young, we -were ill bairns, doubtless, like other folk; but if I had dared to make -my excuses, pity me! There is Harry, now, will set up his face to me as -grand as a Lord of Session; and Marian this very last night making her -argument about these two spoiled babies of yours, as if she knew better -than me! Misbehaviour’s natural to youth. I can put up with that, but I -cannot away with their reasons. Such things are not for me.”</p> - -<p>“Very true—<i>so</i> true, Miss Willsie,” said Mrs Tavistock, who was a -sentimental and sighing widow. “There is my niece, quite an example. I -am sadly nervous, you know; and that rude girl will ‘prove’ to me, as -she calls it, that no thief could get into the house, though I know they -try the back-kitchen window every night.”</p> - -<p>“If there’s one thing I’m against,” said Miss Willsie, solemnly, “it’s -that foolish fright about thieves—thieves! Bless me, what would the -ragamuffins do here? A man may be a robber, but that’s no to say he’s an -idiot; and a wise man would never put his life or his freedom in -jeopardy for what he could get in Bellevue.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Tavistock was no match for Miss Willsie, so she prudently abstained -from a rejoinder. A large old china basin full of wallflowers stood -under a grim portrait, and between a couple of huge old silver -candlesticks<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a>{103}</span> upon the mantelpiece; Miss Willsie’s ancient tea-service, -at present glittering upon the table, was valuable and massive silver: -nowhere else in Bellevue was there so much “plate” as in Killiecrankie -Lodge; and this was perfectly well known to the nervous widow. “I am -sure I wonder at your courage, Miss Willsie; but then you have a -gentleman in the house, which makes a great difference,” said Mrs -Tavistock, woefully. Mrs Tavistock was one of those proper and -conscientious ladies who make a profession of their widowhood, and are -perpetually executing a moral suttee to the edification of all -beholders. “I was never nervous before. Ah, nobody knows what a -difference it makes to me!”</p> - -<p>“Young folk are a troublesome handful. Where are the girls—what are -they doing with Harry?” said Miss Willsie. “Harry’s a lad for any kind -of antics, but you’ll no see Foggo demeaning himself. Foggo writes poems -and letters to the papers: they tell me that in his own country he’s a -very rising young man.”</p> - -<p>“He looks intellectual. What a pleasure, Miss Willsie, to you!” said the -widow, with delightful sympathy.</p> - -<p>“If there’s one thing I like worse than another, it’s your writing young -men,” said Miss Willsie, vehemently. “I lighted on a paper this very -day, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a>{104}</span> the young leasing-maker had gotten from America, and what do -you think I saw therein, but just a long account—everything about -us—of my brother and me. My brother Robert Foggo, as decent a man as -there is in the three kingdoms—and <i>me</i>! What do you think of that, Mrs -Atheling?—even Harry in it, and the wallflowers! If it had not been for -my brother, he never should have set foot in this house again.”</p> - -<p>“Oh dear, how interesting!” said the widow. Mrs Tavistock turned her -eyes to the other end of the room almost with excitement. She had not -the least objection, for her own part, in the full pomp of sables and -sentiment, to figure at full length in the <i>Mississippi Gazette</i>.</p> - -<p>“And what was it for?” said Mrs Atheling, innocently; “for I thought it -was only remarkable people that even the Americans put in the papers. -Was it simply to annoy you?”</p> - -<p>“Me!—do you think a lad like yon could trouble <i>me</i>?” exclaimed Miss -Willsie. “He says, ‘All the scenes through which he has passed will be -interesting to his readers.’ That’s in a grand note he sent me this -morning—the impertinent boy! My poor Harry, though he’s often in -mischief, and my brother thinks him unsteady—I would not give his -little finger for half-a-dozen lads like yon.”</p> - -<p>“But Harry is doing well <i>now</i>, Miss Willsie?” said<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a>{105}</span> Mrs Atheling. There -was a faint emphasis on the now which proved that Harry had not always -done well.</p> - -<p>“Ay,” said Miss Willsie, drily; “and so Chairles has settled to his -business—that’s aye a comfort. If there’s one thing that troubles me, -it is to see young folk growing up in idleness; I pity them, now, that -are genteel and have daughters. What are you going to do, Mrs Atheling, -with these girls of yours?”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling’s eyes sought them out with fond yet not untroubled -observation. There was Marian’s beautiful head before the other window, -looking as if it had arrested and detained the sunbeams, long ago -departed in the west; and there was Agnes, graceful, animated, and -intelligent, watching, with an affectionate and only half-conscious -admiration, her sister’s beauty. Their mother smiled to herself and -sighed. Even her anxiety, looking at them thus, was but another name for -delight.</p> - -<p>“Agnes,” said Marian at the other window, half whispering, half -aloud—“Agnes! Harry says Mr Endicott has published a book.”</p> - -<p>With a slight start and a slight blush Agnes turned round. Mr Foggo S. -Endicott was tall, very thin, had an extremely lofty mien, and a pair of -spectacles. He was eight-and-twenty, whiskerless, sallow, and by no -means handsome: he held his thin head very high, and delivered his -sentiments into the air when he spoke,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a>{106}</span> but rarely bent from his -altitude to address any one in particular. But he heard the whisper in a -moment: in his very elbows, as you stood behind him, you could see the -sudden consciousness. He perceived, though he did not look at her, the -eager, bright, blushing, half-reverential glance of Agnes, and, -conscious to his very finger-points, raised his thin head to its fullest -elevation, and pretended not to hear.</p> - -<p>Agnes blushed: it was with sudden interest, curiosity, reverence, made -more personal and exciting by her own venture. Nothing had been heard -yet of this venture, though it was nearly a month since Charlie took it -to Mr Burlington, and the young genius looked with humble and earnest -attention upon one who really had been permitted to make his utterance -to the ear of all the world. He <i>had</i> published a book; he was a real -genuine printed author. The lips of Agnes parted with a quick breath of -eagerness; she looked up at him with a blush on her cheek, and a light -in her eye. A thrill of wonder and excitement came over her: would -people by-and-by regard herself in the same light?</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr Endicott!—is it poems?” said Agnes, shyly, and with a deepening -colour. The simple girl was almost as much embarrassed asking him about -his book, as if she had been asking about the Transatlantic lady of this -Yankee young gentleman’s love.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a>{107}</span></p> - -<p>“Oh!” said Mr Endicott, discovering suddenly that she addressed -him—“yes. Did you speak to me?—poems?—ah! some little fugitive -matters, to be sure. One has no right to refuse to publish, when -everybody comes to know that one does such things.”</p> - -<p>“Refuse?—no, indeed; I think not,” said Agnes, in spite of herself -feeling very much humbled, and speaking very low. This was so elevated a -view of the matter, and her own was so commonplace a one, that the poor -girl was completely crestfallen. She so anxious to get into print; and -this <i>bonâ fide</i> author, doubtless so very much her superior, explaining -how he submitted, and could not help himself! Agnes was entirely put -down.</p> - -<p>“Yes, really one ought not to keep everything for one’s own private -enjoyment,” said the magnanimous Mr Endicott, speaking very high up into -the air with his cadenced voice. “I do not approve of too much reserve -on the part of an author myself.”</p> - -<p>“And what are they about, Mr Endicott?” asked Marian, with respect, but -by no means so reverentially as Agnes. Mr Endicott actually looked at -Marian; perhaps it was because of her very prosaic and improper -question, perhaps for the sake of the beautiful face.</p> - -<p>“About!” said the poet, with benignant disdain. “No, I don’t approve of -narrative poetry; it’s after<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a>{108}</span> the time. My sonnets are experiences. I -live them before I write them; that is the true secret of poetry in our -enlightened days.”</p> - -<p>Agnes listened, much impressed and cast down. She was far too simple to -perceive how much superior her natural bright impulse, spontaneous and -effusive, was to this sublime concentration. Agnes all her life long had -never lived a sonnet; but she was so sincere and single-minded herself, -that, at the first moment of hearing it, she received all this nonsense -with unhesitating faith. For she had not yet learned to believe in the -possibility of anybody, save villains in books, saying anything which -they did not thoroughly hold as true.</p> - -<p>So Agnes retired a little from the conversation. The young genius began -to take herself to task, and was much humiliated by the contrast. Why -had she written that famous story, now lying storm-stayed in the hands -of Mr Burlington? Partly to please herself—partly to please -Mamma—partly because she could not help it. There was no grand motive -in the whole matter. Agnes looked with reverence at Mr Endicott, and sat -down in a corner. She would have been completely conquered if the -sublime American had been content to hold his peace.</p> - -<p>But this was the last thing which occurred to Mr Endicott. He continued -his utterances, and the discouraged<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a>{109}</span> girl began to smile. She was no -judge of character, but she began to be able to distinguish nonsense -when she heard it. This was very grand nonsense on the first time of -hearing, and Agnes and Marian, we are obliged to confess, were somewhat -annoyed when Mamma made a movement of departure. They kept very early -hours in Bellevue, and before ten o’clock all Miss Willsie’s guests had -said good-night to Killiecrankie Lodge.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a>{110}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XIV</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>THE HOUSE OF FOGGO.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> was ten o’clock, and now only this little family circle was left in -the Lodge of Killiecrankie. Miss Willsie, with one of the big silver -candlesticks drawn so very close that her blue turban trembled, and -stood in jeopardy, read the <i>Times</i>; Mr Foggo sat in his armchair, doing -nothing save contemplating the other light in the other candlestick; and -at the unoccupied sides of the table, between the seniors, were the two -young men.</p> - -<p>These nephews did not live at Killiecrankie Lodge; but Miss Willsie, who -was very careful, and a notable manager, considered it would be unsafe -for “the boys” to go home to their lodgings at so late an hour as -this—so her invitations always included a night’s lodging; and the kind -and arbitrary little woman was not accustomed to be disobeyed. Yet “the -boys” found it dull, we confess. Mr Foggo was not pleased with Harry, -and by no means “took” to Endicott. Miss Willsie<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a>{111}</span> could not deny herself -her evening’s reading. They yawned at each other, these unfortunate -young men, and with a glance of mutual jealousy thought of Marian -Atheling. It was strange to see how dull and disenchanted this place -looked when the beautiful face that brightened it was gone.</p> - -<p>So Mr Foggo S. Endicott took from his pocket his own paper, the -<i>Mississippi Gazette</i>, and Harry possessed himself of the half of Miss -Willsie’s <i>Times</i>. It was odd to observe the difference between them -even in manner and attitude. Harry bent half over the table, with his -hands thrust up into the thick masses of his curling hair; the American -sat perfectly upright, lifting his thin broadsheet to the height of his -spectacles, and reading loftily his own lucubrations. You could scarcely -see the handsome face of Harry as he hung over his half of the paper, -partly reading, partly dreaming over certain fond fancies of his own; -but you could not only see the lofty lineaments of Foggo, which were not -at all handsome, but also could perceive at a glance that he had “a -remarkable profile,” and silently called your attention to it. -Unfortunately, nobody in the present company was at all concerned about -the profile of Mr Endicott. That philosophical young gentleman, -notwithstanding, read his “Letter from England” in his best manner, and -demeaned himself as loftily as if he were a “portrait of a distinguished -literary gentleman<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a>{112}</span>” in an American museum. What more could any man do?</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Mr Foggo sat in his armchair steadily regarding the candle -before him. He loved conversation, but he was not talkative, especially -in his own house. Sometimes the old man’s acute eyes glanced from under -his shaggy brow with a momentary keenness towards Harry—sometimes they -shot across the table a momentary sparkle of grim contempt; but to make -out from Mr Foggo’s face what Mr Foggo was thinking, was about the -vainest enterprise in the world. It was different with his sister: Miss -Willsie’s well-complexioned countenance changed and varied like the sky. -You could pursue her sudden flashes of satisfaction, resentment, -compassion, and injury into all her dimples, as easily as you could -follow the clouds over the heavens. Nor was it by her looks alone that -you could discover the fluctuating sympathies of Miss Willsie. Short, -abrupt, hasty exclamations, broke from her perpetually. “The -vagabond!—to think of that!” “Ay, that’s right now; I thought there was -something in <i>him</i>.” “Bless me—such a story!” After this manner ran on -her unconscious comments. She was a considerable politician, and this -was an interesting debate; and you could very soon make out by her -continual observations the political opinions of the mistress of -Killiecrankie. She was a desperate Tory, and at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a>{113}</span> same moment the -most direful and unconstitutional of Radicals. With a hereditary respect -she applauded the sentiments of the old country-party, and clung to -every institution with the pertinacity of a martyr; yet with the same -breath, and the most delightful inconsistency, was vehement and -enthusiastic in favour of the wildest schemes of reform; which, we -suppose, is as much as to say that Miss Willsie was a very feminine -politician, the most unreasonable of optimists, and had the sublimest -contempt for all practical considerations when she had convinced herself -that anything was <i>right</i>.</p> - -<p>“I knew it!” cried Miss Willsie, with a burst of triumph; “he’s out, and -every one disowning him—a mean crew, big and little! If there’s one -thing I hate, it’s setting a man forward to tell an untruth, and then -letting him bear all the blame!”</p> - -<p>“He’s got his lawful deserts,” said Mr Foggo. This gentleman, more -learned than his sister, took a very philosophical view of public -matters, and acknowledged no particular leaning to any “party” in his -general interest in the affairs of state.</p> - -<p>“I never can find out now,” said Miss Willsie suddenly, “what the like -of Mr Atheling can have to do with this man—a lord and a great person, -and an officer of state—but his eye kindles up at the name<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a>{114}</span> of him, as -if it was the name of a friend. There cannot be ill-will unless there is -acquaintance, that’s my opinion; and an ill-will at this lord I am sure -Mr Atheling has.”</p> - -<p>“They come from the same countryside,” said Mr Foggo; “when they were -lads they knew each other.”</p> - -<p>“And who is this Mr Atheling?” said Endicott, speaking for the first -time. “I have a letter of introduction to Viscount Winterbourne myself. -His son, the Honourable George Rivers, travelled in the States a year or -two since, and I mean to see him by-and-by; but who is Mr Atheling, to -know an English Secretary of State?”</p> - -<p>“He’s Cash and Ledger’s chief clerk,” said Mr Foggo, very laconically, -looking with a steady eye at the candlestick, and bestowing as little -attention upon his questioner as his questioner did upon him.</p> - -<p>“Marvellous! in this country!” said the American; but Mr Endicott -belonged to that young America which is mightily respectful of the old -country. He thought it vulgar to do too much republicanism. He only -heightened the zest of his admiration now and then by a refined little -sneer.</p> - -<p>“In this country! Where did ye ever see such a country, I would like to -know?” cried Miss Willsie. “If it was but for your own small concerns, -you ought<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a>{115}</span> to be thankful; for London itself will keep ye in writing -this many a day. If there’s one thing I cannot bear, it’s ingratitude! -I’m a long-suffering person myself; but that, I grant, gets the better -of me.”</p> - -<p>“Mr Atheling, I suppose, has not many lords in his acquaintance,” said -Harry Oswald, looking up from his paper. “Endicott is right enough, -aunt; he is not quite in the rank for that; he has better——” said -Harry, something lowering his voice; “I would rather know myself welcome -at the Athelings’ than in any other house in England.”</p> - -<p>This was said with a little enthusiasm, and brought the rising colour to -Harry Oswald’s brow. His cousin looked at him, with a curl of his thin -lip and a somewhat malignant eye. Miss Willsie looked at him hastily, -with a quick impatient nod of her head, and a most rapid and emphatic -frown. Finally, Mr Foggo lifted to the young man’s face his acute and -steady eye.</p> - -<p>“Keep to your physic, Harry,” said Mr Foggo. The hapless Harry did not -meet the glance, but he understood the tone.</p> - -<p>“Well, uncle, well,” said Harry hastily, raising his eyes; “but a man -cannot always keep to physic. There are more things in the world than -drugs and lancets. A man must have some margin for his thoughts.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a>{116}</span></p> - -<p>Again Miss Willsie gave the culprit a nod and a frown, saying as plain -as telegraphic communication ever said, “I am your friend, but this is -not the time to plead.” Again Mr Endicott surveyed his cousin with a -vague impulse of malice and of rivalry. Harry Oswald plunged down again -on his paper, and was no more heard of that night.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a>{117}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XV</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>THE PROPOSAL.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">I suppose</span> we are not going to hear anything about it. It is very hard,” -said Agnes disconsolately. “I am sure it is so easy to show a little -courtesy. Mr Burlington surely might have written to let us know.”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear, how can we tell?” said Mrs Atheling; “he may be ill, or -he may be out of town, or he may have trouble in his family. It is very -difficult to judge another person—and you don’t know what may have -happened; he may be coming here himself, for aught we know.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I think it is very hard,” said Marian; “I wish we only could -publish it ourselves. What is the good of a publisher? They are only -cruel to everybody, and grow rich themselves; it is always so in books.”</p> - -<p>“He might surely have written at least,” repeated Agnes. These young -malcontents were extremely dissatisfied, and not at all content with Mrs -Atheling’s explanation that he might be ill, or out of town, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a>{118}</span> have -trouble in his family. Whatever extenuating circumstances there might -be, it was clear that Mr Burlington had not behaved properly, or with -the regard for other people’s feelings which Agnes concluded to be the -only true mark of a gentleman. Even the conversation of last night, and -the state and greatness of Mr Endicott, stimulated the impatience of the -girls. “It is not for the book so much, as for the uncertainty,” Agnes -said, as she disconsolately took out her sewing; but in fact it was just -because they had so much certainty, and so little change and commotion -in their life, that they longed so much for the excitement and novelty -of this new event.</p> - -<p>They were very dull this afternoon, and everything out of doors -sympathised with their dulness. It was a wet day—a hopeless, heavy, -persevering, not-to-be-mended day of rain. The clouds hung low and -leaden over the wet world; the air was clogged and dull with moisture, -only lightened now and then by an impatient shrewish gust, which threw -the small raindrops like so many prickles full into your face. The long -branches of the lilacs blew about wildly with a sudden commotion, when -one of these gusts came upon them, like a group of heroines throwing up -their arms in a tragic appeal to heaven. The primroses, pale and -drooping, sullied their cheeks with the wet soil; hour after hour, with -the most sullen and dismal<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a>{119}</span> obstinacy, the rain rained down upon the -cowering earth; not a sound was in Bellevue save the trickle of the -water, a perfect stream, running strong and full down the little channel -on either side the street. It was in vain to go to the window, where not -a single passenger—not a baker’s boy, nor a maid on pattens, nobody but -the milkman in his waterproof-coat—hurrying along, a peripatetic -fountain, with little jets of water pouring from his hat, his cape, and -his pails—was visible through the whole dreary afternoon. It is -possible to endure a wet morning—easy enough to put up with a wet -night; but they must have indeed high spirits and pleasurable -occupations who manage to keep their patience and their cheerfulness -through the sullen and dogged monotony of a wet afternoon.</p> - -<p>So everybody had a poke at the fire, which had gone out twice to-day -already, and was maliciously looking for another opportunity of going -out again; every person here present snapped her thread and lost her -needle; every one, even, each for a single moment, found Bell and Beau -in her way. You may suppose, this being the case, how very dismal the -circumstances must have been. But suddenly everybody started—the outer -gate swung open—an audible footstep came towards the door! Fairest of -readers, a word with you! If you are given to morning-calls, and love to -be welcomed, make your visits on a wet day!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a>{120}</span></p> - -<p>It was not a visitor, however welcome—better than that—ecstatic sound! -it was the postman—the postman, drenched and sullen, hiding his crimson -glories under an oilskin cape; and it was a letter, solemn and -mysterious, in an unknown hand—a big blue letter, addressed to Miss -Atheling. With trembling fingers Agnes opened it, taking, with awe and -apprehension, out of the big blue envelope, a blue and big enclosure and -a little note. The paper fell to the ground, and was seized upon by -Marian. The excited girl sprang up with it, almost upsetting Bell and -Beau. “It is in print! Memorandum of an agreement—oh, mamma!” cried -Marian, holding up the dangerous instrument. Agnes sat down immediately -in her chair, quite hushed for the instant. It was an actual reality, Mr -Burlington’s letter—and a veritable proposal—not for herself, but for -her book.</p> - -<p>The girls, we are obliged to confess, were slightly out of their wits -for about an hour after this memorable arrival. Even Mrs Atheling was -excited, and Bell and Beau ran about the room in unwitting exhilaration, -shouting at the top of their small sweet shrill voices, and tumbling -over each other unreproved. The good mother, to tell the truth, would -have liked to cry a little, if she could have managed it, and was much -moved, and disposed to take this, not as a mere matter of business, but -as a tender office of friendship and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a>{121}</span> esteem on the part of the -unconscious Mr Burlington. Mrs Atheling could not help fancying that -somehow this wonderful chance had happened to Agnes because she was “a -good girl.”</p> - -<p>And until Papa and Charlie came home they were not very particular about -the conditions of the agreement; the event itself was the thing which -moved them: it quickened the slow pace of this dull afternoon to the -most extraordinary celerity; the moments flew now which had lagged with -such obstinate dreariness before the coming of that postman; and all the -delight and astonishment of the first moment remained to be gone over -again at the home-coming of Papa.</p> - -<p>And Mr Atheling, good man, was almost as much disturbed for the moment -as his wife. At first he was incredulous—then he laughed, but the laugh -was extremely unsteady in its sound—then he read over the paper with -great care, steadily resisting the constant interruptions of Agnes and -Marian, who persecuted him with their questions, “What do you think of -it, papa?” before the excellent papa had time to think at all. Finally, -Mr Atheling laughed again with more composure, and spread out upon the -table the important “Memorandum of Agreement.” “Sign it, Agnes,” said -Papa; “it seems all right, and quite business-like, so far as I can see. -She’s not twenty-one, yet—I don’t suppose it’s legal—that child! Sign -it, Agnes.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a>{122}</span></p> - -<p>This was by no means what Papa was expected to say; yet Agnes, with -excitement, got her blotting-book and her pen. This innocent family were -as anxious that Agnes’s autograph should be <i>well written</i> as if it had -been intended for a specimen of caligraphy, instead of the signature to -a legal document; nor was the young author herself less concerned; and -she made sure of the pen, and steadied her hand conscientiously before -she wrote that pretty “Agnes Atheling,” which put the other ugly -printer-like handwriting completely to shame. And now it was done—there -was a momentary pause of solemn silence, not disturbed even by Bell and -Beau.</p> - -<p>“So this is the beginning of Agnes’s fortune,” said Mr Atheling. “Now -Mary, and all of you, don’t be excited; every book does not succeed -because it finds a publisher; and you must not place your expectations -too high; for you know Agnes knows nothing of the world.”</p> - -<p>It was very good to say “don’t be excited,” when Mr Atheling himself was -entirely oblivious of his newspaper, indifferent to his tea, and -actually did not hear the familiar knock of Mr Foggo at the outer door.</p> - -<p>“And these half profits, papa, I wonder what they will be,” said Agnes, -glad to take up something tangible in this vague delight.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a>{123}</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, something very considerable,” said Papa, forgetting his own -caution. “I should not wonder if the publisher made a great deal of -money by it: <i>they</i> know what they’re about. Get up and get me my -slippers, you little rascals. When Agnes comes into her fortune, what a -paradise of toys for Bell and Beau!”