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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 56433 ***












  THE
  MANŒUVRING MOTHER.


  BY THE AUTHOR OF
  "THE HISTORY OF A FLIRT."


  IN THREE VOLUMES.

  VOL. I.



  LONDON:
  HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,
  GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.

  1842.




  LONDON:
  F. SHOBERL, JUN., 51, RUPERT STREET, HAYMARKET,
  PRINTER TO H. R. H. PRINCE ALBERT.




THE MANŒUVRING MOTHER.




CHAPTER I.


Sir John and Lady Wetheral were blessed with four fine little girls,
who promised to be all the fond heart of a parent could wish; for,
as her ladyship observed with pride, "their forms were perfect, and
their features were faultless." There was no exuberance of shape to
rectify, there was no limb distorted, and, above all, there were no
thick ankles, or dumpy-looking hands to shock a refined taste. The
four girls were sprightly, lovely little beings, who would in due
time create an immense sensation, and ultimately form connexions with
noblemen, or with "county kings," which was even more desirable. Sir
Watkin Williams Wynn was considered "Prince of Wales," and there were
one or two gentlemen who might claim the title of King of Shropshire,
if immense property conferred that title. The Miss Wetherals were
born distinguished looking, and their career would be triumphant.
Lady Wetheral loved also an even number; _four_ daughters were not
too alarming: five or three would have been an indefinite half-vulgar
fraction. Her ladyship hated any thing vulgar.

But events are not in our own hands; and the systems we prepare and
digest with patient calculation are overturned in one luckless moment
by unforeseen circumstances. Lady Wetheral had scarcely decided in
her own mind, that five daughters were an indefinite vulgarity, when
another helpless innocent appeared to crush her hopes, and disturb her
tranquillity. This was, indeed, a blow. All fear of increasing her
family had passed from Lady Wetheral's mind so completely, that it was
an overpowering disappointment. Five years had stolen away since the
birth of Clara, and now to recommence the troubles and miseries of
nursing, with an uncertain vista before her! Suppose she had twelve?
suppose she had fifteen? suppose she had five-and-twenty? where might
all this end? How very provoking and vexatious!

Lady Wetheral felt it was vain to utter lamentations: she must lie
up, and take care of herself, and avoid the children's noise, and
do exactly as she had done before under the same affliction. It
_might_ prove an heir. If so, her ladyship would not complain: a son
would secure the entailed property, and keep up the family name and
honours. The name of Wetheral would be extinguished, unless a son
resumed the honourable title after poor Sir John was gone, and a fine
aristocratic-looking boy ranging through the castle would be a proud
sight, certainly. He might marry a duke's heiress. Yes, a magnificent
boy _would_ be welcomed.

Nothing could exceed Lady Wetheral's chagrin at giving birth in due
time to a daughter. Her anger was scarcely repressed by her command of
temper, or by the lectures of her unworldly husband. Lady Wetheral
loved her husband with the utmost propriety, too, and never acted
in decided opposition to his expressed wishes, but she turned in
disgust from his arguments, and generally contrived to manœuvre
his good nature into an unwilling approval of her plans, by unceasing
fluency, and a code of principles, which bewildered and silenced him.
Sir John Wetheral only endured the fate of many husbands, who are
linked with "remarkably chatty clever women:" he objected, demurred,
and gradually yielded to views which he disapproved, but could never
successfully combat. His first visit to his lady's chamber, after the
unwelcome little stranger's appearance upon the stage of life, was
characteristic, and displayed the principles which influenced the heart
and conduct of each parent.

"Well, Sir John, shake hands, love; but we need not congratulate each
other. I did hope a son might have repaid me for all this annoyance,
but here is another wretched girl, and the little animal looks
determined to live."

"Glad of it, Gertrude," and Sir John Wetheral stroked its little cheek
gently and fondly.

"How can you say so, my love! I have made arrangements for my four
girls, which had comfortably and completely satisfied my mind, but this
child is an excrescence, which destroys my comfort entirely."

"Include her in your arrangements, my dear."

"Nonsense, Sir John! Anna Maria will be out in five years, and I have
arranged that she shall marry Tom Pynsent."

"Tom devil!" cried Sir John Wetheral, impatiently.

Lady Wetheral possessed the enviable faculty of becoming deaf to
observations and epithets, which did not harmonize with her opinions.
She did not, therefore, hear her husband's exclamation, but proceeded
in a languid tone of voice.

"Isabel I have resolved to give in proper time to Charles Bligh, who
will be a baronet when she appears in public, for I am sure old Sir
Charles is dropsical; and, if that poor sickly Lord Ennismore lives to
come of age, he will do for Julia. Clara is a handsome girl, and I
look very high for _her_, but I never dreamed of having another plague
upon my hands. I quite made up my mind it was to be a son, and this
unlooked-for disappointment worries me to death."

"You are always calculating, Gertrude. You are always sketching out
folly, and scheming plans for future mortification. Who the deuce would
talk of Tom Pynsent, who is just sent off to school, or of Charles
Bligh, whom we have never seen, or of Lord Ennismore, who can't live
a twelvemonth, and of poor Clara, who is destined for the man in the
moon! Prove yourself a good wife and mother, my dear, and leave the
children's destinies to develop themselves as God pleases."

"You men, my love, are very indolent, and always trust to casualities:
I never do."

"How the deuce are you to catch Tom Pynsent, Gertrude? If you ladies
begin intriguing so early----."

Lady Wetheral waved her hand languidly. "Don't express yourself so
coarsely, my love."

"Your manner is refined, I confess," answered her husband, smiling,
"but your matter is equally coarse with the speech you deprecate: you
are already appropriating your children, without considering their
affections, or the characters of the boys you are designing for them so
placidly. As far as I can judge, Tom Pynsent is a blackguard."

"Never mind that, my love: boys and men are very different beings. My
arrangements are complete on the score of my four daughters' ultimate
success, but this unfortunate child is a bar sinister. Her birth will
lessen my girls' fortunes."

"She shall be my own child, and my own care," returned Sir John
Wetheral.

"By all means, love, and a pretty mess you will make of it: I dare say
she will be a 'Jack,' or a very decided young lady, as all girls are
who are petted by fathers; but my daughters will be disposed of before
she quits the nursery, therefore, her example will not influence their
characters."

"What is her name to be?" asked Sir John, as he fondled the infant in
his arms, and kissed its cheek.

"Call her what you please, Sir John; she is to be your care now, not
mine. If you think a name necessary, let it be your own choice."

"Then I name her Christobel, after my good old aunt, Gertrude."

"A delightful name, my love, and after an excellent model. Christobel
was a heavenly-minded, frightful old maid, and your fifth daughter may
resemble her in every respect."

"Let it be so. My aunt was a woman of strong affections, and of
powerful abilities, and, if this child possesses half her excellence,
she will be a treasure to me in my old age."

"I dare say she will be a great comfort to you, love," said Lady
Wetheral, in a sleepy tone, "but, suppose the nurse is summoned for
Miss Christobel--I am inclined to sleep."

The child was soon taken from Lady Wetheral's arms, and consigned to
the distant apartment which constituted the nursery. Sir John also rose
to depart, but his lady's languid voice detained him.

"Sir John!"

"Yes, dear."

"I think I shall require change of air after all this."

"Certainly; where would you like to move? Shall we go to the sea-side?"

"No, love, the sea air is too keen; but I half promised the Tyndals to
pay them a visit after my confinement."

"The infant will inconvenience them in their present house, Gertrude."

"I do not mean to take the infant, Sir John, on that account; besides,
my nights would be dreadfully disturbed; no, I shall leave Christobel
with you, love, and only take Anna Maria with me for a fortnight."

"I am not included in your 'arrangements', then?"

"My love, you know I require great quiet, and at the Tyndals every
thing is so agreeably methodical and peaceful, I shall recover my
strength quickly; then, you know, dear, the Pynsents live within a
short drive; I shall, perhaps, see a great deal of the Pynsents."

"That will be a nuisance, certainly, as you do not like Mrs. Pynsent,
but you will not be disturbed by her frequent visits, for the
disinclination is mutual."

"You are so obtuse, love. I am going to the Tyndals on purpose to
renew my acquaintance with Mrs. Pynsent, and I trust we shall be very
intimate."

"What, with the woman you denounce as vulgar, and contradictory?"

"I have argued these things with you, Sir John, till my patience is
nearly exhausted, and you are still benighted on a subject so closely
interwoven with my happiness. I tell you I am going on purpose to
effect a scheme, and I take Anna Maria with me, to prepossess Mrs.
Pynsent in her favour."

"And what the deuce, Gertrude, makes you wish to prepossess a woman so
disagreeable as you describe Mrs. Pynsent to be? Why can't you keep
away?"

"My love, I tell you Anna Maria is destined for Tom."

"And what has Tom to do with his mother? He is at Eton. You had better
take lodgings near Eton, if you want to catch Tom."

"I can argue with you no more, Sir John. Your ideas are so very
limited, it is impossible to graft a plan upon them. It is well your
daughters have a mother who is anxious to establish them in life, since
their father would effect nothing. If I was on my death-bed, my last
hours would be horrified by visions of my daughters' pairing off with
curates or lieutenants."

"And pray, where do you look for future bishops and Wellingtons, but
among curates and lieutenants?" cried Sir John, warmly.

"Indeed, Sir John, you make me sick with your levelling principles,"
retorted Lady Wetheral, rising in her bed; "my health is far from
strong; you have given me a severe headache, and I do request you
will never again breathe the word 'curate;' it puts such wretched
thoughts into my mind. Fancy Anna Maria shuffling after a fat country
curate, smelling of onions, and bawling at a row of charity-children!
or, Julia married to your friend Leslie, handing her basket upon a
baggage-waggon! Pray, my love, send Thompson to me with some tea, and
never let this disagreeable subject be renewed between us. I think I am
very poorly."

Sir John was long habituated to resign his opinions when they affected
his lady's health; and, on this occasion, he renounced them with his
usual good humour.

"Well, Gertrude, get rid of your aches and pains, and you shall become
intimate with Mrs. Pynsent, and catch her son Tom, if it will give you
pleasure. I don't like to see you nervous and ill."

"And my love," continued her ladyship, who saw the happy moment was
attained for enforcing her wishes, "do not use that very coarse
expression 'catch.' You always tell me I am resolved to 'catch' Tom
Pynsent. I do not like the word."

"But you say, Gertrude, you mean to give him to Anna Maria; surely you
must catch him first."

"We ought never to express ourselves coarsely, my love. I certainly
do mean to make Tom my son-in-law, but I have no intention of seizing
his person. I did not think _you_ were roughly handled but my mother
decided upon your becoming my husband long before you addressed me."

"She did, did she?"

"To be sure, and you fell into the snare as agreeably as Pynsent will
walk into mine. My mother always said that men were puppets if we
concealed the wires, and I believe she was right."

Sir John hummed an opera air, and withdrew. Lady Wetheral sunk into
pleasing meditations, and was roused by Thompson appearing with a
salver, bearing its delicate porcelain. Thompson was instantly under
orders.

"I will not drink my tea strong, Thompson, that will do. How are Miss
Anna Maria's hands? Do you use the almond-paste every evening?"

"Oh yes, my lady, and she wears her thick veil doubled over her face
when she takes the air."

"Very well. I am going to Court Herbert, as soon as I can quit the
house with propriety, and I mean to take my eldest daughter with me;
therefore, Thompson, I wish her to look well, and during this cold
weather I wish her to remain altogether in the nursery; the wind will
give her that blue look which I cannot endure. Then I wish her not to
cry much, which always destroys the complexion; so do not let her fight
about with her sisters, but amuse her in your room."

"Yes, my lady."

"Let her lie down two or three hours every day, Thompson, for it
makes a girl grow straight, and let her dine upon chicken only. Don't
vulgarise her with nasty brown meats."

"Yes, my lady."

"And see, Thompson, that Miss Anna Maria keeps on her gloves, and don't
allow her to jump and play about. I particularly wish her to look
delicate and ladylike at Court Herbert."

"Oh yes, my lady; and then Hatton is so near, perhaps she will see
Master Pynsent."

"All in good time, Thompson. I thought I had something more to say--oh,
don't let her drink large draughts of any thing, it swells the stomach;
and keep her in your room altogether, for she may learn odd words from
the nursery-maids, and that would distract me."

"I will remove her from the nursery immediately, my lady," replied the
obedient Thompson.

"There now, take every thing away, and keep the door shut, that I may
not hear the baby scream. I suppose the nurse is healthy, and all that,
Thompson?"

"I believe so, my lady."

"Very well, I think I am going to sleep now, so do not come near me
till I ring."

Thompson departed with stealthy steps, and closed the scarlet baized
doors which separated the nursery apartments from the wing which
contained her lady's boudoir and sleeping chamber; but no precautions
could deaden the piercing screams which issued from the unfortunate
Anna Maria during the operation of transplanting her little person from
the pleasures of companionship to the desolate advantages of Thompson's
sitting-room.

Rage crimsoned every feature, and swelled her little heart almost
to bursting. In vain Thompson assured the angry girl how necessary
the translation would prove towards her future establishment--how
impossible it was for a young lady to succeed in after life if her
hands were purple, and her nose red, with giving way to excessive
emotion. Anna Maria became more intractable, and her three sisters
advocated her cause. There was an "emeute" in the nurseries of Wetheral
Castle. Anna Maria screamed violently, and the shrill sound was caught
up and perpetuated by her party. Thompson was at fault, but she tried
to gain time by the protocol system.

"Listen, my dear Miss Anna Maria, while I explain to you the system
your mamma wishes you to pursue."

"I won't listen!" screamed Anna Maria.

"We won't listen!" shouted her supporters.

"Then you will never marry Master Pynsent," cried Thompson, with
incautious indignation.

This threat raised the defiance of the whole group, and the tumult
became deafening. A bell rang violently.

"There, young ladies!" exclaimed Thompson, "now you will get into a
fine scrape!"

Lady Wetheral was scandalized at the rude sounds which had penetrated
into her chamber, and Thompson's statement utterly confounded her.

"I am sure, Thompson, I do not know how to make arrangements for
such conduct. I suppose they must have their own way, which is very
disagreeable, but you know I cannot produce Miss Anna Maria at Court
Herbert, with swelled features and a sulky face. Let her do as she
likes then, Thompson; we can't help ourselves."

Thus ended the insurrection in Wetheral Castle, which even the infant
appeared to enjoy, as it crowed, and nearly kicked itself out of her
nurse's arms, when the tumult was loudest. She then predicted it would
delight in stirring sounds, and become a fearless character.

This _emeute_ produced serious results, which Lady Wetheral had
not anticipated, but which ever succeeds to power wielded by weak
and unsteady hands. Miss Anna Maria became gradually dictator,
and maintained her opinions and determinations with such unshaken
obstinacy, that her mother as gradually resigned her will, and
submitted to the imperious dictates of her eldest daughter. Her mind
was exclusively bent upon securing Tom Pynsent; and, in the anxious
hope of forwarding her plans, she suffered her power to depart into
other hands, and beheld her own children forming a strong party in
opposition to all her expressed opinions. She lamented her weakness
when too late, to Thompson.

"The young ladies, Thompson, put me quite on the shelf, and oppose me
in every thing. They will never marry properly. Anna Maria's hands are
not so white as they were when I could insist upon her wearing gloves;
and Julia's feet are getting extremely broad. She will insist upon
walking in easy shoes. All my arrangements are useless; and it makes me
miserable to find Sir John as lax as ever in his notions. What a thing
he will make of that ugly little Christobel!"

"Every one thinks, my lady, little Miss Chrissy will turn out a very
fine child," said poor Thompson, who detested the new dynasty.

"Nonsense, Thompson, don't tell me any thing called Christobel can be
decent-looking; and, as I do not attend to her, I am sure her hands
and feet will be unproducible, but I never trouble myself about it,
for she is Sir John's pet; and men's pets are always masculine, coarse
women. Perhaps, when Anna Maria is Mrs. Pynsent, she will introduce her
sister to somebody who may not object to a coarse kind of wife; but,
I confess, I have no hopes for a young woman called Christobel, and
named, too, after a frightful spinster."

This latter conversation took place on the eve of Anna Maria's
introduction, five years subsequent to the rebellion which decided the
downfall of Lady Wetheral's power, and transferred the sceptre into the
hands of her children. The daily occurrences of the nursery are marked
by sameness; there is little to vary its routine. Let us turn now to
the period when the lives of the sisters began to take their colouring
from the sentiments of their parents, and to suffer the trials and
sorrows incidental to existence.




CHAPTER II.


The introduction of Miss Wetheral produced an immense sensation in
Wetheral Castle. Nothing could exceed Lady Wetheral's delight in the
confusion of selecting becoming articles of dress. How great was her
pride of heart, her smile of triumph, as she gazed upon Anna Maria in
her gay apparel, preparing for her first _entrée_ into public! Yet, the
occasion was melancholy, and ill-suited to be the chosen hour to launch
youth and beauty upon the ocean of life.

It was at an assize-ball, at Shrewsbury, then the metropolis of the
north midland counties, where Miss Wetheral burst upon the astonished
sight. When the wretched felon, under sentence of death, lay
languishing in his cell, awaiting the approaching hour of execution;
while the clergyman was speaking hope to the soul, and leading the
despairing heart to rest for forgiveness on the mercy and sufferings
of its Redeemer; then did the irons which bound his trembling hands
vibrate to the roar of carriages which rolled rapidly and furiously to
the scene of festivity. Then did the neighbouring country pour forth
her highest and loveliest; and the moans of repentant sinners, on
the verge of ascending the scaffold, were forgotten in the brilliant
throng, and lost in the lively repartee, or well-turned compliment.

The assize-ball was then the arena for debutants; the one green spot
which decorated the dullness of a long twelvemonth; the hope, the
anxiety of hundreds. That ill-judged hour for gaiety is now consigned
to silence. The march of intellect has trodden down _that_ unholy
practice, and given an outward semblance, at least, of better feelings.
It is assuredly better taste.

It was a proud moment when Anna Maria visited the nursery, to display
her first ball dress, and receive expressions of wonder and delight
at her appearance. The sisters broke from their romps to examine the
ornaments which glittered on her neck; and a row of maid-servants, who
were introduced into the nursery to see Miss Wetheral, curtseyed in
profound admiration. She was indeed a creature to be gazed at. Isabel
received an incurable wound upon her peace from the interview, and
never more returned to her once happy games of puss in the corner.
Anna Maria was but one year her senior, yet she was dressed in muslin
and satin, wore a diamond necklace, and had been to the assize-ball.
Why could not she also partake in such delights? Why was she to play
with her sisters in the nursery, while Anna Maria was dancing at
assize-balls?

Lady Wetheral tried to argue Isabel into docility, but her mind could
not perceive the sense of her parent's reasoning. "My dear child, your
sister will soon marry, and then you will appear in her place. You know
nothing is so inconvenient as having two daughters out at the same
time. While gentlemen are disputing which is the best looking, the
young ladies lose their novelty, and cannot expect to marry well."

"But, mamma, I don't want to marry; I want to dance, and look as
handsomely-dressed as Anna Maria did at the assize-ball."

"Nonsense, Isabel! you are as pertinacious as your father, and just
as blind. Wait till your sister is married, and she will introduce
you. Perhaps next year may produce wonders; your sister is exceedingly
admired."

"So she _may_ be, while I am out. I shall not interfere with her, you
know, for I shall be dancing all the time."

"I cannot argue with such a limited intellect as you appear to possess,
Isabel. I have made my arrangements, and cannot break through them.
You will appear when your sister is Mrs. Pynsent. Tom Pynsent was very
attentive to Anna Maria at the ball."

"Then I'll beg Tom Pynsent to make haste, I declare!" exclaimed Isabel.

"Do not be vulgar and unladylike, Isabel, and promise me you will make
no coarse allusions to Tom Pynsent. I should be extremely shocked
at such a line of conduct. I do not absolutely say Anna Maria _will_
secure Tom, but I trust and hope such an event is in fruition; and if
so, you shall immediately be brought forward. Two girls out at once is
folly."

Isabel was nothing daunted by her mother's objection; and she returned
openly and constantly to the attack, which soon exhausted the few
efficient reasons urged by her antagonist. An incident at once decided
the propriety of stopping the mouth of an alarming witness, and put
an end to further discussion. Isabel was allowed to descend into the
drawing-room, after Anna Maria's début, as Lady Wetheral observed
it would prove a judicious step towards giving her manner its first
polish; and the transition from the nursery to the trials of society
would be less felt by a gradual initiation into its forms.

Isabel was not to converse, or offer an opinion, upon any subject;
she was not in any wise to infringe upon her sister's prerogative, or
draw attention towards herself; but she was to observe silently the
proprieties of life--to learn by close attention the observances, the
graceful bend of reception, the easy flow of local conversation, and
the thousand agreeable nothings comprised in receiving company. Upon
all this was Isabel to meditate; but no silly compliment offered by a
young man was to be understood or replied to by herself; no gracious
invitation was to be accepted, no remark whatsoever was to induce her
to put herself forward. Upon these hard terms, Isabel was received in
her mother's apartments; and she endured the sight of her "senior by
only one year," receiving the crowds which frequented Wetheral Castle,
dressed with elegance, admired, courted, and surrounded with flattery
in all its proteus forms.

Isabel long suffered the keen feelings of envy to war in her heart;
not envy towards Anna Maria, whom she equally admired and loved--but
envy of that state which she longed ardently to partake. In one hapless
hour, Isabel forgot her vow of silence, and spoke, as most backward
young ladies _will_ speak, when pressed beyond endurance, most rashly
and unadvisedly. Lady Spottiswoode and her daughter had been long
dilating on the forthcoming races, and the full ordinary and ball which
every one anticipated, when Miss Spottiswoode, turning to Isabel, asked
when they should have the pleasure of including her among the gay
young ladies. Isabel, thrown off her guard by the question, instantly
replied, colouring with her earnest feelings--

"Oh! Miss Spottiswoode, I hope I shall soon be out; but it depends
upon Anna Maria's marrying Tom Pynsent." Lady Wetheral for one instant
completely lost her self-possession. Sir John laughed aloud. The
Spottiswoodes were too delicate to take notice of the remark. They rose
and examined some portfolios of prints which lay upon the table, and
endeavoured to change the current of thought, by again dwelling upon
the ordinary and race-ball; but the shock was too severely felt to be
easily overcome. There was a painful silence, and the Spottiswoodes
kindly took their leave.

"There!" said Lady Wetheral, applying the vinaigrette to her nose,
"Lady Spottiswoode is gone to report my arrangements to the world,
and Isabel's stupid folly has occasioned it. Did I not insist upon her
silence?"

"You should have taught your girls discretion, Gertrude," replied
Sir John, "by being discreet yourself. Why did you commit your
arrangements, as you call them, to the keeping of a child who is
suffering under them? You should teach them to practise the art of
speaking, before you thrust your children headlong from the nursery
into company. You are rightly served: this will prevent all future
mistakes."

"You may say what you please, Sir John; I cannot exhaust myself by
arguing with such very limited ideas. I am very ill, and extremely
shocked at Isabel's conduct: pray let her attend the race-ball, or do
what she likes: I am unequal to combat determined obstinacy."

"May I go to the race-ball, then? Shall I go out with Anna Maria,
and see her admired, and dance myself for hours together?" exclaimed
Isabel, throwing herself on her knees in a transport.

"Go just where you like," replied her mother, languidly; "you will be
stupid and vulgar whenever you emerge, therefore time or place is a
matter of little moment. Take your own way, for my authority is quite
set aside."

Up rose Isabel, attentive only to the words which pronounced her
release, and, bounding round the room, careless of remark, she rushed
upstairs to make known her triumph.

"Thompson, Thompson! I am going to the race-ball in July. I am to go
out with Anna Maria, and dance like mad! here goes!"

And Isabel began dancing round the nursery in the wildest spirits,
imitating, to the best of her ability, Anna Maria's elegant manner and
step.

Thus was Lady Wetheral a second time defeated in the nearest wish
of her heart; but her resentment only extended to keeping her bed
for two days, during which she complained to Thompson of illness and
excessively shocked feelings. On the third day, she was eagerly and
agreeably employed in selecting a proper wardrobe for Isabel.

There could not be a more striking contrast than that which was
displayed in the person and manners of the two elder sisters, and
their effect upon society was equally distinct. Anna Maria concealed
an irritable temper under an exterior peculiarly elegant, and manners
strikingly gentle and fascinating: her popularity, therefore, was
great, and her steps attended by admirers of both sex, who were
drawn towards her by the force of extreme sweetness of manner. All
men toasted the lovely Miss Wetheral, and all women confessed she
was agreeable as she was charming, yet Anna Maria passed on her way
without receiving offers from one sex, or forming a friendship with an
individual of the other.

Isabel's artless high spirits and warm heart was, on the other hand,
misunderstood, and few did her justice in public. She danced too much,
and laughed too loud, and gentlemen sought her often as an agreeable
relief from the refined insipidity of her companions, which told
against her in society. Lady Wetheral cautioned her in vain.

"I wish, Isabel, you would not jump so high, and look so pleased with
your partners; it is quite inelegant, and will make you disliked. No
other young lady looks pleased, and the gentlemen get grinning and
talking round you, to the exclusion of your sister and many others.
Pray refrain."

"It is my nature to be happy," replied Isabel, laughing, "and my
friends may out-talk me if they like. I only desire to chat and enjoy
myself in peace."

"For shame, Isabel! you are not aware how you create enemies by such
conduct. I was ashamed to see you racing down the middle and up again,
with Tom Pynsent, at Lady Spottiswoode's carpet-dance. A young lady
should never engross a gentleman's attention so conspicuously."

"Tom Pynsent amused me extremely, mamma: he was telling college
stories, and off we capered without caring who remarked us."

"You are remarkably vulgar and underbred, my dear," resumed her mother,
"and I have no hopes of your establishment. I am very much surprised
at Anna Maria's beauty failing to elicit an offer; perhaps Julia may
do better when she appears, but my hopes chiefly rest upon Clara. Her
style of beauty is very magnificent."

Isabel's happy disposition received these shocks with inimitable good
humour. She listened to daily remarks upon her want of elegance,
and believed in her total exemption from the gifts which Nature had
lavished upon her elder sister; but her mind scorned the idea of
mourning over a useless grief. She cared not for extraneous advantages
which could not reach the mind: she never entered a ball-room without
a profusion of dancing engagements; and if she was liked and followed,
even in the presence of her handsome sister, what did she care for mere
beauty?

Lady Wetheral at last yielded the point, and allowed Isabel to choose
her own mode of pleasing. Her taste turned with horror from her
"unfortunate Isabel," but she ceased to look at, or remark upon, her
_brusquerie_. She told Thompson, "some men took odd fancies to healthy,
fat-looking, smiling girls, and probably Isabel might please some old
rich widower or stupid retired bachelor, and marry at last: she would
be a foil to her sisters, at any rate."

Lady Wetheral was right: an odd, "retired bachelor" did admire Isabel
precisely for her healthy, good-humoured looks; and, in process of
time, he advanced, slowly and cautiously, to the attack; but his manner
concealed the matter long to all eyes but those of her father. Lady
Wetheral was blind to the very _dénouement_.

"I can't imagine why that tiresome old Boscawen comes here every other
morning, Sir John, sitting for hours and saying nothing: pray don't ask
him to stay dinner again--he makes me ill."

"He is a great friend of mine, Gertrude: I like Boscawen."

"I know you like unaccountable people, love; but he worries _me_ to
death, and he will sit at dinner between Anna Maria and Isabel. I don't
consider Isabel, but he keeps Tom Pynsent away from Anna Maria, and
never enters into any sort of conversation."

"He thinks more than he says, my dear."

"I hate people who think: thinking makes every thing worse: luckily, I
have quite given up thinking about Isabel, or her loud laugh would kill
me."

"Boscawen does not object to Isabel's joyous laugh, Gertrude; he hopes
to hear it in perpetuity."

"I wish he would take her to himself, then," replied his lady, gently
yawning, and taking up a novel.

"Boscawen has proposed for Isabel," said Sir John, seriously.

"How can you talk such nonsense, Sir John! if the old man proposes to
any body, it will certainly be to Anna Maria. I saw he admired her
exceedingly--so does every body: she is very captivating."

"Boscawen has proposed for Isabel, however," he returned; "and though
he is too advanced in years for a young girl's speculation, yet, if
she could fancy him, I think she might be happy. I wish you to speak
to your daughter upon the subject, Gertrude. If she has the slightest
disinclination to Boscawen, do not mention him a second time: I will
not allow her to be talked into matrimony."

"Then, talk to her yourself, Sir John. I am quite overpowered by the
surprise. I was so certain Boscawen admired Anna Maria; but since he
has the bad taste to prefer Isabel, she ought not to demur an instant.
Boscawen is very rich, and I dare say he will act very handsomely as to
settlements. When old men marry young wives, they ought to pay for the
distinction. Isabel will be very foolish if she declines him."

Anna Maria at this moment appeared at the door, and Lady Wetheral's
ideas excursed at the sight of her beautiful daughter, still so
admired, yet unsought.

"Well, my dear, I am glad you are come at this moment; here is Mr.
Boscawen proposing for Isabel, and no one asks for you: I can't
understand it. Perhaps, my love, if _you_ chatted a _little_ more--but
you must 'take' in time. Old Boscawen is no great things, only he is so
rich; there is no saying when Isabel may be a gay widow."

"Does my sister accept Mr. Boscawen?" asked Anna Maria, in dulcet
tones, without replying to her mother's hints.

"She will do so, if she has common sense; but we have sent for her.
Your father is to talk to her."

Isabel obeyed the summons, which prayed for her appearance in Lady
Wetheral's _boudoir_. She entered laughing.

"I am sure I know the reason of your summons, papa. Mr. Boscawen has
written to you."

"And you will not be so mad as to refuse such an excellent
establishment," cried her mother, earnestly.

"Stay, Gertrude; I will not allow Isabel to be influenced."

"He can make any settlement you please, Isabel," continued her mother.

"Gertrude----"

"He is old and ugly, Isabel"--Lady Wetheral rose unconsciously from the
sofa in her energy, perfectly deaf to her husband's call to order--"he
is old and ugly; but no girl in her senses would refuse such an
establishment. You cannot stake a handsome face against a fortune,
which will purchase all a woman prizes most. You will be respectable
and enviable, for you will command every thing that is covetable in
this world!"

Sir John was distressed and indignant at the sentiment conveyed in
his lady's discourse; but he knew it was vain to contend with a mind
anchored upon the world. He turned to Isabel.

"I wish to know, my love, if Mr. Boscawen's offer is disagreeable to
you. If you reject his suit, _I_ will take care he shall not offend
again."

Lady Wetheral fixed her eyes with intense anxiety upon Isabel, who
promptly replied the offer had been made with her knowledge and
concurrence.

"My dear Isabel, I thought you would not overlook such advantages,"
cried her ladyship, embracing her daughter with unfeigned delight.

"Isabel," said her father, "you wish to marry Mr. Boscawen?"

"Indeed, papa, I do."

"You wish to quit your home, my love, and live altogether with Mr.
Boscawen?"

"Yes, indeed, I do, papa."

"Are you aware, Isabel, that in marrying Mr. Boscawen you must become
steady and obedient, and submit to his wishes and views?"

"Perfectly, papa."

"Are you aware, my love, that when you have become a wife, you must
quit home for ever, and remain with Mr. Boscawen at Brierly, to nurse
him in sickness, and console him in sorrow?"

"Oh, yes, papa, I know all that perfectly; and I shall like very much
to nurse Mr. Boscawen, he is so good-tempered."

"Yet, listen to me, Isabel, I have much to say," and her father's
countenance and manner became impressively serious. "You are too young
to understand the solemn vows you must make at the altar. I know
Boscawen is a good man, or I should not have listened to his offer when
he proposed for a girl young enough to be his daughter. You must have
given him great encouragement, Isabel."

"Oh yes, papa, I _did_. I told him I would be sure to be his wife, if
you had no objection, and I hope you do not mean to prevent it."

Lady Wetheral became indignant at her husband's serious view of
matrimony, and she had recourse to her vinaigrette, as usual, upon
exciting subjects.

"I cannot imagine, Sir John, why you should endeavour to make doubts
for Isabel, when such an offer may never occur again--certainly not to
Isabel, who has so little appearance. It quite provokes me to hear you
raising difficulties about a nonsensical affair of marriage. Isabel
will marry like other girls, and get on like other people."

"I do not wish my daughter to marry like other girls, Gertrude. I wish
Isabel to be happy and respected."

"And who will deny her being very happy, Sir John, when she has every
luxury her mind can invent; and who denies a woman's respectability
when she is rich and well connected? Nonsense, my dear."

"We never agree in sentiment, Gertrude," said her husband, gravely.

"How can I see things, love, in the strange light you represent them?
My mother never read _me_ such lectures as you preach to Isabel, and
I was scarcely her age when I married. I was congratulated on my good
fortune, and you know we both drove immediately to Hamlet's. Pray let
Isabel enjoy herself."

"Oh pray, papa, let me have Mr. Boscawen," cried Isabel, clasping her
hands as the tears burst from her dark, blue eyes. "Do not say I am
not to have Mr. Boscawen! and he has ordered me a tilbury cloak upon
the certainty of my accepting him; it is to have a leopard's claw as a
fastening round my throat! Oh papa, papa!"

"I have not uttered a word about refusing Mr. Boscawen, my love."

"Oh, thank you, papa, thank you!" and Isabel flew to embrace her
father. "My own good papa, not to make me miserable!"

"You would be unhappy, then, if I declined Mr. Boscawen, Isabel?"

"Oh, papa, wretched!--the cloak too of no use, and I had so set my
heart upon the leopard's claw!"

"A small 'forget-me-not' would have been in better taste, Isabel,"
observed her mother.

"No, I particularly admire the leopard's claw, because Mr. Boscawen
liked it. And then, papa, we are to drive in his tilbury, and I am
to have a fur cap with a tassel, and choose it myself--I shall be so
happy!"

There was nothing more to be said. Isabel looked upon every thing
connected with Mr. Boscawen _en couleur de rose_, and her imagination
pictured Brierly as a home of enchantment. She believed her days were
to glide away among rural sports and in juvenile assemblies--the summer
would be dedicated to haymaking and gathering roses--the winter would
be a continuity of music and dancing. If her father's remarks chased
the smile from her lips, as he alluded to scenes of duty and the cares
of a family, they were speedily recalled by Lady Wetheral's enumeration
of the comforts which must attach to her situation.

"My dear Isabel, your father alarms you; but, trust me, there is
nothing alarming in matrimony. You will have a large settlement, and a
handsome allowance, therefore every thing will go smoothly. If you have
a family, it won't much inconvenience you. Shut out the nurseries with
baize doors, and you will be free from noise. I managed very well, for
sometimes I did not see or hear you children for weeks."

Mr. Boscawen was admitted as an accepted lover, and Isabel did not
regret her acceptance of a man who listened with admiration and
interest to her remarks, and who never turned from her _brusquerie_
with the disgust her mother could not conceal towards her. Mr. Boscawen
at five and forty looked with delight upon Isabel, whose extreme youth
and beauty threw a halo around her uneducated mind. Her rich and joyous
laugh pleased the taciturn nature of his mind; he was charmed by her
innocence, and untired by her ceaseless prattle; therefore was Mr.
Boscawen her constant and loved companion, whom her eye sought in all
companies and at all moments, and to whom her inmost thoughts were
communicated. She loved to hang upon his arm, and take long walks with
her darling Boscawen; she delighted to drive his tilbury, and exhibit
the cloak of long promise--to chat freely, and, as she expressed it in
confidence to Julia, to rattle away about nothing, and be just as much
admired, as though she spoke sense, like Anna Maria.

Isabel's wedding-day was to herself a day of extravagant enjoyment
and agreeable confusion. She was going to a home of her own--to be
called in future "Mrs. Boscawen," and to receive the compliments
of the bridal-party. There was a large company to breakfast, and
the Spottiswoodes were of the chosen number who had the pleasure of
congratulating Isabel upon her magnificent prospects. Isabel thanked
Miss Spottiswoode for her friendly wishes.

"Now, I am married, dear Sophy, I wish you were all going to do the
same thing. I should so have liked four or five weddings at once! but
you will all come and see me, and we will have such merriment; won't
we, Mr. Boscawen?"

Mr. Boscawen bowed smilingly to Isabel's appeal, and she proceeded--

"I will drive you all in the tilbury, when you come to Brierly; it
holds only Mr. Boscawen and myself now, but I dare say we can squeeze
four. Mr. Boscawen is very stout, and his coat covers an acre of
ground; doesn't it, Mr. Boscawen?"

Lady Wetheral became visibly uneasy at Isabel's loquacity, and
endeavoured to change the subject; but Mrs. Boscawen was too happy
and too unsuspecting to observe a hint, or detect a look; her heart
was full of hope, and revelling in novel situations. She talked on,
inviting every body to Brierly, and appealing to Mr. Boscawen if he
would not be delighted to have his house as full as it could hold. The
bridal carriage drawing to the door relieved Lady Wetheral's distress.

At the parting moment, Isabel preserved her serenity, while her
sisters wept over the kind-hearted companion they were now to
lose. Isabel's gentleness of temper, her buoyant spirits, and warm
affections, endeared her to all her family-circle, and they doubly
valued her excellence when her society was on the eve of being
withdrawn for ever. Isabel smiled as radiantly as usual under the
repeated embraces of her weeping sisters, and cheered their grief.

"My dear girls, you see I am married, and, as mamma says, I can do what
I like, I mean to have each of you with me in turn, so pray do not
cry. Julia, you will come first, and we will have such fun, haymaking!
shan't we, Mr. Boscawen? And Clara, when _you_ come to me, we will
gallop over the country on ponies; won't we, Mr. Boscawen?"

Mr. Boscawen kissed Isabel's hand without reply, and her father led her
to her carriage. The new equipage struck her eye.

"Oh, mamma! how you will delight in my carriage! It's quite my own; is
it not, Mr. Boscawen? When you come to Brierly, we will drive about
all day. You know you said it would be the best part of the show."

Mr. Boscawen had never approved Lady Wetheral's sentiments, and
rarely entered into conversation with her. Isabel's observation had
its effect; he bowed very coolly to her ladyship, and ordered the
postillions to drive on. The carriage was soon lost in the distance.
Lady Wetheral was disconcerted at Isabel's unfortunate speech, and she
remarked upon it in passing from the colonnade into the breakfast-room.

"Isabel has married much better than I anticipated; but nothing will
heal her dreadful propensity to make remarks in the wrong place, and
repeat observations improperly. This unladylike want of caution will
ruin her reputation as a woman of fashion, but she is no longer 'Miss
Wetheral.' Isabel is now Mrs Boscawen."




CHAPTER III.


Julia was now advanced in consequence of Mrs. Boscawen's marriage, and
she stepped from Thompson's room into society, as Minerva sprung from
the brain of Jupiter, fully armed and equipped for her vocation. Lady
Wetheral was greatly pleased with the _air de société_ which Julia
displayed in her intercourse with the new world, her playful badinage
with gentlemen, and her intuitive knowledge of the "proprieties." Her
mother hailed her as a star of promise.

