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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..1b35170 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55122 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55122) diff --git a/old/55122-0.txt b/old/55122-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index bcbe2e7..0000000 --- a/old/55122-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,17065 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Athelings; Complete, 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; Complete - -Author: Margaret Oliphant - -Release Date: July 15, 2017 [EBook #55122] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATHELINGS; COMPLETE *** - - - - -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 - - COMPLETE - - - 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. - - - * * * * * - - - - - THE ATHELINGS - - - - - 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. II. - - WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS - EDINBURGH AND LONDON - MDCCCLVII - - ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN BLACKWOOD’S MAGAZINE. - - - - - THE ATHELINGS - - BOOK II.--THE OLD WOOD LODGE - - - - - THE ATHELINGS. - - - - -BOOK II--CHAPTER I. - -THE WILLOWS. - - -The Willows was a large low house, with no architectural pretensions, -but bright as villa could be upon the sunniest side of the Thames. The -lawn sloped to the river, and ended in a deep fringe and border of -willows, sweeping into the water; while half-way across the stream lay a -little fairy island, half enveloped in the same silvery foliage, but -with bowers and depths of leaves within, through which some stray -sunbeam was always gleaming. The flower-beds on the lawn were in a flush -with roses; the crystal roof of a large conservatory glistened in the -sun. Flowers and sunshine, fragrance and stillness, the dew on the -grass, and the morning light upon the river--no marvel that to eyes so -young and inexperienced, this Richmond villa looked like a paradise on -earth. - -It was early morning--very early, when nobody seemed awake but -themselves in the great house; and Agnes and Marian came down stairs -softly, and, half afraid of doing wrong, stole out upon the lawn. The -sun had just begun to gather those blobs of dew from the roses, but all -over the grass lay jewels, bedded deep in the close-shorn sod, and -shining in the early light. An occasional puff of wind came crisp across -the river, and turned to the sun the silvery side of all those drooping -willow-leaves, and the willows themselves swayed and sighed towards the -water, and the water came up upon them now and then with a playful -plunge and flow. The two girls said nothing to each other as they -wandered along the foot of the slope, looking over to the island, where -already the sun had penetrated to his nest of trees. All this simple -beauty, which was not remarkable to the fashionable guests of Mrs -Edgerley, went to the very heart of these simple children of Bellevue. -It moved them to involuntary delight--joy which could give no reason, -for they thought there had never been such a beautiful summer morning, -or such a scene. - -And by-and-by they began to talk of last night--last night, their first -night at the Willows, their first entrance into the home life of “the -great.” They had no moral maxims at their finger-ends, touching the -vanity of riches, nor had the private opinion entertained by Papa and -Mamma, that “the country” paid for the folly of “the aristocracy,” and -that the science of Government was a mere piece of craft for the benefit -of “the privileged classes,” done any harm at all to the unpolitical -imaginations of Agnes and Marian. They were scarcely at their ease yet, -and were a great deal more timid than was comfortable; yet they took -very naturally to this fairy life, and found an unfailing fund of wonder -and admiration in it. They admired everything indeed, had a certain awe -and veneration for everybody, and could not sufficiently admire the -apparent accomplishments and real grace of their new associates. - -“Agnes!--I wonder if there is anything I could learn?” said Marian, -rather timidly; “everybody here can do something; it is very different -from doing a little of everything, like Miss Tavistock at Bellevue--and -we used to think her accomplished!--but do you think there is anything I -could learn?” - -“And me!” said Agnes, somewhat disconsolately. - -“You? no, indeed, you do not need it,” said Marian, with a little pride. -“You can do what none of them can do;--but they can talk about -everything these people, and every one of them can do something. There -is that Sir Langham--you would think he was only a young gentleman--but -Mrs Edgerley says he makes beautiful sketches. We did not understand -people like these when we were at home.” - -“What do you think of Sir Langham, May?” asked Agnes seriously. - -“Think of him? oh, he is very pleasant,” said Marian, with a smile and a -slight blush: “but never mind Sir Langham; do you think there is -anything I could learn?” - -“I do not know,” said Agnes; “perhaps you could sing. I think you might -sing, if you would only take courage and try.” - -“Sing! oh no, no!”; said Marian; “no one could venture to sing after the -young lady--did you hear her name, Agnes?--who sang last night. She did -not speak to any one, she was more by herself than we were. I wonder who -she could be.” - -“Mrs Edgerley called her Rachel,” said Agnes. “I did not hear any other -name. I think it must be the same that Mrs Edgerley told mamma about; -you remember she said----” - -“I am here,” said a low voice suddenly, close beside them. The girls -started back, exceedingly confused and ashamed. They had not perceived a -sort of little bower, woven among the willows, from which now hastily -appeared the third person who spoke. She was a little older than Agnes, -very slight and girlish in her person--very dark of complexion, with a -magnificent mass of black hair, and large liquid dark eyes. Nothing else -about her was remarkable; her features were small and delicate, her -cheeks colourless, her very lips pale; but her eyes, which were not of a -slumbrous lustre, but full of light, rapid, earnest, and irregular, -lighted up her dark pallid face with singular power and attractiveness. -She turned upon them quickly as they stood distressed and irresolute -before her. - -“I did not mean to interrupt you,” said this new-comer; “but you were -about to speak of me, and I thought it only honest to give you notice -that I was here.” - -“Thank you,” said Agnes with humility. “We are strangers, and did not -know--we scarcely know any one here; and we thought you were nearly -about our own age, and perhaps would help us--” Here Agnes stopped -short; she was not skilled in making overtures of friendship. - -“No, indeed no,” cried their new acquaintance, hurriedly. “I never make -friends. I could be of no use. I am only a dependent, scarcely so good -as that. I am nothing here.” - -“And neither are we,” said Agnes, following shyly the step which this -strange girl took away from them. “We never were in a house like this -before. We do not belong to great people. Mrs Edgerley asked us to -come, because we met her at Mr Burlington’s, and she has been very kind, -but we know no one. Pray, do not go away.” - -The thoughtful eyes brightened into a sudden gleam. “We are called -Atheling,” said Marian, interposing in her turn. “My sister is Agnes, -and I am Marian--and you Miss----” - -“My name is Rachel,” said their new friend, with a sudden and violent -blush, making all her face crimson. “I have no other--call me so, and I -will like it. You think I am of your age; but I am not like you--you do -not know half so much as I know.” - -“No--that is very likely,” said Agnes, somewhat puzzled; “but I think -you do not mean education,” said the young author immediately, seeing -Marian somewhat disposed to resent on her behalf this broad assertion. -“You mean distress and sorrow. But we have had a great deal of grief at -home. We have lost dear little children, one after another. We are not -ignorant of grief.” - -Rachel looked at them with strange observation, wonder, and uncertainty. -“But you are ignorant of me--and I am ignorant of you,” she said slowly, -pausing between her words. “I suppose you mean just what you say, do -you? and I am not much used to that. Do you know what I am here -for?--only to sing and amuse the people--and you still want to make -friends with me!” - -“Mrs Edgerley said you were to be a singer, but you did not like it,” -said Marian; “and I think you are very right.” - -“Did she say so?--and what more?” said Rachel, smiling faintly. “I want -to hear now, though I did not when I heard your voices first.” - -“She said you were a connection of the family,” said Agnes. - -The blood rushed again to the young stranger’s brow. “Ah! I understand,” -she said; “she implied--yes. I know how she would do. And you will still -be friends with _me_?” - -At that moment it suddenly flashed upon the recollection of both the -girls that Mamma had disapproved of this prospective acquaintance. They -both blushed with instant consciousness, and neither of them spoke. In -an instant Rachel became frozen into a haughtiness far exceeding -anything within the power of Mrs Edgerley. Little and slight as she was, -her girlish frame rose to the dignity of a young queen. Before Agnes -could say a word, she had left them with a slight and lofty bow. Without -haste, but with singular rapidity, she crossed the dewy lawn, and went -into the house, acknowledging, with a stately inclination of her head, -some one who passed her. The girls were so entirely absorbed, watching -her progress, that they did not perceive who this other person was. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -AN EMBARRASSING COMPANION. - - -“Strange creature!” said Sir Langham Portland, who had joined the girls -almost before they were aware; “Odd girl! If Lucifer had a sister, I -should know where to find her; but a perfect siren so far as music is -concerned. Did you hear her sing last night--that thing of -Beethoven’s--what is the name of it? Do you like Beethoven, though? -_She_, I suppose, worships him.” - -“We know very little about music,” said Marian. She thought it proper to -make known the fact, but blushed in spite of herself, and was much -ashamed of her own ignorance. Marian was quite distressed and impatient -to find herself so much behind every one else. - -“Oh!” said Sir Langham--which meant that the handsome guardsman was a -good deal flattered by the blush, and did not care at all for the want -of information--in fact, he was cogitating within himself, being no -great master of the art of conversation, what to speak of next. - -“I am afraid Miss--Rachel was not pleased,” said Agnes; “we disturbed -her here. I am afraid she will think we were rude.” - -“Eh!” said Sir Langham, with a look of astonishment. “Oh, don’t trouble -yourself--she’s accustomed to that. Pretty place this. Suppose a fellow -on the island over there, what a capital sketch he could make;--with two -figures instead of three, the effect would be perfect!” - -“We were two figures before you came,” said Marian, turning half away, -and with a smile. - -“Ah! quite a different suggestion,” said Sir Langham. “Your two figures -were all white and angelical--maiden meditation--mine would be--Elysium. -Happy sketcher! happier hero!--and you could not suppose a more -appropriate scene.” - -But Agnes and Marian were much too shy and timid to answer this as they -might have answered Harry Oswald under the same circumstances. Agnes -half interrupted him, being somewhat in haste to change the -conversation. “You are an artist yourself?” said Agnes. - -“No,” said Sir Langham; “not at all,--no more than everybody else is. I -have no doubt you know a hundred people better at it than I.” - -“I do not think, counting every one,” said Marian, “that we know a -hundred, or the half of a hundred, people altogether; and none of them -make sketches. Mrs Edgerley said yours were quite remarkable.” - -“A great many things are quite remarkable with Mrs Edgerley,” said Sir -Langham through his mustache. “But what an amazing circle yours must be! -One must do something with one’s spare time. That old fellow is the -hardest rascal to kill of any I know--don’t you find him so?” - -“No--not when we are at home,” said Marian. - -“Ah! in the country, I suppose; and you are Lady Bountifuls, and attend -to all the village,” said Sir Langham. He had quite made up his mind -that these young girls, who were not fashionable nor remarkable in any -way, save for the wonderful beauty of the youngest, were daughters of -some squire in Banburyshire, whom it was Lord Winterbourne’s interest to -do a service to. - -“No, indeed, we have not any village--we are not Lady Bountifuls; but we -do a great many things at home,” said Marian. Something restrained them -both, however, from their heroic purpose of declaring at once their -“rank in life;” they shrank, with natural delicacy, from saying anything -about themselves to this interrogator, and were by no means clear that -it would be right to tell Sir Langham Portland that they lived in -Bellevue. - -“May we go through the conservatory, I wonder?” said Agnes;--the elder -sister, remembering the parting charge of her mother, began to be -somewhat uneasy about their handsome companion--he might possibly fall -in love with Marian--that was not so very dreadful a hypothesis,--for -Agnes was human, and did not object to see the natural enemies of -womankind taken captive, subjugated, or even entirely slain. But Marian -might fall in love with _him_! That was an appalling thought; two -distinct lines of anxiety began to appear in Agnes’s forehead; and the -imagination of the young genius instantly called before her the most -touching and pathetic picture, of a secret love and a broken heart. - -“Marian, we may go into the conservatory,” repeated Agnes; and she took -her sister’s hand and led her to where the Scotch gardener was opening -the windows of that fairy palace. Sir Langham still gave them his -attendance, following Marian as she passed through the ranks of flowers, -and echoing her delight. Sir Langham was rather relieved to find them at -last in enthusiasm about something. This familiar and well-known feature -of young ladyhood set him much more at his ease. - -And the gardener, with benign generosity, gathered some flowers for his -young visitors. They thanked him with such thoroughly grateful thanks, -and were so respectful of his superior knowledge, that this worthy -functionary brightened under their influence. Sir Langham followed -surprised and amused. He thought Marian’s simple ignorance of all those -delicate splendid exotic flowers, as pretty as he would have thought her -acquaintance with them had she been better instructed; and when one of -her flowers fell from her hand, lifted it up with the air of a paladin, -and placed it in his breast. Marian, though she had turned aside, _saw_ -him do it by some mysterious perception--not of the eye--and blushed -with a secret tremor, half of pleasure, half of amusement. Agnes -regarded it a great deal more seriously. Agnes immediately discovered -that it was time to go in. She was quite indifferent, we are grieved to -say, to the fate of Sir Langham, and thought nothing of disturbing the -peace of that susceptible young gentleman; but her protection and -guardianship of Marian was a much more serious affair. Their windows -were in the end of the house, and commanded no view--so Mrs Edgerley, -with a hundred regrets, was grieved to tell them--but these windows -looked over an orchard and a clump of chestnuts, where birds sang and -dew fell, and the girls were perfectly contented with the prospect; they -had three rooms--a dressing-room, and two pretty bedchambers--into all -of which the morning sun threw a sidelong glance as he passed; and they -had been extremely delighted with their pretty apartments last night. - -“Well!” said Agnes, as they arranged their flowers and put them in -water, “everything is very pretty, May, but I almost wish we were at -home.” - -“Why?” said Marian; but the beautiful sister had so much perception of -the case, that she did not look up, nor show any particular surprise. - -“Why?--because--because people don’t understand what we are, nor who we -belong to, nor how different---- Marian, you know quite well what is the -cause!” - -“But suppose people don’t want to know?” said Marian, who was -provokingly calm and at her ease; “we cannot go about telling -everybody--no one cares. Suppose we were to tell Sir Langham, Agnes? He -would think we meant that he has to come to Bellevue; and I am sure you -would not like to see him there!” - -This was a very conclusive argument, but Agnes had made up her mind to -be annoyed. - -“And there was Rachel,” said Agnes, “I wonder why just at that moment we -should have thought of mamma--and now I am sure she will not speak to us -again.” - -“Mamma did not think it quite proper,” said Marian doubtfully;--“I am -sure I cannot tell why--but we were very near making up friendship -without thinking; perhaps it is better as it is.” - -“It is never proper to hurt any one’s feelings--and she is lonely and -neglected and by herself,” said Agnes. “Mamma cannot be displeased when -I tell her; and I will try all I can to-day to meet with Rachel again. I -think Rachel would think better of our house than of the Willows. Though -it is a beautiful place, it is not kindly; it never could look like -home.” - -“Oh, nonsense! if we had it to ourselves, and they were all here!” cried -Marian. That indeed was a paradisaical conception. Agnes’s uneasy mood -could not stand against such an idea, and she arranged her hair with -renewed spirits, having quite given up for the moment all desire for -going home. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -SOCIETY. - - -But Rachel did not join the party either in their drives, their walks, -or their conversations. She was not to be seen during the whole day, -either out of doors or in, and did not even make her appearance at the -dinner-table; and Agnes could not so much as hear any allusion made to -her except once, when Mrs Edgerley promised a new arrival, “some really -good music,” and launched forth in praise of an extraordinary little -genius, whom nothing could excuse for concealing her gift from the -world. But if Rachel did not appear, Sir Langham did, following Marian -with his eyes when he could not follow in person, and hovering about the -young beauty like a man bewitched. The homage of such a cavalier was not -to be despised; in spite of herself, the smile and the blush brightened -upon the sweet face of Marian--she was pleased--she was amused--she was -grateful to Sir Langham--and besides had a certain mischievous pleasure -in her power over him, and loved to exercise the sway of despotism. -Marian new little about coquetry, though she had read with attention Mrs -Edgerley’s novel on the subject; but, notwithstanding, had “a way” of -her own, and some little practice in tantalising poor Harry Oswald, who -was by no means so superb a plaything as the handsome guardsman. The -excitement and novelty of her position--the attentions paid to her--the -pretty things around her--even her own dress, which never before had -been so handsome, brightened, with a variable and sweet illumination, -the beauty which needed no aggravating circumstance. Poor Sir Langham -gave himself up helpless and unresisting, and already, in his honest but -somewhat slow imagination, made formal declarations to the -supposititious Banburyshire Squire. - -Agnes meanwhile sat by Marian’s side, rather silent, eagerly watching -for the appearance of Rachel--for now it was evening, and the really -good music could not be long deferred, if it was to come to-night. Agnes -was not neglected, though she had no Sir Langham to watch her movements. -Mrs Edgerley herself came to the young genius now and then to introduce -some one who was “dying to know the author of _Hope Hazlewood_;” and -half disconcerted, half amused, Agnes began to feel herself entering -upon the enjoyment of her reputation. No one could possibly suppose -anything more different from the fanciful and delicate fame which -charms the young poetic mind with imaginary glories, than these -drawing-room compliments and protestations of interest and delight, to -which, at first with a deep blush and overpowering embarrassment, and -by-and-by with an uneasy consciousness of something ridiculous, the -young author sat still and listened. The two sisters kept always close -together, and had not courage enough to move from the corner in which -they had first established themselves. Agnes, for the moment, had become -the reigning whim in the brain of Mrs Edgerley. She came to her side now -and then to whisper a few words of caressing encouragement, or to point -out to her somebody of note; and when she left her young guest, Mrs -Edgerley flew at once to the aforesaid somebody to call his or her -attention to the pair of sisters, one of whom had _such_ genius, and the -other _such_ beauty. Marian, occupied with her own concerns, took all -this very quietly. Agnes grew annoyed, uneasy, displeased; she did not -remember that she had once been mortified at the neglect of her pretty -hostess, nor that Mrs Edgerley’s admiration was as evanescent as her -neglect. She began to think everybody was laughing at her claims to -distinction, and that she amused the people, sitting here uneasily -receiving compliments, immovable in her chair--and she was extremely -grateful to Mr Agar, her former acquaintance, when he came, looking -amused and paying no compliments, to talk to her, and to screen her from -observation. Mr Agar had been watching her uneasiness, her -embarrassment, her self-annoyance. He was quite pleased with the -“study;” it pleased him as much as a _Watteau_, or a cabinet of old -china; and what could connoisseur say more? - -“You must confide your annoyance to me. I am your oldest acquaintance,” -said Mr Agar. “What has happened? Has your pretty sister been -naughty--eh? or are all the people _so_ much delighted with your book?” - -“Yes,” said Agnes, holding down her head a little, with a momentary -shame that her two troubles should have been so easily found out. - -“And why should they not be delighted?” said the ancient beau. “You -would have liked me a great deal better had I been the same, when I -first saw you; do you not like it now?” - -“No,” said Agnes. - -“Yes; no. Your eyes do not talk in monosyllables,” said the old -gentleman, “eh? What has poor Sir Langham done to merit that flash of -dissatisfaction? and I wonder what is the meaning of all these anxious -glances towards the door?” - -“I was looking for--for the young lady they call Rachel,” said Agnes. -“Do you know who she is, sir?--can you tell me? I am afraid she thought -we were rude this morning, when we met her; and I wish very much to see -her to-night.” - -“Ah! I know nothing of the young lady, but a good deal of the voice,” -said Mr Agar; “a fine soprano,--a good deal of expression, and plenty of -fire. Yes, she needs nothing but cultivation to make a great success.” - -“I think, sir,” said Agnes, suddenly breaking in upon this speech, “if -you would speak to Mrs Edgerley for her, perhaps they would not teaze -her about being a singer. She hates it. I know she does; and it would be -very good of you to help her, for she has no friends.” - -Mr Agar looked at the young pleader with a smile of surprised amusement. -“And why should I interfere on her behalf? and why should she not be a -singer? and how do you suppose I could persuade myself to do such an -injury to Art?” - -“She dislikes it very much,” said Agnes. “She is a woman--a girl--a -delicate mind; it would be very cruel to bring her before the world; and -indeed I am sure if you would speak to Mrs Edgerley--” - -“My dear young lady,” cried Mr Agar, with a momentary shrug of his -eyebrows, and look of comic distress, “you entirely mistake my _rôle_. I -am not a knight-errant for the rescue of distressed princesses. I am a -humble servant of the beautiful; and a young lady’s tremors are really -not cause enough to induce me to resign a fine soprano. No. I bow before -my fair enslavers,” said the ancient Corydon, with a reverential -obeisance, which belonged, like his words, to another century; “but my -true and only mistress is Art.” - -Agnes was silenced in a moment; but whether by this declaration, or by -the entrance of Rachel, who suddenly appeared, gliding in at a -side-door, could not be determined. Rachel came in, so quickly, and with -such a gliding motion, that anybody less intently on the watch could not -have discovered the moment of her appearance. She was soon at the piano, -and heard immediately; but she came there in a miraculous manner to all -the other observers, as if she had dropped from heaven. - -And while the connoisseur stood apart to listen undisturbed, and Mrs -Edgerley’s guests were suddenly stayed in their flutter of talk and -mutual criticism by the “really good music” which their hostess had -promised them, Agnes sat listening, moved and anxious,--not to the song, -but to the singer. She thought the music--pathetic, complaining, and -resentful--instead of being a renowned _chef-d’œuvre_ of a famous -composer, was the natural outcry of this lonely girl. She thought she -could hear the solitary heart, the neglected life, making its appeal -indignant and sorrowful to some higher ear than all these careless -listeners. She bent unconsciously towards the singer, forgetting all her -mother’s rules of manners, and, leaning forward, supported her rapt and -earnest face with her hand. Mrs Edgerley paused to point out to some one -the sweet enthusiasm, the delightful impressionable nature of her -charming young friend; but to tell the truth, Agnes was not thinking at -all of the music. It seemed to her a strange impassioned monologue,--a -thing of which she was the sole hearer,--an irrepressible burst of -confidence, addressed to the only one here present who cared to receive -the same. - -When it was over she raised herself almost painfully from her listening -posture; _she_ did not join in any of the warm expressions of delight -which burst from her neighbours; and with extreme impatience Agnes -listened to the cool criticism of Mr Agar, who was delivering his -opinion very near her. Her heart ached as she saw the musician turn -haughtily aside, and heard her say, “I am here when you want me again;” -and Rachel withdrew to a sofa in a corner, and, shading her delicate -small face entirely with her hand, took up a book and read, or pretended -to read. Agnes looked on with eager interest, while several people, one -after another, approached the singer to offer her some of the usual -compliments, and retreated immediately, disconcerted by their reception. -Leaning back in her corner, with her book held obstinately before her, -and the small pale hand shading the delicate face, it was impossible to -intrude upon Rachel. Agnes sat watching her, quite absorbed and -sad--thinking in her own quick creative mind, many a proud thought for -Rachel--and fancying she could read in that unvarying and statue-like -attitude a world of tumultuous feelings. She was so much occupied that -she took no notice of Sir Langham; and even Marian, though she appealed -to her twenty times, did not get more than a single word in reply. - -“Is she not the most wonderful little genius?” cried Mrs Edgerley, -making one of her sudden descents upon Agnes. “I tell everybody she is -next to you--quite next to you in talent. I expect she will make quite a -_furor_ next season when she makes her _début_.” - -“But she dislikes it so much,” said Agnes. - -“What, music? Oh, you mean coming out: poor child, she does not know -what is for her own advantage,” said Mrs Edgerley. “My love, in _her_ -circumstances, people have no right to consult their feelings; and a -successful singer may live quite a fairy life. Music is so -entrancing--these sort of people make fortunes immediately, and then, of -course, she could retire, and be as private as she pleased. Oh, yes, I -am sure she will be delighted to gratify you, Mr Agar: she will sing -again.” - -It scarcely required a word from Mrs Edgerley--scarcely a sign. Rachel -seemed to know by intuition when she was wanted, and, putting down her -book, went to the piano again;--perhaps Agnes was not so attentive this -time, for she felt herself suddenly roused a few minutes after by a -sudden tremor in the magnificent voice--a sudden shake and tremble, -having the same effect upon the singing which a start would have upon -the frame. Agnes looked round eagerly to see the cause--there was no -cause apparent--and no change whatever in the company, save for the pale -spasmodic face of Lord Winterbourne, newly arrived, and saluting his -daughter at the door. - -Was it this? Agnes could not wait to inquire, for immediately the music -rose and swelled into such a magnificent burst and overflow that every -one held his breath. To the excited ear of Agnes, it sounded like a -glorious challenge and defiance, irrestrainable and involuntary; and ere -the listeners had ceased to wonder, the music was over, and the singer -gone. - -“A sudden effect--our young performer is not without dramatic talent,” -said Mr Agar. Agnes said nothing; but she searched in the corner of the -sofa with her eyes, watched the side-door, and stole sidelong looks at -Lord Winterbourne. He never seemed at his ease, this uncomfortable -nobleman; he had a discomfited look to-night, like a man defeated, and -Agnes could not help thinking of Charlie, with his sudden enmity, and -the old acquaintance of her father, and all the chances connected with -Aunt Bridget’s bequest; for the time, in her momentary impulse of -dislike and repulsion, she thought her noble neighbour, ex-minister and -peer of the realm as he was, was not a match for the big boy. - -“Agnes, somebody says Lord Winterbourne is her father--Rachel’s -father--and she cannot bear him. Was that what Mrs Edgerley meant?” -whispered Marian in her ear with a look of sorrow. “Did you hear her -voice tremble--did you see how she went away? They say she is his -daughter--oh, Agnes, can it be true?” - -But Agnes did not know, and could not answer: if it was true, then it -was very certain that Rachel must be right; and that there were depths -and mysteries and miseries of life, of which, in spite of all their -innocent acquaintance with sorrow, these simple girls had scarcely -heard, and never knew. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -MAKING FRIENDS. - - -The next morning, and the next again, Agnes and Marian vainly sought the -little bower of willows looking for Rachel. Once they saw her escape -hastily out of the shrubbery as they returned from their search, and -knew by that means that she wished to avoid them; but though they heard -her sing every night, they made no advance in their friendship, for that -was the only time in which Rachel was visible, and then she defied all -intrusion upon her haughty solitude. Mr Agar himself wisely kept aloof -from the young singer. The old gentleman did not choose to subject -himself to the chance of a repulse. - -But if Rachel avoided them, Sir Langham certainly did not. This -enterprising youth, having discovered their first early walk, took care -to be in the way when they repeated it, and on the fourth morning, -without saying anything to each other, the sisters unanimously decided -to remain within the safe shelter of their own apartments. From a -corner of their window they could see Sir Langham in vexation and -impatience traversing the slope of the lawn, and pulling off the long -ashy willow-leaves to toss them into the river. Marian laughed to -herself without giving a reason, and Agnes was very glad they had -remained in the house; but the elder sister, reasoning with elaborate -wisdom, made up her mind to ask no further questions about Sir Langham, -how Marian liked him, or what she thought of his attentions. Agnes -thought too many inquiries might “put something into her head.” - -Proceeding upon this astute line of policy, Agnes took no notice -whatever of all the assiduities of the handsome guardsman, not even his -good-natured and brotherly attentions to herself. They were only to -remain a fortnight at the Willows--very little harm, surely, could be -done in that time, and they had but a slender chance of meeting again. -So the elder sister, in spite of her charge of Marian, quieted her -conscience and her fears--and in the mean time the two girls, with -thorough and cordial simplicity, took pleasure in their holiday, finding -everybody kind to them, and excusing with natural humbleness any chance -symptom of neglect. - -They had been a week at the Willows, and every day had used every means -in their power to see Rachel again, when one morning, suddenly, without -plot or premeditation, Agnes encountered her in a long passage which -ran from the hall to the morning-room of Mrs Edgerley. There was a long -window at the end of this passage, against which the small rapid figure, -clothed in a dark close-fitting dress, without the smallest relief of -ornament, stood out strangely, outlined and surrounded by the light. -Agnes had some flowers in her hand, the gift of her acquaintance the -gardener. She fancied that Rachel glanced at them wistfully, and she was -eager of the opportunity. “They are newly gathered--will you take some?” -said Agnes, holding out her hands to her. The young stranger paused, and -looked for an instant distrustfully at her and the flowers. Agnes hoped -nothing better than to be dismissed with a haughty word of thanks; but -while Rachel lingered, the door of the morning-room was opened, and an -approaching footstep struck upon the tiled floor. The young singer did -not look behind her, did not pause to see who it was, but recognising -the step, as it seemed, with a sudden start and tremor, suddenly laid -her hand on Agnes’s arm, and drew her hurriedly in within a door which -she flung open. As soon as they were in, Rachel closed the door with -haste and force, and stood close by it with evident agitation and -excitement. “I beg your pardon--but hush, do not speak till he is past,” -she said in a whisper. Agnes, much discomposed and troubled, went to -the window, as people generally do in embarrassment, and looked out -vacantly for a moment upon the kitchen-garden and the servants’ -“offices,” the only prospect visible from it. She could not help sharing -a little the excitement of her companion, as she thought upon her own -singular position here, and listened with an involuntary thrill to the -slow step of the unknown person from whom they had fled, pacing along -the long cool corridor to pass this door. - -But he did not pass the door; he made a moment’s pause at it, and then -entered, coming full upon Rachel as she stood, agitated and defiant, -close upon the threshold. Agnes scarcely looked round, yet she could see -it was Lord Winterbourne. - -“Good morning, Rachel. I trust you get on well here,” said the new-comer -in a soft and stealthy tone: “is this your sitting-room? Ah, bare -enough, I see. Your are in splendid voice, I am glad to hear; some one -is coming to-night, I understand, whose good opinion is important. You -must take care to do yourself full justice. Are you well, child?” - -He had approached close to her, and bestowed a cold kiss upon the brow -which burned under his touch. “Perfectly well,” said Rachel, drawing -back with a voice unusually harsh and clear. Her agitation and -excitement had for the moment driven all the music from her tones. - -“And your brother is quite well, and all going on in the usual way at -Winterbourne,” continued the stranger. “I expect to have the house very -full in a few weeks, and you must arrange with the housekeeper where to -bestow yourselves. _You_, of course, I shall want frequently. As for -Louis, I suppose he does nothing but fish and mope as usual. I have no -desire to see more than I can help of _him_.” - -“There is no fear; his desire is as strong as yours,” cried Rachel -suddenly, her face varying from the most violent flush to a sudden -passionate paleness. Lord Winterbourne answered by his cold smile of -ridicule. - -“I know his amiable temper,” he said. “Now, remember what I have said -about to-night. Do yourself justice. It will be for your advantage. -Good-by. Remember me to Louis.” - -The door opened again, and he was gone. Rachel closed it almost -violently, and threw herself upon a chair. “We owe him no duty--none. I -will not believe it,” cried Rachel. “No--no--no--I do not belong to him! -Louis is not his!” - -All this time, in the greatest distress and embarrassment, Agnes stood -by the window, grieved to be an unwilling listener, and reluctant to -remind Rachel of her presence by going away. But Rachel had not -forgotten that she was there. With a sudden effort this strange solitary -girl composed herself and came up to Agnes. “Do you know Lord -Winterbourne?” she said quickly; “have you heard of him before you came -here?” - -“I think---- but, indeed, I may be mistaken,” said Agnes timidly; “I -think papa once knew him long ago.” - -“And did he think him a good man?” said Rachel. - -This was a very embarrassing question. Agnes turned away, retreated -uneasily, blushed, and hesitated. “He never speaks of him; I cannot -tell,” said Agnes. - -“Do you know,” said Rachel, eagerly, “they say he is my father--Louis’s -father; but we do not believe it, neither I nor he.” - -To this singular statement Agnes made no answer, save by a look of -surprise and inquiry; the frightful uncertainty of such a position as -this was beyond the innocent comprehension of Agnes Atheling. She looked -with a blank and painful surprise into her young companion’s face. - -“And I will not sing to-night; I will not, because he bade me!” said -Rachel. “Is it my fault that I can sing? but I am to be punished for it; -they make me come to amuse them; and they want me to be a public singer. -I should not care,” cried the poor girl suddenly, in a violent burst of -tears, passing from her passion and excitement to her natural -character--“I would not mind it for myself, if it were not for Louis. I -would do anything they bade me myself; I do not care, nothing matters to -me; but Louis--Louis! he thinks it is disgrace, and it would break his -heart!” - -“Is that your brother?” said Agnes, bending over her, and endeavouring -to soothe her excitement. Rachel made no immediate answer. - -“He has disgrace enough already, poor boy,” said Rachel. “We are -nobody’s children; or we are Lord Winterbourne’s; and he who might be a -king’s son--and he has not even a name! Yes, he is my brother, my poor -Louis: we are twins; and we have nobody but each other in the whole -world.” - -“If he is as old as you,” said Agnes, who was only accustomed to the -usages of humble houses, and knew nothing of the traditions of a noble -race, “you should not stay at Winterbourne: a man can always work--you -ought not to stay.” - -“Do you think so?” cried Rachel eagerly. “Louis says so always, and I -beg and plead with him. When he was only eighteen he ran away: he went -and enlisted for a soldier--a common man--and was away a year, and then -they bought him off, and promised to get him a commission; and I made -him promise to me--perhaps it was selfish, for I could not live when he -was gone--I made him promise not to go away again. And there he is at -Winterbourne. I know you never saw any one like him; and now all these -heartless people are going there, and Lord Winterbourne is afraid of -him, and never will have him seen, and the whole time I will be sick to -the very heart lest he should go away.” - -“But I think he ought to go away,” said Agnes gravely. - -Her new friend looked up in her face with an earnest and trembling -scrutiny. This poor girl had a great deal more passion and vehemence in -her character than had ever been called for in Agnes, but, an -uninstructed and ill-trained child, knew nothing of the primitive -independence, and had never been taught to think of right and wrong. - -“We have a little house there,” said Agnes, with a sudden thought. “Do -you know the Old Wood Lodge? Papa’s old aunt left it to him, and they -say it is very near the Hall.” - -At the name Rachel started suddenly, rose up at once with one of her -quick inconsiderate movements, and, throwing her arms round Agnes, -kissed her cheek. “I knew I ought to know you,” said Rachel, “and yet I -did not think of the name. Dear old Miss Bridget, she loved Louis. I am -sure she loved him; and we know every room in the house, and every leaf -on the trees. If you come there, we will see you every day.” - -“We are coming there--and my mother,” said Agnes. “I know you will be -pleased to see mamma,” said the good girl, her face brightening, and her -eyes filling in spite of herself; “every one thinks she is like their -own mother--and when you come to us you will think you are at home.” - -“We never had any mother,” said Rachel, sadly; “we never had any home; -we do not know what it is. Look, this is my home here.” - -Agnes looked round the large bare apartment, in which the only article -of furniture worth notice was an old piano, and which looked only upon -the little square of kitchen-garden and the servants’ rooms. It was -somewhat larger than both the parlours in Bellevue, and for a best room -would have rejoiced Mrs Atheling’s ambitious heart; but Agnes was -already a little wiser than she had been in Islington, and it chilled -her heart to compare this lonely and dreary apartment with all the -surrounding luxuries, which Rachel saw and did not share. - -“Come up with me and see Marian,” said Agnes, putting her arm through -her companion’s; “you are not to avoid us now any more; we are all to be -friends after to-day.” - -And Rachel, who did not know what friendship was, yielded, thinking of -Louis. Had she been wrong throughout in keeping him, by her entreaties, -so long at Winterbourne? A vision of a home, all to themselves, burst -once in a great delight upon the mind of Rachel. If Louis would only -consent to it! With such a motive before her as that, the poor girl -fancied she “would not mind” being a singer after all. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -CONFIDENTIAL. - - -When the first ice was broken, Rachel became perfectly confidential with -her new friends--_perfectly_ confidential--far more so than they, -accustomed to the domestic privateness of humble English life, could -understand. This poor girl had no restraint upon her for family pride or -family honour; no compensation in family sympathy; and her listeners, -who had very little skill in the study of character, though one of them -had written a novel, were extremely puzzled with a kind of doubleness, -perfectly innocent and unconscious, which made Rachel’s thoughts and -words at different moments like the words and the thoughts of two -different people. At one time she was herself, humble, timid, and -content to do anything which any authority bade her do; but in a moment -she remembered Louis; and the change was instantaneous--she became -proud, stately, obdurate, even defiant. She was no longer herself, but -the shadow and representative of her brother; and in this view Rachel -resisted and defied every influence, anchoring her own wavering will -upon Louis, and refusing, with unreasonable and unreasoning obstinacy, -all injunctions and all persuasions coming from those to whom her -brother was opposed. She seemed, indeed, to have neither plan nor -thought for herself: Louis was her inspiration. _She_ seemed to have -been born for no other purpose but to follow, to love, and to serve this -brother, who to her was all the world. As she sat on the pretty chintz -sofa in that sunny little dressing-room where Agnes and Marian passed -the morning, running rapidly over the environs of the Old Wood Lodge, -and telling them about their future neighbours, they were amazed and -amused to find the total absence of personal opinion, and almost of -personal liking, in their new acquaintance. She had but one standard, to -which she referred everything, and that was Louis. They saw the very -landscape, not as it was, but as it appeared to this wonderful brother. -They became acquainted with the village and its inhabitants through the -medium of Louis’s favourites and Louis’s aversions. They were young -enough and simple enough themselves to be perfectly ready to invest any -unknown ideal person with all the gifts of fancy; and Louis immediately -leaped forth from the unknown world, a presence and an authority to them -both. - -“The Rector lives in the Old Wood House,” said Rachel, for the first -time pausing, and looking somewhat confused in her rapid summary. “I am -sure I do not know what to think--but Louis does not like him. I suppose -you will not like him; and yet,”--here a little faint colour came upon -the young speaker’s pale face--“sometimes I have fancied he would have -been a friend if we had let him; and he is quite sure to like you.” - -Saying this, she turned a somewhat wistful look upon Agnes--blushing -more perceptibly, but with no sunshine or brightness in her blush. -“Yes,” said Rachel slowly, “he will like you--he will do for you; and -you,” she added, turning with sudden eagerness to Marian, “you are for -Louis--remember! You are not to think of any one else till you see -Louis. You never saw any one like him; he is like a prince to look at, -and I know he is a great genius. Your sister shall have the Rector, and -Louis shall be for you.” - -All this Rachel said hurriedly, but with the most perfect gravity, even -with a tinge of sadness--grieved, as they could perceive, that her -brother did not like the Rector, but making no resistance against a doom -so unquestionable as the dislike of Louis: but her timid heart was -somehow touched upon the subject; she became thoughtful, and lingered -over it with a kind of melancholy pleasure. “Perhaps Louis might come -to like him if he was connected with _you_,” said Rachel meditatively; -and the faint colour wavered and flickered on her face, and at last -passed away with a low but very audible sigh. - -“But they are all Riverses,” she continued, in her usual rapid way. “The -Rector of Winterbourne is always a Rivers--it is the family living; and -if Lord Winterbourne’s son should die, I suppose Mr Lionel would be the -heir. His sister lives with him, quite an old lady: and then there is -another Miss Rivers, who lives far off, at Abingford all the way. Did -you ever hear of Miss Anastasia? But she does not call herself -Miss--only the Honourable Anastasia Rivers. Old Miss Bridget was once -her governess. Lord Winterbourne will never permit her to see us; but I -almost think Louis would like to be friends with her, only he will not -take the trouble. They are not at all friends with her at Winterbourne.” - -“Is she a relation?” said Agnes. The girls by this time were so much -interested in the family story that they did not notice this admirable -reason for the inclination of Louis towards this old lady unknown. - -“She is the old lord’s only child,” said Rachel. “The old lord was Lord -Winterbourne’s brother, and he died abroad, and no one knew anything -about him for a long time before he died. We want very much to hear -about him; indeed, I ought not to tell you--but Louis thinks perhaps he -knew something about us. Louis will not believe we are Lord -Winterbourne’s children; and though we are poor disgraced children any -way, and though he hates the very name of Rivers, I think he would -almost rather we belonged to the old lord; for he says,” added Rachel -with great seriousness, “that one cannot hate one’s father, if he is -dead.” - -The girls drew back a little, half in horror; but though she spoke in -this rebellious fashion, there was no consciousness of wrong in Rachel’s -innocent and quiet face. - -“And we have so many troubles,” burst forth the poor girl suddenly. “And -I sometimes sit and cry all day, and pray to God to be dead. And when -anybody is kind to me,” she continued, some sudden remembrance moving -her to an outburst of tears, and raising the colour once more upon her -colourless cheek, “I am so weak and so foolish, and would do anything -they tell me. _I_ do not care, I am sure, what I do--it does not matter -to me; but Louis--no, certainly, I will not sing to-night.” - -“I wish very much,” said Agnes, with an earnestness and courage which -somewhat startled Marian--“I wish very much you could come home with us -to our little house in Bellevue.” - -“Yes,” said Marian doubtfully; but the younger sister, though she -shared the generous impulse, could not help a secret glance at Agnes--an -emphatic reminder of Mamma. - -“No, I must make no friends,” said Rachel, rising under the inspiration -of Louis’s will and injunctions. “It is very kind of you, but I must not -do it. Oh, but remember you are to come to Winterbourne, and I will try -to bring Louis to see you; and I am sure you know a great deal better, -and could talk to him different from me. Do you know,” she continued -solemnly, “they never have given me any education at all, except to -sing? I have never been taught anything, nor indeed Louis either, which -is much worse than me--only he is a great genius, and can teach himself. -The Rector wanted to help him; that is why I am always sure, if Louis -would let him, he would be a friend.” - -And again a faint half-distinguishable blush came upon Rachel’s face. -No, it meant nothing, though Agnes and Marian canvassed and interpreted -after their own fashion this delicate suffusion; it only meant that the -timid gentle heart might have been touched had there been room for more -than Louis; but Louis was supreme, and filled up all. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -THREE FRIENDS. - - -That night, faithful to her purpose, Rachel did not appear in the -drawing-room. How far her firmness would have supported her, had she -been left to herself, it is impossible to tell; but she was not left to -herself. “Mrs Edgerley came, saying just the same things as Lord -Winterbourne,” said Rachel, “and I knew I should be firm. Louis cannot -endure Mrs Edgerley.” She said this with the most entire unconsciousness -that she revealed the whole motive and strength of her resistance in the -words. Rachel, indeed, was perfectly unaware of the entire subjection in -which she kept even her thoughts and her affections to her brother; but -she could not help a little anxiety and a little nervousness as to -whether “Louis would like” her new acquaintances. She herself brightened -wonderfully under the influence of these companions--expanded out of her -dull and irritable solitude, and with girlish eagerness forecast their -fortunes, seizing at once, in idea, upon Marian as the destined bride -of Louis, and with a voluntary self-sacrifice making over, with a sigh -and a secret thrill of pride, the only person who had ever wakened any -interest in her own most sisterly bosom, to Agnes. She pleased herself -greatly with these visions, and built them on a foundation still more -brittle than that of Alnaschar--for it was possible that all her -pleasant dreams might be thrown into the dust in a moment, if--dreadful -possibility!--“Louis did not like” these first friends of poor Rachel’s -youth. - -And when she brightened under this genial influence, and softened out of -the haughtiness and solitary state which, indeed, was quite foreign to -her character, Rachel became a very attractive little person. Even the -sudden change in her sentiments and bearing when she returned to her old -feeling of representing Louis, added a charm. Her large eyes troubled -and melting, her pale small features which were very fine and regular, -though so far from striking, her noble little head and small pretty -figure, attracted in the highest degree the admiration of her new -friends. Marian, who rather suspected that she herself was rather -pretty, could not sufficiently admire the grace and refinement of -Rachel; and Agnes, though candidly admitting that there was “scarcely -any one” so beautiful as Marian, notwithstanding bestowed a very equal -share of her regard upon the attractions of their companion. And the -trio fell immediately into all the warmth of girlish friendship. The -Athelings went to visit Rachel in her great bare study, and Rachel came -to visit them in their pretty little dressing-room; and whether in that -sun-bright gay enclosure, or within the sombre and undecorated walls of -the room which looked out on the kitchen-garden, a painter would have -been puzzled to choose which was the better scene. They were so pretty a -group anywhere--so animated--so full of eager life and intelligence--so -much disposed to communicate everything that occurred to them, that -Rachel’s room brightened under the charm of their presence as she -herself had done. And this new acquaintanceship made a somewhat singular -revolution in the drawing-room--where the young musician, after her -singing, was instantly joined by her two friends. She was extremely -reserved and shy of every one else, and even of them occasionally, under -the eyes of Mrs Edgerley; but she was no longer the little tragical -princess who buried herself in the book and the corner, and neither -heard nor saw anything going around her. And the fact that they had some -one whose position was even more doubtful and uneasy than their own, to -give heart and courage to, animated Agnes and Marian, as nothing else -could have done. They recovered their natural spirits, and were no -longer overawed by the great people surrounding them; they had so much -care for Rachel that they forgot to be self-conscious, or to trouble -themselves with inquiries touching their own manners and deportment, and -what other people thought of the same; and on the whole, though their -simplicity was not quite so amusing as at first, “other people” began to -have a kindness for the fresh young faces, always so honest, cloudless, -and sincere. - -But Agnes’s “reputation” had died away, and left very little trace -behind it. Mrs Edgerley had found other lions, and at the present moment -held in delusion an unfortunate young poet, who was much more like to be -harmed by the momentary idolatry than Agnes. The people who had been -dying to know the author of _Hope Hazlewood_, had all found out that the -shy young genius did not talk in character--had no gift of conversation, -and, indeed, did nothing at all to keep up her fame; and if Agnes -chanced to feel a momentary mortification at the prompt desertion of all -her admirers, she wisely kept the pang to herself, and said nothing -about it. They were not neglected--for the accomplished authoress of -_Coquetry_ and the _Beau Monde_ had some kindness at her heart after -all, and had always a smile to spare for her young guests when they came -in her way; they were permitted to roam freely about the gardens and the -conservatory; they were by no means hindered in their acquaintance with -Rachel, whom Mrs Edgerley was really much disposed to bring out and -patronise; and one of them, the genius or the beauty, as best suited her -other companions, was not unfrequently honoured with a place in Mrs -Edgerley’s barouche--a pretty shy lay figure in that rustling, radiant, -perfumy _bouquet_ of fine ladies, who talked over her head about things -and people perfectly unknown to the silent auditor, and impressed her -with a vague idea that this elegant and easy gossip was brilliant -“conversation,” though it did not quite sound, after all, like that -grand unattainable conversation to be found in books. After this -fashion, liking their novel life wonderfully well, and already making a -home of that sunny little dressing-room, they drew gradually towards the -end of their fortnight. As yet nothing at all marvellous had happened to -them, and even Agnes seemed to have forgotten the absolute necessity of -letting everybody know that they “did not belong to great people,” but -instead of a rural Hall, or Grange of renown, lived only in Number Ten, -Bellevue. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -A TERRIBLE EVENT. - - -For Agnes, we are grieved to confess, had fallen into all the sudden -fervour of a most warm and enthusiastic girlish friendship. She forgot -to watch over her sister, though Mrs Atheling’s letters did not fail to -remind her of her duty; she forgot to ward off the constant regards of -Sir Langham. She began to be perfectly indifferent and careless of the -superb sentinel who mounted guard upon Marian every night. For the time, -Agnes was entirely occupied with Rachel, and with the new world so full -of a charmed unknown life, which seemed to open upon them all in this -Old Wood Lodge; she spent hours dreaming of some discovery which might -change the position of the unfortunate brother and sister; she took up -with warmth and earnestness their dislike to Lord Winterbourne. If it -sometimes occurred to her what a frightful sentiment this was on the -part of children to their father, she corrected herself suddenly, and -declared in her own mind, with heart and energy, that he could not be -their father--that there was no resemblance between them. But this, it -must be confessed, was a puzzling subject, and offered continual ground -for speculation; for princes and princesses, stolen away in their -childhood, were extremely fictitious personages, even to an imagination -which had written a novel; and Agnes could not help a thrill of -apprehension when she thought of Louis and Marian, of the little romance -which Rachel had made up between them, and how her own honourable father -and mother would look upon this unhappy scion of a noble house--this -poor boy who had no name. - -This future, so full of strange and exciting possibilities, attracted -with an irresistible power the imaginative mind of Agnes. She went -through it chapter by chapter--through earnest dialogues, overpowering -emotions, many a varying and exciting scene. The Old Wood Lodge, the Old -Wood House, the Hall, the Rector, the old Miss Rivers, the unknown hero, -Louis--these made a little private world of persons and places to the -vivid imagination of the young dreamer. They floated down even upon Mrs -Edgerley’s drawing-room, extinguishing its gay lights, its pretty faces, -and its hum of conversation; but with still more effect filled all her -mind and meditations, as she rested, half reclining, upon the pretty -chintz sofa in the pretty dressing-room, in the sweet summer noon with -which this sweet repose was so harmonious and suitable. The window was -open, and the soft wind blowing in fluttered all the leaves of that book -upon the little table, which the sunshine, entering too, brightened into -a dazzling whiteness with all its rims and threads of gold. A fragrant -breath came up from the garden, a hum of soft sound from all the drowsy -world out of doors. Agnes, in the corner of the sofa, laying back her -head among its pretty cushions, with the smile of fancy on her lips, and -the meditative inward light shining in her eyes, playing her foot idly -on the carpet, playing her fingers idly among a little knot of flowers -which lay at her side, and which, in this sweet indolence, she had not -yet taken the trouble to arrange in the little vase--was as complete a -picture of maiden meditation--of those charmed fancies, sweet and -fearless, which belong to her age and kind, as painter or poet could -desire to see. - -When Marian suddenly broke in upon the retirement of her sister, -disturbed, fluttered, a little afraid, but with no appearance of -painfulness, though there was a certain distress in her excitement. -Marian’s eyes were downcast, abashed, and dewy, her colour unusually -bright, her lips apart, her heart beating high. She came into the -little quiet room with a sudden burst, as if she had fled from some one; -but when she came within the door, paused as suddenly, put up her hands -to her face, blushed an overpowering blush, and dropped at once with the -shyest, prettiest movement in the world, into a low chair which stood -behind the door. Agnes, waking slowly out of her own bright mist of -fancy, saw all this with a faint wonder--noticing scarcely anything more -than that Marian surely grew prettier every day, and indeed had never -looked so beautiful all her life. - -“May! you look quite----” lovely, Agnes was about to say; but she paused -in consideration of her sister’s feelings, and said “frightened” -instead. - -“Oh, no wonder! Agnes, something has happened,” said Marian. She began -to look even more frightened as she spoke; yet the pretty saucy lip -moved a little into something that resembled suppressed and silent -laughter. In spite, however, of this one evidence of a secret mixture of -amusement, Marian was extremely grave and visibly afraid. - -“What has happened? Is it about Rachel?” asked Agnes, instantly -referring Marian’s agitation to the subject of her own thoughts. - -“About Rachel! you are always thinking about Rachel,” said Marian, with -a momentary sparkle of indignation. “It is something a great deal more -important; it is--oh, Agnes! Sir Langham has been speaking to me----” - -Agnes raised herself immediately with a start of eagerness and surprise, -accusing herself. She had forgotten all about this close and pressing -danger--she had neglected her guardianship--she looked with an appalled -and pitying look upon her beautiful sister. In Agnes’s eyes, it was -perfectly visible already that here was an end of Marian’s -happiness--that she had bestowed her heart upon Sir Langham, and that -accordingly this heart had nothing to do but to break. - -“What did he say?” asked Agnes solemnly. - -“He said---- oh, I am sure you know very well what he was sure to say,” -cried Marian, holding down her head, and tying knots in her little -handkerchief; “he said--he liked me--and wanted to know if I would -consent. But it does not matter what he said,” said Marian, sinking her -voice very low, and redoubling the knots upon the cambric; “it is not my -fault, indeed, Agnes. I did not think he would have done it; I thought -it was all like Harry Oswald; and you never said a word. What was I to -do?” - -“What did _you_ say?” asked Agnes again, with breathless anxiety, -feeling the reproach, but making no answer to it. - -“I said nothing: it was in Mrs Edgerley’s morning-room, and she came in -almost before he was done speaking; and I was so very glad, and ran -away. What could I do?” said again the beautiful culprit, becoming a -little more at her ease; but during all this time she never lifted her -eyes to her sister’s face. - -“What _will_ you say, then? Marian, you make me very anxious; do not -trifle with me,” said Agnes. - -“It is you who are trifling,” retorted the young offender; “for you know -if you had told the people at once, as you said you would--but I don’t -mean to be foolish either,” said Marian, rising suddenly, and throwing -herself half into her sister’s arms; “and now, Agnes, you must go and -tell him--indeed you must--and say that we never intended to deceive -anybody, and meant no harm.” - -“_I_ must tell him!” said Agnes, with momentary dismay; and then the -elder sister put her arm round the beautiful head which leaned on her -shoulder, in a caressing and sympathetic tenderness. “Yes, May,” said -Agnes sadly, “I will do anything you wish--I will say whatever you wish. -We ought not to have come here, where you were sure to meet with all -these perils. Marian! for my mother’s sake you must try to keep up your -heart when we get home.” - -The answer Marian made to this solemn appeal was to raise her eyes, full -of wondering and mischievous brightness, and to draw herself immediately -from Agnes’s embrace with a low laugh of excitement. “Keep up my heart! -What do you mean?” said Marian; but she immediately hastened to her own -particular sleeping-room, and, lost within its mazy muslin curtains, -waited for no explanation. Agnes, disturbed and grave, and much -overpowered by her own responsibility, did not know what to think. -Present appearances were not much in favour of the breaking of Marian’s -heart. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -AN EXPLANATION. - - -“But what am I to say?” - -To this most difficult question Agnes could not find any satisfactory -answer. Marian, though so nearly concerned in it, gave her no assistance -whatever. Marian went wandering about the three little rooms, flitting -from one to another with unmistakable restlessness, humming inconsistent -snatches of song, sometimes a little disposed to cry, sometimes moved to -smiles, extremely variable, and full of a sweet and pleasant agitation. -Agnes followed her fairy movements with grave eyes, extremely watchful -and anxious--was she grieved?--was she pleased? was she really in love? - -But Marian made no sign. She would not intrust her sister with any -message from herself. She was almost disposed to be out of temper when -Agnes questioned her. “You know very well what must be said,” said -Marian; “you have only to tell him who we are--and I suppose that will -be quite enough for Sir Langham. Do you not think so, Agnes?” - -“I think it all depends upon how he feels--and how _you_ feel,” said the -anxious sister; but Marian turned away with a smile and made no reply. -To tell the truth, she could not at all have explained her own -sentiments. She was very considerably flattered by the homage of the -handsome guardsman, and fluttered no less by the magnificent and -marvellous idea of being a ladyship. There was nothing very much on her -part to prevent this beautiful Marian Atheling from becoming as pretty a -Lady Portland, and by-and-by, as affectionate a one, as even the -delighted imagination of Sir Langham could conceive. But Marian was -still entirely fancy free--not at all disinclined to be persuaded into -love with Sir Langham, but at present completely innocent of any serious -emotions--pleased, excited, in the sweetest flutter of girlish -expectation, amusement, and triumph--but nothing more. - -And from that corner of the window from which they could gain a sidelong -glance at the lawn and partial view of the shrubbery, Sir Langham was -now to be descried wandering about as restlessly as Marian, pulling off -stray twigs and handfuls of leaves in the most ruthless fashion, and -scattering them on his path. Marian drew Agnes suddenly and silently to -the window, and pointed out the impatient figure loitering about among -the trees. Agnes looked at him with dismay. “Am I to go now--to go out -and seek him?--is it proper?” said Agnes, somewhat horrified at the -thought. Marian took up the open book from the table, and drew the low -chair into the sunshine. “In the evening everybody will be there,” said -Marian, as she began to read, or to pretend to read. Agnes paused for a -moment in the most painful doubt and perplexity. “I suppose, indeed, it -had better be done at once,” she said to herself, taking up her bonnet -with very unenviable feelings. Poor Agnes! her heart beat louder and -louder, as she tied the strings with trembling fingers, and prepared to -go. There was Marian bending down over the book on her knees, sitting in -the sunshine with the full summer light burning upon her hair, and one -cheek flushed with the pressure of her supporting hand. She glanced up -eagerly, but she said nothing; and Agnes, very pale and extremely -doubtful, went upon her strange errand. It was the most perplexing and -uncomfortable business in the world--and was it proper? But she -reassured herself a little as she went down stairs--if any one should -see her going out to seek Sir Langham! “I will tell Mrs Edgerley the -reason,” thought Agnes--she supposed at least no one could have any -difficulty in understanding _that_. - -So she hastened along the garden paths, very shyly, looking quite pale, -and with a palpitating heart. Sir Langham knew nothing of her approach -till he turned round suddenly on hearing the shy hesitating rapid step -behind. He thought it was Marian for a moment, and made one eager step -forward; then he paused, half expecting, half indignant. Agnes, -breathless and hurried, gave him no time to address her--she burst into -her little speech with all the eager temerity of fear. - -“If you please, Sir Langham, I have something to say to you,” said -Agnes. “You must have been deceived in us--you do not know who we are. -We do not belong to great people--we have never before been in a house -like Mrs Edgerley’s. I came to tell you at once, for we did not think it -honest that you should not know.” - -“Know--know what?” cried Sir Langham. Never guardsman before was filled -with such illimitable amaze. - -Agnes had recovered her self-possession to some extent. “I mean, sir,” -she said earnestly, her face flushing as she spoke, “that we wish you to -know who we belong to, and that we are not of your rank, nor like the -people here. My father is in the City, and we live at Islington, in -Bellevue. We are able to live as we desire to live,” said Agnes with a -little natural pride, standing very erect, and blushing more deeply -than ever, “but we are what people at the Willows would call _poor_.” - -Her amazed companion stood gazing at her with a blank face of wonder. -“Eh?” said Sir Langham. He could not for his life make it out. - -“I suppose you do not understand me,” said Agnes, who began now to be -more at her ease than Sir Langham was, “but what I have said is quite -true. My father is an honourable man, whom we have all a right to be -proud of, but he has only--only a very little income every year. I meant -to have told every one at first, for we did not want to deceive--but -there was no opportunity, and whenever Marian told me, we made up our -minds that you ought to know. I mean,” said Agnes proudly, with a -strange momentary impression that she was taller than Sir Langham, who -stood before her biting the head of his cane, with a look of the -blankest discomfiture--“I mean that we forget altogether what you said -to my sister, and understand that you have been deceived.” - -She was somewhat premature, however, in her contempt. Sir Langham, -overpowered with the most complete amazement, had _yet_, at all events, -no desire whatever that Marian should forget what he had said to her. -“Stop,” said the guardsman, with his voice somewhat husky; “do you mean -that your father is not a friend of Lord Winterbourne’s? He is a squire -in Banburyshire--I know all about it--or how could you be here?” - -“He is not a squire in Banburyshire; he is in an office in the City--and -they asked us here because I had written a book,” said Agnes, with a -little sadness and great humility. “My father is not a friend of Lord -Winterbourne’s; but yet I think he knew him long ago.” - -At these last words Sir Langham brightened a little. “Miss Atheling, I -don’t want to believe you,” said the honest guardsman; “I’ll ask Lord -Winterbourne.” - -“Lord Winterbourne knows nothing of us,” said Agnes, with an involuntary -shudder of dislike; “and now I have told you, Sir Langham, and there is -nothing more to say.” - -As she turned to leave him, the dismayed lover awoke out of his blank -astonishment. “Nothing more--not a word--not a message; what did she -say?” cried Sir Langham, reddening to his hair, and casting a wistful -look at the house where Marian was. He followed her sister with an -appealing gesture, yet paused in the midst of it. The unfortunate -guardsman had never been in circumstances so utterly perplexing; he -could not, would not, give up his love--and yet! - -“Marian said nothing--nothing more than I have been obliged to say,” -said Agnes. She turned away now, and left him with a proud and rapid -step, inspired with injured pride and involuntary resentment. Agnes did -not quite know what she had expected of Sir Langham, but it surely was -something different from this. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -AN EXPERIMENT. - - -But there was a wonderful difference between this high-minded and -impetuous girl, as she crossed the lawn with a hasty foot, which almost -scorned to sink into its velvet softness, and the disturbed and -bewildered individual who remained behind her in the bowery path where -this interview had taken place. Sir Langham Portland had no very bigoted -regard for birth, and no avaricious love of money. He was a very good -fellow after his kind, as Sir Langhams go, and would not have done a -dishonourable thing, with full knowledge of it, for the three kingdoms; -but Sir Langham was a guardsman, a man of fashion, a man of the world; -he was not so blinded by passion as to be quite oblivious of what -befalls a man who marries a pretty face; he was not wealthy enough or -great enough to indulge such a whim with impunity, and the beauty which -was enough to elevate a Banburyshire Hall, was not sufficient to gild -over the unmentionable enormity of a house in Islington and a father in -the City. Fathers in the City who are made of gold may be sufficiently -tolerable, but a City papa who was _poor_, and had “only a very small -income every year,” as Agnes said, was an unimaginable monster, scarcely -realisable to the brilliant intellect of Sir Langham. This unfortunate -young gentleman wandered about Mrs Edgerley’s bit of shrubbery, tearing -off leaves and twigs on every side of him, musing much in his perturbed -and cloudy understanding, and totally unable to make it out. Let nobody -suppose he had given up Marian; that would have made a settlement of the -question. But Sir Langham was not disposed to give up his beauty, and -not disposed to make a _mésalliance_; and between the terror of losing -her and the terror of everybody’s sneer and compassion if he gained her, -the unhappy lover vibrated painfully, quite unable to come to any -decision, or make up his mighty mind one way or the other. He stripped -off the leaves of the helpless bushes, but it did him no service; he -twisted his mustache, but there was no enlightenment to be gained from -that interesting appendage; he collected all his dazzled wits to the -consideration of what sort of creature a man might be who was in an -office in the City. Finally, a very brilliant and original idea struck -upon the heavy intelligence of Sir Langham. He turned briskly out of the -byways of the shrubbery, and said to himself with animation, “I’ll go -and see!” - -When Agnes entered again the little dressing-room where her beautiful -sister still bent over her book, Marian glanced up at her inquiringly, -and finding no information elicited by that, waited a little, then rose, -and came shyly to her side. “I only want to know,” said Marian, “not -because I care; but what did he say?” - -“He was surprised,” said Agnes proudly, turning her head away; and Agnes -would say nothing more, though Marian lingered by her, and tried various -hints and measures of persuasion. Agnes was extremely stately, and, as -Marian said, “just a little cross,” all day. It was rather too bad to be -cross, if she was so, to the innocent mischief-maker, who might be the -principal sufferer. But Agnes had made up her mind to suffer no talk -about Sir Langham; she had quite given him up, and judged him with the -most uncompromising harshness. “Yes!” cried Agnes (to herself), with -lofty and poetic indignation, “this I suppose is what these fashionable -people call love!” - -She was wrong, as might have been expected; for that poor honest Sir -Langham, galloping through the dusty roads in the blazing heat of an -August afternoon, was quite as genuine in this proof of his affection -as many a knight of romance. It was quite a serious matter to this poor -young man of fashion, before whose tantalised and tortured imagination -some small imp of an attendant Cupid perpetually held up the sweetest -fancy-portrait of that sweetest of fair faces. This visionary tormentor -tugged at his very heart-strings as the white summer dust rose up in a -cloud, marking his progress along the whole long line of the Richmond -road. He was not going to slay the dragon, the enemy of his -princess--that would have been easy work. He was, unfortunate Sir -Langham! bound on a despairing enterprise to find out the house which -was not a hall in Banburyshire, to make acquaintance, if possible, with -the papa who was in the City, and to see “if it would do.” - -He knew as little, in reality, about the life which Agnes and Marian -lived at home, and about their father’s house and all its homely -economics and quiet happiness, as if he had been a New Zealand chief -instead of a guardsman--and galloped along as gravely as if he were -going to a funeral, with, all the way, that wicked little imp of a -Cupidon tugging at his heart. - -Mrs Atheling was alone with her two babies, sighing a little, and full -of weariness for the return of the girls; but Susan, better instructed -this time, ushered the magnificent visitor into the best room. He stood -gazing upon it in blank amazement; upon the haircloth sofa, and the -folded leaf of the big old mahogany table in the corner; and the -coloured glass candlesticks and flower-vases on the mantel-shelf. Mrs -Atheling, who was a little fluttered, and the rosy boy, who clung to her -skirts, and, spite of her audible entreaties in the passage, would not -suffer her to enter without him, rather increased the consternation of -Sir Langham. She was comely; she had a soft voice; a manner quite -unpretending and simple, as good in its natural quietness as the highest -breeding; yet Sir Langham, at sight of her, heaved from the depths of -his capacious bosom a mighty sigh. It would not do; that little wretch -of a Cupid, what a wrench it gave him as he tried to cast it out! If it -had been a disorderly house or a slatternly mother, Sir Langham might -have taken some faint comfort from the thought of rescuing his beautiful -Marian from a family unworthy of her; but even to his hazy understanding -it became instantly perceptible that this was a home not to be parted -with, and a mother much beloved. Marian, a prince might have been glad -to marry; but Sir Langham could not screw his fortitude to the pitch of -marrying all that little, tidy, well-ordered house in Bellevue. - -So he made a great bungle of his visit, and invented a story about being -in town on business, and calling to carry the Miss Athelings’ messages -for home; and made the best he could of so bad a business by a very -expeditious retreat. Anything that he did say was about Agnes; and the -mother, though a little puzzled and startled by the visit, was content -to set it down to the popularity of her young genius. “I suppose he -wanted to see what kind of people she belonged to,” said Mrs Atheling, -with a smile of satisfaction, as she looked round her best room, and -drew back with her into the other parlour the rosy little rogues who -held on by her gown. She was perfectly correct in her supposition; but, -alas! how far astray in the issue of the same. - -Sir Langham went to his club--went to the opera--could not rest -anywhere, and floundered about like a man bewitched. It would not do--it -would not do; but the merciless little Cupid hung on by his -heart-strings, and would not be off for all the biddings of the -guardsman. He did not return to Richmond; he was heartily ashamed of -himself--heartily sick of all the so-called pleasures with which he -tried to cheat his disappointment. But Sir Langham had a certain kind of -good sense though he was in love, so he applied himself to forgetting -“the whole business,” and made up his mind finally that it would not do. - -The sisters at the Willows, when they found that Sir Langham did not -appear that night, and that no one knew anything of him, made their own -conclusions on the subject, but did not say a word even to each other. -Agnes sat apart silently indignant, and full of a sublime disdain. -Marian, with, a deeper colour than usual on her cheek, was, on the -contrary, a great deal more animated than was her wont, and attracted -everybody’s admiration. Had anybody cared to think of the matter, it -would have been the elder sister, and not the younger, whom the common -imagination could have supposed to have lost a lover; but they went to -rest very early that night, and spent no pleasant hour in the pleasant -gossip which never failed between them. Sir Langham was not to be spoken -of; and Agnes lay awake, wondering what Marian’s feelings were, long -after Marian, forgetting all about her momentary pique and anger, was -fast and sweet asleep. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -GOING HOME. - - -And now it had come to an end--all the novelty, the splendour, and the -excitement of this first visit--and Agnes and Marian were about to go -home. They were very much pleased, and yet a little disappointed--glad -and eager to return to their mother, yet feeling it would have been -something of a compliment to be asked to remain. - -Rachel, who was a great deal more vehement and demonstrative than either -of them, threw herself into their arms with violent tears. “I have been -so happy since ever I knew you,” said Rachel--“so happy, I scarcely -thought it right when I was not with Louis--and I think I could almost -like to be your servant, and go home with you. I could do anything for -you.” - -“Hush!” said Agnes. - -“No; it is quite true,” cried poor Rachel--“_quite_ true. I should like -to be your servant, and live with your mother. Oh! I ought to say,” she -continued, raising herself with a little start and thrill of terror, -“that if we were in a different position, and could meet people like -equals, I should be so glad--so very glad to be friends.” - -“But how odd Rachel would think it to live in Bellevue,” said Marian, -coming to the rescue with a little happy ridicule, which did better than -gravity, “and to see no one, even in the street, but the milkman and the -greengrocer’s boy! for Rachel only thinks of the Willows and -Winterbourne; she does not know in the least how things look in -Bellevue.” - -Rachel was beguiled into a laugh--a very unusual indulgence. “When you -say that, I think it is a very little cottage like one of the cottages -in the village; but you know that is all wrong. Oh, when do you think -you will go to Winterbourne?” - -“We will write and tell you,” said Agnes, “all about it, and how many -are going; for I do not suppose Charlie will come, after all; and you -will write to us--how often? Every other day?” - -Rachel turned very red, then very pale, and looked at them with -considerable dismay. “Write!” she said, with a falter in her voice; -“I--I never thought of that--I never wrote to any one; I daresay I -should do it very badly. Oh no; I shall be sure to find out whenever you -come to the Old Wood Lodge.” - -“But we shall hear nothing of you,” said Agnes. “Why should you not -write to us? I am sure you do to your brother at home.” - -“I do _not_,” said Rachel, once more drawing herself up, and with -flashing eyes. “No one can write letters to us, who have no name.” - -She was not to be moved from this point; she repeated the same words -again and again, though with a very wistful and yielding look in her -face. All for Louis! Her companions were obliged to give up the -question, after all. - -So there was another weeping, sobbing, vehement embrace, and -Rachel disappeared without a word into the big bare room down -stairs--disappeared to fall again, without a struggle, into her former -forlorn life--to yield on her own account, and to struggle with fierce -haughtiness for the credit of Louis--leaving the two sisters very -thoughtful and compassionate, and full of a sudden eager generous -impulse to run away with and take her home. - -“Home--to mamma! It would be like heaven to Rachel,” said Agnes, in a -little enthusiasm, with tears in her eyes. - -“Ay, but it would not be like the Willows,” said the most practical -Marian; and they both looked out with a smile and a sigh upon the -beautiful sunshiny lawn, the river in an ecstasy of light and -brightness, the little island with all its ruffled willow-leaves, and -bethought themselves, finding some amusement in the contrast, of Laurel -House, and Myrtle Cottage, and the close secluded walls of Bellevue. - -Mrs Atheling had sent the Fly for her daughters--the old Islingtonian -fly, with the old white horse, and the coachman with his shiny hat. This -vehicle, which had once been a chariot of the gods, looked somewhat -shabby as it stood in the broad sunshine before the door of the Willows, -accustomed to the fairy coach of Mrs Edgerley. They laughed to -themselves very quietly when they caught their first glimpse of it, yet -in a momentary weakness were half ashamed; for even Agnes’s honest -determination to let everybody know their true “rank in life” was not -troubled by any fear lest this respectable vehicle should be taken for -their own carriage _now_. - -“Going, my love?” cried Mrs Edgerley; “the fatal hour--has it really -come so soon?--You leave us all _desolée_, of course; how _shall_ we -exist to-day? And it was so good of you to come. Remember! we shall be -dying till we have a new tale from the author of _Hope Hazlewood_. I -long to see it. I know it will be charming, or it could not be -yours.--And, my love, you look quite lovely--such roses! I think you -quite the most exquisite little creature in the world. Remember me to -your excellent mamma. Is your carriage waiting? Ah, I am miserable to -part with you. Farewell--that dreadful word--farewell!” - -Again that light perfumy touch waved over one blushing cheek and then -another. Mrs Edgerley continued to wave her hand and make them pretty -signals till they reached the door, whither they hastened as quickly and -as quietly as possible, not desiring any escort; but few were the -privileged people in Mrs Edgerley’s morning-room, and no one cared to do -the girls so much honour. Outside the house their friend the gardener -waited with two bouquets, so rare and beautiful that the timid -recipients of the same, making him their humble thanks, scarcely knew -how to express sufficient gratitude. Some one was arriving as they -departed--some one who, making the discovery of their presence, stalked -towards them, almost stumbling over Agnes, who happened to be nearest to -him. “Going away?” said a dismayed voice at a considerable altitude. Mr -Endicott’s thin head positively vibrated with mortification; he -stretched it towards Marian, who stood before him smiling over her -flowers, and fixed a look of solemn reproach upon her. “I am aware that -beauty and youth flee often from the presence of one who looks upon life -with a studious eye. This disappointment is not without its object. You -are going away?” - -“Yes,” said Marian, laughing, but with a little charitable compassion -for her own particular victim, “and you are just arriving? It is very -odd--you should have come yesterday.” - -“Permit me,” said Mr Endicott moodily;--“no; I am satisfied. This -experience is well--I am glad to know it. To us, Miss Atheling,” said -the solemn Yankee, as he gave his valuable assistance to Agnes--“to us -this play and sport of fortune is but the proper training. Our business -is not to enjoy; we bear these disappointments for the world.” - -He put them into their humble carriage, and bowed at them solemnly. Poor -Mr Endicott! He did not blush, but grew green as he stood looking after -the slow equipage ere he turned to the disenchanted Willows. Though he -was about to visit people of distinction, the American young gentleman, -being in love, did not care to enter upon this new scene of observation -and note-making at this moment; so he turned into the road, and walked -on in the white cloud of dust raised by the wheels of the fly. The dust -itself had a sentiment in it, and belonged to Marian; and Mr Endicott -began the painful manufacture of a sonnet, expressing this “experience,” -on the very spot. - -“But _you_ ought not to laugh at him, Marian, even though other people -do,” said Agnes, with superior virtue. - -“Why not?” said the saucy beauty; “I laughed at Sir Langham--and I am -sure _he_ deserved it,” she added in an under-tone. - -“Marian,” said Agnes, “I think--you have named him yourself, or I should -not have done it--we had better not say anything about Sir Langham to -mamma.” - -“I do not care at all who names him,” said Marian, pouting; but she made -no answer to the serious proposition: so it became tacitly agreed -between them that nothing was to be said of the superb runaway lover -when they got home. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -HOME. - - -And now they were at home--the Fly dismissed, the trunks unfastened, and -Agnes and Marian sitting with Mamma in the old parlour, as if they had -never been away. Yes, they had been away--both of them had come in with -a little start and exclamation to this familiar room, which somehow had -shrunk out of its proper proportions, and looked strangely dull, -dwarfed, and sombre. It was very strange; they had lived here for years, -and knew every corner of every chair and every table--and they had only -been gone a fortnight--yet what a difference in the well-known room! - -“Somebody has been doing something to the house,” said Marian -involuntarily; and Agnes paused in echoing the sentiment, as she caught -a glimpse of a rising cloud on her mother’s comely brow. - -“Indeed, children, I am grieved to see how soon you have learned to -despise your home,” said Mrs Atheling; and the good mother reddened, and -contracted her forehead. She had watched them with a little jealousy -from their first entrance, and they, to tell the truth, had been visibly -struck with the smallness and the dulness of the family rooms. - -“Despise!” cried Marian, kneeling down, and leaning her beautiful head -and her clasped arms upon her mother’s knee. “Despise!” said Agnes, -putting her arm over Mrs Atheling’s shoulder from behind her chair; “oh, -mamma, you ought to know better!--we who have learned that there are -people in the world who have neither a mother nor a home!” - -“Well, then, what is the matter?” said Mrs Atheling; and she began to -smooth the beautiful falling hair, which came straying over her old -black silk lap, like Danae’s shower of gold. - -“Nothing at all--only the room is a little smaller, and the carpet a -little older than it used to be,” said Agnes; “but, mamma, because we -notice that, you do not think surely that we are less glad to be at -home.” - -“Well, my dears,” said Mrs Atheling, still a little piqued; “your great -friend, when he called the other day, did not seem to think there was -anything amiss about the house.” - -“Our great friend!” The girls looked at each other with dismay--who -could it be? - -“His card is on the mantelpiece,” said Mrs Atheling. “He had not very -much to say, but he seemed a pleasant young man--Sir Something--Sir -Langham; but, indeed, my dear, though, of course, I was pleased to see -him, I am not at all sure how far such acquaintances are proper for -you.” - -“He was scarcely _my_ acquaintance, mamma,” said Agnes, sorrowfully -looking down from behind her mother’s chair upon Marian, who had hid her -face in Mrs Atheling’s lap, and made no sign. - -“For our rank in life is so different,” pursued the prudent mother; “and -even though I might have some natural ambition for you, I do not think, -Agnes, that it would really be wishing you well to wish that you should -form connections so far out of the sphere of your own family as _that_.” - -“Mamma, it was not me,” said Agnes again, softly and under her breath. - -“It was no one!” cried Marian, rising up hastily, and suddenly seizing -and clipping into an ornamental cross Sir Langham’s card, which was upon -the mantelpiece. “See, Agnes, it will do to wind silk upon; and nobody -cares the least in the world for Sir Langham. Mamma, he used to be like -Harry Oswald--that is all--and we were very glad when he went away from -the Willows, both Agnes and I.” - -At this statement, made as it was with a blush and a little confusion, -Mrs Atheling herself reddened slightly, and instantly left the subject. -It was easy enough to warn her children of the evils of a possible -connection with people of superior condition; but when such a thing -fluttered really and visibly upon the verge of her horizon, Mrs Atheling -was struck dumb. To see her pretty Marian a lady--a baronet’s wife--the -bride of that superb Sir Langham--it was not in the nature of mortal -mother to hear without emotion of such an extraordinary possibility. The -ambitious imagination kindled at once in the heart of Mrs Atheling: she -held her peace. - -And the girls, to tell the truth, were very considerably excited about -this visit of Sir Langham’s. What did it mean? After a little time they -strayed into the best room, and stood together looking at it with -feelings by no means satisfactory. The family parlour was the family -parlour, and, in spite of all that it lacked, possessed something of -home and kindness which was not to be found in all the luxurious -apartments of the Willows. But, alas! there was nothing but meagre -gentility, blank good order, and unloveliness, in this sacred and -reserved apartment, where Bell and Beau never threw the charm of their -childhood, nor Mrs Atheling dispersed the kindly clippings of her -work-basket. The girls consulted each other with dismayed looks--even -Rachel, if she came, could not stand against the chill of this grim -parlour. Marian pulled the poor haircloth sofa into another position, -and altered with impatience the stiff mahogany chairs. They scarcely -liked to say to each other how entirely changed was their ideal, or how -they shrank from the melancholy state of the best room. “Sir Langham was -here, Agnes,” said Marian; and within her own mind the young beauty -almost added, “No wonder he ran away!” - -“It is home--it is our own house,” said Agnes, getting up for the -occasion a little pride. - -Marian shrugged her pretty shoulders. “But Susan had better bring any -one who calls into the other room.” - -Yes, the other room, when they returned to it, had brightened again -marvellously. Mrs Atheling had put on her new gown, and had a pink -ribbon in her cap. As she sat by the window with her work-basket, she -was pleasanter to look at than a dozen pictures; and the sweetest -Raphael in the world was not so sweet as these two little lovely fairies -playing upon the faded old rug at the feet of Mamma. Not all the -luxuries and all the prettinesses of Mrs Edgerley’s drawingrooms, not -even the river lying in the sunshine, and the ruffled silvery willows -drooping round their little island, were a fit balance to this dearest -little group, the mother and the children, who made beautiful beyond all -telling the sombre face of home. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -A NEW ERA. - - -It came to be rather an exciting business to Agnes and Marian making -their report of what had happened at the Willows--for it was difficult -to distract Mamma’s attention from Sir Langham, and Papa was almost -angrily interested in everything which touched upon Lord Winterbourne. -Rachel, of course, was a very prominent figure in their picture; but Mrs -Atheling was still extremely doubtful, and questioned much whether it -was proper to permit such an acquaintance to her daughters. She was very -particular in her inquiries concerning this poor girl--much approved of -Rachel’s consciousness of her own equivocal position--thought it “a very -proper feeling,” and received evidence with some solemnity as to her -“manners” and “principles.” The girls described their friend according -to the best of their ability; but as neither of them had any great -insight into character, we will not pretend to say that their audience -were greatly enlightened,--and extremely doubtful was the mind of Mrs -Atheling. “My dear, I might be very sorry for her, but it would not be -proper for me to forget you in my sympathy for her,” said Mamma, gravely -and with dignity. Like so many tender-hearted mothers, Mrs Atheling took -great credit to herself for an imaginary severity, and made up her mind -that she was proof to the assaults of pity--she who at the bottom was -the most credulous of all, when she came to hear a story of distress. - -And Papa, who had been moved at once to forbid their acquaintance with -children of Lord Winterbourne’s, changed his mind, and became very much -interested when he heard of Rachel’s horror of the supposed -relationship. When they came to this part of the story, Mrs Atheling was -scandalised, but Papa was full of pity. He said “Poor child!” softly, -and with emotion; while Charlie pricked his big ear to listen, though no -one was favoured with the sentiments on this subject of the big boy. - -“And about the Rector and the old lady who lives at Abingford--papa, why -did you never tell us about these people?” said Marian; “for I am sure -you must know very well who Aunt Bridget’s neighbours were in the Old -Wood Lodge.” - -“I know nothing about the Riverses,” said Papa hastily--and Mr Atheling -himself, sober-minded man though he was, grew red with an angry -glow--“there was a time when I hated the name,” he added in an impetuous -and rapid undertone, and then he looked up as though he was perfectly -aware of the restraining look of caution which his wife immediately -turned upon him. - -“Such neighbours as are proper for us you will find out when we get -there,” said Mrs Atheling quietly. “Papa has not been at Winterbourne -for twenty years, and we have had too many things to think of since then -to remember people whom we scarcely knew.” - -“Then, I suppose, since papa hated the name once, and Rachel hates it -now, they must be a very wicked family,” said Marian; “but I hope the -Rector is not very bad, for Agnes’s sake.” - -This little piece of malice called for instant explanation, and Marian -was very peremptorily checked by father and mother. “A girl may say a -foolish thing to other girls,” said Mamma, “and I am afraid this Rachel, -poor thing, must have been very badly brought up; but you ought to know -better than to repeat a piece of nonsense like that.” - -“When are we to go, mamma?” said Agnes, coming in to cover the blush, -half of shame and half of displeasure, with which Marian submitted to -this reproof; “it is August now, and soon it will be autumn instead of -summer: we shall be going out of town when all the fashionable people -go--but I would rather it was May.” - -“It cannot be May this year,” said Mrs Atheling, involuntarily -brightening; “but papa is to take a holiday--three weeks; my dears, I do -not think I have been so pleased at anything since Bell and Beau.” - -Since Bell and Beau! what an era that was! And this, too, was a new -beginning, perhaps more momentous, though not such a sweet and great -revulsion, out of the darkness into the light. Mamma’s manner of dating -her joys cast them all back into thought and quietness; and Agnes’s -heart beat high with a secret and mercenary pleasure, exulting like a -miser over her hundred and fifty pounds. At this moment, and at many -another moment when the young author had clean forgotten _Hope -Hazlewood_, the thought came upon her with positive delight of the -little hoard in Papa’s hands, safely laid up in the office, one whole -hundred pounds’ worth of family good and gladness still; for she had not -the same elevated regard for art as her sister’s American admirer--she -was not, by any means, in her own estimation, or in anybody else’s, a -representative woman; and Agnes, who began already to think rather -meanly of _Hope Hazlewood_, and press on with the impatience of genius -towards a higher excellence, had the greatest satisfaction possible in -the earnings of her gentle craft--was it an ignoble delight? - -The next morning the two girls, with prudence and caution, began an -attack upon the Chancellor of the Exchequer touching the best room. At -first Mrs Atheling was entirely horrified at their extravagant ideas. -The best room!--what could be desired that was not already attained in -that most respectable apartment? but the young rebels held their ground. -Mamma put down her work upon her knee, and listened to them quietly. It -was not a good sign--she made no interruption as they spoke of mirrors -and curtains, carpets and ottomans, couches and easy-chairs: she heard -them all to the end with unexampled patience--she only said, “My dears, -when you are done I will tell you what I have to say.” - -What she did say was conclusive upon the subject, though it was met by -many remonstrances. “We are going to the Old Wood Lodge,” said Mrs -Atheling, “and I promise you you shall go into Oxford when we are there, -and get some things to make old Aunt Bridget’s parlour look a little -more like yourselves: but even a hundred pounds, though it is quite a -little fortune, will not last for ever--and to furnish _two_ rooms! My -dears, you do not know any better; but, of course, it is quite -ridiculous, and cannot be done.” - -Thus ended at present their plan for making a little drawing-room out -of the best room; for Mamma’s judgment, though it was decisive, was -reasonable, and they could make no stand against it. They did all they -could do under the circumstances; for the first time, and with -compunction, they secretly instructed Susan against the long-standing -general order of the head of the house. Strangers were no longer to be -ushered into the sacred stranger’s apartment; but before Susan had any -chance of obeying these schismatical orders, Agnes and Marian themselves -were falling into their old familiarity with the old walls and the -sombre furniture, and were no longer disposed to criticise, especially -as all their minds and all their endeavours were at present set upon the -family holiday--the conjoint household visit to the country--the -glorious prospect of taking possession of the Old Wood Lodge. - -In Bellevue, Charlie alone was to be left behind--Charlie, who had not -been long enough in Mr Foggo’s office to ask for a holiday, and who did -not want one very much, if truth must be told; for neither early hours -nor late hours told upon the iron constitution of the big boy. When they -pitied him who must stay behind, the young gentleman said, “Stuff! -Susan, I suppose, can make my coffee as well as any of you,” said -Charlie; but nobody was offended that he limited the advantages of their -society to coffee-making; and even Mrs Atheling, in spite of her -motherly anxieties, left her house and her son with comfortable -confidence. Harm might happen to the house, Susan being in it, who was -by no means so careful as she ought to be of her fire and her candle; -but nobody feared any harm to the heir and hope of the house. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -THE OLD WOOD LODGE. - - -And it was late in August, a sultry day, oppressive and thundery, when -this little family of travellers made their first entry into the Old -Wood Lodge. - -It stood upon the verge of a wood, and the side of a hill, looking down -into what was not so much a valley as a low amphitheatre, watered by a -maze of rivers, and centred in a famous and wonderful old town. The -trees behind the little house had burning spots of autumn colour here -and there among the masses of green--colour which scarcely bore its due -weight and distinction in the tremulous pale atmosphere which waited for -the storm; and the leaves cowered and shivered together, and one -terrified bird flew wildly in among them, seeking refuge. Under the -shadow of three trees stood the low house of two stories, half stone and -half timber, with one quaint projecting window in the roof, and a -luxuriant little garden round it. But it was impossible to pause, as -the new proprietors intended to have done, to note all the external -features of their little inheritance. They hurried in, eager to be under -shelter before the thunder; and as Mrs Atheling, somewhat timid of it, -hurried over the threshold, the first big drops fell heavily among the -late roses which covered the front of the house. They were all awed by -the coming storm; and they were not acquainted any of them with the -louder crash and fiercer blaze of a thunderstorm in the country. They -came hastily into Miss Bridget’s little parlour, scarcely seeing what -like it was, as the ominous still darkness gathered in the sky, and sat -down, very silently, in corners, all except Mr Atheling, whose duty it -was to be courageous, and who was neither so timid as his wife, nor so -sensitive as his daughters. Then came the storm in earnest--wild -lightning rending the black sky in sheets and streams of flames--fearful -cannonades of thunder, nature’s grand forces besieging some rebellious -city in the skies. Then gleams of light shone wild and ghastly in all -the pallid rivers, and lighted up with an eerie illumination the spires -and pinnacles of the picturesque old town; and the succeeding darkness -pressed down like a positive weight upon the Old Wood Lodge and its new -inmates, who scarcely perceived yet the old furniture of the old -sitting-room, or the trim old maid of Miss Bridget Atheling curtsying -at the door. - -“A strange welcome!” said Papa, hastily retreating from the window, -where he had just been met and half blinded by a sudden flash; and Mamma -gathered her babies under her wings, and called to the girls to come -closer to her, in that one safe corner which was neither near the -window, the fireplace, nor the door. - -Yes, it was a strange welcome--and the mind of Agnes, imaginative and -rapid, threw an eager glance into the future out of that corner of -safety and darkness. A thunderstorm, a convulsion of nature! was there -any fitness in this beginning? They were as innocent a household as ever -came into a countryside; but who could tell what should happen to them -there? - -Some one else seemed to share the natural thought. “I wonder, mamma, if -this is all for us,” whispered Marian, half frightened, half jesting. -“Are we to make a great revolution in Winterbourne? It looks like it, to -see this storm.” - -But Mrs Atheling, who thought it profane to show any levity during a -thunderstorm, checked her pretty daughter with a peremptory “Hush, -child!” and drew her babies closer into her arms. Mrs Atheling’s -thoughts had no leisure to stray to Winterbourne; save for Charlie--and -it was not to be supposed that this same thunder threatened -Bellevue--all her anxieties were here. - -But as the din out of doors calmed down, and even as the girls became -accustomed to it, and were able to share in Papa’s calculations as to -the gradual retreat of the thunder as it rolled farther and farther -away, they began to find out and notice the room within which they had -crowded. It had only one window, and was somewhat dark, the small panes -being over-hung and half obscured by a wild forest of clematis, and -sundry stray branches, still bristling with buds, of that pale monthly -rose with evergreen leaves, which covered half the front of the house. -The fireplace had a rather fantastic grate of clear steel, with bright -brass ornaments, so clear and so resplendent as it only could be made by -the labour of years, and was filled, instead of a fire, with soft green -moss, daintily ornamented with the yellow everlasting flowers. Hannah -did not know that these were _immortelles_, and consecrated to the -memory of the dead. It was only her rural and old-maidenly fashion of -decoration, for the same little rustling posies, dry and unfading, were -in the little flower-glasses on the high mantel-shelf, before the little -old dark-complexioned mirror, with little black-and-white transparencies -set in the slender gilding of its frame, which reflected nothing but a -slope of the roof, and one dark portrait hanging as high up as itself -upon the opposite wall. It put the room oddly out of proportion, this -mirror, attracting the eye to its high strip of light, and deluding the -unwary to many a stumble; and Agnes already sat fixedly looking at it, -and at the dark and wrinkled portrait reflected from the other wall. - -Before the fireplace, where there was no fire, stood a large -old-fashioned easy-chair, with no one in it. Are you very sure there is -no one in it?--for Papa himself has a certain awe of that -strangely-placed seat, which seems to have stood before that same -fireplace for many a year. In the twilight, Agnes, if you were -alone--you, who of all the family are most inclined to a little -visionary superstition, you would find it very hard to keep from -trembling, or to persuade yourself that Miss Bridget was not there, -where she had spent half a lifetime, sitting in that heavy old -easy-chair. - -The carpet was a faded but rich and soft old Turkey carpet, the -furniture was slender and spider-legged, made of old bright mahogany, as -black and as polished as ebony. There was an old cabinet in one corner, -with brass rings and ornaments; and in another an old musical -instrument, of which the girls were not learned enough to know the -precise species, though it belonged to the genus piano. The one small -square table in the middle of the room was covered with a table-cover, -richly embroidered, but the silk was faded, and the bits of gold were -black and dull; and there were other little tables, round and square, -with spiral legs and a tripod of feet, one holding a china jar, one a -big book, and one a case of stuffed birds. On the whole, the room had -somewhat the look of a rather refined and very prim old lady. The things -in it were all of a delicate kind and antique fashion. It was not in the -slightest degree like these fair and fresh young girls, but on the whole -it was a place of which people like those, with a wholesome love of -ancestry, had very good occasion to be proud. - -And at the door stood Hannah, in a black gown and great white apron, -smoothing down the same with her hands, and bobbing a kindly curtsy. -Hannah’s eyes were running over with delight and anxiety to get at Bell -and Beau. She passed over all the rest of the family to yearn over the -little ones. “Eh, bless us!” cried Hannah, as, the thunder over, Mrs -Atheling began to bestir herself--“children in the house!” It was -something almost too ecstatic for her elderly imagination. She -volunteered to carry them both up-stairs with the most eager attention. -“I ain’t so much used to childer,” said Hannah, “but, bless ye, ma’am, I -love ’um all the same;” and with an instinctive knowledge of this love, -Beau condescended to grasp Hannah’s spotless white apron, and Bell to -mount into her arms. Then the whole family procession went up-stairs to -look at the bedrooms--the voices of the girls and the sweet chorus of -the babies making the strangest echoes in the lonely house. Hannah -acknowledged afterwards, that, half with grief for Miss Bridget, and -half for joy of this new life beginning, it would have been a great -relief to her to sit down upon the attic stairs and have “a good cry.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -WITHIN AND WITHOUT. - - -The upper floor of the Old Wood Lodge consisted of three rooms; one as -large as the parlour down stairs, one smaller, and one, looking to the -back, very small indeed. The little one was a lumber-room, and quite -unfurnished; the other two were in perfect accordance with the -sitting-room. The best bedroom contained a bed of state, with very -slender fluted pillars of the same black ebony-like wood, lifting on -high a solemn canopy of that ponderous substance called moreen, and -still to be found in country inns and seaside lodgings--the colour dark -green, with a binding of faded violet. Hangings of the same darkened the -low broad lattice window, and chairs of the same were ranged like ghosts -along the wall. It was rather a funereal apartment, and the eager -investigators were somewhat relieved to find an old-fashioned “tent,” -with hangings of old chintz, gay with gigantic flowers, in the next -room. But the windows!--the broad plain lying low down at their feet, -twinkling to the first faint sun-ray which ventured out after the -storm--the cluster of spires and towers over which the light brightened -and strengthened, striking bold upon the heavy dome which gave a -ponderous central point to the landscape, and splintering into a million -rays from the pinnacles of Magdalen and St Mary’s noble spire, all wet -and gleaming with the thunder rain. What a scene it was!--how the -passing light kindled all the wan waters, and singled out, for a -momentary illumination, one after another of the lesser landmarks of -that world unknown. These gazers were not skilled to distinguish between -Gothic sham and Gothic real, nor knew much of the distinguishing -differences of noble and ignoble architecture. After all, at this -distance, it did not much matter--for one by one, as the sunshine found -them out, they rose up from the gleaming mist, picturesque and various, -like the fairy towers and distant splendours of a morning dream. - -“I told you it was pretty, Agnes,” said Mr Atheling, who felt himself -the exhibitor of the whole scene, and looked on with delight at the -success of his private view. Papa, who was to the manner born, felt -himself applauded in the admiration of his daughters, and carried Beau -upon his shoulder down the creaking narrow staircase, with a certain -pride and exultation, calling the reluctant girls to follow him. For -lo! upon Miss Bridget’s centre table was laid out “such a tea!” as -Hannah in all her remembrance had never produced before. Fresh home-made -cakes, fresh little pats of butter from the nearest farm--cream! and to -crown all, a great china dish full of the last of the strawberries, -blushing behind their fresh wet leaves. Hannah, when she had lingered as -long as her punctilious good-breeding would permit, and long enough to -be very wrathful with Mrs Atheling for intercepting a shower of -strawberries from the plates of Bell and Beau, retired to her kitchen -slowly, and drawing a chair before the fire, though the evening still -was sultry, threw her white apron over her head, and had her deferred -and relieving “cry.” “Bless you, I’ll love ’um all,” said Hannah, with a -succession of sobs, addressing either herself or some unseen familiar, -with whom she was in the habit of holding long conversations. “But it -ain’t Miss Bridget--that’s the truth!” - -The ground was wet, the trees were damp, everything had been deluged -with the shower of the thunderstorm, and Mrs Atheling did not at all -think it prudent that her daughters should go out, though she yielded to -them. They went first through the fertile garden, where Marian thought -“everything” grew--but were obliged to pause in their researches and -somewhat ignorant guesses what everything was, by the unknown charm of -that sweet rural atmosphere “after the rain.” Though it was very near -sunset, the birds were all a-twitter in the neighbouring trees, and -everywhere around them rose such a breath of fragrance--open-air -fragrance, fresh and cool and sweet, as different from the incense of -Mrs Edgerley’s conservatory as it was from anything in Bellevue. Running -waters trickled somewhere out of sight--it was only the “running of the -paths after rain;” and yonder, like a queen, sitting low in a sweet -humility, was the silent town, with all its crowning towers. The -sunshine, which still lingered on Hannah’s projecting window in the -roof, had left Oxford half an hour ago--and down over the black dome, -the heaven-y-piercing spire and lofty cupola, came soft and grey the -shadow of the night. - -But behind them, through a thick network of foliage, there were gleams -and sparkles of gold, touching tenderly some favourite leaves with a -green like the green of spring, and throwing the rest into a shadowy -blackness against the half-smothered light. Marian ran into the house to -call Hannah, begging her to guide them up into the wood. Agnes, less -curious, stood with her hand upon the gate, looking down over this -wonderful valley, and wondering if she had not seen it some time in a -dream. - -“Bless you, miss, if it was to the world’s end!” cried Hannah; “but it -ain’t fit for walking, no more nor a desert; the roads is woeful by -Badgeley; look you here!--nought in this wide world but mud and clay.” - -Marian looked in dismay at the muddy road. “It will not be dry for a -week,” said the disappointed beauty; “but, Hannah, come here, now that I -have got you out, and tell us what every place is--Agnes, here’s -Hannah--and, if you please, which is the village, and which is the Hall, -and where is the Old Wood House?” - -“Do you see them white chimneys--and smokes?” said Hannah; “they’re -a-cooking their dinner just, though tea-time’s past--that’s the -Rector’s. But, bless your heart, you ain’t likely to see the Hall from -here. There’s all the park and all the trees atween us and my lord’s.” - -“Do the people like him, Hannah?” asked Agnes abruptly, thinking of her -friend. - -Hannah paused with a look of alarm. “The people--don’t mind nothink -about him,” said Hannah slowly. “Bless us, miss, you gave me such a -turn!” - -Agnes looked curiously in the old woman’s face, to see what the occasion -of this “turn” might be. Marian, paying no such attention, leaned over -the low mossy gate, looking in the direction of the Old Wood House. They -were quite disposed to enjoy the freedom of the “country,” and were -neither shawled nor bonneted, though the fresh dewy air began to feel -the chill of night. Marian leaned out over the gate, with her little -hand thrust up under her hair, looking into the distance with her -beautiful smiling eyes. The road which passed this gate was a grassy and -almost terraced path, used by very few people, and disappearing abruptly -in an angle just after it had passed the Lodge. Suddenly emerging from -this angle, with a step which fell noiselessly on the wet grass, meeting -the startled gaze of Marian in an instantaneous and ghostlike -appearance, came forth what she could see only as, against the light, -the figure of a man hastening towards the high-road. He also seemed to -start as he perceived the young unknown figures in the garden, but his -course was too rapid to permit any interchange of curiosity. Marian did -not think he looked at her at all as she withdrew hastily from the gate, -and he certainly did not pause an instant in his rapid walk; but as he -passed he lifted his hat--a singular gesture of courtesy, addressed to -no one, like the salutation of a young king--and disappeared in another -moment as suddenly as he came. Agnes, attracted by her sister’s low -unconscious exclamation, saw him as well as Marian--and saw him as -little--for neither knew anything at all of his appearance, save so far -as a vague idea of height, rapidity--and the noble small head, for an -instant uncovered, impressed their imagination. Both paused with a -breathless impulse of respect, and a slight apprehensiveness, till they -were sure he must be out of hearing, and then both turned to Hannah, -standing in the shadow and the twilight, and growing gradually -indistinct all but her white apron, with one unanimous exclamation, “Who -is that?” - -Hannah smoothed down her apron once more, and made another bob of a -curtsy, apparently intended for the stranger. “Miss,” said Hannah, -gravely, “that’s Mr Louis--bless his heart!” - -Then the old woman turned and went in, leaving the girls by themselves -in the garden. They were a little timid of the great calm and silence; -they almost fancied they were “by themselves,”--not in the garden only, -but in this whole apparent noiseless world. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -THE PARLOUR. - - -And with an excitement which they could not control, the two girls -hastened in to the Old Lodge, and to Miss Bridget’s dim parlour, where -the two candles shed their faint summer-evening light over Mr Atheling -reading an old newspaper, and Mamma reclining in the great old -easy-chair. The abstracted mirror, as loftily withdrawn from common life -as Mr Endicott, refused to give any reflection of these good people -sitting far below in their middle-aged and respectable quietness, but -owned a momentary vision of Agnes and Marian, as they came in with a -little haste and eagerness at the half-open door. - -But, after all, to be very much excited, to hasten in to tell one’s -father and mother, with the heart beating faster than usual against -one’s breast, and to have one’s story calmly received with an “Indeed, -my dear!” is rather damping to youthful enthusiasm; and really, to tell -the truth, there was nothing at all extraordinary in the fact of Louis -passing by a door so near the great house which was his own distasteful -home. It was not at all a marvellous circumstance; and as for his -salutation, though that was remarkable, and caught their imagination, -Marian whispered that she had no doubt it was Louis’s “way.” - -They began, accordingly, to look at the slender row of books in one -small open shelf above the little cabinet. The books were in old rich -bindings, and were of a kind of reading quite unknown to Agnes and -Marian. There were two (odd) volumes of the _Spectator_, _Rasselas_, the -Poems of Shenstone, the Sermons of Blair; besides these, a French copy -of Thomas-à-Kempis, the _Holy Living and Dying_ of Jeremy Taylor, and -one of the quaint little books of Sir Thomas Browne. Thrust in hastily -beside these ancient and well-attired volumes were two which looked -surreptitious, and which were consequently examined with the greatest -eagerness. One turned out, somewhat disappointingly, to be a volume of -Italian exercises, an old, old school-book, inscribed, in a small, -pretty, but somewhat faltering feminine handwriting--handwriting of the -last century--with the name of Anastasia Rivers, with a B. A. beneath, -which doubtless stood for Bridget Atheling, though it seemed to imply, -with a kindly sort of blundering comicality sad enough now, that -Anastasia Rivers, though she was no great hand at her exercises, had -taken a degree. The other volume was of more immediate interest. It was -one of those good and exemplary novels, ameliorated Pamelas, which -virtuous old ladies were wont to put into the hands of virtuous young -ones, and which was calculated to “instruct as well as to amuse” the -unfortunate mind of youth. Marian seized upon this _Fatherless Fanny_ -with an instant appropriation, and in ten minutes was deep in its -endless perplexities. Agnes, who would have been very glad of the novel, -languidly took down the _Spectator_ instead. Yes, we are obliged to -confess--languidly; for, with an excited mind upon a lovely summer -night, with all the stars shining without, and only two pale candles -within, and Mamma visibly dropping to sleep in the easy-chair--who, we -demand, would not prefer, even to Steele and Addison, the mazy mysteries -of the Minerva Press? - -And Agnes did not get on with her reading; she saw visibly before her -eyes Marian skimming with an eager interest the pages of her novel. She -heard Papa rustling his newspaper, watched the faint flicker of the -candles, and was aware of the very gentle nod by which Mamma gave -evidence of the condition of _her_ thoughts. Agnes’s imagination, never -averse to wandering, strayed off into speculations concerning the old -lady and her old pupil, and all the life, unknown and unrecorded, which -had happed within these quiet walls. Altogether it was somewhat hard to -understand the connection between the Athelings and the -Riverses--whether some secret of family history lay involved in it, or -if it was only the familiar bond formed a generation ago between teacher -and child. And this Louis!--his sudden appearance and disappearance--his -princely recognition as of new subjects. Agnes made nothing whatever of -her _Spectator_--her mind was possessed and restless--and by-and-by, -curious, impatient, and a little excited, she left the room with an idea -of hastening up-stairs to the chamber window, and looking out upon the -night. But the door of the kitchen stood invitingly open, and Hannah, -who had been waiting, slightly expectant of some visit, was to be seen -within, rising up hastily with old-fashioned respect and a little -wistfulness. Agnes, though she was a young lady of literary tastes, and -liked to look out upon moon and stars with the vague sentiment of youth, -had, notwithstanding, a wholesome relish for gossip, and was more -pleased with talk of other people than we are disposed to confess; so -she had small hesitation in changing her course and joining Hannah--that -homely Hannah bobbing her odd little curtsy, and smoothing down her -bright white apron, in the full glow of the kitchen-fire. - -The kitchen was indeed the only really bright room in the Old Wood -Lodge, having one strip of carpet only on its white and sanded floor, a -large deal table, white and spotless, and wooden chairs hard and clear -as Hannah’s own toil-worn but most kindly hands. There was an -old-fashioned settle by the chimney corner, a small bit of looking-glass -hanging up by the window, and gleams of ruddy copper, and homely covers -of white metal, polished as bright as silver, ornamenting the walls. -Hannah wiped a chair which needed no wiping, and set it directly in -front of the fire for “Miss,” but would not on any account be so -“unmannerly” as to sit down herself in the young lady’s presence. Agnes -wisely contented herself with leaning on the chair, and smiled with a -little embarrassment at Hannah’s courtesy; it was not at all -disagreeable, but it was somewhat different from Susan at home. - -“I’ve been looking at ’um, miss,” said Hannah, “sleeping like angels; -there ain’t no difference that I can see; they look, as nigh as can be, -both of an age.” - -“They are twins,” said Agnes, finding out, with a smile, that Hannah’s -thoughts were taken up, not about Louis and Rachel, but Bell and Beau. - -At this information Hannah brightened into positive delight. “Childer’s -ne’er been in this house,” said Hannah, “till this day; and twins is a -double blessing. There ain’t no more, miss? But bless us all, the time -between them darlins and you!” - -“We have one brother, besides--and a great many little brothers and -sisters in heaven,” said Agnes, growing very grave, as they all did when -they spoke of the dead. - -Hannah drew closer with a sympathetic curiosity. “If that ain’t a -heart-break, there’s none in this world,” said Hannah. “Bless their dear -hearts, it’s best for them. Was it a fever then, miss, or a catching -sickness? Dear, dear, it’s all one, when they’re gone, what it was.” - -“Hannah, you must never speak of it to mamma,” said Agnes; “we used to -be so sad--so sad! till God sent Bell and Beau. Do you know Miss Rachel -at the Hall? her brother and she are twins too.” - -“Yes, miss,” said Hannah, with a slight curtsy, and becoming at once -very laconic. - -“And _we_ know her,” said Agnes, a little confused by the old woman’s -sudden quietness. “I suppose that was her brother who passed to-night.” - -“Ay, poor lad!” Hannah’s heart seemed once more a little moved. “They -say miss is to be a play-actress, and I can’t abide her for giving in to -it; but Mr Louis, bless him! he ought to be a king.” - -“You like him, then?” asked Agnes eagerly. - -“Ay, poor boy!” Hannah went away hastily to the table, where, in a -china basin, in their cool crisp green, lay the homely salads of the -garden, about to be arranged for supper. A tray covered with a -snow-white cloth, and a small pile of eggs, waited in hospitable -preparation for the same meal. Hannah, who had been so long in -possession, felt like a humble mistress of the house, exercising the -utmost bounties of her hospitality towards her new guests. “Least said’s -best about them, dear,” said Hannah, growing more familiar as she grew a -little excited--“but, Lord bless us, it’s enough to craze a poor body to -see the likes of him, with such a spirit, kept out o’ his rights.” - -“What are his rights, Hannah?” cried Agnes, with new and anxious -interest: this threw quite a new light upon the subject. - -Hannah turned round a little perplexed. “Tell the truth, I dun know no -more nor a baby,” said Hannah; “but Miss Bridget, she was well acquaint -in all the ways of them, and she ever upheld, when his name was named, -that my lord kep’ him out of his rights.” - -“And what did _he_ say?” asked Agnes. - -“Nay, child,” said the old woman, “it ain’t no business of mine to tell -tales; and Miss Bridget had more sense nor all the men of larning I ever -heard tell of. She knew better than to put wickedness into his mind. -He’s a handsome lad and a kind, is Mr Louis; but I wouldn’t be my lord, -no, not for all Banburyshire, if I’d done that boy a wrong.” - -“Then, do you think Lord Winterbourne has _not_ done him a wrong?” said -Agnes, thoroughly bewildered. - -Hannah turned round upon her suddenly, with a handful of herbs and a -knife in her other hand. “Miss, he’s an unlawful child!” said Hannah, -with the most melodramatic effectiveness. Agnes involuntarily drew back -a step, and felt the blood rush to her face. When she had delivered -herself of this startling whisper, Hannah returned to her homely -occupation, talking in an under-tone all the while. - -“Ay, poor lad, there’s none can mend that,” said Hannah; “he’s kep’ out -of his rights, and never a man can help him. If it ain’t enough to put -him wild, _I_ dun know.” - -“And are you quite sure of that? Does everybody think him a son of Lord -Winterbourne’s?” said Agnes. - -“Well, miss, my lord’s not like to own to it--to shame hisself,” said -Hannah; “but they’re none so full of charity at the Hall as to bother -with other folkses children. My lord’s kep’ him since they were babies, -and sent the lawyer hisself to fetch him when Mr Louis ran away. Bless -you, no; there ain’t no doubt about it. Whose son else could he be?” - -“But if that was true, he would have no rights. And what did Miss -Bridget mean by rights?” asked Agnes, in a very low tone, blushing, and -half ashamed to speak of such a subject at all. - -Hannah, however, who did not share in all the opinions of -respectability, but had a leaning rather, in the servant view of the -question, to the pariah of the great old house, took up somewhat sharply -this unguarded opinion. “Miss,” said Hannah, “you’ll not tell me that -there ain’t no rights belonging Mr Louis. The queen on the throne would -be glad of the likes of him for a prince and an heir; and Miss Bridget -was well acquaint in all the ways of the Riverses, and was as fine to -hear as a printed book: for the matter of that,” added Hannah, solemnly, -“Miss Taesie, though she would not go through the park-gates to save her -life, had a leaning to Mr Louis too.” - -“And who is Miss Taesie?” said Agnes. - -“Miss,” said Hannah, in a very grave and reproving tone, “you’re little -acquaint with our ways; it ain’t my business to go into stories--you ask -your papa.” - -“So I will, Hannah; but who is Miss Taesie?” asked Agnes again, with a -smile. - -Hannah answered only by placing her salad on the tray, and carrying it -solemnly to the parlour. Amused and interested, Agnes stood by the -kitchen fireside thinking over what she had heard, and smiling as she -mused; for Miss Taesie, no doubt, was the Honourable Anastasia Rivers, -beneath whose name, in the old exercise-book, stood that odd B. A. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -WINTERBOURNE. - - -The next day the family walked forth in a body, to make acquaintance -with the “new neighbourhood.” There was Papa and Mamma first of all, Mrs -Atheling extremely well dressed, and in all the cheerful excitement of -an unaccustomed holiday; and then came Agnes and Marian, pleased and -curious--and, wild with delight, little Bell and Beau. Hannah, who was -very near as much delighted as the children, stood at the door looking -after them as they turned the angle of the grassy path. When they were -quite out of sight, Hannah returned to her kitchen with a brisk step, to -compound the most delicious of possible puddings for their early dinner. -It was worth while now to exercise those half-forgotten gifts of cookery -which had been lost upon Miss Bridget; and when everything was ready, -Hannah, instead of her black ribbon, put new white bows in her cap. At -sight of the young people, and, above all, the children, and in the -strange delightful bustle of “a full house,” hard-featured Hannah, kind -and homely, renewed her youth. - -The father and mother sent their children on before them, and made -progress slowly, recalling and remembering everything. As for Agnes and -Marian, they hastened forward with irregular and fluctuating -curiosity--loitering one moment, and running another, but, after their -different fashion, taking note of all they saw. And between the vanguard -and the rearguard a most unsteady main body, fluttering over the grass -like two butterflies, as they ran back and forward from Agnes and Marian -to Papa and Mamma “with flichterin’ noise and glee,” came Bell and Beau. -These small people, with handfuls of buttercups and clovertops always -running through their rosy little fingers, were to be traced along their -devious and uncertain path by the droppings of these humble posies, and -were in a state of perfect and unalloyed ecstasy. The little family -procession came past the Old Wood House, which was a large white square -building, a great deal loftier, larger, and more pretending than their -own; in fact, a great house in comparison with their cottage. Round two -sides of it appeared the prettiest of trim gardens--a little world of -velvet lawn, clipped yews, and glowing flower-beds. The windows were -entirely obscured with close Venetian blinds, partially excused by the -sunshine, but turning a most jealous and inscrutable blankness to the -eyes of the new inhabitants; and close behind the house clustered the -trees of the park. As they passed, looking earnestly at the house, some -one came out--a very young man, unmistakably clerical, with a stiff -white band under his monkish chin, a waistcoat which was very High -Church, and the blandest of habitual smiles. He looked at the strangers -urbanely, with a half intention of addressing them. The girls were not -learned in Church politics, yet they recognised the priestly appearance -of the smiling young clergyman; and Agnes, for her part, contemplated -him with a secret disappointment and dismay. Mr Rivers himself was said -to be High Church. Could this be Mr Rivers? He passed, however, and left -them to guess vainly; and Papa and Mamma, whose slow and steady pace -threatened every now and then to outstrip these irregular, rapid young -footsteps, came up and pressed them onward. “How strange!” Marian -exclaimed involuntarily: “if that is he, I am disappointed; but how -funny to meet them _both_!” - -And then Marian blushed, and laughed aloud, half ashamed to be detected -in this evident allusion to Rachel’s castles in the air. Her laugh -attracted the attention of a countrywoman who just then came out to the -door of a little wayside cottage. She made them a little bob of a -curtsy, like Hannah’s, and asked if they wanted to see the church, -“’cause I don’t think the gentlemen would mind,” said the clerk’s wife, -the privileged bearer of the ecclesiastical keys; and Mr Atheling, -hearing the question, answered over the heads of his daughters, “Yes, -certainly they would go.” So they all went after her dutifully over the -stile, and along a field-path by a rustling growth of wheat, spotted -with red poppies, for which Bell and Beau sighed and cried in vain, and -came at last to a pretty small church, of the architectural style and -period of which this benighted family were most entirely ignorant. Mr -Atheling, indeed, had a vague idea that it was “Gothic,” but would not -have liked to commit himself even to that general principle--for the -days of religious architecture and church restorations were all since Mr -Atheling’s time. - -They went in accordingly under a low round-arched doorway, solemn and -ponderous, entirely unconscious of the “tressured ornament” which -antiquaries came far to see; and, looking with a certain awe at the -heavy and solemn arches of the little old Saxon church, were rather more -personally attracted, we are pained to confess, by a group of gentlemen -within the sacred verge of the chancel, discussing something with -solemnity and earnestness, as if it were a question of life and death. -Foremost in this group, but occupying, as it seemed, rather an -explanatory and apologetic place, and listening with evident anxiety to -the deliverance of the others, was a young man of commanding appearance, -extremely tall, with a little of the look of ascetic abstraction which -belongs to the loftier members of the very high High Church. As the -Athelings approached rather timidly under the escort of their humble -guide, this gentleman eyed them, with a mixture of observation and -haughtiness, as they might have been eyed by the proprietor of the -domain. Then he recognised Mr Atheling with such a recognition as the -same reigning lord and master might bestow upon an intruder who was only -mistaken and not presumptuous. The father of the family rose to the -occasion, his colour increased; he drew himself up, and made a formal -but really dignified bow to the young clergyman. The little group of -advisers did not pause a minute in their discussion; and odd words, -which they were not in the habit of hearing, fell upon the ears of Agnes -and Marian. “Bad in an archaic point of view--extremely bad; and I never -can forgive errors of detail; the best examples are so accessible,” said -one gentleman. “I do not agree with you. I remember an instance at -Amiens,” interrupted another. “Amiens, my dear sir!--exactly what I mean -to say,” cried the first speaker; “behind the date of Winterbourne a -couple of hundred years--late work--a debased style. In a church of this -period everything ought to be severe.” - -And accordingly there were severe Apostles in the painted windows--those -slender lancet “lights” which at this moment dazzled the eyes of Agnes -and Marian; and the new saints in the new little niches were, so far as -austerity went, a great deal more correct and true to their “period” -than even the old saints, without noses, and sorely worn with weather -and irreverence, who were as genuine early English as the stout old -walls. But Marian Atheling had no comprehension of this kind of -severity. She shrunk away from the altar in its religious gloom--the -altar with its tall candlesticks, and its cloth, which was stiff with -embroidery--marvelling in her innocent imagination over some vague -terror of punishments and penances in a church where “everything ought -to be severe.” Marian took care to be on the other side of her father -and mother, as they passed again the academic group discussing the newly -restored sedilia, which was not quite true in point of “detail,” and -drew a long breath of relief when she was safely outside these dangerous -walls. “The Rector! that was the Rector. Oh Agnes!” cried Marian, as -Papa announced the dreadful intelligence; and the younger sister, -horror-stricken, and with great pity, looked sympathetically in Agnes’s -face. Agnes herself was moved to look back at the tall central figure, -using for a dais the elevation of that chancel. She smiled, but she was -a little startled--and the girls went on to the village, and to glance -through the trees at the great park surrounding the Hall, with not -nearly so much conversation as at the beginning of their enterprise. But -it was with a sigh instead of a laugh that Marian repeated, when they -went home to dinner and Hannah’s magnificent pudding--“So, Agnes, we -have seen them both.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -THE CLERGY. - - -Several weeks after this passed very quietly over the Old Wood Lodge and -its new inhabitants. They saw “Mr Louis,” always a rapid and sudden -apparition, pass now and then before their windows, and sometimes -received again that slight passing courtesy which nobody could return, -as it was addressed to nobody, and only disclosed a certain careless yet -courteous knowledge on the part of the young prince that they were -there; and they saw the Rector on the quiet country Sabbath-days in his -ancient little church, with its old heavy arches, and its new and dainty -restorations, “intoning” after the loftiest fashion, and preaching -strange little sermons of subdued yet often vehement and impatient -eloquence--addresses which came from a caged and fiery spirit, and had -no business there. The Winterbourne villagers gaped at his Reverence as -he flung his thunderbolts over their heads, and his Reverence came down -now and then from a wild uncertain voyage heavenward, down, down, with -a sudden dreary plunge, to look at all the blank rustical faces, -slumberous or wondering, and chafe himself with fiery attempts to come -down to their level, and do his duty to his rural flock. With a certain -vague understanding of some great strife and tumult in this dissatisfied -and troubled spirit, Agnes Atheling followed him in the sudden outbursts -of his natural oratory, and in the painful curb and drawing-up by which -he seemed to awake and come to himself. Though she was no student of -character, this young genius could not restrain a throb of sympathy for -the imprisoned and uncertain intellect beating its wings before her very -eyes. Intellect of the very highest order was, without question, errant -in that humble pulpit--errant, eager, disquieted--an eagle flying at the -sun. The simpler soul of genius vaguely comprehended it, and rose with -half-respectful, half-compassionating sympathy, to mark the conflict. -The family mother was not half satisfied with these preachings, and -greatly lamented that the only church within their reach should be so -painfully “high,” and so decidedly objectionable. Mrs Atheling’s soul -was grieved within her at the tall candlesticks, and even the “severe” -Apostles in the windows were somewhat appalling to this excellent -Protestant. She listened with a certain dignified disapproval to the -sermons, not much remarking their special features, but contenting -herself with a general censure. Marian too, who did not pretend to be -intellectual, wondered a little like the other people, and though she -could not resist the excitement of this unusual eloquence, gazed blankly -at the preacher after it was over, not at all sure if it was right, and -marvelling what he could mean. Agnes alone, who could by no means have -told you what he meant--who did not even understand, and certainly could -not have explained in words her own interest in the irregular -prelection--vaguely followed him nevertheless with an intuitive and -unexplainable comprehension. They had never exchanged words, and the -lofty and self-absorbed Rector knew nothing of the tenants of the Old -Wood Lodge; yet he began to look towards the corner whence that -intelligent and watching face flashed upon his maze of vehement and -uncertain thought. He began to look, as a relief, for the upward glance -of those awed yet pitying eyes, which followed him, yet somehow, in -their simplicity, were always before him, steadfastly shining in the -calm and deep assurance of a higher world than his. It was not by any -means, at this moment, a young man and a young woman looking at each -other with the mutual sympathy and mutual difference of nature; it was -Genius, sweet, human, and universal, tender in the dews of youth--and -Intellect, nervous, fiery, impatient, straining like a Hercules after -the Divine gift, which came to the other sleeping, as God gives it to -His beloved. - -The Curate of Winterbourne was the most admirable foil to his reverend -principal. This young and fervent churchman would gladly have sat in the -lower seat of the restored sedilia, stone-cold and cushionless, at any -risk of rheumatism, had not his reverence the Rector put a decided -interdict upon so extreme an example of rigid Anglicanism. As it was, -his bland and satisfied youthful face in the reading-desk made the -strangest contrast in the world to that dark, impetuous, and troubled -countenance, lowering in handsome gloom from the pulpit. The common -people, who held the Rector in awe, took comfort in the presence of the -Curate, who knew all the names of all the children, and was rather -pleased than troubled when they made so bold as to speak to him about a -place for Sally, or a ’prenticeship for John. His own proper place in -the world had fallen happily to this urbane and satisfied young -gentleman. He was a parish priest born and intended, and accordingly -there was not a better parish priest in all Banburyshire than the -Reverend Eustace Mead. While the Rector only played and fretted over -these pretty toys of revived Anglicanism, with which he was not able to -occupy his rapid and impetuous intellect, they sufficed to make a -pleasant reserve of interest in the life of the Curate, who was by no -means an impersonation of intellect, though he had an acute and -practical little mind of his own, much more at his command than the mind -of Mr Rivers was at his. And the Curate preached devout little sermons, -which the rustical people did not gape at; while the Rector, out of all -question, and to the perception of everybody, was, in the most emphatic -sense of the words, the wrong man in the wrong place. - -So far as time had yet gone, the only intercourse with their neighbours -held by the Athelings was at church, and their nearest neighbours were -those clerical people who occupied the Old Wood House. Mr Rivers was -said to have a sister living with him, but she was “a great invalid,” -and never visible; and on no occasion, since his new parishioners -arrived, had the close Venetian blinds been raised, or the house opened -its eyes. There it stood in the sunshine, in that most verdant of trim -old gardens, which no one ever walked in, nor, according to appearances, -ever saw, with its three rows of closed windows, blankly green, secluded -and forbidding, which no one within ever seemed tempted to open to the -sweetest of morning breezes, or the fragrant coolness of the night. -Agnes, taking the privilege of her craft, was much disposed to suspect -some wonderful secret or mystery in this monkish and ascetic -habitation; but it was not difficult to guess the secret of the Rector, -and there was not a morsel of mystery in the bland countenance of -smiling Mr Mead. - -By this time Mrs Atheling and her children were alone. Papa had -exhausted his holiday, and with a mixture of pleasure and unwillingness -returned to his office duties; and Mamma, though she had so much -enjoyment of the country, which was “so good for the children,” began to -sigh a little for her other household, to marvel much how Susan used her -supremacy, and to be seized with great compunctions now and then as to -the cruelty “of leaving your father and Charlie by themselves so long.” -The only thing which really reconciled the good wife to this desertion, -was the fact that Charlie himself, without any solicitation, and in fact -rather against his will, was to have a week’s holiday at Michaelmas, and -of course looked forward in his turn to the Old Wood Lodge. Mrs Atheling -had made up her mind to return with her son, and was at present in a -state of considerable doubt and perplexity touching Agnes and Marian, -Bell and Beau. The roses on the cheeks of the little people had -blossomed so sweetly since they came to the country, Mrs Atheling almost -thought she could trust her darlings to Hannah, and that “another month -would do them no harm.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -A NEW FRIEND. - - -September had begun, but my lord and his expected guests had not yet -arrived at the Hall. Much talk and great preparations were reported in -the village, and came in little rivulets of intelligence, through Hannah -and the humble merchants at the place, to the Old Wood Lodge; but Agnes -and Marian, who had not contrived to write to her, knew nothing whatever -of Rachel, and vainly peeped in at the great gates of the park, early -and late, for the small rapid figure which had made so great an -impression upon their youthful fancy. Then came the question, should -they speak to Louis, who was to be seen sometimes with a gun and a -gamekeeper, deep in the gorse and ferns of Badgeley Wood. Hannah said -this act of rebellious freedom had been met by a threat on the part of -my lord to “have him up” for poaching, which threat only quickened the -haughty boy in his love of sport. “You may say what you like, children, -but it is very wrong and very sinful,” said Mrs Atheling, shaking her -head with serious disapproval, “and especially if he brings in some poor -gamekeeper, and risks his children’s bread;” and Mamma was scarcely to -be satisfied with Hannah’s voluble and eager disclaimer--Mr Louis would -put no man in peril. This excellent mother held her prejudices almost as -firmly as her principles, and compassionately added that it was no -wonder--poor boy, considering--for she could not understand how Louis -could be virtuous and illegitimate, and stood out with a repugnance, -scarcely to be overcome, against any friendship between her own children -and these unfortunate orphans at the Hall. - -One of these bright afternoons, the girls were in the garden discussing -eagerly this difficult question; for it would be very sad to bring -Rachel to the house, full of kind and warm expectations, and find her -met by the averted looks of Mamma. Her two daughters, however, though -they were grieved, did not find it at all in their way to criticise the -opinions of their mother; they concerted little loving attacks against -them, but thought of nothing more. - -And these two found great occupation in the garden, where Bell and Beau -played all the day long, and which Mrs Atheling commanded as she sat by -the parlour window with her work-basket. This afternoon the family group -was fated to interruption. One of the vehicles ascending the high-road, -which was not far from the house, drew up suddenly at sight of these -young figures in old Miss Bridget’s garden. Even at this distance a -rather rough and very peremptory voice was audible ordering the groom, -and then a singular-looking personage appeared on the grassy path. This -was a very tall woman, dressed in an old-fashioned brown cloth pelisse -and tippet, with an odd bonnet on her head which seemed an original -design, contrived for mere comfort, and owning no fashion at all. She -was not young certainly, but she was not so old either, as the -archæological “detail” of her costume might have warranted a stranger in -supposing. Fifty at the very utmost, perhaps only forty-five, with a -fresh cheek, a bright eye, and all the demeanour of a country gentleman, -this lady advanced upon the curious and timid girls. That her errand was -with them was sufficiently apparent from the moment they saw her, and -they stood together very conscious, under the steady gaze of their -approaching visitor, continuing to occupy themselves a little with the -children, yet scarcely able to turn from this unknown friend. She came -along steadily, without a pause, holding still in her hand the small -riding-whip which had been the sceptre of her sway over the two stout -grey ponies waiting in the high-road--came along steadily to the door, -pushed open the gate, entered upon them without either compliment or -salutation, and only, when she was close upon the girls, paused for an -instant to make the _brusque_ and sudden inquiry, “Well, young people, -who are you?” - -They did not answer for the moment, being surprised in no small degree -by such a question; upon which the stranger repeated it rather more -peremptorily. “We are called Atheling,” said Agnes, with a mixture of -pride and amusement. The lady laid her hand heavily upon the girl’s -shoulder, and turned her half round to the light. “What relation?” said -this singular inquisitor; but while she spoke, there became evident a -little moistening and relaxation of her heavy grey eyelid, as if it was -with a certain emotion she recalled the old owner of the old lodge, whom -she did not name. - -“My father was Miss Bridget’s nephew; she left the house to him,” said -Agnes; and Marian too drew near in wondering regard and sympathy, as two -big drops, like the thunder-rain, fell suddenly and quietly over this -old lady’s cheeks. - -“So! you are Will Atheling’s daughters,” said their visitor, a little -more roughly than before, as if from some shame of her emotion; “and -that is your mother at the window. Where’s Hannah? for I suppose you -don’t know me.” - -“No,” said Agnes, feeling rather guilty; it seemed very evident that -this lady was a person universally known. - -“Will Atheling married--married--whom did he marry?” said the visitor, -making her way to the house, and followed by the girls. “Eh! don’t you -know, children, what was your mother’s name? Franklin? yes, to be sure, -I remember her a timid pretty sort of creature; ah! just like Will.” - -By this time they were at the door of the parlour, which she opened with -an unhesitating hand. Mrs Atheling, who had seen her from the window, -was evidently prepared to receive the stranger, and stood up to greet -her with a little colour rising on her cheek, and, as the girls were -astonished to perceive, water in her eyes. - -This abrupt and big intruder into the family room showed more courtesy -to the mother than she had done to the girls; she made a sudden curtsy, -which expression of respect seemed to fill up all the requirements of -politeness in her eyes, and addressed Mrs Atheling at once, without any -prelude. “Do you remember me?” - -“I think so--Miss Rivers?” said Mrs Atheling with considerable -nervousness. - -“Just so--Anastasia Rivers--once not any older than yourself. -So--so--and here are you and all your children in my old professor’s -room.” - -“We have made no change in it; everything is left as it was,” said Mrs -Atheling. - -“The more’s the pity,” answered the abrupt and unscrupulous caller. -“Why, it’s not like _them_--not a bit; as well dress them in her old -gowns, dear old soul! Ay well, it was a long life--no excuse for -grieving; but at the last, you see, at the last, it’s come to its end.” - -“We did not see her,” said Mrs Atheling, with an implied apology for -“want of feeling,” “for more than twenty years. Some one, for some -reason, we cannot tell what, prejudiced her mind against William and -me.” - -“Some one!” said Miss Rivers, with an emphatic toss of her head. “You -don’t know of course who it was. _I_ do: do you wish me to tell you?” - -Mrs Atheling made no answer. She looked down with some confusion, and -began to trifle with the work which all this time had lain idly on her -knee. - -“If there’s any ill turn he can do you now,” said Miss Rivers pointedly, -“he will not miss the chance, take my word for it; and in case he tries -it, let me know. Will Atheling and I are old friends, and I like the -look of the children. Good girls, are they? And is this all your -family?” - -“All I have alive but one boy,” said Mrs Atheling. - -“Ah!” said her visitor, looking up quickly. “Lost some?--never mind, -child, you’ll find them again; and here am I, in earth and heaven a dry -tree!” - -After a moment’s pause she began to speak again, in an entirely -different tone. “These young ones must come to see me,” said their new -friend--“I like the look of them. You are very pretty, my dear, you are -quite as good as a picture; but I like your sister just as well as you. -Come here, child. Have you had a good education? Are you clever? -Nonsense! Why do you blush? People can’t have brains without knowing of -it. Are you clever, I say?” - -“I don’t think so,” said Agnes, unable to restrain a smile; “but mamma -does, and so does Marian.” Here she came to an abrupt conclusion, -blushing at herself. Miss Rivers rose up from her seat, and stood before -her, looking down into the shy eyes of the young genius with all the -penetrating steadiness of her own. - -“I like an honest girl,” said the Honourable Anastasia, patting Agnes’s -shoulder rather heavily with her strong hand. “Marian--is she called -Marian? That’s not an Atheling name. Why didn’t you call her Bride?” - -“She is named for me,” said Mrs Atheling with some dignity. And then she -added, faltering, “We had a Bridget too; but----” - -“Never mind,” said Miss Rivers, lifting her hand quickly--“never mind, -you’ll find them again. She’s very pretty--prettier than any one I know -about Banburyshire; but for heaven’s sake, child, mind what you’re -about, and don’t let any one put nonsense in your head. Your mother -could tell you what comes of such folly, and so could I. By the by, -children, you are much of an age. Do you know anything of those poor -children at the Hall?” - -“We know Rachel,” said Agnes eagerly. “We met her at Richmond, and were -very fond of her; and I suppose she is coming here.” - -“Rachel!” said Miss Rivers, with a little contempt. “I mean the boy. Has -Will Atheling seen the boy?” - -“My husband met him once when he came here first,” said Mrs Atheling; -“and he fancied--fancied--imagined--he was like----” - -“My father!” The words were uttered with an earnestness and energy which -brought a deep colour over those unyouthful cheeks. “Yes, to be -sure--every one says the same. I’d give half my fortune to know the true -story of that boy!” - -“Rachel says,” interposed Agnes, eagerly taking advantage of anything -which could be of service to her friend, “that Louis will not believe -that they belong to Lord Winterbourne.” - -The eyes of the Honourable Anastasia flashed positive lightning; then a -shadow came over her face. “That’s nothing,” she said abruptly. “No one -who could help it would be content to belong to _him_. Now, I’ll send -some day for the children: send them over to see me, will you? Ah, -where’s Hannah--does she suit you? She was very good to _her_, dear old -soul!” - -“And she is very good to the children,” said Mrs Atheling, as she -followed her visitor punctiliously to the door. When they reached it, -Miss Rivers turned suddenly round upon her-- - -“You are not rich, are you? Don’t be offended; but, if you are able, -change all this. I’m glad to see you in the house; but this, you know, -_this_ is like her gowns and her turbans--make a change.” - -Here Hannah appeared from her kitchen, curtsying deeply to Miss Taesie, -who held a conversation with her at the gate; and finally went away, -with her steady step and her riding-whip, having first plucked one of -the late pale roses from the wall. Mrs Atheling came in with a degree of -agitation not at all usual to the family mother. “The first time I ever -saw her,” said Mrs Atheling, “when I was a young girl newly married, and -she a proud young beauty just on the eve of the same. I remember her, in -her hat and her riding-habit, pulling a rose from Aunt Bridget’s -porch--and there it is again.” - -“Ma’am,” said Hannah, coming in to spread the table, “Miss Taesie never -comes here, late or early, but she gathers a rose.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -GOSSIP. - - -“But, mamma, if she was just on the eve of the same, why is she only -Miss Rivers now?” asked Marian, very curious on this subject of -betrothments and marriages. - -“It is a very long story, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling. As a general -principle, Mamma was not understood to have any special aversion to long -stories, but she certainly showed no inclination whatever to enter into -this. - -“So much the better if you will tell it, mamma,” said Agnes; and they -came close to her, with their pretty bits of needlework, and their looks -of interest; it was not in the heart of woman to refuse. - -“Well, my dears,” said Mrs Atheling, with a little reluctance, “somehow -we seem to be brought into the very midst of it again, though we have -scarcely heard their names for twenty years. This lady, though she is -almost as old as he is, is niece to Lord Winterbourne. The old lord was -only his stepbrother, and a great deal older than he--and Miss Anastasia -was the only child of the old lord. You may suppose how disappointed he -was, with all his great estates entailed, and the title--and nothing but -a daughter; and everybody said, when the old lady died, that he would -marry again.” - -“_Did_ he marry again?” said Marian, as Mamma came to a sudden and -unexpected pause. - -“No, my dear; for then trouble came,” said Mrs Atheling. “Miss Anastasia -was a beautiful young lady, always very proud, and very wise and -sensible, but a great beauty for all that; and she was to be married to -a young gentleman, a baronet and a very great man, out of Warwickshire. -The present lord was then the Honourable Reginald Rivers, and dreadful -wild. Somehow, I cannot tell how it was, he and Sir Frederick -quarrelled, and then they fought; and after his wound that fine young -gentleman fell into a wasting and a consumption, and died at -twenty-five; and that is the reason why Miss Anastasia has never been -married, and I am afraid, though it is so very wrong to say so, _hates_ -Lord Winterbourne.” - -“Oh, mamma! I am sure I should, if I had been like her!” cried Marian, -almost moved to tears. - -“No, my darling, not to hate him,” said Mrs Atheling, shaking her head, -“or you would forget all you have been taught since you were a child.” - -“I do not understand him, mamma,” said Agnes: “does everybody hate -him--has he done wrong to every one?” - -Mrs Atheling sighed. “My dears, if I tell you, you must forget it again, -and never mention it to any one. Papa had a pretty young sister, little -Bride, as they all called her, the sweetest girl I ever saw. Mr Reginald -come courting her a long time, but at last she found out--oh girls! oh, -children!--that what he meant was not true love, but something that it -would be a shame and a sin so much as to name; and it broke her dear -heart, and she died. Her grave is at Winterbourne; that was what papa -and I went to see the first day.” - -“Mamma,” cried Agnes, starting up in great excitement and agitation, -“why did you suffer us to know any one belonging to such a man?” - -“Well, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling, a little discomposed by this appeal. -“I thought it was for the best. Coming here, we were sure to be thrown -into their way--and perhaps he may have repented. And then Mrs Edgerley -was very kind to you, and I did not think it right, for the father’s -sake, to judge harshly of the child.” - -Marian, who had covered her face with her hands, looked up now with -abashed and glistening eyes. “Is that why papa dislikes him so?” said -Marian, very low, and still sheltering with her raised hands her -dismayed and blushing face. - -Mrs Atheling hesitated a moment. “Yes,” she said doubtfully, after a -pause of consideration--“yes; that and other things.” - -But the inquiry of the girls could not elicit from Mamma what were the -other things which were sufficient to share with this as motives of Mr -Atheling’s dislike. They were inexpressibly shocked and troubled by the -story, as people are who, contemplating evil at a visionary distance, -and having only a visionary belief in it, suddenly find a visible gulf -yawning at their own feet; and Agnes could not help thinking, with -horror and disgust, of being in the same room with this man of guilt, -and of that polluting kiss of his, from which Rachel shrank as from the -touch of pestilence. “Such a man ought to be marked and singled out,” -cried Agnes, with unreasoning youthful eloquence: “no one should dare to -bring him into the same atmosphere with pure-minded people; everybody -ought to be warned of who and what he was.” - -“Nay; God has not done so,” said Mrs Atheling with a sigh. “He has -offended God more than he ever could offend man, but God bears with him. -I often say so to your father when we speak of the past. Ought we, who -are so sinful ourselves, to have less patience than God?” - -After this the girls were very silent, saying nothing, and much absorbed -with their own thoughts. Marian, who perhaps for the moment found a -certain analogy between her father’s pretty sister and herself, was -wrapt in breathless horror of the whole catastrophe. Her mind glanced -back upon Sir Langham--her fancy started forward into the future; but -though the young beauty for the moment was greatly appalled and -startled, she could not believe in the possibility of anything at all -like this “happening to me!” Agnes, for her part, took quite a different -view of the matter. The first suggestion of her eager fancy was, what -could be done for Louis and Rachel, to deliver them from the presence -and control of such a man? Innocently and instinctively her thoughts -turned upon her own gift, and the certain modest amount of power it gave -her. Louis might get a situation like Charlie, and be helped until he -was able for the full weight of his own life; and Rachel, another -sister, could come home to Bellevue. So Agnes, who at this present -moment was writing in little bits, much interrupted and broken in upon, -her second story, rose into a delightful anticipatory triumph, not of -its fame or success, though these things did glance laughingly across -her innocent imagination, but of its mere ignoble coined recompense, -and of all the great things for these two poor orphans which might be -done in Bellevue. - -And while the mother and the daughters sat at work in the shady little -parlour, where the sunshine did not enter, but where a sidelong -reflection of one waving bough of clematis, dusty with blossom, waved -across the little sloping mirror, high on the wall, Hannah sat outside -the open door, watching with visible delight, and sometimes joining for -an instant with awkward kindliness, the sports of Bell and Beau. They -rolled about on the soft grass, ran about on the garden paths, tumbled -over each other and over everything in their way, but, with the happy -immunity of children in the country, “took no harm.” Hannah had some -work in her great white apron, but did not so much as look at it. She -had no eye for a rare passenger upon the grassy byway, and scarcely -heard the salutation of the Rector’s man. All Hannah’s soul and thoughts -were wrapt up in the “blessed babies,” who made her old life blossom and -rejoice; and it was without any intervention of their generally -punctilious attendant that a light and rapid step came gliding over the -threshold of the Lodge, and a quiet little knock sounded lightly on the -parlour door. “May I come in, please?” said a voice which seemed to -Agnes to be speaking out of her dream; and Mrs Atheling had not time to -buckle on her armour of objection when the door opened, and the same -little light rapid figure came bounding into the arms of her daughters. -Once there, it was not very difficult to reach to the good mother’s -kindly heart. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -RACHEL. - - -“Yes, I only came to-day,” said Rachel, who kept her eyes wistfully upon -Mrs Atheling, though she spoke to Agnes. “They made me go to town after -you left, and then kept me _so_ long at the Willows. Next season they -say I am to come out, and somebody has offered me an engagement; but -indeed, indeed,” cried Rachel, suddenly firing with one of her outbursts -of unexpected energy, “I never will!” - -The girls scarcely knew what answer to make in presence of their mother. -They had not been trained to have independent friendships, and now -waited anxiously, turning silent looks of appeal upon Mamma. Mamma all -at once had become exceedingly industrious, and neither looked up nor -spoke. - -“But then you might live in London, perhaps, instead of here; and I -should be very glad if you were near us,” said Agnes, with a good deal -of timidity. Agnes, indeed, was not thinking what she said--her whole -attention wandered to her mother. - -“I do not mind for myself,” said Rachel, with a deep sigh. “I do not -think I should care if there were a hundred people to hear me sing, -instead of a dozen, for I know very well not one of them would care -anything for _me_; but I have to remember Louis. I cannot disgrace -Louis. It is bad enough for him as it is, without adding any more.” - -Again there was a pause. Rachel’s poor little palpitating heart beat -very loud and very high. “I thought I should be welcome when I came -here,” she said, freezing half into her unnatural haughtiness, and half -with an unconscious and pitiful tone of appeal; “but I never intruded -upon any one--never! and if you do not wish me to be here, I can go -away.” - -She turned to go away as she spoke, her little figure rising and -swelling with great subdued emotion; but Mrs Atheling immediately rose -and stretched out her hand to detain her. “Do not go away, my dear; the -girls are very fond of you,” said Mrs Atheling; and it cost this good -mother, with her ideas of propriety, a very considerable struggle with -herself to say these simple words. - -Rachel stood before her a moment irresolute and uncertain, not appearing -even to hear what Agnes and Marian, assured by this encouragement, -hastened to say. The contest was violent while it lasted between Louis’s -sister, who was his representative, and the natural little humble child -Rachel, who had no pride, and only wanted the kindly succour of love; -but at last nature won the day. She seized upon Mrs Atheling’s hand -hastily and kissed it, with a pretty appealing gesture. “They do -everything you tell them,” cried Rachel suddenly. “I never had any -mother--never even when we were babies. Oh, will you tell me sometimes -what I ought to do?” - -It was said afterwards in the family that at this appeal Mamma, fairly -vanquished and overcome, “almost cried;” and certain it was that Rachel -immediately took possession of the stool beside her, and remained there -not only during this visit, but on every after occasion when she came. -She brightened immediately into all her old anxious communicativeness, -concealing nothing, but pouring out her whole heart. - -“Louis told me he had seen you in the garden,” said Rachel, with a low -laugh of pleasure; “but when I asked which it was, he said he knew -nothing of Agnes and Marian, but only he had seen a vision looking over -the old gate. I never know what Louis means when he speaks nonsense,” -said Rachel, with an unusual brightness; “and I am so glad. I never -heard him speak so much nonsense since we came to the Hall.” - -“And are you left in the Hall all by yourselves, two young creatures?” -asked Mrs Atheling, with curiosity. “It must be very melancholy for -you.” - -“Not to be alone!” cried Rachel. “But very soon my lord is coming, with -a great household of people; and then--I almost faint when I think upon -it. What shall I do?” - -“But, Rachel, Mrs Edgerley is very kind to you,” said Agnes. - -Rachel answered after her usual fashion: “I do not care at all for -myself--it is nothing to me; but Louis--oh, Louis!--if he is ever seen, -the people stare at him as they would at a horse or a hound; and Lord -Winterbourne tries to have an opportunity to speak and order him away, -and when he shoots, he says he will put him in prison. And then Louis -knows when they send for me, and sometimes stands under the window and -hears me singing, and is white with rage to hear; and then he says he -cannot bear it, and must go away, and then I go down upon my knees to -him. I know how it will happen--everything, everything! It makes him mad -to have to bear it. Oh, I wish I knew anything that I could do!” - -“Mamma,” said Agnes earnestly, “Rachel used to tell us all this at the -Willows. Do you not think he ought to go away?” - -Mrs Atheling shook her head in perplexity; and instead of answering, -asked a question, “Does he not think it his duty, my dear, to obey -your--your father?” said Mamma doubtfully. - -“But he is not our father--oh no, no, indeed he is not! I should know he -was not, even without Louis,” cried Rachel, unaware what a violent -affirmation this was. “Louis says we could not have any father who would -not be a disgrace to us, being as we are--and Louis must be right; but -even though he might be a bad man, he could not be like Lord -Winterbourne. He takes pleasure in humiliating us--he never cared for us -all our life.” - -There was something very touching in this entire identification of these -two solitary existences which still were but one life; and Rachel was -not Rachel till she came to the very last words. Before that, with the -strange and constantly varying doubleness of her sisterly character, she -had been once again the representative of Louis. One thing struck them -all as they looked at her small features, fired with this sudden -inspiration of Louis’s pride and spirit. About as different as -possible--at the extreme antipodes of unresemblance--were their two -visitors of this day,--this small little fairy, nervous, timid, and -doubtful, fatherless, homeless, and without so much as a name, and that -assured and commanding old lady, owning no superior, and as secure of -her own position and authority as any reigning monarch. Yes, they were -about as dissimilar as two human creatures could be; yet the lookers-on -were startled to recognise that subtle link of likeness, seldom a -likeness of features, which people call family resemblance. Could it -have come through this man, who was so repugnant to them both? - -“They are all coming down on Monday next week,” said Rachel, “so we have -just three days all to ourselves; and I thought, perhaps--perhaps, if -you please to let me, I might bring Louis to-night?” - -“Surely, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling. - -“Oh, thank you!--thank you very much!” cried Rachel, once more bestowing -an eager yet shy caress upon that motherly hand. “Louis is not like me -at all,” added the anxious sister, afraid lest he should suffer by any -preconceived notion of resemblance. “He is a man; and old Miss Bridget -used to call him a noble brave boy, like what you read of in books. I do -not know,” said Rachel, “I never read of any one, even in a book, like -Louis. I think he ought to be a king.” - -“But, indeed, Rachel,” said Agnes, “I am quite sure you are wrong. Ask -mamma. You ought to let him go away.” - -“Do _you_ think so?” said Rachel wistfully, looking up in Mrs Atheling’s -face. - -But Mrs Atheling, though under any other circumstances she would of -course have insisted upon the absolute propriety of a young man “making -his own way,” paused, much perplexed, and answered nothing for the -moment. “My dears,” she said at last, very doubtfully, “I do not know at -all what to say. You should have some one who could advise you better; -and it depends on the young gentleman’s inclinations, and a great many -things beside that I am not able to judge of; for, indeed, though it may -only be my old-fashioned notions, I do not like to hear of young people -going against the advice of their friends.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -THE YOUNG PRINCE. - - -It may be supposed that, after all they had heard of him, the Athelings -prepared themselves with a little excitement for the visit of Louis. -Even Mrs Atheling, who disapproved of him, could not prevent herself -from wandering astray in long speculations about the old lord--and it -seemed less improper to wonder and inquire concerning a boy, whom the -Honourable Anastasia herself inquired after and wondered at. As for the -girls, Louis had come to be an ideal hero to both of them. The adored -and wonderful brother of Rachel--though Rachel was only a girl, and -scarcely so wise as themselves--the admiration of Miss Bridget, and the -anxiety of Miss Anastasia, though these were only a couple of old -ladies, united in a half deification of the lordly young stranger, whose -own appearance and manner were enough to have awakened a certain -romantic interest in their simple young hearts. They were extremely -concerned to-night about their homely tea-table--that everything should -look its best and brightest; and even contrived, unknown to Hannah, to -filch and convert into a temporary cake-basket that small rich old -silver salver, which had been wont to stand upon one of Miss Bridget’s -little tables for cards. Then they robbed the garden for a sufficient -bouquet of flowers; and then Agnes, half against her sister’s will, wove -in one of those pale roses to Marian’s beautiful hair. Marian, though -she made a laughing protest against this, and pretended to be totally -indifferent to the important question, which dress she should wear? -clearly recognised herself as the heroine of the evening. _She_ knew -very well, if no one else did, what was the vision which Louis had seen -at the old gate, and came down to Miss Bridget’s prim old parlour in her -pretty light muslin dress with the rose in her hair, looking, in her -little flutter and palpitation, as sweet a “vision of delight” as ever -appeared to the eyes of man. - -And Louis came--came--condescended to take tea--stayed some two hours or -so, and then took his departure, hurriedly promising to come back for -his sister. This much-anticipated hero--could it be possible that his -going away was the greatest relief to them all, and that no one of the -little party felt at all comfortable or at ease till he was gone? It was -most strange and deplorable, yet it was most true beyond the -possibility of question; for Louis, with all a young man’s sensitive -pride stung into bitterness by his position, haughtily repelled the -interest and kindness of all these women. He was angry at Rachel--poor -little anxious timid Rachel, who almost looked happy when they crossed -this kindly threshold--for supposing these friends of hers, who were all -women, could be companions for him; he was angry at himself for his -anger; he was in the haughtiest and darkest frame of his naturally -impetuous temper, rather disposed to receive as an insult any overture -of friendship, and fiercely to plume himself upon his separated and -orphaned state. They were all entirely discomfited and taken aback by -their stately visitor, whom they had been disposed to receive with the -warmest cordiality, and treat as one whom it was in their power to be -kind to. Though his sister did so much violence to her natural feelings -that she might hold her ground as his representative, Louis did not by -any means acknowledge her deputyship. In entire opposition to her -earnest and anxious frankness, Louis closed himself up with a jealous -and repellant reserve; said nothing he could help saying, and speaking, -when he did speak, with a cold and indifferent dignity; did not so much -as refer to the Hall or Lord Winterbourne, and checked Rachel, when she -was about to do so, with an almost imperceptible gesture, peremptory -and full of displeasure. Poor Rachel, constantly referring to him with -her eyes, and feeling the ground entirely taken from beneath her feet, -sat pale and anxious, full of apprehension and dismay. Marian, who was -not accustomed to see her own pretty self treated with such absolute -unconcern, took down _Fatherless Fanny_ from the bookshelf, and played -with it, half reading, half “pretending,” at one of the little tables. -Agnes, after many vain attempts to draw Rachel’s unmanageable brother -into conversation, gave it up at last, and sat still by Rachel’s side in -embarrassed silence. Mamma betook herself steadily to her work-basket. -The conversation fell away into mere questions addressed to Louis, and -answers in monosyllables, so that it was an extreme relief to every -member of the little party when this impracticable visitor rose at last, -bowed to them all, and hastened away. - -Rachel sat perfectly silent till the sound of his steps had died upon -the road; then she burst out in a vehement apologetic outcry. “Oh, don’t -be angry with him--don’t, please,” said Rachel; “he thinks I have been -trying to persuade you to be kind to him, and he cannot bear _that_ even -from me; and indeed, indeed you may believe me, it is quite true! I -never saw him, except once or twice, in such a humour before.” - -“My dear,” said Mrs Atheling, with that dignified tone which Mamma could -assume when it was necessary, to the utter discomfiture of her -opponent--“my dear, we are very glad to see your brother, but of course -it can be nothing whatever to us the kind of humour he is in; that is -quite his own concern.” - -Poor Rachel now, having no other resource, cried. She was only herself -in this uncomfortable moment. She could no longer remember Louis’s pride -or Louis’s dignity; for a moment the poor little subject heart felt a -pang of resentment against the object of its idolatry, such as little -Rachel had sometimes felt when Louis was “naughty,” and she, his -unfortunate little shadow, innocently shared in his punishment; but now, -as at every former time, the personal trouble of the patient little -sister yielded to the dread that Louis “was not understood.” “You will -know him better some time,” she said, drying her sorrowful appealing -eyes. So far as appearances went at this moment, it did not seem quite -desirable to know him better, and nobody said a word in return. - -After this the three girls went out together to the garden, still lying -sweet in the calm of the long summer twilight, under a young moon and -some early stars. They did not speak a great deal. They were all -considerably absorbed with thoughts of this same hero, who, after all, -had not taken an effective method of keeping their interest alive. - -And Marian did not know how or whence it was that this doubtful and -uncertain paladin came to her side in the pleasant darkness, but was -startled by his voice in her ear as she leaned once more over the low -garden-gate. “It was here I saw you first,” said Louis, and Marian’s -heart leaped in her breast, half with the suddenness of the words, half -with--something else. Louis, who had been so haughty and ungracious all -the evening--Louis, Rachel’s idol, everybody’s superior--yet he spoke -low in the startled ear of Marian, as if that first seeing had been an -era in his life. - -“Come with us,” said Louis, as Rachel at sight of him hastened to get -her bonnet--“come along this enchanted road a dozen steps into -fairyland, and back again. I forget everything, even myself, on such a -night.” - -And they went, scarcely answering, yet more satisfied with this brief -reference to their knowledge of him, than if the king had forsaken his -nature, and become as confidential as Rachel. They went their dozen -steps on what was merely the terraced pathway, soft, dark, and grassy, -to Agnes and Rachel, who went first in anxious conversation, but which -the other two, coming silently behind, had probably a different idea -of. Marian at least could not help cogitating these same adjectives, -with a faint inquiry within herself, what it was which could make this -an enchanted road or fairyland. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -A BEGINNING. - - -The next morning, while the mother and daughters were still in the full -fervour of discussion about this same remarkable Louis, he himself was -seen for the first time in the early daylight passing the window, with -that singular rapidity of step which he possessed in common with his -sister. They ceased their argument after seeing him--why, no one could -have told; but quite unresolved as the question was, and though Mamma’s -first judgment, unsoftened by that twilight walk, was still decidedly -unfavourable to Louis, they all dropped the subject tacitly and at once. -Then Mamma went about various domestic occupations; then Agnes dropped -into the chair which stood before that writing-book upon the table, and, -with an attention much broken and distracted, gradually fell away into -her own ideal world; and then Marian, leading Bell and Beau with -meditative hands, glided forth softly to the garden, with downcast face -and drooping eyes, full of thought. The children ran away from her at -once when their little feet touched the grass, but Marian went straying -along the paths, absorbed in her meditation, her pretty arms hanging by -her side, her pretty head bent, her light fair figure gliding softly in -shadow over the low mossy paling and the close-clipped hedge within. She -was thinking only what it was most natural she should think, about the -stranger of last night; yet now and then into the stream of her musing -dropped, with the strangest disturbance and commotion, these few quiet -words spoken in her ear,--“It was here I saw you first.” How many times, -then, had Louis seen her? and why did he recollect so well that first -occasion? and what did he mean? - -While she was busy with these fancies, all at once, Marian could not -tell how, as suddenly as he appeared last night, Louis was here -again--here, within the garden of the Old Wood Lodge, walking by -Marian’s side, a second long shadow upon the close-clipped hedge and the -mossy paling, rousing her to a guilty consciousness that she had been -thinking of him, which brought blush after blush in a flutter of “sweet -shamefacednesse” to her cheek, and weighed down still more heavily the -shy and dreamy lids of these beautiful eyes. - -The most unaccountable thing in the world! but Marian, who had received -with perfect coolness the homage of Sir Langham, and whose conscience -smote her with no compunctions for the slaying of the gifted American, -had strangely lost her self-possession to-day. She only replied in the -sedatest and gravest manner possible to the questions of her -companion--looked anxiously at the parlour window for an opportunity of -calling Agnes, and with the greatest embarrassment longed for the -presence of some one to end this _tête-à-tête_. Louis, on the contrary, -exerted himself for her amusement, and was as different from the Louis -of last night as it was possible to conceive. - -“Ay, there it is,” said Louis, who had just asked her what she knew of -Oxford--“there it is, the seat of learning, thrusting up all its -pinnacles to the sun; but I think, if the world were wise, this glitter -and shining might point to the dark, dark ignorance outside of it, even -more than to the little glow within.” - -Now this was not much in Marian’s way--but her young squire, who would -have submitted himself willingly to her guidance had she given any, was -not yet acquainted at all with the ways of Marian. - -She said, simply looking at the big dome sullenly throwing off the -sunbeams, and at the glancing arrowheads, of more impressible and -delicate kind, “I think it is very pretty, with all those different -spires and towers; but do you mean it is the poor people who are so -very ignorant? It seems as though people could scarcely help learning -who live there.” - -“Yes, the poor people--I mean all of us,” said Louis slowly, and with a -certain painful emphasis. “A great many of the villagers, it is true, -have never been to school; but I do not count a man ignorant who knows -what he has to do, and how to do it, though he never reads a book, nor -has pen in hand all his life. I save my pity for a more unfortunate -ignorance than that.” - -“But that is very bad,” said Marian decidedly, “because there is more to -do than just to work, and we ought to know about--about a great many -things. Agnes knows better than I.” - -This was said very abruptly, and meant that Agnes knew better what -Marian meant to say than she herself did. The youth at her side, -however, showed no inclination for any interpreter. He seemed, indeed, -to be rather pleased than otherwise with this breaking off. - -“When I was away, I was in strange enough quarters, and learnt something -about knowledge,” said Louis, “though not much knowledge itself--heaven -help me! I suppose I was not worthy of that.” - -“And did you really run away?” asked Marian, growing bolder with this -quickening of personal interest. - -“I really ran away,” said the young man, a hot flush passing for an -instant over his brow; and then he smiled--a kind of daring desperate -smile, which seemed to say “what I have done once I can do again.” - -“And what did you do?” said Marian, continuing her inquiries: she forgot -her shyness in following up this story, which she knew and did not know. - -“What all the village lads do who get into scrapes and break the hearts -of the old women,” said Louis, with a somewhat bitter jesting. “I listed -for a soldier--but there was not even an old woman to break her heart -for me.” - -“Oh, there was Rachel!” cried Marian eagerly. - -“Yes, indeed, there was Rachel, my good little sister,” answered the -young man; “but her kind heart would have mended again had they let me -alone. It would have been better for us both.” - -He said this with a painful compression of his lip, which a certain -wistful sympathy in the mind of Marian taught her to recognise as the -sign of tumult and contention in this turbulent spirit. She hastened -with a womanly instinct to direct him to the external circumstances -again. - -“And you were really a soldier--a--not an officer--only a common man.” -Marian shrunk visibly from this, which was an actual and possible -degradation, feared as the last downfall for the “wild sons” of the -respectable families in the neighbourhood of Bellevue. - -“Yes, I belong to a class which has no privileges; there was not a -drummer in the regiment but was of better birth than I,” exclaimed -Louis. “Ah, that is folly--I did very well. In Napoleon’s army, had I -belonged to that day!--but in my time there was neither a general nor a -war.” - -“Surely,” said Marian, who began to be anxious about this unfortunate -young man’s “principles,” “you would not wish for a war?” - -“Should you think it very wrong?” said Louis with a smile. - -“Yes,” answered the young Mentor with immediate decision; for this -conversation befell in those times, not so very long ago, when everybody -declared that such convulsions were over, and that it was impossible, in -the face of civilisation, steamboats, and the electric telegraph, to -entertain the faintest idea of a war. - -They had reached this point in their talk, gradually growing more at -ease and familiar with each other, when it suddenly chanced that Mamma, -passing from her own sleeping-room to that of the girls, paused a moment -to look out at the small middle window in the passage between them, and -looking down, was amazed to see this haughty and misanthropic Louis -passing quietly along the trim pathway of the garden, keeping his place -steadily by Marian’s side. Mrs Atheling was not a mercenary mother, -neither was she one much given to alarm for her daughters, lest they -should make bad marriages or fall into unfortunate love; but Mrs -Atheling, who was scrupulously proper, did not like to see her pretty -Marian in such friendly companionship with “a young man in such an -equivocal position,” even though he was the brother of her friend. “We -may be kind to them,” said Mamma to herself, “but we are not to go any -further; and, indeed, it would be very sad if he should come to more -grief about Marian, poor young man;--how pretty she is!” - -Yes, it was full time Mrs Atheling should hasten down stairs, and, in -the most accidental manner in the world, step out into the garden. -Marian, unfortunate child! with her young roses startled on her sweet -young cheeks by this faint presaging breath of a new existence, had -never been so pretty all her life. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -THE YOUNG PEOPLE. - - -What Louis did or said, or how he made interest for himself in the -tender heart of Mamma, no one very well knows; yet a certain fact it -was, that from henceforward Mrs Atheling, like Miss Anastasia, became -somewhat contemptuous of Rachel in the interest of Louis, and pursued -eager and long investigations in her own mind--investigations most -fruitless, yet most persevering--touching the old lord and the unknown -conclusion of his life. All that was commonly known of the last years of -the last Lord Winterbourne was, that he had died abroad. Under the -pressure of family calamity he had gone to Italy, and there, people -said, had wandered about for several years, leading a desultory and -unsettled life, entirely out of the knowledge of any of his friends; and -when the present bearer of the title came home, bearing the intelligence -of his elder brother’s death, the most entire oblivion closed down upon -the foreign grave of the old lord. Back into this darkness Mrs -Atheling, who knew no more than common report, made vain efforts to -strain her kindly eyes, but always returned with a sigh of despair. -“No!” said Mamma, “he might be proud, but he was virtuous and -honourable. I never heard a word said against the old lord. Louis is -like him, but it must only be a chance resemblance. No! Mr Reginald was -always a wild bad man. Poor things! they _must_ be his children; for my -lord, I am sure, never betrayed or deceived any creature all his life.” - -But still she mused and dreamed concerning Louis; he seemed to exercise -a positive fascination over all these elder people; and Mrs Atheling, -more than she had ever desired a friendly gossip with Miss Willsie, -longed to meet once more with the Honourable Anastasia, to talk over her -conjectures and guesses respecting “the boy.” - -In the mean time, Louis himself, relieved from that chaperonship and -anxious introduction by his sister, which the haughty young man could -not endure, made daily increase of his acquaintance with the strangers. -He began to form part of their daily circle, expected and calculated -upon; and somehow the family life seemed to flow in a stronger and -fuller current with the addition of this vigorous element, the young -man, who oddly enough seemed to belong to them rather more than if he -had been their brother. He took the three girls, who were now so much -like three sisters, on long and wearying excursions through the wood and -over the hill. He did not mind tiring them out, nor was he extremely -fastidious about the roads by which he led them; for, generous at heart -as he was, the young man had the unconscious wilfulness of one who all -his life had known no better guidance than his own will. Sometimes, in -those long walks of theirs, the young Athelings were startled by some -singular characteristic of their squire, bringing to light in him, by a -sudden chance, things of which these gentle-hearted girls had never -dreamed. Once they discovered, lying deep among the great fern-leaves, -all brown and rusty with seed, the bright plumage of some dead game, for -the reception of which a village boy was making a bag of his pinafore. -“Carry it openly,” said Louis, at whose voice the lad started; “and if -any one asks you where it came from, send them to me.” This was his -custom, which all the village knew and profited by; he would not permit -himself to be restrained from the sport, but he scorned to lift the -slain bird, which might be supposed to be Lord Winterbourne’s, and left -it to be picked up by the chance foragers of the hamlet. At the first -perception of this, the girls, we are obliged to confess, were greatly -shocked--tears even came to Marian’s eyes. She said it was cruel, in a -little outbreak of terror, pity, and indignation. “Cruel--no!” said -Louis: “did my gun give a sharper wound than one of the score of -fashionable guns that will be waking all the echoes in a day or two?” -But Marian only glanced up at him hurriedly with her shy eyes, and said, -with a half smile, “Perhaps though the wound was no sharper, the poor -bird might have liked another week of life.” - -And the young man looked up into the warm blue sky over-head, all -crossed and trellised with green leaves, and looked around into the deep -September foliage, flaming here and there in a yellow leaf, a point of -fire among the green. “I think it very doubtful,” he said, sinking his -voice, though every one heard him among the noonday hush of the trees, -“if I ever can be so happy again. Do you not suppose it would be -something worth living for, instead of a week or a year of sadder -chances, to be shot upon the wing _now_?” - -Marian did not say a word, but shrank away among the bushes, clinging to -Rachel’s arm, with a shy instinctive motion. “Choose for yourself,” said -Agnes; “but do not decide so coolly upon the likings of the poor bird. I -am sure, had _he_ been consulted, he would rather have taken his chance -of the guns next week than lain so quiet under the fern-leaves now.” - -Whereupon the blush of youth for his own super-elevated and unreal -sentiment came over Louis’s face. Agnes, by some amusing process common -to young girls who are elder sisters, and whom nobody is in love with, -had made herself out to be older than Louis, and was rather disposed now -and then to interfere for the regulation of this youth’s improper -sentiments, and to give him good advice. - -And Lord Winterbourne arrived: they discovered the fact immediately by -the entire commotion and disturbance of everything about the village, by -the noise of wheels, and the flight of servants, to be descried -instantly in the startled neighbourhood. Then they began to see visions -of sportsmen, and flutters of fine ladies; and even without these -visible and evident signs, it would have been easy enough to read the -information of the arrivals in the clouded and lowering brow of Louis, -and in poor little Rachel’s distress, anxiety, and agitation. She, poor -child, could no longer join their little kindly party in the evening; -and when her brother came without her, he burst into violent outbreaks -of rage, indignation, and despair, dreadful to see. Neither mother nor -daughters knew how to soothe him; for it was even more terrible in their -fancy than in his experience to be the Pariah and child of degradation -in this great house. Moved by the intolerable burden of this his time of -trial, Louis at last threw himself upon the confidence of his new -friends, confided his uncertain and conflicting plans to them, relieved -himself of his passionate resentment, and accepted their sympathy. -Every day he came goaded half to madness, vowing his determination to -bear it no longer; but every day, as he sat in the old easy-chair, with -his handsome head half-buried in his hands, a solace, sweet and -indescribable, stole into Louis’s heart; he was inspired to go at the -very same moment that he was impelled to stay, by that same vision which -he had first seen in the summer twilight at the old garden-gate. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -A MEETING. - - -This state of things continued for nearly a fortnight after the arrival -of Lord Winterbourne and his party at the Hall. They saw Mrs Edgerley -passing through the village, and in church; but she either did not see -them, or did not think it necessary to take any notice of the girls. -Knowing better now the early connection between their own family and -Lord Winterbourne’s, they were almost glad of this--almost; yet -certainly it would have been pleasanter to decline _her_ friendly -advances, than to find her, their former patroness, quietly dropping -acquaintance with _them_. - -The grassy terraced road which led from Winterbourne village to the -highway, and which was fenced on one side by the low wall which -surrounded the stables and outhouses of the Rector, and by the hedge and -paling of the Old Wood Lodge, but on the other side was free and open to -the fields, which sloped down from it to the low willow-dropped banks of -one of those pale rivers, was not a road adapted either for vehicles or -horses. The Rivers family, however, holding themselves monarchs of all -they surveyed, stood upon no punctilio in respect to the pathway of the -villagers, and the family temper, alike in this one particular, brought -about a collision important enough to all parties concerned, and -especially to the Athelings; for one of those days, when a riding-party -from the Hall cantered along the path with a breezy waving and commotion -of veils and feathers and riding-habits, and a pleasant murmur of sound, -voices a little louder than usual under cover of the September gale -mixed only with the jingle of the harness--for the horses’ hoofs struck -no sound but that of a dull tread from the turf of the way--it pleased -Miss Anastasia, at the very hour and moment of their approach, to drive -her two grey ponies to the door of the Old Wood Lodge. Of course, it was -the simplest “accident” in the world, this unpremeditated “chance” -meeting. There was no intention nor foresight whatever in the matter. -When she saw them coming, Miss Anastasia “growled” under her breath, and -marvelled indignantly how they could dream of coming in such a body over -the grassed road of the villagers, cutting it to pieces with their -horses’ hoofs. She never paused to consider how the wheels of her own -substantial vehicle ploughed the road; and for her part, the leader of -the fair equestrians brightened with an instant hope of amusement. “Here -is cousin Anastasia, the most learned old lady in Banburyshire. -Delightful! Now, my love, you shall see the lion of the county,” cried -Mrs Edgerley to one of her young companions, not thinking nor caring -whether her voice reached her kinswoman or not. Lord Winterbourne, who -was with his daughter, drew back to the rear of the group instinctively. -Whatever was said of Lord Winterbourne, his worst enemy could not say -that he was brave to meet the comments of those whom he had harmed or -wronged. - -Miss Anastasia stepped from her carriage in the most deliberate manner -possible, nodded to Marian and Agnes, who were in the garden--and to -whose defence, seeing so many strangers, hastily appeared their -mother--and stood patting and talking to her ponies, in her brown cloth -pelisse and tippet, and with that oddest of comfortable bonnets upon her -head. - -“Cousin Anastasia, I vow! You dear creature, where have you been all -these ages? Would any one believe it? Ah, how delightful to live always -in the country; what a penalty we pay for town and its pleasures! Could -any one suppose that my charming cousin was actually older than me?” - -And the fashionable beauty, though she did begin to be faded, threw up -her delicate hands with their prettiest gesture, as she pointed to the -stately old lady before her, in her antique dress, and with unconcealed -furrows in her face. Once, perhaps, not even that beautiful complexion -of Mrs Edgerley was sweeter than that of Anastasia Rivers; but her -beauty had gone from her long ago--a thing which she cared not to -retain. She looked up with her kind imperious face, upon which were -undeniable marks of years and age. She perceived with a most evident and -undisguised contempt the titter with which this comparison was greeted. -“Go on your way, Louisa,” said Miss Rivers; “you were pretty once, -whatever people say of you now. Don’t be a fool, child; and I advise you -not to meddle with me.” - -“Delightful! is she not charming?” cried the fine lady, appealing to her -companion; “so fresh, and natural, and eccentric--such an acquisition in -the Hall! Anastasia, dear, do forget your old quarrel. It was not poor -papa’s fault that you were born a woman, though I cannot help confessing -it was a great mistake, _certainly_; but, only for once, you who are -such a dear, kind, benevolent creature, come to see _me_.” - -“Go on, Louisa, I advise you,” said the Honourable Anastasia with -extreme self-control. “Poor child, I have no quarrel with you, at all -events. You did not choose your father--there, pass on. I leave the -Hall to those who choose it; the Old Wood Lodge has more attraction for -me.” - -“And I protest,” cried Mrs Edgerley, “it is my sweet young friend, the -author of ----: my dearest child, what _is_ the name of your book? I have -_such_ a memory. Quite the sweetest story of the season; and I am dying -to hear of another. Are you writing again? Oh, pray say you are. I -should be heartbroken to think of waiting very long for it. You must -come to the Hall. There are some people coming who are dying to know -you, and I positively cannot be disappointed: no one ever disobeys _me_! -Come here and let me kiss, you pretty creature. Is she not the sweetest -little beauty in the world? and her sister has so much genius; it is -quite delightful! So you know my cousin Anastasia; isn’t she charming? -Now, good morning, coz.--good morning, dear--and be sure you come to the -Hall.” - -Miss Anastasia stood aside, watching grimly this unexpected -demonstration of friendship, and keenly criticising Agnes, who coloured -high with youthful dignity and resentment, and Marian, who drew back -abashed, with a painful blush, and a grieved and anxious consciousness -that Louis, unseen but seeing, was a spectator of this salutation, and -somehow would be quite as like to resent Mrs Edgerley’s careless -compliment to herself, “as if I had been his sister.” With a steady -observation the old lady kept her eyes upon her young acquaintances till -the horsemen and horsewomen of Mrs Edgerley’s train had passed. Then she -drew herself up to the utmost pitch of her extreme height, and, without -raising her eyes, made a profound curtsy to the last of the train--he on -his part lifted his hat, and bent to his saddle-bow. This was how Lord -Winterbourne and his brother’s daughter recognised each other. Perhaps -the wandering eyes in his bloodless face glanced a moment, shifting and -uncertain as they were, upon the remarkable figure of Miss Rivers, but -they certainly paused to take in, with one fixed yet comprehensive -glance, the mother and the daughters, the children playing in the -garden--the open door of the house--even it was possible he saw Louis, -though Louis had been behind, at the end of the little green, out of -sight, trying to train a wild honeysuckle round an extempore bower. Lord -Winterbourne scarcely paused, and did not offer the slightest apology -for his stare, but they felt, all of them, that he had marked the house, -and laid them under the visionary curse of his evil eye. When he had -passed, Miss Rivers put them in before her, with an imperative gesture. -“Let me know what’s brewing,” said the Honourable Anastasia, as she -reposed herself on the little new sofa in the old parlour. “There’s -mischief in his eye.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -THE BREWING OF THE STORM. - - -The visit of Miss Rivers was the most complimentary attention which she -could show to her new friends, for her visits were few, and paid only to -a very limited number of people, and these all of her own rank and -class. She was extremely curious as to their acquaintance with Mrs -Edgerley, and demanded to know every circumstance from its beginning -until now; and this peremptory old lady was roused to quite an eager and -animated interest in the poor little book of which, Agnes could not -forget, Mrs Edgerley did not remember so much as the name. The -Honourable Anastasia declared abruptly that she never read novels, yet -demanded to have _Hope Hazlewood_ placed without an instant’s delay in -her pony-carriage. “Do it at once, my dear: a thing which is done at the -moment cannot be forgotten,” said Miss Rivers. “You write books, eh? -Well, I asked you if you were clever; why did you not tell me at once?” - -“I did not think you would care; it was not worth while,” said Agnes -with some confusion, and feeling considerably alarmed by the idea of -this formidable old lady’s criticism. Miss Rivers only answered by -hurrying her out with the book, lest it might possibly be forgotten. -When the girls were gone, she turned to Mrs Atheling. “What can he do to -you,” said Miss Anastasia, abruptly, “eh? What’s Will Atheling doing? -Can he harm Will?” - -“No,” said Mamma, somewhat excited by the prospect of an enemy, yet -confident in the perfect credit and honour of the family father, whose -good name and humble degree of prosperity no enemy could overthrow. -“William has been where he is now for twenty years.” - -“So, so,” said Miss Rivers--“and the boy? Take care of these girls; it -might be in his devilish way to harm them; and I tell you, when you come -to know of it, send me word. So she writes books, this girl of yours? -She is no better than a child. Do you mean to say you are not proud?” - -Mrs Atheling answered as mothers answer when such questions are put to -them, half with a confession, half with a partly-conscious sophism, -about Agnes being “a good girl, and a great comfort to her papa and -me.” - -The girls, when they had executed their commission, looked doubtingly -for Louis, but found him gone as they expected. While they were still -lingering where he had been, Miss Rivers came to the door again, going -away, and when she had said good-by to Mamma, the old lady turned back -again without a word, and very gravely gathered one of the roses. She -did it with a singular formality and solemness as if it was a religious -observance rather than a matter of private liking; and securing it -somewhere out of sight in the fastenings of her brown pelisse, waved her -hand to them, saying in her peremptory voice, quite loud enough to be -heard at a considerable distance, that she was to send for them in a day -or two. Then she took her seat in the little carriage, and turned her -grey ponies, no very easy matter, towards the high-road. Her easy and -complete mastery over them was an admiration to the girls. “Bless you, -miss, she’d follow the hounds as bold as any squire,” said Hannah; “but -there’s a deal o’ difference in Miss Taesie since the time she broke her -heart.” - -Such an era was like to be rather memorable. The girls thought so, -somewhat solemnly, as they went to their work beside their mother. They -seemed to be coming to graver times themselves, gliding on in an -irresistible noiseless fashion upon their stream of fate. - -Louis came again as usual in the evening. He _had_ heard Mrs Edgerley, -and did resent her careless freedom, as Marian secretly knew he would; -which fact she who was most concerned, ascertained by his entire and -pointed silence upon the subject, and his vehement and passionate -contempt, notwithstanding, for Mrs Edgerley. - -“I suppose you are safe enough,” he said, speaking to the elder sister. -“You will not break your heart because she has forgotten the name of -your book--but, heaven help them, there are hearts which do! There are -unfortunate fools in this crazy world mad enough to be elated and to be -thrown into misery by a butterfly of a fine lady, who makes reputations. -You think them quite contemptible, do you? but there are such.” - -“I suppose they must be people who have no friends and no home--or to -whom it is of more importance than it is to me,” said Agnes; “for I am -only a woman, and nothing could make me miserable out of this Old Lodge, -or Bellevue.” - -“Ah--that is _now_,” said Louis quickly, and he glanced with an -instinctive reference at Marian, whose pallid roses and fluctuating mood -already began to testify to some anxiety out of the boundary of these -charmed walls. “The very sight of your security might possibly be hard -enough upon us who have no home--no home! nothing at all under heaven.” - -“Except such trifles as strength and youth and a stout heart, a sister -very fond of you, and some--some _friends_--and heaven itself, after -all, at the end. Oh, Louis!” said Agnes, who on this, as on other -occasions, was much disposed to be this “boy’s” elder sister, and -advised him “for his good.” - -He did not say anything. When he looked up at all from his bending -attitude leaning over the table, it was to glance with fiery devouring -eyes at Marian--poor little sweet Marian, already pale with anxiety for -him. Then he broke out suddenly--“That poor little sister who is very -fond of me--do you know what she is doing at this moment--singing to -them!--like the captives at Babylon, making mirth for the spoilers. And -my friends---- heaven! you heard what that woman ventured to say -to-day.” - -“My dear,” said Mrs Atheling, who confessed to treating Louis as a “son -of her own,” “think of heaven all the day long, and so much the better -for you--but I cannot have you using in this way such a name.” - -This simple little reproof did more for Louis than a hundred -philosophies. He laughed low, and with emotion took Mrs Atheling’s hand -for a moment between his own--said “thank you, mother,” with a momentary -smile of delight and good pleasure. Then his face suddenly flushed with -a dark and violent colour; he cast an apprehensive yet haughty glance at -Mrs Atheling, and drew his hand away. The stain in his blood was a -ghost by the side of Louis, and scarcely left him for an instant night -nor day. - -When he left them, they went to the door with him as they had been wont -to do, the mother holding a shawl over her cap, the girls with their -fair heads uncovered to the moon. They stood all together at the gate -speaking cheerfully, and sending kind messages to Rachel as they bade -him good-night--and none of the little group noticed a figure suddenly -coming out of the darkness and gliding along past the paling of the -garden. “What, boy, you here?” cried a voice suddenly behind Louis, -which made him start aside, and they all shrank back a little to -recognise in the moonlight the marble-white face of Lord Winterbourne. - -“What do you mean, sir, wandering about the country at this hour?” said -the stranger--“what conspiracy goes on here, eh?--what are _you_ doing -with a parcel of women? Home to your den, you skulking young -vagabond--what are you doing here?” - -Marian, the least courageous of the three, moved by a sudden impulse, -which was not courage but terror, laid her hand quickly upon Louis’s -arm. The young man, who had turned his face defiant and furious towards -the intruder, turned in an instant, grasping at the little timid hand as -a man in danger might grasp at a shield invulnerable, “You perceive, my -lord, I am beyond the reach either of your insults or your patronage -here,” said the youth, whose blood was dancing in his veins, and who at -that moment cared less than the merest stranger, who had never heard his -name, for Lord Winterbourne. - -“Come, my lad, if you are imposing upon these poor people--I must set -you right,” said the man who was called Louis’s father. “Do you know -what he is, my good woman, that you harbour this idle young rascal in -despite of my known wishes? Home, you young vagabond, home! This boy -is----” - -“My lord, my lord,” interposed Mrs Atheling, in sudden agitation, “if -any disgrace belongs to him, it is yours and not his that you should -publish it. Go away, sir, from my door, where you once did harm enough, -and don’t try to injure the poor boy--perhaps we know who he is better -than you.” - -What put this bold and rash speech into the temperate lips of Mamma, no -one could ever tell; the effect of it, however, was electric. Lord -Winterbourne fell back suddenly, stared at her with his strained eyes in -the moonlight, and swore a muttered and inaudible oath. “Home, you -hound!” he repeated in a mechanical tone, and then, waving his hand with -a threatening and unintelligible gesture, turned to go away. “So long as -the door is yours, my friend, I will take care to make no intrusion upon -it,” he said significantly before he disappeared; and then the shadow -departed out of the moonlight, the stealthy step died on the grass, and -they stood alone again with beating hearts. Mamma took Marian’s hand -from Louis, but not unkindly, and with an affectionate earnestness bade -him go away. He hesitated long, but at length consented, partly for her -entreaty, partly for the sake of Rachel. Under other circumstances this -provocation would have maddened Louis; but he wrung Agnes’s hand with an -excited gaiety as he lingered at the door watching a shadow on the -window whither Marian had gone with her mother. “I had best not meet him -on the road,” said Louis: “there is the Curate--for once, for your sake, -and the sake of what has happened, I will be gracious and take his -company; but to tell the truth, I do not care for anything which can -befall me to-night.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -A CRISIS. - - -Marian, whom her mother tenderly put to sleep that night, as if she had -been a child, yet who lay awake in the long cold hours before the dawn -in a vague and indescribable emotion, her heart stirring within her like -something which did not belong to her--a new and strange -existence--slept late the next morning, exhausted and worn out with all -this sudden and stormy influx of unknown feelings. Mamma, who, on the -contrary, was very early astir, came into the bed-chamber of her -daughters at quite an unusual hour, and, thankfully perceiving Marian’s -profound youthful slumber, stood gazing at the beautiful sleeper with -tears in her eyes. Paler than usual, with a shadow under her closed -eyelids, and still a little dew upon the long lashes--with one hand laid -in childish fashion under her cheek, and the other lying, with its -pearly rose-tipped fingers, upon the white coverlid, Marian, but for the -moved and human agitation which evidently had worn itself into repose, -might have looked like the enchanted beauty of the tale--but indeed she -was rather more like a child who had wept itself to sleep. Her sister, -stealing softly from her side, left her sleeping, and they put the door -ajar that they might hear when she stirred before they went, with hushed -steps and speaking in a whisper, down stairs. - -Mrs Atheling was disturbed more than she would tell; what she did say, -as Agnes and she sat over their silent breakfast-table, was an expedient -which herself had visibly no faith in. “My dear, we must try to prevent -him saying anything,” said Mrs Atheling, with her anxious brow: it was -not necessary to name names, for neither of them could forget the scene -of last night. - -Then by-and-by Mamma spoke again. “I almost fancy we should go home; she -might forget it if she were away. Agnes, my love, you must persuade him -not to say anything; he pays great attention to what you say.” - -“But, mamma--Marian?” said Agnes. - -“Oh, Agnes, Agnes, my dear beautiful child,” said Mrs Atheling, with a -sudden access of emotion, “it was only friendship, sympathy--her kind -heart; she will think no more of it, if nothing occurs to put it into -her head.” - -Agnes did not say anything, though she was extremely doubtful on this -subject; but then it was quite evident that Mamma had no faith in her -own prognostications, and regarded this first inroad into the family -with a mixture of excitement, dread, and agitation which it was not -comfortable to see. - -After their pretended breakfast, mother and daughter once more stole -up-stairs. They had not been in the room a moment, when Marian -woke--woke--started with fright and astonishment to see Agnes dressed, -and her mother standing beside her; and beginning to recollect, suddenly -blushed, and turning away her face, burning with that violent suffusion -of colour, exclaimed, “I could not help it--I could not help it; would -you stand by and see them drive him mad? Oh mamma, mamma!” - -“My darling, no one thinks of blaming you,” said Mrs Atheling, who -trembled a good deal, and looked very anxious. “We were all very sorry -for him, poor fellow; and you only did what you should have done, like a -brave little friend--what I should have done myself, had I been next to -him,” said Mamma, with great gravity and earnestness, but decidedly -overdoing her part. - -This did not seem quite a satisfactory speech to Marian. She turned away -again petulantly, dried her eyes, and with a sidelong glance at Agnes, -asked, “Why did you not wake me?--it looks quite late. I am not ill, am -I? I am sure I do not understand it--why did you let me sleep?” - -“Hush, darling! because you were tired and late last night,” said Mamma. - -Now this sympathy and tenderness seemed rather alarming than soothing to -Marian. Her colour varied rapidly, her breath came quick, tears gathered -to her eyes. “Has anything happened while I have been sleeping?” she -asked hastily, and in a very low tone. - -“No, no, my love, nothing at all,” said Mamma tenderly, “only we thought -you must be tired.” - -“Both you and Agnes were as late as me,--why were not you tired?” said -Marian, still with a little jealous fear. “Please, mamma, go away; I -want to get dressed and come down stairs.” - -They left her to dress accordingly, but still with some anxiety and -apprehension, and Mamma waited for Marian in her own room, while Agnes -went down to the parlour--just in time, for as she took her seat, Louis, -flushed and impatient, burst in at the door. - -Louis made a most hasty salutation, and was a great deal too eager and -hurried to be very well bred. He looked round the room with sudden -anxiety and disappointment. “Where is she?--I must see Marian,” cried -Louis. “What! you do not mean to say she is ill, after last night?” - -“Not ill, but in her own room,” said Agnes, somewhat confused by the -question. - -“I will wait as long as you please, if I must wait,” said Louis -impatiently; “but, Agnes! why should you be against me? Of course, I -forget myself; do you grudge that I should? I forget everything except -last night; let me see Marian. I promise you I will not distress her, -and if she bids me, I will go away.” - -“No, it is not that,” said Agnes with hesitation; “but, Louis, nothing -happened last night--pray do not think of it. Well, then,” she said -earnestly, as his hasty gesture denied what she said, “mamma begs you, -Louis, not to say anything to-day.” - -He turned round upon her with a blank but haughty look. “I -understand--my disgrace must not come here,” he said; “but _she_ did not -mind it; she, the purest lily upon earth! Ah! so that was a dream, was -it? And her mother--her mother says I am to go away?” - -“No, indeed--no,” said Agnes, almost crying. “No, Louis, you know -better; do not misunderstand us. She is so young, so gentle, and tender. -Mamma only asked, for all our sakes, if you would consent not to say -anything _now_.” - -To this softened form of entreaty the eager young man paid not the -slightest attention. He began to use the most unblushing cajolery to -win over poor Agnes. It did not seem to be Louis; so entirely changed -was his demeanour. It was only an extremely eager and persevering -specimen of the genus “lover,” without any personal individuality at -all. - -“What! not say anything? Could anybody ask such a sacrifice?” cried this -wilful and impetuous youth. “It might, as you say, be nothing at all, -though it seems life--existence, to me. Not know whether that hand is -mine or another’s--that hand which saved me, perhaps from murder?--for -he is an old man, though he is a fiend incarnate, and I might have -killed him where he stood.” - -“Louis! Louis!” cried Agnes, gazing at him in terror and excitement. He -grew suddenly calm as he caught her eye. - -“It is quite true,” he said with a grave and solemn calmness. “This man, -who has cursed my life, and made it miserable--this man, who dared -insult me before _her_ and you--do you think I could have been a man, -and still have borne that intolerable crown of wrong?” - -As he spoke, he began to pace the little parlour with impatient steps -and a clouded brow. Mrs Atheling, who had heard his voice, but had -restrained her anxious curiosity as long as possible, now came down -quietly, unable to keep back longer. Louis sprang to her side, took her -hand, led her about the room, pleading, reasoning, persuading. Mamma, -whose good heart from the first moment had been an entire and perfect -traitor, was no match at all for Louis. She gave in to him unresistingly -before half his entreaties were over; she did not make even half so good -a stand as Agnes, who secretly was in the young lover’s interest too. -But when they had just come to the conclusion that he should be -permitted to see Marian, Marian herself, whom no one expected, suddenly -entered the room. The young beauty’s pretty brow was lowering more than -any one before had ever seen it lower; a petulant contraction was about -her red lips, and a certain angry dignity, as of an offended child, in -her bearing. “Surely something very strange has happened this morning,” -said Marian, with a little heat; “even mamma looks as if she knew some -wonderful secret. I suppose every one is to hear of it but me.” - -At this speech the dismayed conspirators against Marian’s peace fell -back and separated. The other impetuous principal in the matter hastened -at once to the angry Titania, who only bowed, and did not even look at -him. The truth was, that Marian, much abashed at thought of her own -sudden impulse, was never in a mood less propitious; she felt as if she -herself had not done quite right--as if somehow she had betrayed a -secret of her own, and, now found out and detected, was obliged to use -the readiest means to cover it up again; and, besides, the hasty little -spirit, which had both pride and temper of its own, could not at all -endure the idea of having been petted and excused this morning, as if -“something had happened” last night. Now that it was perfectly evident -nothing had happened--now that Louis stood before her safe, handsome, -and eager, Marian concluded that it was time for her to stand upon her -defence. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -CLOUDS. - - -The end of it all was, of course--though Louis had an amount of trouble -in the matter which that impetuous young gentleman had not counted -upon--that Marian yielded to his protestations, and came forth full of -the sweetest agitation, tears, and blushes, to be taken to the kind -breast of the mother who was scarcely less agitated, and to be regarded -with a certain momentary awe, amusement, and sympathy by Agnes, whose -visionary youthful reverence for this unknown magician was just tempered -by the equally youthful imp of mischief which plays tricks upon the -same. But Mrs Atheling’s brow grew sadder and sadder with anxiety, as -she looked at the young man who now claimed to call her mother. What he -was to do--how Marian could bear all the chances and changes of the -necessarily long probation before them--what influence Lord Winterbourne -might have upon the fortunes of his supposed son--what Papa himself -would say to this sudden betrothal, and how he could reconcile himself -to receive a child, and a disgraced child of his old enemy, into his own -honourable house,--these considerations fluttered the heart and -disturbed the peace of the anxious mother, who already began to blame -herself heavily, yet did not see, after all, what else she could have -done. A son of shame, and of Lord Winterbourne!--a young man hitherto -dependent, with no training, no profession, no fortune, of no use in the -world. And her prettiest Marian!--the sweet face which won homage -everywhere, and which every other face involuntarily smiled to see. -Darker and darker grew the cloud upon the brow of Mrs Atheling; she went -in, out of sight of these two happy young dreamers, with a sick heart. -For the first time in her life she was dismayed at the thought of -writing to her husband, and sat idly in a chair drawn back from her -window, wearying herself out with most vain and unprofitable -speculations as to things which might have been done to avert this fate. - -No very long time elapsed, however, before Mrs Atheling found something -else to occupy her thoughts. Hannah came in to the parlour, solemnly -announcing a man at the door who desired to see her. With a natural -presentiment, very naturally arising from the excited state of her own -mind, Mrs Atheling rose, and hastened to the door. The man was an -attorney’s clerk, threadbare and respectable, who gave into her hand an -open paper, and after it a letter. The paper, which she glanced over -with hasty alarm, was a formal notice to quit, on pain of ejection, from -the house called the Old Wood Lodge, the property of Reginald, Lord -Winterbourne. “The property of Lord Winterbourne!--it is our--it is my -husband’s property. What does this mean?” cried Mrs Atheling. - -“I know nothing of the business, but Mr Lewis’s letter will explain it,” -said the messenger, who was civil but not respectful; and the anxious -mistress of the house hastened in with great apprehension and perplexity -to open the letter and see what this explanation was. It was not a very -satisfactory one. With a friendly spirit, yet with a most cautious and -lawyer-like regard to the interest of his immediate client, Mr Lewis, -the same person who had been intrusted with the will of old Miss -Bridget, and who was Lord Winterbourne’s solicitor, announced the -intention of his principal to “resume possession” of Miss Bridget’s -little house. “You will remember,” wrote the lawyer, “that I did not -fail to point out to you at the time the insecure nature of the tenure -by which this little property was held. Granted, as I believe it was, as -a gift simply for the lifetime of Miss Bridget Atheling, she had, in -fact, no right to bequeath it to any one, and so much of her will as -relates to this is null and void. I am informed that there are documents -in existence proving this fact beyond the possibility of dispute, and -that any resistance would be entirely vain. As a friend, I should advise -you not to attempt it; the property is actually of very small value, and -though I speak against the interest of my profession, I think it right -to warn you against entering upon an expensive lawsuit with a man like -Lord Winterbourne, to whom money is no consideration. For the sake of -your family, I appeal to you whether it would not be better, though at a -sacrifice of feeling, to give up without resistance the old house, which -is of very little value to any one, if it were not for my lord’s whim of -having no small proprietors in his neighbourhood. I should be sorry that -he was made acquainted with this communication. I write to you merely -from private feelings, as an old friend.” - -Mrs Atheling rose from her seat hastily, holding the papers in her hand. -“Resist him!” she exclaimed--“yes, certainly, to the very last;” but at -that moment there came in at the half-open door a sound of childish -riot, exuberant and unrestrained, which arrested the mother’s words, and -subdued her like a spell. Bell and Beau, rather neglected and thrown -into the shade for the first time in their lives, were indemnifying -themselves in the kitchen, where they reigned over Hannah with the most -absolute and unhesitating mastery. Mamma fell back again into her seat, -silent, pale, and with pain and terror in her face. Was this the first -beginning of the blight of the Evil Eye? - -And then she remained thinking over it sadly and in silence; sometimes, -disposed to blame herself for her rashness--sometimes with a natural -rising of indignation, disposed to repeat again her first outcry, and -resist this piece of oppression--sometimes starting with the sudden -fright of an anxious and timid mother, and almost persuaded at once, -without further parley, to flee to her own safe home, and give up, -without a word, the new inheritance. But she was not learned in the ways -of the world, in law, or necessary ceremonial. Resist was a mere vague -word to her, meaning she knew not what, and no step occurred to her in -the matter but the general necessity for “consulting a lawyer,” which -was of itself an uncomfortable peril. As she argued with herself, -indeed, Mrs Atheling grew quite hopeless, and gave up the whole matter. -She had known, through many changes, the success of this bad man, and in -her simple mind had no confidence in the abstract power of the law to -maintain the cause, however just, of William Atheling, who would have -hard ado to pay a lawyer’s fees, against Lord Winterbourne. - -Then she called in her daughters, whom Louis then only, and with much -reluctance, consented to leave, and held a long and agitated counsel -with them. The girls were completely dismayed by the news, and mightily -impressed by that new and extraordinary “experience” of a real enemy, -which captivated Agnes’s wandering imagination almost as much as it -oppressed her heart. As for Marian, she sat looking at them blankly, -turning from Mamma to Agnes, and from Agnes to Mamma, with a vague -perception that this was somehow because of Louis, and a very heavy -heartbreaking depression in her agitated thoughts. Marian, though she -was not very imaginative, had caught a tinge of the universal romance at -this crisis of her young life, and, cast down with the instant omen of -misfortune, saw clouds and storms immediately rising through that golden -future, of which Louis’s prophecies had been so pleasant to hear. - -And there could be no doubt that this suddenly formed engagement, hasty, -imprudent, and ill-advised as it was, added a painful complication to -the whole business. If it was known--and who could conceal from the -gossip of the village the constant visits of Louis, or his undisguised -devotion?--then it would set forth evidently in public opposition the -supposed father and son. “But Lord Winterbourne is not his father!” -cried Marian suddenly, with tears and vehemence. Mrs Atheling shook her -head, and said that people supposed so at least, and this would be a -visible sign of war. - -But no one in the family counsel could advise anything in this troubled -moment. Charlie was coming--that was a great relief and comfort. “If -Charlie knows anything, it should be the law,” said Mrs Atheling, with a -sudden joy in the thought that Charlie had been full six months at it, -and ought to be very well informed indeed upon the subject. And then -Agnes brought her blotting-book, and the good mother sat down to write -the most uncomfortable letter she had ever written to her husband in all -these two-and-twenty years. There was Marian’s betrothal, first of all, -which was so very unlike to please him--he who did not even know Louis, -and could form no idea of his personal gifts and compensations--and then -there was the news of this summons, and of the active and powerful enemy -suddenly started up against them. Mrs Atheling took a very long time -composing the letter, but sighed heavily to think how soon Papa would -read it, to the destruction of all his pleasant fancies about his little -home in the country, and his happy children. Charlie was coming--they -had all a certain faith in Charlie, boy though he was; it was the only -comfort in the whole prospect to the anxious eyes of Mamma. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -THE REV. LIONEL RIVERS. - - -The next day, somewhat to the consternation of this disturbed and -troubled family, they were honoured by a most unlooked-for and solemn -visit from the Rector. The Rector, in stature, form, and features, -considerably resembled Miss Anastasia, and was, as she herself -confessed, an undeniable Rivers, bearing all the family features and not -a little of the family temper. He seemed rather puzzled himself to give -a satisfactory reason for his call--saying solemnly that he thought it -right for the priest of the parish to be acquainted with all his -parishioners--words which did not come with half so much unction or -natural propriety from his curved and disdainful lip, as they would have -done from the bland voice of Mr Mead. Then he asked some ordinary -questions how they liked the neighbourhood, addressing himself to Mamma, -though his very grave and somewhat haughty looks were principally -directed to Agnes. Mrs Atheling, in spite of her dislike of the supreme -altitude of his churchmanship, had a natural respect for the clergyman, -who seemed the natural referee and adviser of people in trouble; and -though he was a Rivers, and the next heir after Lord Winterbourne’s only -son, it by no means followed on that account that the Rector entertained -any affectionate leaning towards Lord Winterbourne. - -“I knew your old relative very well,” said the Rector; “she was a woman -of resolute will and decided opinions, though her firmness, I am afraid, -was in the cause of error rather than of truth. I believe she always -entertained a certain regard for me, connected as she was with the -family, though I felt it my duty to warn her against her pernicious -principles before her death.” - -“Her pernicious principles! Was poor Aunt Bridget an unbeliever?” cried -Agnes, with an involuntary interest, and yet an equally involuntary and -natural spirit of opposition to this stately young man. - -“The word is a wide one. No--not an unbeliever, nor even a disbeliever, -so far as I am aware,” said the churchman, “but, even more dangerous -than a positive error of doctrine, holding these fatal delusions -concerning private opinion, which have been the bane of the Church.” - -There was a little pause after this, the unaccustomed audience being -somewhat startled, yet quite unprepared for controversy, and standing -beside in a little natural awe of the Rector, who ought to know so much -better than they did. Agnes alone felt a stirring of unusual -pugnacity--for once in her life she almost forgot her natural -diffidence, and would have liked nothing better than to throw down her -woman’s glove to the rampant churchman, and make a rash and vehement -onslaught upon him, after the use and wont of feminine controversy. - -“My own conviction is,” said the Rector with a little solemnity, yet -with a dissatisfied and fiery gleam in his eager dark eyes, “that there -is no medium between the infallible authority of the Church and the -wildest turmoil of heresy. This one rock a man may plant his foot -upon--all beyond is a boundless and infinite chaos. Therefore I count it -less perilous to be ill-informed or indifferent concerning some portions -of the creed, than to be shaken in the vital point of the Church’s -authority--the only flood-gate that can be closed against the boiling -tide of error, which, but for this safeguard, would overpower us all.” - -Having made this statement, which somehow he enunciated as if it were a -solemn duty, Mr Rivers left the subject abruptly, and returned to common -things. - -“You are acquainted, I understand,” he said, with haste and a little -emotion, “with my unfortunate young relatives at the Hall?” - -The question was so abrupt and unlooked for, that all the three, even -Mamma, who was not very much given to blushing, coloured violently. -“Louis and Rachel? Yes; we know them very well,” said Mrs Atheling, with -as much composure as she could summon to meet the emergency--which -certainly was not enough to prevent the young clergyman from discovering -a rather unusual degree of interest in the good mother’s answer. He -looked surprised, and turned a hurried glance upon the girls, who were -equally confused under his scrutiny. It was impossible to say which was -the culprit, if culprit there was. Mr Rivers, who was tall enough at -first, visibly grew a little taller, and became still more stately in -his demeanour than before. - -“I am not given to gossip,” he said, with a faint smile, “yet I had -heard that they were much here, and had given their confidence to your -family. I have not been so favoured myself,” he added, with a slight -curl of disdain upon his handsome lip. “The youth I know nothing of, -except that he has invariably repelled any friendship I could have shown -him; but I feel a great interest in the young lady. Had my sister been -in better health, we might have offered her an asylum, but that is -impossible in our present circumstances. You are doubtless better -acquainted with their prospects and intentions than I am. In case of the -event which people begin to talk about, what does Lord Winterbourne -intend they should do?” - -“We have not heard of any event--what is it?” cried Mrs Atheling, very -anxiously. - -“I have no better information than common report,” said the Rector; “yet -it is likely enough--and I see no reason to doubt; it is said that Lord -Winterbourne is likely to marry again.” - -They all breathed more freely after this; and poor little Marian, who -had been gazing at Mr Rivers with a blanched face and wide-open eyes, in -terror of some calamity, drooped forward upon the table by which she was -sitting, and hid her face in her hands with sudden relief. Was that all? - -“I was afraid you were about to tell us of some misfortune,” said Mrs -Atheling. - -“It is no misfortune, of course; nor do I suppose they are like to be -very jealous of a new claimant upon Lord Winterbourne’s affections,” -said the Rector; “but it seems unlikely, under their peculiar and most -unhappy circumstances, that they can remain at the Hall.” - -“Oh, mamma!” exclaimed Marian, in a half whisper, “he will be so very, -_very_ glad to go away!” - -“What I mean,” resumed Mr Rivers, who by no means lost this, though he -took no immediate notice of it--“what I wish is, that you would kindly -undertake to let them know my very sincere wish to be of service to -them. I cannot at all approve of the demeanour of the young man--yet -there may be excuses for him. If I can assist them in any legitimate -way, I beg you to assure them my best endeavours are at their service.” - -“Thank you, sir, thank you--thank you!” cried Mrs Atheling, faltering, -and much moved. “God knows they have need of friends!” - -“I suppose so,” said the Rector; “it does not often happen--friends are -woeful delusions in most cases--and indeed I have little hope of any man -who does not stand alone.” - -“Yet you offer service,” said Agnes, unable quite to control her -inclination to dispute his dogmatisms; “is not your opinion a -contradiction to your kindness?” - -“I hold no opinions,” said the Rector haughtily, with, for the instant, -a superb absurdity almost equal to Mr Endicott: he perceived it himself, -however, immediately, reddened, flashed his fiery eyes with a half -defiance upon his young questioner, and made an incomprehensible -explanation. - -“I am as little fortified against self-contradiction as my fellows,” -said Mr Rivers, “but I eschew vague opinions; they are dangerous for all -men, and doubly dangerous in a clergyman. I may be wrong in matters of -feeling; opinions I have nothing to do with--they are not in my way.” - -Again there followed a pause, for no one present was at all acquainted -with sentiments like these. - -“I am not sure whether we will continue long here,” said Mrs Atheling, -with a slight hesitation, half afraid of him, yet feeling, in spite of -herself, that she could consult no one so suitably as the Rector. “Lord -Winterbourne is trying to put us away; he says the house was only given -to old Miss Bridget for her life!” - -“Ah! but that is false, is it not?” said the Rector without any -ceremony. - -Mrs Atheling brightened at once. “We think so,” she said, encouraged by -the perfectly cool tone of this remark, which proved a false statement -on the part of my lord no wonder at all to his reverend relative; “but, -indeed, the lawyer advises us not to contest the matter, since Lord -Winterbourne does not care for expense, and we are not rich. I do not -know what my husband will say; but I am sure I will have a great grudge -at the law if we are forced, against justice, to leave the Old Wood -Lodge.” - -“Papa says it was once the property of the family, long, long before -Aunt Bridget got it from Lord Winterbourne,” said Agnes, with a little -eagerness. This shadow of ancestry was rather agreeable to the -imagination of Agnes. - -“And have you done anything--are you doing anything?” said the Hector. -“I should be glad to send my own man of business to you; certainly you -ought not to give up your property without at least a legal opinion upon -the matter.” - -“We expect my son to-morrow,” said Mrs Atheling, with a little pride. -“My son, though he is very young, has a great deal of judgment; and then -he has been--brought up to the law.” - -The Rector bowed gravely as he rose. “In that case, I can only offer my -good wishes,” said the churchman, “and trust that we may long continue -neighbours in spite of Lord Winterbourne. My sister would have been -delighted to call upon you, had she been able, but she is quite a -confirmed invalid. I am very glad to have made your acquaintance. Good -morning, madam; good morning, Miss Atheling. I am extremely glad to have -met with you.” - -The smallest shade of emphasis in the world invested with a different -character than usual these clergymanly and parochial words: for the -double expression of satisfaction was addressed to Agnes; it was to her -pointedly that his stately but reverential bow bore reference. He had -come to see the family; but he was glad to know Agnes, the intelligent -listener who followed his sermons--the eager bright young eyes which -flashed warfare and defiance on his solemn deliverances--and, unawares -to herself, saw through the pretences of his disturbed and troubled -spirit. Lionel Rivers was not very sensitively alive to the beautiful: -he saw little to attract his eye, much less his heart, in that pretty -drooping Marian, who was to every other observer the sweetest little -downcast princess who ever gained the magic succours of a fairy tale. -The Rector scarcely turned a passing glance upon her, as she sat in her -tender beauty by the table, leaning her beautiful head upon her hands. -But with a different kind of observation from that of Mr Agar, he read -the bright and constant comment on what he said himself, and what others -said, that ran and sparkled in the face of Agnes. She who never had any -lovers, had attracted one at least to watch her looks and her movements -with a jealous eye. He was not “in love,”--not the smallest hairbreadth -in the world. In his present mood, he would gladly have seen her form an -order of sisters, benevolent votaresses of St Frideswide, or of some -unknown goddess of the medieval world, build an antique house in the -“pointed” style, and live a female bishop ruling over the inferior -parish, and being ruled over by the clergy. Such a colleague the Rector -fancied would be highly “useful,” and he had never seen any one whom he -could elect to the office with so much satisfaction as Agnes Atheling. -How far she would have felt herself complimented by this idea was -entirely a different question, and one of which the Rector never -thought. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -CHARLIE. - - -The next day was the day of Charlie’s arrival. His mother and sisters -looked for him with anxiety, pleasure, and a little nervousness--much -concerned about Papa’s opinion, and not at all indifferent to Charlie’s -own. Rachel, who for two days past had been in a state of perfectly -flighty and overpowering happiness, joined the Athelings this evening, -at the risk of being “wanted” by Mrs Edgerley, and falling under her -displeasure, with a perfectly innocent and unconscious disregard of any -possible wish on the part of her friends to be alone with their new-come -brother. Rachel could form no idea whatever of that half-wished-for, -half-dreaded judgment of Papa, the anticipation of which so greatly -subdued Marian, and made Mrs Atheling herself so grave and pale. Louis, -with a clearer perception of the family crisis, kept away, though, as -his sister wisely judged, at no great distance, chewing the cud of -desperate and bitter fancy, almost half-repenting, for the moment, of -the rash attachment which had put himself and all his disadvantages upon -the judicial examination of a father and a brother. The idea of this -family committee sitting upon him, investigating and commenting upon his -miserable story, galled to the utmost the young man’s fiery spirit. He -had no real idea whatever of that good and affectionate father, who was -to Marian the first of men,--and had not the faintest conception of the -big boy. So it was only an abstract father and brother--the most -disagreeable of the species--at whom Louis chafed in his irritable -imagination. He too had come already out of the first hurried flush of -delight and triumph, to consider the step he had taken. Strangely into -the joy and pride of the young lover’s dream came bitter and heavy -spectres of self-reproach and foreboding--he, who had ventured to bind -to himself the heart of a sensitive and tender girl--he, who had already -thrown a shadow over her young life, filled her with premature -anxieties, and communicated to these young eyes, instead of their -fearless natural brightness, a wistful forecasting gaze into an adverse -world--he, who had not even a name to share with his bride! On this -memorable evening, Louis paced about by himself, crushing down the -rusted fern as he strode through the wood in painful self-communion. The -wind was high among the trees, and grew wild and fitful as the night -advanced, bringing down showers of leaves into all the hollows, and -raving with the most desolate sound in nature among the high tops of the -Scotch firs, which stood grouped by themselves, a reserved and austere -brotherhood, on one side of Badgeley Wood. Out of this leafy wilderness, -the evening lay quiet enough upon the open fields, the wan gleams of -water, and the deserted highway; but the clouds opened in a clear rift -of wistful, windy, colourless sky, just over Oxford, catching with its -pale half-light the mingled pinnacles and towers. Louis was too much -engrossed either to see or to hear the eerie sights and sounds of the -night, yet they had their influence upon him unawares. - -In the mean time, and at the same moment, in the quiet country gloaming, -which was odd, but by no means melancholy to him, Charlie trudged -sturdily up the high-road, carrying his own little bag, and thinking his -own thoughts. And down the same road, one talking a good deal, one very -little, and one not at all, the three girls went to meet him, three -light and graceful figures, in dim autumnal dresses--for now the -evenings became somewhat cold--fit figures for this sweet half-light, -which looked pleasant here, though it was so pale and ghostly in the -wood. The first was Rachel, who, greatly exhilarated by her unusual -freedom, and by all that had happened during these few days past, -almost led the little party, protesting she was sure to know Charlie, -and very near giddy in her unthinking and girlish delight. The second -was Agnes, who was very thoughtful and somewhat grave, yet still could -answer her companion; the third, a step behind, coming along very slow -and downcast, with her veil over her drooping face, and a shadow upon -her palpitating little heart, was Marian, in whose gentle mind was -something very like a heavy and despondent shadow of the tumult which -distracted her betrothed. Yet not that either--for there was no tumult, -but only a pensive and oppressive sadness, under which the young -sufferer remained very still, not caring to say a word. “What would papa -say?” that was the only audible voice in Marian Atheling’s heart. - -“There now, I am sure it is him--there he is,” cried Rachel; and it was -Charlie, beyond dispute, shouldering his carpet-bag. The greeting was -kindly enough, but it was not at all sentimental, which somewhat -disappointed Rachel, at whom Charlie gazed with visible curiosity. When -they turned with him, leading him home, Marian fell still farther back, -and drooped more than ever. Perhaps the big boy was moved with a -momentary sympathy--more likely it was simple mischief. “So,” said -Charlie in her ear, “the Yankee’s cut out.” - -Marian started a little, looked at him eagerly, and put her hand with an -appealing gesture on his arm. “Oh, Charlie, what did papa say?” asked -Marian, with her heart in her eyes. - -Charlie wavered for a moment between his boyish love of torture and a -certain dormant tenderness at the bottom of his full man’s heart, which -this great event happening to Marian had touched into life all at once. -The kinder sentiment prevailed after a moment’s pause of wicked -intention. “My father was not angry, May,” said the lad; and he drew his -shrinking sister’s pretty hand through his own arm roughly but kindly, -pleased to feel his own boyish strength a support to her. Marian was so -young too--very little beyond the rapid vicissitudes of a child. She -bounded forward on Charlie’s arm at the words, drooping no longer, but -triumphant and at ease in a moment, hurrying him up the ascending -high-road at a pace which did not at all suit Charlie, and outstripping -the entire party in her sudden flight to her mother with the good news. -That Papa should not be angry was all that Marian desired or hoped. - -At the door, in the darkness, the hasty girl ran into Mamma’s arms. “My -father is not angry,” she exclaimed, out of breath, faithfully repeating -Charlie’s words; and then Marian, once more the most serviceable of -domestic managers, hastened to light the candles on the tea-table, to -draw the chairs around this kindly board, to warn Hannah of the approach -of the heir of the house. Hannah came out into the hall to stand behind -Mrs Atheling, and drop a respectful curtsy to the young gentleman. The -punctilious old family attendant would have been inconsolable had she -missed this opportunity of “showing her manners,” and was extremely -grateful to Miss Marian, who did not forget her, though she had so many -things to think of of her own. - -The addition of Rachel slightly embarrassed the family party, and it had -the most marvellous effect upon Charlie, who had never before known any -female society except that of his sisters. Charlie was full three years -younger than the young stranger--distance enough to justify her in -treating him as a boy, and him in conceiving the greatest admiration for -her. Charlie, of all things in the world, grew actually _shy_ in the -company of his sisters’ friend. He became afraid of committing himself, -and at last began partly to believe his mother’s often-repeated -strictures on his “manners.” He did unquestionably look so big, so -_brusque_, so clumsy, beside this pretty little fairy Rachel, and his -own graceful sisters. Charlie hitched up his great shoulders, retreated -under the shadow of all those cloudy furrows on his brow, and had -actually nothing to say. And Mrs Atheling, occupied with her husband’s -long and anxious letter, forbore to question him; and the girls, anxious -as they still were, did not venture to say anything before Rachel. They -were not at all at their ease, and somewhat dull as they sat in the dim -parlour, inventing conversation, and trying not to show their visitor -that she was in the way. But she found it out at last, with a little -uneasy start and blush, and hastened to get her bonnet and say -good-night. No one seemed to fear that it would be difficult to find -Rachel’s escort, who was found accordingly the moment they appeared in -the garden, starting, as he did the first time of their meeting, from -the darkness of the angle at the end of the hedge. Marian ran forward to -him, giving Charlie’s message as it came all rosy and hopeful through -the alembic of her own comforted imagination. “Papa is quite pleased,” -said Marian, with her smiles and her blushes. She did not perceive the -suppressed vexation of Louis’s brow as he tried to brighten at her news. -For Marian could not have understood how this haughty and undisciplined -young spirit could scarcely manage to bow itself to the approbation and -judgment even of Papa. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -A CONSULTATION. - - -“And now, Charlie, my dear boy, I quite calculate on your knowing about -it, since you have been so long at the law,” said Mrs Atheling: “your -father is so much taken up about other matters, that he really says very -little about this. What are we to do?” - -Charlie, whose mobile brow was shifting up and shifting down with all -the marks of violent cogitation, bit his thumb at this, and took time -before he answered it. “The first thing to be done,” said Charlie, with -a little dogmatism, “is to see what evidence can be had--that’s what we -have got to do. Has nobody found any papers of the old lady’s?--she was -sure to have a lot--all your old women have.” - -“No one even thought of looking,” said Agnes, suddenly glancing up at -the old cabinet with all its brass rings--while Marian, restored to all -her gay spirits, promptly took her brother to task for his contempt of -old women. “You ought to see Miss Anastasia--she is a great deal bigger -than you,” cried Marian, pulling a shaggy lock of Charlie’s black hair. - -“Stuff!--who’s Miss Anastasia?” was the reply. - -“And that reminds me,” said Mrs Atheling, “that we ought to have let her -know. Do you remember what she said, Agnes?--she was quite sure my lord -was thinking of something--and we were to let her know.” - -“What about, mother?--and who’s Miss Anastasia?” asked Charlie once -more: he had to repeat his question several times before any answer -came. - -“Who is Miss Anastasia? My dear, I forgot you were a stranger. She -is--well, really I cannot pretend to describe Miss Rivers,” said Mrs -Atheling, with a little nervousness. “I have always had a great respect -for her, and so has your father. She is a very remarkable person, -Charlie. I never have known any one like her all my life.” - -“But _who_ is she, mother? Is she any good?” repeated the impatient -youth. - -Mrs Atheling looked at her son with a certain horror. - -“She is one of the most remarkable persons in the county,” said Mrs -Atheling, with all the local spirit of a Banburyshire woman, born and -bred--“she is a great scholar, and a lady of fortune, and the only child -of the old lord. How strange the ways of Providence are, children!--what -a difference it might have made in everything had Miss Anastasia been -born a man instead of a woman.” “Indeed,” confessed Mamma, breaking off -in an under-tone, “I do really believe it would have been more suitable, -even for herself.” - -“I suppose we’re to come at it at last,” said Charlie despairingly: -“she’s a daughter of the tother lord--now, I want to know what she’s got -to do with us.” - -“My dear,” said Mrs Atheling eagerly, and with evident pleasure, “I -wrote to your father, I am sure, all about it. She has called upon us -twice in the most friendly way, and has quite taken a liking for the -girls.” - -“And she was old Aunt Bridget’s pupil, and her great friend; and it was -on account of her that the old lord gave Aunt Bridget this house,” added -Agnes, finding out, though not very cleverly, what Charlie’s questions -meant. - -“And she hates Lord Winterbourne,” said Marian in an expressive -appendix, with a distinct emphasis of sympathy and approval on the -words. - -“Now I call that satisfaction,” said Charlie,--“that’s something like -the thing. So I suppose she must have had to do with the whole business, -and knows all about it--eh? Why didn’t you tell me so at once?--why, -she’s the first person to see, of course. I had better seek her out -to-morrow morning--first thing.” - -“You!” Mamma looked with motherly anxiety, mixed with disapproval. It -was so impossible, even with the aid of all partialities, to make out -Charlie to be handsome. And Miss Anastasia came of a handsome race, and -had a prejudice in favour of good looks. Then, though his large loose -limbs began to be a little more firmly knitted and less unmanageable, -and though he was now drawing near eighteen, he was still only a boy. -“My dear,” said Mrs Atheling, “she is a very particular old lady, and -takes dislikes sometimes, and very proud besides, and might not desire -to be intruded on; and I think, after all, as you do not know her, and -they do, I think it would be much better if the girls were to go.” - -“The girls!” exclaimed Charlie with a boy’s contempt--“a great deal they -know about the business! You listen to me, mother. I’ve been reading up -hard for six months, and I know something about the evidence that does -for a court of law--women don’t--it’s not in reason; for I’d like to see -the woman that could stand old Foggo’s office, pegging in at these old -fellows for precedent, and all that stuff. You don’t suppose I mind what -your old lady thinks of me--and I know what I want, which is the main -thing, after all. You tell me where she lives--that’s all I want to -know--and see if I don’t make something of it before another day.” - -“Where she lives?--it is six miles off, Charlie: you don’t know the -way--and, indeed, you don’t know her either, my poor boy.” - -“Don’t you trouble about that--that’s my business, mother,” said -Charlie; “and a man can’t lose his way in the country unless he tries--a -long road, and a fingerpost at every crossing. When a man wants to lose -himself, he had better go to the City--there’s no fear in your plain -country roads. You set me on the right way--you know all the places -hereabout--and just for this once, mother, trust me, and let me manage -it my own way.” - -“I always did trust you, Charlie,” said Mrs Atheling evasively; but she -did not half like her son’s enterprise, and greatly objected to put Miss -Anastasia’s friendship in jeopardy by such an intrusion as this. - -However, the young gentleman now declared himself tired, and was -conducted up-stairs in state, by his mother and sisters--first to Mrs -Atheling’s own room to inspect it, and kiss, half reluctantly, half with -genuine fondness, the little slumbering cherub faces of Bell and Beau. -Then he had a glimpse of the snowy decorations of that young-womanly and -pretty apartment of his sisters, and was finally ushered into the little -back-room, his own den, from which the lumber had been cleared on -purpose for his reception. They left him then to his repose, and dreams, -if the couch of this young gentleman was ever visited by such fairy -visitants, and retired again themselves to that dim parlour, to read -over in conclave Papa’s letter, and hold a final consultation as to what -everybody should do. - -Papa’s letter was very long, very anxious, and very affectionate, and -had cost Papa all the leisure of two long evenings, and all his -unoccupied hours for two days at the office. He blamed his wife a -little, but it was very quietly,--he was grieved for the premature step -the young people had taken, but did not say a great deal about his -grief,--and he was extremely concerned, and evidently did not express -half of his concern, about his pretty Marian, for whom he permitted -himself to say he had expected a very different fate. There was not much -said of personal repugnance to Louis, and little comment upon his -parentage, but they could see well enough that Papa felt the matter very -deeply, and that it needed all his affection for themselves, and all his -charity for the stranger, to reconcile him to it. But they were both -very young, he said, _and must do nothing precipitate_--which sentence -Papa made very emphatic by a very black and double underscoring, and -which Mrs Atheling, but fortunately not Marian, understood to mean that -it was a possibility almost to be hoped for, that this might turn out -one of those boy-and-girl engagements made to be broken, and never come -to anything after all. - -It was consolatory certainly, and set their minds at rest, but it was -not a very cheering letter, and by no means justified Marian’s joyful -announcement that “papa was quite pleased.” And so much was the good -father taken up with his child’s fortune, that it was only in a -postscript he took any notice of Lord Winterbourne’s summons and their -precarious holding of the Old Wood Lodge. “We will resist, of course,” -said Papa. He did not know a great deal more about how to resist than -they did, so he wisely left the question to Charlie, and to “another -day.” - -And now came the question, what everybody was to do? which gradually -narrowed into much smaller limits, and became wholly concerned with what -Charlie was to do, and whether he should visit Miss Anastasia. He had -made up his mind to it with no lack of decision. What could his mother -and his sisters say, save make a virtue of necessity, and yield their -assent? - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -CHARLIE’S MISSION. - - -Early on the next morning, accordingly, Charlie set out for Abingford. -It was with difficulty he escaped a general superintendence of his -toilette, and prevailed upon his mother to content herself with brushing -his coat, and putting into something like arrangement the stray locks of -his hair; but at last, tolerably satisfied with his appearance, and -giving him many anxious instructions as to his demeanour towards Miss -Anastasia, Mrs Atheling suffered him to depart upon his important -errand. The road was the plainest of country roads, through the wood and -over the hill, with scarcely a turn to distract the regard of the -traveller. A late September morning, sunny and sweet, with yellow leaves -sometimes dropping down upon the wind, and all the autumn foliage in a -flush of many colours under the cool blue, and floating clouds of a -somewhat dullish yet kindly sky. The deep underground of ferns, where -they were not brown, were feathering away into a rich yellow, which -relieved and brought out all the more strongly the harsh dark green of -these vigorous fronds, rusted with seed; and piles of firewood stood -here and there, tied up in big fagots, provision for the approaching -winter. The birds sang gaily, still stirring among the trees; and now -and then into the still air, and far-off rural hum, came the sharp -report of a gun, or the ringing bark of a dog. Charlie pushed upon his -way, wasting little time in observation, yet observing for all that, -with the novel pleasure of a town-bred lad, and owning a certain -exhilaration in his face, and in his breast, as he sped along the -country road, with its hedges and strips of herbage; that straight, -clear, even road, with its milestones and fingerposts, and one -market-cart coming along in leisurely rural fashion, half a mile off -upon the far-seen way. The walk to Abingford was a long walk even for -Charlie, and it was nearly an hour and a half from the time of his -leaving home, when he began to perceive glimpses through the leaves of a -little maze of water, two or three streams, splitting into fantastic -islands the houses and roofs before him, and came in sight of an old -gateway, with two windows and a high peaked roof over it, which strode -across the way. Charlie, who was entirely unacquainted with such -peculiarities of architecture, made a pause of half-contemptuous boyish -observation, looking up at the windows, and supposing it must be rather -odd to live over an archway. Then he bethought him of asking a loitering -country lad to direct him to the Priory, which was done in the briefest -manner possible, by pointing round the side of the gate to a large door -which almost seemed to form part of it. “There it be,” said Charlie’s -informant, and Charlie immediately made his assault upon the big door. - -Miss Rivers was at home. He was shown into a large dim room full of -books, with open windows, and green blinds let down to the floor, -through which the visitor could only catch an uncertain glimpse of -waving branches, and a lawn which sloped to the pale little river: the -room was hung with portraits, which there was not light enough to see, -and gave back a dull glimmer from the glass of its great bookcases. -There was a large writing-table before the fireplace, and a great -easy-chair placed by it. This was where Miss Anastasia transacted -business; but Charlie had not much time, if he had inclination, for a -particular survey of the apartment, for he could hear a quick and -decided step descending a stair, as it seemed, and crossing over the -hall. “Charles Atheling--who’s _Charles_ Atheling?” said a peremptory -voice outside. “I know no one of the name.” - -With the words on her lips Miss Anastasia entered the room. She wore a -loose morning-dress, belted round her waist with a buckled girdle, and a -big tippet of the same; and her cap, which was not intended to be -pretty, but only to be comfortable, came down close over her ears, snow -white, and of the finest cambric, but looking very homely and familiar -indeed to the puzzled eyes of Charlie. Not her homely cap, however, nor -her odd dress, could make Miss Anastasia less imperative or formidable. -“Well sir,” she said, coming in upon him without very much ceremony, -“which of the Athelings do you belong to, and what do you want with me?” - -“I belong to the Old Wood Lodge,” said Charlie, almost as briefly, “and -I want to ask what you know about it, and how it came into Aunt -Bridget’s hands.” - -“What I know about it? Of course I know everything about it,” said Miss -Anastasia. “So you’re young Atheling, are you? You’re not at all like -your pretty sisters; not clever either, so far as I can see, eh? What -are you good for, boy?” - -Charlie did not say “stuff!” aloud, but it was only by a strong effort -of self-control. He was not at all disposed to give any answer to the -question. “What has to be done in the mean time is to save my father’s -property,” said Charlie, with a boyish flush of offence. - -“Save it, boy! who’s threatening your father’s property? What! do you -mean to tell me already that he’s fallen foul of Will Atheling?” said -the old lady, drawing her big easy-chair to her big writing-table, and -motioning Charlie to draw near. “Eh? why don’t you speak? tell me the -whole at once.” - -“Lord Winterbourne has sent us notice to leave,” said Charlie; “he says -the Old Wood Lodge was only Aunt Bridget’s for life, and is his now. I -have set the girls to look up the old lady’s papers; we ourselves know -nothing about it, and I concluded the first thing to be done was to come -and ask you.” - -“Good,” said Miss Anastasia; “you were perfectly right. Of course it is -a lie.” - -This was said perfectly in a matter-of-course fashion, without the least -idea, apparently, on the part of the old lady, that there was anything -astonishing in the lie which came from Lord Winterbourne. - -“I know everything about it,” she continued; “my father made over the -little house to my dear old professor, when we supposed she would have -occasion to leave me: _that_ turned out a vain separation, thanks to -_him_ again;” and here Miss Rivers grew white for an instant, and -pressed her lips together. “Please Heaven, my boy, he’ll not be -successful this time. No. I know everything about it; we’ll foil my lord -in this.” - -“But there must have been a deed,” said Charlie; “do you know where the -papers are?” - -“Papers! I tell you I am acquainted with every circumstance--I myself. -You can call me as a witness,” said the old lady. “No, I can’t tell you -where the papers are. What’s about them? eh? Do you mean to say they are -of more consequence than me?” - -“There are sure to be documents on the other side,” said Charlie; “the -original deed would settle the question, without needing even a trial: -without it Lord Winterbourne has the better chance. Personal testimony -is not equal to documents in a case like this.” - -“Young Atheling,” said Miss Rivers, drawing herself up to her full -height, “do you think a jury of this county would weigh _his_ word -against mine?” - -Charlie was considerably embarrassed. “I suppose not,” he said, somewhat -abruptly; “but this is not a thing of words. Lord Winterbourne will -never appear at all; but if he has any papers to produce proving his -case, the matter will be settled at once; and unless we have -counterbalancing evidence of the same kind, we’d better give it up -before it comes that length.” - -He said this half impatient, half despairing. Miss Rivers evidently took -up this view of the question with dissatisfaction; but as he persevered -in it, came gradually to turn her thoughts to other means of assisting -him. “But I know of no papers,” she said, with disappointment; “my -father’s solicitor, to be sure, he is the man to apply to. I shall make -a point of seeing him to-morrow; and what papers I have I will look -over. By the by, now I remember it, the Old Wood Lodge belonged to her -grandfather or great-grandfather, dear old soul, and came to us by some -mortgage or forfeit. It was given back--_restored_, not bestowed upon -her. For her life!--I should like to find out now what he means by such -a lie!” - -Charlie, who could throw no light upon this subject, rose to go, -somewhat disappointed, though not at all discouraged. The old lady -stopped him on his way, carried him off to another room, and -administered, half against Charlie’s will, a glass of wine. “Now, young -Atheling, you can go,” said Miss Anastasia. “I’ll remember both you and -your business. What are they bringing you up to? eh?” - -“I’m in a solicitor’s office,” said Charlie. - -“Just so--quite right,” said Miss Anastasia. “Let me see you baffle -_him_, and I’ll be your first client. Now go away to your pretty -sisters, and tell your mother not to alarm herself. I’ll come to the -Lodge in a day or two; and if there’s documents to be had, you shall -have them. Under any circumstances,” continued the old lady, dismissing -him with a certain stateliness, “you can call _me_.” - -But though she was a great lady, and the most remarkable person in the -county, Charlie did not appreciate this permission half so much as he -would have appreciated some bit of wordy parchment. He walked back -again, much less sure of his case than when he set out with the hope of -finding all he wanted at Abingford. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -SEARCH. - - -When Charlie reached home again, very tired, and in a somewhat moody -frame of mind, he found the room littered with various old boxes -undergoing examination, and Agnes seated before the cabinet, with a -lapful of letters, and her face bright with interest and excitement, -looking them over. At the present moment, she held something of a very -perplexing nature in her hand, which the trained eye of Charlie caught -instantly, with a flash of triumph. Agnes herself was somewhat excited -about it, and Marian stood behind her, looking over her shoulder, and -vainly trying to decipher the ancient writing. “It’s something, mamma,” -cried Agnes. “I am sure, if Charlie saw it, he would think it something; -but I cannot make out what it is. Here is somebody’s seal and somebody’s -signature, and there, I am sure, that is Atheling; and a date, ‘xiij. of -May, M.D.LXXII.’ What does that mean, Marian? M. a thousand, D. five -hundred; there it is! I am sure it is an old deed--a real something -ancestral--1572!” - -“Give it to me,” said Charlie, stretching his hand for it over her -shoulder. No one had heard him come in. - -“Oh, Charlie, what did Miss Anastasia say?” cried Marian; and Agnes -immediately turned round away from the cabinet, and Mamma laid down her -work. Charlie, however, took full time to examine the yellow old -document they had found, though he did not acknowledge that it posed him -scarcely less than themselves, before he spoke. - -“She said she’d look up her papers, and speak to the old gentleman’s -solicitor. I don’t see that _she’s_ much good to us,” said Charlie. “She -says I might call her as a witness, but what’s the good of a witness -against documents? This has nothing to do with Aunt Bridget, Agnes--have -you found nothing more than this? Why, you know there must have been a -deed of some kind. The old lady could not have been so foolish as to -throw away her title. Property without title-deeds is not worth a straw; -and the man that drew up her will is my lord’s solicitor! I say, he must -be what the Yankees call a smart man, this Lord Winterbourne.” - -“I am afraid he has no principle, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling with a -sigh. - -“And a very bad man--everybody hates him,” said Marian under her breath. - -She spoke so low that she did not receive that reproving look of Mamma -which was wont to check such exclamations. Marian, though she had a will -of her own, and was never like to fall into a mere shadow and reflection -of her lover, as his poor little sister did, had unconsciously imbibed -Louis’s sentiments. She did not know what it was to _hate_, this -innocent girl. Had she seen Lord Winterbourne thrown from his horse, or -overturned out of his carriage, these ferocious sentiments would have -melted in an instant into help and pity; but in the abstract view of the -matter, Marian pronounced with emotion the great man’s sentence, -“Everybody hates Lord Winterbourne.” - -“That is what the old lady said,” exclaimed Charlie; “she asked me who I -thought would believe him against her? But that’s not the question. I -don’t want to pit one man against another. My father’s worth twenty of -Lord Winterbourne! But that’s no matter. The law cares nothing at all -for his principles. What title has he got, and what title have -you?--that’s what the law’s got to say. Now, I’ll either have something -to put in against him or I’ll not plead. It’s no use taking a step in -the matter without proof.” - -“And won’t that do, Charlie?” asked Mrs Atheling, looking wistfully at -the piece of parchment, signed and sealed, which was in Charlie’s hands. - -“That! why, it’s two hundred and fifty years old!” said Charlie. “I -don’t see what it refers to yet, but it’s very clear it can’t be to Miss -Bridget. No, mother, that won’t do.” - -“Then, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling, “I am very sorry to think of it; -but, after all, we have not been very long here, and we might have laid -out more money, and formed more attachments to the place, if we had gone -on much longer; and I think I shall be very glad to get back to -Bellevue. Marian, my love, don’t cry; this need not make any difference -with _anything_; but I think it is far better just to make up our minds -to it, and give up the Old Wood Lodge.” - -“Mother! do you think I mean that?” cried Charlie; “we must find the -papers, that’s what we must do. My father’s as good an Englishman as the -first lord in the kingdom; I’d not give in to the king unless he was in -the right.” - -“And not even then, unless you could not help it,” said Agnes, laughing; -“but I am not half done yet; there is still a great quantity of -letters--and I should not be at all surprised if this romantic old -cabinet, like an old bureau in a novel, had a secret drawer.” - -Animated by this idea, Marian ran to the antique little piece of -furniture, pressing every projection with her pretty fingers, and -examining into every creak. But there was no secret drawer--a fact which -became all the more apparent when a drawer _was_ discovered, which once -had closed with a spring. The spring was broken, and the once-secret -place was open, desolate, and empty. Miss Bridget, good old lady, had no -secrets, or at least she had not made any provision for them here. - -Agnes went on with her examination the whole afternoon, drawn aside and -deluded to pursue the history of old Aunt Bridget’s life through scores -of yellow old letters, under the pretence that something might be found -in some of them to throw light upon this matter; for a great many -letters of Miss Bridget’s own--careful “studies” for the production -itself--were tied up among the others; and it would have been amusing, -if it had not been sad, to sit on this little eminence of time, looking -over that strange faithful self-record of the little weaknesses, the -ladylike pretences, the grand Johnsonian diction of the old lady who was -dead. Poor old lady! Agnes became quite abashed and ashamed of herself -when she felt a smile stealing over her lip. It seemed something like -profanity to ransack the old cabinet, and smile at it. In its way, this, -as truly as the grass-mound, in Winterbourne churchyard, was Aunt -Bridget’s grave. - -But still nothing could be found. Charlie occupied himself during the -remainder of the day in giving a necessary notice to Mr Lewis the -solicitor, that they had made up their minds to resist Lord -Winterbourne’s claim; and when the evening closed in, and the candles -were lighted, Louis made his first public appearance since the arrival -of the stranger, somewhat cloudy, and full of all his old haughtiness. -This cloud vanished in an instant at the first glance. Whatever -Charlie’s qualities were, criticism was not one of them; it was clear -that though his “No” might be formidable enough of itself, Charlie had -not been a member of any solemn committee, sitting upon the pretensions -of Louis. He gave no particular regard to Louis even now, but sat poring -over the old deed, deciphering it with the most patient laboriousness, -with his head very close over the paper, and a pair of spectacles -assisting his eyes. The spectacles were lent by Mamma, who kept them, -not secretly, but with a little reserve, in her work-basket, for special -occasions when she had some very fine stitching to do, or was busy with -delicate needlework by candle-light; and nothing could have been more -oddly inappropriate to the face of Charlie, with all the furrows of his -brow rolled down over his eyebrows, and his indomitable upper-lip -pressed hard upon its fellow, than these same spectacles. Then they made -him short-sighted, and were only of use when he leaned closely over the -paper--Charlie did not mind, though his shoulders ached and his eyes -filled with water. He was making it out! - -And Agnes, for her part, sat absorbed with her lapful of old letters, -reading them all over with passing smiles and gravities, growing into -acquaintance with ever so many extinct affairs,--old stories long ago -come to the one conclusion which unites all men. Though she felt herself -virtuously reading for a purpose, she had forgotten all about the -purpose long ago, and was only wandering on and on by a strange -attraction, as if through a city of the dead. But it was quite -impossible to think of the dead among these yellow old papers--the -littlest trivial things of life were so quite living in them, in these -unconscious natural inferences and implications. And Louis and Marian, -sometimes speaking and often silent, were going through their own -present romance and story; and Mamma, in her sympathetic middle age, -with her work-basket, was tenderly overlooking all. In the little dim -country parlour, lighted with the two candles, what a strange epitome -there was of a whole world and a universal life. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - -DOUBTS AND FEARS. - - -Louis had not been told till this day of the peril which threatened the -little inheritance of the Athelings. When he did hear of it, the young -man gnashed his teeth with that impotent rage which is agony, desperate -under the oppression which makes even wise men mad. He scorned to say a -word of any further indignities put upon himself; but Rachel told of -them with tears and outcries almost hysterical--how my lord had -challenged him with bitter taunts to put on his livery and earn the -bread he ate--how he had been expelled from his room which he had always -occupied, and had an apartment now among the rooms of the servants--and -how Lord Winterbourne threatened to advertise him publicly as a vagabond -and runaway if he ventured beyond the bounds of the village, or tried to -thrust himself into any society. Poor little Rachel, when she came in -the morning faint and heart-broken to tell her story, could scarcely -speak for tears, and was only with great difficulty soothed to a -moderate degree of calm. But still she shrank with the strangest -repugnance from going away. It scarcely could be attachment to the home -of her youth, for it had always been an unhappy shelter--nor could it be -love for any of the family; the little timid spirit feared she knew not -what terrors in the world with which she had so little acquaintance. -Lord Winterbourne to her was not a mere English peer, of influence only -in a certain place and sphere, but an omnipotent oppressor, from whose -power it would be impossible to escape, and whose vigilance could not be -eluded. If she tried to smile at the happy devices of Agnes and Marian, -how to establish herself in their own room at Bellevue, and lodge Louis -close at hand, it was a very wan and sickly smile. She confessed it was -dreadful to think that he should remain, exposed to all these insults; -but she shrank with fear and trembling from the idea of Louis going -away. - -The next evening, just before the sun set, the whole youthful party--for -Rachel, by a rare chance, was not to be “wanted” to-night--strayed along -the grassy road in a body towards the church. Agnes and Marian were both -with Louis, who had been persuaded at last to speak of his own -persecutions, while Rachel came behind with Charlie, kindly pointing out -for him the far-off towers of Oxford, the two rivers wandering in a -maze, and all the features of the scene which Charlie did not know, and -amused, sad as she was, in her conscious seniority and womanhood, at the -shyness of the lad. Charlie actually began to be touched with a -wandering breath of sentiment, had been seen within the last two days -reading a poetry book, and was really in a very odd and suspicious -“way.” - -“No,” said Louis, upon whom his betrothed and her sister were hanging -eagerly, comforting and persuading--“no; I am not in a worse position. -It stings me at the moment, I confess; but I am filled with contempt for -the man who insults me, and his words lose their power. I could almost -be seduced to stay when he begins to struggle with me after this -downright fashion; but you are perfectly right for all that, and within -a few days I must go away.” - -“A few days? O Louis!” cried Marian, clinging to his arm. - -“Yes; I have a good mind to say to-morrow, to enhance my own value,” -said Louis. “I am tempted--ay, both to go and stay--for sake of the -clinging of these little hands. Never mind, our mother will come home -all the sooner; and what do you suppose I will do?” - -“I think indeed, Louis, you should speak to the Rector,” said Agnes, -with a little anxiety. “O no; it is very cruel of you, and you are -quite wrong; he did not mean to be very kind in that mocking way--he -meant what he said--he wanted to do you service; and so he would, and -vindicate you when you were gone, if you only would cease to be so very -grand for two minutes, and let him know.” - -“Am I so very grand?” said Louis, with a momentary pique. “I have -nothing to do with your rectors--I know what he meant, whatever he might -say.” - -“It is a great deal more than he does himself, I am sure of that,” said -Agnes with a puzzled air. “He means what he says, but he does not always -know what he means; and neither do I.” - -Marian tried a trembling little laugh at her sister’s perplexity, but -they were rather too much moved for laughing, and it did not do. - -“Now, I will tell you what my plan is,” said Louis. “I do not know what -he thinks of me, nor do I expect to find his opinion very favourable; -but as that is all I can look for anywhere, it will be the better -probation for me,” he added, with a rising colour and an air of -haughtiness. “I will not enlist, Marian. I have no longer any dreams of -the marshal’s _baton_ in the soldier’s knapsack. I give up rank and -renown to those who can strive for them. You must be content with such -honour as a man can have in his own person, Marian. When I leave you, I -will go at once to your father.” - -“Oh, Louis, will you? I am so glad, so proud!” and again the little -hands pressed his arm, and Marian looked up to him with her radiant -face. He had not felt before how perfectly magnanimous and noble his -resolution was. - -“I think it will be very right,” said Agnes, who was not so -enthusiastic; “and my father will be pleased to see you, Louis, though -you doubt him as you doubt all men. But look, who is this coming here?” - -They were scarcely coming here, seeing they were standing still under -the porch of the church, a pair of very tall figures, very nearly equal -in altitude, though much unlike each other. One of them was the Rector, -who stood with a solemn bored look at the door of his church, which he -had just closed, listening, without any answer save now and then a grave -and ceremonious bow, to the other “individual,” who was talking very -fluently, and sufficiently loud to be heard by others than the Rector. -“Oh, Agnes!” cried Marian, and “Hush, May!” answered her sister; they -both recognised the stranger at a glance. - -“Yes, this is the pride of the old country,” said the voice; “here, sir, -we can still perceive upon the sands of time the footprints of our Saxon -ancestors. I say ours, for my youthful and aspiring nation boasts as the -brightest star in her banner the Anglo-Saxon blood. _We_ preserve the -free institutions--the hatred of superstition, the freedom of private -judgment and public opinion, the great inheritance developed out of the -past; but Old England, sir, a land which I venerate, yet pity, keeps -safe in her own bosom the external traces full of instruction, the -silent poetry of Time--that only poetry which she can refuse to share -with us.” - -To this suitable and appropriate speech, congenial as it must have been -to his feelings, the Rector made no answer, save that most deferential -and solemn bow, and was proceeding with a certain conscientious -haughtiness to show his visitor some other part of the building, when -his eye was attracted by the approaching group. He turned to them -immediately with an air of sudden relief. - -So did Mr Endicott, to whom, to do him justice, not all the old churches -in Banburyshire, nor all the opportunities of speechmaking, nor even -half-a-dozen rectors who were within two steps of a peerage, could have -presented such powerful attractions as did that beautiful blushing face -of Marian Atheling, drooping and falling back under the shadow of Louis. -The Yankee hastened forward with his best greeting. - -“When I remember our last meeting,” said Mr Endicott, bending his thin -head forward with the most unusual deference, that tantalising vision of -what might have been, “I think myself fortunate indeed to have found you -so near your home. I have been visiting your renowned city--one of -those twins of learning, whose antiquity is its charm. In my country our -antiquities stretch back into the eternities; but we know nothing of the -fourteenth or the fifteenth century in our young soil. My friend the -Rector has been showing me his church.” - -Mr Endicott’s friend the Rector stared at him with a haughty amazement, -but came forward without saying anything to the new-comers; then he -seemed to pause a moment, doubtful how to address Louis--a doubt which -the young man solved for him instantly by taking off his hat with an -exaggerated and solemn politeness. They bowed to each other loftily, -these two haughty young men, as two duellists might have saluted each -other over their weapons. Then Louis turned his fair companion gently, -and, without saying anything, led her back again on the road they had -just traversed. Agnes followed silently, and feeling very awkward, with -the Rector and Mr Endicott on either hand. The Rector did not say a -word. Agnes only answered in shy monosyllables. The gifted American had -it all his own way. - -“I understand Viscount Winterbourne and Mrs Edgerley are at Winterbourne -Hall,” said Mrs Endicott. “She is a charming person; the union of a -woman of fashion and a woman of literature is one so rarely seen in this -land.” - -“Yes,” said Agnes, who knew nothing else to say. - -“For myself,” said Mr Endicott solemnly, “I rejoice to find the poetic -gift alike in the palace of the peer and the cottage of the peasant, -bringing home to all hearts the experiences of life; in the sumptuous -apartments of the Hall with Mrs Edgerley, or in the humble parlour of -the worthy and respectable middle class--Miss Atheling, with you.” - -“Oh!” cried Agnes, starting under this sudden blow, and parrying it with -all the skill she could find. “Do you like Oxford, Mr Endicott? Have you -seen much of the country about here?” - -But it was too late. Mr Endicott caught a shy backward glance of Marian, -and, smothering a mortal jealousy of Louis, eagerly thrust himself -forward to answer it--and the Rector had caught his unfortunate words. -The Rector drew himself up to a still more lofty height, if that was -possible, and walked on by Agnes’s side in a solemn and stately -silence--poor Agnes, who would have revived a little in his presence but -for that arrow of Mr Endicott’s, not knowing whether to address him, or -whether her best policy was to be silent. She went on by his side, -holding down her head, looking very small, very slight, very young, -beside that dignified and stately personage. At last he himself -condescended to speak. - -“Am I to understand, Miss Atheling,” said the Rector, very much in the -same tone as he might have asked poor little Billy Morrell at school, -“Are you the boy who robbed John Parker’s orchard?”--“Am I to -understand, as I should be disposed to conclude from what this person -says, that, like my fashionable cousin at the Hall, you have written -novels?--or is it only the hyperbole of that individual’s ordinary -speech?” - -“No,” said Agnes, very guilty, a convicted culprit, yet making bold to -confess her guilt. “I am very sorry he said it, but it is true; only I -have written just one novel. Do you think it wrong?” - -“I think a woman’s intellect ought to be receptive without endeavouring -to produce,” said the Rector, in a slightly acerbated tone. -“Intelligence is the noblest gift of a woman; originality is neither to -be wished nor looked for.” - -“I do not suppose I am very guilty of that either,” said Agnes, -brightening again with that odd touch of pugnacity, as she listened once -more to this haughty tone of dogmatism from the man who held no -opinions. “If you object only to originality, I do not think you need be -angry with me.” - -She was half inclined to play with the lion, but the lion was in a very -ill humour, and would see no sport in the matter. To tell the truth, the -Rector was very much fretted by this unlooked-for intelligence. He felt -as if it were done on purpose, and meant as a personal offence to him, -though really, after all, for a superior sister of St Frideswide, this -unfortunate gift of literature was rather a recommendation than -otherwise, as one might have thought. - -So the Rev. Lionel Rivers stalked on beside Agnes past his own door, -following Louis, Marian, and Mr Endicott to the very gate of the Old -Wood Lodge. Then he took off his hat to them all, wished them a -ceremonious good-night, and went home extremely wrathful, and in a most -unpriestly state of mind. He could not endure to think that the common -outer world had gained such a hold upon that predestined Superior of the -sisters of St Frideswide. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - -SOME PROGRESS. - - -After a long and most laborious investigation of the old parchment, -Charlie at last triumphantly made it out to be an old conveyance, to a -remote ancestor, of this very little house, and sundry property -adjoining, on which the Athelings had now no claim. More than two -hundred and fifty years ago!--the girls were as much pleased with it as -if it had been an estate, and even Charlie owned a thrill of -gratification. They felt themselves quite long-descended and patrician -people, in right of the ancestor who had held “the family property” in -1572. - -But it was difficult to see what use this could be of in opposition to -the claim of Lord Winterbourne. Half the estates in the country at least -had changed hands during these two hundred and fifty years; and though -it certainly proved beyond dispute that the Old Wood Lodge had once been -the property of the Athelings, it threw no light whatever on the title -of Miss Bridget. Mrs Atheling looked round upon the old walls with much -increase of respect; she wondered if they really could be so old as -that; and was quite reverential of her little house, being totally -unacquainted with the periods of domestic architecture, and knowing -nothing whatever of archaic “detail.” - -Miss Anastasia, however, remembered her promise. Only two or three days -after Charlie’s visit to her, the two grey ponies made their appearance -once more at the gate of the Old Wood Lodge. She was not exactly -triumphant, but had a look of satisfaction on her face, and evidently -felt she had gained something. She entered upon her business without a -moment’s delay. - -“Young Atheling, I have brought you all that Mr Temple can furnish me -with,” said Miss Anastasia--“his memorandum taken from my father’s -instructions. He tells me there was a deed distinct and formal, and -offers to bear his witness of it, as I have offered mine.” - -Charlie took eagerly out of her hand the paper she offered to him. “It -is a copy out of his book,” said Miss Anastasia. It was headed thus: -“_Mem._--To convey to Miss Bridget Atheling, her heirs and assigns, the -cottage called the Old Wood Lodge, with a certain piece of land -adjoining, to be described--partly as a proof of Lord Winterbourne’s -gratitude for services, partly as restoring property acquired by his -father--to be executed at once.” - -The date was five-and-twenty years ago; and perhaps nothing but justice -to her dead friend and to her living ones could have fortified Miss -Anastasia to return upon that time. She sat still, looking at Charlie -while he read it, with her cheek a little blanched and her eye brighter -than usual. He laid it down with a look of impatience, yet satisfaction. -“Some one,” said Charlie, “either for one side or for the other side, -must have this deed.” - -“Your boy is hard to please,” said Miss Rivers. “I have offered to -appear myself, and so does Mr Temple. What, boy, not content!” - -“It is the next best,” said Charlie; “but still not so good as the deed; -and the deed must exist somewhere; nobody would destroy such a thing. -Where is it likely to be?” - -“Young Atheling,” said Miss Anastasia, half amused, half with -displeasure, “when I want to collect evidence, you shall do it for me. -Has he had a good education?--eh?” - -“To _you_ I am afraid he will seem a very poor scholar,” said Mrs -Atheling, with a little awe of Miss Anastasia’s learning; “but we did -what we could for him; and he has always been a very industrious boy, -and has studied a good deal himself.” - -To this aside conversation Charlie paid not the smallest attention, but -ruminated over the lawyer’s memorandum, making faces at it, and bending -all the powers of his mind to the consideration--where to find this -deed! “If it’s not here, nor in her lawyer’s, nor with this old lady, -_he’s_ got it,” pronounced Charlie; but this was entirely a private -process, and he did not say a word aloud. - -“I’ve read her book,” said Miss Rivers, with a glance aside at Agnes; -“it’s a very clever book: I approve of it, though I never read novels: -in my day, girls did no such things--all the better for them now. Yes, -my child, don’t be afraid. I’ll not call you unfeminine--in my opinion, -it’s about the prettiest kind of fancy-work a young woman can do.” - -Under this applause Agnes smiled and brightened; it was a great deal -more agreeable than all the pretty sayings of all the people who were -dying to know the author of _Hope Hazlewood_, in the brief day of her -reputation at the Willows. - -“And as for the pretty one,” said Miss Anastasia, “she, I suppose, -contents herself with lovers--eh? What is the meaning of this? I suppose -the child’s heart is in it. The worse for her--the worse for her!” - -For Marian had blushed deeply, and then become very pale; her heart was -touched indeed, and she was very despondent. All the other events of the -time were swallowed up to Marian by one great shadow--Louis was going -away! - -Whereupon Mrs Atheling, unconsciously eager to attract the interest of -Miss Anastasia, who very likely would be kind to the young people, sent -Marian up-stairs upon a hastily-invented errand, and took the old lady -aside to tell her what had happened. Miss Rivers was a good deal -surprised--a little affected. “So--so--so,” she said slowly, “these -reckless young creatures--how ready they are to plunge into all the -griefs of life! And what does Will Atheling say to this nameless boy?” - -“I cannot say my husband is entirely pleased,” said Mrs Atheling, with a -little hesitation; “but he is a very fine young man; and to see our -children happy is the great thing we care for, both William and me.” - -“How do you know it will make her happy?” asked Miss Anastasia somewhat -sharply. “The child flushes and pales again, pretty creature as she is, -like a woman come into her troubles. A great deal safer to write novels! -But what is done can’t be undone; and I am glad to hear of it on account -of the boy.” - -Then Miss Anastasia made a pause, thinking over the matter. “I have -found some traces of my father’s wanderings,” she said again, with a -little emotion: “if the old man was tempted to sin in his old days, -though it would be a shame to hear of, I should still be glad to make -sure; and if by any chance,” continued the old lady, reddening with the -maidenly and delicate feeling of which her fifty years could not deprive -her--“if by any chance these unfortunate children should turn out to be -nearly related to me, I will of course think it my duty to provide for -them as if they were lawful children of my father’s house.” - -It cost her a little effort to say this--and Mrs Atheling, not venturing -to make any comment, looked on with respectful sympathy. It was very -well for Miss Anastasia to say, but how far Louis would tolerate a -provision made for him was quite a different question. The silence was -broken again by the old lady herself. - -“This bold boy of yours has set me to look over all my old papers,” said -Miss Anastasia, with a twinkle of satisfaction and amusement in her eye, -as she looked over at Charlie, still making faces at the lawyer’s note. -“Now that I have begun for _her_ sake, dear old soul, I continue for my -own, and for curiosity: I would give a great deal to find out the story -of these children. Young Atheling, if I some time want your services, -will you give them to me?” - -Charlie looked up with a boyish flush of pleasure. “As soon as this -business is settled,” said Charlie. Miss Anastasia, whom his mother -feared to look at lest she should be offended, smiled approvingly; -patted the shoulder of Agnes as she passed her, left “her love for the -other poor child,” and went away. Mrs Atheling looked after her with a -not unnatural degree of complacency. “Now, I think it very likely indeed -that she will either leave them something, or try what she can do for -Louis,” said Mamma; she did not think how impossible it would be to do -anything for Louis, until Louis graciously accepted the service; nor -indeed, that the only thing the young man could do under his -circumstances was to trust to his own exertions solely, and seek service -from none. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - -A GREAT DISCOVERY. - - -The visit of Miss Rivers was an early one, some time before their -mid-day dinner; and the day went on quietly after its usual fashion, and -fell into the stillness of a sunny afternoon, which looked like a -reminiscence of midsummer among these early October days. Mrs Atheling -sat in her big chair, knitting, with a little drowsiness, a little -stocking--though this was a branch of art in which Hannah was found to -excel, and had begged her mistress to leave to her. Agnes sat at the -table with her blotting-book, busy with her special business; Charlie -was writing out a careful copy of the old deed. The door was open, and -Bell and Beau, under the happy charge of Rachel, ran back and forwards, -out and in, from the parlour to the garden, not omitting now and then a -visit to the kitchen, where Hannah, covered all over with her white bib -and apron, was making cakes for tea. Their merry childish voices and -prattling feet gave no disturbance to the busy people in the parlour; -neither did the light fairy step of Rachel, nor even the songs she sang -to them in her wonderful voice--they were all so well accustomed to its -music now. Marian and Louis, who did not like to lose sight of each -other in these last days, were out wandering about the fields, or in the -wood, thinking of little in the world except each other, and that great -uncertain future which Louis penetrated with his fiery glances, and of -which Marian wept and smiled to hear. Mamma sitting at the window, -between the pauses of her knitting and the breaks of her gentle -drowsiness, looked out for them with a little tender anxiety. Marian, -the only one of her children who was “in trouble,” was nearest of all at -that moment to her mother’s heart. - -When suddenly a violent sound of wheels from the high-road broke in upon -the stillness, then a loud voice calling to horses, and then a dull -plunge and heavy roll. Mrs Atheling lifted her startled eyes, drowsy no -longer, to see what was the matter, just in time to behold, what shook -the little house like the shock of a small earthquake, Miss Anastasia’s -two grey horses, trembling with unusual exertion, draw up with a bound -and commotion at the little gate. - -And before the good mother could rise to her feet, wondering what could -be the cause of this second visit, Miss Rivers herself sprang out of -the carriage, and came into the house like a wind, almost stumbling over -Rachel, and nearly upsetting Bell and Beau. She did not say a word to -either mother or daughter, she only came to the threshold of the -parlour, waved her hand imperiously, and cried, “Young Atheling, I want -_you_!” - -Charlie was not given to rapid movements, but there was no -misunderstanding the extreme emotion of this old lady. The big boy got -up at once and followed her, for she went out again immediately. Then -Mrs Atheling, sitting at the window in amaze, saw her son and Miss -Anastasia stand together in the garden, conversing with great -earnestness. She showed him a book, which Charlie at first did not seem -to understand, to the great impatience of his companion. Mrs Atheling -drew back troubled, and in the most utter astonishment--what could it -mean? - -“Young Atheling,” said Miss Anastasia abruptly, “I want you to give up -this business of your father’s immediately, and set off to Italy on -mine. I have made a discovery of the most terrible importance: though -you are only a boy I can trust you. Do you hear me?--it is to bring to -his inheritance my father’s son!” - -Charlie looked up in her face astonished, and without comprehension. “My -father’s business is of importance to us,” he said, with a momentary -sullenness. - -“So it is; my own man of business shall undertake it; but I want an -agent, secret and sure, who is not like to be suspected,” said Miss -Anastasia. “Young Atheling, look here!” - -Charlie looked, but not with enthusiasm. The book she handed him was an -old diary of the most commonplace description, each page divided with -red lines into compartments for three days, with printed headings for -Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and so on, and columns for money. The wind -fluttered the leaves, so that the only entry visible to Charlie was one -relating to some purchase, which he read aloud, bewildered and -wondering. Miss Anastasia, who was extremely moved and excited, looked -furious, and as if she was almost tempted to administer personal -chastisement to the blunderer. She turned over the fluttered leaves with -an impetuous gesture. “Look here,” she said, pointing to the words with -her imperative finger, and reading them aloud in a low, restrained, but -most emphatic voice. The entry was in the same hand, duly dated under -the red line--“Twins--one boy--and Giulietta safe. Thank God. My sweet -young wife.” - -“Now go--fly!” cried Miss Anastasia, “find out their birthday, and then -come to me for money and directions. I will make your fortune, boy; you -shall be the richest pettifogger in Christendom. Do you hear me, young -Atheling--do you hear me! He is the true Lord Winterbourne--he is my -father’s lawful son!” - -To say that Charlie was not stunned by this sudden suggestion, or that -there was no answer of young and generous enthusiasm, as well as of -professional eagerness in his mind, to the address of Miss Rivers, would -have been to do him less than justice. “Is it Italy?--I don’t know a -word of Italian,” cried Charlie. “Never mind, I’ll go to-morrow. I can -learn it on the way.” - -The old lady grasped the boy’s rough hand, and stepped again into her -carriage. “Let it be to-morrow,” she said, speaking very low; “tell your -mother, but no one else, and do not, for any consideration, let it come -to the ears of Louis--Louis, my father’s boy!--But I will not see him, -Charlie; fly, boy, as if you had wings!--till you come home. I will meet -you to-morrow at Mr Temple’s office--you know where that is--at twelve -o’clock. Be ready to go immediately, and tell your mother to mention it -to no creature till I see her again.” - -Saying which, Miss Rivers turned her ponies, Charlie hurried into the -house, and his mother sat gazing out of the window, with the most blank -and utter astonishment. Miss Anastasia had not a glance to spare for -the watcher, and took no time to pull her rose from the porch. She drove -home again at full speed, solacing her impatience with the haste of her -progress, and repeating, under her breath, again and again, the same -words. “One boy--and Giulietta safe. My sweet young wife!” - - - END OF VOL. II. - - - PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH. - - - * * * * * - - - - - THE ATHELINGS - - - - - 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. III. - - WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS - EDINBURGH AND LONDON - MDCCCLVII - - ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN BLACKWOOD’S MAGAZINE. - - - - - THE ATHELINGS - - BOOK III.--WINTERBOURNE HALL - - - - - THE ATHELINGS. - - - - -BOOK III.--CHAPTER I. - -AN OLD STORY. - - -“Now, mother,” said Charlie, “I’m in real earnest. My father would tell -me himself if he were here. I want to understand the whole concern.” - -Mrs Atheling and her son were in Charlie’s little room, with its one -small lattice-window, overshadowed and embowered in leaves--its plain -uncurtained bed, its small table, and solitary chair. Upon this chair, -with a palpitating heart, sat Mrs Atheling, and before her stood the -resolute boy. - -And she began immediately, yet with visible faltering and hesitation, to -tell him the story she had told the girls of the early connection -between the present Lord Winterbourne and the Atheling family. But -Charlie’s mind was excited and preoccupied. He listened, almost with -impatience, to the sad little romance of his father’s young sister, of -whom he had never heard before. It did not move him at all as it had -moved Agnes and Marian. Broken hearts and disappointed loves were very -far out of Charlie’s way; something entirely different occupied his own -imagination. He broke forth with a little effusion of impatience when -the story came to an end. “And is this all? Do you mean to say this is -the whole, mother? And my father had never anything to do with him but -through a girl!” - -“You are very unfeeling, Charlie,” said Mrs Atheling, who wiped her eyes -with real emotion, yet with a little policy too, and to gain time. “She -was a dear innocent girl, and your father was very fond of her--reason -enough to give him a dislike, if it were not sinful, to the very name of -Lord Winterbourne.” - -“I had better go on with my packing, then,” said Charlie. “So, that was -all? I suppose any scamp in existence might do the same. Do you really -mean to tell me, mother, that there was nothing but this?” - -Mrs Atheling faltered still more under the steady observation of her -son. “Charlie,” said his mother, with agitation, “your father never -would mention it to any one. I may be doing very wrong. If he only were -here himself to decide! But if I tell you, you must give me your word -never so much as to hint at it again.” - -Charlie did not give the necessary pledge, but Mrs Atheling made no -pause. She did not even give him time to speak, however he might have -been inclined, but hastened on in her own disclosure with agitation and -excitement. “You have heard Papa tell of the young gentleman--he whom -you all used to be so curious about--whom your father did a great -benefit to,” said Mrs Atheling, in a breathless hurried whisper. -“Charlie, my dear, I never said it before to any creature--that was -_him_.” - -She paused only a moment to take breath. “It was before we knew how he -had behaved to dear little Bride,” she continued, still in haste, and in -an undertone. “What he did was a forgery--a forgery! people were hanged -for it then. It was either a bill, or a cheque, or something, and Mr -Reginald had written to it another man’s name. It happened when Papa was -in the bank, and before old Mr Lombard died--old Mr Lombard had a great -kindness for your father, and we had great hopes then--and by good -fortune the thing was brought to Papa. Your father was always very -quick, Charlie--he found it out in a moment. So he told old Mr Lombard -of it in a quiet way, and Mr Lombard consented he should take it back to -Mr Reginald, and tell him it was found out, and hush all the business -up. If your papa had not been so quick, Charlie, but had paid the money -at once, as almost any one else would have done, it all must have been -found out, and he would have been hanged, as certain as anything--he, a -haughty young gentleman, and a lord’s son!” - -“And a very good thing, too,” exclaimed Charlie; “saved him from doing -any more mischief. So, I suppose now, it’s all my father’s blame.” - -“This Lord Winterbourne is a bad man,” said Mrs Atheling, taking no -notice of her son’s interruption: “first he was furious to William, and -then he cringed and fawned to him; and of course he had it on his -conscience then about poor little Bride, though we did not know--and -then he raved, and said he was desperate, and did not know what to do -for money. Your father came home to me, quite unhappy about him; for he -belonged to the same country, and everybody tried to make excuses for Mr -Reginald, being a young man, and the heir. So William made it up in his -own mind to go and tell the old lord, who was in London then. The old -lord was a just man, but very proud. He did not take it kind of William, -and he had no regard for Mr Reginald; but for the honour of the family -he sent him away. Then we lost sight of him long, and Aunt Bridget took -a dislike to us, and poor little Bride was dead, and we never heard -anything of the Lodge or the Hall for many a year; but the old lord died -abroad, and Mr Reginald came home Lord Winterbourne. That was all we -ever knew. I thought your father had quite forgiven him, Charlie--we had -other things to think of than keeping up old grudges--when all at once -it came to be in the newspapers that Lord Winterbourne was a political -man, that he was making speeches everywhere, and that he was to be one -of the ministry. When your father saw that, he blazed up into such an -anger! I said all I could, but William never minded me. He never was so -bitter before, not even when we heard of little Bride. He said, Such a -man to govern us and all the people!--a forger! a liar!--and sometimes, -I think, he thought he would expose the whole story, and let everybody -know.” - -“Time enough for that,” said Charlie, who had listened to all this -without comment, but with the closest attention. “What he did once he’ll -do again, mother; but we’re close at his heels this time, and he won’t -get off now. I’m going to Oxford now to get some books. I say, mother, -you’ll be sure, upon your honour, not to tell the girls?” - -“No, Charlie,” said Mrs Atheling, with a somewhat faint affirmation; -“but, my dear, I can’t believe in it. It can’t be true. Charlie, boy! -if this was coming true, our Marian--your sister, Charlie!--why, Marian -would be Lady Winterbourne!” - -Charlie did not say a word in return; he only took down his little -travelling-bag, laid it at his mother’s feet to be packed, and left her -to that business and her own meditations; but after he had left the -room, the lad returned again and thrust in his shaggy head at the door. -“Take care of Marian, mother,” said Charlie, in a parting adjuration; -“remember my father’s little sister Bride.” - -So he went away, leaving Mrs Atheling a good deal disquieted. She had -got over the first excitement of Miss Anastasia’s great intelligence and -the sudden preparations of Charlie. She had scarcely time enough, -indeed, to give a thought to these things, when her son demanded this -history from her, and sent her mind away into quite a different channel. -Now she sat still in Charlie’s room, pondering painfully, with the -travelling-bag lying quite unheeded at her feet. At one moment she -pronounced the whole matter perfectly impossible--at the next, -triumphantly inconsequent, she leaped to the full consummation of the -hope, and saw her own pretty Marian--dazzling vision!--the lady of -Winterbourne! and again the heart of the good mother fell, and she -remembered little Bride. Louis, as he was now, having no greater friends -than their own simple family, and no pretensions whatever either to -birth or fortune, was a very different person from that other Louis who -might be heir of lands and lordship and the family pride of the -Riverses. Much perplexed, in great uncertainty and pain, mused Mrs -Atheling, half-resentful of that grand discovery of Miss Anastasia, -which might plunge them all into renewed trouble; while Charlie trudged -into Oxford for his Italian grammar--and Louis and Marian wandered -through the enchanted wood, drawing homeward--and Rachel sang to the -children--and Agnes wondered by herself over the secret which was to be -confided only to Mamma. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -A CRISIS. - - -That night Charlie had need of all his diplomatic talents. Before he -returned from Oxford, his mother, by way of precaution lest Agnes should -betray the sudden and mysterious visit of Miss Anastasia to Marian, -contrived to let her elder daughter know mysteriously, something of the -scope and object of the sudden journey for which it was necessary to -prepare her brother, driving Agnes, as was to be supposed, into a very -fever of suppressed excitement, joy, triumph, and anxiety. Mrs Atheling, -conscious, hurried, and studying deeply not to betray herself--and -Agnes, watching every one, stopping questions, and guarding off -suspicions with prudence much too visible--were quite enough of -themselves to rouse every other member of the little company to lively -pursuit after the secret. Charlie was assailed by every shape and form -of question: Where was he going--what was he to do? He showed no -cleverness, we are bound to acknowledge, in evading these multitudinous -interrogations; he turned an impenetrable front upon them, and made the -most commonplace answers, making vast incursions all the time into -Hannah’s cakes and Mamma’s bread-and-butter. - -“He had to go back immediately to the office; he believed he had got a -new client for old Foggo,” said Charlie, with the utmost coolness; -“making no secret of it at all,” according to Mamma’s indignant -commentary. - -“To the office!--are you only going home, after all?” cried Marian. - -“I’ll see when I get there,” answered Charlie; “there’s something to be -done abroad. I shouldn’t wonder if they sent _me_. I say, I wish you’d -all come home at once, and make things comfortable. There’s my poor -father fighting it out with Susan. I should not stand it if it was me.” - -“Hold your peace, Charlie, and don’t be rude,” said Mrs Atheling. “But, -indeed, I wish we were at home, and out of everybody’s way.” - -“Who is everybody?” said Louis. “I, who am going myself, can wish quite -sincerely that we were all at home; but the addition is mysterious--who -is in anybody’s way?” - -“Mamma means to wish us all out of reach of the Evil Eye,” said Agnes, a -little romantically. - -“No such thing, my dear. I daresay we could do _him_ a great deal more -harm than he can do us,” said Mrs Atheling, with sudden importance and -dignity; then she paused with a certain solemnity, so that everybody -could perceive the grave self-restraint of the excellent mother, and -that she could say a great deal more if she chose. - -“But no one thinks what I am to do when you are all gone,” said Rachel; -and her tearful face happily diverted her companions from investigating -and from concealing the secret. There remained among them all, however, -a certain degree of excitement. Charlie was returning home -to-morrow--specially called home on business!--perhaps to go abroad upon -the same! The fact stirred all those young hearts with something not -unlike envy. This boy seemed to have suddenly leaped in one day into a -man. - -And it was natural enough that, hearing of this, the mind of Louis -should burn and chafe with fierce impatience. Charlie, who was perfectly -undemonstrative of his thoughts and imaginations, was a very boy to -Louis--yet there was need and occasion for Charlie in the crowd of life, -when no one thought upon this fiery and eager young man. It was late -that night when Louis left this only home and haven which he had ever -known; and though he would fain have left Rachel there, his little -sister would not remain behind him, but clung to his arm with a strange -presentiment of something about to happen, which she could not explain. -Louis scarcely answered a word to the quiet talk of Rachel as they went -upon their way to the Hall. With difficulty, and even with impatience, -he curbed his rapid stride to her timid little footsteps, and hurried -her along without a glance at the surrounding scene, memorable and -striking as it was. The broad moonlight flooded over the noble park of -Winterbourne. The long white-columned front of the house--which was a -great Grecian house, pallid, vast, and imposing--shone in the white -light like a screen of marble; and on the great lawn immediately before -it were several groups of people, dwarfed into minute miraculous figures -by the great space and silence, and the intense illumination, which was -far more striking and particular than the broader light of day. The -chances were that Louis did not see them, as he plunged on, in the -blindness of preoccupation, keeping no path, through light and shadow, -through the trees and underwood, and across the broad unshaded -greensward, where no one could fail to perceive him. His little sister -clung to his arm in an agony of fear, grief, and confidence--trembling -for something about to happen with an overpowering tremor--yet holding a -vague faith in her brother, strange and absorbing. She said, “Louis, -Louis!” in her tone of appeal and entreaty. He did not hear her, but -struck across the broad visible park, in the full stream of the -moonlight, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left. As they -approached, Rachel could not even hear any conversation among the groups -on the lawn; and it was impossible to suppose that they had not been -seen. Louis’s abrupt direct course, over the turf and through the -brushwood, must have attracted the notice of bystanders even in the -daylight; it was still more remarkable now, when noiseless and rapid, -through the intense white radiance and the perfect stillness, the -stately figure of the young man, and his timid, graceful little sister, -came directly forward in face of the spectators. These spectators were -all silent, looking on with a certain fascination, and Rachel could not -tell whether Louis was even conscious that any one was there. - -But before they could turn aside into the road which led to the Hall -door--a road to which Rachel most anxiously endeavoured to guide her -brother--they were suddenly arrested by the voice of Lord Winterbourne. -“I must put a stop to this,” said his lordship suddenly and loudly, with -so evident a reference to themselves, that even Rachel stopped without -knowing it. “Here, young fellow, stop and give an account of -yourself--what do you mean by wandering about my park at midnight, eh? -I know your poaching practices. Setting snares, I suppose, and dragging -about this girl as a protection. Get into your kennel, you mean dog; is -this how you repay the shelter I have given you all your life?” - -“It would be a fit return,” said Louis. He did not speak so loud, but -with a tremble of scorn and bitterness and intense youthful feeling in -his voice, before which the echo of his persecutor’s went out and died, -like an ignoble thing. “If I were, as you say,” repeated the young man, -“setting snares for your game, or for your wealth, or for your life, you -know it would be a fit return.” - -“Yes, I live a peaceful life with this villanous young incendiary under -my roof!” said Lord Winterbourne. “I’ll tell you what, you young -ruffian, if nothing better can restrain you, locks and bars shall. Oh, -no chance of appealing to _my_ pity, with that fool of a girl upon your -arm! You think you can defy me, year after year, because I have given -charity to your base blood. My lad, you shall learn to know me better -before another week is over our heads. Why, gentlemen, you perceive, by -his own confession, I stand in danger of my life.” - -“Winterbourne,” said some one over his shoulder, in a reproving tone, -“_you_ should be the last man in the world to taunt this unfortunate lad -with his base blood.” - -Lord Winterbourne turned upon his heel with a laugh of insult which sent -the wild blood dancing in an agony of shame, indignation, and rage even -into Rachel’s woman’s face. “Well,” said the voice of their tyrant, “I -have supported the hound--what more would you have? His mother was a -pretty fool, but she had her day. There’s more of her conditions in the -young villain than mine. I have no idea of playing the romantic father -to such a son--not I!” - -Louis did not know that he threw his sister off his arm before he sprang -into the midst of these half-dozen gentlemen. She did not know herself, -as she stood behind clenching her small fingers together painfully, with -all the burning vehemence of a woman’s passion. The young man sprang -forward with the bound of a young tiger. His voice was hoarse with -passion, not to be restrained. “It is a lie--a wilful, abominable lie!” -cried Louis fiercely, confronting as close as a wrestler the ghastly -face of his tyrant, who shrank before him. “I am no son of yours--you -know I am no son of yours! I owe you the hateful bread I have been -compelled to eat--nothing more. I am without a name--I may be of base -blood--but I warn you for your life, if you dare repeat this last -insult. It is a lie! I tell every one who condescends to call you -friend; and I appeal to God, who knows that you know it is a lie! I may -be the son of any other wretch under heaven, but I am not yours. I -disown it with loathing and horror. Do you hear me?--you know the truth -in your heart, and so do I!” - -Lord Winterbourne fell back, step by step, before the young man, who -pressed upon him close and rapid, with eyes which flamed and burned with -a light which he could not bear. The insulting smile upon his bloodless -face had not passed from it yet. His eyes, shifting, restless, and -uneasy, expressed nothing. He was not a coward, and he was sufficiently -quick-witted on ordinary occasions, but he had nothing whatever to -answer to this vehement and unexpected accusation. He made an -unintelligible appeal with his hand to his companions, and lifted up his -face to the moonlight like a spectre, but he did not answer by a single -word. - -“Young man,” said the gentleman who had spoken before, “I acknowledge -your painful position, and that you have been addressed in a most -unseemly manner--but no provocation should make you forget your natural -duty. Lord Winterbourne must have had a motive for maintaining you as he -has done. I put it to you calmly, dispassionately--what motive could he -possibly have had, except one?” - -“Ah!” said Louis, with a sudden and violent start, “he must have had a -motive--it is true; he would not waste his cruel powers, even for -cruelty’s sake. If any man can tell me what child it was his interest to -bastardise and defame, there may be hope and a name for me yet.” - -At these words, Lord Winterbourne advanced suddenly with a singular -eagerness. “Let us have done with this foolery,” he said, in a voice -which was certainly less steady than usual; “I presume we can all be -better employed than listening to the vapourings of this foolish boy. Go -in, my lad, and learn a lesson by your folly to-night. I pass it over, -simply because you have shown yourself to be a fool.” - -“I, however, do not pass it over, my lord,” said Louis, who had calmed -down after the most miraculous fashion, to the utter amazement of his -sister. “Thank you for the provision you have given us, such as it is. -Some time we may settle scores upon that subject. My sister and I must -find another shelter to-night.” - -The bystanders were half disposed to smile at the young man’s heroical -withdrawal--but they were all somewhat amazed to find that Lord -Winterbourne was as far as possible from sharing their amusement. He -called out immediately in an access of passion to stop the young -ruffian, incendiary, mischief-maker;--called loudly upon the servants, -who began to appear at the open door--ordered Louis to his own -apartment with the most unreasonable vehemence, and finally turned upon -Rachel, calling her to give up the young villain’s arm, and for her life -to go home. - -But Rachel was wound to the fever point as well as her brother. “No, no, -it is all true he has said,” cried Rachel. “I know it, like Louis; we -are not your children--you dare not call us so now. I never believed you -were our father--never all my life.” - -She exclaimed these words hastily in her low eager voice, as Louis drew -her arm through his, and hurried her away. The young man struck again -across the broad park and through the moonlight, while behind, Lord -Winterbourne called to his servants to go after the fugitives--to bring -that fellow back. The men only stared at their master, looked helplessly -at each other, and went off on vain pretended searches, with no better -intention than to keep out of Louis’s way, until prudence came to the -aid of Lord Winterbourne. “I shall scarcely think my life in safety -while that young fool wanders wild about the country,” he said to his -friends, as he returned within doors; but his friends, one and all, -thought this a very odd scene. - -Meanwhile Louis made his rapid way with his little sister on his arm out -over the glorious moonlit park of Winterbourne, away from the only home -he had ever known--out to the night and to the world. Rachel, leaning -closely upon him, scarcely so much as looked up, as her faltering -footstep toiled to keep up with her brother. He, holding his proud young -head high, neither turned nor glanced aside, but pressed on straight -forward, as if to some visionary certain end before his eye. Then they -came out at last to the white silent road, lying ghostlike under the -excess of light--the quiet road which led through the village where all -the houses slept and everything was still, not a curl of smoke in the -moonlight, nor a house-dog’s bark in the silence. It was midnight, vast -and still, a great desolate uninhabited world. There was not a door open -to them, nor a place where they could rest. But on pressed Louis, with -the rapid step and unhesitating course of one who hastened to some -definite conclusion. “Where are we going--where shall we go?” said poor -little Rachel, drooping on his shoulder. Her brother did not hear her. -He was not selfish, but he had not that superhuman consideration for -others which might have broken the fiery inspiration of his own -momentous thoughts, and made him think of the desolate midnight, and the -houseless and outcast condition which were alone present to the mind of -Rachel. He did not see a vast homeless solitude--a vagabond and -disgraceful wandering, in this midnight walk. He saw a new world before -him, such as had never glanced before across his fancy. “He must have -had a motive,” he muttered to himself. Rachel heard him sadly, and took -the words as a matter of course. “Where are we to go?”--that was a more -immediately important question to the simple mind of Rachel. - -The Old Wood Lodge was as deep asleep as any house in the village. They -paused, reluctant, both of them, to awake their friends within, and went -back, pacing rapidly between the house of the Athelings and that of the -Rector. The September night was cold, and Rachel was timid of that -strange midnight world out of doors. They seemed to have nothing for it -but pacing up and down upon the grassy road, where they were at least -within sight of a friendly habitation, till morning came. - -There was one light in one window of the Old Wood House; Rachel’s eye -went wandering to it wistfully, unawares: If the Rector knew--the -Rector, who once would have been kind if Louis would have let him. But, -as if in very response to her thoughts, the Rector, when they came back -to this point again, was standing, like themselves, in the moonlight, -looking over the low wall. He called to them rather authoritatively, -asking what they did there--but started, and changed his tone into one -of wondering interest and compassion when Rachel lifted her pale face to -him, with the tears in her eyes. He hastened to the gate at once, and -called them to enter. “Nay, nay, no hesitation--come in at once, that -she may have rest and shelter,” said the Rector in a peremptory tone, -which, for the first time in his life, Louis had no thought of -resenting. He went in without a word, leading his little sister. Perhaps -it was the first great thing that ever had been done in all her life for -Rachel’s sake--for the sake of the delicate girl, who was half a child -though a woman in years,--for sake of her tenderness, her delicate -frame, her privilege of weakness. The two haughty young men went in -silently together into this secluded house, which never opened its doors -to any guest. It was an invalid’s home, and some one was always at hand -for its ailing mistress. By-and-by Rachel, in the exhaustion of great -excitement, fell asleep in a little quiet room looking over that moonlit -park of Winterbourne. Louis, who was in no mood for sleep, watched -below, full of eager and unquiet thoughts. They had left Winterbourne -Hall suddenly; the Rector asked no further questions, expressed no -wonder, and left the young man who had repelled him once, with a lofty -and dignified hospitality, to his meditations or repose. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -CHARLIE’S PREPARATIONS. - - -Charlie Atheling was not at all of an imaginative or fanciful turn of -mind. His slumbers were not disturbed by castle-building--he wasted none -of his available time in making fancy sketches of the people, or the -circumstances, among which he was likely to be thrown. He was not -without the power of comprehending at a glance the various features of -his mission; but by much the most remarkable point of Charlie’s -character was his capacity for doing his immediate business, whatever -that might be, with undivided attention, and with his full powers. On -this early September morning he neither occupied himself with -anticipations of his interview with Miss Anastasia, nor his hurried -journey. He did not suffer his mind to stray to difficult questions of -evidence, nor wander off into speculations concerning what he might have -to do when he reached the real scene of his investigation. What he had -to do at the moment he did like a man, bending upon his serious -business all the faculties of his mind, and all the furrows of his brow. -He got up at six o’clock, not because he particularly liked it, but -because these early morning hours had become his habitual time for extra -work of every kind, and sat upon Hannah’s bench in the garden, close by -the kitchen door, with the early sun and the early wind playing -hide-and-seek among his elf-locks, learning his Italian grammar, as if -this was the real business for which he came into the world. - -“Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do”--that was Charlie’s secret of -success. He had only a grammar, a dictionary, and a little New Testament -in Italian--and he had not at this moment the slightest ambition to read -Dante in the original; but with steady energy he chased those unknown -verbs into the deep caverns of his memory--a memory which was -prodigious, and lost nothing committed to it. The three books -accompanied him when he went in to breakfast, and marched off in his -pocket to Oxford when it was time to keep his appointment with Miss -Anastasia. Meanwhile the much-delayed travelling-bag only now began to -get packed, and Mrs Atheling, silently toiling at this business, felt -convinced that Susan would mislay all the things most important for -Charlie’s comfort, and very much yearned in her heart to accompany her -son home. They were to meet him at the railway, whence he would depart -immediately, after his interview with Miss Rivers; and Charlie’s secret -commission made a considerable deal of excitement in the quiet little -house. - -Miss Anastasia, who was much too eager and impetuous to be punctual, had -been waiting for some time, when her young agent made his appearance at -the office of her solicitor. After she had charged him with being too -late, and herself suffered conviction as being too early, the old lady -proceeded at once to business; they were in Mr Temple’s own room, but -they were alone. - -“I have made copies of everything that seemed to throw light upon my -late father’s wanderings,” said Miss Anastasia--“not much to speak -of--see! These papers must have been carefully weeded before they came -to my hands. Here is an old guide-book marked with notes, and here a -letter dated from the place where he died. It is on the borders of -Italy--at the foot of the Alps--on the way to Milan, and not very far -from there. You will make all speed, young Atheling; I trust to your -prudence--betray nothing--do not say a word about these children until -you find some certain clue. It is more than twenty years--nearly -one-and-twenty years--since my father died; but a rich Englishman, who -married among them, was not like to be forgotten in such a village. Find -out who this Giulietta was--if you can discover the family, they might -know something. My father had an attendant, a sort of courier, who was -with us often--Jean Monte, half a Frenchman half an Italian. I have -never heard of him since that time; he might be heard of on the way, and -_he_ might know--but I cannot direct you, boy--I trust to your own -spirit, your own foresight, your own prudence. Make haste, as if it was -life and death; yet if time will avail you, take time. Now, young -Atheling, I trust you!--bring clear evidence--legal evidence--what will -stand in a court of law--and as sure as you live your fortune is made!” - -Charlie did not make a single protestation in answer to this address. He -folded up carefully those fragments of paper copied out in Miss -Anastasia’s careful old-fashioned lady’s hand, and placed them in the -big old pocket-book which he carried for lack of a better. - -“I don’t know much of the route,” said Charlie,--“over the Alps, I -suppose,” and for once his cheek flushed with the youthful excitement of -the travel. “I shall find out all about that immediately when I get to -town; and there is a passport to be seen after. When I am ready to -start--which will be just as soon as the thing can be done--I shall let -you know how I am to travel, and write immediately when I arrive -there;--I know what you mean me to do.” - -Then Miss Anastasia gave him--(a very important part of the -business)--two ten-pound notes, which was a very large sum to Charlie, -and directed him to go to the banking-house with which she kept an -account in London, and get from them a letter of credit on a banker in -Milan, on whom he could draw, according to his occasions. “You are very -young, young Atheling,” said Miss Rivers; “many a father would hesitate -to trust his son as I trust you; but I’m a woman and an optimist, and -have my notions: you are only a boy, but I believe in you--forget how -young you are while you are about my business--plenty of time after this -for enjoying yourself--and I tell you again, if you do your duty, your -fortune is made.” - -The old lady and the youth went out together, to where the little -carriage and the grey ponies stood at the solicitor’s door. Charlie, in -his present development, was not at all the man to hand a lady with a -grace to her carriage; nor was this stately gentlewoman, in her brown -pelisse, at all the person to be so escorted; but they were a remarkable -pair enough, as they stood upon the broad pavement of one of the noblest -streets of Christendom. Miss Anastasia held out her hand with a parting -command and warning, as she took her seat and the reins.--“Young -Atheling, remember! it is life and death!” - -She was less cautious at that moment than she had been during all their -interview. The words full upon another ear than his to whom they were -addressed. Lord Winterbourne was making his way at the moment with some -newly-arrived guests of his, and under the conduct of a learned pundit -from one of the colleges, along this same picturesque High Street; and, -in the midst of exclamations of rapture and of interest, his suspicious -and alarmed eye caught the familiar equipage and well-known figure of -Miss Anastasia. Her face was turned in the opposite direction,--she did -not see him,--but a single step brought him near enough to hear her -words. “Young Atheling!” Lord Winterbourne had not forgotten his former -connection with the name, but the remembrance had long lain dormant in a -breast which was used to potent excitements. William Atheling, though he -once saved a reckless young criminal, could do no harm with his remote -unbelievable story to a peer of the realm,--a man who had sat in the -councils of the State. Lord Winterbourne had begun his suit for the Old -Wood Lodge with the most contemptuous indifference to all that could be -said of him by any one of this family; yet somehow it struck him -strangely to hear so sudden a naming of this name. “Young Atheling!” He -could not help looking at the youth,--meeting the stormy gleam in the -eyes of Charlie, whose sudden enmity sprung up anew in an instant. Lord -Winterbourne was sufficiently disturbed already by the departure of -Louis, and with the quick observation of alarm remarked everything. He -could understand no natural connection whatever between this lad and -Miss Anastasia. His startled imagination suggested instantly that it -bore some reference to Louis, and what interpretation was it possible to -give to so strange an adjuration--“It is life and death!” - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -GOING AWAY. - - -“Charlie, my dear boy,” said Mrs Atheling, with a slight tremble in her -voice, “I suppose it may be months before we see you again.” - -“I can’t tell, mother; but it will not be a day longer than I can help,” -said Charlie, who had the grace to be serious at the moment of parting. -“There’s only one thing, you know,--I must do my business before I come -home.” - -“And take care of yourself,” said Mrs Atheling; “take great care when -you are going over those mountains, and among those people where bandits -are--you know what stories we have read about such robbers, -Charlie,--and remember, though I should be very glad to hear good news -about Louis, Louis is not my own very boy, like you.” - -“Hush, mother--no need for naming him,” said Charlie; “he is of more -moment than me, however, this time--for that’s my business. Never -fear--thieves may be fools there as well as at home, but they’re none -such fools as to meddle with me. Now, mother, promise me, the last -thing,--Agnes, do you hear?--don’t tell Marian a word, nor _him_. I’ll -tell old Foggo the whole story, and Foggo will do what he can for him -when he gets to London; but don’t you go and delude him, telling him of -this, for it would just be as good as ruin if I don’t succeed; and it -all may come to nothing, as like as not. I say, Agnes, do you hear?” - -“Yes, I hear, very well; but I am not given to telling secrets,” said -Agnes, with a little dignity. - -Charlie only laughed as he arranged himself in the corner of the -second-class carriage, and drew forth his grammar; there was no time for -anything more, save entreaties that he would write, and take care of -himself; and the train flashed away, leaving them somewhat dull and -blank in the reaction of past excitement, looking at each other, and -half reluctant to turn their faces homeward. Their minds hurried forth, -faster than either steam or electricity, to the end of Charlie’s -journey. They went back with very slow steps and very abstracted minds. -What a new world of change and sudden revolution might open upon them at -Charlie’s return! - -Mrs Atheling had some business in the town, and the mother and daughter -pursued their way silently to that same noble High Street where Charlie -had seen Lord Winterbourne, and where Lord Winterbourne and his party -were still to be caught sight of, appearing and reappearing by glimpses -as they “did” the halls and colleges. While her mother managed some -needful business in a shop, Agnes stood rather dreamily looking down the -stately street; its strange old-world mixture of the present and the -past; its union of all kinds of buildings; the trim classic pillars and -toy cupolas of the eighteenth century--the grim crumbling front of elder -days--the gleams of green grass and waving trees through college -gateways--the black-gowned figures interrupting the sunshine--the -beautiful spire striking up into it as into its natural element,--a -noble hyacinthine stem of immortal flowers. Agnes did not know much -about artistic effect, nor anything about orders of architecture, but -the scene seized upon her imagination, as was its natural right. Her -thoughts were astray among hopes and chances far enough out of the -common way--but any dream of romance could make itself real in an -atmosphere like this. - -She was pale,--she was somewhat of an abstracted and musing aspect. When -one took into consideration her misfortune of authorship, she was in -quite a sentimental _pose_ and attitude--so thought her American -acquaintance, who had managed to secure an invitation to the Hall, and -was one of Lord Winterbourne’s party. But Mr Endicott had “done” all the -colleges before, and he could afford to let his attention be distracted -by the appearance of the literary sister of the lady of his love. - -“I am not surprised at your abstraction,” said Mr Endicott. “In this, -indeed, I do not hesitate to confess, my country is not equal to your -Island. What an effect of sunshine! what a breadth of shade! I cannot -profess to have any preference, in respect to Art, for the past, -picturesque though it be--a poet of these days, Miss Atheling, has not -to deal with facts, but feelings; but I have no doubt, before I -interrupted you, the whole panorama of History glided before your -meditative eye.” - -“No, indeed; I was thinking more of the future than of the past,” said -Agnes hurriedly. - -“The future of this nation is obscure and mysterious,” said Mr Endicott, -gathering his eyebrows solemnly. “Some man must arise to lead you--to -glory--or to perdition! I see nothing but chaos and darkness; but why -should I prophesy? A past generation had leisure to watch the signs of -the times; but for us ‘Art is long and time is fleeting,’ and happy is -the man who can snatch one burning experience from the brilliant mirage -of life.” - -Agnes, a little puzzled by this mixture of images, did not attempt any -answer. Mr Endicott went on. - -“I had begun to observe, with a great deal of interest, two remarkable -young minds placed in a singular position. They were not to be met, of -course, at the table of Lord Winterbourne,” said the American with -dignity; “but in my walks about the park I sometimes encountered them, -and always endeavoured to draw them into conversation. So remarkable, in -fact, did they seem to me, that they found a place in my Letters from -England; studies of character entirely new to my consciousness. I -believe, Miss Atheling, I had once the pleasure of seeing them in your -company. They stand--um--unfortunately in a--a--an equivocal -relationship to my noble host.” - -“Ah! what of them?” cried Agnes quickly, and with a crimsoned cheek. She -felt already how difficult it was to hear them spoken of, and not -proclaim at once her superior knowledge. - -“A singular event, I understand, happened last night,” continued Mr -Endicott. “Viscount Winterbourne, on his own lawn, was attacked and -insulted by the young man, who afterwards left the house under very -remarkable circumstances. My noble friend, who is an admirable example -of an old English nobleman, was at one time in actual danger, and I -believe has been advised to put this fiery youth--” - -“Do you mean Louis?” cried Agnes, interrupting him anxiously. -“Louis!--do you mean that he has left the Hall?” - -“I am greatly interested, I assure you, in tracing out this romance of -real life,” said Mr Endicott. “He left the Hall, I understand, last -evening--and my noble friend is advised to take measures for his -apprehension. I look upon the whole history with the utmost interest. -How interesting to trace the motives of this young mind, perhaps the -strife of passions--gratitude mixing with a sense of injury! If he is -secured, I shall certainly visit him: I know no nobler subject for a -drama of passion; and dramas of the passions are what we want to ennoble -this modern time.” - -“Mother!” cried Agnes, “mother, come; we have no time to lose--Mr -Endicott has told me--Mamma, leave these things to another time. Marian -is alone; there is no one to support her. Oh, mother, mother! make -haste! We must go home!” - -She scarcely gave a glance to Mr Endicott as he stood somewhat -surprised, making a study of the young author’s excitable temperament -for his next “letter from England”--but hastened her mother homeward, -explaining, as she went, though not very coherently, that Louis had -attacked Lord Winterbourne--that he had left the Hall--that he had done -something for which he might be apprehended. The terror of -disgrace--that most dread of all fears to people in their -class--overwhelmed both mother and daughter, as they hastened, at a very -unusual pace, along the road, terrified to meet himself in custody, or -some one coming to tell them of his crime. And Marian, their poor -beautiful flower, on whom this storm would fall so heavily--Marian was -alone! - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -THE OLD WOOD HOUSE. - - -Louis passed the night in the Rector’s library. He had no inclination -for sleep; indeed, he was almost scornful of the idea that he _could_ -sleep under his new and strange circumstances; and it was not until he -roused himself, with a start, to see that the pale sheen of the -moonlight had been succeeded by the rosy dawn of morning, that he knew -of the sudden, deep slumber, that had fallen upon him. It was morning, -but it was still a long time till day; except the birds among the trees -there was nothing astir, not even the earliest labourer, and he could -not hear a sound in the house. All the events of the previous night -returned upon Louis’s mind with all the revived freshness of a sudden -awaking. A great change had passed upon him in a few hours. He started -now at once out of the indefinite musings, the flush of vain ambition, -the bitter brooding over wrong which had been familiar to his mind. He -began to think with the earnest precision of a man who has attained to -a purpose. Formerly it had been hard enough for his proud undisciplined -spirit, prescient of something greater, to resolve upon a plan of -tedious labour for daily bread, or to be content with such a fortune as -had fallen to such a man as Mr Atheling. Even with love to bear him out, -and his beautiful Marian to inspire him, it was hard, out of all the -proud possibilities of youth, to plunge into such a lot as this. Now he -considered it warily, with the full awakened consciousness of a man. Up -to this time his bitter dislike and opposition to Lord Winterbourne had -been carried on by fits and starts, as youths do contend with older -people under whose sway they have been all their life. He took no reason -with him when he decided that he was not the son of the man who opposed -him. He never entered into the question how he came to the Hall, or what -was the motive of its master. He had contented himself with a mere -unreasoning conviction that Lord Winterbourne was not his father; but -only one word was wanted to awaken the slumbering mind of the youth, and -that word had been spoken last night. Now a clear and evident purpose -became visible before him. What was Lord Winterbourne’s reason for -keeping him all his life under so killing a bondage? What child was -there in the world whom it was Lord Winterbourne’s interest to call -illegitimate and keep in obscurity? His heart swelled--the colour rose -in his face. He did not see how hopeless was the search--how entirely -without grounds, without information, he was. He did not perceive how -vain, to every reasonable individual, would seem the fabric he had built -upon a mere conviction of his own. In his own eager perception -everything was possible to that courage, and perseverance indomitable, -which he felt to be in him; and, for the first time in his life, Louis -came down from the unreasonable and bitter pride which had shut his -heart against all overtures of friendship. Friendship--help--advice--the -aid of those who knew the world better than he did--these were things to -be sought for, and solicited now. He sat in the Rector’s chair, leaning -upon the Rector’s writing-table; it was not without a struggle that he -overcame his old repugnance, his former haughtiness. It was not without -a pang that he remembered the obligation under which this stranger had -laid him. It was his first effort in self-control, and it was not an -easy one; he resolved at last to ask counsel from the Rector, and lay -fully before him the strange circumstances in which he stood. - -The Rector was a man of capricious hours, and uncertain likings. He was -sometimes abroad as early as the earliest ploughman; to-day it was late -in the forenoon before he made his appearance. Breakfast had been -brought to Louis, by himself, in the library; in this house they were -used to solitary meals at all hours--and he had already asked several -times for the Rector, when Mr Rivers at last entered the room, and -saluted him with stately courtesy. “My sister, I find, has detained your -sister,” said the Rector. “I hope you have not been anxious--they tell -me the young lady will join us presently.” - -Then there was a pause; and then Mr Rivers began an extremely polite and -edifying conversation, which must have reminded any spectator of the -courtly amity of a couple of Don Quixotes preparing for the duello. The -Rector himself conducted it with the most solemn gravity imaginable. -This Lionel Rivers, dissatisfied and self-devouring, was not a true man. -Supposing himself to be under a melancholy necessity of disbelieving on -pain of conscience, he yet submitted to an innumerable amount of -practical shams, with which his conscience took no concern. In spite of -his great talents, and of a character full of natural nobleness, when -you came to its foundations, a false tone, an artificial strain of -conversation, an unreal and insincere expression, were unhappily -familiar enough to the dissatisfied clergyman, who vainly tried to -anchor himself upon the authority of the Church. Louis, on the contrary, -knew nothing of talk which was a mere veil and concealment of meaning; -he could not use vain words when his heart burned within him; he had no -patience for those conversations which were merely intended to occupy -time, and which meant and led to nothing. Yet it was very difficult for -him, young, proud, and inexperienced as he was, without any invitation -or assistance from his companion, to enter upon his explanation. He -changed colour, he became uneasy, he scarcely answered the indifferent -remarks addressed to him. At length, seeing nothing better for it, he -plunged suddenly and without comment into his own tale. - -“We have left Winterbourne Hall,” said Louis, reddening to his temples -as he spoke. “I have long been aware how unsuitable a home it was for -me. I am going to London immediately. I cannot thank you enough for your -hospitality to my sister, and to myself, last night.” - -“That is nothing,” said the Rector, with a motion of his hand. “Some -time since I had the pleasure of saying to your friends in the Lodge -that it would gratify me to be able to serve you. I do not desire to pry -into your plans; but if I can help you in town, let me know without -hesitation.” - -“So far from prying,” said Louis, eagerly, interrupting him, “I desire -nothing more than to explain them. All my life,” and once again the red -blood rushed to the young man’s face,--“all my life I have occupied the -most humiliating of positions--you know it. I am not a meek man by -nature; what excuse I have had if a bitter pride has sometimes taken -possession of me, you know----” - -The Rector bowed gravely, but did not speak. Louis continued in haste, -and with growing agitation, “I am not the son of Lord Winterbourne--I am -not a disgraced offshoot of your family--I can speak to you without -feeling shame and abasement in the very sound of your name. This has -been my conviction since ever I was capable of knowing anything--but -Heaven knows how subtly the snare was woven--it seemed impossible, until -now when we have done it, to disengage our feet.” - -“Have you made any discovery, then? What has happened?” said the Rector, -roused into an eager curiosity. Here, at the very outset, lay Louis’s -difficulty--and he had never perceived it before. - -“No; I have made no discovery,” he said, with a momentary -disconcertment. “I have only left the Hall--I have only told Lord -Winterbourne what he knows well, and I have known long, that I am not -his son.” - -“Exactly--but how did you discover that?” said the Rector. - -“I have discovered nothing--but I am as sure of it as that I breathe,” -answered Louis. - -The Rector looked at him--looked at a portrait which hung directly above -Louis’s head upon the wall, smiled, and shook his head. “It is quite -natural,” he said; “I can sympathise with any effort you make to gain a -more honourable position, and to disown Lord Winterbourne--but it is -vain, where there are pictures of the Riverses, to deny your connection -with my family. George Rivers himself, my lord’s heir, the future head -of the family, has not a tithe as much of the looks and bearing of the -blood as you.” - -Louis could not find a word to say in face of such an argument--he -looked eagerly yet blankly into the face of the Rector--felt all his -pulses throbbing with fiery impatience of the doubt thus cast upon -him--yet knew nothing to advance against so subtle and unexpected a -charge of kindred, and could only repeat, in a passionate undertone, “I -am not Lord Winterbourne’s son.” - -“I do not know,” said the Rector, “I have no information which is not -common to all the neighbourhood--yet I beg you to guard against -delusion. Lord Winterbourne brought you here while you were an -infant--since then you have remained at the Hall--he has owned you, I -suppose, as much as a man ever owns an illegitimate child. Pardon me, I -am obliged to use the common words. Lord Winterbourne is not a man of -extended benevolence, neither is he one to take upon himself the -responsibility or blame of another. If you are not his son, why did he -bring you here?” - -Louis raised his face from his hands which had covered it--he was very -pale, haggard, almost ghastly. “If you can tell me of any youth--of any -child--of any man’s son, whom it was his interest to disgrace and remove -out of the way,” said the young man with his parched lips, “I will tell -you why I am here.” - -The Rector could not quite restrain a start of emotion--not for what the -youth said, for that was madness to the man of the world--but for the -extreme passion, almost despair, in his face. He thought it best to -soothe rather than to excite him. - -“I know nothing more than all the world knows,” said Mr Rivers; “but, -though I warn you against delusions, I will not say you are wrong when -you are so firmly persuaded that you are right. What do you mean to do -in London--can I help you there?” - -Louis felt with no small pang this giving up of the argument--as if it -were useless to discuss anything so visionary--but he roused himself to -answer the question: “The first thing I have to do,” he said quickly, -“is to maintain my sister and myself.” - -The Rector bowed again, very solemnly and gravely--perhaps not without a -passing thought that the same duty imposed chains more galling than iron -upon himself. - -“That done, I will pursue my inquiries as I can,” said Louis; “you think -them vain--but time will prove that. I thank you now, for my sister’s -sake, for receiving us--and now we must go on our way.” - -“Not yet,” said the Rector. “You are without means, of course--what, do -you think it a disgrace, that you blush for it?--or would you have me -suppose that you had taken money from Lord Winterbourne, while you deny -that you are his son? For this once suppose me your friend; I will -supply you with what you are certain to need; and you can repay me--oh, -with double interest if you please!--only do not go to London -unprovided--for that is the maddest method of anticipating a heartbreak; -your sister is young, almost a child, tender and delicate--let it be, -for her sake.” - -“Thank you; I will take it as you give it,” said Louis. “I am not so -ungenerous as you suppose.” - -There was a certain likeness between them, different as they were--there -was a likeness in both to these family portraits on the walls. Before -such silent witnesses Louis’s passionate disclaimer, sincere though it -was, was unbelievable. For no one could believe that he was not an -offshoot of the house of Rivers, who looked from his face and the -Rector’s to those calm ancient faces on the walls. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -AN ADVENTURER. - - -“They have left the Hall.” - -That was all Marian said when she came to the door to meet her mother -and sister, who paused in the porch, overcome with fatigue, haste, and -anxiety. Mrs Atheling was obliged to pause and sit down, not caring -immediately to see the young culprit who was within. - -“And what has happened, Marian,--what has happened? My poor child, did -he tell you?” asked Mrs Atheling. - -“Nothing has happened, mamma,” said Marian, with a little petulant -haste; “only Louis has quarrelled with Lord Winterbourne; but, indeed, I -wish you would speak to him. Oh, Agnes, go and talk to Louis; he says he -will go to London to-day.” - -“And so he should; there is not a moment to be lost,” said Agnes,--“I -will go and tell him; we can walk in with him to Oxford, and see him -safely away. Tell Hannah to make haste, Marian,--he must not waste an -hour.” - -“What does she mean,--what is the matter? Oh, what have you heard, -mamma?” said Marian, growing very pale. - -“Hush, dear; I daresay it was not him,--it was Mr Endicott, who is sure -to hate him, poor boy; he said Lord Winterbourne would put him in -prison, Marian. Oh,” said Mrs Atheling, getting up hurriedly, “he ought -to go at once to Papa.” - -But they found Louis, whom they all surrounded immediately with terror, -sympathy, and encouragement, entirely unappalled by the threatened -vengeance of Lord Winterbourne. - -“There is nothing to charge me with; he can bring no accusation against -me; if he did ever say it, it must have been a mere piece of bravado,” -said Louis; “but it is better I should go at once without losing an -hour, as Agnes says. Will you let Rachel stay? and you, who are the -kindest mother in the world, when will you have compassion on us and -come home?” - -“Indeed, I wish we were going now,” said Mrs Atheling; and she said it -with genuine feeling, and a sigh of anxiety. “You must tell Papa we will -not stay very long; but I suppose we must see about this lawsuit first; -and I am sure I cannot tell who is to manage it now, since Charlie is -gone.” - -“Shall you go to Papa at once, Louis?” asked Marian, who was very -anxious to conceal from every one the tears in her downcast eyes. - -“Surely, at once,” said Louis. “We are in different circumstances now; I -have a great deal to ask any one who knows the family of Rivers. Do you -know it never before occurred to me that Lord Winterbourne must have had -some powerful inducement for keeping me here, knowing as well as I do -that I am not his son.” - -Mrs Atheling and Agnes turned a sudden guilty look upon each other; but -neither had betrayed the secret;--what did he mean? - -“Unless it was his interest in some way--unless it was for his evident -advantage to disgrace and disable me,” said Louis, groping in the dark, -when they knew one possible solution of the mystery so well, “I am -convinced he never would have kept me as he has done at the Hall.” - -He spoke in a tone different to that which he had used to the Rector, -and very naturally different--for Louis here was triumphant in the faith -of his audience, and did not hesitate to say all he felt, nor fear too -close an investigation into the grounds of his belief. He spoke -fervently; and Marian and Rachel looked at him with the faith of -enthusiasm, and Mrs Atheling and Agnes with wonder, agitation, and -embarrassment. But, as he went on, it became too much for the -self-control of the good mother. She hurried out on pretence of -superintending Hannah, and was very soon followed by Agnes. “I durst not -stay, I should have told him,” said Mrs Atheling, in a hurried whisper. -“Who could put so much into his head, Agnes? who could lead him so near -the truth?--only God! My dear child, I believe in it all now.” - -Agnes had believed in it all from the first moment of hearing it, but so -singular a strain was upon the minds of both mother and daughter, -knowing this extraordinary secret which the others did not know, that it -was not wonderful they should give a weight much beyond their desert to -the queries of Louis. Yet, indeed, Louis’s queries took a wonderfully -correct direction, and came very near the truth. - -It was a day of extreme agitation to them all, and not until Louis, who -had no travelling-bag to pack, had been accompanied once more to the -railway, and seen safely away, with many a lingering farewell, was any -one able to listen to, or understand, Rachel’s version of the events of -last night. When he was quite gone--when it was no longer possible to -wave a hand to him in the distance, or even to see the flying white -plume of the miraculous horseman who bounded along with all that line of -carriages, the three girls came home together through the quiet evening -road--the disenchanted road, weary and unlovely, which Marian marvelled -much any one could prefer to Bellevue. They walked very close together, -with Marian in the midst, comforting her in an implied, sympathetic, -girlish fashion--for Rachel, though Louis had belonged to her so very -much longer, and was her sole authority, law-giver, and hero, -instinctively kept her own feelings out of sight, and took care of -Marian. These girls were very loyal to their own visionary ideas of the -mysterious magician who had not come to either of them yet, but whose -coming both anticipated some time, with awe and with smiles. - -And then Rachel told them how it had fared with her on the previous -night. Rachel had very little to say about the Rector; she had given him -up conscientiously to Agnes, and with a distant and reverent admiration -of his loftiness, contemplated him afar off, too great a person for her -friendship. “But in the morning the maid came and took me to Miss -Rivers--did you ever see Miss Rivers?--she is very pale--and pretty, -though she is old, and a very, very great invalid,” said Rachel. “Some -one has to sit up with her every night, and she has so many -troubles--headaches, and pains in her side, and coughs, and every sort -of thing! She told me all about them as she lay on the sofa in her -pretty white dressing-gown, and in _such_ a soft voice as if she was -quite used to them, and did not mind. Do you think you could be a nurse -to any one who was ill, Agnes?” - -“She _has_ been a nurse to all of us when we were ill,” said Marian, -rousing herself for the effort, and immediately subsiding into the -pensiveness which the sad little beauty would not suffer herself to -break, even though she began in secret to be considerably interested -about the interior of the mysterious Wood House, and the invisible Miss -Rivers. Marian thought Louis would not be pleased if he could imagine -her thinking of any one but him, so soon after he had gone away. - -“But I don’t mean at home--I mean a stranger,” said Rachel, “one whom -you did not _love_. I think it must be rather hard sometimes; but do you -know I was very nearly offering to be nurse to Miss Rivers, she spoke so -kindly to me? And then Louis will have to work,” continued the faithful -little sister, with tears in her eyes; “you must tell me what I can do, -Agnes, not to be a burden upon Louis. Oh, do you think any one would -give me money for singing now?” - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -LORD WINTERBOURNE. - - -Lord Winterbourne, all his life, had been a man of guile; he was so long -experienced in it, that dissimulation became easy enough to him, when he -was not startled or thrown suddenly off his guard. Already every one -around him supposed he had quite forgiven and forgotten the wild -escapade of Louis. He had no confidant whatever, not even a valet or a -steward, and his most intimate associate knew nothing of his dark and -secret counsels. When any one mentioned the ungovernable youth who had -fled from the Hall, Lord Winterbourne said, “Pooh, pooh--he will soon -discover his mistake,” and smiled his pale and sinister smile. Such a -face as his could not well look benign; but people were accustomed to -his face, and thought it his misfortune--and everybody set him down as, -in this instance at least, of a very forgiving and indulgent spirit, -willing that the lad should find out his weakness by experiment, but -not at all disposed to inflict any punishment upon his unruly son. - -The fact was, however, that Lord Winterbourne was considerably excited -and uneasy. He spent hours in a little private library among his -papers--carefully went over them, collating and arranging again and -again--destroyed some, and filled the private drawers of his cabinet -with others. He sent orders to his agent to prosecute with all the -energy possible his suit against the Athelings. He had his letters -brought to him in his own room, where he was alone, and looked over them -with eager haste and something like apprehension. Servants, always -sufficiently quick-witted under such circumstances, concluded that my -lord expected something, and the expectation descended accordingly -through all the grades of the great house; but this did not by any means -diminish the number of his guests, or the splendour of his hospitality. -New arrivals came constantly to the Hall--and very great people indeed, -on their way to Scotland and the moors, looked in upon the disappointed -statesman by way of solace. He had made an unspeakable failure in his -attempt at statesmanship; but still he had a certain amount of -influence, and merited a certain degree of consideration. The quiet -country brightened under the shower of noble sportsmen and fair ladies. -All Banburyshire crowded to pay its homage. Mrs Edgerley brought her -own private menagerie, the newest lion who could be heard of; and -herself fell into the wildest fever of architecturalism--fitted up an -oratory under the directions of a Fellow of Merton--set up an -Ecclesiological Society in the darkest of her drawing-rooms--made -drawings of “severe saints,” and purchased casts of the finest -“examples”--began to embroider an altar-cloth from the designs of one of -the most renowned connoisseurs in the ecclesiological city, and talked -of nothing but Early English, and Middle Pointed. Politics, literature, -and the fine arts, sport, flirtation, and festivity, kept in unusual -excitement the whole spectator county of Banbury, and the busy occupants -of Winterbourne Hall. - -In the midst of all this, the Lord of Winterbourne spent solitary hours -in his library among his papers, took solitary rides towards Abingford, -moodily courted a meeting with Miss Anastasia, even addressed her when -they met, and did all that one unassisted man could do to gain -information of her proceedings. He was in a state of restless -expectation, not easy to account for. He knew that Louis was in London, -but not who had given him the means to go there; and he could find no -pretence for bringing back the youth, or asserting authority over him. -He waited in well-concealed but frightfully-felt excitement for -_something_, watching with a stealthy but perpetual observation the -humble house of the Athelings and the Priory at Abingford. He did not -say to himself what it was he apprehended, nor indeed that he -apprehended anything; but with that strange certainty which criminals -always seem to retain, that fate must come some time, waited in the -midst of his gay, busy, frivolous guests, sharing all the occupations -round him, like a man in a dream,--waited as the world waits in a pause -of deadly silence for the thunderclap. It would rouse him when it came. - -It came, but not as he looked for it. Oh blind, vain, guilty soul, with -but one honest thought among all its crafts and falsehoods! It came not -like the rousing tumult of the thunder, but like an avalanche from the -hills; he fell under it with a groan of mortal agony; there was nothing -in heaven or earth to defend him from the misery of this sudden blow. -All his schemes, all his endeavours, what were they good for now? - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -THE NEW HEIR. - - -They had heard from Charlie, who had already set out upon his journey; -they had heard from Louis, whom Mr Foggo desired to take into his office -in Charlie’s place in the mean time; they had heard again and again from -Miss Anastasia’s solicitor, touching their threatened property; and to -this whole family of women everything around seemed going on with a -singular speed and bustle, while they, unwillingly detained among the -waning September trees, were, by themselves, so lonely and so still. The -only one among them who was not eager to go home was Agnes. Bellevue and -Islington, though they were kindly enough in their way, were not meet -nurses for a poetic child;--this time of mountainous clouds, of wistful -winds, of falling leaves, was like a new life to Agnes. She came out to -stand in the edge of the wood alone, to do nothing but listen to the -sweep of the wild minstrel in those thinning trees, or look upon the big -masses of cloud breaking up into vast shapes of windy gloom over the -spires of the city and the mazes of the river. The great space before -and around--the great amphitheatre at her feet--the breeze that came in -her face fresh and chill, and touched with rain--the miracles of tiny -moss and herbage lying low beneath those fallen leaves--the pale autumn -sky, so dark and stormy--the autumn winds, which wailed o’ nights--the -picturesque and many-featured change which stole over -everything--carried a new and strange delight to the mind of Agnes. She -alone cared to wander by herself through the wood, with its crushed -ferns, its piled faggots of firewood, its yellow leaves, which every -breeze stripped down. She was busy with the new book, too, which was -very like to be wanted before it came; for all these expenses, and the -license which their supposed wealth had given them, had already very -much reduced the little store of five-pound notes, kept for safety in -Papa’s desk. - -One afternoon during this time of suspense and uncertainty, the Rector -repeated his call at the Lodge. The Rector had never forgiven Agnes that -unfortunate revelation of her authorship; yet he had looked to her -notwithstanding through those strange sermons of his, with a -constantly-increasing appeal to her attention. She was almost disposed -to fancy sometimes that he made special fiery defences of himself and -his sentiments, which seemed addressed to her only; and Agnes fled from -the idea with distress and embarrassment, thinking it a vanity of her -own. On this day, however, the Rector was a different man--the cloud was -off his brow--the apparent restraint, uneasy and galling, under which he -had seemed to hold himself, was removed; a flash of aroused spirit was -in his eye--his very step was eager, and sounded with a bolder ring upon -the gravel of the garden path--there was no longer the parochial bow, -the clergymanly address, or the restless consciousness of something -unreal in both, which once characterised him; he entered among them -almost abruptly, and did not say a word of his parishioners, but -instead, asked for Louis--told Rachel his sister wished to see her--and, -glancing with unconcealed dislike at poor Agnes’s blotting-book, wished -to know if Miss Atheling was writing now. - -“Mr Rivers does not think it right, mamma,” said Agnes. She blushed a -little under her consciousness of his look of displeasure, but smiled -also with a kind of challenge as she met his eye. - -“No,” said the young clergyman abruptly; “I admire, above all things, -understanding and intelligence. I can suppose no appreciation so quick -and entire as a woman’s; but she fails of her natural standing to me, -when I come to hear of her productions, and am constituted a -critic--that is a false relationship between a woman and a man.” - -And Mr Rivers looked at Agnes with an answering flash of pique and -offence, which was as much as to say, “I am very much annoyed; I had -thought of very different relationships; and it is all owing to you.” - -“Many very good critics,” said Mrs Atheling, piqued in her turn--“a -great many people, I assure you, who know about such things, have been -very much pleased with Agnes’s book.” - -The Rector made no answer--did not even make a pause--but as if all this -was merely irrelevant and an interruption to his real business, said -rapidly, yet with some solemnity, and without a word of preface, “Lord -Winterbourne’s son is dead.” - -“Who?” said Agnes, whom, unconsciously, he was addressing--and they all -turned to him with a little anxiety. Rachel became very pale, and even -Marian, who was not thinking at all of what Mr Rivers said, drew a -little nearer the table, and looked up at him wistfully, with her -beautiful eyes. - -“Lord Winterbourne’s son, George Rivers, the heir of the family--he who -has been abroad so long; a young man, I hear, whom every one esteemed,” -said the Rector, bending down his head, as if he exacted from himself a -certain sadness, and did indeed endeavour to see how sad it was--“he is -dead.” - -Mrs Atheling rose, greatly moved. “Oh, Mr Rivers!--did you say his son? -his only son? a young man? Oh, I pray God have pity upon him! It will -kill him;--it will be more than he can bear!” - -The Rector looked up at the grief in the good mother’s face, with a look -and gesture of surprise. “I never heard any one give Lord Winterbourne -credit for so much feeling,” he said, looking at her with some -suspicion; “and surely he has not shown much of it to you.” - -“Oh, feeling! don’t speak of feeling!” cried Mrs Atheling. “It is not -that I am thinking of. You know a great many things, Mr Rivers, but you -never lost a child.” - -“No,” he said; and then, after a pause, he added, in a lower tone, “in -the whole matter, certainly, I never before thought of Lord -Winterbourne.” - -And there was nobody nigh to point out to him what a world beyond and -above his philosophy was this simple woman’s burst of nature. Yet in his -own mind he caught a moment’s glimpse of it; for the instant he was -abashed, and bent his lofty head with involuntary self-humiliation; but -looking up, saw his own thought still clearer in the eye of Agnes, and -turned defiant upon her, as if it had been a spoken reproof. - -“Well!” he said, turning to her, “was I to blame for thinking little of -the possibility of grief in such a man?” - -“I did not say so,” said Agnes, simply; but she looked awed and grave, -as the others did. They had no personal interest at all in the matter; -they thought in an instant of the vacant places in their own family, and -stood silent and sorrowful, looking at the great calamity which made -another house desolate. They never thought of Lord Winterbourne, who was -their enemy; they only thought of a father who had lost his son. - -And Rachel, who remembered George Rivers, and thought in the tenderness -of the moment that he had been rather kind to her, wept a few tears -silently. - -All these things disconcerted the Rector. He was impatient of excess of -sympathy--ebullitions of feeling; he was conscious of a restrained, yet -intense spring of new hope and vigour in his own life. He had -endeavoured conscientiously to regret his cousin; but it was impossible -to banish from his own mind the thought that he was free--that a new -world opened to his ambition--that he was the heir! - -And he had come, unaware of his own motive, to share this overpowering -and triumphant thought with Agnes Atheling, a girl who was no mate for -him, as inferior in family fortune and breeding as it was possible to -imagine--and now stood abashed and reproved to see that all his simple -auditors thought at once, not of him and his altered position, but of -those grand and primitive realities--Death and Grief. He went away -hastily and with impatience, displeased with them and with himself--went -away on a rapid walk for miles out of his way, striding along the quiet -country roads as if for a race; and a race it was, with his own -thoughts, which still were fastest, and not to be overtaken. He knew the -truths of philosophy, the limited lines and parallels of human logic and -reason; but he had not been trained among the great original truths of -nature; he knew only what was true to the mind,--not what was true to -the heart. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -A VISIT. - - -“Come down, Agnes, make haste; mamma wants you--and Miss Anastasia’s -carriage is just driving up to the door.” - -So said Marian, coming languidly into their sleeping-room, and quite -indifferent to Miss Anastasia. She was rather glad indeed to hasten -Agnes away, to make an excuse for herself, and gain a half-hour of -solitude to read over again Louis’s letter. It was worth while to get -letters like those of Louis. Marian sat down on one of Miss Bridget’s -old-fashioned chairs, and leaned her beautiful head against its high -unyielding angular back. The cover on it was of an ancient blue-striped -tabinet, faded, yet still retaining some of its colour, which answered -very well to relieve those beautiful half-curled, half-braided locks of -Marian’s hair, which had such a tendency to escape from all kinds of -bondage. She lay there half reclining upon this stiff uneasy piece of -furniture, not at all disturbed by its angularity, her pretty cheek -flushing, her pretty lips trembling into half-conscious smiles, reading -over again Louis’s letter, which she held after an embracing fashion in -both her hands. - -And Rachel, with great diffidence, yet by the Rector’s invitation, had -gone to visit Miss Rivers at the Old Wood House. When the other Miss -Rivers, chief of the name, entered the little parlour of the Lodge, she -found the mother and daughter, who were both acquainted with her secret, -awaiting her very anxiously. She came in with a grave face and -deliberate step. She had not changed her dress in any particular, except -the colour of her bonnet, which was black, and had some woeful -decorations of crape; but it was evident that she too had been greatly -moved and impressed by her young cousin’s death. - -“He is dead,” she said, almost as abruptly as the Rector, when she had -taken her usual place. “Yes, poor young George Rivers, who was the heir -of the house--it was very well for him that he should die.” - -“Oh, Miss Rivers!” said Mrs Atheling, “I am very, very sorry for poor -Lord Winterbourne.” - -“Are you?” said Miss Anastasia;--“perhaps you are right,--he will feel -this, I dare say, as much as he can feel anything--but _I_ was sorry for -the boy. Young people think it hard to die--fools!--they don’t know the -blessing that lies in it. Living long enough to come to the crown of -youth, and dying in its blossom--that’s a lot fit for an angel. Agnes -Atheling, never look through your tears at me.” - -But Agnes could not help looking at the old lady wistfully, with her -young inquiring eyes. - -“What does the Rector do here?--they tell me he comes often,” said Miss -Rivers. “Do you know that now, so far as people understand, _he_ comes -to be heir of Winterbourne?” - -“He came to tell us yesterday of the poor young gentleman’s death,” said -Mrs Atheling, “and I thought he seemed a little excited. Agnes, I am -sure you observed it as well as I.” - -“No, mamma,” said Agnes, turning away hastily. She went to get some -work, that no one might observe her own looks, with a sudden nervous -tremor and impatience upon her. The Rector had been very kind to Louis, -had done a brother’s part to him--far more than any one else in the -world had ever done to this friendless youth--yet Louis’s friends were -labouring with all their might, working in darkness like evil-doers, to -undermine the supposed right of Lionel--that right which made his breast -expand and his brow clear, and freed him from an uncongenial fate. Agnes -sat down trembling, with a sudden nervous access of vexation, -disappointment, annoyance, which she could not explain. She had been -accustomed for a long time now to follow him with interest and sympathy, -and to read his thoughts in those wild public self-revelations of his, -which no one penetrated but herself; but she felt actually guilty, a -plotter, and concerned against him now. - -“I am sorry for Lionel,” said Miss Rivers, who had not lost a single -fluctuation of colour on Agnes’s cheek, nor tremble of emotion in her -hurried hands--“but it would have been more grievous for poor George had -he lived. There will be only disappointment--not disgrace--for any other -heir.” - -She paused awhile, still watching Agnes, who bent over her work, greatly -disposed to cry, and in a very agitated condition of mind. Then she said -as suddenly as before, “I forget my proper errand--I have come for the -girls. You are to go up with me to the Priory. Go, make haste--put on -your bonnet--I never wait, even for young ladies; call your sister, and -make ready to go.” - -Agnes rose, startled and unwilling, and cast an inquiring look at Mamma. -Mrs Atheling was startled too, but she was not insensible to the pride -and glory of seeing her two daughters drive off to Abingford Priory in -the well-known carriage of Miss Anastasia. “Since Miss Rivers is so -good, make haste, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling; and Agnes had no -alternative but to obey. - -When she was gone, Miss Rivers looked round the room inquisitively. -Rachel was no great needlewoman, nor much instructed in ordinary -feminine pursuits; there were no visible traces of the presence of a -third young lady in the little dim parlour. “Where is the girl?” said -Miss Anastasia, cautiously,--“I was told she was here.” - -“The Rector asked her to go and see his sister--she is at the Old Wood -House,” said Mrs Atheling. “I am very sorry--but we never thought of you -coming to-day.” - -“I might come any day,” said Miss Rivers, abruptly--“but that is not the -question--I prefer not to see her--she is a frightened little dove of a -girl--she is not in my way. Is she good for anything?--you ought to -know.” - -“She is a very sweet, amiable girl,” said Mrs Atheling, warmly--“and she -sings as I never heard any one sing, all my life.” - -“Ah!” said Miss Rivers, with a look of gratification, “it belongs to the -family--music is a tradition among us--yes, yes! You remember my -great-grandfather, the fourth lord--he was a great composer.” Miss -Anastasia was perfectly destitute of the faculty herself, and more than -half of the Riverses wanted that humblest of all musical qualifications, -“an ear”--yet it was amusing to mark the eagerness of the old lady to -find a family precedent for every quality known as belonging to Louis or -his sister. “I recollect,” added Miss Rivers, bending her brows darkly, -“they wanted to make a singer of her--the more disgrace the better--Oh, -I understand their tactics! You are sorry for him?--look at the devilish -plans he made.” - -Mrs Atheling shook her head, but did not reply; she only knew that she -would have been sorry for the vilest criminal in the world, had he lost -his only son. - -“I have heard from your boy,” said Miss Rivers. “He is gone now, I -suppose. What does Will Atheling think of his son? If he does but as I -expect he will, the boy’s fortune is made; he shall never repent that he -did this service for me.” - -“But it is a great undertaking,” said Mrs Atheling. “I know Charlie will -do his best--he is a very good boy, Miss Rivers; but he may not succeed -after all.” - -“He will succeed,” said the old lady; “but even if he does not--which I -cannot believe--so long as he does all he can, it will not alter me.” - -The mother’s heart swelled high with gratification and pleasure; yet -there was a drawback. All this time--since the first day when she heard -of it, before she made her discovery--Miss Anastasia had never referred -to the engagement between Louis and Marian. Did she desire to discourage -it? Was she likely to perceive a difference in this respect between -Louis nameless and without friends, and Louis the heir of Winterbourne? - -But Mrs Atheling’s utmost penetration could not tell. Miss Rivers began -to pull down the books, to look at them, to strike her riding-whip on -the floor, and call out good-humouredly in her loud voice, which every -one in the house could hear, that she was not to be kept waiting by a -parcel of girls. Finally the girls made their appearance in their best -dresses; their new patroness hurried them into her carriage, and drove -instantly away. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -MARIAN ON TRIAL. - - -Miss Anastasia “preferred not to see” Rachel--yet, with a wayward -inclination still, was moved to drive by a circuitous road in front of -the Old Wood House, where the girl was. The little vehicle went heavily -along the grassy road, cutting the turf, but making little sound as it -rolled past the windows of the invalid. There was the velvet lawn, the -trim flower-plots, the tall autumnal flowers, the straight and well-kept -garden-paths, lying vacant and shadowless beneath the sun--but there was -nothing to be discovered under the closed blinds of this shut-up and -secluded house. - -“Why do they keep their blinds down?” said Miss Anastasia; “all the -house surely is not one invalid’s room? Lucy was a little fool always. I -do not believe there is anything the matter with her. She had what these -soft creatures call a disappointment in love--words have different -meanings, child. And why does this girl go to see Lucy Rivers? I -suppose because she is such a one herself.” - -“It is because Miss Rivers was kind to her,” said Agnes; “and the Rector -asked her to go----” - -“The Rector? Do you mean to tell me,” said Miss Anastasia, turning -quickly upon her companion, “that when Lionel Rivers comes to the Lodge -it is for _her_ he comes?” - -“I do not know,” said Agnes. She was provoked to feel how her face -burned under the old lady’s gaze. She could not help showing something -of the anger and vexation she felt. She looked up hastily, with a glance -of resentment. “He has been very much interested in Louis--he has been -very kind to him,” said Agnes, not at all indisposed, for the sake of -the Rector, whom every one plotted against, to throw down her glove to -Miss Anastasia. “I believe, indeed, it has been to inquire about Louis, -that he ever came to the Lodge.” - -Miss Anastasia touched her ponies with her whip, and said, “Humph!” -“Both of them! odd enough,” said the old lady. Agnes, who was -considerably offended, and not at all in an amicable state of mind, did -not choose to inquire who Miss Anastasia meant by “both of them,” nor -what it was that was “odd enough.” - -Marian occupied the seat behind. She liked it very well, though she -would rather have written her letter to Louis. She did not quite hear -the conversation before her, and did not much care about it. Marian -recognised the old lady only as Agnes’s friend, and had never connected -her in any way with her own fortunes. She was shy of speaking in that -stately presence; she was even resentful sometimes of the remarks of -Miss Anastasia; and the lofty old gentlewoman had formed but an -indifferent idea yet of the little beauty. She was amused with the -pretty pout of Marian’s lip, the sparkle, sometimes of fun, sometimes of -petulance, in her eye; but Marian would have been extremely dismayed -to-day had she known that she, and not Agnes, was the principal object -of Miss Anastasia’s visit, and was, indeed, about to be put upon her -trial, to see if she was good for anything. At all events, she was quite -at ease and unalarmed now. - -They drove along in silence for some time after this--passing through -the village and past the Park gates. Then Miss Anastasia took a road -quite unfamiliar to the girls--a grass-grown unfrequented path, lying -under the shadow of the trees of Winterbourne. She did not say a word -till they came to a sudden break in the trees, when she stopped her -ponies abruptly, and fixed a sorrowful gaze upon the Hall, which was -visible, and close at hand. The white, broad, majestic front of the -great house was not unlike a funeral pile at any time; now, with white -curtains drawn close over all its scarcely perceptible windows, still -veiled in the pomp of mourning, without a gleam of light or colour, in -its blind, grand aspect, turning its back upon the sun--there was -something very sadly imposing in the desolated house. No one was to be -seen about it--not even a servant: it looked like a vast mausoleum, -sacred to the dead. “It was very well for him,” said Miss Anastasia with -a sigh, “very well. If it were not so pitiful a thing to think of, -children, I could thank God.” - -But as the old lady spoke, the tears stood heavy in her eyes. - -This was very dreadful, very mysterious, altogether beyond comprehension -to Marian. She was glad to turn her eyes away from the house with -dislike and terror--it had been Louis’s prison and place of suffering, -and not a single hope connected with the Hall of Winterbourne was in -Marian’s mind. She drew back from Miss Rivers with a shudder--she -thought it was the most frightful thing in existence to thank God -because this young man had died. - -The Priory opened its doors wide to its mistress and her young guests. -She led them herself to her favourite room, a very strange place, -indeed, to their inexperienced eyes. It was a long narrow room, built -over the archway which crossed the entrance to the town of Abingford. -This of itself was peculiarity enough; and the walls were of stone, -wainscoted to half their height with oak, and the roof was ribbed with -strong old oaken rafters, and of course unceiled. Windows on either -side, plain lattice-windows, with thick mullions of stone, admitted the -light in strips between heavy bars of shadow, and commanded a full sight -of every one who entered the town of Abingford. On the country side was -a long country road, some trees, and the pale convolutions of the river; -on the other, there was a glimpse of the market-place of the town, even -now astir with a leisurely amount of business, in the centre of which -rose an extraordinary building with a piazza, while round it were the -best shops of Abingford, and the farmers’ inns, which were full on -market days. A little old church, rich with the same rude Saxon ornament -which decorated the church of Winterbourne, stood modestly among the -houses at the corner of the market-place. A few leisurely figures, such -as belong to country towns, stood at the doors, or lounged about the -pavement; and market-carts came and went slowly under the arch. Marian -brightened into positive amusement; she thought it very funny indeed to -watch the people and the vehicles slowly disappearing beneath her, and -laughed to herself, and thought it a very odd fancy of Miss Anastasia, -to choose her favourite sitting-room here. - -The old lady came and stood beside her, somewhat to the embarrassment of -Marian. She bade the girl take off her bonnet, which produced its -unfailing result, of throwing into a little picturesque confusion those -soft, silken, half-curled tresses of Marian’s hair. Marian looked out of -the window somewhat nervously, a little afraid of Miss Rivers. The old -lady looked at her with a keen scrutiny. She was stooping her pretty -shoulders in an attitude which might have been awkward in a form less -elastic, dimpling her cheek with the fingers which supported it, -conscious of Miss Anastasia’s gaze, somewhat alarmed, and very shy. In -spite of the shrinking, the alarm, and the embarrassment, Miss Rivers -looked steadily down upon her with a serious inspection. But even the -cloud which began to steal over Marian’s brow could not disenchant the -eyes that gazed upon her--Miss Anastasia began to smile as everybody -else; to feel herself moved to affection, tenderness, regard; to own the -fascination which no one resisted. “My dear, you are very pretty,” said -the old lady, entirely forgetting any prudent precautions on the score -of making Marian vain; “many people would tell you, that, with a face -like that, you need no other attraction. But I was once pretty myself, -and I know it does not last for ever; do you ever think about anything, -you lovely little child?” - -Marian glanced up with an indignant blush and frown; but the look she -met was so kind, that it was not possible to answer as she intended. So -the pretty head sank down again upon the hand which supported it. She -took a little time to compose herself, and then, with some humility, -spoke the truth: “I am afraid, not a great deal.” - -“What do you suppose I do here, all by myself?” said Miss Anastasia, -suddenly. - -Marian turned her face towards her, looked round the room, and then -turned a wistful gaze to Miss Rivers. “Indeed, I do not know,” said -Marian, in a very low and troubled tone: it was youth, with awe and -gravity and pity, looking out of its bright world upon the loneliness -and poverty of age. - -That answer and that look brought the examination to a very hasty and -sudden conclusion. The old lady looked at her for an instant with a -startled glance, stooped over her, kissed her forehead and hurried away. -Marian could not tell what she had done, nor why Miss Anastasia’s face -changed so strangely. She could not comprehend the full force of the -contrast, nor how her own simple wonder and pity struck like a sudden -arrow to the old lady’s heart. - -Agnes was puzzled too, and could not help her sister to an explanation. -They remained by themselves for some time, rather timidly looking at -everything. There were a few portraits hanging high upon the walls, -portraits which they knew to be of the family, but could not recognise; -and there was one picture of a very strange kind, which all their -combined ingenuity could not interpret. It was like one of those old -Dyptichs used to preserve some rare and precious altarpiece. What was -within could not be seen, but on the closed leaves without were painted -two solemn angels, with a silvery surrounding of wings, and flowers in -their hands. If Miss Anastasia had been a Catholic--even if she had been -a dilettante or extreme High Churchwoman, it might have been a little -private shrine: perhaps it was so: there was a portrait within, which no -eyes but her own ever saw. Between the windows the walls were lined with -book-cases; that ancient joke of poor Aunt Bridget’s, her own initials -underneath her pupil’s name--the B. A., which conferred a degree upon -Anastasia Rivers--turned out to be an intentional thing after all. The -girls gazed in awe at Miss Anastasia’s book-shelves. She was a great -scholar, this old lady. She might have been one of the Heads of Houses -in the learned city, but for the unfortunate femininity which debarred -her. All by herself among these tomes of grey antiquity--all by herself -with her pictures, the sole remnant of another time--it was not -wonderful that the two girls paused, looking out from the sunshine of -their youth with reverence, yet with compassion. They honoured her with -natural humility, feeling their own ignorance, but notwithstanding, were -very sorry for Miss Anastasia, all by herself--more sorry than there was -occasion to be--for Miss Anastasia was used to be all by herself, and -found enjoyment in it now. - -When Miss Anastasia came back she took them to see her garden, and the -state-apartments of her great stately house. When they were a little -familiar she let them stray on before her, and followed watching. Agnes, -perhaps, was still her own favourite of the two; but all her observation -was given to Marian. As her eyes followed this beautiful figure, her -look became more and more satisfied; and while Marian wandered with her -sister about the garden, altogether unconscious of the great -possibilities which awaited her, Miss Anastasia’s fancy clothed her in -robes of state, and covered her with jewels. “He might have married a -duke’s daughter,” she said to herself, turning away with a pleased -eye--“but he might never have found such a beautiful fairy as this: she -is a good little child too, with no harm in her; and a face for a fairy -queen!” - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -DISCONTENT. - - -No one knew the real effect of the blow which had just fallen upon Lord -Winterbourne. The guests, of whom his house was full, dispersed as if by -magic. Even Mrs Edgerley, in the most fashionable sables, with mourning -liveries, and the blinds of her carriage solemnly let down, went forth, -as soon as decency would permit, from the melancholy Hall. After all the -bustle and all the gaiety of recent days, the place fell into a pause of -deadly stillness. Lord Winterbourne sought comfort from no one--showed -grief to no one; he made a sudden pause, like a man stunned, and then, -with increased impetus, and with a force and resolution unusual to him, -resumed his ancient way once more, and rushed forward with exaggerated -activity. Instead of subduing him, this event seemed to have roused all -his faculties into a feverish and busy malevolence, as if the man had -said, “I have no one to come after me--I will do all the harm I can -while my time lasts.” All the other gentry of the midland counties, put -together, did not bring so many poachers to “justice” as were brought by -Lord Winterbourne. It was with difficulty his solicitor persuaded him to -pass over the pettiest trespass upon his property. He shut up pathways -privileged from time immemorial, ejected poor tenants, encroached upon -the village rights, and oppressed the village patriarchs; and animated -as he was by this spirit of ill-will to every one, it was not wonderful -that he endeavoured, with all his might, to press on the suit against -the Athelings for the recovery of the Old Wood Lodge. - -Mrs Atheling and her daughters, unwilling, embarrassed, and totally -ignorant of their real means of defence, remained in their house at the -pleasure of the lawyer, and much against their own inclination. Mrs -Atheling herself, though with a spark of native spirit she had seconded -her husband’s resolution not to give up his little inheritance, was -entirely worried out with the task of defending it, now that Charlie was -gone, and winter was approaching, and her heart yearned to her husband -and her forsaken house in Bellevue. When she wrote to Mr Atheling, or -when she consulted with Agnes, the good mother expressed her opinion -very strongly. “If it turns out a mistake about Louis, none of us will -care for this place,” said Mrs Atheling; “we shall have the expense of -keeping it up, and unless we were living in it ourselves, I do not -suppose it is worth ten pounds a-year; and if it should turn out true -about Louis, of course he would restore it to us, and settle it so that -there could be no doubt upon the subject; and indeed, Agnes, my dear, -the only sensible plan that I can think of, would be to give it up at -once, and go home. I do think it is quite an unfortunate house for the -Athelings; there was your father’s poor little sister got her death in -it; and it is easy to see how much trouble and anxiety have come into -our family since we came here.” - -“But trouble and anxiety might come anywhere, mamma,” said Agnes. - -“Yes, my dear, that is very true; but we should have known exactly what -we had to look for, if Marian had been engaged to some one in Bellevue.” - -Mamma’s counsels, accordingly, were of a very timid and compromising -character. She began to be extremely afraid that the Old Wood Lodge, -being so near the trees, would be damp after all the autumn rains, and -that something might possibly happen to Bell and Beau; and, with all her -heart, and without any dispute, she longed exceedingly to be at home. -Then there was the pretty pensive Marian, a little love-sick, and pining -much for the society of her betrothed. She was a quiet but potent -influence, doing what she could to aggravate the discontent of Mamma; -and Agnes had to keep up the family courage, and develop the family -patience, single-handed. Agnes, in her own private heart, though she did -not acknowledge, nor even know it, was not at all desirous to go away. - -The conflict accordingly, about this small disputed possession, lay a -great deal more between Lord Winterbourne and Miss Anastasia than -between that unfriendly nobleman and the house of Atheling. Miss -Anastasia came frequently on errands of encouragement to fortify the -sinking heart of Mrs Atheling. “My great object is to defer the trial of -this matter for six months,” said the old lady significantly. “Let it -come on, and we will turn the tables then.” - -She spoke in the presence of Marian, before whom nothing could be said -plainly--in the presence of Rachel even, whom it was impossible to avoid -seeing, but who always kept timidly in the background--and she spoke -with a certain exultation which somewhat puzzled her auditors. Charlie, -though he had done nothing yet, had arrived at the scene of his labours. -Assured of this fact, the courage of his patroness rose. She was a woman -and an optimist, as she confessed. She had the gift of leaping to a -conclusion, equal to any girl in the kingdom, and at the present moment -was not disturbed by any doubts of success. - -“Six months!” cried Mrs Atheling, in dismay and horror; “and do you -mean that we must stay here all that time--all the winter, Miss Rivers? -It is quite impossible--indeed I could not do it. My husband is all by -himself, and I know how much I am wanted at home.” - -“It is necessary some one should be in possession,” said Miss Rivers. -“Eh? What does Will Atheling say?--I daresay he thinks it hard enough to -be left alone.” - -Mrs Atheling was very near “giving away.” Vexation and anxiety for the -moment almost overpowered her self-command. She knew all the buttons -must be off Papa’s shirts, and stood in grievous fear of a fabulous -amount of broken crockery; besides, she had never been so long parted -from her husband since their marriage, and very seriously longed for -home. - -“Of course it is very dreary for him,” she said, with a sigh. - -“Mr Temple is making application to defer the trial on the score of an -important witness who cannot reach this country in time,” said Miss -Rivers. “Of course my lord will oppose that with all his power; _he_ has -a natural terror of witnesses from abroad. When the question is decided, -I do not see, for my part, why you should remain. This little one pines -to go home, I see--but you, Agnes Atheling, you had better come and stay -at the Priory--you love the country, child!” - -Both the sisters blushed under the scrutinising eye of Miss Anastasia; -but Agnes was not yet reconciled to the old lady. “We are all anxious to -go home,” she said with spirit, and with considerably more earnestness -than the case at all demanded. Miss Rivers smiled a little. She thought -she could read a whole romance in the fluctuating colour and troubled -glance of Agnes; but she was wrong, as far-seeing people are so often. -The girl was disturbed, uneasy, self-conscious, in a startled and -impatient condition of mind; but the romance, even if it were on the -way, had not yet definitely begun. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -A CONVERSATION. - - -Agnes’s rambles out of doors had now almost always to be made alone. -Rachel was much engrossed with the invalid of the Old Wood House, who -had “taken a fancy” to the gentle little girl. The hypochondriac Miss -Rivers was glad of any one so tender and respectful; and half in natural -pity for the sufferings which Rachel could not believe to be fanciful, -half from a natural vocation for kindly help and tendance, the girl was -glad to respond to the partly selfish affection of her new friend, who -told Rachel countless stories of the family, and the whole chronicle in -every particular of her own early “disappointment in love.” In return, -Rachel, by snatches, conveyed to her invalid friend--in whom, after all, -she found some points of interest and congeniality--a very exalted ideal -picture of the Athelings, the genius of Agnes, and the love-story of -Marian. Marian and Agnes occupied a very prominent place indeed in the -talk of that shadowy dressing-room, with all its invalid -contrivances--its closed green blinds, its soft mossy carpets, on which -no footstep was ever audible, its easy little couches, which you could -move with a finger; the luxury, and the stillness, and the gossip, were -not at all unpleasant to Rachel; and she read _Hope Hazlewood_ to her -companion in little bits, with pauses of talk between. _Hope Hazlewood_ -was not nearly romantic enough for the pretty faded invalid reposing -among her pillows in her white dressing-gown, whom Time seemed to have -forgotten there, and who had no recollection for her own part that she -was growing old; but she took all the delight of a girl in hearing of -Louis and Marian--how much attached to each other, and how handsome they -both were. - -And Marian Atheling did not care half so much as she used to do for the -long rambles with her sister, which were once such a pleasure to both -the girls. Marian rather now preferred sitting by herself over her -needlework, or lingering alone at the window, in an entire sweet -idleness, full of all those charmed visions with which the very name of -Louis peopled all the fairy future. Not the wisest, or the wittiest, or -the most brilliant conversation in the world could have half equalled to -Marian the dreamy pleasure of her own meditations. So Agnes had to go -out alone. - -Agnes did not suffer very much from this necessity. She wandered along -the skirts of the wood, with a vague sense of freedom and enjoyment not -easy to explain in words. No dreamy trance of magic influence had come -upon Agnes; her mind, and her heart, and her thoughts, were quickened by -a certain thrill of expectation, which was not to be referred to the -strange romance now going on in the family--to Charlie’s mission, nor -Louis’s prospects, nor anything else which was definite and ascertained. -She knew that her heart rose, that her mind brightened, that her -thoughts were restless and light, and not to be controlled; but she -could not tell the reason why. She went about exploring all the country -byways, and finding little tracks among the brushwood undiscoverable to -the common eye; and she was not cogitating anything, scarcely was -thinking, but somehow felt within her whole nature a silent growth and -increase not to be explained. - -She was pondering along, with her eyes upon the wide panorama at her -feet, when it chanced to Agnes, suddenly and without preparation, to -encounter the Rector. These two young people, who were mutually -attracted to each other, had at the present moment a mutual occasion of -embarrassment and apparent offence. The Rector could not forget how very -much humbled in his own opinion he himself had been on his late visit to -the Lodge; he had not yet recovered the singular check given to his own -unconscious selfishness, by the natural sympathy of these simple people -with the grander primitive afflictions and sufferings of life: and he -was not without an idea that Agnes looked upon him now with a somewhat -disdainful eye. Agnes, on her part, was greatly oppressed by the secret -sense of being concerned against the Rector; in his presence she felt -like a culprit--a secret plotter against the hope which brightened his -eye, and expanded his mind. A look of trouble came at once into her -face; her brow clouded--she thought it was not quite honest to make a -show of friendship, while she retained her secret knowledge of the -inquiry which might change into all the bitterness of disappointment his -sudden and unlooked-for hope. - -He had been going in the opposite direction, but, though he was not at -all reconciled to her, he was not willing either to part with Agnes. He -turned, only half consciously, only half willingly, yet by an -irresistible compulsion. He tried indifferent conversation, and so did -she; but, in spite of himself, Lionel Rivers was a truer man with Agnes -Atheling than he was with any other person in the world. He who had -never cared for sympathy from any one, somehow or other felt a necessity -for hers, and had a certain imperious disappointment and impatience when -it was withheld from him, which was entirely unreasonable, and not to -be accounted for. He broke off abruptly from the talk about nothing, to -speak of some intended movements of his own. - -“I am going to town,” said Mr Rivers. “I am somewhat unsettled at -present in my intentions; after that, probably, I may spend some time -abroad.” - -“All because he is the heir!” thought Agnes to herself; and again she -coloured with distress and vexation. It was impossible to keep something -of this from her tone; when she spoke, it was in a voice subdued a -little out of its usual tenor; but all that she asked was a casual -question, meaning nothing--“If Mr Mead would have the duty while the -Rector was away?” - -“Yes,” said the Rector; “he is very much better fitted for it than I am. -Here I have been cramping my wings these three years. Fathers and -mothers are bitterly to blame; they bind a man to what his soul loathes, -because it is his best method of earning some paltry pittance--so much -a-year!” - -After this exclamation the young clergyman made a pause, and so did his -diffident and uneasy auditor, who “did not like” either to ask his -meaning, or to make any comment upon it. After a few minutes he resumed -again-- - -“I suppose it must constantly be so where we dare to think for -ourselves,” he said, in a tone of self-conversation. “A man who thinks -_must_ come to conclusions different from those which are taught to -him--different, perhaps, from all that has been concluded truest in the -ages that are past. What shall we say? Woe be to me if I do not follow -out my reasoning, to whatever length it may lead!” - -“When Paul says, Woe be to him, it is, if he does not preach the -Gospel,” said Agnes. - -Mr Rivers smiled. “Be glad of your own happy exemption,” he said, -turning to her, with the air of a man who knows by heart all the old -arguments--all the feminine family arguments against scepticism and -dangerous speculations. “I will leave you in possession of your -beautiful Gospel--your pure faith. I shall not attempt to disturb your -mind--do not fear.” - -“You could not!” said Agnes, in a sudden and rash defiance. She turned -to him in her turn, beginning to tremble a little with the excitement of -controversy. She was a young polemic, rather more graceful in its -manifestation, but quite as strong in the spirit of the conflict as any -Mause Headrigg--which is to say, that, after her eager girlish fashion, -she believed with her whole heart, and did not know what toleration -meant. - -Mr Rivers smiled once more. “I will not try,” he said. “I remember what -Christ said, and endeavour to have charity even for those who condemn -me.” - -“Oh, Mr Rivers!” cried Agnes suddenly, and with trembling, “do not speak -so coldly--do not say Christ; it sounds as if you did not care for -Him--as if you thought He was no friend to you.” - -The Rector paused, somewhat startled: it was an objection which never -had occurred to him--one of those subtle touches concerning the spirit -and not the letter, which, being perfectly sudden, and quite simple, had -some chance of coming to the heart. - -“What do _you_ say?” he asked with a little interest. - -Agnes’s voice was low, and trembled with reverence and with emotion. She -was not thinking of him, in his maze of intellectual trifling--she was -thinking of that Other, whom she knew so much better, and whose name she -spoke. She answered with an involuntary bending of her head--“Our Lord.” - -It was no conviction that struck the mind of the young man--conviction -was not like to come readily to him--and he was far too familiar with -all the formal arguments, to be moved by the reasonings of a polemic, or -the fervour of an enthusiast. But he who professed so much anxiety about -truth, and contemplated himself as a moral martyr, woefully following -his principles, though they led him to ever so dark a desolation, had -lived all his life among an infinite number of shams, and willingly -enough had yielded to many of them. Perhaps this was the first time in -his life in which he had been brought into immediate contact with people -who were simply true in their feelings and their actions--whose opinions -were without controversy--whose settled place in life, humble as it was, -shut them out from secondary emulations and ambitions--and who were -swayed by the primitive rule of human existence--the labour and the -rest, the affliction and the prosperity, which were real things, and not -creations of the brain. He paused a little over the words of Agnes -Atheling. He did not want her to think as he did: he was content to -believe that the old boundaries were suitable and seemly for a woman; -and he was rather pleased than otherwise, by the horror, interest, and -regret which such opinions as his generally met with. He paused upon her -words, with the air of a spectator, and said in a meditative fashion, -“It is a glorious faith.” - -Now Agnes, who was not at all satisfied with this contemplative -approval, was entirely ready and eager for controversy; prepared to -plunge into it with the utmost rashness, utterly unaccoutred and -ignorant as she was. She trembled with suppressed fervour and excitement -over all her frame. She was as little a match for the Rector in the -argument which she would fain have entered into, as any child in the -village; but she was far too strong in the truth of her cause to feel -any fear. - -“Do you ever meet with great trouble?” said Agnes. - -It was quite an unexpected question. The Rector looked at her -inquiringly, without the least perception what she meant. - -“And when you meet with it,” continued the eager young champion, “what -do you say?” - -Now this was rather a difficult point with the Rector; it was not -naturally his vocation to administer comfort to “great trouble”--in -reality, when he was brought face to face with it, he had nothing to -say. He paused a little, really embarrassed--_that_ was the curate’s -share of the business. Mr Rivers was very sorry for the poor people, but -had, in fact, no consolation to give, and thought it much more important -to play with his own mind and faculties in this solemn and conscientious -trifling of his, than to attend to the griefs of others. He answered, -after some hesitation: “There are different minds, of course, and -different influences applicable to them. Every man consoles himself -after his own fashion; for some there are the sublime consolations of -Philosophy, for others the rites of the Church.” - -“Some time,” said Agnes suddenly, turning upon him with earnest -eyes,--“some time, when you come upon great sorrow, will you try the -name of our Lord?” - -The young man was startled again, and made no answer. He was struck by -the singular conviction that this girl, inferior to himself in every -point, had a certain real and sublime acquaintance with that wonderful -Person of whom she spoke; that this was by no means belief in a -doctrine, but knowledge of a glorious and extraordinary Individual, -whose history no unbeliever in the world has been able to divest of its -original majesty. The idea was altogether new to him; it found an -unaccustomed way to the heart of the speculatist--that dormant power -which scarcely any one all his life had tried to reach to. “I do not -quite understand you,” he said somewhat moodily; but he did not attend -to what she said afterwards. He pondered upon the problem by himself, -and could not make anything of it. Arguments about doctrines and beliefs -were patent enough to the young man. He was quite at home among dogmas -and opinions--but, somehow, this personal view of the question had a -strange advantage over him. He was not prepared for it; its entire and -obvious simplicity took away the ground from under his feet. It might be -easy enough to persuade a man out of conviction of a doctrine which he -believed, but it was a different matter to disturb the identity of a -person whom he knew. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -SUSPENSE. - - -In the mean time, immediate interest in their own occupations had pretty -nearly departed from the inhabitants of the Old Wood Lodge. Agnes went -on with her writing, Mamma with her work-basket, Marian with her dreams; -but desk, and needle, and meditations were all alike abandoned in -prospect of the postman, who was to be seen making his approach for a -very long way, and was watched every day with universal anxiety. What -Louis was doing, what Charlie was doing, the progress of the lawsuit, -and the plans of Miss Anastasia, continually drew the thoughts of the -household away from themselves. Even Rachel’s constant report of the -unseen invalid, Miss Lucy, added to the general withdrawal of interest -from the world within to the world without. They seemed to have nothing -to do themselves in their feminine quietness. Mamma sat pondering over -her work--about her husband, who was alone, and did not like his -solitude--about Charlie, who was intrusted with so great a -commission--about “all the children”--every one of whom seemed to be -getting afloat on a separate current of life. Agnes mused over her -business with impatient thoughts about the Rector, with visions of -Rachel and Miss Lucy in the invalid chamber, and vain attempts to look -into the future and see what was to come. As for Marian, the charmed -tenor of her fancies knew no alteration; she floated on, without -interruption, in a sweet vision, full of a thousand consistencies, and -wilder than any romance. Their conversation ran no longer in the ancient -household channel, and was no more about their own daily occupations; -they were spectators eagerly looking from the windows at nearly a dozen -different conflicts, earnestly concerned, and deeply sympathetic, but -not in the strife themselves. - -Louis had entered Mr Foggo’s office; it seemed a strange destination for -the young man. He did not tell any one how small a remuneration he -received for his labours, nor how he contrived to live in the little -room, in the second floor of one of those Islington houses. He succeeded -in existing--that was enough; and Louis did not chafe at his restrained -and narrow life, by reason of having all his faculties engaged and -urgent in a somewhat fanciful mode, of securing the knowledge which he -longed for concerning his own birth and derivation. He had ascertained -from Mr Atheling every particular concerning the Rivers family which -_he_ knew. He had even managed to seek out some old servants once at the -Hall, and with a keen and intense patience had listened to every word of -a hundred aimless and inconclusive stories from these respectable -authorities. He was compiling, indeed, neither more nor less than a -_life_ of Lord Winterbourne--a history which he endeavoured to verify in -every particular as he went on, and which was written with the sternest -impartiality--a plain and clear record of events. Perhaps a more -remarkable manuscript than that of Louis never existed; and he pursued -his tale with all the zest, and much more than the excitement, of a -romancer. It was a true story, of which he laboured to find out every -episode; and there was a powerful unity and constructive force in the -one sole unvarying interest of the tale. Mr Atheling had been moved to -tell the eager youth _all_ the particulars of his early acquaintance -with Lord Winterbourne--and still the story grew--the object of the -whole being to discover, as Louis himself said, “what child there was -whom it was his interest to disgrace and defame.” The young man followed -hotly upon this clue. His thoughts had not been directed yet to anything -resembling the discovery of Miss Anastasia; it had never occurred to -him that his disinheritance might be absolutely the foundation of all -Lord Winterbourne’s greatness; but he hovered about the question with a -singular pertinacity, and gave his full attention to it. Inspired by -this, he did not consider his meagre meal, his means so narrow that it -was the hardest matter in the world to eat daily bread. He pursued his -story with a concentration of purpose which the greatest poet in -existence might have envied. He was a great deal too much in earnest to -think about the sentences in which he recorded what he learnt. The -consequence was, that this memoir of Lord Winterbourne was a model of -terse and pithy English--an unexampled piece of biography. Louis did not -say a word about it to any one, but pursued his labour and his inquiry -together, vainly endeavouring to find out a trace of some one whom he -could identify with himself. - -Meanwhile, Papa began to complain grievously of his long abandonment, -and moved by Louis on one side, and by his own discomfort on the other, -became very decided in his conviction that there was no due occasion for -the absence of his family. There was great discontent in Number Ten, -Bellevue, and there was an equal discontent, rather more overpowering, -and quite as genuine, in the Old Wood Lodge, where Mamma and Marian vied -with each other in anxiety, and thought no cause sufficiently important -to keep them any longer from home. Agnes expressed no opinion either on -one side or the other; she was herself somewhat disturbed and unsettled, -thinking a great deal more about the Rector than was at all convenient, -or to her advantage. After that piece of controversy, the Rector began -to come rather often to the Lodge. He never said a word again touching -that one brief breath of warfare, yet they eyed each other -distrustfully, with a mutual consciousness of what had occurred, and -might occur again. It was not a very lover-like point of union, yet it -was a secret link of which no one else knew. Unconsciously it drew Agnes -into inferences and implications, which were spoken at the Rector; and -unconsciously it drew him to more sympathy with common trials, and a -singular inclination to experiment, as Agnes had bidden him, with her -sublime talisman--that sole Name given under heaven, which has power to -touch into universal brotherhood the whole universal heart of man. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -NEWS. - - -While the Lodge remained in this ferment of suspense and uncertainty, -Miss Anastasia had taken her measures for its defence and preservation. -It was wearing now towards the end of October, and winter was setting in -darkly. There was no more than a single rose at a time now upon the -porch, and these roses looked so pale, pathetic, and solitary, that it -was rather sad than pleasant to see the lonely flowers. On one of the -darkest days of the month, when they were all rather more listless than -usual, Miss Anastasia’s well-known equipage drew up at the gate. They -all hailed it with some pleasure. It was an event in the dull day and -discouraging atmosphere. She came in with her loud cheerful voice, her -firm step, her energetic bearing--and even the pretty _fiancée_ Marian -raised her pretty stooping shoulders, and woke up from her fascinated -musing. Rachel alone drew shyly towards the door; she had not overcome -a timidity very nearly approaching fear, which she always felt in -presence of Miss Anastasia. She was the only person who ever entered -this house who made Rachel remember again her life at the Hall. - -“I came to show you a letter from your boy; read it while I talk to the -children,” said Miss Rivers. Mrs Atheling took the letter with some -nervousness; she was a little fluttered, and lost the sense of many of -the expressions; yet lingered over it, notwithstanding, with pride and -exultation. She longed very much to have an opportunity of showing it to -Agnes; but that was not possible; so Mrs Atheling made a virtuous -attempt to preserve in her memory every word that her son said. This was -Charlie’s letter to his patroness:-- - - “MADAM,--I have not made very much progress yet. The courier, Jean - Monte, is to be heard of as you suggested; but it is only known on - the road that he lives in Switzerland, and keeps some sort of inn - in one of the mountain villages. No more as yet; but I will find - him out. I have to be very cautious at present, because I am not - yet well up in the language. The town is a ruinous place, and I - cannot get the parish registers examined as one might do in - England. There are several families of decayed nobles in the - immediate neighbourhood, and, so far as I can hear, Giulietta is a - very common name. Travelling Englishmen, too, are so frequent that - there is a good deal of difficulty. I am rather inclined to fix - upon the villa Remori, where there are said to have been several - English marriages. It has been an extensive place, but is now - broken down, decayed, and neglected; the family have a title, and - are said to be very handsome, but are evidently very poor. There is - a mother and a number of daughters, only one or two grown up; I try - to make acquaintance with the children. The father died early, and - had no brothers. I think possibly this might be the house of - Giulietta, as there is no one surviving to look after the rights of - her children, did she really belong to this family. Of course, any - relatives she had, with any discretion, would have inquired out her - son in England; so I incline to think she may have belonged to the - villa Remori, as there are only women there. - - “I have to be very slow on account of my Italian--this, however, - remedies itself every day. I shall not think of looking for Monte - till I have finished my business here, and am on my way home. The - place is unprosperous and unhealthy, but it is pretty, and rather - out of the way--few travellers came, they tell me, till within ten - years ago; but I have not met with any one yet whose memory carried - back at all clearly for twenty years. A good way out of the town, - near the lake, there is a kind of mausoleum which interests me a - little, not at all unlike the family tomb at Winterbourne; there is - no name upon it; it lies quite out of the way, and I cannot - ascertain that any one has ever been buried there; but something - may be learned about it, perhaps, by-and-by. - - “When I ascertain anything of the least importance, I shall write - again. - - “Madam, - - “Your Obedient Servant, - - “Charles Atheling.” - - -Charlie had never written to a lady before; he was a little embarrassed -about it the first time, but this was his second epistle, and he had -become a little more at his ease. The odd thing about the correspondence -was, that Charlie did not express either hopes or opinions; he did not -say what he expected, or what were his chances of success--he only -reported what he was doing; any speculation upon the subject, more -especially at this crisis, would have been out of Charlie’s way. - -“What do you call your brother when you write to him?” asked Miss -Anastasia abruptly, addressing Rachel. - -Rachel coloured violently; she had so nearly forgotten her old -system--her old representative character--that she was scarcely prepared -to answer such a question. With a mixture of her natural manner and her -assumed one, she answered at last, in considerable confusion, “We call -him Louis; he has no other name.” - -“Then he will not take the name of Rivers?” said Miss Anastasia, looking -earnestly at the shrinking girl. - -“We have no right to the name of Rivers,” said Rachel, drawing herself -up with her old dignity, like a little queen. “My brother is inquiring -who we are. We never belonged to Lord Winterbourne.” - -“Your brother is inquiring? So!” said Miss Anastasia; “and he is -perfectly right. Listen, child--tell him this from me--do you know what -Atheling means? It means noble, illustrious, royally born. In the old -Saxon days the princes were called Atheling. Tell your brother that -Anastasia Rivers bids him bear this name.” - -This address entirely confused Rachel, who remained gazing at Miss -Rivers blankly, unable to say anything. Marian stirred upon her chair -with sudden eagerness, and put down her needlework, gazing also, but -after quite a different fashion, in Miss Anastasia’s face. The old lady -caught the look of both, but only replied to the last. - -“You are startled, are you, little beauty? Did you never hear the story -of Margaret Atheling, who was an exile, and a saint, and a queen? My -child, I should be very glad to make sure that you were a true Atheling -too.” - -Marian was not to be diverted from her curiosity by any such -observation. She cast a quick look from Miss Rivers to her mother, who -was pondering over Charlie’s letter, and from Mrs Atheling to Agnes, who -had not been startled by the strange words of Miss Anastasia; and -suspicion, vague and unexplainable, began to dawn in Marian’s mind. - -“The autumn assizes begin to-day,” said Miss Anastasia with a little -triumph; “too soon, as Mr Temple managed it, for your case to have a -hearing; it must stand over till the spring now--six months--by that -time, please God; we shall be ready for them. Agnes Atheling, how long -is it since you began to be deaf and blind?” - -Agnes started with a little confusion, and made a hurried inarticulate -answer. There was a little quiet quarrel all this time going on between -Agnes and Miss Rivers; neither the elder lady nor the younger was quite -satisfied--Agnes feeling herself something like a conspirator, and Miss -Anastasia a little suspicious of her, as a disaffected person in the -interest of the enemy. But Mamma by this time had come to an end of -Charlie’s letter, and, folding it up very slowly, gave it back to its -proprietor. The good mother did not feel it at all comfortable to keep -this information altogether to herself. - -“It is not to be tried till spring!” said Mrs Atheling, who had caught -this observation. “Then, I think, indeed, Miss Rivers, we must go home.” - -And, to Mamma’s great comfort, Miss Anastasia made no objection. She -said kindly that she should miss her pleasant neighbours. “But what may -be in the future, girls, no one knows,” said Miss Rivers, getting up -abruptly. “Now, however, before this storm comes on, I am going home.” - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -GOING HOME. - - -After this the family made immediate preparations for their return. Upon -this matter Rachel was extremely uncomfortable, and much divided in her -wishes. Miss Lucy, who had been greatly solaced by the gentle -ministrations of this mild little girl, insisted very much that Rachel -should remain with her until her friends returned in spring, or till her -brother had “established himself.” Rachel herself did not know what to -do; and her mind was in a very doubtful condition, full of -self-arguments. She did not think Louis would be pleased--that was the -dark side. The favourable view was, that she was of use to the invalid, -and remaining with her would be “no burden to any one.” Rachel pondered, -wept, and consulted over it with much sincerity. From the society of -these young companions, whom the simple girl loved, and who were so near -her own age; from Louis, her lifelong ruler and example; from the kindly -fireside, to which she had looked forward so long--it was hard enough -to turn to the invalid chambers, the old four-volume novels, and poor -pretty old Miss Lucy’s “disappointment in love.” “And if afterwards I -had to sing or give lessons, I should forget all my music there,” said -Rachel. Mrs Atheling kindly stepped in and decided for her. “It might be -a very good thing for you, my dear, if you had no friends,” said Mrs -Atheling. Rachel did not know whether to be most puzzled or grateful; -but to keep a certain conscious solemnity out of her tone--a certain -mysterious intimation of something great in the future--was out of the -power of Mamma. - -Accordingly, they all began their preparations with zeal and energy, the -only indifferent member of the party being Agnes, who began to feel -herself a good deal alone, and to suspect that she was indeed in the -enemy’s interest, and not so anxious about the success of Louis as she -ought to have been. A few days after Miss Anastasia’s visit, the Rector -came to find them in all the bustle of preparation. He appeared among -them with a certain solemnity, looking haughty and offended, and -received Mrs Atheling’s intimation of their departure with a grave and -punctilious bow. He had evidently known it before, and he looked upon -it, quite as evidently, as something done to thwart him--a personal -offence to himself. - -“Miss Atheling perhaps has literary occupation to call her to town,” -suggested Mr Rivers, returning to his original ground of displeasure, -and trying to get up a little quarrel with Agnes. She did not reply to -him, but her mother did, on her behalf. - -“Indeed, Mr Rivers, it does not make any difference to Agnes; she can -write anywhere,” said Mrs Atheling. “I often wonder how she gets on -amongst us all; but my husband has been left so long by himself--and now -that the trial does not come on till spring, we are all so thankful to -get home.” - -“The trial comes on in spring?--I shall endeavour to be at home,” said -the Rector, “if I can be of any service. I am myself going to town; I am -somewhat unsettled in my plans at present--but my friends whom I esteem -most are in London--people of scientific and philosophical pursuits, who -cannot afford to be fashionable. Shall I have your permission to call on -you when we are all there?” - -“I am sure we shall all be very much pleased,” said Mrs Atheling, -flattered by his tone--“you know what simple people we are, and we do -not keep any company; but we shall be very pleased, and honoured too, to -see you as we have seen you here.” - -Agnes was a little annoyed by her mother’s speech. She looked up with a -flash of indignation, and met, not the eyes of Mrs Atheling, but those -of Mr Rivers, who was looking at her. The eyes had a smile in them, but -there was perfect gravity upon the face. She was confused by the look, -though she did not know why. The words upon her lip were checked--she -looked down again, and began to arrange her papers with a rising colour. -The Rector’s look wandered from her face, because he perceived that he -embarrassed her, but went no further than her hands, which were pretty -hands enough, yet nothing half so exquisite as those rose-tipped fairy -fingers with which Marian folded up her embroidery. The Rector had no -eyes at all for Marian; but he watched the arrangement of Agnes’s papers -with a quite involuntary interest--detected in an instant when she -misplaced one, and was very much disposed to offer his own assistance, -relenting towards her. What he meant by it--he who was really the heir -of Lord Winterbourne, and by no means unaware of his own advantages--Mrs -Atheling, looking on with quick-witted maternal observation, could not -tell. - -Then quite abruptly--after he had watched all Agnes’s papers into the -pockets of her writing-book--he rose to go away; then he lingered over -the ceremony of shaking hands with her, and held hers longer than there -was any occasion for. “Some time I hope to resume our argument,” said Mr -Rivers. He paused till she answered him: “I do not know about argument,” -said Agnes, looking up with a flash of spirit--“I should be foolish to -try it against you. I know only what I trust in--that is not argument--I -never meant it so.” - -He made no reply save by a bow, and went away leaving her rather -excited, a little angry, a little moved. Then they began to plague her -with questions--What did Mr Rivers mean? There was nothing in the world -which Agnes knew less of than what Mr Rivers meant. She tried to -explain, in a general way, the conversation she had with him before, but -made an extremely lame explanation, which no one was satisfied with, and -escaped to her own room in a very nervous condition, quite disturbed out -of her self-command. Agnes did not at all know what to make of her -anomalous feelings. She was vexed to the heart to feel how much she was -interested, while she disapproved so much, and with petulant annoyance -exclaimed to herself, that she wanted no more argument if he would but -let her alone! - -And then came the consideration of Lionel’s false hope--the hope which -some of these days would be taken from him in a moment. If she could -only let him know what she knew, her conscience would be easy. As she -thought of this, she remembered how people have been told in fables -secrets as important; the idea flashed into her mind with a certain -relief--then came the pleasure of creation, the gleam of life among her -maze of thoughts; the fancy brightened into shape and graceful -fashion--she began unconsciously to hang about it the shining garments -of genius--and so she rose and went about her homely business, putting -together the little frocks of Bell and Beau, ready to be packed, with -the vision growing and brightening before her eyes. Then the definite -and immediate purpose of it gave way to a pure native delight in the -beautiful thing which began to grow and expand in her thoughts. She went -down again, forgetting her vexation. If it did no other good in the -world, there was the brightest stream of practical relief and -consolation in Agnes Atheling’s gift. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -NEW INFLUENCES. - - -Once more the Old Wood Lodge stood solitary under the darkening wintry -skies, with no bright faces at its windows, nor gleam of household -firelight in the dim little parlour, where Miss Bridget’s shadow came -back to dwell among the silence, a visionary inhabitant. Once more -Hannah sat solitary in her kitchen, lamenting that it was “lonesomer nor -ever,” and pining for the voices of the children. Hannah would have -almost been content to leave her native place and her own people to -accompany the family to London; but that was out of the question; and, -spite of all Mamma’s alarms, Susan had really conducted herself in a -very creditable manner under her great responsibility as housekeeper at -Bellevue. - -The journey home was not a very eventful one. They were met by Papa and -Louis on their arrival, and conducted in triumph to their own little -house, which did not look so attractive, by any means, as it used to do. -Then they settled down without more ado into the family use and wont. -With so great a change in all their prospects and intentions--so strange -an enlargement of their horizon and extension of their hopes--it was -remarkable how little change befell the outward life and customs of the -family. Marian, it was true, was “engaged;” but Marian might have been -engaged to poor Harry Oswald without any great variation of -circumstances; and that was always a possibility lying under everybody’s -eyes. It did not yet disturb the _habits_ of the family; but this new -life which they began to enter--this life of separated and individual -interest--took no small degree of heart and spirit out of those joint -family pleasures and occupations into which Marian constantly brought a -reference to Louis, which Agnes passed through with a preoccupied and -abstracted mind, and from which Charlie was far away. The stream -widened, the sky grew broader, yet every one had his or her separate and -peculiar firmament. A maturer, perhaps, and more complete existence was -opening upon them; but the first effect was by no means to increase the -happiness of the family. They loved each other as well as ever; but they -were not so entirely identical. It was a disturbing influence, foreign -and unusual; it was not the quiet, assured, undoubting family happiness -of the days which were gone. - -Then there were other unaccordant elements. Rachel, whom Mrs Atheling -insisted upon retaining with them, and who was extremely eager on her -own part to find something to do, and terrified to think herself a -burden upon her friends; and Louis, who contented himself with his -pittance of income, but only did his mere duty at the office, and gave -all his thoughts and all his powers to the investigation which engrossed -him. Mrs Atheling was very much concerned about Louis. If all this came -to nothing, as was quite probable, she asked her husband eagerly what -was to become of these young people--what were they to do? For at -present, instead of trying to get on, Louis, who had no suspicion of the -truth, gave his whole attention to a visionary pursuit, and was content -to have the barest enough which he could exist upon. Mr Atheling shook -his head, and could not make any satisfactory reply. “There was no -disposition to idleness about the boy,” Papa said, with approval. “He -was working very hard, though he might make nothing by it; and when this -state of uncertainty was put an end to, then they should see.” - -And Marian of late had become actively suspicious and observant. Marian -attacked her mother boldly, and without concealment. “Mamma, it is -something about Louis that Charlie has gone abroad for!” she said, in -an unexpected sally, which took the garrison by surprise. - -“My dear, how could you think of such a thing?” cried the prudent Mrs -Atheling. “What could Miss Anastasia have to do with Louis? Why, she -never so much as saw him, you know. You must, by no means, take foolish -fancies into your head. I daresay, after all, he must belong to Lord -Winterbourne.” - -Marian asked no more; but she did not fail to communicate her suspicions -to Louis at the earliest opportunity. “I am quite sure,” said Marian, -not scrupling even to express her convictions in presence of Agnes and -Rachel, “that Charlie has gone abroad for something about you.” - -“Something about me!” Louis was considerably startled; he was even -indignant for a moment. He did not relish the idea of having secret -enterprises undertaken for him, or to know less about himself than -Marian’s young brother did. “You must be mistaken,” he said, with a -momentary haughtiness. “Charlie is a very acute fellow, but I do not see -that he is likely to trouble himself about me.” - -“Oh, but it was Miss Anastasia,” said Marian, eagerly. - -Then Louis coloured, and drew himself up. His first idea was that Miss -Anastasia looked for evidence to prove him the son of Lord Winterbourne; -and he resented, with natural vehemence, the interference of the old -lady. “We are come to a miserable pass, indeed,” he said, with -bitterness, “when people investigate privately to prove this wretched -lie against us.” - -“But you do not understand,” cried Rachel. “Oh, Louis, I never told you -what Miss Anastasia said. She said you were to take the name of -Atheling, because it meant illustrious, and because the exiled princes -were named so. Both Marian and Agnes heard her. She is a friend, Louis. -Oh, I am sure, if she is inquiring anything, it is all for our good!” - -The colour rose still higher upon Louis’s cheek. He did not quite -comprehend at the moment this strange, sudden side-light which glanced -down upon the question which was so important to him. He did not pause -to follow, nor see to what it might lead; but it struck him as a clue to -something, though he was unable to discover what that something was. -Atheling! the youth’s imagination flashed back in a moment upon those -disinherited descendants of Alfred, the Edgars and Margarets, who, -instead of princely titles, bore only that addition to their name. He -was as near the truth at that moment as people wandering in profound -darkness are often near the light. Another step would have brought him -to it; but Louis did not take that step, and was not enlightened. His -heart rose, however, with the burning impatience of one who comes within -sight of the goal. He started involuntarily with haste and eagerness. He -was jealous that even friendly investigations should be the first to -find out the mystery. He felt as if he would have a better right to -anything which might be awaiting him, if he discovered it himself. - -Upon all this tumult of thought and feeling, Agnes looked on, saying -nothing--looked on, by no means enjoying her spectatorship and superior -knowledge. It was a “situation” which might have pleased Mr Endicott, -but it terribly embarrassed Agnes, who found it no pleasure at all to be -so much wiser than her neighbours. She dared not confide the secret to -Louis any more than she could to the Rector; and she would have been -extremely unhappy between them, but for the relief and comfort of that -fable, which was quickly growing into shape and form. It had passed out -of her controlling hands already, and began to exercise over her the -sway which a real created thing always exercises over the mind even of -its author: it had ceased to be the direct personal affair she had -intended to make it; it told its story, but after a more delicate -process, and Agnes expended all her graceful fancy upon its perfection. -She thought now that Louis might find it out as well as the Rector. It -was an eloquent appeal, heart-warm and touching to them both. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -RACHEL’S DOUBTS. - - -After Louis, the most urgent business in the house of the Athelings was -that of Rachel, who was so pertinaciously anxious to be employed, that -her friends found it very difficult to evade her constant entreaties. -Rachel’s education--or rather Rachel’s want of education--had been very -different from that of Marian and Agnes. She had no traditions of -respectability to deter her from anything she could do; and she had been -accustomed to sing to the guests at Winterbourne, and concluded that it -would make very little difference to her, whether her performance was in -a public concert-room or a private assembly. “No one would care at all -for me; no one would ever think of me or look at me,” said Rachel. “If I -sang well, that would be all that any one thought of; and we need not -tell Louis--and I would not mind myself--and no one would ever know.” - -“But I have great objections to it, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling, with -some solemnity. “I should rather a hundred times take in work myself, or -do anything with my own hands, than let my girls do this. It is not -respectable for a young girl. A public appearance! I should be grieved -and ashamed beyond anything. I should indeed, my dear.” - -“I am very sorry, Mrs Atheling,” said Rachel, wistfully; “but it is not -anything wrong.” - -“Not wrong--but not at all respectable,” said Mrs Atheling, “and -unfeminine, and very dangerous indeed, and a discreditable position for -a young girl.” - -Rachel blushed, and was very much disconcerted, but still did not give -up the point. “I thought it so when they tried to force me,” she said in -a low tone; “but now, no one need know; and people, perhaps, might have -me at their houses; ladies sing in company. You would not mind me doing -that, Mrs Atheling? Or I could give lessons. Perhaps you think it is all -vanity; but indeed they used to think me a very good singer, long ago. -Oh, Agnes, do you remember that old gentleman at the Willow? that very -old gentleman who used to talk to you? I think he could help me if you -would only speak to him.” - -“Mr Agar? I think he could,” said Agnes; “but, Rachel, mamma says you -must not think of it. Marian does not do anything, and why should you?” - -“I am no one’s daughter,” said Rachel, sadly. “You are all very kind; -but Louis has only a very little money; and I will not--indeed I will -not--be a burden upon you.” - -“Rachel, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling, “do not speak so foolishly; but I -will tell you what we can do. Agnes shall write down all about it to -Miss Anastasia, and ask her advice, and whether she consents to it; and -if she consents, I will not object any more. I promise I shall not stand -in the way at all, if Miss Anastasia decides for you.” - -Rachel looked up with a little wonder. “But Miss Anastasia has nothing -to do with us,” said the astonished girl. “I would rather obey you than -Miss Rivers, a great deal. Why should we consult _her_?” - -“My dear,” said Mrs Atheling, with importance, “you must not ask any -questions at present. _I have my reasons._ Miss Anastasia takes a great -interest in you, and I have a very good reason for what I say.” - -This made an end of the argument; but Rachel was extremely puzzled, and -could not understand it. She was not very quick-witted, this gentle -little girl; she began to have a certain awe of Miss Anastasia, and to -suppose that it must be her superior wisdom which made every one ask her -opinion. Rachel could not conclude upon any other reason, and -accordingly awaited with a little solemnity the decision of Miss Rivers. -They were in a singular harmony, all these young people; not one of -them but had some great question hanging in the balance, which they -themselves were not sufficient to conclude upon--something that might -change and colour the whole course of their lives. - -Another event occurring just at this time, made Rachel for a time the -heroine of the family. Charlie wrote home with great regularity, like a -good son as he was. His letters were very short, and not at all -explanatory; but they satisfied his mother that he had not taken a -fever, nor fallen into the hands of robbers, and that was so far well. -In one of these epistles, however, the young gentleman extended his -brief report a little, to describe to them a family with which he had -formed acquaintance. There were a lot of girls, Charlie said; and one of -them, called Giulia Remori, was strangely like “Miss Rachel;” “not -exactly like,” wrote Charlie,--“not like Agnes and Marian” (who, by the -way, had only a very vague resemblance to each other). “You would not -suppose them to be sisters; but I always think of Miss Rachel when I see -this Signora Giulia. They say, too, she has a great genius for music, -and I heard her sing once myself, like----; well, I cannot say what it -was like. The most glorious music, I believe, under the skies.” - -“Mamma, that cannot be Charlie!” said the girls simultaneously; but it -was Charlie, without any dispute, and Marian clapped her hands in -triumph, and exclaimed that he must be in love; and there stood Rachel, -very much interested, wistful, and smiling. The tender-hearted girl had -the greatest propensity to make friendships. She received the idea of -this foreign Giulia into her heart in a moment, and ran forth eagerly at -the time of Louis’s usual evening visit to meet him at the gate, and -tell him this little bit of romance. It moved Louis a great deal more -deeply than it moved Rachel. This time his eye flashed to the truth like -lightning. He began to give serious thought to what Marian had said of -Charlie’s object, and of Miss Anastasia. “Hush, Rachel,” he said, with -sudden gravity. “Hush, I see it; this is some one belonging to our -mother.” - -“Our mother!” The two orphans stood together at the little gate, -silenced by the name. They had never speculated much upon this parent. -It was one of the miseries of their cruel position, that the very idea -of a dead mother, which is to most minds the most saintlike and holy -imagination under heaven, brought to them their bitterest pang of -disgrace and humiliation. Yet now Louis stood silent, pondering it with -the deepest eagerness. A burning impatience possessed the young man; a -violent colour rose over his face. He could not tolerate the idea of an -unconcerned inquirer into matters so instantly momentous to himself. He -was not at all amiable in his impulses; his immediate and wild fancy was -to rush away, on foot and penniless, as he was; to turn off Charlie -summarily from his mission, if he had one; and without a clue, or a -guide, or a morsel of information which pointed in that direction, by -sheer force of energy and desperation to find it out himself. It was -misery to go in quietly to the quiet house, even to the presence of -Marian, with such a fancy burning in his mind. He left Rachel abruptly, -without a word of explanation, and went off to make inquiries about -travelling. It was perfectly vain, but it was some satisfaction to the -fever of his mind. Louis’s defection made Marian very angry; when he -came next day they had their first quarrel, and parted in great -distraction and misery, mutually convinced of the treachery and -wretchedness of this world; but made it up again very shortly after, to -the satisfaction of every one concerned. With these things happening day -by day, with their impatient and fiery Orlando, always in some degree -inflaming the house, it is not necessary to say how wonderful a -revolution had been wrought upon the quiet habitudes of this little -house in Bellevue. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -AGNES. - - -Yet the household felt, in spite of itself, a difference by no means -agreeable between the Old Wood Lodge and Bellevue. The dull brick wall -of Laurel House was not nearly so pleasant to look upon as that great -amphitheatre with its maze of wan waters and willow-trees, where the -sunshine flashed among the spires of Oxford; neither was Miss Willsie, -kind and amusing as she was, at all a good substitute for Miss -Anastasia. They had Louis, it was true, but Louis was in love, and -belonged to Marian; and no one within their range was at all to be -compared to the Rector. Accustomed to have their interest fixed, after -their own cottage, upon the Old Wood House and Winterbourne Hall, they -were a little dismayed, in spite of themselves, to see the meagreness -and small dimensions even of Killiecrankie Lodge. It was a different -world altogether--and they did not know at the first glance how to make -the two compatible. The little house in the country, now that they had -left it, grew more and more agreeable by comparison. Mrs Atheling forgot -that she had thought it damp, and all of them, Mamma herself among the -rest, began to think of their return in spring. - -And as the winter went on, Agnes made progress with her fable. She did -not write it carefully, but she did write it with fervour, and the haste -of a mind concerned and in earnest. The story had altered considerably -since she first thought of it. There was in it a real heir whom nobody -knew, and a supposed heir, who was the true hero of the book. The real -heir had a love-story, and the prettiest _fiancée_ in the world; but -about her hero Agnes was timid, presenting a grand vague outline of him, -and describing him in sublime general terms; for she was not at all an -experienced young lady, though she was an author, but herself regarded -her hero with a certain awe and respect and imperfect understanding, as -young men and young women of poetic conditions are wont to regard each -other. From this cause it resulted that you were not very clear about -the Sir Charles Grandison of the young novelist. Her pretty heroine was -as clear as a sunbeam; and even the Louis of her story was definable, -and might be recognised; but the other lay half visible, sometimes -shining out in a sudden gleam of somewhat tremulous light, but for the -most part enveloped in shadow: everybody else in the tale spoke of him, -thought of him, and were marvellously influenced by him; but his real -appearances were by no means equal to the importance he had acquired. - -The sole plot of the story was connected with the means by which the -unsuspected heir came to a knowledge of his rights, and gained his true -place; and there was something considerably exciting to Agnes in her -present exercise of the privilege of fiction, and the steps she took to -make the title of her imaginary Louis clear. She used to pause, and -wonder in the midst of it, whether such chances as these would befall -the true Louis, and how far the means of her invention would resemble -the real means. It was a very odd occupation, and interested her -strangely. It was not very much of a story, neither was it written with -that full perfection of style which comes by experience and the progress -of years; but it had something in its faulty grace, and earnestness, and -simplicity, which was perhaps more attractive than the matured -perfectness of a style which had been carefully formed, and “left -nothing to desire.” It was sparkling with youth, and it was warm from -the heart. It went into no greater bulk than one small volume, which Mr -Burlington put into glowing red cloth, embellished with two engravings, -and ornamented with plenty of gilding. It came out, a wintry Christmas -flower, making no such excitement in the house as _Hope Hazlewood_ had -done; and Agnes had the satisfaction of handing over to Papa, to lock up -in his desk in the office, a delightfully crisp, crackling, newly-issued -fifty-pound note. - -And Christmas had just given way to the New Year when the Rector made -his appearance at Bellevue. He was still more eager, animated, and -hopeful than he had been when they saw him last. His extreme high-church -clerical costume was entirely abandoned; he still wore black, but it was -not very professional, and he appeared in these unknown parts with books -in his hands and smiles on his face. When he came into the little -parlour, he did not seem at all to notice its limited dimensions, but -greeted them all with an effusion of pleasure and kindness, which -greatly touched the heart of Agnes, and moved her mother, in her extreme -gratification and pride, to something very like tears. Mr Rivers -inquired at once for Louis, with great gravity and interest, but shook -his head when he heard what his present occupation was. - -“This will not do; will he come and see me, or shall I wait upon him?” -said the Rector with a subdued smile, as he remembered the youthful -haughtiness of Louis. “I should be glad to speak to him about his -prospects--here is my card--will you kindly ask him to dine with me -to-night, alone? He is a young man of great powers; something better -may surely be found for him than this lawyer’s office.” - -Mrs Atheling was a little piqued in spite of herself. “My son, when he -is at home, is there,” said the good mother; and her visitor did not -fail to see the significance of the tone. - -“He is not at home now--where is he?” said the Rector. - -There was a moment’s hesitation. Agnes turned to look at him, her colour -rising violently, and Mrs Atheling faltered in her reply. - -“He has gone abroad to ---- to make some inquiries,” said Mrs Atheling; -“though he is so very young, people have great confidence in him; -and--and it may turn out very important indeed, what he has gone about.” - -Once more Agnes cast a troubled glance upon the Rector--he heard of it -with such perfect unconcern--this inquiry which in a moment might strike -his ambition to the dust. - -He ceased at once speaking on this subject, which did not interest him. -He said, turning to her, that he had brought some books about which he -wanted Miss Atheling’s opinion. Agnes shrank back immediately in natural -diffidence, but revived again, before she was aware, in all her old -impulse of opposition. “If it is wrong to write books, is it right to -form opinions upon them?” said Agnes. Mr Rivers imperceptibly grew a -little loftier and statelier as she spoke. - -“I think I have explained my sentiments on that point,” said the Rector; -“there is no one whose appreciation I should set so high a value on as -that of an intelligent woman.” - -It was Agnes’s turn to blush and say nothing, as she met his eye. When -Mr Rivers said “an intelligent woman,” he meant, though the expression -was not romantic, his own ideal; and there lay his books upon the table, -evidences of his choice of a critic. She began to busy herself with -them, looking quite vacantly at the title-pages; wondering if there was -anything besides books, and controversies, and opinions, to be found in -the Rector’s heart. - -When Mrs Atheling, in her natural pride and satisfaction, bethought her -of that pretty little book with its two illustrations, and its cover in -crimson and gold, she brought a copy to the table immediately. “My dear, -perhaps Mr Rivers might like to look at this?” said Mrs Atheling. “It -has only been a week published, but people speak very well of it -already. It is a very pretty story. I think you would like it--Agnes, my -love, write Mr Rivers’ name.” - -“No, no, mamma!” cried Agnes hurriedly; she put away the red book from -her, and went away from the table in haste and agitation. Very true, it -was written almost for him--but she was dismayed at the idea of being -called to write in it Lionel Rivers’ name. - -He took up the book, however, and looked at it in the gravest silence. -_The Heir_;--he read the title aloud, and it seemed to strike him; then -without another word he put the little volume safely in his pocket, -repeated his message to Louis, and a few minutes afterwards, somewhat -grave and abstracted, took his leave of them, and hastened away. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -LIONEL. - - -The Rector became a very frequent visitor during the few following weeks -at Bellevue. Louis had gone to see him, as he desired, and Mr Rivers -anxiously endeavoured to persuade the youth to suffer himself to be -“assisted.” Louis as strenuously resisted every proposal of the kind; he -was toiling on in pursuit of himself, through his memoir of Lord -Winterbourne--still eager, and full of expectation--still proud, and -refusing to be indebted to any one. The Rector argued with him like an -elder brother. “Let us grant that you are successful,” said Mr Rivers; -“let us suppose that you make an unquestionable discovery, what position -are you in to pursue it? Your sister, even--recollect your sister--you -cannot provide for her.” - -His sister was Louis’s grand difficulty; he bit his lip, and the fiery -glow of shame came to his face. “I cannot provide for her, it is true. -I am bitterly ashamed of it; but, at least, she is among friends.” - -“You do me small credit,” said the Rector; “but I will not ask, on any -terms, for a friendship which is refused to me. You are not even in the -way of advancement; and to lose your time after this fashion is madness. -Let me see you articled to these people whom you are with now; that is, -at least, a chance, though not a great one. If I can accomplish it, will -you consent to this?” - -Louis paused a little, grateful in his heart, though his tongue was slow -to utter his sentiments. “You are trying to do me a great service,” said -the young man; “you think me a churl, and ungrateful, but you endeavour -to benefit me against my will--is it not true? I am just in such a -position that no miracle in the world would seem wonderful to me; it is -possible, in the chances of the future, that we two may be set up -against each other. I cannot accept this service from you--from you, or -from any other. I must wait.” - -The Rector turned away almost with impatience. “Do you suppose you can -spend your life in this fashion--your life?” he exclaimed, with some -heat. - -“My life!” said Louis. He was a little startled with this conclusion. “I -thank you,” he added abruptly, “for your help, for your advice, for your -reproof--I thank you heartily, but I have no more to say.” - -That was how the conversation ended. Lionel, grieved for the folly of -the boy, smiling to himself at Louis’s strange delusion that he, who was -the very beau-ideal of the race of Rivers, belonged to another house, -went to his rest, with a mind disturbed, full of difficulties, and of -ambition, working out one solemn problem, and touched with tender -dreams; yet always remembering, with a pleasure which he could not -restrain, the great change in his position, and that he was now, not -merely the Rector, but the heir of Winterbourne. Louis, on his part, -went home to his dark little lodging, with the swell and tumult of -excitement in his mind, and could not sleep. He seemed to be dizzied -with the rushing shadows of a crowd of coming events. He was not well; -his abstinence, his studiousness, his change of place and life, had -weakened his young frame; these rushing wings seemed to tingle in his -ears, and his temples throbbed as if they kept time. He rose in the -middle of the night, in the deep wintry silence and moonlight, to open -his window, and feel the cold air upon his brow. There he saw the -moonbeams falling softly, not on any imposing scene, but on the humble -roof underneath whose shelter sweet voices and young hearts, devout and -guileless, prayed for him every night; the thought calmed him into -sudden humility and quietness; and, in his poverty, and hope, and youth, -he returned to his humble bed, and slept. Lionel was waking too; but he -did not know of any one who prayed for _him_ in all this cold-hearted -world. - -But the Rector became a very frequent visitor in Bellevue. He had read -the little book--read it with a kind of startled consciousness, the -first time, that it looked like a true story, and seemed somehow -familiar to himself. But by-and-by he began to keep it by him, and, not -for the sake of the story, to take it up idly when he was doing nothing -else, and refer to it as a kind of companion. It was not, in any degree -whatever, an intellectual display; he by no means felt himself pitted -against the author of it, or entering into any kind of rivalship with -her. The stream sparkled and flashed to the sunshine as it ran; but it -flowed with a sweet spontaneous readiness, and bore no trace of -artificial force and effort. It wanted a great many of the qualities -which critics praise. There was no great visible strain of power, no -forcible evidence of difficulties overcome. The reader knew very well -that _he_ could not have done this, nor anything like it, yet his -intellectual pride was not roused. It was genius solacing itself with -its own romaunt, singing by the way; it was not talent getting up an -exhibition for the astonishment, or the enlightenment, or the -instruction of others. Agnes defeated her own purpose by the very means -she had taken to procure it. The Rector forgot all about the story, -thinking of the writer of it; he became indifferent to what she had to -tell, but dwelt and lingered--not like a critic--like something very -different--upon the cadence of her voice. - -To tell the truth, between his visits to Bellevue, and his musings -thereafter--his study of this little fable of Agnes’s, and his vague -mental excursions into the future, Lionel Rivers, had he yielded to the -fascination, would have found very near enough to do. But he was manful -enough to resist this trance of fairyland. He was beginning to be “in -love;” nobody could dispute it; it was visible enough to wake the most -entire sympathy in the breasts of Marian and Rachel, and to make for the -mother of the family wakeful nights, and a most uneasy pillow; but he -was far from being at ease or in peace. His friends in London were of a -class as different as possible from these humble people who were rapidly -growing nearer than friends. They were all men of great intelligence, of -great powers, scholars, philosophers, authorities--men who belonged, and -professed to belong, to the ruling class of intellect, prophets and -apostles of a new generation. They were not much given to believing -anything, though some among them had a weakness for mesmerism or -spiritual manifestations. They investigated all beliefs and faculties of -believing, and received all marvellous stories, from the Catholic -legends of the saints to the miracles of the New Testament, on one -general ground of indulgence, charitable and tender, as mythical stories -which meant something in their day. Most of them wrote an admirable -style--most of them occasionally said very profound things which nobody -could understand; all of them were scholars and gentlemen, as blameless -in their lives as they were superior in their powers; and all of them -lived upon a kind of intellectual platform, philosophical demigods, -sufficient for themselves, and looking down with a good deal of -curiosity, a little contempt, and a little pity, upon the crowds who -thronged below of common men. - -These were the people to whom Lionel Rivers, in the first flush of his -emancipation, had hastened from his high-churchism, and his country -pulpit--some of them had been his companions at College--some had -inspired him by their books, or pleased him by their eloquence. They -were a brotherhood of men of great cultivation--his equals, and -sometimes his superiors. He had yearned for their society when he was -quite removed from it; but he was of a perverse and unconforming mind. -What did he do now? - -He took the strange fancy suddenly, and telling no man, of wandering -through those frightful regions of crime and darkness, which we hide -behind our great London streets. He went about through the miserable -thoroughfares, looking at the miserable creatures there. What was the -benefit to them of these polluted lives of theirs? They had their -enjoyments, people said--their enjoyments! Their sorrows, like the -sorrows of all humanity, were worthy human tears, consolation, and -sympathy,--their hardships and endurances were things to move the -universal heart; but their enjoyments--Heaven save us!--the pleasures of -St Giles’s, the delights and amusements of those squalid groups at the -street corners! If they were to have nothing more than that, what a -frightful fate was theirs! - -And there came upon the spectator, as he went among them in silence, a -sudden eagerness to try that talisman which Agnes Atheling had bidden -him use. It was vain to try philosophy there, where no one knew what it -meant--vain to offer the rites of the Church to those who were fatally -beyond its pale. Was it possible, after all, that the one word in the -world, which could stir something human--something of heaven--in these -degraded breasts, was that one sole unrivalled _Name_? - -He could not withdraw himself from the wretched scene before him. He -went on from street to street with something of the consciousness of a -man who carries a hidden remedy through a plague-stricken city, but -hides his knowledge in his own mind, and does not apply it. A strange -sense of guilt--a strange oppression by reason of this grand secret--an -overpowering passionate impulse to try the solemn experiment, and -withal a fascinated watchfulness which kept him silent--possessed the -mind of the young man. - -He walked about the streets like a man doing penance; then he began to -notice other passengers not so idle as himself. There were people here -who were trying to break into the mass of misery, and make a footing for -purity and light among it. They were not like his people;--sometimes -they were poor city missionaries, men of very bad taste, not perfect in -their grammar, and with no great amount of discretion. Even the people -of higher class were very limited people often to the perception of Mr -Rivers; but they were at work, while the demigods slept upon their -platform. It would be very hard to make philosophers of the wretched -population here. Philosophy did not break its heart over the -impossibility, but calmly left the untasteful city missionaries, the -clergymen, High Church and Low Church, who happened to be in earnest, -and some few dissenting ministers of the neighbourhood, labouring upon a -forlorn hope to make them _men_. - -All this moved in the young man’s heart as he pursued his way among -these squalid streets. Every one of these little stirrings in this -frightful pool of stagnant life was made in the name of Him whom Lionel -Rivers once named with cold irreverence, and whom Agnes Atheling, with -a tender awe and appropriation, called “Our Lord.” This was the problem -he was busy with while he remained in London. It was not one much -discussed, either in libraries or drawing-rooms, among his friends; he -discussed it by himself as he wandered through St -Giles’s--silent--watching--with the great Name which he himself did not -know, but began to cling to as a talisman, burning at his heart. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -AN ARRIVAL. - - -While the Athelings at home were going on quietly, but with anxiety and -disturbance of mind in this way, they were startled one afternoon by a -sudden din and tumult out of doors, nearly as great as that which, not -much short of a year ago, had announced the first call of Mrs Edgerley. -It was not, however, a magnificent equipage like that of the fashionable -patroness of literature which drew up at the door now. It was an antique -job carriage, not a very great deal better to look at than that -venerable fly of Islington, which was still regarded with respect by -Agnes and Marian. In this vehicle there were two horses, tall brown bony -old hacks, worthy the equipage they drew--an old coachman in a very -ancient livery, and an active youth, fresh, rural, and ruddy, who sprang -down from the creaking coach-box to assault, but in a moderate country -fashion, the door of the Athelings. Rachel, who was peeping from the -window, uttered an exclamation of surprise--“Oh, Agnes, look! it is Miss -Anastasia’s man.” - -It was so beyond dispute, and Miss Anastasia herself immediately -descended from the creaking vehicle, swinging heavily upon its -antiquated springs; she had a large cloak over her brown pelisse, and a -great muff of rich sables, big enough to have covered from head to foot, -like a case, either little Bell or little Beau. She was so entirely like -herself in spite of those additions to her characteristic costume, and -withal so unlike other people, that they could have supposed she had -driven here direct from the Priory, had that been possible, without any -commonplace intervention of railway or locomotive by the way. As the -girls came to the door to meet her, she took the face--first of Agnes, -then of Marian, and lastly of Rachel, who was a good deal dismayed by -the honour--between her hands, thrusting the big muff, like a prodigious -bracelet, up upon her arm the while, and kissed them with a cordial -heartiness. Then she went into the little parlour to Mrs Atheling, who -in the mean time had been gathering together the scattered pieces of -work, and laying them, after an orderly fashion, in her basket. Then -Papa’s easy-chair was wheeled to the fire for the old lady, and Marian -stooped to find a footstool for her, and Agnes helped to loose the big -cloak from her shoulders. Miss Anastasia’s heart was touched by the -attentions of the young people. She laid her large hand caressingly on -Marian’s head, and patted the cheek of Agnes. “Good children--eh? I -missed them,” she said, turning to Mamma, and Mamma brightened with -pleasure and pride as she whispered something to Agnes about the fire in -the best room. Then, when she had held a little conversation with the -girls, Miss Rivers began to look uneasy. She glanced at Mrs Atheling -with a clear intention of making some telegraphic communication; she -glanced at the girls and at the door, and back again at Mamma, with a -look full of meaning. Mrs Atheling was not generally so dull of -comprehension, but she was so full of the idea that Miss Anastasia’s -real visit was to the girls, and so proud of the attraction which even -this dignified old lady could not resist, that she could not at all -consent to believe that Miss Rivers desired to be left alone with -herself. - -“There’s a hamper from the Priory,” said Miss Anastasia at last, -abruptly; “among other country things there’s some flowers in it, -children--make haste all of you and get it unpacked, and tell me what -you think of my camellias! Make haste, girls!” - -It was a most moving argument; but it distracted Mrs Atheling’s -attention almost as much as that of her daughters, for the hamper -doubtless contained something else than flowers. Mamma, however, -remained decorously with her guest, despite the risk of breakage to the -precious country eggs; and the girls, partly deceived, partly suspecting -their visitor’s motive, obeyed her injunction, and hastened away. Then -Miss Rivers caught Mrs Atheling by the sleeve, and drew her close -towards her. “Have you heard from your boy?” said Miss Anastasia. - -“No,” said Mrs Atheling with a sudden momentary alarm, “not for a -week--has anything happened to Charlie?” - -“Nonsense--what could happen to him?” cried the old lady, with a little -impatience, “here is a note I had this morning--read it--he is coming -home.” - -Mrs Atheling took the letter with great eagerness. It was a very brief -one:-- - - MADAM,--I have come to it at last--suddenly. I have only time to - tell you so. I shall leave to-day with an important witness. I have - not even had leisure to write to my mother; but will push on to the - Priory whenever I have bestowed my witness safely in Bellevue. In - great haste.--Your obedient servant, - - C. ATHELING. - - - -Charlie’s mother trembled all over with agitation and joy. She had to -grasp by the mantel-shelf to keep herself quite steady. She exclaimed, -“My own boy!” half-crying and wholly exultant, and would have liked to -have hurried out forthwith upon the road and met him half-way, had that -been possible. She kept the letter in her hand looking at it, and quite -forgetting that it belonged to Miss Anastasia. He had justified the -trust put in him--he had crowned himself with honour--he was coming -home! Not much wonder that the good mother was weeping-ripe, and could -have sobbed aloud for very joy. - -“Ay,” said Miss Anastasia, with something like a sigh, “you’re a rich -woman. I have not rested since this came to me, nor can I rest till I -hear all your boy has to say.” - -At this moment Mrs Atheling started with a little alarm, catching from -the window a glimpse of the coach, with its two horses and its -antiquated coachman, slowly turning round and driving away. Miss -Anastasia followed her glance with a subdued smile. - -“Do you mean then to--to stay in London, Miss Rivers?” asked Mrs -Atheling. - -“Tut! the boy will be home directly--to-night,” said Miss Anastasia; “I -meant to wait here until he came.” - -Mrs Atheling started again in great and evident perturbation. You could -perceive that she repeated “to wait _here_!” within herself with a -great many points of admiration; but she was too well-bred to express -her dismay. She cast, however, an embarrassed look round her, said she -should be very proud, and Miss Rivers would do them honour, but she was -afraid the accommodation was not equal--and here Mrs Atheling paused -much distressed. - -“I have been calculating all the way up when he can be here,” -interrupted Miss Anastasia. “I should say about twelve o’clock to-night. -Agnes, when she comes back again, shall revise it for me. Never mind -accommodation. Give him an hour’s grace--say he comes at one -o’clock--then a couple of hours later--by that time it will be three in -the morning. Then I am sure one of the girls will not grudge me her bed -till six. We’ll get on very well; and when Will Atheling comes home, if -you have anything to say to him, I can easily step out of the way. Well, -am I an intruder? If I am not, don’t say anything more about it. I -cannot rest till I see the boy.” - -When the news became diffused through the house that Charlie was coming -home to-night, and that Miss Anastasia was to wait for him, a very great -stir and bustle immediately ensued. The best room was hastily put in -order, and Mrs Atheling’s own bedchamber immediately revised and -beautified for the reception of Miss Anastasia. It was with a little -difficulty, however, that the old lady was persuaded to leave the -family parlour for the best room. She resisted energetically all unusual -attentions, and did not hesitate to declare, even in the presence of -Rachel, that her object was to see Charlie, and that for his arrival she -was content to wait all night. A great anxiety immediately took -possession of the household. They too were ready and eager to wait all -night; and even Susan became vaguely impressed with a solemn sense of -some great approaching event. Charlie was not to be alone either. The -excitement rose to a quite overpowering pitch--who was coming with him? -What news did he bring? These questions prolonged to the most -insufferable tediousness the long slow darksome hours of the March -night. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -CHARLIE’S RETURN. - - -The girls could not be persuaded to go to rest, let Mamma say what she -would. Rachel, the only one who had no pretence, nor could find any -excuse for sitting up, was the only one who showed the least sign of -obedience; _she_ went up-stairs with a meek unwillingness, lingered as -long as she could before lying down, and when she extinguished her light -at last, lay very broad awake looking into the midnight darkness, and -listening anxiously to every sound below. Marian, in the parlour on a -footstool, sat leaning both her arms on her mother’s knee, and her head -upon her arms, and in that position had various little sleeps, and -half-a-dozen times in half-a-dozen dreams welcomed Charlie home. Agnes -kept Miss Anastasia company in the best room, and Papa, who was not used -to late hours, went between the two rooms with very wide open eyes, very -anxious for his son’s return. Into the midnight darkness and solemnity -of Bellevue, the windows of Number Ten blazed with a cheerful light; -the fires were studiously kept up, the hearths swept, everything looking -its brightest for Charlie; and a pair of splendid capons, part produce -of Miss Anastasia’s hamper, were slowly cooking themselves into -perfection, under the sleepy superintendence of Susan, before the great -kitchen-fire--for even Susan would not go to bed. - -Miss Anastasia sat very upright in an easy-chair, scorning so much as a -suspicion of drowsiness. She did not talk very much; she was thinking -over a hundred forgotten things, and tracing back step by step the story -of the past. The old lady almost felt as if her father himself was -coming from his foreign grave to bear witness to the truth. Her heart -was stirred as she sat gazing into the ruddy firelight, hearing not a -sound except now and then the ashes falling softly on the hearth, or the -softer breath of Agnes by her side. As she sat in this unfamiliar little -room, her mind flew back over half her life. She thought of her father -as she had seen him last; she thought of the dreary blank of her own -youthful desolation, a widowhood almost deeper than the widowhood of a -wife--how she did not heed even the solemn pathos of her father’s -farewell--could not rouse herself from her lethargy even to be moved by -the last parting from that last and closest friend, and desired nothing -but to be left in her dreary self-seclusion obstinately mourning her -dead--her murdered bridegroom! The old lady’s eyes glittered, tearless, -looking into the gleaming shadowy depths of the little mirror over the -mantelpiece. It was scarcely in human nature to look back upon that -dreadful tragedy, to anticipate the arrival to-night of the witnesses of -another deadly wrong, and not to be stirred with a solemn and -overwhelming indignation like that of an avenger of blood. Miss -Anastasia started suddenly from her reverie, as she caught a long-drawn -anxious sigh from her young companion; she drew her shawl close round -her with a shudder. “God forgive me!” cried the vehement old lady; “did -you ever have an enemy, child?” - -In this house it was a very easy question. “No,” said Agnes, looking at -her wistfully. - -“Nor I, perhaps, when I was your age.” Miss Anastasia made a long pause. -It was a long time ago, and she scarcely could recollect anything of her -youth now, except that agony with which it ended. Then in the silence -there seemed to be a noise in the street, which roused all the watchers. -Mr Atheling went to the door to look out. It was very cold, clear, and -calm, the air so sharp with frost, and so still with sleep, that it -carried every passing sound far more distinctly than usual. Into this -hushed and anxious house, through the open door came ringing the chorus -of a street ballad, strangely familiar and out of unison with the -excited feelings of the auditors, and the loud, noisy, echoing footsteps -of some late merry-makers. They were all singularly disturbed by these -uncongenial sounds; they raised a certain vague terror in the breasts of -the father and mother, and a doubtful uneasiness among the other -watchers. Under that veil of night, and silence, and distance, who could -tell what their dearest and most trusted was doing? The old people could -have told each other tales, like Jessica, of “such a night;” and the -breathless silence, and the jar and discord of those rude voices, -stirred memories and presentiments of pain even in the younger hearts. - -It was now the middle of the night, two or three hours later than Miss -Anastasia had anticipated, and the old lady rose from her chair, shook -off her thoughtful mood, and began to walk about the room, and to -criticise it briskly to Agnes. Then by way of diversifying her vigil, -she made an incursion into the other parlour, where Papa was nursing the -fire, and Mamma sitting very still, not to disturb Marian, who slept -with her beautiful head upon her mother’s knee. The old lady was -suddenly overcome by the sight of that fair figure, with its folded arms -and bowed head, and long beautiful locks falling down on Mrs Atheling’s -dark gown, like a stream of sunshine. She laid her hand very tenderly -upon the sleeper’s head. “She does not know,” said Miss Anastasia--“she -would not believe what a fairy fortune is coming to her, the sleeping -beauty--God bless them all!” - -The words had scarcely left her lips, the tears were still shining in -her eyes, when Marian started up, called out of her dream by a sound -which none of them besides had been quick enough to hear. “There! there! -I hear him,” cried Marian, shaking back her loose curls; and they all -heard the far-off rapid rumble of a vehicle, gradually invading all the -echoes of this quietness. It came along steadily--nearer--nearer--waking -every one to the most overpowering excitement. Miss Anastasia marched -through the little parlour, with an echoing step, throwing her tall -shadow on the blind, clasping her fingers tight. Mr Atheling rushed to -the door; Marian ran to the kitchen to wake up Susan, and see that the -tray was ready for Charlie’s refreshment; Mamma stirred the fire, and -made it blaze; Agnes drew the blind aside, and looked out into the -darkness from the window. Yes, there could be no mistake; on came the -rumbling wheels, closer and closer. Then the cab became absolutely -visible, opposite the door--some one leapt out--was it Charlie?--but he -had to wait, to help some one else, very slow and uncertain, out of the -vehicle. They all crowded to the door, the mother and sisters for the -moment half forgetting Miss Anastasia; and there stood a most -indisputable Charlie, very near six feet high, with a travelling-cap -and a rough overcoat, bringing home the most extraordinary guest -imaginable to his amazed parental home. - -_It_ was a woman, enveloped from head to foot in a great cloak, but -unbonneted, and with an amazing head-dress; and after her stumbled forth -a boy, of precisely the same genus and appearance as the Italian boys -with hurdy-gurdies and with images, familiar enough in Bellevue. Charlie -hurried forward, paying the greatest possible attention to his charge, -who was somewhat peevish. He scarcely left her hand when he plunged -among all those anxious people at the door. “All safe--all well, mother; -how did you know I was coming?--how d’ye do, papa? Let her in, let her -in, girls!--she’s tired to death, and doesn’t know a word of English. -Let’s have her disposed of first of all--she’s worth her weight in -gold---- Miss Rivers!” - -The young man fell back in extreme amazement. “Who is she, young -Atheling?” cried Miss Anastasia, towering high in the background over -everybody’s head. - -Charlie took off his cap with a visible improvement of “manners.” “The -nurse that brought them home,” he answered, in the concisest and most -satisfactory fashion; and, grasping the hand of every one as he passed, -with real pleasure glowing on his bronzed face, Charlie steered his -charge in--seeing there was light in it--to the best room. Arrived -there, he fairly turned his back to the wall, and harangued his anxious -audience. - -“It’s all right,” said Charlie; “she tells her story as clearly as -possible when she’s not out of humour, and the doctor’s on his way. I’ve -made sure of everything of importance; and now, mother, if you can -manage it, and Miss Rivers does not object, let us have something to -eat, and get her off to bed, and then you shall hear all the rest.” - -Marian went off instantly to call Susan, and all the way Marian repeated -under her breath, “All the rest! all the rest of what? Oh, Louis! but -I’ll find out what they mean.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -CHARLIE’S REPORT. - - -It was far from an easy achievement to get her safely conveyed up the -stairs. She turned round and delivered addresses to them in most lively -and oratorical Italian, eloquent on the subject of her sufferings by the -way; she was disposed to be out of temper when no one answered her but -Charlie, and fairly wound up, and stimulated with Miss Anastasia’s capon -and Mrs Atheling’s wine, was not half so much disposed to be sent off to -bed as her entertainers were to send her. These entertainers were in the -oddest state of amaze and excitement possible. It was beginning to draw -near the wintry morning of another day, and this strange figure in the -strange dress, which did not look half so pretty in its actual reality, -and upon this hard-featured peasant woman, as it did in pictures and -romance--the voluble foreign tongue of which they did not know a -word--the emphatic gestures; the change in the appearance of Charlie, -and the entire suddenness of the whole scene, confused the minds of the -lookers-on. Then a pale face in a white cap, a little shrinking -white-robed figure, trembling and anxious, was perceptible to Mrs -Atheling at the top of the stair, looking down upon it with terror. So -Mamma peremptorily sent Charlie back beside Miss Anastasia, and resumed -into her own hands the management of affairs. Under her guidance the -woman and the boy were comfortably disposed of, no one being able to -speak a word to them, in the room which had been Charlie’s. Rachel was -comforted and sent back to bed, and then Mrs Atheling turned suddenly -upon her own girls. “My dears,” said Mamma, “you are not wanted down -stairs. I don’t suppose Papa and I are wanted either; Miss Anastasia -must talk over her business with Charlie--it is not _our_ business you -know, Marian, my darling; go to sleep.” - -“Go to sleep!--people cannot go to sleep just when they choose at five -o’clock in the morning, mamma!” cried the aggrieved and indignant -Marian; but Agnes, though quite as curious as her sister, was wise -enough to lend her assistance in the cause of subordination. Marian was -under very strong temptation. She thought she could _almost_ like to -steal down in the dark and listen; but honour, we are glad to say, -prevailed over curiosity, and sleep over both. When her pretty young -head touched the pillow, there was no eavesdropping possible to Marian; -and in the entirest privacy and silence, after all this tumult, in the -presence of Mamma and Mr Atheling, and addressing himself to Miss -Anastasia, Charlie told his tale. He took out his pocket-book from his -pocket--the same old-fashioned big pocket-book which he had carried away -with him, and gave his evidences one by one into Miss Anastasia’s hands -as he spoke. - -But the old lady’s fingers trembled: she had restrained herself as well -as she could, feeling it only just that he should be welcomed by his -own, and even half diverted out of her anxiety by the excited Tyrolese; -but now her restrained feelings rushed back upon her heart. The papers -rustled in her hand; she did not hear him as he began, in order, and -deliberately, his report. “Information! I cannot receive information, I -am too far gone for that,” cried the old lady, with a hysterical break -in her voice. “Give me no facts, Charlie, Charlie!--I am not able to put -them together--tell me once in a word--is it true?” - -“It is true,” said Charlie, eagerly--“not only true, but -proved--certain, so clear that nobody can deny it. Listen, Miss Rivers, -I could be content to go by myself with these evidences in my hand, -before any court in England, against the ablest pleader that ever held a -brief. Don’t mind the proofs to-night; trust my assurance, as you -trusted me. It is true to the letter, to the word, everything that you -supposed. Giulietta was his wife. Louis is his lawful son.” - -Miss Anastasia did not say a word; she bowed down her face upon her -hands--that face over which an ashy paleness came slowly stealing like a -cloud. Mrs Atheling hastened forward, thinking she was about to faint, -but was put aside by a gesture. Then the colour came back, and Miss -Anastasia rose up, herself again, with all her old energy. - -“You are perfectly right, young Atheling--quite right--as you have -always been,” said Miss Rivers; “and, of course, you have told me in -your letters the most part of what you could tell me now. But your boy -is born for the law, Will Atheling,” she said, turning suddenly to -Charlie’s pleased and admiring father. “He wrote to me as if I were a -lawyer instead of a woman: all facts and no opinion; that was scant -measure for me. Shake hands, boy. I’ll see everything in the morning, -and then we’ll think of beginning the campaign. I have it in my head -already--please Heaven! Charlie, we’ll chase them from the field.” - -So saying, Miss Anastasia marched with an exultant and jubilant step, -following Mrs Atheling up the narrow stairs. She was considerably shaken -out of her usual composure--swells of great triumph, suddenly calmed by -the motion of a moved heart, passed over the spirit of this brave old -gentlewoman like sun and wind; and her self-appointed charge of the -rights of her father’s children, who might have been her own children so -far as age was concerned, had a very singular effect upon her. Mrs -Atheling did not linger a minute longer than she could help with her -distinguished guest. She was proud of Miss Anastasia, but far prouder of -Charlie,--Charlie, who had been a boy a little while ago, but who had -come back a man. - -“Come here and sit down, mother,” said Charlie; “now we’re by ourselves, -if you will not tell the girls, I’ll tell you everything. First, there’s -the marriage. That she belonged to the family I wrote of--the family -Remori--I got at after a long time. She was an only daughter, and had no -one to look after her. I have a certificate of the marriage, and a -witness coming who was present--old Doctor Serrano--one of your patriots -who is always in mischief; besides that, what do you think is my -evidence for the marriage?” - -“Indeed, Charlie, I could not guess,” cried Mrs Atheling. - -“There’s a kind of tomb near the town, a thing as like the mausoleum at -Winterbourne as possible, and quite as ugly. There is this good in -ugliness,” said Charlie, “that one remarks it, especially in Italy. I -thought no one but an Englishman could have put up such an affair as -that, and I could not make out one way or another who it belonged to, -or what it was. The priests are very strong out there. They would not -let a heretic lie in consecrated ground, and no one cared to go near -this grave, if it was a grave. They wouldn’t allow even that. You know -what the Winterbourne tomb is--a great open canopied affair, with that -vast flat stone below. There was a flat stone in the other one too, not -half so big, and it looked to me as if it would lift easily enough. So -what do you think I did? I made friends with some wild fellows about, -and got hold of one young Englishman, and as soon as it was dark we got -picks and tools and went off to the grave.” - -“Oh, Charlie!” Mrs Atheling turned very pale. - -“After a lot of work we got it open,” said Charlie, going on with great -zest and animation. “Then the young fellow and I got down into the -vault--a regular vault, where there had been a lamp suspended. _It_, I -suppose, had gone out many a year ago; and there we found upon the two -coffin-lids--well, it’s very pitiful, mother, it is indeed--but we -wanted it for evidence--on one of the coffins was this -inscription:--‘Giulietta Rivers, Lady Winterbourne, _née_ Remori, died -January 1822, aged twenty years.’ If it had been a diamond mine it would -not have given so much pleasure to me.” - -“Pleasure! oh Charlie!” cried Mrs Atheling faintly. - -“But they might say _you_ put it there, Charlie, and that it was not -true,” said Mr Atheling, who rather piqued himself upon his caution. - -“That was what I had the other young fellow for,” said Charlie quietly; -“and that was what made me quite sure she belonged to the Remoris; it -was easy enough after that--and I want only one link now, that is, to -make sure of their identity. Father, do you remember anything about the -children when they came to the Hall?” - -Mr Atheling shook his head. “Your aunt Bridget, if she had been alive, -would have been sure to know,” said Mamma meditatively; “but Louis found -out some old servant lately that had been about Winterbourne long ago.” - -“Louis! does he know?” cried Charlie. - -“He is doing something on his own account, inquiring everything he can -about Lord Winterbourne. He does not know, but guesses every possible -kind of thing, except the truth,” said Mr Atheling; “how long he may be -of lighting upon that, it is impossible to say.” - -“Now Charlie, my dear boy, you can ask all about Louis to-morrow,” said -Mrs Atheling. “Louis! Dear me, William, to think of us calling him -Louis, and treating him like any common young man, and he Lord -Winterbourne all the time! and all through Charlie!--and oh, my Marian! -when I think of it all, it bewilders me! But, Charlie, my dear, you must -not be fatigued too much. Do not ask him any more questions to-night, -papa; consider how important his health is; he must lie down directly. -I’ll make him all comfortable; and, William, do you go to the -parlour--bid him good-night.” - -Papa obeyed, as dutiful papas are wont to obey, and Charlie laughed, but -submitted, as his mother, with her own kind unwearying hands, arranged -for him the sofa in the best room; for the Tyrolese and Miss Anastasia -occupied all the available bedrooms in the house. Then she bade him -good-night, drawing back his dark elf-locks, and kissing his forehead -tenderly, and with a certain respect for the big boy who was a boy no -longer; and then the good mother went away to arrange her husband -similarly on the other sofa, and to take possession, last of all, of the -easy-chair. “I can sleep in the day if I am disposed,” said Mrs -Atheling, who never was disposed for any such indulgence; and she leaned -back in the big chair, with a mind disturbed and glowing, agitated with -grand fancies. Marian! was it possible? But then, Agnes--after all, what -a maze of splendid uncertainty it was! - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -PROCRASTINATION. - - -“You may say what you like, young Atheling,” said Miss Rivers, “you’ve a -very good right to your own opinion; but I’m not a lawyer, nor bound by -rule and precedent, mind. This is the middle of March; _it_ comes on in -April; we must wait for that; and you’re not up with all your evidence, -you dilatory boy.” - -“But I might happen to be up with it in a day,” said Charlie, “and at -all events an ejectment should be served, and the first step taken in -the case without delay.” - -“That is all very well,” said the old lady, “but I don’t suppose it -would advance the business very much, besides rousing him at once to use -every means possible, and perhaps buy off that poor old Serrano, or get -hold of Monte. Why did you not look for Monte, young Atheling? The -chances are that he was present too?” - -“One witness was as much as I could manage,” said Charlie, shrugging -his shoulders at the recollection; “but the most important question of -all--Louis--I mean--your brother--the heir--” - -“My brother--the heir.” Miss Rivers coloured suddenly. It was a -different thing thinking of him in private, and hearing him spoken of -so. “I tell you he is not the heir, young Atheling; he is Lord -Winterbourne: but I will not see him yet, not till _the day_; it would -be a terrible time of suspense for the poor boy.” - -“Then, if it is your pleasure, he must go away,” said Charlie, -firmly--“he cannot come here to this agitated house of ours without -discovering a good deal of the truth; and if he discovered it so, he -would have just grounds to complain. If he is not told at once, he ought -to have some commission such as I have had, and be sent away.” - -Miss Rivers coloured still more, all her liking for Charlie and his -family scarcely sufficing to reconcile her to the “sending away” of the -young heir, on the same footing as she had sent young Atheling. She -hesitated and faltered visibly, seeing reason enough in it, but -extremely repugnant. “If you think so,” she said at last, with a -slightly averted face, “ah--another time we can speak of that.” - -Then came further consultations, and Charlie had to tell his story over -bit by bit, and incident by incident, illustrating every point of it by -his documents. Miss Anastasia was particularly anxious about the young -Englishman whose name was signed with Charlie’s own, in certification of -the inscription on the coffin. Miss Anastasia marvelled much whether he -belonged to the Hillarys of Lincolnshire, or the Hillarys of Yorkshire, -and pursued his shadow through half-a-dozen counties. Charlie was not -particularly given to genealogy. He had the young man’s card, with his -address at the Albany, and the time of his possible return home. That -was quite enough for the matter in hand, and Charlie was very much more -concerned about the one link wanting in his evidence--the person who -received the children from the care of Leonore the Tyrolese. - -As it chanced, in this strange maze of circumstance, the Rector chose -this day for one of his visits. He was very much amazed to encounter -Miss Anastasia; it struck him evidently as something which needed to be -accounted for, for she was known and noted as a dweller at home. She -received him at first with a certain triumphant satisfaction, but -by-and-by a little confusion appeared even in the looks of Miss -Anastasia. She began to glance from the stately young man to the pale -face and drooping eyelids of Agnes. She began to see the strange mixture -of trouble and hardship in this extraordinary revolution, and her heart -was touched for the heir deposed, as well as for the heir discovered. -Lionel was “in trouble” himself, after an odd enough fashion. Some one -had just instituted an action against him in the ecclesiastical courts -touching the furniture of his altar, and the form in which he conducted -the services. It was a strange poetic justice to bring this against him -now, when he himself had cast off his high-churchism, and was -luxuriating in his new freedom. But the Curate grew perfectly inspired -under the infliction, and rose to the highest altitude of satisfaction -and happiness, declaring this to be the testing-touch of persecution, -which constantly distinguishes the true faith. It was on Miss -Anastasia’s lips to speak of this, and to ask the young clergyman why he -was so long away from home at so critical a juncture, but her heart was -touched with compunction. From looking at Lionel, she turned suddenly to -Agnes, and asked, with a strange abruptness, a question which had no -connection with the previous conversation--“That little book of yours, -Agnes Atheling, that you sent to me, what do you mean by that story, -child?--eh?--what put _that_ into your idle little brain? It is not like -fiction; it is quite as strange and out of the way as if it had been -life.” - -Involuntarily Agnes lifted her heavy eyelids, and cast a shy look of -distress and sympathy upon the unconscious Rector, who never missed any -look of hers, but could not tell what this meant. “I do not know,” said -Agnes; but the question did not wake the shadow of a smile upon her -face--it rather made her resentful. She thought it cruel of Miss -Anastasia, now that all doubt was over, and Lionel was certainly -disinherited. Disinherited!--he had never possessed anything actual, and -nothing was taken from him; whereas Louis had been defrauded of his -rights all his life; but Agnes instinctively took the part of the -present sufferer--the unwitting sufferer, who suspected no evil. - -But the Rector was startled in his turn by the question of Miss -Anastasia. It revived in his own mind the momentary conviction of -reality with which he had read the little book. When Miss Anastasia -turned away for a moment, he addressed Agnes quietly aside, making a -kind of appeal. “Had you, then, a real foundation--is it a true tale?” -he said, looking at her with a little anxiety. She glanced up at him -again, with her eyes so full of distress, anxiety, warning--then looked -down with a visible paleness and trembling, faltered very much in her -answer, and at last only said, expressing herself with difficulty, “It -is not all real--only something like a story I have heard.” - -But Agnes could not bear his inquiring look; she hastily withdrew to the -other side of the room, eager to be out of reach of the eyes which -followed her everywhere. For his part, Lionel’s first idea was of some -distress of hers, which he instinctively claimed the right to soothe; -but the thing remained in his mind, and gave him a certain vague -uneasiness; he read the book over again when he went home, to make it -out if he could, but fell so soon into thought of the writer, and -consideration of that sweet youthful voice of hers, that there was no -coming to any light in the matter. He not only gave it up, but forgot it -again, only marvelling what was the mystery which looked so sorrowful -and so bright out of Agnes Atheling’s eyes. - -They all waited with some little apprehension that night for the visit -of Louis. He was very late; the evening wore away, and Miss Anastasia -had long ago departed, taking with her, to the satisfaction of every -one, the voluble Tyrolese; but Louis was not to be seen nor heard of. -Very late, as they were all preparing for rest, some one came to the -door. The knock raised a sudden colour on the cheeks of Marian, which -had grown very pale for an hour or two. But it was not Louis; it was, -however, a note from him, which Marian ran up-stairs to read. She came -down again a moment after, with a pale face, painfully keeping in two -big tears. “Oh, mamma, he has gone away,” said Marian. She did not want -to cry, and it was impossible to speak without crying; and yet she did -not like to confide to any one the lover’s letter. At last the tears -fell, and Marian found her voice. He had just heard suddenly something -very important, had seen Mr Foggo about it, and had hurried off to the -country; he would not be detained long, he was sure; he had not a moment -to explain anything, but would write whenever he got there. “He does not -even say where,” said Marian, sadly; and Rachel came close up to her, -and cried without any restraint, as Marian very much wished, but did not -quite like to do before her father and her brother. Mrs Atheling took -them both into a corner, and scolded them after a fashion she had. “My -dears, do you think you cannot trust Louis?” said Mamma--“nonsense!--we -shall hear to-morrow morning. Why, he has spoken to Mr Foggo, and you -may be quite sure everything is right, and that it was the most sensible -thing he could do.” - -But it was very odd certainly, not at all explainable, and withal the -most seasonable thing in the world. “I should think it quite a -providence,” said Mrs Atheling, “if we only heard where he was.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -THE FOGGOS. - - -The first thing to be done in the morning, before it was time even for -the postman, was to hasten to Killiecrankie Lodge, and ascertain all -that could be ascertained concerning Louis from Mr Foggo. This mission -was confided to Agnes. It was a soft spring-like morning, and the first -of Miss Willsie’s wallflowers were beginning to blow. Miss Willsie -herself was walking in her little garden, scattering crumbs upon the -gravel-path for the poor dingy town-sparrows, and the stray robin whom -some unlucky wind had blown to Bellevue. But Miss Willsie was disturbed -out of her usual equanimity; she looked a little heated, as if she had -come here to recover herself, and rather frightened her little feathered -acquaintances by the vehemence with which she threw them her daily dole. -She smoothed her brow a little at sight of Agnes. “And what may _you_ be -wanting at such an hour as this?” said Miss Willsie; “if there is one -thing I cannot bide, it is to see young folk wandering about, without -any errand, at all the hours of the day!” - -“But I have an errand,” said Agnes. “I want to ask Mr Foggo about--about -Mr Louis--if he knows where he has gone!” - -Mr Louis--his surname, as everybody supposed--was the name by which -Louis was known in Bellevue. - -Miss Willsie’s brow puckered with a momentary anger. “I would like to -know,” said Miss Willsie, “why that monkey could not content herself -with a kindly lad at home: but my brother’s in the parlour; you’ll find -him there, Agnes. Keep my patience!--Foggie’s there too--the lad from -America. If there’s one thing in this world I cannot endure, it’s just a -young man like yon!” - -Miss Willsie, however, reluctantly followed her young visitor into the -breakfast parlour, from which the old lady had lately made an indignant -and unceremonious exit. It was a very comfortable breakfast-table, fully -deserving the paragraph it obtained in those “Letters from England,” -which are so interesting to all the readers of the _Mississippi -Gazette_. There was a Scottish prodigality of creature comforts, and the -fine ancient table-linen was white as snow, and there was a very unusual -abundance, for a house of this class, of heavy old plate. Mr Foggo was -getting through his breakfast methodically, with the _Times_ erected -before him, and forming a screen between himself and his worshipful -nephew; while Mr Foggo S. Endicott, seated with a due regard to his -profile, at such an angle with the light as to exhibit fitly that noble -outline, conveyed his teacup a very long way up from the table, at -dignified intervals, to his handsome and expressive mouth. - -Agnes hastened to the elder gentleman at once, and drew him aside to -make her inquiries. Mr Foggo smiled, and took a pinch of snuff. “All -quite true,” said Mr Foggo; “he came to me yesterday with a paper in his -hand--a long story about next of kin wanted somewhere, and of two -children belonging to some poor widow woman, who had been lost sight of -a long time ago, one of whom was named Louis. That’s the story; it’s a -mare’s nest, Agnes, if you know what that is; but I thought it might -divert the boy; so instead of opposing, I furnished him for his journey, -and let him go without delay. No reason why the lad should not do his -endeavour for his own hand. It’s good for him, though it’s sure to be a -failure. He has told you perfectly true.” - -“And where has he gone?” asked Agnes anxiously. - -“It’s in one of the midland counties--somewhere beyond Birmingham--at -this moment I do not remember the place,” said Mr Foggo; “but I took a -note of it, and you’ll hear from him to-morrow. We’ve been hearing news -ourselves, Agnes. Did you tell her, Willsie, what fortune has come to -you and me?” - -“No,” said Miss Willsie. She was turning her back upon her dutiful -nephew, and frowning darkly upon the teapot. The American had no chance -with his offended aunt. - -“A far-away cousin of ours,” said Mr Foggo, who was very bland, and in a -gracious humour, “has taken it into his head to die; and a very bonny -place indeed, in the north country--a cosy little estate and a good -house--comes to me.” - -“I am very glad,” said Agnes, brightening in sympathy; “that is good -news for everybody. Oh, Miss Willsie, how pleased Mr Foggo must be!” - -Miss Willsie did not say a word--Mr Foggo smiled. “Then you think a cosy -estate a good thing, Agnes?” said the old gentleman. “I am rather -afraid, though you write books, you are not poetical; for that is not -the view of the subject taken by my nephew here.” - -“I despise wealth,” said Mr Endicott. “An estate, sir, is so much dirty -soil. The mind is the true riches; a spark of genius is worth all the -inheritances in the world!” - -“And that’s just so much the better for you, Foggie, my man,” cried Miss -Willsie suddenly; “seeing the inheritances of this world are very little -like to come to your share. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a lee!” - -Mr Endicott took no notice of this abstract deliverance. “A very great -estate--the ancient feudal domain--the glens and the gorges of the -Highland chief, I respect, sir,” said the elevated Yankee; “but a man -who can influence a thousand minds--a man whose course is followed -eagerly by the eyes of half a nation--such a man is not likely to be -tempted to envy by a mile of indifferent territory. My book, by which I -can move a world, is my lever of Archimedes; this broadsheet”--and he -laid his hand upon the pages of the _Mississippi Gazette_--“is my -kingdom! Miss Atheling, I shall have the honour of paying my respects to -your family to-day. I shall soon take leave of Europe. I have learned -much--I have experienced much--I am rejoiced to think I have been able -to throw some light upon the manners and customs of your people; and -henceforward I intend to devote myself to the elucidation of my own.” - -“We shall be very glad to see you, Mr Endicott,” said Agnes, who was -rather disposed to take his part, seeing he stood alone. “Now I must -hasten home and tell them. We were all very anxious; but every one will -be glad, Mr Foggo, to hear of you. We shall feel as if the good fortune -had come to ourselves.” - -“Ay, Agnes, and so it might, if Marian, silly monkey, had kept a thought -for one that liked her well,” said Miss Willsie, as she went with her -young visitor. “Poor Harry! his uncle’s heart yearns to him; _our_ gear -will never go the airt of a fool like yon!” said Miss Willsie, growing -very Scotch and very emphatic, as she inclined her head in the direction -of Mr Endicott; “but Harry will be little heeding who gets the siller -_now_.” - -Poor Harry! since he had heard of _it_--since he had known of Marian’s -engagement, he had never had the heart to make a single appearance in -Bellevue. - -Mr Endicott remembered his promise; he went forth in state, as soon -after noon as he could go, with a due regard to the proper hour for a -morning call. Mr Endicott, though he had endured certain exquisite pangs -of jealousy, was not afraid of Louis; he could not suppose that any one -was so blind, having _his_ claims fairly placed before them, as to -continue to prefer another; such an extent of human perversity did not -enter into the calculations of Mr Endicott. And he was really “in love,” -like the rest of these young people. All the readers of the _Mississippi -Gazette_ knew of a certain lovely face, which brightened the -imagination of their “representative man,” and it was popularly expected -on the other side of the water, in those refined circles familiar with -Mr Endicott, that he was about to bring his bride home. He had an -additional stimulus from this expectation, and went forth to-day with -the determination of securing Marian Atheling. He was a little nervous, -because there was a good deal of real emotion lying at the bottom of his -heart; but, after all, was more doubtful of getting an opportunity than -of the answer which should follow when the opportunity was gained. - -To his extreme amazement, he found Marian alone. He understood it in a -moment--they had left her on purpose--they comprehended his intentions! -She was pale, her beautiful eyes glistened, and were wet and dewy. -Perhaps she, too, had an intuition of what was coming. He thought her -subdued manner, the tremble in her voice, the eyes, which were cast down -so often, and did not care to meet his full gaze, were all signs of that -maiden consciousness about which he had written many a time. In the full -thought of this, the eloquent young American dispensed with all -preamble. He came to her side with the delightful benevolence of a lover -who could put this beautiful victim of his fascinations out of her -suspense at once. He addressed her by her name--he added the most -endearing words he could think of--he took her hand. The young beauty -started from him absolutely with violence. “What do you mean, sir?” said -Marian. Then she stood erect at a little distance, her eyes flashing, -her cheek burning, holding her hands tight together, with an air of -petulant and angry defiance. Mr Endicott was thunderstruck. “Did you not -expect me--do you not understand me?” said the lover, not yet daunted. -“Pardon me; I have shocked your delicate feelings. You cannot think I -mean to do it, Marian, sweet British rose? You know me too well for -that; you know my mind--you appreciate my feelings. You were born to be -a poet’s bride--I come to offer you a poet’s heart!” - -Before he had concluded, Marian recovered herself; into the dewy eyes, -that had been musing upon Louis, the old light of girlish mischief came -arch and sweet. “I did not quite understand you, Mr Endicott,” said -Marian, demurely. “You alarmed me a little; but I am very much obliged, -and you are very good; only, I--I am sorry. I suppose you do not know -I--I am engaged!” - -She said this with a bright blush, casting down her eyes. She thought, -after all, it was the honestest and the easiest fashion of dismissing -her new lover. - -“Engaged! Marian, you did not know of me--you were not acquainted with -my sentiments,” cried the American. “Oh, for a miserable dream of -honour, will you blight my life and your own? You were not aware of my -love--you were ignorant of my devotion. Beautiful Mayflower! you are -free of what you did in ignorance--you are free for me!” - -Marian snatched away her hand again with resentment. “I suppose you do -not mean to be very impertinent, Mr Endicott, but you are so,” cried the -indignant little beauty. “I do not like you--I never did like you. I am -very sorry, indeed, if you really cared for me. If I were free a hundred -times over--if I never had seen any one,” cried Marian vehemently, -blushing with sudden passion, and feeling disposed to cry, “I never -could have had anything to say to you. Mamma--oh, I am sure it is very -cruel!--Mamma, will you speak to Mr Endicott? He has been very rude to -me!” - -Mamma, who came in at the moment out of the garden, started with -amazement to see the flushed cheeks of Marian, and Mr Endicott, who -stood in an appealing attitude, with the most crestfallen and astonished -face. Marian ran from the room in an instant, scarcely able to restrain -her tears of vexation and annoyance, till she was out of sight. Mrs -Atheling placed a chair for her daughter’s suitor very solemnly. “What -has happened?--what have you been saying, Mr Endicott?” said the -indignant mother. - -“I have only been offering to your daughter’s acceptance all that a man -has to offer,” said the American, with a little real dignity. “It is -over; the young lady has made her own election--she rejects _me_! It is -well! it is but another depth of human suffering opening to _his_ feet -who must tread them all! But I have nothing to apologise for. Madam, -farewell!” - -“Oh, stay a moment! I am very sorry--she is so young. I am sure she did -not mean to offend you,” said Mrs Atheling, with distress. “She is -engaged, Mr Endicott. Miss Willsie knew of it. I am sure I am grieved if -the foolish child has answered you unkindly; but she is engaged.” - -“So I am aware, madam,” said Mr Endicott, gloomily; “may it be for her -happiness--may no poetic retribution attend her! As for me, my art is my -lifelong consolation. This, even, is for the benefit of the world; do -not concern yourself for me.” - -But Mrs Atheling hastened up-stairs when he was gone, to reprove her -daughter. To her surprise, Marian defended herself with spirit. “He was -impertinent, mamma,” said Marian; “he said if I had known he cared for -me, I would not have been engaged. He! when everybody knows I never -would speak to him. It was he who insulted me!” - -So Mr Endicott’s English romance ended, after all, in a paragraph which, -when the time comes, we shall feel a melancholy pleasure in transcribing -from the eloquent pages of the _Mississippi Gazette_. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -GOOD FORTUNE. - - -This evening was extremely quiet, and something dull, to the inhabitants -of Bellevue. Though everybody knew of the little adventure of Mr -Endicott, the young people were all too reverential of the romance of -youth themselves to laugh very freely at the disappointed lover. Charlie -sat by himself in the best room, sedulously making out his case. Charlie -had risen into a person of great importance at the office since his -return, and, youth as he was, was trusted so far, under Mr Foggo’s -superintendence, as to draw up the brief for the counsel who was to -conduct this great case; so they had not even his presence to enliven -the family circle, which was very dull without Louis. Then Agnes, for -her part, had grown daily more self-occupied; Mrs Atheling pondered over -this, half understood it, and did not ask a question on the subject. She -glanced very often at the side-table, where her elder daughter sat -writing. This was not a common evening occupation with Agnes; but she -found a solace in that making of fables, and was forth again, appealing -earnestly, with all the power and privilege of her art, not so much to -her universal audience as to one among them, who by-and-by might find -out the second meaning--the more fervent personal voice. - -As for Marian and Rachel, they both sat at work somewhat melancholy, -whispering to each other now and then, speaking low when they spoke to -any one else. Papa was at his newspaper, reading little bits of news to -them; but even Papa was cloudy, and there was a certain shade of dulness -and melancholy over all the house. - -Some one came to the door when the evening was far advanced, and held a -long parley with Susan; the issue of which was, that Susan made her -appearance in the parlour to ask information. “A man, ma’am, that Mr -Louis appointed to come to him to-night,” said Susan, “and he wants to -know, please, when Mr Louis is coming home.” - -Mrs Atheling went to the door to answer the inquiry; then, having become -somewhat of a plotter herself by force of example, she bethought her of -calling Charlie. The man was brought into the best room; he was an -ordinary-looking elderly man, like a small shopkeeper. He stated what he -wanted slowly, without any of the town sharpness. He said the young -gentleman was making out some account--as he understood--about Lord -Winterbourne, and hearing that he had been once about the Hall in his -young days, had come to him to ask some questions. He was a likely young -gentleman, and summat in his own mind told the speaker he had seen his -face afore, whether it were about the Hall, or where it were, deponent -did not know; but thinking upon it, just bethought him at this moment -that he was mortal like the old lord. Now the young gentleman--as he -heard--had gone sudden away to the country, and the lady of the house -where he lived had sent the perplexed caller here. - -“I know very well about that quarter myself,” said Mrs Atheling. “Do you -know the Old Wood Lodge? that belongs to us; and if you have friends in -the village, I daresay I shall know your name.” - -The man put up his hand to his forehead respectfully. “I knowed the old -lady at the Lodge many a year ago,” said he. “My name’s John Morrall. I -was no more nor a helper at the stables in my day; and a sister of mine -had charge of some children about the Hall.” - -“Some children--who were they?” said Charlie. “Perhaps Lord -Winterbourne’s children; but that would be very long ago.” - -“Well, sir,” said the man with a little confusion, glancing aside at Mrs -Atheling, “saving the lady’s presence, I’d be bold to say that they was -my lord’s, but in a sort of an--unlawful way; two poor little morsels of -twins, that never had nothing like other children. He wasn’t any way -kind to them, wasn’t my lord.” - -“I think I know the children you mean,” said Charlie, to the surprise -and admiration of his mother, who checked accordingly the exclamation on -her own lips. “Do you know where they came from?--were you there when -they were brought to the Hall?” - -“Ay, sir, _I_ know--no man better,” said Morrall. “Sally was the -woman--all along of my lord’s man that she was keeping company with the -same time, little knowing, poor soul, what she was to come to--that -brought them unfortunate babbies out of London. I don’t know no more. -Sally’s opinion was, they came out o’ foreign parts afore that; for the -nurse they had with them, Sally said, was some outlandish kind of a -Portugee.” - -“A Portuguese!” exclaimed both the listeners in dismay--but Charlie -added immediately, “What made your sister suppose she was a Portuguese?” - -“Well, sir, she was one of them foreign kind of folks--but noways like -my lady’s French maid, Sally said--so taking thought what she was, a -cousin of ours that’s a sailor made no doubt but she was a Portugee--so -she gave up the little things to Sally, not one of them able to say a -word to each other; for the foreign woman, poor soul, knew no English, -and Sally brought down the babbies to the Hall.” - -“Does your sister live at Winterbourne?” asked Charlie. - -“What, Sally, sir? poor soul!” said John Morrall, “to her grief she -married my lord’s man, again all we could say, and he went pure to the -bad, as was to be seen of him, and listed--and now she’s off in Ireland -with the regiment, a poor creature as you could see--five children, -ma’am, alive, and she’s had ten; always striving to do her best, but -never able, poor soul, to keep a decent gown to her back.” - -“Will you tell me where she is?” said Charlie, while his mother went -hospitably away to bring a glass of wine, a rare and unusual dainty, for -the refreshment of this most welcome visitor--“there is an inquiry going -on at present, and her evidence might be of great value: it will be good -for her, don’t fear. Let me know where she is.” - -While Charlie took down the address, his mother, with her own hand, -served Mr John Morrall with a slice of cake and a comfortable glass of -port-wine. “But I am sure you are comfortable yourself--you look so, at -least.” - -“I am in the green-grocery trade,” said their visitor, putting up his -hand again with “his respects,” “and got a good wife and three as -likely childer as a man could desire. It ain’t just as easy as it might -be keeping all things square, but we always get on; and lord! if folks -had no crosses, they’d ne’er know they were born. Look at Sally, there’s -a picture!--and after that, says I, it don’t become such like as us to -complain.” - -Finally, having finished his refreshment, and left his own address with -a supplementary note, and touch of the forehead--“It ain’t very far off; -glad to serve you, ma’am”--Mr John Morrall withdrew. Then Charlie -returned to his papers, but not quite so composedly as usual. “Put up my -travelling-bag, mother,” said Charlie, after a few ineffectual attempts -to resume; “I’ll not write any more to-night; it’s just nine o’clock. -I’ll step over and see old Foggo, and be off to Ireland to-morrow, -without delay.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -THE OXFORD ASSIZES. - - -April, as cloudless and almost as warm as summer, a day when all the -spring was swelling sweet in all the young buds and primroses, and the -broad dewy country smiled and glistened under the rising of that sun, -which day by day shone warmer and fuller on the woods and on the fields. -But the point of interest was not the country; it was not a spring -festival which drew so many interested faces along the high-road. An -expectation not half so amiable was abroad among the gentry of -Banburyshire--a great many people, quite an unusual crowd, took their -way to the spring assizes to listen to a trial which was not at all -important on its own account. The defendants were not even known among -the county people, nor was there much curiosity about them. It was a -family quarrel which roused the kind and amiable expectations of all -these excellent people,--The Honourable Anastasia Rivers against Lord -Winterbourne. It was popularly anticipated that Miss Anastasia herself -was to appear in the witness-box, and everybody who knew the -belligerents, delighted at the prospect of mischief, hastened to be -present at the fight. - -And there was a universal gathering, besides, of all the people more -immediately interested in this beginning of the war. Lord Winterbourne -himself, with a certain ghastly levity in his demeanour, which sat ill -upon his bloodless face, and accorded still worse with the mourner’s -dress which he wore, graced the bench. Charlie Atheling sat in his -proper place below, as agent for the defendant, within reach of the -counsel for the same. His mother and sisters were with Miss Anastasia, -in a very favourable place for seeing and hearing; the Rector was not -far from them, very much interested, but exceedingly surprised at the -unchanging paleness of Agnes, and the obstinacy with which she refused -to meet his eye; for that she avoided him, and seemed overwhelmed by -some secret and uncommunicated mystery, which no one else, even in her -own family, shared, was clear enough to a perception quickened by the -extreme “interest” which Lionel Rivers felt in Agnes Atheling. Even -Rachel had been brought thither in the train of Miss Anastasia; and -though rather disturbed by her position, and by the disagreeable and -somewhat terrifying consciousness of being observed by Lord -Winterbourne, in whose presence she had not been before, since the time -she left the Hall--Rachel, with her veil over her face, had a certain -timid enjoyment of the bustle and novelty of the scene. Louis, too, was -there, sent down on the previous night with a commission from Mr Foggo; -there was no one wanting. The two or three who knew the tactics of the -day, awaited their disclosure with great secret excitement, speculating -upon their effect; and those who did not, looked on eagerly with -interest and anxiety and hope. - -Only Agnes sat drawing back from them, between her mother and sister, -letting her veil hang with a pitiful unconcern in thick double folds -half over her pale face. She did not care to lift her eyes; she looked -heavy, wretched, spiritless; she could not keep her thoughts upon the -smiling side of the picture; she thought only of the sudden blow about -to fall--of the bitter sense of deception and craftiness, of the -overwhelming disappointment which this day must bring forth. - -The case commenced. Lord Winterbourne’s counsel stated the plea of his -noble client; it did not occupy a very long time, for no one supposed it -very important. The statement was, that Miss Bridget Atheling had been -presented by the late Lord Winterbourne with a life-interest in the -little property involved; that the Old Wood Lodge, the only property in -the immediate neighbourhood which was not in the peaceful possession of -Lord Winterbourne, had never been separated or alienated from the -estate; that, in fact, the gift to Miss Bridget was a mere tenant’s -claim upon the house during her lifetime, with no power of bequest -whatever; and the present Lord Winterbourne’s toleration of its brief -occupancy by the persons in possession, was merely a good-humoured -carelessness on the part of his lordship of a matter not sufficiently -important to occupy his thoughts. The only evidence offered was the -distinct enumeration of the Old Wood Lodge along with the Old Wood -House, and the cottages in the village of Winterbourne, as in possession -of the family at the accession of the late lord; and the learned -gentleman concluded his case by declaring that he confidently challenged -his opponent to produce any deed or document whatever which so much as -implied that the property had been bestowed upon Bridget Atheling. No -deed of gift--no conveyance--nothing whatever in the shape of -title-deeds, he was confident, existed to support the claim of the -defendant; a claim which, if it was not a direct attempt to profit by -the inadvertence of his noble client, was certainly a very ugly and -startling mistake. - -So far everything was brief enough, and conclusive enough, as it -appeared. The audience was decidedly disappointed: if the answer was -after this style, there was no “fun” to be expected, and it had been an -entire hoax which seduced the Banburyshire notabilities to waste the -April afternoon in a crowded court-house. But Miss Anastasia, swelling -with anxiety and yet with triumph, was visible to every one; visible -also to one eye was something very different--Agnes, pale, shrinking, -closing her eyes, looking as if she would faint. The Rector made his way -behind, and spoke to her anxiously. He was afraid she was ill; could he -assist her through the crowd? Agnes turned her face to him for a moment, -and her eyes, which looked so dilated and pitiful, but only said “No, -no,” in a hurried whisper, and turned again. The counsel on the other -side had risen, and was about to begin the defence. - -“My learned brother is correct, and doubtless knows himself to be so,” -said the advocate of the Athelings. “We have no deed to produce, though -we have something nearly as good; but, my lord, I am instructed suddenly -to change the entire ground of my plea. Certain information which has -come to the knowledge of my clients, but which it was not their wish to -make public at present, has been now communicated to me; and I beg to -object at once to the further progress of the suit, on a ground which -your lordship will at once acknowledge to be just and forcible. I -assert that the present bearer of the title is not the true Lord -Winterbourne.” - -There rose immediately a hum and murmur of the strangest character--not -applause, not disapproval--simple consternation, so extreme that no one -could restrain its utterance. People rose up and stared at the speaker, -as if he had been seized with sudden madness in their presence; then -there ensued a scene of much tumult and agitation. The judges on the -bench interposed indignantly. The counsel for Lord Winterbourne sprang -to his feet, appealing with excitement to their lordships--was this to -be permitted? Even the audience, Lord Winterbourne’s neighbours, who had -no love for him, pressed forward as if to support him in this crisis, -and with resentment and disapproval looked upon Miss Anastasia, to whom -every one turned instinctively, as to a conspirator who had overshot the -mark. It was scarcely possible for the daring speaker to gain himself a -hearing. When he did so, at last, it was rather as a culprit than an -accuser. But even the frown of a chief-justice did not appal a man who -held Charlie Atheling’s papers in his hands; he was heard again, -declaring, with force and dignity, that he was incapable of making such -a statement without proofs in his possession which put it beyond -controversy. He begged but a moment’s patience, in justice to himself -and to his client, while he placed an abstract of the case and the -evidence in their lordships’ hands. - -Then to the sudden hum and stir, which the officials of the court had -not been able to put down, succeeded that total, strange, almost -appalling stillness of a crowd, which is so very impressive at all -times. While the judges consulted together, looking keenly over these -mysterious papers, almost every eye among the spectators was riveted -upon them. No one noticed even Lord Winterbourne, who stood up in his -place unconsciously, overlooking them all, quite unaware of the -prominence and singularity of his position, gazing before him with a -motionless blank stare, like a man looking into the face of Fate. The -auditors waited almost breathless for the decision of the law. That -anything so wild and startling could ever be taken into consideration by -those grave authorities was of itself extraordinary; and as the -consultation was prolonged, the anxiety grew gradually greater. Could -there be reality in it? could it be true? - -At last the elder judge broke the silence. “This is a very serious -statement,” he said: “of course, it involves issues much more important -than the present question. As further proceedings will doubtless be -grounded on these documents, it is our opinion that the hearing of this -case had better be adjourned.” - -Lord Winterbourne seated himself when he heard the voice--it broke the -spell; but not so Louis, who stood beneath, alone, looking straight up -at the speaker in his judicial throne. The truth flashed to the mind of -Louis like a gleam of lightning. He did not ask a question, though -Charlie was close by him; he did not turn his head, though Miss -Anastasia was within reach of his eye; his whole brain seemed to burn -and glow; the veins swelled upon his forehead; he raised up his head for -air, for breath, like a man overwhelmed; he did not see how the gaze of -half the assembly began to be attracted to himself. In this sudden pause -he stood still, following out the conviction which burst upon him--this -conviction, which suddenly, like a sunbeam, made all things clear. Wrong -as he had been in the details, his imagination was true as the most -unerring judgment. For what child in the world was it so much this man’s -interest to disgrace and disable as the child whose rights he -usurped--his brother’s lawful heir? This silence was like a lifetime to -Louis, but it ended in a moment. Some confused talking -followed--objections on the part of Lord Winterbourne’s representative, -which were overruled; and then another case was called--a common little -contest touching mere lands and houses--and every one awoke, as at the -touch of a disenchanting rod, to the common pale daylight and common -controversy, as from a dream. - -Then the people streamed out in agitated groups, some retaining their -first impulse of contradiction and resentment; others giving up at once, -and receiving the decision of the judges as final. Then Agnes looked -back, with a sick and trembling anxiety, for the Rector. The Rector was -gone; and they all followed one after another, silent in the great -tremor of their excitement. When they came to the open air, Marian began -to ask questions eagerly, and Rachel to cry behind her veil, and cast -woeful wistful looks at Miss Anastasia. What was it? what was the -matter? was it anything about Louis? who was Lord Winterbourne? - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -THE TRUE HEIR. - - -“I do not know how he takes it, mother,” said Charlie. “I do not know if -he takes it at all; he has not spoken a single word all the way home.” - -He did not seem disposed to speak many now; he went into Miss Bridget’s -dusky little parlour, lingering a moment at the door, and bending -forward in reflection from the little sloping mirror on the wall. The -young man was greatly moved, silent with inexpressible emotion; he went -up to Marian first, and, in the presence of them all, kissed her little -trembling hand and her white cheek; then he drew her forward with him, -holding her up with his own arm, which trembled too, and came direct to -Miss Anastasia, who was seated, pale, and making gigantic efforts to -command herself, in old Miss Bridget’s chair. “This is my bride,” said -Louis firmly, yet with quivering lips. “What are we to call _you_?” - -The old lady looked at him for a moment, vainly endeavouring to retain -her self-possession--then sprang up suddenly, grasped him in her arms, -and broke forth into such a cry of weeping as never had been heard -before under this peaceful roof. “What you will! what you will! my boy, -my heir, my father’s son!” cried Miss Anastasia, lifting up her voice. -No one moved, or spoke a word--it was like one of those old agonies of -thanksgiving in the old Scriptures, when a Joseph or a Jacob, parted for -half a patriarch’s lifetime, “fell upon his neck and wept.” - -When this moment of extreme agitation was over, the principal actors in -the family drama came again into a moderate degree of calmness: Louis -was almost solemn in his extreme youthful gravity. The young man was -changed in a moment, as, perhaps, nothing but this overwhelming flood of -honour and prosperity could have changed him. He desired to see the -evidence and investigate his own claims thoroughly, as it was natural he -should; then he asked Charlie to go out with him, for there was not a -great deal of room in this little house, for private conference. The two -young men went forth together through those quiet well-known lanes, upon -which Louis gazed with a giddy eye. “This should have come to me in some -place where I was a stranger,” he said with excitement; “it might have -seemed more credible, more reasonable, in a less familiar place. Here, -where I have been an outcast and dishonoured all my life--here!” - -“Your own property,” said Charlie. “I’m not a poetical man, you know--it -is no use trying--but I’d come to a little sentiment, I confess, if I -were you.” - -“In the mean time there are other people concerned,” said Louis, taking -Charlie’s arm, and turning him somewhat hurriedly away from the edge of -the wood, which at this epoch of his fortunes, the scene of so many -despairing fancies, was rather more than he chose to experiment upon. -“You are not poetical, Charlie. I do not suppose it has come to your -turn yet--but we do not want poetry to-night; there are other people -concerned. So far as I can see, your case--I scarcely can call it mine, -who have had no hand in it--is clear as daylight--indisputable. Is it -so?--you know better than me.” - -“Indisputable,” said Charlie, authoritatively. - -“Then it should never come to a trial--for the honour of the house--for -pity,” said the heir. “A bad man taken in the toils is a very miserable -thing to look at, Charlie; let us spare him if we can. I should like you -to get some one who is to be trusted--say Mr Foggo, with some well-known -man along with him--to wait upon Lord Winterbourne. Let them go into the -case fully, and show him everything: say that I am quite willing that -the world should think he had done it in ignorance--and persuade -him--that is, if he is convinced, and they have perfect confidence in -the case. The story need not be publicly known. Is it practicable?--tell -me at once.” - -“It’s practicable if he’ll do it,” said Charlie; “but he’ll not do it, -that’s all.” - -“How do you know he’ll not do it?--it is to save himself,” said Louis. - -“If he had not known it all along, he’d have given in,” said Charlie, -“and taken your offer, of course; but he _has_ known it all along--it’s -been his ghost for years. He has his plans all prepared and ready, you -may be perfectly sure. It is generous of you to suggest such a thing, -but _he_ would suppose it a sign of weakness. Never mind that--it’s not -of the least importance what he supposes; if you desire it, we can try.” - -“I do desire it,” said Louis; “and then, Charlie, there is the Rector.” - -Charlie shook his head regretfully. “I am sorry for him myself,” said -the young lawyer; “but what can you do?” - -“He has been extremely kind to me,” said Louis, with a slight trembling -in his voice--“kinder than any one in the world, except your own family. -There is his house--I see what to do; let us go at once and explain -everything to him to-night.” - -“To-night! that’s premature--showing your hand,” said Charlie, startled -in his professional caution: “never mind, you can stand it; he’s a fine -fellow, though he is the other line. If you like it, I don’t object; but -what shall you say?” - -“He ought to have his share,” said Louis--“don’t interrupt me, Charlie; -it is more generous in our case to receive than to give. He ought, if I -represent the elder branch, to have the younger’s share: he ought to -permit me to do as much for him as he would have done for me. Ah, he -bade me look at the pictures to see that I was a Rivers. I did not -suppose any miracle on earth could make me proud of the name.” - -They went on hastily together in the early gathering darkness. The Old -Wood House stood blank and dull as usual, with all its closed blinds; -but the gracious young Curate, meditating his sermon, and much elated by -his persecution, was straying about the well-kept paths. Mr Mead -hastened to tell them that Mr Rivers had left home--“hastened away -instantly to appear in our own case,” said the young clergyman. “The -powers of this world are in array against us--we suffer persecution, as -becomes the true church. The Rector left hurriedly to appear in person. -He is a devoted man, a noble Anglican. I smile myself at the reproaches -of our adversary; I have no fear.” - -“We may see him in town,” said Louis, turning away with disappointment. -“If you write, will you mention that I have been here to-night, to beg -his counsel and friendship--I, Louis Rivers--” A sudden colour flushed -over the young man’s face; he pronounced the name with a nervous -firmness; it was the first time he had called himself by any save his -baptismal name all his life. - -As they turned and walked home again, Louis relapsed into his first -agitated consciousness, and did not care to say a word. Louis Rivers! -lawful heir and only son of a noble English peer and an unsullied -mother. It was little wonder if the young man’s heart swelled within -him, too high for a word or a thought. He blotted out the past with a -generous haste, unwilling to remember a single wrong done to him in the -time of his humiliation, and looked out upon the future as upon a -glorious vision, almost too wonderful to be realised: it was best to -rest in this agitated moment of strange triumph, humility, and power, to -convince himself that this was real, and to project his anticipations -forward only with a generous anxiety for the concerns of others, with no -question, when all questions were so overwhelming and incredible, after -this extraordinary fortune of his own. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -AT HOME. - - -It would not be easy to describe the state of mind of the feminine -portion of this family which remained at home. Marian, in a strange and -overpowering tumult--Marian, who was the first and most intimately -concerned, her cheek burning still under the touch of her lover’s -trembling lip in that second and more solemn betrothal, sat on a stool, -half hidden by Miss Anastasia’s big chair and ample skirts, supporting -her flushed cheeks on those pretty rose-tipped hands, to which the flush -seemed to have extended, her beautiful hair drooping down among her -fingers, her eyes cast down, her heart leaping like a bird against her -breast. Her own vague suspicions, keen and eager as they were, had never -pointed half so far as this. If it did not “turn her head” altogether, -it was more because the little head was giddy with amaze and confusion, -than from any virtue on the part of Marian. She was quite beyond the -power of thinking; a strange brilliant extraordinary panorama glided -before her--Louis in Bellevue--Louis at the Old Wood Lodge--Louis, the -lord of all he looked upon, in Winterbourne Hall! - -Rachel, for her part, was to be found, now in one corner, now in -another, crying very heartily, and with a general vague impulse of -kissing every one in the present little company with thanks and -gratitude, and being caressed and sympathised with in turn. The only one -here, indeed, who seemed in her full senses was Agnes, who kept them all -in a certain degree of self-possession. It was all over, at last, after -so long a time of suspense and mystery; Agnes was relieved of her secret -knowledge. She was grave, but she did not refuse to participate in the -confused joy and thankfulness of the house. Now that the secret was -revealed, her mind returned to its usual tone. Though she had so much -“interest” in Lionel--almost as much as he felt in her--she had too high -a mind herself to suppose him overwhelmed by the single fact that his -inheritance had passed away from him. When all was told, she breathed -freely. She had all the confidence in him which one high heart has in -another. After the first shock, she prophesied proudly, within her own -mind, how soon his noble spirit would recover itself. Perhaps she -anticipated other scenes in that undeveloped future, which might touch -her own heart with a stronger thrill than even the marvellous change -which was now working; perhaps the faint dawn of colour on her pale -cheek came from an imagination far more immediate and personal than any -dream which ever before had flushed the maiden firmament of Agnes -Atheling’s meditations. However that might be, she said not a single -word upon the subject: she assumed to herself quietly the post of -universal ministration, attended to the household wants as much as the -little party, all excited and sublimed out of any recollection of -ordinary necessities, would permit her; and lacking nothing in sympathy, -yet quieter than any one else, insensibly to herself, formed the link -between this little agitated world of private history and the larger -world, not at all moved from its everyday balance, which lay calm and -great without. - -“I sign a universal amnesty,” said Miss Anastasia abruptly, after a long -silence--“himself, if he would consult his own interest, I could pass -over _his_ faults to-day.” - -“Poor Mr Reginald!” said Mrs Atheling, wiping her eyes. “I beg your -pardon, Miss Rivers; he has done a great deal of wrong, but I am very -sorry for him: I was so when he lost his son; ah, no doubt he thinks -this is a very small matter after _that_.” - -“Hush, child, the man is _guilty_,” said Miss Anastasia, with strong -emphasis. “Young George Rivers went to his grave in peace. Whom the gods -love die young; it was very well. I forgive his father if he withdraws; -he will, if he has a spark of honour. The only person whom I am grieved -for is Lionel--he, indeed, might have cause to complain. Agnes Atheling, -do you know where he has gone?” - -“No.” Agnes affected no surprise that the question should be asked her, -and did not even show any emotion. Marian, with a sudden impulse of -generosity, got up instantly, and came to her sister. “Oh, Agnes, I am -very sorry,” said the little beauty, with her palpitating heart; and -Marian put her pretty arms round Agnes’s neck to console and comfort -her, as Agnes might have done to Marian had Louis been in distress -instead of joy. - -Agnes drew herself instinctively out of her sister’s embrace. She had no -right to be looked upon as the representative of Lionel, yet she could -not help speaking, in her confidence and pride in him, with a kindling -cheek and rising heart. “I am not sorry for Mr Rivers _now_,” said -Agnes, firmly; “I was so while this secret was kept from him--while he -was deceived; but I think no one who does him due credit can venture to -pity him _now_.” - -Miss Anastasia roused herself a little at sound of the voice. This -pride, which sounded a little like defiance, stirred the old lady’s -heart like the sound of a trumpet; she had more pleasure in it than she -had felt in anything, save her first welcome of Louis a few hours ago. -She looked steadily into the eyes of Agnes, who met her gaze without -shrinking, though with a rapid variation of colour. Whatever imputations -she herself might be subject to in consequence, Agnes could not sit by -silent, and hear _him_ either pitied or belied. - -“I wonder, may I go and see Miss Rivers? would it be proper?” asked -Rachel timidly, making a sudden diversion, as she had rather a habit of -doing; “she wanted me to stay with her once; she was very kind to me.” - -“I suppose we must not call you the Honourable Rachel Rivers just -yet--eh, little girl?” said Miss Anastasia, turning upon her; “and you, -Marian, you little beauty, how shall you like to be Lady Winterbourne?” - -“Lady Winterbourne! I always said she was to be for Louis,” cried -Rachel--“always--the first time I saw her; you know I did, Agnes; and -often I wondered why she should be so pretty--she who did not want it, -who was happy enough to have been ugly, if she had liked; but I see it -now--I see the reason now!” - -“Don’t hide your head, little one; it is quite true,” said Miss -Anastasia, once more a little touched at her heart to see the beautiful -little figure, fain to glide out of everybody’s sight, stealing away in -a moment into the natural refuge, the mother’s shadow; while the mother, -smiling and sobbing, had entirely given up all attempt at any show of -self-command. “Agnes has something else to do in this hard-fighting -world. You are the flower that must know neither winds nor storms. I -don’t speak to make you vain, you beautiful child. God gave you your -lovely looks, as well as your strange fortune; and Agnes, child, lift up -your head! the contest and the trial are for you; but not, God forbid -it! as they came to _me_.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -THE RIVAL HEIRS. - - -Louis and Rachel returned that night with Miss Anastasia to the Priory, -which, the old lady said proudly--the family jointure house for four or -five generations--should be their home till the young heir took -possession of his paternal house. The time which followed was too busy, -rapid, and exciting for a slow and detailed history. The first legal -steps were taken instantly in the case, and proper notices served upon -Lord Winterbourne. In Miss Anastasia’s animated and anxious house dwelt -the Tyrolese, painfully acquiring some scant morsels of English, very -well contented with her present quarters, and only anxious to secure -some extravagant preferment for her son. Mrs Atheling and her daughters -had returned home, and Louis came and went constantly to town, actively -engaged himself in all the arrangements, full of anxious plans and -undertakings for the ease and benefit of the other parties concerned. -Miss Anastasia, with a little reluctance, had given her consent to the -young man’s plan of a compromise, by which his uncle, unattacked and -undisgraced, might retire from his usurped possessions with a sufficient -and suitable income. The ideas of Louis were magnificent and princely. -He would have been content to mulct himself of half the revenues of his -inheritance, and scarcely would listen to the prudent cautions of his -advisers. He was even reluctant that the first formal steps should be -taken, before Mr Foggo and an eminent and well-known solicitor, -personally acquainted with his uncle, had waited upon Lord Winterbourne. -He was overruled; but this solemn deputation lost no time in proceeding -on its mission. Speedy as they were, however, they were too late for the -alarmed and startled peer. He had left home, they ascertained, very -shortly after the late trial--had gone abroad, as it was supposed, -leaving no information as to the time of his return. The only thing -which could be done in the circumstances was hastened by the eager -exertions of Louis. The two lawyers wrote a formal letter to Lord -Winterbourne, stating their case, and making their offer, and despatched -it to the Hall, to be forwarded to him. No answer came, though Louis -persuaded his agents to wait for it, and even to delay the legal -proceedings. The only notice taken of it was a paragraph in one of the -fashionable newspapers, to the effect that the late proceedings at -Oxford, impugning the title of a respected nobleman, proved now to be a -mere trick of some pettifogging lawyer, entirely unsupported, and likely -to call forth proceedings for libel, involving a good deal of romantic -family history, and extremely interesting to the public. After this, -Louis could no longer restrain the natural progress of the matter. He -gave it up, indeed, at once, and did not try; and Miss Anastasia -pronounced emphatically one of her antique proverbs, “Whom the gods -would destroy, they first make mad.” - -This was not the only business on the hands of Louis. He had found it -impossible, on repeated trials, to see the Rector. At the Old Wood House -it was said that Mr Rivers was from home; at his London lodgings he had -not been heard of. The suit was given against him in the Ecclesiastical -Courts, and Mr Mead, alone in the discharge of his duty, mourned over a -stripped altar and desolated sanctuary, where the tall candles blazed no -longer in the religious gloom. When it became evident at last that the -Rector did not mean to give his young relative the interview he sought, -Louis, strangely transformed as he was, from the petulant youth always -ready to take offence, to the long-suffering man, addressed Lionel as -his solicitors had addressed his uncle. He wrote a long letter, generous -and full of hearty feeling; he reminded his kinsman of the favours he -had himself accepted at his hands. He drew a very vivid picture of his -own past and present position. He declared, with all a young man’s -fervour, that he could have no pleasure even in his own extraordinary -change of fortune, were it the means of inflicting a vast and -unmitigated loss upon his cousin. He threw himself upon Lionel’s -generosity--he appealed to his natural sense of justice--he used a -hundred arguments which were perfectly suitable and in character from -him, but which, certainly, no man as proud and as generous as himself -could be expected to listen to; and, finally, ended with protesting an -unquestionable claim upon Lionel--the claim of a man deeply indebted to, -and befriended by him. The letter overflowed with the earnestness and -sincerity of the writer; he assumed his case throughout with the most -entire honesty, having no doubt whatever upon the subject, and confided -his intentions and prospects to Lionel with a complete and anxious -confidence, which he had not bestowed upon any other living man. - -This letter called forth an answer, written from a country town in a -remote part of England. The Rector wrote with an evident effort at -cordiality. He declined all Louis’s overtures in the most -uncompromising terms, but congratulated him upon his altered -circumstances. He said he had taken care to examine into the case before -leaving London, and was thoroughly convinced of the justice of the new -claim. “One thing I will ask of you,” said Mr Rivers; “I only wait to -resign my living until I can be sure of the next presentation falling -into your hands: give it to Mr Mead. The cause of my withdrawal is -entirely private and personal. I had resolved upon it months ago, and it -has no connection whatever with recent circumstances. I hope no one -thinks so meanly of me as to suppose I am dismayed by the substitution -of another heir in my room. One thing in this matter has really wounded -me, and that is the fact that no one concerned thought me worthy to know -a secret so important, and one which it was alike my duty and my right -to help to a satisfactory conclusion. I have lost nothing actual, so far -as rank or means is concerned; but, more intolerable than any vulgar -loss, I find a sudden cloud thrown upon the perfect sincerity and truth -of some whom I have been disposed to trust as men trust Heaven.” - -The letter concluded with good wishes--that was all; there was no -response to the confidence, no answer to the effusion of heartfelt and -fervent feeling which had been in Louis’s letter. The young man was not -accustomed to be repulsed; perhaps, in all his life, it was the first -time he had asked a favour from any one, and had Louis been poor and -without friends, as he was or thought himself six months ago, such a -tone would have galled him beyond endurance. But there is a charm in a -gracious and relenting fortune. Louis, who had once been the very -armadillo of youthful haughtiness, suddenly distinguished himself by the -most magnanimous patience, would not take offence, and put away his -kinsman’s haughty letter, with regret, but without any resentment. -Nothing was before him now but the plain course of events, and to them -he committed himself frankly, resolved to do what could be done, but -addressing no more appeals to the losing side. - -Part of the Rector’s letter Louis showed to Marian, and Marian repeated -it to Agnes. It was cruel--it was unjust of Lionel--and he knew himself -that it was. Agnes, it was possible, did not know--at all events, she -had no right to betray to him the secrets of another; more than that, he -knew the meaning now of the little book which he carried everywhere with -him, and felt in his heart that _he_ was the real person addressed. He -knew all that quite as well as she did, as she tried, with a quivering -lip and a proud wet eye, to fortify herself against the injustice of his -reproach, but that did not hinder him from saying it. He was in that -condition--known, perhaps, occasionally to most of us--when one feels a -certain perverse pleasure in wounding one’s dearest. He had no chance of -mentioning her, who occupied so much of his thoughts, in any other way, -and he would rather put a reproach upon Agnes than leave her alone -altogether; perhaps she herself even, after all, at the bottom of her -heart, was better satisfied to be referred to thus, than to be left out -of his thoughts. They had never spoken to each other a single word which -could be called wooing--now they were perhaps separated for ever--yet -how strange a link of union, concord, and opposition, was between these -two! - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -AN ADVENTURE. - - -It was September--the time when all Englishmen of a certain “rank in -life” burn with unconquerable longings to get as far away from home as -possible--and there was nothing remarkable in the appearance of this -solitary traveller pacing along Calais pier--nothing remarkable, except -his own personal appearance, which was of a kind not easily overlooked. -There was nothing to be read in his embrowned but refined face, nor in -his high thoughtful forehead. It was a face of thought, of speculation, -of a great and vigorous intellectual activity; but the haughty eyes -looked at no one--the lips never moved even to address a child--there -was no response to any passing glance of interest or inquiry. His head -was turned towards England, over the long sinuous weltering waves of -that stormy Channel which to-day pretended to be calm; but if he saw -anything, it was something which appeared only in his own -imagination--it was neither the far-away gleam, like a floating mist, -of the white cliffs, nor the sunbeam coming down out of the heart of a -cloud into the dark mid-current of that treacherous sea. - -He had no plan of travel--no settled intentions indeed of any kind--but -had been roaming about these three months in the restlessness of -suspense, waiting for definite intelligence before he decided on his -further course. An often-recurring fancy of returning home for a time -had brought him to-day to this common highway of all nations from a -secluded village among the Pyrenees; but he had not made up his mind to -go home--he only lingered within sight of it, chafing his own disturbed -spirit, and ready to be swayed by any momentary impulse. Though he had -been disturbed for a time out of his study of the deepest secrets of -human life, his mind was too eager not to have returned to it. He had -come to feel that it would be sacrilege to proclaim again his own -labouring and disordered thoughts in a place where he was set to speak -of One, the very imagination of whom, if it was an imagination, was so -immeasurably exalted above his highest elevation. A strange poetic -justice had come upon Lionel Rivers--prosecuted for his extreme views at -the time when he ceased to make any show of holding them--separating -himself from his profession, and from the very name of a believer, at -the moment when it began to dawn upon him that he believed--and thrust -asunder with a violent wrench and convulsion from the first and sole -human creature who had come into his heart, at the very hour in which he -discovered that his heart was no longer in his own power. He saw it all, -the strange story of contradictory and perverse chances, and knew -himself the greatest and strangest contradiction of the whole. - -He gave no attention whatever to what passed round him, yet he heard the -foreign voices--the English voices--for there was no lack of his -countrymen. It was growing dark rapidly, and the shadowy evening lights -and mists were stealing far away to sea. He turned to go back to his -hotel, turning his face away from his own country, when at the moment a -voice fell upon his ear, speaking his own tongue: “You will abet an -impostor--you who know nothing of English law, and are already a marked -man.” These were the words spoken in a very low, clear, hissing tone, -which Lionel heard distinctly only because it was well known to him. The -speaker was wrapt in a great cloak, with a travelling-cap over his eyes; -and the person he addressed was a little vivacious Italian, with a long -olive face, smooth-shaven cheeks, and sparkling lively eyes, who seemed -much disconcerted and doubtful what to do. The expression of Lionel’s -face changed in an instant--he woke out of his moody dream to alert and -determined action; he drew back a step to let them pass, and then -followed. The discussion was animated and eager between them, sometimes -in English, sometimes in Italian, apparently as caprice guided the one -or the other. Lionel did not listen to what they said, but he followed -them home. - -The old Italian parted with his companion at the door of the hotel where -Lionel himself was lodged; there the Englishman in the cloak and cap -lingered to make an appointment. “At eleven to-morrow,” said again that -sharp hissing voice. Lionel stepped aside into the shadow as the -stranger turned reluctantly away; he did not care for making further -investigations to ascertain _his_ identity--it was Lord Winterbourne. - -He took the necessary steps immediately. It was easy to find out where -the Italian was, in a little room at the top of the house, the key of -which he paused to take down before he went up-stairs. Lionel waited -again till the old man had made his way to his lofty lodging. He was -very well acquainted with all the details of Louis’s case; he had, in -fact, seen Charlie Atheling a few days before he left London, and -satisfied himself of the nature of his young kinsman’s claim--it was too -important to himself to be forgotten. He remembered perfectly the -Italian doctor Serrano who had been present, and could testify to the -marriage of the late Lord Winterbourne. Lionel scaled the great -staircase half-a-dozen steps at a time, and reached the door immediately -after the old man had entered, and before he had struck his light. The -Rector knocked softly. With visible perturbation, and in a sharp tone of -self-defence, the Italian called out in a very good French to know who -was there. Dr Serrano was a patriot and a plotter, and used to -domiciliary visitations. Lionel answered him in English, asked if he -were Doctor Serrano, and announced himself as a friend of Charles -Atheling. Then the door opened slowly, and with some jealousy. Lionel -passed into the room without waiting for an invitation. “You are going -to England on a matter of the greatest importance,” said the Rector, -with excitement--“to restore the son of your friend to his inheritance; -yet I find you, with the serpent at your ear, listening to Lord -Winterbourne.” - -The Italian started back in amaze. “Are you the devil?” said Doctor -Serrano, with a comical perturbation. - -“No; instead of that, you have just left him,” said Lionel; “but I am a -friend, and know all. This man persuades you not to go on--by accident I -caught the sound of his voice saying so. He has the most direct personal -interest in the case; it is ruin and disgrace to him. Your testimony may -be of the greatest importance--why do you linger? why do you listen to -him?” - -“Really, you are hot-headed; it is so with youth,” said Doctor Serrano, -“when we will move heaven and earth for one friend. He tells me the -child is dead--that this is another. I know not--it may be true.” - -“It is not true,” said Lionel. “I will tell you who I am--the next heir -if Lord Winterbourne is the true holder of the title--there is my card. -I have the strongest interest in resisting this claim if I did not know -it to be true. It can be proved that this is the same boy who was -brought from Italy an infant. I can prove it myself; it is known to a -whole village. If you choose it, confront me with Lord Winterbourne.” - -“No; I believe you--you are a gentleman,” said Doctor Serrano, turning -over the card in his hand--and the old man added with enthusiasm, “and a -hero for a friend!” - -“You believe me?” said Lionel, who could not restrain the painful smile -which crossed his face at the idea of his heroism in the cause of Louis. -“Will you stay, then, another hour within reach of Lord Winterbourne?” - -The Italian shrugged his shoulders. “I will break with him; he is ever -false,” said the old man. “What besides can I do?” - -“I will tell you,” said Lionel. “The boat sails in an hour--come with me -at once, let me see you safe in England. I shall attend to your comfort -with all my power. There is time for a good English bed at Dover, and an -undisturbed rest. Doctor Serrano, for the sake of the oppressed, and -because you are a philosopher, and understand the weakness of human -nature, will you come with me?” - -The Italian glanced lovingly at the couch which invited him--at the -slippers and the pipe which waited to make him comfortable--then he -glanced up at the dark and resolute countenance of Lionel, who, high in -his chivalric honour, was determined rather to sleep at Serrano’s door -all night than to let him out of his hands. “Excellent young man! you -are not a philosopher!” said the rueful Doctor; but he had a quick eye, -and was accustomed to judge men. “I will go with you,” he added -seriously, “and some time, for liberty and Italy, you will do as much -for me.” - -It was a bargain, concluded on the spot. An hour after, almost within -sight of Lord Winterbourne, who was pacing the gloomy pier by night in -his own gloom of guilty thought, the old man and the young man embarked -for England. A few hours later the little Italian slept under an English -roof, and the young Englishman looked up at the dizzy cliff, and down at -the foaming sea, too much excited to think of rest. The next morning -Lionel carried off his prize to London, and left him in the hands of -Charlie Atheling. Then, seeing no one, speaking to no one, without -lingering an hour in his native country, he turned back and went away. -He had made up his mind now to remain at Calais till the matter was -entirely decided--then to resign his benefice--and then, with _things_ -and not _thoughts_ around him in the actual press and contact of common -life, to read, if he could, the grand secret of a true existence, and -decide his fate. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -THE TRIAL. - - -Lord Winterbourne had been in Italy, going over the ground which Charlie -Atheling had already examined so carefully. Miss Anastasia’s proverb was -coming true. He who all his life had been so wary, began to calculate -madly, with an insane disregard of all the damning facts against him, on -overturning, by one bold stroke, the careful fabric of the young lawyer. -He sought out and found the courier Monte, whom he himself had -established in his little mountain-inn. Monte was a faithful servant -enough to his employer of the time, but he was not scrupulous, and had -no great conscience. He undertook, without much objection, for the hire -which Lord Winterbourne gave him, to say anything Lord Winterbourne -pleased. He had been present at the marriage; and if the old Doctor -could have been delayed, or turned back, or even kidnapped--which was in -the foiled plotter’s scheme, if nothing better would serve--Monte, being -the sole witness of the ceremony present, might have made it out a mock -marriage, or at least delayed the case, and thrown discredit upon the -union. It was enough to show what mad shifts even a wise intriguer might -be driven to trust in. He believed it actually possible that judge and -jury would ignore all the other testimony, and trust to the unsupported -word of his lying witness. He did not pause to think, tampering with -truth as he had been all his life, and trusting no man, what an extreme -amount of credulity he expected for himself. - -But even when Doctor Serrano escaped him--when the trial drew nearer day -by day--when Louis’s agents came in person, respectful and urgent, to -make their statement to him--and when he became aware that his case was -naught, and that he had no evidence whatever to depend on save that of -Monte, his wild confidence did not yield. He refused with disdain every -offer of a compromise; he commanded out of his presence the bearers of -that message of forbearance and forgiveness; he looked forward with a -blind defiance of his fate miserable to see. He gave orders that -preparations should be made at Winterbourne for the celebration of his -approaching triumph. That autumn he had invited to his house a larger -party than usual; and though few came, and those the least reputable, -there was no want of sportsmen in the covers, nor merry-makers at the -Hall: he himself was restless, and did not continue there, even for the -sake of his guests, but made incessant journeys to London, and kept in -constant personal attendance on himself the courier Monte. He was the -object of incessant observation, and the gossip of half the county: he -had many enemies; and many of those who were disposed to take his part, -had heard and been convinced by the story of Louis. Almost every one, -indeed, who did hear of it, and remembered the boy in his neglected but -noble youth, felt the strange probability and _vraisemblance_ of the -tale; and as the time drew nearer, the interest grew. It was known that -the new claimant of the title lived in Miss Anastasia’s house, and that -she was the warmest supporter of his claim. The people of Banburyshire -were proud of Miss Anastasia; but she was Lord Winterbourne’s enemy. -Why? That old tragedy began to be spoken of once more in whispers; other -tales crept into circulation; he was a bad man; everybody knew something -of him--enough ground to judge him on; and if he was capable of all -these, was he not capable of this? - -As the public voice grew thus, like the voice of doom, the doomed man -went on in his reckless and unreasoning confidence; the warnings of his -opponents and of his friends seemed to be alike fruitless. No extent of -self-delusion could have justified him at any time in thinking himself -popular, yet he seemed to have a certain insane conviction now, that he -had but to show himself in the court to produce an immediate reaction in -his favour. He even said so, shaken out of all his old self-restrained -habits, boasting with a vain braggadocio to his guests at the Hall; and -people began, with a new impulse of pity, to wonder if his reason was -touched, and to hint vaguely to each other that the shock had unsettled -his mind. - -The trial came on at the next assize; it was long, elaborate, and -painful. On the very eve of this momentous day, Louis himself had -addressed an appeal to his uncle, begging him, at the last moment when -he could withdraw with honour, to accept the compromise so often and so -anxiously proposed to him. Lord Winterbourne tore the letter in two, and -put it in his pocket-book. “I shall use it,” he said to the messenger, -“when this business is over, to light the bonfire on Badgeley Hill.” - -The trial came on accordingly, without favour or private arrangement--a -fair struggle of force against force. The evidence on the side of the -prosecutor was laid down clearly, particular by particular; the marriage -of the late Lord Winterbourne to the young Italian--the entry in his -pocket-book, sworn to by Miss Anastasia--the birth of the -children--their journey from Italy to London, from London to -Winterbourne--and the identity of the boy Louis with the present -claimant of the title--clearly, calmly, deliberately, everything was -proved. It took two days to go over the evidence; then came the defence. -Without an overwhelming array of witnesses on the other side--without -proving perjury on the part of these--what could Lord Winterbourne -answer to such a charge as this? - -He commenced, through his lawyer, by a vain attempt to brand Louis over -again with illegitimacy, to sully the name of his dead brother, and -represent him a villanous deceiver. It was allowed, without controversy, -that Louis was the son of the old lord; and then Monte was placed in the -witness-box to prove that the marriage was a mock marriage, so skilfully -performed as to cheat herself, her family, the old quick-witted Serrano, -whose testimony had pleased every one--all the people present, in short, -except his own acute and philosophical self. - -The fellow was bold, clever, and scrupulous, but he was not prepared for -such an ordeal. His attention distracted by the furious contradictory -gestures of Doctor Serrano, whose cane could scarcely be kept out of -action--by the stern, steady glance of Miss Anastasia, whom he -recognised--he was no match for the skilful cross-examiners who had him -in hand. He hesitated, prevaricated, altered his testimony. He held, -with a grim obstinacy, to unimportant trifles, and made admissions at -the same moment which struck at the very root of his own credibility as -a witness. He was finally ordered to sit down by the voice of the judge -himself, which rung in the fellow’s ears like thunder. That was all the -case for the defence! Even Lord Winterbourne’s counsel coloured for -shame as he made the miserable admission. The jury scarcely left the -court; there was no doubt remaining on the mind of the audience. The -verdict was pronounced solemnly, like a passionless voice of justice, as -it was, for the plaintiff. There was no applause--no exultation--a -universal human horror and disgust at the strange depravity they had -just witnessed, put down every demonstration of feeling. People drew -away from the neighbourhood of Lord Winterbourne as from a man in a -pestilence. He left the court almost immediately, with his hat over his -eyes--his witness following as he best could; then came a sudden -revulsion of feeling. The best men in the county hurried towards Louis, -who sat, pale and excited, by the side of his elder and his younger -sister. Congratulatory good wishes poured upon him on every side. As -they left the court slowly, a guard of honour surrounded this heir and -hero of romance; and as he emerged into the street the air rang with a -cheer for the new Lord Winterbourne. They called him “My lord,” as he -stood on the step of Miss Anastasia’s carriage, which she herself -entered as if it had been a car of triumph. _She_ called him “My lord,” -making a proud obeisance to him, as a mother might have done to her son, -a new-made king; and they drove off slowly, with riders in their train, -amid the eager observation of all the passengers--the new Lord -Winterbourne! - -The old one hastened home on foot, no one observing him--followed far -off, like a shadow, by his attendant villain--unobserved, and almost -unheeded, entered the Hall; thrust with his own hand some necessaries -into his travelling-bag, gathered his cloak around him, and was gone. -Winterbourne Hall that night was left in the custody of the strangers -who had been his guests, an uneasy and troubled company, all occupied -with projects of departure to-morrow. Once more the broad chill -moonlight fell on the noble park, as when Louis and his sister, desolate -and friendless, passed out from its lordly gates into midnight and the -vacant world. Scarcely a year! but what a change upon all the actors and -all the passions of that moonlight October night! - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -ESPOUSALS. - - -It was winter, but the heavens were bright--a halcyon day among the -December glooms. All the winds lay still among the withered ferns, -making a sighing chorus in the underground of Badgeley Wood; but the -white clouds, thinner than the clouds of summer, lay becalmed upon the -chill blue sky, and the sun shone warm under the hedgerows, and deluded -birds were perching out upon the hawthorn bows; the green grass -brightened under the morning light; the wan waters shone; the trees -which had no leaves clustered their branches together, with a certain -pathos in their nakedness, and made a trellised shadow here and there -over the wintry stream; and, noble as in the broadest summer, in the -sheen of the December sunshine lay Oxford, jewelled like a bride, -gleaming out upon the tower of Maudlin, flashing abroad into the -firmament from fair St Mary, twinkling with innumerable gem-points from -all the lesser cupolas and spires. In the midst of all, this sunshine -retreated in pure defeat and failure, from that sombre old heathen, with -his heavy dome--but only brightened all the more upon those responsive -and human inhabitants dwelling there from the olden ages, and native to -the soil. There was a fresh breath from the broad country, a hum of life -in the air, a twitter of hardy birds among the trees. It was one of -those days which belong to no season, but come, like single blessings, -one by one, throwing a gleam across the darker half of the year. Though -it was in December instead of May, it was as fair “a bridal of the earth -and sky” as poet could have wished to see; but the season yielded no -flowers to strew upon the grassy footpath between the Old Wood Lodge and -the little church of Winterbourne; they did not need them who trod that -road to-day. - -Hush, they are coming home--seeing nothing but an indefinite splendour -in the earth and in the sky--sweet in the dews of their youth--touched -to the heart--to that very depth and centre where lie all ecstasies and -tears. Walking together arm in arm, in their young humility--scarcely -aware of the bridal train behind them--in an enchantment of their own; -now coming back to that old little room, with its pensive old memories -of hermit life and solitude--this quiet old place, which never before -was lighted up with such a gleam of splendid fortune and happy hope. - -You would say it was Marian Atheling, “with the smile on her lip, and -the tear in her eye”--the very same lovely vision whom the lad Louis saw -some eighteen months ago at the garden gate. But you would be mistaken; -for it is not Marian--it is the young Lady Winterbourne. This one is -quite as beautiful for a consolation--almost more so in her bridal -blush, and sunshine, and tears--and for a whole hour by the village -clock has been a peeress of the realm. - -This is what it has come to, after all--what they must all come to, -those innocent young people--even Rachel, who is as wild as a child, in -her first genuine and unalarmed outburst of youthful jubilation--even -Agnes, who through all this joy carries a certain thoughtful remembrance -in her dark eyes--possibly even Charlie, who fears no man, but is a -little shy of every womankind younger than Miss Anastasia. There are -only one or two strangers; but the party almost overflows Miss Bridget’s -parlour, where the old walls smile with flowers, and the old apartment, -like an ancient handmaid, receives them with a prim and antique grace--a -little doubtful, yet half hysterical with joy. - -But it does not last very long, this crowning festival. By-and-by the -hero and the heroine go away; then the guests one by one; then the -family, a little languid, a little moved with the first inroad among -them, disperse to their own apartments, or to a meditative ramble out of -doors; and when the twilight falls, you could almost suppose Miss -Bridget, musing too over the story of another generation, sitting before -the fire in her great old chair, with no companion but the flowers. - -This new event seemed somehow to consolidate and make certain that -wonderful fortune of Louis, which until then had looked almost too much -like a romance to be realised. His uncle had made various efforts to -question and set aside the verdict which transferred to the true heir -his name and inheritance--efforts in which even the lawyers whom he had -employed at the trial, and who were not over-scrupulous, had refused any -share. The attempt was entirely fruitless--an insane resistance to the -law, which was irresistible; and the Honourable Reginald Rivers, whom -some old sycophants who came in his way still flattered with his old -title, was now at Baden, a great man enough in his own circle, rich in -the allowance from his nephew, which he was no longer too proud to -accept. He alone of all men expressed any disapprobation of Louis’s -marriage--he whose high sense of family honour revolted from the idea of -a _mesalliance_--and one other individual, who had something of a more -reasonable argument. We hasten to extract, according to a former -promise, the following pathetic paragraph from the pages of the -_Mississippi Gazette_:-- - -“I have just heard of the marriage of the young Lord W---- with the -beautiful M---- A----. Well!--is that so wonderful? Oh, visionary dream! -That thou shouldst pause to comment upon a common British bargain--the -most ordinary arrangement of this conventional and rotten life? What is -a heart in comparison with a title?--true love in the balance of a -coronet? Oh, my country, _thou_ hast not come to this! But for these -mercenary and heartless parents--but for the young mind dazzled with the -splendid cheat of rank--oh heaven, what true felicity--what poetic -rapture--what a home thou mightst have seen! For she was beautiful as -the day when it breaks upon the rivers and the mountains of my native -land! It is enough--a poet’s fate would have been all incomplete without -this fiery trial. Farewell, M----! Farewell, lovely deluded victim of a -false society! Some time out of your hollow splendour you will think of -a true heart and weep!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - -AN OLD FRIEND. - - -“The Winterbournes” had been for some time at home--they were now in -London, and Marian had appeared at court in the full splendour of that -young beauty of hers; which never had dazzled any one at home as it -dazzled every one now. She and her handsome young husband were the lions -of the season, eagerly sought after in “the best society.” Their story -had got abroad, as stories which are at all remarkable have such a -wonderful faculty of getting; and strangers whom Marian had never seen -before, were delighted to make her acquaintance--charmed to know her -sister, who had so much genius, and wrote such delightful books, and, -most extraordinary of all, extremely curious and interested about -Charlie, the wonderful young brother who had found out the mystery. At -one of the fashionable assemblies, where Louis and Marian, Rachel and -Agnes, were pointed out eagerly on all sides, and commented upon as -“such fresh unsophisticated young creatures--such a group! so -picturesque, so interesting!” they became aware, all of them, with -different degrees of embarrassment and pain, that Mrs Edgerley was in -the company. Louis found her out last of all. She could not possibly -fail to notice them; and the young man, anxious to save her pain, made -up his mind at once to be the first to address her. He went forward -gravely, with more than usual deference in his manner. She recognised -him in a moment, started with a little surprise and a momentary shock, -but immediately rushed forward with her most charming air of enthusiasm, -caught his hand, and overwhelmed him with congratulations. “Oh, I should -be so shocked if you supposed that I entertained any prejudice because -of poor dear papa!” cried Mrs Edgerley. “Of course he meant no harm; of -course he did not know any better. I am so charmed to see you! I am sure -we shall make most capital cousins and firm allies. Positively you look -quite grave at me. Oh, I assure you, family feuds are entirely out of -fashion, and no one ever quarrels with _me_! I am dying to see those -sweet girls!” - -And very much amazed, and filled with great perturbation, those sweet -girls were, when Mrs Edgerley came up to them, leaning upon Louis’s arm, -bestowed upon them all a shower of those light perfumy kisses which -Marian and Agnes remembered so well, and, declaring Lady Winterbourne -far too young for a chaperone, took her place among them. Amazed as they -were at this sudden renewal of old friendship, none of them desired to -resist it; and before they were well aware, they found themselves -engaged, the whole party, to Mrs Edgerley’s next “reception,” when -“every one would be so charmed to see them!” “Positively, my love, you -are looking quite lovely,” whispered the fine lady into the shrinking -ear of Marian. “I always said so. I constantly told every one you were -the most perfect little beauty in the world; and then that charming book -of Miss Atheling’s, which every one was wild about! and your -brother--now, do you know, I wish so very much to know your brother. Oh, -I am sure you could persuade him to come to my Thursday. Tell him every -one comes; no one ever refuses _me_! I shall send him a card to-morrow. -Now, may I leave my cause in your hands?” - -“We will try,” said Marian, who, though she bore her new dignities with -extraordinary self-possession on the whole, was undeniably shy of -Agnes’s first fashionable patroness. The invitation was taken up as very -good fun indeed, by all the others. They resolved to make a general -assault upon Charlie, and went home in great glee with their -undertaking. Nor was Charlie, after all, so hard to be moved as they -expected. He twisted the pretty note in his big fingers with somewhat -grim amusement, and said he did not mind. With this result Mrs Atheling -showed the greatest delight, for the good mother began to speculate upon -a wife for Charlie, and to be rather afraid of some humble beauty -catching her boy’s eye before he had “seen the world.” - -With almost the feeling of people in a dream, Agnes and Marian entered -once more those well-remembered rooms of Mrs Edgerley, in which they had -gained their first glimpse of the world; and Charlie, less demonstrative -of his feelings, but not without a remembrance of the past, entered -these same portals where he had exchanged that first glance of -instinctive enmity with the former Lord Winterbourne. The change was -almost too extraordinary to be realised even by the persons principally -concerned. Marian, who had been but Agnes Atheling’s pretty and shy -sister, came in now first of the party, the wife of the head of her -former patroness’s family. Agnes, a diffident young genius then, full of -visionary ideas of fame, had now her own known and acknowledged place, -but had gone far beyond it, in the heart which did not palpitate any -longer with the glorious young fancies of a visionary ambition; and -Charlie, last of all--Charlie, who had tumbled out of the Islington fly -to take charge of his sisters--a big boy, clumsy and manful, whom Lord -Winterbourne smiled at, as he passed, with his ungenial smile--Charlie, -almost single-handed, had thrust the usurper from his seat, and placed -the true heir in his room. No wonder that the Athelings were somewhat -dizzy with recollections when they came among all the fashionable people -who were charmed to see them, and found their way at last to the boudoir -where Agnes and Marian had looked at the faces and the diamonds, on that -old Thursday of Mrs Edgerley’s, which sparkled still in their -recollection, the beginning of their fate. - -But though Louis and Marian, and Agnes and Rachel, were all extremely -attractive, had more or less share in the romance, and were all more or -less handsome, Charlie was without dispute the lion of the night. Mrs -Edgerley fluttered about with him, holding his great arm with her pretty -hand, and introducing him to every one; and with a smile, rueful, -comical, half embarrassed, half ludicrous, Charlie, who continued to be -very shy of ladies, suffered himself to be dragged about by the -fashionable enchantress. He had very little to say--he was such a big -fellow, so unmanageable in a delicate crowd of fine ladies, with -draperies like gossamer, and, to do him justice, very much afraid of the -dangerous steering; but Charlie’s “manners,” though they would have -overwhelmed with distress his anxious mother, rather added to his -“success.” “It was he who conducted the whole case.” “I do not wonder! -Look, what a noble head! What a self-absorbed expression! What a power -of concentration!” were the sweet and audible whispers which rang around -him; and the more sensible observers of the scene, who saw the secret -humour in Charlie’s upper-lip, slightly curved with amusement, acute, -but not unkindly, and caught now and then a gleam of his keen eye, -which, when it met with a response, always made a momentary brightening -of the smile--were disposed to give him full credit for all the power -imputed to him. Mrs Edgerley was in the highest delight--he was a -perfect success for a lion. Lions, as this patroness of the fine arts -knew by experience, were sadly apt to betray themselves, to be thrown -off their balance, to talk nonsense. But Charlie, who was not given to -talking, who was still so delightfully clumsy, and made such a wonderful -bow, was perfectly charming; Mrs Edgerley declared she was quite in love -with him. After all, natural feeling put out of the question, she had no -extraordinary occasion to identify herself with the resentments or -enmities of that ruined plotter at Baden; and he must have been a worthy -father, indeed, who had moved Mrs Edgerley to shut her heart or her -house to the handsome young couple, whom everybody delighted to honour, -or to the hero of a fashionable romance, which was spoken of -everywhere. She had no thought of any such sacrifice; she established -the most friendly relations instantly with her charming young cousins. -She extended the kindly title, with the most fascinating amiability, to -Agnes and Charlie. She overwhelmed the young lawyer with compliments and -invitations. He had a much stronger hold upon her fickle fancy than the -author of _Hope Hazlewood_. Mrs Edgerley was delighted to speak to all -her acquaintances of Mr Atheling, “who conducted all the case against -poor dear papa--did everything himself, I assure you--and such a -charming modesty of genius, such a wonderful force and character! Oh, -any one may be jealous who pleases; I cannot help it. I quite adore that -clever young man.” - -Charlie took it all very quietly; he concerned himself as little about -the adoration of Mrs Edgerley, as he did about the secret scrutiny of -his mother concerning every young woman who chanced to cross the path of -her son. Young women were the only created things whom Charlie was -afraid of, and what his own secret thoughts might be upon this important -question, nobody could tell. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - -SETTLING DOWN. - - -Many lesser changes had been involved in the great revolution which made -the nameless Louis head of the family, and conferred upon him the -estates and title of Lord Winterbourne: scarcely any one, indeed, in the -immediate circle of the two families of Rivers and Atheling, the great -people and the small, remained uninfluenced by the change of -sovereignty, except Miss Anastasia, whose heart and household charities -were manifestly widened, but to whom no other change except the last, -and grand one, was like to come. The Rector kept his word; as soon as he -heard of the definite settlement of that great question of Louis’s -claim, he himself resigned his benefice; and one of the first acts of -the new Lord Winterbourne was to answer the only request of Lionel, by -conferring it upon Mr Mead. After that, Lionel made a settlement upon -his sister of all the property which belonged to them, enough to make a -modest maidenly income for the gentle invalid, and keep her in -possession of all the little luxuries which seemed essential to her -life. For himself, he retained a legacy of a thousand pounds which had -been left to him several years before. This was the last that was known -of the Rector--he disappeared into entire gloom and obscurity after he -had made this final arrangement. It was sometimes possible to hear of -him, for English travellers, journeying through unfamiliar routes, did -not fail to note the wandering English gentleman who seemed to travel -for something else than pleasure, and whose motives and objects no one -knew; but where to look for him next, or what his occupations were, -neither Louis nor his friends, in spite of all their anxious inquiries, -could ever ascertain. - -And Mr Mead was now the rector, and reigned in Lionel’s stead. A new -rectory, all gabled and pinnacled, more “correct” than the model it -followed, and truer to its period than the truest original in -Christendom, rose rapidly between the village and the Hall; and Mr Mead, -whose altar had been made bare by the iconoclastic hands of authority, -began to exhibit some little alteration in his opinions as he grew -older, held modified views as to the priesthood, and cast an eye of -visible kindness upon the Honourable Rachel Rivers. The sentiment, -however, was not at all reciprocal; no one believed that Rachel was -really as old as Louis--older than the pretty matron Marian, older even -than Agnes. She had never been a girl until now--and Rachel cared a -great deal more for the invalid Lucy in her noiseless shadowy chamber in -the Old Wood House, than for all the rectors and all the curates in the -world. _She_ was fancy free, and promised to remain so; and Marian had -already begun with a little horror to entertain the idea that Rachel -possibly might never marry at all. - -The parent Athelings themselves were not unmoved by the changes of their -children. Charlie was to be received as a partner into the firm which Mr -Foggo, by dint of habit, still clung to, as soon as he had attained his -one-and-twentieth year. Agnes, as these quiet days went on, grew both in -reputation and in riches, girl though she still was; and the youngest of -them was Lady Winterbourne! All these great considerations somewhat -dazzled the eyes of the confidential clerk of Messrs Cash, Ledger, & -Co., as he turned over his books upon that desk where he had once placed -Agnes’s fifty-pound notes, the beginning of the family fortune. Bellevue -came to be mightily out of the way when Louis and Marian were in town -living in so different a quarter; and Mr Atheling wearied of the City, -and Mamma concluded that the country air would be a great deal better -for Bell and Beau. So Mr Atheling accepted a retiring allowance, the -half of his previous income, from the employers whom he had served so -long. The whole little household, even including Susan, removed to the -country, where Marian had been delighting herself in the superintendence -of the two or three additional rooms built to the Old Wood Lodge, which -were so great a surprise to Mamma when she found them, risen as at the -touch of a fairy’s wand. The family settled there at once in -unpretending comfort, taking farewell affectionately of Miss Willsie and -Mr Foggo, but not forgetting Bellevue. - -And here Agnes pursued her vocation, making very little demonstration of -it, the main pillar for the mean time, and crowning glory of her -father’s house. Her own mind and imagination had been profoundly -impressed, almost in spite of herself, by that last known act of -Lionel’s--his hasty journey to London with Doctor Serrano. It was the -kind of act beyond all others to win upon a temperament so generous and -sensitive, which a more ostentatious generosity might have disgusted and -repelled; and perhaps the very uncertainty in which they remained -concerning him kept up the lurking “interest” in Agnes Atheling’s heart. -It was possible that he might appear any day at their very doors; it was -possible that he never might be seen again. It was not easy to avoid -speculating upon him--what he was thinking, where he was?--and when, in -that spontaneous delight of her young genius, which yet had suffered no -diminution, Agnes’s thoughts glided into impersonation, and fairy -figures gathered round her, and one by one her fables grew, in the midst -of the thread of story--in the midst of what people called, to the young -author’s amusement, “an elaborate development of character, the result -of great study and observation”--thoughts came to her mind, and words to -her lip, which she supposed no one could thoroughly understand save -_one_. Almost unconsciously she shadowed his circumstances and his story -in many a bright imagination of her own; and contrasted with the real -one half-a-dozen imaginary Lionels, yet always ending in finding him the -noblest type of action in that great crisis of his career. It blended -somehow strangely with all that was most serious in her work; for when -Agnes had to speak of faith, she spoke of it with the fervour with which -one addresses an individual, opening her heart to show the One great -Name enshrined in it to another, who, woe for him, in his wanderings so -sadly friendless, knew not that Lord. - -So the voice of the woman who dwelt at home went out over the world; it -charmed multitudes who thought of nothing but the story it told, -delighted some more who recognised that sweet faulty grace of youth, -that generous young directness and simplicity which made the fable -truth. If it ever reached to one who felt himself addressed in it, who -knew the words, the allusions, that noble craft of genius, which, -addressing all, had still a private voice for one--if there was such a -man somewhere, in the desert or among the mountains far away, wandering -where he seldom heard the tongue of his country, and never saw a face he -recognised, Agnes never knew. - -But after this fashion time went on with them all. Then there came a -second heir, another Louis to the Hall at Winterbourne--and it was very -hard to say whether this young gentleman’s old aunt or his young aunt, -the Honourable Rachel, or the Honourable Anastasia, was most completely -out of her wits at this glorious epoch in the history of the House. -Another event of the most startling and extraordinary description took -place very shortly after the christening of Marian’s miraculous baby. -Charlie was one-and-twenty; he was admitted into the firm, and the young -man, who was one of the most “rising young men” in his profession, took -to himself a holiday, and went abroad without any one knowing much about -it. No harm in that; but when Charlie returned, he brought with him a -certain Signora Giulia, a very amazing companion indeed for this -taciturn hero, who was afraid of young ladies. He took her down at once -to Winterbourne, to present her to his mother and sisters. He had the -grace to blush, but really was not half so much ashamed of himself as he -ought to have been. For the pretty young Italian turned out to be cousin -to Louis and Rachel--a delicate little beauty, extremely proud of the -big young lover, who had carried her off from her mother’s house six -weeks ago: and we are grieved to acknowledge that Charlie henceforth -showed no fear whatever, scarcely even the proper awe of a dutiful -husband, in the presence of Mrs Charles Atheling. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - -THE END. - - -Agnes Atheling was alone in old Miss Bridget’s parlour; it was a fervent -day of July, and all the country lay in a hush and stillness of -exceeding sunshine, which reduced all the common sounds of life, far and -near, to a drowsy and languid hum--the midsummer’s luxurious voice. The -little house was perfectly still. Mrs Atheling was at the Hall, Papa in -Oxford, and Hannah, whose sole beatific duty it was to take care of the -children, and who envied no one in the world save the new nurse to the -new baby, had taken out Bell and Beau. The door was open in the fearless -fashion and license of the country. Perhaps Susan was dozing in the -kitchen, or on the sunny outside bench by the kitchen door. There was -not a sound about the house save the deep dreamy hum of the bees among -the roses--those roses which clustered thick round the old porch and on -the wall. Agnes sat by the open window, in a very familiar old -occupation, making a frock for little Bell, who was six years old now, -and appreciated pretty things. Agnes was not quite so young as she used -to be--four years, with a great many events in them, had enlarged the -maiden mind, which still was as fresh as a child’s. She was changed -otherwise: the ease which those only have who are used to the company of -people of refinement, had added another charm to her natural grace. As -she sat with her work on her knee, in her feminine attitude and -occupation, making a meditative pause, bowing her head upon her hand, -thinking of something, with those quiet walls of home around her--the -open door, the open window, and no one else visible in the serene and -peaceful house, she made, in her fair and thoughtful young womanhood, as -sweet a type as one could desire of the serene and happy confidence of a -quiet English home. - -She did not observe any one passing; she was not thinking, perhaps, of -any one hereabout who was like to pass--but she heard a step entering at -the door. She scarcely looked up, thinking it some member of the -family--scarcely moved even when the door of the parlour opened wider, -and the step came in. Then she looked up--started up--let her work drop -out of her hands, and, gazing with eagerness in the bronzed face of the -stranger, uttered a wondering exclamation. He hastened to her, holding -out his hand. “Mr Rivers?” cried Agnes, in extreme surprise and -agitation--“is it _you_?” - -What he said was some hasty faltering expressions of delight in seeing -her, and they gazed at each other with their mutual “interest,” glad, -yet constrained. “We have tried often to find out where you were,” said -Agnes--“I mean Louis; he has been very anxious. Have you seen him? When -did you come home?” - -“I have seen no one save you.” - -“But Louis has been very anxious,” said Agnes, with a little confusion. -“We have all tried to discover where you were. Is it wrong to ask where -you have been?” - -But Lionel did not at all attend to her questions. He was less -self-possessed than she was; he seemed to have only one idea at the -present moment, so far as was visible, and that he simply expressed over -again--“I am very glad--happy--to see you here and alone.” - -“Oh!” said Agnes with a nervous tremor--“I--I was asking, Mr Rivers, -where you had been?” - -This time he began to attend to her. “I have been everywhere,” he said, -“except where pleasure was. I have been on fields of battles--in places -of wretchedness. I have come to tell you something--you only. Do you -remember our conversation once by Badgeley Wood?” - -“Yes.” - -“You gave me a talisman, Agnes,” said the speaker, growing more excited; -“I have carried it all over the world.” - -“Well,” said Agnes as he paused. She looked at him very earnestly, -without even a blush at the sound of her own name. - -“Well--better than well!” cried Lionel; “wonderful--invincible--divine! -I went to try your spell--I who trusted nothing--at the moment when -everything had failed me--even you. I put yonder sublime Friend of yours -to the experiment--I dared to do it! I took his name to the sorrowful, -as you bade me. I cast out devils with his name, as the sorcerers tried -to do. I put all the hope I could have in life upon the trial. Now I -come to tell you the issue; it is fit that you should know.” - -Agnes leaned forward towards him, listening eagerly; she could not quite -tell what she expected--a confession of faith. - -“I am a man of ambition,” said Lionel, turning in a moment from the high -and solemn excitement of his former speech, with a sudden smile like a -gleam of sunshine. “You remember my projects when I was heir of -Winterbourne. You knew them, though I did not tell you; now I have found -a cave in a wild mining district among a race of giants. I am Vicar of -Botallach, among the Cornish men--have been for four-and-twenty -hours--that is the end.” - -Agnes had put out her hand to him in the first impulse of joy and -congratulation; a second thought, more subtle, made her pause, and -blush, and draw back. Lionel was not so foolish as to wait the end of -this self-controversy. He left his seat, came to her side, took the hand -firmly into his own, which she half gave, and half withdrew--did not -blush, but grew pale, with the quiet concern of a man who was about -deciding the happiness of his life. “The end, but the beginning too,” -said Lionel, with a tremor in his voice. “Agnes hear me still--I have -something more to say.” - -She did not answer a word; she lifted her eyes to his face with one -hurried, agitated momentary glance. Something more! but the whole tale -was in the look. _They_ did not know very well what words followed, and -neither do we. - - - THE END. - - PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH. - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Athelings; Complete, by Margaret Oliphant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATHELINGS; COMPLETE *** - -***** This file should be named 55122-0.txt or 55122-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/1/2/55122/ - -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. 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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; Complete - -Author: Margaret Oliphant - -Release Date: July 15, 2017 [EBook #55122] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATHELINGS; COMPLETE *** - - - - -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 3em auto;max-width:50%; -padding:1%;"> -<tr><td> -<a href="#volume_1">Volume 1</a><br /> -<a href="#volume_2">Volume 2</a><br /> -<a href="#volume_3">Volume 3</a> -</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"> -COMPLETE -<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="vol_1_page_001" id="vol_1_page_001"></a>{v.1-1}</span><br /> -</small></p> - -<h1> -THE ATHELINGS</h1> -<p class="c"> -BOOK I.—BELLEVUE<br /> -</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 <a name="volume_1" id="volume_1"></a>volume 1.</p> -<p class="nind"> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_I">Book I.—Chapter I., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_II"> II., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_III"> III., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_IV"> IV., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_V"> V., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_VI"> VI., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_VII"> VII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_VIII"> VIII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_IX"> IX., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_X"> X., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XI"> XI., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XII"> XII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XIII"> XIII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XIV"> XIV., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XV"> XV., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XVI"> XVI., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XVII"> XVII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XVIII"> XVIII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XIX"> XIX., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XX"> XX., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXI"> XXI., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXII"> XXII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXIII"> XXIII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXIV"> XXIV., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXV"> XXV., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXVI"> XXVI., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXVII"> XXVII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXVIII"> XXVIII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXIX"> XXIX., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXX"> XXX., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXXI"> XXXI., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXXII"> XXXII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXXIII"> XXXIII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXXIV"> XXXIV.</a> -</p> -<p class="c">(etext transcriber's note)</p></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_1_page_002" id="vol_1_page_002"></a>{v.1-2}</span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_1_page_003" id="vol_1_page_003"></a>{v.1-3}</span> </p> - -<h1>THE ATHELINGS.</h1> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_I" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_004" id="vol_1_page_004"></a>{v.1-4}</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="vol_1_page_005" id="vol_1_page_005"></a>{v.1-5}</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="vol_1_page_006" id="vol_1_page_006"></a>{v.1-6}</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="vol_1_page_007" id="vol_1_page_007"></a>{v.1-7}</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="vol_1_page_008" id="vol_1_page_008"></a>{v.1-8}</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="vol_1_page_009" id="vol_1_page_009"></a>{v.1-9}</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="vol_1_page_010" id="vol_1_page_010"></a>{v.1-10}</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="vol_1_page_011" id="vol_1_page_011"></a>{v.1-11}</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="vol_1_page_012" id="vol_1_page_012"></a>{v.1-12}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_II" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_013" id="vol_1_page_013"></a>{v.1-13}</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="vol_1_page_014" id="vol_1_page_014"></a>{v.1-14}</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="vol_1_page_015" id="vol_1_page_015"></a>{v.1-15}</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="vol_1_page_016" id="vol_1_page_016"></a>{v.1-16}</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="vol_1_page_017" id="vol_1_page_017"></a>{v.1-17}</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="vol_1_page_018" id="vol_1_page_018"></a>{v.1-18}</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="vol_1_page_019" id="vol_1_page_019"></a>{v.1-19}</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="vol_1_page_020" id="vol_1_page_020"></a>{v.1-20}</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="vol_1_page_021" id="vol_1_page_021"></a>{v.1-21}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_III" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_022" id="vol_1_page_022"></a>{v.1-22}</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="vol_1_page_023" id="vol_1_page_023"></a>{v.1-23}</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="vol_1_page_024" id="vol_1_page_024"></a>{v.1-24}</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="vol_1_page_025" id="vol_1_page_025"></a>{v.1-25}</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="vol_1_page_026" id="vol_1_page_026"></a>{v.1-26}</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="vol_1_page_027" id="vol_1_page_027"></a>{v.1-27}</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="vol_1_page_028" id="vol_1_page_028"></a>{v.1-28}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_IV" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_029" id="vol_1_page_029"></a>{v.1-29}</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="vol_1_page_030" id="vol_1_page_030"></a>{v.1-30}</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="vol_1_page_031" id="vol_1_page_031"></a>{v.1-31}</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="vol_1_page_032" id="vol_1_page_032"></a>{v.1-32}</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="vol_1_page_033" id="vol_1_page_033"></a>{v.1-33}</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="vol_1_page_034" id="vol_1_page_034"></a>{v.1-34}</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="vol_1_page_035" id="vol_1_page_035"></a>{v.1-35}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_V" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_036" id="vol_1_page_036"></a>{v.1-36}</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="vol_1_page_037" id="vol_1_page_037"></a>{v.1-37}</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="vol_1_page_038" id="vol_1_page_038"></a>{v.1-38}</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="vol_1_page_039" id="vol_1_page_039"></a>{v.1-39}</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="vol_1_page_040" id="vol_1_page_040"></a>{v.1-40}</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="vol_1_page_041" id="vol_1_page_041"></a>{v.1-41}</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="vol_1_page_042" id="vol_1_page_042"></a>{v.1-42}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_VI" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_043" id="vol_1_page_043"></a>{v.1-43}</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="vol_1_page_044" id="vol_1_page_044"></a>{v.1-44}</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="vol_1_page_045" id="vol_1_page_045"></a>{v.1-45}</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="vol_1_page_046" id="vol_1_page_046"></a>{v.1-46}</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="vol_1_page_047" id="vol_1_page_047"></a>{v.1-47}</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="vol_1_page_048" id="vol_1_page_048"></a>{v.1-48}</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="vol_1_page_049" id="vol_1_page_049"></a>{v.1-49}</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="vol_1_page_050" id="vol_1_page_050"></a>{v.1-50}</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="vol_1_page_051" id="vol_1_page_051"></a>{v.1-51}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_VII" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_052" id="vol_1_page_052"></a>{v.1-52}</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="vol_1_page_053" id="vol_1_page_053"></a>{v.1-53}</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="vol_1_page_054" id="vol_1_page_054"></a>{v.1-54}</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="vol_1_page_055" id="vol_1_page_055"></a>{v.1-55}</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="vol_1_page_056" id="vol_1_page_056"></a>{v.1-56}</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="vol_1_page_057" id="vol_1_page_057"></a>{v.1-57}</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="vol_1_page_058" id="vol_1_page_058"></a>{v.1-58}</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="vol_1_page_059" id="vol_1_page_059"></a>{v.1-59}</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="vol_1_page_060" id="vol_1_page_060"></a>{v.1-60}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_VIII" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_061" id="vol_1_page_061"></a>{v.1-61}</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="vol_1_page_062" id="vol_1_page_062"></a>{v.1-62}</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="vol_1_page_063" id="vol_1_page_063"></a>{v.1-63}</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="vol_1_page_064" id="vol_1_page_064"></a>{v.1-64}</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="vol_1_page_065" id="vol_1_page_065"></a>{v.1-65}</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="vol_1_page_066" id="vol_1_page_066"></a>{v.1-66}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_IX" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_067" id="vol_1_page_067"></a>{v.1-67}</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="vol_1_page_068" id="vol_1_page_068"></a>{v.1-68}</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="vol_1_page_069" id="vol_1_page_069"></a>{v.1-69}</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="vol_1_page_070" id="vol_1_page_070"></a>{v.1-70}</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="vol_1_page_071" id="vol_1_page_071"></a>{v.1-71}</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="vol_1_page_072" id="vol_1_page_072"></a>{v.1-72}</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="vol_1_page_073" id="vol_1_page_073"></a>{v.1-73}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_X" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_074" id="vol_1_page_074"></a>{v.1-74}</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="vol_1_page_075" id="vol_1_page_075"></a>{v.1-75}</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="vol_1_page_076" id="vol_1_page_076"></a>{v.1-76}</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="vol_1_page_077" id="vol_1_page_077"></a>{v.1-77}</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="vol_1_page_078" id="vol_1_page_078"></a>{v.1-78}</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="vol_1_page_079" id="vol_1_page_079"></a>{v.1-79}</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="vol_1_page_080" id="vol_1_page_080"></a>{v.1-80}</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="vol_1_page_081" id="vol_1_page_081"></a>{v.1-81}</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="vol_1_page_082" id="vol_1_page_082"></a>{v.1-82}</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="vol_1_page_083" id="vol_1_page_083"></a>{v.1-83}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XI" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_084" id="vol_1_page_084"></a>{v.1-84}</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="vol_1_page_085" id="vol_1_page_085"></a>{v.1-85}</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="vol_1_page_086" id="vol_1_page_086"></a>{v.1-86}</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="vol_1_page_087" id="vol_1_page_087"></a>{v.1-87}</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="vol_1_page_088" id="vol_1_page_088"></a>{v.1-88}</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="vol_1_page_089" id="vol_1_page_089"></a>{v.1-89}</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="vol_1_page_090" id="vol_1_page_090"></a>{v.1-90}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XII" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_091" id="vol_1_page_091"></a>{v.1-91}</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="vol_1_page_092" id="vol_1_page_092"></a>{v.1-92}</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="vol_1_page_093" id="vol_1_page_093"></a>{v.1-93}</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="vol_1_page_094" id="vol_1_page_094"></a>{v.1-94}</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="vol_1_page_095" id="vol_1_page_095"></a>{v.1-95}</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="vol_1_page_096" id="vol_1_page_096"></a>{v.1-96}</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="vol_1_page_097" id="vol_1_page_097"></a>{v.1-97}</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="vol_1_page_098" id="vol_1_page_098"></a>{v.1-98}</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="vol_1_page_099" id="vol_1_page_099"></a>{v.1-99}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XIII" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_100" id="vol_1_page_100"></a>{v.1-100}</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="vol_1_page_101" id="vol_1_page_101"></a>{v.1-101}</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="vol_1_page_102" id="vol_1_page_102"></a>{v.1-102}</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="vol_1_page_103" id="vol_1_page_103"></a>{v.1-103}</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="vol_1_page_104" id="vol_1_page_104"></a>{v.1-104}</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="vol_1_page_105" id="vol_1_page_105"></a>{v.1-105}</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="vol_1_page_106" id="vol_1_page_106"></a>{v.1-106}</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="vol_1_page_107" id="vol_1_page_107"></a>{v.1-107}</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="vol_1_page_108" id="vol_1_page_108"></a>{v.1-108}</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="vol_1_page_109" id="vol_1_page_109"></a>{v.1-109}</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="vol_1_page_110" id="vol_1_page_110"></a>{v.1-110}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XIV" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_111" id="vol_1_page_111"></a>{v.1-111}</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="vol_1_page_112" id="vol_1_page_112"></a>{v.1-112}</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="vol_1_page_113" id="vol_1_page_113"></a>{v.1-113}</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="vol_1_page_114" id="vol_1_page_114"></a>{v.1-114}</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="vol_1_page_115" id="vol_1_page_115"></a>{v.1-115}</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="vol_1_page_116" id="vol_1_page_116"></a>{v.1-116}</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="vol_1_page_117" id="vol_1_page_117"></a>{v.1-117}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XV" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_118" id="vol_1_page_118"></a>{v.1-118}</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="vol_1_page_119" id="vol_1_page_119"></a>{v.1-119}</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="vol_1_page_120" id="vol_1_page_120"></a>{v.1-120}</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="vol_1_page_121" id="vol_1_page_121"></a>{v.1-121}</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="vol_1_page_122" id="vol_1_page_122"></a>{v.1-122}</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="vol_1_page_123" id="vol_1_page_123"></a>{v.1-123}</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="vol_1_page_124" id="vol_1_page_124"></a>{v.1-124}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XVI" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_125" id="vol_1_page_125"></a>{v.1-125}</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="vol_1_page_126" id="vol_1_page_126"></a>{v.1-126}</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="vol_1_page_127" id="vol_1_page_127"></a>{v.1-127}</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="vol_1_page_128" id="vol_1_page_128"></a>{v.1-128}</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="vol_1_page_129" id="vol_1_page_129"></a>{v.1-129}</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="vol_1_page_130" id="vol_1_page_130"></a>{v.1-130}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XVII" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_131" id="vol_1_page_131"></a>{v.1-131}</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="vol_1_page_132" id="vol_1_page_132"></a>{v.1-132}</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="vol_1_page_133" id="vol_1_page_133"></a>{v.1-133}</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="vol_1_page_134" id="vol_1_page_134"></a>{v.1-134}</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="vol_1_page_135" id="vol_1_page_135"></a>{v.1-135}</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="vol_1_page_136" id="vol_1_page_136"></a>{v.1-136}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XVIII" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_137" id="vol_1_page_137"></a>{v.1-137}</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="vol_1_page_138" id="vol_1_page_138"></a>{v.1-138}</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="vol_1_page_139" id="vol_1_page_139"></a>{v.1-139}</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="vol_1_page_140" id="vol_1_page_140"></a>{v.1-140}</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="vol_1_page_141" id="vol_1_page_141"></a>{v.1-141}</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="vol_1_page_142" id="vol_1_page_142"></a>{v.1-142}</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="vol_1_page_143" id="vol_1_page_143"></a>{v.1-143}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XIX" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_144" id="vol_1_page_144"></a>{v.1-144}</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="vol_1_page_145" id="vol_1_page_145"></a>{v.1-145}</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="vol_1_page_146" id="vol_1_page_146"></a>{v.1-146}</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="vol_1_page_147" id="vol_1_page_147"></a>{v.1-147}</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="vol_1_page_148" id="vol_1_page_148"></a>{v.1-148}</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="vol_1_page_149" id="vol_1_page_149"></a>{v.1-149}</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="vol_1_page_150" id="vol_1_page_150"></a>{v.1-150}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XX" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_151" id="vol_1_page_151"></a>{v.1-151}</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="vol_1_page_152" id="vol_1_page_152"></a>{v.1-152}</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="vol_1_page_153" id="vol_1_page_153"></a>{v.1-153}</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="vol_1_page_154" id="vol_1_page_154"></a>{v.1-154}</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="vol_1_page_155" id="vol_1_page_155"></a>{v.1-155}</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="vol_1_page_156" id="vol_1_page_156"></a>{v.1-156}</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="vol_1_page_157" id="vol_1_page_157"></a>{v.1-157}</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="vol_1_page_158" id="vol_1_page_158"></a>{v.1-158}</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="vol_1_page_159" id="vol_1_page_159"></a>{v.1-159}</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="vol_1_page_160" id="vol_1_page_160"></a>{v.1-160}</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="vol_1_page_161" id="vol_1_page_161"></a>{v.1-161}</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="vol_1_page_162" id="vol_1_page_162"></a>{v.1-162}</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="vol_1_page_163" id="vol_1_page_163"></a>{v.1-163}</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="vol_1_page_164" id="vol_1_page_164"></a>{v.1-164}</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="vol_1_page_165" id="vol_1_page_165"></a>{v.1-165}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXI" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_166" id="vol_1_page_166"></a>{v.1-166}</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="vol_1_page_167" id="vol_1_page_167"></a>{v.1-167}</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="vol_1_page_168" id="vol_1_page_168"></a>{v.1-168}</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="vol_1_page_169" id="vol_1_page_169"></a>{v.1-169}</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="vol_1_page_170" id="vol_1_page_170"></a>{v.1-170}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXII" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_171" id="vol_1_page_171"></a>{v.1-171}</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="vol_1_page_172" id="vol_1_page_172"></a>{v.1-172}</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="vol_1_page_173" id="vol_1_page_173"></a>{v.1-173}</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="vol_1_page_174" id="vol_1_page_174"></a>{v.1-174}</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="vol_1_page_175" id="vol_1_page_175"></a>{v.1-175}</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="vol_1_page_176" id="vol_1_page_176"></a>{v.1-176}</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="vol_1_page_177" id="vol_1_page_177"></a>{v.1-177}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXIII" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_178" id="vol_1_page_178"></a>{v.1-178}</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="vol_1_page_179" id="vol_1_page_179"></a>{v.1-179}</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="vol_1_page_180" id="vol_1_page_180"></a>{v.1-180}</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="vol_1_page_181" id="vol_1_page_181"></a>{v.1-181}</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="vol_1_page_182" id="vol_1_page_182"></a>{v.1-182}</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="vol_1_page_183" id="vol_1_page_183"></a>{v.1-183}</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="vol_1_page_184" id="vol_1_page_184"></a>{v.1-184}</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="vol_1_page_185" id="vol_1_page_185"></a>{v.1-185}</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="vol_1_page_186" id="vol_1_page_186"></a>{v.1-186}</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="vol_1_page_187" id="vol_1_page_187"></a>{v.1-187}</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="vol_1_page_188" id="vol_1_page_188"></a>{v.1-188}</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="vol_1_page_189" id="vol_1_page_189"></a>{v.1-189}</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="vol_1_page_190" id="vol_1_page_190"></a>{v.1-190}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXIV" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_191" id="vol_1_page_191"></a>{v.1-191}</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="vol_1_page_192" id="vol_1_page_192"></a>{v.1-192}</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="vol_1_page_193" id="vol_1_page_193"></a>{v.1-193}</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="vol_1_page_194" id="vol_1_page_194"></a>{v.1-194}</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="vol_1_page_195" id="vol_1_page_195"></a>{v.1-195}</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="vol_1_page_196" id="vol_1_page_196"></a>{v.1-196}</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="vol_1_page_197" id="vol_1_page_197"></a>{v.1-197}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXV" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_198" id="vol_1_page_198"></a>{v.1-198}</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="vol_1_page_199" id="vol_1_page_199"></a>{v.1-199}</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="vol_1_page_200" id="vol_1_page_200"></a>{v.1-200}</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="vol_1_page_201" id="vol_1_page_201"></a>{v.1-201}</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="vol_1_page_202" id="vol_1_page_202"></a>{v.1-202}</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="vol_1_page_203" id="vol_1_page_203"></a>{v.1-203}</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="vol_1_page_204" id="vol_1_page_204"></a>{v.1-204}</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="vol_1_page_205" id="vol_1_page_205"></a>{v.1-205}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXVI" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_206" id="vol_1_page_206"></a>{v.1-206}</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="vol_1_page_207" id="vol_1_page_207"></a>{v.1-207}</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="vol_1_page_208" id="vol_1_page_208"></a>{v.1-208}</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="vol_1_page_209" id="vol_1_page_209"></a>{v.1-209}</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="vol_1_page_210" id="vol_1_page_210"></a>{v.1-210}</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="vol_1_page_211" id="vol_1_page_211"></a>{v.1-211}</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="vol_1_page_212" id="vol_1_page_212"></a>{v.1-212}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXVII" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_213" id="vol_1_page_213"></a>{v.1-213}</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="vol_1_page_214" id="vol_1_page_214"></a>{v.1-214}</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="vol_1_page_215" id="vol_1_page_215"></a>{v.1-215}</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="vol_1_page_216" id="vol_1_page_216"></a>{v.1-216}</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="vol_1_page_217" id="vol_1_page_217"></a>{v.1-217}</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="vol_1_page_218" id="vol_1_page_218"></a>{v.1-218}</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="vol_1_page_219" id="vol_1_page_219"></a>{v.1-219}</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="vol_1_page_220" id="vol_1_page_220"></a>{v.1-220}</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="vol_1_page_221" id="vol_1_page_221"></a>{v.1-221}</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="vol_1_page_222" id="vol_1_page_222"></a>{v.1-222}</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="vol_1_page_223" id="vol_1_page_223"></a>{v.1-223}</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="vol_1_page_224" id="vol_1_page_224"></a>{v.1-224}</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="vol_1_page_225" id="vol_1_page_225"></a>{v.1-225}</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="vol_1_page_226" id="vol_1_page_226"></a>{v.1-226}</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="vol_1_page_227" id="vol_1_page_227"></a>{v.1-227}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_228" id="vol_1_page_228"></a>{v.1-228}</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="vol_1_page_229" id="vol_1_page_229"></a>{v.1-229}</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="vol_1_page_230" id="vol_1_page_230"></a>{v.1-230}</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="vol_1_page_231" id="vol_1_page_231"></a>{v.1-231}</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="vol_1_page_232" id="vol_1_page_232"></a>{v.1-232}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXIX" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_233" id="vol_1_page_233"></a>{v.1-233}</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="vol_1_page_234" id="vol_1_page_234"></a>{v.1-234}</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="vol_1_page_235" id="vol_1_page_235"></a>{v.1-235}</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="vol_1_page_236" id="vol_1_page_236"></a>{v.1-236}</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="vol_1_page_237" id="vol_1_page_237"></a>{v.1-237}</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="vol_1_page_238" id="vol_1_page_238"></a>{v.1-238}</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="vol_1_page_239" id="vol_1_page_239"></a>{v.1-239}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXX" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_240" id="vol_1_page_240"></a>{v.1-240}</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="vol_1_page_241" id="vol_1_page_241"></a>{v.1-241}</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="vol_1_page_242" id="vol_1_page_242"></a>{v.1-242}</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="vol_1_page_243" id="vol_1_page_243"></a>{v.1-243}</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="vol_1_page_244" id="vol_1_page_244"></a>{v.1-244}</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="vol_1_page_245" id="vol_1_page_245"></a>{v.1-245}</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="vol_1_page_246" id="vol_1_page_246"></a>{v.1-246}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXXI" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_247" id="vol_1_page_247"></a>{v.1-247}</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="vol_1_page_248" id="vol_1_page_248"></a>{v.1-248}</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="vol_1_page_249" id="vol_1_page_249"></a>{v.1-249}</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="vol_1_page_250" id="vol_1_page_250"></a>{v.1-250}</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="vol_1_page_251" id="vol_1_page_251"></a>{v.1-251}</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="vol_1_page_252" id="vol_1_page_252"></a>{v.1-252}</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="vol_1_page_253" id="vol_1_page_253"></a>{v.1-253}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXXII" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_254" id="vol_1_page_254"></a>{v.1-254}</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="vol_1_page_255" id="vol_1_page_255"></a>{v.1-255}</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="vol_1_page_256" id="vol_1_page_256"></a>{v.1-256}</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="vol_1_page_257" id="vol_1_page_257"></a>{v.1-257}</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="vol_1_page_258" id="vol_1_page_258"></a>{v.1-258}</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="vol_1_page_259" id="vol_1_page_259"></a>{v.1-259}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_260" id="vol_1_page_260"></a>{v.1-260}</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="vol_1_page_261" id="vol_1_page_261"></a>{v.1-261}</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="vol_1_page_262" id="vol_1_page_262"></a>{v.1-262}</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="vol_1_page_263" id="vol_1_page_263"></a>{v.1-263}</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="vol_1_page_264" id="vol_1_page_264"></a>{v.1-264}</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="vol_1_page_265" id="vol_1_page_265"></a>{v.1-265}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_1_CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="VOL_1_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="vol_1_page_266" id="vol_1_page_266"></a>{v.1-266}</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="vol_1_page_267" id="vol_1_page_267"></a>{v.1-267}</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="vol_1_page_268" id="vol_1_page_268"></a>{v.1-268}</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="vol_1_page_269" id="vol_1_page_269"></a>{v.1-269}</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" /> - -<p class="figcenter"> <a name="volume_2" id="volume_2"></a> -<img src="images/cover2.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 volume 2.</p> -<p class="nind"> -<a href="#BOOK_II_CHAPTER_I">Book I.—Chapter I., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_II"> II., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_III"> III., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_IV"> IV., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_V"> V., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_VI"> VI., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_VII"> VII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_VIII"> VIII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_IX"> IX., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_X"> X., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XI"> XI., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XII"> XII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XIII"> XIII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XIV"> XIV., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XV"> XV., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XVI"> XVI., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XVII"> XVII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XVIII"> XVIII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XIX"> XIX., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XX"> XX., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXI"> XXI., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXII"> XXII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXIII"> XXIII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXIV"> XXIV., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXV"> XXV., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXVI"> XXVI., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXVII"> XXVII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXVIII"> XXVIII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXIX"> XXIX., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXX"> XXX., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXXI"> XXXI., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXXII"> XXXII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXXIII"> XXXIII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXXIV"> XXXIV., </a> -<a href="#VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXXV"> XXXV.</a> -</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. II.<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="vol_2_page_001" id="vol_2_page_001"></a>{v.2-1}</span><br /> -</small><br /><br /><big>THE ATHELINGS<br /><br /> -BOOK II.—THE OLD WOOD LODGE</big></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_002" id="vol_2_page_002"></a>{v.2-2}</span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_003" id="vol_2_page_003"></a>{v.2-3}</span> </p> - -<h1>THE ATHELINGS.</h1> - -<h2><a name="BOOK_II_CHAPTER_I" id="BOOK_II_CHAPTER_I"></a>BOOK II—CHAPTER I.<br /><br /> -<small>THE WILLOWS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> Willows was a large low house, with no architectural pretensions, -but bright as villa could be upon the sunniest side of the Thames. The -lawn sloped to the river, and ended in a deep fringe and border of -willows, sweeping into the water; while half-way across the stream lay a -little fairy island, half enveloped in the same silvery foliage, but -with bowers and depths of leaves within, through which some stray -sunbeam was always gleaming. The flower-beds on the lawn were in a flush -with roses; the crystal roof of a large conservatory glistened in the -sun. Flowers and sunshine, fragrance and stillness, the dew on the -grass, and the morning light upon the river—no marvel that to eyes<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_004" id="vol_2_page_004"></a>{v.2-4}</span> so -young and inexperienced, this Richmond villa looked like a paradise on -earth.</p> - -<p>It was early morning—very early, when nobody seemed awake but -themselves in the great house; and Agnes and Marian came down stairs -softly, and, half afraid of doing wrong, stole out upon the lawn. The -sun had just begun to gather those blobs of dew from the roses, but all -over the grass lay jewels, bedded deep in the close-shorn sod, and -shining in the early light. An occasional puff of wind came crisp across -the river, and turned to the sun the silvery side of all those drooping -willow-leaves, and the willows themselves swayed and sighed towards the -water, and the water came up upon them now and then with a playful -plunge and flow. The two girls said nothing to each other as they -wandered along the foot of the slope, looking over to the island, where -already the sun had penetrated to his nest of trees. All this simple -beauty, which was not remarkable to the fashionable guests of Mrs -Edgerley, went to the very heart of these simple children of Bellevue. -It moved them to involuntary delight—joy which could give no reason, -for they thought there had never been such a beautiful summer morning, -or such a scene.</p> - -<p>And by-and-by they began to talk of last night—last night, their first -night at the Willows, their first entrance into the home life of “the -great.” They had<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_005" id="vol_2_page_005"></a>{v.2-5}</span> no moral maxims at their finger-ends, touching the -vanity of riches, nor had the private opinion entertained by Papa and -Mamma, that “the country” paid for the folly of “the aristocracy,” and -that the science of Government was a mere piece of craft for the benefit -of “the privileged classes,” done any harm at all to the unpolitical -imaginations of Agnes and Marian. They were scarcely at their ease yet, -and were a great deal more timid than was comfortable; yet they took -very naturally to this fairy life, and found an unfailing fund of wonder -and admiration in it. They admired everything indeed, had a certain awe -and veneration for everybody, and could not sufficiently admire the -apparent accomplishments and real grace of their new associates.</p> - -<p>“Agnes!—I wonder if there is anything I could learn?” said Marian, -rather timidly; “everybody here can do something; it is very different -from doing a little of everything, like Miss Tavistock at Bellevue—and -we used to think her accomplished!—but do you think there is anything I -could learn?”</p> - -<p>“And me!” said Agnes, somewhat disconsolately.</p> - -<p>“You? no, indeed, you do not need it,” said Marian, with a little pride. -“You can do what none of them can do;—but they can talk about -everything these people, and every one of them can do something. There -is that Sir Langham—you would think he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_006" id="vol_2_page_006"></a>{v.2-6}</span> only a young gentleman—but -Mrs Edgerley says he makes beautiful sketches. We did not understand -people like these when we were at home.”</p> - -<p>“What do you think of Sir Langham, May?” asked Agnes seriously.</p> - -<p>“Think of him? oh, he is very pleasant,” said Marian, with a smile and a -slight blush: “but never mind Sir Langham; do you think there is -anything I could learn?”</p> - -<p>“I do not know,” said Agnes; “perhaps you could sing. I think you might -sing, if you would only take courage and try.”</p> - -<p>“Sing! oh no, no!”; said Marian; “no one could venture to sing after the -young lady—did you hear her name, Agnes?—who sang last night. She did -not speak to any one, she was more by herself than we were. I wonder who -she could be.”</p> - -<p>“Mrs Edgerley called her Rachel,” said Agnes. “I did not hear any other -name. I think it must be the same that Mrs Edgerley told mamma about; -you remember she said——”</p> - -<p>“I am here,” said a low voice suddenly, close beside them. The girls -started back, exceedingly confused and ashamed. They had not perceived a -sort of little bower, woven among the willows, from which now hastily -appeared the third person who spoke. She was a little older than Agnes, -very slight and girlish<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_007" id="vol_2_page_007"></a>{v.2-7}</span> in her person—very dark of complexion, with a -magnificent mass of black hair, and large liquid dark eyes. Nothing else -about her was remarkable; her features were small and delicate, her -cheeks colourless, her very lips pale; but her eyes, which were not of a -slumbrous lustre, but full of light, rapid, earnest, and irregular, -lighted up her dark pallid face with singular power and attractiveness. -She turned upon them quickly as they stood distressed and irresolute -before her.</p> - -<p>“I did not mean to interrupt you,” said this new-comer; “but you were -about to speak of me, and I thought it only honest to give you notice -that I was here.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” said Agnes with humility. “We are strangers, and did not -know—we scarcely know any one here; and we thought you were nearly -about our own age, and perhaps would help us—” Here Agnes stopped -short; she was not skilled in making overtures of friendship.</p> - -<p>“No, indeed no,” cried their new acquaintance, hurriedly. “I never make -friends. I could be of no use. I am only a dependent, scarcely so good -as that. I am nothing here.”</p> - -<p>“And neither are we,” said Agnes, following shyly the step which this -strange girl took away from them. “We never were in a house like this -before. We do<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_008" id="vol_2_page_008"></a>{v.2-8}</span> not belong to great people. Mrs Edgerley asked us to -come, because we met her at Mr Burlington’s, and she has been very kind, -but we know no one. Pray, do not go away.”</p> - -<p>The thoughtful eyes brightened into a sudden gleam. “We are called -Atheling,” said Marian, interposing in her turn. “My sister is Agnes, -and I am Marian—and you Miss——”</p> - -<p>“My name is Rachel,” said their new friend, with a sudden and violent -blush, making all her face crimson. “I have no other—call me so, and I -will like it. You think I am of your age; but I am not like you—you do -not know half so much as I know.”</p> - -<p>“No—that is very likely,” said Agnes, somewhat puzzled; “but I think -you do not mean education,” said the young author immediately, seeing -Marian somewhat disposed to resent on her behalf this broad assertion. -“You mean distress and sorrow. But we have had a great deal of grief at -home. We have lost dear little children, one after another. We are not -ignorant of grief.”</p> - -<p>Rachel looked at them with strange observation, wonder, and uncertainty. -“But you are ignorant of me—and I am ignorant of you,” she said slowly, -pausing between her words. “I suppose you mean<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_009" id="vol_2_page_009"></a>{v.2-9}</span> just what you say, do -you? and I am not much used to that. Do you know what I am here -for?—only to sing and amuse the people—and you still want to make -friends with me!”</p> - -<p>“Mrs Edgerley said you were to be a singer, but you did not like it,” -said Marian; “and I think you are very right.”</p> - -<p>“Did she say so?—and what more?” said Rachel, smiling faintly. “I want -to hear now, though I did not when I heard your voices first.”</p> - -<p>“She said you were a connection of the family,” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>The blood rushed again to the young stranger’s brow. “Ah! I understand,” -she said; “she implied—yes. I know how she would do. And you will still -be friends with <i>me</i>?”</p> - -<p>At that moment it suddenly flashed upon the recollection of both the -girls that Mamma had disapproved of this prospective acquaintance. They -both blushed with instant consciousness, and neither of them spoke. In -an instant Rachel became frozen into a haughtiness far exceeding -anything within the power of Mrs Edgerley. Little and slight as she was, -her girlish frame rose to the dignity of a young queen. Before Agnes -could say a word, she had left them with a slight and lofty bow. Without -haste, but with singular rapidity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_010" id="vol_2_page_010"></a>{v.2-10}</span> she crossed the dewy lawn, and went -into the house, acknowledging, with a stately inclination of her head, -some one who passed her. The girls were so entirely absorbed, watching -her progress, that they did not perceive who this other person was.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_011" id="vol_2_page_011"></a>{v.2-11}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_II" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.<br /><br /> -<small>AN EMBARRASSING COMPANION.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">Strange</span> creature!” said Sir Langham Portland, who had joined the girls -almost before they were aware; “Odd girl! If Lucifer had a sister, I -should know where to find her; but a perfect siren so far as music is -concerned. Did you hear her sing last night—that thing of -Beethoven’s—what is the name of it? Do you like Beethoven, though? -<i>She</i>, I suppose, worships him.”</p> - -<p>“We know very little about music,” said Marian. She thought it proper to -make known the fact, but blushed in spite of herself, and was much -ashamed of her own ignorance. Marian was quite distressed and impatient -to find herself so much behind every one else.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said Sir Langham—which meant that the handsome guardsman was a -good deal flattered by the blush, and did not care at all for the want -of information—in fact, he was cogitating within himself, being<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_012" id="vol_2_page_012"></a>{v.2-12}</span> no -great master of the art of conversation, what to speak of next.</p> - -<p>“I am afraid Miss—Rachel was not pleased,” said Agnes; “we disturbed -her here. I am afraid she will think we were rude.”</p> - -<p>“Eh!” said Sir Langham, with a look of astonishment. “Oh, don’t trouble -yourself—she’s accustomed to that. Pretty place this. Suppose a fellow -on the island over there, what a capital sketch he could make;—with two -figures instead of three, the effect would be perfect!”</p> - -<p>“We were two figures before you came,” said Marian, turning half away, -and with a smile.</p> - -<p>“Ah! quite a different suggestion,” said Sir Langham. “Your two figures -were all white and angelical—maiden meditation—mine would be—Elysium. -Happy sketcher! happier hero!—and you could not suppose a more -appropriate scene.”</p> - -<p>But Agnes and Marian were much too shy and timid to answer this as they -might have answered Harry Oswald under the same circumstances. Agnes -half interrupted him, being somewhat in haste to change the -conversation. “You are an artist yourself?” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Sir Langham; “not at all,—no more than everybody else is. I -have no doubt you know a hundred people better at it than I.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_013" id="vol_2_page_013"></a>{v.2-13}</span></p> - -<p>“I do not think, counting every one,” said Marian, “that we know a -hundred, or the half of a hundred, people altogether; and none of them -make sketches. Mrs Edgerley said yours were quite remarkable.”</p> - -<p>“A great many things are quite remarkable with Mrs Edgerley,” said Sir -Langham through his mustache. “But what an amazing circle yours must be! -One must do something with one’s spare time. That old fellow is the -hardest rascal to kill of any I know—don’t you find him so?”</p> - -<p>“No—not when we are at home,” said Marian.</p> - -<p>“Ah! in the country, I suppose; and you are Lady Bountifuls, and attend -to all the village,” said Sir Langham. He had quite made up his mind -that these young girls, who were not fashionable nor remarkable in any -way, save for the wonderful beauty of the youngest, were daughters of -some squire in Banburyshire, whom it was Lord Winterbourne’s interest to -do a service to.</p> - -<p>“No, indeed, we have not any village—we are not Lady Bountifuls; but we -do a great many things at home,” said Marian. Something restrained them -both, however, from their heroic purpose of declaring at once their -“rank in life;” they shrank, with natural delicacy, from saying anything -about themselves to this interrogator, and were by no means clear that -it would be right to tell Sir Langham Portland that they lived in -Bellevue.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_014" id="vol_2_page_014"></a>{v.2-14}</span></p> - -<p>“May we go through the conservatory, I wonder?” said Agnes;—the elder -sister, remembering the parting charge of her mother, began to be -somewhat uneasy about their handsome companion—he might possibly fall -in love with Marian—that was not so very dreadful a hypothesis,—for -Agnes was human, and did not object to see the natural enemies of -womankind taken captive, subjugated, or even entirely slain. But Marian -might fall in love with <i>him</i>! That was an appalling thought; two -distinct lines of anxiety began to appear in Agnes’s forehead; and the -imagination of the young genius instantly called before her the most -touching and pathetic picture, of a secret love and a broken heart.</p> - -<p>“Marian, we may go into the conservatory,” repeated Agnes; and she took -her sister’s hand and led her to where the Scotch gardener was opening -the windows of that fairy palace. Sir Langham still gave them his -attendance, following Marian as she passed through the ranks of flowers, -and echoing her delight. Sir Langham was rather relieved to find them at -last in enthusiasm about something. This familiar and well-known feature -of young ladyhood set him much more at his ease.</p> - -<p>And the gardener, with benign generosity, gathered some flowers for his -young visitors. They thanked him with such thoroughly grateful thanks, -and were<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_015" id="vol_2_page_015"></a>{v.2-15}</span> so respectful of his superior knowledge, that this worthy -functionary brightened under their influence. Sir Langham followed -surprised and amused. He thought Marian’s simple ignorance of all those -delicate splendid exotic flowers, as pretty as he would have thought her -acquaintance with them had she been better instructed; and when one of -her flowers fell from her hand, lifted it up with the air of a paladin, -and placed it in his breast. Marian, though she had turned aside, <i>saw</i> -him do it by some mysterious perception—not of the eye—and blushed -with a secret tremor, half of pleasure, half of amusement. Agnes -regarded it a great deal more seriously. Agnes immediately discovered -that it was time to go in. She was quite indifferent, we are grieved to -say, to the fate of Sir Langham, and thought nothing of disturbing the -peace of that susceptible young gentleman; but her protection and -guardianship of Marian was a much more serious affair. Their windows -were in the end of the house, and commanded no view—so Mrs Edgerley, -with a hundred regrets, was grieved to tell them—but these windows -looked over an orchard and a clump of chestnuts, where birds sang and -dew fell, and the girls were perfectly contented with the prospect; they -had three rooms—a dressing-room, and two pretty bedchambers—into all -of which the morning sun threw a sidelong glance as he passed; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_016" id="vol_2_page_016"></a>{v.2-16}</span> they -had been extremely delighted with their pretty apartments last night.</p> - -<p>“Well!” said Agnes, as they arranged their flowers and put them in -water, “everything is very pretty, May, but I almost wish we were at -home.”</p> - -<p>“Why?” said Marian; but the beautiful sister had so much perception of -the case, that she did not look up, nor show any particular surprise.</p> - -<p>“Why?—because—because people don’t understand what we are, nor who we -belong to, nor how different—— Marian, you know quite well what is the -cause!”</p> - -<p>“But suppose people don’t want to know?” said Marian, who was -provokingly calm and at her ease; “we cannot go about telling -everybody—no one cares. Suppose we were to tell Sir Langham, Agnes? He -would think we meant that he has to come to Bellevue; and I am sure you -would not like to see him there!”</p> - -<p>This was a very conclusive argument, but Agnes had made up her mind to -be annoyed.