</p> - -<p>But the door opened, and Mr Foggo came in like a big brown cloud. There -was no concealing from him the printed paper—no hiding the overflowings -of the family content. So Agnes and Marian hurried off for half an -hour’s practising, and then put the twins to bed, and gossiped over the -fire in the little nursery. What a pleasant night it was!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a>{124}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XVI</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>FAMILY EXCITEMENT.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> would be impossible to describe, after that first beginning, the -pleasant interest and excitement kept up in this family concerning the -fortune of Agnes. All kinds of vague and delightful magnificences -floated in the minds of the two girls: guesses of prodigious sums of -money and unimaginable honours were constantly hazarded by Marian; and -Agnes, though she laughed at, and professed to disbelieve, these -splendid imaginations, was, beyond all controversy, greatly influenced -by them. The house held up its head, and began to dream of fame and -greatness. Even Mr Atheling, in a trance of exalted and exulting fancy, -went down self-absorbed through the busy moving streets, and scarcely -noticed the steady current of the Islingtonian public setting in strong -for the City. Even Mamma, going about her household business, had -something visionary in her eye; she saw a long way beyond to-day’s -little cares and difficulties—the grand distant<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a>{125}</span> lights of the future -streaming down on the fair heads of her two girls. It was not possible, -at least in the mother’s fancy, to separate these two who were so -closely united. No one in the house, indeed, could recognise Agnes -without Marian, or Marian without Agnes; and this new fortune belonged -to both.</p> - -<p>And then there followed all those indefinite but glorious adjuncts -involved in this beginning of fate—society, friends, a class of people, -as those good dreamers supposed, more able to understand and appreciate -the simple and modest refinement of these young minds;—all the world -was to be moved by this one book—everybody was to render homage—all -society to be disturbed with eagerness. Mr Atheling adjured the family -not to raise their expectations too high, yet raised his own to the most -magnificent level of unlikely greatness. Mrs Atheling had generous -compunctions of mind as she looked at the ribbons already half faded. -Agnes now was in a very different position from her who made the -unthrifty purchase of a colour which would not bear the sun. Mamma held -a very solemn synod in her own mind, and was half resolved to buy new -ones upon her own responsibility. But then there was something shabby in -building upon an expectation which as yet was so indefinite. And we are -glad to say there was so much sobriety and good sense in the house of -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a>{126}</span> Athelings, despite their glorious anticipations, that the ribbons -of Agnes and Marian, though they began to fulfil Mrs Atheling’s -prediction, still steadily did their duty, and bade fair to last out -their appointed time.</p> - -<p>This was a very pleasant time to the whole household. Their position, -their comfort, their external circumstances, were in no respect changed, -yet everything was brightened and radiant in an overflow of hope. There -was neither ill nor sickness nor sorrow to mar the enjoyment; everything -at this period was going well with them, to whom many a day and many a -year had gone full heavily. They were not aware themselves of their -present happiness; they were all looking eagerly forward, bent upon a -future which was to be so much superior to to-day, and none dreamed how -little pleasure was to be got out of the realisation, in comparison with -the delight they all took in the hope. They could afford so well to -laugh at all their homely difficulties—to make jokes upon Mamma’s grave -looks as she discovered an extravagant shilling or two in the household -accounts—or found out that Susan had been wasteful in the kitchen. It -was so odd, so <i>funny</i>, to contrast these minute cares with the golden -age which was to come.</p> - -<p>And then the plans and secret intentions, the wonderful committees which -sat in profound retirement;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a>{127}</span> Marian plotting with Mamma what Agnes -should have when she came into her fortune, and Agnes advising, with the -same infallible authority, for the advantage of Marian. The vast and -ambitious project of the girls for going to the country—the country or -the sea-side—some one, they did not care which, of those beautiful -unknown beatific regions out of London, which were to them all fairyland -and countries of magic. We suppose nobody ever did enjoy the sea breezes -as Agnes and Marian Atheling, in their little white bed-chamber, enjoyed -the imaginary gale upon the imaginary sands, which they could perceive -brightening the cheek of Mamma, and tossing about the curls of the -twin-babies, at any moment of any night or day. This was to be the grand -triumph of the time when Agnes came into her fortune, though even Mamma -as yet had not heard of the project; but already it was a greater -pleasure to the girls than any real visit to any real sea-side in this -visible earth ever could be.</p> - -<p>And then there began to come, dropping in at all hours, from the -earliest post in the morning to the last startling delivery at nine -o’clock at night, packets of printed papers—the proof-sheets of this -astonishing book. You are not to suppose that those proofs needed much -correcting—Agnes’s manuscript was far too daintily written for that; -yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a>{128}</span> every one read them with the utmost care and attention, and Papa -made little crosses in pencil on the margin when he came to a doubtful -word. Everybody read them, not once only, but sometimes twice, or even -three times over—everybody but Charlie, who eat them up with his bread -and butter at tea, did not say a word on the subject, and never looked -at them again. All Bellevue resounded with the knocks of that incessant -postman at Number Ten. Public opinion was divided on the subject. Some -people said the Athelings had been extravagant, and were now suffering -under a very Egyptian plague, a hailstorm of bills; others, more -charitable, had private information that both the Miss Athelings were -going to be married, and believed this continual dropping to be a -carnival shower of flowers and <i>bonbons</i>, the love-letters of the -affianced bridegrooms; but nobody supposed that the unconscious and -innocent postman stood a respectable deputy for the little Beelzebub, to -whose sooty hands of natural right should have been committed the -custody of those fair and uncorrectable sheets. Sometimes, indeed, this -sable emissary made a hasty and half-visible appearance in his own -proper person, with one startling knock, as loud, but more solemn than -the postman—“That’s the Devil!” said Charlie, with unexpected -animation, the second time this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a>{129}</span> emphatic sound was heard; and Susan -refused point-blank to open the door.</p> - -<p>How carefully these sheets were corrected! how punctually they were -returned!—with what conscientious care and earnestness the young author -attended to all the requirements of printer and publisher! There was -something amusing, yet something touching as well, in the sincere and -natural humbleness of these simple people. Whatever they said, they -could not help thinking that some secret spring of kindness had moved Mr -Burlington; that somehow this unconscious gentleman, most innocent of -any such intention, meant to do them all a favour. And moved by the -influence of this amiable delusion, Agnes was scrupulously attentive to -all the suggestions of the publisher. Mr Burlington himself was somewhat -amused by his new writer’s obedience, but doubtful, and did not half -understand it; for it is not always easy to comprehend downright and -simple sincerity. But the young author went on upon her guileless way, -taking no particular thought of her own motives; and on with her every -step went all the family, excited and unanimous. To her belonged the -special joy of being the cause of this happy commotion; but the pleasure -and the honour and the delight belonged equally to them all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a>{130}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XVII</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>AN AMERICAN SKETCH.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">Here</span>! there’s reading for you,” said Miss Willsie, throwing upon the -family table a little roll of papers. “They tell me there’s something of -the kind stirring among yourselves. If there’s one thing I cannot put up -with, it’s to see a parcel of young folk setting up to read lessons to -the world!”</p> - -<p>“Not Agnes!” cried Marian eagerly; “only wait till it comes out. I know -so well, Miss Willsie, how you will like her book.”</p> - -<p>“No such thing,” said Miss Willsie indignantly. “I would just like to -know—twenty years old, and never out of her mother’s charge a week at a -time—I would just like any person to tell me what Agnes Atheling can -have to say to the like of me!”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, nothing at all,” said Agnes, blushing and laughing; “but it is -different with Mr Endicott. Now nobody must speak a word. Here it is.”</p> - -<p>“No! let me away first,” cried Miss Willsie in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a>{131}</span> terror. She was rather -abrupt in her exits and entrances. This time she disappeared -instantaneously, shaking her hand at some imaginary culprit, and had -closed the gate behind her with a swing, before Agnes was able to begin -the series of “Letters from England” which were to immortalise the name -of Mr Foggo S. Endicott. The New World biographist began with his -voyage, and all the “emotions awakened in his breast” by finding himself -at sea; and immediately thereafter followed a special chapter, headed -“Killiecrankie Lodge.”</p> - -<p>“How delightful,” wrote the traveller, “so many thousand miles from -home, so far away from those who love us, to meet with the sympathy and -communion of kindred blood! To this home of the domestic affections I am -glad at once to introduce my readers, as a beautiful example of that Old -England felicity, which is, I grieve to say, so sadly outbalanced by -oppression and tyranny and crime! This beautiful suburban retreat is the -home of my respected relatives, Mr F. and his maiden sister Miss -Wilhelmina F. Here they live with old books, old furniture, and old -pictures around them, with old plate upon their table, old servants in -waiting, and an old cat coiled up in comfort upon their cosy hearth! A -graceful air of antiquity pervades everything. The inkstand from which I -write belonged to a great-grandfather; the footstool under my feet<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a>{132}</span> was -worked by an old lady of the days of the lovely Queen Mary; and I cannot -define the date of the china in that carved cabinet: all this, which -would be out of place in one of the splendid palaces of our buzy -citizens, is here in perfect harmony with the character of the inmates. -It is such a house as naturally belongs to an old country, an old -family, and an old and secluded pair.</p> - -<p>“My uncle is an epitome of all that is worthy in man. Like most -remarkable Scotsmen, he takes snuff; and to perceive his penetration and -wise sagacity, one has only to look at the noble head which he carries -with a hereditary loftiness. His sister is a noble old lady, and -entirely devoted to him. In fact, they are all the world to each other; -and the confidence with which the brother confides all his cares and -sorrows to the faithful bosom of his sister, is a truly touching sight; -while Miss Wilhelmina F., on her part, seldom makes an observation -without winding up by a reference to ‘my brother.’ It is a long time -since I have found anywhere so fresh and delightful an object of study -as the different characteristics of this united pair. It is beautiful to -watch the natural traits unfolding themselves. One has almost as much -pleasure in the investigation as one has in studying the developments of -childhood; and my admirable relatives are as delightfully unconscious of -their own distinguishing qualities as even children could be.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a>{133}</span></p> - -<p>“Their house is a beautiful little suburban villa, far from the noise -and din of the great city. Here they spend their beautiful old age in -hospitality and beneficence; beggars (for there are always beggars in -England) come to the door every morning with patriarchal familiarity, -and receive their dole through an opening in the door, like the ancient -buttery-hatch; every morning, upon the garden paths crumbs are strewed -for the robins and the sparrows, and the birds come hopping fearlessly -about the old lady’s feet, trusting in her gracious nature. All the -borders are filled with wallflowers, the favourite plant of Miss -Wilhelmina, and they seemed to me to send up a sweeter fragrance when -she watered them with her delicate little engine, or pruned them with -her own hand; for everything, animate and inanimate, seems to know that -she is good.</p> - -<p>“To complete this delightful picture, there is just that shade of -solicitude and anxiety wanting to make it perfect. They have a nephew, -this excellent couple, over whom they watch with the characteristic -jealousy of age watching youth. While my admirable uncle eats his egg at -breakfast, he talks of Harry; while aunt Wilhelmina pours out the tea -from her magnificent old silver teapot, she makes apologies and excuses -for him. They will make him their heir, I do not doubt, for he is a -handsome and prepossessing youth; and however<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a>{134}</span> this may be to <i>my</i> -injury, I joyfully waive my claim; for the sight of their tender -affection and beautiful solicitude is a greater boon to a student of -mankind like myself than all their old hereditary hoards or patrimonial -acres; and so I say, Good fortune to Harry, and let all my readers say -Amen!”</p> - -<p>We are afraid to say how difficult Agnes found it to accomplish this -reading in peace; but in spite of Marian’s laughter and Mrs Atheling’s -indignant interruptions, Agnes herself was slightly impressed by these -fine sentiments and pretty sentences. She laid down the paper with an -air of extreme perplexity, and could scarcely be tempted to smile. -“Perhaps that is how Mr Endicott sees things,” said Agnes; “perhaps he -has so fine a mind—perhaps—Now, I am sure, mamma, if you had not known -Miss Willsie, you would have thought it very pretty. I know you would.”</p> - -<p>“Do not speak to me, child,” cried Mrs Atheling energetically. “Pretty! -why, he is coming here to-night!”</p> - -<p>And Marian clapped her hands. “Mamma will be in the next one!” cried -Marian; “and he will find out that Agnes is a great author, and that we -are all so anxious about Charlie. Oh, I hope he will send us a copy. -What fun it would be to read about papa and his newspaper, and what -everybody was doing at home here in Bellevue!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a>{135}</span></p> - -<p>“It would be very impertinent,” said Mrs Atheling, reddening with anger; -“and if anything of the kind should happen, I will never forgive Mr -Foggo. You will take care to speak as little as possible to him, Marian; -he is not a safe person. Pretty! Does he think he has a right to come -into respectable houses and make his pretty pictures? You must be very -much upon your guard, girls. I forbid you to be friendly with such a -person as <i>that</i>!”</p> - -<p>“But perhaps”—said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps—nonsense,” cried Mamma indignantly; “he must not come in here, -that I am resolved. Go and tell Susan we will sit in the best room -to-night.”</p> - -<p>But Agnes meditated the matter anxiously—perhaps, though she did not -say it—perhaps to be a great literary personage, it was necessary to -“find good in everything,” after the newest fashion, like Mr Endicott. -Agnes was much puzzled, and somewhat discouraged, on her own account. -She did not think it possible she could ever come to such a sublime and -elevated view of ordinary things; she felt herself a woeful way behind -Mr Endicott, and with a little eagerness looked forward to his visit. -Would he justify himself—what would he say?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a>{136}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XVIII</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>COMPANY.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> best room was not by any means so bright, so cheerful, or so kindly -as the family parlour, with its family disarrangement, and the amateur -paperhanging upon its walls. Before their guests arrived the girls made -an effort to improve its appearance. They pulled the last beautiful -bunches of the lilac to fill the little glass vases, and placed candles -in the ornamental glass candlesticks upon the mantelpiece. But even a -double quantity of light did not bring good cheer to this dull and -solemn apartment. Had it been winter, indeed, a fire might have made a -difference; but it was early summer—one of those balmy nights so sweet -out of doors, which give an additional shade of gloom to -dark-complexioned parlours, shutting out the moon and the stars, the -night air and the dew. Agnes and Marian, fanciful and visionary, kept -the door open themselves, and went wandering about the dark garden, -where the summer flowers came slowly, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a>{137}</span> the last primrose was dying -pale and sweet under the poplar tree. They went silently and singly, one -after the other, through the garden paths, hearing, without observing, -the two different footsteps which came to the front door. If they were -thinking, neither of them knew or could tell what she was thinking -about, and they returned to the house without a word, only knowing how -much more pleasant it was to be out here in the musical and breathing -darkness, than to be shut closely within the solemn enclosure of the -best room.</p> - -<p>But there, by the table where Marian had maliciously laid his paper, was -the stately appearance of Mr Endicott, holding high his abstracted head, -while Harry Oswald, anxious, and yet hesitating, lingered at the door, -eagerly on the watch for the light step of which he had so immediate a -perception when it came. Harry, who indeed had no great inducement to be -much in love with himself, forgot himself altogether as his quick ear -listened for the foot of Marian. Mr Endicott, on the contrary, added a -loftier shape to his abstraction, by way of attracting and not -expressing admiration. Unlucky Harry was in love with Marian; his -intellectual cousin only aimed at making Marian in love with <i>him</i>.</p> - -<p>And she came in, slightly conscious, we admit, that she was the heroine -of the night, half aware of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a>{138}</span> rising rivalry, half-enlightened as to -the different character of these two very different people, and of the -one motive which brought them here. So a flitting changeable blush went -and came upon the face of Marian. Her eyes, full of the sweet darkness -and dew of the night, were dazzled by the lights, and would not look -steadily at any one; yet a certain gleam of secret mischief and -amusement in her face betrayed itself to Harry Oswald, though not at all -to the unsuspicious American. She took her seat very sedately at the -table, and busied herself with her fancy-work. Mr Endicott sat opposite, -looking at her; and Harry, a moving shadow in the dim room, hovered -about, sitting and standing behind her chair.</p> - -<p>Besides these young people, Mr Atheling, Mr Foggo, and Mamma, were in -the room, conversing among themselves, and taking very little notice of -the other visitors. Mamma was making a little frock, upon which she -bestowed unusual pains, as it seemed; for no civility of Mr Endicott -could gain any answer beyond a monosyllable from the virtuous and -indignant mistress of the house. He was playing with his own papers as -Agnes and Marian came to the table, affectionately turning them over, -and looking at the heading of the “Letter from England” with a loving -eye.</p> - -<p>“You are interested in literature, I believe?” said Mr Endicott. Agnes, -Marian, and Harry, all of them<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a>{139}</span> glancing at him in the same moment, -could not tell which he addressed; so there was a confused murmur of -reply. “Not in the slightest,” cried Harry Oswald, behind Marian’s -chair. “Oh, but Agnes is!” cried Marian; and Agnes herself, with a -conscious blush, acknowledged—“Yes, indeed, very much.”</p> - -<p>“But not, I suppose, very well acquainted with the American press?” said -Mr Endicott. “The bigotry of Europeans is marvellous. We read your -leading papers in the States, but I have not met half-a-dozen people in -England—actually not six individuals—who were in the frequent habit of -seeing the <i>Mississippi Gazette</i>.”</p> - -<p>“We rarely see any newspapers at all,” said Agnes, apologetically. “Papa -has his paper in the evenings, but except now and then, when there is a -review of a book in it——”</p> - -<p>“That is the great want of English contemporary literature,” interrupted -Mr Endicott. “You read the review—good! but you feel that something -else is wanted than mere politics—that votes and debates do not supply -the wants of the age!”</p> - -<p>“If the wants of the age were the wants of young ladies,” said Harry -Oswald, “what would become of my uncle and Mr Atheling? Leave things in -their proper place, Endicott. Agnes and Marian want something different -from newspaper literature and leading articles. Don’t interfere with the -girls.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a>{140}</span></p> - -<p>“These are the slavish and confined ideas of a worn out civilisation,” -said the man of letters; “in my country we respect the opinions of our -women, and give them full scope.”</p> - -<p>“Respect!—the old humbug!” muttered Harry behind Marian’s chair. “Am I -disrespectful? I choose to be judged by you.”</p> - -<p>Marian glanced over her shoulder with saucy kindness. “Don’t quarrel,” -said Marian. No! Poor Harry was so glad of the glance, the smile, and -the confidence, that he could have taken Endicott, who was the cause of -it, to his very heart.</p> - -<p>“The functions of the press,” said Mr Endicott, “are unjustly limited in -this country, like most other enlightened influences. In these days we -have scarcely time to wait for books. It is not with us as it was in old -times, when the soul lay fallow for a century, and then blossomed into -its glorious epic, or drama, or song! Our audience must perceive the -visible march of mind, hour by hour and day by day. We are no longer -concerned about mere physical commotions, elections, or debates, or -votes of the Senate. In these days we care little for the man’s -opinions; what we want is an advantageous medium for studying the man.”</p> - -<p>As she listened to this, Agnes Atheling held her breath, and suspended -her work unawares. It sounded<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a>{141}</span> very imposing, indeed—to tell the truth, -it sounded something like that magnificent conversation in books over -which Marian and she had often marvelled. Then this simple girl believed -in everybody; she was rather inclined to suppose of Mr Endicott that he -was a man of very exalted mind.</p> - -<p>“I do not quite know,” said Agnes humbly, “whether it is right to tell -all about great people in the newspapers, or even to put them in books. -Do you think it is, Mr Endicott?”</p> - -<p>“I think,” said the American, solemnly, “that a public man, and, above -all, a literary man, belongs to the world. All the exciting scenes of -life come to us only that we may describe and analyse them for the -advantage of others. A man of genius has no private life. Of what -benefit is the keenness of his emotions if he makes no record of them? -In my own career,” continued the literary gentleman, “I have been -sometimes annoyed by foolish objections to the notice I am in the habit -of giving of friends who cross my way. Unenlightened people have -complained of me, in vulgar phrase, that I ‘put them in the newspapers.’ -How strange a misconception! for you must perceive at once that it was -not with any consideration of them, but simply that my readers might see -every scene I passed through, and in reality feel themselves travelling -with <i>me</i>!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a>{142}</span></p> - -<p>“Oh!” Agnes made a faint and very doubtful exclamation; Harry Oswald -turned on his heel, and left the room abruptly; while Marian bent very -closely over her work, to conceal that she was laughing. Mr Endicott -thought it was a natural youthful reverence, and gave her all due credit -for her “ingenuous emotions.”</p> - -<p>“The path of genius necessarily reveals certain obscure individuals,” -said Mr Endicott; “they cross its light, and the poet has no choice. I -present to my audience the scenes through which I travel. I introduce -the passengers on the road. Is it for the sake of these passengers? No. -It is that my readers may be enabled, under all circumstances, to form a -just realisation of <i>me</i>. That is the true vocation of a poet: he ought -to be in himself the highest example of everything—joy, delight, -suffering, remorse, and ruin—yes, I am bold enough to say, even crime. -No man should be able to suppose that he can hide himself in an -indescribable region of emotion where the poet cannot follow. Shall -murder be permitted to attain an experience beyond the reach of genius? -No! Everything must be possessed by the poet’s intuitions, for he -himself is the great lesson of the world.”</p> - -<p>“Charlie,” said Harry Oswald behind the door, “come in, and punch this -fellow’s head.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a>{143}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XIX</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>CONVERSATION.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Charlie</span> came in, but not to punch the head of Mr Endicott. The big boy -gloomed upon the dignified American, pushed Harry Oswald aside, and -brought his two grammars to the table. “I say, what do you want with -me?” said Charlie; he was not at all pleased at having been disturbed.</p> - -<p>“Nobody wanted you, Charlie,—no one ever wants you, you disagreeable -boy,” said Marian: “it was all Harry Oswald’s fault; he thought we were -too pleasant all by ourselves here.”</p> - -<p>To which complimentary saying Mr Endicott answered by a bow. He quite -understood what Miss Marian meant! he was much flattered to have gained -her sympathy! So Marian pleased both her admirers for once, for Harry -Oswald laughed in secret triumph behind her chair.