"My dear Sir John, Julia puts me very much in mind of myself, at her
age: do you observe the nicety with which she glides through her
ceremonies? She is much more brilliant than Anna Maria, and never
incautious, like poor Isabel. I shall look very high for Julia."

"Who is to be the doomed man, Gertrude?" asked Sir John, quietly.

"I know you laugh at me, but I don't consider you a proper judge of
daughters' educations. You would let them marry any thing, if a stupid
curate or poor lieutenant could persuade you they had good hearts!"

"My daughters' hopes of happiness must depend upon their companion
having a heart and principles."

"A fiddlestick, Sir John! Does a good heart buy a carriage and four, or
can principle purchase comforts? What would Boscawen's heart be without
his income? but you have such an odd way of talking. I don't say that a
good heart is not very well in its way, but I do insist upon it, money
is the first object."

"Such sentiments, Gertrude, are very unfit from a parent's lips. I
trust your daughters may marry early in life, to be withdrawn from your
influence."

Lady Wetheral burst into tears.

"This is always your cruel way, Sir John, when I am speaking
confidentially to you about my children's prospects. I am sure they
hear from me the very best sentiments: I have always entreated them to
do nothing improper--I have always told them to avoid publicity, and
never lose their place in society. If any of my daughters went wrong, I
would never see them again."

"What do you mean by 'going wrong,' Gertrude?"

"Why I mean losing their reputation by a conspicuous flirtation with
a married man, or running away from the man they marry, or doing any
thing which loses a woman her high position in public opinion:--any
dereliction of that kind I never--_never_ would pardon, and my girls
know it. You always do me injustice, Sir John."

Sir John could not behold his lady's tears unmoved; it was his weak
point, and his lady was aware of her power. In this instance she
triumphed over his weakness, and won an easy victory, for she silenced
the grave rebukes which affected her self-love. A kiss of affection on
his part dissipated every woeful feeling on the face of her ladyship:
its very remembrance was past away.

"Well now, my love, since you are sorry you offended me, I have a great
deal to say. I want you particularly to ask Lord Ennismore to Wetheral.
Don't look grave, my dear Sir John; the poor fellow is dragging on an
odd kind of existence, but still he lives. Just ask him to spend his
Christmas with us, and of course his mother must be included in the
invitation. I do not coerce young gentlemen, therefore you cannot have
fears for their safety. Ask that poor unhealthy creature, at any rate;
his lordship has the option of declining an invitation which does not
give him satisfaction."

Sir John submitted to the "arrangement," and, most unexpectedly to
himself, Lord Ennismore accepted the invitation. Lady Wetheral could
not conceal her raptures; Julia also was pleased, and after a long
_tête-à-tête_ with her mother, she reported the conference to Anna
Maria.

"I have had a long lecture from mamma, but that is nothing new. She
has been anxiously beseeching me to captivate poor measly Ennismore,
which I had long decided to do before papa issued his invitation, only
I amused myself with assuring her I could not endure such a wretched
sickly creature. Poor mamma had recourse to all her essence bottles,
perfectly fatigued with setting forth his lordship's titles and
rent-roll. She says all her hopes are anchored upon myself, as she is
sure you will never marry now."

"Does she?" replied Anna Maria, softly and tranquilly.

"Yes, she told me you had passed two years without an offer, and
therefore you must be considered _passé_, as Tom Pynsent did not come
forward."

A deep blush overspread the cold pale cheek of Anna Maria, but she made
no reply.

"Mamma told me if Lord Ennismore did not attach himself to me, I
could but try Tom Pynsent, as she very much wished one of us to be
established at Hatton; but though I may flirt with Tom Pynsent, I would
not marry such a hunting, loud-voiced man."

Anna Maria remained silent; Julia proceeded.

"You will not make a reply, and how can I go on talking without an
audience? Mamma takes great pains to plan our attacks, but she deserts
us in our hour of need. I am sure she held up Tom Pynsent to you as the
one thing needful, and because you did not take to each other, she is
quite certain you will remain single."

Anna Maria's lips were compressed, and no sound issued from their
portals. Julia looked earnestly in her face, and beheld tears flowing:
she threw her arms round her sister's graceful neck and embraced her.

"My dear Anna Maria, tell me why you weep, and why you take mamma's
nonsense to heart? Every body loves you, dear Anna, and you will marry
in time, though Isabel did go before you."

Anna Maria's heart was too full to give utterance in words, but a
violent fit of weeping relieved her, and Julia's embraces won her
confidence. She unburthened her sorrow to this affectionate sister.

"I do not regret Isabel's marriage, Julia, or my own singlehood, so
lamented by my mother:--it is not that I deplore; but I was taught
to--I was assured--" another long fit of weeping succeeded, and again
Julia soothed the choking violence of her sister's grief. An interval
of calm allowed poor Anna Maria to proceed.

"If I had not been taught to consider Tom Pynsent as an assured
lover--if my mother had not persevered in holding him up to my view as
a model of perfection, and woven his idea into my very nature, I should
not have loved so fondly the man you despise, Julia."

Julia gazed at her sister in mute astonishment, as she grew energetic
in her subject.

"If I had foolishly sought his society, I might have merited the pain
I have endured; but, Julia, my mother raved about him:--his affections
were considered the only proper aim of female ambition--he was courted
by her, and he was always near me. My mother sought his fortune, but I
attached myself to his person, and I am cast aside by both. Pynsent,
I know, believes me ambitious and sordid, and my mother considers me
no longer a safe speculation. I have been the victim of her heedless
calculations!"

"My dear, dear sister!" exclaimed Julia, bursting into tears.

"Who can repay me for all my useless suffering?" continued Anna Maria,
in still more energetic tones, her eyes flashing fire. "Who will
return me the peace of mind I have lost--the tranquillity of my early
days--the first happy hours of my gaiety? Who had a right to betray my
heart, and trample upon my hopes, when I was too young and ignorant of
harm to discover the snare? What has my mother done for me? I was her
eldest born, her hope, and companion, and what has she done for me but
cast me into misery, and made my life a burthen!"

"Oh, my poor dear sister!" cried Julia, in deep distress; "and under
your quiet manner, you really loved Tom Pynsent?"

"I loved him truly and for ever," replied Anna Maria, the fire of her
dark eyes sinking into humidity, as the current of her thoughts dwelt
alone upon the man she adored. "I can see no faults in the creature
you deprecate--he may be the character you describe, but to me he is
sacred: I love him, and though he shall never know it, I will die for
him."

"Never more will I flirt with Tom Pynsent, oh, never, never!" exclaimed
Julia, throwing her arms again round Anna Maria's waist. "If I had
known you cared for him, I would not have chatted as I did last night
with Tom. Oh, Anna, how you must have suffered, yet how calm you
appeared!"

"I care not who engrosses his attention," replied her sister, as the
colour rose and subsided in her cheeks. "I care not who loves him, or
is loved by him: I am jealous of no one: I love in hopelessness and
misery, and he shall never know my agony. Take care, Julia, how you
trifle with Lord Ennismore; these hateful flirtations destroy each
other's repose; how selfish, how cruel!" Anna Maria shuddered as she
spoke.

"I will not try to attach Lord Ennismore," cried Julia, in earnest
accents: "your distress has cured me of all intentions; but speak to
papa, Anna Maria, and he will keep Tom Pynsent from the house. You know
how kind he always is."

"Not for worlds!" cried Anna Maria, starting up, "not for worlds,
Julia! let no one know I am wretched--let no one pity me, or dare to
comfort me but yourself--promise, promise me, on your honour."

She took Julia's clasped hands in her own, and, with an impetuosity
belonging to her irritable nature, she exacted a solemn vow of silence.
Julia gave her assurances with regret, but the vow passed her lips, and
from her the secret never transpired. She was the soul of honour in
those matters.

After this confidential disclosure on the part of her eldest
sister, Julia repulsed every attention offered by Tom Pynsent, and
firmly resisted his efforts to attract her notice. Young Pynsent
was astonished by a style of manner so suddenly adopted, and so
perseveringly kept up towards himself, and at first he resented the
cold indifference by an equal display of composed carelessness; but its
pertinacity at length piqued his vanity, and in the end produced a
watchfulness which engrossed his whole soul.

Had Julia flirted on with Tom Pynsent, his heart would have been
untouched; and his mind, perfectly aware of Lady Wetheral's schemes,
had remained free to sport amid the beauty which surrounded him. But
Julia's manners, so unaffected, so perfectly guileless, showed such
unequivocal avoidance of his society, that vanity took the alarm, and
conducted her victim to the very snare he had so long observed and
ridiculed. To be disliked by a Wetheral, when all the Shropshire world
knew he had long been a favourite speculation of her ladyship--it was
not to be endured, and, _coûte que coûte_, Tom Pynsent vowed to subdue
the cold heart of Julia Wetheral.

Tom Pynsent was not an Apollo, nor did he possess the fascination
of more courtly men, to make the subjugation of a lady's heart the
amusement of a leisure hour. Tom Pynsent was good-looking, tall, broad
set, and loud in speech, as Julia had described him: he was also empty,
good-natured, and immoderately fond of fox-hunting. His very large
fortune in perspective gave him the _entrée_ of the neighbourhood at
all hours, and if Tom Pynsent failed in the soft elegance of speech, or
appeared to some disadvantage in the ball-room among his more polished
companions, yet upon his attentions were the eyes of woman taught to
rest; and many a glance of admiration was bestowed upon the uncouth,
ill-dressed Tom Pynsent, which other more gifted swains failed to
obtain.

It was the fate of Anna Maria to love this man; and while the cold,
stiff manners of the beautiful Miss Wetheral, chilled the approach
of distant admirers, her heart was sincerely and really given to
Tom Pynsent. It is in vain to argue upon love, which arises from a
thousand causes unconnected with personal appearance. Love takes a
thousand forms, and defies the power of reason. When Shakespeare gave
the "Weaver" charms in the eyes of Titania, he illustrated at once its
blindness and its intensity. Tom Pynsent might have sought and won the
heart and taste of Miss Wycherly, who regularly attended the hunt and
broke in her own carriage horses, but who could suppose he had power
to captivate the gentle and graceful Miss Wetheral?

Lady Spottiswoode was celebrated for the agreeability and number of
her carpet dances. Every fortnight produced a gay society at her large
mansion in Shrewsbury; and at her parties the county families mixed
occasionally with the more humble inhabitants of the town. It was this
very mixture which gave Lady Spottiswoode's parties their decided
superiority over those of the neighbourhood; for at her house she
possessed the advantage of numbers, and she congregated more youth,
beauty, and novelty than her country neighbours could ever boast at
their _élite_, but smaller, and less pleasant meetings.

Shrewsbury, at the time of Miss Wetheral's introduction, contained many
families whose claims to gentility might compete with their own, but
whose income excluded them from distant and expensive society. They
were always assembled at Lady Spottiswoode's, and, from the variety
and novelty which sparkled in her drawing-rooms, her parties were
considered the most delightful reunions in the country. No one ever
stayed away from Lady Spottiswoode's, who had the power of locomotion;
and it was at Lady Spottiswoode's assemblies that Tom Pynsent carried
on his plans for lowering the pride of Julia Wetheral.

Anna Maria beheld in the keenest pain, but with unaltered expression
of countenance, his unceasing persecution of her sister: whichever way
Julia moved, Tom Pynsent was beside her, or before her; his eyes were,
eternally watching her actions, and, when Julia was not his partner, he
declined joining the dancers. If Julia observed his fixed determination
to be attentive, she heeded it not, for she was dancing and flirting
with Lord Ennismore, and her heart disdained the man who had deserted
her sister, after a long course of ungenerous flirtation, which meant
nothing, and which had injured the peace of its object.

Tom Pynsent's character was, however, open, and above-board: he had
firmly believed Anna Maria a party in her mother's schemes, and his
attentions eliciting no marked return, it persuaded him her heart
was safe, though her ambition might grasp at becoming mistress of
Hatton; Julia would have become the equally indifferent object of
an unmeaning flirtation, had not her sister's unexpected confidence
seared her feelings towards him. But Tom Pynsent, the long-contested
Tom Pynsent, the idol of Lady Wetheral's hopes, was now seriously in
love with the lively, fascinating Julia, and Love could not teach his
nature to dissemble a feeling which once took possession of his heart.
He was found out, and quizzed most unmercifully by his companions, but
Tom Pynsent had always a "rowland" for their "oliver." Young Charles
Spottiswoode attacked him at his mother's party.

"Why, Pynsent, people say you have no eyes for any girl but Julia
Wetheral, and you do look dreadfully cut up when she dances with
Ennismore, don't you?"

"I dare say I do," replied Pynsent, in his usual loud tone of voice,
"and, if I look cut up, you may depend upon it I am so."

"Then you are fairly in for it, Pynsent," laughed his companion.

"Yes, I am, but I suppose I have no chance with that d--d pinched-in
waisted lord."

Tom Pynsent's sentiments were given _pro bono publico_, and a group of
gentlemen quickly gathered round him, some laughing at his situation,
others sympathizing with him. Tom Pynsent never lowered his voice.

"I dare say you are all quizzing me, but I don't care for that. I know
I am in love with a devilish fine girl, so I'm not a bit ashamed, and,
if that fellow with his mincing steps gets her, I can't help myself,
but I'll be hanged if I hunt till I have asked her!"

"We thought you liked the eldest sister, Pynsent?" said Mr. Wycherly.

"Did you? I didn't, though. I like Julia Wetheral, and I don't care who
knows it. Laugh away, boys, and hunt by yourselves, till I come among
you again."

So saying, Tom Pynsent coolly withdrew from the group, and stationed
himself opposite to Julia, who was still dancing with Lord Ennismore.

Anna Maria's ear had drunk in the whole conversation, which took place
near her and her mother, though both were concealed from observation.
Lady Wetheral listened, with joy of the deepest and most powerful
nature, to the confession of Tom Pynsent's affection for Julia, and the
restraints of society scarcely concealed the exhibition of its effects.
Anna Maria preserved her calm demeanour, and bore with intrepidity the
acknowledgment of his love for another. A common observer would have
pitied the cold indifferent character of Miss Wetheral's countenance;
none knew the pangs which were silently devouring her existence.
She bore the outpourings of her mother's self-congratulation with
unflinching steadiness.

"My dear Anna Maria, I have now married two daughters admirably, for
Julia will assuredly marry Tom Pynsent very shortly. Did you not hear
him say he should ask her before he hunted? Most likely this very
night. What will your father say now? I wish he had been here! but I
am sure it is time to return home. Where is my dear Julia! oh, Lord
Ennismore is dancing with her, I see; Lord Ennismore will do for
Clara, whom I shall bring out immediately. Julia will be Mrs. Pynsent,
of Hatton, and Clara shall be Lady Ennismore. I have established my
daughters exactly as I could wish. Poor Isabel did very well for old
Boscawen, because she was rather vulgar. Well, my love, just tell Julia
we must order the carriage."

Anna Maria obeyed her mother's request, and rose to approach Julia,
who was at that moment seated between Tom Pynsent and Lord Ennismore.
Julia's quick eye saw her advancing, and she left the gentlemen, to
bound forward to meet her sister.

"Julia, the carriage is ordered; are you cool enough to prepare for
your return home?"

The words were calmly and distinctly uttered, but Julia was struck
by the hollow tones and dull eye of Anna Maria. She took her hand
affectionately.

"My dear sister, you are ill?"

"No," replied Anna Maria, calmly.

"Yes, you look ill. I know your countenance well, and it looks very
disturbed; tell me what is the matter?"

"Nothing." Anna Maria trembled as she stood. Julia became alarmed.

"Take no notice," continued Anna Maria, "but let us return home. Are
you ready?"

"Yes, now this moment; let us go."

Lord Ennismore and Tom Pynsent advanced, and each offered an arm to
Julia, who quietly gave her hand to his lordship. Tom Pynsent followed,
but offered no assistance to her eldest sister, who clung to Julia's
disengaged arm. They joined Lady Wetheral.

"My dear Julia, you are not heated, I hope? I am sorry to call you away
from the dance; but I believe it is late, and Anna Maria is fatigued.
Sir John sits up for us."

A little change took place among the party, and a little bustle ensued,
preparatory to their departure. Julia withdrew her arm from Lord
Ennismore for an instant, to adjust her shawl, and Lady Wetheral took
immediate advantage of the movement. She glided to Lord Ennismore, and
took possession of his deserted arm.

"Allow me, my dear lord. You must take care of us, and give us safely
back to Sir John, you know, according to promise. Anna Maria, I
bespeak Lord Ennismore's other arm for you; thank you, my lord, we
are very comfortably arranged. Julia, my love, Fate gives you to Mr.
Pynsent _pour le moment_. Now shall we bow to Lady Spottiswoode?"

The little _ruse_ succeeded. Tom Pynsent walked to the carriage with
Julia, and he opened the subject so near and so interesting to his
heart, boldly and without preamble.

"Miss Julia, I wish to know if you like Lord Ennismore?"

Julia was taken by surprise, but she knew the characteristic
bluntness of her companion's manners and speech, and Julia was rarely
disconcerted: she possessed astonishing coolness of manners for a girl
so young and so recently introduced: her reply was prompt, and quietly
delivered.

"I know no right you possess to ask me such a question, Mr. Pynsent."

"I have a right, Miss Julia. If I like a girl, I am at liberty to ask
if she is pre-engaged."

Julia laughed, and her laugh led Tom Pynsent to form a wrong conjecture
upon the state of her feelings towards himself. He pressed her hand
with considerable force, which Julia resented by withdrawing her arm.

"Pray don't be angry, my dear Miss Julia, at a good fox-hunting
squeeze: I am not used to press ladies' hands, but the firmer I shake a
friend's hand, the stronger is my pleasure at receiving him, and, if my
grasp offends you, set it down to my affection."

Julia made no reply, but she retreated to her party; Lady Wetheral was
impatient at her return, but Julia's indignation heeded not the hopes
and fears which struggled in her mother's bosom; she was offended at
Tom Pynsent's misconstruction of her laugh, and she stationed herself
by the side of her sister. Tom Pynsent stood bewildered. The colour
rose in Lady Wetheral's cheeks with alarm.

"My dear Julia, you have quitted Mr. Pynsent in a very extraordinary
manner; I am really hurt; Mr. Pynsent! my dear Mr. Pynsent!"

Tom Pynsent advanced, but his mind was in a labyrinth of confused
astonishment:--"Bless my soul, Lady Wetheral, I suppose I have done
something wrong; but the deuce take me if I know what brought all this
about!"

"Some little misunderstanding, my dear Mr. Pynsent; little
misunderstandings, we are told, often lead to agreeable and sincere
friendships; dine with us to-morrow, and make up this little fracas."

Tom Pynsent bowed, with a look indicative of pleased stupidity.

"I shall be very happy; I am in the wrong box, somehow; but I can't,
for the soul of me, think why Miss Julia ran away from me."

There was a silence of some moments; Tom Pynsent could not catch
Julia's eye to learn whether its glance was of good or evil, therefore,
he sought consolation in addressing Anna Maria.

"Miss Wetheral, _you_ are not offended; perhaps _you_ will condescend
to accept my arm?"

Poor Anna Maria mechanically obeyed the request, and Julia again
took possession of her partner. The exchange was made in silence, and
apparently to the great satisfaction of Lord Ennismore. Tom Pynsent
walked forward with Anna Maria, and made his remark upon Julia's
desertion.

"Upon my word, Miss Wetheral, I did nothing to give your sister
offence, except squeezing her hand, which no lady takes offence at,
particularly when a man is making love. I love her better than any
woman I know, and I would not do any thing improper for the world;
but a squeeze of the hand, now, Miss Wetheral, was _that_ a thing to
quarrel about?"

A cold unearthly smile was Anna Maria's answer to this appeal.

"I shall have it all out to-morrow, however. I suppose Miss Julia means
to have me, as she laughed when I spoke seriously. She does not like
that fellow Ennismore, does she, Miss Wetheral?"

"I cannot tell," answered Anna Maria, in a voice so low it was scarcely
audible.

"I wish I knew! Miss Julia laughed when I put the question to herself,
which, I suppose, is encouragement, but I shall see to-morrow. I shall
speak in time, for fear she should take a fancy to that lanky dog
behind us. But who would suppose any woman so shy at a squeeze? If I
had kissed her, it might have been another thing! Bless my soul, what
odd things women are!"

There was no time for further remark on either side; the carriage was
ready, and no pause allowed a continuation of complaint. Tom Pynsent
assisted Julia to ascend the steps of the barouche, but she would not
address him, or grant him one look to enable him to discover the real
state of her feelings. Lady Wetheral bent forward as the door was
closing.

"We shall expect you very early to-morrow, my dear Mr. Pynsent, and
pray do not treat us as common acquaintance: Sir John was wishing for
you yesterday."

"I shall come very early--perhaps to luncheon," replied Tom Pynsent,
resting his broad hand on the carriage-door, and fixing his eyes upon
Julia, "I have something particular to say to Sir John."

"Oh! delightful!" cried Lady Wetheral, bowing and smiling; "this will
be something enlivening to tell Sir John. Something, of course, about
hunting or shooting, the idol of men's hearts."

"It's not about hunting or shooting this time, Lady Wetheral."

"Ah! you mean to be mysterious, to raise our curiosity--what can it be?
We must be calm, however, and try to wait patiently till to-morrow, or
rather till this afternoon, for I fancy it is half-past twelve."

Tom Pynsent bowed, and the party proceeded homewards, enclosing four
hearts, labouring under conflicting and powerful feelings. Lady
Wetheral's happy, uncontrollable emotions were in strange contrast
with Anna Maria's deeply-pained feelings, which lay concealed under
impenetrable silence. Julia also was silent and sad; her situation
with respect to Tom Pynsent and Lord Ennismore gave her young heart
its first painful impressions. Lord Ennismore replied to Lady
Wetheral's eager, agitated remarks with an absence of mind which
proved his lordship equally occupied with his feelings; and all this
was originated in the well-filled, gay ball-room, which had long been
considered the cradle of happiness and the grave of care. So prone is
nature to seek suffering under the mask of pleasure, that all hearts
court its renewal.

Lady Spottiswoode's parties were the scene of cruel disappointment,
and the cause of repeated disquietude, yet did the young and fair of
that day crowd to her assemblies, and severe illness alone obliged a
reluctant invalid to remain perdue, when Lady Spottiswoode issued her
cards from the Abbey foregate.

    ----Oh! that deceit should dwell
    In such a gorgeous palace.

Anna Maria had borne her short but destroying colloquy with Tom Pynsent
without giving way to the pain which wrung her heart; and, during the
drive to Wetheral, she had restrained the swelling of her soul, and
made a strong effort to subdue the tears which rushed into her eyes;
but when she had gained the sanctuary of her own apartment, all
restraint was at an end, and Julia bent over the unfortunate girl as
she lay extended hopelessly and helplessly upon her bed.

"My dear sister, is this horrible grief indeed given to Tom Pynsent?"

"God knows it is! Julia, but do not ridicule a sorrow you cannot
comprehend. When I heard him this night declare his love for you, and
when he whispered it to my own self, then I felt as all women feel who
find their affection is unheeded and unvalued. I felt, Julia, as keenly
as if Tom Pynsent had been admired and loved by hundreds."

"But, my dear Anna, you will not love a man who places so little
value--and is so very--" Julia hesitated.

"It matters little," replied Anna Maria, with impetuosity, "who cares
for Tom Pynsent, or who expresses astonishment at my attachment. Every
woman wonders at her neighbour's choice, and it is sufficient that I am
most unhappy. You, Julia, need not tell me I am little valued by him;
I know and feel it, but the information does not come well from your
lips, who have gained the heart I can never cease to covet."

"Tom Pynsent can never be any thing to me," said Julia.

"And thus it is," continued Anna Maria, speaking in mournful accents.
"We are doomed to helpless misery from our birth, and we prey upon each
other's peace. Why did he constantly attend upon me, when his heart was
free? and why did my mother teach my first thoughts to rest upon a man
whose affections she could not ensure me? I tell you, it was wrong!--I
tell you, Julia, it was altogether ungenerous and cruel. I have been
sacrificed to a selfish policy; and on the very threshold of life my
happiness has been wrecked, to make existence a burthen for ever!" She
clasped her hands tightly together, and, rising suddenly from her bed,
paced her room with rapid steps, talking apparently to herself.

"What was to be gained by my misery? has it soothed my mother's
ambition? She spurns me as the object who has disappointed her hopes.
Has it gained the long-sought aim of my own anxious love? He told
me himself he loved my sister. Am I to bear all this with smiling
indifference? Julia, Julia!" she screamed, "I cannot smile, I will not
smile, and no one shall see me smile more."

Julia endeavoured to soothe Anna Maria into calmness, but all efforts
were unavailing; her impetuous nature was roused, and it must take its
own course: resistance could only increase its fury.

"Leave me to myself, Julia--leave me. I shall be calm enough to-morrow,
but now my very heart bursts at the thought of all that has passed.
Do not try to calm me! I will not be calm. If I grow calm, it will be
from madness, and I shall be maddened by opposition. I tell you, Julia,
to leave me, and don't let Thompson come into my room. There, go, in
mercy."

Julia became alarmed, but she turned to withdraw.

"Shake hands, Anna Maria, and wish me good night."

"I have no heart for any thing," replied Anna Maria, irritated. "I will
not shake hands, or wish good to any one, for it is all nonsense; only
leave me now."

Julia retired in silence, for it was vain to persevere in calming
her sister's irritated feelings. Anna Maria's nature was composed
of fiery particles; and her very composed, general manner concealed
a heart full of keen and powerful emotions. It was the intensity of
these emotions which required the greatest watchfulness in subduing
external appearance of inward suffering: and to the public eye Anna
Maria appeared gentle and calm to insensibility. Perhaps only Julia was
aware of the real state of her heart; for who could discover a powerful
attachment under such cold and calm exterior?

Had Lady Wetheral sacrificed her anxiety for establishment to the
domestic happiness of her family, all this misery had been spared;
neither perhaps had Isabella been given to a man five-and-thirty years
her senior. But at Wetheral Castle all parental feeling was engrossed
in calculating possibilities and probabilities of high alliances,
on Lady Wetheral's part; and Sir John had too long sacrificed his
better judgment to his lady's whims, to recover again the tone of his
authority. Since then the ties of affection were so loosely bound
together, and youthful hearts were taught to bend their nobler natures
to the selfish dictates of ambition, what hope was there of bright
and joyous hours, free to sport in innocence? What hope was there of
that lovely confidence and peace which gilds the first years of the
young, when parental care--a mother's care--guards the heart from
sorrow, and leads it to love all that is good, and to pray against the
evil passions? What hope is there for natures tutored into worldly
sacrifices, ambitious only of the world's respect? Alas! none.




CHAPTER IV.


Tom Pynsent was serious when he engaged to make an early appearance. He
arrived earlier at Wetheral than even Lady Wetheral could expect him,
and her smiles were proportionably bland and expressive. Tom Pynsent
would have detected and laughed at the affectionate reception which
awaited him, had his heart been free to seek amusement in the hopes
and fears of Lady Wetheral; but the scene was changed. The parent,
anxious for a daughter's establishment, was, in Tom Pynsent's eyes, his
prop and stay against the forthcoming proposal; and Lady Wetheral, the
"well-known manœuvrer," was at this time only Julia's mother and his
kind well-wisher. In short, Tom Pynsent was caught; and, like other
keen-sighted men of fortune, he was perfectly upon his guard, when no
danger threatened his heart; but every firm resolution melted, when his
eye was pleased, and his fancy gratified.

He was now on the eve of proposing to Julia Wetheral, in spite of his
determination never to bow the knee to a Wetheral, or to be "hooked"
by her ladyship's gracious compliments. Poor Tom Pynsent! he fell
honourably at the very head of his thousand determinations never to
visit Wetheral Castle but as an amusement, and never to flirt with a
daughter of that house but as a means of raising false hopes in the
lady mother's anxious bosom.

    "Men's faiths are wafer-cakes."

Lady Wetheral affected to be entirely ignorant of the cause of Tom
Pynsent's early visit.

"Mr. Pynsent so very early in the field! it must indeed be a hunting
appointment. Sir John will be delighted;" and she held out her hand,
smiling a million agreeable welcomes. "Where are my daughters? they
did not expect you so soon, I dare say. Lord Ennismore has escorted
them walking, probably."

Tom Pynsent was disappointed at Julia's absence, but he only looked
bewildered.

"I wish to see Sir John as soon as possible, Lady Wetheral; I came
early on purpose to see him; perhaps I may find him in his study; shall
I proceed there?"

"By all means, my dear Mr. Pynsent, unless you allow me to summon Sir
John to us. Am I _de trop_?"

"Oh! no, not _that_," answered Tom Pynsent, becoming somewhat
disordered; "you will hear it in time, so you may as well be present,
only--"

"Let me lead the way then, my dear Mr. Pynsent;" and she proceeded
towards the door of the study. Sir John was seated in his arm-chair,
looking over a package of new books; and, for a minute or two, he did
not recognize Mr. Pynsent. Lady Wetheral was shocked.

"Sir John, you do not appear to remember our friend Mr. Pynsent, who
is anxious to see you. What is the study, my love, which so engrosses
your faculties?"

Sir John rose, and received Tom Pynsent with his usual quiet politeness.

"I did not immediately recollect you, sir; I hope your family are well,
Mr. Pynsent; be seated, if you please."

Tom Pynsent glanced at the chair which was advanced towards him, but he
remained standing with a red face and an embarrassed manner.

"I hope all are well at Hatton," repeated Sir John, surprised by the
silence of his companion.

Tom Pynsent could only comfortably entertain one idea at a time, and
his present idea was exclusively the proposal he intended to make for
Julia. The repetition, however, roused him from his embarrassment.

"Sir John, I'm come here for a very particular purpose." The plunge was
made, and Tom Pynsent's voice and manner recovered their serenity. "I
have something to say, Sir John, which I hope will not give offence. I
like Miss Julia very much; indeed I love and admire her extremely, and
I wish to know if I have your leave to address her?"

Lady Wetheral threw looks and smiles at the speaker, which encouraged
and delighted the lover; but Sir John was taken by surprise.

"Sir, you are--I am, I confess, a very little surprised. You say my
daughter _Julia_, sir."

"I wish for your consent, Sir John, to address Miss Julia. I have
spoken to her, and she did not altogether refuse me, as she laughed
very much; but I think it right to speak to you upon the subject, that
all things may be above-board."

"You are acting honourably and properly, Mr. Pynsent," returned Sir
John, holding out his hand, which was seized by the warm-hearted Tom.
He continued, "My daughter, Mr. Pynsent, must decide for herself, but,
if she finds no reason to decline your proposal, I am quite ready to
welcome you as my son-in-law."

Lady Wetheral went greater lengths in speech than her husband, for her
joy was uncontrollable.

"My dear Tom--for now I address you as my future son--my happiness
will be perfect, should I ever visit you and my dear Julia at Hatton.
It gives me unfeigned pleasure to think Julia has fixed her affections
upon an object so truly worthy, and so acceptable to her own family.
This is indeed to me a very happy moment."

"I will do every thing you wish in the settlement way, Sir John,"
said the honest-hearted suitor, his face almost purple with gratified
feelings. "My father says he will relinquish Hatton to me directly;
but I don't mean the governor to quit his own favourite place. Let him
keep it for life, you know, for we young ones can move about. He will
allow me to make a very handsome settlement upon my wife--any thing you
suggest, Sir John."

Sir John was pleased by the open-hearted manner and matter, and his
heart warmed to Tom Pynsent.

"Sir, I wish you well with my daughter, and, if you succeed, we shall
easily arrange the necessary form. You have my best wishes, for I like
your sentiments, and your father, sir, may be proud of your heart. A
good son is a sure promise of an indulgent husband, and I quite approve
of your declining to allow your father to quit Hatton, Mr. Pynsent."

"Why, Sir John, there is but a right and wrong way of doing things--if
a man does right, he goes on very well; and if he does wrong, why, he
will be damned for it!"

The voices of Julia and Lord Ennismore, in playful tones, echoing
through the hall, at this moment reached Tom Pynsent's ears. He became
alarmed and nervous.

"I wish it was over, Sir John. I could wish to see Miss Julia now,
and hear my fate at once. A man gets very awkward and nervous in this
situation, I declare!" and Tom Pynsent's red face became ashy pale.

Lady Wetheral undertook to make his burthen an easy one. She even
ventured to answer for Julia's affection--this was going too far.
Julia had never confided her feelings to her mother upon any subject,
and Lady Wetheral's anxiety to secure Tom Pynsent led her into the
commission of much injustice. She had sacrificed Anna Maria's peace by
thoughtless manœuvring, and now she was creating false hopes in the
heart of Tom Pynsent. His situation at this moment was pitiable, and
Sir John at once decided upon the necessity of an immediate conference
with Julia. Poor Julia obeyed the summons conveyed through Thompson,
and appeared in the study brilliant in smiles, and glowing with her
recent exercise. She was not surprised at seeing Tom Pynsent, though
she did not expect him so early. Julia was never off her guard. No
girl in existence possessed her perfect command of feelings, and her
self-possessed manner which never deserted her under any circumstance.
She was quite prepared for a scene with Tom Pynsent and her mother.

"My dear Julia," said her father, taking her hand, and seating her
between Tom Pynsent and himself, "Mr. Pynsent has been here some little
time, and he has been speaking on a subject which you alone can
dispose of."

"Oh, papa, I will dispose of it in one word," replied Julia, in her
gayest manner. "What is it about?"

Tom Pynsent took up the matter as appertaining to himself, exclusively.

"Miss Julia, I have spoken to Sir John upon the subject of last night."

"Well, Mr. Pynsent."

"And, Sir John gives his consent, Miss Julia, if----."

"But I do not give mine, Mr. Pynsent."

Lady Wetheral sat rooted upon her chair; the fountain of her speech was
dried up. Tom Pynsent coloured.

"You laughed at my remarks, Miss Julia, at the time, and that was not
discouraging, I thought."

"There is no sentiment in a laugh, Mr. Pynsent, but I am sorry you
misunderstood my manner. Excuse me, but I never can like you in any
light but that of a pleasant acquaintance, and I hope you will not
renew the subject. I laughed at your odd way of broaching your subject
last night, but I am sure I could not encourage you, for I left you, if
you remember."

"You were very abrupt with me, Miss Julia, but I fancied you were only
angry because I squeezed your hand."

Tom Pynsent turned scarlet as he spoke.

"Well, Mr. Pynsent, don't let us say another word on the subject, and
pray don't worry me with complaints, for I am speaking my unchangeable
sentiments when I say, any expostulation on your part will only make me
dislike you; and I really like you very much as only Tom Pynsent, our
pleasant neighbour."

"Why, there's only a right and wrong way of doing things," replied Tom
Pynsent, rising; "and I have no idea of teazing a woman as if I was
digging out a fox, to make her dread the sound of my voice. I wish you
well, Miss Julia, and as you will never hear me complain of a woman who
tells me plump she does not like me, you need not be afraid of meeting
me sometimes. I like every body to be above-board, and say what they
mean. I am very sorry to appear rude, Sir John, but you will excuse my
taking leave. I came upon a business which is settled, you know, so I
had better take myself off."

Tom Pynsent bowed, and turned towards Lady Wetheral, whose lips were
white and compressed.

"I must not take a lady's word for her daughter in future, but you did
all you could to give me hope, for which I am obliged to you, Lady
Wetheral. Good morning to you."

He passed Julia in silence, but she held out her hand.

"Say we are friends, Mr. Pynsent."

This little circumstance apparently overpowered poor Tom Pynsent, for
he made no reply. He held the offered hand to his lips for some time,
and, relinquishing it gently, he quitted the room like a man who had
suffered disappointment, but who was prepared to bear his trial without
flinching. Even Julia felt admiration at her lover's manly exit.

Lady Wetheral was some minutes before she spoke, though her lips had
moved without the power of conveying sounds. She was stupified at the
conversation which had taken place before her, and Tom Pynsent was gone
without her having the ability of tongue or hand to detain him! Julia
had unequivocally refused Tom Pynsent, Hatton, and a settlement! These
things were too powerful to bear. At length she gained her voice, but
it came hollow and slowly from her parched lips.

"Julia!"

"Well, mamma, what have you to say to me? Do not you think I made a
quick affair of my proposal?"

"Do you know what you have done?" said her mother, in the same dreadful
tone.

"To be sure, mamma, I do. I have refused great, broad-faced, but honest
Tom Pynsent; but now I have something to tell _you_."

Lady Wetheral waved her hand.

"Do not speak to me, Julia; and never let my eyes behold you. I cannot
help being your mother, but you are no longer my daughter in feeling,
and I command you to remain in your own apartments for ever. You have
given me the bitterest sorrow a mother can experience."

Sir John quitted the room.

"You have brought me in sorrow to the grave, for I shall never outlive
this disgrace!"

"Oh yes, you will, mamma: you must live to dance at my wedding."

"I detest the sound!" she exclaimed--"your wedding! You have refused
the first match in the two counties, and you will be disgraced and
dishonoured among the wise, while I am pitied and despised by all my
friends! Send Thompson to me."

Her ladyship became hysterical, and Julia became serious.

"I tell you, mamma, you will live to dance at my wedding, if you could
only keep off those hysterics. Would you have me accept two men at
once? How can I take poor Tom Pynsent when I am engaged to another!"

"Engaged to another, without asking my advice! Send instantly for
Thompson: I am very ill." Her ladyship rang the bell violently. "You
have killed me, and disgraced my reputation, Julia,--you have trifled
with my kindness and affection--you have killed your mother!"

The servant appeared, and Julia summoned the redoubted Thompson, who
hurried to the scene of action. She beheld her lady in her usual state
of agitation, when any thing disagreeable occurred. Julia was seated
calmly by her side.

Thompson applied her usual remedies, and entreated to hear what had
distressed her lady's nerves. Every family affair was confided to the
lady's-maid.

"Your mistress, Thompson, is discomposed at the idea of my engagement
to Lord Ennismore," replied Julia. "You know mamma has fits now, upon
every fresh occurrence."

Julia's words fell upon her mother's heart like the

    "Sweet south upon a bank of violets,
    Stealing and giving odour."

She raised her head, and held out her hand to Julia.

"My dear child, you have given me excessive pain most uselessly.
Thompson, I am better; you always stifle me with those salts; take
them away. Your obstinacy in refusing Mr. Pynsent and Hatton almost
broke my heart. How could I be aware that you had secured Lord
Ennismore, Julia? I never saw the least attention on his part, and I
had arranged he was to propose hereafter to Clara. Well, I am much
relieved. I really fancied you engaged to some horrid creature, like
Leslie."

"If you had listened to me, mamma, when I told you I had something to
say, all this would have been spared."

