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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3caaf41 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60149 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60149) diff --git a/old/60149-0.txt b/old/60149-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b5b5dd4..0000000 --- a/old/60149-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7266 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pride and His Prisoners, by A. L. O. E. - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Pride and His Prisoners - -Author: A. L. O. E. - -Release Date: August 21, 2019 [EBook #60149] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRIDE AND HIS PRISONERS *** - - - - -Produced by Richard Hulse and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - -PRIDE AND HIS PRISONERS - - - - -[Illustration: A Terrible Danger. - -_Page 230._] - - - - - PRIDE AND HIS - PRISONERS BY - A. L. O. E. - - LONDON, EDINBURGH, - AND NEW YORK - - THOMAS NELSON - AND SONS - - - - -_CONTENTS_ - - - _I._ _The Haunted Dwelling_ 5 - - _II._ _Resisted, yet Returning_ 16 - - _III._ _Snares_ 26 - - _IV._ _A Glance into the Cottage_ 33 - - _V._ _Both Sides_ 43 - - _VI._ _The Visit to the Hall_ 51 - - _VII._ _A Misadventure_ 60 - - _VIII._ _A Brother’s Effort_ 75 - - _IX._ _Disappointment_ 88 - - _X._ _On the Watch_ 96 - - _XI._ _The Quarrel_ 102 - - _XII._ _The Unexpected Guest_ 111 - - _XIII._ _The Friend’s Mission_ 119 - - _XIV._ _A Fatal Step_ 128 - - _XV._ _The Deserted Home_ 140 - - _XVI._ _Pleading_ 147 - - _XVII._ _Conscience Asleep_ 157 - - _XVIII._ _The Magazine_ 162 - - _XIX._ _Expectation_ 170 - - _XX._ _A Sunny Morn_ 178 - - _XXI._ _The Ascent_ 187 - - _XXII._ _In the Clouds_ 193 - - _XXIII._ _Regrets_ 201 - - _XXIV._ _Soaring above Pride_ 208 - - _XXV._ _A Broken Chain_ 217 - - _XXVI._ _The Awful Crisis_ 222 - - _XXVII._ _Tidings_ 234 - - _XXVIII._ _The Wheel Turns_ 242 - - _XXIX._ _Two Words_ 252 - - _XXX._ _The Spirit Laid_ 263 - - - - -_LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS_ - - - _A Terrible Danger_ _Frontispiece_ - - _Her greeting to Dr. and Miss Bardon was - most gracious and cordial_ 57 - - _Tearing the Manuscript_ 107 - - _An Unwelcome Surprise_ 168 - - - - -PRIDE AND HIS PRISONERS. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE HAUNTED DWELLING. - - “He who envies now thy state, - Who now is plotting how he may seduce - Thee also from obedience; that with him, - Bereaved of happiness, thou mayst partake - His punishment,—eternal misery!” - - MILTON. - - -Bright and joyous was the aspect of nature on a spring morning in the -beautiful county of Somersetshire. The budding green on the trees was yet -so light, that, like a transparent veil, it showed the outlines of every -twig; but on the lowlier hedges it lay like a rich mantle of foliage, -and clusters of primroses nestled below, while the air was perfumed with -violets. Already was heard the hum of some adventurous bee in search of -early sweets, the distant low of cattle from the pasture, the mellow note -of the cuckoo from the grove,—every sight and sound told of enjoyment on -that sunny Sabbath morn. - -Yet let me make an exception. There was one spot which reserved to itself -the unenviable privilege of looking gloomy all the year round. Nettleby -Tower, a venerable edifice, stood on the highest summit of a hill, like -some stern guardian of the fair country that smiled around it. The -tower had been raised in the time of the Normans, and had then been the -robber-hold of a succession of fierce barons, who, from their strong -position, had defied the power of king or law. The iron age had passed -away. The moat had been dried, and the useless portcullis had rusted over -the gate. The loop-holes, whence archers had pointed their shafts, were -half filled up with the rubbish accumulated by time. Lichens had mantled -the grey stone till its original hue was almost undistinguishable; silent -and deserted was the courtyard which had so often echoed to the clatter -of hoofs, or the ringing clank of armour. - -Silent and deserted—yes! It was not time alone that had wrought the -desolation. Nettleby Tower had stood a siege in the time of the -Commonwealth, and the marks of bullets might still be traced on its -walls; but the injuries which had been inflicted by the slow march of -centuries, or the more rapid visitation of war, were slight compared to -those which had been wrought by litigation and family dissension. The -property had been for years the subject of a vexatious lawsuit, which -had half ruined the unsuccessful party, and the present owner of Nettleby -Tower had not cared to take personal possession of the gloomy pile. -Perhaps Mr. Auger knew that the feeling of the neighbourhood would be -against him, as the sympathies of all would be enlisted on the side of -the descendant of that ancient family which had for centuries dwelt in -the Tower, who had been deprived of his birthright by the will of a proud -and intemperate father. - -The old fortress had thus been suffered to fall into decay. Grass grew in -the courtyard; the wallflower clung to the battlements; the winter snow -and the summer rain made their way through the broken casements, and no -hand had removed the mass of wreck which lay where a furious storm had -thrown down one of the ancient chimneys. Parties of tourists occasionally -visited the gloomy place, trod the long, dreary corridors, and heard -from a wrinkled woman accounts of the moth-eaten tapestry, and the -time-darkened family portraits that grimly frowned from the walls. They -heard tales of the last Mr. Bardon, the proud owner of the pile; how he -had been wont to sit long and late over his bottle, carousing with jovial -companions, till the hall resounded with their oaths and their songs; -and how, more than thirty years back, he had disinherited his only son -for marrying a farmer’s daughter. Then the old woman would, after slowly -showing the way up the worn stone steps which led round and round till -they opened on the summit of the tower, direct her listener’s attention -to a small grey speck in the wide-spreading landscape below, and tell -them that Dr. Bardon lived there in needy circumstances, in actual sight -of the place where, if every man had his right, he would now be dwelling -as his fathers had dwelt. And the visitors would sigh, shake their heads, -and moralize on the strange changes in human fortunes. - -The old woman who showed strangers over Nettleby Tower lived in a cottage -hard by; neither she nor any other person was ever to be found in the old -halls after the sun had set. The place had the repute of being haunted, -and was left after dark to the sole possession of the rooks, the owls, -and the bats. I must tax the faith of my readers to believe that the old -tower _was_ actually haunted; not by the ghosts of the dead, but by the -spirits of evil that are ever moving amongst the living. I must attempt -with a bold hand to draw aside the mysterious veil which divides the -invisible from the visible world, and though I must invoke imagination to -my aid, it is imagination fluttering on the confines of truth. Bear with -me, then, while I personify the spirits of Pride and Intemperance, and -represent them as lingering yet in the pile in which for centuries they -had borne sway over human hearts. - -Standing on the battlements of the grey tower, behold two dim, but -gigantic forms, like dark clouds, that to the eye of fancy have assumed -a mortal shape. The little rock-plant that has found a cradle between -the crumbling stones bends not beneath their weight,—and yet how many -deep-rooted hopes have they crushed! Their unsubstantial shapes cast no -shadow on the wall, and yet have darkened myriads of homes! The natural -sense cannot recognise their presence; the eye beholds them not, the -human ear cannot catch the low thunder of their speech; and yet there -they stand, terrible _realities_,—known, like the invisible plague, by -their effects upon those whom they destroy! - -There is a wild light in the eyes of Intemperance, not caught from the -glad sunbeams that are bathing the world in glory; it is like a red -meteor playing over some deep morass, and though there is often mirth -in his tone, it is such mirth as jars upon the shuddering soul like -the laugh of a raving maniac! Pride is of more lofty stature than his -companion, perhaps of yet darker hue, and his voice is lower and deeper. -His features are stamped with the impress of all that piety abhors and -conscience shrinks from, for we behold him without his veil. Human -infirmity may devise soft names for cherished sins, and even invest them -with a specious glory which deceives the dazzled eye; but who could -endure to see in all their bare deformity those two arch soul-destroyers, -Intemperance and Pride? - -“Nay, it was I who wrought this ruin!” exclaimed the former, stretching -his shadowy hand over the desolated dwelling. “Think you that had Hugh -Bardon possessed his senses unclouded by my spell, he would ever have -driven forth from his home his own—his only son?” - -“Was it not I,” replied Pride, “who ever stood beside him, counting up -the long line of his ancestry, inflaming his soul with legends of the -past, making him look upon his own blood as something different from that -which flows in the veins of ordinary mortals, till he learned to regard a -union with one of lower rank as a crime beyond forgiveness?” - -“I,” cried Intemperance, “intoxicated his brain”— - -“I,” interrupted Pride, “intoxicated his spirit. You fill your deep cup -with fermented beverage; the fermentation which I cause is within the -soul, and it varies according to the different natures that receive it. -There is the _vinous_ fermentation, that which man calls high spirit, and -the world hails with applause, whether it sparkle up into courage, or -effervesce into hasty resentment. There is the _acid_ fermentation; the -sourness of a spirit brooding over wrongs and disappointments, irritated -against its fellow-man, and regarding his acts with suspicion. This the -world views with a kind of compassionate scorn, or perhaps tolerates -as something that may occasionally correct the insipidity of social -intercourse. And there is the third, the last stage of fermentation, when -hating and hated of all, wrapt