</p> - -<p>“And you are still with Mr Bell, Harry,” said Mrs Atheling, suddenly -interposing. “I am very glad you<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a>{144}</span> like this place—and what a pleasure -it must be to all your sisters! I begin to think you are quite settled -now.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose it was time,” said Harry the unlucky, colouring a little, but -smiling more as he came out from the shadow of Marian’s chair, in -compliment to Marian’s mother; “yes, we get on very well,—we are not -overpowered with our practice; so much the better for me.”</p> - -<p>“But you ought to be more ambitious,—you ought to try to extend your -practice,” said Mrs Atheling, immediately falling into the tone of an -adviser, in addressing one to whom everybody gave good advice.</p> - -<p>“I might have some comfort in it, if I was a poet,” said Harry; “but to -kill people simply in the way of business is too much for me.—Well, -uncle, it is no fault of mine. I never did any honour to my doctorship. -I am as well content to throw physic to the dogs as any Macbeth in the -world.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, Harry,” said Mr Foggo; “but I think it is little credit to a man to -avow ill inclinations, unless he has the spirit of a man to make head -against them. That’s my opinion—but I know you give it little weight.”</p> - -<p>“A curious study!” said Mr Endicott, reflectively. “I have watched it -many times,—the most interesting conflict in the world.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a>{145}</span></p> - -<p>But Harry, who had borne his uncle’s reproof with calmness, reddened -fiercely at this, and seemed about to resent it. The study of character, -though it is so interesting a study, and so much pursued by superior -minds, is not, as a general principle, at all liked by the objects of -it. Harry Oswald, under the eye of his cousin’s curious inspection, had -the greatest mind in the world to knock that cousin down.</p> - -<p>“And what do you think of our domestic politics, on the other side of -the Atlantic?” asked Papa, joining the more general conversation: “a -pretty set of fellows manage us in Old England here. I never take up a -newspaper but there’s a new job in it. If it were only for other -countries, they might have a sense of shame!”</p> - -<p>“Well, sir,” said Mr Endicott, “considering all things—considering the -worn-out circumstances of the old country, your oligarchy and your -subserviency, I am rather disposed, on the whole, to be in favour of the -government of England. So far as a limited intelligence goes, they -really appear to me to get on pretty well.”</p> - -<p>“Humph!” said Mr Atheling. He was quite prepared for a dashing -republican denunciation, but this cool patronage stunned the humble -politician—he did not comprehend it. “However,” he continued, reviving<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a>{146}</span> -after a little, and rising into triumph, “there is principle among them -yet. They cannot tolerate a man who wants the English virtue of keeping -his word; no honourable man will keep office with a traitor. -Winterbourne’s out. There’s some hope for the country when one knows -that.”</p> - -<p>“And who is Winterbourne, papa?” asked Agnes, who was near her father.</p> - -<p>Mr Atheling was startled. “Who is Lord Winterbourne, child? why, a -disgraced minister—everybody knows!”</p> - -<p>“You speak as if you were glad,” said Agnes, possessed with a perfectly -unreasonable pertinacity: “do you know him, papa,—has he done anything -to you?”</p> - -<p>“I!” cried Mr Atheling, “how should I know him? There! thread your -needle, and don’t ask ridiculous questions. Lord Winterbourne for -himself is of no consequence to me.”</p> - -<p>From which everybody present understood immediately that this unknown -personage <i>was</i> of consequence to Mr Atheling—that Papa certainly knew -him, and that he had “done something” to call for so great an amount of -virtuous indignation. Even Mr Endicott paused in the little account he -proposed to give of Viscount Winterbourne’s title and acquirements, and -his own acquaintance with the Honourable George Rivers, his lordship’s -only son. A vision of family<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a>{147}</span> feuds and mysteries crossed the active -mind of the American: he stopped to make a mental note of this -interesting circumstance; for Mr Endicott did not disdain to embellish -his “letters” now and then with a fanciful legend, and this was -certainly “suggestive” in the highest degree.</p> - -<p>“I remember,” said Mrs Atheling, suddenly, “when we were first married, -we went to visit an old aunt of papa’s, who lived quite close to -Winterbourne Hall. Do you remember old Aunt Bridget, William? We have -not heard anything of her for many a day; she lived in an old house, -half made of timber, and ruinous with ivy. I remember it very well; I -thought it quite pretty when I was a girl.”</p> - -<p>“Ruinous! you mean beautiful with ivy, mamma,” said Marian.</p> - -<p>“No, my dear; ivy is a very troublesome thing,” said Mrs Atheling, “and -makes a very damp house, I assure you, though it looks pretty. This was -just upon the edge of a wood, and on a hill. There was a very fine view -from it; all the spires, and domes, and towers looked beautiful with the -morning sun upon them. I suppose Aunt Bridget must still be living, -William? I wonder why she took offence at us. What a pleasant place that -would have been to take the children in summer! It was called the Old -Wood Lodge, and there was a larger place near which was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a>{148}</span> the Old Wood -House, and the nearest house to that, I believe, was the Hall. It was a -very pretty place; I remember it so well.”</p> - -<p>Agnes and Marian exchanged glances; this description was quite enough to -set their young imaginations a-glow;—perhaps, for the sake of her old -recollections, Mamma would like this better than the sea-side.</p> - -<p>“Should you like to go again, mamma?” said Agnes, in a half whisper. -Mamma smiled, and brightened, and shook her head.</p> - -<p>“No, my dear, no; you must not think of such a thing—travelling is so -very expensive,” said Mrs Atheling; but the colour warmed and brightened -on her cheek with pleasure at the thought.</p> - -<p>“And of course there’s another family of children,” said Papa, in a -somewhat sullen under-tone. “Aunt Bridget, when she dies, will leave the -cottage to one of them. They always wanted it. Yes, to be sure,—to him -that hath shall be given,—it is the way of the world.”</p> - -<p>“William, William; you forget what you say!” cried Mrs Atheling, in -alarm.</p> - -<p>“I mean no harm, Mary,” said Papa, “and the words bear that meaning as -well as another: it is the way of the world.”</p> - -<p>“Had I known your interest in the family, I might have brought you some -information,” interposed Mr<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a>{149}</span> Endicott. “I have a letter of introduction -to Viscount Winterbourne—and saw a great deal of the Honourable George -Rivers when he travelled in the States.”</p> - -<p>“I have no interest in them—not the slightest,” said Mr Atheling, -hastily; and Harry Oswald moved away from where he had been standing to -resume his place by Marian, a proceeding which instantly distracted the -attention of his cousin and rival. The girls were talking to each other -of this new imaginary paradise. Harry Oswald could not explain how it -was, but he began immediately with all his skill to make a ridiculous -picture of the old house, which was half made of timber, and ruinous -with ivy: he could not make out why he listened with such a jealous pang -to the very name of this Old Wood Lodge.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a>{150}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XX</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>AUNT BRIDGET.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">Very</span> strange!” said Mr Atheling—he had just laid upon the -breakfast-table a letter edged with black, which had startled them all -for the moment into anxiety,—“very strange!”</p> - -<p>“What is very strange?—who is it, William?” asked Mrs Atheling, -anxiously.</p> - -<p>“Do you remember how you spoke of her last night?—only last night—my -Aunt Bridget, of whom we have not heard for years? I could almost be -superstitious about this,” said Papa. “Poor old lady! she is gone at -last.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling read the letter eagerly. “And she spoke of us, then?—she -was sorry. Who could have persuaded her against us, William?” said the -good mother—“and wished you should attend her funeral. You will -go?—surely you must go.” But as she spoke, Mrs Atheling paused and -considered—travelling is not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a>{151}</span> so easy a matter, when people have only -two hundred a-year.</p> - -<p>“It would do her no pleasure now, Mary,” said Mr Atheling, with a -momentary sadness. “Poor Aunt Bridget; she was the last of all the old -generation; and now it begins to be our turn.”</p> - -<p>In the mean time, however, it was time for the respectable man of -business to be on his way to his office. His wife brushed his hat with -gravity, thinking upon his words. The old old woman who was gone, had -left no responsibility behind her; but these children!—how could the -father and the mother venture to die, and leave these young ones in the -unfriendly world!</p> - -<p>Charlie had gone to his office an hour ago—other studies, heavier and -more discouraging even than the grammars, lay in the big law-books of Mr -Foggo’s office, to be conquered by this big boy. Throughout the day he -had all the miscellaneous occupations which generally fall to the lot of -the youngest clerk. Charlie said nothing about it to any one, but went -in at these ponderous tomes in the morning. They were frightfully tough -reading, and he was not given to literature; he shook his great fist at -them, his natural enemies, and went in and conquered. These studies were -pure pugilism so far as Charlie was concerned: he knocked down his -ponderous opponent, mastered him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a>{152}</span> stowed away all his wisdom in his own -prodigious memory, and replaced him on his shelf with triumph. “Now that -old fellow’s done for,” said Charlie—and next morning the young student -“went in” at the next.</p> - -<p>Agnes and Marian were partly in this secret, as they had been in the -previous one; so these young ladies came down stairs at seven o’clock to -make breakfast for Charlie. It was nine now, and the long morning began -to merge into the ordinary day; but the girls arrested Mamma on the -threshold of her daily business to make eager inquiry about the Aunt -Bridget, of whom, the only one among all their relatives, they knew -little but the name.</p> - -<p>“My dears, this is not a time to ask me,” said Mrs Atheling: “there is -Susan waiting, and there is the baker and the butterman at the door. -Well, then, if you must know, she was just simply an old lady, and your -grandpapa’s sister; and she was once governess to Miss Rivers, and they -gave her the old Lodge when the young lady should have been married. -They made her a present of it—at least the old lord did—and she lived -there ever after. It had been once in your grandpapa’s family. I do not -know the rights of the story—you can ask about it some time from your -papa; but Aunt Bridget took quite a dislike to us after we were -married—I cannot tell you why; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a>{153}</span> since the time I went to the Old -Wood Lodge to pay her a visit, when I was a bride, I have never heard a -kind word from her, poor old lady, till to-day. Now, my dears, let me -go; do you see the people waiting? I assure you that is all.”</p> - -<p>And that was all that could be learned about Aunt Bridget, save a few -unimportant particulars gleaned from the long conversation concerning -her, which the father and the mother, much moralising, fell into that -night. These young people had the instinct of curiosity most healthily -developed; they listened eagerly to every new particular—heard with -emotion that she had once been a beauty, and incontinently wove a string -of romances about the name of the aged and humble spinster; and then -what a continual centre of fancy and inquiry was that Old Wood Lodge!</p> - -<p>A few days passed, and Aunt Bridget began to fade from her temporary -prominence in the household firmament. A more immediate interest -possessed the mind of the family—the book was coming out! Prelusive -little paragraphs in the papers, which these innocent people did not -understand to be advertisements, warned the public of a new and original -work of fiction by a new author, about to be brought out by Mr -Burlington, and which was expected to make a sensation when it came. -Even the known and visible advertisements themselves were read with a -startling<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154"></a>{154}</span> thrill of interest. <i>Hope Hazlewood, a History</i>—everybody -concluded it was the most felicitous title in the world.</p> - -<p>The book was coming out, and great was the excitement of the household -heart. The book came out!—there it lay upon the table in the family -parlour, six fair copies in shiny blue cloth, with its name in letters -of gold. These Mr Burlington intended should be sent to influential -friends: but the young author had no influential friends; so one copy -was sent to Killiecrankie Lodge, to the utter amazement of Miss Willsie, -and another was carefully despatched to an old friend in the country, -who scarcely knew what literature was; then the family made a solemn -pause, and waited. What would everybody say?</p> - -<p>Saturday came, full of fate. They knew all the names of all those dread -and magnificent guides of public opinion, the literary newspapers; and -with an awed and trembling heart, the young author waited for their -verdict. She was so young, however, and in reality so ignorant of what -might be the real issue of this first step into the world, that Agnes -had a certain pleasure in her trepidation, and, scarcely knowing what -she expected, knew only that it was in the highest degree novel, -amusing, and extraordinary that these sublime and lofty people should -ever be tempted to notice her at all. It was still only a matter of -excitement<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a>{155}</span> and curiosity and amusing oddness to them all. If the young -adventurer had been a man, this would have been a solemn crisis, full of -fate: it was even so to a woman, seeking her own independence; but Agnes -Atheling was only a girl in the heart of her family, and, looking out -with laughing eyes upon her fortune, smiled at fate.</p> - -<p>It is Saturday—yes, Saturday afternoon, slowly darkening towards the -twilight. Agnes and Marian at the window are eagerly looking out, Mamma -glances over their bright heads with unmistakable impatience, Papa is -palpably restless in his easy-chair. Here he comes on flying feet, that -big messenger of fortune—crossing the whole breadth of Bellevue in two -strides, with ever so many papers in his hands. “Oh, I wonder what they -will say!” cries Marian, clasping her pretty fingers. Agnes, too -breathless to speak, makes neither guess nor answer—and here he comes!</p> - -<p>It is half dark, and scarcely possible to read these momentous papers. -The young author presses close to the window with the uncut <i>Athenæum</i>. -There is Papa, half-risen from his chair; there is Mamma anxiously -contemplating her daughter’s face; there is Marian, reading over her -shoulder; and Charlie stands with his hat on in the shade, holding fast -in his hand the other papers. “One at a time!” says Charlie.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a>{156}</span> He knows -what they are, the grim young ogre, but he will not say a word.</p> - -<p>And Agnes begins to read aloud—reads a sentence or two, suddenly stops, -laughs hurriedly. “Oh, I cannot read that—somebody else take it,” cried -Agnes, running a rapid eye down the page; her cheeks are tingling, her -eyes overflowing, her heart beating so loud that she does not hear her -own voice. And now it is Marian who presses close to the window and -reads aloud. Well! after all, it is not a very astonishing paragraph; it -is extremely condescending, and full of the kindest patronage; -recognises many beauties—a great deal of talent; and flatteringly -promises the young author that by-and-by she will do very well. The -reading is received with delight and disappointment. Mrs Atheling is not -quite pleased that the reviewer refuses entire perfection to <i>Hope -Hazlewood</i>, but by-and-by even the good mother is reconciled. Who could -the critic be?—innocent critic, witting nothing of the tumult of kindly -and grateful feelings raised towards him in a moment! Mrs Atheling -cannot help setting it down certainly that he must be some unknown -friend.</p> - -<p>The others come upon a cooled enthusiasm—nobody feels that they have -said the first good word. Into the middle of this reading Susan suddenly -interposes herself and the candles. What tell-tales these lights<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a>{157}</span> are! -Papa and Mamma, both of them, look mighty dazzled and unsteady about the -eyes, and Agnes’s cheeks are burning crimson-deep, and she scarcely -likes to look at any one. She is half ashamed in her innocence—half as -much ashamed as if they had been love-letters detected and read aloud.</p> - -<p>And then after a while they come to a grave pause, and look at each -other. “I suppose, mamma, it is sure to succeed now,” says Agnes, very -timidly, shading her face with her hand, and glancing up under its -cover; and Papa, with his voice somewhat shaken, says solemnly, -“Children, Agnes’s fortune has come to-night.”</p> - -<p>For it was so out of the way—so uncommon and unexpected a fortune, to -their apprehension, that the father and the mother looked on with wonder -and amazement, as if at something coming down, without any human -interposition, clear out of the hand of Providence, and from the -treasures of heaven.</p> - -<p>Upon the Monday morning following, Mr Atheling had another letter. It -was a time of great events, and the family audience were interested even -about this. Papa looked startled and affected, and read it without -saying a word; then it was handed to Mamma: but Mrs Atheling, more -demonstrative, ran over it with a constant stream of comment and -exclamation, and at last read the whole epistle aloud. It ran thus:—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a>{158}</span></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—Being intrusted by your Aunt, Miss Bridget Atheling, -with the custody of her will, drawn up about a month before her -death, I have now to communicate to you, with much pleasure, the -particulars of the same. The will was read by me, upon the day of -the funeral, in presence of the Rev. Lionel Rivers, rector of the -parish; Dr Marsh, Miss Bridget’s medical attendant; and Mrs -Hardwicke, her niece. You are of course aware that your aunt’s -annuity died with her. Her property consisted of a thousand pounds -in the Three per Cents, a small cottage in the village of -Winterbourne, three acres of land in the hundred of Badgeley, and -the Old Wood Lodge.</p> - -<p>“Miss Bridget has bequeathed her personal property, all except the -two last items, to Mrs Susannah Hardwicke, her niece—the Old Wood -Lodge and the piece of land she bequeaths to you, William Atheling, -being part, as she says, ‘of the original property of the family.’ -She leaves it to you ‘as a token that she had now discovered the -falseness of the accusations made to her, twenty years ago, against -you, and desires you to keep and to hold it, whatever attempts may -be made to dislodge you, and whatever it may cost.’ A copy of the -will, pursuant to her own directions, will be forwarded to you in a -few days.</p> - -<p>“As an old acquaintance, I gladly congratulate you upon this -legacy; but I am obliged to tell you, as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a>{159}</span> friend, that the -property is not of that value which could have been desired. The -land, which is of inferior quality, is let for fifteen shillings an -acre, and the house, I am sorry to say, is not in very good -condition, is very unlikely to find a tenant, and would cost half -as much as it is worth to put it in tolerable repair—besides -which, it stands directly in the way of the Hall, and was, as I -understand, a gift to Miss Bridget only, with power, on the part of -the Winterbourne family, to reclaim after her death. Under these -circumstances, I doubt if you will be allowed to retain possession; -notwithstanding, I call your attention to the emphatic words of my -late respected client, to which you will doubtless give their due -weight.—I am, dear sir, faithfully yours,</p> - -<p class="r"> -“<span class="smcap">Fred. R. Lewis</span>, <i>Attorney</i>.”<br /> -</p></div> - -<p>“And what shall we do? If we were only able to keep it, William—such a -thing for the children!” cried Mrs Atheling, scarcely pausing to take -breath. “To think that the Old Wood Lodge should be really ours—how -strange it is! But, William, who could possibly have made false -accusations against <i>you</i>?”</p> - -<p>“Only one man,” said Mr Atheling, significantly. The girls listened with -interest and astonishment. “Only one man.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a>{160}</span></p> - -<p>“No, no, my dear—no, it could not be——,” cried his wife: “you must -not think so, William—it is quite impossible. Poor Aunt Bridget! and so -she found out the truth at last.”</p> - -<p>“It is easy to talk,” said the head of the house, looking over his -letter; “very easy to leave a bequest like this, which can bring nothing -but difficulty and trouble. How am I ‘to keep and to hold it, at -whatever cost?’ The old lady must have been crazy to think of such a -thing: she had much better have given it to my Lord at once without -making any noise about it; for what is the use of bringing a quarrel -upon me?”</p> - -<p>“But, papa, it is the old family property,” said Agnes, eagerly.</p> - -<p>“My dear child, you know nothing about it,” said Papa. “Do you think I -am able to begin a lawsuit on behalf of the old family property? How -were we to repair this tumble-down old house, if it had been ours on the -securest holding? but to go to law about it, and it ready to crumble -over our ears, is rather too much for the credit of the family. No, no; -nonsense, children; you must not think of it for a moment; and you, -Mary, surely you must see what folly it is.”</p> - -<p>But Mamma would not see any folly in the matter; her feminine spirit was -roused, and her maternal pride. “You may depend upon it, Aunt Bridget -had some motive,” said Mrs Atheling, with a little excitement,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a>{161}</span> “and -real property, William, would be such a great thing for the children. -Money might be lost or spent; but property—land and a house. My dear, -you ought to consider how important it is for the children’s sake.”</p> - -<p>Mr Atheling shook his head. “You are unreasonable,” said the family -father, who knew very well that he was pretty sure to yield to them, -reason or no—“as unreasonable as you can be. Do you suppose I am a -landed proprietor, with that old crazy Lodge, and forty-five shillings -a-year? Mary, Mary, you ought to know better. We could not repair it, I -tell you, and we could not furnish it; and nobody would rent it from us. -We should gain nothing but an enemy, and that is no great advantage for -the children. I do not remember that Aunt Bridget was ever remarkable -for good sense; and it was no such great thing, after all, to transfer -her family quarrel to me.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, papa, the old family property, and the beautiful old house in the -country, where we could go and live in the summer!” said Marian. “Agnes -is to be rich—Agnes would be sure to want to go somewhere in the -country. We could do all the repairs ourselves—and mamma likes the -place. Papa, papa, you will never have the heart to let other people -have it. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a>{162}</span> think I can see the place; we could all go down when Agnes -comes to her fortune—and the country would be so good for Bell and -Beau.”</p> - -<p>This, perhaps, was the most irresistible of arguments. The eyes of the -father and mother fell simultaneously upon the twin babies. They were -healthy imps as ever did credit to a suburban atmosphere—yet somehow -both Papa and Mamma fancied that Bell and Beau looked pale to-day.</p> - -<p>“It is ten minutes past nine,” exclaimed Mr Atheling, solemnly rising -from the table. “I have not been so late for years—see what your -nonsense has brought me to. Now, Mary, think it over reasonably, and I -will hear all that you have to say to-night.”</p> - -<p>So Mr Atheling hastened to his desk to turn over this all-important -matter as he walked and as he laboured. The Old Wood Lodge obliterated -to the good man’s vision the very folios of his daily companionship—old -feelings, old incidents, old resentment and pugnacity, awoke again in -his kindly but not altogether patient and self-commanded breast. The -delight of being able to leave something—a certain patrimonial -inheritance—to his son after him, gradually took possession of his mind -and fancy; and the pleasant dignity of a house in the country—the happy -power of sending off his wife and his children to the sweet air of his -native place—won upon him<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163"></a>{163}</span> gradually before he was aware. By slow -degrees Mr Atheling brought himself to believe that it would be -dishonourable to give up this relic of the family belongings, and make -void the will of the dead. The Old Wood Lodge brightened before him into -a very bower for his fair girls. The last poor remnant of his yeoman -grandfather’s little farm became a hereditary and romantic nucleus, -which some other Atheling might yet make into a great estate. “There is -Charlie—he will not always be a lawyer’s clerk, that boy!” said his -father to himself, with involuntary pride; and then he muttered under -his breath, “and to give it up to <i>him</i>!”</p> - -<p>Under this formidable conspiracy of emotions, the excellent Mr Atheling -had no chance: old dislike, pungent and prevailing, though no one knew -exactly its object or its cause, and present pride and tenderness still -more strong and earnest, moved him beyond his power of resistance. There -was no occasion for the attack, scientifically planned, which was to -have been made upon him in the evening. If they had been meditating at -home all day upon this delightful bit of romance in their own family -history, and going over, with joy and enthusiasm, every room and closet -in Miss Bridget’s old house, Papa had been no less busy at the office. -The uncertain tenor of a lawsuit had no longer any place in the good -man’s memory,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164"></a>{164}</span> and the equivocal advantage of the ruinous old house -oppressed him no longer. He began to think, by an amiable and agreeable -sophistry, self-delusive, that it was his sacred duty to carry out the -wishes of the dead.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165"></a>{165}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XXI</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>A LAW STUDENT.