"My dear, how can people listen when they are in terror? I saw you
parading before me as the wife of some common creature, and all my
friends laughing at me--what horrid visions!--but now you will be a
peeress, with the glory of having refused the first commoner in the
county! My dear Julia, you have done extremely well; I am sorry Anna
Maria has effected nothing; but I never saw Lord Ennismore offer you
any attention--how did it all come about?"

"You are the only blind person, then, mamma, for Lord Ennismore has
been publicly attentive ever since he came to Wetheral. You must have
noticed his manner last night."

"No, my dear, that was Tom Pynsent."

"Nonsense, mamma, it was Lord Ennismore. Every body saw his attentions;
so would you, if you had not been running your head against Tom
Pynsent. Lord Ennismore has written this morning to his mother to join
him. He hopes she will be with us in a very few days. I told him not to
say a word to papa yet, because I knew he objected to Lord Ennismore's
health, but we shall soon nurse him into good care."

"To be sure, my love!" responded her mother, "Lord Ennismore will find
himself a very different person when he is settled into married life,
with a wife to watch over him. Tom Pynsent is an excellent creature,
but, as you say, he _is_ broad set, and red-faced. Too much health is
worse than too little, in my opinion; Sir John will see things in a
different light, when he knows of the actual proposal."

"He must be made acquainted with my engagement, sooner or later,"
observed Julia, musing; "I wish the whole business was over."

"Let _me_ open the business to your father, my love, and I shall be
surprised if he is not extremely pleased at your good fortune. We
will say nothing about it to-day, but to-morrow I will answer for his
acquiescence. Lady Ennismore will find every thing arranged when she
arrives, and I flatter myself you will be in Staffordshire this day six
months, I shall be very proud of my daughter Ennismore!"

Julia assented to her mother's proposition, and nothing was made public
till the following morning, when her ladyship found herself alone
with her husband, in his study. Sir John opened the conversation, by
lecturing his lady upon her sentiments.

"I am called upon, Gertrude, to object to many things which take
place at Wetheral, but I was particularly hurt at your observations
to Julia yesterday. Had my daughter been condemned by the laws of her
country for crimes offensive to humanity, you could not have expressed
yourself in stronger terms than the reproaches you levelled at Julia
for declining a man who was disagreeable to her."

"Now, love, that is past and gone. I was very angry with her, and
should continue to be so, had I not found her refusal of Pynsent
proceeded from an excellent cause, which I am going to explain. You
know it is very wrong to accept one man, when you are engaged to
another. That is a rule with all proper people."

"Julia has accepted some gentleman, then, Gertrude."

"Ah, how differently you and I feel under such a knowledge! A mother
feels so keenly! I was obliged to send for Thompson, when I heard Julia
plead an engagement. I was sure it was Leslie, or some such creature,
and I was in hysterics, while you have not even changed countenance in
your suspense. My love, Julia is engaged to Ennismore, if you do not
object, which I am sure you will not think of doing. I congratulate
you, my dear, on acquiring a peer for your son-in-law."

"And Julia refused Pynsent for Ennismore?"

"To be sure she did, most wisely."

"Then," he exclaimed, "she has done that which she will repent to her
dying day; and you, Gertrude, must be responsible for her misery."

"Good heavens, how you have thrown down all my plans, Sir John, and how
you embitter my happy moments! I cannot imagine why you like to terrify
me in this way!"

Lady Wetheral trembled, which was ever a prelude to hysterics, but her
husband's temper was now tried "to the top of its bent," and he heeded
not the increasing symptoms.

"Lord Ennismore has been duped into making Julia an offer."

"I meant him for Clara, love, not Julia," cried his lady, hoping to
ward off his reproach.

"And you have given one of your daughters, Gertrude, to a creature
diseased in body and mind."

"What does that signify, my love? Julia will not think of his looks a
month after her marriage, and she will be a peeress, with an immense
estate."

"You are marrying her to an idiot of quality."

"Fiddlededee, Sir John, he enters a room as well as other people. Who
makes a fuss about intellects, if a man of large fortune proposes to
their daughter? I should die with shame if you advanced such musty
notions before company. Besides, you asked Lord Ennismore to Wetheral
yourself."

"I did so," replied Sir John, "I did so; but I believed my daughters
must be safe in their affections. I could not suppose Lord Ennismore
would attract a woman's love; and I will not believe Julia cares for
him. You have tutored her, Gertrude, to barter her soul for a coronet,
and your system has corrupted her heart and feelings."

He paced the room in unusual agitation of manner. Lady Wetheral
perceived the tide of her powerful influence over her husband's mind
was fast ebbing, and a _coup de main_ was the last resource of her
inventive genius. She became indignant.

"It is well, Sir John, my children have possessed a mother devoted
to their interest, since you have ever been indifferent to their
well-doing. Had I sat supinely in my room, as you have done in
your study, my daughters had passed the prime of their days in
insignificance; or, if one had changed the scene, it might have
been her happy lot, perhaps, to move into dirty barracks with young
Leslie, whom you persist in receiving at Wetheral, in spite of my
remonstrances."

"Leslie would not choose a wife from your group, my love. His idea of
matrimonial comforts does not jump with your own."

"Don't make me ill, Sir John, with any allusion to that young man; or
imagine for a moment we could 'jump' in any sentiment together. Had
I sat supinely looking on, as you have done, Isabel would never have
married a wealthy commoner, or Julia become a peeress, with the glory
of refusing Tom Pynsent."

"Julia has done wrong in declining him for Ennismore; she has given up
an honest fellow, for a poor, ill-nursed, unhealthy creature, with a
mind as weak as his body."

"I never can talk with you, Sir John, upon this kind of subject,
your notions are so extremely contracted, and you are so blind to
advantages."

"What advantages, Gertrude, in Ennismore?"

"Oh, my love, unspeakable advantages. He is a man of rank and large
fortune, two very considerable advantages, and, if his health is not
very good, it may improve; and, as to his mind, he may not be extremely
learned--few men are, who are not destined for professions. He may not
be particularly good-tempered, but----," Lady Wetheral became somewhat
confused in her palliatives, by her husband suddenly stopping short
in his perambulation, and, fixing his eyes upon her, "every body has
something to balance their virtues."

"What virtues does Ennismore possess, Gertrude?"

"I'm sure I don't know; I wish you would not annoy me with such out
of the way questions. Lord Ennismore shows good taste in addressing
Julia, and I dare say she will improve many of his foibles. Lady
Ennismore will be here next week, and I hope every thing will be
arranged in a few weeks, for you could not be so reckless as to
withhold your consent--could you now, my love!"

"I will see Julia alone," replied Sir John.

"By all means, but do not invent objections for her, and do not
distress her with your long lectures, my dear love, for my sake. I see
poor Julia is very much attached."

"Nonsense! attached to such a man in a fortnight's acquaintance--for
shame!"

"Julia is _decidedly_ attached to Ennismore, Sir John, quite as much
attached as a woman ought to be. I think it highly indelicate in a
young girl to run after a man, and disgust him with fondness; those
things are not done. She is attached very properly, and I beg you will
not persuade her to the contrary."

"I shall see, Gertrude."

"You never saw in your life, my love; I never could persuade you to see
any thing in a proper light."

"I saw through Boscawen, Gertrude, when you were blind."

"Nonsense! who cared to see through old Boscawen! I never thought about
Isabel, therefore, her admirers could not interest me. I was sure she
would only attract odd people, and you see I was correct."




CHAPTER V.


Sir John Wetheral's conference with Julia was of long duration, for
he found her prepared with a hundred arguments, which bore down every
objection: it was Samson stoning the Philistine, and every blow told
upon her antagonist. It was in vain he urged Julia to pause ere she
committed herself, and became the wife of a sickly husband.

"My child, consider your own health, and the health of the unborn:
beware of undertaking the situation of nurse at your age, and
subjecting yourself to the irritable chidings of a man weighed down
with disease, and prostrated in mind by its effects."

"My dear papa, that is one material reason for my acceptance; I am very
much interested in poor Lord Ennismore's sufferings, and you would not
wish me to desert an unfortunate man because Providence has afflicted
him."

"You cannot be aware of its results, Julia."

"Oh! papa, I am perfectly aware of all consequences, and fully prepared
to meet them. Lord Ennismore is ill--I will nurse him. He is irritable,
I know, but I will bear with him."

"I will not press his health, Julia, as the most objectionable point;
there are still more powerful ones. I consider Lord Ennismore's
intellect enfeebled by disease, and his temper affected too strongly
for your happiness."

"I do not consider his intellects below par, papa: Tom Pynsent is ten
times louder, and less agreeable than Lord Ennismore: there must be
some disagreeables in every body."

"Lord Ennismore's mind is not a gentlemanly mind, Julia; I have
observed his actions and sentiments. He is exclusively selfish: a
selfish man can never be an agreeable companion for a young wife."

"Time will improve him in that respect, papa. I do not see how Lord
Ennismore's selfish feelings can interfere with me; his fortune will
command any wishes he may form; I shall not oppose them. As to his
temper, I shall neither see nor hear its display; he must be selfish
and violent with his servants."

"And are these the notions you seriously entertain with respect to
matrimony, Julia?"

"My notions, papa, are really serious, and I know I shall find them
serviceable. I have quite made up my mind to marry Lord Ennismore, and
say now, papa, you do not object. Mamma says you will not and cannot
object to a match so splendid; now, papa, say yes, and don't fidget
about ill-health and temper."

Julia took her father's hand, and kissed it with a gaiety altogether
astonishing. Sir John smiled at the action, and involuntarily drew her
towards him. Julia took advantage of the movement.

"That's my dear, good papa, I knew you meant to give me pleasure:
silence is more expressive than words, and I am Lady Ennismore in
prospect, am I not?"

"I offer you counsel, my dear girl," replied her father, gently and
gravely, "I can do no more; the world may suppose you high and happy,
but, mark me, Julia, you will be the veriest wretch on earth if you
marry Ennismore, and, at that moment, my advice will be useless, and
my presence impossible--a husband commands you, and supersedes your
father. Listen to me, Julia: Ennismore is governed by his imperious and
overbearing mother, whose wishes are masked by apparent mildness and
great fascination of manner."

"A mother's influence must give way to that of a wife," exclaimed
Julia, earnestly.

"Lady Ennismore's influence will give way to no one, and you must
succumb to its power if you hope for peace. Her stronghold is the very
selfishness she has fostered in her son: all his intentions, every
word and action of his, have reference to his mother, who has so long
ministered to his besetting sin."

"I flatter myself I shall be able to compete with my husband's mother,"
said Julia, in a tone slightly tinged with contempt. "I should consider
myself strangely altered, if my husband turned from me, to consult his
mother. No, papa, I have no fear of that insult--Ennismore has too much
affection for me."

"Ennismore is not capable of affection, Julia."

"Well, papa, you are saying the most unkind things possible of Lord
Ennismore, and, indeed, excuse me if I say you are quite wrong in
accusing him of want of affection." A burst of tears followed poor
Julia's hurried speech.

Sir John again repeated his strong objections to the match, and
endeavoured to point out the fallacy of attempting to win Lord
Ennismore's confidence--the confidence of a man whose mind nearly
approached to imbecility, but who was linked to his mother by the
strong force of long habit; and her control over his actions, fixed by
constant and unceasing attention to his selfish wants.

In vain he placed before his daughter's mind the misery she must
endure when the veil should be torn from her eyes, and she woke to
the certainty of being united for life to a man she despised--a man
inferior to herself in head and heart, yet possessing neither respect
nor affection for the woman he had married. In vain he painted her
longing for the home she had quitted, when all its pleasures, its
tranquillity, would be of no avail; when she could never more claim
or enjoy them--all was in vain! Julia could not, would not, admit a
doubt of her power over Ennismore's heart, and she disclaimed all
observations relative to the weakness of his capacity.

"It was easy enough," she said, "to fix incapacity upon a young
man whom Providence had afflicted with illness, but the proof was
insufficient. She would rather say Providence had raised her up to
watch over Lord Ennismore, and smooth the rough path he was destined
to tread: certainly every disagreeable remark that could be devised
was brought up in array before her, yet she could not feel alarmed:
she was prepared to meet the trials which her mamma told her belonged
to matrimony, especially where poverty presided: poverty would not be
the case in this instance, and she must be allowed to say she could not
resign Lord Ennismore upon what had been alleged against him. If her
papa positively forbade the match, she would submit, but nothing short
of his decided prohibition would induce her to renounce a man she liked
and approved.

"I would rather follow you to the grave, Julia, than see you the wife
of Ennismore!" exclaimed her father.

"The grave, then, papa, will be my portion, if you are determined to be
unkind to poor Lord Ennismore, whom you invited yourself to Wetheral."

The father was moved: true, his own hand had penned the invitation,
and it availed nothing that such a step had been taken against his
own better judgment. He had brought the evil to his own door, and
the consequence was falling upon him even now. Julia perceived her
advantage, and again, in gentle entreaty, besought his consent to her
marriage. Self-accusation softened her father's heart, as he viewed
Julia pleading for a destiny his own error had prepared, and she wrung
from his lips a slow and reluctant assent.

"You have forced me, Julia, to say words which will seal both our
misery," he said, as Julia clung fondly round him, "and you will one
day upbraid me for my weakness."

"Never, dear papa, never! you cannot know Lord Ennismore as I know him;
and, in days to come, you will smile at the list of grievances you
brought against that poor, suffering, innocent creature."

"I have done that which I shall repent of for ever, Julia; but I yet
tell you my judgment has yielded to affection. I warn you to pause
ere you marry a man your father disapproves--before you commit your
peace of mind into the hands of a selfish-hearted husband--before you
quit for ever the home which shelters you! You have drawn from me an
unwilling consent, because I cannot give pain--because I have myself
drawn this blank, for I allowed the intimacy; but, Julia, I have said,
and I say again, I do not like the man."

"You have said every thing, papa, to dissuade me, and upon me be the
misery you suggest, and which I cannot believe will arise from my
marriage with Lord Ennismore. Think no more of me, papa, and do not
reproach yourself for having made me happy. A few months will prove the
mistake of your statements, and you will rejoice in having given me to
Ennismore: indeed, papa, you will!" and Julia stroked his hand with a
smile so bright, and eyes sparkling with such deep happiness, that her
father could only feel it impossible to check her dream of hope. Lady
Wetheral at that moment opened the door.

"What an eternity of time you have been closeted! I fancied something
was wrong, and a mother's feelings are uncontrollable: ah, Julia, I see
all is right by your bright eyes--I see '_trousseau_' written legibly
on your forehead, and a splendid one it will prove, I am sure. Of
course, Lady Ennismore must have family jewels, which she will present
to you. I will resign mine with pleasure, that my daughter Ennismore
may appear in great brilliance."

"You have other daughters, Gertrude," said Sir John, gravely.

"But none, love, that are likely to marry peers. Anna Maria, I am sure,
will not marry now: she has let every opportunity pass by. Clara is
beautiful, but peers are not plentiful in our neighbourhood. Perhaps
a season at Cheltenham--. But where is Lord Ennismore, Julia? Let me
congratulate and receive my son: I always admired and thought well of
dear Ennismore: indeed, I may consider it quite my own match, for you
know, Julia, I always said he must be my son-in-law!"

Lord Ennismore was sought by Julia, and presented in form, to receive
each parent's benediction: it was distinctly uttered by Sir John
Wetheral, and formed a strong contrast to his lady's melodious and
"holyday" terms. As Lord Ennismore advanced, his attenuated form,
pallid countenance, and lack-lustre grey eyes, struck Sir John's mind
with disgust and regret, which he could with difficulty repress.

"My lord, I am called upon, by my daughter Julia, to accept you as a
near relation. I have stated my sentiments to her freely; and as she
allows no objections to take effect upon her own judgment, I have only
to wish you happy in proportion to the kindness and indulgence you
bestow upon your wife."

Lady Wetheral saluted his lordship as a man of many virtues. "My
dearest lord, I cannot but felicitate myself and family upon our new
and very dear accession to its number. If your health is preserved to
us, we shall have no wish ungratified; and I trust my Julia will long
enjoy the happiness which must arise from this grateful and flattering
connexion."

Lord Ennismore bowed to each, but not one ray of expression lighted
up his heavy countenance, or ruffled the leaden stillness of his
_ensemble_. Julia's smiling face lent increased dullness to her lover's
looks as he spoke.

"I am very proud to meet your approbation, Sir John, and yours, Lady
Wetheral; I expect my mother in a few days, who will arrange things for
me. She wished me very much to marry, and I am sure Julia will be very
happy in her acquaintance."

"I am sure I shall love her, Ennismore, if it was only for your sake,"
said Julia.

"She manages every thing for me," replied his lordship, "and I have
nothing to do but amuse myself; I think she must be here on Wednesday,
and then she will arrange all things for our marriage. I hope to
receive you very soon at Bedinfield, Sir John, and you, Lady Wetheral;
I shall have great pleasure in showing the lions there, and my mother
will explain every thing to you."

"Oh! I look forward to that visit with such anxious pleasure, my dear
lord!" replied Lady Wetheral. "I have heard so much of Bedinfield,
so much of its magnificence, and so much more of the excellent taste
displayed in its internal comforts! I shall, indeed, pay you and
dear Julia a visit with pleasure, and I am sure with profit, for the
elegances of Bedinfield will suggest many improvements for Wetheral."

Lord Ennismore bowed repeatedly during Lady Wetheral's eulogium, and
once more, when the eulogium closed:--

"My mother has done much towards beautifying the family estate; and I
am sure your approbation will give her gratification, Lady Wetheral; as
also yours, Sir John."

Sir John bent forward, in token of polite notice, but he remained
silent; his lady had already poured forth a stream of compliment,
sufficient for all the exigencies of the case. Lord Ennismore turned to
Julia, and addressed her in his best and most prosy manner.

"I have happiness in thinking my mother will approve my choice; she
has long proposed my marrying, and I am sure she will tell me I have
done right. I will now despatch a letter to say I am accepted. I
should not like the circumstance to transpire through any other means,
and she will be then enabled to form her own plans for our future
establishment. I am sure she will think I have done right."

Thus did Julia become engaged to Lord Ennismore, and thus did she give
herself away to a man perfectly disgusting, had he been unsupported
by station and wealth. Sir John did not allude to the affair after he
had undergone the painful task of accepting him in the light of a son;
but Lady Wetheral did not affect to conceal the triumph of her heart;
it revelled in her expression, and lighted up her countenance with
unusual brilliance. Julia must be a peeress--the young and lovely Lady
Ennismore!--had she now a wish ungratified?--all was absorbed in Julia.

Lady Ennismore's arrival broke through Lady Wetheral's day-dream, and
demanded her attention; it was necessary for a time to generalize her
feelings and thoughts; to withdraw them from resting exclusively on
Julia, and to be again the polite and attractive hostess. The youthful
peeress expectant had not attained her honours, and another personage
was yet to be consulted and won. Lady Wetheral applied herself to her
task with energy and tact.

Lady Ennismore had been many years a widow, and her person retained a
considerable portion of beauty and youthful appearance. Her manner was
irresistible to those whom she considered it her interest to attach;
to all it was fascinating; but to the very few who were destined to be
near her, and who became the involuntary agents of her will, to them
Lady Ennismore's seductive attractions became a spell, which none could
withstand, and from whose magnetic influence no talisman could free
their spirit. Lord Ennismore's thoughts and sentiments had their rise
in his mother's suggestions, though he believed his actions to be the
offspring of his own free will; but her ascendency, silent and wily in
its nature, was deeply and immoveably fixed in his mind--a wife might
never hope to share it.

Lady Wetheral could not equal her guest in diplomatic talents, but she
followed Lady Ennismore's lead with excellent tact, and managed her
husband's distaste to her ladyship, with great skill. The ladies became
intimate upon their first meeting, and were rarely separate during Lady
Ennismore's stay at Wetheral. Julia was soon bound heart and soul to
her future mother-in-law; her young imagination speedily allowed every
virtue to manners so flattering, and she believed herself captivated by
excellence, and the irresistible force of kindness as sincere as it was
delightful. Every member at Wetheral, save its proprietor, adored the
amiable and conciliating Lady Ennismore.

Lady Ennismore held an interesting conversation with her son, soon
after her arrival at the castle. They were alone, in her ladyship's
private sitting-room.

"My dear Ennismore, do you take your medicines regularly?"

"Yes, I take three pills every night."

"And your powders, my love?"

"Three times a day, just as I do at Bedinfield."

"Julia is a sweet girl, Ennismore; I hope she will not forget your
health, or overlook the necessity of attending to your medicines."

"I am sure she will be very attentive," replied his lordship, laying
down the book of patterns, which he was copying for Clara.

"I am sure she means it, Ennismore; but a fine young creature like
Julia may forget occasionally, and it is so necessary your system
should be attended to."

"Julia says she shall seldom leave Bedinfield; therefore, all things
will go on as regularly as usual."

"My dear Ennismore, Julia must go into public as your wife; she must
be often in society, and she must receive company; her station in life
requires some sacrifices, but, should you often be compelled to remain
alone, I should be very anxious about your health. I hate the venal
attentions of servants; they might poison you."

"But you will be with us?" observed the young lord, in an anxious tone.

"My dear Ennismore, I would make any sacrifice to establish your
comfort, but I dare say such a step is unnecessary. Julia is a dear,
delightful creature, just the very daughter-in-law I would have
selected. I am sure her tenderest cares will be devoted to your health.
If, in her gay or occupied hours, she should display an occasional
oversight, remember her youth and beauty, and the difficulties of her
situation, Ennismore."

"But who will attend to my medicines, and myself?" asked his lordship;
"I never can be left alone, you know; who will play cribbage with me in
the evenings, as you have always done?"

"Leave that to me, my son; time and circumstance will do much for us.
You have chosen the flower of the Wetherals for your wife. Julia loves
me, and is guided by me in every thing which relates to yourself; Lady
W. is a ladylike goose, and her eldest daughter resembles the automaton
in stillness and insipidity. Clara is very handsome, but I see already
the germs of violence in her temper. You have done very wisely in
choosing Julia; between ourselves, she is easily guided by the person
she loves, and she loves me for your sake, Ennismore."

"I am very glad I have given you satisfaction; altogether, I am greatly
pleased I am going to be married, since you like Julia, and wished
me to settle. I am sure she is an excellent person, and will take
great care of me, but I can't think I shall get on well without _you_,
mother!"

"My dear son, do you really wish to be plagued with a mother, when a
young and handsome woman becomes your companion? Cannot you allow for
a _little_ present discomfort, till Julia becomes accustomed to your
methods? Your poor fond mother will be a millstone round your neck,
dear Augustus."

"I can never be happy without you, mother, to give me all my things in
proper time. I have been so accustomed to have every thing done for me,
and Julia cannot remember every thing at once, as you do. You will stay
with us at Bedinfield?"

"Your affection to me is extremely flattering, Ennismore, and your
mother will never be far from you; but consider the opinion of the
world, and, believe me, we must conform in some measure to its
expectations. I will retire to my jointure-house with proper humility;
how long I continue there, will depend upon yourself."

"But Julia does not know my ways; who will give me my pills?"

"Your young wife, Ennismore."

"Mother, I can't marry, unless you will stay by me, and take care
of me, as you have always done. Julia does not know I take so much
medicine; she knows nothing about illness; I always expected you would
live with me when I married."

"You will be very happy at Bedinfield, Augustus, with Julia."

"I know I shall be very ill, mother."

"Hush!" whispered her ladyship, as the door opened, and Julia appeared,
fresh and fair as Venus, when she first presented her bright form
before the admiring gods; the joyous expression of her face formed
a painful contrast with the leaden torpidity of her lover's dreary
countenance.

"I am come to announce another gay meeting at Lady Spottiswoode's this
day week; all our party must, positively, attend, Lady Spottiswoode
says, for her rooms are to boast particular attractions. The celebrated
Adonis, Mr. Vyvyan, and the still more celebrated Captain Jekyl, are
borrowed for the occasion. Here are notes for each, and all."

"And who is Mr. Vyvyan, Julia?" asked Lady Ennismore. "Every body
knows, or has heard of Captain Jekyl, but I am ignorant of the
existence of Mr. Vyvyan; comes he from Cornwall?"

"I do not know, but he is staying with the Pynsents, and every body is
wild about him. You will obey the summons, dear Lady Ennismore?"

Her ladyship demurred.

"Oh, then, I shall have no pleasure in the thing at all," exclaimed
Julia, "and I am sure Ennismore will not care about it if you are
absent; therefore, we will remain together at home."

"Dear flattering girl," said her ladyship, smiling, and pressing
Julia's hand; "am I so seriously included in your scheme of happiness?
I will not hear of your absence from so much gaiety: now is the natural
and proper period for enjoyment, Julia, and, since you are silly
enough to prefer an old lady's society, I must and will with pleasure
sacrifice my own wishes. I will attend you to Lady Spottiswoode's, and
witness your triumphs."

"My greatest triumph will arise in having won your consent to
accompany us, dearest Lady Ennismore," replied Julia; and her beaming
eyes proved the sincerity of her feelings. Julia, artless and
affectionate, was incapable of disguise; and the parentally kind and
watchful attention of her ladyship won the whole soul of the object to
whom it was addressed. Julia rarely quitted the society of her future
mother; and certainly her attachment amounted to adoration in its
effects; but, little accustomed to expressions of regard and fondness
from her own parent, and sensibly alive to kindness, no wonder the
charm was felt, and its influence yielded to, by one so keenly feeling.
The attachment of Lord Ennismore, however coldly manifested, and the
fascinating sweetness of Lady Ennismore's manners, opened visions of
happy futurity to Julia's mind; and she drank copiously of the cup
of delightful hope presented to her lips. All was to her a scene of
enchantment.

Christobelle was now admitted to range freely through the apartments
once so impervious to her sisters, till their fourteenth anniversary
allowed them the _entrée_, in form, to the delights of society. Upon
Julia's engagement to Lord Ennismore, Clara was inducted into her
rights and privileges; and Christobelle, under cover of her father's
protection, was allowed to glide silently among the personages
filling the present busy scene. Lady Wetheral was too much occupied
in "arrangements" concerning the forthcoming marriage to heed her
appearance; and if a kind remark from Lady Ennismore betrayed her
presence, Lady Wetheral observed "it was only Bell, Sir John's pet,
and concern, altogether--not hers;" and she was allowed to roam about
unnoticed.

"Bell" remembered, in after years, how Julia was evermore seated near
Lady Ennismore, fixing her eyes in admiration upon her ladyship's fine
countenance, and listening to her conversation with eager attention.
She remembered Lord Ennismore employed almost constantly by Clara in
copying music, or drawing patterns for fancy-work, and Miss Wetheral
occupied in drawing, with pale cheeks and humid eyes. She remembered
distinctly her mother's gratified look and manner, as she passed from
Lady Ennismore to her dull son, with the proud feeling that Julia
would soon link her name with that of a baron of the united kingdom.
Young as Christobelle then was, she could observe the difference
between Julia's happy, beaming eyes, and the melancholy expression of
her eldest sister's countenance, pale as her own white dress, till an
allusion to Hatton, or the name of Pynsent, suffused her cheek with a
passing blush. She saw and observed much, which became a subject of
meditation in after life.

Lady Ennismore demanded an audience of Sir John Wetheral, previous to
Lady Spottiswoode's ball, and the interview took place in his study,
with every appropriate ceremony and mystery. Lady Ennismore then, in
behalf of her son, offered to arrange the settlements, and enter upon
the little momentous prelude which usually preceded matrimonial vows.
Sir John expressed his surprise that his lordship should require an
interpreter and agent in a matter concerning his own affairs. Lady
Ennismore was never wanting to herself.

"My dear Sir John, young people are shy of entering into affairs which
involve much consideration. Perhaps I have laid the foundation of
indolence in my son's mind by acting according to his wishes, instead
of compelling him to become his own _homme d'affaires_; but my son's
health must prove his excuse, and I shall be truly happy to resign the
reins into Julia's hand in a very few weeks."

"Your ladyship must have enervated his capacity for business, since my
lord is unequal to make a settlement upon his wife," observed Sir John,
drily.

Lady Ennismore appeared absorbed in calculation, as she ran up quickly
a sum pencilled upon a slip of paper, which she held in her hand. The
employment prevented her from comprehending the purport of the speech,
or it allowed her ladyship a plea for momentary absence of mind. She
turned suddenly from her calculation.

"My dear sir, Ennismore's income allows him to settle three thousand a
year upon his lady."

Sir John bowed.

"Her jointure will be three thousand pounds," continued Lady Ennismore,
"and five hundred pounds yearly pin-money: does that allowance appear
too little, my dear Sir John?"

"It may not be too large an allowance for Lady Ennismore," he replied;
"but it is a large sum for Julia Wetheral. I trust my daughter will
manage her affairs with prudence and credit to herself."

"I do not doubt her excellence in any point," said her ladyship, in
winning tones. "Julia will be the pride of the family who are fortunate
enough to receive her."

A father's tender feelings were touched; they were easily roused on the
subject of his wife and children. He bowed to Lady Ennismore with more
conciliation of manner than he had yet displayed towards her ladyship.

"I believe my daughter's heart to be excellent, and I am sure she will
act uprightly in every situation."

"Ennismore and myself justly value our treasure, Sir John, and I shall
retire from Bedinfield with the happy certainty of leaving my son in
the possession of every earthly comfort. Young people should live to
themselves, and I hold it good policy, on every account, to retire. Do
you not think with me, Sir John?"

"I agree with your ladyship. I should not wish to be domesticated with
young people upon their marriage. They are entering upon life as we
have done before them; and the experience of old people is offensive to
the unsuspicious. They must win, through suffering, the knowledge we
have acquired: _we_ did so, Lady Ennismore."

"I flatter myself, Sir John, we think alike on many subjects. I shall
retire to tranquillity and repose in my cottage of gentility, and the
young people will make the walls of Bedinfield ring with festivity. I
trust we may claim your daughter in a very short time. The settlements
will not be long in my agent's hands, and Ennismore is so anxious to
present his lady in Staffordshire! May I make interest to salute my
real daughter in a month? I am now equally anxious to make my own
arrangements; and my first wish must be to secure my son's comfort,
before I allow myself to consider my own gratifications."

Sir John admitted that suspense was useless when both parties
understood the nature of their engagements; and the marriage was fixed
to take place as soon as the settlements should be ready for signature.
There was great ceremony in presenting jewels; and Lady Wetheral was
the head and front of every thing. There was immense preparation in
the wardrobe department, far exceeding, in extent and expense, the
ample and handsome dresses prepared for Mrs. Boscawen. Her ladyship
explained the necessity of a very distinct line of demarkation in the
wardrobe of the sisters.

"Julia marries a peer, consequently she will require a certain style of
magnificence in her appearance. Isabel married a man of considerable
wealth, but still the young wife of an elderly commoner is not of
material importance in society. Isabel must nurse Boscawen, who is
scarcely ever free from ague since he visited Holland, and these
splendid silks would be useless, fading at Brierly; it would have
been worse than folly to have given a peeress's _trousseau_ to poor
Isabel, but they will both attend your marriage, my dear Julia. It
will be a proud day to us all, when you become the wife of Ennismore,
a young nobleman possessing peculiar steadiness of character; and,
though slightly delicate, his mind is elastic, and his love strongly
developed towards you. Independently of his rank and title, I should
prefer Ennismore to the young men of the present day. The necklace he
presented to you so gallantly are diamonds of the first water."

"Lady Ennismore presented them to Julia, mamma," observed Clara, with
simplicity.

"Fiddle faddle! they were presented in excellent taste. Isabel has no
jewels, poor girl."




CHAPTER VI.


When the Wetheral party entered the crowded dancing-room at Lady
Spottiswoode's, they caused considerable sensation. It was now publicly
known that Lord Ennismore was the accepted lover of Miss Julia
Wetheral, and the young couple were gazed at with untired wonder.
Each countenance was well known to the company: Miss Julia Wetheral
and young Lord Ennismore had frequented every fashionable place of
rendezvous for the last three months, yet their engagement evidently
procured each personage extraordinary power of novelty.

Eyes which had scarcely allowed a glance to the uninviting figure
of Lord Ennismore, gazed now earnestly upon his person, because he
came as the acknowledged lover of the handsome Julia Wetheral, and
every gentleman glanced with heightened interest and admiration at
Julia, because she was no longer of their number to win and to receive
their homage. Julia Wetheral now belonged to Lord Ennismore, and her
brilliant light must soon disappear from their hemisphere: she was
going to throw herself away, they affirmed, upon a fellow unworthy of
such a prize. Could she really love such a poor, sickly creature? far
better have taken Tom Pynsent.

Julia was the star of the evening, from the contending opinions which
circulated upon the subject of her engagement. She was, however,
innocent of the sensation she occasioned. Leaning on the arm of her
affianced, and accompanied by Lady Ennismore, Julia passed through the
groupes who watched her progress, and gave no thought to the whispered
observations that floated around her. She was truly happy, truly
blessed in her own bright mental anticipations, and in the company
of those she loved. She heard no sounds but the heavy enunciation of
Ennismore, and the sprightly musical tones of her ladyship. She saw no
one distinctly, not even Tom Pynsent, who stood bolt upright before her
party, with a remarkably red face. He addressed Miss Wetheral.

"I am getting a disagreeable thing over, Miss Wetheral. I heard Miss
Julia was engaged to that young sprig after all, and I knew I must meet
her some time or other, so I am prepared to do it at once."

Julia at that moment caught his eye, and Tom Pynsent bowed with
tolerable command of manner.

"There, that is over. I wish your sister had given herself to a better
sort of fellow. That Lord Ennismore, Miss Wetheral, should not carry
such a jewel away from us. She did right to refuse me, if I did not
please her fancy, but she ought to have chosen a more likely upstanding
fellow than the Staffordshire earl."

Anna Maria smiled complacently at the sound of Tom Pynsent's voice, but
the subject was distressing. She could not trust herself to continue
it. Tom Pynsent nodded and smiled to a group at some distance.

"There's Wycherly and Tyndal wishing me joy. They watched me bow to
your sister. I'll just tell them they are d--d rascals for their
pains."

Tom Pynsent walked away to put his threat in execution, but the
congratulations of the gentlemen overpowered him.

"I say, Pynsent, you bowed like Sir Charles Grandison."

"Pynsent, that was mortal agony, wasn't it?"

"Tom's a cold," cried young Spottiswoode.

"You are all welcome to laugh, gentlemen," said Tom Pynsent, in his
invariably good-natured manner. "Some of you are merry because you have
not been refused by a woman you like, and half of you rejoice to find
the mortification extended to another besides yourselves."

Mr. Wycherly turned towards Mr. Pynsent. "My dear fellow, you cause
your own vexation by hunting after a woman who does not care for you.
Most men run after shadows, and cast away substance. I married Mrs.
Wycherly because she took a fancy to me, and let me see at once what
she wished and expected. Faith, it saved me a great deal of trouble!"

"But no girl cares for me, unless she longs for my money," exclaimed
Pynsent, feelingly.

"Zounds, man, don't be crestfallen. I know a fine woman at this moment,
and in this room, who would take you penniless!"

Tom Pynsent looked aghast.

"Every body but yourself has observed the thing," said young
Spottiswoode. "Haven't they, Tyndal?"

"Where are your eyes, Pynsent?" asked Mr. Vyvyan. "I detected the lady
the moment you addressed her."

"'Love in her eyes for ever plays,'" sang Mr. Wycherly. "'It makes her
rosy lips his care.'"

"'And walks the mazes of her hair,'" added Mr. Vyvyan.

Tom Pynsent gazed on each speaker in silent amazement: no pencil could
pourtray the workings of his countenance.

"Who would sorrow for the cold-hearted, when a handsome girl worships
the ground one treads upon?" cried Mr. John Tyndal. "Not I for one."

"I wish she would give _me_ one of those dovelike glances she bestows
upon the dull-headed Pynsent," sighed Mr. Henry Tyndal.

"By Jove, gentlemen, I don't consider myself dull!" at last Tom Pynsent
burst forth. "I know many ladies who would like to live at Hatton,
though they care little enough about its master; but I deny your
present statement. Who is the lady you allude to?"

"Go and ask Miss Wetheral to dance, Pynsent, and she will assist you in
solving our riddle," said Mr. Wycherly, laughing.

"Good heavens! if a woman looked in my eyes, as I saw a lady consulting
yours just now, Pynsent, I should feel myself called upon to fall
desperately in love," observed his friend Vyvyan.

"God bless my soul! do you mean that _Miss_ Wetheral likes me?"

Tom Pynsent uttered the question with an agitated and hurried tone
of voice, which caused a general laugh among his auditors, but Mr.
Wycherly spoke seriously and looked in earnest.

"You were in love with her sister, Pynsent, and had no time to observe
other women. Every one else could read in the expression of Miss
Wetheral's manner and countenance her decided liking for you."

"God bless my soul!" again ejaculated Tom Pynsent, "I never saw her
look me in the face in my life!"

"My dear fellow, you are as green as a girl in her sixteenth year.
Do you fancy a woman stares at you by way of shewing her true love?
Her downcast looks and melancholy appearance betray her. She only
brightens up when you address her, and to all other men she is cold
as an iceberg. Such are Miss Wetheral's symptoms, and such are all
delicate-minded women's manners, when they are not hunting down a
fortune. I know the sex, Pynsent."

"Such a woman is worth a thousand scornful dames," remarked old Mr.
Tyndal.

"Pynsent looks petrified!" exclaimed young Spottiswoode.

"Pynsent at fault, by the Lord Harry!" laughed his friend Vyvyan.

"Cold scent, Pynsent, after your late run," cried Spottiswoode,
entertained beyond measure at poor Tom's _égaré_ looks.

The group of gentlemen rallied unmercifully their bewildered companion
upon his dull reception of a piece of intelligence which would have
raised any other man from the dead. Tom Pynsent's temper stood all
jibes with unwearied patience, and when his mind had somewhat recovered
the standard of its usual tone, he rebutted their attacks in his own
loud tone of voice.

"I don't mind any of your jokes; if a woman likes me seriously, I
shall be sure to return it, and be very much obliged to her. I like
Miss Wetheral very much, but I did not suppose she cared for me; how
could I?"

"Why, you flirted with her abominably, once," remarked young
Spottiswoode.

"Yes, perhaps I did so, but I had no idea she minded my nonsense."

"Young girls are easily caught, Pynsent, at first coming out. You
certainly trifled with poor Miss Wetheral," said Mr. Tyndal.

"Did I? then I'll be hanged if I don't marry her!"

A roar of laughter followed this announcement, but Tom Pynsent was
nothing daunted; he coolly withdrew from his companions, and sought
Anna Maria, who received him with placid manners, and suppressed
pleasure.

Tom Pynsent was now enlightened on one material point; and his vanity
was touched, by the knowledge that the beautiful Miss Wetheral, so
remarkable for her loveliness and extraordinary coldness of manner,
did indeed love him in silence, above all his companions, and
independently of Hatton! She had loved him in spite of his proposal to
her sister! She had borne the knowledge of her sister's rivalship in
patient gentleness! She was at that moment receiving him with kind and
conciliating manners, though she knew he had asked another to be his
wife! Tom Pynsent's heart did justice to her suffering and affection;
and he mentally vowed he would secure a prize so long unvalued,
because so totally misunderstood. From that moment he attached himself
exclusively to Miss Wetheral.