</p> - -<p>“And there was Rachel,” said Agnes, “I wonder why just at that moment we -should have thought of mamma—and now I am sure she will not speak to us -again.”</p> - -<p>“Mamma did not think it quite proper,” said Marian doubtfully;—“I am -sure I cannot tell why—<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_017" id="vol_2_page_017"></a>{v.2-17}</span>but we were very near making up friendship -without thinking; perhaps it is better as it is.”</p> - -<p>“It is never proper to hurt any one’s feelings—and she is lonely and -neglected and by herself,” said Agnes. “Mamma cannot be displeased when -I tell her; and I will try all I can to-day to meet with Rachel again. I -think Rachel would think better of our house than of the Willows. Though -it is a beautiful place, it is not kindly; it never could look like -home.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, nonsense! if we had it to ourselves, and they were all here!” cried -Marian. That indeed was a paradisaical conception. Agnes’s uneasy mood -could not stand against such an idea, and she arranged her hair with -renewed spirits, having quite given up for the moment all desire for -going home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_018" id="vol_2_page_018"></a>{v.2-18}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_III" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.<br /><br /> -<small>SOCIETY.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">But</span> Rachel did not join the party either in their drives, their walks, -or their conversations. She was not to be seen during the whole day, -either out of doors or in, and did not even make her appearance at the -dinner-table; and Agnes could not so much as hear any allusion made to -her except once, when Mrs Edgerley promised a new arrival, “some really -good music,” and launched forth in praise of an extraordinary little -genius, whom nothing could excuse for concealing her gift from the -world. But if Rachel did not appear, Sir Langham did, following Marian -with his eyes when he could not follow in person, and hovering about the -young beauty like a man bewitched. The homage of such a cavalier was not -to be despised; in spite of herself, the smile and the blush brightened -upon the sweet face of Marian—she was pleased—she was amused—she was -grateful to Sir Langham—and besides had a certain mischievous pleasure -in her<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_019" id="vol_2_page_019"></a>{v.2-19}</span> power over him, and loved to exercise the sway of despotism. -Marian new little about coquetry, though she had read with attention Mrs -Edgerley’s novel on the subject; but, notwithstanding, had “a way” of -her own, and some little practice in tantalising poor Harry Oswald, who -was by no means so superb a plaything as the handsome guardsman. The -excitement and novelty of her position—the attentions paid to her—the -pretty things around her—even her own dress, which never before had -been so handsome, brightened, with a variable and sweet illumination, -the beauty which needed no aggravating circumstance. Poor Sir Langham -gave himself up helpless and unresisting, and already, in his honest but -somewhat slow imagination, made formal declarations to the -supposititious Banburyshire Squire.</p> - -<p>Agnes meanwhile sat by Marian’s side, rather silent, eagerly watching -for the appearance of Rachel—for now it was evening, and the really -good music could not be long deferred, if it was to come to-night. Agnes -was not neglected, though she had no Sir Langham to watch her movements. -Mrs Edgerley herself came to the young genius now and then to introduce -some one who was “dying to know the author of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>;” and -half disconcerted, half amused, Agnes began to feel herself entering -upon the enjoyment of her reputation. No one could possibly suppose -anything<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_020" id="vol_2_page_020"></a>{v.2-20}</span> more different from the fanciful and delicate fame which -charms the young poetic mind with imaginary glories, than these -drawing-room compliments and protestations of interest and delight, to -which, at first with a deep blush and overpowering embarrassment, and -by-and-by with an uneasy consciousness of something ridiculous, the -young author sat still and listened. The two sisters kept always close -together, and had not courage enough to move from the corner in which -they had first established themselves. Agnes, for the moment, had become -the reigning whim in the brain of Mrs Edgerley. She came to her side now -and then to whisper a few words of caressing encouragement, or to point -out to her somebody of note; and when she left her young guest, Mrs -Edgerley flew at once to the aforesaid somebody to call his or her -attention to the pair of sisters, one of whom had <i>such</i> genius, and the -other <i>such</i> beauty. Marian, occupied with her own concerns, took all -this very quietly. Agnes grew annoyed, uneasy, displeased; she did not -remember that she had once been mortified at the neglect of her pretty -hostess, nor that Mrs Edgerley’s admiration was as evanescent as her -neglect. She began to think everybody was laughing at her claims to -distinction, and that she amused the people, sitting here uneasily -receiving compliments, immovable in her chair—and she was extremely -grateful to Mr<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_021" id="vol_2_page_021"></a>{v.2-21}</span> Agar, her former acquaintance, when he came, looking -amused and paying no compliments, to talk to her, and to screen her from -observation. Mr Agar had been watching her uneasiness, her -embarrassment, her self-annoyance. He was quite pleased with the -“study;” it pleased him as much as a <i>Watteau</i>, or a cabinet of old -china; and what could connoisseur say more?</p> - -<p>“You must confide your annoyance to me. I am your oldest acquaintance,” -said Mr Agar. “What has happened? Has your pretty sister been -naughty—eh? or are all the people <i>so</i> much delighted with your book?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Agnes, holding down her head a little, with a momentary -shame that her two troubles should have been so easily found out.</p> - -<p>“And why should they not be delighted?” said the ancient beau. “You -would have liked me a great deal better had I been the same, when I -first saw you; do you not like it now?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“Yes; no. Your eyes do not talk in monosyllables,” said the old -gentleman, “eh? What has poor Sir Langham done to merit that flash of -dissatisfaction? and I wonder what is the meaning of all these anxious -glances towards the door?”</p> - -<p>“I was looking for—for the young lady they call Rachel,” said Agnes. -“Do you know who she is, sir?<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_022" id="vol_2_page_022"></a>{v.2-22}</span>—can you tell me? I am afraid she thought -we were rude this morning, when we met her; and I wish very much to see -her to-night.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! I know nothing of the young lady, but a good deal of the voice,” -said Mr Agar; “a fine soprano,—a good deal of expression, and plenty of -fire. Yes, she needs nothing but cultivation to make a great success.”</p> - -<p>“I think, sir,” said Agnes, suddenly breaking in upon this speech, “if -you would speak to Mrs Edgerley for her, perhaps they would not teaze -her about being a singer. She hates it. I know she does; and it would be -very good of you to help her, for she has no friends.”</p> - -<p>Mr Agar looked at the young pleader with a smile of surprised amusement. -“And why should I interfere on her behalf? and why should she not be a -singer? and how do you suppose I could persuade myself to do such an -injury to Art?”</p> - -<p>“She dislikes it very much,” said Agnes. “She is a woman—a girl—a -delicate mind; it would be very cruel to bring her before the world; and -indeed I am sure if you would speak to Mrs Edgerley—”</p> - -<p>“My dear young lady,” cried Mr Agar, with a momentary shrug of his -eyebrows, and look of comic distress, “you entirely mistake my <i>rôle</i>. I -am not a knight-errant for the rescue of distressed princesses.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_023" id="vol_2_page_023"></a>{v.2-23}</span> I am a -humble servant of the beautiful; and a young lady’s tremors are really -not cause enough to induce me to resign a fine soprano. No. I bow before -my fair enslavers,” said the ancient Corydon, with a reverential -obeisance, which belonged, like his words, to another century; “but my -true and only mistress is Art.”</p> - -<p>Agnes was silenced in a moment; but whether by this declaration, or by -the entrance of Rachel, who suddenly appeared, gliding in at a -side-door, could not be determined. Rachel came in, so quickly, and with -such a gliding motion, that anybody less intently on the watch could not -have discovered the moment of her appearance. She was soon at the piano, -and heard immediately; but she came there in a miraculous manner to all -the other observers, as if she had dropped from heaven.</p> - -<p>And while the connoisseur stood apart to listen undisturbed, and Mrs -Edgerley’s guests were suddenly stayed in their flutter of talk and -mutual criticism by the “really good music” which their hostess had -promised them, Agnes sat listening, moved and anxious,—not to the song, -but to the singer. She thought the music—pathetic, complaining, and -resentful—instead of being a renowned <i>chef-d’œuvre</i> of a famous -composer, was the natural outcry of this lonely girl. She thought she -could hear the solitary<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_024" id="vol_2_page_024"></a>{v.2-24}</span> heart, the neglected life, making its appeal -indignant and sorrowful to some higher ear than all these careless -listeners. She bent unconsciously towards the singer, forgetting all her -mother’s rules of manners, and, leaning forward, supported her rapt and -earnest face with her hand. Mrs Edgerley paused to point out to some one -the sweet enthusiasm, the delightful impressionable nature of her -charming young friend; but to tell the truth, Agnes was not thinking at -all of the music. It seemed to her a strange impassioned monologue,—a -thing of which she was the sole hearer,—an irrepressible burst of -confidence, addressed to the only one here present who cared to receive -the same.</p> - -<p>When it was over she raised herself almost painfully from her listening -posture; <i>she</i> did not join in any of the warm expressions of delight -which burst from her neighbours; and with extreme impatience Agnes -listened to the cool criticism of Mr Agar, who was delivering his -opinion very near her. Her heart ached as she saw the musician turn -haughtily aside, and heard her say, “I am here when you want me again;” -and Rachel withdrew to a sofa in a corner, and, shading her delicate -small face entirely with her hand, took up a book and read, or pretended -to read. Agnes looked on with eager interest, while several people, one -after another, approached the singer to offer her some of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_025" id="vol_2_page_025"></a>{v.2-25}</span> usual -compliments, and retreated immediately, disconcerted by their reception. -Leaning back in her corner, with her book held obstinately before her, -and the small pale hand shading the delicate face, it was impossible to -intrude upon Rachel. Agnes sat watching her, quite absorbed and -sad—thinking in her own quick creative mind, many a proud thought for -Rachel—and fancying she could read in that unvarying and statue-like -attitude a world of tumultuous feelings. She was so much occupied that -she took no notice of Sir Langham; and even Marian, though she appealed -to her twenty times, did not get more than a single word in reply.</p> - -<p>“Is she not the most wonderful little genius?” cried Mrs Edgerley, -making one of her sudden descents upon Agnes. “I tell everybody she is -next to you—quite next to you in talent. I expect she will make quite a -<i>furor</i> next season when she makes her <i>début</i>.”</p> - -<p>“But she dislikes it so much,” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“What, music? Oh, you mean coming out: poor child, she does not know -what is for her own advantage,” said Mrs Edgerley. “My love, in <i>her</i> -circumstances, people have no right to consult their feelings; and a -successful singer may live quite a fairy life. Music is so -entrancing—these sort of people make fortunes immediately, and then, of -course, she could retire, and be as private as she pleased. Oh, yes, I -am<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_026" id="vol_2_page_026"></a>{v.2-26}</span> sure she will be delighted to gratify you, Mr Agar: she will sing -again.”</p> - -<p>It scarcely required a word from Mrs Edgerley—scarcely a sign. Rachel -seemed to know by intuition when she was wanted, and, putting down her -book, went to the piano again;—perhaps Agnes was not so attentive this -time, for she felt herself suddenly roused a few minutes after by a -sudden tremor in the magnificent voice—a sudden shake and tremble, -having the same effect upon the singing which a start would have upon -the frame. Agnes looked round eagerly to see the cause—there was no -cause apparent—and no change whatever in the company, save for the pale -spasmodic face of Lord Winterbourne, newly arrived, and saluting his -daughter at the door.</p> - -<p>Was it this? Agnes could not wait to inquire, for immediately the music -rose and swelled into such a magnificent burst and overflow that every -one held his breath. To the excited ear of Agnes, it sounded like a -glorious challenge and defiance, irrestrainable and involuntary; and ere -the listeners had ceased to wonder, the music was over, and the singer -gone.</p> - -<p>“A sudden effect—our young performer is not without dramatic talent,” -said Mr Agar. Agnes said nothing; but she searched in the corner of the -sofa with her eyes, watched the side-door, and stole sidelong looks at -Lord Winterbourne. He never seemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_027" id="vol_2_page_027"></a>{v.2-27}</span> at his ease, this uncomfortable -nobleman; he had a discomfited look to-night, like a man defeated, and -Agnes could not help thinking of Charlie, with his sudden enmity, and -the old acquaintance of her father, and all the chances connected with -Aunt Bridget’s bequest; for the time, in her momentary impulse of -dislike and repulsion, she thought her noble neighbour, ex-minister and -peer of the realm as he was, was not a match for the big boy.</p> - -<p>“Agnes, somebody says Lord Winterbourne is her father—Rachel’s -father—and she cannot bear him. Was that what Mrs Edgerley meant?” -whispered Marian in her ear with a look of sorrow. “Did you hear her -voice tremble—did you see how she went away? They say she is his -daughter—oh, Agnes, can it be true?”</p> - -<p>But Agnes did not know, and could not answer: if it was true, then it -was very certain that Rachel must be right; and that there were depths -and mysteries and miseries of life, of which, in spite of all their -innocent acquaintance with sorrow, these simple girls had scarcely -heard, and never knew.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_028" id="vol_2_page_028"></a>{v.2-28}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_IV" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br /><br /> -<small>MAKING FRIENDS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> next morning, and the next again, Agnes and Marian vainly sought the -little bower of willows looking for Rachel. Once they saw her escape -hastily out of the shrubbery as they returned from their search, and -knew by that means that she wished to avoid them; but though they heard -her sing every night, they made no advance in their friendship, for that -was the only time in which Rachel was visible, and then she defied all -intrusion upon her haughty solitude. Mr Agar himself wisely kept aloof -from the young singer. The old gentleman did not choose to subject -himself to the chance of a repulse.</p> - -<p>But if Rachel avoided them, Sir Langham certainly did not. This -enterprising youth, having discovered their first early walk, took care -to be in the way when they repeated it, and on the fourth morning, -without saying anything to each other, the sisters unanimously decided -to remain within the safe shelter of their own<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_029" id="vol_2_page_029"></a>{v.2-29}</span> apartments. From a -corner of their window they could see Sir Langham in vexation and -impatience traversing the slope of the lawn, and pulling off the long -ashy willow-leaves to toss them into the river. Marian laughed to -herself without giving a reason, and Agnes was very glad they had -remained in the house; but the elder sister, reasoning with elaborate -wisdom, made up her mind to ask no further questions about Sir Langham, -how Marian liked him, or what she thought of his attentions. Agnes -thought too many inquiries might “put something into her head.”</p> - -<p>Proceeding upon this astute line of policy, Agnes took no notice -whatever of all the assiduities of the handsome guardsman, not even his -good-natured and brotherly attentions to herself. They were only to -remain a fortnight at the Willows—very little harm, surely, could be -done in that time, and they had but a slender chance of meeting again. -So the elder sister, in spite of her charge of Marian, quieted her -conscience and her fears—and in the mean time the two girls, with -thorough and cordial simplicity, took pleasure in their holiday, finding -everybody kind to them, and excusing with natural humbleness any chance -symptom of neglect.</p> - -<p>They had been a week at the Willows, and every day had used every means -in their power to see Rachel again, when one morning, suddenly, without -plot or<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_030" id="vol_2_page_030"></a>{v.2-30}</span> premeditation, Agnes encountered her in a long passage which -ran from the hall to the morning-room of Mrs Edgerley. There was a long -window at the end of this passage, against which the small rapid figure, -clothed in a dark close-fitting dress, without the smallest relief of -ornament, stood out strangely, outlined and surrounded by the light. -Agnes had some flowers in her hand, the gift of her acquaintance the -gardener. She fancied that Rachel glanced at them wistfully, and she was -eager of the opportunity. “They are newly gathered—will you take some?” -said Agnes, holding out her hands to her. The young stranger paused, and -looked for an instant distrustfully at her and the flowers. Agnes hoped -nothing better than to be dismissed with a haughty word of thanks; but -while Rachel lingered, the door of the morning-room was opened, and an -approaching footstep struck upon the tiled floor. The young singer did -not look behind her, did not pause to see who it was, but recognising -the step, as it seemed, with a sudden start and tremor, suddenly laid -her hand on Agnes’s arm, and drew her hurriedly in within a door which -she flung open. As soon as they were in, Rachel closed the door with -haste and force, and stood close by it with evident agitation and -excitement. “I beg your pardon—but hush, do not speak till he is past,” -she said in a whisper. Agnes, much discomposed and troubled, went to -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_031" id="vol_2_page_031"></a>{v.2-31}</span> window, as people generally do in embarrassment, and looked out -vacantly for a moment upon the kitchen-garden and the servants’ -“offices,” the only prospect visible from it. She could not help sharing -a little the excitement of her companion, as she thought upon her own -singular position here, and listened with an involuntary thrill to the -slow step of the unknown person from whom they had fled, pacing along -the long cool corridor to pass this door.</p> - -<p>But he did not pass the door; he made a moment’s pause at it, and then -entered, coming full upon Rachel as she stood, agitated and defiant, -close upon the threshold. Agnes scarcely looked round, yet she could see -it was Lord Winterbourne.</p> - -<p>“Good morning, Rachel. I trust you get on well here,” said the new-comer -in a soft and stealthy tone: “is this your sitting-room? Ah, bare -enough, I see. Your are in splendid voice, I am glad to hear; some one -is coming to-night, I understand, whose good opinion is important. You -must take care to do yourself full justice. Are you well, child?”</p> - -<p>He had approached close to her, and bestowed a cold kiss upon the brow -which burned under his touch. “Perfectly well,” said Rachel, drawing -back with a voice unusually harsh and clear. Her agitation and -excitement had for the moment driven all the music from her tones.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_032" id="vol_2_page_032"></a>{v.2-32}</span></p> - -<p>“And your brother is quite well, and all going on in the usual way at -Winterbourne,” continued the stranger. “I expect to have the house very -full in a few weeks, and you must arrange with the housekeeper where to -bestow yourselves. <i>You</i>, of course, I shall want frequently. As for -Louis, I suppose he does nothing but fish and mope as usual. I have no -desire to see more than I can help of <i>him</i>.”</p> - -<p>“There is no fear; his desire is as strong as yours,” cried Rachel -suddenly, her face varying from the most violent flush to a sudden -passionate paleness. Lord Winterbourne answered by his cold smile of -ridicule.</p> - -<p>“I know his amiable temper,” he said. “Now, remember what I have said -about to-night. Do yourself justice. It will be for your advantage. -Good-by. Remember me to Louis.”</p> - -<p>The door opened again, and he was gone. Rachel closed it almost -violently, and threw herself upon a chair. “We owe him no duty—none. I -will not believe it,” cried Rachel. “No—no—no—I do not belong to him! -Louis is not his!”</p> - -<p>All this time, in the greatest distress and embarrassment, Agnes stood -by the window, grieved to be an unwilling listener, and reluctant to -remind Rachel of her presence by going away. But Rachel had not -forgotten that she was there. With a sudden effort this strange solitary -girl composed herself and came<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_033" id="vol_2_page_033"></a>{v.2-33}</span> up to Agnes. “Do you know Lord -Winterbourne?” she said quickly; “have you heard of him before you came -here?”</p> - -<p>“I think—— but, indeed, I may be mistaken,” said Agnes timidly; “I -think papa once knew him long ago.”</p> - -<p>“And did he think him a good man?” said Rachel.</p> - -<p>This was a very embarrassing question. Agnes turned away, retreated -uneasily, blushed, and hesitated. “He never speaks of him; I cannot -tell,” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“Do you know,” said Rachel, eagerly, “they say he is my father—Louis’s -father; but we do not believe it, neither I nor he.”</p> - -<p>To this singular statement Agnes made no answer, save by a look of -surprise and inquiry; the frightful uncertainty of such a position as -this was beyond the innocent comprehension of Agnes Atheling. She looked -with a blank and painful surprise into her young companion’s face.</p> - -<p>“And I will not sing to-night; I will not, because he bade me!” said -Rachel. “Is it my fault that I can sing? but I am to be punished for it; -they make me come to amuse them; and they want me to be a public singer. -I should not care,” cried the poor girl suddenly, in a violent burst of -tears, passing from her<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_034" id="vol_2_page_034"></a>{v.2-34}</span> passion and excitement to her natural -character—“I would not mind it for myself, if it were not for Louis. I -would do anything they bade me myself; I do not care, nothing matters to -me; but Louis—Louis! he thinks it is disgrace, and it would break his -heart!”</p> - -<p>“Is that your brother?” said Agnes, bending over her, and endeavouring -to soothe her excitement. Rachel made no immediate answer.</p> - -<p>“He has disgrace enough already, poor boy,” said Rachel. “We are -nobody’s children; or we are Lord Winterbourne’s; and he who might be a -king’s son—and he has not even a name! Yes, he is my brother, my poor -Louis: we are twins; and we have nobody but each other in the whole -world.”</p> - -<p>“If he is as old as you,” said Agnes, who was only accustomed to the -usages of humble houses, and knew nothing of the traditions of a noble -race, “you should not stay at Winterbourne: a man can always work—you -ought not to stay.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think so?” cried Rachel eagerly. “Louis says so always, and I -beg and plead with him. When he was only eighteen he ran away: he went -and enlisted for a soldier—a common man—and was away a year, and then -they bought him off, and promised to get him a commission; and I made -him promise to me—perhaps it was selfish, for I could not live when he -was gone—I made him promise not to go away again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_035" id="vol_2_page_035"></a>{v.2-35}</span> And there he is at -Winterbourne. I know you never saw any one like him; and now all these -heartless people are going there, and Lord Winterbourne is afraid of -him, and never will have him seen, and the whole time I will be sick to -the very heart lest he should go away.”</p> - -<p>“But I think he ought to go away,” said Agnes gravely.</p> - -<p>Her new friend looked up in her face with an earnest and trembling -scrutiny. This poor girl had a great deal more passion and vehemence in -her character than had ever been called for in Agnes, but, an -uninstructed and ill-trained child, knew nothing of the primitive -independence, and had never been taught to think of right and wrong.</p> - -<p>“We have a little house there,” said Agnes, with a sudden thought. “Do -you know the Old Wood Lodge? Papa’s old aunt left it to him, and they -say it is very near the Hall.”</p> - -<p>At the name Rachel started suddenly, rose up at once with one of her -quick inconsiderate movements, and, throwing her arms round Agnes, -kissed her cheek. “I knew I ought to know you,” said Rachel, “and yet I -did not think of the name. Dear old Miss Bridget, she loved Louis. I am -sure she loved him; and we know every room in the house, and every leaf -on the trees. If you come there, we will see you every day.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_036" id="vol_2_page_036"></a>{v.2-36}</span></p> - -<p>“We are coming there—and my mother,” said Agnes. “I know you will be -pleased to see mamma,” said the good girl, her face brightening, and her -eyes filling in spite of herself; “every one thinks she is like their -own mother—and when you come to us you will think you are at home.”</p> - -<p>“We never had any mother,” said Rachel, sadly; “we never had any home; -we do not know what it is. Look, this is my home here.”</p> - -<p>Agnes looked round the large bare apartment, in which the only article -of furniture worth notice was an old piano, and which looked only upon -the little square of kitchen-garden and the servants’ rooms. It was -somewhat larger than both the parlours in Bellevue, and for a best room -would have rejoiced Mrs Atheling’s ambitious heart; but Agnes was -already a little wiser than she had been in Islington, and it chilled -her heart to compare this lonely and dreary apartment with all the -surrounding luxuries, which Rachel saw and did not share.</p> - -<p>“Come up with me and see Marian,” said Agnes, putting her arm through -her companion’s; “you are not to avoid us now any more; we are all to be -friends after to-day.”</p> - -<p>And Rachel, who did not know what friendship was, yielded, thinking of -Louis. Had she been wrong throughout in keeping him, by her entreaties, -so long<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_037" id="vol_2_page_037"></a>{v.2-37}</span> at Winterbourne? A vision of a home, all to themselves, burst -once in a great delight upon the mind of Rachel. If Louis would only -consent to it! With such a motive before her as that, the poor girl -fancied she “would not mind” being a singer after all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_038" id="vol_2_page_038"></a>{v.2-38}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_V" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.<br /><br /> -<small>CONFIDENTIAL.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">When</span> the first ice was broken, Rachel became perfectly confidential with -her new friends—<i>perfectly</i> confidential—far more so than they, -accustomed to the domestic privateness of humble English life, could -understand. This poor girl had no restraint upon her for family pride or -family honour; no compensation in family sympathy; and her listeners, -who had very little skill in the study of character, though one of them -had written a novel, were extremely puzzled with a kind of doubleness, -perfectly innocent and unconscious, which made Rachel’s thoughts and -words at different moments like the words and the thoughts of two -different people. At one time she was herself, humble, timid, and -content to do anything which any authority bade her do; but in a moment -she remembered Louis; and the change was instantaneous—she became -proud, stately, obdurate, even defiant. She was no longer herself, but -the shadow and representative<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_039" id="vol_2_page_039"></a>{v.2-39}</span> of her brother; and in this view Rachel -resisted and defied every influence, anchoring her own wavering will -upon Louis, and refusing, with unreasonable and unreasoning obstinacy, -all injunctions and all persuasions coming from those to whom her -brother was opposed. She seemed, indeed, to have neither plan nor -thought for herself: Louis was her inspiration. <i>She</i> seemed to have -been born for no other purpose but to follow, to love, and to serve this -brother, who to her was all the world. As she sat on the pretty chintz -sofa in that sunny little dressing-room where Agnes and Marian passed -the morning, running rapidly over the environs of the Old Wood Lodge, -and telling them about their future neighbours, they were amazed and -amused to find the total absence of personal opinion, and almost of -personal liking, in their new acquaintance. She had but one standard, to -which she referred everything, and that was Louis. They saw the very -landscape, not as it was, but as it appeared to this wonderful brother. -They became acquainted with the village and its inhabitants through the -medium of Louis’s favourites and Louis’s aversions. They were young -enough and simple enough themselves to be perfectly ready to invest any -unknown ideal person with all the gifts of fancy; and Louis immediately -leaped forth from the unknown world, a presence and an authority to them -both.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_040" id="vol_2_page_040"></a>{v.2-40}</span></p> - -<p>“The Rector lives in the Old Wood House,” said Rachel, for the first -time pausing, and looking somewhat confused in her rapid summary. “I am -sure I do not know what to think—but Louis does not like him. I suppose -you will not like him; and yet,”—here a little faint colour came upon -the young speaker’s pale face—“sometimes I have fancied he would have -been a friend if we had let him; and he is quite sure to like you.”</p> - -<p>Saying this, she turned a somewhat wistful look upon Agnes—blushing -more perceptibly, but with no sunshine or brightness in her blush. -“Yes,” said Rachel slowly, “he will like you—he will do for you; and -you,” she added, turning with sudden eagerness to Marian, “you are for -Louis—remember! You are not to think of any one else till you see -Louis. You never saw any one like him; he is like a prince to look at, -and I know he is a great genius. Your sister shall have the Rector, and -Louis shall be for you.”</p> - -<p>All this Rachel said hurriedly, but with the most perfect gravity, even -with a tinge of sadness—grieved, as they could perceive, that her -brother did not like the Rector, but making no resistance against a doom -so unquestionable as the dislike of Louis: but her timid heart was -somehow touched upon the subject; she became thoughtful, and lingered -over it with a kind of melancholy pleasure. “Perhaps Louis might<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_041" id="vol_2_page_041"></a>{v.2-41}</span> come -to like him if he was connected with <i>you</i>,” said Rachel meditatively; -and the faint colour wavered and flickered on her face, and at last -passed away with a low but very audible sigh.</p> - -<p>“But they are all Riverses,” she continued, in her usual rapid way. “The -Rector of Winterbourne is always a Rivers—it is the family living; and -if Lord Winterbourne’s son should die, I suppose Mr Lionel would be the -heir. His sister lives with him, quite an old lady: and then there is -another Miss Rivers, who lives far off, at Abingford all the way. Did -you ever hear of Miss Anastasia? But she does not call herself -Miss—only the Honourable Anastasia Rivers. Old Miss Bridget was once -her governess. Lord Winterbourne will never permit her to see us; but I -almost think Louis would like to be friends with her, only he will not -take the trouble. They are not at all friends with her at Winterbourne.”</p> - -<p>“Is she a relation?” said Agnes. The girls by this time were so much -interested in the family story that they did not notice this admirable -reason for the inclination of Louis towards this old lady unknown.</p> - -<p>“She is the old lord’s only child,” said Rachel. “The old lord was Lord -Winterbourne’s brother, and he died abroad, and no one knew anything -about him for a long time before he died. We want very much to hear -about him; indeed, I ought not to tell you—<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_042" id="vol_2_page_042"></a>{v.2-42}</span>but Louis thinks perhaps he -knew something about us. Louis will not believe we are Lord -Winterbourne’s children; and though we are poor disgraced children any -way, and though he hates the very name of Rivers, I think he would -almost rather we belonged to the old lord; for he says,” added Rachel -with great seriousness, “that one cannot hate one’s father, if he is -dead.”</p> - -<p>The girls drew back a little, half in horror; but though she spoke in -this rebellious fashion, there was no consciousness of wrong in Rachel’s -innocent and quiet face.</p> - -<p>“And we have so many troubles,” burst forth the poor girl suddenly. “And -I sometimes sit and cry all day, and pray to God to be dead. And when -anybody is kind to me,” she continued, some sudden remembrance moving -her to an outburst of tears, and raising the colour once more upon her -colourless cheek, “I am so weak and so foolish, and would do anything -they tell me. <i>I</i> do not care, I am sure, what I do—it does not matter -to me; but Louis—no, certainly, I will not sing to-night.”</p> - -<p>“I wish very much,” said Agnes, with an earnestness and courage which -somewhat startled Marian—“I wish very much you could come home with us -to our little house in Bellevue.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Marian doubtfully; but the younger<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_043" id="vol_2_page_043"></a>{v.2-43}</span> sister, though she -shared the generous impulse, could not help a secret glance at Agnes—an -emphatic reminder of Mamma.</p> - -<p>“No, I must make no friends,” said Rachel, rising under the inspiration -of Louis’s will and injunctions. “It is very kind of you, but I must not -do it. Oh, but remember you are to come to Winterbourne, and I will try -to bring Louis to see you; and I am sure you know a great deal better, -and could talk to him different from me. Do you know,” she continued -solemnly, “they never have given me any education at all, except to -sing? I have never been taught anything, nor indeed Louis either, which -is much worse than me—only he is a great genius, and can teach himself. -The Rector wanted to help him; that is why I am always sure, if Louis -would let him, he would be a friend.”</p> - -<p>And again a faint half-distinguishable blush came upon Rachel’s face. -No, it meant nothing, though Agnes and Marian canvassed and interpreted -after their own fashion this delicate suffusion; it only meant that the -timid gentle heart might have been touched had there been room for more -than Louis; but Louis was supreme, and filled up all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_044" id="vol_2_page_044"></a>{v.2-44}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_VI" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br /><br /> -<small>THREE FRIENDS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">That</span> night, faithful to her purpose, Rachel did not appear in the -drawing-room. How far her firmness would have supported her, had she -been left to herself, it is impossible to tell; but she was not left to -herself. “Mrs Edgerley came, saying just the same things as Lord -Winterbourne,” said Rachel, “and I knew I should be firm. Louis cannot -endure Mrs Edgerley.” She said this with the most entire unconsciousness -that she revealed the whole motive and strength of her resistance in the -words. Rachel, indeed, was perfectly unaware of the entire subjection in -which she kept even her thoughts and her affections to her brother; but -she could not help a little anxiety and a little nervousness as to -whether “Louis would like” her new acquaintances. She herself brightened -wonderfully under the influence of these companions—expanded out of her -dull and irritable solitude, and with girlish eagerness forecast their -fortunes, seizing at once, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_045" id="vol_2_page_045"></a>{v.2-45}</span> idea, upon Marian as the destined bride -of Louis, and with a voluntary self-sacrifice making over, with a sigh -and a secret thrill of pride, the only person who had ever wakened any -interest in her own most sisterly bosom, to Agnes. She pleased herself -greatly with these visions, and built them on a foundation still more -brittle than that of Alnaschar—for it was possible that all her -pleasant dreams might be thrown into the dust in a moment, if—dreadful -possibility!—“Louis did not like” these first friends of poor Rachel’s -youth.</p> - -<p>And when she brightened under this genial influence, and softened out of -the haughtiness and solitary state which, indeed, was quite foreign to -her character, Rachel became a very attractive little person. Even the -sudden change in her sentiments and bearing when she returned to her old -feeling of representing Louis, added a charm. Her large eyes troubled -and melting, her pale small features which were very fine and regular, -though so far from striking, her noble little head and small pretty -figure, attracted in the highest degree the admiration of her new -friends. Marian, who rather suspected that she herself was rather -pretty, could not sufficiently admire the grace and refinement of -Rachel; and Agnes, though candidly admitting that there was “scarcely -any one” so beautiful as Marian, notwithstanding bestowed a very equal -share<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_046" id="vol_2_page_046"></a>{v.2-46}</span> of her regard upon the attractions of their companion. And the -trio fell immediately into all the warmth of girlish friendship. The -Athelings went to visit Rachel in her great bare study, and Rachel came -to visit them in their pretty little dressing-room; and whether in that -sun-bright gay enclosure, or within the sombre and undecorated walls of -the room which looked out on the kitchen-garden, a painter would have -been puzzled to choose which was the better scene. They were so pretty a -group anywhere—so animated—so full of eager life and intelligence—so -much disposed to communicate everything that occurred to them, that -Rachel’s room brightened under the charm of their presence as she -herself had done. And this new acquaintanceship made a somewhat singular -revolution in the drawing-room—where the young musician, after her -singing, was instantly joined by her two friends. She was extremely -reserved and shy of every one else, and even of them occasionally, under -the eyes of Mrs Edgerley; but she was no longer the little tragical -princess who buried herself in the book and the corner, and neither -heard nor saw anything going around her. And the fact that they had some -one whose position was even more doubtful and uneasy than their own, to -give heart and courage to, animated Agnes and Marian, as nothing else -could have done. They recovered their natural spirits, and were no -longer overawed by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_047" id="vol_2_page_047"></a>{v.2-47}</span> great people surrounding them; they had so much -care for Rachel that they forgot to be self-conscious, or to trouble -themselves with inquiries touching their own manners and deportment, and -what other people thought of the same; and on the whole, though their -simplicity was not quite so amusing as at first, “other people” began to -have a kindness for the fresh young faces, always so honest, cloudless, -and sincere.</p> - -<p>But Agnes’s “reputation” had died away, and left very little trace -behind it. Mrs Edgerley had found other lions, and at the present moment -held in delusion an unfortunate young poet, who was much more like to be -harmed by the momentary idolatry than Agnes. The people who had been -dying to know the author of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>, had all found out that the -shy young genius did not talk in character—had no gift of conversation, -and, indeed, did nothing at all to keep up her fame; and if Agnes -chanced to feel a momentary mortification at the prompt desertion of all -her admirers, she wisely kept the pang to herself, and said nothing -about it. They were not neglected—for the accomplished authoress of -<i>Coquetry</i> and the <i>Beau Monde</i> had some kindness at her heart after -all, and had always a smile to spare for her young guests when they came -in her way; they were permitted to roam freely about the gardens and the -conservatory; they were by no means hindered in their acquaintance with<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_048" id="vol_2_page_048"></a>{v.2-48}</span> -Rachel, whom Mrs Edgerley was really much disposed to bring out and -patronise; and one of them, the genius or the beauty, as best suited her -other companions, was not unfrequently honoured with a place in Mrs -Edgerley’s barouche—a pretty shy lay figure in that rustling, radiant, -perfumy <i>bouquet</i> of fine ladies, who talked over her head about things -and people perfectly unknown to the silent auditor, and impressed her -with a vague idea that this elegant and easy gossip was brilliant -“conversation,” though it did not quite sound, after all, like that -grand unattainable conversation to be found in books. After this -fashion, liking their novel life wonderfully well, and already making a -home of that sunny little dressing-room, they drew gradually towards the -end of their fortnight. As yet nothing at all marvellous had happened to -them, and even Agnes seemed to have forgotten the absolute necessity of -letting everybody know that they “did not belong to great people,” but -instead of a rural Hall, or Grange of renown, lived only in Number Ten, -Bellevue.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_049" id="vol_2_page_049"></a>{v.2-49}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_VII" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br /><br /> -<small>A TERRIBLE EVENT.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">For</span> Agnes, we are grieved to confess, had fallen into all the sudden -fervour of a most warm and enthusiastic girlish friendship. She forgot -to watch over her sister, though Mrs Atheling’s letters did not fail to -remind her of her duty; she forgot to ward off the constant regards of -Sir Langham. She began to be perfectly indifferent and careless of the -superb sentinel who mounted guard upon Marian every night. For the time, -Agnes was entirely occupied with Rachel, and with the new world so full -of a charmed unknown life, which seemed to open upon them all in this -Old Wood Lodge; she spent hours dreaming of some discovery which might -change the position of the unfortunate brother and sister; she took up -with warmth and earnestness their dislike to Lord Winterbourne. If it -sometimes occurred to her what a frightful sentiment this was on the -part of children to their father,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_050" id="vol_2_page_050"></a>{v.2-50}</span> she corrected herself suddenly, and -declared in her own mind, with heart and energy, that he could not be -their father—that there was no resemblance between them. But this, it -must be confessed, was a puzzling subject, and offered continual ground -for speculation; for princes and princesses, stolen away in their -childhood, were extremely fictitious personages, even to an imagination -which had written a novel; and Agnes could not help a thrill of -apprehension when she thought of Louis and Marian, of the little romance -which Rachel had made up between them, and how her own honourable father -and mother would look upon this unhappy scion of a noble house—this -poor boy who had no name.</p> - -<p>This future, so full of strange and exciting possibilities, attracted -with an irresistible power the imaginative mind of Agnes. She went -through it chapter by chapter—through earnest dialogues, overpowering -emotions, many a varying and exciting scene. The Old Wood Lodge, the Old -Wood House, the Hall, the Rector, the old Miss Rivers, the unknown hero, -Louis—these made a little private world of persons and places to the -vivid imagination of the young dreamer. They floated down even upon Mrs -Edgerley’s drawing-room, extinguishing its gay lights, its pretty faces, -and its hum of conversation; but with still more effect<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_051" id="vol_2_page_051"></a>{v.2-51}</span> filled all her -mind and meditations, as she rested, half reclining, upon the pretty -chintz sofa in the pretty dressing-room, in the sweet summer noon with -which this sweet repose was so harmonious and suitable. The window was -open, and the soft wind blowing in fluttered all the leaves of that book -upon the little table, which the sunshine, entering too, brightened into -a dazzling whiteness with all its rims and threads of gold. A fragrant -breath came up from the garden, a hum of soft sound from all the drowsy -world out of doors. Agnes, in the corner of the sofa, laying back her -head among its pretty cushions, with the smile of fancy on her lips, and -the meditative inward light shining in her eyes, playing her foot idly -on the carpet, playing her fingers idly among a little knot of flowers -which lay at her side, and which, in this sweet indolence, she had not -yet taken the trouble to arrange in the little vase—was as complete a -picture of maiden meditation—of those charmed fancies, sweet and -fearless, which belong to her age and kind, as painter or poet could -desire to see.</p> - -<p>When Marian suddenly broke in upon the retirement of her sister, -disturbed, fluttered, a little afraid, but with no appearance of -painfulness, though there was a certain distress in her excitement. -Marian’s eyes were downcast, abashed, and dewy, her colour unusually -bright, her lips apart, her heart beating<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_052" id="vol_2_page_052"></a>{v.2-52}</span> high. She came into the -little quiet room with a sudden burst, as if she had fled from some one; -but when she came within the door, paused as suddenly, put up her hands -to her face, blushed an overpowering blush, and dropped at once with the -shyest, prettiest movement in the world, into a low chair which stood -behind the door. Agnes, waking slowly out of her own bright mist of -fancy, saw all this with a faint wonder—noticing scarcely anything more -than that Marian surely grew prettier every day, and indeed had never -looked so beautiful all her life.</p> - -<p>“May! you look quite——” lovely, Agnes was about to say; but she paused -in consideration of her sister’s feelings, and said “frightened” -instead.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no wonder! Agnes, something has happened,” said Marian. She began -to look even more frightened as she spoke; yet the pretty saucy lip -moved a little into something that resembled suppressed and silent -laughter. In spite, however, of this one evidence of a secret mixture of -amusement, Marian was extremely grave and visibly afraid.</p> - -<p>“What has happened? Is it about Rachel?” asked Agnes, instantly -referring Marian’s agitation to the subject of her own thoughts.</p> - -<p>“About Rachel! you are always thinking about Rachel,” said Marian, with -a momentary sparkle of indignation. “It is something a great deal more -important;<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_053" id="vol_2_page_053"></a>{v.2-53}</span> it is—oh, Agnes! Sir Langham has been speaking to me——”</p> - -<p>Agnes raised herself immediately with a start of eagerness and surprise, -accusing herself. She had forgotten all about this close and pressing -danger—she had neglected her guardianship—she looked with an appalled -and pitying look upon her beautiful sister. In Agnes’s eyes, it was -perfectly visible already that here was an end of Marian’s -happiness—that she had bestowed her heart upon Sir Langham, and that -accordingly this heart had nothing to do but to break.</p> - -<p>“What did he say?” asked Agnes solemnly.</p> - -<p>“He said—— oh, I am sure you know very well what he was sure to say,” -cried Marian, holding down her head, and tying knots in her little -handkerchief; “he said—he liked me—and wanted to know if I would -consent. But it does not matter what he said,” said Marian, sinking her -voice very low, and redoubling the knots upon the cambric; “it is not my -fault, indeed, Agnes. I did not think he would have done it; I thought -it was all like Harry Oswald; and you never said a word. What was I to -do?”</p> - -<p>“What did <i>you</i> say?” asked Agnes again, with breathless anxiety, -feeling the reproach, but making no answer to it.</p> - -<p>“I said nothing: it was in Mrs Edgerley’s morning-room, and she came in -almost before he was done<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_054" id="vol_2_page_054"></a>{v.2-54}</span> speaking; and I was so very glad, and ran -away. What could I do?” said again the beautiful culprit, becoming a -little more at her ease; but during all this time she never lifted her -eyes to her sister’s face.</p> - -<p>“What <i>will</i> you say, then? Marian, you make me very anxious; do not -trifle with me,” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“It is you who are trifling,” retorted the young offender; “for you know -if you had told the people at once, as you said you would—but I don’t -mean to be foolish either,” said Marian, rising suddenly, and throwing -herself half into her sister’s arms; “and now, Agnes, you must go and -tell him—indeed you must—and say that we never intended to deceive -anybody, and meant no harm.”</p> - -<p>“<i>I</i> must tell him!” said Agnes, with momentary dismay; and then the -elder sister put her arm round the beautiful head which leaned on her -shoulder, in a caressing and sympathetic tenderness. “Yes, May,” said -Agnes sadly, “I will do anything you wish—I will say whatever you wish. -We ought not to have come here, where you were sure to meet with all -these perils. Marian! for my mother’s sake you must try to keep up your -heart when we get home.”</p> - -<p>The answer Marian made to this solemn appeal was to raise her eyes, full -of wondering and mischievous brightness, and to draw herself immediately -from Agnes’s embrace with a low laugh of excitement.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_055" id="vol_2_page_055"></a>{v.2-55}</span> “Keep up my heart! -What do you mean?” said Marian; but she immediately hastened to her own -particular sleeping-room, and, lost within its mazy muslin curtains, -waited for no explanation. Agnes, disturbed and grave, and much -overpowered by her own responsibility, did not know what to think. -Present appearances were not much in favour of the breaking of Marian’s -heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_056" id="vol_2_page_056"></a>{v.2-56}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_VIII" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br /><br /> -<small>AN EXPLANATION.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">But</span> what am I to say?”</p> - -<p>To this most difficult question Agnes could not find any satisfactory -answer. Marian, though so nearly concerned in it, gave her no assistance -whatever. Marian went wandering about the three little rooms, flitting -from one to another with unmistakable restlessness, humming inconsistent -snatches of song, sometimes a little disposed to cry, sometimes moved to -smiles, extremely variable, and full of a sweet and pleasant agitation. -Agnes followed her fairy movements with grave eyes, extremely watchful -and anxious—was she grieved?—was she pleased? was she really in love?</p> - -<p>But Marian made no sign. She would not intrust her sister with any -message from herself. She was almost disposed to be out of temper when -Agnes questioned her. “You know very well what must be said,” said -Marian; “you have only to tell him who<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_057" id="vol_2_page_057"></a>{v.2-57}</span> we are—and I suppose that will -be quite enough for Sir Langham. Do you not think so, Agnes?”</p> - -<p>“I think it all depends upon how he feels—and how <i>you</i> feel,” said the -anxious sister; but Marian turned away with a smile and made no reply. -To tell the truth, she could not at all have explained her own -sentiments. She was very considerably flattered by the homage of the -handsome guardsman, and fluttered no less by the magnificent and -marvellous idea of being a ladyship. There was nothing very much on her -part to prevent this beautiful Marian Atheling from becoming as pretty a -Lady Portland, and by-and-by, as affectionate a one, as even the -delighted imagination of Sir Langham could conceive. But Marian was -still entirely fancy free—not at all disinclined to be persuaded into -love with Sir Langham, but at present completely innocent of any serious -emotions—pleased, excited, in the sweetest flutter of girlish -expectation, amusement, and triumph—but nothing more.</p> - -<p>And from that corner of the window from which they could gain a sidelong -glance at the lawn and partial view of the shrubbery, Sir Langham was -now to be descried wandering about as restlessly as Marian, pulling off -stray twigs and handfuls of leaves in the most ruthless fashion, and -scattering them on his path. Marian drew Agnes suddenly and silently to<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_058" id="vol_2_page_058"></a>{v.2-58}</span> -the window, and pointed out the impatient figure loitering about among -the trees. Agnes looked at him with dismay. “Am I to go now—to go out -and seek him?—is it proper?” said Agnes, somewhat horrified at the -thought. Marian took up the open book from the table, and drew the low -chair into the sunshine. “In the evening everybody will be there,” said -Marian, as she began to read, or to pretend to read. Agnes paused for a -moment in the most painful doubt and perplexity. “I suppose, indeed, it -had better be done at once,” she said to herself, taking up her bonnet -with very unenviable feelings. Poor Agnes! her heart beat louder and -louder, as she tied the strings with trembling fingers, and prepared to -go. There was Marian bending down over the book on her knees, sitting in -the sunshine with the full summer light burning upon her hair, and one -cheek flushed with the pressure of her supporting hand. She glanced up -eagerly, but she said nothing; and Agnes, very pale and extremely -doubtful, went upon her strange errand. It was the most perplexing and -uncomfortable business in the world—and was it proper? But she -reassured herself a little as she went down stairs—if any one should -see her going out to seek Sir Langham! “I will tell Mrs Edgerley the -reason,” thought Agnes—she supposed at least no one could have any -difficulty in understanding <i>that</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_059" id="vol_2_page_059"></a>{v.2-59}</span></p> - -<p>So she hastened along the garden paths, very shyly, looking quite pale, -and with a palpitating heart. Sir Langham knew nothing of her approach -till he turned round suddenly on hearing the shy hesitating rapid step -behind. He thought it was Marian for a moment, and made one eager step -forward; then he paused, half expecting, half indignant. Agnes, -breathless and hurried, gave him no time to address her—she burst into -her little speech with all the eager temerity of fear.</p> - -<p>“If you please, Sir Langham, I have something to say to you,” said -Agnes. “You must have been deceived in us—you do not know who we are. -We do not belong to great people—we have never before been in a house -like Mrs Edgerley’s. I came to tell you at once, for we did not think it -honest that you should not know.”</p> - -<p>“Know—know what?” cried Sir Langham. Never guardsman before was filled -with such illimitable amaze.</p> - -<p>Agnes had recovered her self-possession to some extent. “I mean, sir,” -she said earnestly, her face flushing as she spoke, “that we wish you to -know who we belong to, and that we are not of your rank, nor like the -people here. My father is in the City, and we live at Islington, in -Bellevue. We are able to live as we desire to live,” said Agnes with a -little<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_060" id="vol_2_page_060"></a>{v.2-60}</span> natural pride, standing very erect, and blushing more deeply -than ever, “but we are what people at the Willows would call <i>poor</i>.”</p> - -<p>Her amazed companion stood gazing at her with a blank face of wonder. -“Eh?” said Sir Langham. He could not for his life make it out.</p> - -<p>“I suppose you do not understand me,” said Agnes, who began now to be -more at her ease than Sir Langham was, “but what I have said is quite -true. My father is an honourable man, whom we have all a right to be -proud of, but he has only—only a very little income every year. I meant -to have told every one at first, for we did not want to deceive—but -there was no opportunity, and whenever Marian told me, we made up our -minds that you ought to know. I mean,” said Agnes proudly, with a -strange momentary impression that she was taller than Sir Langham, who -stood before her biting the head of his cane, with a look of the -blankest discomfiture—“I mean that we forget altogether what you said -to my sister, and understand that you have been deceived.”</p> - -<p>She was somewhat premature, however, in her contempt. Sir Langham, -overpowered with the most complete amazement, had <i>yet</i>, at all events, -no desire whatever that Marian should forget what he had said to her. -“Stop,” said the guardsman, with his voice somewhat husky; “do you mean -that your father is<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_061" id="vol_2_page_061"></a>{v.2-61}</span> not a friend of Lord Winterbourne’s? He is a squire -in Banburyshire—I know all about it—or how could you be here?”</p> - -<p>“He is not a squire in Banburyshire; he is in an office in the City—and -they asked us here because I had written a book,” said Agnes, with a -little sadness and great humility. “My father is not a friend of Lord -Winterbourne’s; but yet I think he knew him long ago.”</p> - -<p>At these last words Sir Langham brightened a little. “Miss Atheling, I -don’t want to believe you,” said the honest guardsman; “I’ll ask Lord -Winterbourne.”</p> - -<p>“Lord Winterbourne knows nothing of us,” said Agnes, with an involuntary -shudder of dislike; “and now I have told you, Sir Langham, and there is -nothing more to say.”</p> - -<p>As she turned to leave him, the dismayed lover awoke out of his blank -astonishment. “Nothing more—not a word—not a message; what did she -say?” cried Sir Langham, reddening to his hair, and casting a wistful -look at the house where Marian was. He followed her sister with an -appealing gesture, yet paused in the midst of it. The unfortunate -guardsman had never been in circumstances so utterly perplexing; he -could not, would not, give up his love—and yet!<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_062" id="vol_2_page_062"></a>{v.2-62}</span></p> - -<p>“Marian said nothing—nothing more than I have been obliged to say,” -said Agnes. She turned away now, and left him with a proud and rapid -step, inspired with injured pride and involuntary resentment. Agnes did -not quite know what she had expected of Sir Langham, but it surely was -something different from this.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_063" id="vol_2_page_063"></a>{v.2-63}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_IX" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br /><br /> -<small>AN EXPERIMENT.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">But</span> there was a wonderful difference between this high-minded and -impetuous girl, as she crossed the lawn with a hasty foot, which almost -scorned to sink into its velvet softness, and the disturbed and -bewildered individual who remained behind her in the bowery path where -this interview had taken place. Sir Langham Portland had no very bigoted -regard for birth, and no avaricious love of money. He was a very good -fellow after his kind, as Sir Langhams go, and would not have done a -dishonourable thing, with full knowledge of it, for the three kingdoms; -but Sir Langham was a guardsman, a man of fashion, a man of the world; -he was not so blinded by passion as to be quite oblivious of what -befalls a man who marries a pretty face; he was not wealthy enough or -great enough to indulge such a whim with impunity, and the beauty which -was enough to elevate a Banburyshire Hall, was not sufficient to gild -over the unmentionable enormity<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_064" id="vol_2_page_064"></a>{v.2-64}</span> of a house in Islington and a father in -the City. Fathers in the City who are made of gold may be sufficiently -tolerable, but a City papa who was <i>poor</i>, and had “only a very small -income every year,” as Agnes said, was an unimaginable monster, scarcely -realisable to the brilliant intellect of Sir Langham. This unfortunate -young gentleman wandered about Mrs Edgerley’s bit of shrubbery, tearing -off leaves and twigs on every side of him, musing much in his perturbed -and cloudy understanding, and totally unable to make it out. Let nobody -suppose he had given up Marian; that would have made a settlement of the -question. But Sir Langham was not disposed to give up his beauty, and -not disposed to make a <i>mésalliance</i>; and between the terror of losing -her and the terror of everybody’s sneer and compassion if he gained her, -the unhappy lover vibrated painfully, quite unable to come to any -decision, or make up his mighty mind one way or the other. He stripped -off the leaves of the helpless bushes, but it did him no service; he -twisted his mustache, but there was no enlightenment to be gained from -that interesting appendage; he collected all his dazzled wits to the -consideration of what sort of creature a man might be who was in an -office in the City. Finally, a very brilliant and original idea struck -upon the heavy intelligence of Sir Langham. He turned briskly out of the -byways of the shrubbery,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_065" id="vol_2_page_065"></a>{v.2-65}</span> and said to himself with animation, “I’ll go -and see!”</p> - -<p>When Agnes entered again the little dressing-room where her beautiful -sister still bent over her book, Marian glanced up at her inquiringly, -and finding no information elicited by that, waited a little, then rose, -and came shyly to her side. “I only want to know,” said Marian, “not -because I care; but what did he say?”</p> - -<p>“He was surprised,” said Agnes proudly, turning her head away; and Agnes -would say nothing more, though Marian lingered by her, and tried various -hints and measures of persuasion. Agnes was extremely stately, and, as -Marian said, “just a little cross,” all day. It was rather too bad to be -cross, if she was so, to the innocent mischief-maker, who might be the -principal sufferer. But Agnes had made up her mind to suffer no talk -about Sir Langham; she had quite given him up, and judged him with the -most uncompromising harshness. “Yes!” cried Agnes (to herself), with -lofty and poetic indignation, “this I suppose is what these fashionable -people call love!”</p> - -<p>She was wrong, as might have been expected; for that poor honest Sir -Langham, galloping through the dusty roads in the blazing heat of an -August afternoon, was quite as genuine in this proof of his affection<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_066" id="vol_2_page_066"></a>{v.2-66}</span> -as many a knight of romance. It was quite a serious matter to this poor -young man of fashion, before whose tantalised and tortured imagination -some small imp of an attendant Cupid perpetually held up the sweetest -fancy-portrait of that sweetest of fair faces. This visionary tormentor -tugged at his very heart-strings as the white summer dust rose up in a -cloud, marking his progress along the whole long line of the Richmond -road. He was not going to slay the dragon, the enemy of his -princess—that would have been easy work. He was, unfortunate Sir -Langham! bound on a despairing enterprise to find out the house which -was not a hall in Banburyshire, to make acquaintance, if possible, with -the papa who was in the City, and to see “if it would do.”</p> - -<p>He knew as little, in reality, about the life which Agnes and Marian -lived at home, and about their father’s house and all its homely -economics and quiet happiness, as if he had been a New Zealand chief -instead of a guardsman—and galloped along as gravely as if he were -going to a funeral, with, all the way, that wicked little imp of a -Cupidon tugging at his heart.</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling was alone with her two babies, sighing a little, and full -of weariness for the return of the girls; but Susan, better instructed -this time, ushered the magnificent visitor into the best room. He stood -gazing upon it in blank amazement; upon the haircloth<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_067" id="vol_2_page_067"></a>{v.2-67}</span> sofa, and the -folded leaf of the big old mahogany table in the corner; and the -coloured glass candlesticks and flower-vases on the mantel-shelf. Mrs -Atheling, who was a little fluttered, and the rosy boy, who clung to her -skirts, and, spite of her audible entreaties in the passage, would not -suffer her to enter without him, rather increased the consternation of -Sir Langham. She was comely; she had a soft voice; a manner quite -unpretending and simple, as good in its natural quietness as the highest -breeding; yet Sir Langham, at sight of her, heaved from the depths of -his capacious bosom a mighty sigh. It would not do; that little wretch -of a Cupid, what a wrench it gave him as he tried to cast it out! If it -had been a disorderly house or a slatternly mother, Sir Langham might -have taken some faint comfort from the thought of rescuing his beautiful -Marian from a family unworthy of her; but even to his hazy understanding -it became instantly perceptible that this was a home not to be parted -with, and a mother much beloved. Marian, a prince might have been glad -to marry; but Sir Langham could not screw his fortitude to the pitch of -marrying all that little, tidy, well-ordered house in Bellevue.</p> - -<p>So he made a great bungle of his visit, and invented a story about being -in town on business, and calling to carry the Miss Athelings’ messages -for home; and made the best he could of so bad a business by a very -expeditious<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_068" id="vol_2_page_068"></a>{v.2-68}</span> retreat. Anything that he did say was about Agnes; and the -mother, though a little puzzled and startled by the visit, was content -to set it down to the popularity of her young genius. “I suppose he -wanted to see what kind of people she belonged to,” said Mrs Atheling, -with a smile of satisfaction, as she looked round her best room, and -drew back with her into the other parlour the rosy little rogues who -held on by her gown. She was perfectly correct in her supposition; but, -alas! how far astray in the issue of the same.</p> - -<p>Sir Langham went to his club—went to the opera—could not rest -anywhere, and floundered about like a man bewitched. It would not do—it -would not do; but the merciless little Cupid hung on by his -heart-strings, and would not be off for all the biddings of the -guardsman. He did not return to Richmond; he was heartily ashamed of -himself—heartily sick of all the so-called pleasures with which he -tried to cheat his disappointment. But Sir Langham had a certain kind of -good sense though he was in love, so he applied himself to forgetting -“the whole business,” and made up his mind finally that it would not do.</p> - -<p>The sisters at the Willows, when they found that Sir Langham did not -appear that night, and that no one knew anything of him, made their own -conclusions on the subject, but did not say a word even to each other. -Agnes sat apart silently indignant, and full of a sublime<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_069" id="vol_2_page_069"></a>{v.2-69}</span> disdain. -Marian, with, a deeper colour than usual on her cheek, was, on the -contrary, a great deal more animated than was her wont, and attracted -everybody’s admiration. Had anybody cared to think of the matter, it -would have been the elder sister, and not the younger, whom the common -imagination could have supposed to have lost a lover; but they went to -rest very early that night, and spent no pleasant hour in the pleasant -gossip which never failed between them. Sir Langham was not to be spoken -of; and Agnes lay awake, wondering what Marian’s feelings were, long -after Marian, forgetting all about her momentary pique and anger, was -fast and sweet asleep.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_070" id="vol_2_page_070"></a>{v.2-70}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_X" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.<br /><br /> -<small>GOING HOME.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">And</span> now it had come to an end—all the novelty, the splendour, and the -excitement of this first visit—and Agnes and Marian were about to go -home. They were very much pleased, and yet a little disappointed—glad -and eager to return to their mother, yet feeling it would have been -something of a compliment to be asked to remain.</p> - -<p>Rachel, who was a great deal more vehement and demonstrative than either -of them, threw herself into their arms with violent tears. “I have been -so happy since ever I knew you,” said Rachel—“so happy, I scarcely -thought it right when I was not with Louis—and I think I could almost -like to be your servant, and go home with you. I could do anything for -you.”</p> - -<p>“Hush!” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“No; it is quite true,” cried poor Rachel—“<i>quite</i> true. I should like -to be your servant, and live with<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_071" id="vol_2_page_071"></a>{v.2-71}</span> your mother. Oh! I ought to say,” she -continued, raising herself with a little start and thrill of terror, -“that if we were in a different position, and could meet people like -equals, I should be so glad—so very glad to be friends.”</p> - -<p>“But how odd Rachel would think it to live in Bellevue,” said Marian, -coming to the rescue with a little happy ridicule, which did better than -gravity, “and to see no one, even in the street, but the milkman and the -greengrocer’s boy! for Rachel only thinks of the Willows and -Winterbourne; she does not know in the least how things look in -Bellevue.”</p> - -<p>Rachel was beguiled into a laugh—a very unusual indulgence. “When you -say that, I think it is a very little cottage like one of the cottages -in the village; but you know that is all wrong. Oh, when do you think -you will go to Winterbourne?”</p> - -<p>“We will write and tell you,” said Agnes, “all about it, and how many -are going; for I do not suppose Charlie will come, after all; and you -will write to us—how often? Every other day?”</p> - -<p>Rachel turned very red, then very pale, and looked at them with -considerable dismay. “Write!” she said, with a falter in her voice; -“I—I never thought of that—I never wrote to any one; I daresay I -should do it very badly. Oh no; I shall be sure to find out whenever you -come to the Old Wood Lodge.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_072" id="vol_2_page_072"></a>{v.2-72}</span></p> - -<p>“But we shall hear nothing of you,” said Agnes. “Why should you not -write to us? I am sure you do to your brother at home.”</p> - -<p>“I do <i>not</i>,” said Rachel, once more drawing herself up, and with -flashing eyes. “No one can write letters to us, who have no name.”</p> - -<p>She was not to be moved from this point; she repeated the same words -again and again, though with a very wistful and yielding look in her -face. All for Louis! Her companions were obliged to give up the -question, after all.</p> - -<p>So there was another weeping, sobbing, vehement embrace, and Rachel -disappeared without a word into the big bare room down -stairs—disappeared to fall again, without a struggle, into her former -forlorn life—to yield on her own account, and to struggle with fierce -haughtiness for the credit of Louis—leaving the two sisters very -thoughtful and compassionate, and full of a sudden eager generous -impulse to run away with and take her home.</p> - -<p>“Home—to mamma! It would be like heaven to Rachel,” said Agnes, in a -little enthusiasm, with tears in her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Ay, but it would not be like the Willows,” said the most practical -Marian; and they both looked out with a smile and a sigh upon the -beautiful sunshiny lawn, the river in an ecstasy of light and -brightness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_073" id="vol_2_page_073"></a>{v.2-73}</span> the little island with all its ruffled willow-leaves, and -bethought themselves, finding some amusement in the contrast, of Laurel -House, and Myrtle Cottage, and the close secluded walls of Bellevue.</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling had sent the Fly for her daughters—the old Islingtonian -fly, with the old white horse, and the coachman with his shiny hat. This -vehicle, which had once been a chariot of the gods, looked somewhat -shabby as it stood in the broad sunshine before the door of the Willows, -accustomed to the fairy coach of Mrs Edgerley. They laughed to -themselves very quietly when they caught their first glimpse of it, yet -in a momentary weakness were half ashamed; for even Agnes’s honest -determination to let everybody know their true “rank in life” was not -troubled by any fear lest this respectable vehicle should be taken for -their own carriage <i>now</i>.</p> - -<p>“Going, my love?” cried Mrs Edgerley; “the fatal hour—has it really -come so soon?—You leave us all <i>desolée</i>, of course; how <i>shall</i> we -exist to-day? And it was so good of you to come. Remember! we shall be -dying till we have a new tale from the author of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>. I -long to see it. I know it will be charming, or it could not be -yours.—And, my love, you look quite lovely—such roses! I think you -quite the most exquisite little creature in the world. Remember me to -your excellent mamma. Is your carriage<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_074" id="vol_2_page_074"></a>{v.2-74}</span> waiting? Ah, I am miserable to -part with you. Farewell—that dreadful word—farewell!”</p> - -<p>Again that light perfumy touch waved over one blushing cheek and then -another. Mrs Edgerley continued to wave her hand and make them pretty -signals till they reached the door, whither they hastened as quickly and -as quietly as possible, not desiring any escort; but few were the -privileged people in Mrs Edgerley’s morning-room, and no one cared to do -the girls so much honour. Outside the house their friend the gardener -waited with two bouquets, so rare and beautiful that the timid -recipients of the same, making him their humble thanks, scarcely knew -how to express sufficient gratitude. Some one was arriving as they -departed—some one who, making the discovery of their presence, stalked -towards them, almost stumbling over Agnes, who happened to be nearest to -him. “Going away?” said a dismayed voice at a considerable altitude. Mr -Endicott’s thin head positively vibrated with mortification; he -stretched it towards Marian, who stood before him smiling over her -flowers, and fixed a look of solemn reproach upon her. “I am aware that -beauty and youth flee often from the presence of one who looks upon life -with a studious eye. This disappointment is not without its object. You -are going away?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Marian, laughing, but with a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_075" id="vol_2_page_075"></a>{v.2-75}</span> charitable compassion -for her own particular victim, “and you are just arriving? It is very -odd—you should have come yesterday.”</p> - -<p>“Permit me,” said Mr Endicott moodily;—“no; I am satisfied. This -experience is well—I am glad to know it. To us, Miss Atheling,” said -the solemn Yankee, as he gave his valuable assistance to Agnes—“to us -this play and sport of fortune is but the proper training. Our business -is not to enjoy; we bear these disappointments for the world.”</p> - -<p>He put them into their humble carriage, and bowed at them solemnly. Poor -Mr Endicott! He did not blush, but grew green as he stood looking after -the slow equipage ere he turned to the disenchanted Willows. Though he -was about to visit people of distinction, the American young gentleman, -being in love, did not care to enter upon this new scene of observation -and note-making at this moment; so he turned into the road, and walked -on in the white cloud of dust raised by the wheels of the fly. The dust -itself had a sentiment in it, and belonged to Marian; and Mr Endicott -began the painful manufacture of a sonnet, expressing this “experience,” -on the very spot.</p> - -<p>“But <i>you</i> ought not to laugh at him, Marian, even though other people -do,” said Agnes, with superior virtue.</p> - -<p>“Why not?” said the saucy beauty; “I laughed at<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_076" id="vol_2_page_076"></a>{v.2-76}</span> Sir Langham—and I am -sure <i>he</i> deserved it,” she added in an under-tone.</p> - -<p>“Marian,” said Agnes, “I think—you have named him yourself, or I should -not have done it—we had better not say anything about Sir Langham to -mamma.”</p> - -<p>“I do not care at all who names him,” said Marian, pouting; but she made -no answer to the serious proposition: so it became tacitly agreed -between them that nothing was to be said of the superb runaway lover -when they got home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_077" id="vol_2_page_077"></a>{v.2-77}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XI" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br /><br /> -<small>HOME.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">And</span> now they were at home—the Fly dismissed, the trunks unfastened, and -Agnes and Marian sitting with Mamma in the old parlour, as if they had -never been away. Yes, they had been away—both of them had come in with -a little start and exclamation to this familiar room, which somehow had -shrunk out of its proper proportions, and looked strangely dull, -dwarfed, and sombre. It was very strange; they had lived here for years, -and knew every corner of every chair and every table—and they had only -been gone a fortnight—yet what a difference in the well-known room!</p> - -<p>“Somebody has been doing something to the house,” said Marian -involuntarily; and Agnes paused in echoing the sentiment, as she caught -a glimpse of a rising cloud on her mother’s comely brow.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, children, I am grieved to see how soon<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_078" id="vol_2_page_078"></a>{v.2-78}</span> you have learned to -despise your home,” said Mrs Atheling; and the good mother reddened, and -contracted her forehead. She had watched them with a little jealousy -from their first entrance, and they, to tell the truth, had been visibly -struck with the smallness and the dulness of the family rooms.</p> - -<p>“Despise!” cried Marian, kneeling down, and leaning her beautiful head -and her clasped arms upon her mother’s knee. “Despise!” said Agnes, -putting her arm over Mrs Atheling’s shoulder from behind her chair; “oh, -mamma, you ought to know better!—we who have learned that there are -people in the world who have neither a mother nor a home!”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, what is the matter?” said Mrs Atheling; and she began to -smooth the beautiful falling hair, which came straying over her old -black silk lap, like Danae’s shower of gold.</p> - -<p>“Nothing at all—only the room is a little smaller, and the carpet a -little older than it used to be,” said Agnes; “but, mamma, because we -notice that, you do not think surely that we are less glad to be at -home.”</p> - -<p>“Well, my dears,” said Mrs Atheling, still a little piqued; “your great -friend, when he called the other day, did not seem to think there was -anything amiss about the house.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_079" id="vol_2_page_079"></a>{v.2-79}</span></p> - -<p>“Our great friend!” The girls looked at each other with dismay—who -could it be?</p> - -<p>“His card is on the mantelpiece,” said Mrs Atheling. “He had not very -much to say, but he seemed a pleasant young man—Sir Something—Sir -Langham; but, indeed, my dear, though, of course, I was pleased to see -him, I am not at all sure how far such acquaintances are proper for -you.”</p> - -<p>“He was scarcely <i>my</i> acquaintance, mamma,” said Agnes, sorrowfully -looking down from behind her mother’s chair upon Marian, who had hid her -face in Mrs Atheling’s lap, and made no sign.</p> - -<p>“For our rank in life is so different,” pursued the prudent mother; “and -even though I might have some natural ambition for you, I do not think, -Agnes, that it would really be wishing you well to wish that you should -form connections so far out of the sphere of your own family as <i>that</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Mamma, it was not me,” said Agnes again, softly and under her breath.</p> - -<p>“It was no one!” cried Marian, rising up hastily, and suddenly seizing -and clipping into an ornamental cross Sir Langham’s card, which was upon -the mantelpiece. “See, Agnes, it will do to wind silk upon; and nobody -cares the least in the world for Sir Langham. Mamma, he used to be like -Harry Oswald—that is all<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_080" id="vol_2_page_080"></a>{v.2-80}</span>—and we were very glad when he went away from -the Willows, both Agnes and I.”</p> - -<p>At this statement, made as it was with a blush and a little confusion, -Mrs Atheling herself reddened slightly, and instantly left the subject. -It was easy enough to warn her children of the evils of a possible -connection with people of superior condition; but when such a thing -fluttered really and visibly upon the verge of her horizon, Mrs Atheling -was struck dumb. To see her pretty Marian a lady—a baronet’s wife—the -bride of that superb Sir Langham—it was not in the nature of mortal -mother to hear without emotion of such an extraordinary possibility. The -ambitious imagination kindled at once in the heart of Mrs Atheling: she -held her peace.</p> - -<p>And the girls, to tell the truth, were very considerably excited about -this visit of Sir Langham’s. What did it mean? After a little time they -strayed into the best room, and stood together looking at it with -feelings by no means satisfactory. The family parlour was the family -parlour, and, in spite of all that it lacked, possessed something of -home and kindness which was not to be found in all the luxurious -apartments of the Willows. But, alas! there was nothing but meagre -gentility, blank good order, and unloveliness, in this sacred and -reserved apartment, where Bell and Beau never threw the charm of their -childhood,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_081" id="vol_2_page_081"></a>{v.2-81}</span> nor Mrs Atheling dispersed the kindly clippings of her -work-basket. The girls consulted each other with dismayed looks—even -Rachel, if she came, could not stand against the chill of this grim -parlour. Marian pulled the poor haircloth sofa into another position, -and altered with impatience the stiff mahogany chairs. They scarcely -liked to say to each other how entirely changed was their ideal, or how -they shrank from the melancholy state of the best room. “Sir Langham was -here, Agnes,” said Marian; and within her own mind the young beauty -almost added, “No wonder he ran away!”</p> - -<p>“It is home—it is our own house,” said Agnes, getting up for the -occasion a little pride.</p> - -<p>Marian shrugged her pretty shoulders. “But Susan had better bring any -one who calls into the other room.”</p> - -<p>Yes, the other room, when they returned to it, had brightened again -marvellously. Mrs Atheling had put on her new gown, and had a pink -ribbon in her cap. As she sat by the window with her work-basket, she -was pleasanter to look at than a dozen pictures; and the sweetest -Raphael in the world was not so sweet as these two little lovely fairies -playing upon the faded old rug at the feet of Mamma. Not all the -luxuries and all the prettinesses of Mrs Edgerley’s drawingrooms,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_082" id="vol_2_page_082"></a>{v.2-82}</span> not -even the river lying in the sunshine, and the ruffled silvery willows -drooping round their little island, were a fit balance to this dearest -little group, the mother and the children, who made beautiful beyond all -telling the sombre face of home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_083" id="vol_2_page_083"></a>{v.2-83}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XII" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br /><br /> -<small>A NEW ERA.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> came to be rather an exciting business to Agnes and Marian making -their report of what had happened at the Willows—for it was difficult -to distract Mamma’s attention from Sir Langham, and Papa was almost -angrily interested in everything which touched upon Lord Winterbourne. -Rachel, of course, was a very prominent figure in their picture; but Mrs -Atheling was still extremely doubtful, and questioned much whether it -was proper to permit such an acquaintance to her daughters. She was very -particular in her inquiries concerning this poor girl—much approved of -Rachel’s consciousness of her own equivocal position—thought it “a very -proper feeling,” and received evidence with some solemnity as to her -“manners” and “principles.” The girls described their friend according -to the best of their ability; but as neither of them had any great -insight into character, we will not pretend to say that their audience<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_084" id="vol_2_page_084"></a>{v.2-84}</span> -were greatly enlightened,—and extremely doubtful was the mind of Mrs -Atheling. “My dear, I might be very sorry for her, but it would not be -proper for me to forget you in my sympathy for her,” said Mamma, gravely -and with dignity. Like so many tender-hearted mothers, Mrs Atheling took -great credit to herself for an imaginary severity, and made up her mind -that she was proof to the assaults of pity—she who at the bottom was -the most credulous of all, when she came to hear a story of distress.</p> - -<p>And Papa, who had been moved at once to forbid their acquaintance with -children of Lord Winterbourne’s, changed his mind, and became very much -interested when he heard of Rachel’s horror of the supposed -relationship. When they came to this part of the story, Mrs Atheling was -scandalised, but Papa was full of pity. He said “Poor child!” softly, -and with emotion; while Charlie pricked his big ear to listen, though no -one was favoured with the sentiments on this subject of the big boy.</p> - -<p>“And about the Rector and the old lady who lives at Abingford—papa, why -did you never tell us about these people?” said Marian; “for I am sure -you must know very well who Aunt Bridget’s neighbours were in the Old -Wood Lodge.”</p> - -<p>“I know nothing about the Riverses,” said Papa hastily—and Mr Atheling -himself, sober-minded man<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_085" id="vol_2_page_085"></a>{v.2-85}</span> though he was, grew red with an angry -glow—“there was a time when I hated the name,” he added in an impetuous -and rapid undertone, and then he looked up as though he was perfectly -aware of the restraining look of caution which his wife immediately -turned upon him.</p> - -<p>“Such neighbours as are proper for us you will find out when we get -there,” said Mrs Atheling quietly. “Papa has not been at Winterbourne -for twenty years, and we have had too many things to think of since then -to remember people whom we scarcely knew.”</p> - -<p>“Then, I suppose, since papa hated the name once, and Rachel hates it -now, they must be a very wicked family,” said Marian; “but I hope the -Rector is not very bad, for Agnes’s sake.”</p> - -<p>This little piece of malice called for instant explanation, and Marian -was very peremptorily checked by father and mother. “A girl may say a -foolish thing to other girls,” said Mamma, “and I am afraid this Rachel, -poor thing, must have been very badly brought up; but you ought to know -better than to repeat a piece of nonsense like that.”</p> - -<p>“When are we to go, mamma?” said Agnes, coming in to cover the blush, -half of shame and half of displeasure, with which Marian submitted to -this reproof; “it is August now, and soon it will be autumn instead of -summer: we shall be going out of town<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_086" id="vol_2_page_086"></a>{v.2-86}</span> when all the fashionable people -go—but I would rather it was May.”</p> - -<p>“It cannot be May this year,” said Mrs Atheling, involuntarily -brightening; “but papa is to take a holiday—three weeks; my dears, I do -not think I have been so pleased at anything since Bell and Beau.”</p> - -<p>Since Bell and Beau! what an era that was! And this, too, was a new -beginning, perhaps more momentous, though not such a sweet and great -revulsion, out of the darkness into the light. Mamma’s manner of dating -her joys cast them all back into thought and quietness; and Agnes’s -heart beat high with a secret and mercenary pleasure, exulting like a -miser over her hundred and fifty pounds. At this moment, and at many -another moment when the young author had clean forgotten <i>Hope -Hazlewood</i>, the thought came upon her with positive delight of the -little hoard in Papa’s hands, safely laid up in the office, one whole -hundred pounds’ worth of family good and gladness still; for she had not -the same elevated regard for art as her sister’s American admirer—she -was not, by any means, in her own estimation, or in anybody else’s, a -representative woman; and Agnes, who began already to think rather -meanly of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>, and press on with the impatience of genius -towards a higher excellence, had the greatest satisfaction possible in<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_087" id="vol_2_page_087"></a>{v.2-87}</span> -the earnings of her gentle craft—was it an ignoble delight?</p> - -<p>The next morning the two girls, with prudence and caution, began an -attack upon the Chancellor of the Exchequer touching the best room. At -first Mrs Atheling was entirely horrified at their extravagant ideas. -The best room!—what could be desired that was not already attained in -that most respectable apartment? but the young rebels held their ground. -Mamma put down her work upon her knee, and listened to them quietly. It -was not a good sign—she made no interruption as they spoke of mirrors -and curtains, carpets and ottomans, couches and easy-chairs: she heard -them all to the end with unexampled patience—she only said, “My dears, -when you are done I will tell you what I have to say.”</p> - -<p>What she did say was conclusive upon the subject, though it was met by -many remonstrances. “We are going to the Old Wood Lodge,” said Mrs -Atheling, “and I promise you you shall go into Oxford when we are there, -and get some things to make old Aunt Bridget’s parlour look a little -more like yourselves: but even a hundred pounds, though it is quite a -little fortune, will not last for ever—and to furnish <i>two</i> rooms! My -dears, you do not know any better; but, of course, it is quite -ridiculous, and cannot be done.”</p> - -<p>Thus ended at present their plan for making a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_088" id="vol_2_page_088"></a>{v.2-88}</span> drawing-room out -of the best room; for Mamma’s judgment, though it was decisive, was -reasonable, and they could make no stand against it. They did all they -could do under the circumstances; for the first time, and with -compunction, they secretly instructed Susan against the long-standing -general order of the head of the house. Strangers were no longer to be -ushered into the sacred stranger’s apartment; but before Susan had any -chance of obeying these schismatical orders, Agnes and Marian themselves -were falling into their old familiarity with the old walls and the -sombre furniture, and were no longer disposed to criticise, especially -as all their minds and all their endeavours were at present set upon the -family holiday—the conjoint household visit to the country—the -glorious prospect of taking possession of the Old Wood Lodge.</p> - -<p>In Bellevue, Charlie alone was to be left behind—Charlie, who had not -been long enough in Mr Foggo’s office to ask for a holiday, and who did -not want one very much, if truth must be told; for neither early hours -nor late hours told upon the iron constitution of the big boy. When they -pitied him who must stay behind, the young gentleman said, “Stuff! -Susan, I suppose, can make my coffee as well as any of you,” said -Charlie; but nobody was offended that he limited the advantages of their -society to coffee-making; and even Mrs Atheling, in spite of her -motherly anxieties,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_089" id="vol_2_page_089"></a>{v.2-89}</span> left her house and her son with comfortable -confidence. Harm might happen to the house, Susan being in it, who was -by no means so careful as she ought to be of her fire and her candle; -but nobody feared any harm to the heir and hope of the house.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_090" id="vol_2_page_090"></a>{v.2-90}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XIII" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br /><br /> -<small>THE OLD WOOD LODGE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">And</span> it was late in August, a sultry day, oppressive and thundery, when -this little family of travellers made their first entry into the Old -Wood Lodge.</p> - -<p>It stood upon the verge of a wood, and the side of a hill, looking down -into what was not so much a valley as a low amphitheatre, watered by a -maze of rivers, and centred in a famous and wonderful old town. The -trees behind the little house had burning spots of autumn colour here -and there among the masses of green—colour which scarcely bore its due -weight and distinction in the tremulous pale atmosphere which waited for -the storm; and the leaves cowered and shivered together, and one -terrified bird flew wildly in among them, seeking refuge. Under the -shadow of three trees stood the low house of two stories, half stone and -half timber, with one quaint projecting window in the roof, and a -luxuriant little<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_091" id="vol_2_page_091"></a>{v.2-91}</span> garden round it. But it was impossible to pause, as -the new proprietors intended to have done, to note all the external -features of their little inheritance. They hurried in, eager to be under -shelter before the thunder; and as Mrs Atheling, somewhat timid of it, -hurried over the threshold, the first big drops fell heavily among the -late roses which covered the front of the house. They were all awed by -the coming storm; and they were not acquainted any of them with the -louder crash and fiercer blaze of a thunderstorm in the country. They -came hastily into Miss Bridget’s little parlour, scarcely seeing what -like it was, as the ominous still darkness gathered in the sky, and sat -down, very silently, in corners, all except Mr Atheling, whose duty it -was to be courageous, and who was neither so timid as his wife, nor so -sensitive as his daughters. Then came the storm in earnest—wild -lightning rending the black sky in sheets and streams of flames—fearful -cannonades of thunder, nature’s grand forces besieging some rebellious -city in the skies. Then gleams of light shone wild and ghastly in all -the pallid rivers, and lighted up with an eerie illumination the spires -and pinnacles of the picturesque old town; and the succeeding darkness -pressed down like a positive weight upon the Old Wood Lodge and its new -inmates, who scarcely perceived yet the old furniture of the old -sitting-room, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_092" id="vol_2_page_092"></a>{v.2-92}</span> the trim old maid of Miss Bridget Atheling curtsying -at the door.</p> - -<p>“A strange welcome!” said Papa, hastily retreating from the window, -where he had just been met and half blinded by a sudden flash; and Mamma -gathered her babies under her wings, and called to the girls to come -closer to her, in that one safe corner which was neither near the -window, the fireplace, nor the door.</p> - -<p>Yes, it was a strange welcome—and the mind of Agnes, imaginative and -rapid, threw an eager glance into the future out of that corner of -safety and darkness. A thunderstorm, a convulsion of nature! was there -any fitness in this beginning? They were as innocent a household as ever -came into a countryside; but who could tell what should happen to them -there?</p> - -<p>Some one else seemed to share the natural thought. “I wonder, mamma, if -this is all for us,” whispered Marian, half frightened, half jesting. -“Are we to make a great revolution in Winterbourne? It looks like it, to -see this storm.”</p> - -<p>But Mrs Atheling, who thought it profane to show any levity during a -thunderstorm, checked her pretty daughter with a peremptory “Hush, -child!” and drew her babies closer into her arms. Mrs Atheling’s -thoughts had no leisure to stray to Winterbourne; save for Charlie—and -it was not to be supposed that<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_093" id="vol_2_page_093"></a>{v.2-93}</span> this same thunder threatened -Bellevue—all her anxieties were here.</p> - -<p>But as the din out of doors calmed down, and even as the girls became -accustomed to it, and were able to share in Papa’s calculations as to -the gradual retreat of the thunder as it rolled farther and farther -away, they began to find out and notice the room within which they had -crowded. It had only one window, and was somewhat dark, the small panes -being over-hung and half obscured by a wild forest of clematis, and -sundry stray branches, still bristling with buds, of that pale monthly -rose with evergreen leaves, which covered half the front of the house. -The fireplace had a rather fantastic grate of clear steel, with bright -brass ornaments, so clear and so resplendent as it only could be made by -the labour of years, and was filled, instead of a fire, with soft green -moss, daintily ornamented with the yellow everlasting flowers. Hannah -did not know that these were <i>immortelles</i>, and consecrated to the -memory of the dead. It was only her rural and old-maidenly fashion of -decoration, for the same little rustling posies, dry and unfading, were -in the little flower-glasses on the high mantel-shelf, before the little -old dark-complexioned mirror, with little black-and-white transparencies -set in the slender gilding of its frame, which reflected nothing but a -slope of the roof, and one dark portrait hanging as high up as<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_094" id="vol_2_page_094"></a>{v.2-94}</span> itself -upon the opposite wall. It put the room oddly out of proportion, this -mirror, attracting the eye to its high strip of light, and deluding the -unwary to many a stumble; and Agnes already sat fixedly looking at it, -and at the dark and wrinkled portrait reflected from the other wall.</p> - -<p>Before the fireplace, where there was no fire, stood a large -old-fashioned easy-chair, with no one in it. Are you very sure there is -no one in it?—for Papa himself has a certain awe of that -strangely-placed seat, which seems to have stood before that same -fireplace for many a year. In the twilight, Agnes, if you were -alone—you, who of all the family are most inclined to a little -visionary superstition, you would find it very hard to keep from -trembling, or to persuade yourself that Miss Bridget was not there, -where she had spent half a lifetime, sitting in that heavy old -easy-chair.</p> - -<p>The carpet was a faded but rich and soft old Turkey carpet, the -furniture was slender and spider-legged, made of old bright mahogany, as -black and as polished as ebony. There was an old cabinet in one corner, -with brass rings and ornaments; and in another an old musical -instrument, of which the girls were not learned enough to know the -precise species, though it belonged to the genus piano. The one small -square table in the middle of the room was covered with a table-cover, -richly embroidered, but the silk was faded,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_095" id="vol_2_page_095"></a>{v.2-95}</span> and the bits of gold were -black and dull; and there were other little tables, round and square, -with spiral legs and a tripod of feet, one holding a china jar, one a -big book, and one a case of stuffed birds. On the whole, the room had -somewhat the look of a rather refined and very prim old lady. The things -in it were all of a delicate kind and antique fashion. It was not in the -slightest degree like these fair and fresh young girls, but on the whole -it was a place of which people like those, with a wholesome love of -ancestry, had very good occasion to be proud.</p> - -<p>And at the door stood Hannah, in a black gown and great white apron, -smoothing down the same with her hands, and bobbing a kindly curtsy. -Hannah’s eyes were running over with delight and anxiety to get at Bell -and Beau. She passed over all the rest of the family to yearn over the -little ones. “Eh, bless us!” cried Hannah, as, the thunder over, Mrs -Atheling began to bestir herself—“children in the house!” It was -something almost too ecstatic for her elderly imagination. She -volunteered to carry them both up-stairs with the most eager attention. -“I ain’t so much used to childer,” said Hannah, “but, bless ye, ma’am, I -love ’um all the same;” and with an instinctive knowledge of this love, -Beau condescended to grasp Hannah’s spotless white apron, and Bell to -mount into her arms. Then the whole family procession<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_096" id="vol_2_page_096"></a>{v.2-96}</span> went up-stairs to -look at the bedrooms—the voices of the girls and the sweet chorus of -the babies making the strangest echoes in the lonely house. Hannah -acknowledged afterwards, that, half with grief for Miss Bridget, and -half for joy of this new life beginning, it would have been a great -relief to her to sit down upon the attic stairs and have “a good cry.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_097" id="vol_2_page_097"></a>{v.2-97}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XIV" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br /><br /> -<small>WITHIN AND WITHOUT.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> upper floor of the Old Wood Lodge consisted of three rooms; one as -large as the parlour down stairs, one smaller, and one, looking to the -back, very small indeed. The little one was a lumber-room, and quite -unfurnished; the other two were in perfect accordance with the -sitting-room. The best bedroom contained a bed of state, with very -slender fluted pillars of the same black ebony-like wood, lifting on -high a solemn canopy of that ponderous substance called moreen, and -still to be found in country inns and seaside lodgings—the colour dark -green, with a binding of faded violet. Hangings of the same darkened the -low broad lattice window, and chairs of the same were ranged like ghosts -along the wall. It was rather a funereal apartment, and the eager -investigators were somewhat relieved to find an old-fashioned “tent,” -with hangings of old chintz, gay with gigantic flowers, in the next -room. But the windows!—the broad plain lying low down<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_098" id="vol_2_page_098"></a>{v.2-98}</span> at their feet, -twinkling to the first faint sun-ray which ventured out after the -storm—the cluster of spires and towers over which the light brightened -and strengthened, striking bold upon the heavy dome which gave a -ponderous central point to the landscape, and splintering into a million -rays from the pinnacles of Magdalen and St Mary’s noble spire, all wet -and gleaming with the thunder rain. What a scene it was!—how the -passing light kindled all the wan waters, and singled out, for a -momentary illumination, one after another of the lesser landmarks of -that world unknown. These gazers were not skilled to distinguish between -Gothic sham and Gothic real, nor knew much of the distinguishing -differences of noble and ignoble architecture. After all, at this -distance, it did not much matter—for one by one, as the sunshine found -them out, they rose up from the gleaming mist, picturesque and various, -like the fairy towers and distant splendours of a morning dream.</p> - -<p>“I told you it was pretty, Agnes,” said Mr Atheling, who felt himself -the exhibitor of the whole scene, and looked on with delight at the -success of his private view. Papa, who was to the manner born, felt -himself applauded in the admiration of his daughters, and carried Beau -upon his shoulder down the creaking narrow staircase, with a certain -pride and exultation, calling the reluctant girls to follow him. For -lo!<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_099" id="vol_2_page_099"></a>{v.2-99}</span> upon Miss Bridget’s centre table was laid out “such a tea!” as -Hannah in all her remembrance had never produced before. Fresh home-made -cakes, fresh little pats of butter from the nearest farm—cream! and to -crown all, a great china dish full of the last of the strawberries, -blushing behind their fresh wet leaves. Hannah, when she had lingered as -long as her punctilious good-breeding would permit, and long enough to -be very wrathful with Mrs Atheling for intercepting a shower of -strawberries from the plates of Bell and Beau, retired to her kitchen -slowly, and drawing a chair before the fire, though the evening still -was sultry, threw her white apron over her head, and had her deferred -and relieving “cry.” “Bless you, I’ll love ’um all,” said Hannah, with a -succession of sobs, addressing either herself or some unseen familiar, -with whom she was in the habit of holding long conversations. “But it -ain’t Miss Bridget—that’s the truth!”</p> - -<p>The ground was wet, the trees were damp, everything had been deluged -with the shower of the thunderstorm, and Mrs Atheling did not at all -think it prudent that her daughters should go out, though she yielded to -them. They went first through the fertile garden, where Marian thought -“everything” grew—but were obliged to pause in their researches and -somewhat ignorant guesses what everything was, by the unknown<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_100" id="vol_2_page_100"></a>{v.2-100}</span> charm of -that sweet rural atmosphere “after the rain.” Though it was very near -sunset, the birds were all a-twitter in the neighbouring trees, and -everywhere around them rose such a breath of fragrance—open-air -fragrance, fresh and cool and sweet, as different from the incense of -Mrs Edgerley’s conservatory as it was from anything in Bellevue. Running -waters trickled somewhere out of sight—it was only the “running of the -paths after rain;” and yonder, like a queen, sitting low in a sweet -humility, was the silent town, with all its crowning towers. The -sunshine, which still lingered on Hannah’s projecting window in the -roof, had left Oxford half an hour ago—and down over the black dome, -the heaven-y-piercing spire and lofty cupola, came soft and grey the -shadow of the night.</p> - -<p>But behind them, through a thick network of foliage, there were gleams -and sparkles of gold, touching tenderly some favourite leaves with a -green like the green of spring, and throwing the rest into a shadowy -blackness against the half-smothered light. Marian ran into the house to -call Hannah, begging her to guide them up into the wood. Agnes, less -curious, stood with her hand upon the gate, looking down over this -wonderful valley, and wondering if she had not seen it some time in a -dream.</p> - -<p>“Bless you, miss, if it was to the world’s end!” cried Hannah; “but it -ain’t fit for walking, no more<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_101" id="vol_2_page_101"></a>{v.2-101}</span> nor a desert; the roads is woeful by -Badgeley; look you here!—nought in this wide world but mud and clay.”</p> - -<p>Marian looked in dismay at the muddy road. “It will not be dry for a -week,” said the disappointed beauty; “but, Hannah, come here, now that I -have got you out, and tell us what every place is—Agnes, here’s -Hannah—and, if you please, which is the village, and which is the Hall, -and where is the Old Wood House?”</p> - -<p>“Do you see them white chimneys—and smokes?” said Hannah; “they’re -a-cooking their dinner just, though tea-time’s past—that’s the -Rector’s. But, bless your heart, you ain’t likely to see the Hall from -here. There’s all the park and all the trees atween us and my lord’s.”</p> - -<p>“Do the people like him, Hannah?” asked Agnes abruptly, thinking of her -friend.</p> - -<p>Hannah paused with a look of alarm. “The people—don’t mind nothink -about him,” said Hannah slowly. “Bless us, miss, you gave me such a -turn!”</p> - -<p>Agnes looked curiously in the old woman’s face, to see what the occasion -of this “turn” might be. Marian, paying no such attention, leaned over -the low mossy gate, looking in the direction of the Old Wood House. They -were quite disposed to enjoy the freedom of the “country,” and were -neither shawled nor<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_102" id="vol_2_page_102"></a>{v.2-102}</span> bonneted, though the fresh dewy air began to feel -the chill of night. Marian leaned out over the gate, with her little -hand thrust up under her hair, looking into the distance with her -beautiful smiling eyes. The road which passed this gate was a grassy and -almost terraced path, used by very few people, and disappearing abruptly -in an angle just after it had passed the Lodge. Suddenly emerging from -this angle, with a step which fell noiselessly on the wet grass, meeting -the startled gaze of Marian in an instantaneous and ghostlike -appearance, came forth what she could see only as, against the light, -the figure of a man hastening towards the high-road. He also seemed to -start as he perceived the young unknown figures in the garden, but his -course was too rapid to permit any interchange of curiosity. Marian did -not think he looked at her at all as she withdrew hastily from the gate, -and he certainly did not pause an instant in his rapid walk; but as he -passed he lifted his hat—a singular gesture of courtesy, addressed to -no one, like the salutation of a young king—and disappeared in another -moment as suddenly as he came. Agnes, attracted by her sister’s low -unconscious exclamation, saw him as well as Marian—and saw him as -little—for neither knew anything at all of his appearance, save so far -as a vague idea of height, rapidity—and the noble small head, for an -instant uncovered, impressed<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_103" id="vol_2_page_103"></a>{v.2-103}</span> their imagination. Both paused with a -breathless impulse of respect, and a slight apprehensiveness, till they -were sure he must be out of hearing, and then both turned to Hannah, -standing in the shadow and the twilight, and growing gradually -indistinct all but her white apron, with one unanimous exclamation, “Who -is that?”</p> - -<p>Hannah smoothed down her apron once more, and made another bob of a -curtsy, apparently intended for the stranger. “Miss,” said Hannah, -gravely, “that’s Mr Louis—bless his heart!”</p> - -<p>Then the old woman turned and went in, leaving the girls by themselves -in the garden. They were a little timid of the great calm and silence; -they almost fancied they were “by themselves,”—not in the garden only, -but in this whole apparent noiseless world.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_104" id="vol_2_page_104"></a>{v.2-104}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XV" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br /><br /> -<small>THE PARLOUR.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">And</span> with an excitement which they could not control, the two girls -hastened in to the Old Lodge, and to Miss Bridget’s dim parlour, where -the two candles shed their faint summer-evening light over Mr Atheling -reading an old newspaper, and Mamma reclining in the great old -easy-chair. The abstracted mirror, as loftily withdrawn from common life -as Mr Endicott, refused to give any reflection of these good people -sitting far below in their middle-aged and respectable quietness, but -owned a momentary vision of Agnes and Marian, as they came in with a -little haste and eagerness at the half-open door.</p> - -<p>But, after all, to be very much excited, to hasten in to tell one’s -father and mother, with the heart beating faster than usual against -one’s breast, and to have one’s story calmly received with an “Indeed, -my dear!” is rather damping to youthful enthusiasm; and really, to tell -the truth, there was nothing at all<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_105" id="vol_2_page_105"></a>{v.2-105}</span> extraordinary in the fact of Louis -passing by a door so near the great house which was his own distasteful -home. It was not at all a marvellous circumstance; and as for his -salutation, though that was remarkable, and caught their imagination, -Marian whispered that she had no doubt it was Louis’s “way.”</p> - -<p>They began, accordingly, to look at the slender row of books in one -small open shelf above the little cabinet. The books were in old rich -bindings, and were of a kind of reading quite unknown to Agnes and -Marian. There were two (odd) volumes of the <i>Spectator</i>, <i>Rasselas</i>, the -Poems of Shenstone, the Sermons of Blair; besides these, a French copy -of Thomas-à-Kempis, the <i>Holy Living and Dying</i> of Jeremy Taylor, and -one of the quaint little books of Sir Thomas Browne. Thrust in hastily -beside these ancient and well-attired volumes were two which looked -surreptitious, and which were consequently examined with the greatest -eagerness. One turned out, somewhat disappointingly, to be a volume of -Italian exercises, an old, old school-book, inscribed, in a small, -pretty, but somewhat faltering feminine handwriting—handwriting of the -last century—with the name of Anastasia Rivers, with a B. A. beneath, -which doubtless stood for Bridget Atheling, though it seemed to imply, -with a kindly sort of blundering comicality sad enough now, that -Anastasia Rivers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_106" id="vol_2_page_106"></a>{v.2-106}</span> though she was no great hand at her exercises, had -taken a degree. The other volume was of more immediate interest. It was -one of those good and exemplary novels, ameliorated Pamelas, which -virtuous old ladies were wont to put into the hands of virtuous young -ones, and which was calculated to “instruct as well as to amuse” the -unfortunate mind of youth. Marian seized upon this <i>Fatherless Fanny</i> -with an instant appropriation, and in ten minutes was deep in its -endless perplexities. Agnes, who would have been very glad of the novel, -languidly took down the <i>Spectator</i> instead. Yes, we are obliged to -confess—languidly; for, with an excited mind upon a lovely summer -night, with all the stars shining without, and only two pale candles -within, and Mamma visibly dropping to sleep in the easy-chair—who, we -demand, would not prefer, even to Steele and Addison, the mazy mysteries -of the Minerva Press?</p> - -<p>And Agnes did not get on with her reading; she saw visibly before her -eyes Marian skimming with an eager interest the pages of her novel. She -heard Papa rustling his newspaper, watched the faint flicker of the -candles, and was aware of the very gentle nod by which Mamma gave -evidence of the condition of <i>her</i> thoughts. Agnes’s imagination, never -averse to wandering, strayed off into speculations concerning the old -lady and her old pupil, and all the life, unknown and<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_107" id="vol_2_page_107"></a>{v.2-107}</span> unrecorded, which -had happed within these quiet walls. Altogether it was somewhat hard to -understand the connection between the Athelings and the -Riverses—whether some secret of family history lay involved in it, or -if it was only the familiar bond formed a generation ago between teacher -and child. And this Louis!—his sudden appearance and disappearance—his -princely recognition as of new subjects. Agnes made nothing whatever of -her <i>Spectator</i>—her mind was possessed and restless—and by-and-by, -curious, impatient, and a little excited, she left the room with an idea -of hastening up-stairs to the chamber window, and looking out upon the -night. But the door of the kitchen stood invitingly open, and Hannah, -who had been waiting, slightly expectant of some visit, was to be seen -within, rising up hastily with old-fashioned respect and a little -wistfulness. Agnes, though she was a young lady of literary tastes, and -liked to look out upon moon and stars with the vague sentiment of youth, -had, notwithstanding, a wholesome relish for gossip, and was more -pleased with talk of other people than we are disposed to confess; so -she had small hesitation in changing her course and joining Hannah—that -homely Hannah bobbing her odd little curtsy, and smoothing down her -bright white apron, in the full glow of the kitchen-fire.</p> - -<p>The kitchen was indeed the only really bright room in<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_108" id="vol_2_page_108"></a>{v.2-108}</span> the Old Wood -Lodge, having one strip of carpet only on its white and sanded floor, a -large deal table, white and spotless, and wooden chairs hard and clear -as Hannah’s own toil-worn but most kindly hands. There was an -old-fashioned settle by the chimney corner, a small bit of looking-glass -hanging up by the window, and gleams of ruddy copper, and homely covers -of white metal, polished as bright as silver, ornamenting the walls. -Hannah wiped a chair which needed no wiping, and set it directly in -front of the fire for “Miss,” but would not on any account be so -“unmannerly” as to sit down herself in the young lady’s presence. Agnes -wisely contented herself with leaning on the chair, and smiled with a -little embarrassment at Hannah’s courtesy; it was not at all -disagreeable, but it was somewhat different from Susan at home.</p> - -<p>“I’ve been looking at ’um, miss,” said Hannah, “sleeping like angels; -there ain’t no difference that I can see; they look, as nigh as can be, -both of an age.”</p> - -<p>“They are twins,” said Agnes, finding out, with a smile, that Hannah’s -thoughts were taken up, not about Louis and Rachel, but Bell and Beau.</p> - -<p>At this information Hannah brightened into positive delight. “Childer’s -ne’er been in this house,” said Hannah, “till this day; and twins is a -double blessing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_109" id="vol_2_page_109"></a>{v.2-109}</span> There ain’t no more, miss? But bless us all, the time -between them darlins and you!”</p> - -<p>“We have one brother, besides—and a great many little brothers and -sisters in heaven,” said Agnes, growing very grave, as they all did when -they spoke of the dead.</p> - -<p>Hannah drew closer with a sympathetic curiosity. “If that ain’t a -heart-break, there’s none in this world,” said Hannah. “Bless their dear -hearts, it’s best for them. Was it a fever then, miss, or a catching -sickness? Dear, dear, it’s all one, when they’re gone, what it was.”</p> - -<p>“Hannah, you must never speak of it to mamma,” said Agnes; “we used to -be so sad—so sad! till God sent Bell and Beau. Do you know Miss Rachel -at the Hall? her brother and she are twins too.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, miss,” said Hannah, with a slight curtsy, and becoming at once -very laconic.</p> - -<p>“And <i>we</i> know her,” said Agnes, a little confused by the old woman’s -sudden quietness. “I suppose that was her brother who passed to-night.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, poor lad!” Hannah’s heart seemed once more a little moved. “They -say miss is to be a play-actress, and I can’t abide her for giving in to -it; but Mr Louis, bless him! he ought to be a king.”</p> - -<p>“You like him, then?” asked Agnes eagerly.</p> - -<p>“Ay, poor boy!” Hannah went away hastily to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_110" id="vol_2_page_110"></a>{v.2-110}</span> table, where, in a -china basin, in their cool crisp green, lay the homely salads of the -garden, about to be arranged for supper. A tray covered with a -snow-white cloth, and a small pile of eggs, waited in hospitable -preparation for the same meal. Hannah, who had been so long in -possession, felt like a humble mistress of the house, exercising the -utmost bounties of her hospitality towards her new guests. “Least said’s -best about them, dear,” said Hannah, growing more familiar as she grew a -little excited—“but, Lord bless us, it’s enough to craze a poor body to -see the likes of him, with such a spirit, kept out o’ his rights.”</p> - -<p>“What are his rights, Hannah?” cried Agnes, with new and anxious -interest: this threw quite a new light upon the subject.</p> - -<p>Hannah turned round a little perplexed. “Tell the truth, I dun know no -more nor a baby,” said Hannah; “but Miss Bridget, she was well acquaint -in all the ways of them, and she ever upheld, when his name was named, -that my lord kep’ him out of his rights.”</p> - -<p>“And what did <i>he</i> say?” asked Agnes.</p> - -<p>“Nay, child,” said the old woman, “it ain’t no business of mine to tell -tales; and Miss Bridget had more sense nor all the men of larning I ever -heard tell of. She knew better than to put wickedness into his mind. -He’s a handsome lad and a kind, is Mr Louis;<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_111" id="vol_2_page_111"></a>{v.2-111}</span> but I wouldn’t be my lord, -no, not for all Banburyshire, if I’d done that boy a wrong.”</p> - -<p>“Then, do you think Lord Winterbourne has <i>not</i> done him a wrong?” said -Agnes, thoroughly bewildered.</p> - -<p>Hannah turned round upon her suddenly, with a handful of herbs and a -knife in her other hand. “Miss, he’s an unlawful child!” said Hannah, -with the most melodramatic effectiveness. Agnes involuntarily drew back -a step, and felt the blood rush to her face. When she had delivered -herself of this startling whisper, Hannah returned to her homely -occupation, talking in an under-tone all the while.</p> - -<p>“Ay, poor lad, there’s none can mend that,” said Hannah; “he’s kep’ out -of his rights, and never a man can help him. If it ain’t enough to put -him wild, <i>I</i> dun know.”</p> - -<p>“And are you quite sure of that? Does everybody think him a son of Lord -Winterbourne’s?” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“Well, miss, my lord’s not like to own to it—to shame hisself,” said -Hannah; “but they’re none so full of charity at the Hall as to bother -with other folkses children. My lord’s kep’ him since they were babies, -and sent the lawyer hisself to fetch him when Mr Louis ran away. Bless -you, no; there ain’t no doubt about it. Whose son else could he be?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_112" id="vol_2_page_112"></a>{v.2-112}</span></p> - -<p>“But if that was true, he would have no rights. And what did Miss -Bridget mean by rights?” asked Agnes, in a very low tone, blushing, and -half ashamed to speak of such a subject at all.</p> - -<p>Hannah, however, who did not share in all the opinions of -respectability, but had a leaning rather, in the servant view of the -question, to the pariah of the great old house, took up somewhat sharply -this unguarded opinion. “Miss,” said Hannah, “you’ll not tell me that -there ain’t no rights belonging Mr Louis. The queen on the throne would -be glad of the likes of him for a prince and an heir; and Miss Bridget -was well acquaint in all the ways of the Riverses, and was as fine to -hear as a printed book: for the matter of that,” added Hannah, solemnly, -“Miss Taesie, though she would not go through the park-gates to save her -life, had a leaning to Mr Louis too.”</p> - -<p>“And who is Miss Taesie?” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“Miss,” said Hannah, in a very grave and reproving tone, “you’re little -acquaint with our ways; it ain’t my business to go into stories—you ask -your papa.”</p> - -<p>“So I will, Hannah; but who is Miss Taesie?” asked Agnes again, with a -smile.</p> - -<p>Hannah answered only by placing her salad on the tray, and carrying it -solemnly to the parlour. Amused and interested, Agnes stood by the -kitchen fireside<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_113" id="vol_2_page_113"></a>{v.2-113}</span> thinking over what she had heard, and smiling as she -mused; for Miss Taesie, no doubt, was the Honourable Anastasia Rivers, -beneath whose name, in the old exercise-book, stood that odd B. A.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_114" id="vol_2_page_114"></a>{v.2-114}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XVI" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br /><br /> -<small>WINTERBOURNE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> next day the family walked forth in a body, to make acquaintance -with the “new neighbourhood.” There was Papa and Mamma first of all, Mrs -Atheling extremely well dressed, and in all the cheerful excitement of -an unaccustomed holiday; and then came Agnes and Marian, pleased and -curious—and, wild with delight, little Bell and Beau. Hannah, who was -very near as much delighted as the children, stood at the door looking -after them as they turned the angle of the grassy path. When they were -quite out of sight, Hannah returned to her kitchen with a brisk step, to -compound the most delicious of possible puddings for their early dinner. -It was worth while now to exercise those half-forgotten gifts of cookery -which had been lost upon Miss Bridget; and when everything was ready, -Hannah, instead of her black ribbon, put new white bows in her cap. At -sight of<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_115" id="vol_2_page_115"></a>{v.2-115}</span> the young people, and, above all, the children, and in the -strange delightful bustle of “a full house,” hard-featured Hannah, kind -and homely, renewed her youth.</p> - -<p>The father and mother sent their children on before them, and made -progress slowly, recalling and remembering everything. As for Agnes and -Marian, they hastened forward with irregular and fluctuating -curiosity—loitering one moment, and running another, but, after their -different fashion, taking note of all they saw. And between the vanguard -and the rearguard a most unsteady main body, fluttering over the grass -like two butterflies, as they ran back and forward from Agnes and Marian -to Papa and Mamma “with flichterin’ noise and glee,” came Bell and Beau. -These small people, with handfuls of buttercups and clovertops always -running through their rosy little fingers, were to be traced along their -devious and uncertain path by the droppings of these humble posies, and -were in a state of perfect and unalloyed ecstasy. The little family -procession came past the Old Wood House, which was a large white square -building, a great deal loftier, larger, and more pretending than their -own; in fact, a great house in comparison with their cottage. Round two -sides of it appeared the prettiest of trim gardens—a little world of -velvet lawn, clipped yews, and glowing flower-beds. The windows were<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_116" id="vol_2_page_116"></a>{v.2-116}</span> -entirely obscured with close Venetian blinds, partially excused by the -sunshine, but turning a most jealous and inscrutable blankness to the -eyes of the new inhabitants; and close behind the house clustered the -trees of the park. As they passed, looking earnestly at the house, some -one came out—a very young man, unmistakably clerical, with a stiff -white band under his monkish chin, a waistcoat which was very High -Church, and the blandest of habitual smiles. He looked at the strangers -urbanely, with a half intention of addressing them. The girls were not -learned in Church politics, yet they recognised the priestly appearance -of the smiling young clergyman; and Agnes, for her part, contemplated -him with a secret disappointment and dismay. Mr Rivers himself was said -to be High Church. Could this be Mr Rivers? He passed, however, and left -them to guess vainly; and Papa and Mamma, whose slow and steady pace -threatened every now and then to outstrip these irregular, rapid young -footsteps, came up and pressed them onward. “How strange!” Marian -exclaimed involuntarily: “if that is he, I am disappointed; but how -funny to meet them <i>both</i>!”</p> - -<p>And then Marian blushed, and laughed aloud, half ashamed to be detected -in this evident allusion to Rachel’s castles in the air. Her laugh -attracted the attention of a countrywoman who just then came out<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_117" id="vol_2_page_117"></a>{v.2-117}</span> to the -door of a little wayside cottage. She made them a little bob of a -curtsy, like Hannah’s, and asked if they wanted to see the church, -“<span class="lftspc">’</span>cause I don’t think the gentlemen would mind,” said the clerk’s wife, -the privileged bearer of the ecclesiastical keys; and Mr Atheling, -hearing the question, answered over the heads of his daughters, “Yes, -certainly they would go.” So they all went after her dutifully over the -stile, and along a field-path by a rustling growth of wheat, spotted -with red poppies, for which Bell and Beau sighed and cried in vain, and -came at last to a pretty small church, of the architectural style and -period of which this benighted family were most entirely ignorant. Mr -Atheling, indeed, had a vague idea that it was “Gothic,” but would not -have liked to commit himself even to that general principle—for the -days of religious architecture and church restorations were all since Mr -Atheling’s time.</p> - -<p>They went in accordingly under a low round-arched doorway, solemn and -ponderous, entirely unconscious of the “tressured ornament” which -antiquaries came far to see; and, looking with a certain awe at the -heavy and solemn arches of the little old Saxon church, were rather more -personally attracted, we are pained to confess, by a group of gentlemen -within the sacred verge of the chancel, discussing something with -solemnity and earnestness, as if it were a question of<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_118" id="vol_2_page_118"></a>{v.2-118}</span> life and death. -Foremost in this group, but occupying, as it seemed, rather an -explanatory and apologetic place, and listening with evident anxiety to -the deliverance of the others, was a young man of commanding appearance, -extremely tall, with a little of the look of ascetic abstraction which -belongs to the loftier members of the very high High Church. As the -Athelings approached rather timidly under the escort of their humble -guide, this gentleman eyed them, with a mixture of observation and -haughtiness, as they might have been eyed by the proprietor of the -domain. Then he recognised Mr Atheling with such a recognition as the -same reigning lord and master might bestow upon an intruder who was only -mistaken and not presumptuous. The father of the family rose to the -occasion, his colour increased; he drew himself up, and made a formal -but really dignified bow to the young clergyman. The little group of -advisers did not pause a minute in their discussion; and odd words, -which they were not in the habit of hearing, fell upon the ears of Agnes -and Marian. “Bad in an archaic point of view—extremely bad; and I never -can forgive errors of detail; the best examples are so accessible,” said -one gentleman. “I do not agree with you. I remember an instance at -Amiens,” interrupted another. “Amiens, my dear sir!—exactly what I mean -to say,” cried the first<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_119" id="vol_2_page_119"></a>{v.2-119}</span> speaker; “behind the date of Winterbourne a -couple of hundred years—late work—a debased style. In a church of this -period everything ought to be severe.”</p> - -<p>And accordingly there were severe Apostles in the painted windows—those -slender lancet “lights” which at this moment dazzled the eyes of Agnes -and Marian; and the new saints in the new little niches were, so far as -austerity went, a great deal more correct and true to their “period” -than even the old saints, without noses, and sorely worn with weather -and irreverence, who were as genuine early English as the stout old -walls. But Marian Atheling had no comprehension of this kind of -severity. She shrunk away from the altar in its religious gloom—the -altar with its tall candlesticks, and its cloth, which was stiff with -embroidery—marvelling in her innocent imagination over some vague -terror of punishments and penances in a church where “everything ought -to be severe.” Marian took care to be on the other side of her father -and mother, as they passed again the academic group discussing the newly -restored sedilia, which was not quite true in point of “detail,” and -drew a long breath of relief when she was safely outside these dangerous -walls. “The Rector! that was the Rector. Oh Agnes!” cried Marian, as -Papa announced the dreadful intelligence; and the younger sister, -horror-stricken, and with great pity, looked sympathetically in Agnes’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_120" id="vol_2_page_120"></a>{v.2-120}</span> -face. Agnes herself was moved to look back at the tall central figure, -using for a dais the elevation of that chancel. She smiled, but she was -a little startled—and the girls went on to the village, and to glance -through the trees at the great park surrounding the Hall, with not -nearly so much conversation as at the beginning of their enterprise. But -it was with a sigh instead of a laugh that Marian repeated, when they -went home to dinner and Hannah’s magnificent pudding—“So, Agnes, we -have seen them both.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_121" id="vol_2_page_121"></a>{v.2-121}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XVII" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br /><br /> -<small>THE CLERGY.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Several</span> weeks after this passed very quietly over the Old Wood Lodge and -its new inhabitants. They saw “Mr Louis,” always a rapid and sudden -apparition, pass now and then before their windows, and sometimes -received again that slight passing courtesy which nobody could return, -as it was addressed to nobody, and only disclosed a certain careless yet -courteous knowledge on the part of the young prince that they were -there; and they saw the Rector on the quiet country Sabbath-days in his -ancient little church, with its old heavy arches, and its new and dainty -restorations, “intoning” after the loftiest fashion, and preaching -strange little sermons of subdued yet often vehement and impatient -eloquence—addresses which came from a caged and fiery spirit, and had -no business there. The Winterbourne villagers gaped at his Reverence as -he flung his thunderbolts over their heads, and his Reverence came down -now and then<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_122" id="vol_2_page_122"></a>{v.2-122}</span> from a wild uncertain voyage heavenward, down, down, with -a sudden dreary plunge, to look at all the blank rustical faces, -slumberous or wondering, and chafe himself with fiery attempts to come -down to their level, and do his duty to his rural flock. With a certain -vague understanding of some great strife and tumult in this dissatisfied -and troubled spirit, Agnes Atheling followed him in the sudden outbursts -of his natural oratory, and in the painful curb and drawing-up by which -he seemed to awake and come to himself. Though she was no student of -character, this young genius could not restrain a throb of sympathy for -the imprisoned and uncertain intellect beating its wings before her very -eyes. Intellect of the very highest order was, without question, errant -in that humble pulpit—errant, eager, disquieted—an eagle flying at the -sun. The simpler soul of genius vaguely comprehended it, and rose with -half-respectful, half-compassionating sympathy, to mark the conflict. -The family mother was not half satisfied with these preachings, and -greatly lamented that the only church within their reach should be so -painfully “high,” and so decidedly objectionable. Mrs Atheling’s soul -was grieved within her at the tall candlesticks, and even the “severe” -Apostles in the windows were somewhat appalling to this excellent -Protestant. She listened with a certain dignified disapproval to the -sermons,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_123" id="vol_2_page_123"></a>{v.2-123}</span> not much remarking their special features, but contenting -herself with a general censure. Marian too, who did not pretend to be -intellectual, wondered a little like the other people, and though she -could not resist the excitement of this unusual eloquence, gazed blankly -at the preacher after it was over, not at all sure if it was right, and -marvelling what he could mean. Agnes alone, who could by no means have -told you what he meant—who did not even understand, and certainly could -not have explained in words her own interest in the irregular -prelection—vaguely followed him nevertheless with an intuitive and -unexplainable comprehension. They had never exchanged words, and the -lofty and self-absorbed Rector knew nothing of the tenants of the Old -Wood Lodge; yet he began to look towards the corner whence that -intelligent and watching face flashed upon his maze of vehement and -uncertain thought. He began to look, as a relief, for the upward glance -of those awed yet pitying eyes, which followed him, yet somehow, in -their simplicity, were always before him, steadfastly shining in the -calm and deep assurance of a higher world than his. It was not by any -means, at this moment, a young man and a young woman looking at each -other with the mutual sympathy and mutual difference of nature; it was -Genius, sweet, human, and universal, tender in the dews of youth—and<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_124" id="vol_2_page_124"></a>{v.2-124}</span> -Intellect, nervous, fiery, impatient, straining like a Hercules after -the Divine gift, which came to the other sleeping, as God gives it to -His beloved.</p> - -<p>The Curate of Winterbourne was the most admirable foil to his reverend -principal. This young and fervent churchman would gladly have sat in the -lower seat of the restored sedilia, stone-cold and cushionless, at any -risk of rheumatism, had not his reverence the Rector put a decided -interdict upon so extreme an example of rigid Anglicanism. As it was, -his bland and satisfied youthful face in the reading-desk made the -strangest contrast in the world to that dark, impetuous, and troubled -countenance, lowering in handsome gloom from the pulpit. The common -people, who held the Rector in awe, took comfort in the presence of the -Curate, who knew all the names of all the children, and was rather -pleased than troubled when they made so bold as to speak to him about a -place for Sally, or a ’prenticeship for John. His own proper place in -the world had fallen happily to this urbane and satisfied young -gentleman. He was a parish priest born and intended, and accordingly -there was not a better parish priest in all Banburyshire than the -Reverend Eustace Mead. While the Rector only played and fretted over -these pretty toys of revived Anglicanism, with which he was not able to -occupy his rapid and impetuous intellect, they sufficed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_125" id="vol_2_page_125"></a>{v.2-125}</span> make a -pleasant reserve of interest in the life of the Curate, who was by no -means an impersonation of intellect, though he had an acute and -practical little mind of his own, much more at his command than the mind -of Mr Rivers was at his. And the Curate preached devout little sermons, -which the rustical people did not gape at; while the Rector, out of all -question, and to the perception of everybody, was, in the most emphatic -sense of the words, the wrong man in the wrong place.</p> - -<p>So far as time had yet gone, the only intercourse with their neighbours -held by the Athelings was at church, and their nearest neighbours were -those clerical people who occupied the Old Wood House. Mr Rivers was -said to have a sister living with him, but she was “a great invalid,” -and never visible; and on no occasion, since his new parishioners -arrived, had the close Venetian blinds been raised, or the house opened -its eyes. There it stood in the sunshine, in that most verdant of trim -old gardens, which no one ever walked in, nor, according to appearances, -ever saw, with its three rows of closed windows, blankly green, secluded -and forbidding, which no one within ever seemed tempted to open to the -sweetest of morning breezes, or the fragrant coolness of the night. -Agnes, taking the privilege of her craft, was much disposed to suspect -some wonderful secret or mystery<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_126" id="vol_2_page_126"></a>{v.2-126}</span> in this monkish and ascetic -habitation; but it was not difficult to guess the secret of the Rector, -and there was not a morsel of mystery in the bland countenance of -smiling Mr Mead.</p> - -<p>By this time Mrs Atheling and her children were alone. Papa had -exhausted his holiday, and with a mixture of pleasure and unwillingness -returned to his office duties; and Mamma, though she had so much -enjoyment of the country, which was “so good for the children,” began to -sigh a little for her other household, to marvel much how Susan used her -supremacy, and to be seized with great compunctions now and then as to -the cruelty “of leaving your father and Charlie by themselves so long.” -The only thing which really reconciled the good wife to this desertion, -was the fact that Charlie himself, without any solicitation, and in fact -rather against his will, was to have a week’s holiday at Michaelmas, and -of course looked forward in his turn to the Old Wood Lodge. Mrs Atheling -had made up her mind to return with her son, and was at present in a -state of considerable doubt and perplexity touching Agnes and Marian, -Bell and Beau. The roses on the cheeks of the little people had -blossomed so sweetly since they came to the country, Mrs Atheling almost -thought she could trust her darlings to Hannah, and that “another month -would do them no harm.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_127" id="vol_2_page_127"></a>{v.2-127}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XVIII" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br /><br /> -<small>A NEW FRIEND.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">September</span> had begun, but my lord and his expected guests had not yet -arrived at the Hall. Much talk and great preparations were reported in -the village, and came in little rivulets of intelligence, through Hannah -and the humble merchants at the place, to the Old Wood Lodge; but Agnes -and Marian, who had not contrived to write to her, knew nothing whatever -of Rachel, and vainly peeped in at the great gates of the park, early -and late, for the small rapid figure which had made so great an -impression upon their youthful fancy. Then came the question, should -they speak to Louis, who was to be seen sometimes with a gun and a -gamekeeper, deep in the gorse and ferns of Badgeley Wood. Hannah said -this act of rebellious freedom had been met by a threat on the part of -my lord to “have him up” for poaching, which threat only quickened the -haughty boy in his love of sport. “You may say what you like, children, -but it is very wrong and very<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_128" id="vol_2_page_128"></a>{v.2-128}</span> sinful,” said Mrs Atheling, shaking her -head with serious disapproval, “and especially if he brings in some poor -gamekeeper, and risks his children’s bread;” and Mamma was scarcely to -be satisfied with Hannah’s voluble and eager disclaimer—Mr Louis would -put no man in peril. This excellent mother held her prejudices almost as -firmly as her principles, and compassionately added that it was no -wonder—poor boy, considering—for she could not understand how Louis -could be virtuous and illegitimate, and stood out with a repugnance, -scarcely to be overcome, against any friendship between her own children -and these unfortunate orphans at the Hall.</p> - -<p>One of these bright afternoons, the girls were in the garden discussing -eagerly this difficult question; for it would be very sad to bring -Rachel to the house, full of kind and warm expectations, and find her -met by the averted looks of Mamma. Her two daughters, however, though -they were grieved, did not find it at all in their way to criticise the -opinions of their mother; they concerted little loving attacks against -them, but thought of nothing more.</p> - -<p>And these two found great occupation in the garden, where Bell and Beau -played all the day long, and which Mrs Atheling commanded as she sat by -the parlour window with her work-basket. This afternoon the family group -was fated to interruption. One of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_129" id="vol_2_page_129"></a>{v.2-129}</span> vehicles ascending the high-road, -which was not far from the house, drew up suddenly at sight of these -young figures in old Miss Bridget’s garden. Even at this distance a -rather rough and very peremptory voice was audible ordering the groom, -and then a singular-looking personage appeared on the grassy path. This -was a very tall woman, dressed in an old-fashioned brown cloth pelisse -and tippet, with an odd bonnet on her head which seemed an original -design, contrived for mere comfort, and owning no fashion at all. She -was not young certainly, but she was not so old either, as the -archæological “detail” of her costume might have warranted a stranger in -supposing. Fifty at the very utmost, perhaps only forty-five, with a -fresh cheek, a bright eye, and all the demeanour of a country gentleman, -this lady advanced upon the curious and timid girls. That her errand was -with them was sufficiently apparent from the moment they saw her, and -they stood together very conscious, under the steady gaze of their -approaching visitor, continuing to occupy themselves a little with the -children, yet scarcely able to turn from this unknown friend. She came -along steadily, without a pause, holding still in her hand the small -riding-whip which had been the sceptre of her sway over the two stout -grey ponies waiting in the high-road—came along steadily to the door, -pushed<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_130" id="vol_2_page_130"></a>{v.2-130}</span> open the gate, entered upon them without either compliment or -salutation, and only, when she was close upon the girls, paused for an -instant to make the <i>brusque</i> and sudden inquiry, “Well, young people, -who are you?”</p> - -<p>They did not answer for the moment, being surprised in no small degree -by such a question; upon which the stranger repeated it rather more -peremptorily. “We are called Atheling,” said Agnes, with a mixture of -pride and amusement. The lady laid her hand heavily upon the girl’s -shoulder, and turned her half round to the light. “What relation?” said -this singular inquisitor; but while she spoke, there became evident a -little moistening and relaxation of her heavy grey eyelid, as if it was -with a certain emotion she recalled the old owner of the old lodge, whom -she did not name.</p> - -<p>“My father was Miss Bridget’s nephew; she left the house to him,” said -Agnes; and Marian too drew near in wondering regard and sympathy, as two -big drops, like the thunder-rain, fell suddenly and quietly over this -old lady’s cheeks.</p> - -<p>“So! you are Will Atheling’s daughters,” said their visitor, a little -more roughly than before, as if from some shame of her emotion; “and -that is your mother at the window. Where’s Hannah? for I suppose you -don’t know me.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_131" id="vol_2_page_131"></a>{v.2-131}</span></p> - -<p>“No,” said Agnes, feeling rather guilty; it seemed very evident that -this lady was a person universally known.</p> - -<p>“Will Atheling married—married—whom did he marry?” said the visitor, -making her way to the house, and followed by the girls. “Eh! don’t you -know, children, what was your mother’s name? Franklin? yes, to be sure, -I remember her a timid pretty sort of creature; ah! just like Will.”</p> - -<p>By this time they were at the door of the parlour, which she opened with -an unhesitating hand. Mrs Atheling, who had seen her from the window, -was evidently prepared to receive the stranger, and stood up to greet -her with a little colour rising on her cheek, and, as the girls were -astonished to perceive, water in her eyes.</p> - -<p>This abrupt and big intruder into the family room showed more courtesy -to the mother than she had done to the girls; she made a sudden curtsy, -which expression of respect seemed to fill up all the requirements of -politeness in her eyes, and addressed Mrs Atheling at once, without any -prelude. “Do you remember me?”</p> - -<p>“I think so—Miss Rivers?” said Mrs Atheling with considerable -nervousness.</p> - -<p>“Just so—Anastasia Rivers—once not any older than yourself. -So—so—and here are you and all your children in my old professor’s -room.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_132" id="vol_2_page_132"></a>{v.2-132}</span></p> - -<p>“We have made no change in it; everything is left as it was,” said Mrs -Atheling.</p> - -<p>“The more’s the pity,” answered the abrupt and unscrupulous caller. -“Why, it’s not like <i>them</i>—not a bit; as well dress them in her old -gowns, dear old soul! Ay well, it was a long life—no excuse for -grieving; but at the last, you see, at the last, it’s come to its end.”</p> - -<p>“We did not see her,” said Mrs Atheling, with an implied apology for -“want of feeling,” “for more than twenty years. Some one, for some -reason, we cannot tell what, prejudiced her mind against William and -me.”</p> - -<p>“Some one!” said Miss Rivers, with an emphatic toss of her head. “You -don’t know of course who it was. <i>I</i> do: do you wish me to tell you?”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling made no answer. She looked down with some confusion, and -began to trifle with the work which all this time had lain idly on her -knee.</p> - -<p>“If there’s any ill turn he can do you now,” said Miss Rivers pointedly, -“he will not miss the chance, take my word for it; and in case he tries -it, let me know. Will Atheling and I are old friends, and I like the -look of the children. Good girls, are they? And is this all your -family?”</p> - -<p>“All I have alive but one boy,” said Mrs Atheling.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said her visitor, looking up quickly. “Lost<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_133" id="vol_2_page_133"></a>{v.2-133}</span> some?—never mind, -child, you’ll find them again; and here am I, in earth and heaven a dry -tree!”</p> - -<p>After a moment’s pause she began to speak again, in an entirely -different tone. “These young ones must come to see me,” said their new -friend—“I like the look of them. You are very pretty, my dear, you are -quite as good as a picture; but I like your sister just as well as you. -Come here, child. Have you had a good education? Are you clever? -Nonsense! Why do you blush? People can’t have brains without knowing of -it. Are you clever, I say?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think so,” said Agnes, unable to restrain a smile; “but mamma -does, and so does Marian.” Here she came to an abrupt conclusion, -blushing at herself. Miss Rivers rose up from her seat, and stood before -her, looking down into the shy eyes of the young genius with all the -penetrating steadiness of her own.</p> - -<p>“I like an honest girl,” said the Honourable Anastasia, patting Agnes’s -shoulder rather heavily with her strong hand. “Marian—is she called -Marian? That’s not an Atheling name. Why didn’t you call her Bride?”</p> - -<p>“She is named for me,” said Mrs Atheling with some dignity. And then she -added, faltering, “We had a Bridget too; but——”</p> - -<p>“Never mind,” said Miss Rivers, lifting her hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_134" id="vol_2_page_134"></a>{v.2-134}</span> quickly—“never mind, -you’ll find them again. She’s very pretty—prettier than any one I know -about Banburyshire; but for heaven’s sake, child, mind what you’re -about, and don’t let any one put nonsense in your head. Your mother -could tell you what comes of such folly, and so could I. By the by, -children, you are much of an age. Do you know anything of those poor -children at the Hall?”</p> - -<p>“We know Rachel,” said Agnes eagerly. “We met her at Richmond, and were -very fond of her; and I suppose she is coming here.”</p> - -<p>“Rachel!” said Miss Rivers, with a little contempt. “I mean the boy. Has -Will Atheling seen the boy?”</p> - -<p>“My husband met him once when he came here first,” said Mrs Atheling; -“and he fancied—fancied—imagined—he was like——”</p> - -<p>“My father!” The words were uttered with an earnestness and energy which -brought a deep colour over those unyouthful cheeks. “Yes, to be -sure—every one says the same. I’d give half my fortune to know the true -story of that boy!”</p> - -<p>“Rachel says,” interposed Agnes, eagerly taking advantage of anything -which could be of service to her friend, “that Louis will not believe -that they belong to Lord Winterbourne.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_135" id="vol_2_page_135"></a>{v.2-135}</span></p> - -<p>The eyes of the Honourable Anastasia flashed positive lightning; then a -shadow came over her face. “That’s nothing,” she said abruptly. “No one -who could help it would be content to belong to <i>him</i>. Now, I’ll send -some day for the children: send them over to see me, will you? Ah, -where’s Hannah—does she suit you? She was very good to <i>her</i>, dear old -soul!”</p> - -<p>“And she is very good to the children,” said Mrs Atheling, as she -followed her visitor punctiliously to the door. When they reached it, -Miss Rivers turned suddenly round upon her—</p> - -<p>“You are not rich, are you? Don’t be offended; but, if you are able, -change all this. I’m glad to see you in the house; but this, you know, -<i>this</i> is like her gowns and her turbans—make a change.”</p> - -<p>Here Hannah appeared from her kitchen, curtsying deeply to Miss Taesie, -who held a conversation with her at the gate; and finally went away, -with her steady step and her riding-whip, having first plucked one of -the late pale roses from the wall. Mrs Atheling came in with a degree of -agitation not at all usual to the family mother. “The first time I ever -saw her,” said Mrs Atheling, “when I was a young girl newly married, and -she a proud young beauty just on the eve of the same. I remember her, in -her hat and<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_136" id="vol_2_page_136"></a>{v.2-136}</span> her riding-habit, pulling a rose from Aunt Bridget’s -porch—and there it is again.”</p> - -<p>“Ma’am,” said Hannah, coming in to spread the table, “Miss Taesie never -comes here, late or early, but she gathers a rose.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_137" id="vol_2_page_137"></a>{v.2-137}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XIX" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br /><br /> -<small>GOSSIP.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">But</span>, mamma, if she was just on the eve of the same, why is she only -Miss Rivers now?” asked Marian, very curious on this subject of -betrothments and marriages.</p> - -<p>“It is a very long story, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling. As a general -principle, Mamma was not understood to have any special aversion to long -stories, but she certainly showed no inclination whatever to enter into -this.</p> - -<p>“So much the better if you will tell it, mamma,” said Agnes; and they -came close to her, with their pretty bits of needlework, and their looks -of interest; it was not in the heart of woman to refuse.</p> - -<p>“Well, my dears,” said Mrs Atheling, with a little reluctance, “somehow -we seem to be brought into the very midst of it again, though we have -scarcely heard their names for twenty years. This lady, though she<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_138" id="vol_2_page_138"></a>{v.2-138}</span> is -almost as old as he is, is niece to Lord Winterbourne. The old lord was -only his stepbrother, and a great deal older than he—and Miss Anastasia -was the only child of the old lord. You may suppose how disappointed he -was, with all his great estates entailed, and the title—and nothing but -a daughter; and everybody said, when the old lady died, that he would -marry again.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Did</i> he marry again?” said Marian, as Mamma came to a sudden and -unexpected pause.</p> - -<p>“No, my dear; for then trouble came,” said Mrs Atheling. “Miss Anastasia -was a beautiful young lady, always very proud, and very wise and -sensible, but a great beauty for all that; and she was to be married to -a young gentleman, a baronet and a very great man, out of Warwickshire. -The present lord was then the Honourable Reginald Rivers, and dreadful -wild. Somehow, I cannot tell how it was, he and Sir Frederick -quarrelled, and then they fought; and after his wound that fine young -gentleman fell into a wasting and a consumption, and died at -twenty-five; and that is the reason why Miss Anastasia has never been -married, and I am afraid, though it is so very wrong to say so, <i>hates</i> -Lord Winterbourne.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, mamma! I am sure I should, if I had been like her!” cried Marian, -almost moved to tears.</p> - -<p>“No, my darling, not to hate him,” said Mrs Atheling,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_139" id="vol_2_page_139"></a>{v.2-139}</span> shaking her head, -“or you would forget all you have been taught since you were a child.”</p> - -<p>“I do not understand him, mamma,” said Agnes: “does everybody hate -him—has he done wrong to every one?”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling sighed. “My dears, if I tell you, you must forget it again, -and never mention it to any one. Papa had a pretty young sister, little -Bride, as they all called her, the sweetest girl I ever saw. Mr Reginald -come courting her a long time, but at last she found out—oh girls! oh, -children!—that what he meant was not true love, but something that it -would be a shame and a sin so much as to name; and it broke her dear -heart, and she died. Her grave is at Winterbourne; that was what papa -and I went to see the first day.”</p> - -<p>“Mamma,” cried Agnes, starting up in great excitement and agitation, -“why did you suffer us to know any one belonging to such a man?”</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling, a little discomposed by this appeal. -“I thought it was for the best. Coming here, we were sure to be thrown -into their way—and perhaps he may have repented. And then Mrs Edgerley -was very kind to you, and I did not think it right, for the father’s -sake, to judge harshly of the child.”</p> - -<p>Marian, who had covered her face with her hands,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_140" id="vol_2_page_140"></a>{v.2-140}</span> looked up now with -abashed and glistening eyes. “Is that why papa dislikes him so?” said -Marian, very low, and still sheltering with her raised hands her -dismayed and blushing face.</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling hesitated a moment. “Yes,” she said doubtfully, after a -pause of consideration—“yes; that and other things.”</p> - -<p>But the inquiry of the girls could not elicit from Mamma what were the -other things which were sufficient to share with this as motives of Mr -Atheling’s dislike. They were inexpressibly shocked and troubled by the -story, as people are who, contemplating evil at a visionary distance, -and having only a visionary belief in it, suddenly find a visible gulf -yawning at their own feet; and Agnes could not help thinking, with -horror and disgust, of being in the same room with this man of guilt, -and of that polluting kiss of his, from which Rachel shrank as from the -touch of pestilence. “Such a man ought to be marked and singled out,” -cried Agnes, with unreasoning youthful eloquence: “no one should dare to -bring him into the same atmosphere with pure-minded people; everybody -ought to be warned of who and what he was.”</p> - -<p>“Nay; God has not done so,” said Mrs Atheling with a sigh. “He has -offended God more than he ever could offend man, but God bears with him. -I often say so to your father when we speak of the past.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_141" id="vol_2_page_141"></a>{v.2-141}</span> Ought we, who -are so sinful ourselves, to have less patience than God?”</p> - -<p>After this the girls were very silent, saying nothing, and much absorbed -with their own thoughts. Marian, who perhaps for the moment found a -certain analogy between her father’s pretty sister and herself, was -wrapt in breathless horror of the whole catastrophe. Her mind glanced -back upon Sir Langham—her fancy started forward into the future; but -though the young beauty for the moment was greatly appalled and -startled, she could not believe in the possibility of anything at all -like this “happening to me!” Agnes, for her part, took quite a different -view of the matter. The first suggestion of her eager fancy was, what -could be done for Louis and Rachel, to deliver them from the presence -and control of such a man? Innocently and instinctively her thoughts -turned upon her own gift, and the certain modest amount of power it gave -her. Louis might get a situation like Charlie, and be helped until he -was able for the full weight of his own life; and Rachel, another -sister, could come home to Bellevue. So Agnes, who at this present -moment was writing in little bits, much interrupted and broken in upon, -her second story, rose into a delightful anticipatory triumph, not of -its fame or success, though these things did glance laughingly across -her innocent imagination, but of its mere ignoble coined recompense,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_142" id="vol_2_page_142"></a>{v.2-142}</span> -and of all the great things for these two poor orphans which might be -done in Bellevue.</p> - -<p>And while the mother and the daughters sat at work in the shady little -parlour, where the sunshine did not enter, but where a sidelong -reflection of one waving bough of clematis, dusty with blossom, waved -across the little sloping mirror, high on the wall, Hannah sat outside -the open door, watching with visible delight, and sometimes joining for -an instant with awkward kindliness, the sports of Bell and Beau. They -rolled about on the soft grass, ran about on the garden paths, tumbled -over each other and over everything in their way, but, with the happy -immunity of children in the country, “took no harm.” Hannah had some -work in her great white apron, but did not so much as look at it. She -had no eye for a rare passenger upon the grassy byway, and scarcely -heard the salutation of the Rector’s man. All Hannah’s soul and thoughts -were wrapt up in the “blessed babies,” who made her old life blossom and -rejoice; and it was without any intervention of their generally -punctilious attendant that a light and rapid step came gliding over the -threshold of the Lodge, and a quiet little knock sounded lightly on the -parlour door. “May I come in, please?” said a voice which seemed to -Agnes to be speaking out of her dream; and Mrs<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_143" id="vol_2_page_143"></a>{v.2-143}</span> Atheling had not time to -buckle on her armour of objection when the door opened, and the same -little light rapid figure came bounding into the arms of her daughters. -Once there, it was not very difficult to reach to the good mother’s -kindly heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_144" id="vol_2_page_144"></a>{v.2-144}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XX" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br /><br /> -<small>RACHEL.