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Steadily</span> and laboriously these early summer days trudged on with -Charlie, bringing no romantic visions nor dreams of brilliant fortune to -tempt the imagination of the big boy. How his future looked to him no -one knew. Charlie’s aspirations—if he had any—dwelt private and secure -within his own capacious breast. He was not dazzled by his sudden -heirship of the Old Wood Lodge; he was not much disturbed by the growing -fame of his sister; those sweet May mornings did not tempt him to the -long ramble through the fields, which Agnes and Marian did their best to -persuade him to. Charlie was not insensible to the exhilarating morning -breeze, the greensward under foot, and the glory of those great -thorn-hedges, white with the blossoms of the May—he was by no means a -stoic either, as regarded his own ease and leisure, to which inferior -considerations this stout youth attached their due importance; but still -it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166"></a>{166}</span> remained absolute with Charlie, his own unfailing answer to all -temptations—he had “something else to do!”</p> - -<p>And his ordinary day’s work was not of a very elevating character; he -might have kept to that for years without acquiring much knowledge of -his profession; and though he still was resolute to occupy no sham -position, and determined that neither mother nor sisters should make -sacrifices for him, Charlie felt no hesitation in making a brief and -forcible statement to Mr Foggo on the subject. Mr Foggo listened with a -pleased and gracious ear. “I’m not going to be a copying-clerk all my -life,” said Charlie. He was not much over seventeen; he was not -remarkably well educated; he was a poor man’s son, without connection, -patronage, or influence. Notwithstanding, the acute old Scotsman looked -at Charlie, lifting up the furrows of his brow, and pressing down his -formidable upper-lip. The critical old lawyer smiled, but believed him. -There was no possibility of questioning that obstinate big boy.</p> - -<p>So Mr Foggo (acknowledged to be the most influential of chief clerks, -and supposed to be a partner in the firm) made interest on behalf of -Charlie, that he might have access, before business hours, to the law -library of the house. The firm laughed, and gave permission graciously. -The firm joked with its manager<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167"></a>{167}</span> upon his credulity: a boy of seventeen -coming at seven o’clock to voluntary study—and to take in a -Scotsman—old Foggo! The firm grew perfectly jolly over this capital -joke. Old Foggo smiled too, grimly, knowing better; and Charlie -accordingly began his career.</p> - -<p>It was not a very dazzling beginning. At seven o’clock the office was -being dusted; in winter, at that hour, the fires were not alight, and -extremely cross was the respectable matron who had charge of the same. -Charlie stumbled over pails and brushes; dusters -descended—unintentionally—upon his devoted head; he was pursued into -every corner by his indefatigable enemy, and had to fly before her big -broom with his big folio in his arms. But few people have pertinacity -enough to maintain a perfectly unprofitable and fruitless warfare. Mrs -Laundress, a humble prophetic symbol of that other virago, Fate, gave in -to Charlie. He sat triumphant upon his high stool, no longer incommoded -by dusters. While the moted sunbeams came dancing in through the dusty -office window, throwing stray glances on his thick hair, and on the -ponderous page before him, Charlie had a good round with his enemy, and -got him down. The big boy plundered the big books with silent -satisfaction, arranged his spoil on the secret shelves and pigeon-holes -of that big brain of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168"></a>{168}</span> his, all ready and in trim for using; made his own -comments on the whole complicated concern, and, with his whole mind bent -on what was before him, mastered that, and thought of nothing else. Let -nobody suppose he had the delight of a student in these strange and -unattractive studies, or regarded with any degree of affectionateness -the library of the House. Charlie looked at these volumes standing in -dim rows, within their wired case, as Captain Bobadil might have looked -at the army whom—one down and another come on—he meant to demolish, -man by man. When he came to a knotty point, more hard than usual, the -lad felt a stir of lively pleasure: he scorned a contemptible opponent, -this stout young fighter, and gloried in a conquest which proved him, by -stress and strain of all his healthful faculties, the better man. If -they had been easy, Charlie would scarcely have cared for them. -Certainly, mere literature, even were it as attractive as <i>Peter -Simple</i>, could never have tempted him to the office at seven o’clock. -Charlie stood by himself, like some primitive and original champion, -secretly hammering out the armour which he was to wear in the field, and -taking delight in the accomplishment of gyve and breastplate and morion, -all proved and tested steel. Through the day he went about all his -common businesses as sturdily and steadily as if his best ambition was -to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169"></a>{169}</span> be a copying-clerk. If any one spoke of ambition, Charlie said -“Stuff!” and no one ever heard a word of his own anticipations; but on -he went, his foot ringing clear upon the pavement, his obstinate purpose -holding as sure as if it were written on a rock. While all the household -stirred and fluttered with the new tide of imaginative life which -brightened upon it in all these gleams of the future, Charlie held -stoutly on, pursuing his own straightforward and unattractive path. With -his own kind of sympathy he eked out the pleasure of the family, and no -one of them ever felt a lack in him; but nothing yet which had happened -to the household in the slightest degree disturbed Charlie from his own -bold, distinct, undemonstrative, and self-directed way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170"></a>{170}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XXII</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>ANOTHER EVENT.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">We</span> will not attempt to describe the excitement, astonishment, and -confusion produced in the house of the Athelings by the next -communication received from Mr Burlington. It came at night, so that -every one had the benefit, and its object was to announce the astounding -and unexampled news of A Second Edition!</p> - -<p>The letter dropped from Agnes’s amazed fingers; Papa actually let fall -his newspaper; and Charlie, disturbed at his grammar, rolled back the -heavy waves of his brow, and laughed to himself. As for Mamma and -Marian, each of them read the letter carefully over. There was no -mistake about it—<i>Hope Hazelwood</i> was nearly out of print. True, Mr -Burlington confessed that this first edition had been a small one, but -the good taste of the public demanded a second; and the polite publisher -begged to have an interview with Miss Atheling, to know whether she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171"></a>{171}</span> -would choose to add or revise anything in the successful book.</p> - -<p>Upon this there ensued a consultation. Mrs Atheling was doubtful as to -the proprieties of the case; Papa was of opinion that the easiest and -simplest plan was, that the girls should call; but Mamma, who was -something of a timid nature, and withal a little punctilious, hesitated, -and did not quite see which was best. Bellevue, doubtless, was very far -out of the way, and the house, though so good a house, was not “like -what Mr Burlington must have been accustomed to.” The good mother was a -long time making up her mind; but at last decided, with some -perturbation, on the suggestion of Mr Atheling. “Yes, you can put on -your muslin dresses; it is quite warm enough for them, and they always -look well; and you must see, Marian, that your collars and sleeves are -very nice, and your new bonnets. Yes, my dears, as there are two of you, -I think you may call.”</p> - -<p>The morning came; and by this time it was the end of June, almost -midsummer weather. Mrs Atheling herself, with the most anxious care, -superintended the dressing of her daughters. They were dressed with the -most perfect simplicity; and nobody could have supposed, to see the -result, that any such elaborate overlooking had been bestowed upon their -toilette. They were dressed well, in so far that their simple<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172"></a>{172}</span> -habiliments made no pretension above the plain pretty inexpensive -reality. They were not intensely fashionable, like Mrs Tavistock’s -niece, who was a regular Islingtonian “swell” (if that most felicitous -of epithets can be applied to anything feminine), and reminded everybody -who saw her of work-rooms and dressmakers and plates of the fashions. -Agnes and Marian, a hundred times plainer, were just so many times the -better dressed. They were not quite skilled in the art of gloves—a -difficult branch of costume, grievously embarrassing to those good -girls, who had not much above a pair in three months, and were -constrained to select thrifty colours; but otherwise Mrs Atheling -herself was content with their appearance as they passed along Bellevue, -brightening the sunny quiet road with their light figures and their -bright eyes. They had a little awe upon them—that little shade of sweet -embarrassment and expectation which gives one of its greatest charms to -youth. They were talking over what they were to say, and marvelling how -Mr Burlington would receive them; their young footsteps chiming as -lightly as any music to her tender ear—their young voices sweeter than -the singing of the birds, their bright looks more pleasant than the -sunshine—it is not to be wondered at if the little street looked -somewhat dim and shady to Mrs Atheling when these two young figures had -passed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173"></a>{173}</span> out of it, and the mother stood alone at the window, looking at -nothing better than the low brick-walls and closed doors of Laurel House -and Green View.</p> - -<p>And so they went away through the din and tumult of the great London, -with their own bright young universe surrounding them, and their own -sweet current of thought and emotion running as pure as if they had been -passing through the sweetest fields of Arcadia. They had no eyes for -impertinent gazers, if such things were in their way. Twenty stout -footmen at their back could not have defended them so completely as did -their own innocence and security. We confess they did not even shrink, -with a proper sentimental horror, from all the din and all the commotion -of this noonday Babylon; they liked their rapid glance at the wonderful -shop-windows; they brightened more and more as their course lay along -the gayest and most cheerful streets. It was pleasant to look at the -maze of carriages, pleasant to see the throngs of people, exhilarating -to be drawn along in this bright flood-tide and current of the world. -But they grew a little nervous as they approached the house of Mr -Burlington—a little more irregular in their pace, lingering and -hastening as timidity or eagerness got the upper hand—and a great deal -more silent, being fully occupied with anticipations of, and -preparations for, this momentous interview.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174"></a>{174}</span> What should Agnes—what -would Mr Burlington say?</p> - -<p>This silence and shyness visibly increased as they came to the very -scene and presence of the redoubtable publisher—where Agnes called the -small attendant clerk in the outer office “Sir” and deferentially asked -for Mr Burlington. When they had waited there for a few minutes, they -were shown into a matted parlour containing a writing-table and a -coal-scuttle, and three chairs. Mr Burlington would be disengaged in a -few minutes, the little clerk informed them, as he solemnly displaced -two of the chairs, an intimation that they were to sit down. They sat -down accordingly, with the most matter-of-course obedience, and held -their breath as they listened for the coming steps of Mr Burlington. But -the minutes passed, and Mr Burlington did not come. They began to look -round with extreme interest and curiosity, augmented all the more by -their awe. There was nothing in the least interesting in this bare -little apartment, but their young imaginations could make a great deal -out of nothing. At Mr Burlington’s door stood a carriage, with a grand -powdered coachman on the box, and the most superb of flunkies gracefully -lounging before the door. No doubt Mr Burlington was engaged with the -owner of all this splendour. Immediately they ran over all the great -names they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175"></a>{175}</span> could remember, forgetting for the moment that authors, even -of the greatest, are not much given, as a general principle, to gilded -coaches and flunkies of renown. Who could it be?</p> - -<p>When they were in the very height of their guessing, the door suddenly -opened. They both rose with a start; but it was only the clerk, who -asked them to follow him to the presence of Mr Burlington. They went -noiselessly along the long matted passage after their conductor, who was -not much of a Ganymede. At the very end, a door stood open, and there -were two figures half visible between them and a big round-headed -window, full of somewhat pale and cloudy sky. These two people turned -round, as some faint sound of the footsteps of Ganymede struck aside -from the matting. “Oh, what a lovely creature!—what a beautiful girl! -Now I do hope that is the one!” cried, most audibly, a feminine voice. -Marian, knowing by instinct that she was meant, shrank back grievously -discomfited. Even Agnes was somewhat dismayed by such a preface to their -interview; but Ganymede was a trained creature, and much above the -weakness of a smile or hesitation—<i>he</i> pressed on unmoved, and hurried -them into the presence and the sanctum of Mr Burlington. They came into -the full light of the big window, shy, timid, and graceful, having very -little self-possession to boast of, their hearts beating,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176"></a>{176}</span> their colour -rising—and for the moment it was scarcely possible to distinguish which -was the beautiful sister; for Agnes was very near as pretty as Marian in -the glow and agitation of her heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177"></a>{177}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XXIII</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>A NEW FRIEND.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> big window very nearly filled up the whole room. The little place -had once been the inmost heart of a long suite of apartments when this -was a fashionable house—now it was an odd little nook of seclusion, -with panelled walls, painted of so light a colour as to look almost -white in the great overflow of daylight; and what had looked like a pale -array of clouds in the window at a little distance, made itself out now -to be various blocks and projections of white-washed wall pressing very -close on every side, and leaving only in the upper half-circle a clear -bit of real clouds and unmistakable sky. The room had a little table, a -very few chairs, and the minutest and most antique of Turkey carpets -laid over the matting. The walls were very high; there was not even a -familiar coal-scuttle to lessen the solemnity of the publisher’s retreat -and sanctuary; and Mr Burlington was not alone.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178"></a>{178}</span></p> - -<p>And even the inexperienced eyes of Agnes and Marian were not slow to -understand that the lady who stood by Mr Burlington’s little table was a -genuine fine lady, one of that marvellous and unknown species which -flourishes in novels, but never had been visible in such a humble -hemisphere as the world of Bellevue. She was young still, but had been -younger, and she remained rich in that sweetest of all mere external -beauties, the splendid English complexion, that lovely bloom and -fairness, which is by no means confined to the flush of youth. She -looked beautiful by favour of these natural roses and lilies, but she -was not beautiful in reality from any other cause. She was lively, -good-natured, and exuberant to an extent which amazed these shy young -creatures, brought up under the quiet shadow of propriety, and -accustomed to the genteel deportment of Bellevue. They, in their simple -girlish dress, in their blushes, diffidence, and hesitation—and she, -accustomed to see everything yielding to her pretty caprices, arbitrary, -coquettish, irresistible, half a spoiled child and half a woman of the -world—they stood together, in the broad white light of that big window, -like people born in different planets. They could scarcely form the -slightest conception of each other. Nature itself had made difference -enough; but how is it possible<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179"></a>{179}</span> to estimate the astonishing difference -between Mayfair and Bellevue?</p> - -<p>“Pray introduce me, Mr Burlington; oh pray introduce me!” cried this -pretty vision before Mr Burlington himself had done more than bow to his -shy young visitors. “I am delighted to know the author of <i>Hope -Hazlewood</i>! charmed to be acquainted with Miss Atheling! My dear child, -how is it possible, at your age, to know so much of the world?”</p> - -<p>“It is my sister,” said Marian very shyly, almost under her breath. -Marian was much disturbed by this mistake of identity; it had never -occurred to her before that any one could possibly be at a loss for the -real Miss Atheling. The younger sister was somewhat indignant at so -strange a mistake.</p> - -<p>“Now that is right! that is poetic justice! that is a proper -distribution of gifts!” said the lady, clasping her hands with a pretty -gesture of approval. “If you will not introduce me, I shall be compelled -to do it myself, Mr Burlington: Mrs Edgerley. I am charmed to be the -first to make your acquaintance; we were all dying to know the author of -<i>Hope Hazlewood</i>. What a charming book it is! I say there has been -nothing like it since <i>Ellen Fullarton</i>, and dear Theodosia herself -entirely agrees with me. You are staying in town? Oh I am delighted! You -must let me see<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180"></a>{180}</span> a great deal of you, you must indeed; and I shall be -charmed to introduce you to Lady Theodosia, whose sweet books every one -loves. Pray, Mr Burlington, have you any very great secrets to say to -these young ladies, for I want so much to persuade them to come with -me?”</p> - -<p>“I shall not detain Miss Atheling,” said the publisher, with a bow, and -the ghost of a smile: “we will bring out the second edition in a week or -two; a very pleasant task, I assure you, and one which repays us for our -anxiety. Now, how about a preface? I shall be delighted to attend to -your wishes.”</p> - -<p>But Agnes, who had thought so much about him beforehand, had been too -much occupied hitherto to do more than glance at Mr Burlington. She -scarcely looked up now, when every one was looking at her, but said, -very low and with embarrassment, that she did not think she had any -wishes—that she left it entirely to Mr Burlington—he must know best.</p> - -<p>“Then we shall have no preface?” said Mr Burlington, deferentially.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Agnes, faltering a little, and glancing up to see if he -approved; “for indeed I do not think I have anything to say.”</p> - -<p>“Oh that is what a preface is made for,” cried the pretty Mrs Edgerley. -“You dear innocent child, do you never speak except when you have -something to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181"></a>{181}</span> say? Delightful! charming! I shall not venture to -introduce you to Lady Theodosia; if she but knew, how she would envy me! -You must come home with me to luncheon—you positively must; for I am -quite sure Mr Burlington has not another word to say.”</p> - -<p>The two girls drew back a little, and exchanged glances. “Indeed you are -very good, but we must go home,” said Agnes, not very well aware what -she was saying.</p> - -<p>“No, you must come with me—you must positively; I should break my -heart,” said their new acquaintance, with a pretty affectation of -caprice and despotism altogether new to the astonished girls. “Oh, I -assure you no one resists me. Your mamma will not have a word to say if -you tell her it is Mrs Edgerley. Good morning, Mr Burlington; how -fortunate I was to call to-day!”</p> - -<p>So saying, this lady of magic swept out, rustling through the long -matted passages, and carrying her captives, half delighted, half afraid, -in her train. They were too shy by far to make a pause and a commotion -by resisting; they had nothing of the self-possession of the trained -young ladies of society. The natural impulse of doing what they were -told was very strong upon them, and before they were half aware, or had -time to consider, they were shut into<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182"></a>{182}</span> the carriage by the sublime -flunky, and drove off into those dazzling and undiscovered regions, as -strange to them as Lapland or Siberia, where dwells The World. Agnes was -placed by the side of the enchantress; Marian sat shyly opposite, rather -more afraid of Mrs Edgerley’s admiring glance than she had ever been -before of the gaze of strangers. It seemed like witchcraft and sudden -magic—half-an-hour ago sitting in the little waiting-room, looking out -upon the fairy chariot, and now rolling along in its perfumy and warm -enclosure over the aristocratic stones of St James’s. The girls were -bewildered with their marvellous position, and could not make it out, -while into their perplexity stole an occasional thought of what Mamma -would say, and how very anxious she would grow if they did not get soon -home.</p> - -<p>Mrs Edgerley in the meanwhile ran on with a flutter of talk and -enthusiasm, pretty gestures, and rapid inquiries, so close and constant -that there was little room for answer and none for comment. And then, -long before they could be at their ease in the carriage, it drew up, -making a magnificent commotion, before a door which opened immediately -to admit the mistress of the house. Agnes and Marian followed her humbly -as she hastened up-stairs. They were bewildered with the long suite of -lofty apartments through which their conductress hurried, scarcely -aware, they supposed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183"></a>{183}</span> that they, not knowing what else to do, followed -where she led, till they came at last to a pretty boudoir, furnished, as -they both described it unanimously, “like the Arabian Nights!” Here Mrs -Edgerley found some letters, the object, as it seemed, of her search, -and good-naturedly paused, with her correspondence in her hand, to point -out to them the Park, which could be seen from the window, and the books -upon the tables. Then she left them, looking at each other doubtfully, -and half afraid to remain. “Oh, Agnes, what will mamma say?” whispered -Marian. All their innocent lives, until this day, they had never made a -visit to any one without the permission or sanction of Mamma.</p> - -<p>“We could not help it,” said Agnes. That was very true; so with a -relieved conscience, but very shyly, they turned over the pretty -picture-books, the pretty nicknacks, all the elegant nothings of Mrs -Edgerley’s pretty bower. Good Mrs Atheling could very seldom be tempted -to buy anything that was not useful, and there was scarcely a single -article in the whole house at home which was not good for something. -This being the case, it is easy to conceive with what perverse youthful -delight the girls contemplated the hosts of pretty things around, which -were of no use whatever, nor good for anything in the world. It gave -them an idea of exuberance, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184"></a>{184}</span> magnificence, of prodigality, more than -the substantial magnitude of the great house or the handsome equipage. -Besides, they were alone for the moment, and so much less embarrassed, -and the rose-coloured atmosphere charmed them all the more that they -were quite unaccustomed to it. Yet they spoke to each other in whispers -as they peeped into the sunny Park, all bright and green in the -sunshine, and marvelled much what Mamma would say, and how they should -get home.</p> - -<p>When Mrs Edgerley returned to them, they were stooping over the table -together, looking over some of the most splendid of the “illustrated -editions” of this age of sumptuous bookmaking. When they saw their -patroness they started, and drew a little apart from each other. She -came towards them through the great drawing-room, radiant and rustling, -and they looked at her with shy admiration. They were by no means sure -of their own position, but their new acquaintance certainly was the -kindest and most delightful of all sudden friends.</p> - -<p>“Do you forgive me for leaving you?” said Mrs Edgerley, holding out both -her pretty hands; “but now we must not wait here any longer, but go to -luncheon, where we shall be all by ourselves, quite a snug little party; -and now, you dear child, come and tell me everything about it. What was -it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a>{185}</span> that first made you think of writing that charming book?”</p> - -<p>Mrs Edgerley had drawn Agnes’s arm within her own, a little to the -discomposure of the shy young genius, and, followed closely by Marian, -led them down stairs. Agnes made no answer in her confusion. Then they -came to a pretty apartment on the lower floor, with a broad window -looking out to the Park. The table was near the window; the pretty scene -outside belonged to the little group within, as they placed themselves -at the table, and the room itself was green and cool and pleasant, not -at all splendid, lined with books, and luxurious with easy-chairs. There -was a simple vase upon the table, full of roses, but there was no -profusion of prettinesses here.</p> - -<p>“This is my own study; I bring every one to see it. Is it not a charming -little room?” said Mrs Edgerley (it would have contained both the -parlours and the two best bedrooms of Number Ten, Bellevue); “but now I -am quite dying to hear—really, how did it come into your head to write -that delightful book?”</p> - -<p>“Indeed I do not know,” said Agnes, smiling and blushing. It seemed -perfectly natural that the book should have made so mighty a sensation, -and yet it was rather embarrassing, after all.</p> - -<p>“I think because she could not help it,” said Marian shyly, her -beautiful face lighting up as she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186"></a>{186}</span> spoke with a sweet suffusion of -colour. Their hearts were beginning to open to the kindness of their new -friend.</p> - -<p>“And you are so pleased and so proud of your sister—I am sure you -are—it is positively delightful,” said Mrs Edgerley. “Now tell me, were -you not quite heartbroken when you finished it—such a delightful -interest one feels in one’s characters—such an object it is to live -for, is it not? The first week after my first work was finished I was -<i>triste</i> beyond description. I am sure you must have been quite -miserable when you were obliged to come to an end.”