How did the hours glide by that eventful evening, in the imagination of
the two happy sisters! How triumphant did Lady Wetheral appear as she
glanced at both daughters!

There was Lord Ennismore publicly displaying his engagement with Julia,
and Tom Pynsent was stationed at the side of Anna Maria, in deep, and,
apparently, agreeable discourse. Her triumph was commented upon, by the
Mesdames Tyndal and Pynsent.

"Oh, be hanged to her!" cried the latter lady, "she has got one
daughter hooked on Ennismore, and now she's driving at Tom: only watch
her manœuvres. I knew what she was at, Mrs. Tyndal, when she made
her visit to Court Herbert some years ago. Miss Wetheral was a child,
but I smoked the meaning of it. She was vapouring then, after Tom."

"Lady Wetheral has been very fortunate with her daughters," replied
Mrs. Tyndal. "Mr. Boscawen was an eligible match, and Lord Ennismore of
course, in the eye of the world, is of still higher consideration."

"I think, if I had ten portionless daughters, I would not give one of
them to that poor decayed fellow, and as I always told my son, Tom; 'If
you bring me home a Wetheral, I'll be hanged if I receive her, and my
word is as good as your own.'"

Mrs. Tyndal was accustomed to her companion's manly style of
expression; so indeed was every family in the county. Mrs. Pynsent
was tolerated in her youth on account of her large fortune; she was
tolerated in middle-life as the mistress of Hatton; she was sought in
her old age, as the mother of her son Tom. Thus Mrs. Pynsent passed
through society without a single accomplishment, or even the attributes
of a female, supported by the powerful shield of wealth, and feared for
the determination of her sentiments and the coarseness of her remarks,
by all her acquaintance.

Separated from her masculine propensities, Mrs. Pynsent was a
warm-hearted, well-meaning person, and many young people could bear
witness, that if Mrs. Pynsent often offended their ears, or dealt
a merciless blow at their vanity, she had also befriended them in
their need, and in sorrow or sickness, there was none kinder, or more
patient. Why Mrs. Pynsent spoke so bitterly against a "Wetheral" never
could be divined; probably some early prejudice influenced her in
deprecating the name.

Mrs. Tyndal expressed surprise at Mrs. Pynsent's observation to her son.

"Really, Mrs. Pynsent, I cannot agree with you in such very determined
dislike to the Miss Wetherals. I think my sons might make a far worse
choice than either lady present."

"By Jove!" replied Mrs. Pynsent, shrugging her shoulders, "I hope Tom
will never choose an empty doll from Wetheral: my brother Wycherly
hinted to me the other day Tom had been disappointed of one of them,
but I gave him my thoughts upon the matter: 'Bill,' I said, 'if any
man could prove to me my son Tom had made an offer to a Wetheral, I'd
kick him down stairs for his pains, and out of the Hatton grounds.' My
brother Bill never renewed that subject!"

Mrs. Tyndal glanced towards Anna Maria, who was still engaged in
conversation with Tom Pynsent, and a smile passed over her face. Mrs.
Pynsent caught the smile and look.

"Oh, you need not think about Tom in that quarter!" she observed. "Tom
knows I hate the name."

At that moment Miss Wetheral and her companion joined the dancers.

"Your son distinguishes Miss Wetheral to-night," said her friend, with
rather more _espièglerie_ than their friendship warranted.

"Not a bit of it; I don't believe a word of it." At that instant
her eye caught Tom dancing with all his might, and she beheld his
_vis-à-vis_ exchanging smiles with him: her colour rose.

"By Jove! he's dancing with her a second time, and there's that
superannuated father of his, looking on! Wouldn't any one think Mr.
Pynsent was staring at a puppet-show? I'll take the old gentleman home."

Mrs. Pynsent rose for the purpose of joining her husband, who was
enjoying the apparent gaiety of his son. Lady Wetheral joined her at
that most inopportune moment, and began a subject most offensive to her
feelings.

"I am delighted to see your son in such excellent spirits to-night, my
dear Mrs. Pynsent: it is an infectious disorder which I already feel
stealing upon me. Such joyous spirits generally take effect upon those
around."

"What ails Tom that he should not be gay?" growled Mrs. Pynsent.
"Mothers court him and daughters flirt with him; what else can he
require in a ball-room?"

Lady Wetheral felt piqued.

"The last time I had the pleasure of seeing your son, he was not so
gaily inclined. I am glad his dejection has passed away."

"When did you see Tom out of spirits?" abruptly inquired Mrs. Pynsent.

"At Wetheral," replied her ladyship, in a gentle tone, while her heart
longed for farther questioning.

"Umph! Men require spirits sometimes, when they are running the
gauntlet."

"Mr. Pynsent won my admiration and regard by his honourable manner of
acting," continued Lady Wetheral, who had now got into deep water; "he
was always a particular favourite of mine, and I deeply regretted my
daughter did not accept a man so much...."

"Your daughter! who are you talking about?--what has my son to do with
any of your daughters?" Mrs. Pynsent was evidently beginning to chafe,
but she had offended by her allusions to mothers and daughters, and she
was destined to receive punishment from Lady Wetheral's hands.

"I am afraid I have alluded to circumstances which have not been made
known to you, my dear Mrs. Pynsent, and I beseech you not to remember
what has passed my lips: I was of course perfectly certain you were no
stranger to certain events at Wetheral, or I would have withheld this
unfortunate communication; I thought you knew...."

"I know nothing, Lady Wetheral; and what is more, I have no desire to
know any thing: have the kindness to let me pass."

Mrs. Pynsent passed on, as her ladyship fell back with polite ease of
manner at her wish; but the iron had entered into her soul. The diamond
aigrette upon her green satin turban paled under the flashing of her
eyes as she proceeded up the room towards Lady Spottiswoode. Lady
Wetheral confessed afterwards, her triumph at that moment repaid her
for many bitter taunts on the part of her victim.

Whatever might be the opinion of Mrs. Pynsent respecting an alliance
with "a Wetheral," her son was plunging into the scrape with formidable
determination. He had truly admired Julia; he had been severely
disappointed by her refusal; but then she never cared for him, and
he had applied to her father in doubt and fearful suspicion that she
preferred Ennismore. There was a lovely and admired creature positively
in love with him--a girl, too, considered by the men inaccessible to
all approach--even Vyvyan detected her attachment, and the Tyndals
envied him; this was irresistible; and Tom Pynsent forgot every thing,
in the flattering, rapturous idea that he was loved by such a woman.
His attention that night was extremely marked, and Miss Wetheral,
glowing with happy elation of spirits, listened with deep interest to
the half-sentimental, half-awkward conversation of her partner. At the
conclusion of the dance, which attracted the attention of Mrs. Tyndal,
Tom Pynsent became more seriously sentimental and red-faced.

"Miss Wetheral, I think a man may love twice, mayn't he?"

"He may so," replied Anna Maria, "but no one ever loves with depth of
affection a second time; how can they?"

Tom Pynsent looked at his gloves, and then upon the ground. "Indeed I
don't know."

"The first affection," she continued, with feeling, "unites all the
best feelings in their intensity; but when they are crushed, those
feelings bloom no more, though they may not be extinguished."

"Sometimes one's first love is a silly affair," remarked Tom, looking
inquisitively, yet alarmed, at his companion.

"They may be silly, and they may be objectionable, Mr. Pynsent;
but they destroy happiness at the time, and a first sorrow is the
bitterest."

"I think I could love a second time just as well as I did at first,
if I knew a nice girl liked me, and believed what I told her--" Tom
Pynsent stopped. A deep sigh from Anna Maria disordered him, but it
animated his courage at the same time.

"I know many people very happy with their second loves," said Tom
Pynsent, looking shy.

"Men may love twice, but women never, if they really feel an attachment
for an object," answered Miss Wetheral.

"I liked your sister Julia extremely, Miss Wetheral; but she did not
care about me, and a man cannot always be miserable about a woman
who runs out of his way. I would rather love a woman who liked me in
return, and would not check me with stern looks. I am sure I should
love my wife very much; and if she objected to hunting, I would never
go out more than four days in the week, and I am sure she might have
her own way in every thing."

Anna Maria coloured with emotion, and turned from the eager gaze of her
companion; her timidity gave increased animation to the speaker, and he
proceeded boldly.

"I'm sure any woman need not mind _me_: I am rough, but then a wife
mustn't mind those little things, and if I swear, it won't be at _her_.
A man swears to make himself understood, and sometimes one swears a
little for something to do; but my wife need not mind those trifles,
need she, Miss Wetheral?"

"That would depend upon circumstances."

"But should _you_?" asked Tom.

"I never heard you swear, Mr. Pynsent--much--"

Tom Pynsent drew himself up with strong approbation and pleased vanity.
"Shall we dance again, Miss Wetheral?"

"We have danced together twice this evening, Mr. Pynsent."

"Well, and what then?"

"People will remark," hesitated Anna Maria; "no gentleman dances three
times with--that is--I really can't tell."

"But if we like to dance together, what is that to any one?" Tom rose
and took her hand. "If you will not dance with me, I shall be sure you
don't wish it."

Anna Maria rose, though reluctantly.

"It is not my wish to decline dancing, Mr. Pynsent: I only dislike
making myself publicly remarked for breaking established rules."

"Never mind rules, Miss Wetheral; we will dance together, in spite of
every thing. Who minds what people say, if we like to dance together!"

Julia and Lord Ennismore passed at the moment Anna Maria was debating
with her partner: Julia smiled. "My dear Anna Maria, the young ladies
are complaining of you as a monopoliser; they say you have been
keeping Mr. Pynsent from his usual half dozen partners, and there is a
combination to vote you out of all ball invitations."

"I cannot allow Miss Wetheral to listen to such abominable nonsense,"
said Tom Pynsent, privately delighted at the idea of being observed;
"she has promised to be guided by me this evening, so we are going to
dance together for the third time."

"Come and stand by us then in the country dance." Julia pressed
the hand of her sister with affectionate meaning, which Anna Maria
returned, as they proceeded together to the set which was then forming.
For an instant they were able to exchange whispers.

"Oh, Julia, my heart is tranquil, I am again happy!"

"Glad of it, go on, and mind nobody's looks or remarks." In another
instant their partners claimed them.

"I say, father, just observe cousin Tom," said Miss Wycherly, touching
her father's arm; "do look at Tom smiling upon Miss Wetheral, and
looking so red-faced and happy. That will be a match, after all; I
shall congratulate him."

"Let him alone, Pen, let him alone, and congratulate him when he asks
for it. Girls will always be poking their noses into matches, and
making mischief. Say nothing to Tom, and say nothing to your aunt."

"But my aunt will be distracted, father, at the match."

"Pooh, pooh, let your aunt and Tom manage their own affairs; they can
both take their own parts."

"Gads!" cried Miss Wycherly; "Tom is just going to dance with Miss
Wetheral the third time, father; the third time, as I am alive, father!
Well, that will do for my aunt if she sees it."

Mr. Vyvyan came up at that moment to request the pleasure of dancing
with Miss Wycherly. Miss Wycherly kept her glass to her eye, and
continued observing the party as she replied, "No, I can't dance with
any body now, I'm looking at Tom." Mr. Vyvyan bowed with an offended
air and withdrew.

"Pen, you were very rude," observed Mr. Wycherly.

"Was I?"

"Yes, you were; devilish rude."

"What did he come worrying me for, when I was watching Tom. Gads!
father, Tom is saying something to the purpose now. Miss Wetheral has
given him such a look: poor Tom, it's all over with him! Where in the
world is aunty Pynsent?--somebody find me aunty--I want of all things
to see her fire up!"

Sir Charles Spottiswoode begged the honour of Miss Wycherly's hand for
the following country dance.

"I can't dance with any of you; I am busy looking for my aunt," replied
the lady, seating herself.

"Let me assist you in your search, Miss Wycherly;" and Mr. Spottiswoode
seated himself quietly beside her. Miss Wycherly was amused by the
action.

"Charles Spottiswoode, you may call this constancy, but I can only
consider it tiresome: do go and dance with some lady who has not the
objection I have, to being worried. I hate tiresome men!"

"I shall not desire to dance with you, but I will not quit this place
while you remain here," was the reply.

"Men always fancy perseverance will balance their demerits," said Miss
Wycherly.

"Perseverance will do much," replied Mr. Spottiswoode, "if a lady
values attention. Love is only proved by persevering constancy and
untired assiduity."

"A very fine sentiment, Mr. Spottiswoode; but I can meet you in the
field of disputation: I have always heard that 'love' was fearful,
patient, and easily discouraged."

"_That_ love must emanate from the heart of a poor devil, Miss
Wycherly; not such a heart as you would prize."

"What do you presume to know of my taste, Mr. Spottiswoode?"

"I know that you would despise a creeping, frightened lover, as you
dislike your horse for starting upon every application of the whip. You
would prefer a decided admirer who bore with your flippancy, and feared
not your power. You have such a lover in me, fair Penelope!"

"You are very tiresome and disagreeable, Mr. Spottiswoode."

"You like me better than you will acknowledge, Miss Wycherly."

"If that is all you can amuse me with, we might as well join the
dancing," said Miss Wycherly. "But stay, I cannot; I have just declined
Mr. Vyvyan."

"What is Mr. Vyvyan to you or me? the set is nearly completed, and
we shall be too late." Mr. Spottiswoode offered his arm to his fair
companion.

"No, I shall not dance to-night," said the capricious lady, rising and
reseating herself. "My mind is changed."

"So is mine; I am going to flirt a little with Lady Anna Herbert.
Chatting is far more agreeable than dancing, in a heated room. Lady
Anna has smiled good-naturedly twice. I am glad you had the good taste
to decline."

"I said I should not dance, but I did not say I would not talk, Mr.
Spottiswoode; how very anxious you are to take up one's meaning."
Mr. Spottiswoode only bowed to retire. Miss Wycherly softened the
pettishness of her accent.

"Do stay, Mr. Spottiswoode, I have something particular to ask you; you
flurry one with your rapidity."

Mr. Spottiswoode sat down. "I am all attention, Miss Wycherly."

"How can you look so cross at me, and speak in such dry tones, Charles
Spottiswoode! I hate cross people."

"Then answer me one simple question in truth and sincerity, or I am
gone for ever, Penelope Wycherly."

"Gads! how you plague one! Well, what is it?"

"I will know whether you mean to accept me after all this flippancy. If
you do not intend it, say so; but I demand a reply."

"Then you wish to flirt with Lady Anna, Mr. Charles, and you think

    "'It is good to be off with the old love,
    Before you be on with the new.'"

"You have not answered me," returned Mr. Spottiswoode, seriously;
"answer me, as you hope yourself to be fairly treated."

"I vow I don't know what I mean; it is very difficult to make one's
choice among such a variety of Lords of the creation. I have not been
introduced to Mr. Jones yet. I can't say I admire Tom's friend."

"I am answered, Miss Wycherly; I wish you good night." Mr.
Spottiswoode turned from the coquette, and walked up the dancing-room,
without attending to Miss Wycherly's recall. The lady became alarmed.
Was Mr. Spottiswoode's movement really intentional, or was he showing
her how indifferently he could take leave, to compel her into
acceptance? There he was positively talking to Lady Anna Herbert,
and looking perfectly composed. Lady Anna was a notorious flirt, but
she should not entrap Charles Spottiswoode! Miss Wycherly was not
accustomed to be treated with _nonchalance_; and that Mr. Spottiswoode,
her lover of long standing, should summon courage enough to stand upon
the defensive against her coquetry, piqued her to the soul. She sought
Julia, who was dancing with Lord Ennismore.

"Miss Wycherly unattended!" cried Mr. Henry Tyndal, as he met her on
her way to the dancers, "take my arm."

"Be quiet," said the lady, passing on with her glass raised to her eye,
"do be quiet."

"Miss Wycherly, you are after mischief; you are darting arrows at some
poor wretch through that missile," continued young Tyndal, following
her.

"I am darting nothing, unless you are my arrow, in which case I should
delight to throw you to an incredible distance."

"You are witty, Miss Wycherly," returned young Tyndal, "and whenever
you are witty, you are angry."

Miss Wycherly made no reply; she saw and approached Julia.

"Julia Wetheral, I beseech you to do me a service."

"I will gladly assist you, if it is in my power," replied Julia; "what
is required of me?"

"Oh, leave the dance, and listen to me. Lord Ennismore will follow us,
when he perceives you have quitted the set; here let us be seated, and
I will tell you my anxiety."

Julia smilingly listened to Miss Wycherly's statement of her little
coquetry, and the offended departure of Mr. Spottiswoode.

"And now," she said, "I know you will help me, and just make my peace
with Charles. I won't give him the triumph of knowing he has frightened
me, but in your playful way you can discover what Spottiswoode means.
He has positively threatened to flirt with Lady Anna; and, whether I
like him or not, he must not appear unconcerned with another woman. My
dear, that would kill me. I can't part with Charles Spottiswoode in
that way, you know, and I just want you to sound him. Now go, there's a
dear creature; leave Lord Ennismore with me."

Julia undertook the mission, and Lord Ennismore consigned himself, not
to the care of Miss Wycherly, but to the side of his lady mother.

"My dear son, I have witnessed Julia's flight, and your consternation,"
said her ladyship; "you are fortunate in possessing a foolishly-fond
mother to retire to in these emergencies."

"I am always very glad to come to you, mother," replied the poor
effeminate young man, seating himself between her ladyship and Lady
Wetheral.

Julia was some minutes in playful conversation with Mr. Spottiswoode,
and Miss Wycherly watched her movements with eager attention; at last
Julia approached.

"Well, my dear, what does he say? Tell me at once, is he going to dance
with Lady Anna?"

"Mr. Spottiswoode is very much hurt, Penelope, and, if you are not
cautious, you will lose him."

"Oh, my dear girl, don't say so. Lose him? No, I'll be hanged, as my
aunt says, if he gets away from me, to be one of Lady Anna's swains! I
must come down, I see, though it grates me dreadfully."

"Make haste, as you value Mr. Spottiswoode," replied Julia, "or he
will be dancing with Lady Anna. He is looking at us at this moment;
now, Penelope, smile, smile, and beckon him to you for ever--don't
trifle--now, now, Penelope!"

"My dear, the smile would kill me. I can't smile at Spottiswoode, to
show him his power, and make him impudent. No, I cannot smile yet,
Julia."

"There, Penelope, he has asked Lady Anna to dance, and they are
standing up! You have lost him by your foolish coquetting, upon my
honour!"

Miss Wycherly turned pale, but her feelings struggled with pride. "Oh,
well then, let him dance away, I care not. It is of little consequence
whether Mr. Spottiswoode prefers Lady Anna or myself. I shall not
condescend to beg pardon for any thing I chose to say to a silly
creature, who cannot command his temper."

"For shame, Penelope! you _do_ care, and you _do_ mind Mr. Spottiswoode
dancing with Lady Anna; when the dance is ended, tell him you have done
wrong."

"He might have seen by my looks, Julia, I was not in earnest, or, at
least, that I did not mean him to think so."

"Then tell him so, Penelope."

"Not I, indeed. I never will submit to own myself wrong to a man before
marriage, or after either, if I can help it. Spottiswoode may rue the
hour he offended me, for never will I condescend to ask him to return
to a woman whom he chooses to leave for such a person as Lady Anna. Any
other girl I could have borne patiently. This I will not forgive, for
he knew it would vex me! hang me, _à la_ Pynsent, if I do not repay him
in kind."

"I can be of no further use, Penelope?"

"None, Julia, but I thank you for what you have done, though it has
proved ineffectual. Do not let me detain you from your party."

Julia endeavoured to appease her companion, but her lover's careless
indifference gave deep offence to Miss Wycherly, and she persisted in
maintaining an equal appearance of light-hearted manner, to deceive
and distress Mr. Spottiswoode. She was not long without materials
to assist her design; Mr. Henry Tyndal again applying to her, Miss
Wycherly accepted him as a partner, and she passed her lover in the
country dance with inimitably affected composure and gaiety. How
did that really attached couple endeavour to vie with each other in
assuming a coldness foreign to their hearts; and how wretchedly did
they pass the remainder of the evening in a state of miserable watching
and suffering! Miss Wycherly, in her most laughing dialogue with Henry
Tyndal, cast perturbed and anxious looks towards Lady Anna Herbert, who
was listening with smiling and marked attention to Mr. Spottiswoode's
compliments. Her heart felt withered, yet she redoubled her gaiety;
Miss Wycherly was almost noisy in her mirth, and the sound of her voice
disturbed the serenity of Mr. Spottiswoode, and made him falter in his
own sallies. Lady Anna rebuked him.

"How now, Mr. Spottiswoode! you have said the same thing three times
consecutively. What am I to understand by this absence of ideas?"

"You have confounded them, Lady Anna."

"I did not flatter myself I had power to confound your learned mind,
Mr. Spottiswoode," returned the lady.

"I shall not be the first, nor the last, whom your ladyship has
confounded; all our heads become turned in your society."

"Very well; I declare I shall tell Miss Wycherly how you flirt."

"Pray do, Lady Anna; Miss Wycherly is coming down with Mr. Tyndal."

"Very well; Miss Wycherly, what do you think Mr. Spottiswoode says?"

"Cross hands and back again, and never mind what Mr. Spottiswoode
says," said Miss Wycherly. "I am flying down the middle." Away she went.

"I saw Miss Wycherly did not touch you in cross hands, Mr.
Spottiswoode, but here she comes again."

The party made their _poussette_ in high glee, Miss Wycherly appearing
wholly engaged in some joke with Henry Tyndal, and Mr. Spottiswoode
showering compliments upon Lady Anna. Tom Pynsent and Anna Maria, who
stood near the set, and heard the dialogue, were much amused.

"Cousin Pen has quarrelled with Spottiswoode," he remarked, "and there
will be a pretty battle; hear how he is laying it into Lady Anna
Herbert. I should not like quarrelling, should you, Miss Wetheral?"

"Oh, no, surely not."

"Quarrelling is a rum sort of going on, Miss Wetheral. I don't think
you ever quarrel."

"Never, when I have my own way," replied Miss Wetheral, smiling.

"I'm sure my wife would have her own way, if that was all she cared
about, Miss Wetheral."

Miss Wetheral was silent.

"I wish I was married to a woman who would be good-natured, and not
given to be huffed upon all occasions," resumed Tom Pynsent. "I think a
bachelor's life very uncomfortable."

Miss Wetheral trembled violently, but she loved Tom Pynsent too fondly
to be able to assist his meaning; her heart beat audibly, but she
remained silent.

"You ride on horseback, Miss Wetheral, very often, don't you?"

"Yes, frequently."

"I wish you would let me ride with you; I am sure you do not know half
the country about Wetheral. I suppose I may escort you, Miss Wetheral?"
Tom Pynsent began to feel great stoutness of heart, in proportion as
Anna Maria grew timid and embarrassed.

"I shall be happy--we shall feel----." She hesitated.

"To be sure; well, then, I shall be at Wetheral to-morrow, and, if you
are not fatigued, I will show you a monstrous fine view."

"But your hunting-day is to-morrow, Mr. Pynsent."

"Never mind hunting for a day or so, Miss Wetheral; I don't mind being
laughed at. I want very much to show you that view, so mind we are
engaged to-morrow."

How lightly did Miss Wetheral's heart beat at that moment! how was she
repaid for months of miserable feeling!

It was during the bustle of breaking up, that Miss Wycherly glided
towards Julia, and unbosomed her feelings.

"My dear soul, I am the most wretched woman existing; that creature has
vexed me to the soul with his flirtation, and my only hope is that I
have given him a tweak in return."

"Take care, Penelope!"

"Oh, I shall care about nothing but repiquing. As long as Spottiswoode
flirts with Lady Anna, so long I shall flirt with that half spoony
Tyndal junior, if my heart breaks under it. How happy you are, Julia,
and how miserable am I! You have chained your lover, whereas, mine
bounds away at a touch. Now, there, look at him, cloaking Lady Anna,
as if she was made of spun glass, and bringing her just under my very
eyes. I will bear that man's insult with perfect gaiety--watch me
now--good night!"

Miss Wycherly passed on with apparent light-heartedness, and addressed
Lady Anna Herbert.

"How you have footed it this night, Lady Anna! Mr. Henry Tyndal
declares you are the pride of Shropshire in a ball-room. I was quite
jealous. Lord Farnborough is waiting for you, with Lady Jessy, but I
shall tell them you are too agreeably occupied to move away yet."

"Oh, no, really I am quite ready," replied her ladyship: "but Mr.
Spottiswoode's compliments are so lengthy, they will never arrive at a
conclusion; what do you think he has been saying?"

"Oh, I guess, Lady Anna.

    "'Will ye gang to the bourne, Marion,
    Will ye gang to the bourne with me?'

"I can't continue the song, for my father beckons, but fare you well."
Miss Wycherly kissed her hand playfully, and walked gaily up the room,
which was thinning very fast.

"That was excellently done," observed Lady Ennismore to Julia, as
they proceeded to the carriage, "but it will cost your friend her
night's rest, and her lover into the bargain. That fragment of song,
and the careless manner which accompanied its delivery, will throw the
gentleman into Lady Anna's power."

Anna Maria was escorted to the carriage by Tom Pynsent, and Lady
Wetheral triumphantly and delightedly invited him to Wetheral, whenever
he felt inclined to do them honour by his presence.

"Certainly, Mr. Pynsent, Lady Spottiswoode's parties bear away the bell
amongst us; every thing is so agreeably arranged, so many extremely
pleasant people gathered together! Wetheral will prove fast-days
after such an evening as this, but fasts are enjoined, you know.
Mortifications are proper to subdue the spirit."

"I am engaged to ride with Miss Wetheral to-morrow," replied Tom
Pynsent, with a slight hesitation of speech, and a remarkably silly
look. "I am to show her a monstrous fine view."

"How very kind! my daughter is not acquainted with our _distant_ views,
Mr. Pynsent, and your polite attention will be the means of increasing
her pleasures. Miss Wetheral delights in fine scenery. You must dine
with us, my dear sir; we shall not allow you to run away after,
perhaps, a long and fatiguing ride. My dear Lord Ennismore, thank you
for bringing me Julia, but where is her ladyship?"

"Lord Farnborough is escorting my mother; our carriage has just drawn
up, and she begs you will drive on without waiting for her. She is
talking to the Farnboroughs, and I am going to join her. We shall be at
Wetheral before you."

"Oh yes, your horses are much too speedy for _my_ fears. Well, then, my
dear Julia, we will proceed at once into the carriage."

Lord Ennismore handed Julia to the carriage, and returned to join his
mother.

"Excellent young man," exclaimed Lady Wetheral, "I always admired
Ennismore, but his filial attentions are beautiful."

Tom Pynsent could not forbear a smile at her ladyship's enthusiastic
admiration; he wished the party good night.

"Good night, good night," said Lady Wetheral and Julia, kissing their
hands to the receding figure of Mr. Pynsent. Anna Maria did not speak
her adieus, neither did she wave her hand, but she bent forward to
watch the last glimpse of his athletic form, as it disappeared among
the groups, who were waiting for their carriages.




CHAPTER VII.


Tom Pynsent's ride with Miss Wetheral only led the way to repeated
engagements at Wetheral on his part, and on Lady Wetheral's side,
to affectionate welcomes and smiles upon his entrance. At every
opportunity, and upon every occasion, Tom Pynsent was appointed to take
charge of "dear Anna Maria," and her ladyship thanked him in flattering
terms for the delightful accession of health which Miss Wetheral had
gained by constant and agreeable horse-exercise.

Anna Maria did, indeed, gain both health and happiness from the
repeated _tête-à-têtes_ which fell to her lot with the man she loved.
The tone of conversation, his shy manner--so like his manner with
Julia--his anxiety to form fresh engagements to meet again; all
convinced her his affections were surrendered to herself. Her cheek
resumed its bloom, her eye regained its brightness, and her figure
became more elastic; there was hope in her smiles, and lightness
in her movements, which formed an extraordinary change in the once
insipid Miss Wetheral. Anna Maria must ever appear gentle and
peculiarly feminine, but she was no longer painfully inert or tranquil,
to a death-like stillness. It was a rapid and complete change; a
change which proved how powerfully unrequited love had dealt with a
heart which could now rise at the touch of affection, from torpid
listlessness, to the joys of life; which could spring at once from
cold and weary melancholy, to the light and warmth of a joyous mind,
revelling in happy prospects.

Sir John Wetheral perceived Tom Pynsent's attentions with pleasure.
His honest heart and honourable feelings promised every happiness, he
said, to a woman who could prefer heart to head, and, if Anna Maria had
the sense to choose him instead of the lordlings whom Julia coveted,
he could insure her a happy married life, if it were not her own
fault. He wished he could prophecy equal content to Julia, but she had
planned her own marriage, and she must abide the issue; Lady Wetheral
must blame herself, if Julia was unhappy, for she had brought up her
daughters to consider wealth and station a balance to the weight of
matrimonial misery, and her remarks and sentiments taught Julia to
believe she had done well in selling herself to the highest bidder.

Lady Wetheral never could endure her husband's observations, when
they touched upon her government of children, and his present remarks
brought down a thousand reproaches.

"I think, Sir John, you might spare me what I can only term abuse, and
which you level at me now upon all occasions."

"My dear, you are wrong; abuse never issues from my lips."

"I call that abuse," she returned, "which throws blame over all my
actions, and which is not true. You are imputing, I may say, infamous
motives to me; and, while I am ever ready to advance my daughter's
happy and respectable establishments, you thunder blame from your
study, yet never assist yourself in a work of so much importance.
Had it not been for me, Lord Ennismore would never have proposed to
Julia, and, had I not watched Tom Pynsent, and drawn him constantly
to Wetheral, he might never have transferred his affections to Anna
Maria. In all this, Sir John, you have never assisted me; and what your
conscience will accuse you of on your death-bed, I know not; mine will
give me consolation in my last hour, in thinking I have performed my
duties to my children. You are obstinately resolved to imagine Julia
is marrying against her better judgment; but, my love, your time and
mine is gone by, and we must not judge of a young woman's affection by
our own feelings. I can quite understand Julia's attachment to Lord
Ennismore, and she could not be expected to forego that attachment, to
please your fastidious taste."

"This is not a matter of taste," replied Sir John; "it involves a deep
principle. Julia is marrying Ennismore, because his title has blinded
her judgment; her ambition is gratified, and her affections are yielded
up to its influence. Your sentiments have fostered her conduct, and you
will suffer by its effects, Gertrude."

"Sir John, any one would think you a professed booby," exclaimed his
lady, warmly; "any one would suppose you mad to hear you croaking and
grieving, because your daughter is on the point of marriage with a
peer of large fortune, and excellent character."

"Ennismore has no character at all, Gertrude."

"Then Julia will govern him, Sir John; don't be uneasy about that."

"Not while his mother lives."

"Nonsense; Julia will do what she pleases; don't talk to me of old
mothers; who ever minds their mothers? If Tom Pynsent cared for his
mother, he would not pay attention to Anna Maria. No, no, that is a
very poor plea against Lord Ennismore. If Tom Pynsent would propose
at once, my girls might marry the same day; he intends to propose, of
course, but he is a long time about it. He was quicker in asking Julia."

"He has learned experience," said her husband, smiling.

"Men are so stupid," returned Lady Wetheral; "they show their
intentions, and yet linger at the threshold. I will find out his
meaning the next time we meet, but I shall enter upon the subject with
great tact--you need not look so alarmed."

"Remember the fate of Mrs. Primrose's attack upon Mr. Thornhill,
Gertrude."

Lady Wetheral affected not to hear when any subject offended or
interfered with her ideas of propriety; in this case, she was
absolutely deaf, and her thoughts took a more excursive range.

"When my two daughters are disposed of, Clara will, of course, come
forward, and her remarkable style of beauty will soon attract attention
and admiration. I do not consider Clara particularly gifted, but her
appearance will more than balance her want of intellect. Your pet,
Chrystal, as you call her, will be a sort of companion for her, though
the child is disgustingly forward and pert, as I always prognosticated
she would be."

Christobelle was seated upon a stool at her father's feet, when this
dialogue took place; he patted her head at the conclusion of Lady
Wetheral's speech, and observed how companionable she had been, and
still proved to be, in his solitude. "If," he remarked, "the other
girls had been brought up to study, instead of being married from the
nursery, they would prove better companions and better wives, in the
duties they are resolved to encounter."

"That is a remark so like you, my dear, that I am somewhat weary of the
dull round of sentiment; Miss Chrystal, what are you poring over?"

Christobelle rose, and presented her book.

"Ah, very well; Miss Edgeworth is very clever with her chemistry, and
that prattling Rosamond, but she never married, and never will marry.
I never allowed my girls to read these kind of books, to make them
careless about their appearance, and disagreeably learned to men. I
never found a clever woman anxious to please, and in general they do
some extraordinary thing or other, like Miss Wycherly, who is clever,
but she drives herself about in a very masculine manner. There, my
dear, take back your book; if you turn out a reading lady, you will be
an object of dislike, and men will shun you; but, pray remember, you
belong to your father; _I_ have no hand in your education."

"Chrystal will be a treasure to the man who wins her," said Sir John.

"Yes, yes, she will do for Leslie, or be a treasure to that dirty
antiquarian, Cromleholm's son, Philip; but I wish to ask your opinion;
must we really have Mrs. Pynsent at Julia's wedding?"

"How can you avoid it, Gertrude?"

"I wish I knew some method of avoiding the invitation, without giving
offence."

"How so? You have formed an intimacy with her, and professed to esteem
her."

"That's another thing. One esteems people for different reasons, and
esteem means nothing. I always kept up an intimacy for the girls'
sakes, but I cannot endure her very abrupt manners. She is very
offensive."

"My dear Gertrude, you must manage your own affairs: you formed the
intimacy, to my great astonishment."

"I never receive assistance from you, Sir John. Never mind how or why I
formed the intimacy; it is sufficient that I wish to escape her society
at Julia's wedding; can I manage it?"

"I think not."

"I must then endure her. I see Mr. Pynsent, Tom I mean, riding up
the park; I must seek Anna Maria." Lady Wetheral hastily quitted the
apartment.

Tom Pynsent arrived, and was ushered into the sitting-room, where Lady
Wetheral was seated alone; she was apparently startled by his entrance.

"My dear Mr. Pynsent, there is an old saying, and not a very refined
one, which has been exemplified in myself at this moment. I was
thinking of you, and wishing to see you, as you entered."

"I am much obliged, Lady Wetheral; I am sure I am very much honoured by
your thoughts; but where are the ladies?"

"Lady Ennismore has _chaperoned_ some of the party in a drive to
Shrewsbury. Lewis's shop has so many attractions for young people!"

"Is Miss Wetheral gone?" asked Tom Pynsent, in a tone of
disappointment. "I want a hat, and I'll take this opportunity of riding
to Shrewsbury. Any thing I can do for you, Lady Wetheral?"

"I have given Julia a commission, thank you. Anna Maria did not join
the party. She is not very well this morning."

Tom Pynsent had risen to depart; he now reseated himself.

"Oh, if you have no commission to give me, I shall not ride so far; I
can get a hat any time. I hope Miss Wetheral is not confined to her
room."

"My daughter is not well, Mr. Pynsent. She looks much, very much
improved by her exercise on horseback, and I am complimented upon her
brilliant complexion and spirits, but I am not easy about her. I hope
her fine complexion betrays no seeds of consumption; her spirits are
not the spirits of health, I much fear."

"Good God! you don't think so!" cried Tom Pynsent, in alarm. "I thought
Miss Wetheral never looked better than she has done for some weeks
past."

Lady Wetheral shook her head.

"There is something not quite right, and I was wishing to see you,
to observe that perhaps riding-exercise was too violent for her
constitution. I think I must advise her to drive out in the phaeton,
and try its effect; but many thanks are due to you, my dear Mr.
Pynsent, for your kind and regular attendance upon my daughter. I have
often heard her express much gratitude towards you."

"I shall be very happy, I am sure, to drive Miss Wetheral in any open
carriage," remarked Tom, perfectly obtuse to the aim and end of his
companion's purpose. "I can drive her to very many pleasant views."

"I thank you most sincerely for your more than kind politeness towards
my daughter, which we all appreciate; but, my dear Mr. Pynsent, we must
not draw down unnecessary observation; people are always inclined to
remark upon--I think I must decline your agreeable offer, though with
pain--I----."

"Well, and what can any one say if I drive out Miss Wetheral? There is
no harm in attending an invalid in a drive, is there?"

Lady Wetheral laughed and coughed a little.

"No, Mr. Pynsent; no harm, though you have represented it so
humorously; but remarks will be made, and are made. As a mother I feel
those remarks, and I particularly beg you to understand, that it is
quite against my own ideas of right--quite in opposition to my own
feelings, that I am painfully called upon to withdraw my daughter from
being publicly seen so frequently in your company, attended only by her
servant."

Tom Pynsent twirled his hat, and was silent. Her ladyship proceeded.

"If the world, Mr. Pynsent, would only allow us to be happy our own
way, how many agreeable hours might be enjoyed which are now denied
us! Perhaps, as a mother, I _was_ wrong in throwing my daughter so
much in the society of a very agreeable man--the world says so; but I
have the strongest dependence upon the discretion and dignity of all
my daughters, therefore I have no fears: however, something is due to
public opinion, and to that severe mentor, attribute the necessity of
this painful task. I hope I have not given offence by my sincerity, Mr.
Pynsent?"

Tom Pynsent was taken by surprise; his agreeable rides were ended,
and his attendance upon Anna Maria at once suspended by the breath of
public opinion. There was but one way of recovering his former position
at Wetheral, and Lady Wetheral had won the day!

"I think it very extraordinary that I am not to ride with a lady I
like. Do you think, Lady Wetheral, a man is to be blamed if a lady
refuses him, and he should like to propose to another?"

"I should consider a gentleman very weak who pined for a woman's
indifferent heart, Mr. Pynsent," replied her ladyship, turning away to
conceal the triumphant expression of her countenance.

"I am glad you are of my opinion, Lady Wetheral. I was very sorry
Miss Julia refused me, for I thought her a very nice girl, and I was
extremely attached to her; but I saw she did not care about me. Miss
Wetheral is always kind-hearted and polite, and I don't think she
dislikes me. I am sure I don't know, but if I thought she cared for me,
I should like, like very much to--I should like to see Miss Wetheral,
if you please. Do you think, Lady Wetheral, she would let me see her?"
Tom Pynsent became extremely red-faced.

"She would see _you_, I am sure, Mr. Pynsent. Anna Maria said
particularly this morning, 'If Mr. Pynsent calls, I shall see him, but
no other gentleman.' I will ring, and let her know you are here."

There was silence for some minutes; at length her Ladyship rose.

"I make no apology for leaving you a short time alone, Mr. Pynsent. My
daughter will soon take my place, and we shall consider you our guest
for the day. I make no stranger of you. I must attend an appointment
with our bailiff, and their complaints are without end. Sir John often
makes Roberts over to me. Do not let me find you flown upon my return."