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">Yes</span>, I only came to-day,” said Rachel, who kept her eyes wistfully upon -Mrs Atheling, though she spoke to Agnes. “They made me go to town after -you left, and then kept me <i>so</i> long at the Willows. Next season they -say I am to come out, and somebody has offered me an engagement; but -indeed, indeed,” cried Rachel, suddenly firing with one of her outbursts -of unexpected energy, “I never will!”</p> - -<p>The girls scarcely knew what answer to make in presence of their mother. -They had not been trained to have independent friendships, and now -waited anxiously, turning silent looks of appeal upon Mamma. Mamma all -at once had become exceedingly industrious, and neither looked up nor -spoke.</p> - -<p>“But then you might live in London, perhaps, instead of here; and I -should be very glad if you were near us,” said Agnes, with a good deal -of timidity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_145" id="vol_2_page_145"></a>{v.2-145}</span> Agnes, indeed, was not thinking what she said—her whole -attention wandered to her mother.</p> - -<p>“I do not mind for myself,” said Rachel, with a deep sigh. “I do not -think I should care if there were a hundred people to hear me sing, -instead of a dozen, for I know very well not one of them would care -anything for <i>me</i>; but I have to remember Louis. I cannot disgrace -Louis. It is bad enough for him as it is, without adding any more.”</p> - -<p>Again there was a pause. Rachel’s poor little palpitating heart beat -very loud and very high. “I thought I should be welcome when I came -here,” she said, freezing half into her unnatural haughtiness, and half -with an unconscious and pitiful tone of appeal; “but I never intruded -upon any one—never! and if you do not wish me to be here, I can go -away.”</p> - -<p>She turned to go away as she spoke, her little figure rising and -swelling with great subdued emotion; but Mrs Atheling immediately rose -and stretched out her hand to detain her. “Do not go away, my dear; the -girls are very fond of you,” said Mrs Atheling; and it cost this good -mother, with her ideas of propriety, a very considerable struggle with -herself to say these simple words.</p> - -<p>Rachel stood before her a moment irresolute and uncertain, not appearing -even to hear what Agnes and<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_146" id="vol_2_page_146"></a>{v.2-146}</span> Marian, assured by this encouragement, -hastened to say. The contest was violent while it lasted between Louis’s -sister, who was his representative, and the natural little humble child -Rachel, who had no pride, and only wanted the kindly succour of love; -but at last nature won the day. She seized upon Mrs Atheling’s hand -hastily and kissed it, with a pretty appealing gesture. “They do -everything you tell them,” cried Rachel suddenly. “I never had any -mother—never even when we were babies. Oh, will you tell me sometimes -what I ought to do?”</p> - -<p>It was said afterwards in the family that at this appeal Mamma, fairly -vanquished and overcome, “almost cried;” and certain it was that Rachel -immediately took possession of the stool beside her, and remained there -not only during this visit, but on every after occasion when she came. -She brightened immediately into all her old anxious communicativeness, -concealing nothing, but pouring out her whole heart.</p> - -<p>“Louis told me he had seen you in the garden,” said Rachel, with a low -laugh of pleasure; “but when I asked which it was, he said he knew -nothing of Agnes and Marian, but only he had seen a vision looking over -the old gate. I never know what Louis means when he speaks nonsense,” -said Rachel, with an unusual brightness; “and I am so glad. I never -heard him speak so much nonsense since we came to the Hall.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_147" id="vol_2_page_147"></a>{v.2-147}</span></p> - -<p>“And are you left in the Hall all by yourselves, two young creatures?” -asked Mrs Atheling, with curiosity. “It must be very melancholy for -you.”</p> - -<p>“Not to be alone!” cried Rachel. “But very soon my lord is coming, with -a great household of people; and then—I almost faint when I think upon -it. What shall I do?”</p> - -<p>“But, Rachel, Mrs Edgerley is very kind to you,” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>Rachel answered after her usual fashion: “I do not care at all for -myself—it is nothing to me; but Louis—oh, Louis!—if he is ever seen, -the people stare at him as they would at a horse or a hound; and Lord -Winterbourne tries to have an opportunity to speak and order him away, -and when he shoots, he says he will put him in prison. And then Louis -knows when they send for me, and sometimes stands under the window and -hears me singing, and is white with rage to hear; and then he says he -cannot bear it, and must go away, and then I go down upon my knees to -him. I know how it will happen—everything, everything! It makes him mad -to have to bear it. Oh, I wish I knew anything that I could do!”</p> - -<p>“Mamma,” said Agnes earnestly, “Rachel used to tell us all this at the -Willows. Do you not think he ought to go away?”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling shook her head in perplexity; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_148" id="vol_2_page_148"></a>{v.2-148}</span> instead of answering, -asked a question, “Does he not think it his duty, my dear, to obey -your—your father?” said Mamma doubtfully.</p> - -<p>“But he is not our father—oh no, no, indeed he is not! I should know he -was not, even without Louis,” cried Rachel, unaware what a violent -affirmation this was. “Louis says we could not have any father who would -not be a disgrace to us, being as we are—and Louis must be right; but -even though he might be a bad man, he could not be like Lord -Winterbourne. He takes pleasure in humiliating us—he never cared for us -all our life.”</p> - -<p>There was something very touching in this entire identification of these -two solitary existences which still were but one life; and Rachel was -not Rachel till she came to the very last words. Before that, with the -strange and constantly varying doubleness of her sisterly character, she -had been once again the representative of Louis. One thing struck them -all as they looked at her small features, fired with this sudden -inspiration of Louis’s pride and spirit. About as different as -possible—at the extreme antipodes of unresemblance—were their two -visitors of this day,—this small little fairy, nervous, timid, and -doubtful, fatherless, homeless, and without so much as a name, and that -assured and commanding old lady, owning no superior, and as secure of -her own position and authority as any<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_149" id="vol_2_page_149"></a>{v.2-149}</span> reigning monarch. Yes, they were -about as dissimilar as two human creatures could be; yet the lookers-on -were startled to recognise that subtle link of likeness, seldom a -likeness of features, which people call family resemblance. Could it -have come through this man, who was so repugnant to them both?</p> - -<p>“They are all coming down on Monday next week,” said Rachel, “so we have -just three days all to ourselves; and I thought, perhaps—perhaps, if -you please to let me, I might bring Louis to-night?”</p> - -<p>“Surely, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling.</p> - -<p>“Oh, thank you!—thank you very much!” cried Rachel, once more bestowing -an eager yet shy caress upon that motherly hand. “Louis is not like me -at all,” added the anxious sister, afraid lest he should suffer by any -preconceived notion of resemblance. “He is a man; and old Miss Bridget -used to call him a noble brave boy, like what you read of in books. I do -not know,” said Rachel, “I never read of any one, even in a book, like -Louis. I think he ought to be a king.”</p> - -<p>“But, indeed, Rachel,” said Agnes, “I am quite sure you are wrong. Ask -mamma. You ought to let him go away.”</p> - -<p>“Do <i>you</i> think so?” said Rachel wistfully, looking up in Mrs Atheling’s -face.</p> - -<p>But Mrs Atheling, though under any other circumstances<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_150" id="vol_2_page_150"></a>{v.2-150}</span> she would of -course have insisted upon the absolute propriety of a young man “making -his own way,” paused, much perplexed, and answered nothing for the -moment. “My dears,” she said at last, very doubtfully, “I do not know at -all what to say. You should have some one who could advise you better; -and it depends on the young gentleman’s inclinations, and a great many -things beside that I am not able to judge of; for, indeed, though it may -only be my old-fashioned notions, I do not like to hear of young people -going against the advice of their friends.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_151" id="vol_2_page_151"></a>{v.2-151}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXI" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br /><br /> -<small>THE YOUNG PRINCE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> may be supposed that, after all they had heard of him, the Athelings -prepared themselves with a little excitement for the visit of Louis. -Even Mrs Atheling, who disapproved of him, could not prevent herself -from wandering astray in long speculations about the old lord—and it -seemed less improper to wonder and inquire concerning a boy, whom the -Honourable Anastasia herself inquired after and wondered at. As for the -girls, Louis had come to be an ideal hero to both of them. The adored -and wonderful brother of Rachel—though Rachel was only a girl, and -scarcely so wise as themselves—the admiration of Miss Bridget, and the -anxiety of Miss Anastasia, though these were only a couple of old -ladies, united in a half deification of the lordly young stranger, whose -own appearance and manner were enough to have awakened a certain -romantic interest in their simple young hearts. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_152" id="vol_2_page_152"></a>{v.2-152}</span> were extremely -concerned to-night about their homely tea-table—that everything should -look its best and brightest; and even contrived, unknown to Hannah, to -filch and convert into a temporary cake-basket that small rich old -silver salver, which had been wont to stand upon one of Miss Bridget’s -little tables for cards. Then they robbed the garden for a sufficient -bouquet of flowers; and then Agnes, half against her sister’s will, wove -in one of those pale roses to Marian’s beautiful hair. Marian, though -she made a laughing protest against this, and pretended to be totally -indifferent to the important question, which dress she should wear? -clearly recognised herself as the heroine of the evening. <i>She</i> knew -very well, if no one else did, what was the vision which Louis had seen -at the old gate, and came down to Miss Bridget’s prim old parlour in her -pretty light muslin dress with the rose in her hair, looking, in her -little flutter and palpitation, as sweet a “vision of delight” as ever -appeared to the eyes of man.</p> - -<p>And Louis came—came—condescended to take tea—stayed some two hours or -so, and then took his departure, hurriedly promising to come back for -his sister. This much-anticipated hero—could it be possible that his -going away was the greatest relief to them all, and that no one of the -little party felt at all comfortable or at ease till he was gone? It was -most<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_153" id="vol_2_page_153"></a>{v.2-153}</span> strange and deplorable, yet it was most true beyond the -possibility of question; for Louis, with all a young man’s sensitive -pride stung into bitterness by his position, haughtily repelled the -interest and kindness of all these women. He was angry at Rachel—poor -little anxious timid Rachel, who almost looked happy when they crossed -this kindly threshold—for supposing these friends of hers, who were all -women, could be companions for him; he was angry at himself for his -anger; he was in the haughtiest and darkest frame of his naturally -impetuous temper, rather disposed to receive as an insult any overture -of friendship, and fiercely to plume himself upon his separated and -orphaned state. They were all entirely discomfited and taken aback by -their stately visitor, whom they had been disposed to receive with the -warmest cordiality, and treat as one whom it was in their power to be -kind to. Though his sister did so much violence to her natural feelings -that she might hold her ground as his representative, Louis did not by -any means acknowledge her deputyship. In entire opposition to her -earnest and anxious frankness, Louis closed himself up with a jealous -and repellant reserve; said nothing he could help saying, and speaking, -when he did speak, with a cold and indifferent dignity; did not so much -as refer to the Hall or Lord Winterbourne, and checked Rachel, when she -was about to do so,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_154" id="vol_2_page_154"></a>{v.2-154}</span> with an almost imperceptible gesture, peremptory -and full of displeasure. Poor Rachel, constantly referring to him with -her eyes, and feeling the ground entirely taken from beneath her feet, -sat pale and anxious, full of apprehension and dismay. Marian, who was -not accustomed to see her own pretty self treated with such absolute -unconcern, took down <i>Fatherless Fanny</i> from the bookshelf, and played -with it, half reading, half “pretending,” at one of the little tables. -Agnes, after many vain attempts to draw Rachel’s unmanageable brother -into conversation, gave it up at last, and sat still by Rachel’s side in -embarrassed silence. Mamma betook herself steadily to her work-basket. -The conversation fell away into mere questions addressed to Louis, and -answers in monosyllables, so that it was an extreme relief to every -member of the little party when this impracticable visitor rose at last, -bowed to them all, and hastened away.</p> - -<p>Rachel sat perfectly silent till the sound of his steps had died upon -the road; then she burst out in a vehement apologetic outcry. “Oh, don’t -be angry with him—don’t, please,” said Rachel; “he thinks I have been -trying to persuade you to be kind to him, and he cannot bear <i>that</i> even -from me; and indeed, indeed you may believe me, it is quite true! I -never saw him, except once or twice, in such a humour before.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_155" id="vol_2_page_155"></a>{v.2-155}</span></p> - -<p>“My dear,” said Mrs Atheling, with that dignified tone which Mamma could -assume when it was necessary, to the utter discomfiture of her -opponent—“my dear, we are very glad to see your brother, but of course -it can be nothing whatever to us the kind of humour he is in; that is -quite his own concern.”</p> - -<p>Poor Rachel now, having no other resource, cried. She was only herself -in this uncomfortable moment. She could no longer remember Louis’s pride -or Louis’s dignity; for a moment the poor little subject heart felt a -pang of resentment against the object of its idolatry, such as little -Rachel had sometimes felt when Louis was “naughty,” and she, his -unfortunate little shadow, innocently shared in his punishment; but now, -as at every former time, the personal trouble of the patient little -sister yielded to the dread that Louis “was not understood.” “You will -know him better some time,” she said, drying her sorrowful appealing -eyes. So far as appearances went at this moment, it did not seem quite -desirable to know him better, and nobody said a word in return.</p> - -<p>After this the three girls went out together to the garden, still lying -sweet in the calm of the long summer twilight, under a young moon and -some early stars. They did not speak a great deal. They were all -considerably absorbed with thoughts of this same<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_156" id="vol_2_page_156"></a>{v.2-156}</span> hero, who, after all, -had not taken an effective method of keeping their interest alive.</p> - -<p>And Marian did not know how or whence it was that this doubtful and -uncertain paladin came to her side in the pleasant darkness, but was -startled by his voice in her ear as she leaned once more over the low -garden-gate. “It was here I saw you first,” said Louis, and Marian’s -heart leaped in her breast, half with the suddenness of the words, half -with—something else. Louis, who had been so haughty and ungracious all -the evening—Louis, Rachel’s idol, everybody’s superior—yet he spoke -low in the startled ear of Marian, as if that first seeing had been an -era in his life.</p> - -<p>“Come with us,” said Louis, as Rachel at sight of him hastened to get -her bonnet—“come along this enchanted road a dozen steps into -fairyland, and back again. I forget everything, even myself, on such a -night.”</p> - -<p>And they went, scarcely answering, yet more satisfied with this brief -reference to their knowledge of him, than if the king had forsaken his -nature, and become as confidential as Rachel. They went their dozen -steps on what was merely the terraced pathway, soft, dark, and grassy, -to Agnes and Rachel, who went first in anxious conversation, but which -the other two,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_157" id="vol_2_page_157"></a>{v.2-157}</span> coming silently behind, had probably a different idea -of. Marian at least could not help cogitating these same adjectives, -with a faint inquiry within herself, what it was which could make this -an enchanted road or fairyland.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_158" id="vol_2_page_158"></a>{v.2-158}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXII" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br /><br /> -<small>A BEGINNING.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> next morning, while the mother and daughters were still in the full -fervour of discussion about this same remarkable Louis, he himself was -seen for the first time in the early daylight passing the window, with -that singular rapidity of step which he possessed in common with his -sister. They ceased their argument after seeing him—why, no one could -have told; but quite unresolved as the question was, and though Mamma’s -first judgment, unsoftened by that twilight walk, was still decidedly -unfavourable to Louis, they all dropped the subject tacitly and at once. -Then Mamma went about various domestic occupations; then Agnes dropped -into the chair which stood before that writing-book upon the table, and, -with an attention much broken and distracted, gradually fell away into -her own ideal world; and then Marian, leading Bell and Beau with -meditative hands, glided forth softly to the garden, with downcast face -and drooping eyes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_159" id="vol_2_page_159"></a>{v.2-159}</span> full of thought. The children ran away from her at -once when their little feet touched the grass, but Marian went straying -along the paths, absorbed in her meditation, her pretty arms hanging by -her side, her pretty head bent, her light fair figure gliding softly in -shadow over the low mossy paling and the close-clipped hedge within. She -was thinking only what it was most natural she should think, about the -stranger of last night; yet now and then into the stream of her musing -dropped, with the strangest disturbance and commotion, these few quiet -words spoken in her ear,—“It was here I saw you first.” How many times, -then, had Louis seen her? and why did he recollect so well that first -occasion? and what did he mean?</p> - -<p>While she was busy with these fancies, all at once, Marian could not -tell how, as suddenly as he appeared last night, Louis was here -again—here, within the garden of the Old Wood Lodge, walking by -Marian’s side, a second long shadow upon the close-clipped hedge and the -mossy paling, rousing her to a guilty consciousness that she had been -thinking of him, which brought blush after blush in a flutter of “sweet -shamefacednesse” to her cheek, and weighed down still more heavily the -shy and dreamy lids of these beautiful eyes.</p> - -<p>The most unaccountable thing in the world! but<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_160" id="vol_2_page_160"></a>{v.2-160}</span> Marian, who had received -with perfect coolness the homage of Sir Langham, and whose conscience -smote her with no compunctions for the slaying of the gifted American, -had strangely lost her self-possession to-day. She only replied in the -sedatest and gravest manner possible to the questions of her -companion—looked anxiously at the parlour window for an opportunity of -calling Agnes, and with the greatest embarrassment longed for the -presence of some one to end this <i>tête-à-tête</i>. Louis, on the contrary, -exerted himself for her amusement, and was as different from the Louis -of last night as it was possible to conceive.</p> - -<p>“Ay, there it is,” said Louis, who had just asked her what she knew of -Oxford—“there it is, the seat of learning, thrusting up all its -pinnacles to the sun; but I think, if the world were wise, this glitter -and shining might point to the dark, dark ignorance outside of it, even -more than to the little glow within.”</p> - -<p>Now this was not much in Marian’s way—but her young squire, who would -have submitted himself willingly to her guidance had she given any, was -not yet acquainted at all with the ways of Marian.</p> - -<p>She said, simply looking at the big dome sullenly throwing off the -sunbeams, and at the glancing arrowheads, of more impressible and -delicate kind, “I think it is very pretty, with all those different -spires and towers; but do you mean it is the poor people who<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_161" id="vol_2_page_161"></a>{v.2-161}</span> are so -very ignorant? It seems as though people could scarcely help learning -who live there.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, the poor people—I mean all of us,” said Louis slowly, and with a -certain painful emphasis. “A great many of the villagers, it is true, -have never been to school; but I do not count a man ignorant who knows -what he has to do, and how to do it, though he never reads a book, nor -has pen in hand all his life. I save my pity for a more unfortunate -ignorance than that.”</p> - -<p>“But that is very bad,” said Marian decidedly, “because there is more to -do than just to work, and we ought to know about—about a great many -things. Agnes knows better than I.”</p> - -<p>This was said very abruptly, and meant that Agnes knew better what -Marian meant to say than she herself did. The youth at her side, -however, showed no inclination for any interpreter. He seemed, indeed, -to be rather pleased than otherwise with this breaking off.</p> - -<p>“When I was away, I was in strange enough quarters, and learnt something -about knowledge,” said Louis, “though not much knowledge itself—heaven -help me! I suppose I was not worthy of that.”</p> - -<p>“And did you really run away?” asked Marian, growing bolder with this -quickening of personal interest.</p> - -<p>“I really ran away,” said the young man, a hot<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_162" id="vol_2_page_162"></a>{v.2-162}</span> flush passing for an -instant over his brow; and then he smiled—a kind of daring desperate -smile, which seemed to say “what I have done once I can do again.”</p> - -<p>“And what did you do?” said Marian, continuing her inquiries: she forgot -her shyness in following up this story, which she knew and did not know.</p> - -<p>“What all the village lads do who get into scrapes and break the hearts -of the old women,” said Louis, with a somewhat bitter jesting. “I listed -for a soldier—but there was not even an old woman to break her heart -for me.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, there was Rachel!” cried Marian eagerly.</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed, there was Rachel, my good little sister,” answered the -young man; “but her kind heart would have mended again had they let me -alone. It would have been better for us both.”</p> - -<p>He said this with a painful compression of his lip, which a certain -wistful sympathy in the mind of Marian taught her to recognise as the -sign of tumult and contention in this turbulent spirit. She hastened -with a womanly instinct to direct him to the external circumstances -again.</p> - -<p>“And you were really a soldier—a—not an officer—only a common man.” -Marian shrunk visibly from this, which was an actual and possible -degradation, feared as the last downfall for the “wild sons” of<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_163" id="vol_2_page_163"></a>{v.2-163}</span> the -respectable families in the neighbourhood of Bellevue.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I belong to a class which has no privileges; there was not a -drummer in the regiment but was of better birth than I,” exclaimed -Louis. “Ah, that is folly—I did very well. In Napoleon’s army, had I -belonged to that day!—but in my time there was neither a general nor a -war.”</p> - -<p>“Surely,” said Marian, who began to be anxious about this unfortunate -young man’s “principles,” “you would not wish for a war?”</p> - -<p>“Should you think it very wrong?” said Louis with a smile.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” answered the young Mentor with immediate decision; for this -conversation befell in those times, not so very long ago, when everybody -declared that such convulsions were over, and that it was impossible, in -the face of civilisation, steamboats, and the electric telegraph, to -entertain the faintest idea of a war.</p> - -<p>They had reached this point in their talk, gradually growing more at -ease and familiar with each other, when it suddenly chanced that Mamma, -passing from her own sleeping-room to that of the girls, paused a moment -to look out at the small middle window in the passage between them, and -looking down, was amazed to see this haughty and misanthropic Louis -passing quietly along the trim pathway of the garden,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_164" id="vol_2_page_164"></a>{v.2-164}</span> keeping his place -steadily by Marian’s side. Mrs Atheling was not a mercenary mother, -neither was she one much given to alarm for her daughters, lest they -should make bad marriages or fall into unfortunate love; but Mrs -Atheling, who was scrupulously proper, did not like to see her pretty -Marian in such friendly companionship with “a young man in such an -equivocal position,” even though he was the brother of her friend. “We -may be kind to them,” said Mamma to herself, “but we are not to go any -further; and, indeed, it would be very sad if he should come to more -grief about Marian, poor young man;—how pretty she is!”</p> - -<p>Yes, it was full time Mrs Atheling should hasten down stairs, and, in -the most accidental manner in the world, step out into the garden. -Marian, unfortunate child! with her young roses startled on her sweet -young cheeks by this faint presaging breath of a new existence, had -never been so pretty all her life.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_165" id="vol_2_page_165"></a>{v.2-165}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXIII" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.<br /><br /> -<small>THE YOUNG PEOPLE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">What</span> Louis did or said, or how he made interest for himself in the -tender heart of Mamma, no one very well knows; yet a certain fact it -was, that from henceforward Mrs Atheling, like Miss Anastasia, became -somewhat contemptuous of Rachel in the interest of Louis, and pursued -eager and long investigations in her own mind—investigations most -fruitless, yet most persevering—touching the old lord and the unknown -conclusion of his life. All that was commonly known of the last years of -the last Lord Winterbourne was, that he had died abroad. Under the -pressure of family calamity he had gone to Italy, and there, people -said, had wandered about for several years, leading a desultory and -unsettled life, entirely out of the knowledge of any of his friends; and -when the present bearer of the title came home, bearing the intelligence -of his elder brother’s death, the most entire oblivion closed down upon -the foreign grave of the old lord. Back<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_166" id="vol_2_page_166"></a>{v.2-166}</span> into this darkness Mrs -Atheling, who knew no more than common report, made vain efforts to -strain her kindly eyes, but always returned with a sigh of despair. -“No!” said Mamma, “he might be proud, but he was virtuous and -honourable. I never heard a word said against the old lord. Louis is -like him, but it must only be a chance resemblance. No! Mr Reginald was -always a wild bad man. Poor things! they <i>must</i> be his children; for my -lord, I am sure, never betrayed or deceived any creature all his life.”</p> - -<p>But still she mused and dreamed concerning Louis; he seemed to exercise -a positive fascination over all these elder people; and Mrs Atheling, -more than she had ever desired a friendly gossip with Miss Willsie, -longed to meet once more with the Honourable Anastasia, to talk over her -conjectures and guesses respecting “the boy.”</p> - -<p>In the mean time, Louis himself, relieved from that chaperonship and -anxious introduction by his sister, which the haughty young man could -not endure, made daily increase of his acquaintance with the strangers. -He began to form part of their daily circle, expected and calculated -upon; and somehow the family life seemed to flow in a stronger and -fuller current with the addition of this vigorous element, the young -man, who oddly enough seemed to belong to them rather more than if he -had been their brother. He took<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_167" id="vol_2_page_167"></a>{v.2-167}</span> the three girls, who were now so much -like three sisters, on long and wearying excursions through the wood and -over the hill. He did not mind tiring them out, nor was he extremely -fastidious about the roads by which he led them; for, generous at heart -as he was, the young man had the unconscious wilfulness of one who all -his life had known no better guidance than his own will. Sometimes, in -those long walks of theirs, the young Athelings were startled by some -singular characteristic of their squire, bringing to light in him, by a -sudden chance, things of which these gentle-hearted girls had never -dreamed. Once they discovered, lying deep among the great fern-leaves, -all brown and rusty with seed, the bright plumage of some dead game, for -the reception of which a village boy was making a bag of his pinafore. -“Carry it openly,” said Louis, at whose voice the lad started; “and if -any one asks you where it came from, send them to me.” This was his -custom, which all the village knew and profited by; he would not permit -himself to be restrained from the sport, but he scorned to lift the -slain bird, which might be supposed to be Lord Winterbourne’s, and left -it to be picked up by the chance foragers of the hamlet. At the first -perception of this, the girls, we are obliged to confess, were greatly -shocked—tears even came to Marian’s eyes. She said it was cruel, in a -little outbreak of terror, pity, and indignation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_168" id="vol_2_page_168"></a>{v.2-168}</span> “Cruel—no!” said -Louis: “did my gun give a sharper wound than one of the score of -fashionable guns that will be waking all the echoes in a day or two?” -But Marian only glanced up at him hurriedly with her shy eyes, and said, -with a half smile, “Perhaps though the wound was no sharper, the poor -bird might have liked another week of life.”</p> - -<p>And the young man looked up into the warm blue sky over-head, all -crossed and trellised with green leaves, and looked around into the deep -September foliage, flaming here and there in a yellow leaf, a point of -fire among the green. “I think it very doubtful,” he said, sinking his -voice, though every one heard him among the noonday hush of the trees, -“if I ever can be so happy again. Do you not suppose it would be -something worth living for, instead of a week or a year of sadder -chances, to be shot upon the wing <i>now</i>?”</p> - -<p>Marian did not say a word, but shrank away among the bushes, clinging to -Rachel’s arm, with a shy instinctive motion. “Choose for yourself,” said -Agnes; “but do not decide so coolly upon the likings of the poor bird. I -am sure, had <i>he</i> been consulted, he would rather have taken his chance -of the guns next week than lain so quiet under the fern-leaves now.”</p> - -<p>Whereupon the blush of youth for his own super-elevated and unreal -sentiment came over Louis’s face. Agnes, by some amusing process common -to young<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_169" id="vol_2_page_169"></a>{v.2-169}</span> girls who are elder sisters, and whom nobody is in love with, -had made herself out to be older than Louis, and was rather disposed now -and then to interfere for the regulation of this youth’s improper -sentiments, and to give him good advice.</p> - -<p>And Lord Winterbourne arrived: they discovered the fact immediately by -the entire commotion and disturbance of everything about the village, by -the noise of wheels, and the flight of servants, to be descried -instantly in the startled neighbourhood. Then they began to see visions -of sportsmen, and flutters of fine ladies; and even without these -visible and evident signs, it would have been easy enough to read the -information of the arrivals in the clouded and lowering brow of Louis, -and in poor little Rachel’s distress, anxiety, and agitation. She, poor -child, could no longer join their little kindly party in the evening; -and when her brother came without her, he burst into violent outbreaks -of rage, indignation, and despair, dreadful to see. Neither mother nor -daughters knew how to soothe him; for it was even more terrible in their -fancy than in his experience to be the Pariah and child of degradation -in this great house. Moved by the intolerable burden of this his time of -trial, Louis at last threw himself upon the confidence of his new -friends, confided his uncertain and conflicting plans to them, relieved -himself of his passionate resentment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_170" id="vol_2_page_170"></a>{v.2-170}</span> and accepted their sympathy. -Every day he came goaded half to madness, vowing his determination to -bear it no longer; but every day, as he sat in the old easy-chair, with -his handsome head half-buried in his hands, a solace, sweet and -indescribable, stole into Louis’s heart; he was inspired to go at the -very same moment that he was impelled to stay, by that same vision which -he had first seen in the summer twilight at the old garden-gate.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_171" id="vol_2_page_171"></a>{v.2-171}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXIV" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.<br /><br /> -<small>A MEETING.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">This</span> state of things continued for nearly a fortnight after the arrival -of Lord Winterbourne and his party at the Hall. They saw Mrs Edgerley -passing through the village, and in church; but she either did not see -them, or did not think it necessary to take any notice of the girls. -Knowing better now the early connection between their own family and -Lord Winterbourne’s, they were almost glad of this—almost; yet -certainly it would have been pleasanter to decline <i>her</i> friendly -advances, than to find her, their former patroness, quietly dropping -acquaintance with <i>them</i>.</p> - -<p>The grassy terraced road which led from Winterbourne village to the -highway, and which was fenced on one side by the low wall which -surrounded the stables and outhouses of the Rector, and by the hedge and -paling of the Old Wood Lodge, but on the other side was free and open to -the fields, which sloped down from it to the low willow-dropped banks of -one<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_172" id="vol_2_page_172"></a>{v.2-172}</span> of those pale rivers, was not a road adapted either for vehicles or -horses. The Rivers family, however, holding themselves monarchs of all -they surveyed, stood upon no punctilio in respect to the pathway of the -villagers, and the family temper, alike in this one particular, brought -about a collision important enough to all parties concerned, and -especially to the Athelings; for one of those days, when a riding-party -from the Hall cantered along the path with a breezy waving and commotion -of veils and feathers and riding-habits, and a pleasant murmur of sound, -voices a little louder than usual under cover of the September gale -mixed only with the jingle of the harness—for the horses’ hoofs struck -no sound but that of a dull tread from the turf of the way—it pleased -Miss Anastasia, at the very hour and moment of their approach, to drive -her two grey ponies to the door of the Old Wood Lodge. Of course, it was -the simplest “accident” in the world, this unpremeditated “chance” -meeting. There was no intention nor foresight whatever in the matter. -When she saw them coming, Miss Anastasia “growled” under her breath, and -marvelled indignantly how they could dream of coming in such a body over -the grassed road of the villagers, cutting it to pieces with their -horses’ hoofs. She never paused to consider how the wheels of her own -substantial vehicle ploughed the road; and for her part, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_173" id="vol_2_page_173"></a>{v.2-173}</span> leader of -the fair equestrians brightened with an instant hope of amusement. “Here -is cousin Anastasia, the most learned old lady in Banburyshire. -Delightful! Now, my love, you shall see the lion of the county,” cried -Mrs Edgerley to one of her young companions, not thinking nor caring -whether her voice reached her kinswoman or not. Lord Winterbourne, who -was with his daughter, drew back to the rear of the group instinctively. -Whatever was said of Lord Winterbourne, his worst enemy could not say -that he was brave to meet the comments of those whom he had harmed or -wronged.</p> - -<p>Miss Anastasia stepped from her carriage in the most deliberate manner -possible, nodded to Marian and Agnes, who were in the garden—and to -whose defence, seeing so many strangers, hastily appeared their -mother—and stood patting and talking to her ponies, in her brown cloth -pelisse and tippet, and with that oddest of comfortable bonnets upon her -head.</p> - -<p>“Cousin Anastasia, I vow! You dear creature, where have you been all -these ages? Would any one believe it? Ah, how delightful to live always -in the country; what a penalty we pay for town and its pleasures! Could -any one suppose that my charming cousin was actually older than me?”</p> - -<p>And the fashionable beauty, though she did begin<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_174" id="vol_2_page_174"></a>{v.2-174}</span> to be faded, threw up -her delicate hands with their prettiest gesture, as she pointed to the -stately old lady before her, in her antique dress, and with unconcealed -furrows in her face. Once, perhaps, not even that beautiful complexion -of Mrs Edgerley was sweeter than that of Anastasia Rivers; but her -beauty had gone from her long ago—a thing which she cared not to -retain. She looked up with her kind imperious face, upon which were -undeniable marks of years and age. She perceived with a most evident and -undisguised contempt the titter with which this comparison was greeted. -“Go on your way, Louisa,” said Miss Rivers; “you were pretty once, -whatever people say of you now. Don’t be a fool, child; and I advise you -not to meddle with me.”</p> - -<p>“Delightful! is she not charming?” cried the fine lady, appealing to her -companion; “so fresh, and natural, and eccentric—such an acquisition in -the Hall! Anastasia, dear, do forget your old quarrel. It was not poor -papa’s fault that you were born a woman, though I cannot help confessing -it was a great mistake, <i>certainly</i>; but, only for once, you who are -such a dear, kind, benevolent creature, come to see <i>me</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Go on, Louisa, I advise you,” said the Honourable Anastasia with -extreme self-control. “Poor child, I have no quarrel with you, at all -events. You did not choose your father—there, pass on. I leave the -Hall<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_175" id="vol_2_page_175"></a>{v.2-175}</span> to those who choose it; the Old Wood Lodge has more attraction for -me.”</p> - -<p>“And I protest,” cried Mrs Edgerley, “it is my sweet young friend, the -author of ——: my dearest child, what <i>is</i> the name of your book? I have -<i>such</i> a memory. Quite the sweetest story of the season; and I am dying -to hear of another. Are you writing again? Oh, pray say you are. I -should be heartbroken to think of waiting very long for it. You must -come to the Hall. There are some people coming who are dying to know -you, and I positively cannot be disappointed: no one ever disobeys <i>me</i>! -Come here and let me kiss, you pretty creature. Is she not the sweetest -little beauty in the world? and her sister has so much genius; it is -quite delightful! So you know my cousin Anastasia; isn’t she charming? -Now, good morning, coz.—good morning, dear—and be sure you come to the -Hall.”</p> - -<p>Miss Anastasia stood aside, watching grimly this unexpected -demonstration of friendship, and keenly criticising Agnes, who coloured -high with youthful dignity and resentment, and Marian, who drew back -abashed, with a painful blush, and a grieved and anxious consciousness -that Louis, unseen but seeing, was a spectator of this salutation, and -somehow would be quite as like to resent Mrs Edgerley’s careless -compliment to herself, “as if I had been his sister.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_176" id="vol_2_page_176"></a>{v.2-176}</span> With a steady -observation the old lady kept her eyes upon her young acquaintances till -the horsemen and horsewomen of Mrs Edgerley’s train had passed. Then she -drew herself up to the utmost pitch of her extreme height, and, without -raising her eyes, made a profound curtsy to the last of the train—he on -his part lifted his hat, and bent to his saddle-bow. This was how Lord -Winterbourne and his brother’s daughter recognised each other. Perhaps -the wandering eyes in his bloodless face glanced a moment, shifting and -uncertain as they were, upon the remarkable figure of Miss Rivers, but -they certainly paused to take in, with one fixed yet comprehensive -glance, the mother and the daughters, the children playing in the -garden—the open door of the house—even it was possible he saw Louis, -though Louis had been behind, at the end of the little green, out of -sight, trying to train a wild honeysuckle round an extempore bower. Lord -Winterbourne scarcely paused, and did not offer the slightest apology -for his stare, but they felt, all of them, that he had marked the house, -and laid them under the visionary curse of his evil eye. When he had -passed, Miss Rivers put them in before her, with an imperative gesture. -“Let me know what’s brewing,” said the Honourable Anastasia, as she -reposed herself on the little new sofa in the old parlour. “There’s -mischief in his eye.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_177" id="vol_2_page_177"></a>{v.2-177}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXV" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV.<br /><br /> -<small>THE BREWING OF THE STORM.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> visit of Miss Rivers was the most complimentary attention which she -could show to her new friends, for her visits were few, and paid only to -a very limited number of people, and these all of her own rank and -class. She was extremely curious as to their acquaintance with Mrs -Edgerley, and demanded to know every circumstance from its beginning -until now; and this peremptory old lady was roused to quite an eager and -animated interest in the poor little book of which, Agnes could not -forget, Mrs Edgerley did not remember so much as the name. The -Honourable Anastasia declared abruptly that she never read novels, yet -demanded to have <i>Hope Hazlewood</i> placed without an instant’s delay in -her pony-carriage. “Do it at once, my dear: a thing which is done at the -moment cannot be forgotten,” said Miss Rivers. “You write books,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_178" id="vol_2_page_178"></a>{v.2-178}</span> eh? -Well, I asked you if you were clever; why did you not tell me at once?”</p> - -<p>“I did not think you would care; it was not worth while,” said Agnes -with some confusion, and feeling considerably alarmed by the idea of -this formidable old lady’s criticism. Miss Rivers only answered by -hurrying her out with the book, lest it might possibly be forgotten. -When the girls were gone, she turned to Mrs Atheling. “What can he do to -you,” said Miss Anastasia, abruptly, “eh? What’s Will Atheling doing? -Can he harm Will?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Mamma, somewhat excited by the prospect of an enemy, yet -confident in the perfect credit and honour of the family father, whose -good name and humble degree of prosperity no enemy could overthrow. -“William has been where he is now for twenty years.”</p> - -<p>“So, so,” said Miss Rivers—“and the boy? Take care of these girls; it -might be in his devilish way to harm them; and I tell you, when you come -to know of it, send me word. So she writes books, this girl of yours? -She is no better than a child. Do you mean to say you are not proud?”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling answered as mothers answer when such questions are put to -them, half with a confession, half with a partly-conscious sophism, -about Agnes being “a good girl, and a great comfort to her papa and -me.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_179" id="vol_2_page_179"></a>{v.2-179}</span></p> - -<p>The girls, when they had executed their commission, looked doubtingly -for Louis, but found him gone as they expected. While they were still -lingering where he had been, Miss Rivers came to the door again, going -away, and when she had said good-by to Mamma, the old lady turned back -again without a word, and very gravely gathered one of the roses. She -did it with a singular formality and solemness as if it was a religious -observance rather than a matter of private liking; and securing it -somewhere out of sight in the fastenings of her brown pelisse, waved her -hand to them, saying in her peremptory voice, quite loud enough to be -heard at a considerable distance, that she was to send for them in a day -or two. Then she took her seat in the little carriage, and turned her -grey ponies, no very easy matter, towards the high-road. Her easy and -complete mastery over them was an admiration to the girls. “Bless you, -miss, she’d follow the hounds as bold as any squire,” said Hannah; “but -there’s a deal o’ difference in Miss Taesie since the time she broke her -heart.”</p> - -<p>Such an era was like to be rather memorable. The girls thought so, -somewhat solemnly, as they went to their work beside their mother. They -seemed to be coming to graver times themselves, gliding on in an -irresistible noiseless fashion upon their stream of fate.</p> - -<p>Louis came again as usual in the evening. He <i>had</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_180" id="vol_2_page_180"></a>{v.2-180}</span> heard Mrs Edgerley, -and did resent her careless freedom, as Marian secretly knew he would; -which fact she who was most concerned, ascertained by his entire and -pointed silence upon the subject, and his vehement and passionate -contempt, notwithstanding, for Mrs Edgerley.</p> - -<p>“I suppose you are safe enough,” he said, speaking to the elder sister. -“You will not break your heart because she has forgotten the name of -your book—but, heaven help them, there are hearts which do! There are -unfortunate fools in this crazy world mad enough to be elated and to be -thrown into misery by a butterfly of a fine lady, who makes reputations. -You think them quite contemptible, do you? but there are such.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose they must be people who have no friends and no home—or to -whom it is of more importance than it is to me,” said Agnes; “for I am -only a woman, and nothing could make me miserable out of this Old Lodge, -or Bellevue.”</p> - -<p>“Ah—that is <i>now</i>,” said Louis quickly, and he glanced with an -instinctive reference at Marian, whose pallid roses and fluctuating mood -already began to testify to some anxiety out of the boundary of these -charmed walls. “The very sight of your security might possibly be hard -enough upon us who have no home—no home! nothing at all under heaven.”</p> - -<p>“Except such trifles as strength and youth and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_181" id="vol_2_page_181"></a>{v.2-181}</span> stout heart, a sister -very fond of you, and some—some <i>friends</i>—and heaven itself, after -all, at the end. Oh, Louis!” said Agnes, who on this, as on other -occasions, was much disposed to be this “boy’s” elder sister, and -advised him “for his good.”</p> - -<p>He did not say anything. When he looked up at all from his bending -attitude leaning over the table, it was to glance with fiery devouring -eyes at Marian—poor little sweet Marian, already pale with anxiety for -him. Then he broke out suddenly—“That poor little sister who is very -fond of me—do you know what she is doing at this moment—singing to -them!—like the captives at Babylon, making mirth for the spoilers. And -my friends—— heaven! you heard what that woman ventured to say -to-day.”</p> - -<p>“My dear,” said Mrs Atheling, who confessed to treating Louis as a “son -of her own,” “think of heaven all the day long, and so much the better -for you—but I cannot have you using in this way such a name.”</p> - -<p>This simple little reproof did more for Louis than a hundred -philosophies. He laughed low, and with emotion took Mrs Atheling’s hand -for a moment between his own—said “thank you, mother,” with a momentary -smile of delight and good pleasure. Then his face suddenly flushed with -a dark and violent colour; he cast an apprehensive yet haughty glance at -Mrs Atheling, and drew his hand away. The stain in<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_182" id="vol_2_page_182"></a>{v.2-182}</span> his blood was a -ghost by the side of Louis, and scarcely left him for an instant night -nor day.</p> - -<p>When he left them, they went to the door with him as they had been wont -to do, the mother holding a shawl over her cap, the girls with their -fair heads uncovered to the moon. They stood all together at the gate -speaking cheerfully, and sending kind messages to Rachel as they bade -him good-night—and none of the little group noticed a figure suddenly -coming out of the darkness and gliding along past the paling of the -garden. “What, boy, you here?” cried a voice suddenly behind Louis, -which made him start aside, and they all shrank back a little to -recognise in the moonlight the marble-white face of Lord Winterbourne.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean, sir, wandering about the country at this hour?” said -the stranger—“what conspiracy goes on here, eh?—what are <i>you</i> doing -with a parcel of women? Home to your den, you skulking young -vagabond—what are you doing here?”</p> - -<p>Marian, the least courageous of the three, moved by a sudden impulse, -which was not courage but terror, laid her hand quickly upon Louis’s -arm. The young man, who had turned his face defiant and furious towards -the intruder, turned in an instant, grasping at the little timid hand as -a man in danger might grasp at a shield invulnerable, “You perceive, my -lord, I am beyond the reach either of your insults or your<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_183" id="vol_2_page_183"></a>{v.2-183}</span> patronage -here,” said the youth, whose blood was dancing in his veins, and who at -that moment cared less than the merest stranger, who had never heard his -name, for Lord Winterbourne.</p> - -<p>“Come, my lad, if you are imposing upon these poor people—I must set -you right,” said the man who was called Louis’s father. “Do you know -what he is, my good woman, that you harbour this idle young rascal in -despite of my known wishes? Home, you young vagabond, home! This boy -is——”</p> - -<p>“My lord, my lord,” interposed Mrs Atheling, in sudden agitation, “if -any disgrace belongs to him, it is yours and not his that you should -publish it. Go away, sir, from my door, where you once did harm enough, -and don’t try to injure the poor boy—perhaps we know who he is better -than you.”</p> - -<p>What put this bold and rash speech into the temperate lips of Mamma, no -one could ever tell; the effect of it, however, was electric. Lord -Winterbourne fell back suddenly, stared at her with his strained eyes in -the moonlight, and swore a muttered and inaudible oath. “Home, you -hound!” he repeated in a mechanical tone, and then, waving his hand with -a threatening and unintelligible gesture, turned to go away. “So long as -the door is yours, my friend, I will take care to make no intrusion upon -it,” he said significantly before he disappeared; and then the shadow -departed<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_184" id="vol_2_page_184"></a>{v.2-184}</span> out of the moonlight, the stealthy step died on the grass, and -they stood alone again with beating hearts. Mamma took Marian’s hand -from Louis, but not unkindly, and with an affectionate earnestness bade -him go away. He hesitated long, but at length consented, partly for her -entreaty, partly for the sake of Rachel. Under other circumstances this -provocation would have maddened Louis; but he wrung Agnes’s hand with an -excited gaiety as he lingered at the door watching a shadow on the -window whither Marian had gone with her mother. “I had best not meet him -on the road,” said Louis: “there is the Curate—for once, for your sake, -and the sake of what has happened, I will be gracious and take his -company; but to tell the truth, I do not care for anything which can -befall me to-night.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_185" id="vol_2_page_185"></a>{v.2-185}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXVI" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.<br /><br /> -<small>A CRISIS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Marian</span>, whom her mother tenderly put to sleep that night, as if she had -been a child, yet who lay awake in the long cold hours before the dawn -in a vague and indescribable emotion, her heart stirring within her like -something which did not belong to her—a new and strange -existence—slept late the next morning, exhausted and worn out with all -this sudden and stormy influx of unknown feelings. Mamma, who, on the -contrary, was very early astir, came into the bed-chamber of her -daughters at quite an unusual hour, and, thankfully perceiving Marian’s -profound youthful slumber, stood gazing at the beautiful sleeper with -tears in her eyes. Paler than usual, with a shadow under her closed -eyelids, and still a little dew upon the long lashes—with one hand laid -in childish fashion under her cheek, and the other lying, with its -pearly rose-tipped fingers, upon the white coverlid, Marian, but for the -moved and human agitation which evidently<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_186" id="vol_2_page_186"></a>{v.2-186}</span> had worn itself into repose, -might have looked like the enchanted beauty of the tale—but indeed she -was rather more like a child who had wept itself to sleep. Her sister, -stealing softly from her side, left her sleeping, and they put the door -ajar that they might hear when she stirred before they went, with hushed -steps and speaking in a whisper, down stairs.</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling was disturbed more than she would tell; what she did say, -as Agnes and she sat over their silent breakfast-table, was an expedient -which herself had visibly no faith in. “My dear, we must try to prevent -him saying anything,” said Mrs Atheling, with her anxious brow: it was -not necessary to name names, for neither of them could forget the scene -of last night.</p> - -<p>Then by-and-by Mamma spoke again. “I almost fancy we should go home; she -might forget it if she were away. Agnes, my love, you must persuade him -not to say anything; he pays great attention to what you say.”</p> - -<p>“But, mamma—Marian?” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Agnes, Agnes, my dear beautiful child,” said Mrs Atheling, with a -sudden access of emotion, “it was only friendship, sympathy—her kind -heart; she will think no more of it, if nothing occurs to put it into -her head.”</p> - -<p>Agnes did not say anything, though she was extremely<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_187" id="vol_2_page_187"></a>{v.2-187}</span> doubtful on this -subject; but then it was quite evident that Mamma had no faith in her -own prognostications, and regarded this first inroad into the family -with a mixture of excitement, dread, and agitation which it was not -comfortable to see.</p> - -<p>After their pretended breakfast, mother and daughter once more stole -up-stairs. They had not been in the room a moment, when Marian -woke—woke—started with fright and astonishment to see Agnes dressed, -and her mother standing beside her; and beginning to recollect, suddenly -blushed, and turning away her face, burning with that violent suffusion -of colour, exclaimed, “I could not help it—I could not help it; would -you stand by and see them drive him mad? Oh mamma, mamma!”</p> - -<p>“My darling, no one thinks of blaming you,” said Mrs Atheling, who -trembled a good deal, and looked very anxious. “We were all very sorry -for him, poor fellow; and you only did what you should have done, like a -brave little friend—what I should have done myself, had I been next to -him,” said Mamma, with great gravity and earnestness, but decidedly -overdoing her part.</p> - -<p>This did not seem quite a satisfactory speech to Marian. She turned away -again petulantly, dried her eyes, and with a sidelong glance at Agnes, -asked, “Why did you not wake me?—it looks quite late. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_188" id="vol_2_page_188"></a>{v.2-188}</span> am not ill, am -I? I am sure I do not understand it—why did you let me sleep?”</p> - -<p>“Hush, darling! because you were tired and late last night,” said Mamma.</p> - -<p>Now this sympathy and tenderness seemed rather alarming than soothing to -Marian. Her colour varied rapidly, her breath came quick, tears gathered -to her eyes. “Has anything happened while I have been sleeping?” she -asked hastily, and in a very low tone.</p> - -<p>“No, no, my love, nothing at all,” said Mamma tenderly, “only we thought -you must be tired.”</p> - -<p>“Both you and Agnes were as late as me,—why were not you tired?” said -Marian, still with a little jealous fear. “Please, mamma, go away; I -want to get dressed and come down stairs.”</p> - -<p>They left her to dress accordingly, but still with some anxiety and -apprehension, and Mamma waited for Marian in her own room, while Agnes -went down to the parlour—just in time, for as she took her seat, Louis, -flushed and impatient, burst in at the door.</p> - -<p>Louis made a most hasty salutation, and was a great deal too eager and -hurried to be very well bred. He looked round the room with sudden -anxiety and disappointment. “Where is she?—I must see Marian,” cried -Louis. “What! you do not mean to say she is ill, after last night?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_189" id="vol_2_page_189"></a>{v.2-189}</span></p> - -<p>“Not ill, but in her own room,” said Agnes, somewhat confused by the -question.</p> - -<p>“I will wait as long as you please, if I must wait,” said Louis -impatiently; “but, Agnes! why should you be against me? Of course, I -forget myself; do you grudge that I should? I forget everything except -last night; let me see Marian. I promise you I will not distress her, -and if she bids me, I will go away.”</p> - -<p>“No, it is not that,” said Agnes with hesitation; “but, Louis, nothing -happened last night—pray do not think of it. Well, then,” she said -earnestly, as his hasty gesture denied what she said, “mamma begs you, -Louis, not to say anything to-day.”</p> - -<p>He turned round upon her with a blank but haughty look. “I -understand—my disgrace must not come here,” he said; “but <i>she</i> did not -mind it; she, the purest lily upon earth! Ah! so that was a dream, was -it? And her mother—her mother says I am to go away?”</p> - -<p>“No, indeed—no,” said Agnes, almost crying. “No, Louis, you know -better; do not misunderstand us. She is so young, so gentle, and tender. -Mamma only asked, for all our sakes, if you would consent not to say -anything <i>now</i>.”</p> - -<p>To this softened form of entreaty the eager young man paid not the -slightest attention. He began to use<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_190" id="vol_2_page_190"></a>{v.2-190}</span> the most unblushing cajolery to -win over poor Agnes. It did not seem to be Louis; so entirely changed -was his demeanour. It was only an extremely eager and persevering -specimen of the genus “lover,” without any personal individuality at -all.</p> - -<p>“What! not say anything? Could anybody ask such a sacrifice?” cried this -wilful and impetuous youth. “It might, as you say, be nothing at all, -though it seems life—existence, to me. Not know whether that hand is -mine or another’s—that hand which saved me, perhaps from murder?—for -he is an old man, though he is a fiend incarnate, and I might have -killed him where he stood.”</p> - -<p>“Louis! Louis!” cried Agnes, gazing at him in terror and excitement. He -grew suddenly calm as he caught her eye.</p> - -<p>“It is quite true,” he said with a grave and solemn calmness. “This man, -who has cursed my life, and made it miserable—this man, who dared -insult me before <i>her</i> and you—do you think I could have been a man, -and still have borne that intolerable crown of wrong?”</p> - -<p>As he spoke, he began to pace the little parlour with impatient steps -and a clouded brow. Mrs Atheling, who had heard his voice, but had -restrained her anxious curiosity as long as possible, now came down -quietly, unable to keep back longer. Louis sprang to her side,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_191" id="vol_2_page_191"></a>{v.2-191}</span> took her -hand, led her about the room, pleading, reasoning, persuading. Mamma, -whose good heart from the first moment had been an entire and perfect -traitor, was no match at all for Louis. She gave in to him unresistingly -before half his entreaties were over; she did not make even half so good -a stand as Agnes, who secretly was in the young lover’s interest too. -But when they had just come to the conclusion that he should be -permitted to see Marian, Marian herself, whom no one expected, suddenly -entered the room. The young beauty’s pretty brow was lowering more than -any one before had ever seen it lower; a petulant contraction was about -her red lips, and a certain angry dignity, as of an offended child, in -her bearing. “Surely something very strange has happened this morning,” -said Marian, with a little heat; “even mamma looks as if she knew some -wonderful secret. I suppose every one is to hear of it but me.”</p> - -<p>At this speech the dismayed conspirators against Marian’s peace fell -back and separated. The other impetuous principal in the matter hastened -at once to the angry Titania, who only bowed, and did not even look at -him. The truth was, that Marian, much abashed at thought of her own -sudden impulse, was never in a mood less propitious; she felt as if she -herself had not done quite right—as if somehow she had betrayed a -secret of her own, and, now found out and<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_192" id="vol_2_page_192"></a>{v.2-192}</span> detected, was obliged to use -the readiest means to cover it up again; and, besides, the hasty little -spirit, which had both pride and temper of its own, could not at all -endure the idea of having been petted and excused this morning, as if -“something had happened” last night. Now that it was perfectly evident -nothing had happened—now that Louis stood before her safe, handsome, -and eager, Marian concluded that it was time for her to stand upon her -defence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_193" id="vol_2_page_193"></a>{v.2-193}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXVII" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.<br /><br /> -<small>CLOUDS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> end of it all was, of course—though Louis had an amount of trouble -in the matter which that impetuous young gentleman had not counted -upon—that Marian yielded to his protestations, and came forth full of -the sweetest agitation, tears, and blushes, to be taken to the kind -breast of the mother who was scarcely less agitated, and to be regarded -with a certain momentary awe, amusement, and sympathy by Agnes, whose -visionary youthful reverence for this unknown magician was just tempered -by the equally youthful imp of mischief which plays tricks upon the -same. But Mrs Atheling’s brow grew sadder and sadder with anxiety, as -she looked at the young man who now claimed to call her mother. What he -was to do—how Marian could bear all the chances and changes of the -necessarily long probation before them—what influence Lord Winterbourne -might have upon the fortunes of<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_194" id="vol_2_page_194"></a>{v.2-194}</span> his supposed son—what Papa himself -would say to this sudden betrothal, and how he could reconcile himself -to receive a child, and a disgraced child of his old enemy, into his own -honourable house,—these considerations fluttered the heart and -disturbed the peace of the anxious mother, who already began to blame -herself heavily, yet did not see, after all, what else she could have -done. A son of shame, and of Lord Winterbourne!—a young man hitherto -dependent, with no training, no profession, no fortune, of no use in the -world. And her prettiest Marian!—the sweet face which won homage -everywhere, and which every other face involuntarily smiled to see. -Darker and darker grew the cloud upon the brow of Mrs Atheling; she went -in, out of sight of these two happy young dreamers, with a sick heart. -For the first time in her life she was dismayed at the thought of -writing to her husband, and sat idly in a chair drawn back from her -window, wearying herself out with most vain and unprofitable -speculations as to things which might have been done to avert this fate.</p> - -<p>No very long time elapsed, however, before Mrs Atheling found something -else to occupy her thoughts. Hannah came in to the parlour, solemnly -announcing a man at the door who desired to see her. With a natural -presentiment, very naturally arising from the excited state of her own -mind, Mrs Atheling rose, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_195" id="vol_2_page_195"></a>{v.2-195}</span> hastened to the door. The man was an -attorney’s clerk, threadbare and respectable, who gave into her hand an -open paper, and after it a letter. The paper, which she glanced over -with hasty alarm, was a formal notice to quit, on pain of ejection, from -the house called the Old Wood Lodge, the property of Reginald, Lord -Winterbourne. “The property of Lord Winterbourne!—it is our—it is my -husband’s property. What does this mean?” cried Mrs Atheling.</p> - -<p>“I know nothing of the business, but Mr Lewis’s letter will explain it,” -said the messenger, who was civil but not respectful; and the anxious -mistress of the house hastened in with great apprehension and perplexity -to open the letter and see what this explanation was. It was not a very -satisfactory one. With a friendly spirit, yet with a most cautious and -lawyer-like regard to the interest of his immediate client, Mr Lewis, -the same person who had been intrusted with the will of old Miss -Bridget, and who was Lord Winterbourne’s solicitor, announced the -intention of his principal to “resume possession” of Miss Bridget’s -little house. “You will remember,” wrote the lawyer, “that I did not -fail to point out to you at the time the insecure nature of the tenure -by which this little property was held. Granted, as I believe it was, as -a gift simply for the lifetime of Miss Bridget Atheling, she had, in -fact, no right to bequeath it to any one,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_196" id="vol_2_page_196"></a>{v.2-196}</span> and so much of her will as -relates to this is null and void. I am informed that there are documents -in existence proving this fact beyond the possibility of dispute, and -that any resistance would be entirely vain. As a friend, I should advise -you not to attempt it; the property is actually of very small value, and -though I speak against the interest of my profession, I think it right -to warn you against entering upon an expensive lawsuit with a man like -Lord Winterbourne, to whom money is no consideration. For the sake of -your family, I appeal to you whether it would not be better, though at a -sacrifice of feeling, to give up without resistance the old house, which -is of very little value to any one, if it were not for my lord’s whim of -having no small proprietors in his neighbourhood. I should be sorry that -he was made acquainted with this communication. I write to you merely -from private feelings, as an old friend.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling rose from her seat hastily, holding the papers in her hand. -“Resist him!” she exclaimed—“yes, certainly, to the very last;” but at -that moment there came in at the half-open door a sound of childish -riot, exuberant and unrestrained, which arrested the mother’s words, and -subdued her like a spell. Bell and Beau, rather neglected and thrown -into the shade for the first time in their lives, were indemnifying -themselves in the kitchen, where they reigned over Hannah<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_197" id="vol_2_page_197"></a>{v.2-197}</span> with the most -absolute and unhesitating mastery. Mamma fell back again into her seat, -silent, pale, and with pain and terror in her face. Was this the first -beginning of the blight of the Evil Eye?</p> - -<p>And then she remained thinking over it sadly and in silence; sometimes, -disposed to blame herself for her rashness—sometimes with a natural -rising of indignation, disposed to repeat again her first outcry, and -resist this piece of oppression—sometimes starting with the sudden -fright of an anxious and timid mother, and almost persuaded at once, -without further parley, to flee to her own safe home, and give up, -without a word, the new inheritance. But she was not learned in the ways -of the world, in law, or necessary ceremonial. Resist was a mere vague -word to her, meaning she knew not what, and no step occurred to her in -the matter but the general necessity for “consulting a lawyer,” which -was of itself an uncomfortable peril. As she argued with herself, -indeed, Mrs Atheling grew quite hopeless, and gave up the whole matter. -She had known, through many changes, the success of this bad man, and in -her simple mind had no confidence in the abstract power of the law to -maintain the cause, however just, of William Atheling, who would have -hard ado to pay a lawyer’s fees, against Lord Winterbourne.</p> - -<p>Then she called in her daughters, whom Louis then<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_198" id="vol_2_page_198"></a>{v.2-198}</span> only, and with much -reluctance, consented to leave, and held a long and agitated counsel -with them. The girls were completely dismayed by the news, and mightily -impressed by that new and extraordinary “experience” of a real enemy, -which captivated Agnes’s wandering imagination almost as much as it -oppressed her heart. As for Marian, she sat looking at them blankly, -turning from Mamma to Agnes, and from Agnes to Mamma, with a vague -perception that this was somehow because of Louis, and a very heavy -heartbreaking depression in her agitated thoughts. Marian, though she -was not very imaginative, had caught a tinge of the universal romance at -this crisis of her young life, and, cast down with the instant omen of -misfortune, saw clouds and storms immediately rising through that golden -future, of which Louis’s prophecies had been so pleasant to hear.</p> - -<p>And there could be no doubt that this suddenly formed engagement, hasty, -imprudent, and ill-advised as it was, added a painful complication to -the whole business. If it was known—and who could conceal from the -gossip of the village the constant visits of Louis, or his undisguised -devotion?—then it would set forth evidently in public opposition the -supposed father and son. “But Lord Winterbourne is not his father!” -cried Marian suddenly, with tears and vehemence. Mrs Atheling shook her -head, and said that people<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_199" id="vol_2_page_199"></a>{v.2-199}</span> supposed so at least, and this would be a -visible sign of war.</p> - -<p>But no one in the family counsel could advise anything in this troubled -moment. Charlie was coming—that was a great relief and comfort. “If -Charlie knows anything, it should be the law,” said Mrs Atheling, with a -sudden joy in the thought that Charlie had been full six months at it, -and ought to be very well informed indeed upon the subject. And then -Agnes brought her blotting-book, and the good mother sat down to write -the most uncomfortable letter she had ever written to her husband in all -these two-and-twenty years. There was Marian’s betrothal, first of all, -which was so very unlike to please him—he who did not even know Louis, -and could form no idea of his personal gifts and compensations—and then -there was the news of this summons, and of the active and powerful enemy -suddenly started up against them. Mrs Atheling took a very long time -composing the letter, but sighed heavily to think how soon Papa would -read it, to the destruction of all his pleasant fancies about his little -home in the country, and his happy children. Charlie was coming—they -had all a certain faith in Charlie, boy though he was; it was the only -comfort in the whole prospect to the anxious eyes of Mamma.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_200" id="vol_2_page_200"></a>{v.2-200}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.<br /><br /> -<small>THE REV. LIONEL RIVERS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> next day, somewhat to the consternation of this disturbed and -troubled family, they were honoured by a most unlooked-for and solemn -visit from the Rector. The Rector, in stature, form, and features, -considerably resembled Miss Anastasia, and was, as she herself -confessed, an undeniable Rivers, bearing all the family features and not -a little of the family temper. He seemed rather puzzled himself to give -a satisfactory reason for his call—saying solemnly that he thought it -right for the priest of the parish to be acquainted with all his -parishioners—words which did not come with half so much unction or -natural propriety from his curved and disdainful lip, as they would have -done from the bland voice of Mr Mead. Then he asked some ordinary -questions how they liked the neighbourhood, addressing himself to Mamma, -though his very grave and somewhat haughty looks were principally -directed to Agnes. Mrs Atheling, in spite of her dislike<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_201" id="vol_2_page_201"></a>{v.2-201}</span> of the supreme -altitude of his churchmanship, had a natural respect for the clergyman, -who seemed the natural referee and adviser of people in trouble; and -though he was a Rivers, and the next heir after Lord Winterbourne’s only -son, it by no means followed on that account that the Rector entertained -any affectionate leaning towards Lord Winterbourne.</p> - -<p>“I knew your old relative very well,” said the Rector; “she was a woman -of resolute will and decided opinions, though her firmness, I am afraid, -was in the cause of error rather than of truth. I believe she always -entertained a certain regard for me, connected as she was with the -family, though I felt it my duty to warn her against her pernicious -principles before her death.”</p> - -<p>“Her pernicious principles! Was poor Aunt Bridget an unbeliever?” cried -Agnes, with an involuntary interest, and yet an equally involuntary and -natural spirit of opposition to this stately young man.</p> - -<p>“The word is a wide one. No—not an unbeliever, nor even a disbeliever, -so far as I am aware,” said the churchman, “but, even more dangerous -than a positive error of doctrine, holding these fatal delusions -concerning private opinion, which have been the bane of the Church.”</p> - -<p>There was a little pause after this, the unaccustomed audience being -somewhat startled, yet quite unprepared<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_202" id="vol_2_page_202"></a>{v.2-202}</span> for controversy, and standing -beside in a little natural awe of the Rector, who ought to know so much -better than they did. Agnes alone felt a stirring of unusual -pugnacity—for once in her life she almost forgot her natural -diffidence, and would have liked nothing better than to throw down her -woman’s glove to the rampant churchman, and make a rash and vehement -onslaught upon him, after the use and wont of feminine controversy.</p> - -<p>“My own conviction is,” said the Rector with a little solemnity, yet -with a dissatisfied and fiery gleam in his eager dark eyes, “that there -is no medium between the infallible authority of the Church and the -wildest turmoil of heresy. This one rock a man may plant his foot -upon—all beyond is a boundless and infinite chaos. Therefore I count it -less perilous to be ill-informed or indifferent concerning some portions -of the creed, than to be shaken in the vital point of the Church’s -authority—the only flood-gate that can be closed against the boiling -tide of error, which, but for this safeguard, would overpower us all.”</p> - -<p>Having made this statement, which somehow he enunciated as if it were a -solemn duty, Mr Rivers left the subject abruptly, and returned to common -things.</p> - -<p>“You are acquainted, I understand,” he said, with haste and a little -emotion, “with my unfortunate young relatives at the Hall?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_203" id="vol_2_page_203"></a>{v.2-203}</span></p> - -<p>The question was so abrupt and unlooked for, that all the three, even -Mamma, who was not very much given to blushing, coloured violently. -“Louis and Rachel? Yes; we know them very well,” said Mrs Atheling, with -as much composure as she could summon to meet the emergency—which -certainly was not enough to prevent the young clergyman from discovering -a rather unusual degree of interest in the good mother’s answer. He -looked surprised, and turned a hurried glance upon the girls, who were -equally confused under his scrutiny. It was impossible to say which was -the culprit, if culprit there was. Mr Rivers, who was tall enough at -first, visibly grew a little taller, and became still more stately in -his demeanour than before.</p> - -<p>“I am not given to gossip,” he said, with a faint smile, “yet I had -heard that they were much here, and had given their confidence to your -family. I have not been so favoured myself,” he added, with a slight -curl of disdain upon his handsome lip. “The youth I know nothing of, -except that he has invariably repelled any friendship I could have shown -him; but I feel a great interest in the young lady. Had my sister been -in better health, we might have offered her an asylum, but that is -impossible in our present circumstances. You are doubtless better -acquainted with their prospects and intentions than I am. In case of the -event<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_204" id="vol_2_page_204"></a>{v.2-204}</span> which people begin to talk about, what does Lord Winterbourne -intend they should do?”</p> - -<p>“We have not heard of any event—what is it?” cried Mrs Atheling, very -anxiously.</p> - -<p>“I have no better information than common report,” said the Rector; “yet -it is likely enough—and I see no reason to doubt; it is said that Lord -Winterbourne is likely to marry again.”</p> - -<p>They all breathed more freely after this; and poor little Marian, who -had been gazing at Mr Rivers with a blanched face and wide-open eyes, in -terror of some calamity, drooped forward upon the table by which she was -sitting, and hid her face in her hands with sudden relief. Was that all?</p> - -<p>“I was afraid you were about to tell us of some misfortune,” said Mrs -Atheling.</p> - -<p>“It is no misfortune, of course; nor do I suppose they are like to be -very jealous of a new claimant upon Lord Winterbourne’s affections,” -said the Rector; “but it seems unlikely, under their peculiar and most -unhappy circumstances, that they can remain at the Hall.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, mamma!” exclaimed Marian, in a half whisper, “he will be so very, -<i>very</i> glad to go away!”</p> - -<p>“What I mean,” resumed Mr Rivers, who by no means lost this, though he -took no immediate notice of it—“what I wish is, that you would kindly -undertake<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_205" id="vol_2_page_205"></a>{v.2-205}</span> to let them know my very sincere wish to be of service to -them. I cannot at all approve of the demeanour of the young man—yet -there may be excuses for him. If I can assist them in any legitimate -way, I beg you to assure them my best endeavours are at their service.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, sir, thank you—thank you!” cried Mrs Atheling, faltering, -and much moved. “God knows they have need of friends!”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so,” said the Rector; “it does not often happen—friends are -woeful delusions in most cases—and indeed I have little hope of any man -who does not stand alone.”</p> - -<p>“Yet you offer service,” said Agnes, unable quite to control her -inclination to dispute his dogmatisms; “is not your opinion a -contradiction to your kindness?”</p> - -<p>“I hold no opinions,” said the Rector haughtily, with, for the instant, -a superb absurdity almost equal to Mr Endicott: he perceived it himself, -however, immediately, reddened, flashed his fiery eyes with a half -defiance upon his young questioner, and made an incomprehensible -explanation.</p> - -<p>“I am as little fortified against self-contradiction as my fellows,” -said Mr Rivers, “but I eschew vague opinions; they are dangerous for all -men, and doubly dangerous in a clergyman. I may be wrong in matters<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_206" id="vol_2_page_206"></a>{v.2-206}</span> of -feeling; opinions I have nothing to do with—they are not in my way.”</p> - -<p>Again there followed a pause, for no one present was at all acquainted -with sentiments like these.</p> - -<p>“I am not sure whether we will continue long here,” said Mrs Atheling, -with a slight hesitation, half afraid of him, yet feeling, in spite of -herself, that she could consult no one so suitably as the Rector. “Lord -Winterbourne is trying to put us away; he says the house was only given -to old Miss Bridget for her life!”</p> - -<p>“Ah! but that is false, is it not?” said the Rector without any -ceremony.</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling brightened at once. “We think so,” she said, encouraged by -the perfectly cool tone of this remark, which proved a false statement -on the part of my lord no wonder at all to his reverend relative; “but, -indeed, the lawyer advises us not to contest the matter, since Lord -Winterbourne does not care for expense, and we are not rich. I do not -know what my husband will say; but I am sure I will have a great grudge -at the law if we are forced, against justice, to leave the Old Wood -Lodge.”</p> - -<p>“Papa says it was once the property of the family, long, long before -Aunt Bridget got it from Lord Winterbourne,” said Agnes, with a little -eagerness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_207" id="vol_2_page_207"></a>{v.2-207}</span> This shadow of ancestry was rather agreeable to the -imagination of Agnes.</p> - -<p>“And have you done anything—are you doing anything?” said the Hector. -“I should be glad to send my own man of business to you; certainly you -ought not to give up your property without at least a legal opinion upon -the matter.”</p> - -<p>“We expect my son to-morrow,” said Mrs Atheling, with a little pride. -“My son, though he is very young, has a great deal of judgment; and then -he has been—brought up to the law.”</p> - -<p>The Rector bowed gravely as he rose. “In that case, I can only offer my -good wishes,” said the churchman, “and trust that we may long continue -neighbours in spite of Lord Winterbourne. My sister would have been -delighted to call upon you, had she been able, but she is quite a -confirmed invalid. I am very glad to have made your acquaintance. Good -morning, madam; good morning, Miss Atheling. I am extremely glad to have -met with you.”</p> - -<p>The smallest shade of emphasis in the world invested with a different -character than usual these clergymanly and parochial words: for the -double expression of satisfaction was addressed to Agnes; it was to her -pointedly that his stately but reverential bow bore reference. He had -come to see the family; but he<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_208" id="vol_2_page_208"></a>{v.2-208}</span> was glad to know Agnes, the intelligent -listener who followed his sermons—the eager bright young eyes which -flashed warfare and defiance on his solemn deliverances—and, unawares -to herself, saw through the pretences of his disturbed and troubled -spirit. Lionel Rivers was not very sensitively alive to the beautiful: -he saw little to attract his eye, much less his heart, in that pretty -drooping Marian, who was to every other observer the sweetest little -downcast princess who ever gained the magic succours of a fairy tale. -The Rector scarcely turned a passing glance upon her, as she sat in her -tender beauty by the table, leaning her beautiful head upon her hands. -But with a different kind of observation from that of Mr Agar, he read -the bright and constant comment on what he said himself, and what others -said, that ran and sparkled in the face of Agnes. She who never had any -lovers, had attracted one at least to watch her looks and her movements -with a jealous eye. He was not “in love,”—not the smallest hairbreadth -in the world. In his present mood, he would gladly have seen her form an -order of sisters, benevolent votaresses of St Frideswide, or of some -unknown goddess of the medieval world, build an antique house in the -“pointed” style, and live a female bishop ruling over the inferior -parish, and being ruled over by the clergy. Such a colleague the Rector -fancied would be<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_209" id="vol_2_page_209"></a>{v.2-209}</span> highly “useful,” and he had never seen any one whom he -could elect to the office with so much satisfaction as Agnes Atheling. -How far she would have felt herself complimented by this idea was -entirely a different question, and one of which the Rector never -thought.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_210" id="vol_2_page_210"></a>{v.2-210}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXIX" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.<br /><br /> -<small>CHARLIE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> next day was the day of Charlie’s arrival. His mother and sisters -looked for him with anxiety, pleasure, and a little nervousness—much -concerned about Papa’s opinion, and not at all indifferent to Charlie’s -own. Rachel, who for two days past had been in a state of perfectly -flighty and overpowering happiness, joined the Athelings this evening, -at the risk of being “wanted” by Mrs Edgerley, and falling under her -displeasure, with a perfectly innocent and unconscious disregard of any -possible wish on the part of her friends to be alone with their new-come -brother. Rachel could form no idea whatever of that half-wished-for, -half-dreaded judgment of Papa, the anticipation of which so greatly -subdued Marian, and made Mrs Atheling herself so grave and pale. Louis, -with a clearer perception of the family crisis, kept away, though, as -his sister wisely judged, at no great distance, chewing the cud of -desperate and bitter fancy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_211" id="vol_2_page_211"></a>{v.2-211}</span> almost half-repenting, for the moment, of -the rash attachment which had put himself and all his disadvantages upon -the judicial examination of a father and a brother. The idea of this -family committee sitting upon him, investigating and commenting upon his -miserable story, galled to the utmost the young man’s fiery spirit. He -had no real idea whatever of that good and affectionate father, who was -to Marian the first of men,—and had not the faintest conception of the -big boy. So it was only an abstract father and brother—the most -disagreeable of the species—at whom Louis chafed in his irritable -imagination. He too had come already out of the first hurried flush of -delight and triumph, to consider the step he had taken. Strangely into -the joy and pride of the young lover’s dream came bitter and heavy -spectres of self-reproach and foreboding—he, who had ventured to bind -to himself the heart of a sensitive and tender girl—he, who had already -thrown a shadow over her young life, filled her with premature -anxieties, and communicated to these young eyes, instead of their -fearless natural brightness, a wistful forecasting gaze into an adverse -world—he, who had not even a name to share with his bride! On this -memorable evening, Louis paced about by himself, crushing down the -rusted fern as he strode through the wood in painful self-communion. The -wind was high among the trees,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_212" id="vol_2_page_212"></a>{v.2-212}</span> and grew wild and fitful as the night -advanced, bringing down showers of leaves into all the hollows, and -raving with the most desolate sound in nature among the high tops of the -Scotch firs, which stood grouped by themselves, a reserved and austere -brotherhood, on one side of Badgeley Wood. Out of this leafy wilderness, -the evening lay quiet enough upon the open fields, the wan gleams of -water, and the deserted highway; but the clouds opened in a clear rift -of wistful, windy, colourless sky, just over Oxford, catching with its -pale half-light the mingled pinnacles and towers. Louis was too much -engrossed either to see or to hear the eerie sights and sounds of the -night, yet they had their influence upon him unawares.</p> - -<p>In the mean time, and at the same moment, in the quiet country gloaming, -which was odd, but by no means melancholy to him, Charlie trudged -sturdily up the high-road, carrying his own little bag, and thinking his -own thoughts. And down the same road, one talking a good deal, one very -little, and one not at all, the three girls went to meet him, three -light and graceful figures, in dim autumnal dresses—for now the -evenings became somewhat cold—fit figures for this sweet half-light, -which looked pleasant here, though it was so pale and ghostly in the -wood. The first was Rachel, who, greatly exhilarated by her unusual -freedom, and by all that had happened during<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_213" id="vol_2_page_213"></a>{v.2-213}</span> these few days past, -almost led the little party, protesting she was sure to know Charlie, -and very near giddy in her unthinking and girlish delight. The second -was Agnes, who was very thoughtful and somewhat grave, yet still could -answer her companion; the third, a step behind, coming along very slow -and downcast, with her veil over her drooping face, and a shadow upon -her palpitating little heart, was Marian, in whose gentle mind was -something very like a heavy and despondent shadow of the tumult which -distracted her betrothed. Yet not that either—for there was no tumult, -but only a pensive and oppressive sadness, under which the young -sufferer remained very still, not caring to say a word. “What would papa -say?” that was the only audible voice in Marian Atheling’s heart.</p> - -<p>“There now, I am sure it is him—there he is,” cried Rachel; and it was -Charlie, beyond dispute, shouldering his carpet-bag. The greeting was -kindly enough, but it was not at all sentimental, which somewhat -disappointed Rachel, at whom Charlie gazed with visible curiosity. When -they turned with him, leading him home, Marian fell still farther back, -and drooped more than ever. Perhaps the big boy was moved with a -momentary sympathy—more likely it was simple mischief. “So,” said -Charlie in her ear, “the Yankee’s cut out.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_214" id="vol_2_page_214"></a>{v.2-214}</span></p> - -<p>Marian started a little, looked at him eagerly, and put her hand with an -appealing gesture on his arm. “Oh, Charlie, what did papa say?” asked -Marian, with her heart in her eyes.</p> - -<p>Charlie wavered for a moment between his boyish love of torture and a -certain dormant tenderness at the bottom of his full man’s heart, which -this great event happening to Marian had touched into life all at once. -The kinder sentiment prevailed after a moment’s pause of wicked -intention. “My father was not angry, May,” said the lad; and he drew his -shrinking sister’s pretty hand through his own arm roughly but kindly, -pleased to feel his own boyish strength a support to her. Marian was so -young too—very little beyond the rapid vicissitudes of a child. She -bounded forward on Charlie’s arm at the words, drooping no longer, but -triumphant and at ease in a moment, hurrying him up the ascending -high-road at a pace which did not at all suit Charlie, and outstripping -the entire party in her sudden flight to her mother with the good news. -That Papa should not be angry was all that Marian desired or hoped.</p> - -<p>At the door, in the darkness, the hasty girl ran into Mamma’s arms. “My -father is not angry,” she exclaimed, out of breath, faithfully repeating -Charlie’s words; and then Marian, once more the most serviceable of -domestic managers, hastened to light the<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_215" id="vol_2_page_215"></a>{v.2-215}</span> candles on the tea-table, to -draw the chairs around this kindly board, to warn Hannah of the approach -of the heir of the house. Hannah came out into the hall to stand behind -Mrs Atheling, and drop a respectful curtsy to the young gentleman. The -punctilious old family attendant would have been inconsolable had she -missed this opportunity of “showing her manners,” and was extremely -grateful to Miss Marian, who did not forget her, though she had so many -things to think of of her own.</p> - -<p>The addition of Rachel slightly embarrassed the family party, and it had -the most marvellous effect upon Charlie, who had never before known any -female society except that of his sisters. Charlie was full three years -younger than the young stranger—distance enough to justify her in -treating him as a boy, and him in conceiving the greatest admiration for -her. Charlie, of all things in the world, grew actually <i>shy</i> in the -company of his sisters’ friend. He became afraid of committing himself, -and at last began partly to believe his mother’s often-repeated -strictures on his “manners.” He did unquestionably look so big, so -<i>brusque</i>, so clumsy, beside this pretty little fairy Rachel, and his -own graceful sisters. Charlie hitched up his great shoulders, retreated -under the shadow of all those cloudy furrows on his brow, and had -actually nothing to say. And Mrs Atheling, occupied with her<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_216" id="vol_2_page_216"></a>{v.2-216}</span> husband’s -long and anxious letter, forbore to question him; and the girls, anxious -as they still were, did not venture to say anything before Rachel. They -were not at all at their ease, and somewhat dull as they sat in the dim -parlour, inventing conversation, and trying not to show their visitor -that she was in the way. But she found it out at last, with a little -uneasy start and blush, and hastened to get her bonnet and say -good-night. No one seemed to fear that it would be difficult to find -Rachel’s escort, who was found accordingly the moment they appeared in -the garden, starting, as he did the first time of their meeting, from -the darkness of the angle at the end of the hedge. Marian ran forward to -him, giving Charlie’s message as it came all rosy and hopeful through -the alembic of her own comforted imagination. “Papa is quite pleased,” -said Marian, with her smiles and her blushes. She did not perceive the -suppressed vexation of Louis’s brow as he tried to brighten at her news. -For Marian could not have understood how this haughty and undisciplined -young spirit could scarcely manage to bow itself to the approbation and -judgment even of Papa.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_217" id="vol_2_page_217"></a>{v.2-217}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXX" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX.<br /><br /> -<small>A CONSULTATION.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">And</span> now, Charlie, my dear boy, I quite calculate on your knowing about -it, since you have been so long at the law,” said Mrs Atheling: “your -father is so much taken up about other matters, that he really says very -little about this. What are we to do?”</p> - -<p>Charlie, whose mobile brow was shifting up and shifting down with all -the marks of violent cogitation, bit his thumb at this, and took time -before he answered it. “The first thing to be done,” said Charlie, with -a little dogmatism, “is to see what evidence can be had—that’s what we -have got to do. Has nobody found any papers of the old lady’s?—she was -sure to have a lot—all your old women have.”</p> - -<p>“No one even thought of looking,” said Agnes, suddenly glancing up at -the old cabinet with all its brass rings—while Marian, restored to all -her gay spirits, promptly took her brother to task for his contempt of -old women. “You ought to see Miss Anastasia—<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_218" id="vol_2_page_218"></a>{v.2-218}</span>she is a great deal bigger -than you,” cried Marian, pulling a shaggy lock of Charlie’s black hair.</p> - -<p>“Stuff!—who’s Miss Anastasia?” was the reply.</p> - -<p>“And that reminds me,” said Mrs Atheling, “that we ought to have let her -know. Do you remember what she said, Agnes?—she was quite sure my lord -was thinking of something—and we were to let her know.”</p> - -<p>“What about, mother?—and who’s Miss Anastasia?” asked Charlie once -more: he had to repeat his question several times before any answer -came.</p> - -<p>“Who is Miss Anastasia? My dear, I forgot you were a stranger. She -is—well, really I cannot pretend to describe Miss Rivers,” said Mrs -Atheling, with a little nervousness. “I have always had a great respect -for her, and so has your father. She is a very remarkable person, -Charlie. I never have known any one like her all my life.”</p> - -<p>“But <i>who</i> is she, mother? Is she any good?” repeated the impatient -youth.</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling looked at her son with a certain horror.</p> - -<p>“She is one of the most remarkable persons in the county,” said Mrs -Atheling, with all the local spirit of a Banburyshire woman, born and -bred—“she is a great scholar, and a lady of fortune, and the only child -of the old lord. How strange the ways of Providence are, children!—what -a difference it might have made<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_219" id="vol_2_page_219"></a>{v.2-219}</span> in everything had Miss Anastasia been -born a man instead of a woman.” “Indeed,” confessed Mamma, breaking off -in an under-tone, “I do really believe it would have been more suitable, -even for herself.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose we’re to come at it at last,” said Charlie despairingly: -“she’s a daughter of the tother lord—now, I want to know what she’s got -to do with us.”</p> - -<p>“My dear,” said Mrs Atheling eagerly, and with evident pleasure, “I -wrote to your father, I am sure, all about it. She has called upon us -twice in the most friendly way, and has quite taken a liking for the -girls.”</p> - -<p>“And she was old Aunt Bridget’s pupil, and her great friend; and it was -on account of her that the old lord gave Aunt Bridget this house,” added -Agnes, finding out, though not very cleverly, what Charlie’s questions -meant.</p> - -<p>“And she hates Lord Winterbourne,” said Marian in an expressive -appendix, with a distinct emphasis of sympathy and approval on the -words.</p> - -<p>“Now I call that satisfaction,” said Charlie,—“that’s something like -the thing. So I suppose she must have had to do with the whole business, -and knows all about it—eh? Why didn’t you tell me so at once?—why, -she’s the first person to see, of course. I had better seek her out -to-morrow morning—first thing.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_220" id="vol_2_page_220"></a>{v.2-220}</span></p> - -<p>“You!” Mamma looked with motherly anxiety, mixed with disapproval. It -was so impossible, even with the aid of all partialities, to make out -Charlie to be handsome. And Miss Anastasia came of a handsome race, and -had a prejudice in favour of good looks. Then, though his large loose -limbs began to be a little more firmly knitted and less unmanageable, -and though he was now drawing near eighteen, he was still only a boy. -“My dear,” said Mrs Atheling, “she is a very particular old lady, and -takes dislikes sometimes, and very proud besides, and might not desire -to be intruded on; and I think, after all, as you do not know her, and -they do, I think it would be much better if the girls were to go.”</p> - -<p>“The girls!” exclaimed Charlie with a boy’s contempt—“a great deal they -know about the business! You listen to me, mother. I’ve been reading up -hard for six months, and I know something about the evidence that does -for a court of law—women don’t—it’s not in reason; for I’d like to see -the woman that could stand old Foggo’s office, pegging in at these old -fellows for precedent, and all that stuff. You don’t suppose I mind what -your old lady thinks of me—and I know what I want, which is the main -thing, after all. You tell me where she lives—that’s all I want to -know—and see if I don’t make something of it before another day.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_221" id="vol_2_page_221"></a>{v.2-221}</span></p> - -<p>“Where she lives?—it is six miles off, Charlie: you don’t know the -way—and, indeed, you don’t know her either, my poor boy.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you trouble about that—that’s my business, mother,” said -Charlie; “and a man can’t lose his way in the country unless he tries—a -long road, and a fingerpost at every crossing. When a man wants to lose -himself, he had better go to the City—there’s no fear in your plain -country roads. You set me on the right way—you know all the places -hereabout—and just for this once, mother, trust me, and let me manage -it my own way.”</p> - -<p>“I always did trust you, Charlie,” said Mrs Atheling evasively; but she -did not half like her son’s enterprise, and greatly objected to put Miss -Anastasia’s friendship in jeopardy by such an intrusion as this.</p> - -<p>However, the young gentleman now declared himself tired, and was -conducted up-stairs in state, by his mother and sisters—first to Mrs -Atheling’s own room to inspect it, and kiss, half reluctantly, half with -genuine fondness, the little slumbering cherub faces of Bell and Beau. -Then he had a glimpse of the snowy decorations of that young-womanly and -pretty apartment of his sisters, and was finally ushered into the little -back-room, his own den, from which the lumber had been cleared on -purpose for his reception. They left him then to his repose, and dreams, -if the couch<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_222" id="vol_2_page_222"></a>{v.2-222}</span> of this young gentleman was ever visited by such fairy -visitants, and retired again themselves to that dim parlour, to read -over in conclave Papa’s letter, and hold a final consultation as to what -everybody should do.</p> - -<p>Papa’s letter was very long, very anxious, and very affectionate, and -had cost Papa all the leisure of two long evenings, and all his -unoccupied hours for two days at the office. He blamed his wife a -little, but it was very quietly,—he was grieved for the premature step -the young people had taken, but did not say a great deal about his -grief,—and he was extremely concerned, and evidently did not express -half of his concern, about his pretty Marian, for whom he permitted -himself to say he had expected a very different fate. There was not much -said of personal repugnance to Louis, and little comment upon his -parentage, but they could see well enough that Papa felt the matter very -deeply, and that it needed all his affection for themselves, and all his -charity for the stranger, to reconcile him to it. But they were both -very young, he said, <i>and must do nothing precipitate</i>—which sentence -Papa made very emphatic by a very black and double underscoring, and -which Mrs Atheling, but fortunately not Marian, understood to mean that -it was a possibility almost to be hoped for, that this might turn out -one of those boy-and-girl engagements<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_223" id="vol_2_page_223"></a>{v.2-223}</span> made to be broken, and never come -to anything after all.</p> - -<p>It was consolatory certainly, and set their minds at rest, but it was -not a very cheering letter, and by no means justified Marian’s joyful -announcement that “papa was quite pleased.” And so much was the good -father taken up with his child’s fortune, that it was only in a -postscript he took any notice of Lord Winterbourne’s summons and their -precarious holding of the Old Wood Lodge. “We will resist, of course,” -said Papa. He did not know a great deal more about how to resist than -they did, so he wisely left the question to Charlie, and to “another -day.”</p> - -<p>And now came the question, what everybody was to do? which gradually -narrowed into much smaller limits, and became wholly concerned with what -Charlie was to do, and whether he should visit Miss Anastasia. He had -made up his mind to it with no lack of decision. What could his mother -and his sisters say, save make a virtue of necessity, and yield their -assent?<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_224" id="vol_2_page_224"></a>{v.2-224}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXXI" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.<br /><br /> -<small>CHARLIE’S MISSION.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Early</span> on the next morning, accordingly, Charlie set out for Abingford. -It was with difficulty he escaped a general superintendence of his -toilette, and prevailed upon his mother to content herself with brushing -his coat, and putting into something like arrangement the stray locks of -his hair; but at last, tolerably satisfied with his appearance, and -giving him many anxious instructions as to his demeanour towards Miss -Anastasia, Mrs Atheling suffered him to depart upon his important -errand. The road was the plainest of country roads, through the wood and -over the hill, with scarcely a turn to distract the regard of the -traveller. A late September morning, sunny and sweet, with yellow leaves -sometimes dropping down upon the wind, and all the autumn foliage in a -flush of many colours under the cool blue, and floating clouds of a -somewhat dullish yet kindly sky. The deep underground of ferns, where -they were not<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_225" id="vol_2_page_225"></a>{v.2-225}</span> brown, were feathering away into a rich yellow, which -relieved and brought out all the more strongly the harsh dark green of -these vigorous fronds, rusted with seed; and piles of firewood stood -here and there, tied up in big fagots, provision for the approaching -winter. The birds sang gaily, still stirring among the trees; and now -and then into the still air, and far-off rural hum, came the sharp -report of a gun, or the ringing bark of a dog. Charlie pushed upon his -way, wasting little time in observation, yet observing for all that, -with the novel pleasure of a town-bred lad, and owning a certain -exhilaration in his face, and in his breast, as he sped along the -country road, with its hedges and strips of herbage; that straight, -clear, even road, with its milestones and fingerposts, and one -market-cart coming along in leisurely rural fashion, half a mile off -upon the far-seen way. The walk to Abingford was a long walk even for -Charlie, and it was nearly an hour and a half from the time of his -leaving home, when he began to perceive glimpses through the leaves of a -little maze of water, two or three streams, splitting into fantastic -islands the houses and roofs before him, and came in sight of an old -gateway, with two windows and a high peaked roof over it, which strode -across the way. Charlie, who was entirely unacquainted with such -peculiarities of architecture,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_226" id="vol_2_page_226"></a>{v.2-226}</span> made a pause of half-contemptuous boyish -observation, looking up at the windows, and supposing it must be rather -odd to live over an archway. Then he bethought him of asking a loitering -country lad to direct him to the Priory, which was done in the briefest -manner possible, by pointing round the side of the gate to a large door -which almost seemed to form part of it. “There it be,” said Charlie’s -informant, and Charlie immediately made his assault upon the big door.</p> - -<p>Miss Rivers was at home. He was shown into a large dim room full of -books, with open windows, and green blinds let down to the floor, -through which the visitor could only catch an uncertain glimpse of -waving branches, and a lawn which sloped to the pale little river: the -room was hung with portraits, which there was not light enough to see, -and gave back a dull glimmer from the glass of its great bookcases. -There was a large writing-table before the fireplace, and a great -easy-chair placed by it. This was where Miss Anastasia transacted -business; but Charlie had not much time, if he had inclination, for a -particular survey of the apartment, for he could hear a quick and -decided step descending a stair, as it seemed, and crossing over the -hall. “Charles Atheling—who’s <i>Charles</i> Atheling?” said a peremptory -voice outside. “I know no one of the name.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_227" id="vol_2_page_227"></a>{v.2-227}</span></p> - -<p>With the words on her lips Miss Anastasia entered the room. She wore a -loose morning-dress, belted round her waist with a buckled girdle, and a -big tippet of the same; and her cap, which was not intended to be -pretty, but only to be comfortable, came down close over her ears, snow -white, and of the finest cambric, but looking very homely and familiar -indeed to the puzzled eyes of Charlie. Not her homely cap, however, nor -her odd dress, could make Miss Anastasia less imperative or formidable. -“Well sir,” she said, coming in upon him without very much ceremony, -“which of the Athelings do you belong to, and what do you want with me?”</p> - -<p>“I belong to the Old Wood Lodge,” said Charlie, almost as briefly, “and -I want to ask what you know about it, and how it came into Aunt -Bridget’s hands.”</p> - -<p>“What I know about it? Of course I know everything about it,” said Miss -Anastasia. “So you’re young Atheling, are you? You’re not at all like -your pretty sisters; not clever either, so far as I can see, eh? What -are you good for, boy?”</p> - -<p>Charlie did not say “stuff!” aloud, but it was only by a strong effort -of self-control. He was not at all disposed to give any answer to the -question. “What has to be done in the mean time is to save my father’s -property,” said Charlie, with a boyish flush of offence.</p> - -<p>“Save it, boy! who’s threatening your father’s property?<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_228" id="vol_2_page_228"></a>{v.2-228}</span> What! do you -mean to tell me already that he’s fallen foul of Will Atheling?” said -the old lady, drawing her big easy-chair to her big writing-table, and -motioning Charlie to draw near. “Eh? why don’t you speak? tell me the -whole at once.”</p> - -<p>“Lord Winterbourne has sent us notice to leave,” said Charlie; “he says -the Old Wood Lodge was only Aunt Bridget’s for life, and is his now. I -have set the girls to look up the old lady’s papers; we ourselves know -nothing about it, and I concluded the first thing to be done was to come -and ask you.”</p> - -<p>“Good,” said Miss Anastasia; “you were perfectly right. Of course it is -a lie.”</p> - -<p>This was said perfectly in a matter-of-course fashion, without the least -idea, apparently, on the part of the old lady, that there was anything -astonishing in the lie which came from Lord Winterbourne.</p> - -<p>“I know everything about it,” she continued; “my father made over the -little house to my dear old professor, when we supposed she would have -occasion to leave me: <i>that</i> turned out a vain separation, thanks to -<i>him</i> again;” and here Miss Rivers grew white for an instant, and -pressed her lips together. “Please Heaven, my boy, he’ll not be -successful this time. No. I know everything about it; we’ll foil my lord -in this.”</p> - -<p>“But there must have been a deed,” said Charlie; “do you know where the -papers are?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_229" id="vol_2_page_229"></a>{v.2-229}</span></p> - -<p>“Papers! I tell you I am acquainted with every circumstance—I myself. -You can call me as a witness,” said the old lady. “No, I can’t tell you -where the papers are. What’s about them? eh? Do you mean to say they are -of more consequence than me?”</p> - -<p>“There are sure to be documents on the other side,” said Charlie; “the -original deed would settle the question, without needing even a trial: -without it Lord Winterbourne has the better chance. Personal testimony -is not equal to documents in a case like this.”</p> - -<p>“Young Atheling,” said Miss Rivers, drawing herself up to her full -height, “do you think a jury of this county would weigh <i>his</i> word -against mine?”</p> - -<p>Charlie was considerably embarrassed. “I suppose not,” he said, somewhat -abruptly; “but this is not a thing of words. Lord Winterbourne will -never appear at all; but if he has any papers to produce proving his -case, the matter will be settled at once; and unless we have -counterbalancing evidence of the same kind, we’d better give it up -before it comes that length.”</p> - -<p>He said this half impatient, half despairing. Miss Rivers evidently took -up this view of the question with dissatisfaction; but as he persevered -in it, came gradually to turn her thoughts to other means of assisting -him. “But I know of no papers,” she said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_230" id="vol_2_page_230"></a>{v.2-230}</span> with disappointment; “my -father’s solicitor, to be sure, he is the man to apply to. I shall make -a point of seeing him to-morrow; and what papers I have I will look -over. By the by, now I remember it, the Old Wood Lodge belonged to her -grandfather or great-grandfather, dear old soul, and came to us by some -mortgage or forfeit. It was given back—<i>restored</i>, not bestowed upon -her. For her life!—I should like to find out now what he means by such -a lie!”</p> - -<p>Charlie, who could throw no light upon this subject, rose to go, -somewhat disappointed, though not at all discouraged. The old lady -stopped him on his way, carried him off to another room, and -administered, half against Charlie’s will, a glass of wine. “Now, young -Atheling, you can go,” said Miss Anastasia. “I’ll remember both you and -your business. What are they bringing you up to? eh?”</p> - -<p>“I’m in a solicitor’s office,” said Charlie.</p> - -<p>“Just so—quite right,” said Miss Anastasia. “Let me see you baffle -<i>him</i>, and I’ll be your first client. Now go away to your pretty -sisters, and tell your mother not to alarm herself. I’ll come to the -Lodge in a day or two; and if there’s documents to be had, you shall -have them. Under any circumstances,” continued the old lady, dismissing -him with a certain stateliness, “you can call <i>me</i>.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_231" id="vol_2_page_231"></a>{v.2-231}</span></p> - -<p>But though she was a great lady, and the most remarkable person in the -county, Charlie did not appreciate this permission half so much as he -would have appreciated some bit of wordy parchment. He walked back -again, much less sure of his case than when he set out with the hope of -finding all he wanted at Abingford.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_232" id="vol_2_page_232"></a>{v.2-232}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXXII" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.<br /><br /> -<small>SEARCH.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">When</span> Charlie reached home again, very tired, and in a somewhat moody -frame of mind, he found the room littered with various old boxes -undergoing examination, and Agnes seated before the cabinet, with a -lapful of letters, and her face bright with interest and excitement, -looking them over. At the present moment, she held something of a very -perplexing nature in her hand, which the trained eye of Charlie caught -instantly, with a flash of triumph. Agnes herself was somewhat excited -about it, and Marian stood behind her, looking over her shoulder, and -vainly trying to decipher the ancient writing. “It’s something, mamma,” -cried Agnes. “I am sure, if Charlie saw it, he would think it something; -but I cannot make out what it is. Here is somebody’s seal and somebody’s -signature, and there, I am sure, that is Atheling; and a date, ‘xiij. of -May, M.D.LXXII.’ What does that mean, Marian? M. a thousand, D. five -hundred; there it is!<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_233" id="vol_2_page_233"></a>{v.2-233}</span> I am sure it is an old deed—a real something -ancestral—1572!”</p> - -<p>“Give it to me,” said Charlie, stretching his hand for it over her -shoulder. No one had heard him come in.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Charlie, what did Miss Anastasia say?” cried Marian; and Agnes -immediately turned round away from the cabinet, and Mamma laid down her -work. Charlie, however, took full time to examine the yellow old -document they had found, though he did not acknowledge that it posed him -scarcely less than themselves, before he spoke.</p> - -<p>“She said she’d look up her papers, and speak to the old gentleman’s -solicitor. I don’t see that <i>she’s</i> much good to us,” said Charlie. “She -says I might call her as a witness, but what’s the good of a witness -against documents? This has nothing to do with Aunt Bridget, Agnes—have -you found nothing more than this? Why, you know there must have been a -deed of some kind. The old lady could not have been so foolish as to -throw away her title. Property without title-deeds is not worth a straw; -and the man that drew up her will is my lord’s solicitor! I say, he must -be what the Yankees call a smart man, this Lord Winterbourne.”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid he has no principle, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling with a -sigh.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_234" id="vol_2_page_234"></a>{v.2-234}</span></p> - -<p>“And a very bad man—everybody hates him,” said Marian under her breath.</p> - -<p>She spoke so low that she did not receive that reproving look of Mamma -which was wont to check such exclamations. Marian, though she had a will -of her own, and was never like to fall into a mere shadow and reflection -of her lover, as his poor little sister did, had unconsciously imbibed -Louis’s sentiments. She did not know what it was to <i>hate</i>, this -innocent girl. Had she seen Lord Winterbourne thrown from his horse, or -overturned out of his carriage, these ferocious sentiments would have -melted in an instant into help and pity; but in the abstract view of the -matter, Marian pronounced with emotion the great man’s sentence, -“Everybody hates Lord Winterbourne.”</p> - -<p>“That is what the old lady said,” exclaimed Charlie; “she asked me who I -thought would believe him against her? But that’s not the question. I -don’t want to pit one man against another. My father’s worth twenty of -Lord Winterbourne! But that’s no matter. The law cares nothing at all -for his principles. What title has he got, and what title have -you?—that’s what the law’s got to say. Now, I’ll either have something -to put in against him or I’ll not plead. It’s no use taking a step in -the matter without proof.”</p> - -<p>“And won’t that do, Charlie?” asked Mrs Atheling,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_235" id="vol_2_page_235"></a>{v.2-235}</span> looking wistfully at -the piece of parchment, signed and sealed, which was in Charlie’s hands.</p> - -<p>“That! why, it’s two hundred and fifty years old!” said Charlie. “I -don’t see what it refers to yet, but it’s very clear it can’t be to Miss -Bridget. No, mother, that won’t do.”</p> - -<p>“Then, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling, “I am very sorry to think of it; -but, after all, we have not been very long here, and we might have laid -out more money, and formed more attachments to the place, if we had gone -on much longer; and I think I shall be very glad to get back to -Bellevue. Marian, my love, don’t cry; this need not make any difference -with <i>anything</i>; but I think it is far better just to make up our minds -to it, and give up the Old Wood Lodge.”</p> - -<p>“Mother! do you think I mean that?” cried Charlie; “we must find the -papers, that’s what we must do. My father’s as good an Englishman as the -first lord in the kingdom; I’d not give in to the king unless he was in -the right.”</p> - -<p>“And not even then, unless you could not help it,” said Agnes, laughing; -“but I am not half done yet; there is still a great quantity of -letters—and I should not be at all surprised if this romantic old -cabinet, like an old bureau in a novel, had a secret drawer.”</p> - -<p>Animated by this idea, Marian ran to the antique little piece of -furniture, pressing every projection with<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_236" id="vol_2_page_236"></a>{v.2-236}</span> her pretty fingers, and -examining into every creak. But there was no secret drawer—a fact which -became all the more apparent when a drawer <i>was</i> discovered, which once -had closed with a spring. The spring was broken, and the once-secret -place was open, desolate, and empty. Miss Bridget, good old lady, had no -secrets, or at least she had not made any provision for them here.</p> - -<p>Agnes went on with her examination the whole afternoon, drawn aside and -deluded to pursue the history of old Aunt Bridget’s life through scores -of yellow old letters, under the pretence that something might be found -in some of them to throw light upon this matter; for a great many -letters of Miss Bridget’s own—careful “studies” for the production -itself—were tied up among the others; and it would have been amusing, -if it had not been sad, to sit on this little eminence of time, looking -over that strange faithful self-record of the little weaknesses, the -ladylike pretences, the grand Johnsonian diction of the old lady who was -dead. Poor old lady! Agnes became quite abashed and ashamed of herself -when she felt a smile stealing over her lip. It seemed something like -profanity to ransack the old cabinet, and smile at it. In its way, this, -as truly as the grass-mound, in Winterbourne churchyard, was Aunt -Bridget’s grave.</p> - -<p>But still nothing could be found. Charlie occupied<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_237" id="vol_2_page_237"></a>{v.2-237}</span> himself during the -remainder of the day in giving a necessary notice to Mr Lewis the -solicitor, that they had made up their minds to resist Lord -Winterbourne’s claim; and when the evening closed in, and the candles -were lighted, Louis made his first public appearance since the arrival -of the stranger, somewhat cloudy, and full of all his old haughtiness. -This cloud vanished in an instant at the first glance. Whatever -Charlie’s qualities were, criticism was not one of them; it was clear -that though his “No” might be formidable enough of itself, Charlie had -not been a member of any solemn committee, sitting upon the pretensions -of Louis. He gave no particular regard to Louis even now, but sat poring -over the old deed, deciphering it with the most patient laboriousness, -with his head very close over the paper, and a pair of spectacles -assisting his eyes. The spectacles were lent by Mamma, who kept them, -not secretly, but with a little reserve, in her work-basket, for special -occasions when she had some very fine stitching to do, or was busy with -delicate needlework by candle-light; and nothing could have been more -oddly inappropriate to the face of Charlie, with all the furrows of his -brow rolled down over his eyebrows, and his indomitable upper-lip -pressed hard upon its fellow, than these same spectacles. Then they made -him short-sighted, and were only of use when he leaned closely over the -paper—Charlie did<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_238" id="vol_2_page_238"></a>{v.2-238}</span> not mind, though his shoulders ached and his eyes -filled with water. He was making it out!</p> - -<p>And Agnes, for her part, sat absorbed with her lapful of old letters, -reading them all over with passing smiles and gravities, growing into -acquaintance with ever so many extinct affairs,—old stories long ago -come to the one conclusion which unites all men. Though she felt herself -virtuously reading for a purpose, she had forgotten all about the -purpose long ago, and was only wandering on and on by a strange -attraction, as if through a city of the dead. But it was quite -impossible to think of the dead among these yellow old papers—the -littlest trivial things of life were so quite living in them, in these -unconscious natural inferences and implications. And Louis and Marian, -sometimes speaking and often silent, were going through their own -present romance and story; and Mamma, in her sympathetic middle age, -with her work-basket, was tenderly overlooking all. In the little dim -country parlour, lighted with the two candles, what a strange epitome -there was of a whole world and a universal life.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_239" id="vol_2_page_239"></a>{v.2-239}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.<br /><br /> -<small>DOUBTS AND FEARS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Louis</span> had not been told till this day of the peril which threatened the -little inheritance of the Athelings. When he did hear of it, the young -man gnashed his teeth with that impotent rage which is agony, desperate -under the oppression which makes even wise men mad. He scorned to say a -word of any further indignities put upon himself; but Rachel told of -them with tears and outcries almost hysterical—how my lord had -challenged him with bitter taunts to put on his livery and earn the -bread he ate—how he had been expelled from his room which he had always -occupied, and had an apartment now among the rooms of the servants—and -how Lord Winterbourne threatened to advertise him publicly as a vagabond -and runaway if he ventured beyond the bounds of the village, or tried to -thrust himself into any society. Poor little Rachel, when she came in -the morning faint and heart-broken to tell her story, could scarcely -speak for tears, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_240" id="vol_2_page_240"></a>{v.2-240}</span> was only with great difficulty soothed to a -moderate degree of calm. But still she shrank with the strangest -repugnance from going away. It scarcely could be attachment to the home -of her youth, for it had always been an unhappy shelter—nor could it be -love for any of the family; the little timid spirit feared she knew not -what terrors in the world with which she had so little acquaintance. -Lord Winterbourne to her was not a mere English peer, of influence only -in a certain place and sphere, but an omnipotent oppressor, from whose -power it would be impossible to escape, and whose vigilance could not be -eluded. If she tried to smile at the happy devices of Agnes and Marian, -how to establish herself in their own room at Bellevue, and lodge Louis -close at hand, it was a very wan and sickly smile. She confessed it was -dreadful to think that he should remain, exposed to all these insults; -but she shrank with fear and trembling from the idea of Louis going -away.</p> - -<p>The next evening, just before the sun set, the whole youthful party—for -Rachel, by a rare chance, was not to be “wanted” to-night—strayed along -the grassy road in a body towards the church. Agnes and Marian were both -with Louis, who had been persuaded at last to speak of his own -persecutions, while Rachel came behind with Charlie, kindly pointing out -for him the far-off towers of Oxford, the two rivers wandering in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_241" id="vol_2_page_241"></a>{v.2-241}</span> -maze, and all the features of the scene which Charlie did not know, and -amused, sad as she was, in her conscious seniority and womanhood, at the -shyness of the lad. Charlie actually began to be touched with a -wandering breath of sentiment, had been seen within the last two days -reading a poetry book, and was really in a very odd and suspicious -“way.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Louis, upon whom his betrothed and her sister were hanging -eagerly, comforting and persuading—“no; I am not in a worse position. -It stings me at the moment, I confess; but I am filled with contempt for -the man who insults me, and his words lose their power. I could almost -be seduced to stay when he begins to struggle with me after this -downright fashion; but you are perfectly right for all that, and within -a few days I must go away.”</p> - -<p>“A few days? O Louis!” cried Marian, clinging to his arm.</p> - -<p>“Yes; I have a good mind to say to-morrow, to enhance my own value,” -said Louis. “I am tempted—ay, both to go and stay—for sake of the -clinging of these little hands. Never mind, our mother will come home -all the sooner; and what do you suppose I will do?”</p> - -<p>“I think indeed, Louis, you should speak to the Rector,” said Agnes, -with a little anxiety. “O no; it<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_242" id="vol_2_page_242"></a>{v.2-242}</span> is very cruel of you, and you are -quite wrong; he did not mean to be very kind in that mocking way—he -meant what he said—he wanted to do you service; and so he would, and -vindicate you when you were gone, if you only would cease to be so very -grand for two minutes, and let him know.”</p> - -<p>“Am I so very grand?” said Louis, with a momentary pique. “I have -nothing to do with your rectors—I know what he meant, whatever he might -say.”</p> - -<p>“It is a great deal more than he does himself, I am sure of that,” said -Agnes with a puzzled air. “He means what he says, but he does not always -know what he means; and neither do I.”</p> - -<p>Marian tried a trembling little laugh at her sister’s perplexity, but -they were rather too much moved for laughing, and it did not do.</p> - -<p>“Now, I will tell you what my plan is,” said Louis. “I do not know what -he thinks of me, nor do I expect to find his opinion very favourable; -but as that is all I can look for anywhere, it will be the better -probation for me,” he added, with a rising colour and an air of -haughtiness. “I will not enlist, Marian. I have no longer any dreams of -the marshal’s <i>baton</i> in the soldier’s knapsack. I give up rank and -renown to those who can strive for them. You must be content with such -honour as a man can have in his own person, Marian. When I leave you, I -will go at once to your father.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_243" id="vol_2_page_243"></a>{v.2-243}</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, Louis, will you? I am so glad, so proud!” and again the little -hands pressed his arm, and Marian looked up to him with her radiant -face. He had not felt before how perfectly magnanimous and noble his -resolution was.</p> - -<p>“I think it will be very right,” said Agnes, who was not so -enthusiastic; “and my father will be pleased to see you, Louis, though -you doubt him as you doubt all men. But look, who is this coming here?”</p> - -<p>They were scarcely coming here, seeing they were standing still under -the porch of the church, a pair of very tall figures, very nearly equal -in altitude, though much unlike each other. One of them was the Rector, -who stood with a solemn bored look at the door of his church, which he -had just closed, listening, without any answer save now and then a grave -and ceremonious bow, to the other “individual,” who was talking very -fluently, and sufficiently loud to be heard by others than the Rector. -“Oh, Agnes!” cried Marian, and “Hush, May!” answered her sister; they -both recognised the stranger at a glance.</p> - -<p>“Yes, this is the pride of the old country,” said the voice; “here, sir, -we can still perceive upon the sands of time the footprints of our Saxon -ancestors. I say ours, for my youthful and aspiring nation boasts as the -brightest star in her banner the Anglo-Saxon blood. <i>We</i> preserve the -free institutions—the hatred of superstition,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_244" id="vol_2_page_244"></a>{v.2-244}</span> the freedom of private -judgment and public opinion, the great inheritance developed out of the -past; but Old England, sir, a land which I venerate, yet pity, keeps -safe in her own bosom the external traces full of instruction, the -silent poetry of Time—that only poetry which she can refuse to share -with us.”</p> - -<p>To this suitable and appropriate speech, congenial as it must have been -to his feelings, the Rector made no answer, save that most deferential -and solemn bow, and was proceeding with a certain conscientious -haughtiness to show his visitor some other part of the building, when -his eye was attracted by the approaching group. He turned to them -immediately with an air of sudden relief.</p> - -<p>So did Mr Endicott, to whom, to do him justice, not all the old churches -in Banburyshire, nor all the opportunities of speechmaking, nor even -half-a-dozen rectors who were within two steps of a peerage, could have -presented such powerful attractions as did that beautiful blushing face -of Marian Atheling, drooping and falling back under the shadow of Louis. -The Yankee hastened forward with his best greeting.</p> - -<p>“When I remember our last meeting,” said Mr Endicott, bending his thin -head forward with the most unusual deference, that tantalising vision of -what might have been, “I think myself fortunate indeed to have found you -so near your home. I have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_245" id="vol_2_page_245"></a>{v.2-245}</span> visiting your renowned city—one of -those twins of learning, whose antiquity is its charm. In my country our -antiquities stretch back into the eternities; but we know nothing of the -fourteenth or the fifteenth century in our young soil. My friend the -Rector has been showing me his church.”</p> - -<p>Mr Endicott’s friend the Rector stared at him with a haughty amazement, -but came forward without saying anything to the new-comers; then he -seemed to pause a moment, doubtful how to address Louis—a doubt which -the young man solved for him instantly by taking off his hat with an -exaggerated and solemn politeness. They bowed to each other loftily, -these two haughty young men, as two duellists might have saluted each -other over their weapons. Then Louis turned his fair companion gently, -and, without saying anything, led her back again on the road they had -just traversed. Agnes followed silently, and feeling very awkward, with -the Rector and Mr Endicott on either hand. The Rector did not say a -word. Agnes only answered in shy monosyllables. The gifted American had -it all his own way.</p> - -<p>“I understand Viscount Winterbourne and Mrs Edgerley are at Winterbourne -Hall,” said Mrs Endicott. “She is a charming person; the union of a -woman of fashion and a woman of literature is one so rarely seen in this -land.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_246" id="vol_2_page_246"></a>{v.2-246}</span></p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Agnes, who knew nothing else to say.</p> - -<p>“For myself,” said Mr Endicott solemnly, “I rejoice to find the poetic -gift alike in the palace of the peer and the cottage of the peasant, -bringing home to all hearts the experiences of life; in the sumptuous -apartments of the Hall with Mrs Edgerley, or in the humble parlour of -the worthy and respectable middle class—Miss Atheling, with you.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” cried Agnes, starting under this sudden blow, and parrying it with -all the skill she could find. “Do you like Oxford, Mr Endicott? Have you -seen much of the country about here?”</p> - -<p>But it was too late. Mr Endicott caught a shy backward glance of Marian, -and, smothering a mortal jealousy of Louis, eagerly thrust himself -forward to answer it—and the Rector had caught his unfortunate words. -The Rector drew himself up to a still more lofty height, if that was -possible, and walked on by Agnes’s side in a solemn and stately -silence—poor Agnes, who would have revived a little in his presence but -for that arrow of Mr Endicott’s, not knowing whether to address him, or -whether her best policy was to be silent. She went on by his side, -holding down her head, looking very small, very slight, very young, -beside that dignified and stately personage. At last he himself -condescended to speak.</p> - -<p>“Am I to understand, Miss Atheling,” said the<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_247" id="vol_2_page_247"></a>{v.2-247}</span> Rector, very much in the -same tone as he might have asked poor little Billy Morrell at school, -“Are you the boy who robbed John Parker’s orchard?”—“Am I to -understand, as I should be disposed to conclude from what this person -says, that, like my fashionable cousin at the Hall, you have written -novels?—or is it only the hyperbole of that individual’s ordinary -speech?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Agnes, very guilty, a convicted culprit, yet making bold to -confess her guilt. “I am very sorry he said it, but it is true; only I -have written just one novel. Do you think it wrong?”</p> - -<p>“I think a woman’s intellect ought to be receptive without endeavouring -to produce,” said the Rector, in a slightly acerbated tone. -“Intelligence is the noblest gift of a woman; originality is neither to -be wished nor looked for.”</p> - -<p>“I do not suppose I am very guilty of that either,” said Agnes, -brightening again with that odd touch of pugnacity, as she listened once -more to this haughty tone of dogmatism from the man who held no -opinions. “If you object only to originality, I do not think you need be -angry with me.”</p> - -<p>She was half inclined to play with the lion, but the lion was in a very -ill humour, and would see no sport in the matter. To tell the truth, the -Rector was very much fretted by this unlooked-for intelligence. He felt -as if it were done on purpose, and meant as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_248" id="vol_2_page_248"></a>{v.2-248}</span> personal offence to him, -though really, after all, for a superior sister of St Frideswide, this -unfortunate gift of literature was rather a recommendation than -otherwise, as one might have thought.</p> - -<p>So the Rev. Lionel Rivers stalked on beside Agnes past his own door, -following Louis, Marian, and Mr Endicott to the very gate of the Old -Wood Lodge. Then he took off his hat to them all, wished them a -ceremonious good-night, and went home extremely wrathful, and in a most -unpriestly state of mind. He could not endure to think that the common -outer world had gained such a hold upon that predestined Superior of the -sisters of St Frideswide.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_249" id="vol_2_page_249"></a>{v.2-249}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.<br /><br /> -<small>SOME PROGRESS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">After</span> a long and most laborious investigation of the old parchment, -Charlie at last triumphantly made it out to be an old conveyance, to a -remote ancestor, of this very little house, and sundry property -adjoining, on which the Athelings had now no claim. More than two -hundred and fifty years ago!—the girls were as much pleased with it as -if it had been an estate, and even Charlie owned a thrill of -gratification. They felt themselves quite long-descended and patrician -people, in right of the ancestor who had held “the family property” in -1572.</p> - -<p>But it was difficult to see what use this could be of in opposition to -the claim of Lord Winterbourne. Half the estates in the country at least -had changed hands during these two hundred and fifty years; and though -it certainly proved beyond dispute that the Old Wood Lodge had once been -the property of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_250" id="vol_2_page_250"></a>{v.2-250}</span> Athelings, it threw no light whatever on the title -of Miss Bridget. Mrs Atheling looked round upon the old walls with much -increase of respect; she wondered if they really could be so old as -that; and was quite reverential of her little house, being totally -unacquainted with the periods of domestic architecture, and knowing -nothing whatever of archaic “detail.”</p> - -<p>Miss Anastasia, however, remembered her promise. Only two or three days -after Charlie’s visit to her, the two grey ponies made their appearance -once more at the gate of the Old Wood Lodge. She was not exactly -triumphant, but had a look of satisfaction on her face, and evidently -felt she had gained something. She entered upon her business without a -moment’s delay.</p> - -<p>“Young Atheling, I have brought you all that Mr Temple can furnish me -with,” said Miss Anastasia—“his memorandum taken from my father’s -instructions. He tells me there was a deed distinct and formal, and -offers to bear his witness of it, as I have offered mine.”</p> - -<p>Charlie took eagerly out of her hand the paper she offered to him. “It -is a copy out of his book,” said Miss Anastasia. It was headed thus: -“<i>Mem.</i>—To convey to Miss Bridget Atheling, her heirs and assigns, the -cottage called the Old Wood Lodge, with a certain piece of land -adjoining, to be described—partly as a proof of Lord Winterbourne’s -gratitude for<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_251" id="vol_2_page_251"></a>{v.2-251}</span> services, partly as restoring property acquired by his -father—to be executed at once.”</p> - -<p>The date was five-and-twenty years ago; and perhaps nothing but justice -to her dead friend and to her living ones could have fortified Miss -Anastasia to return upon that time. She sat still, looking at Charlie -while he read it, with her cheek a little blanched and her eye brighter -than usual. He laid it down with a look of impatience, yet satisfaction. -“Some one,” said Charlie, “either for one side or for the other side, -must have this deed.”</p> - -<p>“Your boy is hard to please,” said Miss Rivers. “I have offered to -appear myself, and so does Mr Temple. What, boy, not content!”</p> - -<p>“It is the next best,” said Charlie; “but still not so good as the deed; -and the deed must exist somewhere; nobody would destroy such a thing. -Where is it likely to be?”</p> - -<p>“Young Atheling,” said Miss Anastasia, half amused, half with -displeasure, “when I want to collect evidence, you shall do it for me. -Has he had a good education?—eh?”</p> - -<p>“To <i>you</i> I am afraid he will seem a very poor scholar,” said Mrs -Atheling, with a little awe of Miss Anastasia’s learning; “but we did -what we could for him; and he has always been a very industrious boy, -and has studied a good deal himself.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_252" id="vol_2_page_252"></a>{v.2-252}</span></p> - -<p>To this aside conversation Charlie paid not the smallest attention, but -ruminated over the lawyer’s memorandum, making faces at it, and bending -all the powers of his mind to the consideration—where to find this -deed! “If it’s not here, nor in her lawyer’s, nor with this old lady, -<i>he’s</i> got it,” pronounced Charlie; but this was entirely a private -process, and he did not say a word aloud.</p> - -<p>“I’ve read her book,” said Miss Rivers, with a glance aside at Agnes; -“it’s a very clever book: I approve of it, though I never read novels: -in my day, girls did no such things—all the better for them now. Yes, -my child, don’t be afraid. I’ll not call you unfeminine—in my opinion, -it’s about the prettiest kind of fancy-work a young woman can do.”</p> - -<p>Under this applause Agnes smiled and brightened; it was a great deal -more agreeable than all the pretty sayings of all the people who were -dying to know the author of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>, in the brief day of her -reputation at the Willows.</p> - -<p>“And as for the pretty one,” said Miss Anastasia, “she, I suppose, -contents herself with lovers—eh? What is the meaning of this? I suppose -the child’s heart is in it. The worse for her—the worse for her!”</p> - -<p>For Marian had blushed deeply, and then become very pale; her heart was -touched indeed, and she was very despondent. All the other events of the -time<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_253" id="vol_2_page_253"></a>{v.2-253}</span> were swallowed up to Marian by one great shadow—Louis was going -away!</p> - -<p>Whereupon Mrs Atheling, unconsciously eager to attract the interest of -Miss Anastasia, who very likely would be kind to the young people, sent -Marian up-stairs upon a hastily-invented errand, and took the old lady -aside to tell her what had happened. Miss Rivers was a good deal -surprised—a little affected. “So—so—so,” she said slowly, “these -reckless young creatures—how ready they are to plunge into all the -griefs of life! And what does Will Atheling say to this nameless boy?”</p> - -<p>“I cannot say my husband is entirely pleased,” said Mrs Atheling, with a -little hesitation; “but he is a very fine young man; and to see our -children happy is the great thing we care for, both William and me.”</p> - -<p>“How do you know it will make her happy?” asked Miss Anastasia somewhat -sharply. “The child flushes and pales again, pretty creature as she is, -like a woman come into her troubles. A great deal safer to write novels! -But what is done can’t be undone; and I am glad to hear of it on account -of the boy.”</p> - -<p>Then Miss Anastasia made a pause, thinking over the matter. “I have -found some traces of my father’s wanderings,” she said again, with a -little emotion: “if the old man was tempted to sin in his old days, -though it would be a shame to hear of, I should still be glad<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_254" id="vol_2_page_254"></a>{v.2-254}</span> to make -sure; and if by any chance,” continued the old lady, reddening with the -maidenly and delicate feeling of which her fifty years could not deprive -her—“if by any chance these unfortunate children should turn out to be -nearly related to me, I will of course think it my duty to provide for -them as if they were lawful children of my father’s house.”</p> - -<p>It cost her a little effort to say this—and Mrs Atheling, not venturing -to make any comment, looked on with respectful sympathy. It was very -well for Miss Anastasia to say, but how far Louis would tolerate a -provision made for him was quite a different question. The silence was -broken again by the old lady herself.</p> - -<p>“This bold boy of yours has set me to look over all my old papers,” said -Miss Anastasia, with a twinkle of satisfaction and amusement in her eye, -as she looked over at Charlie, still making faces at the lawyer’s note. -“Now that I have begun for <i>her</i> sake, dear old soul, I continue for my -own, and for curiosity: I would give a great deal to find out the story -of these children. Young Atheling, if I some time want your services, -will you give them to me?”</p> - -<p>Charlie looked up with a boyish flush of pleasure. “As soon as this -business is settled,” said Charlie. Miss Anastasia, whom his mother -feared to look at lest she should be offended, smiled approvingly; -patted the shoulder of Agnes as she passed her, left “her love for<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_255" id="vol_2_page_255"></a>{v.2-255}</span> the -other poor child,” and went away. Mrs Atheling looked after her with a -not unnatural degree of complacency. “Now, I think it very likely indeed -that she will either leave them something, or try what she can do for -Louis,” said Mamma; she did not think how impossible it would be to do -anything for Louis, until Louis graciously accepted the service; nor -indeed, that the only thing the young man could do under his -circumstances was to trust to his own exertions solely, and seek service -from none.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_256" id="vol_2_page_256"></a>{v.2-256}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXXV" id="VOL_2_CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.<br /><br /> -<small>A GREAT DISCOVERY.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> visit of Miss Rivers was an early one, some time before their -mid-day dinner; and the day went on quietly after its usual fashion, and -fell into the stillness of a sunny afternoon, which looked like a -reminiscence of midsummer among these early October days. Mrs Atheling -sat in her big chair, knitting, with a little drowsiness, a little -stocking—though this was a branch of art in which Hannah was found to -excel, and had begged her mistress to leave to her. Agnes sat at the -table with her blotting-book, busy with her special business; Charlie -was writing out a careful copy of the old deed. The door was open, and -Bell and Beau, under the happy charge of Rachel, ran back and forwards, -out and in, from the parlour to the garden, not omitting now and then a -visit to the kitchen, where Hannah, covered all over with her white bib -and apron, was making cakes for tea. Their merry childish voices and -prattling feet gave no disturbance to the busy<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_257" id="vol_2_page_257"></a>{v.2-257}</span> people in the parlour; -neither did the light fairy step of Rachel, nor even the songs she sang -to them in her wonderful voice—they were all so well accustomed to its -music now. Marian and Louis, who did not like to lose sight of each -other in these last days, were out wandering about the fields, or in the -wood, thinking of little in the world except each other, and that great -uncertain future which Louis penetrated with his fiery glances, and of -which Marian wept and smiled to hear. Mamma sitting at the window, -between the pauses of her knitting and the breaks of her gentle -drowsiness, looked out for them with a little tender anxiety. Marian, -the only one of her children who was “in trouble,” was nearest of all at -that moment to her mother’s heart.</p> - -<p>When suddenly a violent sound of wheels from the high-road broke in upon -the stillness, then a loud voice calling to horses, and then a dull -plunge and heavy roll. Mrs Atheling lifted her startled eyes, drowsy no -longer, to see what was the matter, just in time to behold, what shook -the little house like the shock of a small earthquake, Miss Anastasia’s -two grey horses, trembling with unusual exertion, draw up with a bound -and commotion at the little gate.</p> - -<p>And before the good mother could rise to her feet, wondering what could -be the cause of this second<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_258" id="vol_2_page_258"></a>{v.2-258}</span> visit, Miss Rivers herself sprang out of -the carriage, and came into the house like a wind, almost stumbling over -Rachel, and nearly upsetting Bell and Beau. She did not say a word to -either mother or daughter, she only came to the threshold of the -parlour, waved her hand imperiously, and cried, “Young Atheling, I want -<i>you</i>!”</p> - -<p>Charlie was not given to rapid movements, but there was no -misunderstanding the extreme emotion of this old lady. The big boy got -up at once and followed her, for she went out again immediately. Then -Mrs Atheling, sitting at the window in amaze, saw her son and Miss -Anastasia stand together in the garden, conversing with great -earnestness. She showed him a book, which Charlie at first did not seem -to understand, to the great impatience of his companion. Mrs Atheling -drew back troubled, and in the most utter astonishment—what could it -mean?</p> - -<p>“Young Atheling,” said Miss Anastasia abruptly, “I want you to give up -this business of your father’s immediately, and set off to Italy on -mine. I have made a discovery of the most terrible importance: though -you are only a boy I can trust you. Do you hear me?—it is to bring to -his inheritance my father’s son!”</p> - -<p>Charlie looked up in her face astonished, and without comprehension. “My -father’s business is of importance<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_259" id="vol_2_page_259"></a>{v.2-259}</span> to us,” he said, with a momentary -sullenness.</p> - -<p>“So it is; my own man of business shall undertake it; but I want an -agent, secret and sure, who is not like to be suspected,” said Miss -Anastasia. “Young Atheling, look here!”</p> - -<p>Charlie looked, but not with enthusiasm. The book she handed him was an -old diary of the most commonplace description, each page divided with -red lines into compartments for three days, with printed headings for -Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and so on, and columns for money. The wind -fluttered the leaves, so that the only entry visible to Charlie was one -relating to some purchase, which he read aloud, bewildered and -wondering. Miss Anastasia, who was extremely moved and excited, looked -furious, and as if she was almost tempted to administer personal -chastisement to the blunderer. She turned over the fluttered leaves with -an impetuous gesture. “Look here,” she said, pointing to the words with -her imperative finger, and reading them aloud in a low, restrained, but -most emphatic voice. The entry was in the same hand, duly dated under -the red line—“Twins—one boy—and Giulietta safe. Thank God. My sweet -young wife.”</p> - -<p>“Now go—fly!” cried Miss Anastasia, “find out their birthday, and then -come to me for money and directions. I will make your fortune, boy; you -shall<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_260" id="vol_2_page_260"></a>{v.2-260}</span> be the richest pettifogger in Christendom. Do you hear me, young -Atheling—do you hear me! He is the true Lord Winterbourne—he is my -father’s lawful son!”</p> - -<p>To say that Charlie was not stunned by this sudden suggestion, or that -there was no answer of young and generous enthusiasm, as well as of -professional eagerness in his mind, to the address of Miss Rivers, would -have been to do him less than justice. “Is it Italy?—I don’t know a -word of Italian,” cried Charlie. “Never mind, I’ll go to-morrow. I can -learn it on the way.”</p> - -<p>The old lady grasped the boy’s rough hand, and stepped again into her -carriage. “Let it be to-morrow,” she said, speaking very low; “tell your -mother, but no one else, and do not, for any consideration, let it come -to the ears of Louis—Louis, my father’s boy!—But I will not see him, -Charlie; fly, boy, as if you had wings!—till you come home. I will meet -you to-morrow at Mr Temple’s office—you know where that is—at twelve -o’clock. Be ready to go immediately, and tell your mother to mention it -to no creature till I see her again.”</p> - -<p>Saying which, Miss Rivers turned her ponies, Charlie hurried into the -house, and his mother sat gazing out of the window, with the most blank -and utter astonishment. Miss Anastasia had not a glance to spare for<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_2_page_261" id="vol_2_page_261"></a>{v.2-261}</span> -the watcher, and took no time to pull her rose from the porch. She drove -home again at full speed, solacing her impatience with the haste of her -progress, and repeating, under her breath, again and again, the same -words. “One boy—and Giulietta safe. My sweet young wife!”</p> - -<p class="c">END OF VOL. II.<br /><br /><br /> - -<small>PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.</small></p> -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="figcenter"><a name="volume_3" id="volume_3"></a> -<img src="images/cover3.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 volume 3.</p> -<p class="nind"> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_I">Book III.—Chapter I., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_II"> II., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_III"> III., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_IV"> IV., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_V"> V., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_VI"> VI., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_VII"> VII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_VIII"> VIII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_IX"> IX., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_X"> X., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XI"> XI., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XII"> XII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XIII"> XIII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XIV"> XIV., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XV"> XV., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XVI"> XVI., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XVII"> XVII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XVIII"> XVIII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XIX"> XIX., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XX"> XX., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXI"> XXI., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXII"> XXII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXIII"> XXIII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXIV"> XXIV., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXV"> XXV., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXVI"> XXVI., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXVII"> XXVII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXVIII"> XXVIII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXIX"> XXIX., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXX"> XXX., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXXI"> XXXI., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXXII"> XXXII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXXIII"> XXXIII., </a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXXIV"> XXXIV.</a> -<a href="#VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXXV"> XXXV.</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. III.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS<br /> -EDINBURGH AND LONDON<br /> -MDCCCLVII<br /> -<br /><br /><small> -ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN BLACKWOOD’S MAGAZINE.</small></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_001" id="vol_3_page_001"></a>{v.3-01}</span></p> - -<h1> -THE ATHELINGS</h1> -<p class="c"> -BOOK III.—WINTERBOURNE HALL<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_002" id="vol_3_page_002"></a>{v.3-02}</span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_003" id="vol_3_page_003"></a>{v.3-03}</span> </p> - -<h1>THE ATHELINGS.</h1> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_I" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_I"></a>BOOK III.—CHAPTER I.<br /><br /> -<small>AN OLD STORY.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">“Now</span>, mother,” said Charlie, “I’m in real earnest. My father would tell -me himself if he were here. I want to understand the whole concern.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling and her son were in Charlie’s little room, with its one -small lattice-window, overshadowed and embowered in leaves—its plain -uncurtained bed, its small table, and solitary chair. Upon this chair, -with a palpitating heart, sat Mrs Atheling, and before her stood the -resolute boy.</p> - -<p>And she began immediately, yet with visible faltering and hesitation, to -tell him the story she had told the girls of the early connection -between the present Lord Winterbourne and the Atheling family. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_004" id="vol_3_page_004"></a>{v.3-04}</span> -Charlie’s mind was excited and preoccupied. He listened, almost with -impatience, to the sad little romance of his father’s young sister, of -whom he had never heard before. It did not move him at all as it had -moved Agnes and Marian. Broken hearts and disappointed loves were very -far out of Charlie’s way; something entirely different occupied his own -imagination. He broke forth with a little effusion of impatience when -the story came to an end. “And is this all? Do you mean to say this is -the whole, mother? And my father had never anything to do with him but -through a girl!”</p> - -<p>“You are very unfeeling, Charlie,” said Mrs Atheling, who wiped her eyes -with real emotion, yet with a little policy too, and to gain time. “She -was a dear innocent girl, and your father was very fond of her—reason -enough to give him a dislike, if it were not sinful, to the very name of -Lord Winterbourne.”</p> - -<p>“I had better go on with my packing, then,” said Charlie. “So, that was -all? I suppose any scamp in existence might do the same. Do you really -mean to tell me, mother, that there was nothing but this?”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling faltered still more under the steady observation of her -son. “Charlie,” said his mother, with agitation, “your father never -would mention it to any one. I may be doing very wrong. If he only were -here himself to decide! But if I tell you, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_005" id="vol_3_page_005"></a>{v.3-05}</span> must give me your word -never so much as to hint at it again.”</p> - -<p>Charlie did not give the necessary pledge, but Mrs Atheling made no -pause. She did not even give him time to speak, however he might have -been inclined, but hastened on in her own disclosure with agitation and -excitement. “You have heard Papa tell of the young gentleman—he whom -you all used to be so curious about—whom your father did a great -benefit to,” said Mrs Atheling, in a breathless hurried whisper. -“Charlie, my dear, I never said it before to any creature—that was -<i>him</i>.”</p> - -<p>She paused only a moment to take breath. “It was before we knew how he -had behaved to dear little Bride,” she continued, still in haste, and in -an undertone. “What he did was a forgery—a forgery! people were hanged -for it then. It was either a bill, or a cheque, or something, and Mr -Reginald had written to it another man’s name. It happened when Papa was -in the bank, and before old Mr Lombard died—old Mr Lombard had a great -kindness for your father, and we had great hopes then—and by good -fortune the thing was brought to Papa. Your father was always very -quick, Charlie—he found it out in a moment. So he told old Mr Lombard -of it in a quiet way, and Mr Lombard consented he should take it back to -Mr Reginald, and tell him it was found out, and hush all<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_006" id="vol_3_page_006"></a>{v.3-06}</span> the business -up. If your papa had not been so quick, Charlie, but had paid the money -at once, as almost any one else would have done, it all must have been -found out, and he would have been hanged, as certain as anything—he, a -haughty young gentleman, and a lord’s son!”</p> - -<p>“And a very good thing, too,” exclaimed Charlie; “saved him from doing -any more mischief. So, I suppose now, it’s all my father’s blame.”</p> - -<p>“This Lord Winterbourne is a bad man,” said Mrs Atheling, taking no -notice of her son’s interruption: “first he was furious to William, and -then he cringed and fawned to him; and of course he had it on his -conscience then about poor little Bride, though we did not know—and -then he raved, and said he was desperate, and did not know what to do -for money. Your father came home to me, quite unhappy about him; for he -belonged to the same country, and everybody tried to make excuses for Mr -Reginald, being a young man, and the heir. So William made it up in his -own mind to go and tell the old lord, who was in London then. The old -lord was a just man, but very proud. He did not take it kind of William, -and he had no regard for Mr Reginald; but for the honour of the family -he sent him away. Then we lost sight of him long, and Aunt Bridget took -a dislike to us, and poor<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_007" id="vol_3_page_007"></a>{v.3-07}</span> little Bride was dead, and we never heard -anything of the Lodge or the Hall for many a year; but the old lord died -abroad, and Mr Reginald came home Lord Winterbourne. That was all we -ever knew. I thought your father had quite forgiven him, Charlie—we had -other things to think of than keeping up old grudges—when all at once -it came to be in the newspapers that Lord Winterbourne was a political -man, that he was making speeches everywhere, and that he was to be one -of the ministry. When your father saw that, he blazed up into such an -anger! I said all I could, but William never minded me. He never was so -bitter before, not even when we heard of little Bride. He said, Such a -man to govern us and all the people!