</p> - -<p>The sisters glanced at each other rather doubtfully across the table. -Everybody else seemed to have feelings so much more elevated than -they—for they both remembered with a pang of shame that Agnes had -actually been glad and jubilant when this first great work was done.</p> - -<p>“And such a sweet heroine—such a charming character!” said Mrs -Edgerley. “Ah, I perceive you have taken your sister for your model, and -now I shall always feel sure that she is Hope Hazlewood; but at your age -I cannot conceive where you got so much knowledge of the world. Do you -go out a great deal? do you see a great many people? But indeed, to tell -the truth,” said Mrs Edgerley, with a pretty laugh, “I do believe you -have no right to see any one yet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187"></a>{187}</span> You ought to be in the schoolroom, -young creatures like you. Are you both <i>out</i>?”</p> - -<p>This was an extremely puzzling question, and some answer was necessary -this time. The girls again looked at each other, blushing over neck and -brow. In their simple honesty they thought themselves bound to make a -statement of their true condition—what Miss Willsie would have called -“their rank in life.”</p> - -<p>“We see very few people. In our circumstances people do not speak about -coming out,” said Agnes, hesitating and doubtful—the young author had -no great gift of elegant expression. But in fact Mrs Edgerley did not -care in the slightest degree about their “circumstances.” She was a -hundred times more indifferent on that subject than any genteel and -respectable matron in all Bellevue.</p> - -<p>“Oh then, that is so much better,” said Mrs Edgerley, “for I see you -must have been observing character all your life. It is, after all, the -most delightful study; but such an eye for individuality! and so young! -I declare I shall be quite afraid to make friends with you.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, I do not know at all about character,” said Agnes hurriedly, as -with her pretty little ringing laugh, Mrs Edgerley broke off in a pretty -affected trepidation; but their patroness shook her hand at her, and -turned away in a graceful little terror.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188"></a>{188}</span></p> - -<p>“I am sure she must be the most dreadful critic, and keep you quite in -awe of her,” said their new friend, turning to Marian. “But now pray -tell me your names. I have such an interest in knowing every one’s -Christian name; there is so much character in them. I do think that is -the real advantage of a title. There is dear Lady Theodosia, for -instance: suppose her family had been commoners, and she had been called -Miss Piper! Frightful! odious! almost enough to make one do some harm to -oneself, or get married. And now tell me what are your names?”</p> - -<p>“My sister is Agnes, and I am Marian,” said the younger. Now we are -obliged to confess that by this time, though Mrs Edgerley answered with -the sweetest and most affectionate of smiles and a glance of real -admiration, she began to feel the novelty wear off, and flagged a little -in her sudden enthusiasm. It was clear to her young visitors that she -did not at all attend to the answer, despite the interest with which she -had asked the question. A shade of weariness, half involuntary, half of -will and purpose, came over her face. She rushed away immediately upon -another subject; asked another question with great concern, and was -completely indifferent to the answer. The girls were not used to this -phenomenon, and did not understand it; but at last, after hesitating and -doubting, and consulting each other by glances, Agnes made<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189"></a>{189}</span> a shy -movement of departure, and said Mamma would be anxious, and they should -have to go away.</p> - -<p>“The carriage is at the door, I believe,” said Mrs Edgerley, with her -sweet smile; “for of course you must let me send you home—positively -you must, my love. You are a great author, but you are a young lady, and -your sister is much too pretty to walk about alone. Delighted to have -seen you both! Oh, I shall write to you very soon; do not fear. -Everybody wants to make your acquaintance. I shall be besieged for -introductions. You are engaged to me for Thursday next week, remember! I -never forgive any one who disappoints me. Good-by! Adieu! I am charmed -to have met you both.”</p> - -<p>While this valedictory address was being said, the girls were slowly -making progress to the door; then they were ushered out solemnly to the -carriage which waited for them. They obeyed their fate in their going as -they did in their coming. They could not help themselves; and with -mingled fright, agitation, and pleasure, were once more shut up by that -superbest of flunkies, but drove off at a slow pace, retarded by the -intense bewilderment of the magnificent coachman as to the locality of -Bellevue.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190"></a>{190}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XXIV</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>GOING HOME.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Driving</span> slowly along while the coachman ruminated, Agnes and Marian, in -awe and astonishment, looked in each other’s faces—then they put up -their hands simultaneously to their faces, which were a little heated -with the extreme confusion, embarrassment, and wonder of the last two -hours—lastly, they both fell into a little outburst of low and somewhat -tremulous laughter—laughing in a whisper, if that is possible—and -laughing, not because they were very merry, but because, in their -extreme amazement, no other expression of their sentiments occurred to -them. Were they two enchanted princesses? and had they been in -fairyland?</p> - -<p>“Oh Agnes!” exclaimed Marian under her breath, “what will mamma say?”</p> - -<p>“I do not think mamma can be angry,” said Agnes, who had gained some -courage, “for I am sure we<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191"></a>{191}</span> could not help ourselves. What could we -do?—but when they see us coming home like this—oh May!”</p> - -<p>There was another pause. “I wonder very much what she has written. We -have never heard of her,” said Marian, “and yet I suppose she must be -quite a great author. How respectful Mr Burlington was! I am afraid it -will not be good for you, Agnes, that we live so much out of the -world—you ought to know people’s names at least.”</p> - -<p>Agnes did not dispute this advantage. “But I don’t quite think she can -be a great author,” said the young genius, looking somewhat puzzled, -“though I am sure she was very kind—how kind she was, Marian! And do -you think she really wants us to go on Thursday? Oh, I wonder what mamma -will say!”</p> - -<p>As this was the burden of the whole conversation, constantly recurring, -as every new phase of the question was discussed, the conversation -itself was not quite adapted for formal record. While it proceeded, the -magnificent coachman blundered towards the unknown regions of Islington, -much marvelling, in his lofty and elevated intelligence, what sort of -people his mistress’s new acquaintances could be. They reached Bellevue -at last by a grievous roundabout. What a sound and commotion they made -in this quiet place, where a doctor’s brougham was the most fashionable<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192"></a>{192}</span> -of equipages, and a pair of horses an unknown glory! The dash of that -magnificent drawing-up startled the whole neighbourhood, and the -population of Laurel House and Buena Vista flew to their bedroom windows -when the big footman made that prodigious assault upon the knocker of -Number Ten. Then came the noise of letting down the steps and opening -the carriage door; then the girls alighted, almost as timid as Susan, -who stood scared and terror-stricken within the door; and then Agnes, in -sudden temerity, but with a degree of respectfulness, offered, to the -acceptance of the footman, a precious golden half-sovereign, intrusted -to her by her mother this morning, in case they should want anything. -Poor Mrs Atheling, sitting petrified in her husband’s easy-chair, did -not know how the coin was being disposed of. They came in—the humble -door was closed—they stood again in the close little hall, with its -pegs and its painted oil-cloth—what a difference!—while the fairy -coach and the magical bay-horses, the solemn coachman and the superb -flunky, drove back into the world again with a splendid commotion, which -deafened the ears and fluttered the heart of all Bellevue.</p> - -<p>“My dears, where have you been? What have you been doing, girls? Was -that Mr Burlington’s carriage? Have you seen any one? Where have you -been?” asked Mrs Atheling, while Agnes cried<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193"></a>{193}</span> eagerly, “Mamma, you are -not to be angry!” and Marian answered, “Oh, mamma! we have been in -fairyland!”</p> - -<p>And then they sat down upon the old hair-cloth sofa beside the family -table, upon which, its sole ornaments, stood Mrs Atheling’s full -work-basket, and some old toys of Bell’s and Beau’s; and thus, sometimes -speaking together, sometimes interrupting each other, with numberless -corrections on the part of Marian and supplementary remarks from Agnes, -they told their astonishing story. They had leisure now to enjoy all -they had seen and heard when they were safe in their own house, and -reporting it all to Mamma. They described everything, remembered -everything, went over every word and gesture of Mrs Edgerley, from her -first appearance in Mr Burlington’s room until their parting with her; -and Marian faithfully recorded all her compliments to <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>, -and Agnes her admiration of Marian. It was the prettiest scene in the -world to see them both, flushed and animated, breaking in, each upon the -other’s narrative, contradicting each other, after a fashion; -remonstrating “Oh Agnes!” explaining, and adding description to -description; while the mother sat before them in her easy-chair, -sometimes quietly wiping her eyes, sometimes interfering<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194"></a>{194}</span> or commanding, -“One at a time, my dears,” and all the time thinking to herself that the -honours that were paid to “girls like these!” were no such wonder after -all. And indeed Mrs Atheling would not be sufficiently amazed at all -this grand and wonderful story. She was extremely touched and affected -by the kindness of Mrs Edgerley, and dazzled with the prospect of all -the great people who were waiting with so much anxiety to make -acquaintance with the author of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>, but she was by no -means properly <i>surprised</i>.</p> - -<p>“My dears, I foresaw how it would be,” said Mrs Atheling with her simple -wisdom. “I knew quite well all this must happen, Agnes. I have not read -about famous people for nothing, though I never said much about it. To -be sure, my dear, I knew people would appreciate you—it is quite -natural—it is quite proper, my dear child! I know they will never make -you forget what is right, and your duty, let them flatter as they will!”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling said this with a little effusion, and with wet eyes. Agnes -hung her head, blushed very deeply, grew extremely grave for a moment, -but concluded by glancing up suddenly again with a little overflow of -laughter. In the midst of all, she could not help recollecting how -perfectly ridiculous it was to make all this commotion about <i>her</i>. -“Me!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195"></a>{195}</span> said Agnes with a start; “they will find me out directly—they -must, mamma. You know I cannot talk or do anything; and indeed everybody -that knew me would laugh to think of people seeing anything in <i>me</i>!”</p> - -<p>Now this was perfectly true, though the mother and the sister, for the -moment, were not quite inclined to sanction it. Agnes was neither -brilliant nor remarkable, though she had genius, and was, at twenty and -a half, a successful author in her way. As she woke from her first awe -and amazement, Agnes began to find out the ludicrous side of her new -fame. It was all very well to like the book; there was some reason in -that, the young author admitted candidly; but surely those people must -expect something very different from the reality, who were about to -besiege Mrs Edgerley for introductions to “<i>me</i>!”</p> - -<p>However, it was very easy to forget this part of the subject in -returning to the dawn of social patronage, and in anticipating the -invitation they had received. Mrs Atheling, too, was somewhat -disappointed that they had made so little acquaintance with Mr -Burlington, and could scarcely even describe him, how he looked or what -he said. Mr Burlington had quite gone down in the estimation of the -girls. His lady client had entirely eclipsed, overshadowed, and taken -the glory out of the publisher. The talk was all of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196"></a>{196}</span> Mrs Edgerley, her -beauty, her kindness, her great house, her approaching party. They began -already to be agitated about this, remembering with terror the important -article of dress, and the simple nature and small variety of their -united wardrobe. Before they had been an hour at home, Miss Willsie made -an abrupt and sudden visit from Killiecrankie Lodge, to ascertain all -about the extraordinary apparition of the carriage, and to find out -where the girls had been; and it did not lessen their own excitement to -discover the extent of the commotion which they had caused in Bellevue. -The only drawback was, that a second telling of the story was not -practicable for the instruction and advantage of Papa—for, for the -first time in a dozen years, Mr Atheling, all by himself, and solitary, -was away from home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197"></a>{197}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XXV</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>PAPA’S OPINION.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Papa</span> was away from home. That very day on which the charmed light of -society first shone upon his girls, Papa, acting under the instructions -of a family conference, hurried at railway speed to the important -neighbourhood of the Old Wood Lodge. He was to be gone three days, and -during that time his household constituents expected an entire -settlement of the doubtful and difficult question which concerned their -inheritance. Charlie, perhaps, might have some hesitation on the -subject, but all the rest of the family believed devoutly in the -infallible wisdom and prowess of Papa.</p> - -<p>Yet it was rather disappointing that he should be absent at such a -crisis as this, when there was so much to tell him. They had to wonder -every day what he would think of the adventure of Agnes and Marian, and -how contemplate their entrance into the world; and great was the family -satisfaction at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198"></a>{198}</span> day and hour of his return. Fortunately it was -evening; the family tea-table was spread with unusual care, and the best -china shone and glistened in the sunshine, as Agnes, Marian, and Charlie -set out for the railway to meet their father. They went along together -very happily, excited by the expectation of all there was to tell, and -all there was to hear. The suburban roads were full of leisurely people, -gossiping, or meditating like old Isaac at eventide, with a breath of -the fields before them, and the big boom of the great city filling all -the air behind. The sun slanted over the homely but pleasant scene, -making a glorious tissue of the rising smoke, and brightening the dusky -branches of the wayside trees. “If we could but live in the country!” -said Agnes, pausing, and turning round to trace the long sun-bright line -of road, falling off into that imaginary Arcadia, or rather into the -horizon, with its verge of sunny and dewy fields. The dew falls upon the -daisies even in the vicinity of Islington—let students of natural -history bear this significant fact in mind.</p> - -<p>“Stuff! the train’s in,” said Charlie, dragging along his half-reluctant -sister, who, quite proud of his bigness and manly stature, had taken his -arm. “Charlie, don’t make such strides—who do you think can keep up -with you?” said Marian. Charlie laughed with the natural triumphant -malice of a younger<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199"></a>{199}</span> brother; he was perfectly indifferent to the fact -that one of them was a genius and the other a beauty; but he liked to -claim a certain manly and protective superiority over “the girls.”</p> - -<p>To the great triumph, however, of these victims of Charlie’s obstinate -will, the train was not in, and they had to walk about upon the platform -for full five minutes, pulling (figuratively) his big red ear, and -waiting for the exemplary second-class passenger, who was scrupulous to -travel by that golden mean of respectability, and would on no account -have put up with a parliamentary train. Happy Papa, it was better than -Mrs Edgerley’s magnificent pair of bays pawing in superb impatience the -plebeian causeway. He caught a glimpse of three eager faces as he looked -out of his little window—two pretty figures springing forward, one big -one holding back, and remonstrating. “Why, you’ll lose him in the -crowd—do you hear?” cried Charlie. “What good could you do, a parcel of -girls? See! you stand here, and I’ll fetch my father out.”</p> - -<p>Grievously against their will, the girls obeyed. Papa was safely evolved -out of the crowd, and went off at once between his daughters, leaving -Charlie to follow—which Charlie did accordingly, with Mr Atheling’s -greatcoat in one hand and travelling-bag in the other. They made quite a -little procession as they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200"></a>{200}</span> went home, Marian half dancing as she clasped -Papa’s arm, and tantalised him with hints of their wondrous tale; Agnes -walking very demurely on the other side, with a pretence of rebuking her -giddy sister; Charlie trudging with his burden in the rear. By way of -assuring him that he was not to know till they got home, Papa was put in -possession of all the main facts of their adventure, before they came -near enough to see two small faces at the bright open window, shouting -with impatience to see him. Happy Papa! it was almost worth being away a -year, instead of three days, to get such a welcome home.</p> - -<p>“Well, but who is this fine lady—and how were you introduced to -her—and what’s all this about a carriage?” said Papa. “Here’s Bell and -Beau, with all their good sense, reduced to be as crazy as the rest of -you. What’s this about a carriage?”</p> - -<p>For Bell and Beau, we are constrained to confess, had made immense ado -about the “two geegees” ever since these fabulous and extraordinary -animals drew up before the gate with that magnificent din and concussion -which shook to its inmost heart the quiet of Bellevue.</p> - -<p>“Oh, it is Mrs Edgerley’s, papa,” said Marian; “such a beautiful pair of -bay horses—she sent us home in it—and we met her at Mr Burlington’s, -and we went to luncheon at her house—and we are going there again<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201"></a>{201}</span> on -Thursday to a great party. She says everybody wishes to see Agnes; she -thinks there never was a book like <i>Hope</i>. She is very pretty, and has -the grandest house, and is kinder than anybody I ever saw. You never saw -such splendid horses. Oh, mamma, how pleasant it would be to keep a -carriage! I wonder if Agnes will ever be as rich as Mrs Edgerley; but -then, though <i>she</i> is an author, she is a great lady besides.”</p> - -<p>“Edgerley!” said Mr Atheling; “do you know, I heard that name at the Old -Wood Lodge.”</p> - -<p>“But, papa, what about the Lodge? you have never told us yet: is it as -pretty as you thought it was? Can we go to live there? Is there a -garden? I am sure <i>now</i>,” said Agnes, blushing with pleasure, “that we -will have money enough to go down there—all of us—mamma, and Bell and -Beau!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t deny it’s rather a pretty place,” said Mr Atheling; “and I -thought of Agnes immediately when I looked out from the windows. There -is a view for you! Do you remember it, Mary?—the town below, and the -wood behind, and the river winding about everywhere. Well, I confess to -you it <i>is</i> pretty, and not in such bad order either, considering all -things; and nothing said against our title yet, Mr Lewis tells me. Do -you know, children, if you were really to go down and take possession, -and then my lord made any<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202"></a>{202}</span> attempt against us, I should be tempted to -stand out against him, cost what it might?”</p> - -<p>“Then, papa, we ought to go immediately,” said Marian. “To be sure, you -should stand out—it belonged to our family; what has anybody else got -to do with it? And I tell you, Charlie, you ought to read up all about -it, and make quite sure, and let the gentleman know the real law.”</p> - -<p>“Stuff! I’ll mind my own business,” said Charlie. Charlie did not choose -to have any allusion made to his private studies.</p> - -<p>“And there are several people there who remember us, Mary,” said Mr -Atheling. “My lord is not at home—that is one good thing; but I met a -youth at Winterbourne yesterday, who lives at the Hall they say, and is -a—a—sort of a son; a fine boy, with a haughty look, more like the old -lord a great deal. And what did you say about Edgerley? There’s one of -the Rivers’s married to an Edgerley. I won’t have such an acquaintance, -if it turns out one of them.”</p> - -<p>“Why, William?” said Mrs Atheling. “Fathers and daughters are seldom -very much like each other. I do not care much about such an acquaintance -myself,” added the good mother, in a moralising tone. “For though it may -be very pleasant for the girls at first, I do not think it is good, as -Miss Willsie says, to have friends far out of our own rank of life. My -dear, Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203"></a>{203}</span> Willsie is very sensible, though she is not always pleasant; -and I am sure you never can be very easy or comfortable with people whom -you cannot have at your own house; and you know such a great lady as -that could not come <i>here</i>.”</p> - -<p>Agnes and Marian cast simultaneous glances round the room—it was -impossible to deny that Mrs Atheling was right.</p> - -<p>“But then the Old Wood Lodge, mamma!” cried Agnes, with sudden relief -and enthusiasm. “There we could receive any one—anybody could come to -see us in the country. If the furniture is not very good, we can improve -it a little. For you know, mamma——.” Agnes once more blushed with shy -delight and satisfaction, but came to a sudden conclusion there, and -said no more.</p> - -<p>“Yes, my dear, I know,” said Mrs Atheling, with a slight sigh, and a -careful financial brow; “but when your fortune comes, papa must lay it -by for you, Agnes, or invest it. William, what did you say it would be -best to do?”</p> - -<p>Mr Atheling immediately entered <i>con amore</i> into a consideration of the -best means of disposing of this fabulous and unarrived fortune. But the -girls looked blank when they heard of interest and percentage; they did -not appreciate the benefits of laying by.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204"></a>{204}</span></p> - -<p>“Are we to have no good of it, then, at all?” said Agnes disconsolately.</p> - -<p>Mr Atheling’s kind heart could not resist an appeal like this. “Yes, -Mary, they must have their pleasure,” said Papa; “it will not matter -much to Agnes’s fortune, the little sum that they will spend on the -journey, or the new house. No, you must go by all means; I shall fancy -it is in mourning for poor old Aunt Bridget, till my girls are there to -pull her roses. If I knew you were all there, I should begin to think -again that Winterbourne and Badgely Wood were the sweetest places in the -world.”</p> - -<p>“And there any one could come to see us,” said Marian, clapping her -hands. “Oh, papa, what a good thing for Agnes that Aunt Bridget left you -the Old Wood Lodge!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205"></a>{205}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XXVI</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>MRS EDGERLY’S THURSDAY.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Mr Atheling’s</span> visit to the country had, after all, not been so necessary -as the family supposed; no one seemed disposed to pounce upon the small -bequest of Miss Bridget. The Hall took no notice either of the death or -the will which changed the proprietorship of the Old Wood Lodge. It -remained intact and unvisited, dilapidated and picturesque, with Miss -Bridget’s old furniture in its familiar place, and her old maid in -possession. The roses began to brush the little parlour window, and -thrust their young buds against the panes, from which no one now looked -out upon their sweetness. Papa himself, though his heart beat high to -think of his own beautiful children blooming in this retired and -pleasant place, wept a kindly tear for his old aunt, as he stood in the -chamber of her long occupation, and found how empty and mournful was -this well-known room. It was a quaint and touching mausoleum, full of -relics; and good Mr Atheling felt<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206"></a>{206}</span> himself more and more bound to carry -out the old lady’s wishes as he stood in the vacant room.</p> - -<p>And then it would be such a good thing for Agnes! That was the most -flattering and pleasant view of the subject possible; and ambitious -ideas of making the Old Wood Lodge the prettiest of country cottages, -entered the imagination of the house. It was pretty enough for anything, -Papa said, looking as he spoke at his beautiful Marian, who was -precisely in the same condition; and if some undefined notion of a -prince of romance, carrying off from the old cottage the sweetest bride -in the world, did flash across the thoughts of the father and mother, -who would be hard enough to blame so natural a vision? As for Marian -herself, she thought of nothing but Agnes, unless, indeed, it was Mrs -Edgerley’s party; and there must, indeed, have been quite a moral -earthquake in London had all the invitees to this same party been as -much disturbed about it as these two sisters. They wondered a hundred -times in a day if it was quite right to go without any further -invitation—if Mrs Edgerley would write to them—who would be there? and -finally, and most momentous of all, if it would be quite proper to go in -those simple white dresses, which were, in fact, the only dresses they -could wear. Over these girlish robes there was great discussion, and -councils manifold; people, however, who have positively no choice, have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207"></a>{207}</span> -facilities for making up their minds unknown to more encumbered -individuals, and certainly there was no alternative here.