"I hope I shall not have occasion to depart, Lady Wetheral," said Tom
Pynsent, struggling for composure.

"I will allow no departure, Mr. Pynsent. Anna Maria must detain you
prisoner till Roberts allows me to escape. Mind, I lay my commands upon
you to remain at Wetheral."

Lady Wetheral had scarcely closed the door upon her own exit, when Anna
Maria entered at the opposite end of the room, blooming and happy; her
eyes sparkled with pleasure, as they rested upon Tom Pynsent.

"I only heard of your arrival this instant," she said, as they shook
hands; "you have not been here alone long, I hope."

Tom Pynsent placed a chair for the young lady, and seated himself near
her, but for some moments he did not speak. Miss Wetheral looked at him
with surprise. Tom Pynsent at length broke the awkward pause.

"I am sorry you are ill, Miss Wetheral."

"I never was better in my life, Mr. Pynsent," replied Anna Maria,
smiling. "What makes you suppose I am ill?"

"I thought you looked very well, Miss Wetheral, but I was told you were
poorly, and I am sure you look as little like a consumptive person as
any one I ever saw!"

"Who could invent such a fable?" inquired Anna Maria.

"I have heard something worse than that," continued Tom, hesitating,
and walking to the window.

"Good heavens! about me! or any unpleasant news from Hatton?"

"Lady Wetheral says we are not to ride again together. I think it a
very extraordinary thing, don't you?" Tom Pynsent looked at the distant
Wrekin to appear unconcerned. He received no reply from Anna Maria.

"I think it a monstrous folly to deny one those kind of things,"
proceeded Tom, turning towards his companion, who sat gazing at him,
pale as her own muslin dress. He was shocked at her appearance, and,
forgetting his shyness in affectionate solicitude, he took both her
hands in his.

"Miss Wetheral, do you mind it as much as I do? Just tell me if you
mind it as I do?"

Anna Maria could only answer in alarm, and almost involuntarily "Yes."

Tom Pynsent could not command his feelings; he caught her in his arms,
and saluted her with a kiss, which might have been distinctly heard in
the hall.

"I like a girl who speaks her mind without affectation and nonsense,
and there's a good fox-hunting kiss from your husband, if you will make
me so, and we will ride together in spite of the devil."

Miss Wetheral's astonishment at the action, and her happiness at her
lover's subsequent speech, prevented all reply; but she gave him her
hand at once, though her face was covered with blushes. Tom Pynsent
squeezed the little white hand with rapture, and her open dealing made
a taciturn lover garrulous with approval.

"You _do_ let me squeeze your hand, and you do _not_ pretend to be
offended because a man tells you he loves you! Who would have thought
you were such an open-hearted, dear creature, without a bit of
nonsense? Now, give me your other hand--there's a dear, beautiful girl
as you are, and we may ride now to the world's end together. Perhaps,
when we are married, you will ride with me to see the hounds throw off.
I shall only hunt then three times a week. Lady Wetheral frightened me
properly, when she forbid my riding with you; however, I shall stay
here to-day, and we can talk over things. You will walk with me, my
dear girl, won't you?"

"I am in a labyrinth, I really am bewildered, Mr. Pynsent," replied
Miss Wetheral, timidly. "Do not fancy me silly, but I really am
bewildered, and hardly know what to say."

"You have said enough, quite enough," cried Tom Pynsent, squeezing
her poor hands into his enormous palms. "You have accepted me, and I
shan't allow you to leave me; I shall follow you like a dog till we are
married: a little walk will be the very thing to refresh you. Let us
walk in the park, and look at the Wrekin, and talk of our wedding-day."

Miss Wetheral mechanically obeyed her lover's request; and they were
deeply absorbed in conversation, pacing up and down the avenue, when
the party drove home from Shrewsbury.

"Mrs. Primrose has succeeded tolerably well, Sir John," observed
Lady Wetheral, in the interim between Tom Pynsent's departure and
the lighting of the chamber-candles--"Mrs. Primrose has caught Mr.
Thornhill, in despite of your alarms." This was whispered to reach Sir
John's ear only.

Lady Ennismore had something very obliging to say, and whenever she
spoke, her flattering compliments soothed the ear of her object--she
only framed sentences of compliment.

"My dear Miss Wetheral, a certain gentleman's gallant and unequivocal
admiration of a nameless beauty, proves his excellent discriminating
powers. I admire the lover, and approve his suit. I wish I had a
daughter who was fortunate enough to attract Mr. Pynsent."

Anna Maria did not love Lady Ennismore; she even shrank from her
address in general; yet her expressed approval of Tom Pynsent at
once gained belief, and gave pleasure to her heart. On all sides,
congratulations awaited her. Her father added his approval, and it
was given with feeling and earnestness. Before all the assembled
family-party, he told her he had no fears for her welfare, as the wife
of an honest, high-principled man. He could congratulate her upon an
engagement which must bring happiness to a woman who valued the texture
of a heart such as Pynsent possessed. His wealth might surround her
person with luxuries, but his good qualities alone could secure her
peace of mind. He trusted Anna Maria would appreciate and hold fast
the affections of her future husband, and her lot would fall upon
good ground. Pynsent was a man to whom he could intrust a daughter's
happiness, and have no fears for her futurity.

Anna Maria's spirits were subdued under her father's earnest
observations; her happiness, the suddenness of the event, and her
future prospects, combined with the congratulations of her family,
overpowered a mind which had long borne the alternations of hope,
suspense, and fear. She sought refuge in her own room; Lady Wetheral
and Julia followed; the one to offer soothing remedies, and to rejoice
with her sister in the termination of her sorrow; the other to triumph
in the success of her scheme: her ladyship's delight was boundless.
To marry two daughters in one day to the first matches in Shropshire
and Staffordshire, seemed an affair beyond common calculation: the
lottery of life rarely threw two prizes consecutively into a family;
and certainly her own generalship had secured both. In the exuberance
of her spirits, she confessed to the sisters the ruse she had practised
to elicit an offer from Tom Pynsent. Anna Maria was distressed.

"Oh, mamma, how could you take such a method; practising upon Tom's
fears to hasten a declaration! How you frighten me; I might have lost
him!"

"Poor Greenhorn! no, you had no chance of losing him; he was too much
in love. I only prepared the way for him, to hasten the catastrophe.
I particularly wished him to propose, because my mind is bent upon
the double wedding, therefore I applied the goad very gently, but
he answered the whip. The instant I mentioned your rides being
discontinued, I saw the thing was done. My only hope now is, that
Clara may succeed as you have done. There will be some difficulty in
obtaining Mrs. Pynsent's consent perhaps, but I do not doubt a little
management may succeed _there_ too. Mrs. Pynsent is violent, but seldom
firm; she will chafe and use very strong language, but she will be busy
and delighted at your wedding, my love."

"But why do you consider Mrs. Pynsent objects, mamma?" asked Anna
Maria, in alarm.

"Oh, she has some stupid notion that I have laid plans for her son,
I fancy. Now, to suppose that I hunt for sons-in-law is absolute
absurdity. I wish my children to marry well, I confess, but no one
detests fortune-hunting more than I do. I consider a manœuvring
mother a nuisance in society, and, therefore, Mrs. Pynsent's notion is
ridiculous--too ridiculous even to confute. I shall get your father to
make an intimate acquaintance with Sir Foster Kerrison, Julia. He is
a widower, but his eleven children would not interfere with Clara's
comforts: some may die, and the others might be sent to school. I don't
believe a word about his kicking his servants; if scandalous reports
were believed, very few of us could escape infamy. Servants are vile
creatures, and would destroy _any_ character. Sir Foster is a very
fine man, and not to be rejected because he may occasionally lose his
temper. There are many provocations in life, which now and then cause
a man's temper to ferment a little, but what would that signify to
Clara? Tom Pynsent uses a few, perhaps, unnecessary oaths, but he means
nothing; his temper is excellent: Sir Foster probably means no more.
I shall ask his eldest daughter to Wetheral, when you are all gone;
indeed, I shall require amusement; my spirits will be depressed enough
when that melancholy day arrives, my dear girls."

Lady Wetheral's voice fell, and a deep sigh succeeded: she soon
resumed, more gaily--

"I shall consider that day a proud and happy one, which allows me to
give you to two of the best of men, after all, my loves. It will be my
glory to see you united to men standing high in situation, excellent
in conduct, possessing the means of showering luxuries upon you, and
placing you at the head of magnificent establishments. Should Clara
form an equally wealthy connexion, I should die in peace; but I can
only consider Sir Foster Kerrison worthy to be related to you. If he
has eleven children, he has immense estates in three counties, and I
must manage to get Miss Kerrison to Wetheral. I should fear nothing,
if Clara would only keep her temper; but I dread the daughter carrying
tales back to Ripley: however, I will manage as well as I can, for
something must be effected on my side. Good night, my dear girls;
I hope you will have sons, and no daughters, for you cannot know a
mother's anxiety about daughters--they depend so entirely upon forming
proper establishments. Your poor father would never have interested
himself about you. I do believe he would be perfectly satisfied if
he considered you destined to live hereafter as spinsters, huddled
together in a lodging in Shrewsbury. Be well, Anna Maria; and, in
future, you know I have no business to interfere with your rides and
drives."

Her ladyship quitted the room, smiling complacently at the remembrance
of her successful ruse; and the sisters were left together, to rejoice
in and compare their happy prospects.

Lady Wetheral's idea of Mrs. Pynsent's objection, and her short-lived
but violent wrath, was exemplified in her conduct, when her son stated
his engagement to Miss Wetheral, before his parents, the morning
subsequent to his proposal.

"Now hang me, Tom, if I would have believed such a thing from any
body's lips but your own. So you have taken a bird out of the Wetheral
nest, have you? You have been hunted down, neatly, Master Tom."

"In this particular," replied her son, "I have made my own choice, and
my father made no objection when--"

"Who minds your father?" interrupted Mrs. Pynsent; "he never knows what
he is about. He says 'yes' to every thing, and looks like a booby
besides. Now you may marry the girl, and take Hatton if you please, but
I'll be hanged if _I_ notice her! I'm serious, Master Tom."

Tom Pynsent allowed the storm to spend its fury, and Mrs. Pynsent
proceeded with increased ire.

"To be gulled into marriage by that woman, Wetheral, drives me wild;
but I never saw the man yet, who was not tricked into a trap by an
artful woman, in spite of his teeth. Hang the whole set of them, and
you too, for being a greater simpleton than your father!"

"If I was a simpleton," observed Mr. Pynsent, quietly, "it was in
marrying a masculine lady."

"You be hanged, Bobby! you proposed to every girl you met. I was your
fiftieth love, and you knew Sally Hancock and myself loved things out
of the common way. I tell you what, Bobby--if Tom marries a Wetheral,
you and I leave Shropshire. I won't stay in the country. If I meet her,
I'll drive over her, Tom."

Tom Pynsent understood his mother's disposition, and acted accordingly.
He assured her of his sorrow in perceiving her dislike to the match;
but, whatever disgust she might feel towards Lady Wetheral's conduct,
the daughter was not involved in its folly. "When," continued he, "I
proposed to Julia Wetheral, _she_ refused me at once."

"You proposed to another of them!" cried Mrs. Pynsent, "and Bill
Wycherly was right! You got huffed by one Wetheral, and then turned to
another! Is this a true bill? Then I only just ask you, if simpleton is
not too gentle an expression, Master Tommy, for such a poor thing as
yourself? I only just ask you, if you don't think you are as nice an
owl as ever was taken in by a set of manœuvring women? You'll hear
enough of this, Tommy Pynsent! You and my Lord Ennismore are a couple
of tight boys to be gulled by my lady. Here, make way for me--that I
may go and tell my sister Hancock what a nice lad Master Pynsent has
turned out. Never expect me to go near Wetheral, Bobby. I would sooner
visit old Nick."

Mrs. Pynsent flung out of the room, with an air of offended majesty.

"Let your mother alone, Tom," said Mr. Pynsent, as the door closed upon
his indignant lady. "Let her alone, and she won't long refuse her
consent. When she has unburthened her mind to Sally Hancock, and fizzed
a little, all will be right again."

Mrs. Pynsent ordered her pony-carriage, and drove off to Lea Cottage,
where her widowed sister resided upon a very small income. Mrs. Hancock
was darning stockings, when her sister appeared before her with
inflamed features.

"Hollo, Pen, what's the matter now?" cried Mrs. Hancock, calmly
continuing her darn.--"What's in the wind, now, Pen?"

"I am in a pretty mess, Sally Hancock; what do you think Tom is about
to do?"

"Is he going to marry our niece, Wycherly? Don't let him marry a
cousin, Pen; bless you, don't let him marry a cousin."

"Marry a _cousin_, Sally! I wish it was no worse than marrying young
Pen. He is going to bring me one of Lady Wetheral's dolls, and I have
vowed not to see or speak to her."

"Hoot toot, you will think better of it," replied Mrs. Hancock, passing
a stocking to her sister. "Do mend that for me--there's a hole in the
heel, as big as my thumb. What's the matter with the Wetherals, Pen?
They are very fine girls, and very well born."

"It is not _that_," returned Mrs. Pynsent, threading a needle, and
taking up the proffered stocking. "If you knew the pains my lady took
to hunt down Tom, you would bless yourself, Sally Hancock."

"Never mind, Pen. Didn't our mother do just the same by us? Didn't I
marry Hancock, in spite of every thing people could say?--and didn't
you declare you would have Bob Pynsent, though he was engaged to Patty
Durham?"

"Sally Hancock, do you remember the Shrewsbury races?" cried Mrs.
Pynsent, overpowered with laughing at some bygone recollections.

"When we dressed up to frighten Hancock and Pynsent? ay, don't I?"
exclaimed her sister, equally amused. "Do you remember Hancock's face,
when you told him his fortune?"

"And do you remember Pynsent saying--"

Mrs. Pynsent could no more. A thousand images of the past crowded
before her vision, and both ladies laughed immoderately at certain
remembrances conjured up by Mrs. Hancock, reverting to youthful
indiscretions. Mrs. Pynsent's anger towards her son already waned, as
she dwelt upon topics so consonant to her feelings, with her sister.
The _tête-à-tête_ lasted a considerable time, and the peals of laughter
continued, till the completion of the stocking gave warning it was time
to part. Mrs. Pynsent prepared to move with reluctance.

"Can't you stay now you are here?" said Mrs. Hancock.

"Don't ask me, Sally Hancock. I must get back to Hatton. If you and
Hancock had not spent your property in eating and drinking, you would
not have been shut up here with that dreadful foot, which must be your
death."

Mrs. Hancock exhibited her swelled foot.--"Yes, that's a neat article,
Pen. I wish I could have it sawed off by the carpenter. Can't help it."

"Well, Sally Hancock, if Tom marries, you must come to the wedding;"
remarked Mrs. Pynsent, in a doleful voice.

"My dear, how can I come with this foot? A pretty trinket, isn't it,
to present before a bride?--There's a neat foot to trip among the
bridesmaids to the altar!--I'm only fit for Lea, Pen, but you can tell
me all about it."

Mrs. Pynsent drew up her face and eyes into a comic expression of
astonishment, as she contemplated her sister's foot, veiled from the
public gaze in the recess of a large list shoe.

"Well, Sally Hancock, you gave a good price for it. There's a hundred
thousand pounds' worth in that hovel of a shoe. Every farthing melted
into your stomachs. It was sure to tell upon you, some day."

"We can't eat our cake and have it," observed the jolly Mrs. Hancock;
"but it wasn't _all_ spent in eating and drinking. Hancock and myself
lost more than half at play. It didn't all go in eating and drinking,
Pen. Poor Hancock was very violent when I was unlucky, but he thought
nothing about his own losses."

"You would have him, Sally Hancock."

"Well, I was as resolute as yourself in the matter of Bob Pynsent, Pen;
but all the Wycherlys were a rum set--must, and would have their own
way. Give Tom credit for a slice of the family disorder, and pocket the
affront."

"How my lady will hector, and compliment, and courtesy!" shuddered Mrs.
Pynsent.

"Never mind my lady! When is it to take place?"

"Oh, I don't know; I was in such a fury, I asked no questions."

"Tell Tom I will congratulate him, if he will come and see me." Mrs.
Hancock winked her eye.

"Tom never will come near you till you leave off your broad jokes,
Sally Hancock. I wish you would not offend people in that way. I can't
ask you among ladies and gentlemen."

"Lord, Pen, how can I leave off old habits at my time of life?" Mrs.
Hancock put her finger to her eye and looked innocent.

"Then Bobby and Tom will never visit you, or allow me to ask you to
Hatton for more than one day. That's all you get by old habits, Sally
Hancock."

"Tom is mighty nice; I wouldn't give a farthing for such a nephew."

"I'll trouble you not to abuse Tom, Sally Hancock," cried her sister,
who was touched on a most sensitive point by this remark. "Tom is
always right, and his mother will always uphold him. You must have a
very genteel dialect, when two gentlemen cannot sit in your society
comfortably."

"When shall I see you again? don't be scolding, Pen; I'm not used to
scolding, now poor Hancock is gone."

"I'll come to Lea, as soon as Tom's affairs are settled, but never
call Tom names before me, Sally Hancock; you know I cannot bear it.
Tom shall marry too if he pleases, and no one shall offer an opinion
against the match before _me_."

"Nor before me either," cried Mrs. Hancock.

"Before _you_! who ever comes before you, except myself?" asked Mrs.
Pynsent, stopping short, as they were advancing towards the door, at
which the pony-carriage was drawn up.

"Oh! Tomkins, the exciseman, comes for a bit of chat, and the old
Ripley housekeeper has retired here, so I often hear the news. This is
a very cheerful place."

"Don't frighten away the exciseman, Sally Hancock."

"Never fear, Pen; the exciseman is not made of such dainty materials as
my nephew."

So ended the interview between the sisters; and Mrs. Pynsent returned
to Hatton, resolved internally to support her son's wishes, and to
offend any person who presumed to reflect upon his taking a "Wetheral."




CHAPTER VIII.


News of any trifling occurrence passes rapidly round a neighbourhood;
but news of bridal import speeds with increased velocity through every
department. It was soon known to every individual in the establishment,
that Mr. Pynsent was accepted by Miss Wetheral, and in less than
twenty-four hours the event was generally current in the higher circles
of the Wetheral acquaintance. Separated as many mansions were from each
other's observation by large intermediate property, it was wonderful
how the intelligence could gain such powerful progress, yet it was
publicly spoken of as an assured fact the following evening at Lady
Spottiswoode's; and Lady Wetheral's extraordinary good fortune was
canvassed in every particular.

Mrs. Pynsent's publicly-expressed disapprobation of a daughter-in-law
from Wetheral, was commented upon with eagerness, and many anxious
friends of both parties looked with mingled curiosity and amusement to
the effects likely to emanate from Hatton. Miss Wycherly consented to
escort a party upon a congratulatory mission to her aunt Pynsent, and
she undertook to drive Lady Spottiswoode and her daughter to Hatton,
accompanied by the two Mr. Tyndals.

It was an evil day to Miss Wycherly. Ever since the eventful
ball, which produced the present cause of her intended visit, Mr.
Spottiswoode had never renewed the subject which she had treated
so lightly, or sought her society, his once constant anxiety and
invariable daily practice. Since that eventful ball, so happy in its
results to one party, so gloomy in its termination to herself--since
that night, when her rash spirits tempted her to jest with her lover's
serious wish to understand her sentiments, had Mr. Spottiswoode been
a stranger to Lidham; and most rashly had Miss Wycherly persevered
in flirting with Mr. Henry Tyndal, to evince her indifference to Mr.
Spottiswoode's prolonged absence, and to bring down upon herself,
ultimately, the reproach of having given encouragement to Henry Tyndal
ungenerously and dishonourably. Her present state of mind towards Mr.
Spottiswoode was unchangeable affection, such as it had ever felt
towards him; and such as she felt assured must ever exist there, though
her own lips had made a breach between them, by trifling with his
long-expressed affection.

Miss Wycherly felt aware that she had drawn down upon herself the
offended feelings of an injured man, who had borne all her caprice
with patient endurance; she felt, too, that there was a point when
that endurance must and would burst from its fetters, and assert its
freedom. Mr. Spottiswoode's spirit might bear with a certain degree
of flippancy; but he would not endure to become a woman's toy, to
become a thing, which the woman he loved could dare to throw from
her in caprice, and recall at will. Such, Miss Wycherly knew, was
not the nature of _his_ love, whom her heart pined to recover. But
her pride--the pride of a woman unwilling to bend her spirit in
acknowledgment of error--persisted in allowing Henry Tyndal to attend
her in public; and its false reasoning forbade her to appear wounded
by the consequences of her fault. Miss Wycherly could only trust to
circumstances for assistance in developing the real intentions of her
offended lover; and, in making an appointment with Lady Spottiswoode,
she trusted events might concur to restore her again into her son's
favour, and dispel the cloud which separated them.

In this frame of mind, and with this hope, to spread flowers on her
path, Miss Wycherly drove her four beautiful bays into Shrewsbury, and
drew up before Lady Spottiswoode's house. Mr. Spottiswoode, accompanied
by the Tyndals, appeared at the hall-door to receive her; and Mr.
Spottiswoode politely, but with reserve of voice and manner, expressed
Lady Spottiswoode's hope that she would take refreshment before they
proceeded to Hatton. This was Miss Wycherly's first meeting with
her lover, since the misunderstanding which had taken place at Lady
Spottiswoode's ball; and her heart felt and sunk under the changed
expression of his voice and manner. She gave her reins to the groom,
and prepared to obey Lady Spottiswoode's request. Mr. Henry Tyndal
went forward with his brother to offer their assistance, while Mr.
Spottiswoode remained on the steps, as a person who conceived that all
required attention on his part, was effected in the delivery of his
mother's message. Miss Wycherly declined Mr. Henry Tyndal's offered
hand, and reseated herself with feelings of mingled mortification
and indignation. Nothing now could persuade her to descend from the
barouche-box.

"Have the goodness, Mr. Tyndal, to make my excuses to Lady
Spottiswoode. I rarely quit my throne, when once exalted, and she will
allow of my apology. Insist upon herself and Miss Spottiswoode taking
their own time. I am not in any hurry."

It appeared as though Mr. Spottiswoode had cheerfully and for ever
surrendered her to Mr. Tyndal's attentions, for he spoke in an
undertone to the young men, and returned into the house.

"Very kind fellow," cried Henry Tyndal; "he has gone himself with your
message, so I can stay and admire your set out, and yourself. Upon my
soul, your habit sits beautifully, doesn't it, John?"

"I begged _you_ to deliver my message," replied Miss Wycherly, offended
and distressed at her lover's action. "I desired _you_, Mr. Tyndal, to
deliver my message, not Mr. Spottiswoode."

Henry Tyndal misunderstood, and was flattered by Miss Wycherly's
reproof. It was clear enough to his comprehension she was angry with
Spottiswoode for presuming to take a message which had been delegated
to himself as her regular and encouraged attendant.

"Oh, well! never mind for once, Miss Wycherly; I thought Spottiswoode
was very anxious to go, or he should not have taken my place, I promise
you. No, no, poor fellow! he was off before I knew what he was about.
Upon my soul, your horses are magnificent."

Miss Wycherly did not hear Mr. Tyndal's observation; her attention was
given exclusively and painfully to the hall-door, which remained open.

Lady Spottiswoode and her daughter appeared.

"My dear Miss Wycherly, you are patience itself," exclaimed both ladies.

"I never descend from my altitude," replied Miss Wycherly; "but you
look forsaken without a beau of some sort; if your son would like to
take a seat, Lady Spottiswoode, there is one to spare."

"Charles said he meant to call at Hatton," said Miss Spottiswoode, "and
I dare say it would really be an accommodation, unless this is the day
he promised to ride over to the Farnboroughs. Mr. Tyndal, before you
mount your horse, just tell Charles here is room for him, by Miss
Wycherly's permission--beg pardon for the trouble."

Mr. Henry Tyndal sprang from his horse, and proceeded to obey her
request. Miss Wycherly gathered up the reins, but her hands trembled
with anxious curiosity to ascertain the effect of the summons. Mr.
Henry Tyndal returned alone.

"Spottiswoode says he is going to Hatton, but he is engaged to ride
there with the Farnborough party. It has been an appointment of some
days' standing, he says, therefore he cannot come; here he is to answer
for himself."

Mr. Charles Spottiswoode appeared equipped for riding, but he excused
himself to Miss Wycherly with much politeness--a style of manner so
wounding to its object, so unbearably irritating to a self-upbraiding,
yet proud, spirit. The colour rose in Miss Wycherly's face.

"I am engaged to ride to Hatton with Lord Farnborough and his
daughter," proceeded Mr. Spottiswoode: "Lady Anna commanded me to
attend her some time ago, and her ladyship never fails her word,
therefore I must not allow her to upbraid me with the most offensive of
all failings, that of deceiving expectations. Sophy, you are all the
colours of the rainbow."

"Never mind, Charles," replied Miss Spottiswoode, smiling
good-naturedly at the remark; "if I mix pink and green too strongly for
your taste, pray remonstrate with Lady Anna Herbert; she wears _three_
colours; perhaps your opinion may have some weight with her. I am, you
know, incorrigible."

"Will Lady Anna possess more sense than her sex?" asked Mr.
Spottiswoode. "Will she relinquish three favourite tints to please?"

"To please _you_, Charles, I dare say Lady Anna would renounce her
darling colours--purple, yellow, and green. Can my dear pink and green
be half so _prononcée_? Miss Wycherly, do speak for me! Charles always
upholds Lady Anna's frightful combination."

"I have not upheld Lady Anna, Sophy."

"Yes, you always do, Charles. Every thing is Lady Anna now."

Miss Wycherly's spirit could endure no more; she turned to Lady
Spottiswoode.

"We are embarked in this undertaking, and time is precious. If Sophy
has settled her interesting topic, may I proceed to Hatton? Mr. Tyndal,
Mr. Henry Tyndal, you must not lose sight of us; shall we proceed?"

The lady was perfectly ready to resign the conversation; the Mr.
Tyndals were already mounted, and Mr. Spottiswoode bowed his adieu.
Miss Wycherly would not appear mortified and unhappy; she returned
her lover's salutation with a bow and smile, which equalled his own
in apparent indifference; and the party were quickly on their road.
Miss Wycherly, as charioteer, had full occupation for her attention,
and she was silent during the drive: her heart was heavy; and the fear
of having lost Spottiswoode's affection weighed down her spirits and
produced a mortal sorrow. Such was the consequence of a fault persisted
in, because a false pride could not endure to own its transgression!
Such was the suffering produced by a heart resolute to lose the man
beloved, ere it would bend to acknowledge its weakness!

Miss Wycherly forgot, in her own misery, the amusement she contemplated
in observing her aunt Pynsent's conduct, when she received the visits
of congratulation upon her son's intended marriage. In her misery,
also, she did not immediately perceive Tom Pynsent and Miss Wetheral
comfortably established in the Hatton drawing-room; or did she, for
some moments, perceive the Ennismores and Julia also present; while Mr.
Pynsent, smilingly and in high spirits, was chatting in turn to the
individuals composing the circle, and calling for the congratulations
of each person upon the event in prospect.

Lady Spottiswoode gazed in astonishment at the sudden and powerful
change: who could have surmised that the "empty, horrible Wetherals"
were now to receive a thousand attentions and affectionate solicitudes
from Mrs. Pynsent!--that "the bird from the Wetheral nest" was to be
wooed to its gilded cage by all the gentle lures that Mrs. Pynsent
could devise!--that sweet was henceforth to be bitter, and the bitter
sweet! Lady Spottiswoode gazed, and gazed again.

"Well, you are all come to say pretty things to me," said Mrs. Pynsent,
addressing the newly-arrived party, "and you are all moonstruck!--not
a word from one of you: why, Pen, you are all of a heap!--Well, Tyndal
lads, what have you to say?--here am I, full of bustle and happiness.
Tom is going to get married at last, and he has made his old mother
happy. We are all happy. I tell Bobby he ought to fall down and worship
Miss Wetheral, for taking Tom--but here, just come this way, Lady
Spottiswoode." Mrs. Pynsent lowered her voice.--"I didn't much like
the idea of a Wetheral, once, you remember; but that's all ended--we
won't remember old grievances."

"Certainly not," replied her ladyship--"one has often reason to discard
opinions."

"To be sure--can't be for ever harping upon one string." She turned to
her niece.

"Why, you look as if you had lost your love. What's the matter,
woman?--cheer up. Get a good husband, Pen; and don't pay these sort of
visits with such a long face!"

Miss Wycherly could not command a portion of the ever-ready spirits
which had never failed her before; her mind was too oppressed, even to
make an effort. Her aunt's observations were unheard or unnoticed, as
she turned towards her cousin Tom, who came up, red-faced and happy, to
demand her felicitations.

"All right, at last, Cousin Pen: all fears and tribulations are over.
There is nothing like fair dealing, and I have won a wife, after a
devilish sharp run, though a short one. Now say something in your own
fashion upon it, Cousin Pen; something, as Spottiswoode says of you,
sharp, short, and sensible."

Miss Wycherly put her hand to her eyes, and, for a few moments, she
made no reply. Tom Pynsent believed the trembling of her hands
proceeded from fatigue.

"I have told you, Cousin Pen, a woman should not drive four-in-hand;
it's something out of reason. A pair is very pretty handling; but your
little figure perched upon a box, with four horses, won't answer. Your
hands are all in a shake, now."

"Let Pen alone, Tom," said Mrs. Pynsent. "My niece is a Wycherly, and
the Wycherlys never gave in till they were fairly under ground."

"I am ill, aunt; very ill--a glass of water; any thing just to revive
me; my heart is bursting." Miss Wycherly became unable to speak, and
the company surrounded her, offering every species of condolence and
remedy. A glass of water was procured, and the cold sparkling draught
refreshed her. She felt that an effort must be made; and it was made
under sickness of heart and prostration of mind, but the effort had a
beneficial effect, for it roused the sufferer from a blighting sense of
misery to the recollection of present events, and she was enabled to
smile and speak to her cousin with some degree of coherence.

"Tom, I do wish you happy, and I suppose I am fatigued, for I have
driven fourteen miles, but I never was so ill before."

"You are ill," observed Julia Wetheral, who had seated herself near
Miss Wycherly: "it must be something extraordinary which could
overpower _you_, Penelope. You must have felt fatigue in mind and body
with those gay horses."

Miss Wycherly endeavoured to form a playful reply, but a flood of tears
burst forth.

"Say nothing to me, now, Julia--let me be perfectly silent for a
quarter of an hour, and I shall recover."

Every one returned to their former seats, except Julia, who remained
silently at Miss Wycherly's side, and the company again resumed their
interrupted conversation. Mrs. Pynsent had her private thoughts
respecting her niece's sudden illness, which she whispered to Lady
Ennismore.

"Pen is never ill, and never tired with driving--she would drive
six-in-hand, and laugh at it. I hope Pen hasn't taken a fancy to Tom:
my sister Hancock never could bear the idea of cousins marrying."

Lady Ennismore smiled graciously.--"You are more acute, Mrs.
Pynsent, than myself: you have, no doubt, excellent reasons for your
suppositions."

"Lord, I never suppose any thing, Lady Ennismore, or see any thing
till it's all over; only Pen's illness, just now, looks queer. If it
was not about Tom, I can't imagine the cause of Pen's bit of a faint,
just when she was to congratulate him upon his engagement! I am sure
Pen never would faint about a trifle; and, as to her driving, it's all
my eye: my brother Bill put her upon the coach-box as soon as she could
walk."

"Perhaps it is mental agitation of another kind," softly remarked Lady
Ennismore.

"Pooh, pooh!--Pen has no mental agitation, Lady Ennismore. What should
ail her to faint about any thing, if it wasn't Tom's marriage? My
sister Hancock had always a horror of their marrying, only I thought
nothing about it.--How was I to fancy Pen liked Tom, when she was
always with Charles Spottiswoode?"

Lady Ennismore appeared politely convinced, by her companion's
reasoning, that Miss Wycherly's faintness proceeded from her cousin's
insensibility to her attachment, when the door was thrown open to
announce Lord Farnborough and Lady Anna Herbert. Miss Wycherly cast an
eye of alarm towards the hall. Lord Farnborough stalked majestically
forward with his daughter under his arm, and Mr. Spottiswoode followed
too surely in their train. She started up--"Julia, I cannot stay here;
follow me into the library."

Both ladies disappeared during the little bustle of a fresh reception,
and Lady Ennismore alone observed their rapid exit. Miss Wycherly
closed the door of the library, to secure themselves from interruption
or intrusion; she then took off her hat, and, seating herself at the
library-table, she rested her head upon her hands, while the tears
flowed copiously down her cheeks. "Julia," she said--"Julia, I cannot
endure this; I have lost him, and my heart will break."

Julia sat down opposite her companion, and vainly offered consolation.

"Don't attempt to console me, Julia," sobbed poor Miss Wycherly.

"I am past all consolation. The creature has never visited Lidham since
that abominable night at Lady Spottiswoode's, and now he is capering
after Lady Anna Herbert. Oh, Julia, if you could comprehend the misery
I feel!"

"My dear Penelope, you never confessed your fault to Charles
Spottiswoode, I fear, by all this grief. Have you tried to see him, or
written to him since your quarrel?"

The Wycherly blood rushed into the very forehead of Penelope. She
raised her head and dashed away the tears.

"Who! _I_ beg submissively for Spottiswoode's forgiveness! _I_ meanly
sue for pardon to a man who has been my slave till this Lady Anna has
attracted him! _I_ tell him to return to Lidham, because I cannot live
without him! I'll die ten thousand deaths, before I will sully my lips
in imploring pardon!"

"But, Penelope, you are not reduced to implore pardon," replied Julia,
in soothing accents. "You are not advised to act in any way degrading
to your feelings. Did you not trifle most ungenerously with Mr.
Spottiswoode at your last meeting, and have you made one advance since
that time, to prove to him you were in jest?"

Miss Wycherly again drooped her head upon her hands, as she
replied--"He has given me no opportunity to do so, Julia: he has been
ever since that evening devoted to the Farnboroughs."

"And you have been equally devoted to the Tyndals, Penelope. Have you
not made Henry Tyndal your shadow?"

"A great spoony!" ejaculated Miss Wycherly.

"Put an end to all this," resumed Julia, "and give Mr. Spottiswoode
reason to think you regret your unjust conduct; decline Henry Tyndal's
constant attendance, and do not bring upon yourself the Court Herbert
reproaches. You are encouraging Henry Tyndal, Penelope, and Mr.
Spottiswoode must perceive it."

"I know I have done wrong, Julia, but every thing is gone too far; I
cannot, cannot subject myself to Spottiswoode's scorn; he will never
forgive me, and I will never bear the indignity of seeking a hopeless
reconciliation. If I have suffered Henry Tyndal's attentions, _he_ has
sought Lady Anna Herbert. No, we are divided for ever!"

The idea of a final separation from her lover's affection, seemed to
produce agony of mind too powerful to endure, for, Miss Wycherly,
rising suddenly, seized Julia's hands, and gazed earnestly in her face.

"Julia Wetheral, I will act upon your advice, only tell me what to do,
if any thing now can restore his heart; I am wretched enough to submit
to any thing short of the degradation of seeking a man's extinguished
affection! You will not wish me to do a wrong thing, Julia, therefore,
think for me, and quiet my heart."

"I _will_ tell you what to do, Penelope; return with me into the
drawing-room; do not give your attention to Mr. Henry Tyndal, and
do not appear so indifferent to a man you have driven from you with
unkindness."

"Julia," replied Miss Wycherly, breathing hard, "I cannot bear to see
Spottiswoode with another person. I cannot witness his attention to
Lady Anna. I will remain here till _they_ are gone, or I should die
upon the spot. If you could understand my miserable feelings, you would
pity me, and my own folly has produced them!"

Miss Wycherly walked about the library in great distress, which pierced
her friend's heart to witness. She could only offer her sympathy,
and urge her change of manners towards Mr. Tyndal. Grief produces
many effects; on some minds the hand of sorrow falls heavily, yet it
originates patience and gentleness; in others, it produces irritation
and increased violence of temper. It was so with Miss Wycherly, whose
spirit chafed at the remembrance of her own folly, and even attacked
the prudent counsel of her friend.

"I tell you, Julia, I am ready to spurn the Tyndals from my sight;
for who can despise them more than I do?--but it is useless to place
before me, so pertinaciously, my folly in having borne with them.
I am well aware of my error, without requiring any one to heap my
transgressions before my eyes at every turn. Reproach never heals a
wound."

"I do not speak in reproach, Penelope," replied Julia, in accents that
overcame Miss Wycherly's quick temper; "I only point out the means to
serve you, because you asked me to do so."

"Don't heed my words, Julia," exclaimed Miss Wycherly, continuing her
restless walking up and down the library; "I speak in bitter misery,
and know not what I say. Do not leave me, for I know you are kind, and
not given to take offence, and I am almost maddened with vexation. Tell
me what to do, Julia, and I swear to be guided by you."

"I repeat my words, then, Penelope. Return with me into the
drawing-room; do not give Mr. Henry Tyndal all your attention, and bear
with Mr. Spottiswoode's attention to Lady Anna: it will not last long."

"Oh, Julia!" sighed Miss Wycherly, "if I could but think you a true
prophet--but I will do as you wish; I will try to bear the sight of
Lady Anna, but the idea gives me a shuddering fit. See how I tremble."

"You do tremble, Penelope, but a determined effort will subdue it."

Julia rubbed Miss Wycherly's hands, which were deadly cold, and
replaced her hat, as the poor girl sat trembling, and incapable
of assisting herself. Julia also smoothed the curls which fell in
abundance upon her pale cheeks. "And now, Penelope, take my arm, and
let us take one steady turn through the room, to try your powers."

Miss Wycherly took Julia's offered arm, and proceeded towards the
door. "Let us go into the drawing-room at once," she said. "With you I
have given way, because I am assured of your sympathy and secrecy; but
to no other eye will I betray my repentance or my sorrow. I may look
ill--I am ill--but no one shall say Penelope Wycherly pines for Charles
Spottiswoode."

Miss Wycherly's sentiment operated at once upon her nerves and manners:
no one could suppose she had just suffered a strong nervous attack, by
the collected air of her entrance again into company. It was only the
pallid complexion and calm demeanour, which betrayed recent illness
to her friends; and Mrs. Pynsent, satisfied that her niece could never
struggle against her disappointment with Tom, offered her every little
soothing attention, and even seated her where she could not observe her
cousin, still conversing with Anna Maria: her chair was placed near the
window, immediately opposite to Mr. Spottiswoode and Lady Anna Herbert.

"There, Pen, dear, air will refresh you; but you have driven too far,
I dare say: there, look straight before you, and don't keep turning
round."