up in his own self-worship, and poisoning -the atmosphere around with the exhalations of rebellion and unbelief, my -slave becomes, even to his fellow-bondsmen, an object of aversion and -disgust. Such was my power over the spirit of Hugh Bardon. I quenched the -parent’s yearning over his son; I kept watch even by his bed of death; -and when holy words of warning were spoken, I made him turn a deaf ear to -the charmer, and hardened his soul to destruction!” - -“I yield this point to you,” said Intemperance, “I grant that your black -badge was rivetted on the miserable Bardon even more firmly than mine. -And yet, what are your scattered conquests to those which I hourly -achieve! Do I not drive my thousands and tens of thousands down the steep -descent of folly, misery, disgrace, till they perish in the gulf of ruin? -Count the gin-palaces dedicated to me in this professedly Christian land; -are they not crowded with my victims? Who can boast a power to injure -that is to be compared to mine?” - -“Your power is great,” replied Pride, “but it is a power that has limits, -nay, limits that become narrower and narrower as civilization and -religion gain ground. You have been driven from many a stately abode, -where once Intemperance was a welcome guest, and have to cower amongst -the lowest of the low, and seek your slaves amongst the vilest of the -vile. Seest thou yon church,” continued Pride, pointing to the spire of a -small, but beautiful edifice, embowered amongst elms and beeches; “hast -thou ever dared so much as to touch one clod of the turf on which falls -the shadow of that building?” - -“It is, as you well know, forbidden ground,” replied Intemperance. - -“To you—to you, but not to me!” exclaimed Pride, his form dilating with -exultation. “I enter it unseen with the worshippers, my voice blends -with the hymn of praise; nay, I sometimes mount the pulpit with the -preacher,[1] and while a rapt audience hang upon his words, infuse my -secret poison into his soul! When offerings are collected for the poor, -how much of the silver and the gold is tarnished and tainted by my -breath! The very monuments raised to the dead often bear the print of my -touch; I fix the escutcheon, write the false epitaph, and hang my banner -boldly even over the Christian’s tomb!” - -“Your power also has limits,” quoth Intemperance. “There is an antidote -in the inspired Book for every poison that you can instil.” - -“I know it, I know it,” exclaimed Pride, “and marks it not the extent -of my influence and the depth of the deceptions that I practise, that -against no spirit, except that of Idolatry, are so many warnings given in -that Book as against the spirit of Pride? For every denunciation against -Intemperance, how many may be found against me! Not only religion and -morality are your mortal opponents, but self-interest and self-respect -unite to weaken the might of Intemperance; _I_ have but one foe that I -fear, one that singles me out for conflict! As David with his sling to -Goliath, so to Pride is the Spirit of the Gospel!” - -“How is it, then,” inquired Intemperance, “that so many believers in the -Gospel fall under your sway?” - -“It is because I have so many arts, such subtle devices, I can change -myself into so many different shapes; I steal in so softly that I waken -not the sentinel Conscience to give an alarm to the soul! _You_ throw one -broad net into the sea where you see a shoal within your reach; _I_ angle -for my prey with skill, hiding my hook with the bait most suited to the -taste of each of my victims. _You_ pursue your quarry openly before man; -_I_ dig the deep hidden pit-fall for mine. _You_ disgust even those whom -you enslave; _I_ assume forms that rather please than offend. Sometimes I -am ‘a pardonable weakness,’ sometimes ‘a natural instinct,’ sometimes,” -and here Pride curled his lip with a mocking smile, “I am welcomed as a -generous virtue!” - -“It is in this shape,” said Intemperance angrily, “that you have -sometimes even taken a part against me! You have taught my slaves to -despise and break from my yoke!” - -“Pass over that,” replied Pride; “or balance against it the many times -when I have done you a service, encouraging men to be _mighty to mingle -strong drink_.” - -“Nay, you must acknowledge,” said Intemperance, “that we now seldom work -together.” - -“We have different spheres,” answered Pride. “You keep multitudes from -ever even attempting to enter the fold; I put my manacles upon tens of -thousands who deem that they already have entered. I doubt whether there -be one goodly dwelling amongst all those that dot yonder wide prospect, -where one, if not all of the inmates, wears not my invisible band round -the arm.” - -“You will except the pastor’s, at least,” said Intemperance. “Yonder, on -the path that leads to the school, I see his gentle daughter. She has -warned many against me; and with her words, her persuasions, her prayers, -has driven me from more than one home. I shrink from the glance of that -soft, dark eye, as if it carried the power of Ithuriel’s spear. Ida seems -to me to be purity itself; upon her, at least, you can have no hold.” - -“Were we nearer,” laughed the malignant spirit, “you would see my -dark badge on the saint! Since her childhood I have been striving and -struggling to make Ida Aumerle my own. Sometimes she has snapped my -chain, and I am ofttimes in fear that she will break away from my bondage -for ever. But methinks I have a firm hold over her now.” - -“Her pride must be spiritual pride,” observed Intemperance. - -“Not so,” replied his evil companion; “I tried that spell, but my efforts -failed. While with sweet voice and winning persuasion Ida is now guiding -her class to Truth, and warning her little flock against us both, would -you wish to hearken to the story of the maiden, and hear all that I have -done to win entrance into a heart which the grace of God has cleansed?” - -“Tell me her history,” said Intemperance; “she seems to me like the -snowdrop that lifts its head above the sod, pure as a flake from the -skies.” - -“Even the snowdrop has its roots in the earth,” was the sardonic answer -of Pride. - -[1] “What a beautiful sermon you gave us to-day!” exclaimed a lady to -her pastor. “The devil told me the very same thing while I was in the -pulpit,” was his quaint, but comprehensive reply. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -RESISTED, YET RETURNING. - - “Mount up, for heaven is won by prayer; - Be sober—for thou art not there!” - - KEBLE. - - “The sacred pages of God’s own book - Shall be the spring, the eternal brook, - In whose holy mirror, night and day, - Thou’lt study heaven’s reflected ray. - And should the foes of virtue dare - With gloomy wing to seek thee there, - Thou will see how dark their shadows lie, - Between heaven and thee, and trembling fly.” - - MOORE. - - -“Ida Aumerle,” began the dark narrator, “at the age of twelve had the -misfortune to lose her mother, and was left, with a sister several years -younger than herself, to the sole care of a tender and indulgent father. -Ever on the watch to strengthen my interests amongst the children of -men, I sounded the dispositions of the sisters, to know what chance I -possessed of making them prisoners of Pride. Mabel, clever, impulsive, -fearless in character, with a mind ready to receive every impression, and -a spirit full of energy and emulation, I knew to be one who was likely -readily to come under the power of my spell. Ida was less easily won; she -was a more thoughtful, contemplative girl, her temper was less quick, he -passions were less easily roused, and I long doubted where lay the weak -point of character on which Pride might successfully work. - -“As Ida grew towards womanhood my doubts were gradually dispelled. I -marked that the fair maiden loved to linger opposite the mirror which -reflected her tall, slight, graceful form, and that the gazelle eyes -rested upon it with secret satisfaction. There was much time given to -braiding the hair and adorning the person; and the fashion of a dress, -the tint of a ribbon, became a subject for grave consideration. There are -thousands of girls enslaved by the pride of beauty with far less cause -than Ida Aumerle.” - -“But this folly,” observed Intemperance, “was likely to give you but -temporary power. Beauty is merely skin-deep, and passes away like a -flower!” - -“But often leaves the pride of it behind,” replied his companion. -“There is many a wrinkled woman who can never forget that she once was -fair,—nay, who seems fondly to imagine that she can never cease to be -fair; and who makes herself the laughing-stock of the world by assuming -in age the attire and graces of youth. It will never be thus with Ida -Aumerle. - -“I thought that my chain was firmly fixed upon her, when one evening I -found it suddenly torn from her wrist, and trampled beneath her feet! -The household at the Vicarage had retired to rest; Ida had received her -father’s nightly blessing, and was sitting alone in her own little room. -The lamp-light fell upon a form and face that might have been thought to -excuse some pride, but Ida’s reflections at that moment had nothing in -common with me. She was bending eagerly over that Book which condemns, -and would destroy me,—a book which she had ofttimes perused before, but -never with the earnest devotion which was then swelling her heart. Her -hands were clasped, her dark eyes swimming in joyful tears, and her lips -sometimes moved in prayer,—not cold, formal prayer, such as I myself -might prompt, but the outpouring of a spirit overflowing with grateful -love. That was the birthday of a soul! I stood gloomily apart; I dared -not approach one first conscious of her immortal destiny, first communing -in spirit with her God!” - -“You gave up your designs, then, in despair?” - -“You would have done so,” answered Pride with haughtiness; “I do not -despair, I only delay. I found that pride of beauty had indeed given way -to a nobler, more exalting feeling. Ida had drunk at the fountain of -purity, and the petty rill of personal vanity had become to her insipid -and distasteful. She was putting away the childish things which amuse the -frivolous soul. Ida’s time was now too well filled up with a succession -of pious and charitable occupations, to leave a superfluous share to the -toilette. The maiden’s dress became