</p> - -<p>Another of these much discussed questions was likewise very shortly set -to rest. Mrs Edgerley did write to Agnes the most affectionate and -emphatic of notes—deeply, doubly underscored in every fourth word, -adjuring her to “<i>remember</i> that I <small>NEVER</small> <i>forgive</i> any one who <i>forgets</i> -my <i>Thursday</i>.” Nobody could possibly be more innocent of this -unpardonable crime than Agnes and Marian, from whose innocent minds, -since they first heard of it, Mrs Edgerley’s Thursday had scarcely been -absent for an hour at a stretch; but they were mightily gratified with -this reminder, and excited beyond measure with the prospect before them. -They had also ascertained with much care and research the names of their -new acquaintance’s works—of which one was called <i>Fashion</i>, one -<i>Coquetry</i>, and one <i>The Beau Monde</i>. On the title-page of these famous -productions she was called the Honourable Mrs Edgerley—a distinction -not known to them before; and the girls read with devotion the three -sets of three volumes each, by which their distinguished friend had made -herself immortal. These books were not at all like <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>. It -was not indeed very easy to define what they were like; they were very -fine, full of splendid upholstery and elevated sentiments, diamonds<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208"></a>{208}</span> of -the finest water, and passions of the loftiest strain. The girls -prudently reserved their judgment on the matter. “It is only some people -who can write good books,” said Marian, in the tone of an indulgent -critic; and nobody disputed the self-evident truth.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Mr Foggo continued to pay his usual visit every night, and -Miss Willsie, somewhat curious and full of disapprovals, “looked in” -through the day. Miss Willsie, who in secret knew <i>Hope Hazlewood</i> -nearly by heart, disapproved of everything. If there was one thing she -did not like, it was young people setting up their opinion, and -especially writing books; and if there was one thing she could not bear, -it was to see folk in a middling way of life aiming to be like their -betters. Miss Willsie “could not put up with” Mrs Edgerley’s presumption -in sending the girls home in her carriage; she thought it was just as -much as taunting decent folk because they had no carriage of their own. -Altogether the mistress of Killiecrankie was out of temper, and would -not be pleased—nothing satisfied her; and she groaned in spirit over -the vanity of her young <i>protégés</i>.</p> - -<p>“Silly things!” said Miss Willsie, as she came in on the eventful -morning of Thursday itself, that golden day; “do you really think -there’s satisfaction in such vanities? Do you think any person finds -happiness in the pleasures of this world?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209"></a>{209}</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, Miss Willsie! if they were not very pleasant, why should people be -so frightened for them?” cried Marian, who was carefully trimming, with -some of her mother’s lace, the aforesaid white dress.</p> - -<p>“And then we are not trying to <i>find</i> happiness,” said Agnes, looking up -from her similar occupation with a radiant face, and a momentary -perception of the philosophy of the matter. After all, that made a -wonderful difference. Miss Willsie was far too Scotch to remain -unimpressed by the logical distinction.</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s true,” acknowledged Miss Willsie; “but you’re no to think -I approve of such a way of spending your happiness, though ye have got -it, ye young prodigals. If there is one thing I cannot endure, it’s -countenancing the like of you in your nonsense and extravagance; but I’m -no for doing things by halves either—Here!”</p> - -<p>Saying which, Miss Willsie laid a parcel upon the table and disappeared -instantly, opening the door for herself, and closing it after her with -the briskest energy. There was not much time lost in examining the -parcel; and within it, in a double wrapper, lay two little pairs of -satin shoes, the whitest, daintiest, prettiest in the world.</p> - -<p>Cinderella’s glass slippers! But Cinderella in the story was not half so -much disturbed as these two<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210"></a>{210}</span> girls. It seemed just the last proof -wanting of the interest all the world took in this momentous and -eventful evening. Miss Willsie, the general critic and censor, who -approved of nothing! If it had not been for a little proper pride in the -presence of Susan, who just then entered the parlour, Marian and Agnes -would have been disposed for half a minute to celebrate this pleasure, -in true feminine fashion, by a very little “cry.”</p> - -<p>And then came the momentous duties of the toilette. The little white -bedchamber looked whiter to-night than it had done all its days before, -under the combined lustre of the white dresses, the white ribbons, and -the white shoes. They were both so young and both so bright that their -colourless and simple costume looked in the prettiest harmony imaginable -with their sweet youth—which was all the more fortunate, that they -could not help themselves, and had nothing else to choose. One of those -useful and nondescript vehicles called “flies” stood at the door. -Charlie, with his hat on, half laughing, half ashamed of his office, -lingered in the hall, waiting to accompany them. They kissed Bell and -Beau (dreadfully late for this one night, and in the highest state of -exultation) with solemnity—submitted themselves to a last inspection on -the part of Mrs Atheling, and with a little fright and sudden terror -were put into the “carriage.” Then the carriage<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211"></a>{211}</span> drove away through the -late summer twilight, rambling into the distance and the darkness. Then -at last Mamma ventured to drop into the easy-chair, and rest for a -moment from her labours and her anxieties. At this great crisis of the -family history, small events looked great events to Mrs Atheling; as if -they had been going out upon a momentous enterprise, this good mother -paused awhile in the darkness, and blessed them in her heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212"></a>{212}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XXVII</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>THE WORLD.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">They</span> were bewildered, yet they lost nothing of the scene. The great -rooms radiant with light, misty with hangings, gleaming with -mirrors—the magnificent staircase up which they passed, they never -could tell how, ashamed of the echo of their own names—the beautiful -enchantress of a hostess, who bestowed upon each of them that light -perfumy kiss of welcome, at the momentary touch of which the girls -blushed and trembled—the strange faces everywhere around them—their -own confusion, and the shyness which they thought so awkward. Though all -these things together united to form a dazzling jumble for the first -moment, the incoherence of the vision lasted no longer. With a touch of -kindness Mrs Edgerley led them (for of course they were scrupulously -early, and punctual to the hour) to her pretty boudoir, where they had -been before, and which was not so bright nor like to be so thronged as -the larger<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213"></a>{213}</span> rooms. Here already a young matron sat in state, with a -little circle of worshippers. Mrs Edgerley broke into the midst of them -to introduce to the throned lady her young strangers. “They have no one -with them—pray let them be beside you,” whispered the beautiful hostess -to her beautiful guest. The lady bowed, and stared, and assented. When -Mrs Edgerley left them, Agnes and Marian looked after her wistfully, the -only face they had ever seen before, and stood together in their shy -irresolute grace, blushing, discouraged, and afraid. They supposed it -was not right to speak to any one whom they had not been introduced to; -but no one gave them any inconvenience for the moment in the matter of -conversation. They stood for a short time shyly, expecting some notice -from their newly-elected chaperone, but she had half-a-dozen flirtations -in hand, and no leisure for a charge which was a bore. This, it must be -confessed, was somewhat different from Mrs Edgerley’s anticipation of -being “besieged for introductions” to the author of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>. -The young author looked wistfully into the brightness of the great -drawing-room, with some hope of catching the eye of her patroness; but -Mrs Edgerley was in the full business of “receiving,” and had no eye -except for the brilliant stream of arrivals. Marian began to be -indignant, and kept her beautiful eyes full upon Agnes, watching<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214"></a>{214}</span> her -sister with eager sympathy. Never before, in all their serene and quiet -lives, had they needed to be proud. For a moment the lip of Agnes curved -and quivered—a momentary pang of girlish mortification passed over her -face—then they both drew back suddenly to a table covered with books -and portfolios, which stood behind them. They did not say a word to each -other—they bent down over the prints and pictures with a sudden impulse -of self-command and restraint: no one took the slightest notice of them; -they stood quite alone in these magnificent rooms, which were slowly -filling with strange faces. Agnes was afraid to look up, lest any one -should see that there were actual tears under her eyelids. How she -fancied she despised herself for such a weakness! But, after all, it was -a hard enough lesson for neophytes so young and innocent,—so they stood -very silent, bending closely over the picture-books, overcoming as they -could their sudden mortification and disappointment. No one disturbed -them in their solitary enjoyment of their little table, and for once in -their life they did not say a word to each other, but bravely fought out -the crisis within themselves, and rose again with all the pride of -sensitive and imaginative natures to the emergency. With a sudden -impulsive movement Agnes drew a chair to the table, and made Marian sit -down upon it. “Now,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215"></a>{215}</span> we will suppose we are at the play,” said Agnes, -with youthful contempt and defiance, leaning her arm upon the back of -the chair, and looking at the people instead of the picture-books. -Marian was not so rapid in her change of mood—she sat still, shading -her face with her hand, with a flush upon her cheek, and an angry cloud -on her beautiful young brow. Yes, Marian was extremely angry. -Mortification on her own account did not affect her—but that all these -people, who no doubt were only rich people and nobodies—that they -should neglect Agnes!—this was more than her sisterly equanimity could -bear.</p> - -<p>Agnes Atheling was not beautiful. When people looked at her, they never -thought of her face, what were its features or its complexion. These -were both agreeable enough to make no detraction from the interest of -the bright and animated intelligence which was indeed the only beauty -belonging to her. She did not know herself with what entire and -transparent honesty her eyes and her lips expressed her sentiments; and -it never occurred to her that her own looks, as she stood thus, somewhat -defiant, and full of an imaginative and heroical pride, looking out upon -all those strangers, made the brightest comment possible upon the scene. -How her eye brightened with pleasure as it fell on a pleasant face—how -her lip laughed when something ridiculous caught her rapid -attention—how<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216"></a>{216}</span> the soft lines on her forehead drew together when -something displeased her delicate fancy—and how a certain natural -delight in the graceful grouping and brilliant action of the scene -before her lighted up all her face—was quite an unknown fact to Agnes. -It was remarkable enough, however, in an assembly of people whose looks -were regulated after the most approved principles, and who were -generally adepts in the admirable art of expressing nothing. And then -there was Marian, very cloudy, looking up under the shadow of her hand -like an offended fairy queen. Though Mrs Edgerley was lost in the stream -of her arriving guests, and the beautiful young chaperone she had -committed them to took no notice whatever of her charge, tired eyes, -which were looking out for something to interest them, gradually fixed -upon Agnes and Marian. One or two observers asked who they were, but -nobody could answer the question. They were quite by themselves, and -evidently knew no one; and a little interest began to rise about them, -which the girls, making their own silent observations upon everything, -and still sometimes with a little wistfulness looking for Mrs Edgerley, -had not yet begun to see.</p> - -<p>When an old gentleman came to their table, and startled them a little by -turning over the picture-books. He was an ancient beau—the daintiest of -old<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217"></a>{217}</span> gentlemen—with a blue coat and a white waistcoat, and the most -delicate of ruffles. His hair—so much as he had—was perfectly white, -and his high bald forehead, and even his face, looked like a piece of -ivory curiously carved into wrinkles. He was not by any means a handsome -old man, yet it was evident enough that this peculiar look and studied -dress belonged to a notability, whose coat and cambric, and the great -shining diamond upon whose wrinkled ashen-white hand, belonged to his -character, and were part of himself. He was an old connoisseur, critic, -and fine gentleman, with a collection of old china, old jewels, rare -small pictures, and curious books, enough to craze the whole dilettanti -world when it came to the prolonged and fabulous sale, which was its -certain end. And he was a connoisseur in other things than silver and -china. He was somewhat given to patronising young people; and the common -judgment gave him credit for great kindness and benignity. But it was -not benignity and kindness which drew Mr Agar to the side of Agnes and -Marian. Personal amusement was a much more prevailing inducement than -benevolence with the dainty old dilettante. They were deceived, of -course, as youth is invariably; for despite the pure selfishness of the -intention, the effect, as it happened, was kind.</p> - -<p>Mr Agar began a conversation by remarking upon the books, and drew forth -a shy reply from both; then<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218"></a>{218}</span> he managed gradually to change his -position, and to survey the assembled company along with them, but with -his most benign and patriarchal expression. He was curious to hear in -words those comments which Agnes constantly made with her eyes; and he -was pleased to observe the beauty of the younger sister—the perfect -unconscious grace of all her movements and attitudes. They thought they -had found the most gracious of friends, these simple girls; they had not -the remotest idea that he was only a connoisseur.</p> - -<p>“Then you do not know many of those people?” said Mr Agar, following -Agnes’s rapid glances. “Ah, old Lady Knightly! is that a friend of -yours?”</p> - -<p>“No; I was thinking of the old story of ‘Thank you for your Diamonds,” -said Agnes, who could not help drawing back a little, and casting down -her eyes for the moment, while the sound of her own voice, low as it -was, brought a sudden flush to her cheek. “I did not think diamonds had -been so pretty; they look as if they were alive.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, the diamonds!” said the old critic, looking at the unconscious -object of Agnes’s observation, who was an old lady, wrinkled and -gorgeous, with a leaping, twinkling band of light circling her -time-shrivelled brow. “Yes, she looks as if she had dressed for a -masquerade in the character of Night—eh? Poor old lady, with her lamps -of diamonds! Beauty, you perceive,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219"></a>{219}</span> does not need so many tapers to show -its whereabouts.”</p> - -<p>“But there are a great many beautiful people here,” said Agnes, “and a -great many jewels. I think, sir, it is kind of people to wear them, -because all the pleasure is to us who look on.”</p> - -<p>“You think so? Ah, then beauty itself, I suppose, is pure generosity, -and <i>we</i> have all the pleasure of it,” said the amused old gentleman; -“that is comfortable doctrine, is it not?” And he looked at Marian, who -glanced up blushingly, yet with a certain pleasure. He smiled, yet he -looked benignant and fatherly; and this was an extremely agreeable view -of the matter, and made it much less embarrassing to acknowledge oneself -pretty. Marian felt herself indebted to this kind old man.</p> - -<p>“And you know no one—not even Mrs Edgerley, I presume?” said the old -gentleman. They both interrupted him in haste to correct this, but he -only smiled the more, and went on. “Well, I shall be benevolent, and -tell you who your neighbours are; but I cannot follow those rapid eyes. -Yes, I perceive you have made a good pause for a beginning—that is our -pretty hostess’s right honourable papa. Poor Winterbourne! he was sadly -clumsy about his business. He is one of those unfortunate men who cannot -do a wicked thing without doing it coarsely.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220"></a>{220}</span> You perceive, he is -stopping to speak to Lady Theodosia—dear Lady Theodosia, who writes -those sweet books! Nature intended she should be merry and vulgar, and -art has made her very fine, very sentimental, and full of tears. There -is an unfortunate youth wandering alone behind everybody’s back. That is -a miserable new poet, whom Mrs Edgerley has deluded hither under the -supposition that he is to be the lion of the evening. Poor fellow! he is -looking demoniacal, and studying an epigram. Interested in the -poet—eh?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” said Agnes, with her usual respect; “but we were thinking of -ourselves, who were something the same,” she added quickly; for Mr Agar -had seen the sudden look which passed between the sisters.</p> - -<p>“Something the same! then I am to understand that you are a poet?” said -the old gentleman, with his unvarying benignity. “No!—what then? A -musician? No; an artist? Come, you puzzle me. I shall begin to suppose -you have written a novel if you do not explain.”</p> - -<p>The animated face of Agnes grew blank in a moment; she drew farther -back, and blushed painfully. Marian immediately drew herself up and -stood upon the defensive. “Is it anything wrong to write a novel?” said -Marian. Mr Agar turned upon her with his benignant smile.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221"></a>{221}</span></p> - -<p>“It is so, then?” said the old gentleman; “and I have not the least -doubt it is an extremely clever novel. But hold! who comes here? Ah, an -American! Now we must do our best to talk very brilliantly, for friend -Jonathan loves the conversation of distinguished circles. Let me find a -seat for you, and do not be angry that I am not an enthusiast in -literary matters. We have all our hobbies, and that does not happen to -be mine.”</p> - -<p>Agnes sat down passively on the chair he brought for her. The poor girl -felt grievously ashamed of herself. After all, what was that poor little -book, that she should ground such mighty claims upon it? Who cared for -the author of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>? Mr Agar, though he was so kind, did not -even care to inquire what book it was, nor showed the smallest curiosity -about its name. Agnes was so much cast down that she scarcely noticed -the upright figure approaching towards them, carrying an abstracted head -high in the air, and very like to run over smaller people; but Mr Agar -stepped aside, and Marian touched her sister’s arm. “It is Mr -Endicott—look, Agnes!” whispered Marian. Both of them were stirred with -sudden pleasure at sight of him; it was a known face in this dazzling -wilderness, though it was not a very comely one. Mr Endicott was as much -startled as themselves when glancing downward from<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222"></a>{222}</span> his lofty altitude, -his eye fell upon the beautiful face which had made sunshine even in the -shady place of that Yankee young gentleman’s self-admiring breast. The -sudden discovery brightened his lofty languor for a moment. He hastened -to shake hands with them, so impressively that the pretty lady and her -cloud of admirers paused in their flutter of satire and compliment to -look on.</p> - -<p>“This is a pleasure I was not prepared for,” said Mr Endicott. “I -remember that Mr Atheling had an early acquaintance with Viscount -Winterbourne—I presume an old hereditary friendship. I am rejoiced to -find that such things are, even in this land of sophistication. This is -a brilliant scene!”</p> - -<p>“Indeed I do not think papa knows Lord Winterbourne,” said Agnes -hastily; but her low voice did not reach the ears which had been so far -enlightened by Mr Endicott. “Hereditary friendship—old connections of -the family; no doubt daughters of some squire in Banburyshire,” said -their beautiful neighbour, in a half-offended tone, to one of her -especial retainers, who showed strong symptoms of desertion, and had -already half-a-dozen times asked Marian’s name. Unfortunate Mr Endicott! -he gained a formidable rival by these ill-advised words.</p> - -<p>“I find little to complain of generally in the most distinguished -circles of your country,” said Mr Endicott.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223"></a>{223}</span> “Your own men of genius may -be neglected, but a foreigner of distinction always finds a welcome. -This is true wisdom—for by this means we are enabled to carry a good -report to the world.”</p> - -<p>“I say, what nice accounts these French fellows give of us!” burst in -suddenly a very young man, who stood under the shadow of Mr Endicott. -The youth who hazarded this brilliant remark did not address anybody in -particular, and was somewhat overpowered by the unexpected honour of an -answer from Mr Agar.</p> - -<p>“Trench journalists, and newspaper writers of any country, are of course -the very best judges of manners and morals,” said the old gentleman, -with a smile; “the other three estates are more than usually fallible; -the fourth is the nearest approach to perfection which we can find in -man.”</p> - -<p>“Sir,” said Mr Endicott, “in my country we can do without Queen, Lords, -and Commons; but we cannot do without the Press—that is, the exponent -of every man’s mind and character, the legitimate vehicle of instructive -experiences. The Press, sir, is Progress—the only effective agency ever -invented for the perfection of the human race.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I am sure I quite agree with you. I am quite in love with the -newspapers; they do make one so delightfully out of humour,” said Mrs -Edgerley,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224"></a>{224}</span> suddenly making her appearance; “and really, you know, when -they speak of society, it is quite charming—so absurd! Sir Langham -Portland—Miss Atheling. I have been so longing to come to you. Oh, and -you must know Mr Agar. Mr Agar, I want to introduce you to my charming -young friend, the author of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>; is it not wonderful? I was -sure you, who are so fond of people of genius, would be pleased to know -her. And there is dear Lady Theodosia, but she is so surrounded. You -must come to the Willows—you must indeed; I positively insist upon it. -For what can one do in an evening? and so many of my friends want to -know you. We go down in a fortnight. I shall certainly calculate upon -you. Oh, I never take a refusal; it was <i>so</i> kind of you to come -to-night.”</p> - -<p>Before she had ceased speaking, Mrs Edgerley was at the other end of the -room, conversing with some one else, by her pretty gestures. Sir Langham -Portland drew himself up like a guardsman, as he was, on the other side -of Marian, and made original remarks about the picture-books, somewhat -to the amusement, but more to the dismay of the young beauty, -unaccustomed to such distinguished attentions. Mr Agar occupied himself -with Agnes; he told her all about the Willows, Mrs Edgerley’s pretty -house at Richmond, which was always amusing, said the old gentleman.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225"></a>{225}</span> He -was very pleasantly amused himself with Agnes’s bright respondent face, -which, however, this wicked old critic was fully better pleased with -while its mortification and disappointment lasted. Mr Endicott remained -standing in front of the group, watching the splendid guardsman with a -misanthropic eye. This, however, was not very amusing; and the -enlightened American gracefully took from his pocket the daintiest of -pocket-books, fragrant with Russia leather and clasped with gold. From -this delicate enclosure Mr Endicott selected with care a letter and a -card, and, armed with these formidable implements, turned round upon the -unconscious old gentleman. When Mr Agar caught a glimpse of this -impending assault, his momentary look of dismay would have delighted -himself, could he have seen it. “I have the honour of bearing a letter -of introduction,” said Mr Endicott, closing upon the unfortunate -connoisseur, and thrusting before his eyes the weapons of offence—the -moral bowie-knife and revolver, which were the weapons of this young -gentleman’s warfare. Mr Agar looked his assailant in the face, but did -not put forth his hand.</p> - -<p>“At my own house,” said the ancient beau, with a gracious smile: “who -could be stoic enough to do justice to the most distinguished of -strangers, under such irresistible distractions as I find here?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226"></a>{226}</span></p> - -<p>Poor Mr Endicott! He did not venture to be offended, but he was -extinguished notwithstanding, and could not make head against his double -disappointment; for there stood the guardsman speaking through his -mustache of Books of Beauty, and holding his place like the most -faithful of sentinels by Marian Atheling’s side.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227"></a>{227}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XXVIII</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>A FOE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">I shall</span> have to relinquish my charge of you,” said the young chaperone, -for the first time addressing Agnes. Agnes started immediately, and -rose.</p> - -<p>“It is time for us to go,” she said with eager shyness, “but I did not -like. May we follow you? If it would not trouble you, it would be a -great kindness, for we know no one here.”</p> - -<p>“Why did you come, then?” said the lady. Agnes’s ideas of politeness -were sorely tried to-night.</p> - -<p>“Indeed,” said the young author, with a sudden blush and courage, “I -cannot tell why, unless because Mrs Edgerley asked us; but I am sure it -was very foolish, and we will know better another time.