Lady Anna Herbert made a very polite speech, hoping Miss Wycherly had
not been seriously ill, and Miss Wycherly passed through the forms
of recognition with her ladyship with great presence of mind. Mr.
Spottiswoode slightly bowed; but he did not address her, or join in
the short conversation which ensued between the ladies. Miss Wycherly
became silent, and struggled visibly, to Julia's eye, for resolution
to bear up through the scene. Lady Ennismore broke up the meeting
by ordering her carriage, and then Miss Wycherly's situation became
oppressive. Tom Pynsent came forward to his cousin with looks of
interest. "Cousin Pen, I will drive your carriage home, for Miss Julia
Wetheral says you are not fit to hold the reins, and I think so too."

Lady Spottiswoode and her daughter entreated Miss Wycherly to suffer
Mr. Pynsent to take her place, and renounce the idea of driving.

"The air will revive me," said Miss Wycherly, her lips quivering as she
spoke. "I am fatigued, I believe, and I will gladly allow Tom to drive;
but I cannot sit in the carriage. I must be in the air."

Mrs. Pynsent felt for her niece, and she resolved to prevent her
suffering the distress of sitting a couple of hours by the side of Tom,
who was now as good as married to Miss Wetheral. She applied to Mr.
Spottiswoode.

"Here, Charley, can't you drive the ladies home? It's all in your way,
you know, and quite out of Tom's. Suppose you drive your party into
Shrewsbury, and Pen will drive herself on to Lidham; the distance is a
trifle from Shrewsbury."

Mr. Spottiswoode expressed himself ready to undertake the office of
coachman, if Miss Wycherly approved of his skill: Miss Wycherly caught
at this one last opportunity of seeing and speaking to her lost lover:
she rose from her chair, and reseated herself.--

"I shall be happy if you ... yes." Not a word more could pass her lips,
though she tried to articulate. Mr. Spottiswoode looked earnestly
at her pale countenance, and appeared struck by her agitation. Mrs.
Pynsent's heart was disturbed by her poor niece, Pen.

"That arrangement will do, boys. Tom, just shew Miss Wetheral the new
picture in the study before she goes, and Charley, Miss Wycherly's
groom will ride your horse. I shall tell Bill Wycherly he ought to
send the coachman with Pen, not a groom-fellow."

Lord Farnborough and his daughter rose to take leave. It appeared to
Miss Wycherly's jealous eye, that Lady Anna spoke laughingly to Mr.
Spottiswoode upon the subject of his new vocation, but she could not
catch the words, or his reply: Lady Anna made her a passing bow as she
joined Lord Farnborough, and they were gone when she passively sunk
upon a sofa by Julia's side, exhausted with her efforts. "Julia, this
day decides my destiny--I am weaker than a child."

Mr. Henry Tyndal approached them to express his regret at Miss
Wycherly's fatigue: she closed her eyes, and turned from him in
disgust, abruptly exclaiming--

"I wish to be quiet and alone, Mr. Tyndal."

"I am glad you are not going to drive back," persevered Henry Tyndal;
"I dare say Spottiswoode will drive you very well; he is a very fair
hand at the ribbons. I'm sure I would drive you with the greatest
pleasure in the world, Miss Wycherly, but I am not a dab at driving.
I am glad, however, I shall be riding by your carriage: you will ride
inside, of course: I hope--I beg you will ride inside."

Miss Wycherly looked daggers at the man with whom she had been so
intimate for many days, and whom she had allowed to be constantly in
attendance.

"I require no one's opinion, Mr. Tyndal, to regulate my actions, and I
shall be obliged by your removing from before me."

"I am afraid Miss Wycherly is very ill," said Henry Tyndal, looking
inquisitively at Julia. "What can we do for her, Miss Wetheral?"

"Do, for Heaven's sake, leave me!" cried Miss Wycherly, losing all
patience at his including himself in her arrangements; "I will not be
annoyed by your obstinate stupidity."

"Stupidity, Miss Wetheral! Now what can Miss Wycherly mean by
stupidity, when I am so fearful about her driving home?"

Julia saw her friend's complexion reviving, and her eye lighting up
with a thousand fires: in another moment, a torrent must overwhelm the
unfortunate Henry Tyndal; but, as if to prove his utter blindness, he
placed his own foot upon the precipice by offering to take her hand.
Miss Wycherly felt the extent of her imprudence, in suffering the
attendance of a man whom she never intended to marry, by its effects;
but reason, at that moment, did not inform her impatient spirit that
the fault was hers alone. All suggestions of reason were overpowered
by anger, for Charles Spottiswoode's eyes were upon her, and he had
witnessed the action. Miss Wycherly pushed Henry Tyndal's hand away,
and rose from her seat, as she replied, with great impetuosity,

"If you ever presume to approach me with familiarity, I will tell you
how I abhor the insolence, and resent the affront. How dare you attempt
to touch me, Mr. Tyndal?"

Mr. Tyndal was offended, but he never imagined insult and insolence
could be implied in his well-intentioned movement: he, therefore, stood
silent and sulky for a few moments. Miss Wycherly passed him, and
took her station between Lady Spottiswoode and her aunt. Mrs. Pynsent
was pleased to perceive her son still absent, and her anxiety was
sincere, in endeavouring to get her niece away from Hatton, and in
preventing Tom's reappearance: she was sure Sally Hancock would think
with her that, when once Tom was married, Pen would think no more of
the matter. Lady Ennismore's departure destroyed all her intended plans
for Penelope's peace of mind; for Miss Wetheral was recalled from
contemplating the new picture, and where her fairy footsteps led, there
followed Tom Pynsent. It was in vain that Mrs. Pynsent bustled round
her niece, and recommended her to Mr. Spottiswoode's care; Tom's first
step was to bring Anna Maria up to his cousin.

"We have hardly spoken together, have we, Pen, in this confounded
bustle? but here's my little wife, come to ask how you are, and to say
you must always be glad to see us at Lidham, when you set up with you
know who." Tom looked knowingly at Henry Tyndal.

"We have ever been good friends, Penelope, and a closer connexion shall
not disunite us," said Anna Maria, as they shook hands. Tom Pynsent,
infinitely too happy to remain stationary, walked away with his
prize, and Miss Wycherly remained with the Spottiswoodes. Mr. Charles
Spottiswoode was giving all his attention to some coloured prints on
hunting subjects, when Mrs. Pynsent summoned him.

"Here, Charley, your party are waiting for you, and you are sitting
dumb-founded, like a lover bewitched. Pen, who do you suppose Charley
is thinking of? Who is a long way on her road to Farnborough Stacey,
Charley?"

Mr. Spottiswoode hastily put away the prints; and Miss Wycherly was
fast sinking into the depression which follows effort of any kind, when
Tom Pynsent returned, in high feather, from assisting the Wetheral
party into their carriage. He flew to Miss Wycherly.

"Cousin Pen, my little wife commands me to dine at Wetheral to-day,
so I shall see you properly packed up under Spottiswoode's care: very
good thing Spottiswoode was here, or I should have driven you home in a
towering passion for standing in my way. Come this way, Pen, my little
wife sends you a message, and so does her sister: I must tell them as a
profound secret."

"You be hanged, Tom, with your secret!" said his mother, "and do not
keep Pen from her party."

Tom Pynsent dragged Miss Wycherly into the large bay-window, in spite
of opposition.

"I don't understand ladies' ways just yet, Pen, but I am ordered to say
these words from my little wife, 'Be firm;' and her sister desired me
to say, 'All things must end well, if patient.' Now the devil a bit can
I make out any meaning from either sentence, can you?"

"Yes, I understand, Tom; and tell them this evening for answer, 'Amen.'"

"You are all a parcel of riddles, Pen; what has 'amen' to do with your
affairs. I say, Pen, what's all this with Spottiswoode?"

Miss Wycherly tried to answer her cousin's question lightly, but she
burst into tears.

"Oh, ho, that's it, Pen, is it?" Tom Pynsent pronounced the words
slowly, as if awakened to some new idea gradually. "All must end well,
be firm, and amen. I see something now, by Jove."

His cousin made no reply, but the tears coursed down her cheeks. Tom
Pynsent was sorry for her, and he put his arm round her waist, to suit
the action to the word.

"Never mind, Pen; if you've quarrelled, touch your swain up with a bit
of sugarcandy as you go to Shrewsbury. Pitch it in smoothly, Pen, and
Spottiswoode will turn like the sunflower. Don't cry, cousin Pen, it
makes me dismal--d--n it, don't cry!"

Mrs. Pynsent underwent considerable anxiety during the _tête-à-tête_,
but, when her son became tender, her interference became imperative.

"Tommy, what are you squeezing your cousin there about, when you are
nearly married; secrets are ill-bred things, Master Tommy."

Miss Wycherly's distress became apparent, and she threw open the
window; her cousin good-humouredly and awkwardly endeavoured to conceal
her from observation, by pointing out the beauties of the view.

"There, Pen, are the trees I spoke of, (clear up and dry your eyes,
Pen) and my father talks of planting upon that hill, (don't let any one
guess you are down in the mouth, Pen). I think I like it best as it now
stands. Spottiswoode, Tyndal, give me your opinion."

The gentlemen were soon engaged in disputing the propriety of planting,
or not planting a fine swell in the park, each arguing upon their
opinions, enabling Miss Wycherly to recover some degree of composure;
and, when her well-appointed equipage drove to the door, she was able
to perform her adieus with tolerable calmness. Tom Pynsent offered his
arm to Lady Spottiswoode.

"Now, my lady, three gentlemen can't cut themselves down into two, so I
shall take charge of you, while they fight for your daughter and Pen."

Mr. Spottiswoode stood irresolute for an instant, but the Mr. Tyndals
took possession of Miss Spottiswoode; neither of those gentlemen
approached Miss Wycherly. Mr. Spottiswoode was, of course, under the
necessity of leading her to the carriage, but it took place in profound
silence. Tom Pynsent, now awake to his cousin's state of mind, managed
every thing for her.

"There, ladies, you are comfortable. Pen, let me place _you_
comfortably upon your throne."

Mrs. Pynsent screamed from the drawing-room window, "I say, Tom, put
Pen inside!"

Tom Pynsent, however, seated his cousin safely on the "throne," as she
had always designated the coach-box, and Mr. Spottiswoode took his seat
by her side; the Mr. Tyndals also mounted their horses, and rode away.

Mr. Spottiswoode paused to admit of Tom Pynsent's careful arrangement
of his cousin's box-cloak, but Mrs. Pynsent again screamed from the
window:--

"I say, Tom, you'll be too late for Wetheral!"

Tom Pynsent noticed his mother's exclamations by a sharp movement
of the elbow, and remained till he had adjusted every thing with
precision. He then shook his cousin's hand forcibly, and descended upon
the steps of the door. "All's right, Spottiswoode."

The carriage was soon lost behind the knoll, which had been the subject
of dispute.

The Mr. Tyndals appeared no more by the side of the carriage, and a
long silence was broken by a remark from Mr. Spottiswoode.

"I wonder we see nothing of the Tyndals."

Miss Wycherly answered, half hesitating, "I believe I have offended Mr.
Henry Tyndal."

"That is to be regretted," was Mr. Spottiswoode's reply, and a second
silence ensued; the remainder of the drive was passed without a word
on either side. Lady Spottiswoode urged Miss Wycherly to remain with
them and dine; but Penelope's heart was too ill at ease to accept her
hospitality. Her pallid countenance and hurried voice pleading excuses,
spoke more powerfully than words could do, and her friends forbore
to press her compliance. Mr. Spottiswoode still held the reins, and
evinced no intention to quit the box. Miss Wycherly dared not meet his
eye, as she thanked him for the trouble he had taken.

"You must not return thanks yet, for my task is not ended," replied Mr.
Spottiswoode, "I shall drive you safely to Lidham."

"Pray--not for the world!" exclaimed Miss Wycherly, fixing her eyes
upon her companion, in the energy of speaking; Mr. Spottiswoode's face
wore a mild expression, and a smile quivered on his lip, but it fled
at her exclamation, and his manner resumed its reserve. She remembered
Julia's charge to be gentle; she remembered her cousin's charge to
"pitch it in smoothly;" she saw also Mr. Henry Tyndal walking his horse
in the distance.

"Yes, yes, Charles Spottiswoode, drive on, and drive fast--don't wait
for any one!"

"Not for Tyndal?" asked Mr. Spottiswoode, provokingly.

"Not for a human being--drive on, I beseech you!"

Mr. Spottiswoode obeyed, and the carriage proceeded with rapidity in
the direction of Lidham.

Three miles were traversed, and Lidham rose among its woods in
grandeur, ere Miss Wycherly attempted to speak; she had taxed her
memory to bring forward some topic of conversation, but it played her
false; she had awaited a remark from her companion, upon which to
ground her intended kindness, and it had not reached her ear--her heart
now pined to recover its former ease and happiness, yet no opportunity
offered to attempt the resumption. To begin the subject voluntarily,
was a thought which fled at its very birth. What! own herself in the
wrong, and apologize for having given pain to a worthy heart? Ask for
pardon, when she had insulted a human being in the dearest feelings?
and, when her spirit longed to be at peace with her lover, full of its
own injustice and wrong? forbid it, womanly dignity!

Mr. Spottiswoode passed through the lodge at Lidham, and yet Miss
Wycherly persevered in her silence; no matter, Mr. Wycherly was in
sight, and the hour was past for repentance; she must henceforth submit
to bear a gnawing and unpitied remorse for her levity of conduct, and
for the knowledge that she had thrown away the very opportunity she
had coveted, to try her power upon her lover's forgiveness. To her
"dignity" she must sacrifice an ingenuous confession of sorrow for an
error, heartless as it was uncalled for; and the demands of "dignity"
superseded the claim of right. So do women often create their own
misery, by daring to offend, yet quailing under the degradation of
revoking an ungenerous speech.

Mr. Wycherly returned to the house, and was ready to receive his
daughter and Mr. Spottiswoode when they drove up in his usual way. It
never occurred to him that the somewhat long absence of the latter from
Lidham was a sure prognostic of a misunderstanding between the parties
most interested in the visits.

"Why, Spottiswoode, you are a truant, but Pen has caught you at last,
I see. She and I thought you were gone for ever, but I'm glad to see
you, however." Mr. Wycherly handed his daughter from the barouche-box.
"Well, now, come down, for dinner has been ready this half-hour; down
with you, my good fellow."

Mr. Spottiswoode declined staying dinner; he would take his own horse,
and return to Shrewsbury.

"My good fellow, what's the matter with you? you won't think of losing
your dinner? Nonsense, my dear sir; stay and take your dinner, and go
home afterwards, if you like. Here, Pen, try your eloquence."

But Miss Wycherly had flown in sorrow and anger to her own room. Mr.
Spottiswoode perceived her departure, and it decided his own; he could
not be prevailed upon to defer his ride home till the evening. It was
evident Miss Wycherly got out of his way, and her manner towards him
was offensive; he could not think of remaining at Lidham, to subject
himself to repeated annoyances; Mr. Wycherly pressed in vain.

"Well, Spottiswoode, you are determined, so I can't help it; but I
think there is something in the wind."

"I am returning to my mother's house," replied Mr. Spottiswoode, as he
shook hands.

"Give my compliments," said Mr. Wycherly, "and tell her I say you are
an obstinate mule."




CHAPTER IX.


Miss Wycherly began to lose all hope of recovering her position in Mr.
Spottiswoode's heart, unless she could prevail upon herself to make the
_amende honorable_; and to that wretched alternative her mind would not
bend. Rather would she endure the horrible idea of losing him; rather
would she suffer the pangs of jealousy to distract her heart, than "bow
down" before him she had offended, or say one word which could lead
him to suppose she retracted her offensive coquetry. For some days
her spirit chafed in solitude and in silence, and Julia received the
following note, a week subsequent to their meeting at Hatton.

 "For Heaven's sake, Julia, come to me for one hour, and leave Lord
 Ennismore behind! Don't bring him to Lidham, for I hate the sight
 and sound of lovers; come alone, and listen to the woes of poor

     "PENELOPE WYCHERLY."

Julia attended her summons, but Lord Ennismore did not remain behind;
he attended his mother and his intended bride in the carriage, and
Lady Ennismore deposited Julia at Lidham, promising to call for her on
their return from Shrewsbury. Julia found her friend pale and ill with
watching and fretting; Miss Wycherly received her with open arms.

"Oh, Julia, if you knew what I have suffered since we met last, you
would pity me! I am so glad you are come to me without your overseers!"

"Who are my overseers?" asked Julia, laughing at the term.

"You know I must mean the Ennismores, Julia: you are never to be seen
without mother and son. Sit down, my dear, and hear my complaint."

Miss Wycherly gave Julia an exact and long statement of all that had
taken place since they had met at Hatton, and her voice became agitated
as she dwelt upon Mr. Spottiswoode's silence during the drive, and his
apparent determination not to give her an opportunity to express her
feelings. "This, Julia, was the most cruel part of his conduct," she
continued. "How can a woman advocate her cause, when a man is resolved
to be silent? I may have acted wrong in the beginning, but the blame
rests with him now. I have only to be wretched all my life, and shut
myself up at Lidham."

Tears rushed to her eyes, but she struggled to subdue all appearance of
emotion. Julia was preparing to speak, but a wave of the hand deterred
her.

"Let me say all I have to say, Julia, and then applaud or blame me as
you please. If I was foolish to show caprice and folly at that critical
moment, Spottiswoode has exhibited cruelty and ill-temper ever since.
He knew I meant to accept him some time or other, and he was needlessly
hasty in acting so violently and promptly upon a nonsensical speech
of mine. Suppose every man was to fly away at a woman's playfulness?
I assure you, Julia, I was very ill when I came from Hatton; and yet
the ill-natured creature has not inquired after me. I think you cannot
uphold such a display of temper."

"I uphold Mr. Spottiswoode," replied Julia, "upon many points, and I
cannot flatter you, Penelope, by saying you have done right in one
particular."

"Julia!" exclaimed Miss Wycherly, "never desert a friend in distress,
or take a man's part against her!"

"I am giving you my opinion, Penelope, and Mr. Spottiswoode will never
hear the substance of our conversation from myself. You have vexed and
offended him; you have flirted very publicly with Henry Tyndal; and
you have allowed Mr. Spottiswoode to imagine you have refused himself,
after allowing his attentions for years--oh, Penelope, from your very
childhood."

Miss Wycherly coloured, and her tears began to flow, but she made no
reply. Her friend continued:--

"A woman may teaze a man who is comparatively a stranger to her, and
she may believe herself making trial of his temper and affection;
but Mr. Spottiswoode has been born and educated amongst us, and his
attachment has been too well known to the neighbourhood, and to
yourself, to doubt its truth. Do you doubt his affection, Penelope?"

Miss Wycherly shook her head, but she did not trust herself to speak.

"Then why treat him with levity, and throw him into Lady Anna Herbert's
power?"

"Good heavens, Julia!" shrieked Miss Wycherly, as she started up from
her seat, "do you know that for a certainty? Is he positively thinking
of Lady Anna; positively leaving me for ever? Oh! don't in mercy tell
me so!"

"I do not think it, Penelope, because I know he has loved you too long
to care for another; but you have been very unkind, and it has broken
the bond of esteem between you. Take care how you draw the reins too
tightly, and lose him past all recovery."

"Oh, if you are my friend, Julia," cried Miss Wycherly, kneeling before
her in agony--"if you have any love for your playfellow in youth, and
your friend since we grew up together, act for me in this strait, and
return me Spottiswoode's love."

"Then dismiss Henry Tyndal from your constant society, Penelope."

"Too happy to do so, Julia!"

"Let Mr. Spottiswoode see by your conduct and manners, that you regret
having pained him, Penelope."

"Alas! he will never give me an opportunity, Julia."

"Then make one, Penelope. If you love him as truly as you say you do,
he is worth the sacrifice of an ill-judged pride. You have offended
him; express your regrets courageously, and recover his esteem."

"I should die before the words could be spoken, Julia," said
her friend, rising from her attitude of humility, and reseating
herself.--"I should die while I was confessing my sorrow. Don't ask me
to acknowledge error; it would be a bitter task, and I never can sue
for a husband--no, that I never, never can do."

"My dear Penelope...."

"Think of any other way, Julia, but not that dreadfully degrading task
of imploring pardon--of bowing down before an offended lover! I should
never again be able to assert my power!"

"We see things very differently, Penelope. Remember the extremely keen
feelings of Mr. Spottiswoode, and the pain he has suffered in your
flirtation with Henry Tyndal!"

"He has brought it upon himself."

"And you are content to resign Mr. Spottiswoode for the indulgence of
false pride, Penelope--to lose the affection of a kind, constant lover,
because you cannot condescend to say you were wrong! Then Lady Anna
will be a happy woman if she can succeed you."

"You drive me wild with naming Lady Anna!" cried Miss Wycherly. "No one
shall succeed me in Charles Spottiswoode's heart, or I'll not stay at
Lidham to see it. I believe I am proud, Julia, too proud for my peace
of mind, but I shall never conquer it; it will drive me to my grave."

"Struggle against such an ignoble passion, Penelope."

Mr. Wycherly's voice resounded through the hall, calling for his
daughter. "I say Pen!--here! halloo, Pen!"

"I cannot meet him with these red eyes," hastily observed Miss
Wycherly. "My dear dear Julia, do speak for me!"

Julia joined Mr. Wycherly in the hall, who politely apologised for his
vociferation; he was not aware of her presence at Lidham; he was only
calling on Pen, to order some bread and cheese for Spottiswoode, and
one or two hungry dogs, who would not dismount; but the servants were
gone for the refreshments, and he would not detain her, or tease Pen,
who was any thing but well.

"If Mr. Spottiswoode is at the hall-door, I should like much to see him
for a few moments," was Julia's observation.

"He is here, and Tyndal, father and son. I can't get any of them to
dismount; when they see you, Miss Julia, one or two may change their
mind, and prefer eating in-doors. I'll tell Spottiswoode you are here;
or if you take my arm and show yourself, the effect will be greater."

Julia accompanied Mr. Wycherly to the door, and, after a few general
compliments had passed, she addressed herself particularly to Mr.
Spottiswoode, in a low voice.

"Mr. Spottiswoode, I wish to speak with you; can you leave your party?"

"Certainly; I shall feel honoured by any command from you." Mr.
Spottiswoode dismounted, and gave his horse to one of the Lidham grooms.

"There!" cried Mr. Wycherly. "I told you so, Miss Julia, I told you
what would happen, didn't I? Tyndal is good for nothing, but his son
will follow the lead."

It was Mr. John Tyndal who accompanied his father, and they were not
able to accept the tempting invitation--"they would just take a hurried
snack upon their horses, and proceed; would Wycherly join them?"

"And leave Spottiswoode to the ladies' care?"

"To be sure; Spottiswoode was a lady's man, and they were always petted
animals."

"Well, Miss Julia," said Mr. Wycherly, "I give Spottiswoode into your
hands, and you are responsible for consequences. Pen and you will
entertain him as long as he behaves well."

Julia promised to be his guardian angel, and she proceeded with Mr.
Spottiswoode to the sitting-room, where Miss Wycherly was lying
extended upon the sofa, thoughtful and hopeless of ever seeing happy
days again, if they were to be purchased by her own submission. She
rose slowly as the door opened.

"What a time you have been flirting with papa, Julia!" she exclaimed,
reproachfully. At that moment she perceived Mr. Spottiswoode, and a cry
of surprise burst from her lips, but she did not advance to receive
him. Mr. Spottiswoode stood near the door, and, resenting the coldness
of his reception, he spoke only to Julia.

"Miss Wetheral, you wished to speak with me; may I beg the favour of
your communication?"

"It is comprised in few words, Mr. Spottiswoode. My friend Penelope is
distressed and grieved at having given you unprovoked offence, and she
pines to recover your esteem."

"No--no--it is not true!" shrieked Miss Wycherly, hiding her face among
the sofa pillows.

"Mr. Spottiswoode," continued Julia, "you are both unhappy, and this
misunderstanding will never end without the assistance of a mutual
friend. I now tell you, Penelope regrets her error, but fears to lessen
herself in your opinion, by doing justice to herself and you. She is
miserable at having quarrelled, and why should you not know it, and be
friends?"

"By my soul, Penelope, I forgive the pain you have caused me," said Mr.
Spottiswoode, approaching her, "if I may indeed believe you repent your
unkind treatment."

Miss Wycherly shrunk from his touch as her lover offered to take her
hand.

"I do not repent--I regret nothing--oh, Julia! was this kind to betray
me! I will never believe you could love me, and yet have done this!"
She rose to fly from the room, but Mr. Spottiswoode's arm, gently wound
round her waist, arrested her flight.

"Stay, Penelope, and tell me why you avoid a man who loves you, and
has borne what I have done for you? Tell me why you fear to say a kind
thing, when it may balance a thousand harsh ones? Why must you distress
a heart which never gave _you_ uneasiness?"

"You have made me uneasy enough with your attention to Lady Anna,"
replied Miss Wycherly, earnestly, yet not attempting to disengage
herself.

"Do you seriously mean that, Penelope?" said Mr. Spottiswoode, looking
inquiringly into her face.

"Yes, I do: your flirtation there was worse than mine with Henry
Tyndal; every body knew _he_ was not cared for, but _you_ were
abominable."

"Look me in the face, Penelope, and say that again if you dare."

Miss Wycherly did not repeat the accusation: how could she? Her lover
held her to his heart, and every disquieting thought was stilled. She
turned to Julia, and held out her hand.

"Julia, I will never forget that you brought about this reconciliation.
I was too proud to own myself in fault, and had you not interfered, we
should never have met again in harmony. I was agonised at first with
anger, but it is past now; and, for Heaven's sake, don't let us quarrel
again, Charles Spottiswoode!"

"Then you will have me without another interview with Captain Jekyl,
Penelope?"

"Don't remember all that nonsense."

"I will not. Miss Wetheral, I am deeply obliged to you for your
spirited and friendly conduct to us both. Had it not been for your
intervention, I should not have entered Lidham again. Our mutual
obligations, Penelope, are great to this excellent friend."

"When Julia wants a home or a friend, she will remember Lidham,
Charles."

"Thank you," said Julia, smiling; "should such a time ever arrive, I
will appear before you, to seek my home of rest."

Lady Ennismore's carriage was announced, and Julia rose to depart. "I
have done an action which will always give me pleasure to contemplate,"
she said, as she shook hands with the reconciled pair. "I have linked
the chain round my two friends, and it shall not break again. Penelope,
I bespeak you upon a certain occasion; you must follow me to the altar
when my hour comes."

"I will follow you to the death, my dear," replied her friend, "to the
altar, to wealth, to misery, or the grave."

"Nay, only to the altar, Penelope; I will give you due notice."

Mr. Spottiswoode led her to the carriage, and repeated his
acknowledgments. Lord Ennismore received her, and Julia left Lidham
again, in company with those whom Miss Wycherly termed her overseers.

Wetheral Castle was now the scene of considerable bustle and gaiety.
Lady Wetheral was destined, apparently, to succeed in every wish of
her heart, for she had arranged and contrived to execute her plan of
marrying both daughters on the same day. The Boscawens were invited
to attend their nuptials; and Lady Ennismore, Mrs. Pynsent, and Lady
Wetheral, united in wishing the day to be an early one. Lady Ennismore
spoke in terms of elegant compliment, and expressed her maternal
anxiety to see her son happily settled ere she retired to her seat in
Lincolnshire; but Mrs. Pynsent did not attempt to press flowers of
eloquence into her oratory.

"Here, let's have no dawdling, but let Tom get married; what's the use
of kicking our heels here doing nothing? I'm for setting smartly to
work, and naming a day. Come, this day three weeks I'll say, and Tom
will back me."

Lady Wetheral saw every thing could safely be left to Mrs. Pynsent's
care, as far as the time was concerned; she, therefore, gave her
attention to ornamental attire, and complimented Mrs. Pynsent by
placing the day at her disposal. Mrs. Pynsent decided at once.

"Well then, I say this day three weeks, and no putting off."

From that hour, all was movement and consultation: Lady Ennismore and
her son returned to Bedinfield to prepare for the bride's reception,
and they were to reappear at Wetheral the week of the nuptials. Every
body was to be congregated at Wetheral on the Monday preceding the
ceremony, but the Boscawens were to spend a fortnight there, as Isabel
would enjoy the sight of bridal finery.

Lady Wetheral received Isabel with all the honours due to her position
in society. Anna Maria and Julia's future exaltation must place them
beyond Isabel in pomp and circumstance; but still Mrs. Boscawen held
a decided station, and she was mistress of Brierly. Mrs. Boscawen was
therefore received at Wetheral with much ceremony and polite welcome.
Isabel, however, returned to her early home a changed being: the
light-hearted girl who had quitted Wetheral scarcely a twelvemonth,
in smiles and joyous anticipations, returned a matron in appearance,
grave and subdued in manner, and apparently frightened into stillness
by her husband's stern observation. She was no longer the sprightly,
happy, madcap Isabel Wetheral; her laugh had fled, and even the smiles
which used to pass in rapid succession over her bright face, stole now
upon her lips slow and seldom. Her mother complimented Isabel upon the
change so rapid and so complete.

"I am never weary admiring you, my dear Mrs. Boscawen; and I little
imagined my romping daughter would be so soon transferred into an
elegant, quiet matron. Your manners are quite perfect, my love."

A placid smile curled the lip of Isabel at this compliment.

"I am very quiet now, I believe; Mr. Boscawen dislikes laughing."

"It is not an accomplishment," said Lady Wetheral; "every common
creature can laugh. I believe the loudest laughter is considered the
pleasantest person among the commonality. I detest a laugher."

"I enjoyed laughing extremely," replied Isabel, with a sigh. "I should
like to laugh again, but there is nothing laughable at Brierly. Mr.
Boscawen does not like young people staying in the house, and I have
mixed entirely among old people since I married."

"Your situation, my love! Mr. Boscawen is anxious to keep you quiet, I
dare say."

"I should prefer having a friend or two with me to enliven Brierly,"
returned Isabel, gravely. "Mr. Boscawen liked to see me merry before we
married, but now he says it is wrong. I think my sisters are foolish to
marry. Anna Maria, you had better remain single, for Mr. Boscawen says
young married women should not appear lively and ready to chat with
gentlemen, and you know we chatted away here."

"Mr. Boscawen is elderly, my love; elderly gentlemen are very
particular," observed Lady Wetheral, soothingly.

"Old or young, they are much the same, I believe; my jokes amused Mr.
Boscawen extremely till I married. Papa always liked to see me happy,
too; Mr. Boscawen's sister, Tabitha, reads such lectures if I laugh! I
don't like her at all."

"I think you look extremely handsome and well, Mrs. Boscawen. Matrimony
has improved you--confinement in two months time, you say? I wish
I could offer you my assistance, my love; but you know what a poor
nervous creature I am."

"Mr. Boscawen says I am only to have his sister Tabitha with me."

"An excellent arrangement, my love. Miss Tabitha will not have the
anxiety which would make _me_ worse than useless. I dare say she is a
steady sort of person."

"I don't like her at all, mamma; I would rather have you at Brierly."

"Me, my love! Oh, no! I am too nervous, not half so fitted for the
department of nurse as good Miss Tabitha. Those old maids, you know,
are calm and useful in their ignorance. I should be nervous, and make
you so; Boscawen has arranged very prudently."

Isabel privately confessed to her sisters that if she had only
suspected what her matrimony was to end in, nothing should have induced
her to marry. That beautiful cloak with the leopard's claw had been
of no use; not once had she occasion to wear it. Boscawen made her
read history for some hours every day, which she forgot as soon as she
closed the books; then Boscawen worried her with lessons of geography,
and expected her to understand accounts, and comprehend housekeeping--a
thing she detested; perhaps when she became a mother, she might have
more power, but at present she was neither more nor less than a girl at
school.

Isabel took great notice of Christobelle; and while her elder sisters
were absorbed in preparation for their approaching nuptials, she was
her companion at all hours; and she loved to have her youngest sister
constantly at her side. Mr. Boscawen freely indulged his lady in her
love for Christobelle's society, and expressed himself pleased by her
selection.

"I can have no objection, Isabel, to your youngest sister being with
you, and if you can obtain your father's consent, you can take her to
Brierly. I like her turn for reading; you can read together. I do not
wish you to be mixed up with the foolish preparations going on among
your sisters and mother--jewels and dresses, all nonsense. I wish you
to attend particularly to history, that you may not be wanting in
necessary information; and I expect your mornings will be devoted to
study, as usual. Your youngest sister can be with you, and your studies
may proceed together."

"I thought this fortnight was to be a holiday, Mr. Boscawen," said
Isabel, mournfully.

"My dear Isabel, you have much to make up, and at your age much is
acquired. I was distressed at hearing you assert to my sister a short
time since, that you could reach France by land."

"Well, Mr. Boscawen, I did not know to the contrary."

"But you ought to know, my dear Isabel; an ignorant woman at the head
of a man's table is terrible. I am continually watching to repair your
blunders."

"I made no blunders before I married, Mr. Boscawen."

Mr. Boscawen gave a grim smile at Isabel's assertion, and patted her
shoulder with kind feeling.

"Yes, you did, and those blunders amused me; but, my dear Isabel,
a lover is charmed with faults and blunders, which make a husband
miserable, so read and improve yourself in knowledge. Chrystal is the
best companion for you at Wetheral." In consequence of Mr. Boscawen's
wish, Isabel and Christobelle studied together, and the child of ten
years of age was even better acquainted with the elements of knowledge
than the woman of eighteen. Isabel had an insuperable objection to
study of any kind, and when Mr. Boscawen left the sisters together for
an hour, Isabel quitted her dull history to seize upon Christobelle's
little collection of story-books, or else she vented her disappointed
feelings in warning her never to marry at all, but particularly an
old man. It was all vanity and vexation of spirit; she had never seen
company at Brierly; and Mr. Boscawen determined to receive none
till she could conduct her own establishment; that time would never
arrive, for she never could order any thing but mutton-chops and mashed
potatoes. And Miss Tabitha scolded and lectured in vain. However, Mr.
Boscawen said she might have Christobelle with her, and that was a
blessing; for when she came, she might get out a little more.

Such was Isabel's course of life, after marrying precisely to have
uncontrolled liberty, to ride all day in the gig, and fill Brierly as
full as it could hold.

Tom Pynsent was very indignant at Isabel's mode of life. "What the
devil did a man marry for, if a wife was only to be turned into a
daughter? and what was a woman the better for having her head crammed
with knowledge. For his part, he hoped Anna Maria could not tell great
A from a bull's foot, and she would get no teaching at Hatton."

Mr. Boscawen persevered in his system, and only smiled grimly at the
observations which were showered in his presence. No sort of excuse, no
little morning gaiety, was allowed to prevail with him in liberating
his wife from her course of study. Till four in the afternoon, Isabel
was toiling at the arts and sciences; and at that hour her husband
took her an airing in the carriage which had so delighted her sight on
her wedding-day:--she called it now her prison-house.

Mr. Boscawen's system of education, however unpalatable it proved to
Isabel's taste, was one of gentleness, and of great importance to her
mind. He was never harsh in his observations, and he bore with great
patience his young wife's disinclination to improve her resources.
Nothing could be more agreeably explained than Mr. Boscawen's views
upon every subject. He imparted instruction so mildly, and varied his
course of studies so insinuatingly, that the mornings flew past in
really instructive yet pleasing pursuits.

At Christobelle's young age, she delighted in Mr. Boscawen's gentle
administration, and no one ever before had power to withdraw her from
her father's study. During Isabel's visit, Christobelle lived in her
dressing-room; and when Mr. Boscawen walked out, Christobelle hovered
round him, and listened to his kindly-expressed sentiments upon every
trifle which she offered to his notice. Mr. Boscawen possessed but two
failings; he had a most repulsive expression of countenance; and he
married a young, laughing girl, hardly out of the nursery, who could
not appreciate his extensive knowledge, and who could never prove the
companion his intellectual taste coveted. Caught by the vivacity and
beauty of a sprightly girl, he had vainly promised himself pleasure in
superintending her education, and in leading her talents towards the
stores which learning could bestow: mortification was the result of his
anxiety.

Mr. Boscawen was not the first wise man who fell in love, and fancied
he could make a young creature happy, by endeavouring to raise her
capacity to his own level. Many have tried the experiment and failed,
because they would not believe the sparkling eye could emanate from
gay spirits unconnected with scope of intellect, and because they
expected that age and gravity could assimilate with youthful feelings
and youthful views. Isabel was not adapted to the sameness of her
life at Brierly: had she married a man more suited to her time of
life, her joyous spirit would have met the cares of this world with
light-heartedness and in smiles; but the awful countenance of her
husband ever resting upon her--his perpetual anxiety respecting her
manners--his remarks, so gentle yet so sternly spoken--all pressed
upon her mind, and weighed down her spirits.

Whenever Isabel spoke, her eye rested with alarm upon Mr. Boscawen;
and it was evident she had been tutored into some degree of caution,
by the unwearied lectures of Miss Tabitha Boscawen, upon the necessity
of married ladies thinking before they spoke upon any subject. Lady
Wetheral was enthusiastic in her praise of Isabel's improved appearance
and manner, but her sisters and Miss Wycherly mourned over the change
which had taken place. Miss Wycherly spoke openly her opinion.

"I declare, and I always did declare, it was a sinful act to give
Isabel to that lanky, dark, awful Mr. Boscawen. The poor thing was not
able to judge for herself, and she fancied every elderly man was like
her father. I think such very unnatural matches should be prevented by
act of parliament."

Isabel one morning stole away from her heavy volume of Rapin, to look
over the wardrobe of the two brides, which had arrived from town, and
were hung in magnificent array in their apartments. Miss Wycherly and
Miss Spottiswoode were also sitting in judgment upon their beauty of
make and material, and the whole female population of Wetheral were
admitted to admire and wonder over the costly arrangement. Isabel's
eyes sparkled at the sight, and, with true girlish delight, she
examined and applauded each article as it attracted her notice.

"Oh, Julia, this satin is yours, I am sure! Yes, that is Lady Ennismore
at a first glance; how very beautiful! Ah, Julia! I hope you will
wear it oftener than I have worn my pretty blue silk: I shall wear
it on your wedding-day, and that will be only the second time of its
appearance upon any stage. I dare say it will look old-fashioned now
compared to yours. One small flounce, you see--how pretty! my blue silk
has no flounce." She passed on to the case which contained the jewels
presented to Julia by Lady Ennismore.

"Well, Julia, this _is_ a sight! how very sparkling and brilliant! I
wonder how often you will wear them? Mr. Boscawen does not like me to
wear the beautiful brooch papa gave me; he says it is attending to
the outside of the platter instead of the inside, and then he said
something in Greek or French, I don't know which; but my poor ornament
was laid up in silver paper again. I hope Lord Ennismore will let you
dress handsomely, Julia."

"I never cared much about dress, Isabel," said Julia; "if dear Augustus
dislikes dress, I shall renounce it very willingly."