simple, because the luxury which she -now esteemed was that of assisting the needy. Many of her trinkets were -laid aside, not because she deemed it a sin to wear them, but because her -mind was engrossed by higher things. One whose first object and desire -is to please a heavenly Master by performing angels’ offices below, is -hardly likely to dwell much on the consideration that her face and her -figure are comely.” - -“Ida is, I know, reckoned a model of every feminine virtue,” said -Intemperance. “I can conceive that your grand design was now to make her -think herself as perfect as all the rest of the world thought her.” - -“Ay, ay; to involve her in spiritual pride! But the maiden was too much -on her knees, examined her own heart too closely, tried herself by too -lofty a standard for that. When the faintest shadow of that temptation -fell upon her, she started as though she had seen the viper lurking under -the flowers, and cast it from her with abhorrence! ‘A sinner, a weak, -helpless sinner, saved only by the mercy, trusting only in the strength -of a higher power;’ this Ida Aumerle not only calls herself, but actually -feels herself to be. The power of Grace in her heart is too strong on -that point for Pride.” - -“And yet you hope to subject her to your sway? - -“About two years after the night which I have mentioned,” resumed Pride, -“after Ida had attained the age of eighteen, she resided for some time -at Aspendale, the home of her uncle, Augustine Aumerle.” - -“One of your prisoners?” inquired Intemperance. - -“Of him anon,” replied the dark one, “our present subject is his niece. -At his dwelling Ida met with one who had been Augustine’s college -companion, Reginald, Earl of Dashleigh. You can just discern the towers -of his mansion faint in the blue distance yonder.” - -“I know it,” replied Intemperance; “I frequented the place in his -grandfather’s time. The present earl, as I understand, is your votary -rather than mine.” - -“Puffed up with pride of rank,” said the stern spirit; “but pride of rank -could not withstand a stronger passion, or prevent him from laying his -fortune and title at the feet of Ida Aumerle.” - -“An opportunity for you!” suggested Intemperance. - -“A golden opportunity I deemed it. What woman is not dazzled by a -coronet? what girl is insensible to the flattering attentions of him -who owns one, even if he possess no other recommendation, which, with -Dashleigh, is far from being the case? There was a struggle in the -mind of Ida. I whispered to her of all those gilded baubles for which -numbers have eagerly bartered happiness here, and forfeited happiness -hereafter. I set before her grand images of earthly greatness, the pomp -and trappings of state, the homage paid by the world to station. I -strove to inflame her mind with ambition. But here Ida sought counsel of -the All-wise, and she saw through my glittering snare. The earl, though -of character unblemished in the eyes of man, and far from indifferent to -religion, is not one whom a heaven-bound pilgrim like Ida would choose as -a companion for life. Dashleigh’s spirit is too much clogged with earth; -he is too much divided in his service; he wears too openly my chain, -as if he deemed it an ornament or distinction. Ida prayed, reflected, -and then resolved. She declined the addresses of her uncle’s guest, and -returned home at once to her father.” - -“The wound which she inflicted was not a deep one,” remarked -Intemperance. “Dashleigh was speedily consoled, without even seeking -comfort from me.” - -“I poisoned his wound,” exclaimed Pride, “and drove him to seek instant -cure. Dashleigh’s rejection aroused in his breast as much indignation as -grief; and I made the disappointed and irritated man at once offer his -hand to one who was not likely to decline it, Annabella, the young cousin -of Ida.” - -“And what said the high-souled Ida to the sudden change in the object of -his devotion?” - -“I breathed in her ear,” answered Pride, “the suggestion, ‘He might have -waited a little longer.’ I called up a flush to the maiden’s cheek when -she received tidings of the hasty engagement. But still I met with -little but repulse. With maidenly reserve Ida concealed even from her own -family a secret which pride might have led her to reveal, and none more -affectionately congratulated the young countess on her engagement, than -she who might have worn the honours which now devolved upon another.” - -“Ida Aumerle appears to be gifted with such a power of resisting your -influence and repelling your temptations, that I can scarcely imagine,” -quoth Intemperance, “upon what you can ground your assurance that you -hold her captive at length. Pride of beauty, pride of conquest, pride of -ambition, she has subdued; to spiritual pride she never has yielded. What -dart remains in your quiver when so many have swerved from the mark?” - -“Or rather, have fallen blunted from the shield of faith,” gloomily -interrupted Pride. “Ida’s real danger began when she thought the dart -too feeble to render it needful to lift the shield against it. Ida, on -her return home, found her father on the point of contracting a second -marriage with a lady who had been one of his principal assistants -in arranging and keeping in order the machinery of his parish. Miss -Lambert, by her activity and energy, seemed a most fitting help-meet for -a pastor. She was Aumerle’s equal in fortune and birth, and not many -years his junior in age. She had been always on good terms with his -family, and the connection appeared one of the most suitable that under -the circumstances could have been formed. And so it might have proved,” -continued Pride, “but for me!” - -“Is Mrs. Aumerle, then, under your control?” - -“She is somewhat proud of her good management, of her clear common sense, -of her knowledge of the world,” was the dark one’s reply; “and this is -one cause of the coldness between her and the daughters of her husband. -Ida, from childhood, had been accustomed to govern her own actions and -direct her own pursuits. Steady and persevering in character, she had -not only pursued a course of education by herself, but had superintended -that of her more impetuous sister. Since her mother’s death Ida had -been subject to no sensible control, for her father looked upon her as -perfection, and left her a degree of freedom which to most girls might -have been highly dangerous. Thus her spirit had become more independent, -and her opinions more formed than is usual in those of her age. On her -father’s marriage Ida found herself dethroned from the position which -she so long had held. She was second where she had been first,—second in -the house, second in the parish, second in the affections of a parent -whom she almost idolatrously loved. I saw that the moment had come -for inflicting a pang; you will believe that the opportunity was not -trifled away! Ida had been accustomed to lead rather than to follow. -She exercised almost boundless influence over her sister Mabel, and was -regarded as an oracle by the poor. Another was now taking her place, -and another whose views on many subjects materially differed from her -own, who saw various duties in a different light, and whose character -disposed her to act in petty matters the part of a zealous reformer. I -marked Ida’s annoyance at changes proposed, improvements resolved on, and -I silently pushed my advantage. I have now placed Ida in the position -of an independent state, armed to resist encroachments from, and owning -no allegiance to a powerful neighbour. There is indeed no open war; -decency, piety, and regard for the feelings of a husband and father alike -forbid all approach to that; but there is secret, ceaseless, determined -opposition. I never suffer Ida to forget that her own tastes are more -refined, her ideas more elevated than those of her step-mother; and I -will not let her perceive that in many of the affairs of domestic life, -Mrs. Aumerle, as she had wider experience, has also clearer judgment than -herself. I represent advice from a step-mother as interference, reproof -from a step-mother as persecution, and draw Ida to seek a sphere of her -own as distinct as possible from that of the woman whom her father has -chosen for his wife.” - -“Doubtless you occasionally remind the fair maid,” suggested -Intemperance, “that but for her own heroic unworldliness she might have -been a peeress of the realm.” - -“I neglect nothing,” answered Pride, “that can serve to elevate the -spirit of one whom I seek to enslave. I have need of caution and -reserve, though hitherto I have met with success, for it is no easy task -thoroughly to blind a conscience once enlightened like that of Ida. She -does even now in hours of self-examination reproach herself for a feeling -towards Mrs. Aumerle which almost approaches dislike. She feels that her -own peace is disturbed; for the lightest breath of sin can cloud the -bright mirror of such a soul. But in such hours I hover near. I draw the -penitent’s attention from her own faults to those of the woman she loves -not, till I make her pity herself where she should blame, and account the -burden which _I_ have laid upon her as a cross appointed by Heaven.” - -“O Pride, Pride!” exclaimed Intemperance with a burst of admiration, “I -am a child in artifice compared with you!” - -“Rest assured that when any young mortal is disposed to look down upon -one placed above her by the will of a higher power, that pride is -lingering near.” - -“And by what name may you be known in this particular phase of your -being?” inquired Intemperance. - -“The pride of self-will in the language of truth; but Ida would call me -_sensitiveness_,” replied the dark spirit with a gloomy smile. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -SNARES. - - “But what are sun and moon, and this revolving ball - Compared with _Him_ who thus supports them all; - Whose attributes, all-infinite, transcend - Whate’er the mind can reach, or mortal apprehend! - Whose words drew light from chaos drear and dark, - Whose goodness smoothes this state of toil and trouble, - Compared with it—the sun is as a spark— - The boundless ocean a mere empty bubble!” - - HENRY ST. GEORGE TUCKER. - - -“The pastor and his wife I see approaching the church,” observed -Intemperance, glancing down in the direction of the path along which -advanced a rather stout lady, with large features and high complexion, -who was leaning on the arm of a tall, handsome, but rather heavily-built -man, in whose mild, dark eyes might be traced a resemblance to those of -his daughter. - -“They come early,” said Pride; “he, to prepare for service; his wife, to -hear the school children rehearse the hymns appointed for the day. This -was once Ida’s weekly care; she is far more qualified for the charge than -her step-mother, and the music has suffered from the change.” - -“Ida showed humility, at least, in yielding up that charge,” remarked -Intemperance. - -“Humility,” exclaimed Pride, an expression of ineffable scorn convulsing -his shadowy features as the word was pronounced. “I should not marvel if -Ida thought so; but hear the real state of the case. The maiden had taken -extreme pains to teach her choir a beautiful anthem, in which a trio is -introduced, which she instructed three of the girls who had the finest -voices and the most perfect taste to sing. Mrs. Aumerle, on hearing the -anthem, at once condemned it. It was time wasted, she averred, to teach -cottage-children to sing like choristers in a cathedral; and to make a -whole congregation cease singing in order to listen to the voices of -three, was to turn the heads of the girls, and make them fancy themselves -far above the homely duties of the state in which Providence had been -pleased to place them. There was common sense in the observations; -but Ida saw in it simply want of taste, and at my suggestion,—_at my -suggestion_,” repeated Pride in triumph, “she gave up charge of the music -altogether, because she was offended at any fault having been found in it -by one who knew so little of the subject.” - -“Is the minister himself a good man?” inquired Intemperance. - -“Good! yes, good, if any of the worms of earth can be called so,” replied -Pride, with gloomy bitterness, “for he does not regard himself as good. -Naturally weak and corrupt are the best of mortals, prone to fall, and -liable to sin, yet I succeed in persuading many that the gold which -is intrusted to their keeping imparts some intrinsic merit to the clay -vessel which contains it; that the cinder, glowing bright from the fire -which pervades it, is in itself a brilliant and beautiful thing!” - -“But Lawrence Aumerle was never your captive?” - -“I thought once that he would be so,” replied Pride, his features -darkening at the recollection of disappointment and failure. “Aumerle had -been a singularly prosperous man—his life had appeared one uninterrupted -course of success. Easy in circumstances, cherished in his family, a -favourite in society, beloved by the poor, with a disposition easy and -tranquil, disturbed by no violent passion,—the lot of Aumerle was one -which might well render him a subject of envy. In the pleasantness of -that lot lay its peril. Aumerle was not the first saint who in prosperity -has thought that he should never be moved, who has been tempted to -regard earthly blessings as tokens of Heaven’s peculiar favour. He knew -little of the burden and heat of the day, still less of the strife -and the struggle. Self-satisfaction was beginning to creep over his -soul, as vegetation mantles a standing pool over which the rough winds -never sweep. ‘He is mine!’ I thought, ‘mine until death, and indolence -and apathy shall soon add their links to the chain forged by pride of -prosperity.’ But mine was not the only eye that was watching the Vicar -of Ayrley. There is an ever-wakeful Wisdom which ofttimes defeats my -most subtle schemes, leading the blind by a way they know not, drawing -back wandering souls to the orbit of duty, even as that same Wisdom hangs -the round world upon nothing, and guides the stars in their courses! My -chain was suddenly snapped asunder by a blow which came from a hand of -love, but which, in its needful force, laid prostrate the soul which it -saved. Aumerle’s loved partner was smitten with sickness, smitten unto -death, and the doating husband wrestled in agonizing prayer for her who -was dearer to him than life. The prayer was not granted, for the wings of -the saint were fledged. She escaped, like a freed bird, from the power of -temptation, for ever! Her husband remained behind,—Lawrence Aumerle was -an altered man. Earth had lost for him its alluring charm, and enchained -his affections no more. He was softened—humbled,” continued Pride, with -the bitterness of one who records his own defeat, “and in another world -he will reckon as the most signal mercy of his life the tempest which -scattered his joys, and dashed his hopes to the ground! Let us not speak -of him more,” continued the fierce spirit with impatience; “his younger -brother, the stately Augustine, will not shake off my yoke so lightly.” - -“His pride may well be personal pride,” said Intemperance, following the -direction of the glance of his stern companion, “if that be he who, with -the rest of the congregation, is now obeying the summons of the church -bells. Mine eyes never rested on a more goodly man.” - -“_Personal_ pride!” repeated the dark one with a mocking laugh, -“Augustine Aumerle is by far too proud for that. He would not stoop to -so childish a weakness. No, his is the pride of intellect, the pride -of conscious genius, the pride to mortals, perhaps, the most perilous -of all, which trusts its own power to explore impenetrable mystery, -and thereby involves in a hopeless labyrinth; that seeks to sound -unfathomable depths, and may sink for ever in the attempt.” - -“Is he then a sceptic?” inquired Intemperance. - -“No, not yet, _not yet_,” murmured the tempter; “but I am leading him in -the way to become one. I am leading him as I have before led some of the -most brilliant sons of genius. I have made them trust their own waxen -wings, rely on the strength of their own reason, and the higher they have -risen in their flight, the deeper and darker has been their fall.” A -gleam of savage triumph, like a flash from a dark cloud, passed over the -evil spirit as he spoke. - -“Who is he with the long white hair,” asked his companion, “who even now -glanced up at these old towers with an expression so stern and so sad?” - -“He who was once their heir,” replied Pride. “You see Timon Bardon, whom -you and I disinherited through the power which we possessed over his -father.” - -“Have you not thereby lost the son?” asked Intemperance. “Would not the -pride of wealth—” - -He was rudely interrupted by his associate—“Know you not that there is -also a pride of poverty?” he cried. “Have you forgotten that there is -the acid fermentation as well as the vinous? Ha! ha! my influence is -recognised over the rich and the great; but who knows—who knows,” he -repeated, clenching his shadowy hand, “in how heavy a grasp I can hold -down the poor! But I can no longer linger here,” continued Pride; “I -must mingle with yon crowd of worshippers, even as they enter the house -of prayer. Unless I keep close at the side of each, they may derive some -benefit from the sermon, from forgetting to criticise the preacher.” - -“And I,” exclaimed Intemperance, “must now away to do my work of death -amongst such as never enter a house of prayer.” - -And so the two evil spirits parted, each on his own dark errand. My -tale deals only with Pride, and rather as his influence is seen in -the actions and characters of the human beings to whom the preceding -conversation related, than as possessing any distinct existence of his -own. Let these three first chapters be regarded as a preface in dialogue, -explaining the design of my little volume; or as a glimpse of the hidden -clockwork which, itself unseen, directs the movements of everyday life. -Most thankful should I be if such a glimpse could induce my reader to -look nearer at home; if, when ubiquitous Pride speaks to the various -characters in this tale, the reader should ask himself whether there be -not something familiar in the tone of that voice, and with a searching -glance examine whether his own soul be clogged with no link of the -tyrant’s chain,—whether he himself be not a prisoner of Pride. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -A GLANCE INTO THE COTTAGE. - - “Where’s he for honest poverty - Wha hangs his head, and a’ that, - The coward slave, we pass him by, - We dare be poor for a’ that.” - - BURNS. - - -The “small grey speck” just visible from the summit of Nettleby Tower, -on nearer approach expands into a stone cottage, which, excepting that -it has two storeys instead of one, and can boast an iron knocker to the -door, and an apology for a verandah round the window, has little that -could serve to distinguish it from the dwelling of a common labourer. - -We will not pause in the little garden, even to look at the bed of -polyanthus in which its possessor takes great pride; we will at once -enter the single sitting-room which occupies almost the whole of the -ground floor, and after taking a glance at the apartment, give a little -attention to its occupants. - -It is evident, even on the most superficial survey, that different -tastes have been concerned in the fitting up of the cottage. Most of the -furniture is plain, even to coarseness; the table is of deal, and so are -the chairs, but over the first a delicate cover has been thrown, and -the latter—to the annoyance of the master of the house—are adorned with -a variety of tidies, which too often form themselves into superfluous -articles of dress for those who chance to occupy the seats. The wall -is merely white-washed, but there has been an attempt to make it look -gay, by hanging on it pale watercolour drawings of flowers, bearing but -an imperfect resemblance to nature. One end of the room is devoted to -the arts, and bears unmistakable evidence of the presence of woman in -the dwelling. A green guitar-box, from which peeps a broad pink ribbon, -occupies a place in the corner, half hidden by a little table, on which, -most carefully arranged, appear several small articles of vertu. A tiny, -round mirror occupies the centre, attached to an ornamental receptacle -for cards; two or three miniatures in morocco cases, diminutive cups and -saucers of porcelain, and a pair of china figures which have suffered -from time, the one wanting an arm and the other a head,—these form the -chief treasures of the collection, if I except a few gaily bound