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it is always tiresome, unless one knows everybody,” said the -pretty young matron, slowly rising, and accepting with a careless grace -the arm which somebody offered her. The girls rose hastily to follow. Mr -Agar had left them some time before, and even the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228"></a>{228}</span> magnificent guardsman -had been drawn away from his sentryship. With a little tremor, looking -at nobody, and following very close in the steps of their leader, they -glided along through the brilliant groups of the great drawing-room. -But, alas! they were not fated to reach the door in unobserved safety. -Mr Endicott, though he was improving his opportunities, though he had -already fired another letter of introduction at somebody else’s head, -and listened to his heart’s content to various snatches of that most -brilliant and wise conversation going on everywhere around him, had -still kept up a distant and lofty observation of the lady of his love. -He hastened forward to them now, as with beating hearts they pursued -their way, keeping steadily behind their careless young guide. “You are -going?” said Mr Endicott, making a solemn statement of the fact. “It is -early; let me see you to your carriage.”</p> - -<p>But they were glad to keep close to him a minute afterwards, while they -waited for that same carriage, the Islingtonian fly, with Charlie in it, -which was slow to recognise its own name when called. Charlie rolled -himself out as the vehicle drew up, and came to the door like a man to -receive his sisters. A gentleman stood by watching the whole scene with -a little amusement—the shy girls, the big brother, the officious -American. This was a man of singularly pale complexion,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229"></a>{229}</span> very black -hair, and a face over which the skin seemed to be strained so tight that -his features were almost ghastly. He was old, but he did not look like -his age; and it was impossible to suppose that he ever could have looked -young. His smile was not at all a pleasant smile. Though it came upon -his face by his own will, he seemed to have no power of putting it off -again; and it grew into a faint spasmodic sneer, offensive and -repellent. Charlie looked him in the face with a sudden impulse of -pugnacity—he looked at Charlie with this bloodless and immovable smile. -The lad positively lingered, though his fly “stopped the way,” to bestow -another glance upon this remarkable personage, and their eyes met in a -full and mutual stare. Whether either person, the old man or the youth, -were moved by a thrill of presentiment, we are not able to say; but -there was little fear hereafter of any want of mutual recognition. -Despite the world of social distinction, age, and power which lay -between them, Charlie Atheling looked at Lord Winterbourne, and Lord -Winterbourne looked at Charlie. It was their first point of contact; -neither of them could read the fierce mutual conflict, the ruin, -despair, and disgrace which lay in the future, in that first look of -impulsive hostility; but as the great man entered his carriage, and the -boy plunged into the fly, their thoughts for the moment were full of -each other—so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230"></a>{230}</span> full that neither could understand the sudden distinct -recognition of this first touch of fate.</p> - -<p>“No; mamma was quite right,” said Agnes; “we cannot be great friends nor -very happy with people so different from ourselves.”</p> - -<p>And the girls sighed. They were pleased, yet they were disappointed. It -was impossible to deny that the reality was as far different from the -imagination as anything could be; and really nobody had been in the -smallest degree concerned about the author of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>. Even -Marian was compelled to acknowledge that.</p> - -<p>“But then,” cried this eager young apologist, “they were not literary -people; they were not good judges; they were common people, like what -you might see anywhere, though they might be great ladies and fine -gentlemen; it was easy to see <i>we</i> were not very great, and they did not -understand <i>you</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Hush,” said Agnes quickly; “they were rather kind, I think—especially -Mr Agar; but they did not care at all for us: and why should they, after -all?”</p> - -<p>“So it was a failure,” said Charlie. “I say, who was that man—that -fellow at the door?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Charlie, you dreadful boy! that was Lord Winterbourne,” cried -Marian. “Mr Agar told us who he was.”</p> - -<p>“Who’s Mr Agar?” asked Charlie. “And so that’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231"></a>{231}</span> him—that’s the man that -will take the Old Wood Lodge! I wish he would. I knew I owed him -something. I’d like to see him try!”</p> - -<p>“And Mrs Edgerley is his daughter,” said Agnes. “Is it not strange? And -I suppose we shall all be neighbours in the country. But Mr Endicott -said quite loud, so that everybody could hear, that papa was a friend of -Lord Winterbourne’s. I do not like people to slight us; but I don’t like -to deceive them either. There was <i>that</i> gentleman—that Sir Langham. I -suppose he thought <i>we</i> were great people, Marian, like the rest of the -people there.”</p> - -<p>In the darkness Marian pouted, frowned, and laughed within herself. “I -don’t think it matters much what Sir Langham thought,” said Marian; for -already the young beauty began to feel her “greatness,” and smiled at -her own power.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232"></a>{232}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XXIX</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>FAMILY SENTIMENTS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">When</span> the fly jumbled into Bellevue, the lighted window, which always -illuminated the little street, shone brighter than ever in the profound -darkness of this late night, when all the respectable inhabitants for -more than an hour had been asleep. Papa and Mamma, somewhat drowsily, -yet with a capacity for immediate waking-up only to be felt under these -circumstances, had unanimously determined to sit up for the girls; and -the window remained bright, and the inmates wakeful, for a full hour -after the rumbling “fly,” raising all the dormant echoes of the -neighbourhood, had rolled off to its nightly shelter. The father and the -mother listened with the most perfect patience to the detail of -everything, excited in spite of themselves by their children’s -companionship with “the great,” yet considerably resenting, and much -disappointed by the failure of those grand visions, in which all night -the parental imagination had pictured to itself an admiring assembly -hanging<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233"></a>{233}</span> upon the looks of those innocent and simple girls. Mr and Mrs -Atheling on this occasion were somewhat disposed, we confess, to make -out a case of jealousy and malice against the fashionable guests of Mrs -Edgerley. It was always the way, Papa said. They always tried to keep -everybody down, and treated aspirants superciliously; and in the climax -of his indignation, under his breath, he added something about those -“spurns which patient merit of the unworthy takes.” Mrs Atheling did not -quote Shakespeare, but she was quite as much convinced that it was their -“rank in life” which had prevented Agnes and Marian from taking a -sovereign place in the gay assembly they had just left. The girls -themselves gave no distinct judgment on the subject; but now that the -first edge of her mortification had worn off, Agnes began to have great -doubts upon this matter. “We had no claim upon them—not the least,” -said Agnes; “they never saw us before; we were perfect strangers; why -should they trouble themselves about us, simply because I had written a -book?”</p> - -<p>“Do not speak nonsense, my dear—do not tell me,” said Mrs Atheling, -with agitation: “they had only to use their own eyes and see—as if they -often had such an opportunity! My dear, I know better; you need not -speak to me!”</p> - -<p>“And everybody has read your book, Agnes—and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234"></a>{234}</span> no doubt there are scores -of people who would give anything to know you,” said Papa with dignity. -“The author of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i> is a different person from Agnes -Atheling. No, no—it is not that they don’t know your proper place; but -they keep everybody down as long as they can. Now, mind, one day you -will turn the tables upon them; I am very sure of that.”</p> - -<p>Agnes said no more, but went up to her little white room completely -unconvinced upon the subject. Miss Willsie saw the tell-tale light in -this little high window in the middle of the night—when it was nearly -daylight, the old lady said—throwing a friendly gleam upon the two -young controversialists as they debated this difficult question. Agnes, -of course, with all the heat of youth and innovation, took the extreme -side of the question. “It is easy enough to write—any one can write,” -said the young author, triumphant in her argument, yet in truth somewhat -mortified by her triumph. “But even if it was not, there are greater -things in this world than books, and almost all other books are greater -than novels; and I do think it was the most foolish thing in the world -to suppose that clever people like these—for they were all clever -people—would take any notice of me.”</p> - -<p>To which arguments, all and several, Marian returned only a direct, -unhesitating, and broad negative.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235"></a>{235}</span> It was <i>not</i> easy to write, and there -were <i>not</i> greater things than books, and it was not at all foolish to -expect a hundred times more than ever their hopes had expected. “It is -very wrong of you to say so, Agnes,” said Marian. “Papa is quite right; -it will all be as different as possible by-and-by; and if you have -nothing more sensible to say than that, I shall go to sleep.”</p> - -<p>Saying which, Marian turned round upon her pillow, virtuously resisted -all further temptations, and closed her beautiful eyes upon the faint -grey dawn which began to steal in between the white curtains. They -thought their minds were far too full to go to sleep. Innocent -imaginations! five minutes after, they were in the very sweetest -enchanted country of the true fairyland of dreams.</p> - -<p>While Charlie, in his sleep in the next room, laboriously struggled all -night with a bloodless apparition, which smiled at him from an open -doorway—fiercely fought and struggled against it—mastered it—got it -down, but only to begin once more the tantalising combat. When he rose -in the morning, early as usual, the youth set his teeth at the -recollection, and with an attempt to give a reason for this instinctive -enmity, fiercely hoped that Lord Winterbourne would try to take from his -father his little inheritance. Charlie, who was by no means of a -metaphysical turn, did not trouble himself at all to inquire into the -grounds of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236"></a>{236}</span> his own unusual pugnacity. He “knew he owed him something,” -and though my Lord Winterbourne was a viscount and an ex-minister, and -Charlie only a poor man’s son and a copying-clerk, he fronted the great -man’s image with indomitable confidence, and had no more doubt of his -own prowess than of his entire goodwill in the matter. He did not think -very much more of his opponent in this case than he did of the big -folios in the office, and had as entire confidence in his own ability to -bring the enemy down.</p> - -<p>But it was something of a restless night to Papa and Mamma. They too -talked in their darkened chamber, too proper and too economical to waste -candlelight upon subjects so unprofitable, of old events and people half -forgotten;—how the first patroness of Agnes should be the daughter of -the man between whom and themselves there existed some unexplained -connection of old friendship or old enmity, or both;—how circumstances -beyond their guidance conspired to throw them once more in the way of -persons and plans which they had heard nothing of for more than twenty -years. These things were very strange and troublous events to Mr -Atheling and his wife. The past, which nearer grief and closer -pleasure—all their family life, full as that was of joy and sorrow—had -thrown so far away and out of remembrance, came suddenly back before -them in all the clearness of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237"></a>{237}</span> youthful recollection. Old feelings -returned strong and fresh into their minds. They went back, and took up -the thread of this history, whatever it might be, where they had dropped -it twenty years ago; and with a thrill of deeper interest, wondered and -inquired how this influence would affect their children. To themselves -now little could happen; their old friend or their old enemy could do -neither harm nor benefit to their accomplished lives—but the -children!—the children, every one so young, so hopeful, and so well -endowed; all so strangely brought into sudden contact, at a double -point, with this one sole individual, who had power to disturb the rest -of the father and the mother. They relapsed into silence suddenly, and -were quieted by the thought.</p> - -<p>“It is not our doing—it is not our seeking,” said Mr Atheling at -length. “If the play wants a last act, Mary, it will not be your -planning nor mine; and as for the children, they are in the hands of -God.”</p> - -<p>So in the grey imperfect dawn which lightened on the faces of the -sleeping girls, whose sweet youthful rest was far too deep to be broken -even by the growing light, these elder people closed their eyes, not to -sleep, but to pray. If evil were about to come—if danger were lurking -in the air around them—they had this only defence against it. It was -not the simple faith of youth which dictated these prayers; it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238"></a>{238}</span> was a -deeper and a closer urgency, which cried aloud and would not cease, but -yet was solemn with the remembrance of times when God’s pleasure was not -to grant them their petitions. The young ones slept in peace, but with -fights and triumphs manifold in their young dreams. The father and the -mother held a vigil for them, holding up holy hands for their defence -and safety; and so the morning came at last, brightly, to hearts which -feared no evil, or when they feared, put their apprehensions at once -into the hand of God.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239"></a>{239}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XXX</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>AGNES’S FORTUNE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> morning, like a good fairy, came kindly to these good people, -increasing in the remembrance of the girls the impression of pleasure, -and lessening that of disappointment. They came, after all, to be very -well satisfied with their reception at Mrs Edgerley’s. And now her -second and most important invitation remained to be discussed—the -Willows—the pretty house at Richmond, with the river running sweetly -under the shadow of its trees; the company, which was sure to include, -as Mr Agar said, <i>some</i> people worth knowing, and which that ancient -connoisseur himself did not refuse to join. Agnes and Marian looked with -eager eyes on the troubled brow of Mamma; a beautiful vision of the lawn -and the river, flowers and sunshine, the sweet silence of “the country,” -and the unfamiliar music of running water and rustling trees, possessed -the young imaginations for the time to the total disregard of all -sublunary considerations.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240"></a>{240}</span> <i>They</i> did not think for a moment of Lord -Winterbourne’s daughter, and the strange chance which could make them -inmates of her house; for Lord Winterbourne himself was not a person of -any importance in the estimation of the girls. But more than that, they -did not even think of their wardrobe, important as that consideration -was; they did not recollect how entirely unprovided they were for such a -visit, nor how the family finances, strait and unelastic, could not -possibly stretch to so new and great an expenditure. But all these -things, which brought no cloud upon Agnes and Marian, conspired to -embarrass the brow of the family mother. She thought at the same moment -of Lord Winterbourne and of the brown merinos; of this strange -acquaintanceship, mysterious and full of fate as it seemed; and of the -little black silk cloaks which were out of fashion, and the bonnets with -the faded ribbons. It was hard to deny the girls so great a pleasure; -but how could it be done?</p> - -<p>And for a day or two following the household remained in great -uncertainty upon this point, and held every evening, on the engrossing -subject of ways and means, a committee of the whole house. This, -however, we are grieved to say, was somewhat of an unprofitable -proceeding; for the best advice which Papa could give on so important a -subject was, that the girls must of course have everything proper if -they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241"></a>{241}</span> went. “If they went!—that is exactly the question,” said the -provoked and impatient ruler of all. “But are they to go? and how are we -to get everything proper for them?” To these difficult questions Mr -Atheling attempted no answer. He was a wise man, and knew his own -department, and prudently declined any interference in the legitimate -domain of the other head of the house.</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling was by no means addicted to disclosing the private matters -of her own family life, yet she carried this important question through -the faded wallflowers to crave the counsel of Miss Willsie. Miss Willsie -was not at all pleased to have such a matter submitted to her. <i>Her</i> -supreme satisfaction would have lain in criticising, finding fault, and -helping on. Now reduced to the painful alternative of giving an opinion, -the old lady pronounced a vague one in general terms, to the effect that -if there was one thing she hated, it was to see poor folk striving for -the company of them that were in a different rank in life; but whenever -this speech was made, and her conscience cleared, Miss Willsie began to -inquire zealously what “the silly things had,” and what they wanted, and -set about a mental turning over of her own wardrobe, where were a great -many things which she had worn in her own young days, and which were -“none the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_242" id="page_242"></a>{242}</span> worse,” as she said—but they were not altogether adapted for -the locality of the Willows. Miss Willsie turned them over not only in -her own mind, but in her own parlour, where her next visitor found her -as busy with her needle and her shears as any cottar matron ever was, -and anxiously bent on the same endeavour to “make auld things look -amaist as weel’s the new.” It cost Miss Willsie an immense deal of -trouble, but it was not half so successful a business as the repairs of -that immortal Saturday Night.</p> - -<p>But the natural course of events, which had cleared their path for them -many times before, came in once more to make matters easy. Mr -Burlington, of whom nothing had been heard since the day of that -eventful visit to his place—Mr Burlington, who since then had brought -out a second edition of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>, announced himself ready to -“make a proposal” for the book. Now, there had been many and great -speculations in the house on this subject of “Agnes’s fortune.” They -were as good at the magnificent arithmetic of fancy as Major Pendennis -was, and we will not say that, like him, they had not leaped to their -thousands a-year. They had all, however, been rather prudent in -committing themselves to a sum—nobody would guess positively what it -was to be—but some indefinite<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_243" id="page_243"></a>{243}</span> and fabulous amount, a real fortune, -floated in the minds of all: to the father and mother a substantial -provision for Agnes, to the girls an inexhaustible fund of pleasure, -comfort, and charity. The proposal came—it was not a fabulous and -magnificent fortune, for the author of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i> was only Agnes -Atheling, and not Arthur Pendennis. For the first moment, we are -compelled to confess, they looked at each other with blank faces, -entirely cast down and disappointed: it was not an inexhaustible fairy -treasure—it was only a hundred and fifty pounds.</p> - -<p>Yes, most tender-hearted reader! these were not the golden days of Sir -Walter, nor was this young author a literary Joan of Arc. She got her -fortune in a homely fashion like other people—at first was grievously -disappointed about it—formed pugnacious resolutions, and listened to -all the evil stories of the publishing ghouls with satisfaction and -indignant faith. But by-and-by this angry mood softened down; by-and-by -the real glory of such an unrealisable heap of money began to break upon -the girls. A hundred and fifty pounds, and nothing to do with it—no -arrears to pay—nothing to make up—can any one suppose a position of -more perfect felicity? They came to see it bit by bit dawning upon them -in gradual splendour—content blossomed into satisfaction, satisfaction -unfolded into<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_244" id="page_244"></a>{244}</span> delight. And then to think of laying by such a small sum -would be foolish, as the girls reasoned; so its very insignificance -increased the pleasure. It was not a dull treasure, laid up in a bank, -or “invested,” as Papa had solemnly proposed to invest “Agnes’s -fortune;” it was a delightful little living stream of abundance, already -in imagination overflowing and brightening everything. It would buy -Mamma the most magnificent of brocades, and Bell and Beau such frocks as -never were seen before out of fairyland. It would take them all to the -Old Wood Lodge, or even to the seaside; it would light up with books and -pictures, and pretty things, the respectable family face of Number Ten, -Bellevue. There was no possibility of exhausting the capacities of this -marvellous sum of money, which, had it been three or four times as much, -as the girls discovered, could not have been half as good for present -purposes. The delight of spending money was altogether new to them: they -threw themselves into it with the most gleeful abandonment (in -imagination), and threw away their fortune royally, and with genuine -enjoyment in the process; and very few millionaires have ever found as -much pleasure in the calculation of their treasures as Agnes and Marian -Atheling, deciding over and over again how they were to spend it, found -in this hundred and fifty pounds.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_245" id="page_245"></a>{245}</span></p> - -<p>In the mean time, however, Papa carried it off to the office, and locked -it up there for security—for they all felt that it would not be right -to trust to the commonplace defences of Bellevue with such a prodigious -sum of money in the house.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_246" id="page_246"></a>{246}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XXXI</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>EXTRAVAGANCE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> was a July day, brilliant and dazzling; the deep-blue summer sky -arched over these quiet houses, a very heaven of sunshine and calm; the -very leaves were golden in the flood of light, and grateful shadows fell -from the close walls, and a pleasant summer fragrance came from within -the little enclosures of Bellevue. Nothing was stirring in the silent -little suburban street—the very sounds came slow and soft through the -luxurious noonday air, into which now and then blew the little -capricious breath of a cool breeze, like some invisible fairy fan making -a current in the golden atmosphere. Safe under the shelter of green -blinds and opened windows, the feminine population reposed in summer -indolence, mistresses too languid to scold, and maids to be improved by -the same. In the day, the other half of mankind, all mercantile and -devoted to business, deserted Bellevue<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_247" id="page_247"></a>{247}</span> and perhaps were not less drowsy -in their several offices, where dust had to answer all the purpose of -those trim venetian defences, than their wives and daughters were at -home.</p> - -<p>But before the door of Number Ten stood a vehicle—let no one scorn its -unquestioned respectability,—it was The Fly. The fly was drawn by an -old white horse, of that bony and angular development peculiar to this -rank of professional eminence. This illustrious animal gave character -and distinction at once to the equipage. The smartest and newest -brougham in existence, with such a steed attached to it, must at once -have taken rank, in the estimation of all beholders, as a true and -unmistakable Fly. The coachman was in character; he had a long white -livery-coat, and a hat very shiny, and bearing traces of various -indentations. As he sat upon his box in the sunshine, he nodded in -harmony with the languid branches of the lilac-bushes. Though he was not -averse to a job, he marvelled much how anybody who could stay at home -went abroad under this burning sun, or troubled themselves with -occupations. So too thought the old white horse, switching his old white -tail in vain pursuit of the summer flies which troubled him; and so even -thought Hannah, Miss Willsie’s pretty maid, as she looked out from the -gate of Killiecrankie Lodge, shading her eyes with her hand,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_248" id="page_248"></a>{248}</span> -marvelling, half in envy, half in pity, how any one could think even of -“pleasuring” on such a day.</p> - -<p>With far different sentiments from these languid and indolent observers, -the Athelings prepared for their unusual expedition. Firmly compressed -into Mrs Atheling’s purse were five ten-pound notes, crisp and new, and -the girls, with a slight tremor of terror enhancing their delight, had -secretly vowed that Mamma should not be permitted to bring anything in -the shape of money home. They were going to spend fifty pounds. That was -their special mission—and when you consider that very rarely before had -they helped at the spending of more than fifty shillings, you may fancy -the excitement and delight of this family enterprise. They had -calculated beforehand what everything was to cost—they had left a -margin for possibilities—they had all their different items written -down on a very long piece of paper, and now the young ladies were -dancing Bell and Beau through the garden, and waiting for Mamma.</p> - -<p>For the twin babies were to form part of this most happy party. Bell and -Beau were to have an ecstatic drive in that most delightful of carriages -which the two big children and the two little ones at present stood -regarding with the sincerest admiration. If Agnes had any doubt at all -about the fly, it was a momentary fear lest somebody should suppose it -to be their own<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_249" id="page_249"></a>{249}</span> carriage—a contingency not at all probable. In every -other view of the question, the fly was scarcely second even to Mrs -Edgerley’s sublime and stately equipage; and it is quite impossible to -describe the rapture with which this magnificent vehicle was -contemplated by Bell and Beau.