"Would you, indeed? Ah! but you are very fond of Lord Ennismore, and
he likes every thing you do and say: so did Mr. Boscawen once. Oh,
Anna Maria, this muslin dress, worked so divinely! One comfort is, Tom
Pynsent will let you wear muslin and satin by day and by night, if you
choose to do so. Lord Ennismore I know nothing about, but I _do_ know
my old partner Tom's good-nature. How I wish Mr. Boscawen was like
Tom Pynsent! Mr. Boscawen is very kind, though: I am sure he never
contradicts me in any thing, but he talks me into his measures, which
is just the same thing. I never could argue; and if I did, Mr. Boscawen
talks so many languages, I could never argue against them all. How I
have been talking!--I could almost fancy myself unmarried. What was
that?--a bell? I must run away, or Mr. Boscawen will find me a truant
when he returns."

"See here, Isabel," exclaimed Miss Wycherly--"here is a poplin sweetly
trimmed; don't run away!"

"My dear, I must; don't tempt me; I am sure that was Mr. Boscawen's
bell, to ask where I was. It is airing time, and I dare say my
prison-house is at the door."

Away flew Isabel, in alarm, lest her husband should have perceived her
flight from the dressing-room.

"Delightful specimen of matrimony!" observed Miss Spottiswoode.

"It is not a comfortable view of the state," replied Miss Wycherly;
"but Isabel and Mr. Boscawen were never intended to become man and
wife. It has been one of those unaccountable proceedings which do
sometimes occur, and which causes misery to two very excellent people.
Either would have been happy in a different connexion: I think Isabel
ought to have married John Tyndal."

"And why John Tyndal?" asked Miss Spottiswoode, hastily.

Miss Wycherly smiled. "Only, if it had so happened, Sophy, John
Tyndal's good-nature would have given way to Isabel's tastes."

"He is the soul of good-nature and kindness," replied Miss
Spottiswoode, "yet he might not have been happy with Isabel."

"Perhaps not, if he liked another lady better; but don't blush, Sophy.
I have offended his brother for ever; Henry Tyndal meets me now, and
will not see me, or bow as we pass."

"Because you behaved very ill to him, and Charles too, Penelope."

"Well, now, Sophy, that is past and forgiven, so let us think of the
girls' wedding-clothes, and all the bustle of this day week."

The ladies again proceeded to comment upon the beauty of the dresses,
and all subjects gave way to the engrossing topic of dress and jewels.

Tom Pynsent was firmly decided not to accept his father's resignation
of Hatton upon his marriage; and Sir John Wetheral upheld him in his
resolution. Lady Wetheral lost all patience with such determinations.

"I am sure, Sir John, the Pynsents are anxious to leave Hatton, and
relinquish the trouble of superintending such large property. How much
happier old Mr. Pynsent will be in some quiet nook, enjoying himself,
if you did not fancy such foolish schemes, and innoculate Tom with the
disease! I wonder, my dear Mr. Boscawen, you do not urge Sir John to
allow Mr. Pynsent his own way in this matter."

"_Aparte mala cum est mulier, tum damum est bona_," said Mr. Boscawen.

"You agree with me? Is that your meaning when translated?"

"I do not," replied Mr. Boscawen, mildly; "I give my judgment entirely
in favour of Tom Pynsent."

"You have not given the subject your best consideration, my love,"
observed her husband.

"The thing requires no consideration, Sir John: you are traversing Mr.
Pynsent in his wishes, and preparing severe pain for me. I always hoped
and believed Anna Maria would be near me, and you are endeavouring to
banish her the county. I confess I am ill prepared for this blow, Sir
John Wetheral, and I hope I shall not be extremely ill from the shock."

Sir John endeavoured to explain away his lady's objections to the
present arrangement; but her mind was totally overpowered by the
reflection that Hatton must not yet shelter his daughter.

"I don't understand you, Sir John. Nothing can explain away my distress
at perceiving you determined to expel my daughter from Hatton, and I
can only appeal to Tom Pynsent from your harsh resolution. I shall
implore him to let my daughter be near her mother."

Tom Pynsent's mind was composed of kindly materials, but his
perceptions of right were always clear, and his conduct did credit
to those perceptions, by resisting, formidably and pertinaciously,
every attempt to attract him from the path chalked out by his
straightforward, well-judging principles. Lady Wetheral's eloquent and
parental complainings roused his best feelings, but Tom Pynsent was
at this moment, as he ever had been, perfectly blind to all hints and
concealed purposes. He read her ladyship's meaning, simply as a parent
mourning her separation from a loved and gentle daughter, and his
excellent heart prompted every means of consolation.

"God bless my soul, Lady Wetheral, I feel quite a brute in taking Anna
Maria out of the neighbourhood, while you suffer so much--I am sure I
am willing to do any thing to lessen your regret! Anna Maria, my dear
little duck, what shall we do for Lady Wetheral?"

"To be separated from two daughters at once," remarked Lady Wetheral,
despairingly--"to lose two children at once is a serious misery. Julia
_must_ live in Staffordshire--she must, and, of course, ought, to
settle upon her husband's property: but my dearest Anna Maria need not
surely desert us!"

"I'll tell you what I'll decide upon at once," cried Tom Pynsent.

Her ladyship listened with intense eagerness.

"I'll decide at once, and accept my father's offer to live----"

Lady Wetheral seized Tom Pynsent's large red hand. "You have given
peace to my heart, Tom, to a mother's deep disquietude--I understand
you--my Anna Maria will live near me. You will be brilliant, as I
anticipated, my dear girl!"

"I'll do what I never thought I could do," continued Tom Pynsent; "but
I am sure I'll not separate you from your daughter, if you love her
as well as I do. Come, then, I'll accept my father's offer of a large
house in Dog Pole; and though I never lived in a town, I'll do it to
quiet your heart, Lady Wetheral."

Her ladyship sunk into a chair--she could only articulate, faintly,
"Oh--no, no!"

"Yes, but I will, though, Lady Wetheral. I'll remove the kennel to
Coleham, and then I can hunt; I'll amuse myself on Sundays with shewing
my wife the hounds, and I must patronise the poor devils of players in
an evening, to amuse my little woman here. I will do it, upon my soul:
I'm not joking, Lady Wetheral."

"No, it cannot be--I see it is wrong--no, you shall not live in
Shrewsbury to please _me_," said her ladyship, writhing in horror;
"my daughter would become ill in a close atmosphere. You would become
disgusted too. I see very clearly my mistake--no, that must not be. A
little effort will shake off maternal regrets." Lady Wetheral trembled
with the remembrance even of Tom Pynsent's offer. Her daughter living
in Dog Pole, and going to the play like a mechanic's wife!--oh, let her
die first! She was obliged to have recourse to her salts.

Anna Maria was surprised at the strong emotion which seized upon her
mother. She offered consolation in her own way.

"But, mamma, if you are so distressed at our leaving you, I beseech you
to postpone my marriage for a short time, till the remembrance of Julia
has subsided. I cannot bear to see you suffer, mamma. Let my marriage
be suspended a fortnight--I know Tom will accede for my sake, won't
you, dear Tom?"

"I would rather live in Dog Pole than postpone my marriage," answered
Tom Pynsent, sturdily.

"Neither, neither," said Lady Wetheral, rising; "I will not hear of any
change. I am foolish in my fondness, but I must have fortitude, like
other mothers. I must remember I have Clara and poor little Chrystal
to comfort me. Decide upon your place of residence, and so it is not a
town or a village, I shall be satisfied."

Lady Wetheral quitted the room in a state of mind most pitiable; she
had been foiled in her wish to see Anna Maria placed immediately at
the head of the Hatton establishment, and, this one wish disappointed,
she felt as though every other gratified vision of grandeur sank into
nothingness; one defeat obliterated a thousand victories; such is the
nature of a mind unaccustomed to meet impediments in its rapid course.

"Tom!" said his fair _fiancée_, as the door closed upon them, "I am
going to wish a wish."

"You wished a pretty wish, just now, you little rascal, didn't you?"
answered her lover, throwing his arm round Anna Maria, and squeezing
her till she exclaimed:--

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Tom! your arm is like a steam-engine in full
play!"

"I'm afraid I am rough," said Tom, anxiously rubbing the arm which had
been pinioned to her side by his embrace, "but I am an awkward dog by
nature. Come, what is your wish, and you shall have it; but, no more
putting off the wedding-day, mind."

"I should like, Tom, to go to Paris."

"By Jove!" ejaculated Tom Pynsent, in extremity of astonishment, "by
all the saints and holy women, what are we to do at Paris, my darling
girl?"

"Just to see Paris, my dear Tom, and pass a few weeks there."

"I think I see myself in Paris, d--n me!" cried her lover, excited
something beyond his usual subdued language in Anna Maria's presence:
"the Frenchmen will hoot me through the streets; why, we can't manage a
sentence in French between us!"

"We can hire somebody to speak for us, dear Tom, and every one speaks
French now, except ourselves. I want to see Paris, and Blucher, and,
what can it signify, whether we speak English or French?"

"How shall we eat their infernal frogs and garlic, Anna Maria?" asked
Tom Pynsent, with a shudder, "and, what shall we do in a great city,
without knowing their jargon? My dear girl, we shall be like the babes
in the wood!"

"No, no, Tom, we shall get on like other people, and Sir John
Spottiswoode delights in Paris; he wishes his mother and sister to join
him, Penelope says. We shall find him out; and, then if you dislike
Paris, we can return home, you know."

"I never was at sea in my life, Anna Maria; I never was even upon the
Severn. Deuce take it, I shall be like the hounds at fault, and you, my
poor girl, will want to get back to Shropshire."

"No, I shall not," said Miss Wetheral; "say, Tom, you will take me to
Paris!"

"I'll take you to the world's end, my darling, if you fancy it; how is
this little arm? I'm not fit to take charge of a creature like you,
with my rough ways, but you shall have all your little whims gratified."

Thus, then, was a visit to Paris decided upon; and Tom Pynsent
renouncing his country, and truly English tastes, gave way at once
to Anna Maria's wishes, and commenced preparations for a foreign
expedition. Certainly no character possessed more real kindness, than
the unselfish and affectionate Tom Pynsent, for, of all men upon earth,
he was the least calculated, in taste and habits, to relish even a
temporary banishment from his native land.




CHAPTER X.


There was wassail in Wetheral Castle previous to the nuptials; a scene
of gaiety repugnant to Sir John's ideas of propriety, but which was not
checked by the simple expression of his wishes. In vain he remonstrated
against the levity which surrounded him; in vain he disapproved of the
course of dinner-parties which preceded so immediately an event of deep
importance to the happiness of two children. His lady protested the
"proprieties" were not infringed by a house full of company.

"If, Sir John, your daughters were on the eve of marriage with plebeian
men of wealth, or had they chosen to select professional men, or even
men of inferior weight in their respective counties, I grant you it
would be an unnecessary display; in the present case, the neighbourhood
expect a gaiety, which throws a sort of halo round the approaching
event. One daughter, love, becomes a countess on Thursday next, and
one daughter weds the finest property in Shropshire. I wonder you
do not exult with me! I have been complimented with burning hearts,
I am sure, by all my married friends, and, as Lady Farnborough said
yesterday very truly, I have monopolized the first matches in the
counties of Salop and Staffordshire. I am aware I have done so; I am
aware I have taken great pains to promote my children's welfare. I may
say, too, Julia's match was exclusively my own, in its invention and
maturity."

"My dear Gertrude," replied Sir John, calmly, "I am satisfied if my
girls are marrying according to their own satisfaction, as far as
regards themselves; but I cannot exult in losing two members of my
family, when I strongly doubt the happiness of one of them."

"My dear love! you have the oddest notions! but you were always
unaccountable. I am proud to receive the congratulations of my friends.
I wish Anna Maria had persuaded Tom to remain at Hatton, when it was
first named, for old Pynsent may live these twenty years! However,
since Hatton is out of the question, I am glad they are going abroad.
I should not like Anna Maria placed in any situation less magnificent
than Hatton, and people of distinction crowd to Paris now, to see the
allied sovereigns. Tom has bought a very handsome travelling chariot;
his appointments will be perfect."

"I should think, Gertrude, less bustle would be more agreeable to you,
on the eve of parting with your daughter for twelve months."

Lady Wetheral sighed. "A little amusement, perhaps, is useful in
softening my regrets, and Mrs. Boscawen, poor child, is so delighted
with the entertainments! How Mr. Boscawen has managed, I cannot
imagine; _I_ never could silence Isabel, but he has succeeded; and
Isabel is really a little star now in society. _I_ had quite given
her up. Mrs. Boscawen, poor child, was in ecstacies over her sisters'
wardrobes. They have jewels which a crowned head might prize,
certainly; whereas, Boscawen gave Isabel nothing. I confess I do
sometimes feel indignant that the Lady of Brierly is so very simply
dressed, but I never liked Boscawen's temper."

"He considers Isabel too young to indulge in folly, my dear Gertrude."

"Temper, all temper," returned her ladyship; "an old man marrying a
young wife, should consider _her_ tastes and _her_ wishes. What did
Isabel become Mrs. Boscawen for, but to command advantages, and
surround herself with comforts?"

"Then Isabel must learn by experience the wickedness of sacrificing
herself to mercenary views. Chrystal," continued Sir John, addressing
himself to his youngest child, with earnestness of voice and manner,
"your education was made over to my care. Never let your mind rest upon
the follies which women delight to enjoy at the expense of happiness
and respectability. Let your wishes, my child, rest upon better and
nobler views; and advise your elder sisters, when they perceive
the fallacy of hunting after useless pleasures, to turn aside from
ambition, and think what a bitter draught has been presented to their
lips."

"My dear love, a perfect homily!" exclaimed his lady, smiling,
"and my youngest daughter's very unpronounceable name will be less
disagreeable than her temper, if she is to preach to her family upon
your recommendation. I am quite amused by your humility, considering
the splendid matches your daughters have made. I am not so gifted with
humble feelings; I am silly enough to rejoice in their welfare. The
Kerrisons, my love, dine with us to-day. Sir Foster and myself are
almost lovers; I am delighted with his sentiments--most excellent man!
I told him he must allow us to run away with his pretty daughter for a
few weeks, after my dear girls are gone to their new homes. Clara and
you, Chrystal, will miss your sisters. I shall be very low myself. Dear
girls! I told Sir Foster, Miss Kerrison's lively spirits would be of
so much benefit to us! He seemed flattered, I thought, by my remark,
and gave such a polite bow of acquiescence! Sir Foster is really a
gentleman of the old school; a picture quite."

Lady Wetheral became loquacious in praise of Sir Foster; and in her
fulness of commendation, the purpose of her heart betrayed itself.

"I am so provoked when I hear people repeating all the idle reports
which emanate from discharged grooms, and low servants. Just the
very class of society who deal so largely in ungrateful abuse. I can
gather from Sir Foster's sentiments, how gentle his nature must be,
and his large family, I am sure, are excellently managed. Such order
and economy in every department! I judge, of course, from fountainhead
particulars, for Sir Foster and myself talked a great deal upon the
subject at Hatton yesterday, I told him his daughter would improve my
Clara in matters of economy; her ideas, I said, were at present crude
and undigested upon the subject, but I knew her tastes pointed that
way."

"So Clara and Kerrison are to marry, are they?"

"You may truly appeal to me, my love, for, indeed, you have little part
in your children's prospects. Yes, I have decided upon Kerrison and
Clara. No alliance can compete with those which will be celebrated on
Thursday, but I bear in mind the old proverb, 'marry your sons when
you will, but marry your daughters when you can.' Ripley is the next
eligible situation in Shropshire, now Hatton is secured. If Clara
will only check her temper! I am sure I have lectured enough upon the
subject, and I tell her four or five weeks of gentleness is all I ask
at her hands."

"Gertrude, you are wrong, you are wicked," exclaimed Sir John, for
once rousing himself into determination, and rising from his chair,
"I have been weak and wicked myself in allowing you such uncontrolled
liberty over my children's minds, and, God help me, I shall have reason
to repent it too soon. I tell you Clara shall _not_ marry Kerrison. I
tell you, Gertrude, I will not have her sacrificed to that violent and
coarse fellow at Ripley, to drive a woman into misery or sin, because
your ambition will be ministered to!"

Her husband's sudden energy was wholly unexpected, its effect was
powerful; her ladyship sank into the seat he had just quitted.

"Really, Sir John, your violence kills my poor nerves. I am not equal
to contend against such dreadful exhibitions of temper. My poor
constitution requires perfect tranquillity, almost amounting to total
silence, and these explosions of passion do me a great deal of harm.
Indeed, Sir John, you have overpowered a poor nervous creature." His
lady's hands trembled as she spoke, her voice faltered, and the tears
coursed down her cheeks.

Did Sir John Wetheral ever resist his lady's pleading when it took the
form of suffering, and spoke in the silent eloquence of grief? When
did he ever create a sorrow, or cause a heartfelt reproach, without
enduring far greater disquietude, from the knowledge of having given
pain! He took his lady's hand, and bent kindly over her.

"Gertrude, this is sad work, and the consequences of my weak indulgence
will be sadder still. I have given way to you in every wish of
your heart, and submitted my better judgment to your tears, till my
authority has passed away, and I am a cipher in all affairs connected
with my children. In this particular, however, I will be heard and
obeyed. I will not allow of a distant allusion to Clara's marriage with
Sir Foster; and the instant I believe, or have reason to _suspect_,
any private attempt to draw Clara into such a hateful connection, that
instant I will remove my family from Wetheral, and reside in Scotland."

"My head! my poor head, Sir John! Send Thompson to me, my love, for my
brain seems on fire! I declare men are so brutal, women's hearts should
be cut out of wood. I am quite unfit for company to-day."

Sir John did not ring for Thompson: he had much to say, now that the
indolence of his nature was roused into effort, and his mind dwelt with
anger upon the meditated sacrifice of Clara.

"Never mind company, my dear Gertrude; I wish all company had been
spared this week. The few days which intervene between the present hour
and my poor girl's wedding-day should have passed in domestic privacy
and reflection on their parts."

Lady Wetheral's distress and emotion allowed _herself_ no moment for
reflection. She hastily exclaimed:--

"The less they think about it, poor things, the better!"

"This is a fearful idea, Gertrude. If you conceive matrimony to be
a leap which only the ignorant should take, you condemn yourself in
your own plans. A husband-hunting parent, who draws a veil before the
victim's eyes, and leads it blindfold to the altar, is a creature to be
feared and hated."

Lady Wetheral's astonishment at this remark, pronounced with energy by
her husband, produced total forgetfulness of hysterical assistance.
Her anxiety to remove blame from her measures, gave seriousness to her
manner, but dispelled for the moment all idea of having recourse to
fictitious aids. Her lips quivered, but not a tear flowed.

"I am sorry, Sir John, I am grieved to be supposed to sacrifice--to
sell my poor children. I seek their good, I wish them to marry well, as
I married myself, but you are harsh to call them victims. I have done
my duty by them; I have obtained excellent establishments for my three
eldest, and received congratulations from my friends. I really cannot
receive your reproach."

"Then why are they to dissipate thought, Gertrude, and fly from
reflection?"

"I'm sure I don't know, my love. One is not always prepared with
reasons in an instant: marriage brings cares. They will have the same
anxieties about their children's establishments that I have endured. I
suppose that was my meaning. I really can't tell; but you frighten me
with such violent expressions."

"Gertrude," said Sir John, seriously, "let all painful thoughts and
subjects be banished between us. I exact one promise from you."

"My dear love, I never made a promise in my life."

"Then let it be made now, and stand in your mind in its singleness and
sacred meaning."

"A promise would overcharge my heart, and burst from my lips, Sir John.
I hate promises."

"Yet you promised at the altar, Gertrude, to love and honour, and obey
your husband."

"These are words of course, love, and mean that people are to jog on as
well as they can together: but what do you require in the shape of a
promise?"

"I require your assurance that you will for ever renounce all idea of a
son-in-law as far as Sir Foster Kerrison is concerned."

"Do you know, love, I see the hand of Boscawen in your determined
dislike of Kerrison. That man has enormous influence with you; and when
he married a woman young enough to be his granddaughter, it ought to
have silenced him upon the subject of matrimony. Lady Ennismore has
heard my reasons in favour of Sir Foster, and it was but yesterday I
was speaking upon the subject with her ladyship. Lady Ennismore has
returned in high feather from Bedinfield, my love, and looks nearly
as young as Julia; does she not? She assured me Thursday would be the
brightest day in her calendar of pleasures. I am sure it will be a day
of proud delight to me!"

"I will not allow you to include Sir Foster Kerrison in the bridal
party, Gertrude. I wish you to understand that I object to every
species of intimacy with the Ripley family."

"My dear John, why did you not express your wishes earlier? I have
indeed asked that pretty, cheerful creature, Lucy Kerrison, to spend a
few days with Clara when she loses her sisters, and I felt obliged to
include her father in the wedding arrangements. I am sorry your odd
ways of thinking prevent so many agreeable circumstances from becoming
valued, but so it is, and I cannot decline Sir Foster's society without
a cogent reason to apologise for my change of manner."

"I only object to the man on Clara's account," replied Sir John,
considerably annoyed at the intelligence.

"What nonsense, Sir John! Do I insist upon the girl's falling in love,
or do I lay violent hands upon the owner of Ripley?"

"Not exactly, Gertrude, but I object to your eternal plans and
manœuvres, which tend to the same effect."

Lady Wetheral kissed her hand playfully.

"Avaunt such notions! A mother is a very different being from a father.
One is all tenderness and anxiety for the future; the other dreams
heavily, and not always wisely, over the present. Look at Chrystal
there, sitting bolt upright, with her hair in such masses, and her
throat covered up like the picture of Heloise. You find her necessary
to your amusement now, but you are blind to her future advantage. Who
will ask for a wife from the alarming precincts of your bookroom?
Who will care to please a girl brought up among authors, full of
self-importance, and whose conversation will preclude her from pleasing
others?"

"Christobelle is a very agreeable companion," was her father's reply.

"She will do for old Leslie's nephew, perhaps," observed her ladyship,
listlessly. "Kerrison says they have got him into Dundonald's ship."

A short silence ensued, and Lady Wetheral quitted the room, unshackled
by any definite promise upon the subject of Sir Foster Kerrison.
Sir John sank again into tranquil employments, satisfied that his
sentiments were made known, and that henceforth, when the bustle of
the double marriage should subside, the tide of gaiety would ebb, and
Wetheral Castle become a scene of calm and domestic cheerfulness. Then
all this communication with Ripley must terminate, and Clara would not
be subjected to the constant society of Sir Foster Kerrison. This happy
vision lulled Sir John Wetheral into present security, and his mind
dismissed the subject from its consideration.

Nothing could exceed Isabel's delight at the daily party which met in
the splendid dinner-room at Wetheral. Nothing could be more delightful
to her imagination than the scene which presented itself to her view
each day after the fatigues and annoyance of a long morning passed in
her husband's dressing-room. When the six o'clock bell rang in the
assembled guests, and warned them to their toilette, Isabel emerged
from her labours, and, with the wild delight of a girl emancipated from
a boarding-school, she flew to her room and prepared for the exquisite
amusement of the evening. It is true, she was constrained to enter the
drawing-room leaning discreetly upon her husband's arm, and his tall
figure hovering round her chair, checked for a time the exuberance
of her spirits, by his close and anxious watchfulness; but her eyes
feasted upon the countenance and dress of those around her. Compared
with Brierly, this alone was happiness. She looked beamingly upon her
sisters, and complacently at the gentlemen, who were so soon to carry
them from her sight. She never tired of watching Miss Wycherly, and her
beau, Charles Spottiswoode; the former delighting her with the oddity
of her remarks, and the latter full of agreeable entertainment.

Wholly wrapt up in the bustle of the scene, Isabel forgot the plodding
disquietude of the morning, and utter oblivion closed over the studies
which Mr. Boscawen vainly hoped would reach her taste and improve
her mind: her soul was dedicated only to simple subjects, and the
warm-hearted Isabel acknowledged no desire beyond the delight of seeing
happy faces and hearing kind remarks. Life to her was a blank, if it
brought other sounds than affectionate greetings, or produced other
objects than smiling, well-dressed individuals.

During dinner, Isabel's eyes feasted silently upon her friends; but
when the ladies rose to quit the dinner-room, and her spirit became
disenthralled by the door closing upon Mr. Boscawen, then did her
speech burst its enclosure, and revel in unrestrained freedom. The day
preceding the nuptial morning Isabel was in very high spirits, almost
as unsubdued as in the days of her singlehood: even Mr. Boscawen could
scarcely repel the vivacity of her remarks, though he stood tall and
grim before her, his dark eyes fixed upon her face, and his strongly
marked eyebrows lowering at the rapid remarks which passed her lips.
_Gaieté de cœur_ played in her eyes that evening, in spite of her
silent, stern-looking attendant; and, when the ladies withdrew, Isabel
caught Miss Wycherly's arm in their progress to the drawing-room.

"Oh, my dear Miss Wycherly, now I've got away from Mr. Boscawen,
I have so much to say, and I must say it all before he leaves the
dining-room, you know! Well, how beautiful Lady Ennismore looks, and
what a lovely ornament in her hair! I wish Mr. Boscawen would let me
wear ornaments! I have been teasing him to allow me to wear a feather
to-morrow-morning, but he replies in some unaccountable language, which
I suppose means 'no.' I want to ask the girls if they are frightened
about to-morrow: I was not a bit alarmed. If I had known, though, how
little I was to be mistress of Brierly, I would not have married."

Isabel flew to her sisters, on reaching the drawing-room, without
waiting any reply from Miss Wycherly.

"Now, I want to know if either of you feel frightened. I only laughed,
if you remember. Lady Ennismore, won't Julia be very happy?"

"I trust so," replied her ladyship, smiling, and obligingly pressing
Julia's hand between her's. "My daughter will repose on flowers, if a
wish of mine has power to confer such a destiny."

Julia turned her head towards Lady Ennismore; joy and affection
sparkled in her eye, but she did not speak.

"Ah, you are so charming, dear Lady Ennismore," exclaimed Isabel--"how
I wish Mr. Boscawen would make _me_ repose on roses, and leave that
horrid 'Universal History,' which puzzles me to death. I don't think
you are in spirits, my dear Anna Maria; but you need not be afraid of
Tom Pynsent, I'm sure--he was the very best partner I ever had. I'm
sure Tom will spoil you. He allowed me always to call the same country
dance, though I know he would have preferred any other. _You_ need not
fear, my dear Anna Maria. I shall ask Mrs. Pynsent, to-morrow, if any
body need fear dear Tom. Oh, Miss Wycherly, that is the very sweetest
comb I ever saw--and my blue silk looks so dowdy by the side of your
darling dress, Miss Spottiswoode!"

Lady Wetheral approached Isabel, and complimented her upon her improved
looks during her stay at Wetheral.

"Oh, do you think so, mamma? I know I wish I was not in the family way,
for I _must_ be confined at Brierly, Mr. Boscawen says; and the place
is so large and dull.--Anna Maria, I wish I was going to Paris with
you--any where, to get out of Miss Tabitha's way. Oh, Julia, I hope
you won't be in the family way soon, for it is terrible to be such a
size, and your figure is so lovely."

"Ring for coffee, Chrystal," said Lady Wetheral, in gentle tones, but
suffering acutely under the laugh which was raised by Isabel's speech.

"Oh, don't ring for coffee, yet," cried Isabel. "I have so much to say,
and Mr. Boscawen will leave the dining-room if he hears a bell.--No,
don't order coffee, yet. Clara, I must not utter Sir Foster's name,
because Mr. Boscawen tells me not; but I think I know whose wedding
will be next. I saw him in the avenue to-day! ah ha!--I really think
you are too handsome for Sir Foster--now I am going to make a match for
dear Chrystal."

So ran on the happy, gay-hearted Isabel, perfectly blind to Lady
Wetheral's agony of mind, and her efforts to turn the conversation into
other hands. Miss Spottiswoode and Miss Wycherly encouraged Isabel's
ingenuous and indiscreet powers of chat.

"Chrystal," repeated her ladyship, "I am pining for coffee."

"No, no, I vow you shall not approach the bell," cried Isabel,
arresting Christobelle's hand as she prepared to obey the hint. "My
dear mamma, don't be thirsty yet, I have so much to say. Do you know
I have only recovered my old spirits within these four days, and they
will expire again the moment I set off for Brierly. If you ring for
coffee, Mr. Boscawen will rise up before me like Samuel at the Witch of
Endor's call, which I read this morning to him."

"Do you really read a chapter every morning, besides studying arts
and sciences?" asked Miss Wycherly, seating herself on a stool beside
Isabel. "Now, girls, form a circle, and listen to Mrs. Boscawen's
prospectus of married education."

"Prospectus!" replied Isabel, laughing--"Heaven knows what that is;
but, now you are all listening, I will tell you every thing. What merry
faces! I wish Mr. Boscawen would let me fill Brierly with such faces,
and allow us to scamper over the park and feed the deer. I got old
John, one day, to--"

"Who is old John?" said Miss Spottiswoode, who formed the centre of the
circle.

"The butler, my dear, the old butler.--I wish Mr. Boscawen would let me
do exactly as I like. Ah, Julia, Lord Ennismore is not so old as Mr.
Boscawen, so he will be so good-natured!--As to dear Tom Pynsent, I
know he will let Anna Maria dance from morning till night. Mr. Boscawen
says married women cannot be too grave, but he never told me so till I
was married. Mr. Boscawen loves Chrystal; that's one thing, therefore,
she will return with us to that horrible Brierly. Mamma, we are going
to run away with Chrystal."

"Are you, Mrs. Boscawen?" Her ladyship spoke languidly, as though she
was resigned to the endurance of all evils, till her son-in-law should
appear.

"Oh yes. Mr. Boscawen told me he should take away my sister Chrys. She
is twelve years old, now; quite a companion, he says, for me, if I ever
have half her application--that, I'm sure, I never shall have. Old John
told me--"

The door opened and disclosed the gaunt figure of Mr. Boscawen,
approaching in the dignity of extreme height, and large, bushy
eyebrows. He walked slowly and silently towards his young wife, and
stationed himself at the back of her chair. Isabel became mute.

"You are early, Mr. Boscawen," observed Lady Spottiswoode. "We were in
the first burst of remarks sacred to our sex."

"Make me a participator," he replied, smiling.

"Never," replied Miss Wycherly. "We have too much freemasonry to admit
you behind the scenes."

"My wife hears no conversation, Miss Wycherly, which her husband may
not share, I presume?"

"La, Mr. Boscawen," eagerly exclaimed Isabel, turning to her husband,
"you don't like nonsense, and we talk nothing else."

"I am sorry to hear you confess such folly and wickedness, my love,"
replied Mr. Boscawen. "I had hoped better things."

"Well, Mr. Boscawen, I don't mean exactly nonsense. I don't mean what
_you_ mean by nonsense. I only mean, we--we--"

"What do you really mean, Isabel?" Mr. Boscawen took her hand kindly,
and meant evidently to be playful, but it was the donkey attempting to
imitate the lapdog. Isabel coloured, and withdrew her hand in alarm.
Her husband's shaggy brows concealed the kindly expression of his eye,
as it rested upon her face.

"I am sure I don't know, Mr. Boscawen, what I mean. I don't think I
ever mean any thing."

Mr. Boscawen made no reply, but resumed his position behind Isabel's
chair. An awkward pause was agreeably relieved by the entrance
of coffee, and shortly afterwards the gentlemen entered from the
dining-room. Tom Pynsent flew to Anna Maria, as usual. Lord Ennismore
seated himself by the side of his mother.

"Lord," cried Mrs. Pynsent to Lady Spottiswoode, "I can't find out a
single good quality in that fellow, Ennismore, to attract a girl like
Julia Wetheral. If the poor monkey hasn't popped himself down by his
mother, instead of his bride. Look at my Tom, now! See how he rattles
and coos to his dove! Why, my poor Bobby was not such a honey lover as
this Ennismore; and Bobby, you know, would not set the Thames on fire."

Sir John sat between Anna Maria and Julia, in silence; he listened with
pleased attention to Tom Pynsent, who was dilating upon the comforts he
had prepared for his young wife's travelling mania.

"God knows what sort of a figure I shall cut," he remarked, in his
usual stentorian tone of voice. "I can't fancy much hunting or good
shooting among such thin, whey-faced chaps as the French; and, as to
dogs, _they_ can know nothing by being spoken to in such a language.
I can't speak a word of French, and Anna Maria is as wise as myself.
I haven't a notion how we shall get on, but, if my little girl is
pleased, I am content. A man should please his wife, you know, or he
must be a brute. I wish the Ennismores would join us. Ennismore, my
lad, here, come this way--it is not too late now to change your mind
and join us in Paris."

Lord Ennismore rose and joined the party, who had grouped round Sir
John and his daughters. Lady Ennismore followed her son, and placed
her arm carelessly within his. Tom Pynsent repeated his observation,
and Julia gave her bridegroom a beseeching look, which was observed by
Miss Wycherly. Lady Ennismore answered Tom Pynsent's appeal, with her
sweetest smile.

"I almost wish we were going _en masse_, my dear friends, to enjoy your
delightful visit to Paris. I almost wish the Bedinfield property was
situated on the banks of the Loire, to be able to snatch moments at the
French capital. My dear Julia will be so occupied in her new domain,
she will not have leisure to sigh for other scenes; and I must bask a
while in her happiness, before I can allow myself to imagine I am a
dowager, and free to roam about."

"Perhaps _we_ will go with you!" exclaimed Isabel, in a moment of
excitation, forgetful of Brierly, of her situation, and of her
husband's tastes. "Mr. Boscawen, I should so like to go abroad!--Mr.
Boscawen, do let us join Tom and Anna Maria!--I should so love to go to
a place where I could not speak a word of the language--to see people
stare and eat nasty frogs!"

"My dear Isabel!" said her husband, pressing his hand upon her
shoulder, in token of his wish she should remain silent.

"Well, Tom Pynsent said so, Mr. Boscawen! didn't you, Tom?--didn't you
say they eat frogs, and snails, and things alive?"

Mr. Boscawen never hazarded a reply to provoke fresh rejoinders--he
only alluded to Isabel's state of health, which he feared might suffer
from late hours, and in a tone of voice, soft, yet decided--a tone
which Isabel never dared to resist--he offered his arm, and counselled
her to retire for the night.

"Another hour for Mrs. Boscawen--let me pray for one hour only," said
Mr. Charles Spottiswoode--"this will be our last general meeting!"

"My wife's health is of great consequence to her friends," replied Mr.
Boscawen, mildly, as Isabel rose in dismay. "I must attend to my wife."

"Oh, indeed I am very well in health, Mr. Boscawen, though I am rather
heavy to look at. Mrs. Tollemache was much larger than I am, when she
danced a reel, wasn't she, Miss Wycherly?"

Mr. Boscawen was deaf and dumb, upon principle, whenever Isabel began
to converse. He led his wife to her mother, in silence, to pay her
retiring compliments, and Christobelle accompanied them in their
transit. When Isabel was deposited in her room, Mr. Boscawen began the
evening lecture.

"Isabel, you shock me to death with your ignorance and indelicacy."

"I'm sure I was not indelicate, Mr. Boscawen. You are always finding
fault, now I am married to you," sobbed Isabel.

"My love, you should not allude to your situation before gentlemen, or
name Mrs. Tollemache in that extraordinary way."

"Well, I did not know there was any harm, Mr. Boscawen! I declare I
wish I was not in any situation at all, for you carry me away from
every pleasant amusement, and it makes this place as dull as Brierly."

"I am sorry you weep, my love, and find Brierly so dull. I hoped you
would be happy here, at least, yet you hurt me by complaining and
tears. My dear Isabel, don't be so childish."

"Well, I _am_ a child, Mr. Boscawen. I'm only eighteen, next Sunday."

"I cannot bear to see you weep, Isabel;" and Mr. Boscawen hung tenderly
over his wayward wife. "You will do yourself an injury."

Isabel had sufficient acuteness or instinct to perceive the source of
her temporary power, and she employed the moment to advantage. Her sobs
increased in vehemence.

"I only wished to--to wear--one little white feather--at my sister's
wedding to-morrow--and you refused me, Mr. Boscawen."

"Did I, Isabel? Cease this sobbing, and you shall have the feather; do,
my love. You shall wear a plume, only be tranquil; as many feathers as
you please, Isabel, only cease weeping." Mr. Boscawen drew his sobbing
wife upon his knee, and fondled her, like an infant in the arms of its
nurse.

"I only wish for two feathers, Mr. Boscawen; one to play easily, and a
long thing to droop."

"You shall have them, Isabel; now lay down your little head on my
shoulder."

Isabel sank upon her husband's shoulder like a wayward child
fatigued with its own efforts; her sobbing gradually subsided, and
a low murmuring noise succeeded, which again softened into sighs.
Christobelle quitted the Boscawens to return into the drawing-room.
Isabel had gained her point, and the feather was won.

How Christobelle's young heart gloried in the scene which presented
itself to her view the eventful morning of her sister's marriage!
A large and well-dressed company filled the great drawing-room to
overflowing; and Christobelle's eye traversed the apartment, resting
upon each group, as they offered themselves to her attention. She
saw Anna Maria pale as when her heart pined under love unrequited,
hanging upon her father's arm, while her lover stood near her, even
more red-faced and happy than in his day of acceptance. Julia sat
composed between her bridesmaids, Miss Wycherly and Miss Spottiswoode.
Lady Ennismore was standing immediately behind her, leaning on her
son's arm. Isabel, bright and sparkling, was closely attended by Mr.
Boscawen; the plume so long coveted, waving gracefully in her blue
silk hat. Mrs. Pynsent was there, full of happy importance, evidently
taking command of all proceedings, and untired with gazing upon Tom,
her only son, now on the point of leaving England, full dressed for his
journey--large, loud, and good-looking. The Tyndals were grouped with
the Kerrisons and Clara. Sir Foster stood silent and absent, winking
his left eye with a nervous motion, which produced an extraordinary
effect.

Lady Wetheral glided among her guests with an ease and grace of manner
truly bewitching. No one could have supposed her heart was swelling
with triumph at the events which were shortly to deprive her of the
society of two children, or that her present attention was deeply
fixed upon Clara and Sir Foster Kerrison. Every turn of the baronet's
countenance was eagerly noted by her acute eye; and though, to common
observers, Sir Foster was looking stupidly before him, winking his eye,
and tapping his leg with a cane, her keen perception drew conclusions
from impossible things, and it added increased graciousness to her
insinuating manners.

Far less satisfied was Sir John Wetheral's mind, as he glanced from
Tom Pynsent to the effeminate figure of Lord Ennismore, and thought
of Julia's futurity with a man whose mind appeared to be as imbecile
as his person was unmanly. Christobelle could trace his thoughts in
the expression of his eyes, now gazing with pleasure upon Anna Maria,
and anon resting mournfully on his beautiful Julia. Christobelle was
too young to sorrow with him, or understand the deep feeling of his
mind; but the remembrance of his expressive emotions often came over
her in after-life, when experience had enlightened her in suffering,
and when the bitter pangs of parental disappointment were more clearly
understood.