—a forger! a liar!—and sometimes, -I think, he thought he would expose the whole story, and let everybody -know.”</p> - -<p>“Time enough for that,” said Charlie, who had listened to all this -without comment, but with the closest attention. “What he did once he’ll -do again, mother; but we’re close at his heels this time, and he won’t -get off now. I’m going to Oxford now to get some books. I say, mother, -you’ll be sure, upon your honour, not to tell the girls?”</p> - -<p>“No, Charlie,” said Mrs Atheling, with a somewhat faint affirmation; -“but, my dear, I can’t believe in it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_008" id="vol_3_page_008"></a>{v.3-08}</span> It can’t be true. Charlie, boy! -if this was coming true, our Marian—your sister, Charlie!—why, Marian -would be Lady Winterbourne!”</p> - -<p>Charlie did not say a word in return; he only took down his little -travelling-bag, laid it at his mother’s feet to be packed, and left her -to that business and her own meditations; but after he had left the -room, the lad returned again and thrust in his shaggy head at the door. -“Take care of Marian, mother,” said Charlie, in a parting adjuration; -“remember my father’s little sister Bride.”</p> - -<p>So he went away, leaving Mrs Atheling a good deal disquieted. She had -got over the first excitement of Miss Anastasia’s great intelligence and -the sudden preparations of Charlie. She had scarcely time enough, -indeed, to give a thought to these things, when her son demanded this -history from her, and sent her mind away into quite a different channel. -Now she sat still in Charlie’s room, pondering painfully, with the -travelling-bag lying quite unheeded at her feet. At one moment she -pronounced the whole matter perfectly impossible—at the next, -triumphantly inconsequent, she leaped to the full consummation of the -hope, and saw her own pretty Marian—dazzling vision!—the lady of -Winterbourne! and again the heart of the good mother fell, and she -remembered little Bride. Louis, as he was now, having no greater friends -than their<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_009" id="vol_3_page_009"></a>{v.3-09}</span> own simple family, and no pretensions whatever either to -birth or fortune, was a very different person from that other Louis who -might be heir of lands and lordship and the family pride of the -Riverses. Much perplexed, in great uncertainty and pain, mused Mrs -Atheling, half-resentful of that grand discovery of Miss Anastasia, -which might plunge them all into renewed trouble; while Charlie trudged -into Oxford for his Italian grammar—and Louis and Marian wandered -through the enchanted wood, drawing homeward—and Rachel sang to the -children—and Agnes wondered by herself over the secret which was to be -confided only to Mamma.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_010" id="vol_3_page_010"></a>{v.3-10}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_II" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.<br /><br /> -<small>A CRISIS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">That</span> night Charlie had need of all his diplomatic talents. Before he -returned from Oxford, his mother, by way of precaution lest Agnes should -betray the sudden and mysterious visit of Miss Anastasia to Marian, -contrived to let her elder daughter know mysteriously, something of the -scope and object of the sudden journey for which it was necessary to -prepare her brother, driving Agnes, as was to be supposed, into a very -fever of suppressed excitement, joy, triumph, and anxiety. Mrs Atheling, -conscious, hurried, and studying deeply not to betray herself—and -Agnes, watching every one, stopping questions, and guarding off -suspicions with prudence much too visible—were quite enough of -themselves to rouse every other member of the little company to lively -pursuit after the secret. Charlie was assailed by every shape and form -of question: Where was he going—what was he to do? He showed no -cleverness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_011" id="vol_3_page_011"></a>{v.3-11}</span> we are bound to acknowledge, in evading these multitudinous -interrogations; he turned an impenetrable front upon them, and made the -most commonplace answers, making vast incursions all the time into -Hannah’s cakes and Mamma’s bread-and-butter.</p> - -<p>“He had to go back immediately to the office; he believed he had got a -new client for old Foggo,” said Charlie, with the utmost coolness; -“making no secret of it at all,” according to Mamma’s indignant -commentary.</p> - -<p>“To the office!—are you only going home, after all?” cried Marian.</p> - -<p>“I’ll see when I get there,” answered Charlie; “there’s something to be -done abroad. I shouldn’t wonder if they sent <i>me</i>. I say, I wish you’d -all come home at once, and make things comfortable. There’s my poor -father fighting it out with Susan. I should not stand it if it was me.”</p> - -<p>“Hold your peace, Charlie, and don’t be rude,” said Mrs Atheling. “But, -indeed, I wish we were at home, and out of everybody’s way.”</p> - -<p>“Who is everybody?” said Louis. “I, who am going myself, can wish quite -sincerely that we were all at home; but the addition is mysterious—who -is in anybody’s way?”</p> - -<p>“Mamma means to wish us all out of reach of the Evil Eye,” said Agnes, a -little romantically.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_012" id="vol_3_page_012"></a>{v.3-12}</span></p> - -<p>“No such thing, my dear. I daresay we could do <i>him</i> a great deal more -harm than he can do us,” said Mrs Atheling, with sudden importance and -dignity; then she paused with a certain solemnity, so that everybody -could perceive the grave self-restraint of the excellent mother, and -that she could say a great deal more if she chose.</p> - -<p>“But no one thinks what I am to do when you are all gone,” said Rachel; -and her tearful face happily diverted her companions from investigating -and from concealing the secret. There remained among them all, however, -a certain degree of excitement. Charlie was returning home -to-morrow—specially called home on business!—perhaps to go abroad upon -the same! The fact stirred all those young hearts with something not -unlike envy. This boy seemed to have suddenly leaped in one day into a -man.</p> - -<p>And it was natural enough that, hearing of this, the mind of Louis -should burn and chafe with fierce impatience. Charlie, who was perfectly -undemonstrative of his thoughts and imaginations, was a very boy to -Louis—yet there was need and occasion for Charlie in the crowd of life, -when no one thought upon this fiery and eager young man. It was late -that night when Louis left this only home and haven which he had ever -known; and though he would fain<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_013" id="vol_3_page_013"></a>{v.3-13}</span> have left Rachel there, his little -sister would not remain behind him, but clung to his arm with a strange -presentiment of something about to happen, which she could not explain. -Louis scarcely answered a word to the quiet talk of Rachel as they went -upon their way to the Hall. With difficulty, and even with impatience, -he curbed his rapid stride to her timid little footsteps, and hurried -her along without a glance at the surrounding scene, memorable and -striking as it was. The broad moonlight flooded over the noble park of -Winterbourne. The long white-columned front of the house—which was a -great Grecian house, pallid, vast, and imposing—shone in the white -light like a screen of marble; and on the great lawn immediately before -it were several groups of people, dwarfed into minute miraculous figures -by the great space and silence, and the intense illumination, which was -far more striking and particular than the broader light of day. The -chances were that Louis did not see them, as he plunged on, in the -blindness of preoccupation, keeping no path, through light and shadow, -through the trees and underwood, and across the broad unshaded -greensward, where no one could fail to perceive him. His little sister -clung to his arm in an agony of fear, grief, and confidence—trembling -for something about to happen with an overpowering tremor—yet holding a -vague faith in her brother,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_014" id="vol_3_page_014"></a>{v.3-14}</span> strange and absorbing. She said, “Louis, -Louis!” in her tone of appeal and entreaty. He did not hear her, but -struck across the broad visible park, in the full stream of the -moonlight, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left. As they -approached, Rachel could not even hear any conversation among the groups -on the lawn; and it was impossible to suppose that they had not been -seen. Louis’s abrupt direct course, over the turf and through the -brushwood, must have attracted the notice of bystanders even in the -daylight; it was still more remarkable now, when noiseless and rapid, -through the intense white radiance and the perfect stillness, the -stately figure of the young man, and his timid, graceful little sister, -came directly forward in face of the spectators. These spectators were -all silent, looking on with a certain fascination, and Rachel could not -tell whether Louis was even conscious that any one was there.</p> - -<p>But before they could turn aside into the road which led to the Hall -door—a road to which Rachel most anxiously endeavoured to guide her -brother—they were suddenly arrested by the voice of Lord Winterbourne. -“I must put a stop to this,” said his lordship suddenly and loudly, with -so evident a reference to themselves, that even Rachel stopped without -knowing it. “Here, young fellow, stop and give an account of -yourself—what do you mean by wandering about my park at midnight,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_015" id="vol_3_page_015"></a>{v.3-15}</span> eh? -I know your poaching practices. Setting snares, I suppose, and dragging -about this girl as a protection. Get into your kennel, you mean dog; is -this how you repay the shelter I have given you all your life?”</p> - -<p>“It would be a fit return,” said Louis. He did not speak so loud, but -with a tremble of scorn and bitterness and intense youthful feeling in -his voice, before which the echo of his persecutor’s went out and died, -like an ignoble thing. “If I were, as you say,” repeated the young man, -“setting snares for your game, or for your wealth, or for your life, you -know it would be a fit return.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I live a peaceful life with this villanous young incendiary under -my roof!” said Lord Winterbourne. “I’ll tell you what, you young -ruffian, if nothing better can restrain you, locks and bars shall. Oh, -no chance of appealing to <i>my</i> pity, with that fool of a girl upon your -arm! You think you can defy me, year after year, because I have given -charity to your base blood. My lad, you shall learn to know me better -before another week is over our heads. Why, gentlemen, you perceive, by -his own confession, I stand in danger of my life.”</p> - -<p>“Winterbourne,” said some one over his shoulder, in a reproving tone, -“<i>you</i> should be the last man in the world to taunt this unfortunate lad -with his base blood.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_016" id="vol_3_page_016"></a>{v.3-16}</span></p> - -<p>Lord Winterbourne turned upon his heel with a laugh of insult which sent -the wild blood dancing in an agony of shame, indignation, and rage even -into Rachel’s woman’s face. “Well,” said the voice of their tyrant, “I -have supported the hound—what more would you have? His mother was a -pretty fool, but she had her day. There’s more of her conditions in the -young villain than mine. I have no idea of playing the romantic father -to such a son—not I!”</p> - -<p>Louis did not know that he threw his sister off his arm before he sprang -into the midst of these half-dozen gentlemen. She did not know herself, -as she stood behind clenching her small fingers together painfully, with -all the burning vehemence of a woman’s passion. The young man sprang -forward with the bound of a young tiger. His voice was hoarse with -passion, not to be restrained. “It is a lie—a wilful, abominable lie!” -cried Louis fiercely, confronting as close as a wrestler the ghastly -face of his tyrant, who shrank before him. “I am no son of yours—you -know I am no son of yours! I owe you the hateful bread I have been -compelled to eat—nothing more. I am without a name—I may be of base -blood—but I warn you for your life, if you dare repeat this last -insult. It is a lie! I tell every one who condescends to call you -friend; and I appeal to God, who knows that you know it is a lie! I may -be the son<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_017" id="vol_3_page_017"></a>{v.3-17}</span> of any other wretch under heaven, but I am not yours. I -disown it with loathing and horror. Do you hear me?—you know the truth -in your heart, and so do I!”</p> - -<p>Lord Winterbourne fell back, step by step, before the young man, who -pressed upon him close and rapid, with eyes which flamed and burned with -a light which he could not bear. The insulting smile upon his bloodless -face had not passed from it yet. His eyes, shifting, restless, and -uneasy, expressed nothing. He was not a coward, and he was sufficiently -quick-witted on ordinary occasions, but he had nothing whatever to -answer to this vehement and unexpected accusation. He made an -unintelligible appeal with his hand to his companions, and lifted up his -face to the moonlight like a spectre, but he did not answer by a single -word.</p> - -<p>“Young man,” said the gentleman who had spoken before, “I acknowledge -your painful position, and that you have been addressed in a most -unseemly manner—but no provocation should make you forget your natural -duty. Lord Winterbourne must have had a motive for maintaining you as he -has done. I put it to you calmly, dispassionately—what motive could he -possibly have had, except one?”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said Louis, with a sudden and violent start,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_018" id="vol_3_page_018"></a>{v.3-18}</span> “he must have had a -motive—it is true; he would not waste his cruel powers, even for -cruelty’s sake. If any man can tell me what child it was his interest to -bastardise and defame, there may be hope and a name for me yet.”</p> - -<p>At these words, Lord Winterbourne advanced suddenly with a singular -eagerness. “Let us have done with this foolery,” he said, in a voice -which was certainly less steady than usual; “I presume we can all be -better employed than listening to the vapourings of this foolish boy. Go -in, my lad, and learn a lesson by your folly to-night. I pass it over, -simply because you have shown yourself to be a fool.”</p> - -<p>“I, however, do not pass it over, my lord,” said Louis, who had calmed -down after the most miraculous fashion, to the utter amazement of his -sister. “Thank you for the provision you have given us, such as it is. -Some time we may settle scores upon that subject. My sister and I must -find another shelter to-night.”</p> - -<p>The bystanders were half disposed to smile at the young man’s heroical -withdrawal—but they were all somewhat amazed to find that Lord -Winterbourne was as far as possible from sharing their amusement. He -called out immediately in an access of passion to stop the young -ruffian, incendiary, mischief-maker;—called loudly upon the servants, -who began to appear<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_019" id="vol_3_page_019"></a>{v.3-19}</span> at the open door—ordered Louis to his own -apartment with the most unreasonable vehemence, and finally turned upon -Rachel, calling her to give up the young villain’s arm, and for her life -to go home.</p> - -<p>But Rachel was wound to the fever point as well as her brother. “No, no, -it is all true he has said,” cried Rachel. “I know it, like Louis; we -are not your children—you dare not call us so now. I never believed you -were our father—never all my life.”</p> - -<p>She exclaimed these words hastily in her low eager voice, as Louis drew -her arm through his, and hurried her away. The young man struck again -across the broad park and through the moonlight, while behind, Lord -Winterbourne called to his servants to go after the fugitives—to bring -that fellow back. The men only stared at their master, looked helplessly -at each other, and went off on vain pretended searches, with no better -intention than to keep out of Louis’s way, until prudence came to the -aid of Lord Winterbourne. “I shall scarcely think my life in safety -while that young fool wanders wild about the country,” he said to his -friends, as he returned within doors; but his friends, one and all, -thought this a very odd scene.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Louis made his rapid way with his little sister on his arm out -over the glorious moonlit park of Winterbourne, away from the only home -he had ever known—out to the night and to the world. Rachel,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_020" id="vol_3_page_020"></a>{v.3-20}</span> leaning -closely upon him, scarcely so much as looked up, as her faltering -footstep toiled to keep up with her brother. He, holding his proud young -head high, neither turned nor glanced aside, but pressed on straight -forward, as if to some visionary certain end before his eye. Then they -came out at last to the white silent road, lying ghostlike under the -excess of light—the quiet road which led through the village where all -the houses slept and everything was still, not a curl of smoke in the -moonlight, nor a house-dog’s bark in the silence. It was midnight, vast -and still, a great desolate uninhabited world. There was not a door open -to them, nor a place where they could rest. But on pressed Louis, with -the rapid step and unhesitating course of one who hastened to some -definite conclusion. “Where are we going—where shall we go?” said poor -little Rachel, drooping on his shoulder. Her brother did not hear her. -He was not selfish, but he had not that superhuman consideration for -others which might have broken the fiery inspiration of his own -momentous thoughts, and made him think of the desolate midnight, and the -houseless and outcast condition which were alone present to the mind of -Rachel. He did not see a vast homeless solitude—a vagabond and -disgraceful wandering, in this midnight walk. He saw a new world before -him, such as had never glanced before across his fancy. “He must have -had a motive,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_021" id="vol_3_page_021"></a>{v.3-21}</span> he muttered to himself. Rachel heard him sadly, and took -the words as a matter of course. “Where are we to go?”—that was a more -immediately important question to the simple mind of Rachel.</p> - -<p>The Old Wood Lodge was as deep asleep as any house in the village. They -paused, reluctant, both of them, to awake their friends within, and went -back, pacing rapidly between the house of the Athelings and that of the -Rector. The September night was cold, and Rachel was timid of that -strange midnight world out of doors. They seemed to have nothing for it -but pacing up and down upon the grassy road, where they were at least -within sight of a friendly habitation, till morning came.</p> - -<p>There was one light in one window of the Old Wood House; Rachel’s eye -went wandering to it wistfully, unawares: If the Rector knew—the -Rector, who once would have been kind if Louis would have let him. But, -as if in very response to her thoughts, the Rector, when they came back -to this point again, was standing, like themselves, in the moonlight, -looking over the low wall. He called to them rather authoritatively, -asking what they did there—but started, and changed his tone into one -of wondering interest and compassion when Rachel lifted her pale face to -him, with the tears in her eyes. He hastened to the gate at once, and -called them to enter. “Nay, nay, no hesitation—<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_022" id="vol_3_page_022"></a>{v.3-22}</span>come in at once, that -she may have rest and shelter,” said the Rector in a peremptory tone, -which, for the first time in his life, Louis had no thought of -resenting. He went in without a word, leading his little sister. Perhaps -it was the first great thing that ever had been done in all her life for -Rachel’s sake—for the sake of the delicate girl, who was half a child -though a woman in years,—for sake of her tenderness, her delicate -frame, her privilege of weakness. The two haughty young men went in -silently together into this secluded house, which never opened its doors -to any guest. It was an invalid’s home, and some one was always at hand -for its ailing mistress. By-and-by Rachel, in the exhaustion of great -excitement, fell asleep in a little quiet room looking over that moonlit -park of Winterbourne. Louis, who was in no mood for sleep, watched -below, full of eager and unquiet thoughts. They had left Winterbourne -Hall suddenly; the Rector asked no further questions, expressed no -wonder, and left the young man who had repelled him once, with a lofty -and dignified hospitality, to his meditations or repose.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_023" id="vol_3_page_023"></a>{v.3-23}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_III" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.<br /><br /> -<small>CHARLIE’S PREPARATIONS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Charlie Atheling</span> was not at all of an imaginative or fanciful turn of -mind. His slumbers were not disturbed by castle-building—he wasted none -of his available time in making fancy sketches of the people, or the -circumstances, among which he was likely to be thrown. He was not -without the power of comprehending at a glance the various features of -his mission; but by much the most remarkable point of Charlie’s -character was his capacity for doing his immediate business, whatever -that might be, with undivided attention, and with his full powers. On -this early September morning he neither occupied himself with -anticipations of his interview with Miss Anastasia, nor his hurried -journey. He did not suffer his mind to stray to difficult questions of -evidence, nor wander off into speculations concerning what he might have -to do when he reached the real scene of his investigation. What he had -to do at the moment he did<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_024" id="vol_3_page_024"></a>{v.3-24}</span> like a man, bending upon his serious -business all the faculties of his mind, and all the furrows of his brow. -He got up at six o’clock, not because he particularly liked it, but -because these early morning hours had become his habitual time for extra -work of every kind, and sat upon Hannah’s bench in the garden, close by -the kitchen door, with the early sun and the early wind playing -hide-and-seek among his elf-locks, learning his Italian grammar, as if -this was the real business for which he came into the world.</p> - -<p>“Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do”—that was Charlie’s secret of -success. He had only a grammar, a dictionary, and a little New Testament -in Italian—and he had not at this moment the slightest ambition to read -Dante in the original; but with steady energy he chased those unknown -verbs into the deep caverns of his memory—a memory which was -prodigious, and lost nothing committed to it. The three books -accompanied him when he went in to breakfast, and marched off in his -pocket to Oxford when it was time to keep his appointment with Miss -Anastasia. Meanwhile the much-delayed travelling-bag only now began to -get packed, and Mrs Atheling, silently toiling at this business, felt -convinced that Susan would mislay all the things most important for -Charlie’s comfort, and very much yearned in her heart to accompany her -son home. They were to meet him at the railway, whence<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_025" id="vol_3_page_025"></a>{v.3-25}</span> he would depart -immediately, after his interview with Miss Rivers; and Charlie’s secret -commission made a considerable deal of excitement in the quiet little -house.</p> - -<p>Miss Anastasia, who was much too eager and impetuous to be punctual, had -been waiting for some time, when her young agent made his appearance at -the office of her solicitor. After she had charged him with being too -late, and herself suffered conviction as being too early, the old lady -proceeded at once to business; they were in Mr Temple’s own room, but -they were alone.</p> - -<p>“I have made copies of everything that seemed to throw light upon my -late father’s wanderings,” said Miss Anastasia—“not much to speak -of—see! These papers must have been carefully weeded before they came -to my hands. Here is an old guide-book marked with notes, and here a -letter dated from the place where he died. It is on the borders of -Italy—at the foot of the Alps—on the way to Milan, and not very far -from there. You will make all speed, young Atheling; I trust to your -prudence—betray nothing—do not say a word about these children until -you find some certain clue. It is more than twenty years—nearly -one-and-twenty years—since my father died; but a rich Englishman, who -married among them, was not like to be forgotten in such a village. Find -out<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_026" id="vol_3_page_026"></a>{v.3-26}</span> who this Giulietta was—if you can discover the family, they might -know something. My father had an attendant, a sort of courier, who was -with us often—Jean Monte, half a Frenchman half an Italian. I have -never heard of him since that time; he might be heard of on the way, and -<i>he</i> might know—but I cannot direct you, boy—I trust to your own -spirit, your own foresight, your own prudence. Make haste, as if it was -life and death; yet if time will avail you, take time. Now, young -Atheling, I trust you!—bring clear evidence—legal evidence—what will -stand in a court of law—and as sure as you live your fortune is made!”</p> - -<p>Charlie did not make a single protestation in answer to this address. He -folded up carefully those fragments of paper copied out in Miss -Anastasia’s careful old-fashioned lady’s hand, and placed them in the -big old pocket-book which he carried for lack of a better.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know much of the route,” said Charlie,—“over the Alps, I -suppose,” and for once his cheek flushed with the youthful excitement of -the travel. “I shall find out all about that immediately when I get to -town; and there is a passport to be seen after. When I am ready to -start—which will be just as soon as the thing can be done—I shall let -you know how I am to travel, and write immediately when I arrive -there;—I know what you mean me to do.”</p> - -<p>Then Miss Anastasia gave him—(a very important<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_027" id="vol_3_page_027"></a>{v.3-27}</span> part of the -business)—two ten-pound notes, which was a very large sum to Charlie, -and directed him to go to the banking-house with which she kept an -account in London, and get from them a letter of credit on a banker in -Milan, on whom he could draw, according to his occasions. “You are very -young, young Atheling,” said Miss Rivers; “many a father would hesitate -to trust his son as I trust you; but I’m a woman and an optimist, and -have my notions: you are only a boy, but I believe in you—forget how -young you are while you are about my business—plenty of time after this -for enjoying yourself—and I tell you again, if you do your duty, your -fortune is made.”</p> - -<p>The old lady and the youth went out together, to where the little -carriage and the grey ponies stood at the solicitor’s door. Charlie, in -his present development, was not at all the man to hand a lady with a -grace to her carriage; nor was this stately gentlewoman, in her brown -pelisse, at all the person to be so escorted; but they were a remarkable -pair enough, as they stood upon the broad pavement of one of the noblest -streets of Christendom. Miss Anastasia held out her hand with a parting -command and warning, as she took her seat and the reins.—“Young -Atheling, remember! it is life and death!”</p> - -<p>She was less cautious at that moment than she had been during all their -interview. The words full upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_028" id="vol_3_page_028"></a>{v.3-28}</span> another ear than his to whom they were -addressed. Lord Winterbourne was making his way at the moment with some -newly-arrived guests of his, and under the conduct of a learned pundit -from one of the colleges, along this same picturesque High Street; and, -in the midst of exclamations of rapture and of interest, his suspicious -and alarmed eye caught the familiar equipage and well-known figure of -Miss Anastasia. Her face was turned in the opposite direction,—she did -not see him,—but a single step brought him near enough to hear her -words. “Young Atheling!” Lord Winterbourne had not forgotten his former -connection with the name, but the remembrance had long lain dormant in a -breast which was used to potent excitements. William Atheling, though he -once saved a reckless young criminal, could do no harm with his remote -unbelievable story to a peer of the realm,—a man who had sat in the -councils of the State. Lord Winterbourne had begun his suit for the Old -Wood Lodge with the most contemptuous indifference to all that could be -said of him by any one of this family; yet somehow it struck him -strangely to hear so sudden a naming of this name. “Young Atheling!” He -could not help looking at the youth,—meeting the stormy gleam in the -eyes of Charlie, whose sudden enmity sprung up anew in an instant. Lord -Winterbourne was sufficiently disturbed already by the departure of<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_029" id="vol_3_page_029"></a>{v.3-29}</span> -Louis, and with the quick observation of alarm remarked everything. He -could understand no natural connection whatever between this lad and -Miss Anastasia. His startled imagination suggested instantly that it -bore some reference to Louis, and what interpretation was it possible to -give to so strange an adjuration—“It is life and death!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_030" id="vol_3_page_030"></a>{v.3-30}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_IV" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br /><br /> -<small>GOING AWAY.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">“Charlie</span>, my dear boy,” said Mrs Atheling, with a slight tremble in her -voice, “I suppose it may be months before we see you again.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t tell, mother; but it will not be a day longer than I can help,” -said Charlie, who had the grace to be serious at the moment of parting. -“There’s only one thing, you know,—I must do my business before I come -home.”</p> - -<p>“And take care of yourself,” said Mrs Atheling; “take great care when -you are going over those mountains, and among those people where bandits -are—you know what stories we have read about such robbers, -Charlie,—and remember, though I should be very glad to hear good news -about Louis, Louis is not my own very boy, like you.”</p> - -<p>“Hush, mother—no need for naming him,” said Charlie; “he is of more -moment than me, however, this time—for that’s my business. Never -fear—<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_031" id="vol_3_page_031"></a>{v.3-31}</span>thieves may be fools there as well as at home, but they’re none -such fools as to meddle with me. Now, mother, promise me, the last -thing,—Agnes, do you hear?—don’t tell Marian a word, nor <i>him</i>. I’ll -tell old Foggo the whole story, and Foggo will do what he can for him -when he gets to London; but don’t you go and delude him, telling him of -this, for it would just be as good as ruin if I don’t succeed; and it -all may come to nothing, as like as not. I say, Agnes, do you hear?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I hear, very well; but I am not given to telling secrets,” said -Agnes, with a little dignity.</p> - -<p>Charlie only laughed as he arranged himself in the corner of the -second-class carriage, and drew forth his grammar; there was no time for -anything more, save entreaties that he would write, and take care of -himself; and the train flashed away, leaving them somewhat dull and -blank in the reaction of past excitement, looking at each other, and -half reluctant to turn their faces homeward. Their minds hurried forth, -faster than either steam or electricity, to the end of Charlie’s -journey. They went back with very slow steps and very abstracted minds. -What a new world of change and sudden revolution might open upon them at -Charlie’s return!</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling had some business in the town, and the mother and daughter -pursued their way silently<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_032" id="vol_3_page_032"></a>{v.3-32}</span> to that same noble High Street where Charlie -had seen Lord Winterbourne, and where Lord Winterbourne and his party -were still to be caught sight of, appearing and reappearing by glimpses -as they “did” the halls and colleges. While her mother managed some -needful business in a shop, Agnes stood rather dreamily looking down the -stately street; its strange old-world mixture of the present and the -past; its union of all kinds of buildings; the trim classic pillars and -toy cupolas of the eighteenth century—the grim crumbling front of elder -days—the gleams of green grass and waving trees through college -gateways—the black-gowned figures interrupting the sunshine—the -beautiful spire striking up into it as into its natural element,—a -noble hyacinthine stem of immortal flowers. Agnes did not know much -about artistic effect, nor anything about orders of architecture, but -the scene seized upon her imagination, as was its natural right. Her -thoughts were astray among hopes and chances far enough out of the -common way—but any dream of romance could make itself real in an -atmosphere like this.</p> - -<p>She was pale,—she was somewhat of an abstracted and musing aspect. When -one took into consideration her misfortune of authorship, she was in -quite a sentimental <i>pose</i> and attitude—so thought her American -acquaintance, who had managed to secure an invitation<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_033" id="vol_3_page_033"></a>{v.3-33}</span> to the Hall, and -was one of Lord Winterbourne’s party. But Mr Endicott had “done” all the -colleges before, and he could afford to let his attention be distracted -by the appearance of the literary sister of the lady of his love.</p> - -<p>“I am not surprised at your abstraction,” said Mr Endicott. “In this, -indeed, I do not hesitate to confess, my country is not equal to your -Island. What an effect of sunshine! what a breadth of shade! I cannot -profess to have any preference, in respect to Art, for the past, -picturesque though it be—a poet of these days, Miss Atheling, has not -to deal with facts, but feelings; but I have no doubt, before I -interrupted you, the whole panorama of History glided before your -meditative eye.”</p> - -<p>“No, indeed; I was thinking more of the future than of the past,” said -Agnes hurriedly.</p> - -<p>“The future of this nation is obscure and mysterious,” said Mr Endicott, -gathering his eyebrows solemnly. “Some man must arise to lead you—to -glory—or to perdition! I see nothing but chaos and darkness; but why -should I prophesy? A past generation had leisure to watch the signs of -the times; but for us ‘Art is long and time is fleeting,’ and happy is -the man who can snatch one burning experience from the brilliant mirage -of life.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_034" id="vol_3_page_034"></a>{v.3-34}</span></p> - -<p>Agnes, a little puzzled by this mixture of images, did not attempt any -answer. Mr Endicott went on.</p> - -<p>“I had begun to observe, with a great deal of interest, two remarkable -young minds placed in a singular position. They were not to be met, of -course, at the table of Lord Winterbourne,” said the American with -dignity; “but in my walks about the park I sometimes encountered them, -and always endeavoured to draw them into conversation. So remarkable, in -fact, did they seem to me, that they found a place in my Letters from -England; studies of character entirely new to my consciousness. I -believe, Miss Atheling, I had once the pleasure of seeing them in your -company. They stand—um—unfortunately in a—a—an equivocal -relationship to my noble host.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! what of them?” cried Agnes quickly, and with a crimsoned cheek. She -felt already how difficult it was to hear them spoken of, and not -proclaim at once her superior knowledge.</p> - -<p>“A singular event, I understand, happened last night,” continued Mr -Endicott. “Viscount Winterbourne, on his own lawn, was attacked and -insulted by the young man, who afterwards left the house under very -remarkable circumstances. My noble friend, who is an admirable example -of an old English nobleman, was at one time in actual danger,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_035" id="vol_3_page_035"></a>{v.3-35}</span> and I -believe has been advised to put this fiery youth—”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean Louis?” cried Agnes, interrupting him anxiously. -“Louis!—do you mean that he has left the Hall?”</p> - -<p>“I am greatly interested, I assure you, in tracing out this romance of -real life,” said Mr Endicott. “He left the Hall, I understand, last -evening—and my noble friend is advised to take measures for his -apprehension. I look upon the whole history with the utmost interest. -How interesting to trace the motives of this young mind, perhaps the -strife of passions—gratitude mixing with a sense of injury! If he is -secured, I shall certainly visit him: I know no nobler subject for a -drama of passion; and dramas of the passions are what we want to ennoble -this modern time.”</p> - -<p>“Mother!” cried Agnes, “mother, come; we have no time to lose—Mr -Endicott has told me—Mamma, leave these things to another time. Marian -is alone; there is no one to support her. Oh, mother, mother! make -haste! We must go home!”</p> - -<p>She scarcely gave a glance to Mr Endicott as he stood somewhat -surprised, making a study of the young author’s excitable temperament -for his next “letter from England”—but hastened her mother homeward, -explaining, as she went, though not very<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_036" id="vol_3_page_036"></a>{v.3-36}</span> coherently, that Louis had -attacked Lord Winterbourne—that he had left the Hall—that he had done -something for which he might be apprehended. The terror of -disgrace—that most dread of all fears to people in their -class—overwhelmed both mother and daughter, as they hastened, at a very -unusual pace, along the road, terrified to meet himself in custody, or -some one coming to tell them of his crime. And Marian, their poor -beautiful flower, on whom this storm would fall so heavily—Marian was -alone!<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_037" id="vol_3_page_037"></a>{v.3-37}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_V" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.<br /><br /> -<small>THE OLD WOOD HOUSE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Louis</span> passed the night in the Rector’s library. He had no inclination -for sleep; indeed, he was almost scornful of the idea that he <i>could</i> -sleep under his new and strange circumstances; and it was not until he -roused himself, with a start, to see that the pale sheen of the -moonlight had been succeeded by the rosy dawn of morning, that he knew -of the sudden, deep slumber, that had fallen upon him. It was morning, -but it was still a long time till day; except the birds among the trees -there was nothing astir, not even the earliest labourer, and he could -not hear a sound in the house. All the events of the previous night -returned upon Louis’s mind with all the revived freshness of a sudden -awaking. A great change had passed upon him in a few hours. He started -now at once out of the indefinite musings, the flush of vain ambition, -the bitter brooding over wrong which had been familiar to his mind. He -began to think with the earnest precision of a man<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_038" id="vol_3_page_038"></a>{v.3-38}</span> who has attained to -a purpose. Formerly it had been hard enough for his proud undisciplined -spirit, prescient of something greater, to resolve upon a plan of -tedious labour for daily bread, or to be content with such a fortune as -had fallen to such a man as Mr Atheling. Even with love to bear him out, -and his beautiful Marian to inspire him, it was hard, out of all the -proud possibilities of youth, to plunge into such a lot as this. Now he -considered it warily, with the full awakened consciousness of a man. Up -to this time his bitter dislike and opposition to Lord Winterbourne had -been carried on by fits and starts, as youths do contend with older -people under whose sway they have been all their life. He took no reason -with him when he decided that he was not the son of the man who opposed -him. He never entered into the question how he came to the Hall, or what -was the motive of its master. He had contented himself with a mere -unreasoning conviction that Lord Winterbourne was not his father; but -only one word was wanted to awaken the slumbering mind of the youth, and -that word had been spoken last night. Now a clear and evident purpose -became visible before him. What was Lord Winterbourne’s reason for -keeping him all his life under so killing a bondage? What child was -there in the world whom it was Lord Winterbourne’s interest to call -illegitimate and keep in obscurity?<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_039" id="vol_3_page_039"></a>{v.3-39}</span> His heart swelled—the colour rose -in his face. He did not see how hopeless was the search—how entirely -without grounds, without information, he was. He did not perceive how -vain, to every reasonable individual, would seem the fabric he had built -upon a mere conviction of his own. In his own eager perception -everything was possible to that courage, and perseverance indomitable, -which he felt to be in him; and, for the first time in his life, Louis -came down from the unreasonable and bitter pride which had shut his -heart against all overtures of friendship. Friendship—help—advice—the -aid of those who knew the world better than he did—these were things to -be sought for, and solicited now. He sat in the Rector’s chair, leaning -upon the Rector’s writing-table; it was not without a struggle that he -overcame his old repugnance, his former haughtiness. It was not without -a pang that he remembered the obligation under which this stranger had -laid him. It was his first effort in self-control, and it was not an -easy one; he resolved at last to ask counsel from the Rector, and lay -fully before him the strange circumstances in which he stood.</p> - -<p>The Rector was a man of capricious hours, and uncertain likings. He was -sometimes abroad as early as the earliest ploughman; to-day it was late -in the forenoon before he made his appearance. Breakfast<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_040" id="vol_3_page_040"></a>{v.3-40}</span> had been -brought to Louis, by himself, in the library; in this house they were -used to solitary meals at all hours—and he had already asked several -times for the Rector, when Mr Rivers at last entered the room, and -saluted him with stately courtesy. “My sister, I find, has detained your -sister,” said the Rector. “I hope you have not been anxious—they tell -me the young lady will join us presently.”</p> - -<p>Then there was a pause; and then Mr Rivers began an extremely polite and -edifying conversation, which must have reminded any spectator of the -courtly amity of a couple of Don Quixotes preparing for the duello. The -Rector himself conducted it with the most solemn gravity imaginable. -This Lionel Rivers, dissatisfied and self-devouring, was not a true man. -Supposing himself to be under a melancholy necessity of disbelieving on -pain of conscience, he yet submitted to an innumerable amount of -practical shams, with which his conscience took no concern. In spite of -his great talents, and of a character full of natural nobleness, when -you came to its foundations, a false tone, an artificial strain of -conversation, an unreal and insincere expression, were unhappily -familiar enough to the dissatisfied clergyman, who vainly tried to -anchor himself upon the authority of the Church. Louis, on the contrary, -knew nothing of talk which was a mere veil and concealment of meaning; -he could not use vain words<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_041" id="vol_3_page_041"></a>{v.3-41}</span> when his heart burned within him; he had no -patience for those conversations which were merely intended to occupy -time, and which meant and led to nothing. Yet it was very difficult for -him, young, proud, and inexperienced as he was, without any invitation -or assistance from his companion, to enter upon his explanation. He -changed colour, he became uneasy, he scarcely answered the indifferent -remarks addressed to him. At length, seeing nothing better for it, he -plunged suddenly and without comment into his own tale.</p> - -<p>“We have left Winterbourne Hall,” said Louis, reddening to his temples -as he spoke. “I have long been aware how unsuitable a home it was for -me. I am going to London immediately. I cannot thank you enough for your -hospitality to my sister, and to myself, last night.”</p> - -<p>“That is nothing,” said the Rector, with a motion of his hand. “Some -time since I had the pleasure of saying to your friends in the Lodge -that it would gratify me to be able to serve you. I do not desire to pry -into your plans; but if I can help you in town, let me know without -hesitation.”</p> - -<p>“So far from prying,” said Louis, eagerly, interrupting him, “I desire -nothing more than to explain them. All my life,” and once again the red -blood rushed to the young man’s face,—“all my life I have occupied<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_042" id="vol_3_page_042"></a>{v.3-42}</span> the -most humiliating of positions—you know it. I am not a meek man by -nature; what excuse I have had if a bitter pride has sometimes taken -possession of me, you know——”</p> - -<p>The Rector bowed gravely, but did not speak. Louis continued in haste, -and with growing agitation, “I am not the son of Lord Winterbourne—I am -not a disgraced offshoot of your family—I can speak to you without -feeling shame and abasement in the very sound of your name. This has -been my conviction since ever I was capable of knowing anything—but -Heaven knows how subtly the snare was woven—it seemed impossible, until -now when we have done it, to disengage our feet.”</p> - -<p>“Have you made any discovery, then? What has happened?” said the Rector, -roused into an eager curiosity. Here, at the very outset, lay Louis’s -difficulty—and he had never perceived it before.</p> - -<p>“No; I have made no discovery,” he said, with a momentary -disconcertment. “I have only left the Hall—I have only told Lord -Winterbourne what he knows well, and I have known long, that I am not -his son.”</p> - -<p>“Exactly—but how did you discover that?” said the Rector.</p> - -<p>“I have discovered nothing—but I am as sure of it as that I breathe,” -answered Louis.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_043" id="vol_3_page_043"></a>{v.3-43}</span></p> - -<p>The Rector looked at him—looked at a portrait which hung directly above -Louis’s head upon the wall, smiled, and shook his head. “It is quite -natural,” he said; “I can sympathise with any effort you make to gain a -more honourable position, and to disown Lord Winterbourne—but it is -vain, where there are pictures of the Riverses, to deny your connection -with my family. George Rivers himself, my lord’s heir, the future head -of the family, has not a tithe as much of the looks and bearing of the -blood as you.”</p> - -<p>Louis could not find a word to say in face of such an argument—he -looked eagerly yet blankly into the face of the Rector—felt all his -pulses throbbing with fiery impatience of the doubt thus cast upon -him—yet knew nothing to advance against so subtle and unexpected a -charge of kindred, and could only repeat, in a passionate undertone, “I -am not Lord Winterbourne’s son.”</p> - -<p>“I do not know,” said the Rector, “I have no information which is not -common to all the neighbourhood—yet I beg you to guard against -delusion. Lord Winterbourne brought you here while you were an -infant—since then you have remained at the Hall—he has owned you, I -suppose, as much as a man ever owns an illegitimate child. Pardon me, I -am obliged to use the common words. Lord Winterbourne is not a man of -extended benevolence, neither is he one to take upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_044" id="vol_3_page_044"></a>{v.3-44}</span> himself the -responsibility or blame of another. If you are not his son, why did he -bring you here?”</p> - -<p>Louis raised his face from his hands which had covered it—he was very -pale, haggard, almost ghastly. “If you can tell me of any youth—of any -child—of any man’s son, whom it was his interest to disgrace and remove -out of the way,” said the young man with his parched lips, “I will tell -you why I am here.”</p> - -<p>The Rector could not quite restrain a start of emotion—not for what the -youth said, for that was madness to the man of the world—but for the -extreme passion, almost despair, in his face. He thought it best to -soothe rather than to excite him.</p> - -<p>“I know nothing more than all the world knows,” said Mr Rivers; “but, -though I warn you against delusions, I will not say you are wrong when -you are so firmly persuaded that you are right. What do you mean to do -in London—can I help you there?”</p> - -<p>Louis felt with no small pang this giving up of the argument—as if it -were useless to discuss anything so visionary—but he roused himself to -answer the question: “The first thing I have to do,” he said quickly, -“is to maintain my sister and myself.”</p> - -<p>The Rector bowed again, very solemnly and gravely—perhaps not without a -passing thought that the same duty imposed chains more galling than iron -upon himself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_045" id="vol_3_page_045"></a>{v.3-45}</span></p> - -<p>“That done, I will pursue my inquiries as I can,” said Louis; “you think -them vain—but time will prove that. I thank you now, for my sister’s -sake, for receiving us—and now we must go on our way.”</p> - -<p>“Not yet,” said the Rector. “You are without means, of course—what, do -you think it a disgrace, that you blush for it?—or would you have me -suppose that you had taken money from Lord Winterbourne, while you deny -that you are his son? For this once suppose me your friend; I will -supply you with what you are certain to need; and you can repay me—oh, -with double interest if you please!—only do not go to London -unprovided—for that is the maddest method of anticipating a heartbreak; -your sister is young, almost a child, tender and delicate—let it be, -for her sake.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you; I will take it as you give it,” said Louis. “I am not so -ungenerous as you suppose.”</p> - -<p>There was a certain likeness between them, different as they were—there -was a likeness in both to these family portraits on the walls. Before -such silent witnesses Louis’s passionate disclaimer, sincere though it -was, was unbelievable. For no one could believe that he was not an -offshoot of the house of Rivers, who looked from his face and the -Rector’s to those calm ancient faces on the walls.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_046" id="vol_3_page_046"></a>{v.3-46}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_VI" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br /><br /> -<small>AN ADVENTURER.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">“They</span> have left the Hall.”</p> - -<p>That was all Marian said when she came to the door to meet her mother -and sister, who paused in the porch, overcome with fatigue, haste, and -anxiety. Mrs Atheling was obliged to pause and sit down, not caring -immediately to see the young culprit who was within.</p> - -<p>“And what has happened, Marian,—what has happened? My poor child, did -he tell you?” asked Mrs Atheling.</p> - -<p>“Nothing has happened, mamma,” said Marian, with a little petulant -haste; “only Louis has quarrelled with Lord Winterbourne; but, indeed, I -wish you would speak to him. Oh, Agnes, go and talk to Louis; he says he -will go to London to-day.”</p> - -<p>“And so he should; there is not a moment to be lost,” said Agnes,—“I -will go and tell him; we can walk in with him to Oxford, and see him -safely away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_047" id="vol_3_page_047"></a>{v.3-47}</span> Tell Hannah to make haste, Marian,—he must not waste an -hour.”</p> - -<p>“What does she mean,—what is the matter? Oh, what have you heard, -mamma?” said Marian, growing very pale.</p> - -<p>“Hush, dear; I daresay it was not him,—it was Mr Endicott, who is sure -to hate him, poor boy; he said Lord Winterbourne would put him in -prison, Marian. Oh,” said Mrs Atheling, getting up hurriedly, “he ought -to go at once to Papa.”</p> - -<p>But they found Louis, whom they all surrounded immediately with terror, -sympathy, and encouragement, entirely unappalled by the threatened -vengeance of Lord Winterbourne.</p> - -<p>“There is nothing to charge me with; he can bring no accusation against -me; if he did ever say it, it must have been a mere piece of bravado,” -said Louis; “but it is better I should go at once without losing an -hour, as Agnes says. Will you let Rachel stay? and you, who are the -kindest mother in the world, when will you have compassion on us and -come home?”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, I wish we were going now,” said Mrs Atheling; and she said it -with genuine feeling, and a sigh of anxiety. “You must tell Papa we will -not stay very long; but I suppose we must see about this lawsuit first; -and I am sure I cannot tell who is to manage it now, since Charlie is -gone.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_048" id="vol_3_page_048"></a>{v.3-48}</span></p> - -<p>“Shall you go to Papa at once, Louis?” asked Marian, who was very -anxious to conceal from every one the tears in her downcast eyes.</p> - -<p>“Surely, at once,” said Louis. “We are in different circumstances now; I -have a great deal to ask any one who knows the family of Rivers. Do you -know it never before occurred to me that Lord Winterbourne must have had -some powerful inducement for keeping me here, knowing as well as I do -that I am not his son.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling and Agnes turned a sudden guilty look upon each other; but -neither had betrayed the secret;—what did he mean?</p> - -<p>“Unless it was his interest in some way—unless it was for his evident -advantage to disgrace and disable me,” said Louis, groping in the dark, -when they knew one possible solution of the mystery so well, “I am -convinced he never would have kept me as he has done at the Hall.”</p> - -<p>He spoke in a tone different to that which he had used to the Rector, -and very naturally different—for Louis here was triumphant in the faith -of his audience, and did not hesitate to say all he felt, nor fear too -close an investigation into the grounds of his belief. He spoke -fervently; and Marian and Rachel looked at him with the faith of -enthusiasm, and Mrs Atheling and Agnes with wonder, agitation, and -embarrassment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_049" id="vol_3_page_049"></a>{v.3-49}</span> But, as he went on, it became too much for the -self-control of the good mother. She hurried out on pretence of -superintending Hannah, and was very soon followed by Agnes. “I durst not -stay, I should have told him,” said Mrs Atheling, in a hurried whisper. -“Who could put so much into his head, Agnes? who could lead him so near -the truth?—only God! My dear child, I believe in it all now.”</p> - -<p>Agnes had believed in it all from the first moment of hearing it, but so -singular a strain was upon the minds of both mother and daughter, -knowing this extraordinary secret which the others did not know, that it -was not wonderful they should give a weight much beyond their desert to -the queries of Louis. Yet, indeed, Louis’s queries took a wonderfully -correct direction, and came very near the truth.</p> - -<p>It was a day of extreme agitation to them all, and not until Louis, who -had no travelling-bag to pack, had been accompanied once more to the -railway, and seen safely away, with many a lingering farewell, was any -one able to listen to, or understand, Rachel’s version of the events of -last night. When he was quite gone—when it was no longer possible to -wave a hand to him in the distance, or even to see the flying white -plume of the miraculous horseman who bounded along with all that line of -carriages, the three girls came<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_050" id="vol_3_page_050"></a>{v.3-50}</span> home together through the quiet evening -road—the disenchanted road, weary and unlovely, which Marian marvelled -much any one could prefer to Bellevue. They walked very close together, -with Marian in the midst, comforting her in an implied, sympathetic, -girlish fashion—for Rachel, though Louis had belonged to her so very -much longer, and was her sole authority, law-giver, and hero, -instinctively kept her own feelings out of sight, and took care of -Marian. These girls were very loyal to their own visionary ideas of the -mysterious magician who had not come to either of them yet, but whose -coming both anticipated some time, with awe and with smiles.</p> - -<p>And then Rachel told them how it had fared with her on the previous -night. Rachel had very little to say about the Rector; she had given him -up conscientiously to Agnes, and with a distant and reverent admiration -of his loftiness, contemplated him afar off, too great a person for her -friendship. “But in the morning the maid came and took me to Miss -Rivers—did you ever see Miss Rivers?—she is very pale—and pretty, -though she is old, and a very, very great invalid,” said Rachel. “Some -one has to sit up with her every night, and she has so many -troubles—headaches, and pains in her side, and coughs, and every sort -of thing! She told me all about them as she lay on the sofa in her -pretty white dressing-gown, and in<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_051" id="vol_3_page_051"></a>{v.3-51}</span> <i>such</i> a soft voice as if she was -quite used to them, and did not mind. Do you think you could be a nurse -to any one who was ill, Agnes?”</p> - -<p>“She <i>has</i> been a nurse to all of us when we were ill,” said Marian, -rousing herself for the effort, and immediately subsiding into the -pensiveness which the sad little beauty would not suffer herself to -break, even though she began in secret to be considerably interested -about the interior of the mysterious Wood House, and the invisible Miss -Rivers. Marian thought Louis would not be pleased if he could imagine -her thinking of any one but him, so soon after he had gone away.</p> - -<p>“But I don’t mean at home—I mean a stranger,” said Rachel, “one whom -you did not <i>love</i>. I think it must be rather hard sometimes; but do you -know I was very nearly offering to be nurse to Miss Rivers, she spoke so -kindly to me? And then Louis will have to work,” continued the faithful -little sister, with tears in her eyes; “you must tell me what I can do, -Agnes, not to be a burden upon Louis. Oh, do you think any one would -give me money for singing now?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_052" id="vol_3_page_052"></a>{v.3-52}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_VII" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br /><br /> -<small>LORD WINTERBOURNE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Lord Winterbourne</span>, all his life, had been a man of guile; he was so long -experienced in it, that dissimulation became easy enough to him, when he -was not startled or thrown suddenly off his guard. Already every one -around him supposed he had quite forgiven and forgotten the wild -escapade of Louis. He had no confidant whatever, not even a valet or a -steward, and his most intimate associate knew nothing of his dark and -secret counsels. When any one mentioned the ungovernable youth who had -fled from the Hall, Lord Winterbourne said, “Pooh, pooh—he will soon -discover his mistake,” and smiled his pale and sinister smile. Such a -face as his could not well look benign; but people were accustomed to -his face, and thought it his misfortune—and everybody set him down as, -in this instance at least, of a very forgiving and indulgent spirit, -willing that the lad should find out his weakness<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_053" id="vol_3_page_053"></a>{v.3-53}</span> by experiment, but -not at all disposed to inflict any punishment upon his unruly son.</p> - -<p>The fact was, however, that Lord Winterbourne was considerably excited -and uneasy. He spent hours in a little private library among his -papers—carefully went over them, collating and arranging again and -again—destroyed some, and filled the private drawers of his cabinet -with others. He sent orders to his agent to prosecute with all the -energy possible his suit against the Athelings. He had his letters -brought to him in his own room, where he was alone, and looked over them -with eager haste and something like apprehension. Servants, always -sufficiently quick-witted under such circumstances, concluded that my -lord expected something, and the expectation descended accordingly -through all the grades of the great house; but this did not by any means -diminish the number of his guests, or the splendour of his hospitality. -New arrivals came constantly to the Hall—and very great people indeed, -on their way to Scotland and the moors, looked in upon the disappointed -statesman by way of solace. He had made an unspeakable failure in his -attempt at statesmanship; but still he had a certain amount of -influence, and merited a certain degree of consideration. The quiet -country brightened under the shower of noble sportsmen and fair ladies. -All Banburyshire crowded to pay its homage. Mrs<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_054" id="vol_3_page_054"></a>{v.3-54}</span> Edgerley brought her -own private menagerie, the newest lion who could be heard of; and -herself fell into the wildest fever of architecturalism—fitted up an -oratory under the directions of a Fellow of Merton—set up an -Ecclesiological Society in the darkest of her drawing-rooms—made -drawings of “severe saints,” and purchased casts of the finest -“examples”—began to embroider an altar-cloth from the designs of one of -the most renowned connoisseurs in the ecclesiological city, and talked -of nothing but Early English, and Middle Pointed. Politics, literature, -and the fine arts, sport, flirtation, and festivity, kept in unusual -excitement the whole spectator county of Banbury, and the busy occupants -of Winterbourne Hall.</p> - -<p>In the midst of all this, the Lord of Winterbourne spent solitary hours -in his library among his papers, took solitary rides towards Abingford, -moodily courted a meeting with Miss Anastasia, even addressed her when -they met, and did all that one unassisted man could do to gain -information of her proceedings. He was in a state of restless -expectation, not easy to account for. He knew that Louis was in London, -but not who had given him the means to go there; and he could find no -pretence for bringing back the youth, or asserting authority over him. -He waited in well-concealed but frightfully-felt excitement for -<i>something</i>, watching with a stealthy but perpetual observation the<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_055" id="vol_3_page_055"></a>{v.3-55}</span> -humble house of the Athelings and the Priory at Abingford. He did not -say to himself what it was he apprehended, nor indeed that he -apprehended anything; but with that strange certainty which criminals -always seem to retain, that fate must come some time, waited in the -midst of his gay, busy, frivolous guests, sharing all the occupations -round him, like a man in a dream,—waited as the world waits in a pause -of deadly silence for the thunderclap. It would rouse him when it came.</p> - -<p>It came, but not as he looked for it. Oh blind, vain, guilty soul, with -but one honest thought among all its crafts and falsehoods! It came not -like the rousing tumult of the thunder, but like an avalanche from the -hills; he fell under it with a groan of mortal agony; there was nothing -in heaven or earth to defend him from the misery of this sudden blow. -All his schemes, all his endeavours, what were they good for now?<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_056" id="vol_3_page_056"></a>{v.3-56}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_VIII" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br /><br /> -<small>THE NEW HEIR.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">They</span> had heard from Charlie, who had already set out upon his journey; -they had heard from Louis, whom Mr Foggo desired to take into his office -in Charlie’s place in the mean time; they had heard again and again from -Miss Anastasia’s solicitor, touching their threatened property; and to -this whole family of women everything around seemed going on with a -singular speed and bustle, while they, unwillingly detained among the -waning September trees, were, by themselves, so lonely and so still. The -only one among them who was not eager to go home was Agnes. Bellevue and -Islington, though they were kindly enough in their way, were not meet -nurses for a poetic child;—this time of mountainous clouds, of wistful -winds, of falling leaves, was like a new life to Agnes. She came out to -stand in the edge of the wood alone, to do nothing but listen to the -sweep of the wild minstrel in those thinning trees, or look upon the big -masses<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_057" id="vol_3_page_057"></a>{v.3-57}</span> of cloud breaking up into vast shapes of windy gloom over the -spires of the city and the mazes of the river. The great space before -and around—the great amphitheatre at her feet—the breeze that came in -her face fresh and chill, and touched with rain—the miracles of tiny -moss and herbage lying low beneath those fallen leaves—the pale autumn -sky, so dark and stormy—the autumn winds, which wailed o’ nights—the -picturesque and many-featured change which stole over -everything—carried a new and strange delight to the mind of Agnes. She -alone cared to wander by herself through the wood, with its crushed -ferns, its piled faggots of firewood, its yellow leaves, which every -breeze stripped down. She was busy with the new book, too, which was -very like to be wanted before it came; for all these expenses, and the -license which their supposed wealth had given them, had already very -much reduced the little store of five-pound notes, kept for safety in -Papa’s desk.</p> - -<p>One afternoon during this time of suspense and uncertainty, the Rector -repeated his call at the Lodge. The Rector had never forgiven Agnes that -unfortunate revelation of her authorship; yet he had looked to her -notwithstanding through those strange sermons of his, with a -constantly-increasing appeal to her attention. She was almost disposed -to fancy sometimes that he made special fiery defences of himself and -his<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_058" id="vol_3_page_058"></a>{v.3-58}</span> sentiments, which seemed addressed to her only; and Agnes fled from -the idea with distress and embarrassment, thinking it a vanity of her -own. On this day, however, the Rector was a different man—the cloud was -off his brow—the apparent restraint, uneasy and galling, under which he -had seemed to hold himself, was removed; a flash of aroused spirit was -in his eye—his very step was eager, and sounded with a bolder ring upon -the gravel of the garden path—there was no longer the parochial bow, -the clergymanly address, or the restless consciousness of something -unreal in both, which once characterised him; he entered among them -almost abruptly, and did not say a word of his parishioners, but -instead, asked for Louis—told Rachel his sister wished to see her—and, -glancing with unconcealed dislike at poor Agnes’s blotting-book, wished -to know if Miss Atheling was writing now.</p> - -<p>“Mr Rivers does not think it right, mamma,” said Agnes. She blushed a -little under her consciousness of his look of displeasure, but smiled -also with a kind of challenge as she met his eye.</p> - -<p>“No,” said the young clergyman abruptly; “I admire, above all things, -understanding and intelligence. I can suppose no appreciation so quick -and entire as a woman’s; but she fails of her natural standing to me, -when I come to hear of her productions, and am constituted<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_059" id="vol_3_page_059"></a>{v.3-59}</span> a -critic—that is a false relationship between a woman and a man.”</p> - -<p>And Mr Rivers looked at Agnes with an answering flash of pique and -offence, which was as much as to say, “I am very much annoyed; I had -thought of very different relationships; and it is all owing to you.”</p> - -<p>“Many very good critics,” said Mrs Atheling, piqued in her turn—“a -great many people, I assure you, who know about such things, have been -very much pleased with Agnes’s book.”</p> - -<p>The Rector made no answer—did not even make a pause—but as if all this -was merely irrelevant and an interruption to his real business, said -rapidly, yet with some solemnity, and without a word of preface, “Lord -Winterbourne’s son is dead.”</p> - -<p>“Who?” said Agnes, whom, unconsciously, he was addressing—and they all -turned to him with a little anxiety. Rachel became very pale, and even -Marian, who was not thinking at all of what Mr Rivers said, drew a -little nearer the table, and looked up at him wistfully, with her -beautiful eyes.</p> - -<p>“Lord Winterbourne’s son, George Rivers, the heir of the family—he who -has been abroad so long; a young man, I hear, whom every one esteemed,” -said the Rector, bending down his head, as if he exacted<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_060" id="vol_3_page_060"></a>{v.3-60}</span> from himself a -certain sadness, and did indeed endeavour to see how sad it was—“he is -dead.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling rose, greatly moved. “Oh, Mr Rivers!—did you say his son? -his only son? a young man? Oh, I pray God have pity upon him! It will -kill him;—it will be more than he can bear!”</p> - -<p>The Rector looked up at the grief in the good mother’s face, with a look -and gesture of surprise. “I never heard any one give Lord Winterbourne -credit for so much feeling,” he said, looking at her with some -suspicion; “and surely he has not shown much of it to you.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, feeling! don’t speak of feeling!” cried Mrs Atheling. “It is not -that I am thinking of. You know a great many things, Mr Rivers, but you -never lost a child.”</p> - -<p>“No,” he said; and then, after a pause, he added, in a lower tone, “in -the whole matter, certainly, I never before thought of Lord -Winterbourne.”</p> - -<p>And there was nobody nigh to point out to him what a world beyond and -above his philosophy was this simple woman’s burst of nature. Yet in his -own mind he caught a moment’s glimpse of it; for the instant he was -abashed, and bent his lofty head with involuntary self-humiliation; but -looking up, saw his own thought still clearer in the eye of Agnes, and -turned defiant upon her, as if it had been a spoken reproof.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_061" id="vol_3_page_061"></a>{v.3-61}</span></p> - -<p>“Well!” he said, turning to her, “was I to blame for thinking little of -the possibility of grief in such a man?”</p> - -<p>“I did not say so,” said Agnes, simply; but she looked awed and grave, -as the others did. They had no personal interest at all in the matter; -they thought in an instant of the vacant places in their own family, and -stood silent and sorrowful, looking at the great calamity which made -another house desolate. They never thought of Lord Winterbourne, who was -their enemy; they only thought of a father who had lost his son.</p> - -<p>And Rachel, who remembered George Rivers, and thought in the tenderness -of the moment that he had been rather kind to her, wept a few tears -silently.</p> - -<p>All these things disconcerted the Rector. He was impatient of excess of -sympathy—ebullitions of feeling; he was conscious of a restrained, yet -intense spring of new hope and vigour in his own life. He had -endeavoured conscientiously to regret his cousin; but it was impossible -to banish from his own mind the thought that he was free—that a new -world opened to his ambition—that he was the heir!</p> - -<p>And he had come, unaware of his own motive, to share this overpowering -and triumphant thought with Agnes Atheling, a girl who was no mate for -him, as inferior in family fortune and breeding as it was possible<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_062" id="vol_3_page_062"></a>{v.3-62}</span> to -imagine—and now stood abashed and reproved to see that all his simple -auditors thought at once, not of him and his altered position, but of -those grand and primitive realities—Death and Grief. He went away -hastily and with impatience, displeased with them and with himself—went -away on a rapid walk for miles out of his way, striding along the quiet -country roads as if for a race; and a race it was, with his own -thoughts, which still were fastest, and not to be overtaken. He knew the -truths of philosophy, the limited lines and parallels of human logic and -reason; but he had not been trained among the great original truths of -nature; he knew only what was true to the mind,—not what was true to -the heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_063" id="vol_3_page_063"></a>{v.3-63}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_IX" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br /><br /> -<small>A VISIT.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">“Come</span> down, Agnes, make haste; mamma wants you—and Miss Anastasia’s -carriage is just driving up to the door.”</p> - -<p>So said Marian, coming languidly into their sleeping-room, and quite -indifferent to Miss Anastasia. She was rather glad indeed to hasten -Agnes away, to make an excuse for herself, and gain a half-hour of -solitude to read over again Louis’s letter. It was worth while to get -letters like those of Louis. Marian sat down on one of Miss Bridget’s -old-fashioned chairs, and leaned her beautiful head against its high -unyielding angular back. The cover on it was of an ancient blue-striped -tabinet, faded, yet still retaining some of its colour, which answered -very well to relieve those beautiful half-curled, half-braided locks of -Marian’s hair, which had such a tendency to escape from all kinds of -bondage. She lay there half reclining upon this stiff uneasy piece of -furniture, not at all<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_064" id="vol_3_page_064"></a>{v.3-64}</span> disturbed by its angularity, her pretty cheek -flushing, her pretty lips trembling into half-conscious smiles, reading -over again Louis’s letter, which she held after an embracing fashion in -both her hands.</p> - -<p>And Rachel, with great diffidence, yet by the Rector’s invitation, had -gone to visit Miss Rivers at the Old Wood House. When the other Miss -Rivers, chief of the name, entered the little parlour of the Lodge, she -found the mother and daughter, who were both acquainted with her secret, -awaiting her very anxiously. She came in with a grave face and -deliberate step. She had not changed her dress in any particular, except -the colour of her bonnet, which was black, and had some woeful -decorations of crape; but it was evident that she too had been greatly -moved and impressed by her young cousin’s death.</p> - -<p>“He is dead,” she said, almost as abruptly as the Rector, when she had -taken her usual place. “Yes, poor young George Rivers, who was the heir -of the house—it was very well for him that he should die.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Miss Rivers!” said Mrs Atheling, “I am very, very sorry for poor -Lord Winterbourne.”</p> - -<p>“Are you?” said Miss Anastasia;—“perhaps you are right,—he will feel -this, I dare say, as much as he can feel anything—but <i>I</i> was sorry for -the boy. Young people think it hard to die—fools!—they don’t know the -blessing that lies in it. Living long enough<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_065" id="vol_3_page_065"></a>{v.3-65}</span> to come to the crown of -youth, and dying in its blossom—that’s a lot fit for an angel. Agnes -Atheling, never look through your tears at me.”</p> - -<p>But Agnes could not help looking at the old lady wistfully, with her -young inquiring eyes.</p> - -<p>“What does the Rector do here?—they tell me he comes often,” said Miss -Rivers. “Do you know that now, so far as people understand, <i>he</i> comes -to be heir of Winterbourne?”</p> - -<p>“He came to tell us yesterday of the poor young gentleman’s death,” said -Mrs Atheling, “and I thought he seemed a little excited. Agnes, I am -sure you observed it as well as I.”</p> - -<p>“No, mamma,” said Agnes, turning away hastily. She went to get some -work, that no one might observe her own looks, with a sudden nervous -tremor and impatience upon her. The Rector had been very kind to Louis, -had done a brother’s part to him—far more than any one else in the -world had ever done to this friendless youth—yet Louis’s friends were -labouring with all their might, working in darkness like evil-doers, to -undermine the supposed right of Lionel—that right which made his breast -expand and his brow clear, and freed him from an uncongenial fate. Agnes -sat down trembling, with a sudden nervous access of vexation, -disappointment, annoyance, which she could<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_066" id="vol_3_page_066"></a>{v.3-66}</span> not explain. She had been -accustomed for a long time now to follow him with interest and sympathy, -and to read his thoughts in those wild public self-revelations of his, -which no one penetrated but herself; but she felt actually guilty, a -plotter, and concerned against him now.</p> - -<p>“I am sorry for Lionel,” said Miss Rivers, who had not lost a single -fluctuation of colour on Agnes’s cheek, nor tremble of emotion in her -hurried hands—“but it would have been more grievous for poor George had -he lived. There will be only disappointment—not disgrace—for any other -heir.”</p> - -<p>She paused awhile, still watching Agnes, who bent over her work, greatly -disposed to cry, and in a very agitated condition of mind. Then she said -as suddenly as before, “I forget my proper errand—I have come for the -girls. You are to go up with me to the Priory. Go, make haste—put on -your bonnet—I never wait, even for young ladies; call your sister, and -make ready to go.”</p> - -<p>Agnes rose, startled and unwilling, and cast an inquiring look at Mamma. -Mrs Atheling was startled too, but she was not insensible to the pride -and glory of seeing her two daughters drive off to Abingford Priory in -the well-known carriage of Miss Anastasia. “Since Miss Rivers is so -good, make haste, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling; and Agnes had no -alternative but to obey.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_067" id="vol_3_page_067"></a>{v.3-67}</span></p> - -<p>When she was gone, Miss Rivers looked round the room inquisitively. -Rachel was no great needlewoman, nor much instructed in ordinary -feminine pursuits; there were no visible traces of the presence of a -third young lady in the little dim parlour. “Where is the girl?” said -Miss Anastasia, cautiously,—“I was told she was here.”</p> - -<p>“The Rector asked her to go and see his sister—she is at the Old Wood -House,” said Mrs Atheling. “I am very sorry—but we never thought of you -coming to-day.”</p> - -<p>“I might come any day,” said Miss Rivers, abruptly—“but that is not the -question—I prefer not to see her—she is a frightened little dove of a -girl—she is not in my way. Is she good for anything?—you ought to -know.”</p> - -<p>“She is a very sweet, amiable girl,” said Mrs Atheling, warmly—“and she -sings as I never heard any one sing, all my life.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said Miss Rivers, with a look of gratification, “it belongs to the -family—music is a tradition among us—yes, yes! You remember my -great-grandfather, the fourth lord—he was a great composer.” Miss -Anastasia was perfectly destitute of the faculty herself, and more than -half of the Riverses wanted that humblest of all musical qualifications, -“an ear”—yet it was amusing to mark the eagerness of the old lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_068" id="vol_3_page_068"></a>{v.3-68}</span> to -find a family precedent for every quality known as belonging to Louis or -his sister. “I recollect,” added Miss Rivers, bending her brows darkly, -“they wanted to make a singer of her—the more disgrace the better—Oh, -I understand their tactics! You are sorry for him?—look at the devilish -plans he made.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling shook her head, but did not reply; she only knew that she -would have been sorry for the vilest criminal in the world, had he lost -his only son.</p> - -<p>“I have heard from your boy,” said Miss Rivers. “He is gone now, I -suppose. What does Will Atheling think of his son? If he does but as I -expect he will, the boy’s fortune is made; he shall never repent that he -did this service for me.”</p> - -<p>“But it is a great undertaking,” said Mrs Atheling. “I know Charlie will -do his best—he is a very good boy, Miss Rivers; but he may not succeed -after all.”</p> - -<p>“He will succeed,” said the old lady; “but even if he does not—which I -cannot believe—so long as he does all he can, it will not alter me.”</p> - -<p>The mother’s heart swelled high with gratification and pleasure; yet -there was a drawback. All this time—since the first day when she heard -of it, before she made her discovery—Miss Anastasia had never referred -to the engagement between Louis and Marian. Did she desire to discourage -it? Was she likely to<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_069" id="vol_3_page_069"></a>{v.3-69}</span> perceive a difference in this respect between -Louis nameless and without friends, and Louis the heir of Winterbourne?</p> - -<p>But Mrs Atheling’s utmost penetration could not tell. Miss Rivers began -to pull down the books, to look at them, to strike her riding-whip on -the floor, and call out good-humouredly in her loud voice, which every -one in the house could hear, that she was not to be kept waiting by a -parcel of girls. Finally the girls made their appearance in their best -dresses; their new patroness hurried them into her carriage, and drove -instantly away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_070" id="vol_3_page_070"></a>{v.3-70}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_X" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.<br /><br /> -<small>MARIAN ON TRIAL.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Miss Anastasia</span> “preferred not to see” Rachel—yet, with a wayward -inclination still, was moved to drive by a circuitous road in front of -the Old Wood House, where the girl was. The little vehicle went heavily -along the grassy road, cutting the turf, but making little sound as it -rolled past the windows of the invalid. There was the velvet lawn, the -trim flower-plots, the tall autumnal flowers, the straight and well-kept -garden-paths, lying vacant and shadowless beneath the sun—but there was -nothing to be discovered under the closed blinds of this shut-up and -secluded house.</p> - -<p>“Why do they keep their blinds down?” said Miss Anastasia; “all the -house surely is not one invalid’s room? Lucy was a little fool always. I -do not believe there is anything the matter with her. She had what these -soft creatures call a disappointment in love—words have different -meanings, child. And why does<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_071" id="vol_3_page_071"></a>{v.3-71}</span> this girl go to see Lucy Rivers? I -suppose because she is such a one herself.”</p> - -<p>“It is because Miss Rivers was kind to her,” said Agnes; “and the Rector -asked her to go——”</p> - -<p>“The Rector? Do you mean to tell me,” said Miss Anastasia, turning -quickly upon her companion, “that when Lionel Rivers comes to the Lodge -it is for <i>her</i> he comes?”</p> - -<p>“I do not know,” said Agnes. She was provoked to feel how her face -burned under the old lady’s gaze. She could not help showing something -of the anger and vexation she felt. She looked up hastily, with a glance -of resentment. “He has been very much interested in Louis—he has been -very kind to him,” said Agnes, not at all indisposed, for the sake of -the Rector, whom every one plotted against, to throw down her glove to -Miss Anastasia. “I believe, indeed, it has been to inquire about Louis, -that he ever came to the Lodge.”</p> - -<p>Miss Anastasia touched her ponies with her whip, and said, “Humph!” -“Both of them! odd enough,” said the old lady. Agnes, who was -considerably offended, and not at all in an amicable state of mind, did -not choose to inquire who Miss Anastasia meant by “both of them,” nor -what it was that was “odd enough.”</p> - -<p>Marian occupied the seat behind. She liked it very<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_072" id="vol_3_page_072"></a>{v.3-72}</span> well, though she -would rather have written her letter to Louis. She did not quite hear -the conversation before her, and did not much care about it. Marian -recognised the old lady only as Agnes’s friend, and had never connected -her in any way with her own fortunes. She was shy of speaking in that -stately presence; she was even resentful sometimes of the remarks of -Miss Anastasia; and the lofty old gentlewoman had formed but an -indifferent idea yet of the little beauty. She was amused with the -pretty pout of Marian’s lip, the sparkle, sometimes of fun, sometimes of -petulance, in her eye; but Marian would have been extremely dismayed -to-day had she known that she, and not Agnes, was the principal object -of Miss Anastasia’s visit, and was, indeed, about to be put upon her -trial, to see if she was good for anything. At all events, she was quite -at ease and unalarmed now.</p> - -<p>They drove along in silence for some time after this—passing through -the village and past the Park gates. Then Miss Anastasia took a road -quite unfamiliar to the girls—a grass-grown unfrequented path, lying -under the shadow of the trees of Winterbourne. She did not say a word -till they came to a sudden break in the trees, when she stopped her -ponies abruptly, and fixed a sorrowful gaze upon the Hall, which was -visible, and close at hand. The white, broad, majestic front of the -great house was not unlike a funeral pile<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_073" id="vol_3_page_073"></a>{v.3-73}</span> at any time; now, with white -curtains drawn close over all its scarcely perceptible windows, still -veiled in the pomp of mourning, without a gleam of light or colour, in -its blind, grand aspect, turning its back upon the sun—there was -something very sadly imposing in the desolated house. No one was to be -seen about it—not even a servant: it looked like a vast mausoleum, -sacred to the dead. “It was very well for him,” said Miss Anastasia with -a sigh, “very well. If it were not so pitiful a thing to think of, -children, I could thank God.”</p> - -<p>But as the old lady spoke, the tears stood heavy in her eyes.</p> - -<p>This was very dreadful, very mysterious, altogether beyond comprehension -to Marian. She was glad to turn her eyes away from the house with -dislike and terror—it had been Louis’s prison and place of suffering, -and not a single hope connected with the Hall of Winterbourne was in -Marian’s mind. She drew back from Miss Rivers with a shudder—she -thought it was the most frightful thing in existence to thank God -because this young man had died.</p> - -<p>The Priory opened its doors wide to its mistress and her young guests. -She led them herself to her favourite room, a very strange place, -indeed, to their inexperienced eyes. It was a long narrow room, built -over the archway which crossed the entrance to the town<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_074" id="vol_3_page_074"></a>{v.3-74}</span> of Abingford. -This of itself was peculiarity enough; and the walls were of stone, -wainscoted to half their height with oak, and the roof was ribbed with -strong old oaken rafters, and of course unceiled. Windows on either -side, plain lattice-windows, with thick mullions of stone, admitted the -light in strips between heavy bars of shadow, and commanded a full sight -of every one who entered the town of Abingford. On the country side was -a long country road, some trees, and the pale convolutions of the river; -on the other, there was a glimpse of the market-place of the town, even -now astir with a leisurely amount of business, in the centre of which -rose an extraordinary building with a piazza, while round it were the -best shops of Abingford, and the farmers’ inns, which were full on -market days. A little old church, rich with the same rude Saxon ornament -which decorated the church of Winterbourne, stood modestly among the -houses at the corner of the market-place. A few leisurely figures, such -as belong to country towns, stood at the doors, or lounged about the -pavement; and market-carts came and went slowly under the arch. Marian -brightened into positive amusement; she thought it very funny indeed to -watch the people and the vehicles slowly disappearing beneath her, and -laughed to herself, and thought it a very odd fancy of Miss Anastasia, -to choose her favourite sitting-room here.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_075" id="vol_3_page_075"></a>{v.3-75}</span></p> - -<p>The old lady came and stood beside her, somewhat to the embarrassment of -Marian. She bade the girl take off her bonnet, which produced its -unfailing result, of throwing into a little picturesque confusion those -soft, silken, half-curled tresses of Marian’s hair. Marian looked out of -the window somewhat nervously, a little afraid of Miss Rivers. The old -lady looked at her with a keen scrutiny. She was stooping her pretty -shoulders in an attitude which might have been awkward in a form less -elastic, dimpling her cheek with the fingers which supported it, -conscious of Miss Anastasia’s gaze, somewhat alarmed, and very shy. In -spite of the shrinking, the alarm, and the embarrassment, Miss Rivers -looked steadily down upon her with a serious inspection. But even the -cloud which began to steal over Marian’s brow could not disenchant the -eyes that gazed upon her—Miss Anastasia began to smile as everybody -else; to feel herself moved to affection, tenderness, regard; to own the -fascination which no one resisted. “My dear, you are very pretty,” said -the old lady, entirely forgetting any prudent precautions on the score -of making Marian vain; “many people would tell you, that, with a face -like that, you need no other attraction. But I was once pretty myself, -and I know it does not last for ever; do you ever think about anything, -you lovely little child?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_076" id="vol_3_page_076"></a>{v.3-76}</span></p> - -<p>Marian glanced up with an indignant blush and frown; but the look she -met was so kind, that it was not possible to answer as she intended. So -the pretty head sank down again upon the hand which supported it. She -took a little time to compose herself, and then, with some humility, -spoke the truth: “I am afraid, not a great deal.”</p> - -<p>“What do you suppose I do here, all by myself?” said Miss Anastasia, -suddenly.</p> - -<p>Marian turned her face towards her, looked round the room, and then -turned a wistful gaze to Miss Rivers. “Indeed, I do not know,” said -Marian, in a very low and troubled tone: it was youth, with awe and -gravity and pity, looking out of its bright world upon the loneliness -and poverty of age.</p> - -<p>That answer and that look brought the examination to a very hasty and -sudden conclusion. The old lady looked at her for an instant with a -startled glance, stooped over her, kissed her forehead and hurried away. -Marian could not tell what she had done, nor why Miss Anastasia’s face -changed so strangely. She could not comprehend the full force of the -contrast, nor how her own simple wonder and pity struck like a sudden -arrow to the old lady’s heart.</p> - -<p>Agnes was puzzled too, and could not help her sister to an explanation. -They remained by themselves for some time, rather timidly looking at -everything. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_077" id="vol_3_page_077"></a>{v.3-77}</span> were a few portraits hanging high upon the walls, -portraits which they knew to be of the family, but could not recognise; -and there was one picture of a very strange kind, which all their -combined ingenuity could not interpret. It was like one of those old -Dyptichs used to preserve some rare and precious altarpiece. What was -within could not be seen, but on the closed leaves without were painted -two solemn angels, with a silvery surrounding of wings, and flowers in -their hands. If Miss Anastasia had been a Catholic—even if she had been -a dilettante or extreme High Churchwoman, it might have been a little -private shrine: perhaps it was so: there was a portrait within, which no -eyes but her own ever saw. Between the windows the walls were lined with -book-cases; that ancient joke of poor Aunt Bridget’s, her own initials -underneath her pupil’s name—the B. A., which conferred a degree upon -Anastasia Rivers—turned out to be an intentional thing after all. The -girls gazed in awe at Miss Anastasia’s book-shelves. She was a great -scholar, this old lady. She might have been one of the Heads of Houses -in the learned city, but for the unfortunate femininity which debarred -her. All by herself among these tomes of grey antiquity—all by herself -with her pictures, the sole remnant of another time—it was not -wonderful that the two girls paused, looking out from the sunshine of -their youth with reverence,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_078" id="vol_3_page_078"></a>{v.3-78}</span> yet with compassion. They honoured her with -natural humility, feeling their own ignorance, but notwithstanding, were -very sorry for Miss Anastasia, all by herself—more sorry than there was -occasion to be—for Miss Anastasia was used to be all by herself, and -found enjoyment in it now.</p> - -<p>When Miss Anastasia came back she took them to see her garden, and the -state-apartments of her great stately house. When they were a little -familiar she let them stray on before her, and followed watching. Agnes, -perhaps, was still her own favourite of the two; but all her observation -was given to Marian. As her eyes followed this beautiful figure, her -look became more and more satisfied; and while Marian wandered with her -sister about the garden, altogether unconscious of the great -possibilities which awaited her, Miss Anastasia’s fancy clothed her in -robes of state, and covered her with jewels. “He might have married a -duke’s daughter,” she said to herself, turning away with a pleased -eye—“but he might never have found such a beautiful fairy as this: she -is a good little child too, with no harm in her; and a face for a fairy -queen!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_079" id="vol_3_page_079"></a>{v.3-79}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XI" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br /><br /> -<small>DISCONTENT.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">No</span> one knew the real effect of the blow which had just fallen upon Lord -Winterbourne. The guests, of whom his house was full, dispersed as if by -magic. Even Mrs Edgerley, in the most fashionable sables, with mourning -liveries, and the blinds of her carriage solemnly let down, went forth, -as soon as decency would permit, from the melancholy Hall. After all the -bustle and all the gaiety of recent days, the place fell into a pause of -deadly stillness. Lord Winterbourne sought comfort from no one—showed -grief to no one; he made a sudden pause, like a man stunned, and then, -with increased impetus, and with a force and resolution unusual to him, -resumed his ancient way once more, and rushed forward with exaggerated -activity. Instead of subduing him, this event seemed to have roused all -his faculties into a feverish and busy malevolence, as if the man had -said, “I have no one to come after me—I will do all the harm I can -while<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_080" id="vol_3_page_080"></a>{v.3-80}</span> my time lasts.” All the other gentry of the midland counties, put -together, did not bring so many poachers to “justice” as were brought by -Lord Winterbourne. It was with difficulty his solicitor persuaded him to -pass over the pettiest trespass upon his property. He shut up pathways -privileged from time immemorial, ejected poor tenants, encroached upon -the village rights, and oppressed the village patriarchs; and animated -as he was by this spirit of ill-will to every one, it was not wonderful -that he endeavoured, with all his might, to press on the suit against -the Athelings for the recovery of the Old Wood Lodge.</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling and her daughters, unwilling, embarrassed, and totally -ignorant of their real means of defence, remained in their house at the -pleasure of the lawyer, and much against their own inclination. Mrs -Atheling herself, though with a spark of native spirit she had seconded -her husband’s resolution not to give up his little inheritance, was -entirely worried out with the task of defending it, now that Charlie was -gone, and winter was approaching, and her heart yearned to her husband -and her forsaken house in Bellevue. When she wrote to Mr Atheling, or -when she consulted with Agnes, the good mother expressed her opinion -very strongly. “If it turns out a mistake about Louis, none of us will -care for this place,” said Mrs Atheling; “we shall have the expense of -keeping it up, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_081" id="vol_3_page_081"></a>{v.3-81}</span> unless we were living in it ourselves, I do not -suppose it is worth ten pounds a-year; and if it should turn out true -about Louis, of course he would restore it to us, and settle it so that -there could be no doubt upon the subject; and indeed, Agnes, my dear, -the only sensible plan that I can think of, would be to give it up at -once, and go home. I do think it is quite an unfortunate house for the -Athelings; there was your father’s poor little sister got her death in -it; and it is easy to see how much trouble and anxiety have come into -our family since we came here.”</p> - -<p>“But trouble and anxiety might come anywhere, mamma,” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“Yes, my dear, that is very true; but we should have known exactly what -we had to look for, if Marian had been engaged to some one in Bellevue.”</p> - -<p>Mamma’s counsels, accordingly, were of a very timid and compromising -character. She began to be extremely afraid that the Old Wood Lodge, -being so near the trees, would be damp after all the autumn rains, and -that something might possibly happen to Bell and Beau; and, with all her -heart, and without any dispute, she longed exceedingly to be at home. -Then there was the pretty pensive Marian, a little love-sick, and pining -much for the society of her betrothed. She was a quiet but potent -influence, doing what she could to<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_082" id="vol_3_page_082"></a>{v.3-82}</span> aggravate the discontent of Mamma; -and Agnes had to keep up the family courage, and develop the family -patience, single-handed. Agnes, in her own private heart, though she did -not acknowledge, nor even know it, was not at all desirous to go away.</p> - -<p>The conflict accordingly, about this small disputed possession, lay a -great deal more between Lord Winterbourne and Miss Anastasia than -between that unfriendly nobleman and the house of Atheling. Miss -Anastasia came frequently on errands of encouragement to fortify the -sinking heart of Mrs Atheling. “My great object is to defer the trial of -this matter for six months,” said the old lady significantly. “Let it -come on, and we will turn the tables then.”</p> - -<p>She spoke in the presence of Marian, before whom nothing could be said -plainly—in the presence of Rachel even, whom it was impossible to avoid -seeing, but who always kept timidly in the background—and she spoke -with a certain exultation which somewhat puzzled her auditors. Charlie, -though he had done nothing yet, had arrived at the scene of his labours. -Assured of this fact, the courage of his patroness rose. She was a woman -and an optimist, as she confessed. She had the gift of leaping to a -conclusion, equal to any girl in the kingdom, and at the present moment -was not disturbed by any doubts of success.</p> - -<p>“Six months!” cried Mrs Atheling, in dismay and<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_083" id="vol_3_page_083"></a>{v.3-83}</span> horror; “and do you -mean that we must stay here all that time—all the winter, Miss Rivers? -It is quite impossible—indeed I could not do it. My husband is all by -himself, and I know how much I am wanted at home.”</p> - -<p>“It is necessary some one should be in possession,” said Miss Rivers. -“Eh? What does Will Atheling say?—I daresay he thinks it hard enough to -be left alone.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling was very near “giving away.” Vexation and anxiety for the -moment almost overpowered her self-command. She knew all the buttons -must be off Papa’s shirts, and stood in grievous fear of a fabulous -amount of broken crockery; besides, she had never been so long parted -from her husband since their marriage, and very seriously longed for -home.</p> - -<p>“Of course it is very dreary for him,” she said, with a sigh.</p> - -<p>“Mr Temple is making application to defer the trial on the score of an -important witness who cannot reach this country in time,” said Miss -Rivers. “Of course my lord will oppose that with all his power; <i>he</i> has -a natural terror of witnesses from abroad. When the question is decided, -I do not see, for my part, why you should remain. This little one pines -to go home, I see—but you, Agnes Atheling, you had better come and stay -at the Priory—you love the country, child!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_084" id="vol_3_page_084"></a>{v.3-84}</span></p> - -<p>Both the sisters blushed under the scrutinising eye of Miss Anastasia; -but Agnes was not yet reconciled to the old lady. “We are all anxious to -go home,” she said with spirit, and with considerably more earnestness -than the case at all demanded. Miss Rivers smiled a little. She thought -she could read a whole romance in the fluctuating colour and troubled -glance of Agnes; but she was wrong, as far-seeing people are so often. -The girl was disturbed, uneasy, self-conscious, in a startled and -impatient condition of mind; but the romance, even if it were on the -way, had not yet definitely begun.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_085" id="vol_3_page_085"></a>{v.3-85}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XII" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br /><br /> -<small>A CONVERSATION.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Agnes’s</span> rambles out of doors had now almost always to be made alone. -Rachel was much engrossed with the invalid of the Old Wood House, who -had “taken a fancy” to the gentle little girl. The hypochondriac Miss -Rivers was glad of any one so tender and respectful; and half in natural -pity for the sufferings which Rachel could not believe to be fanciful, -half from a natural vocation for kindly help and tendance, the girl was -glad to respond to the partly selfish affection of her new friend, who -told Rachel countless stories of the family, and the whole chronicle in -every particular of her own early “disappointment in love.” In return, -Rachel, by snatches, conveyed to her invalid friend—in whom, after all, -she found some points of interest and congeniality—a very exalted ideal -picture of the Athelings, the genius of Agnes, and the love-story of -Marian. Marian and Agnes occupied a very prominent place indeed in the -talk of that shadowy dressing-room,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_086" id="vol_3_page_086"></a>{v.3-86}</span> with all its invalid -contrivances—its closed green blinds, its soft mossy carpets, on which -no footstep was ever audible, its easy little couches, which you could -move with a finger; the luxury, and the stillness, and the gossip, were -not at all unpleasant to Rachel; and she read <i>Hope Hazlewood</i> to her -companion in little bits, with pauses of talk between. <i>Hope Hazlewood</i> -was not nearly romantic enough for the pretty faded invalid reposing -among her pillows in her white dressing-gown, whom Time seemed to have -forgotten there, and who had no recollection for her own part that she -was growing old; but she took all the delight of a girl in hearing of -Louis and Marian—how much attached to each other, and how handsome they -both were.</p> - -<p>And Marian Atheling did not care half so much as she used to do for the -long rambles with her sister, which were once such a pleasure to both -the girls. Marian rather now preferred sitting by herself over her -needlework, or lingering alone at the window, in an entire sweet -idleness, full of all those charmed visions with which the very name of -Louis peopled all the fairy future. Not the wisest, or the wittiest, or -the most brilliant conversation in the world could have half equalled to -Marian the dreamy pleasure of her own meditations. So Agnes had to go -out alone.</p> - -<p>Agnes did not suffer very much from this necessity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_087" id="vol_3_page_087"></a>{v.3-87}</span> She wandered along -the skirts of the wood, with a vague sense of freedom and enjoyment not -easy to explain in words. No dreamy trance of magic influence had come -upon Agnes; her mind, and her heart, and her thoughts, were quickened by -a certain thrill of expectation, which was not to be referred to the -strange romance now going on in the family—to Charlie’s mission, nor -Louis’s prospects, nor anything else which was definite and ascertained. -She knew that her heart rose, that her mind brightened, that her -thoughts were restless and light, and not to be controlled; but she -could not tell the reason why. She went about exploring all the country -byways, and finding little tracks among the brushwood undiscoverable to -the common eye; and she was not cogitating anything, scarcely was -thinking, but somehow felt within her whole nature a silent growth and -increase not to be explained.</p> - -<p>She was pondering along, with her eyes upon the wide panorama at her -feet, when it chanced to Agnes, suddenly and without preparation, to -encounter the Rector. These two young people, who were mutually -attracted to each other, had at the present moment a mutual occasion of -embarrassment and apparent offence. The Rector could not forget how very -much humbled in his own opinion he himself had been on his late visit to -the Lodge; he had not yet recovered the<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_088" id="vol_3_page_088"></a>{v.3-88}</span> singular check given to his own -unconscious selfishness, by the natural sympathy of these simple people -with the grander primitive afflictions and sufferings of life: and he -was not without an idea that Agnes looked upon him now with a somewhat -disdainful eye. Agnes, on her part, was greatly oppressed by the secret -sense of being concerned against the Rector; in his presence she felt -like a culprit—a secret plotter against the hope which brightened his -eye, and expanded his mind. A look of trouble came at once into her -face; her brow clouded—she thought it was not quite honest to make a -show of friendship, while she retained her secret knowledge of the -inquiry which might change into all the bitterness of disappointment his -sudden and unlooked-for hope.</p> - -<p>He had been going in the opposite direction, but, though he was not at -all reconciled to her, he was not willing either to part with Agnes. He -turned, only half consciously, only half willingly, yet by an -irresistible compulsion. He tried indifferent conversation, and so did -she; but, in spite of himself, Lionel Rivers was a truer man with Agnes -Atheling than he was with any other person in the world. He who had -never cared for sympathy from any one, somehow or other felt a necessity -for hers, and had a certain imperious disappointment and impatience when -it was withheld from him, which was entirely unreasonable,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_089" id="vol_3_page_089"></a>{v.3-89}</span> and not to -be accounted for. He broke off abruptly from the talk about nothing, to -speak of some intended movements of his own.</p> - -<p>“I am going to town,” said Mr Rivers. “I am somewhat unsettled at -present in my intentions; after that, probably, I may spend some time -abroad.”</p> - -<p>“All because he is the heir!” thought Agnes to herself; and again she -coloured with distress and vexation. It was impossible to keep something -of this from her tone; when she spoke, it was in a voice subdued a -little out of its usual tenor; but all that she asked was a casual -question, meaning nothing—“If Mr Mead would have the duty while the -Rector was away?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said the Rector; “he is very much better fitted for it than I am. -Here I have been cramping my wings these three years. Fathers and -mothers are bitterly to blame; they bind a man to what his soul loathes, -because it is his best method of earning some paltry pittance—so much -a-year!”</p> - -<p>After this exclamation the young clergyman made a pause, and so did his -diffident and uneasy auditor, who “did not like” either to ask his -meaning, or to make any comment upon it. After a few minutes he resumed -again—</p> - -<p>“I suppose it must constantly be so where we dare to think for -ourselves,” he said, in a tone of self-conversation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_090" id="vol_3_page_090"></a>{v.3-90}</span> “A man who thinks -<i>must</i> come to conclusions different from those which are taught to -him—different, perhaps, from all that has been concluded truest in the -ages that are past. What shall we say? Woe be to me if I do not follow -out my reasoning, to whatever length it may lead!”</p> - -<p>“When Paul says, Woe be to him, it is, if he does not preach the -Gospel,” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>Mr Rivers smiled. “Be glad of your own happy exemption,” he said, -turning to her, with the air of a man who knows by heart all the old -arguments—all the feminine family arguments against scepticism and -dangerous speculations. “I will leave you in possession of your -beautiful Gospel—your pure faith. I shall not attempt to disturb your -mind—do not fear.”</p> - -<p>“You could not!” said Agnes, in a sudden and rash defiance. She turned -to him in her turn, beginning to tremble a little with the excitement of -controversy. She was a young polemic, rather more graceful in its -manifestation, but quite as strong in the spirit of the conflict as any -Mause Headrigg—which is to say, that, after her eager girlish fashion, -she believed with her whole heart, and did not know what toleration -meant.</p> - -<p>Mr Rivers smiled once more. “I will not try,” he said. “I remember what -Christ said, and endeavour to have charity even for those who condemn -me.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_091" id="vol_3_page_091"></a>{v.3-91}</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr Rivers!” cried Agnes suddenly, and with trembling, “do not speak -so coldly—do not say Christ; it sounds as if you did not care for -Him—as if you thought He was no friend to you.”</p> - -<p>The Rector paused, somewhat startled: it was an objection which never -had occurred to him—one of those subtle touches concerning the spirit -and not the letter, which, being perfectly sudden, and quite simple, had -some chance of coming to the heart.</p> - -<p>“What do <i>you</i> say?” he asked with a little interest.</p> - -<p>Agnes’s voice was low, and trembled with reverence and with emotion. She -was not thinking of him, in his maze of intellectual trifling—she was -thinking of that Other, whom she knew so much better, and whose name she -spoke. She answered with an involuntary bending of her head—“Our Lord.”</p> - -<p>It was no conviction that struck the mind of the young man—conviction -was not like to come readily to him—and he was far too familiar with -all the formal arguments, to be moved by the reasonings of a polemic, or -the fervour of an enthusiast. But he who professed so much anxiety about -truth, and contemplated himself as a moral martyr, woefully following -his principles, though they led him to ever so dark a desolation, had -lived all his life among an infinite number of shams, and willingly -enough had yielded to many of them. Perhaps this was the first time in<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_092" id="vol_3_page_092"></a>{v.3-92}</span> -his life in which he had been brought into immediate contact with people -who were simply true in their feelings and their actions—whose opinions -were without controversy—whose settled place in life, humble as it was, -shut them out from secondary emulations and ambitions—and who were -swayed by the primitive rule of human existence—the labour and the -rest, the affliction and the prosperity, which were real things, and not -creations of the brain. He paused a little over the words of Agnes -Atheling. He did not want her to think as he did: he was content to -believe that the old boundaries were suitable and seemly for a woman; -and he was rather pleased than otherwise, by the horror, interest, and -regret which such opinions as his generally met with. He paused upon her -words, with the air of a spectator, and said in a meditative fashion, -“It is a glorious faith.”</p> - -<p>Now Agnes, who was not at all satisfied with this contemplative -approval, was entirely ready and eager for controversy; prepared to -plunge into it with the utmost rashness, utterly unaccoutred and -ignorant as she was. She trembled with suppressed fervour and excitement -over all her frame. She was as little a match for the Rector in the -argument which she would fain have entered into, as any child in the -village; but she was far too strong in the truth of her cause to feel -any fear.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_093" id="vol_3_page_093"></a>{v.3-93}</span></p> - -<p>“Do you ever meet with great trouble?” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>It was quite an unexpected question. The Rector looked at her -inquiringly, without the least perception what she meant.</p> - -<p>“And when you meet with it,” continued the eager young champion, “what -do you say?”</p> - -<p>Now this was rather a difficult point with the Rector; it was not -naturally his vocation to administer comfort to “great trouble”—in -reality, when he was brought face to face with it, he had nothing to -say. He paused a little, really embarrassed—<i>that</i> was the curate’s -share of the business. Mr Rivers was very sorry for the poor people, but -had, in fact, no consolation to give, and thought it much more important -to play with his own mind and faculties in this solemn and conscientious -trifling of his, than to attend to the griefs of others. He answered, -after some hesitation: “There are different minds, of course, and -different influences applicable to them. Every man consoles himself -after his own fashion; for some there are the sublime consolations of -Philosophy, for others the rites of the Church.”</p> - -<p>“Some time,” said Agnes suddenly, turning upon him with earnest -eyes,—“some time, when you come upon great sorrow, will you try the -name of our Lord?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_094" id="vol_3_page_094"></a>{v.3-94}</span></p> - -<p>The young man was startled again, and made no answer. He was struck by -the singular conviction that this girl, inferior to himself in every -point, had a certain real and sublime acquaintance with that wonderful -Person of whom she spoke; that this was by no means belief in a -doctrine, but knowledge of a glorious and extraordinary Individual, -whose history no unbeliever in the world has been able to divest of its -original majesty. The idea was altogether new to him; it found an -unaccustomed way to the heart of the speculatist—that dormant power -which scarcely any one all his life had tried to reach to. “I do not -quite understand you,” he said somewhat moodily; but he did not attend -to what she said afterwards. He pondered upon the problem by himself, -and could not make anything of it. Arguments about doctrines and beliefs -were patent enough to the young man. He was quite at home among dogmas -and opinions—but, somehow, this personal view of the question had a -strange advantage over him. He was not prepared for it; its entire and -obvious simplicity took away the ground from under his feet. It might be -easy enough to persuade a man out of conviction of a doctrine which he -believed, but it was a different matter to disturb the identity of a -person whom he knew.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_095" id="vol_3_page_095"></a>{v.3-95}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XIII" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br /><br /> -<small>SUSPENSE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">In</span> the mean time, immediate interest in their own occupations had pretty -nearly departed from the inhabitants of the Old Wood Lodge. Agnes went -on with her writing, Mamma with her work-basket, Marian with her dreams; -but desk, and needle, and meditations were all alike abandoned in -prospect of the postman, who was to be seen making his approach for a -very long way, and was watched every day with universal anxiety. What -Louis was doing, what Charlie was doing, the progress of the lawsuit, -and the plans of Miss Anastasia, continually drew the thoughts of the -household away from themselves. Even Rachel’s constant report of the -unseen invalid, Miss Lucy, added to the general withdrawal of interest -from the world within to the world without. They seemed to have nothing -to do themselves in their feminine quietness. Mamma sat pondering over -her work—about her husband, who was alone, and did not<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_096" id="vol_3_page_096"></a>{v.3-96}</span> like his -solitude—about Charlie, who was intrusted with so great a -commission—about “all the children”—every one of whom seemed to be -getting afloat on a separate current of life. Agnes mused over her -business with impatient thoughts about the Rector, with visions of -Rachel and Miss Lucy in the invalid chamber, and vain attempts to look -into the future and see what was to come. As for Marian, the charmed -tenor of her fancies knew no alteration; she floated on, without -interruption, in a sweet vision, full of a thousand consistencies, and -wilder than any romance. Their conversation ran no longer in the ancient -household channel, and was no more about their own daily occupations; -they were spectators eagerly looking from the windows at nearly a dozen -different conflicts, earnestly concerned, and deeply sympathetic, but -not in the strife themselves.</p> - -<p>Louis had entered Mr Foggo’s office; it seemed a strange destination for -the young man. He did not tell any one how small a remuneration he -received for his labours, nor how he contrived to live in the little -room, in the second floor of one of those Islington houses. He succeeded -in existing—that was enough; and Louis did not chafe at his restrained -and narrow life, by reason of having all his faculties engaged and -urgent in a somewhat fanciful mode, of securing the knowledge which he -longed for concerning<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_097" id="vol_3_page_097"></a>{v.3-97}</span> his own birth and derivation. He had ascertained -from Mr Atheling every particular concerning the Rivers family which -<i>he</i> knew. He had even managed to seek out some old servants once at the -Hall, and with a keen and intense patience had listened to every word of -a hundred aimless and inconclusive stories from these respectable -authorities. He was compiling, indeed, neither more nor less than a -<i>life</i> of Lord Winterbourne—a history which he endeavoured to verify in -every particular as he went on, and which was written with the sternest -impartiality—a plain and clear record of events. Perhaps a more -remarkable manuscript than that of Louis never existed; and he pursued -his tale with all the zest, and much more than the excitement, of a -romancer. It was a true story, of which he laboured to find out every -episode; and there was a powerful unity and constructive force in the -one sole unvarying interest of the tale. Mr Atheling had been moved to -tell the eager youth <i>all</i> the particulars of his early acquaintance -with Lord Winterbourne—and still the story grew—the object of the -whole being to discover, as Louis himself said, “what child there was -whom it was his interest to disgrace and defame.” The young man followed -hotly upon this clue. His thoughts had not been directed yet to anything -resembling the discovery of Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_098" id="vol_3_page_098"></a>{v.3-98}</span> Anastasia; it had never occurred to -him that his disinheritance might be absolutely the foundation of all -Lord Winterbourne’s greatness; but he hovered about the question with a -singular pertinacity, and gave his full attention to it. Inspired by -this, he did not consider his meagre meal, his means so narrow that it -was the hardest matter in the world to eat daily bread. He pursued his -story with a concentration of purpose which the greatest poet in -existence might have envied. He was a great deal too much in earnest to -think about the sentences in which he recorded what he learnt. The -consequence was, that this memoir of Lord Winterbourne was a model of -terse and pithy English—an unexampled piece of biography. Louis did not -say a word about it to any one, but pursued his labour and his inquiry -together, vainly endeavouring to find out a trace of some one whom he -could identify with himself.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, Papa began to complain grievously of his long abandonment, -and moved by Louis on one side, and by his own discomfort on the other, -became very decided in his conviction that there was no due occasion for -the absence of his family. There was great discontent in Number Ten, -Bellevue, and there was an equal discontent, rather more overpowering, -and quite as genuine, in the Old Wood Lodge, where Mamma and Marian vied -with each other in anxiety,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_099" id="vol_3_page_099"></a>{v.3-99}</span> and thought no cause sufficiently important -to keep them any longer from home. Agnes expressed no opinion either on -one side or the other; she was herself somewhat disturbed and unsettled, -thinking a great deal more about the Rector than was at all convenient, -or to her advantage. After that piece of controversy, the Rector began -to come rather often to the Lodge. He never said a word again touching -that one brief breath of warfare, yet they eyed each other -distrustfully, with a mutual consciousness of what had occurred, and -might occur again. It was not a very lover-like point of union, yet it -was a secret link of which no one else knew. Unconsciously it drew Agnes -into inferences and implications, which were spoken at the Rector; and -unconsciously it drew him to more sympathy with common trials, and a -singular inclination to experiment, as Agnes had bidden him, with her -sublime talisman—that sole Name given under heaven, which has power to -touch into universal brotherhood the whole universal heart of man.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_100" id="vol_3_page_100"></a>{v.3-100}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XIV" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br /><br /> -<small>NEWS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">While</span> the Lodge remained in this ferment of suspense and uncertainty, -Miss Anastasia had taken her measures for its defence and preservation. -It was wearing now towards the end of October, and winter was setting in -darkly. There was no more than a single rose at a time now upon the -porch, and these roses looked so pale, pathetic, and solitary, that it -was rather sad than pleasant to see the lonely flowers. On one of the -darkest days of the month, when they were all rather more listless than -usual, Miss Anastasia’s well-known equipage drew up at the gate. They -all hailed it with some pleasure. It was an event in the dull day and -discouraging atmosphere. She came in with her loud cheerful voice, her -firm step, her energetic bearing—and even the pretty <i>fiancée</i> Marian -raised her pretty stooping shoulders, and woke up from her fascinated -musing. Rachel alone drew shyly towards the door; she had not<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_101" id="vol_3_page_101"></a>{v.3-101}</span> overcome -a timidity very nearly approaching fear, which she always felt in -presence of Miss Anastasia. She was the only person who ever entered -this house who made Rachel remember again her life at the Hall.</p> - -<p>“I came to show you a letter from your boy; read it while I talk to the -children,” said Miss Rivers. Mrs Atheling took the letter with some -nervousness; she was a little fluttered, and lost the sense of many of -the expressions; yet lingered over it, notwithstanding, with pride and -exultation. She longed very much to have an opportunity of showing it to -Agnes; but that was not possible; so Mrs Atheling made a virtuous -attempt to preserve in her memory every word that her son said. This was -Charlie’s letter to his patroness:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>“<span class="smcap">Madam</span>,—I have not made very much progress yet. The courier, Jean -Monte, is to be heard of as you suggested; but it is only known on -the road that he lives in Switzerland, and keeps some sort of inn -in one of the mountain villages. No more as yet; but I will find -him out. I have to be very cautious at present, because I am not -yet well up in the language. The town is a ruinous place, and I -cannot get the parish registers examined as one might do in -England. There are several families of decayed nobles in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_102" id="vol_3_page_102"></a>{v.3-102}</span> -immediate neighbourhood, and, so far as I can hear, Giulietta is a -very common name. Travelling Englishmen, too, are so frequent that -there is a good deal of difficulty. I am rather inclined to fix -upon the villa Remori, where there are said to have been several -English marriages. It has been an extensive place, but is now -broken down, decayed, and neglected; the family have a title, and -are said to be very handsome, but are evidently very poor. There is -a mother and a number of daughters, only one or two grown up; I try -to make acquaintance with the children. The father died early, and -had no brothers. I think possibly this might be the house of -Giulietta, as there is no one surviving to look after the rights of -her children, did she really belong to this family. Of course, any -relatives she had, with any discretion, would have inquired out her -son in England; so I incline to think she may have belonged to the -villa Remori, as there are only women there.</p> - -<p>“I have to be very slow on account of my Italian—this, however, -remedies itself every day. I shall not think of looking for Monte -till I have finished my business here, and am on my way home. The -place is unprosperous and unhealthy, but it is pretty, and rather -out of the way—few travellers came, they tell me, till within ten -years ago; but I have not met with any one yet whose memory carried -back at all<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_103" id="vol_3_page_103"></a>{v.3-103}</span> clearly for twenty years. A good way out of the town, -near the lake, there is a kind of mausoleum which interests me a -little, not at all unlike the family tomb at Winterbourne; there is -no name upon it; it lies quite out of the way, and I cannot -ascertain that any one has ever been buried there; but something -may be learned about it, perhaps, by-and-by.</p> - -<p>“When I ascertain anything of the least importance, I shall write -again.</p> - -<p class="c"> -“Madam,<br /> - -<span style="margin-left: 10em;">“Your obedient Servant,</span><br /> - -<span style="margin-left: 14em;">“<span class="smcap">Charles Atheling</span>.”</span><br /> -</p></div> - -<p>Charlie had never written to a lady before; he was a little embarrassed -about it the first time, but this was his second epistle, and he had -become a little more at his ease. The odd thing about the correspondence -was, that Charlie did not express either hopes or opinions; he did not -say what he expected, or what were his chances of success—he only -reported what he was doing; any speculation upon the subject, more -especially at this crisis, would have been out of Charlie’s way.</p> - -<p>“What do you call your brother when you write to him?” asked Miss -Anastasia abruptly, addressing Rachel.</p> - -<p>Rachel coloured violently; she had so nearly forgotten<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_104" id="vol_3_page_104"></a>{v.3-104}</span> her old -system—her old representative character—that she was scarcely prepared -to answer such a question. With a mixture of her natural manner and her -assumed one, she answered at last, in considerable confusion, “We call -him Louis; he has no other name.”</p> - -<p>“Then he will not take the name of Rivers?” said Miss Anastasia, looking -earnestly at the shrinking girl.</p> - -<p>“We have no right to the name of Rivers,” said Rachel, drawing herself -up with her old dignity, like a little queen. “My brother is inquiring -who we are. We never belonged to Lord Winterbourne.”</p> - -<p>“Your brother is inquiring? So!” said Miss Anastasia; “and he is -perfectly right. Listen, child—tell him this from me—do you know what -Atheling means? It means noble, illustrious, royally born. In the old -Saxon days the princes were called Atheling. Tell your brother that -Anastasia Rivers bids him bear this name.”</p> - -<p>This address entirely confused Rachel, who remained gazing at Miss -Rivers blankly, unable to say anything. Marian stirred upon her chair -with sudden eagerness, and put down her needlework, gazing also, but -after quite a different fashion, in Miss Anastasia’s face. The old lady -caught the look of both, but only replied to the last.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_105" id="vol_3_page_105"></a>{v.3-105}</span></p> - -<p>“You are startled, are you, little beauty? Did you never hear the story -of Margaret Atheling, who was an exile, and a saint, and a queen? My -child, I should be very glad to make sure that you were a true Atheling -too.”</p> - -<p>Marian was not to be diverted from her curiosity by any such -observation. She cast a quick look from Miss Rivers to her mother, who -was pondering over Charlie’s letter, and from Mrs Atheling to Agnes, who -had not been startled by the strange words of Miss Anastasia; and -suspicion, vague and unexplainable, began to dawn in Marian’s mind.</p> - -<p>“The autumn assizes begin to-day,” said Miss Anastasia with a little -triumph; “too soon, as Mr Temple managed it, for your case to have a -hearing; it must stand over till the spring now—six months—by that -time, please God; we shall be ready for them. Agnes Atheling, how long -is it since you began to be deaf and blind?”</p> - -<p>Agnes started with a little confusion, and made a hurried inarticulate -answer. There was a little quiet quarrel all this time going on between -Agnes and Miss Rivers; neither the elder lady nor the younger was quite -satisfied—Agnes feeling herself something like a conspirator, and Miss -Anastasia a little suspicious of her, as a disaffected person in the -interest of the enemy. But Mamma by this time had come to an end of<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_106" id="vol_3_page_106"></a>{v.3-106}</span> -Charlie’s letter, and, folding it up very slowly, gave it back to its -proprietor. The good mother did not feel it at all comfortable to keep -this information altogether to herself.</p> - -<p>“It is not to be tried till spring!” said Mrs Atheling, who had caught -this observation. “Then, I think, indeed, Miss Rivers, we must go home.”</p> - -<p>And, to Mamma’s great comfort, Miss Anastasia made no objection. She -said kindly that she should miss her pleasant neighbours. “But what may -be in the future, girls, no one knows,” said Miss Rivers, getting up -abruptly. “Now, however, before this storm comes on, I am going home.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_107" id="vol_3_page_107"></a>{v.3-107}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XV" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br /><br /> -<small>GOING HOME.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">After</span> this the family made immediate preparations for their return. Upon -this matter Rachel was extremely uncomfortable, and much divided in her -wishes. Miss Lucy, who had been greatly solaced by the gentle -ministrations of this mild little girl, insisted very much that Rachel -should remain with her until her friends returned in spring, or till her -brother had “established himself.” Rachel herself did not know what to -do; and her mind was in a very doubtful condition, full of -self-arguments. She did not think Louis would be pleased—that was the -dark side. The favourable view was, that she was of use to the invalid, -and remaining with her would be “no burden to any one.” Rachel pondered, -wept, and consulted over it with much sincerity. From the society of -these young companions, whom the simple girl loved, and who were so near -her own age; from Louis, her lifelong ruler and example; from the kindly -fireside, to which she had looked forward<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_108" id="vol_3_page_108"></a>{v.3-108}</span> so long—it was hard enough -to turn to the invalid chambers, the old four-volume novels, and poor -pretty old Miss Lucy’s “disappointment in love.” “And if afterwards I -had to sing or give lessons, I should forget all my music there,” said -Rachel. Mrs Atheling kindly stepped in and decided for her. “It might be -a very good thing for you, my dear, if you had no friends,” said Mrs -Atheling. Rachel did not know whether to be most puzzled or grateful; -but to keep a certain conscious solemnity out of her tone—a certain -mysterious intimation of something great in the future—was out of the -power of Mamma.</p> - -<p>Accordingly, they all began their preparations with zeal and energy, the -only indifferent member of the party being Agnes, who began to feel -herself a good deal alone, and to suspect that she was indeed in the -enemy’s interest, and not so anxious about the success of Louis as she -ought to have been. A few days after Miss Anastasia’s visit, the Rector -came to find them in all the bustle of preparation. He appeared among -them with a certain solemnity, looking haughty and offended, and -received Mrs Atheling’s intimation of their departure with a grave and -punctilious bow. He had evidently known it before, and he looked upon -it, quite as evidently, as something done to thwart him—a personal -offence to himself.</p> - -<p>“Miss Atheling perhaps has literary occupation to<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_109" id="vol_3_page_109"></a>{v.3-109}</span> call her to town,” -suggested Mr Rivers, returning to his original ground of displeasure, -and trying to get up a little quarrel with Agnes. She did not reply to -him, but her mother did, on her behalf.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, Mr Rivers, it does not make any difference to Agnes; she can -write anywhere,” said Mrs Atheling. “I often wonder how she gets on -amongst us all; but my husband has been left so long by himself—and now -that the trial does not come on till spring, we are all so thankful to -get home.”</p> - -<p>“The trial comes on in spring?—I shall endeavour to be at home,” said -the Rector, “if I can be of any service. I am myself going to town; I am -somewhat unsettled in my plans at present—but my friends whom I esteem -most are in London—people of scientific and philosophical pursuits, who -cannot afford to be fashionable. Shall I have your permission to call on -you when we are all there?”</p> - -<p>“I am sure we shall all be very much pleased,” said Mrs Atheling, -flattered by his tone—“you know what simple people we are, and we do -not keep any company; but we shall be very pleased, and honoured too, to -see you as we have seen you here.”</p> - -<p>Agnes was a little annoyed by her mother’s speech. She looked up with a -flash of indignation, and met, not the eyes of Mrs Atheling, but those -of Mr Rivers, who was looking at her. The eyes had a smile in<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_110" id="vol_3_page_110"></a>{v.3-110}</span> them, but -there was perfect gravity upon the face. She was confused by the look, -though she did not know why. The words upon her lip were checked—she -looked down again, and began to arrange her papers with a rising colour. -The Rector’s look wandered from her face, because he perceived that he -embarrassed her, but went no further than her hands, which were pretty -hands enough, yet nothing half so exquisite as those rose-tipped fairy -fingers with which Marian folded up her embroidery. The Rector had no -eyes at all for Marian; but he watched the arrangement of Agnes’s papers -with a quite involuntary interest—detected in an instant when she -misplaced one, and was very much disposed to offer his own assistance, -relenting towards her. What he meant by it—he who was really the heir -of Lord Winterbourne, and by no means unaware of his own advantages—Mrs -Atheling, looking on with quick-witted maternal observation, could not -tell.</p> - -<p>Then quite abruptly—after he had watched all Agnes’s papers into the -pockets of her writing-book—he rose to go away; then he lingered over -the ceremony of shaking hands with her, and held hers longer than there -was any occasion for. “Some time I hope to resume our argument,” said Mr -Rivers. He paused till she answered him: “I do not know about argument,” -said Agnes, looking up with a flash of spirit<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_111" id="vol_3_page_111"></a>{v.3-111}</span>—“I should be foolish to -try it against you. I know only what I trust in—that is not argument—I -never meant it so.”</p> - -<p>He made no reply save by a bow, and went away leaving her rather -excited, a little angry, a little moved. Then they began to plague her -with questions—What did Mr Rivers mean? There was nothing in the world -which Agnes knew less of than what Mr Rivers meant. She tried to -explain, in a general way, the conversation she had with him before, but -made an extremely lame explanation, which no one was satisfied with, and -escaped to her own room in a very nervous condition, quite disturbed out -of her self-command. Agnes did not at all know what to make of her -anomalous feelings. She was vexed to the heart to feel how much she was -interested, while she disapproved so much, and with petulant annoyance -exclaimed to herself, that she wanted no more argument if he would but -let her alone!</p> - -<p>And then came the consideration of Lionel’s false hope—the hope which -some of these days would be taken from him in a moment. If she could -only let him know what she knew, her conscience would be easy. As she -thought of this, she remembered how people have been told in fables -secrets as important; the idea flashed into her mind with a certain -relief—then came the pleasure of creation, the gleam of life<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_112" id="vol_3_page_112"></a>{v.3-112}</span> among her -maze of thoughts; the fancy brightened into shape and graceful -fashion—she began unconsciously to hang about it the shining garments -of genius—and so she rose and went about her homely business, putting -together the little frocks of Bell and Beau, ready to be packed, with -the vision growing and brightening before her eyes. Then the definite -and immediate purpose of it gave way to a pure native delight in the -beautiful thing which began to grow and expand in her thoughts. She went -down again, forgetting her vexation. If it did no other good in the -world, there was the brightest stream of practical relief and -consolation in Agnes Atheling’s gift.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_113" id="vol_3_page_113"></a>{v.3-113}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XVI" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br /><br /> -<small>NEW INFLUENCES.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Once</span> more the Old Wood Lodge stood solitary under the darkening wintry -skies, with no bright faces at its windows, nor gleam of household -firelight in the dim little parlour, where Miss Bridget’s shadow came -back to dwell among the silence, a visionary inhabitant. Once more -Hannah sat solitary in her kitchen, lamenting that it was “lonesomer nor -ever,” and pining for the voices of the children. Hannah would have -almost been content to leave her native place and her own people to -accompany the family to London; but that was out of the question; and, -spite of all Mamma’s alarms, Susan had really conducted herself in a -very creditable manner under her great responsibility as housekeeper at -Bellevue.</p> - -<p>The journey home was not a very eventful one. They were met by Papa and -Louis on their arrival,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_114" id="vol_3_page_114"></a>{v.3-114}</span> and conducted in triumph to their own little -house, which did not look so attractive, by any means, as it used to do. -Then they settled down without more ado into the family use and wont. -With so great a change in all their prospects and intentions—so strange -an enlargement of their horizon and extension of their hopes—it was -remarkable how little change befell the outward life and customs of the -family. Marian, it was true, was “engaged;” but Marian might have been -engaged to poor Harry Oswald without any great variation of -circumstances; and that was always a possibility lying under everybody’s -eyes. It did not yet disturb the <i>habits</i> of the family; but this new -life which they began to enter—this life of separated and individual -interest—took no small degree of heart and spirit out of those joint -family pleasures and occupations into which Marian constantly brought a -reference to Louis, which Agnes passed through with a preoccupied and -abstracted mind, and from which Charlie was far away. The stream -widened, the sky grew broader, yet every one had his or her separate and -peculiar firmament. A maturer, perhaps, and more complete existence was -opening upon them; but the first effect was by no means to increase the -happiness of the family. They loved each other as well as ever; but they -were not so entirely identical. It was a disturbing influence, foreign -and unusual; it was not<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_115" id="vol_3_page_115"></a>{v.3-115}</span> the quiet, assured, undoubting family happiness -of the days which were gone.</p> - -<p>Then there were other unaccordant elements. Rachel, whom Mrs Atheling -insisted upon retaining with them, and who was extremely eager on her -own part to find something to do, and terrified to think herself a -burden upon her friends; and Louis, who contented himself with his -pittance of income, but only did his mere duty at the office, and gave -all his thoughts and all his powers to the investigation which engrossed -him. Mrs Atheling was very much concerned about Louis. If all this came -to nothing, as was quite probable, she asked her husband eagerly what -was to become of these young people—what were they to do? For at -present, instead of trying to get on, Louis, who had no suspicion of the -truth, gave his whole attention to a visionary pursuit, and was content -to have the barest enough which he could exist upon. Mr Atheling shook -his head, and could not make any satisfactory reply. “There was no -disposition to idleness about the boy,” Papa said, with approval. “He -was working very hard, though he might make nothing by it; and when this -state of uncertainty was put an end to, then they should see.”</p> - -<p>And Marian of late had become actively suspicious and observant. Marian -attacked her mother boldly, and without concealment. “Mamma, it is -something<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_116" id="vol_3_page_116"></a>{v.3-116}</span> about Louis that Charlie has gone abroad for!” she said, in -an unexpected sally, which took the garrison by surprise.</p> - -<p>“My dear, how could you think of such a thing?” cried the prudent Mrs -Atheling. “What could Miss Anastasia have to do with Louis? Why, she -never so much as saw him, you know. You must, by no means, take foolish -fancies into your head. I daresay, after all, he must belong to Lord -Winterbourne.”</p> - -<p>Marian asked no more; but she did not fail to communicate her suspicions -to Louis at the earliest opportunity. “I am quite sure,” said Marian, -not scrupling even to express her convictions in presence of Agnes and -Rachel, “that Charlie has gone abroad for something about you.”</p> - -<p>“Something about me!” Louis was considerably startled; he was even -indignant for a moment. He did not relish the idea of having secret -enterprises undertaken for him, or to know less about himself than -Marian’s young brother did. “You must be mistaken,” he said, with a -momentary haughtiness. “Charlie is a very acute fellow, but I do not see -that he is likely to trouble himself about me.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but it was Miss Anastasia,” said Marian, eagerly.</p> - -<p>Then Louis coloured, and drew himself up. His<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_117" id="vol_3_page_117"></a>{v.3-117}</span> first idea was that Miss -Anastasia looked for evidence to prove him the son of Lord Winterbourne; -and he resented, with natural vehemence, the interference of the old -lady. “We are come to a miserable pass, indeed,” he said, with -bitterness, “when people investigate privately to prove this wretched -lie against us.”</p> - -<p>“But you do not understand,” cried Rachel. “Oh, Louis, I never told you -what Miss Anastasia said. She said you were to take the name of -Atheling, because it meant illustrious, and because the exiled princes -were named so. Both Marian and Agnes heard her. She is a friend, Louis. -Oh, I am sure, if she is inquiring anything, it is all for our good!”</p> - -<p>The colour rose still higher upon Louis’s cheek. He did not quite -comprehend at the moment this strange, sudden side-light which glanced -down upon the question which was so important to him. He did not pause -to follow, nor see to what it might lead; but it struck him as a clue to -something, though he was unable to discover what that something was. -Atheling! the youth’s imagination flashed back in a moment upon those -disinherited descendants of Alfred, the Edgars and Margarets, who, -instead of princely titles, bore only that addition to their name. He -was as near the truth at that moment as people wandering in profound -darkness are often near the<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_118" id="vol_3_page_118"></a>{v.3-118}</span> light. Another step would have brought him -to it; but Louis did not take that step, and was not enlightened. His -heart rose, however, with the burning impatience of one who comes within -sight of the goal. He started involuntarily with haste and eagerness. He -was jealous that even friendly investigations should be the first to -find out the mystery. He felt as if he would have a better right to -anything which might be awaiting him, if he discovered it himself.</p> - -<p>Upon all this tumult of thought and feeling, Agnes looked on, saying -nothing—looked on, by no means enjoying her spectatorship and superior -knowledge. It was a “situation” which might have pleased Mr Endicott, -but it terribly embarrassed Agnes, who found it no pleasure at all to be -so much wiser than her neighbours. She dared not confide the secret to -Louis any more than she could to the Rector; and she would have been -extremely unhappy between them, but for the relief and comfort of that -fable, which was quickly growing into shape and form. It had passed out -of her controlling hands already, and began to exercise over her the -sway which a real created thing always exercises over the mind even of -its author: it had ceased to be the direct personal affair she had -intended to make it; it told its story, but after a more delicate<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_119" id="vol_3_page_119"></a>{v.3-119}</span> -process, and Agnes expended all her graceful fancy upon its perfection. -She thought now that Louis might find it out as well as the Rector. It -was an eloquent appeal, heart-warm and touching to them both.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_120" id="vol_3_page_120"></a>{v.3-120}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XVII" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br /><br /> -<small>RACHEL’S DOUBTS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">After</span> Louis, the most urgent business in the house of the Athelings was -that of Rachel, who was so pertinaciously anxious to be employed, that -her friends found it very difficult to evade her constant entreaties. -Rachel’s education—or rather Rachel’s want of education—had been very -different from that of Marian and Agnes. She had no traditions of -respectability to deter her from anything she could do; and she had been -accustomed to sing to the guests at Winterbourne, and concluded that it -would make very little difference to her, whether her performance was in -a public concert-room or a private assembly. “No one would care at all -for me; no one would ever think of me or look at me,” said Rachel. “If I -sang well, that would be all that any one thought of; and we need not -tell Louis—and I would not mind myself—and no one would ever know.”</p> - -<p>“But I have great objections to it, my dear,” said<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_121" id="vol_3_page_121"></a>{v.3-121}</span> Mrs Atheling, with -some solemnity. “I should rather a hundred times take in work myself, or -do anything with my own hands, than let my girls do this. It is not -respectable for a young girl. A public appearance! I should be grieved -and ashamed beyond anything. I should indeed, my dear.”</p> - -<p>“I am very sorry, Mrs Atheling,” said Rachel, wistfully; “but it is not -anything wrong.”</p> - -<p>“Not wrong—but not at all respectable,” said Mrs Atheling, “and -unfeminine, and very dangerous indeed, and a discreditable position for -a young girl.”</p> - -<p>Rachel blushed, and was very much disconcerted, but still did not give -up the point. “I thought it so when they tried to force me,” she said in -a low tone; “but now, no one need know; and people, perhaps, might have -me at their houses; ladies sing in company. You would not mind me doing -that, Mrs Atheling? Or I could give lessons. Perhaps you think it is all -vanity; but indeed they used to think me a very good singer, long ago. -Oh, Agnes, do you remember that old gentleman at the Willow? that very -old gentleman who used to talk to you? I think he could help me if you -would only speak to him.”</p> - -<p>“Mr Agar? I think he could,” said Agnes; “but, Rachel, mamma says you -must not think of it. Marian does not do anything, and why should you?”</p> - -<p>“I am no one’s daughter,” said Rachel, sadly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_122" id="vol_3_page_122"></a>{v.3-122}</span> “You are all very kind; -but Louis has only a very little money; and I will not—indeed I will -not—be a burden upon you.”</p> - -<p>“Rachel, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling, “do not speak so foolishly; but I -will tell you what we can do. Agnes shall write down all about it to -Miss Anastasia, and ask her advice, and whether she consents to it; and -if she consents, I will not object any more. I promise I shall not stand -in the way at all, if Miss Anastasia decides for you.”</p> - -<p>Rachel looked up with a little wonder. “But Miss Anastasia has nothing -to do with us,” said the astonished girl. “I would rather obey you than -Miss Rivers, a great deal. Why should we consult <i>her</i>?”</p> - -<p>“My dear,” said Mrs Atheling, with importance, “you must not ask any -questions at present. <i>I have my reasons.</i> Miss Anastasia takes a great -interest in you, and I have a very good reason for what I say.”</p> - -<p>This made an end of the argument; but Rachel was extremely puzzled, and -could not understand it. She was not very quick-witted, this gentle -little girl; she began to have a certain awe of Miss Anastasia, and to -suppose that it must be her superior wisdom which made every one ask her -opinion. Rachel could not conclude upon any other reason, and -accordingly awaited with a little solemnity the decision of Miss Rivers. -They were in a singular harmony, all these<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_123" id="vol_3_page_123"></a>{v.3-123}</span> young people; not one of -them but had some great question hanging in the balance, which they -themselves were not sufficient to conclude upon—something that might -change and colour the whole course of their lives.</p> - -<p>Another event occurring just at this time, made Rachel for a time the -heroine of the family. Charlie wrote home with great regularity, like a -good son as he was. His letters were very short, and not at all -explanatory; but they satisfied his mother that he had not taken a -fever, nor fallen into the hands of robbers, and that was so far well. -In one of these epistles, however, the young gentleman extended his -brief report a little, to describe to them a family with which he had -formed acquaintance. There were a lot of girls, Charlie said; and one of -them, called Giulia Remori, was strangely like “Miss Rachel;” “not -exactly like,” wrote Charlie,—“not like Agnes and Marian” (who, by the -way, had only a very vague resemblance to each other). “You would not -suppose them to be sisters; but I always think of Miss Rachel when I see -this Signora Giulia. They say, too, she has a great genius for music, -and I heard her sing once myself, like——; well, I cannot say what it -was like. The most glorious music, I believe, under the skies.”</p> - -<p>“Mamma, that cannot be Charlie!” said the girls<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_124" id="vol_3_page_124"></a>{v.3-124}</span> simultaneously; but it -was Charlie, without any dispute, and Marian clapped her hands in -triumph, and exclaimed that he must be in love; and there stood Rachel, -very much interested, wistful, and smiling. The tender-hearted girl had -the greatest propensity to make friendships. She received the idea of -this foreign Giulia into her heart in a moment, and ran forth eagerly at -the time of Louis’s usual evening visit to meet him at the gate, and -tell him this little bit of romance. It moved Louis a great deal more -deeply than it moved Rachel. This time his eye flashed to the truth like -lightning. He began to give serious thought to what Marian had said of -Charlie’s object, and of Miss Anastasia. “Hush, Rachel,” he said, with -sudden gravity. “Hush, I see it; this is some one belonging to our -mother.”</p> - -<p>“Our mother!” The two orphans stood together at the little gate, -silenced by the name. They had never speculated much upon this parent. -It was one of the miseries of their cruel position, that the very idea -of a dead mother, which is to most minds the most saintlike and holy -imagination under heaven, brought to them their bitterest pang of -disgrace and humiliation. Yet now Louis stood silent, pondering it with -the deepest eagerness. A burning impatience possessed the young man; a -violent colour rose over his face. He could not tolerate the idea of an -unconcerned<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_125" id="vol_3_page_125"></a>{v.3-125}</span> inquirer into matters so instantly momentous to himself. He -was not at all amiable in his impulses; his immediate and wild fancy was -to rush away, on foot and penniless, as he was; to turn off Charlie -summarily from his mission, if he had one; and without a clue, or a -guide, or a morsel of information which pointed in that direction, by -sheer force of energy and desperation to find it out himself. It was -misery to go in quietly to the quiet house, even to the presence of -Marian, with such a fancy burning in his mind. He left Rachel abruptly, -without a word of explanation, and went off to make inquiries about -travelling. It was perfectly vain, but it was some satisfaction to the -fever of his mind. Louis’s defection made Marian very angry; when he -came next day they had their first quarrel, and parted in great -distraction and misery, mutually convinced of the treachery and -wretchedness of this world; but made it up again very shortly after, to -the satisfaction of every one concerned. With these things happening day -by day, with their impatient and fiery Orlando, always in some degree -inflaming the house, it is not necessary to say how wonderful a -revolution had been wrought upon the quiet habitudes of this little -house in Bellevue.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_126" id="vol_3_page_126"></a>{v.3-126}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XVIII" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br /><br /> -<small>AGNES.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Yet</span> the household felt, in spite of itself, a difference by no means -agreeable between the Old Wood Lodge and Bellevue. The dull brick wall -of Laurel House was not nearly so pleasant to look upon as that great -amphitheatre with its maze of wan waters and willow-trees, where the -sunshine flashed among the spires of Oxford; neither was Miss Willsie, -kind and amusing as she was, at all a good substitute for Miss -Anastasia. They had Louis, it was true, but Louis was in love, and -belonged to Marian; and no one within their range was at all to be -compared to the Rector. Accustomed to have their interest fixed, after -their own cottage, upon the Old Wood House and Winterbourne Hall, they -were a little dismayed, in spite of themselves, to see the meagreness -and small dimensions even of Killiecrankie Lodge. It was a different -world altogether—and they did not know at the first glance how to make -the two compatible. The little house in the country, now<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_127" id="vol_3_page_127"></a>{v.3-127}</span> that they had -left it, grew more and more agreeable by comparison. Mrs Atheling forgot -that she had thought it damp, and all of them, Mamma herself among the -rest, began to think of their return in spring.</p> - -<p>And as the winter went on, Agnes made progress with her fable. She did -not write it carefully, but she did write it with fervour, and the haste -of a mind concerned and in earnest. The story had altered considerably -since she first thought of it. There was in it a real heir whom nobody -knew, and a supposed heir, who was the true hero of the book. The real -heir had a love-story, and the prettiest <i>fiancée</i> in the world; but -about her hero Agnes was timid, presenting a grand vague outline of him, -and describing him in sublime general terms; for she was not at all an -experienced young lady, though she was an author, but herself regarded -her hero with a certain awe and respect and imperfect understanding, as -young men and young women of poetic conditions are wont to regard each -other. From this cause it resulted that you were not very clear about -the Sir Charles Grandison of the young novelist. Her pretty heroine was -as clear as a sunbeam; and even the Louis of her story was definable, -and might be recognised; but the other lay half visible, sometimes -shining out in a sudden gleam of somewhat tremulous light, but for the -most<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_128" id="vol_3_page_128"></a>{v.3-128}</span> part enveloped in shadow: everybody else in the tale spoke of him, -thought of him, and were marvellously influenced by him; but his real -appearances were by no means equal to the importance he had acquired.</p> - -<p>The sole plot of the story was connected with the means by which the -unsuspected heir came to a knowledge of his rights, and gained his true -place; and there was something considerably exciting to Agnes in her -present exercise of the privilege of fiction, and the steps she took to -make the title of her imaginary Louis clear. She used to pause, and -wonder in the midst of it, whether such chances as these would befall -the true Louis, and how far the means of her invention would resemble -the real means. It was a very odd occupation, and interested her -strangely. It was not very much of a story, neither was it written with -that full perfection of style which comes by experience and the progress -of years; but it had something in its faulty grace, and earnestness, and -simplicity, which was perhaps more attractive than the matured -perfectness of a style which had been carefully formed, and “left -nothing to desire.” It was sparkling with youth, and it was warm from -the heart. It went into no greater bulk than one small volume, which Mr -Burlington put into glowing red cloth, embellished with two engravings, -and ornamented with plenty of gilding. It came out, a wintry Christmas -flower, making no such excitement<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_129" id="vol_3_page_129"></a>{v.3-129}</span> in the house as <i>Hope Hazlewood</i> had -done; and Agnes had the satisfaction of handing over to Papa, to lock up -in his desk in the office, a delightfully crisp, crackling, newly-issued -fifty-pound note.</p> - -<p>And Christmas had just given way to the New Year when the Rector made -his appearance at Bellevue. He was still more eager, animated, and -hopeful than he had been when they saw him last. His extreme high-church -clerical costume was entirely abandoned; he still wore black, but it was -not very professional, and he appeared in these unknown parts with books -in his hands and smiles on his face. When he came into the little -parlour, he did not seem at all to notice its limited dimensions, but -greeted them all with an effusion of pleasure and kindness, which -greatly touched the heart of Agnes, and moved her mother, in her extreme -gratification and pride, to something very like tears. Mr Rivers -inquired at once for Louis, with great gravity and interest, but shook -his head when he heard what his present occupation was.</p> - -<p>“This will not do; will he come and see me, or shall I wait upon him?” -said the Rector with a subdued smile, as he remembered the youthful -haughtiness of Louis. “I should be glad to speak to him about his -prospects—here is my card—will you kindly ask him to dine with me -to-night, alone? He is a young man<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_130" id="vol_3_page_130"></a>{v.3-130}</span> of great powers; something better -may surely be found for him than this lawyer’s office.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling was a little piqued in spite of herself. “My son, when he -is at home, is there,” said the good mother; and her visitor did not -fail to see the significance of the tone.</p> - -<p>“He is not at home now—where is he?” said the Rector.</p> - -<p>There was a moment’s hesitation. Agnes turned to look at him, her colour -rising violently, and Mrs Atheling faltered in her reply.</p> - -<p>“He has gone abroad to —— to make some inquiries,” said Mrs Atheling; -“though he is so very young, people have great confidence in him; -and—and it may turn out very important indeed, what he has gone about.”</p> - -<p>Once more Agnes cast a troubled glance upon the Rector—he heard of it -with such perfect unconcern—this inquiry which in a moment might strike -his ambition to the dust.</p> - -<p>He ceased at once speaking on this subject, which did not interest him. -He said, turning to her, that he had brought some books about which he -wanted Miss Atheling’s opinion. Agnes shrank back immediately in natural -diffidence, but revived again, before she was aware, in all her old -impulse of opposition. “If it is wrong to write books, is it right to -form opinions<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_131" id="vol_3_page_131"></a>{v.3-131}</span> upon them?” said Agnes. Mr Rivers imperceptibly grew a -little loftier and statelier as she spoke.