books, -which are so disposed as to add to the general effect. - -At this end of the room sits a lady engaged in cutting out a tissue paper -ornament for the grate; for though the weather is cold, no chilliness of -atmosphere would be thought to justify a fire in that room from the 1st -of April to that of November. The lady, who is the only surviving member -of the family of Timon Bardon and his late wife the farmer’s daughter, -seems to have numbered between thirty and forty years of age,—it would be -difficult to say to which date the truth inclines, for Cecilia herself -would never throw light on the subject. Miss Bardon’s complexion is -sallow; her tresses light, the eye-lashes lighter, and the brows but -faintly defined. There is a general appearance of whity brown about the -face, which is scarcely redeemed from insipidity by the lustre of a pair -of mild, grey eyes. - -But if there be a want of colour in the countenance, the same fault -cannot be found in the attire, which is not only studiously tasteful -and neat, but richer in texture, and more fashionable in style, than -might have been expected in the occupant of so poor a cottage. The fact -is, that Cecilia Bardon’s pride and passion is dress; it has been her -weakness since the days of her childhood, when a silly mother delighted -to deck out her first-born in all the extravagance of fashion. It is this -pride which makes the struggle with poverty more severe, and which is -the source of the selfishness which occasionally surprises her friends -in one, on all other points, the most kindly and considerate of women. -Cecilia would rather go without a meal than wear cotton gloves, and a -silk dress affords her more delight than any intellectual feast. She had -a sore struggle in her mind whether to expend the little savings of her -allowance on a much-needed curtain to the window to keep out draughts -in winter and glare in summer, a subscription to the village school, or -a pair of fawn-coloured kid boots, which had greatly taken her fancy. -Prudence, Charity, Vanity, contended together, but the fawn-coloured -boots carried the day! One of them is now resting on a footstool, shewing -off as neat a little foot as ever trod on a Brussels carpet,—at least, -such is the opinion of its possessor. Grim Pride must have laughed when -he framed his fetters of such flimsy follies as these! - -Opposite to Cecilia sits her father, whose appearance, as well as -character, offers a strong contrast to that of his daughter. Dr. Bardon -is a man who, though his dress be of the commonest description, could -hardly be passed in a crowd without notice. His dark eyes flash under -thick, beetling, black brows with all the fire of youth; and but for the -long white hair which falls almost as low as his shoulders, and furrows -on each side of the mouth, caused by a trick of frequently drawing the -corners downwards, Timon Bardon would appear almost too young to be the -father of Cecilia. There is something leonine in the whole cast of his -countenance, something that conveys an impression that he holds the world -at bay, will shake his white mane at its darts, and make it feel the -power of his claws. The doctor’s occupation, however, at present is of -the quietest description,—he is reading an old volume of theology, and -his mind is absorbed in his subject. Presently a muttered “Good!” shows -that he is satisfied with his author, and Bardon, after vainly searching -his pockets, rises to look for a pencil to mark the passage that he -approves. - -He saunters up to Cecilia’s show-table, and examines the ornamental -card-rack attached to the tiny round mirror. - -“Never find anything useful here!” he growls to himself; then, addressing -his daughter, “Why don’t you throw away these dirty cards, I’m sick of -the very sight of them!” - -Cecilia half rises in alarm, which occasions a shower of little pink -paper cuttings to flutter from her knee to the floor. “O papa! don’t, -don’t throw them away; they’re the countess’s wedding cards!” - -Down went the corners of the lips. “Were they a duchess’s,” said Dr. -Bardon, “there would be no reason for sticking them there for years.” - -“Only one year and ten months since Annabella married,” timidly -interposed Cecilia. - -“What is it to me if it be twenty!” said the doctor, walking up and down -the room as he spoke; “she’s nothing to us, and we’re nothing to her!” - -“O papa! you used always to like Annabella.” - -“I liked Annabella well enough, but I don’t care a straw for the -countess; and if she had cared for me, she’d have managed to come four -miles to see me.” - -“She has been abroad for some time, and—” - -“And she has done with little people like us,” said the doctor, drawing -himself up to his full height, and looking as if he did not feel himself -to be little at all. “I force my acquaintance on no one, and would not -give one flower from my garden for the cards of all the peerage.” - -Cecilia felt the conversation unpleasant, and did not care to keep it up. -She bent down, and picked up one by one the scraps of pink paper which -she had scattered. Something like a sigh escaped from her lips. - -Dr. Bardon was the first to speak. - -“I saw Augustine Aumerle yesterday at church; I suppose he’s on a visit -to his brother the vicar.” - -“How very, very handsome he is!” remarked Cecilia. - -“You women are such fools,” said the doctor, “you think of nothing but -looks.” - -“But he’s so clever too, so wonderfully clever! They say he carried off -all the honours at Cambridge.” - -“Much good they will do him,” growled the doctor, throwing himself down -on his chair; “I got honours too when I was at college, and I might -better have been sowing turnips for any advantage I’ve had out of them. -It’s the fool that gets on in the world!” - -This, by the way, was a favourite axiom of Bardon’s, first adopted at -the suggestion of Pride, as being highly consolatory to one who had never -managed to get on in the world. - -“I think that I see Ida and Mabel Aumerle crossing the road,” said -Cecilia, glancing out of the window. “How beautiful Ida is, and so -charming! I declare I think she’s an angel!” - -“She’s well enough,” replied the doctor, in a tone which said that she -was that, but nothing more. - -In a short time a little tap was heard at the door, and the vicar’s -daughters were admitted. Ida indeed looked lovely; a rapid walk in a cold -wind had brought a brilliant rose to her cheek, and as she laid on the -table a large paper parcel which she and her sister had carried by turns, -her eyes beamed with benevolent pleasure. Mabel was far less attractive -in appearance than her sister, a small upturned nose robbing her face of -all pretensions to beauty beyond what youth and good-humour might give; -but she also looked bright and happy, for the girl’s errand was one of -kindness. The want of a curtain in Bardon’s cold room had been noticed by -others than Cecilia, and the parcel contained a crimson one made up by -the young ladies themselves. - -“Oh! what a beauty! what a love!” exclaimed Cecilia, in the enthusiasm of -grateful admiration. “Papa, only see what a splendid curtain dear Ida and -Mabel have brought us!” - -The doctor was not half so enthusiastic. It has been said that there -are four arts difficult of attainment,—_how to give reproof, how to take -reproof, how to give a present, and how to receive one_. This difficulty -is chiefly owing to pride. Timon Bardon was more annoyed at a want having -been perceived, than gratified at its having been removed. He would -gladly enough have obliged the daughters of his pastor, but to be under -even a small obligation to them was a burden to his sensitive spirit. He -could hardly thank his young friends; and a stranger might have judged -from his manner that the Aumerles were depriving him of something that -he valued, rather than adding to his comforts. But Ida knew Bardon’s -character well, and made allowance for the temper of a peevish, -disappointed man. She seated herself by Cecilia, and began at once on a -different topic. - -“I have a message for you, Miss Bardon. I saw Annabella on Saturday.” - -“The countess!” cried the expectant Cecilia. - -“She was at our house, and regretted that the threatening weather -prevented her driving on here.” - -“I’d have been so delighted!” interrupted Cecilia, while the doctor -muttered to himself some inaudible remark. - -“But she desired me to say, with her love, how much pleasure it would -give her if you and her old friend the doctor (these were her words) -would come to see her at Dashleigh Hall.” - -The grey eyes of Miss Bardon lighted up with irrepressible pleasure, and -even the gruff old doctor uttered a rather complacent grunt. - -“She begged,” said Mabel, “that you would drive over some morning and -take luncheon, and let her show you over the garden and park.” - -“Then she’s not changed, dear creature!” exclaimed Cecilia. - -“And she hopes before long,” continued Mabel, “to find herself again at -Milton Cottage.” - -“Mill Cottage,” said the doctor gruffly; for the name of his tenement -had for many years been a disputed subject between him and his daughter -Cecilia;—“there’s common sense in that name: Mill Cottage, because it was -once connected with a mill. To turn it into ‘Milton’ is pure nonsense -and affectation. A fine title would hang about as well on this place -as knee-buckles and ruff on a ploughman!” And having thus given his -oracular opinion, Dr. Bardon strolled out into his garden, leaving the -young ladies to pursue uninterrupted conversation together, none the less -agreeable for his absence. - -“You will excuse papa,” said Cecilia, feeling that some apology was -required for her father’s abrupt departure. - -Dr. Bardon’s manner was far rougher and less courteous than it would -have been had he appeared as the lord of Nettleby Tower, instead of a -poor surgeon with indifferent practice. Whether it were that he was -soured by disappointment, or that his pride shrank from the idea of -appearing to cringe to those more favoured by fortune than himself, it -would be perhaps difficult to determine; he appeared to consider that -true dignity consisted in despising those outward advantages which he -would probably have overvalued had he himself possessed them. Thus, while -Cecilia’s pride led her to make the best possible appearance, and catch -any reflected gleam of grandeur from opulent or titled acquaintance, Dr. -Bardon rather gloried in the meanness of his home, never cared to hide -the patch upon his coat, and considered himself equal in his poverty to -any peer who wore the garter and the George. - -The doctor appeared to have walked off his ill-humour, for when Ida and -Mabel bade adieu to Miss Bardon, they found him ready to escort them to -his gate. With not ungraceful courtesy he presented the young ladies with -a nosegay of his choicest hyacinths, and even condescended to say that -he valued their present for the sake of the fair hands that had worked -it! There was something of the “fine old English gentleman” lingering yet -about the disinherited man. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -BOTH SIDES. - - “From idle words, that restless throng - And haunt our hearts when we would pray; - From pride’s false chain, and jarring wrong, - Seal Thou my lips, and guard the way.” - - KEBLE. - - -“Now the doctor’s happy! he has got rid of his gratitude! I knew how it -would be!” laughed Mabel, as soon as the girls had walked beyond reach of -hearing. - -“What do you mean?” asked Ida. - -“Did you not see how uncomfortable the poor man was under the weight of -even such a little obligation? It was steam high pressure with him, till -he opened a safety-valve, and off flew all his debt discharged in the -shape of a bunch of hyacinths!” - -“How you talk!” said her sister with a smile; “he intended these poor -little flowers as a mark of attention; they were no return for our -present.” - -“O Ida, how little you know! Why, Dr. Bardon does not think that there -are hyacinths in the world that can bear comparison with his. He thinks -them worth any money. He carries a mental glass of very singular -construction, patented by the maker, Pride. Look through the one end, -everything is small; look through the other, everything is big! He turns -the magnifier to what he does himself, the diminisher to what others do -for him; and it is wonderful how he thus manages to economize gratitude, -and keep himself out of debt to his friends. Depend upon it, seen through -his glass, his hyacinths swelled to the size of hollyhocks, and our -curtain diminished to that of a sampler!” - -“You are a sad satirical girl!” said Ida. - -“Not I, I’ve only practised the ‘vigilance of observation and accuracy -of distinction, which neither books nor precepts can teach,’ which the -famous Mr. Jenkins used to recommend to papa when he was young. I am -merely distinguishing between the kindnesses which a man does to please a -friend, and those which he does to gratify his own pride. Dr. Bardon, in -spite of his poverty, is as proud as the Earl of Dashleigh can be.” - -“But he is one who deserves much indulgence.” - -“I am not saying anything against him,” interrupted Mabel; “I rather like -a dash of pride in a character; I know I have plenty of it myself.” - -“Mabel—” - -“Why, darling, I’m proud of you!” exclaimed Mabel, turning her -eyes affectionately on her sister; “and I’m proud of my excellent -father, proud of my glorious uncle, but I am not proud,”—here Mabel -laughed,—“I’m not proud of my step-mother at all.” - -“Mabel, dearest—” - -“I’m convinced that the world may be divided into two classes—those -made of porcelain, and those of crockery. There seems such a wonderful -difference in the nature of minds, into whatever shape education may -twist them! Now, my father, uncle, and you, are made of real Sevres -porcelain, and Mrs. Aumerle—” - -“Really, Mabel, you do wrong to speak thus of her.” - -“Well, I won’t if you don’t like it, darling, but she’s so intensely -common-place and matter-of-fact! I don’t believe that she understands -or could enter into our feelings any more than if we had been born in -different planets!” - -Ida sighed. “It is our appointed trial,” she replied; and these few -words, though well intended, did more to impress upon her young sister -the hardship of having an uncongenial stepmother, than open complaint -might have done. Mabel regarded her gentle sister as a suffering saint, -and had no idea that there might be two sides even to such a question as -this. - -Ida’s conscience warned her that the preceding conversation had been -unprofitable, to say the least of it, and she knew well what Scripture -saith against _every idle word_. She therefore turned the channel -of discourse, and told Mabel of her new plan of having a class for -farm-boys, which she intended herself to conduct. - -“You can’t manage more upon Sundays, Ida; you have two classes already, -you know.” - -“True; this must be on the Saturday evening, when the lads have left off -work.” - -“You can’t have the school-room, then; that’s Mrs. Aumerle’s time for the -mother’s class.” - -“I have been thinking about that,” said Ida, gravely; “but there is -really no other hour that will be suitable at all for mine. I must ask -Mrs. Aumerle to have her women a little earlier in the afternoon.” - -“I would not ask a favour of her!” said Mabel proudly. - -“It is never pleasant to ask favours,” replied Ida; “but it is sometimes -our duty to do so.” - -It was growing dark before the sisters reached their home. They found -Mrs. Aumerle busily engaged in cutting out clothes for the poor, wielding -her large, bright scissors with quick hand, and directing its operations -with an experienced eye. She looked up from her occupation as Ida and -Mabel entered the room. - -“What has made you so late?” asked the lady. - -“Oh! we have had a nice, long chat with Cecily Bardon,” replied Mabel; -“we never thought of the hour.” - -“I hope that you will think of it another time,” said Mrs. Aumerle, -resuming her cutting and clipping; “it is not proper for young ladies to -be crossing the fields after sunset without an escort.” - -“Not proper!” repeated Mabel half aloud, her cheek suffused with an angry -flush. - -“We have been always accustomed,” said Ida more calmly, “to walk whither -and at what hour we pleased, and we have never found the smallest -inconvenience arise from so doing.” - -“Your having done so is no reason why you should do so,” said the lady -firmly; “you have been too much left to yourselves, and it is well that -you have now some one of a little experience to judge what is suitable or -unsuitable for two young girls of your age.” - -Mabel turned down the corners of her mouth after the fashion of Dr. -Bardon; happily Mrs. Aumerle was too busy with a jacket-sleeve to look -at her step-daughter’s face. Ida seated herself without reply; but Pride -stole up at that moment and whispered in her ear, “You can manage quite -as well for yourself as the meddling dame can manage for you. She might -be content to let well alone, and confine herself to her own affairs.” - -Ida now entered upon the subject of the class for farmers’ boys and -labouring lads, and explained the necessity for holding it on the -particular day and hour on which the mothers’ meeting usually took -place. She dwelt with gentle eloquence upon the difficulties and -temptations of the youths who would be benefited by the new arrangement; -but it tried her patience not a little to hear the snip-snip of the -scissors all the time that she was speaking. - -“Well, I’ll consider the matter,” said Mrs. Aumerle, stopping at length -in her occupation; “it will cause me a little inconvenience, but I think -that the thing may be managed. But,” she continued, as Ida, having gained -her point, was about to leave the apartment, “but we have not thought of -the most important thing—who is to conduct the class?” - -“I had thought of it,” replied Ida; “I am going to conduct it myself.” - -“You!” exclaimed Mrs. Aumerle, turning towards Ida a face whose naturally -high colour was heightened by stooping over her cutting; “you! the thing -is not to be dreamed of! Your father’s daughter to be teaching and -preaching to a set of hulking farm lads, as if they were a parcel of -little schoolboys! It would not become a young lady like you.” - -“I have yet to learn what can become a lady, be she old or young, better -than teaching the ignorant and helping the poor,” said Ida with forced -calmness, but great constraint and coldness of manner. - -“Oh! that’s very fine talking, my dear; the thing may be a very good -thing in itself, but we must choose different instruments for different -kinds of work. One would not mend quills with scissors, or cut out -flannel with a penknife. I can’t hear of your holding such a class.” - -Commanding herself sufficiently not to reply, but with an angry and -swelling heart Ida sought her own room, followed by the indignant Mabel. -No sooner had they reached it than Mabel threw her arms around Ida, and -exclaimed, “My own darling, angel sister! how dared she speak so to you!” - -“She will grieve one day,” said Ida, struggling to keep down tears, “that -she has put any stumbling-block in the way of such a work. Mabel, we must -pity and pray for her!” - -“And never let yourselves be led by her,” suggested Pride. - -“That girl wants somebody to guide her;” such were the reflections of -Mrs. Aumerle, as she went on with her work for the poor. “There’s a great -deal of good in her, but she wants ballast,—she wants common-sense. She -is spoilt by being so long without the control of a mother, and needs, -almost as much as saucy Mabel, a good firm hand over her. With all Ida’s -gentleness and meekness, there’s in her a world of obstinacy and pride. -I wish that I had brought one verse to her recollection, which she seems -to leave out when she reads the Bible—_Likewise ye younger, submit -yourselves unto the elder; yea, all of you be subject one to another, and -be clothed with humility; for God resisteth the proud, and giveth grace -to the humble._ Ida has a wonderful conceit of her own opinion, as most -inexperienced young people have; and it’s almost impossible to convince -her that she ever can be wrong. She is not wrong, however, about the -duty of having a class for these poor farm lads; I must consult Lawrence -as to how it can be done.” The lady went on with her cogitations upon -the subject. “We could not expect our schoolmaster to undertake such an -addition to his labours. The clerk, Ashby—no, no, he’s not fitted for -it; he’d set the young fellows yawning,—no one would come twice for his -teaching. Perhaps the best plan would be for me to take the lads myself, -and give up my mother’s meeting to Ida. It would be far more suitable for -a pretty young creature like her. But I must keep the cutting out and -shaping of the poor-clothes still, for clever as she is in reading and -talking, that is a business which poor Ida never could manage with all -the goodwill in the world.” - -And so the plain, practical stepmother settled the matter in her own -mind; and only Pride could suggest that her plan was inconvenient, -inconsiderate, or unkind. It was ultimately adopted by Ida, but with a -reluctance and coldness which deprived both ladies of the encouragement -and pleasure which they would have derived from cheerful, hearty, -co-operation with each other in labours of love. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -THE VISIT TO THE HALL. - - “The tulip and the butterfly - Appear in gayer coats than I; - Let me be dressed fine as I will, - Flies, flowers, and worms excel me still.” - - WATTS. - - -The visit of the sisters Aumerle, or rather the message which they had -brought, had caused great excitement in the mind of Cecilia Bardon. One -thought was now uppermost there, thrusting itself forward at all times, -interfering with domestic duties, taking her attention even from her -prayers; that thought was—how should she persuade her father to pay a -visit to Dashleigh Hall! - -Dr. Bardon held out against entreaties for two days; on the third he -yielded, having probably all along only made show of fight to avoid -seeming eagerly to catch at an invitation from a titled acquaintance. - -The next question was—How was the visit to be paid? Four miles was a -distance too great to be traversed on foot by Cecilia Bardon. - -“We could get a neat clarence from Pelton,” suggested the lady. - -“Pelton!” exclaimed the doctor,—“why, Pelton is six miles off! You’ll not -find me paying for a clarence to go twenty miles to carry me to a place -to which I could walk any fine morning. I’ve not money to fling away -after that fashion.” - -“If only the Aumerles kept a carriage!” sighed Cecilia. - -“If they kept fifty I’d not ask for the loan of one,” said the doctor, -with all the pride of poverty. - -“Dear me! how shall we ever get to Dashleigh Hall!” cried Cecilia. - -“I’ll tell you what, I’ll hire our neighbour the farmer’s -donkey-chaise,—that won’t ruin even a poor man like me.” - -“A donkey-chaise!” exclaimed Miss Bardon in horror. - -“Why, you’ve been glad enough of it before now to carry you over to -Pelton, when you had shopping to do in the town.” - -“Pelton,—why, yes,—shopping,—but to call on a countess!” - -“A countess, I suppose, is made of flesh and blood like other people; -if she’s such an idiot as to care whether her friends come to her in -chariots or donkey-chaises, the less we have to do with her the better, -say I.” - -“But to drive through the park—to go up to the grand hall, to—to—to be -seen by all the fine liveried servants—” - -The doctor actually stamped with impatience. “What is it to us,” he -cried, “if all the lackeys in Christendom were to see us? We’re doing -nothing wrong—nothing to be ashamed of. I should be as much a gentleman -in a chaise, or a cart, drawn by a donkey or a dog, as if I’d fifty -racers in my stables, and a handle a mile long to my name.” - -The pride of the father and the daughter were at variance, but it was the -same passion that worked in both. Cecilia sought dignity in accessories, -Dr. Bardon found it in self. She would climb up to distinction in the -world by grasping at every advantage held out by the rank and wealth -of her friends; he would rise also, but by trampling under foot rank -and wealth as things to be despised. The pride of the daughter was most -ridiculous—that of the father most deadly. Reader, do you know nothing of -either? - -One of the things on which Bardon prided himself was on being master -in his own house—no very difficult matter, as his subjects consisted -but of one gentle-tempered daughter, and one old deaf domestic. On the -present occasion Cecilia soon found that she must go to Dashleigh Hall -in a donkey-carriage, if she intended to go at all; and after a longer -struggle than usual, which ended in something like tears, she yielded -to the pressure of circumstances, and consented to accompany her father -the next day in the ignoble vehicle which he had selected. This point -settled, her mind was free to give itself to the darling subject of -dress. Half the day was devoted to touching and retouching last summer’s -bonnet, which looked rather the worse for wear, and selecting such -articles of attire as might give a distinguished and fashionable air to -the lady of Milton Cottage. Cecilia was not unsuccessful. Never, perhaps, -had a more elegantly dressed woman stepped into a donkey-chaise before. -Her flounced silk dress expanded to such fashionable dimensions as -scarcely to leave space in the humble conveyance for the accommodation of -the doctor. - -If her dress was an object of triumph to Miss Bardon, it was also one -of solicitude and care. Never, surely, were roads so dusty, and never -was dust more annoying. Her nervous anxiety and precautions irritated -the temper of the doctor, who found more than enough to try it in the -obstinacy of the animal that he drove, without further provocation from -his companion. Both father and daughter were well pleased when they at -length reached the ornamental lodge of Dashleigh Park. - -“Papa,” suggested Cecilia timidly, “could we not leave the donkey to -graze in the lane, and go through the grounds on foot?” - -“Leave the hired donkey to be carried off by any party of tramping -gipsies! I’m not such a fool,” said the doctor. - -The lodge-keeper obeyed the summons of the bell, which was rung with more -force than was needful; he stood still, however, without opening the -gate, to inquire what the occupants of the donkey-chaise wanted. - -“Open the gate, will you?” cried the doctor, in his rough, domineering -manner. - -“For Dr. and Miss Bardon, of Milton Cottage, friends of the countess,” -said Cecilia nervously, feeling very uncomfortable at her own position. - -The gate-keeper looked hesitatingly at the lady, then at the chaise, then -at the lady again. It is possible that her appearance decided his doubts, -or that the impatience of the doctor overbore them, for the gate slowly -rolled back on its hinges, and the donkey-chaise entered the park. - -Cecilia could scarcely find any charm in the beautiful drive, magnificent -timber, verdant glades, broad avenues affording glimpses of distant -prospects, sunny knolls on which grazed the light-footed deer. She could -not, however, refrain from an exclamation of delight as a sudden bend in -the road brought her unexpectedly in sight of the lordly Hall. - -Dr. Bardon surveyed the splendid building before him with a gloomy, -dissatisfied eye. What was it compared to Nettleby Tower, in the mind of -the disinherited man? “Mere gingerbread! mere gingerbread!” he muttered -to himself, as he drew up at the lofty entrance. He saw more beauty in a -ruined buttress of the ancient home of his fathers than in all the florid -decorations of the countess’s magnificent abode. - -Cecilia Bardon was well-nigh overpowered by the sense of the grandeur -before her. The presence of three or four of the earl’s powdered footmen -was enough in itself to make her seat in the donkey-chaise almost -intolerable to the lady. - -“Lady Dashleigh at home?” inquired the doctor from his low seat, in a -tone that would have sounded haughty from a prince. - -The countess was happily at home; and Cecilia, hastily descending, -breathed more freely when no longer in contact with the odious -conveyance. She felt something as a prisoner may feel when he has left -the jail behind, his connection with which he desires to forget, wishing -that all others could do so likewise. Dr. Bardon flung the rein on the -neck of the donkey, and followed his daughter into the Hall. - -They were introduced into a splendid apartment, fitted up with -magnificence and taste. Poor Cecilia, as she there awaited the countess, -painfully contrasted the room with its glittering mirrors and gilded -ceiling, painted panels and velvet cushions, with the homeliness of her -own humble abode. Pride, who revels in human misery, would not omit the -opportunity of inflicting an envious pang. But his barbed dart went -deeper—far deeper into the heart of the unhappy Bardon—the man who would -have scornfully laughed at the idea of the possibility of such as he -envying any mortal in the world. - -[Illustration: Her greeting to Dr. and Miss Bardon was most gracious and -cordial. - -_Page 57._] - -Cecilia had scarcely time to gaze around her, shake out her dusty -flounces, and glance in a mirror to see if her scarf fell gracefully, -when Annabella herself appeared from an inner apartment. - -The appearance of the youthful countess was rather attractive than -striking. Her figure was below the middle height, and so light and -delicate in its proportions as to have earned for Annabella in girlhood -the title of Titania, queen of the fairies. Her complexion had not the -purity of that of her cousin Ida; but any emotion or excitement suffused -her cheek with a beautiful crimson, and lit up the vivacious dark eyes, -which were the only decidedly pretty feature in a face whose chief -charm lay in its ever-varying expression. The irregular outline of the -countess’s profile deprived her countenance of all claim to absolute -beauty, but no one when under the spell of her winning conversation, -could pause to criticise or even notice defects where the general effect -was so pleasing. The dress of the countess was not such as might have -been expected in one of her rank. It was picturesque rather than costly, -fanciful rather than fashionable. Annabella had just been bending over -her desk, busy with a romance which she was writing; her tresses were -slightly disordered, and a small ink stain actually soiled the whiteness -of one little delicate finger. - -Her greeting to Dr. and Miss Bardon was most gracious and cordial. She -came forward with both hands extended, and welcomed her old friends to -Dashleigh Hall with a frank kindliness which at once set Cecilia at her -ease. “She is not changed in the least; she is the same fascinating being -as ever,” was the reflection of the gratified guest. - -Dr. Bardon