There was a pause of some moments, after the general hum of a first
meeting had subsided, as though all parties awaited a summons to the
chapel, which in Wetheral Castle still remained untouched by the hand
of time, since the days of the seventh Henry. It was a large, and
generally well-filled pile of building, many of the nearer neighbours
preferring to attend Wetheral Castle for its accommodation in point of
distance, and perhaps with reference to the gay luncheons which awaited
their return into the great hall. The deep silence was broken by Mrs.
Pynsent.

"Here, hallo! what are we waiting for? John Tyndal has been in his
canonicals this half hour. Now, Sir John Wetheral, will you lead Anna
Maria? Tom, you be hanged; not so fast, stupy; take Miss Spottiswoode.
There you go! Hoy, Charley Spottiswoode, leave Pen, and trot by the
side of Mistress Boscawen."

"My wife is under my own charge, thank you," said Mr. Boscawen, bowing
smilingly to Mrs. Pynsent.

"Lord, what an ass! Here, Sir Foster, you have tapped a hole in your
trowsers with that cane; do move on with Clara Wetheral; she is Anna
Maria's bridesmaid. Don't keep humming a tune, my good fellow--get on."

Sir Foster passed on as he was directed, but he took no notice of
Mrs. Pynsent's address. He went forward, humming an air, and winking
his eye. Clara leaned upon his arm, in white muslin and satin. Never
had she looked so very handsome. Perhaps Sir Foster operated as an
excitement to her powers of captivation. If a woman could charm Sir
Foster Kerrison, she might animate an image of clay; but Clara liked to
be spurred on by difficulties.

Tom Pynsent's hunting propensities lay fresh and green at his heart,
in spite of circumstance, and a bouquet of geraniums, which bloomed in
the button-hole of his coat; for, perceiving Christobelle following the
train without a partner, he turned good-humouredly to Henry Tyndal, and
called out,--

"Whip in the tail-hound, Harry, and take her to kennel." Christobelle
was accordingly escorted into the chapel by Henry Tyndal.

The ceremony ended, which gave Anna Maria for ever to Tom Pynsent, and
Julia was saluted Lady Ennismore. Lady Wetheral had reached the summit
of her wishes. Which ever way her eye directed its glance, there was
glory and triumph. Her two eldest daughters were become head-stones in
the county, and Clara was stationed by the side of Sir Foster Kerrison.
Could all these things be?

A magnificent breakfast awaited the nuptial _cortège_, but Sir John
Wetheral would not appear at the crowded tables; he retired to his
study after the ceremony had concluded, desiring to take leave of
his children in the privacy of his own place of refuge. Christobelle
remained with him during the _déjeûné_, and Mr. Boscawen was deputed to
take his place in the scene of festivity.

Anna Maria appeared in a quarter of an hour, to receive her father's
blessing ere she quitted his roof for some months, and his paternal
care for ever. Her father kissed her glowing cheek, and bade her
depart in peace. "You have married a good man, and a religious man,
my dear child; therefore you will be free from the stings of reproach.
The trials of life must fall to your share, but there is one who will
kindly share your troubles, and watch over you." He turned to Tom
Pynsent. "I give you my child with great satisfaction and pride. I
give her to you innocent and good; bring her home untainted by the
vices of a foreign land." Anna Maria bent her knee, and received her
father's blessing with streaming eyes. She was hurried from his arms
into the travelling-carriage which was to convey them to the coast. The
gentlemen were all assembled, examining its form and workmanship: but
she was silently assisted into her new equipage by her brother-in-law
and Mr. Wycherly. They respected her emotion, and forbore to increase
it by addressing one word of compliment. Tom Pynsent followed, but his
progress was arrested by the solicitude of his mother, who had rushed
to the door to look once more upon the athletic form of her beloved
son. Recollections of long-past days of parental solicitude overwhelmed
Mrs. Pynsent's heart, and produced a flood of tears as she whimpered
forth, "I say, Tom."

Tom advanced, and shook hands for the third time, besides offering
every filial consolation over again.

"Steady now, mother--steady: go it at a hand-canter, and don't be
disheartened. Take care of my father, and see to the dogs and colts.
Let John Ball exercise Longshanks, and look well to the mare. We shall
be back to Pen's wedding."

"Come, none of your jibes, you rascal," cried Mrs. Pynsent, smiling
through her tears; "how could I guess who Pen cared for, with her
wiffering manners? Well, I will look after your concerns, Tom, but how
shall I get on with only Bobby? When will you be home, Tom, and when
shall I see you again in Shropshire, and what will become of me till
you come back? You are leaving your parents when they most want you,
Tom." Mrs. Pynsent's grief became audible; and Mr. Wycherly, waiving
his nephew into the carriage, endeavoured to lead his sister from the
spot.

"It's no use, Bill; you'll never get me away till I have seen the last
of my Tom. Anna Maria, take care of Tom, and bring him safe back."

The carriage rolled away, and Mrs. Pynsent gazed till a turn in the
avenue concealed it from her sight; she turned to Mr. Wycherly.

"Take me away now, Bill, and don't speak a word. Put me into my coach,
and send Bobby, for I'm done up."

Mr. Wycherly did all and every thing his sister could wish. She was
conducted to her "coach," as she always designated the phaeton, weeping
violently, and "Bobby" took his place by her side without offering a
remark, or hazarding a word of consolation. The Hatton carriage drove
off, but poor Mrs. Pynsent's sobs were heard distinctly for some time
above the tramp of the horses' feet, as they paced down the green turf
of the avenue.

The Bedinfield carriages now drew to the door, and Julia was to
depart to another home, as her sister had done before her; but though
her destiny appeared more brilliant, though all earthly advantages
conspired to render her fate even more envied and enviable than that of
Mrs. Tom Pynsent, there was a mournful silence among her friends, and
the voice of congratulation sounded low and melancholy.

Smiles and happy prophecy had gladdened Anna Maria's departure; but
no one ventured to say that Julia had won a matrimonial prize. No
one could confess their heart was not heavy when they saw that young
blooming girl led away by Lord and Lady Ennismore--a peeress and a
bride. Miss Wycherly sprung towards her friend as she bade them adieu,
and burst into tears. "Julia," she said, in a serious and touching
tone, "you appear beyond earthly assistance--far beyond human cares;
yet we know not what is to be. Julia, in weal or woe, in evil report or
good report, Lidham and its inmates are yours for ever."

"Amen," responded Charles Spottiswoode.

Julia paused, struck by the solemn tone of her friend's affectionate
speech: her lip quivered, and the colour fled from her cheek.

"Penelope, I know you love me, and I hope our meetings will ever be
in undisturbed and happy friendship, but your manner is foreboding of
evil."

"I have a pain at my heart, Julia," replied Miss Wycherly, pressing
her hand upon her bosom; "but it will pass away. I have a severe pain
_here_, but I trust it will never visit your warm heart. Julia, may you
be the happiest of the happy! but, in all changes, remember Penelope
Wycherly, whom you served in her need." Miss Wycherly threw her arms
round Julia, and the two friends embraced in silence. Lady Ennismore
interfered.

"This is a sad specimen of congratulation, my dear Miss Wycherly, and
my daughter will be made ill by these agreeable, but hurtful phrases.
Ennismore, lead your bride to her father; and we will take possession
of our jewel, lest melancholy faces dispirit her mind. Lady Wetheral, I
believe we are now preparing to carry away our darling."

Lady Wetheral's eyes sparkled with more than triumphant delight, as
Julia was led into her father's study; she followed mechanically in
the wake of the two Lady Ennismores, and her step sounded proudly as
she remembered that her daughter now was numbered among the great ones
of the land. Sir John only considered that his child was the wife of a
man he could not love, and the daughter-in-law of a woman he did not
esteem. The full tide of affection rushed to his heart, but became
unutterable from his lips. He could only press Julia to his bosom; he
could not tell her, his mind was happy in the prospect which was before
her, but he bade God bless her in spirit, and his embrace spoke volumes.

Miss Wycherly did not intrude upon the sacred scene; but she was
stationed in the hall to gaze upon her friend, and watch her movements.
Charles Spottiswoode stood near her, but his accents of kind and fond
interest were unheeded by Penelope. As Julia emerged from the library,
and proceeded towards the hall-door with her new relations, her mother
and the Boscawens, Miss Wycherly fixed her eyes upon her friend's pale
countenance, and exclaimed, "Julia, you are going; remember my last
words, my own dear friend--in all changes, remember me and mine!"

Julia was speechless, but she extended her hand, which Penelope covered
with kisses, and resigned with reluctance to Lord Ennismore. "There, my
lord," she exclaimed with energy, "take my friend, since it must be so,
but you will not love her as I do, or understand her warm heart as I
prize it! I shall be ever with you, Julia, in spirit, and my friendship
shall be a buckler in time of need. Farewell, my own dear friend!"

Miss Wycherly left the hall, and watched Julia's departure through
a window more retired from observation. There was only Charles
Spottiswoode to listen, and to him her lamentation was addressed. She
told her lover all her fears and all her thoughts respecting Julia's
marriage; the melancholy idea took possession of her mind, that Lord
Ennismore was unsuited to her friend's character, and, though there
was nothing tangible in his lordship's behaviour to elicit a strong
objection, there was a decided difference in his character, a manner
totally opposed to the character and kindly bearing of her cousin Tom,
which must affect every body's mind and opinions. She had an ominous
foreboding that Julia would be unhappy, and never would she marry
Charles Spottiswoode, unless he would swear, under all reports, under
all circumstances, to receive Julia Wetheral at Lidham; yes, though she
became a worthless thing, poor, miserable, and contemptible. "Swear it
to me, Charles," she cried, "swear it now, ere the carriage-door closes
on my friend, and carries her from my sight!"

"I do, Penelope," replied Spottiswoode, kindly. "Lady Ennismore will
find me her warm friend in every trial; but, why are you so fearful and
foreboding _now_? Why do your fears gain such influence and mastery at
this moment of time, when her heart is calm, and _his_ affection is
undisputed?"

"God help me, Charles! but, as Julia came from the library just
now, she looked like a lamb led to the slaughter. Did you read the
expression of Lady Ennismore, the mother's eyes?"

"I did not observe her. I was watching _your_ eyes, Penelope."

Miss Wycherly heeded not the words which at another time would have
soothed and pleased; she became restless as Julia lingered on the steps
with her mother, and her desire was to see Julia once more before
she quitted Wetheral, to embrace her yet again, and repeat offers of
kindness, which must be totally useless to Lady Ennismore, though
they relieved her heart to utter them. Charles Spottiswoode urged her
to remain, and avoid giving renewed pain to her friend, who had felt
evidently struck by the ominous farewell; but Miss Wycherly would hear
no objection to her anxiety. She advanced hurriedly to the door, but
Charles stood before her, playfully holding her hands, and entreating
her to resume her seat. The little strife of lovers did not last many
moments; the sound of carriage-wheels caused Miss Wycherly to rush past
her companion, and enter the hall. Julia was gone.




CHAPTER XI.


The gaiety of Wetheral was not much interrupted by the marriage of
its most influential members. Lady Wetheral lamented the loss of her
daughters, and often in public alluded to her solitary hours of grief;
but she was indefatigable in her efforts to amuse Miss Kerrison and
Clara; and, though her lips breathed sorrowful words, her eyes and
attention exclusively belonged to Sir Foster Kerrison. Her ladyship
laboured to maintain "that no passion could be more selfish than
sorrow," and she took credit to herself, "that, in despite of low
and sad feelings which prompted her to remain at Wetheral in silent
meditation, _she_ had never given way to her wishes. Indeed, she felt
the claims of others upon her time and attention; and, though her heart
did hope Clara might remain single for some years, to be her companion,
yet it was her duty to chaperone her to the amusements which her youth
expected, and, perhaps, required. All young people loved vivacity, and,
though some parents forgot the days of their own youth, and checked the
happy views of their children, _she_ would not shrink from a mother's
duty." With these impressions of "duty," Lady Wetheral was fully
employed in escorting Clara and her young companion to every public
amusement; and Wetheral still continued the scene of festivity, and
the arena of matchmaking, as it had ever been, since the day Mrs. Tom
Pynsent made her _début_ in public.

However easily the tastes of young men might bend to Lady Wetheral's
flattering lips, combined with her daughter's attractions, there was
some cleverness required in guiding Sir Foster Kerrison to the desired
point. His silent manner, and provoking absence of mind, perpetually
defeated the mother's purposes, but her spirit rose superior to all
annoyances. "It might and would take time to throw fetters upon a man
who forgot every word or engagement of the previous half-hour, but
perseverance must level every impediment. Clara was very young, and
patience must be severely taxed, if people were resolved to carry a
favourite wish into operation." Clara had not such a provision of
that precious gift as her mother possessed, and it required constant
watchfulness on her part to subdue the appearance of irritability
before the object of her wishes. Her mother, too, watched over the
unquiet spirit, and diverted its attention in the time of need. One
day, Clara became impetuous upon the subject. Sir Foster never called
at Wetheral without a special invitation; and how was she to manage
a great, stupid creature, who neither saw nor felt attentions? Lady
Wetheral smiled.

"My dear girl, patience! Sir Foster must be managed, and if you will
only leave the affair in my hands, all will be well. Do not, I beseech
you, look so very cross; the sight of temper drives away all men who
are not actually in love, and perpetual good-humour is a perpetual
attraction."

"How can I keep any temper with such a heavy mass of human nature?"
exclaimed Clara, scornfully.

"Don't call names, my love; I am going to tell you. Do not give
yourself any trouble, only look pleased and pleasantly at Sir Foster;
I will effect the rest. Some men are rather dull, but absence of mind
requires skill only in the parties concerned. I do not think Sir
Foster dull; absent only--very absent; but perhaps that may operate in
our favour."

"In what way?" asked Clara, inquisitively.

"Never mind, my love, look pleasantly at Sir Foster, and leave the
minutiæ to me. We must lead him gently and gradually to make Wetheral
a daily resting-place; and while Lucy is here, it can be done. Pray,
Clara, endeavour to check your temper before Lucy. I should not wish
her to report unfavourably of your manners at Ripley; so _much_ depends
upon your trying to appear good-humoured--do, my love."

With evident painful effort, Clara did manage to conceal her irritable
nature from the particular observation of her friend Miss Kerrison, who
was the main spring of that machinery which was to involve her father.
To Lucy Kerrison Lady Wetheral directed the most flattering attentions,
and offered the most agreeable series of parties of pleasure; to
her young and unsuspicious ear was consigned every compliment which
could lull observation, awaken her love, and interest her in all Lady
Wetheral's actions. In short, a separation from Clara and the delights
of Wetheral was becoming unbearable to the heart and imagination of
poor Miss Kerrison, and her eyes filled with tears of real sorrow,
soon made apparent to her ladyship's quick apprehension, the regret
with which her young guest contemplated a return to Ripley. This
was, to use her favourite expression, "all in their favour;" and she
mentioned the circumstance to Sir John in her own way.

"This poor, dear Lucy Kerrison, my love, is sadly overcome at the
thoughts of leaving us. Clara and herself are exceedingly attached; the
tears rush to her eyes whenever the subject is alluded to."

"Miss Kerrison is a ladylike, nice girl," replied Sir John.

"Yes, my love, she is quite the companion Clara should have. I approve
her good and judicious selection. I wish they may often meet."

Sir John did not reply, and a short pause succeeded.

"I could almost wish Lucy was going to remain with us for Clara's sake.
If I thought Sir Foster would not object, I would request him not to
recall her."

"Isabel is still with us, Gertrude; Clara has her two sisters."

"Yes--to be sure--oh, yes, Mrs. Boscawen is here, but she is never
visible till the half-hour bell rings. I see very little of poor Isabel
myself, and Clara still less. Bell is shut up, too, in the schoolroom,
learning to be over-wise and disagreeable; besides, my love, Bell can
be no companion to Clara. I wonder Sir Foster does not call to see
his daughter! do you know, my love, he has been but once within this
fortnight to see us."

"His company is not particularly acceptable, Gertrude."

"Well, Sir John, I only name the circumstance--I am afraid we are not
very attractive; however, my love, I will try to extend Miss Kerrison's
leave of absence for Clara's sake."

"Do as you please, my only objection is to her father being obliged
to marry Clara. I have nothing to produce against his pretty, elegant
daughter: don't let Kerrison marry a daughter of mine, and I shall not
interfere in your plans."

"Oh! my love, I never compel men to marry. I hope my dear Clara will
be my companion for some years. I feel very keenly my dear Lady
Ennismore's loss, and so I do poor Mrs. Pynsent."

"Why is Anna Maria 'poor,' Gertrude?--she has married a good man, and a
man she likes."

"She is in a manner banished Hatton," replied Lady Wetheral, sighing;
"I cannot think her happy while she roves about plain Mrs. Pynsent,
no style--at least, not the Hatton style--no proper establishment, no
home, like Lady Ennismore, who drove off to Bedinfield, like the wife
of a nobleman--liveries, carriage--all magnificent! How I long to see
Julia in her glory."

Sir John could offer no counsel which might check the eager delight his
lady felt towards the good things of the earth; he therefore resumed
his book, and her ladyship wrote, privately, a most polite billet to
Sir Foster, upon the strength of her husband's concurrence in her wish
to detain his daughter at Wetheral.

  "My dear sir,

 "It will break all our hearts to part with your lovely Lucy, and
 Clara suffers so much in the idea of parting with her friend, that
 we have a proposal to make. I will not tell you at this moment its
 nature, because I wish to see you. Ladies, my dear sir, prefer
 speaking to principals. May I hope to see you at Wetheral to-morrow
 morning?

     "Yours truly,

     "G. WETHERAL."

Clara feared Sir Foster would withstand the invitation, so blandly
expressed, by forgetting its existence; but her mother conceived the
ambiguity of its expression would raise a germ of curiosity in his
mind, which even the inveterate disorder of his brain might not subdue.
The wording of the note was talked over before Isabel, and explained to
her. Mrs. Boscawen could only entreat Clara not to marry so old a man.

"My dear Clara, Sir Foster will put you into a schoolroom, as Mr.
Boscawen has done by me, for old men are alike, I dare say. I assure
you, it will be a shocking affair, and I can't give my consent unless
you insist upon it. I can't imagine any body marrying an old man, and
going to their studies as if they were schoolgirls. Pray take warning
by me, Clara, and don't marry Sir Foster."

"My dear Isabel, I am resolved to make the man propose to me. Mamma
says I shall lose caste if I am single, for Anna Maria did not
marry till she was nineteen, and almost past hope. If I don't take
immediately, I shall become _passé_; for mamma says my style of beauty
ought to take effect at once."

"You are very handsome, certainly, dear Clara--very handsome. Mr.
Boscawen says you are a very beautiful girl."

"Well," replied Clara, smiling complacently, "I must be up and be
doing. Sir Foster is very rich."

"Oh! Clara, and so is Mr. Boscawen: but I never have any money. Once
Mr. Boscawen gave me a guinea, and then took it back again because I
would not keep an account of all I spent. I bought a shilling's worth
of alicampane, and made myself so ill! However, I did not say I had
bought it; so, as I could not account for the shilling, I was obliged
to relinquish the rest. Don't marry an old man, Clara!"

"Sir Foster lets every body spend his money, Isabel."

"Ah, but remember what Mr. Boscawen promised, Clara! I was promised
every thing, and got nothing. You don't know how disagreeable it is to
be shut up in a morning, reading and translating."

"I shan't read or translate to please Sir Foster," said Clara, with
scornful energy. "I marry upon other principles."

"Well, Clara, only try not to marry an old man, for I assure you it is
a very unpleasant thing."

"I wonder if Sir Foster _will_ call to-morrow, Isabel?"

"Oh, to be sure he will: I am sure I should, if any one asked me."

"Don't name this to Boscawen, Isabel: I don't wish him to know my
intentions."

"Certainly not--that is, if I can keep it from him; but he manages
to find out all my secrets. However, I will try to keep this all to
myself."

So did Mrs. Boscawen resolutely intend; but her secret transpired at
the touch of her husband's mental wand. Mr. Boscawen began to talk of
returning to Brierly, the very evening of the conversation which had
taken place between his lady and Clara, and, after retiring for the
night, he mentioned his intention of leaving Wetheral the following
week. Isabel clasped her hands in alarm.

"Oh, Mr. Boscawen, not so soon! must we return so very soon?"

"Why not, Isabel? are you afraid of the dullness of Brierly?"

"Yes--no," cried Isabel, "but I want to watch Clara, Mr. Boscawen: I
want to observe something."

"What is it all about?" asked Mr. Boscawen. "Is your sister engaged in
some speculation, or has your mother decided upon any one whom your
sister is decreed to captivate? I think I have stumbled upon the
truth, Isabel, by your countenance."

"How you find things out, Mr. Boscawen!" cried Isabel, blushing and
hesitating; "you never allow me to keep a secret."

"Then there _is_ one, Isabel. Have the kindness to admit me into the
mystery: a wife should have no secrets."

"Well, only promise not to tell," said Isabel, awed by her husband's
grave manner and remark, "and I will not keep the secret to myself,
though I promised to do so."

"Who required the promise, Isabel?"

Isabel became alarmed, and disclosed the plot upon Sir Foster. Mr.
Boscawen listened in silence, and then coolly made his annotations upon
the subject.

"When a mother plots for a son-in-law, and her daughter acts upon it,
besides implicating a young married sister, under promises of secrecy,
it is time to take steps towards withdrawing from such society. I had
every intention of leaving Wetheral next week, but now I shall set off
to-morrow, at twelve o'clock; therefore, Isabel, give your maid orders
accordingly."

Mrs. Boscawen's distress was too violent to be controlled. "Oh,
Mr. Boscawen, how can you take me away to horrible Brierly so
suddenly!--how can you frighten me, and threaten to leave Wetheral
before our month is quite over! I shall never be confined at all, I'm
sure, and Clara will be so angry!" Isabel sat down, overcome with
terror.

Mr. Boscawen patiently and kindly explained his line of conduct to
his terrified wife. He assured her no notice would be taken of her
disclosure, and that no one should suspect the cause of his departure.
He expressed his disgust at Clara's conduct, but he was silent upon the
abhorrence he conceived to the untired manœuvring of the mother. He
trusted Isabel would become attached to Brierly in the course of time;
it was a safer home than the infected air of Wetheral; and, after her
confinement, if she fancied change of air, he would take her to the sea.

Mr. Boscawen's observations, in some measure, pacified the extreme
grief of Isabel; but her night's rest was gone, and she was extremely
feverish in the morning, complaining of painful oppression and
headache. Mr. Boscawen was fearful his young wife might suffer from
the complicated effects of fear and dislike to returning home; but he
was resolved in his purpose: nothing now could alter his determination
to carry his lady from Wetheral. He announced his intention openly
at breakfast, and Lady Wetheral's polite expression of sorrow fell
from her lips upon a cold and barren soil: no flowers rose under her
gracious shower of compliments.

"My dear Mr. Boscawen, you surprise and grieve me by your resolution:
the absence of Isabel and yourself will throw a deep gloom around us."

"I am obliged to you," quietly replied Mr. Boscawen, as he buttered his
piece of dry toast.

"Losing three daughters at one fell swoop, is a severe trial,"
continued her ladyship. "I shall miss my dear Isabel every hour."

Mr. Boscawen deigned no reply; but Isabel, pale and without appetite,
sat dissolved in tears, and dared not trust her voice: she feared to
displease her husband by any manifestation of grief, but her heart was
sinking under the fearful anticipations of Miss Tabitha, and the gloomy
routine of Brierly.

"I suppose Sir John is in his study," observed Mr. Boscawen, rising at
the conclusion of breakfast.

"Oh, yes, Sir John breakfasts at seven o'clock, when people are, or
ought to be, fast asleep. I can't comprehend such ungenial hours and
taste. Surely, if breakfast is ended before eleven o'clock, there is
sufficient leisure for the affairs of life."

Mr Boscawen's disgust rose to his eyes, and overflowed in the
expression of his countenance; but a strong effort subdued the sentence
which trembled upon his lips. He rose, and quitted the breakfast-room.
When the door closed upon his awful figure, Isabel's misery burst
forth: she threw her arms around Clara, who was seated near her, and
sobbed violently.

"Oh, mamma, I wish I had never, never married!"

"My dear Mrs. Boscawen," replied her mother, in very soothing accents,
"you are not aware of what you say. I am sure you would have been
miserable single, and I should have been tormented to death with an
unmarried daughter always at my elbow. You are very comfortably and
happily married, my love."

"Oh, how can you say so, mamma! I wish I was Chrystal, to sit with
papa, and never be obliged to do what I did not like! I wish I was you,
Clara, happy and unmarried! I wish I was a bird, or the cat, or any
thing but what I am!" Poor Isabel wept freely: she proceeded--"I am
going to be shut up with Miss Tabitha and Mr. Boscawen, in that large,
gloomy Brierly; I must not laugh, or speak to old John, or see any
pleasant company. Oh, no one can tell the dullness and frightfulness
of Brierly!"

"My dear Isabel, reflect upon matrimony, and tell me who you ever saw
perfectly free from care in that state? I consider it a very proper and
natural institution, so very properly arranged, and so particularly
enforced, that I confess I have no opinion of a woman who does not
marry, if all the comforts of life are secured to her. If a woman is
protected by a handsome settlement, and those kind of things, she
_ought_ to marry."

"Do you think so?" said Isabel, languidly.

"I do: I think you married extremely well, and you ought to consider
yourself peculiarly fortunate. If Mr. Boscawen is rigid in exacting
painful sacrifices from you, remember he was very liberal in making a
settlement; there must be trials, my dear children. I am a proof that
the happiest matrimony has cares. Your poor father never assisted me
in my anxieties about you all: I am certain Lord Ennismore would never
have married Julia, if my unwearied efforts had not domesticated him at
Wetheral."

"Tom Pynsent will never contradict Anna Maria," said Isabel, as the
tears sprang again to her eyes--"Tom will never wish my sister to
read!"

Mr. Boscawen was heard in the hall, giving orders.

"Oh, we are going, mamma; I hear Mr. Boscawen ordering the carriage. I
know the tone of his voice in giving that order so well! how my heart
beats!" Isabel clung to her mother's arm.

Mr. Boscawen entered, and gave his arm to his pale, trembling wife. "My
dear Isabel, I have arranged every thing; you have only your father to
visit before you enter the carriage."

His lady appeared ready to faint. "Don't let me see papa! don't let me
see papa!" she exclaimed.

"You are agitated, my love," observed her husband, putting his arm
round her waist, and speaking kindly. "Do not be flurried, my dear
Isabel, you shall see and speak to no one. Clara will be kind enough
to tell Sir John how you feel. You tremble very much; try to gain
firmness, my love."

Poor Isabel was placed in her carriage, half fainting, without the
power to speak or move. Mr. Boscawen was hurt and alarmed for the
effects of this agitation upon his lady's health; but his mind was
decided to persevere in removing Isabel. He deputed Clara to explain
to her father how much emotion her sister evinced at the thoughts
of taking leave; and bowing to Lady Wetheral and Miss Kerrison, Mr.
Boscawen took his place by the side of Isabel, whose head reclined
against the side of the carriage, nor did she raise it to look her
adieus. She appeared too exhausted and sick at heart to make an effort
of any kind. How differently she quitted Wetheral upon her nuptial
morning!

Sir Foster Kerrison did actually call at Wetheral some hours after
the Boscawens' departure. Clara was soothed and flattered, her mother
charmed, by the visit. Sir Foster sat silent till he was spoken to.

"My dear sir, this is courteous, indeed," Lady Wetheral began; "I feel
much honoured by your polite attention to my wish."

Sir Foster winked his eye and tapped his boot, but he did not seem to
comprehend the purport of her ladyship's speech. "Umph, eh?"

"Papa, you received Lady Wetheral's note, of course?" said Miss
Kerrison.

"Eh, what?"

"Lady Wetheral's note, papa--the note you received yesterday from
Wetheral!"

Sir Foster sat winking, but could not remember any note.

"Oh, papa, you received a note, and I am sure it is in your pocket.
Pray, let me look into the recesses of your enormous pockets?"

Miss Kerrison playfully emptied her father's pockets, and Lady
Wetheral's note appeared with its seal unbroken, accompanied by sundry
letters, straps, nails, and a shoeing horn. Clara's eyes flashed
indignation, but her mother's smiled sweetly.

"My dear Sir Foster, I must not complain of your very absent mind,
since I only suffer with the rest of the world. Upon my word, this is
very amusing! See, my dear Lucy, how entertaining this assemblage of
articles promises to be!"

Sir Foster stared, while the ladies laughed over the miscellaneous
contents of his pocket. Clara alone sat dignified and offended. Lady
Wetheral explained the purport of her note, and begged the company of
Miss Kerrison for a longer and indefinite period. Sir Foster hummed an
air and tapped his boot during her complimentary and lengthy speech.

"Papa always implies consent when he hums and taps, Lady Wetheral, so
that is delightfully arranged: but why, papa, did you call here this
morning?"

"Where's Boscawen?"

"They have left some hours, to return to Brierly, papa. Did you want to
see Mr. Boscawen?"

A smile curled Sir Foster's handsome lip.

"I am sorry Mr. Boscawen is gone then, papa. I suppose you had some
horse in view?"

Another smile and tap of the boot.

"I thought so. But, papa, you will never read your letters and notes if
I do not return to Ripley; will you?"

Sir Foster winked his eye in silence.

"My dear Lucy," said Lady Wetheral, playfully, "Sir Foster must bring
his letters here every morning for your perusal and advice."

"Oh yes, papa, that is an excellent plan; is it not? You must ride over
every morning to be searched, and then you will not require my presence
at Ripley."

Sir Foster sat two hours without speaking, or appearing to attend to
the conversation which took place between his fair companions. He sat
in the most complete absence of mind, tapping his boot, which Clara
resented by silent looks of contempt. Miss Kerrison was so intimately
acquainted with her father's ways that her chat flowed on undisturbed,
till the ormolu clock struck six; Miss Kerrison then approached her
father.

"Well, papa, it's time for you to return home; it is six o'clock."

"Eh, umph, what?"

"You must order your horse, papa, and go to Ripley to dinner."

"Oh, Sir Foster surely will not quit us; we shall hope for his company
at dinner to-day." Lady Wetheral spoke in earnest and bewitching tones.

"No, thank you, dear Lady Wetheral, not to-day. This is papa's way;
he always goes on in this way at some person's house, and I dare say,
having once called here, papa will be regularly at Wetheral every day."

Her ladyship's quick perceptions saw the advantage of gaining Sir
Foster Kerrison as a daily visitor; she caught at once the propriety
of allowing him to take his own way in the manner and time of his
visits: she therefore ceased to pour forth invitations, but, taking
at once a comprehensive view of his character and habits, Sir Foster
was allowed to depart in the same mechanical form which characterised
his entrance. Clara's indignation almost threatened destruction to her
plans. She inveighed against the excessive stolidity of a man who could
sit in a fine woman's society, and yet be ignorant of her presence!
Such a man as Sir Foster might visit at Wetheral innocently enough, for
he had not the use of his senses.

"My dear Clara," argued her mother, "you are wrong in all your
conclusions. Sir Foster has peculiar ways, it is true, but I consider
them altogether in our favour. I wish him to become a daily visitor,
under the idea of seeing Lucy, who assists me most materially without
being aware of it. I wish him to sit as stupidly as he pleases, and to
come whenever he pleases; only, my dear Clara, don't look so indignant."

"I cannot understand your tactics," said Clara, sharply. "I can't
comprehend how stupidity and indifference can be considered in my
favour."

"I dare say not, my love; but when you become a mother, these things
will explain themselves. Give me a little credit for foresight, I
beseech you, in the establishments I procured your sisters. Be patient,
and appear calm, Clara, till I have decided yours."

Clara became impatient and offended, which caused her mother infinite
vexation and alarm. She dreaded lest Clara's irritable spirit should
transpire even to Lucy Kerrison: she dreaded lest her own web should
become unravelled by the very hand she wished to bestow upon Sir
Foster. It was necessary to deal very gently and delicately with a
disposition like Clara's. She did not possess the gentleness of manner
which was so eminent in Anna Maria, or the sprightly sweetness of Lady
Ennismore. Her beauty was superior to both sisters, which prepossessed
many in her favour; but her wayward and powerful temper was known only
in her own home. It was her mother's aim to shield it if possible from
observation. Thompson, who had ever played a conspicuous part in the
family, was at this time installed into a kind of confidential friend;
and to her Lady Wetheral bitterly complained of the fatigue and terror
attendant upon her own watchfulness.

"I declare, Thompson, Miss Clara gives me infinitely more trouble than
my three eldest daughters combined. I am always fearful of some display
of temper occurring in an unfortunate hour to betray her to gentlemen."

"Yes, my lady, that would be sad indeed. I'm sure I am always boasting
of Miss Clara's sweet temper, as far as I am concerned."

"I wish her to be silent and calm in appearance, yet I am ever upon the
watch to soften Miss Clara's remarks, and explain away offensive looks.
I don't think, Thompson, Miss Clara will marry soon."

"Oh, my lady, I have heard many remarks about Sir Foster Kerrison's
attentions at my young ladies' wedding!"

"What remarks, Thompson? what do foolish people say now?" asked her
lady, affecting nonchalance.

"People say Sir Foster is not a very talkative gentleman, my lady, but
then he stood always close to Miss Clara; I heard too he called this
morning; so people put two and two together, as they very well may."

"If people calculate so erroneously, they must expect to be wrong in
the sum total," replied her ladyship, smiling and internally pleased at
remarks having been uttered; "but we shall see, Thompson."

Miss Kerrison's prediction concerning her father's way of sitting
hours in silence at people's houses was verified. Having called
at Wetheral to see Mr. Boscawen upon some affair connected with
horses, and having also remained his usual two hours with the ladies,
unnoticed and unbored with attentions which required him to talk, Sir
Foster Kerrison, on the following morning, again deposited himself at
Wetheral, and was allowed, with the tact of a veteran matron, to sit
in a lounging chair, tapping his boot, and winking his eye without
molestation. Miss Kerrison took an inventory of the stores deposited
in his pockets during the first moment of her father's entrance, an
employment he never noticed beyond an absent smile; after which ordeal
he was consigned to a half-dozing kind of existence, till Miss Kerrison
warned him to depart, by assuring him the clock had struck six. Day
after day Sir Foster was found regularly installed in the ladies'
boudoir at Wetheral, and as regularly did he depart at his daughter's
summons.

Had Lady Wetheral rashly urged Sir Foster to dine at the Castle,
it would have broken through the habit which impelled him to move
backwards and forwards at stated times, and by certain sounds; it might
too have drawn him towards new people and other houses. Lucy Kerrison
was perfectly right in her suggestion that, having called by accident,
his visits might continue through habit.

There was another advantage attendant upon Sir Foster's morning lounge.
Sir John, who rarely appeared out of the precincts of his study, was
ignorant of the events which gilded the pleasures of the boudoir. The
study was far removed from sights and sounds, and the chapel must be
traversed to reach its perfect seclusion. The windows received light
from a court, walled round, and closed to curious view by a deep and
impervious shrubbery of laurels and evergreen oaks. In this sequestered
part of the castle, its master loved to pass his mornings; and how
could he suppose his wishes, nay, almost commands, were of non-effect?
Sir Foster was not seen at his table--his name was rarely mentioned
at Wetheral--no visiting-ticket met his eye--no allusion was made to
recent visits on the part of his family--every thing appeared regular
and in its usual order. Sir John was, therefore, calm, and almost
oblivious to the existence of Sir Foster Kerrison. This was most
favourable to his lady's schemes.

For three weeks, consecutively, this order of things continued; and
only once, during that period, did Sir John meet Sir Foster within the
domain of Wetheral; which was, of course, attributed to an anxiety to
see his daughter. Under that impression, Sir John hastened to do him
honour; and, on the morning in question, he ushered Sir Foster into
the boudoir himself, with the politeness and consideration due to a
gentleman, and a fond father visiting a beloved child.

Astonishment was depicted in his countenance, when he beheld his
guest, _sans céremonie_, take possession of the lounging chair, and,
after placing his hat upon a work-table, begin, as was his wont, to
hum an air and tap his boot, without offering a word of compliment, or
even addressing the daughter he had ridden four miles to see. There
was something extraordinary, he fancied, in the quiet smile bestowed
upon Sir Foster by Lady Wetheral, and he was much displeased at Miss
Kerrison's sudden movement to examine her father's pockets, without
bestowing a word of filial obeisance to a parent she had not seen for
some weeks; yet did the truth escape his unsuspicious mind. It never
entered into his heart to believe his expressed resolutions were
unheeded. His good taste was shocked at the style of Sir Foster's
entrance into a lady's sitting-room, and he did not remain to endure
its continuance. He retired again to his study; secure, at least, that
such a man could never propitiate Clara, however strongly his lady's
wishes might point that way.

So far all things combined again to favour Lady Wetheral's plans and
hopes. It seemed as though Fortune went hand in hand with her thoughts,
and that Fate set his seal upon her wish. Sir Foster's constant visits
produced much remark, and prepared the way for her last stroke--a
stroke which was to end all further suspense, and decide for ever the
happy fortunes of Clara. Every event led the way gently and surely. Sir
Foster had walked into the net with his own free will: he came each day
to Wetheral, uninvited; and her ladyship could affirm, most seriously
and truly, that no effort had been employed on her side to coerce Sir
Foster's intentions. He had not even been asked to dinner. He had never
been alone with Clara. If he came to visit his daughter, a parent
possessed a right to demand admittance any where; but no attractions
had been held out to allure him--no second-hand influence detained
him. Sir Foster came without invitation, and remained without any
inducements beyond his own pleasure. Sir Foster, therefore, prepared
his own destiny; for Lady Wetheral, anxious to preserve her daughter's
peace of mind, thought it now high time to understand upon what terms
they were in future to meet.

To be so very regularly at Wetheral--to sit with herself and daughter
daily, uninvited, and without inquiring for Sir John--wore an
appearance which the world could express only in its conventional
language, as "paying his addresses to Miss Wetheral." Young ladies had
feelings, which must be cared for; they had sensibility, which should
not be wounded with impunity. There was a part which every parent
should act with firmness towards a young girl, whose affections were
trifled with; and she would undertake the painful task of leading Sir
Foster to explain his sentiments, herself. Clara was to engage Miss
Kerrison, the following morning, in a walk round the garden, at the
hour of Sir Foster's visit; and Lady Wetheral would soon penetrate
his intentions. If all went well, the window of the boudoir was to be
thrown open; in which case, Clara was to appear as by accident. If
Sir Foster was very resolute and ungallant, all would remain closed;
but she would not allow a doubt, in her own mind, to arise upon the
subject.

At breakfast, on the eventful morning, Lady Wetheral issued her orders
to the butler--

"When Sir Foster Kerrison comes, show him into the drawing-room."

Sir Foster was shown into the drawing-room, accordingly.


  END OF VOL. I.


  LONDON:
  F. SHOBERL, JUN., 51, RUPERT STREET, HAYMARKET,
  PRINTER TO H. R. H. PRINCE ALBERT.




TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Obvious printer errors have been corrected. Otherwise, the author's
original spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been left intact.





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