</p> - -<p>“I think I have explained my sentiments on that point,” said the Rector; -“there is no one whose appreciation I should set so high a value on as -that of an intelligent woman.”</p> - -<p>It was Agnes’s turn to blush and say nothing, as she met his eye. When -Mr Rivers said “an intelligent woman,” he meant, though the expression -was not romantic, his own ideal; and there lay his books upon the table, -evidences of his choice of a critic. She began to busy herself with -them, looking quite vacantly at the title-pages; wondering if there was -anything besides books, and controversies, and opinions, to be found in -the Rector’s heart.</p> - -<p>When Mrs Atheling, in her natural pride and satisfaction, bethought her -of that pretty little book with its two illustrations, and its cover in -crimson and gold, she brought a copy to the table immediately. “My dear, -perhaps Mr Rivers might like to look at this?” said Mrs Atheling. “It -has only been a week published, but people speak very well of it -already. It is a very pretty story. I think you would like it—Agnes, my -love, write Mr Rivers’ name.”</p> - -<p>“No, no, mamma!” cried Agnes hurriedly; she put away the red book from -her, and went away from the table in haste and agitation. Very true, it -was written<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_132" id="vol_3_page_132"></a>{v.3-132}</span> almost for him—but she was dismayed at the idea of being -called to write in it Lionel Rivers’ name.</p> - -<p>He took up the book, however, and looked at it in the gravest silence. -<i>The Heir</i>;—he read the title aloud, and it seemed to strike him; then -without another word he put the little volume safely in his pocket, -repeated his message to Louis, and a few minutes afterwards, somewhat -grave and abstracted, took his leave of them, and hastened away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_133" id="vol_3_page_133"></a>{v.3-133}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XIX" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br /><br /> -<small>LIONEL.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> Rector became a very frequent visitor during the few following weeks -at Bellevue. Louis had gone to see him, as he desired, and Mr Rivers -anxiously endeavoured to persuade the youth to suffer himself to be -“assisted.” Louis as strenuously resisted every proposal of the kind; he -was toiling on in pursuit of himself, through his memoir of Lord -Winterbourne—still eager, and full of expectation—still proud, and -refusing to be indebted to any one. The Rector argued with him like an -elder brother. “Let us grant that you are successful,” said Mr Rivers; -“let us suppose that you make an unquestionable discovery, what position -are you in to pursue it? Your sister, even—recollect your sister—you -cannot provide for her.”</p> - -<p>His sister was Louis’s grand difficulty; he bit his lip, and the fiery -glow of shame came to his face. “I<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_134" id="vol_3_page_134"></a>{v.3-134}</span> cannot provide for her, it is true. -I am bitterly ashamed of it; but, at least, she is among friends.”</p> - -<p>“You do me small credit,” said the Rector; “but I will not ask, on any -terms, for a friendship which is refused to me. You are not even in the -way of advancement; and to lose your time after this fashion is madness. -Let me see you articled to these people whom you are with now; that is, -at least, a chance, though not a great one. If I can accomplish it, will -you consent to this?”</p> - -<p>Louis paused a little, grateful in his heart, though his tongue was slow -to utter his sentiments. “You are trying to do me a great service,” said -the young man; “you think me a churl, and ungrateful, but you endeavour -to benefit me against my will—is it not true? I am just in such a -position that no miracle in the world would seem wonderful to me; it is -possible, in the chances of the future, that we two may be set up -against each other. I cannot accept this service from you—from you, or -from any other. I must wait.”</p> - -<p>The Rector turned away almost with impatience. “Do you suppose you can -spend your life in this fashion—your life?” he exclaimed, with some -heat.</p> - -<p>“My life!” said Louis. He was a little startled with this conclusion. “I -thank you,” he added abruptly, “for your help, for your advice, for your -reproof—I thank you heartily, but I have no more to say.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_135" id="vol_3_page_135"></a>{v.3-135}</span></p> - -<p>That was how the conversation ended. Lionel, grieved for the folly of -the boy, smiling to himself at Louis’s strange delusion that he, who was -the very beau-ideal of the race of Rivers, belonged to another house, -went to his rest, with a mind disturbed, full of difficulties, and of -ambition, working out one solemn problem, and touched with tender -dreams; yet always remembering, with a pleasure which he could not -restrain, the great change in his position, and that he was now, not -merely the Rector, but the heir of Winterbourne. Louis, on his part, -went home to his dark little lodging, with the swell and tumult of -excitement in his mind, and could not sleep. He seemed to be dizzied -with the rushing shadows of a crowd of coming events. He was not well; -his abstinence, his studiousness, his change of place and life, had -weakened his young frame; these rushing wings seemed to tingle in his -ears, and his temples throbbed as if they kept time. He rose in the -middle of the night, in the deep wintry silence and moonlight, to open -his window, and feel the cold air upon his brow. There he saw the -moonbeams falling softly, not on any imposing scene, but on the humble -roof underneath whose shelter sweet voices and young hearts, devout and -guileless, prayed for him every night; the thought calmed him into -sudden humility and quietness; and, in his poverty, and hope, and youth, -he returned to his humble bed, and slept.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_136" id="vol_3_page_136"></a>{v.3-136}</span> Lionel was waking too; but he -did not know of any one who prayed for <i>him</i> in all this cold-hearted -world.</p> - -<p>But the Rector became a very frequent visitor in Bellevue. He had read -the little book—read it with a kind of startled consciousness, the -first time, that it looked like a true story, and seemed somehow -familiar to himself. But by-and-by he began to keep it by him, and, not -for the sake of the story, to take it up idly when he was doing nothing -else, and refer to it as a kind of companion. It was not, in any degree -whatever, an intellectual display; he by no means felt himself pitted -against the author of it, or entering into any kind of rivalship with -her. The stream sparkled and flashed to the sunshine as it ran; but it -flowed with a sweet spontaneous readiness, and bore no trace of -artificial force and effort. It wanted a great many of the qualities -which critics praise. There was no great visible strain of power, no -forcible evidence of difficulties overcome. The reader knew very well -that <i>he</i> could not have done this, nor anything like it, yet his -intellectual pride was not roused. It was genius solacing itself with -its own romaunt, singing by the way; it was not talent getting up an -exhibition for the astonishment, or the enlightenment, or the -instruction of others. Agnes defeated her own purpose by the very means -she had taken to procure it. The Rector forgot all about the story, -thinking of the writer of it; he<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_137" id="vol_3_page_137"></a>{v.3-137}</span> became indifferent to what she had to -tell, but dwelt and lingered—not like a critic—like something very -different—upon the cadence of her voice.</p> - -<p>To tell the truth, between his visits to Bellevue, and his musings -thereafter—his study of this little fable of Agnes’s, and his vague -mental excursions into the future, Lionel Rivers, had he yielded to the -fascination, would have found very near enough to do. But he was manful -enough to resist this trance of fairyland. He was beginning to be “in -love;” nobody could dispute it; it was visible enough to wake the most -entire sympathy in the breasts of Marian and Rachel, and to make for the -mother of the family wakeful nights, and a most uneasy pillow; but he -was far from being at ease or in peace. His friends in London were of a -class as different as possible from these humble people who were rapidly -growing nearer than friends. They were all men of great intelligence, of -great powers, scholars, philosophers, authorities—men who belonged, and -professed to belong, to the ruling class of intellect, prophets and -apostles of a new generation. They were not much given to believing -anything, though some among them had a weakness for mesmerism or -spiritual manifestations. They investigated all beliefs and faculties of -believing, and received all marvellous stories, from the Catholic -legends of the saints to the miracles of the New Testament, on one<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_138" id="vol_3_page_138"></a>{v.3-138}</span> -general ground of indulgence, charitable and tender, as mythical stories -which meant something in their day. Most of them wrote an admirable -style—most of them occasionally said very profound things which nobody -could understand; all of them were scholars and gentlemen, as blameless -in their lives as they were superior in their powers; and all of them -lived upon a kind of intellectual platform, philosophical demigods, -sufficient for themselves, and looking down with a good deal of -curiosity, a little contempt, and a little pity, upon the crowds who -thronged below of common men.</p> - -<p>These were the people to whom Lionel Rivers, in the first flush of his -emancipation, had hastened from his high-churchism, and his country -pulpit—some of them had been his companions at College—some had -inspired him by their books, or pleased him by their eloquence. They -were a brotherhood of men of great cultivation—his equals, and -sometimes his superiors. He had yearned for their society when he was -quite removed from it; but he was of a perverse and unconforming mind. -What did he do now?</p> - -<p>He took the strange fancy suddenly, and telling no man, of wandering -through those frightful regions of crime and darkness, which we hide -behind our great London streets. He went about through the miserable -thoroughfares, looking at the miserable creatures there.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_139" id="vol_3_page_139"></a>{v.3-139}</span> What was the -benefit to them of these polluted lives of theirs? They had their -enjoyments, people said—their enjoyments! Their sorrows, like the -sorrows of all humanity, were worthy human tears, consolation, and -sympathy,—their hardships and endurances were things to move the -universal heart; but their enjoyments—Heaven save us!—the pleasures of -St Giles’s, the delights and amusements of those squalid groups at the -street corners! If they were to have nothing more than that, what a -frightful fate was theirs!</p> - -<p>And there came upon the spectator, as he went among them in silence, a -sudden eagerness to try that talisman which Agnes Atheling had bidden -him use. It was vain to try philosophy there, where no one knew what it -meant—vain to offer the rites of the Church to those who were fatally -beyond its pale. Was it possible, after all, that the one word in the -world, which could stir something human—something of heaven—in these -degraded breasts, was that one sole unrivalled <i>Name</i>?</p> - -<p>He could not withdraw himself from the wretched scene before him. He -went on from street to street with something of the consciousness of a -man who carries a hidden remedy through a plague-stricken city, but -hides his knowledge in his own mind, and does not apply it. A strange -sense of guilt—a strange oppression by reason of this grand secret—an -<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_140" id="vol_3_page_140"></a>{v.3-140}</span>overpowering passionate impulse to try the solemn experiment, and -withal a fascinated watchfulness which kept him silent—possessed the -mind of the young man.</p> - -<p>He walked about the streets like a man doing penance; then he began to -notice other passengers not so idle as himself. There were people here -who were trying to break into the mass of misery, and make a footing for -purity and light among it. They were not like his people;—sometimes -they were poor city missionaries, men of very bad taste, not perfect in -their grammar, and with no great amount of discretion. Even the people -of higher class were very limited people often to the perception of Mr -Rivers; but they were at work, while the demigods slept upon their -platform. It would be very hard to make philosophers of the wretched -population here. Philosophy did not break its heart over the -impossibility, but calmly left the untasteful city missionaries, the -clergymen, High Church and Low Church, who happened to be in earnest, -and some few dissenting ministers of the neighbourhood, labouring upon a -forlorn hope to make them <i>men</i>.</p> - -<p>All this moved in the young man’s heart as he pursued his way among -these squalid streets. Every one of these little stirrings in this -frightful pool of stagnant life was made in the name of Him whom Lionel -Rivers once named with cold irreverence, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_141" id="vol_3_page_141"></a>{v.3-141}</span> whom Agnes Atheling, with -a tender awe and appropriation, called “Our Lord.” This was the problem -he was busy with while he remained in London. It was not one much -discussed, either in libraries or drawing-rooms, among his friends; he -discussed it by himself as he wandered through St -Giles’s—silent—watching—with the great Name which he himself did not -know, but began to cling to as a talisman, burning at his heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_142" id="vol_3_page_142"></a>{v.3-142}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XX" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br /><br /> -<small>AN ARRIVAL.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">While</span> the Athelings at home were going on quietly, but with anxiety and -disturbance of mind in this way, they were startled one afternoon by a -sudden din and tumult out of doors, nearly as great as that which, not -much short of a year ago, had announced the first call of Mrs Edgerley. -It was not, however, a magnificent equipage like that of the fashionable -patroness of literature which drew up at the door now. It was an antique -job carriage, not a very great deal better to look at than that -venerable fly of Islington, which was still regarded with respect by -Agnes and Marian. In this vehicle there were two horses, tall brown bony -old hacks, worthy the equipage they drew—an old coachman in a very -ancient livery, and an active youth, fresh, rural, and ruddy, who sprang -down from the creaking coach-box to assault, but in a moderate country -fashion, the door of the Athelings. Rachel, who was peeping from<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_143" id="vol_3_page_143"></a>{v.3-143}</span> the -window, uttered an exclamation of surprise—“Oh, Agnes, look! it is Miss -Anastasia’s man.”</p> - -<p>It was so beyond dispute, and Miss Anastasia herself immediately -descended from the creaking vehicle, swinging heavily upon its -antiquated springs; she had a large cloak over her brown pelisse, and a -great muff of rich sables, big enough to have covered from head to foot, -like a case, either little Bell or little Beau. She was so entirely like -herself in spite of those additions to her characteristic costume, and -withal so unlike other people, that they could have supposed she had -driven here direct from the Priory, had that been possible, without any -commonplace intervention of railway or locomotive by the way. As the -girls came to the door to meet her, she took the face—first of Agnes, -then of Marian, and lastly of Rachel, who was a good deal dismayed by -the honour—between her hands, thrusting the big muff, like a prodigious -bracelet, up upon her arm the while, and kissed them with a cordial -heartiness. Then she went into the little parlour to Mrs Atheling, who -in the mean time had been gathering together the scattered pieces of -work, and laying them, after an orderly fashion, in her basket. Then -Papa’s easy-chair was wheeled to the fire for the old lady, and Marian -stooped to find a footstool for her, and Agnes helped to loose the big -cloak from her shoulders. Miss Anastasia<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_144" id="vol_3_page_144"></a>{v.3-144}</span>’s heart was touched by the -attentions of the young people. She laid her large hand caressingly on -Marian’s head, and patted the cheek of Agnes. “Good children—eh? I -missed them,” she said, turning to Mamma, and Mamma brightened with -pleasure and pride as she whispered something to Agnes about the fire in -the best room. Then, when she had held a little conversation with the -girls, Miss Rivers began to look uneasy. She glanced at Mrs Atheling -with a clear intention of making some telegraphic communication; she -glanced at the girls and at the door, and back again at Mamma, with a -look full of meaning. Mrs Atheling was not generally so dull of -comprehension, but she was so full of the idea that Miss Anastasia’s -real visit was to the girls, and so proud of the attraction which even -this dignified old lady could not resist, that she could not at all -consent to believe that Miss Rivers desired to be left alone with -herself.</p> - -<p>“There’s a hamper from the Priory,” said Miss Anastasia at last, -abruptly; “among other country things there’s some flowers in it, -children—make haste all of you and get it unpacked, and tell me what -you think of my camellias! Make haste, girls!”</p> - -<p>It was a most moving argument; but it distracted Mrs Atheling’s -attention almost as much as that of her daughters, for the hamper -doubtless contained<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_145" id="vol_3_page_145"></a>{v.3-145}</span> something else than flowers. Mamma, however, -remained decorously with her guest, despite the risk of breakage to the -precious country eggs; and the girls, partly deceived, partly suspecting -their visitor’s motive, obeyed her injunction, and hastened away. Then -Miss Rivers caught Mrs Atheling by the sleeve, and drew her close -towards her. “Have you heard from your boy?” said Miss Anastasia.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Mrs Atheling with a sudden momentary alarm, “not for a -week—has anything happened to Charlie?”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense—what could happen to him?” cried the old lady, with a little -impatience, “here is a note I had this morning—read it—he is coming -home.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling took the letter with great eagerness. It was a very brief -one:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Madam</span>,—I have come to it at last—suddenly. I have only time to -tell you so. I shall leave to-day with an important witness. I have -not even had leisure to write to my mother; but will push on to the -Priory whenever I have bestowed my witness safely in Bellevue. In -great haste.—Your obedient servant,</p> - -<p class="r"> -<span class="smcap">C. Atheling</span>.<br /> -</p></div> - -<p>Charlie’s mother trembled all over with agitation<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_146" id="vol_3_page_146"></a>{v.3-146}</span> and joy. She had to -grasp by the mantel-shelf to keep herself quite steady. She exclaimed, -“My own boy!” half-crying and wholly exultant, and would have liked to -have hurried out forthwith upon the road and met him half-way, had that -been possible. She kept the letter in her hand looking at it, and quite -forgetting that it belonged to Miss Anastasia. He had justified the -trust put in him—he had crowned himself with honour—he was coming -home! Not much wonder that the good mother was weeping-ripe, and could -have sobbed aloud for very joy.</p> - -<p>“Ay,” said Miss Anastasia, with something like a sigh, “you’re a rich -woman. I have not rested since this came to me, nor can I rest till I -hear all your boy has to say.”</p> - -<p>At this moment Mrs Atheling started with a little alarm, catching from -the window a glimpse of the coach, with its two horses and its -antiquated coachman, slowly turning round and driving away. Miss -Anastasia followed her glance with a subdued smile.</p> - -<p>“Do you mean then to—to stay in London, Miss Rivers?” asked Mrs -Atheling.</p> - -<p>“Tut! the boy will be home directly—to-night,” said Miss Anastasia; “I -meant to wait here until he came.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling started again in great and evident perturbation. You could -perceive that she repeated<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_147" id="vol_3_page_147"></a>{v.3-147}</span> “to wait <i>here</i>!” within herself with a -great many points of admiration; but she was too well-bred to express -her dismay. She cast, however, an embarrassed look round her, said she -should be very proud, and Miss Rivers would do them honour, but she was -afraid the accommodation was not equal—and here Mrs Atheling paused -much distressed.</p> - -<p>“I have been calculating all the way up when he can be here,” -interrupted Miss Anastasia. “I should say about twelve o’clock to-night. -Agnes, when she comes back again, shall revise it for me. Never mind -accommodation. Give him an hour’s grace—say he comes at one -o’clock—then a couple of hours later—by that time it will be three in -the morning. Then I am sure one of the girls will not grudge me her bed -till six. We’ll get on very well; and when Will Atheling comes home, if -you have anything to say to him, I can easily step out of the way. Well, -am I an intruder? If I am not, don’t say anything more about it. I -cannot rest till I see the boy.”</p> - -<p>When the news became diffused through the house that Charlie was coming -home to-night, and that Miss Anastasia was to wait for him, a very great -stir and bustle immediately ensued. The best room was hastily put in -order, and Mrs Atheling’s own bedchamber immediately revised and -beautified for the reception of Miss Anastasia. It was with a little -difficulty,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_148" id="vol_3_page_148"></a>{v.3-148}</span> however, that the old lady was persuaded to leave the -family parlour for the best room. She resisted energetically all unusual -attentions, and did not hesitate to declare, even in the presence of -Rachel, that her object was to see Charlie, and that for his arrival she -was content to wait all night. A great anxiety immediately took -possession of the household. They too were ready and eager to wait all -night; and even Susan became vaguely impressed with a solemn sense of -some great approaching event. Charlie was not to be alone either. The -excitement rose to a quite overpowering pitch—who was coming with him? -What news did he bring? These questions prolonged to the most -insufferable tediousness the long slow darksome hours of the March -night.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_149" id="vol_3_page_149"></a>{v.3-149}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXI" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br /><br /> -<small>CHARLIE’S RETURN.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> girls could not be persuaded to go to rest, let Mamma say what she -would. Rachel, the only one who had no pretence, nor could find any -excuse for sitting up, was the only one who showed the least sign of -obedience; <i>she</i> went up-stairs with a meek unwillingness, lingered as -long as she could before lying down, and when she extinguished her light -at last, lay very broad awake looking into the midnight darkness, and -listening anxiously to every sound below. Marian, in the parlour on a -footstool, sat leaning both her arms on her mother’s knee, and her head -upon her arms, and in that position had various little sleeps, and -half-a-dozen times in half-a-dozen dreams welcomed Charlie home. Agnes -kept Miss Anastasia company in the best room, and Papa, who was not used -to late hours, went between the two rooms with very wide open eyes, very -anxious for his son’s return. Into the midnight darkness and solemnity -of Bellevue, the windows<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_150" id="vol_3_page_150"></a>{v.3-150}</span> of Number Ten blazed with a cheerful light; -the fires were studiously kept up, the hearths swept, everything looking -its brightest for Charlie; and a pair of splendid capons, part produce -of Miss Anastasia’s hamper, were slowly cooking themselves into -perfection, under the sleepy superintendence of Susan, before the great -kitchen-fire—for even Susan would not go to bed.</p> - -<p>Miss Anastasia sat very upright in an easy-chair, scorning so much as a -suspicion of drowsiness. She did not talk very much; she was thinking -over a hundred forgotten things, and tracing back step by step the story -of the past. The old lady almost felt as if her father himself was -coming from his foreign grave to bear witness to the truth. Her heart -was stirred as she sat gazing into the ruddy firelight, hearing not a -sound except now and then the ashes falling softly on the hearth, or the -softer breath of Agnes by her side. As she sat in this unfamiliar little -room, her mind flew back over half her life. She thought of her father -as she had seen him last; she thought of the dreary blank of her own -youthful desolation, a widowhood almost deeper than the widowhood of a -wife—how she did not heed even the solemn pathos of her father’s -farewell—could not rouse herself from her lethargy even to be moved by -the last parting from that last and closest friend, and desired nothing -but to be left in her dreary self-seclusion obstinately mourning<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_151" id="vol_3_page_151"></a>{v.3-151}</span> her -dead—her murdered bridegroom! The old lady’s eyes glittered, tearless, -looking into the gleaming shadowy depths of the little mirror over the -mantelpiece. It was scarcely in human nature to look back upon that -dreadful tragedy, to anticipate the arrival to-night of the witnesses of -another deadly wrong, and not to be stirred with a solemn and -overwhelming indignation like that of an avenger of blood. Miss -Anastasia started suddenly from her reverie, as she caught a long-drawn -anxious sigh from her young companion; she drew her shawl close round -her with a shudder. “God forgive me!” cried the vehement old lady; “did -you ever have an enemy, child?”</p> - -<p>In this house it was a very easy question. “No,” said Agnes, looking at -her wistfully.</p> - -<p>“Nor I, perhaps, when I was your age.” Miss Anastasia made a long pause. -It was a long time ago, and she scarcely could recollect anything of her -youth now, except that agony with which it ended. Then in the silence -there seemed to be a noise in the street, which roused all the watchers. -Mr Atheling went to the door to look out. It was very cold, clear, and -calm, the air so sharp with frost, and so still with sleep, that it -carried every passing sound far more distinctly than usual. Into this -hushed and anxious house, through the open door came ringing the chorus -of a street ballad, strangely familiar and out<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_152" id="vol_3_page_152"></a>{v.3-152}</span> of unison with the -excited feelings of the auditors, and the loud, noisy, echoing footsteps -of some late merry-makers. They were all singularly disturbed by these -uncongenial sounds; they raised a certain vague terror in the breasts of -the father and mother, and a doubtful uneasiness among the other -watchers. Under that veil of night, and silence, and distance, who could -tell what their dearest and most trusted was doing? The old people could -have told each other tales, like Jessica, of “such a night;” and the -breathless silence, and the jar and discord of those rude voices, -stirred memories and presentiments of pain even in the younger hearts.</p> - -<p>It was now the middle of the night, two or three hours later than Miss -Anastasia had anticipated, and the old lady rose from her chair, shook -off her thoughtful mood, and began to walk about the room, and to -criticise it briskly to Agnes. Then by way of diversifying her vigil, -she made an incursion into the other parlour, where Papa was nursing the -fire, and Mamma sitting very still, not to disturb Marian, who slept -with her beautiful head upon her mother’s knee. The old lady was -suddenly overcome by the sight of that fair figure, with its folded arms -and bowed head, and long beautiful locks falling down on Mrs Atheling’s -dark gown, like a stream of sunshine. She laid her hand very tenderly -upon the sleeper’s head. “She does not know,” said Miss Anastasia—“she -would<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_153" id="vol_3_page_153"></a>{v.3-153}</span> not believe what a fairy fortune is coming to her, the sleeping -beauty—God bless them all!”</p> - -<p>The words had scarcely left her lips, the tears were still shining in -her eyes, when Marian started up, called out of her dream by a sound -which none of them besides had been quick enough to hear. “There! there! -I hear him,” cried Marian, shaking back her loose curls; and they all -heard the far-off rapid rumble of a vehicle, gradually invading all the -echoes of this quietness. It came along steadily—nearer—nearer—waking -every one to the most overpowering excitement. Miss Anastasia marched -through the little parlour, with an echoing step, throwing her tall -shadow on the blind, clasping her fingers tight. Mr Atheling rushed to -the door; Marian ran to the kitchen to wake up Susan, and see that the -tray was ready for Charlie’s refreshment; Mamma stirred the fire, and -made it blaze; Agnes drew the blind aside, and looked out into the -darkness from the window. Yes, there could be no mistake; on came the -rumbling wheels, closer and closer. Then the cab became absolutely -visible, opposite the door—some one leapt out—was it Charlie?—but he -had to wait, to help some one else, very slow and uncertain, out of the -vehicle. They all crowded to the door, the mother and sisters for the -moment half forgetting Miss Anastasia; and there stood a most -indisputable Charlie, very near six<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_154" id="vol_3_page_154"></a>{v.3-154}</span> feet high, with a travelling-cap -and a rough overcoat, bringing home the most extraordinary guest -imaginable to his amazed parental home.</p> - -<p><i>It</i> was a woman, enveloped from head to foot in a great cloak, but -unbonneted, and with an amazing head-dress; and after her stumbled forth -a boy, of precisely the same genus and appearance as the Italian boys -with hurdy-gurdies and with images, familiar enough in Bellevue. Charlie -hurried forward, paying the greatest possible attention to his charge, -who was somewhat peevish. He scarcely left her hand when he plunged -among all those anxious people at the door. “All safe—all well, mother; -how did you know I was coming?—how d’ye do, papa? Let her in, let her -in, girls!—she’s tired to death, and doesn’t know a word of English. -Let’s have her disposed of first of all—she’s worth her weight in -gold—— Miss Rivers!”</p> - -<p>The young man fell back in extreme amazement. “Who is she, young -Atheling?” cried Miss Anastasia, towering high in the background over -everybody’s head.</p> - -<p>Charlie took off his cap with a visible improvement of “manners.” “The -nurse that brought them home,” he answered, in the concisest and most -satisfactory fashion; and, grasping the hand of every one as he passed, -with real pleasure glowing on his bronzed face, Charlie steered his -charge in—seeing there was light<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_155" id="vol_3_page_155"></a>{v.3-155}</span> in it—to the best room. Arrived -there, he fairly turned his back to the wall, and harangued his anxious -audience.</p> - -<p>“It’s all right,” said Charlie; “she tells her story as clearly as -possible when she’s not out of humour, and the doctor’s on his way. I’ve -made sure of everything of importance; and now, mother, if you can -manage it, and Miss Rivers does not object, let us have something to -eat, and get her off to bed, and then you shall hear all the rest.”</p> - -<p>Marian went off instantly to call Susan, and all the way Marian repeated -under her breath, “All the rest! all the rest of what? Oh, Louis! but -I’ll find out what they mean.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_156" id="vol_3_page_156"></a>{v.3-156}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXII" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br /><br /> -<small>CHARLIE’S REPORT.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> was far from an easy achievement to get her safely conveyed up the -stairs. She turned round and delivered addresses to them in most lively -and oratorical Italian, eloquent on the subject of her sufferings by the -way; she was disposed to be out of temper when no one answered her but -Charlie, and fairly wound up, and stimulated with Miss Anastasia’s capon -and Mrs Atheling’s wine, was not half so much disposed to be sent off to -bed as her entertainers were to send her. These entertainers were in the -oddest state of amaze and excitement possible. It was beginning to draw -near the wintry morning of another day, and this strange figure in the -strange dress, which did not look half so pretty in its actual reality, -and upon this hard-featured peasant woman, as it did in pictures and -romance—the voluble foreign tongue of which they did not know a -word—the emphatic gestures; the change in the appearance of Charlie, -and the entire suddenness of<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_157" id="vol_3_page_157"></a>{v.3-157}</span> the whole scene, confused the minds of the -lookers-on. Then a pale face in a white cap, a little shrinking -white-robed figure, trembling and anxious, was perceptible to Mrs -Atheling at the top of the stair, looking down upon it with terror. So -Mamma peremptorily sent Charlie back beside Miss Anastasia, and resumed -into her own hands the management of affairs. Under her guidance the -woman and the boy were comfortably disposed of, no one being able to -speak a word to them, in the room which had been Charlie’s. Rachel was -comforted and sent back to bed, and then Mrs Atheling turned suddenly -upon her own girls. “My dears,” said Mamma, “you are not wanted down -stairs. I don’t suppose Papa and I are wanted either; Miss Anastasia -must talk over her business with Charlie—it is not <i>our</i> business you -know, Marian, my darling; go to sleep.”</p> - -<p>“Go to sleep!—people cannot go to sleep just when they choose at five -o’clock in the morning, mamma!” cried the aggrieved and indignant -Marian; but Agnes, though quite as curious as her sister, was wise -enough to lend her assistance in the cause of subordination. Marian was -under very strong temptation. She thought she could <i>almost</i> like to -steal down in the dark and listen; but honour, we are glad to say, -prevailed over curiosity, and sleep over both. When her pretty young -head touched the pillow, there was no eavesdropping<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_158" id="vol_3_page_158"></a>{v.3-158}</span> possible to Marian; -and in the entirest privacy and silence, after all this tumult, in the -presence of Mamma and Mr Atheling, and addressing himself to Miss -Anastasia, Charlie told his tale. He took out his pocket-book from his -pocket—the same old-fashioned big pocket-book which he had carried away -with him, and gave his evidences one by one into Miss Anastasia’s hands -as he spoke.</p> - -<p>But the old lady’s fingers trembled: she had restrained herself as well -as she could, feeling it only just that he should be welcomed by his -own, and even half diverted out of her anxiety by the excited Tyrolese; -but now her restrained feelings rushed back upon her heart. The papers -rustled in her hand; she did not hear him as he began, in order, and -deliberately, his report. “Information! I cannot receive information, I -am too far gone for that,” cried the old lady, with a hysterical break -in her voice. “Give me no facts, Charlie, Charlie!—I am not able to put -them together—tell me once in a word—is it true?”</p> - -<p>“It is true,” said Charlie, eagerly—“not only true, but -proved—certain, so clear that nobody can deny it. Listen, Miss Rivers, -I could be content to go by myself with these evidences in my hand, -before any court in England, against the ablest pleader that ever held a -brief. Don’t mind the proofs to-night; trust my assurance, as you -trusted me. It is true to the letter,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_159" id="vol_3_page_159"></a>{v.3-159}</span> to the word, everything that you -supposed. Giulietta was his wife. Louis is his lawful son.”</p> - -<p>Miss Anastasia did not say a word; she bowed down her face upon her -hands—that face over which an ashy paleness came slowly stealing like a -cloud. Mrs Atheling hastened forward, thinking she was about to faint, -but was put aside by a gesture. Then the colour came back, and Miss -Anastasia rose up, herself again, with all her old energy.</p> - -<p>“You are perfectly right, young Atheling—quite right—as you have -always been,” said Miss Rivers; “and, of course, you have told me in -your letters the most part of what you could tell me now. But your boy -is born for the law, Will Atheling,” she said, turning suddenly to -Charlie’s pleased and admiring father. “He wrote to me as if I were a -lawyer instead of a woman: all facts and no opinion; that was scant -measure for me. Shake hands, boy. I’ll see everything in the morning, -and then we’ll think of beginning the campaign. I have it in my head -already—please Heaven! Charlie, we’ll chase them from the field.”</p> - -<p>So saying, Miss Anastasia marched with an exultant and jubilant step, -following Mrs Atheling up the narrow stairs. She was considerably shaken -out of her usual composure—swells of great triumph, suddenly calmed by -the motion of a moved heart, passed<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_160" id="vol_3_page_160"></a>{v.3-160}</span> over the spirit of this brave old -gentlewoman like sun and wind; and her self-appointed charge of the -rights of her father’s children, who might have been her own children so -far as age was concerned, had a very singular effect upon her. Mrs -Atheling did not linger a minute longer than she could help with her -distinguished guest. She was proud of Miss Anastasia, but far prouder of -Charlie,—Charlie, who had been a boy a little while ago, but who had -come back a man.</p> - -<p>“Come here and sit down, mother,” said Charlie; “now we’re by ourselves, -if you will not tell the girls, I’ll tell you everything. First, there’s -the marriage. That she belonged to the family I wrote of—the family -Remori—I got at after a long time. She was an only daughter, and had no -one to look after her. I have a certificate of the marriage, and a -witness coming who was present—old Doctor Serrano—one of your patriots -who is always in mischief; besides that, what do you think is my -evidence for the marriage?”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, Charlie, I could not guess,” cried Mrs Atheling.</p> - -<p>“There’s a kind of tomb near the town, a thing as like the mausoleum at -Winterbourne as possible, and quite as ugly. There is this good in -ugliness,” said Charlie, “that one remarks it, especially in Italy. I -thought no one but an Englishman could have put up such an affair as -that, and I could not make out one<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_161" id="vol_3_page_161"></a>{v.3-161}</span> way or another who it belonged to, -or what it was. The priests are very strong out there. They would not -let a heretic lie in consecrated ground, and no one cared to go near -this grave, if it was a grave. They wouldn’t allow even that. You know -what the Winterbourne tomb is—a great open canopied affair, with that -vast flat stone below. There was a flat stone in the other one too, not -half so big, and it looked to me as if it would lift easily enough. So -what do you think I did? I made friends with some wild fellows about, -and got hold of one young Englishman, and as soon as it was dark we got -picks and tools and went off to the grave.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Charlie!” Mrs Atheling turned very pale.</p> - -<p>“After a lot of work we got it open,” said Charlie, going on with great -zest and animation. “Then the young fellow and I got down into the -vault—a regular vault, where there had been a lamp suspended. <i>It</i>, I -suppose, had gone out many a year ago; and there we found upon the two -coffin-lids—well, it’s very pitiful, mother, it is indeed—but we -wanted it for evidence—on one of the coffins was this -inscription:—‘Giulietta Rivers, Lady Winterbourne, <i>née</i> Remori, died -January 1822, aged twenty years.’ If it had been a diamond mine it would -not have given so much pleasure to me.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_162" id="vol_3_page_162"></a>{v.3-162}</span></p> - -<p>“Pleasure! oh Charlie!” cried Mrs Atheling faintly.</p> - -<p>“But they might say <i>you</i> put it there, Charlie, and that it was not -true,” said Mr Atheling, who rather piqued himself upon his caution.</p> - -<p>“That was what I had the other young fellow for,” said Charlie quietly; -“and that was what made me quite sure she belonged to the Remoris; it -was easy enough after that—and I want only one link now, that is, to -make sure of their identity. Father, do you remember anything about the -children when they came to the Hall?”</p> - -<p>Mr Atheling shook his head. “Your aunt Bridget, if she had been alive, -would have been sure to know,” said Mamma meditatively; “but Louis found -out some old servant lately that had been about Winterbourne long ago.”</p> - -<p>“Louis! does he know?” cried Charlie.</p> - -<p>“He is doing something on his own account, inquiring everything he can -about Lord Winterbourne. He does not know, but guesses every possible -kind of thing, except the truth,” said Mr Atheling; “how long he may be -of lighting upon that, it is impossible to say.”</p> - -<p>“Now Charlie, my dear boy, you can ask all about Louis to-morrow,” said -Mrs Atheling. “Louis! Dear me, William, to think of us calling him -Louis, and treating him like any common young man, and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_163" id="vol_3_page_163"></a>{v.3-163}</span> Lord -Winterbourne all the time! and all through Charlie!—and oh, my Marian! -when I think of it all, it bewilders me! But, Charlie, my dear, you must -not be fatigued too much. Do not ask him any more questions to-night, -papa; consider how important his health is; he must lie down directly. -I’ll make him all comfortable; and, William, do you go to the -parlour—bid him good-night.”</p> - -<p>Papa obeyed, as dutiful papas are wont to obey, and Charlie laughed, but -submitted, as his mother, with her own kind unwearying hands, arranged -for him the sofa in the best room; for the Tyrolese and Miss Anastasia -occupied all the available bedrooms in the house. Then she bade him -good-night, drawing back his dark elf-locks, and kissing his forehead -tenderly, and with a certain respect for the big boy who was a boy no -longer; and then the good mother went away to arrange her husband -similarly on the other sofa, and to take possession, last of all, of the -easy-chair. “I can sleep in the day if I am disposed,” said Mrs -Atheling, who never was disposed for any such indulgence; and she leaned -back in the big chair, with a mind disturbed and glowing, agitated with -grand fancies. Marian! was it possible? But then, Agnes—after all, what -a maze of splendid uncertainty it was!<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_164" id="vol_3_page_164"></a>{v.3-164}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXIII" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.<br /><br /> -<small>PROCRASTINATION.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">“You</span> may say what you like, young Atheling,” said Miss Rivers, “you’ve a -very good right to your own opinion; but I’m not a lawyer, nor bound by -rule and precedent, mind. This is the middle of March; <i>it</i> comes on in -April; we must wait for that; and you’re not up with all your evidence, -you dilatory boy.”</p> - -<p>“But I might happen to be up with it in a day,” said Charlie, “and at -all events an ejectment should be served, and the first step taken in -the case without delay.”</p> - -<p>“That is all very well,” said the old lady, “but I don’t suppose it -would advance the business very much, besides rousing him at once to use -every means possible, and perhaps buy off that poor old Serrano, or get -hold of Monte. Why did you not look for Monte, young Atheling? The -chances are that he was present too?”</p> - -<p>“One witness was as much as I could manage,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_165" id="vol_3_page_165"></a>{v.3-165}</span> said Charlie, shrugging -his shoulders at the recollection; “but the most important question of -all—Louis—I mean—your brother—the heir—”</p> - -<p>“My brother—the heir.” Miss Rivers coloured suddenly. It was a -different thing thinking of him in private, and hearing him spoken of -so. “I tell you he is not the heir, young Atheling; he is Lord -Winterbourne: but I will not see him yet, not till <i>the day</i>; it would -be a terrible time of suspense for the poor boy.”</p> - -<p>“Then, if it is your pleasure, he must go away,” said Charlie, -firmly—“he cannot come here to this agitated house of ours without -discovering a good deal of the truth; and if he discovered it so, he -would have just grounds to complain. If he is not told at once, he ought -to have some commission such as I have had, and be sent away.”</p> - -<p>Miss Rivers coloured still more, all her liking for Charlie and his -family scarcely sufficing to reconcile her to the “sending away” of the -young heir, on the same footing as she had sent young Atheling. She -hesitated and faltered visibly, seeing reason enough in it, but -extremely repugnant. “If you think so,” she said at last, with a -slightly averted face, “ah—another time we can speak of that.”</p> - -<p>Then came further consultations, and Charlie had to tell his story over -bit by bit, and incident by incident,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_166" id="vol_3_page_166"></a>{v.3-166}</span> illustrating every point of it by -his documents. Miss Anastasia was particularly anxious about the young -Englishman whose name was signed with Charlie’s own, in certification of -the inscription on the coffin. Miss Anastasia marvelled much whether he -belonged to the Hillarys of Lincolnshire, or the Hillarys of Yorkshire, -and pursued his shadow through half-a-dozen counties. Charlie was not -particularly given to genealogy. He had the young man’s card, with his -address at the Albany, and the time of his possible return home. That -was quite enough for the matter in hand, and Charlie was very much more -concerned about the one link wanting in his evidence—the person who -received the children from the care of Leonore the Tyrolese.</p> - -<p>As it chanced, in this strange maze of circumstance, the Rector chose -this day for one of his visits. He was very much amazed to encounter -Miss Anastasia; it struck him evidently as something which needed to be -accounted for, for she was known and noted as a dweller at home. She -received him at first with a certain triumphant satisfaction, but -by-and-by a little confusion appeared even in the looks of Miss -Anastasia. She began to glance from the stately young man to the pale -face and drooping eyelids of Agnes. She began to see the strange mixture -of trouble and hardship in this extraordinary revolution, and her<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_167" id="vol_3_page_167"></a>{v.3-167}</span> heart -was touched for the heir deposed, as well as for the heir discovered. -Lionel was “in trouble” himself, after an odd enough fashion. Some one -had just instituted an action against him in the ecclesiastical courts -touching the furniture of his altar, and the form in which he conducted -the services. It was a strange poetic justice to bring this against him -now, when he himself had cast off his high-churchism, and was -luxuriating in his new freedom. But the Curate grew perfectly inspired -under the infliction, and rose to the highest altitude of satisfaction -and happiness, declaring this to be the testing-touch of persecution, -which constantly distinguishes the true faith. It was on Miss -Anastasia’s lips to speak of this, and to ask the young clergyman why he -was so long away from home at so critical a juncture, but her heart was -touched with compunction. From looking at Lionel, she turned suddenly to -Agnes, and asked, with a strange abruptness, a question which had no -connection with the previous conversation—“That little book of yours, -Agnes Atheling, that you sent to me, what do you mean by that story, -child?—eh?—what put <i>that</i> into your idle little brain? It is not like -fiction; it is quite as strange and out of the way as if it had been -life.”</p> - -<p>Involuntarily Agnes lifted her heavy eyelids, and cast a shy look of -distress and sympathy upon the unconscious<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_168" id="vol_3_page_168"></a>{v.3-168}</span> Rector, who never missed any -look of hers, but could not tell what this meant. “I do not know,” said -Agnes; but the question did not wake the shadow of a smile upon her -face—it rather made her resentful. She thought it cruel of Miss -Anastasia, now that all doubt was over, and Lionel was certainly -disinherited. Disinherited!—he had never possessed anything actual, and -nothing was taken from him; whereas Louis had been defrauded of his -rights all his life; but Agnes instinctively took the part of the -present sufferer—the unwitting sufferer, who suspected no evil.</p> - -<p>But the Rector was startled in his turn by the question of Miss -Anastasia. It revived in his own mind the momentary conviction of -reality with which he had read the little book. When Miss Anastasia -turned away for a moment, he addressed Agnes quietly aside, making a -kind of appeal. “Had you, then, a real foundation—is it a true tale?” -he said, looking at her with a little anxiety. She glanced up at him -again, with her eyes so full of distress, anxiety, warning—then looked -down with a visible paleness and trembling, faltered very much in her -answer, and at last only said, expressing herself with difficulty, “It -is not all real—only something like a story I have heard.”</p> - -<p>But Agnes could not bear his inquiring look; she hastily withdrew to the -other side of the room, eager<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_169" id="vol_3_page_169"></a>{v.3-169}</span> to be out of reach of the eyes which -followed her everywhere. For his part, Lionel’s first idea was of some -distress of hers, which he instinctively claimed the right to soothe; -but the thing remained in his mind, and gave him a certain vague -uneasiness; he read the book over again when he went home, to make it -out if he could, but fell so soon into thought of the writer, and -consideration of that sweet youthful voice of hers, that there was no -coming to any light in the matter. He not only gave it up, but forgot it -again, only marvelling what was the mystery which looked so sorrowful -and so bright out of Agnes Atheling’s eyes.</p> - -<p>They all waited with some little apprehension that night for the visit -of Louis. He was very late; the evening wore away, and Miss Anastasia -had long ago departed, taking with her, to the satisfaction of every -one, the voluble Tyrolese; but Louis was not to be seen nor heard of. -Very late, as they were all preparing for rest, some one came to the -door. The knock raised a sudden colour on the cheeks of Marian, which -had grown very pale for an hour or two. But it was not Louis; it was, -however, a note from him, which Marian ran up-stairs to read. She came -down again a moment after, with a pale face, painfully keeping in two -big tears. “Oh, mamma, he has gone away,” said Marian. She did not want -to cry, and it was impossible<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_170" id="vol_3_page_170"></a>{v.3-170}</span> to speak without crying; and yet she did -not like to confide to any one the lover’s letter. At last the tears -fell, and Marian found her voice. He had just heard suddenly something -very important, had seen Mr Foggo about it, and had hurried off to the -country; he would not be detained long, he was sure; he had not a moment -to explain anything, but would write whenever he got there. “He does not -even say where,” said Marian, sadly; and Rachel came close up to her, -and cried without any restraint, as Marian very much wished, but did not -quite like to do before her father and her brother. Mrs Atheling took -them both into a corner, and scolded them after a fashion she had. “My -dears, do you think you cannot trust Louis?” said Mamma—“nonsense!—we -shall hear to-morrow morning. Why, he has spoken to Mr Foggo, and you -may be quite sure everything is right, and that it was the most sensible -thing he could do.”</p> - -<p>But it was very odd certainly, not at all explainable, and withal the -most seasonable thing in the world. “I should think it quite a -providence,” said Mrs Atheling, “if we only heard where he was.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_171" id="vol_3_page_171"></a>{v.3-171}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXIV" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.<br /><br /> -<small>THE FOGGOS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> first thing to be done in the morning, before it was time even for -the postman, was to hasten to Killiecrankie Lodge, and ascertain all -that could be ascertained concerning Louis from Mr Foggo. This mission -was confided to Agnes. It was a soft spring-like morning, and the first -of Miss Willsie’s wallflowers were beginning to blow. Miss Willsie -herself was walking in her little garden, scattering crumbs upon the -gravel-path for the poor dingy town-sparrows, and the stray robin whom -some unlucky wind had blown to Bellevue. But Miss Willsie was disturbed -out of her usual equanimity; she looked a little heated, as if she had -come here to recover herself, and rather frightened her little feathered -acquaintances by the vehemence with which she threw them her daily dole. -She smoothed her brow a little at sight of Agnes. “And what may <i>you</i> be -wanting at such an hour as<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_172" id="vol_3_page_172"></a>{v.3-172}</span> this?” said Miss Willsie; “if there is one -thing I cannot bide, it is to see young folk wandering about, without -any errand, at all the hours of the day!”</p> - -<p>“But I have an errand,” said Agnes. “I want to ask Mr Foggo about—about -Mr Louis—if he knows where he has gone!”</p> - -<p>Mr Louis—his surname, as everybody supposed—was the name by which -Louis was known in Bellevue.</p> - -<p>Miss Willsie’s brow puckered with a momentary anger. “I would like to -know,” said Miss Willsie, “why that monkey could not content herself -with a kindly lad at home: but my brother’s in the parlour; you’ll find -him there, Agnes. Keep my patience!—Foggie’s there too—the lad from -America. If there’s one thing in this world I cannot endure, it’s just a -young man like yon!”</p> - -<p>Miss Willsie, however, reluctantly followed her young visitor into the -breakfast parlour, from which the old lady had lately made an indignant -and unceremonious exit. It was a very comfortable breakfast-table, fully -deserving the paragraph it obtained in those “Letters from England,” -which are so interesting to all the readers of the <i>Mississippi -Gazette</i>. There was a Scottish prodigality of creature comforts, and the -fine ancient table-linen was white as snow, and there was a very unusual -abundance, for a house of<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_173" id="vol_3_page_173"></a>{v.3-173}</span> this class, of heavy old plate. Mr Foggo was -getting through his breakfast methodically, with the <i>Times</i> erected -before him, and forming a screen between himself and his worshipful -nephew; while Mr Foggo S. Endicott, seated with a due regard to his -profile, at such an angle with the light as to exhibit fitly that noble -outline, conveyed his teacup a very long way up from the table, at -dignified intervals, to his handsome and expressive mouth.</p> - -<p>Agnes hastened to the elder gentleman at once, and drew him aside to -make her inquiries. Mr Foggo smiled, and took a pinch of snuff. “All -quite true,” said Mr Foggo; “he came to me yesterday with a paper in his -hand—a long story about next of kin wanted somewhere, and of two -children belonging to some poor widow woman, who had been lost sight of -a long time ago, one of whom was named Louis. That’s the story; it’s a -mare’s nest, Agnes, if you know what that is; but I thought it might -divert the boy; so instead of opposing, I furnished him for his journey, -and let him go without delay. No reason why the lad should not do his -endeavour for his own hand. It’s good for him, though it’s sure to be a -failure. He has told you perfectly true.”</p> - -<p>“And where has he gone?” asked Agnes anxiously.</p> - -<p>“It’s in one of the midland counties—somewhere beyond Birmingham—at -this moment I do not remember<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_174" id="vol_3_page_174"></a>{v.3-174}</span> the place,” said Mr Foggo; “but I took a -note of it, and you’ll hear from him to-morrow. We’ve been hearing news -ourselves, Agnes. Did you tell her, Willsie, what fortune has come to -you and me?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Miss Willsie. She was turning her back upon her dutiful -nephew, and frowning darkly upon the teapot. The American had no chance -with his offended aunt.</p> - -<p>“A far-away cousin of ours,” said Mr Foggo, who was very bland, and in a -gracious humour, “has taken it into his head to die; and a very bonny -place indeed, in the north country—a cosy little estate and a good -house—comes to me.”</p> - -<p>“I am very glad,” said Agnes, brightening in sympathy; “that is good -news for everybody. Oh, Miss Willsie, how pleased Mr Foggo must be!”</p> - -<p>Miss Willsie did not say a word—Mr Foggo smiled. “Then you think a cosy -estate a good thing, Agnes?” said the old gentleman. “I am rather -afraid, though you write books, you are not poetical; for that is not -the view of the subject taken by my nephew here.”</p> - -<p>“I despise wealth,” said Mr Endicott. “An estate, sir, is so much dirty -soil. The mind is the true riches; a spark of genius is worth all the -inheritances in the world!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_175" id="vol_3_page_175"></a>{v.3-175}</span></p> - -<p>“And that’s just so much the better for you, Foggie, my man,” cried Miss -Willsie suddenly; “seeing the inheritances of this world are very little -like to come to your share. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a lee!”</p> - -<p>Mr Endicott took no notice of this abstract deliverance. “A very great -estate—the ancient feudal domain—the glens and the gorges of the -Highland chief, I respect, sir,” said the elevated Yankee; “but a man -who can influence a thousand minds—a man whose course is followed -eagerly by the eyes of half a nation—such a man is not likely to be -tempted to envy by a mile of indifferent territory. My book, by which I -can move a world, is my lever of Archimedes; this broadsheet”—and he -laid his hand upon the pages of the <i>Mississippi Gazette</i>—“is my -kingdom! Miss Atheling, I shall have the honour of paying my respects to -your family to-day. I shall soon take leave of Europe. I have learned -much—I have experienced much—I am rejoiced to think I have been able -to throw some light upon the manners and customs of your people; and -henceforward I intend to devote myself to the elucidation of my own.”</p> - -<p>“We shall be very glad to see you, Mr Endicott,” said Agnes, who was -rather disposed to take his part, seeing he stood alone. “Now I must -hasten home and<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_176" id="vol_3_page_176"></a>{v.3-176}</span> tell them. We were all very anxious; but every one will -be glad, Mr Foggo, to hear of you. We shall feel as if the good fortune -had come to ourselves.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, Agnes, and so it might, if Marian, silly monkey, had kept a thought -for one that liked her well,” said Miss Willsie, as she went with her -young visitor. “Poor Harry! his uncle’s heart yearns to him; <i>our</i> gear -will never go the airt of a fool like yon!” said Miss Willsie, growing -very Scotch and very emphatic, as she inclined her head in the direction -of Mr Endicott; “but Harry will be little heeding who gets the siller -<i>now</i>.”</p> - -<p>Poor Harry! since he had heard of <i>it</i>—since he had known of Marian’s -engagement, he had never had the heart to make a single appearance in -Bellevue.</p> - -<p>Mr Endicott remembered his promise; he went forth in state, as soon -after noon as he could go, with a due regard to the proper hour for a -morning call. Mr Endicott, though he had endured certain exquisite pangs -of jealousy, was not afraid of Louis; he could not suppose that any one -was so blind, having <i>his</i> claims fairly placed before them, as to -continue to prefer another; such an extent of human perversity did not -enter into the calculations of Mr Endicott. And he was really “in love,” -like the rest of these young people. All the readers of the <i>Mississippi -Gazette</i> knew of a certain lovely face,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_177" id="vol_3_page_177"></a>{v.3-177}</span> which brightened the -imagination of their “representative man,” and it was popularly expected -on the other side of the water, in those refined circles familiar with -Mr Endicott, that he was about to bring his bride home. He had an -additional stimulus from this expectation, and went forth to-day with -the determination of securing Marian Atheling. He was a little nervous, -because there was a good deal of real emotion lying at the bottom of his -heart; but, after all, was more doubtful of getting an opportunity than -of the answer which should follow when the opportunity was gained.</p> - -<p>To his extreme amazement, he found Marian alone. He understood it in a -moment—they had left her on purpose—they comprehended his intentions! -She was pale, her beautiful eyes glistened, and were wet and dewy. -Perhaps she, too, had an intuition of what was coming. He thought her -subdued manner, the tremble in her voice, the eyes, which were cast down -so often, and did not care to meet his full gaze, were all signs of that -maiden consciousness about which he had written many a time. In the full -thought of this, the eloquent young American dispensed with all -preamble. He came to her side with the delightful benevolence of a lover -who could put this beautiful victim of his fascinations out of her -suspense at once. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_178" id="vol_3_page_178"></a>{v.3-178}</span> addressed her by her name—he added the most -endearing words he could think of—he took her hand. The young beauty -started from him absolutely with violence. “What do you mean, sir?” said -Marian. Then she stood erect at a little distance, her eyes flashing, -her cheek burning, holding her hands tight together, with an air of -petulant and angry defiance. Mr Endicott was thunderstruck. “Did you not -expect me—do you not understand me?” said the lover, not yet daunted. -“Pardon me; I have shocked your delicate feelings. You cannot think I -mean to do it, Marian, sweet British rose? You know me too well for -that; you know my mind—you appreciate my feelings. You were born to be -a poet’s bride—I come to offer you a poet’s heart!”</p> - -<p>Before he had concluded, Marian recovered herself; into the dewy eyes, -that had been musing upon Louis, the old light of girlish mischief came -arch and sweet. “I did not quite understand you, Mr Endicott,” said -Marian, demurely. “You alarmed me a little; but I am very much obliged, -and you are very good; only, I—I am sorry. I suppose you do not know -I—I am engaged!”</p> - -<p>She said this with a bright blush, casting down her eyes. She thought, -after all, it was the honestest and the easiest fashion of dismissing -her new lover.</p> - -<p>“Engaged! Marian, you did not know of me—you<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_179" id="vol_3_page_179"></a>{v.3-179}</span> were not acquainted with -my sentiments,” cried the American. “Oh, for a miserable dream of -honour, will you blight my life and your own? You were not aware of my -love—you were ignorant of my devotion. Beautiful Mayflower! you are -free of what you did in ignorance—you are free for me!”</p> - -<p>Marian snatched away her hand again with resentment. “I suppose you do -not mean to be very impertinent, Mr Endicott, but you are so,” cried the -indignant little beauty. “I do not like you—I never did like you. I am -very sorry, indeed, if you really cared for me. If I were free a hundred -times over—if I never had seen any one,” cried Marian vehemently, -blushing with sudden passion, and feeling disposed to cry, “I never -could have had anything to say to you. Mamma—oh, I am sure it is very -cruel!—Mamma, will you speak to Mr Endicott? He has been very rude to -me!”</p> - -<p>Mamma, who came in at the moment out of the garden, started with -amazement to see the flushed cheeks of Marian, and Mr Endicott, who -stood in an appealing attitude, with the most crestfallen and astonished -face. Marian ran from the room in an instant, scarcely able to restrain -her tears of vexation and annoyance, till she was out of sight. Mrs -Atheling placed a chair for her daughter’s suitor very solemnly. “What -has happened?—what have<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_180" id="vol_3_page_180"></a>{v.3-180}</span> you been saying, Mr Endicott?” said the -indignant mother.</p> - -<p>“I have only been offering to your daughter’s acceptance all that a man -has to offer,” said the American, with a little real dignity. “It is -over; the young lady has made her own election—she rejects <i>me</i>! It is -well! it is but another depth of human suffering opening to <i>his</i> feet -who must tread them all! But I have nothing to apologise for. Madam, -farewell!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, stay a moment! I am very sorry—she is so young. I am sure she did -not mean to offend you,” said Mrs Atheling, with distress. “She is -engaged, Mr Endicott. Miss Willsie knew of it. I am sure I am grieved if -the foolish child has answered you unkindly; but she is engaged.”</p> - -<p>“So I am aware, madam,” said Mr Endicott, gloomily; “may it be for her -happiness—may no poetic retribution attend her! As for me, my art is my -lifelong consolation. This, even, is for the benefit of the world; do -not concern yourself for me.”</p> - -<p>But Mrs Atheling hastened up-stairs when he was gone, to reprove her -daughter. To her surprise, Marian defended herself with spirit. “He was -impertinent, mamma,” said Marian; “he said if I had known he cared for -me, I would not have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_181" id="vol_3_page_181"></a>{v.3-181}</span> engaged. He! when everybody knows I never -would speak to him. It was he who insulted me!”</p> - -<p>So Mr Endicott’s English romance ended, after all, in a paragraph which, -when the time comes, we shall feel a melancholy pleasure in transcribing -from the eloquent pages of the <i>Mississippi Gazette</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_182" id="vol_3_page_182"></a>{v.3-182}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXV" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV.<br /><br /> -<small>GOOD FORTUNE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">This</span> evening was extremely quiet, and something dull, to the inhabitants -of Bellevue. Though everybody knew of the little adventure of Mr -Endicott, the young people were all too reverential of the romance of -youth themselves to laugh very freely at the disappointed lover. Charlie -sat by himself in the best room, sedulously making out his case. Charlie -had risen into a person of great importance at the office since his -return, and, youth as he was, was trusted so far, under Mr Foggo’s -superintendence, as to draw up the brief for the counsel who was to -conduct this great case; so they had not even his presence to enliven -the family circle, which was very dull without Louis. Then Agnes, for -her part, had grown daily more self-occupied; Mrs Atheling pondered over -this, half understood it, and did not ask a question on the subject. She -glanced very often at the side-table, where her elder daughter sat -writing. This was not a common<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_183" id="vol_3_page_183"></a>{v.3-183}</span> evening occupation with Agnes; but she -found a solace in that making of fables, and was forth again, appealing -earnestly, with all the power and privilege of her art, not so much to -her universal audience as to one among them, who by-and-by might find -out the second meaning—the more fervent personal voice.</p> - -<p>As for Marian and Rachel, they both sat at work somewhat melancholy, -whispering to each other now and then, speaking low when they spoke to -any one else. Papa was at his newspaper, reading little bits of news to -them; but even Papa was cloudy, and there was a certain shade of dulness -and melancholy over all the house.</p> - -<p>Some one came to the door when the evening was far advanced, and held a -long parley with Susan; the issue of which was, that Susan made her -appearance in the parlour to ask information. “A man, ma’am, that Mr -Louis appointed to come to him to-night,” said Susan, “and he wants to -know, please, when Mr Louis is coming home.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling went to the door to answer the inquiry; then, having become -somewhat of a plotter herself by force of example, she bethought her of -calling Charlie. The man was brought into the best room; he was an -ordinary-looking elderly man, like a small shopkeeper. He stated what he -wanted slowly, without any of the town sharpness. He said the young<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_184" id="vol_3_page_184"></a>{v.3-184}</span> -gentleman was making out some account—as he understood—about Lord -Winterbourne, and hearing that he had been once about the Hall in his -young days, had come to him to ask some questions. He was a likely young -gentleman, and summat in his own mind told the speaker he had seen his -face afore, whether it were about the Hall, or where it were, deponent -did not know; but thinking upon it, just bethought him at this moment -that he was mortal like the old lord. Now the young gentleman—as he -heard—had gone sudden away to the country, and the lady of the house -where he lived had sent the perplexed caller here.</p> - -<p>“I know very well about that quarter myself,” said Mrs Atheling. “Do you -know the Old Wood Lodge? that belongs to us; and if you have friends in -the village, I daresay I shall know your name.”</p> - -<p>The man put up his hand to his forehead respectfully. “I knowed the old -lady at the Lodge many a year ago,” said he. “My name’s John Morrall. I -was no more nor a helper at the stables in my day; and a sister of mine -had charge of some children about the Hall.”</p> - -<p>“Some children—who were they?” said Charlie. “Perhaps Lord -Winterbourne’s children; but that would be very long ago.”</p> - -<p>“Well, sir,” said the man with a little confusion, glancing aside at Mrs -Atheling, “saving the lady’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_185" id="vol_3_page_185"></a>{v.3-185}</span> presence, I’d be bold to say that they was -my lord’s, but in a sort of an—unlawful way; two poor little morsels of -twins, that never had nothing like other children. He wasn’t any way -kind to them, wasn’t my lord.”</p> - -<p>“I think I know the children you mean,” said Charlie, to the surprise -and admiration of his mother, who checked accordingly the exclamation on -her own lips. “Do you know where they came from?—were you there when -they were brought to the Hall?”</p> - -<p>“Ay, sir, <i>I</i> know—no man better,” said Morrall. “Sally was the -woman—all along of my lord’s man that she was keeping company with the -same time, little knowing, poor soul, what she was to come to—that -brought them unfortunate babbies out of London. I don’t know no more. -Sally’s opinion was, they came out o’ foreign parts afore that; for the -nurse they had with them, Sally said, was some outlandish kind of a -Portugee.”</p> - -<p>“A Portuguese!” exclaimed both the listeners in dismay—but Charlie -added immediately, “What made your sister suppose she was a Portuguese?”</p> - -<p>“Well, sir, she was one of them foreign kind of folks—but noways like -my lady’s French maid, Sally said—so taking thought what she was, a -cousin of ours that’s a sailor made no doubt but she was a Portugee—so -she gave up the little things to Sally, not one of<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_186" id="vol_3_page_186"></a>{v.3-186}</span> them able to say a -word to each other; for the foreign woman, poor soul, knew no English, -and Sally brought down the babbies to the Hall.”</p> - -<p>“Does your sister live at Winterbourne?” asked Charlie.</p> - -<p>“What, Sally, sir? poor soul!” said John Morrall, “to her grief she -married my lord’s man, again all we could say, and he went pure to the -bad, as was to be seen of him, and listed—and now she’s off in Ireland -with the regiment, a poor creature as you could see—five children, -ma’am, alive, and she’s had ten; always striving to do her best, but -never able, poor soul, to keep a decent gown to her back.”</p> - -<p>“Will you tell me where she is?” said Charlie, while his mother went -hospitably away to bring a glass of wine, a rare and unusual dainty, for -the refreshment of this most welcome visitor—“there is an inquiry going -on at present, and her evidence might be of great value: it will be good -for her, don’t fear. Let me know where she is.”</p> - -<p>While Charlie took down the address, his mother, with her own hand, -served Mr John Morrall with a slice of cake and a comfortable glass of -port-wine. “But I am sure you are comfortable yourself—you look so, at -least.”</p> - -<p>“I am in the green-grocery trade,” said their visitor, putting up his -hand again with “his respects,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_187" id="vol_3_page_187"></a>{v.3-187}</span> “and got a good wife and three as -likely childer as a man could desire. It ain’t just as easy as it might -be keeping all things square, but we always get on; and lord! if folks -had no crosses, they’d ne’er know they were born. Look at Sally, there’s -a picture!—and after that, says I, it don’t become such like as us to -complain.”</p> - -<p>Finally, having finished his refreshment, and left his own address with -a supplementary note, and touch of the forehead—“It ain’t very far off; -glad to serve you, ma’am”—Mr John Morrall withdrew. Then Charlie -returned to his papers, but not quite so composedly as usual. “Put up my -travelling-bag, mother,” said Charlie, after a few ineffectual attempts -to resume; “I’ll not write any more to-night; it’s just nine o’clock. -I’ll step over and see old Foggo, and be off to Ireland to-morrow, -without delay.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_188" id="vol_3_page_188"></a>{v.3-188}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXVI" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.<br /><br /> -<small>THE OXFORD ASSIZES.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">April</span>, as cloudless and almost as warm as summer, a day when all the -spring was swelling sweet in all the young buds and primroses, and the -broad dewy country smiled and glistened under the rising of that sun, -which day by day shone warmer and fuller on the woods and on the fields. -But the point of interest was not the country; it was not a spring -festival which drew so many interested faces along the high-road. An -expectation not half so amiable was abroad among the gentry of -Banburyshire—a great many people, quite an unusual crowd, took their -way to the spring assizes to listen to a trial which was not at all -important on its own account. The defendants were not even known among -the county people, nor was there much curiosity about them. It was a -family quarrel which roused the kind and amiable expectations of all -these excellent people,—The Honourable Anastasia Rivers against Lord -Winterbourne. It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_189" id="vol_3_page_189"></a>{v.3-189}</span> popularly anticipated that Miss Anastasia herself -was to appear in the witness-box, and everybody who knew the -belligerents, delighted at the prospect of mischief, hastened to be -present at the fight.</p> - -<p>And there was a universal gathering, besides, of all the people more -immediately interested in this beginning of the war. Lord Winterbourne -himself, with a certain ghastly levity in his demeanour, which sat ill -upon his bloodless face, and accorded still worse with the mourner’s -dress which he wore, graced the bench. Charlie Atheling sat in his -proper place below, as agent for the defendant, within reach of the -counsel for the same. His mother and sisters were with Miss Anastasia, -in a very favourable place for seeing and hearing; the Rector was not -far from them, very much interested, but exceedingly surprised at the -unchanging paleness of Agnes, and the obstinacy with which she refused -to meet his eye; for that she avoided him, and seemed overwhelmed by -some secret and uncommunicated mystery, which no one else, even in her -own family, shared, was clear enough to a perception quickened by the -extreme “interest” which Lionel Rivers felt in Agnes Atheling. Even -Rachel had been brought thither in the train of Miss Anastasia; and -though rather disturbed by her position, and by the disagreeable and -somewhat terrifying consciousness of being observed by Lord -Winterbourne,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_190" id="vol_3_page_190"></a>{v.3-190}</span> in whose presence she had not been before, since the time -she left the Hall—Rachel, with her veil over her face, had a certain -timid enjoyment of the bustle and novelty of the scene. Louis, too, was -there, sent down on the previous night with a commission from Mr Foggo; -there was no one wanting. The two or three who knew the tactics of the -day, awaited their disclosure with great secret excitement, speculating -upon their effect; and those who did not, looked on eagerly with -interest and anxiety and hope.</p> - -<p>Only Agnes sat drawing back from them, between her mother and sister, -letting her veil hang with a pitiful unconcern in thick double folds -half over her pale face. She did not care to lift her eyes; she looked -heavy, wretched, spiritless; she could not keep her thoughts upon the -smiling side of the picture; she thought only of the sudden blow about -to fall—of the bitter sense of deception and craftiness, of the -overwhelming disappointment which this day must bring forth.</p> - -<p>The case commenced. Lord Winterbourne’s counsel stated the plea of his -noble client; it did not occupy a very long time, for no one supposed it -very important. The statement was, that Miss Bridget Atheling had been -presented by the late Lord Winterbourne with a life-interest in the -little property involved; that the Old Wood Lodge, the only property in -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_191" id="vol_3_page_191"></a>{v.3-191}</span> immediate neighbourhood which was not in the peaceful possession of -Lord Winterbourne, had never been separated or alienated from the -estate; that, in fact, the gift to Miss Bridget was a mere tenant’s -claim upon the house during her lifetime, with no power of bequest -whatever; and the present Lord Winterbourne’s toleration of its brief -occupancy by the persons in possession, was merely a good-humoured -carelessness on the part of his lordship of a matter not sufficiently -important to occupy his thoughts. The only evidence offered was the -distinct enumeration of the Old Wood Lodge along with the Old Wood -House, and the cottages in the village of Winterbourne, as in possession -of the family at the accession of the late lord; and the learned -gentleman concluded his case by declaring that he confidently challenged -his opponent to produce any deed or document whatever which so much as -implied that the property had been bestowed upon Bridget Atheling. No -deed of gift—no conveyance—nothing whatever in the shape of -title-deeds, he was confident, existed to support the claim of the -defendant; a claim which, if it was not a direct attempt to profit by -the inadvertence of his noble client, was certainly a very ugly and -startling mistake.</p> - -<p>So far everything was brief enough, and conclusive enough, as it -appeared. The audience was decidedly<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_192" id="vol_3_page_192"></a>{v.3-192}</span> disappointed: if the answer was -after this style, there was no “fun” to be expected, and it had been an -entire hoax which seduced the Banburyshire notabilities to waste the -April afternoon in a crowded court-house. But Miss Anastasia, swelling -with anxiety and yet with triumph, was visible to every one; visible -also to one eye was something very different—Agnes, pale, shrinking, -closing her eyes, looking as if she would faint. The Rector made his way -behind, and spoke to her anxiously. He was afraid she was ill; could he -assist her through the crowd? Agnes turned her face to him for a moment, -and her eyes, which looked so dilated and pitiful, but only said “No, -no,” in a hurried whisper, and turned again. The counsel on the other -side had risen, and was about to begin the defence.</p> - -<p>“My learned brother is correct, and doubtless knows himself to be so,” -said the advocate of the Athelings. “We have no deed to produce, though -we have something nearly as good; but, my lord, I am instructed suddenly -to change the entire ground of my plea. Certain information which has -come to the knowledge of my clients, but which it was not their wish to -make public at present, has been now communicated to me; and I beg to -object at once to the further progress of the suit, on a ground which -your lordship will at once acknowledge to be just and forcible. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_193" id="vol_3_page_193"></a>{v.3-193}</span> -assert that the present bearer of the title is not the true Lord -Winterbourne.”</p> - -<p>There rose immediately a hum and murmur of the strangest character—not -applause, not disapproval—simple consternation, so extreme that no one -could restrain its utterance. People rose up and stared at the speaker, -as if he had been seized with sudden madness in their presence; then -there ensued a scene of much tumult and agitation. The judges on the -bench interposed indignantly. The counsel for Lord Winterbourne sprang -to his feet, appealing with excitement to their lordships—was this to -be permitted? Even the audience, Lord Winterbourne’s neighbours, who had -no love for him, pressed forward as if to support him in this crisis, -and with resentment and disapproval looked upon Miss Anastasia, to whom -every one turned instinctively, as to a conspirator who had overshot the -mark. It was scarcely possible for the daring speaker to gain himself a -hearing. When he did so, at last, it was rather as a culprit than an -accuser. But even the frown of a chief-justice did not appal a man who -held Charlie Atheling’s papers in his hands; he was heard again, -declaring, with force and dignity, that he was incapable of making such -a statement without proofs in his possession which put it beyond -controversy. He begged<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_194" id="vol_3_page_194"></a>{v.3-194}</span> but a moment’s patience, in justice to himself -and to his client, while he placed an abstract of the case and the -evidence in their lordships’ hands.</p> - -<p>Then to the sudden hum and stir, which the officials of the court had -not been able to put down, succeeded that total, strange, almost -appalling stillness of a crowd, which is so very impressive at all -times. While the judges consulted together, looking keenly over these -mysterious papers, almost every eye among the spectators was riveted -upon them. No one noticed even Lord Winterbourne, who stood up in his -place unconsciously, overlooking them all, quite unaware of the -prominence and singularity of his position, gazing before him with a -motionless blank stare, like a man looking into the face of Fate. The -auditors waited almost breathless for the decision of the law. That -anything so wild and startling could ever be taken into consideration by -those grave authorities was of itself extraordinary; and as the -consultation was prolonged, the anxiety grew gradually greater. Could -there be reality in it? could it be true?</p> - -<p>At last the elder judge broke the silence. “This is a very serious -statement,” he said: “of course, it involves issues much more important -than the present question. As further proceedings will doubtless be -grounded on these documents, it is our opinion that the hearing of this -case had better be adjourned.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_195" id="vol_3_page_195"></a>{v.3-195}</span></p> - -<p>Lord Winterbourne seated himself when he heard the voice—it broke the -spell; but not so Louis, who stood beneath, alone, looking straight up -at the speaker in his judicial throne. The truth flashed to the mind of -Louis like a gleam of lightning. He did not ask a question, though -Charlie was close by him; he did not turn his head, though Miss -Anastasia was within reach of his eye; his whole brain seemed to burn -and glow; the veins swelled upon his forehead; he raised up his head for -air, for breath, like a man overwhelmed; he did not see how the gaze of -half the assembly began to be attracted to himself. In this sudden pause -he stood still, following out the conviction which burst upon him—this -conviction, which suddenly, like a sunbeam, made all things clear. Wrong -as he had been in the details, his imagination was true as the most -unerring judgment. For what child in the world was it so much this man’s -interest to disgrace and disable as the child whose rights he -usurped—his brother’s lawful heir? This silence was like a lifetime to -Louis, but it ended in a moment. Some confused talking -followed—objections on the part of Lord Winterbourne’s representative, -which were overruled; and then another case was called—a common little -contest touching mere lands and houses—and every one awoke, as at the -touch of a disenchanting rod, to the common pale daylight and common -controversy, as from a dream.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_196" id="vol_3_page_196"></a>{v.3-196}</span></p> - -<p>Then the people streamed out in agitated groups, some retaining their -first impulse of contradiction and resentment; others giving up at once, -and receiving the decision of the judges as final. Then Agnes looked -back, with a sick and trembling anxiety, for the Rector. The Rector was -gone; and they all followed one after another, silent in the great -tremor of their excitement. When they came to the open air, Marian began -to ask questions eagerly, and Rachel to cry behind her veil, and cast -woeful wistful looks at Miss Anastasia. What was it? what was the -matter? was it anything about Louis? who was Lord Winterbourne?<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_197" id="vol_3_page_197"></a>{v.3-197}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXVII" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.<br /><br /> -<small>THE TRUE HEIR.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">“I do</span> not know how he takes it, mother,” said Charlie. “I do not know if -he takes it at all; he has not spoken a single word all the way home.”</p> - -<p>He did not seem disposed to speak many now; he went into Miss Bridget’s -dusky little parlour, lingering a moment at the door, and bending -forward in reflection from the little sloping mirror on the wall. The -young man was greatly moved, silent with inexpressible emotion; he went -up to Marian first, and, in the presence of them all, kissed her little -trembling hand and her white cheek; then he drew her forward with him, -holding her up with his own arm, which trembled too, and came direct to -Miss Anastasia, who was seated, pale, and making gigantic efforts to -command herself, in old Miss Bridget’s chair. “This is my bride,” said -Louis firmly, yet with quivering lips. “What are we to call <i>you</i>?”</p> - -<p>The old lady looked at him for a moment, vainly<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_198" id="vol_3_page_198"></a>{v.3-198}</span> endeavouring to retain -her self-possession—then sprang up suddenly, grasped him in her arms, -and broke forth into such a cry of weeping as never had been heard -before under this peaceful roof. “What you will! what you will! my boy, -my heir, my father’s son!” cried Miss Anastasia, lifting up her voice. -No one moved, or spoke a word—it was like one of those old agonies of -thanksgiving in the old Scriptures, when a Joseph or a Jacob, parted for -half a patriarch’s lifetime, “fell upon his neck and wept.”</p> - -<p>When this moment of extreme agitation was over, the principal actors in -the family drama came again into a moderate degree of calmness: Louis -was almost solemn in his extreme youthful gravity. The young man was -changed in a moment, as, perhaps, nothing but this overwhelming flood of -honour and prosperity could have changed him. He desired to see the -evidence and investigate his own claims thoroughly, as it was natural he -should; then he asked Charlie to go out with him, for there was not a -great deal of room in this little house, for private conference. The two -young men went forth together through those quiet well-known lanes, upon -which Louis gazed with a giddy eye. “This should have come to me in some -place where I was a stranger,” he said with excitement; “it might have -seemed more credible, more reasonable, in a less familiar place. Here, -where I<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_199" id="vol_3_page_199"></a>{v.3-199}</span> have been an outcast and dishonoured all my life—here!”</p> - -<p>“Your own property,” said Charlie. “I’m not a poetical man, you know—it -is no use trying—but I’d come to a little sentiment, I confess, if I -were you.”</p> - -<p>“In the mean time there are other people concerned,” said Louis, taking -Charlie’s arm, and turning him somewhat hurriedly away from the edge of -the wood, which at this epoch of his fortunes, the scene of so many -despairing fancies, was rather more than he chose to experiment upon. -“You are not poetical, Charlie. I do not suppose it has come to your -turn yet—but we do not want poetry to-night; there are other people -concerned. So far as I can see, your case—I scarcely can call it mine, -who have had no hand in it—is clear as daylight—indisputable. Is it -so?—you know better than me.”</p> - -<p>“Indisputable,” said Charlie, authoritatively.</p> - -<p>“Then it should never come to a trial—for the honour of the house—for -pity,” said the heir. “A bad man taken in the toils is a very miserable -thing to look at, Charlie; let us spare him if we can. I should like you -to get some one who is to be trusted—say Mr Foggo, with some well-known -man along with him—to wait upon Lord Winterbourne. Let them go into the -case fully, and show him everything: say that I am quite willing that -the world should think he<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_200" id="vol_3_page_200"></a>{v.3-200}</span> had done it in ignorance—and persuade -him—that is, if he is convinced, and they have perfect confidence in -the case. The story need not be publicly known. Is it practicable?—tell -me at once.”</p> - -<p>“It’s practicable if he’ll do it,” said Charlie; “but he’ll not do it, -that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“How do you know he’ll not do it?—it is to save himself,” said Louis.</p> - -<p>“If he had not known it all along, he’d have given in,” said Charlie, -“and taken your offer, of course; but he <i>has</i> known it all along—it’s -been his ghost for years. He has his plans all prepared and ready, you -may be perfectly sure. It is generous of you to suggest such a thing, -but <i>he</i> would suppose it a sign of weakness. Never mind that—it’s not -of the least importance what he supposes; if you desire it, we can try.”</p> - -<p>“I do desire it,” said Louis; “and then, Charlie, there is the Rector.”</p> - -<p>Charlie shook his head regretfully. “I am sorry for him myself,” said -the young lawyer; “but what can you do?”</p> - -<p>“He has been extremely kind to me,” said Louis, with a slight trembling -in his voice—“kinder than any one in the world, except your own family. -There is his house—I see what to do; let us go at once and explain -everything to him to-night.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_201" id="vol_3_page_201"></a>{v.3-201}</span></p> - -<p>“To-night! that’s premature—showing your hand,” said Charlie, startled -in his professional caution: “never mind, you can stand it; he’s a fine -fellow, though he is the other line. If you like it, I don’t object; but -what shall you say?”</p> - -<p>“He ought to have his share,” said Louis—“don’t interrupt me, Charlie; -it is more generous in our case to receive than to give. He ought, if I -represent the elder branch, to have the younger’s share: he ought to -permit me to do as much for him as he would have done for me. Ah, he -bade me look at the pictures to see that I was a Rivers. I did not -suppose any miracle on earth could make me proud of the name.”</p> - -<p>They went on hastily together in the early gathering darkness. The Old -Wood House stood blank and dull as usual, with all its closed blinds; -but the gracious young Curate, meditating his sermon, and much elated by -his persecution, was straying about the well-kept paths. Mr Mead -hastened to tell them that Mr Rivers had left home—“hastened away -instantly to appear in our own case,” said the young clergyman. “The -powers of this world are in array against us—we suffer persecution, as -becomes the true church. The Rector left hurriedly to appear in person. -He is a devoted man, a noble Anglican. I smile myself at the reproaches -of our adversary; I have no fear.”</p> - -<p>“We may see him in town,” said Louis, turning<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_202" id="vol_3_page_202"></a>{v.3-202}</span> away with disappointment. -“If you write, will you mention that I have been here to-night, to beg -his counsel and friendship—I, Louis Rivers—” A sudden colour flushed -over the young man’s face; he pronounced the name with a nervous -firmness; it was the first time he had called himself by any save his -baptismal name all his life.</p> - -<p>As they turned and walked home again, Louis relapsed into his first -agitated consciousness, and did not care to say a word. Louis Rivers! -lawful heir and only son of a noble English peer and an unsullied -mother. It was little wonder if the young man’s heart swelled within -him, too high for a word or a thought. He blotted out the past with a -generous haste, unwilling to remember a single wrong done to him in the -time of his humiliation, and looked out upon the future as upon a -glorious vision, almost too wonderful to be realised: it was best to -rest in this agitated moment of strange triumph, humility, and power, to -convince himself that this was real, and to project his anticipations -forward only with a generous anxiety for the concerns of others, with no -question, when all questions were so overwhelming and incredible, after -this extraordinary fortune of his own.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_203" id="vol_3_page_203"></a>{v.3-203}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.<br /><br /> -<small>AT HOME.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> would not be easy to describe the state of mind of the feminine -portion of this family which remained at home. Marian, in a strange and -overpowering tumult—Marian, who was the first and most intimately -concerned, her cheek burning still under the touch of her lover’s -trembling lip in that second and more solemn betrothal, sat on a stool, -half hidden by Miss Anastasia’s big chair and ample skirts, supporting -her flushed cheeks on those pretty rose-tipped hands, to which the flush -seemed to have extended, her beautiful hair drooping down among her -fingers, her eyes cast down, her heart leaping like a bird against her -breast. Her own vague suspicions, keen and eager as they were, had never -pointed half so far as this. If it did not “turn her head” altogether, -it was more because the little head was giddy with amaze and confusion, -than from any virtue on the part of Marian. She was quite beyond the -power of thinking; a strange brilliant extraordinary<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_204" id="vol_3_page_204"></a>{v.3-204}</span> panorama glided -before her—Louis in Bellevue—Louis at the Old Wood Lodge—Louis, the -lord of all he looked upon, in Winterbourne Hall!</p> - -<p>Rachel, for her part, was to be found, now in one corner, now in -another, crying very heartily, and with a general vague impulse of -kissing every one in the present little company with thanks and -gratitude, and being caressed and sympathised with in turn. The only one -here, indeed, who seemed in her full senses was Agnes, who kept them all -in a certain degree of self-possession. It was all over, at last, after -so long a time of suspense and mystery; Agnes was relieved of her secret -knowledge. She was grave, but she did not refuse to participate in the -confused joy and thankfulness of the house. Now that the secret was -revealed, her mind returned to its usual tone. Though she had so much -“interest” in Lionel—almost as much as he felt in her—she had too high -a mind herself to suppose him overwhelmed by the single fact that his -inheritance had passed away from him. When all was told, she breathed -freely. She had all the confidence in him which one high heart has in -another. After the first shock, she prophesied proudly, within her own -mind, how soon his noble spirit would recover itself. Perhaps she -anticipated other scenes in that undeveloped future, which might touch -her own heart with a stronger thrill than even the marvellous change<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_205" id="vol_3_page_205"></a>{v.3-205}</span> -which was now working; perhaps the faint dawn of colour on her pale -cheek came from an imagination far more immediate and personal than any -dream which ever before had flushed the maiden firmament of Agnes -Atheling’s meditations. However that might be, she said not a single -word upon the subject: she assumed to herself quietly the post of -universal ministration, attended to the household wants as much as the -little party, all excited and sublimed out of any recollection of -ordinary necessities, would permit her; and lacking nothing in sympathy, -yet quieter than any one else, insensibly to herself, formed the link -between this little agitated world of private history and the larger -world, not at all moved from its everyday balance, which lay calm and -great without.</p> - -<p>“I sign a universal amnesty,” said Miss Anastasia abruptly, after a long -silence—“himself, if he would consult his own interest, I could pass -over <i>his</i> faults to-day.”</p> - -<p>“Poor Mr Reginald!” said Mrs Atheling, wiping her eyes. “I beg your -pardon, Miss Rivers; he has done a great deal of wrong, but I am very -sorry for him: I was so when he lost his son; ah, no doubt he thinks -this is a very small matter after <i>that</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Hush, child, the man is <i>guilty</i>,” said Miss Anastasia, with strong -emphasis. “Young George Rivers went to his grave in peace. Whom the gods -love die<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_206" id="vol_3_page_206"></a>{v.3-206}</span> young; it was very well. I forgive his father if he withdraws; -he will, if he has a spark of honour. The only person whom I am grieved -for is Lionel—he, indeed, might have cause to complain. Agnes Atheling, -do you know where he has gone?”</p> - -<p>“No.” Agnes affected no surprise that the question should be asked her, -and did not even show any emotion. Marian, with a sudden impulse of -generosity, got up instantly, and came to her sister. “Oh, Agnes, I am -very sorry,” said the little beauty, with her palpitating heart; and -Marian put her pretty arms round Agnes’s neck to console and comfort -her, as Agnes might have done to Marian had Louis been in distress -instead of joy.</p> - -<p>Agnes drew herself instinctively out of her sister’s embrace. She had no -right to be looked upon as the representative of Lionel, yet she could -not help speaking, in her confidence and pride in him, with a kindling -cheek and rising heart. “I am not sorry for Mr Rivers <i>now</i>,” said -Agnes, firmly; “I was so while this secret was kept from him—while he -was deceived; but I think no one who does him due credit can venture to -pity him <i>now</i>.”</p> - -<p>Miss Anastasia roused herself a little at sound of the voice. This -pride, which sounded a little like defiance, stirred the old lady’s -heart like the sound of a trumpet; she had more pleasure in it than she<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_207" id="vol_3_page_207"></a>{v.3-207}</span> -had felt in anything, save her first welcome of Louis a few hours ago. -She looked steadily into the eyes of Agnes, who met her gaze without -shrinking, though with a rapid variation of colour. Whatever imputations -she herself might be subject to in consequence, Agnes could not sit by -silent, and hear <i>him</i> either pitied or belied.</p> - -<p>“I wonder, may I go and see Miss Rivers? would it be proper?” asked -Rachel timidly, making a sudden diversion, as she had rather a habit of -doing; “she wanted me to stay with her once; she was very kind to me.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose we must not call you the Honourable Rachel Rivers just -yet—eh, little girl?” said Miss Anastasia, turning upon her; “and you, -Marian, you little beauty, how shall you like to be Lady Winterbourne?”</p> - -<p>“Lady Winterbourne! I always said she was to be for Louis,” cried -Rachel—“always—the first time I saw her; you know I did, Agnes; and -often I wondered why she should be so pretty—she who did not want it, -who was happy enough to have been ugly, if she had liked; but I see it -now—I see the reason now!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t hide your head, little one; it is quite true,” said Miss -Anastasia, once more a little touched at her heart to see the beautiful -little figure, fain to glide out<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_208" id="vol_3_page_208"></a>{v.3-208}</span> of everybody’s sight, stealing away in -a moment into the natural refuge, the mother’s shadow; while the mother, -smiling and sobbing, had entirely given up all attempt at any show of -self-command. “Agnes has something else to do in this hard-fighting -world. You are the flower that must know neither winds nor storms. I -don’t speak to make you vain, you beautiful child. God gave you your -lovely looks, as well as your strange fortune; and Agnes, child, lift up -your head! the contest and the trial are for you; but not, God forbid -it! as they came to <i>me</i>.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_209" id="vol_3_page_209"></a>{v.3-209}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXIX" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.<br /><br /> -<small>THE RIVAL HEIRS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Louis</span> and Rachel returned that night with Miss Anastasia to the Priory, -which, the old lady said proudly—the family jointure house for four or -five generations—should be their home till the young heir took -possession of his paternal house. The time which followed was too busy, -rapid, and exciting for a slow and detailed history. The first legal -steps were taken instantly in the case, and proper notices served upon -Lord Winterbourne. In Miss Anastasia’s animated and anxious house dwelt -the Tyrolese, painfully acquiring some scant morsels of English, very -well contented with her present quarters, and only anxious to secure -some extravagant preferment for her son. Mrs Atheling and her daughters -had returned home, and Louis came and went constantly to town, actively -engaged himself in all the arrangements, full of anxious plans and -undertakings for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_210" id="vol_3_page_210"></a>{v.3-210}</span> ease and benefit of the other parties concerned. -Miss Anastasia, with a little reluctance, had given her consent to the -young man’s plan of a compromise, by which his uncle, unattacked and -undisgraced, might retire from his usurped possessions with a sufficient -and suitable income. The ideas of Louis were magnificent and princely. -He would have been content to mulct himself of half the revenues of his -inheritance, and scarcely would listen to the prudent cautions of his -advisers. He was even reluctant that the first formal steps should be -taken, before Mr Foggo and an eminent and well-known solicitor, -personally acquainted with his uncle, had waited upon Lord Winterbourne. -He was overruled; but this solemn deputation lost no time in proceeding -on its mission. Speedy as they were, however, they were too late for the -alarmed and startled peer. He had left home, they ascertained, very -shortly after the late trial—had gone abroad, as it was supposed, -leaving no information as to the time of his return. The only thing -which could be done in the circumstances was hastened by the eager -exertions of Louis. The two lawyers wrote a formal letter to Lord -Winterbourne, stating their case, and making their offer, and despatched -it to the Hall, to be forwarded to him. No answer came, though Louis -persuaded his agents to wait for it, and even to delay the legal -proceedings. The only<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_211" id="vol_3_page_211"></a>{v.3-211}</span> notice taken of it was a paragraph in one of the -fashionable newspapers, to the effect that the late proceedings at -Oxford, impugning the title of a respected nobleman, proved now to be a -mere trick of some pettifogging lawyer, entirely unsupported, and likely -to call forth proceedings for libel, involving a good deal of romantic -family history, and extremely interesting to the public. After this, -Louis could no longer restrain the natural progress of the matter. He -gave it up, indeed, at once, and did not try; and Miss Anastasia -pronounced emphatically one of her antique proverbs, “Whom the gods -would destroy, they first make mad.”</p> - -<p>This was not the only business on the hands of Louis. He had found it -impossible, on repeated trials, to see the Rector. At the Old Wood House -it was said that Mr Rivers was from home; at his London lodgings he had -not been heard of. The suit was given against him in the Ecclesiastical -Courts, and Mr Mead, alone in the discharge of his duty, mourned over a -stripped altar and desolated sanctuary, where the tall candles blazed no -longer in the religious gloom. When it became evident at last that the -Rector did not mean to give his young relative the interview he sought, -Louis, strangely transformed as he was, from the petulant youth always -ready to take offence, to the long-suffering man, addressed<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_212" id="vol_3_page_212"></a>{v.3-212}</span> Lionel as -his solicitors had addressed his uncle. He wrote a long letter, generous -and full of hearty feeling; he reminded his kinsman of the favours he -had himself accepted at his hands. He drew a very vivid picture of his -own past and present position. He declared, with all a young man’s -fervour, that he could have no pleasure even in his own extraordinary -change of fortune, were it the means of inflicting a vast and -unmitigated loss upon his cousin. He threw himself upon Lionel’s -generosity—he appealed to his natural sense of justice—he used a -hundred arguments which were perfectly suitable and in character from -him, but which, certainly, no man as proud and as generous as himself -could be expected to listen to; and, finally, ended with protesting an -unquestionable claim upon Lionel—the claim of a man deeply indebted to, -and befriended by him. The letter overflowed with the earnestness and -sincerity of the writer; he assumed his case throughout with the most -entire honesty, having no doubt whatever upon the subject, and confided -his intentions and prospects to Lionel with a complete and anxious -confidence, which he had not bestowed upon any other living man.</p> - -<p>This letter called forth an answer, written from a country town in a -remote part of England. The Rector wrote with an evident effort at -cordiality. He declined all Louis’s overtures in the most -uncompromising<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_213" id="vol_3_page_213"></a>{v.3-213}</span> terms, but congratulated him upon his altered -circumstances. He said he had taken care to examine into the case before -leaving London, and was thoroughly convinced of the justice of the new -claim. “One thing I will ask of you,” said Mr Rivers; “I only wait to -resign my living until I can be sure of the next presentation falling -into your hands: give it to Mr Mead. The cause of my withdrawal is -entirely private and personal. I had resolved upon it months ago, and it -has no connection whatever with recent circumstances. I hope no one -thinks so meanly of me as to suppose I am dismayed by the substitution -of another heir in my room. One thing in this matter has really wounded -me, and that is the fact that no one concerned thought me worthy to know -a secret so important, and one which it was alike my duty and my right -to help to a satisfactory conclusion. I have lost nothing actual, so far -as rank or means is concerned; but, more intolerable than any vulgar -loss, I find a sudden cloud thrown upon the perfect sincerity and truth -of some whom I have been disposed to trust as men trust Heaven.”</p> - -<p>The letter concluded with good wishes—that was all; there was no -response to the confidence, no answer to the effusion of heartfelt and -fervent feeling which had been in Louis’s letter. The young man was not -accustomed to be repulsed; perhaps, in all<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_214" id="vol_3_page_214"></a>{v.3-214}</span> his life, it was the first -time he had asked a favour from any one, and had Louis been poor and -without friends, as he was or thought himself six months ago, such a -tone would have galled him beyond endurance. But there is a charm in a -gracious and relenting fortune. Louis, who had once been the very -armadillo of youthful haughtiness, suddenly distinguished himself by the -most magnanimous patience, would not take offence, and put away his -kinsman’s haughty letter, with regret, but without any resentment. -Nothing was before him now but the plain course of events, and to them -he committed himself frankly, resolved to do what could be done, but -addressing no more appeals to the losing side.</p> - -<p>Part of the Rector’s letter Louis showed to Marian, and Marian repeated -it to Agnes. It was cruel—it was unjust of Lionel—and he knew himself -that it was. Agnes, it was possible, did not know—at all events, she -had no right to betray to him the secrets of another; more than that, he -knew the meaning now of the little book which he carried everywhere with -him, and felt in his heart that <i>he</i> was the real person addressed. He -knew all that quite as well as she did, as she tried, with a quivering -lip and a proud wet eye, to fortify herself against the injustice of his -reproach, but that did not hinder him from saying it. He was in that -condition—known, perhaps, occasionally<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_215" id="vol_3_page_215"></a>{v.3-215}</span> to most of us—when one feels a -certain perverse pleasure in wounding one’s dearest. He had no chance of -mentioning her, who occupied so much of his thoughts, in any other way, -and he would rather put a reproach upon Agnes than leave her alone -altogether; perhaps she herself even, after all, at the bottom of her -heart, was better satisfied to be referred to thus, than to be left out -of his thoughts. They had never spoken to each other a single word which -could be called wooing—now they were perhaps separated for ever—yet -how strange a link of union, concord, and opposition, was between these -two!<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_216" id="vol_3_page_216"></a>{v.3-216}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXX" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX.<br /><br /> -<small>AN ADVENTURE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> was September—the time when all Englishmen of a certain “rank in -life” burn with unconquerable longings to get as far away from home as -possible—and there was nothing remarkable in the appearance of this -solitary traveller pacing along Calais pier—nothing remarkable, except -his own personal appearance, which was of a kind not easily overlooked. -There was nothing to be read in his embrowned but refined face, nor in -his high thoughtful forehead. It was a face of thought, of speculation, -of a great and vigorous intellectual activity; but the haughty eyes -looked at no one—the lips never moved even to address a child—there -was no response to any passing glance of interest or inquiry. His head -was turned towards England, over the long sinuous weltering waves of -that stormy Channel which to-day pretended to be calm; but if he saw -anything, it was something which appeared only in his own -imagination—it was neither<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_217" id="vol_3_page_217"></a>{v.3-217}</span> the far-away gleam, like a floating mist, -of the white cliffs, nor the sunbeam coming down out of the heart of a -cloud into the dark mid-current of that treacherous sea.</p> - -<p>He had no plan of travel—no settled intentions indeed of any kind—but -had been roaming about these three months in the restlessness of -suspense, waiting for definite intelligence before he decided on his -further course. An often-recurring fancy of returning home for a time -had brought him to-day to this common highway of all nations from a -secluded village among the Pyrenees; but he had not made up his mind to -go home—he only lingered within sight of it, chafing his own disturbed -spirit, and ready to be swayed by any momentary impulse. Though he had -been disturbed for a time out of his study of the deepest secrets of -human life, his mind was too eager not to have returned to it. He had -come to feel that it would be sacrilege to proclaim again his own -labouring and disordered thoughts in a place where he was set to speak -of One, the very imagination of whom, if it was an imagination, was so -immeasurably exalted above his highest elevation. A strange poetic -justice had come upon Lionel Rivers—prosecuted for his extreme views at -the time when he ceased to make any show of holding them—separating -himself from his profession, and from the very name of a believer, at<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_218" id="vol_3_page_218"></a>{v.3-218}</span> -the moment when it began to dawn upon him that he believed—and thrust -asunder with a violent wrench and convulsion from the first and sole -human creature who had come into his heart, at the very hour in which he -discovered that his heart was no longer in his own power. He saw it all, -the strange story of contradictory and perverse chances, and knew -himself the greatest and strangest contradiction of the whole.</p> - -<p>He gave no attention whatever to what passed round him, yet he heard the -foreign voices—the English voices—for there was no lack of his -countrymen. It was growing dark rapidly, and the shadowy evening lights -and mists were stealing far away to sea. He turned to go back to his -hotel, turning his face away from his own country, when at the moment a -voice fell upon his ear, speaking his own tongue: “You will abet an -impostor—you who know nothing of English law, and are already a marked -man.” These were the words spoken in a very low, clear, hissing tone, -which Lionel heard distinctly only because it was well known to him. The -speaker was wrapt in a great cloak, with a travelling-cap over his eyes; -and the person he addressed was a little vivacious Italian, with a long -olive face, smooth-shaven cheeks, and sparkling lively eyes, who seemed -much disconcerted and doubtful what to do. The expression of Lionel’s -face changed in an instant—he woke out of his moody dream to alert and<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_219" id="vol_3_page_219"></a>{v.3-219}</span> -determined action; he drew back a step to let them pass, and then -followed. The discussion was animated and eager between them, sometimes -in English, sometimes in Italian, apparently as caprice guided the one -or the other. Lionel did not listen to what they said, but he followed -them home.</p> - -<p>The old Italian parted with his companion at the door of the hotel where -Lionel himself was lodged; there the Englishman in the cloak and cap -lingered to make an appointment. “At eleven to-morrow,” said again that -sharp hissing voice. Lionel stepped aside into the shadow as the -stranger turned reluctantly away; he did not care for making further -investigations to ascertain <i>his</i> identity—it was Lord Winterbourne.</p> - -<p>He took the necessary steps immediately. It was easy to find out where -the Italian was, in a little room at the top of the house, the key of -which he paused to take down before he went up-stairs. Lionel waited -again till the old man had made his way to his lofty lodging. He was -very well acquainted with all the details of Louis’s case; he had, in -fact, seen Charlie Atheling a few days before he left London, and -satisfied himself of the nature of his young kinsman’s claim—it was too -important to himself to be forgotten. He remembered perfectly the -Italian doctor Serrano who had been present, and could testify to the -marriage<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_220" id="vol_3_page_220"></a>{v.3-220}</span> of the late Lord Winterbourne. Lionel scaled the great -staircase half-a-dozen steps at a time, and reached the door immediately -after the old man had entered, and before he had struck his light. The -Rector knocked softly. With visible perturbation, and in a sharp tone of -self-defence, the Italian called out in a very good French to know who -was there. Dr Serrano was a patriot and a plotter, and used to -domiciliary visitations. Lionel answered him in English, asked if he -were Doctor Serrano, and announced himself as a friend of Charles -Atheling. Then the door opened slowly, and with some jealousy. Lionel -passed into the room without waiting for an invitation. “You are going -to England on a matter of the greatest importance,” said the Rector, -with excitement—“to restore the son of your friend to his inheritance; -yet I find you, with the serpent at your ear, listening to Lord -Winterbourne.”</p> - -<p>The Italian started back in amaze. “Are you the devil?” said Doctor -Serrano, with a comical perturbation.</p> - -<p>“No; instead of that, you have just left him,” said Lionel; “but I am a -friend, and know all. This man persuades you not to go on—by accident I -caught the sound of his voice saying so. He has the most direct personal -interest in the case; it is ruin and disgrace to him. Your testimony may -be of the greatest importance<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_221" id="vol_3_page_221"></a>{v.3-221}</span>—why do you linger? why do you listen to -him?”</p> - -<p>“Really, you are hot-headed; it is so with youth,” said Doctor Serrano, -“when we will move heaven and earth for one friend. He tells me the -child is dead—that this is another. I know not—it may be true.”</p> - -<p>“It is not true,” said Lionel. “I will tell you who I am—the next heir -if Lord Winterbourne is the true holder of the title—there is my card. -I have the strongest interest in resisting this claim if I did not know -it to be true. It can be proved that this is the same boy who was -brought from Italy an infant. I can prove it myself; it is known to a -whole village. If you choose it, confront me with Lord Winterbourne.”</p> - -<p>“No; I believe you—you are a gentleman,” said Doctor Serrano, turning -over the card in his hand—and the old man added with enthusiasm, “and a -hero for a friend!”</p> - -<p>“You believe me?” said Lionel, who could not restrain the painful smile -which crossed his face at the idea of his heroism in the cause of Louis. -“Will you stay, then, another hour within reach of Lord Winterbourne?”</p> - -<p>The Italian shrugged his shoulders. “I will break with him; he is ever -false,” said the old man. “What besides can I do?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_222" id="vol_3_page_222"></a>{v.3-222}</span></p> - -<p>“I will tell you,” said Lionel. “The boat sails in an hour—come with me -at once, let me see you safe in England. I shall attend to your comfort -with all my power. There is time for a good English bed at Dover, and an -undisturbed rest. Doctor Serrano, for the sake of the oppressed, and -because you are a philosopher, and understand the weakness of human -nature, will you come with me?”</p> - -<p>The Italian glanced lovingly at the couch which invited him—at the -slippers and the pipe which waited to make him comfortable—then he -glanced up at the dark and resolute countenance of Lionel, who, high in -his chivalric honour, was determined rather to sleep at Serrano’s door -all night than to let him out of his hands. “Excellent young man! you -are not a philosopher!” said the rueful Doctor; but he had a quick eye, -and was accustomed to judge men. “I will go with you,” he added -seriously, “and some time, for liberty and Italy, you will do as much -for me.”</p> - -<p>It was a bargain, concluded on the spot. An hour after, almost within -sight of Lord Winterbourne, who was pacing the gloomy pier by night in -his own gloom of guilty thought, the old man and the young man embarked -for England. A few hours later the little Italian slept under an English -roof, and the young Englishman looked up at the dizzy cliff, and down at -the foaming sea, too much excited to think of rest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_223" id="vol_3_page_223"></a>{v.3-223}</span> The next morning -Lionel carried off his prize to London, and left him in the hands of -Charlie Atheling. Then, seeing no one, speaking to no one, without -lingering an hour in his native country, he turned back and went away. -He had made up his mind now to remain at Calais till the matter was -entirely decided—then to resign his benefice—and then, with <i>things</i> -and not <i>thoughts</i> around him in the actual press and contact of common -life, to read, if he could, the grand secret of a true existence, and -decide his fate.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_224" id="vol_3_page_224"></a>{v.3-224}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXXI" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.<br /><br /> -<small>THE TRIAL.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Lord Winterbourne</span> had been in Italy, going over the ground which Charlie -Atheling had already examined so carefully. Miss Anastasia’s proverb was -coming true. He who all his life had been so wary, began to calculate -madly, with an insane disregard of all the damning facts against him, on -overturning, by one bold stroke, the careful fabric of the young lawyer. -He sought out and found the courier Monte, whom he himself had -established in his little mountain-inn. Monte was a faithful servant -enough to his employer of the time, but he was not scrupulous, and had -no great conscience. He undertook, without much objection, for the hire -which Lord Winterbourne gave him, to say anything Lord Winterbourne -pleased. He had been present at the marriage; and if the old Doctor -could have been delayed, or turned back, or even kidnapped—which was in -the foiled plotter’s scheme, if nothing better would serve—Monte, being -the sole witness of<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_225" id="vol_3_page_225"></a>{v.3-225}</span> the ceremony present, might have made it out a mock -marriage, or at least delayed the case, and thrown discredit upon the -union. It was enough to show what mad shifts even a wise intriguer might -be driven to trust in. He believed it actually possible that judge and -jury would ignore all the other testimony, and trust to the unsupported -word of his lying witness. He did not pause to think, tampering with -truth as he had been all his life, and trusting no man, what an extreme -amount of credulity he expected for himself.</p> - -<p>But even when Doctor Serrano escaped him—when the trial drew nearer day -by day—when Louis’s agents came in person, respectful and urgent, to -make their statement to him—and when he became aware that his case was -naught, and that he had no evidence whatever to depend on save that of -Monte, his wild confidence did not yield. He refused with disdain every -offer of a compromise; he commanded out of his presence the bearers of -that message of forbearance and forgiveness; he looked forward with a -blind defiance of his fate miserable to see. He gave orders that -preparations should be made at Winterbourne for the celebration of his -approaching triumph. That autumn he had invited to his house a larger -party than usual; and though few came, and those the least reputable, -there was no want of sportsmen in the covers, nor merry-makers<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_226" id="vol_3_page_226"></a>{v.3-226}</span> at the -Hall: he himself was restless, and did not continue there, even for the -sake of his guests, but made incessant journeys to London, and kept in -constant personal attendance on himself the courier Monte. He was the -object of incessant observation, and the gossip of half the county: he -had many enemies; and many of those who were disposed to take his part, -had heard and been convinced by the story of Louis. Almost every one, -indeed, who did hear of it, and remembered the boy in his neglected but -noble youth, felt the strange probability and <i>vraisemblance</i> of the -tale; and as the time drew nearer, the interest grew. It was known that -the new claimant of the title lived in Miss Anastasia’s house, and that -she was the warmest supporter of his claim. The people of Banburyshire -were proud of Miss Anastasia; but she was Lord Winterbourne’s enemy. -Why? That old tragedy began to be spoken of once more in whispers; other -tales crept into circulation; he was a bad man; everybody knew something -of him—enough ground to judge him on; and if he was capable of all -these, was he not capable of this?</p> - -<p>As the public voice grew thus, like the voice of doom, the doomed man -went on in his reckless and unreasoning confidence; the warnings of his -opponents and of his friends seemed to be alike fruitless. No extent of -self-delusion could have justified him at any time in thinking himself -popular, yet he seemed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_227" id="vol_3_page_227"></a>{v.3-227}</span> have a certain insane conviction now, that he -had but to show himself in the court to produce an immediate reaction in -his favour. He even said so, shaken out of all his old self-restrained -habits, boasting with a vain braggadocio to his guests at the Hall; and -people began, with a new impulse of pity, to wonder if his reason was -touched, and to hint vaguely to each other that the shock had unsettled -his mind.</p> - -<p>The trial came on at the next assize; it was long, elaborate, and -painful. On the very eve of this momentous day, Louis himself had -addressed an appeal to his uncle, begging him, at the last moment when -he could withdraw with honour, to accept the compromise so often and so -anxiously proposed to him. Lord Winterbourne tore the letter in two, and -put it in his pocket-book. “I shall use it,” he said to the messenger, -“when this business is over, to light the bonfire on Badgeley Hill.”</p> - -<p>The trial came on accordingly, without favour or private arrangement—a -fair struggle of force against force. The evidence on the side of the -prosecutor was laid down clearly, particular by particular; the marriage -of the late Lord Winterbourne to the young Italian—the entry in his -pocket-book, sworn to by Miss Anastasia—the birth of the -children—their journey from Italy to London, from London to -Winterbourne—and the identity of the boy Louis with the present<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_228" id="vol_3_page_228"></a>{v.3-228}</span> -claimant of the title—clearly, calmly, deliberately, everything was -proved. It took two days to go over the evidence; then came the defence. -Without an overwhelming array of witnesses on the other side—without -proving perjury on the part of these—what could Lord Winterbourne -answer to such a charge as this?</p> - -<p>He commenced, through his lawyer, by a vain attempt to brand Louis over -again with illegitimacy, to sully the name of his dead brother, and -represent him a villanous deceiver. It was allowed, without controversy, -that Louis was the son of the old lord; and then Monte was placed in the -witness-box to prove that the marriage was a mock marriage, so skilfully -performed as to cheat herself, her family, the old quick-witted Serrano, -whose testimony had pleased every one—all the people present, in short, -except his own acute and philosophical self.</p> - -<p>The fellow was bold, clever, and scrupulous, but he was not prepared for -such an ordeal. His attention distracted by the furious contradictory -gestures of Doctor Serrano, whose cane could scarcely be kept out of -action—by the stern, steady glance of Miss Anastasia, whom he -recognised—he was no match for the skilful cross-examiners who had him -in hand. He hesitated, prevaricated, altered his testimony. He held, -with a grim obstinacy, to unimportant trifles, and made<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_229" id="vol_3_page_229"></a>{v.3-229}</span> admissions at -the same moment which struck at the very root of his own credibility as -a witness. He was finally ordered to sit down by the voice of the judge -himself, which rung in the fellow’s ears like thunder. That was all the -case for the defence! Even Lord Winterbourne’s counsel coloured for -shame as he made the miserable admission. The jury scarcely left the -court; there was no doubt remaining on the mind of the audience. The -verdict was pronounced solemnly, like a passionless voice of justice, as -it was, for the plaintiff. There was no applause—no exultation—a -universal human horror and disgust at the strange depravity they had -just witnessed, put down every demonstration of feeling. People drew -away from the neighbourhood of Lord Winterbourne as from a man in a -pestilence. He left the court almost immediately, with his hat over his -eyes—his witness following as he best could; then came a sudden -revulsion of feeling. The best men in the county hurried towards Louis, -who sat, pale and excited, by the side of his elder and his younger -sister. Congratulatory good wishes poured upon him on every side. As -they left the court slowly, a guard of honour surrounded this heir and -hero of romance; and as he emerged into the street the air rang with a -cheer for the new Lord Winterbourne. They called him “My lord,” as he -stood on the step of Miss Anastasia’s carriage, which she herself -entered as<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_230" id="vol_3_page_230"></a>{v.3-230}</span> if it had been a car of triumph. <i>She</i> called him “My lord,” -making a proud obeisance to him, as a mother might have done to her son, -a new-made king; and they drove off slowly, with riders in their train, -amid the eager observation of all the passengers—the new Lord -Winterbourne!</p> - -<p>The old one hastened home on foot, no one observing him—followed far -off, like a shadow, by his attendant villain—unobserved, and almost -unheeded, entered the Hall; thrust with his own hand some necessaries -into his travelling-bag, gathered his cloak around him, and was gone. -Winterbourne Hall that night was left in the custody of the strangers -who had been his guests, an uneasy and troubled company, all occupied -with projects of departure to-morrow. Once more the broad chill -moonlight fell on the noble park, as when Louis and his sister, desolate -and friendless, passed out from its lordly gates into midnight and the -vacant world. Scarcely a year! but what a change upon all the actors and -all the passions of that moonlight October night!<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_231" id="vol_3_page_231"></a>{v.3-231}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXXII" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.<br /><br /> -<small>ESPOUSALS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> was winter, but the heavens were bright—a halcyon day among the -December glooms. All the winds lay still among the withered ferns, -making a sighing chorus in the underground of Badgeley Wood; but the -white clouds, thinner than the clouds of summer, lay becalmed upon the -chill blue sky, and the sun shone warm under the hedgerows, and deluded -birds were perching out upon the hawthorn bows; the green grass -brightened under the morning light; the wan waters shone; the trees -which had no leaves clustered their branches together, with a certain -pathos in their nakedness, and made a trellised shadow here and there -over the wintry stream; and, noble as in the broadest summer, in the -sheen of the December sunshine lay Oxford, jewelled like a bride, -gleaming out upon the tower of Maudlin, flashing abroad into the -firmament from fair St Mary, twinkling with innumerable gem-points from -all the lesser cupolas and spires. In the<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_232" id="vol_3_page_232"></a>{v.3-232}</span> midst of all, this sunshine -retreated in pure defeat and failure, from that sombre old heathen, with -his heavy dome—but only brightened all the more upon those responsive -and human inhabitants dwelling there from the olden ages, and native to -the soil. There was a fresh breath from the broad country, a hum of life -in the air, a twitter of hardy birds among the trees. It was one of -those days which belong to no season, but come, like single blessings, -one by one, throwing a gleam across the darker half of the year. Though -it was in December instead of May, it was as fair “a bridal of the earth -and sky” as poet could have wished to see; but the season yielded no -flowers to strew upon the grassy footpath between the Old Wood Lodge and -the little church of Winterbourne; they did not need them who trod that -road to-day.</p> - -<p>Hush, they are coming home—seeing nothing but an indefinite splendour -in the earth and in the sky—sweet in the dews of their youth—touched -to the heart—to that very depth and centre where lie all ecstasies and -tears. Walking together arm in arm, in their young humility—scarcely -aware of the bridal train behind them—in an enchantment of their own; -now coming back to that old little room, with its pensive old memories -of hermit life and solitude—this quiet old place, which never before -was lighted up with such a gleam of splendid fortune and happy hope.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_233" id="vol_3_page_233"></a>{v.3-233}</span></p> - -<p>You would say it was Marian Atheling, “with the smile on her lip, and -the tear in her eye”—the very same lovely vision whom the lad Louis saw -some eighteen months ago at the garden gate. But you would be mistaken; -for it is not Marian—it is the young Lady Winterbourne. This one is -quite as beautiful for a consolation—almost more so in her bridal -blush, and sunshine, and tears—and for a whole hour by the village -clock has been a peeress of the realm.</p> - -<p>This is what it has come to, after all—what they must all come to, -those innocent young people—even Rachel, who is as wild as a child, in -her first genuine and unalarmed outburst of youthful jubilation—even -Agnes, who through all this joy carries a certain thoughtful remembrance -in her dark eyes—possibly even Charlie, who fears no man, but is a -little shy of every womankind younger than Miss Anastasia. There are -only one or two strangers; but the party almost overflows Miss Bridget’s -parlour, where the old walls smile with flowers, and the old apartment, -like an ancient handmaid, receives them with a prim and antique grace—a -little doubtful, yet half hysterical with joy.</p> - -<p>But it does not last very long, this crowning festival. By-and-by the -hero and the heroine go away; then the guests one by one; then the -family, a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_234" id="vol_3_page_234"></a>{v.3-234}</span> languid, a little moved with the first inroad among -them, disperse to their own apartments, or to a meditative ramble out of -doors; and when the twilight falls, you could almost suppose Miss -Bridget, musing too over the story of another generation, sitting before -the fire in her great old chair, with no companion but the flowers.</p> - -<p>This new event seemed somehow to consolidate and make certain that -wonderful fortune of Louis, which until then had looked almost too much -like a romance to be realised. His uncle had made various efforts to -question and set aside the verdict which transferred to the true heir -his name and inheritance—efforts in which even the lawyers whom he had -employed at the trial, and who were not over-scrupulous, had refused any -share. The attempt was entirely fruitless—an insane resistance to the -law, which was irresistible; and the Honourable Reginald Rivers, whom -some old sycophants who came in his way still flattered with his old -title, was now at Baden, a great man enough in his own circle, rich in -the allowance from his nephew, which he was no longer too proud to -accept. He alone of all men expressed any disapprobation of Louis’s -marriage—he whose high sense of family honour revolted from the idea of -a <i>mesalliance</i>—and one other individual, who had something of a more -reasonable argument. We hasten to extract, according<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_235" id="vol_3_page_235"></a>{v.3-235}</span> to a former -promise, the following pathetic paragraph from the pages of the -<i>Mississippi Gazette</i>:—</p> - -<p>“I have just heard of the marriage of the young Lord W—— with the -beautiful M—— A——. Well!—is that so wonderful? Oh, visionary dream! -That thou shouldst pause to comment upon a common British bargain—the -most ordinary arrangement of this conventional and rotten life? What is -a heart in comparison with a title?—true love in the balance of a -coronet? Oh, my country, <i>thou</i> hast not come to this! But for these -mercenary and heartless parents—but for the young mind dazzled with the -splendid cheat of rank—oh heaven, what true felicity—what poetic -rapture—what a home thou mightst have seen! For she was beautiful as -the day when it breaks upon the rivers and the mountains of my native -land! It is enough—a poet’s fate would have been all incomplete without -this fiery trial. Farewell, M——! Farewell, lovely deluded victim of a -false society! Some time out of your hollow splendour you will think of -a true heart and weep!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_236" id="vol_3_page_236"></a>{v.3-236}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.<br /><br /> -<small>AN OLD FRIEND.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">“The</span> Winterbournes” had been for some time at home—they were now in -London, and Marian had appeared at court in the full splendour of that -young beauty of hers; which never had dazzled any one at home as it -dazzled every one now. She and her handsome young husband were the lions -of the season, eagerly sought after in “the best society.” Their story -had got abroad, as stories which are at all remarkable have such a -wonderful faculty of getting; and strangers whom Marian had never seen -before, were delighted to make her acquaintance—charmed to know her -sister, who had so much genius, and wrote such delightful books, and, -most extraordinary of all, extremely curious and interested about -Charlie, the wonderful young brother who had found out the mystery. At -one of the fashionable assemblies, where Louis and Marian, Rachel and -Agnes, were pointed out eagerly on all sides, and commented upon as -“such<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_237" id="vol_3_page_237"></a>{v.3-237}</span> fresh unsophisticated young creatures—such a group! so -picturesque, so interesting!” they became aware, all of them, with -different degrees of embarrassment and pain, that Mrs Edgerley was in -the company. Louis found her out last of all. She could not possibly -fail to notice them; and the young man, anxious to save her pain, made -up his mind at once to be the first to address her. He went forward -gravely, with more than usual deference in his manner. She recognised -him in a moment, started with a little surprise and a momentary shock, -but immediately rushed forward with her most charming air of enthusiasm, -caught his hand, and overwhelmed him with congratulations. “Oh, I should -be so shocked if you supposed that I entertained any prejudice because -of poor dear papa!” cried Mrs Edgerley. “Of course he meant no harm; of -course he did not know any better. I am so charmed to see you! I am sure -we shall make most capital cousins and firm allies. Positively you look -quite grave at me. Oh, I assure you, family feuds are entirely out of -fashion, and no one ever quarrels with <i>me</i>! I am dying to see those -sweet girls!”</p> - -<p>And very much amazed, and filled with great perturbation, those sweet -girls were, when Mrs Edgerley came up to them, leaning upon Louis’s arm, -bestowed upon them all a shower of those light perfumy kisses which -Marian and Agnes remembered so well, and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_238" id="vol_3_page_238"></a>{v.3-238}</span> declaring Lady Winterbourne -far too young for a chaperone, took her place among them. Amazed as they -were at this sudden renewal of old friendship, none of them desired to -resist it; and before they were well aware, they found themselves -engaged, the whole party, to Mrs Edgerley’s next “reception,” when -“every one would be so charmed to see them!” “Positively, my love, you -are looking quite lovely,” whispered the fine lady into the shrinking -ear of Marian. “I always said so. I constantly told every one you were -the most perfect little beauty in the world; and then that charming book -of Miss Atheling’s, which every one was wild about! and your -brother—now, do you know, I wish so very much to know your brother. Oh, -I am sure you could persuade him to come to my Thursday. Tell him every -one comes; no one ever refuses <i>me</i>! I shall send him a card to-morrow. -Now, may I leave my cause in your hands?”</p> - -<p>“We will try,” said Marian, who, though she bore her new dignities with -extraordinary self-possession on the whole, was undeniably shy of -Agnes’s first fashionable patroness. The invitation was taken up as very -good fun indeed, by all the others. They resolved to make a general -assault upon Charlie, and went home in great glee with their -undertaking. Nor was Charlie, after all, so hard to be moved as they<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_239" id="vol_3_page_239"></a>{v.3-239}</span> -expected. He twisted the pretty note in his big fingers with somewhat -grim amusement, and said he did not mind. With this result Mrs Atheling -showed the greatest delight, for the good mother began to speculate upon -a wife for Charlie, and to be rather afraid of some humble beauty -catching her boy’s eye before he had “seen the world.”</p> - -<p>With almost the feeling of people in a dream, Agnes and Marian entered -once more those well-remembered rooms of Mrs Edgerley, in which they had -gained their first glimpse of the world; and Charlie, less demonstrative -of his feelings, but not without a remembrance of the past, entered -these same portals where he had exchanged that first glance of -instinctive enmity with the former Lord Winterbourne. The change was -almost too extraordinary to be realised even by the persons principally -concerned. Marian, who had been but Agnes Atheling’s pretty and shy -sister, came in now first of the party, the wife of the head of her -former patroness’s family. Agnes, a diffident young genius then, full of -visionary ideas of fame, had now her own known and acknowledged place, -but had gone far beyond it, in the heart which did not palpitate any -longer with the glorious young fancies of a visionary ambition; and -Charlie, last of all—Charlie, who had tumbled out of the Islington fly -to take charge of his sisters—a big boy, clumsy and manful, whom Lord<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_240" id="vol_3_page_240"></a>{v.3-240}</span> -Winterbourne smiled at, as he passed, with his ungenial smile—Charlie, -almost single-handed, had thrust the usurper from his seat, and placed -the true heir in his room. No wonder that the Athelings were somewhat -dizzy with recollections when they came among all the fashionable people -who were charmed to see them, and found their way at last to the boudoir -where Agnes and Marian had looked at the faces and the diamonds, on that -old Thursday of Mrs Edgerley’s, which sparkled still in their -recollection, the beginning of their fate.</p> - -<p>But though Louis and Marian, and Agnes and Rachel, were all extremely -attractive, had more or less share in the romance, and were all more or -less handsome, Charlie was without dispute the lion of the night. Mrs -Edgerley fluttered about with him, holding his great arm with her pretty -hand, and introducing him to every one; and with a smile, rueful, -comical, half embarrassed, half ludicrous, Charlie, who continued to be -very shy of ladies, suffered himself to be dragged about by the -fashionable enchantress. He had very little to say—he was such a big -fellow, so unmanageable in a delicate crowd of fine ladies, with -draperies like gossamer, and, to do him justice, very much afraid of the -dangerous steering; but Charlie’s “manners,” though they would have -overwhelmed with distress his anxious mother, rather added to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_241" id="vol_3_page_241"></a>{v.3-241}</span> -“success.” “It was he who conducted the whole case.” “I do not wonder! -Look, what a noble head! What a self-absorbed expression! What a power -of concentration!” were the sweet and audible whispers which rang around -him; and the more sensible observers of the scene, who saw the secret -humour in Charlie’s upper-lip, slightly curved with amusement, acute, -but not unkindly, and caught now and then a gleam of his keen eye, -which, when it met with a response, always made a momentary brightening -of the smile—were disposed to give him full credit for all the power -imputed to him. Mrs Edgerley was in the highest delight—he was a -perfect success for a lion. Lions, as this patroness of the fine arts -knew by experience, were sadly apt to betray themselves, to be thrown -off their balance, to talk nonsense. But Charlie, who was not given to -talking, who was still so delightfully clumsy, and made such a wonderful -bow, was perfectly charming; Mrs Edgerley declared she was quite in love -with him. After all, natural feeling put out of the question, she had no -extraordinary occasion to identify herself with the resentments or -enmities of that ruined plotter at Baden; and he must have been a worthy -father, indeed, who had moved Mrs Edgerley to shut her heart or her -house to the handsome young couple, whom everybody delighted to honour, -or to<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_242" id="vol_3_page_242"></a>{v.3-242}</span> the hero of a fashionable romance, which was spoken of -everywhere. She had no thought of any such sacrifice; she established -the most friendly relations instantly with her charming young cousins. -She extended the kindly title, with the most fascinating amiability, to -Agnes and Charlie. She overwhelmed the young lawyer with compliments and -invitations. He had a much stronger hold upon her fickle fancy than the -author of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>. Mrs Edgerley was delighted to speak to all -her acquaintances of Mr Atheling, “who conducted all the case against -poor dear papa—did everything himself, I assure you—and such a -charming modesty of genius, such a wonderful force and character! Oh, -any one may be jealous who pleases; I cannot help it. I quite adore that -clever young man.”</p> - -<p>Charlie took it all very quietly; he concerned himself as little about -the adoration of Mrs Edgerley, as he did about the secret scrutiny of -his mother concerning every young woman who chanced to cross the path of -her son. Young women were the only created things whom Charlie was -afraid of, and what his own secret thoughts might be upon this important -question, nobody could tell.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_243" id="vol_3_page_243"></a>{v.3-243}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.<br /><br /> -<small>SETTLING DOWN.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Many</span> lesser changes had been involved in the great revolution which made -the nameless Louis head of the family, and conferred upon him the -estates and title of Lord Winterbourne: scarcely any one, indeed, in the -immediate circle of the two families of Rivers and Atheling, the great -people and the small, remained uninfluenced by the change of -sovereignty, except Miss Anastasia, whose heart and household charities -were manifestly widened, but to whom no other change except the last, -and grand one, was like to come. The Rector kept his word; as soon as he -heard of the definite settlement of that great question of Louis’s -claim, he himself resigned his benefice; and one of the first acts of -the new Lord Winterbourne was to answer the only request of Lionel, by -conferring it upon Mr Mead. After that, Lionel made a settlement upon -his sister of all the property which belonged to them, enough to make a -modest maidenly<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_244" id="vol_3_page_244"></a>{v.3-244}</span> income for the gentle invalid, and keep her in -possession of all the little luxuries which seemed essential to her -life. For himself, he retained a legacy of a thousand pounds which had -been left to him several years before. This was the last that was known -of the Rector—he disappeared into entire gloom and obscurity after he -had made this final arrangement. It was sometimes possible to hear of -him, for English travellers, journeying through unfamiliar routes, did -not fail to note the wandering English gentleman who seemed to travel -for something else than pleasure, and whose motives and objects no one -knew; but where to look for him next, or what his occupations were, -neither Louis nor his friends, in spite of all their anxious inquiries, -could ever ascertain.</p> - -<p>And Mr Mead was now the rector, and reigned in Lionel’s stead. A new -rectory, all gabled and pinnacled, more “correct” than the model it -followed, and truer to its period than the truest original in -Christendom, rose rapidly between the village and the Hall; and Mr Mead, -whose altar had been made bare by the iconoclastic hands of authority, -began to exhibit some little alteration in his opinions as he grew -older, held modified views as to the priesthood, and cast an eye of -visible kindness upon the Honourable Rachel Rivers. The sentiment, -however, was not at all reciprocal; no one believed that Rachel was -really as old<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_245" id="vol_3_page_245"></a>{v.3-245}</span> as Louis—older than the pretty matron Marian, older even -than Agnes. She had never been a girl until now—and Rachel cared a -great deal more for the invalid Lucy in her noiseless shadowy chamber in -the Old Wood House, than for all the rectors and all the curates in the -world. <i>She</i> was fancy free, and promised to remain so; and Marian had -already begun with a little horror to entertain the idea that Rachel -possibly might never marry at all.</p> - -<p>The parent Athelings themselves were not unmoved by the changes of their -children. Charlie was to be received as a partner into the firm which Mr -Foggo, by dint of habit, still clung to, as soon as he had attained his -one-and-twentieth year. Agnes, as these quiet days went on, grew both in -reputation and in riches, girl though she still was; and the youngest of -them was Lady Winterbourne! All these great considerations somewhat -dazzled the eyes of the confidential clerk of Messrs Cash, Ledger, & -Co., as he turned over his books upon that desk where he had once placed -Agnes’s fifty-pound notes, the beginning of the family fortune. Bellevue -came to be mightily out of the way when Louis and Marian were in town -living in so different a quarter; and Mr Atheling wearied of the City, -and Mamma concluded that the country air would be a great deal better -for Bell and Beau. So Mr Atheling accepted a retiring allowance,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_246" id="vol_3_page_246"></a>{v.3-246}</span> the -half of his previous income, from the employers whom he had served so -long. The whole little household, even including Susan, removed to the -country, where Marian had been delighting herself in the superintendence -of the two or three additional rooms built to the Old Wood Lodge, which -were so great a surprise to Mamma when she found them, risen as at the -touch of a fairy’s wand. The family settled there at once in -unpretending comfort, taking farewell affectionately of Miss Willsie and -Mr Foggo, but not forgetting Bellevue.</p> - -<p>And here Agnes pursued her vocation, making very little demonstration of -it, the main pillar for the mean time, and crowning glory of her -father’s house. Her own mind and imagination had been profoundly -impressed, almost in spite of herself, by that last known act of -Lionel’s—his hasty journey to London with Doctor Serrano. It was the -kind of act beyond all others to win upon a temperament so generous and -sensitive, which a more ostentatious generosity might have disgusted and -repelled; and perhaps the very uncertainty in which they remained -concerning him kept up the lurking “interest” in Agnes Atheling’s heart. -It was possible that he might appear any day at their very doors; it was -possible that he never might be seen again. It was not easy to avoid -speculating upon him—what he was thinking, where he was?—and when, in -that<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_247" id="vol_3_page_247"></a>{v.3-247}</span> spontaneous delight of her young genius, which yet had suffered no -diminution, Agnes’s thoughts glided into impersonation, and fairy -figures gathered round her, and one by one her fables grew, in the midst -of the thread of story—in the midst of what people called, to the young -author’s amusement, “an elaborate development of character, the result -of great study and observation”—thoughts came to her mind, and words to -her lip, which she supposed no one could thoroughly understand save -<i>one</i>. Almost unconsciously she shadowed his circumstances and his story -in many a bright imagination of her own; and contrasted with the real -one half-a-dozen imaginary Lionels, yet always ending in finding him the -noblest type of action in that great crisis of his career. It blended -somehow strangely with all that was most serious in her work; for when -Agnes had to speak of faith, she spoke of it with the fervour with which -one addresses an individual, opening her heart to show the One great -Name enshrined in it to another, who, woe for him, in his wanderings so -sadly friendless, knew not that Lord.</p> - -<p>So the voice of the woman who dwelt at home went out over the world; it -charmed multitudes who thought of nothing but the story it told, -delighted some more who recognised that sweet faulty grace of youth, -that generous young directness and simplicity which made<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_248" id="vol_3_page_248"></a>{v.3-248}</span> the fable -truth. If it ever reached to one who felt himself addressed in it, who -knew the words, the allusions, that noble craft of genius, which, -addressing all, had still a private voice for one—if there was such a -man somewhere, in the desert or among the mountains far away, wandering -where he seldom heard the tongue of his country, and never saw a face he -recognised, Agnes never knew.</p> - -<p>But after this fashion time went on with them all. Then there came a -second heir, another Louis to the Hall at Winterbourne—and it was very -hard to say whether this young gentleman’s old aunt or his young aunt, -the Honourable Rachel, or the Honourable Anastasia, was most completely -out of her wits at this glorious epoch in the history of the House. -Another event of the most startling and extraordinary description took -place very shortly after the christening of Marian’s miraculous baby. -Charlie was one-and-twenty; he was admitted into the firm, and the young -man, who was one of the most “rising young men” in his profession, took -to himself a holiday, and went abroad without any one knowing much about -it. No harm in that; but when Charlie returned, he brought with him a -certain Signora Giulia, a very amazing companion indeed for this -taciturn hero, who was afraid of young ladies. He took her down at once -to Winterbourne, to present her to his mother and sisters.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_249" id="vol_3_page_249"></a>{v.3-249}</span> He had the -grace to blush, but really was not half so much ashamed of himself as he -ought to have been. For the pretty young Italian turned out to be cousin -to Louis and Rachel—a delicate little beauty, extremely proud of the -big young lover, who had carried her off from her mother’s house six -weeks ago: and we are grieved to acknowledge that Charlie henceforth -showed no fear whatever, scarcely even the proper awe of a dutiful -husband, in the presence of Mrs Charles Atheling.<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_250" id="vol_3_page_250"></a>{v.3-250}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXXV" id="VOL_3_CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.<br /><br /> -<small>THE END.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Agnes Atheling</span> was alone in old Miss Bridget’s parlour; it was a fervent -day of July, and all the country lay in a hush and stillness of -exceeding sunshine, which reduced all the common sounds of life, far and -near, to a drowsy and languid hum—the midsummer’s luxurious voice. The -little house was perfectly still. Mrs Atheling was at the Hall, Papa in -Oxford, and Hannah, whose sole beatific duty it was to take care of the -children, and who envied no one in the world save the new nurse to the -new baby, had taken out Bell and Beau. The door was open in the fearless -fashion and license of the country. Perhaps Susan was dozing in the -kitchen, or on the sunny outside bench by the kitchen door. There was -not a sound about the house save the deep dreamy hum of the bees among -the roses—those roses which clustered thick round the old porch and on -the wall. Agnes sat by the open window, in a very familiar old -occupation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_251" id="vol_3_page_251"></a>{v.3-251}</span> making a frock for little Bell, who was six years old now, -and appreciated pretty things. Agnes was not quite so young as she used -to be—four years, with a great many events in them, had enlarged the -maiden mind, which still was as fresh as a child’s. She was changed -otherwise: the ease which those only have who are used to the company of -people of refinement, had added another charm to her natural grace. As -she sat with her work on her knee, in her feminine attitude and -occupation, making a meditative pause, bowing her head upon her hand, -thinking of something, with those quiet walls of home around her—the -open door, the open window, and no one else visible in the serene and -peaceful house, she made, in her fair and thoughtful young womanhood, as -sweet a type as one could desire of the serene and happy confidence of a -quiet English home.</p> - -<p>She did not observe any one passing; she was not thinking, perhaps, of -any one hereabout who was like to pass—but she heard a step entering at -the door. She scarcely looked up, thinking it some member of the -family—scarcely moved even when the door of the parlour opened wider, -and the step came in. Then she looked up—started up—let her work drop -out of her hands, and, gazing with eagerness in the bronzed face of the -stranger, uttered a wondering exclamation. He hastened to her, holding -out his hand. “Mr Rivers?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_252" id="vol_3_page_252"></a>{v.3-252}</span> cried Agnes, in extreme surprise and -agitation—“is it <i>you</i>?”</p> - -<p>What he said was some hasty faltering expressions of delight in seeing -her, and they gazed at each other with their mutual “interest,” glad, -yet constrained. “We have tried often to find out where you were,” said -Agnes—“I mean Louis; he has been very anxious. Have you seen him? When -did you come home?”</p> - -<p>“I have seen no one save you.”</p> - -<p>“But Louis has been very anxious,” said Agnes, with a little confusion. -“We have all tried to discover where you were. Is it wrong to ask where -you have been?”</p> - -<p>But Lionel did not at all attend to her questions. He was less -self-possessed than she was; he seemed to have only one idea at the -present moment, so far as was visible, and that he simply expressed over -again—“I am very glad—happy—to see you here and alone.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said Agnes with a nervous tremor—“I—I was asking, Mr Rivers, -where you had been?”</p> - -<p>This time he began to attend to her. “I have been everywhere,” he said, -“except where pleasure was. I have been on fields of battles—in places -of wretchedness. I have come to tell you something—you only. Do you -remember our conversation once by Badgeley Wood?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_253" id="vol_3_page_253"></a>{v.3-253}</span></p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“You gave me a talisman, Agnes,” said the speaker, growing more excited; -“I have carried it all over the world.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Agnes as he paused. She looked at him very earnestly, -without even a blush at the sound of her own name.</p> - -<p>“Well—better than well!” cried Lionel; “wonderful—invincible—divine! -I went to try your spell—I who trusted nothing—at the moment when -everything had failed me—even you. I put yonder sublime Friend of yours -to the experiment—I dared to do it! I took his name to the sorrowful, -as you bade me. I cast out devils with his name, as the sorcerers tried -to do. I put all the hope I could have in life upon the trial. Now I -come to tell you the issue; it is fit that you should know.”</p> - -<p>Agnes leaned forward towards him, listening eagerly; she could not quite -tell what she expected—a confession of faith.</p> - -<p>“I am a man of ambition,” said Lionel, turning in a moment from the high -and solemn excitement of his former speech, with a sudden smile like a -gleam of sunshine. “You remember my projects when I was heir of -Winterbourne. You knew them, though I did not tell you; now I have found -a cave in a wild mining district among a race of giants. I am Vicar<span class="pagenum"><a name="vol_3_page_254" id="vol_3_page_254"></a>{v.3-254}</span> of -Botallach, among the Cornish men—have been for four-and-twenty -hours—that is the end.”</p> - -<p>Agnes had put out her hand to him in the first impulse of joy and -congratulation; a second thought, more subtle, made her pause, and -blush, and draw back. Lionel was not so foolish as to wait the end of -this self-controversy. He left his seat, came to her side, took the hand -firmly into his own, which she half gave, and half withdrew—did not -blush, but grew pale, with the quiet concern of a man who was about -deciding the happiness of his life. “The end, but the beginning too,” -said Lionel, with a tremor in his voice. “Agnes hear me still—I have -something more to say.”</p> - -<p>She did not answer a word; she lifted her eyes to his face with one -hurried, agitated momentary glance. Something more! but the whole tale -was in the look. <i>They</i> did not know very well what words followed, and -neither do we.</p> - -<p class="c">THE END.<br /><br /><br /> - -<small>PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.</small></p> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Athelings; Complete, by Margaret Oliphant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATHELINGS; COMPLETE *** - -***** This file should be named 55122-h.htm or 55122-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/1/2/55122/ - -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. 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