</p> - -<p>At last Mamma came down stairs in somewhat of a flutter, and by no means -satisfied that she was doing right in thus giving in to the girls. Mrs -Atheling still, in spite of all their persuasions, could not help -thinking it something very near a sin to spend wilfully, and at one -doing, so extraordinary a sum as fifty pounds—“a quarter’s income!” she -said solemnly. But Papa was very nearly as foolish on the subject as -Agnes and Marian, and the good mother could not make head against them -all. She was alarmed at this first outbreak of “awful” extravagance, but -she could not quite refuse to be pleased either with the pleasant piece -of business, with the delight of the girls, and the rapture of the -babies, nor to feel the glory in her own person of “shopping” on so -grand a scale—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“My sister and my sister’s child,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Myself and children three.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">The fly was not quite so closely packed as the chaise of Mrs Gilpin, yet -it was very nearly as full as that renowned conveyance. They managed to -get in “five<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_250" id="page_250"></a>{250}</span> precious souls,” and the white horse languidly set out -upon his journey, and the coachman, only half awake, still nodded on his -box. Where they went to, we will not betray their confidence by telling. -It was an erratic course, and included all manner of shops and -purchases. Before they had got nearly to the end of their list, they -were quite fatigued with their labours, and found it rather cumbrous, -after all, to choose the shops they wanted from the “carriage” windows, -a splendid but inconvenient necessity. Then Bell and Beau grew very -tired, wanted to go home, and were scarcely to be solaced even with -cakes innumerable. Perfect and unmixed delights are not to be found -under the sun; and though the fly went back to Bellevue laden with -parcels beyond the power of arithmetic; though the girls had -accomplished their wicked will, and the purse of Mrs Atheling had shrunk -into the ghost of its former size, yet the accomplished errand was not -half so delightful as were those exuberant and happy intentions, which -could now be talked over no more. They all grew somewhat silent, as they -drove home—“vanity of vanities—” Mrs Atheling and her daughters were -in a highly reflective state of mind, and rather given to moralising; -while extremely wearied, sleepy, and uncomfortable were poor little Bell -and Beau.</p> - -<p>But at last they reached home—at last the pleasant<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_251" id="page_251"></a>{251}</span> sight of Susan, and -the fragrance of the tea, which, as it was now pretty late in the -afternoon, Susan had prepared to refresh them, restored their flagging -spirits. They began to open out their parcels, and fight their battles -over again. They examined once more, outside and inside, the pretty -little watches which Papa had insisted on as the first of all their -purchases. Papa thought a watch was a most important matter—the money -spent in such a valuable piece of property was <i>invested</i>; and Mrs -Atheling herself, as she took her cup of tea, looked at these new -acquisitions with extreme pride, good pleasure, and a sense of -importance. They had put their bonnets on the sofa—the table overflowed -with rolls of silk and pieces of ribbon half unfolded; Bell and Beau, -upon the hearth-rug, played with the newest noisiest toys which could be -found for them; and even Susan, when she came to ask if her mistress -would take another cup, secretly confessed within herself that there -never was such a littered and untidy room.</p> - -<p>When there suddenly came a dash and roll of rapid wheels, ringing into -all the echoes. Suddenly, with a gleam and bound, a splendid apparition -crossed the window, and two magnificent bay-horses drove up before the -little gate. Her very watch, new and well-beloved, almost fell from the -fingers of Agnes. They looked at each other with blank faces—they -listened<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_252" id="page_252"></a>{252}</span> in horror to the charge of artillery immediately discharged -upon their door—nobody had self-possession to apprehend Susan on the -way, and exhort her to remember the best room. And Susan, greatly -fluttered, forgot the sole use of this sacred apartment. They all stood -dismayed, deeply sensible of the tea upon the table, and the -extraordinary confusion of the room, when suddenly into the midst of -them, radiant and splendid, floated Mrs Edgerley—Mayfair come to visit -Bellevue.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_253" id="page_253"></a>{253}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XXXII</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>A GREAT VISITOR.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Mayfair</span> came in, radiant, blooming, splendid, with a rustle of silks, a -flutter of feathers, an air of fragrance, like a fairy creature not to -be molested by the ruder touches of fortune or the world. Bellevue stood -up to receive her in the person of Mrs Atheling, attired in a black silk -gown which had seen service, and hastily setting down a cup of tea from -her hand. The girls stood between the two, an intermediate world, -anxious and yet afraid to interpret between them; for Marian’s beautiful -hair had fallen down upon her white neck, and Agnes’s collar had been -pulled awry, and her pretty muslin dress sadly crushed and broken by the -violent hands of Bell and Beau. The very floor on which Mrs Edgerley’s -pretty foot pressed the much-worn carpet, was strewed with little frocks -for those unruly little people. The sofa was occupied by three bonnets, -and Mamma’s new dress hung over the back of the easy-chair. You may -laugh at this account of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_254" id="page_254"></a>{254}</span> it, but Mamma, and Marian, and Agnes were a -great deal more disposed to cry at the reality. To think that, of all -days in the world, this great lady should have chosen to come to-day!</p> - -<p>“Now, pray don’t let me disturb anything. Oh, I am so delighted to find -you quite at home! It is quite kind of you to let me come in,” cried Mrs -Edgerley—“and indeed you need not introduce me. When one has read <i>Hope -Hazlewood</i>, one knows your mamma. Oh, that charming, delightful book! -Now, confess you are quite proud of her. I am sure you must be.”</p> - -<p>“She is a very good girl,” said Mrs Atheling doubtfully, flattered, but -not entirely pleased—“and we are very deeply obliged to Mrs Edgerley -for the kindness she has shown to our girls.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I have been quite delighted,” said Mayfair; “but pray don’t speak -in the third person. How charmingly fragrant your tea is!—may I have -some? How delightful it must be to be able to keep rational hours. What -lovely children! What beautiful darlings! Are they really yours?”</p> - -<p>“My youngest babies,” said Bellevue, somewhat stiffly, yet a little -moved by the question. “We have just come in, and were fatigued. Agnes, -my dear!”</p> - -<p>But Agnes was already gone, seizing the opportunity<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_255" id="page_255"></a>{255}</span> to amend her -collar, while Marian put away the bonnets, and cleared the parcels from -the feet of Mrs Edgerley. With this pretty figure half-bending before -her, and the other graceful cup-bearer offering her the homely -refreshment she had asked for, Mrs Edgerley, though quite aware of it, -did not think half so much as Mrs Atheling did about their “rank in -life.” The great lady was not at all nervous on this subject, but was -most pleasantly and meritoriously conscious, as she took her cup of tea -from the hand of Agnes, that by so doing she set them all “at their -ease.”</p> - -<p>“And pray, do tell me now,” said Mrs Edgerley, “how you manage in this -quarter, so far from everything? It is quite delightful, half as good as -a desolate island—such a pretty, quiet place! You must come to the -Willows—I have quite made up my mind and settled it: indeed, you must -come—so many people are dying to know you. And I must have your mamma -know,” said the pretty flutterer, turning round to Mrs Atheling with -that air of irresistible caprice and fascinating despotism which was the -most amazing thing in the world to the family mother, “that no one ever -resists me: I am always obeyed, I assure you. Oh, you <i>must</i> come; I -consider it quite a settled thing. Town gets so tiresome just at this -time—don’t you think so? I always long for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_256" id="page_256"></a>{256}</span> Willows—for it is -really the sweetest place, and in the country one cares so much more for -one’s home.”</p> - -<p>“You are very kind,” said Mrs Atheling, not knowing what other answer to -make, and innocently supposing that her visitor had paused for a reply.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I assure you, nothing of the kind—perfectly selfish, on the -contrary,” said Mrs Edgerley, with a sweet smile. “I shall be so charmed -with the society of my young friends. I quite forgot to ask if you were -musical. We have the greatest little genius in the world at the Willows. -Such a voice!—it is a shame to hide such a gift in a drawing-room. She -is—a sort of connection—of papa’s family. I say it is very good of him -to acknowledge her even so far, for people seldom like to remember their -follies; but of course the poor child has no position, and I have even -been blamed for having her in my house. She is quite a -genius—wonderful: she ought to be a singer—it is quite her duty—but -such a shy foolish young creature, and not to be persuaded. What -charming tea! I am quite refreshed, I assure you. Oh, pray, do not -disturb anything. I am so pleased you have let me come when you were -<i>quite</i> at home. Now, Tuesday, remember! We shall have a delightful -little party. I know you will quite enjoy it. Good-by, little darlings. -On Tuesday, my love; you must on no account forget the day.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_257" id="page_257"></a>{257}</span></p> - -<p>“But I am afraid they will only be a trouble—and they are not used to -society,” said Mrs Atheling, rising hastily before her visitor should -have quite flown away; “they have never been away from home. Excuse -me—I am afraid——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I assure you, nobody ever resists me,” cried Mrs Edgerley, -interrupting this speech; “I never hear such a naughty word as No. It is -not possible—you cannot conceive how it would affect me; I should break -my heart! It is quite decided—oh, positively it is—Tuesday—I shall so -look forward to it! And a charming little party we shall be—not too -many, and <i>so</i> congenial! I shall quite long for the day.”</p> - -<p>Saying which, Mrs Edgerley took her departure, keeping up her stream of -talk while they all attended her to the door, and suffering no -interruption. Mrs Atheling was by no means accustomed to so dashing and -sudden an assault. She began slowly to bring up her reasons for -declining the invitation as the carriage rolled away, carrying with it -her tacit consent. She was quite at a loss to believe that this visit -was real, as she returned into the encumbered parlour—such haste, -patronage, and absoluteness were entirely out of Mrs Atheling’s way.</p> - -<p>“I have no doubt she is very kind,” said the good<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_258" id="page_258"></a>{258}</span> mother, puzzled and -much doubting; “but I am not at all sure that I approve of her—indeed, -I think I would much rather you did not go.”</p> - -<p>“But she will expect us, mamma,” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>That was unquestionable. Mrs Atheling sat very silent all the remainder -of the day, pondering much upon this rapid and sudden visitation, and -blaming herself greatly for her want of readiness. And then the “poor -child” who had no position, and whose duty it was to be a singer, was -she a proper person to breathe the same air as Agnes and Marian? -Bellevue was straiter in its ideas than Mayfair. The mother reflected -with great self-reproach and painful doubts; for the girls were so -pleased with the prospect, and it was so hard to deny them the expected -pleasure. Mrs Atheling at last resigned herself with a sigh. “If you -must go, I expect you to take great care whom you associate with,” said -Mrs Atheling, very pointedly; and she sent off their new purchases -up-stairs, and gave her whole attention, with a certain energy and -impatience, to the clearing of the room. This had not been by any means -a satisfactory day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_259" id="page_259"></a>{259}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XXXIII</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>GOING FROM HOME.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">My</span> dear children,” said Mrs Atheling solemnly, “you have never been -from home before.”</p> - -<p>Suddenly arrested by the solemnity of this preamble, the girls -paused—they were just going up-stairs to their own room on the last -evening before setting out for the Willows. Marian’s pretty arms were -full of a collection of pretty things, white as the great apron with -which Susan had girded her. Agnes carried her blotting-book, two or -three other favourite volumes, and a candle. They stood in their pretty -sisterly conjunction, almost leaning upon each other, waiting with -youthful reverence for the address which Mamma was about to deliver. It -was true they were leaving home for the first time, and true also that -the visit was one of unusual importance. They prepared to listen with -great gravity and a little awe.</p> - -<p>“My dears, I have no reason to distrust your good sense,” said Mrs -Atheling, “nor indeed to be afraid<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_260" id="page_260"></a>{260}</span> of you in any way—but to be in a -strange house is very different from being at home. Strangers will not -have the same indulgence as we have had for all your fancies—you must -not expect it; and people may see that you are of a different rank in -life, and perhaps may presume upon you. You must be very careful. You -must not copy Mrs Edgerley, or any other lady, but <i>observe</i> what they -do, and rule yourselves by it; and take great care what acquaintances -you form; for even in such a house as that,” said Mamma, with emphasis -and dignity, suddenly remembering the “connection of the family” of whom -Mrs Edgerley had spoken, “there may be some who are not fit companions -for you.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, mamma,” said Agnes. Marian looked down into the apronful of lace -and muslin, and answered nothing. A variable blush and as variable a -smile testified to a little consciousness on the part of the younger -sister. Agnes for once was the more matter-of-fact of the two.</p> - -<p>“At your time of life,” continued the anxious mother, “a single day may -have as much effect as many years. Indeed, Marian, my love, it is -nothing to smile about. You must be very careful; and, Agnes, you are -the eldest—you must watch over your sister. Oh, take care!—you do not -know how much harm might be done in a single day.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_261" id="page_261"></a>{261}</span></p> - -<p>“Take care of what, mamma?” said Marian, glancing up quickly, with that -beautiful faint blush, and a saucy gleam in her eye. What do you suppose -she saw as her beautiful eyes turned from her mother with a momentary -imaginative look into the vacant space? Not the big head of Charlie, -bending over the grammars, but the magnificent stature of Sir Langham -Portland, drawn up in sentry fashion by her side; and at the -recollection Marian’s pretty lip could not refuse to smile.</p> - -<p>“Hush, my dear!—you may easily know what I mean,” said Mrs Atheling -uneasily. “You must try not to be awkward or timid; but you must not -forget how great a difference there is between Mrs Edgerley’s friends -and you.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, Mary,” cried her husband, energetically. “No such thing, -girls. Don’t be afraid to let them know who you are, or who you belong -to. But as for inferiority, if you yield to such a notion, you are no -girls of mine! One of the Riverses! A pretty thing! <i>You</i>, at least, can -tell any one who asks the question that your father is an honest man.”</p> - -<p>“But I suppose, papa, no one is likely to have any doubt upon the -subject,” said Agnes, with a little spirit. “It will be time enough to -publish that when some one questions it; and that, I am sure, was not -what mamma meant.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_262" id="page_262"></a>{262}</span></p> - -<p>“No, my love, of course not,” said Mamma, who was somewhat agitated. -“What I meant is, that you are going to people whom we used to know—I -mean, whom we know nothing of. They are great people—a great deal -richer and higher in station than we are; and it is possible Papa may be -brought into contact with them about the Old Wood Lodge; and you are -young and inexperienced, and don’t know the dangers you may be subjected -to;—and, my dear children, what I have to say to you is, just to -remember your duty, and read your Bibles, and take care!”</p> - -<p>“Mamma! we are only going to Richmond—we are not going away from you,” -cried Marian in dismay.</p> - -<p>“My dears,” said Mrs Atheling, putting her handkerchief to her eyes, “I -am an old woman—I know more than you do. You cannot tell where you are -going; you are going into the world.”</p> - -<p>No one spoke for the moment. The young travellers themselves looked at -their mother with concern and a little solemnity. Who could tell? All -the young universe of romance lay at their very feet. They might be -going to their fate.</p> - -<p>“And henceforward I know,” said the good mother, rising into homely and -unconscious dignity, “our life will no longer be your boundary, nor our -plans all your guidance. My darlings, it is not any fault of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_263" id="page_263"></a>{263}</span> yours; you -are both as obedient as when you were babies; it is Providence, and -comes to every one. You are going away from me, and both your lives may -be determined before you come back again. You, Marian! it is not your -fault, my love; but, oh! take care.”</p> - -<p>Under the pressure of this solemn and mysterious caution, the girls at -length went up-stairs. Very gravely they entered the little white room, -which was somewhat disturbed out of its usual propriety, and in -respectful silence Marian began to arrange her burden. She sat down upon -the white bed, with her great white apron full of snowy muslin and -dainty morsels of lace, stooping her beautiful head over them, with her -long bright hair falling down at one side like a golden framework to her -sweet cheek. Agnes stood before her holding the candle. Both were -perfectly grave, quite silent, separating the sleeves and kerchiefs and -collars as if it were the most solemn work in the world.</p> - -<p>At length suddenly Marian looked up. In an instant smiles irrestrainable -threaded all the soft lines of those young faces. A momentary electric -touch sent them both from perfect solemnity into saucy and conscious but -subdued laughter. “Agnes! what do you suppose mamma could mean?” asked -Marian; and Agnes said “Hush!” and softly closed the door,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_264" id="page_264"></a>{264}</span> lest Mamma -should hear the low and restrained overflow of those sudden sympathetic -smiles. Once more the apparition of the magnificent Sir Langham gleamed -somewhere in a bright corner of Marian’s shining eye. These incautious -girls, like all their happy kind, could not be persuaded to regard with -any degree of terror or solemnity the fate that came in such a shape as -this.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_265" id="page_265"></a>{265}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a><span class="ltspc">CHAPTER XXXIV</span>.<br /><br /> -<small>EVERYBODY’S FANCIES.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">But</span> the young adventurers had sufficient time to speculate upon their -“fate,” and to make up their minds whether this journey of theirs was -really a fortnight’s visit to Richmond, or a solemn expedition into the -world, as they drove along the pleasant summer roads on their way to the -Willows. They had leisure enough, but they had not inclination; they -were somewhat excited, but not at all solemnised. They thought of the -unknown paradise to which they were going—of their beautiful patroness -and her guests; but they never paused to inquire, as they bowled -pleasantly along under the elms and chestnuts, anything at all about -their fate.</p> - -<p>“How grave every one looked,” said Marian. “What are all the people -afraid of? for I am sure Miss Willsie wanted us to go, though she was so -cross; and poor Harry Oswald, how he looked last night!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_266" id="page_266"></a>{266}</span></p> - -<p>At this recollection Marian smiled. To tell the truth, she was at -present only amused by the gradual perception dawning upon her of the -unfortunate circumstances of these young gentlemen. She might never have -found it out had she known only Harry Oswald; but Sir Langham Portland -threw light upon the subject which Marian had scarcely guessed at -before. Do you think she was grateful on that account to the handsome -Guardsman? Marian’s sweet face brightened all over with amused -half-blushing smiles. It was impossible to tell.</p> - -<p>“But, Marian,” said Agnes, “I want to be particular about one thing. We -must not deceive any one. Nobody must suppose we are great ladies. If -anything <i>should</i> happen of any importance, we must be sure to tell who -we are.”</p> - -<p>“That you are the author of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>,” said Marian, somewhat -provokingly. “Oh! Mrs Edgerley will tell everybody that; and as for me, -I am only your sister—nobody will mind me.”</p> - -<p>So they drove on under the green leaves, which grew less and less dusty -as they left London in the distance, through the broad white line of -road, now and then passing by orchards rich with fruit—by suburban -gardens and pretty villakins of better fashion than their own; now and -then catching silvery gleams of the river quivering among its low green<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_267" id="page_267"></a>{267}</span> -banks, like a new-bended bow. They knew as little where they were going -as what was to befall them there, and were as unapprehensive in the one -case as in the other. At home the mother went about her daily business, -pondering with a mother’s anxiety upon all the little embarrassments and -distresses which might surround them among strangers, and seeing in her -motherly imagination a host of pleasant perils, half alarming, half -complimentary, a crowd of admirers and adorers collected round her -girls. At Messrs Cash and Ledger’s, Papa brooded over his desk, thinking -somewhat darkly of those innocent investigators whom he had sent forth -into an old world of former connections, unfortified against the ancient -grudge, if such existed, and unacquainted with the ancient story. Would -anything come of this acquaintanceship? Would anything come of the new -position which placed them once more directly in the way of Lord -Winterbourne? Papa shook his head slowly over his daybook, as ignorant -as the rest of us what might have to be written upon the fair blank of -the very next page—who could tell?</p> - -<p>Charlie meanwhile, at Mr Foggo’s office, buckled on his harness this -important morning with a double share of resolution. As his brow rolled -down with all its furrows in a frown of defiance at the “old fellow” -whom he took down from the wired bookcase, it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_268" id="page_268"></a>{268}</span> not the old fellow, -but Lord Winterbourne, against whom Charlie bit his thumb. In the depths -of his heart he wished again that this natural enemy might “only try!” -to usurp possession of the Old Wood Lodge. A certain excitement -possessed him regarding the visit of his sisters. Once more the youth, -in his hostile imagination, beheld the pale face at the door, the -bloodless and spasmodic smile. “I knew I owed him something,” muttered -once more the instinctive enmity; and Charlie was curious and excited to -come once more in contact with this mysterious personage who had raised -so active and sudden an interest in his secret thoughts.</p> - -<p>But the two immediate actors in this social drama—the family doves of -inquiry, who might bring back angry thorns instead of olive -branches—the innocent sweet pioneers of the incipient strife, went on -untroubled in their youthful pleasure, looking at the river and the -sunshine, dreaming the fairy dreams of youth. What new life they verged -and bordered—what great consequences might grow and blossom from the -seedtime of to-day—how their soft white hands, heedless and -unconscious, might touch the trembling strings of fate—no one of all -these anxious questions ever entered the charmed enclosure of this -homely carriage, where they leant back into their several corners, and -sung to themselves,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_269" id="page_269"></a>{269}</span> in unthinking sympathy with the roll and hum of the -leisurely wheels, conveying them on and on to their new friends and -their future life. They were content to leave all questions of the kind -to a more suitable season—and so, singing, smiling, whispering (though -no one was near to interrupt them), went on, on their charmed way, with -their youth and their light hearts, to Armida and her enchanted -garden—to the world, with its syrens and its lions—forecasting no -difficulties, seeing no evil. They had no day-book to brood over like -Papa. To-morrow’s magnificent blank of possibility was always before -them, dazzling and glorious—they went forward into it with the freshest -smile and the sweetest confidence. Of all the evils and perils of this -wicked world, which they had heard so much of, they knew none which -they, in their happy safety, were called upon to fear.</p> - -<p class="c">END OF VOL. I.<br /><br /><br /> - -<small>PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.</small></p> -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Athelings; vol. 1/3, by Margaret Oliphant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATHELINGS; VOL. 1/3 *** - -***** This file should be named 54510-h.htm or 54510-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/5/1/54510/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at 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. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -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 - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - -</pre> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/54510-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/54510-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 3ad0296..0000000 --- a/old/54510-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null |