was not so easily won. He was out of temper with himself and -all the world. The touch of pride had turned indeed his wine of life -into a concentrated acid. Annabella could not but notice the hardness -of his manner, but she was neither surprised nor offended, for she knew -the character of the man. “I will conquer the old lion!” thought she, -and she exerted all her powers to do so. How thoughtfully attentive the -countess became, how she humoured her guest’s little fancies, how she -avoided jarring upon his prejudices, and talked of old times, old scenes, -old friends, till she fairly beat down, one after another, every barrier -behind which ill-humour could lurk! - -Annabella took the arm of the doctor, and with Cecilia at her side, -sauntered down the marble terrace into the garden. She consulted Timon -Bardon about the disposition of her flower-beds, asked advice concerning -the management of plants, and finally overcame the old lion altogether -by begging for a slip from his Venice Sumach. The moment that the doctor -found that he could confer a favour instead of accepting one, all -his equanimity returned; and when the party re-entered the beautiful -drawing-room, the only shadow on the enjoyment of any of the three was -Cecilia’s consciousness that the gravel-walks had impaired the beauty of -her fawn-coloured boots. - -“What a sweet creature the countess is!” was Miss Bardon’s silent -reflection; “prosperity has done her no harm; she has not a particle of -pride!” - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -A MISADVENTURE. - - “Where pride and passion frame the nuptial chain, - Time must the gilding from the fetter wear; - Love’s golden links alone unchanged remain, - Hallowed by faith, to be renewed in heaven again.” - - -“She has not a particle of pride!” Such may be the judgment of the world, -which looks not below the surface, but the recording angel may give a -very different account. Let us examine a little more closely into the -character of the countess, and see if she may fairly be ranked amongst -the _poor in spirit_, of whom is the _kingdom of heaven_. - -Annabella had been an orphan almost from her birth, and had been -brought up by a tender grandmother, since deceased, who had made an -idol of her little darling, the heiress to all her wealth. As soon as -the child had power to frame a sentence, that sentence was law to the -household. Annabella, the fairy queen, acquired a habit of ruling, which -gave a permanent cast to her mind. Gifted with joyous spirits, a sweet -temper, and a strong desire to please, her pride was seldom offensive. -Annabella’s subjects were willing, for the sovereign was beloved. - -As the child grew into the woman, her views began to expand; she desired -a wider sway. Annabella was not contented to rule merely in a household, -to influence only a small circle of friends. Like those who cut their -names on a pyramid, she was ambitious of leaving her mark on the world. -The only instrument by which it seemed possible to accomplish this object -of ambition was the pen. If “the press” is the fourth power in the state, -Annabella resolved to have a share in that power. She had a lively fancy, -a ready wit, and, to her transporting delight, her first essay was -successful. The young lady’s contributions to a monthly periodical were -indeed sent under a _nom de guerre_, but Annabella’s darling hope was to -make that adopted title of “Egeria” famous throughout the land. - -It was at this point of her history that the Earl of Dashleigh, smarting -under the sting of mortified pride, and casually thrown much into the -charming society of Annabella, made her the offer of his hand. The eye of -the young heiress had not, like that of her cousin Ida, been fixed upon -objects so high that the glare of earthly grandeur died away before it -like the sparkles of fireworks below. Annabella was completely dazzled -by the idea of such a brilliant alliance. Her imagination immediately -invested the young earl with every great and glorious quality. Love threw -a halo around him, and the maiden fancied that she saw realized in her -noble suitor every poetical dream of her girlhood. Nor was love the only -chord that vibrated to rapture in the heart of Dashleigh’s young bride. -Did not this elevation to rank and dignity offer at once a wider sphere -to her eager ambition? From the rapidity of her conquest, Annabella -deemed that her power over the earl would be unbounded, little imagining -how much that conquest was owing to the effect of his pride and pique. - -Marriage soon undeceived Annabella. She found herself united to a man -at least as proud as herself, though his pride took a different form. -As long as the bride was contented simply to please, there was domestic -harmony; Annabella was happy in her husband, and he thought that no -companion could be so agreeable as his witty and lively wife. But the -moment that the countess attempted to rule, the elements of discord -began to work. The earl, who never lost consciousness of high birth and -distinguished rank, was aware that he had married one who, though of good -family, was yet considerably below himself in social position. This, -however, would have mattered little, had Annabella readily accommodated -herself to the new circumstances in which she was placed. The nobleman, -in the famous old tale, had deigned to wed even the humble Griselda; he -had had no reason to regret his choice, but then there was a difference, -wide as north from south, between Griselda and Annabella! As soon as the -young countess became aware that her husband felt that he had stooped a -little when he raised her to share his rank, all her pride at once rose -in arms. She was more determined than ever to assert the independence -which she regarded as the right of her sex. - -The bond which pride had first helped to form was ill fitted to bear -the daily strain which was now put upon it. Annabella, all the romance -of courtship over, saw her idol without its gilding, the halo of fancy -faded away, and he over whom its lustre had been thrown, appeared but -as an ordinary mortal. In a thousand little ways, scarcely apparent to -any but the parties immediately concerned, the habits and wishes of the -ill-assorted couple jarred painfully on each other. Pride revelled in his -work of mischief as he glided from the one to the other. - -“Your wife,” he would whisper to the earl, “with all her talents, and -all her charms, is ill fitted for the station which she holds. She has -not the dignity, the stateliness of mien which would beseem the lady of -Dashleigh Hall. She has vulgar tastes, vulgar friends, vulgar amusements. -Her very dress is not such as becomes the wife of a peer of the realm. -She is giddy, fantastic, and vain, and altogether devoid of a due sense -of your condescension in placing her at the head of your splendid -establishment. Your choice has been a mistake.” - -Then the spirit of mischief would breathe out his treason to Annabella: -“Your husband, if superior to you in descent, you have now discovered to -be so in no single other point. He has neither your wit nor your spirit. -He is rather a weak, though an obstinate man, and thinks much more than -common-sense warrants of what has been called ‘the accident of birth.’ -Have you not much more reason to exult in belonging to the aristocracy -of talent, than that of mere rank like him? Do you glory in the name of -Countess as you do in that of ‘Egeria,’ by which alone you are known to -reading thousands?” - -Having thus given my readers a glimpse of “the skeleton in the house” -where all appears outwardly so full of enjoyment, I will take up my -thread where I laid it down, and return to the drawing-room of Dashleigh -Hall. - -Dr. Bardon, as we have seen, had been restored to good humour by the -tact and attentions of the countess, and Cecilia exhausted all her -superlatives in admiration of everything that she saw. The conversation -flowed pleasantly between Annabella and the doctor, for Bardon was -a well read and intelligent man, and literature was the countess’s -passion. Cecilia, however, found the discourse assuming too much of the -character of a _tête-a-tête_, and not being content to remain exclusively -a listener, watched eagerly for an opportunity to drop in her little -contribution to “the feast of reason and the flow of soul.” - -“Yes, the world is much like a library,” said Annabella, in reply to an -observation from the doctor, “but most persons enter it rather to give a -superficial glance at the binding of the books, than to make themselves -masters of the contents.” - -“They are satisfied if the gilding lie thick enough on the backs of the -tomes,” said the doctor. - -“But what a deep, what a curious study would every character be, if -we could read it through from beginning to end (skipping the preface, -of course, for school-boys and school-girls are objects of natural -aversion). What romances would some lives disclose—while others would -offer the most forcible sermons that ever were written. What exquisite -beauty, what touching poetry we might find in the daily course of some -whom now we regard with little attention!” - -“Your lovely Cousin Ida, for instance,” chimed in Cecilia, trying to -catch the tone of the conversation, “I always think of her as a living -poem!” - -“If Ida be a poem,” said Annabella rather coldly, “she is certainly one -in blank verse,—a new version of ‘Young’s Night Thoughts,’ exceedingly -admirable and sublime!” - -The countess had always professed herself attached to her cousin, with -whom she had from childhood interchanged a thousand little tokens -of affection. She would have done much to promote the happiness -of Ida, or to avert from her any real sorrow, and yet—strange -contradiction—Annabella never liked to hear warm praise of her friend. -It almost appeared as though the countess considered the admiration -accorded to her beautiful cousin as so much subtracted from herself. When -just commendation of another excites an uneasy sensation in our minds, -we need no supernatural power to recognise in it the fretting jar of the -jealous chain which pride has fixed on our souls. - -Annabella was also at this time a little displeased with her cousin. -Ida Aumerle, from motives of delicacy which the reader will understand -though the countess could not, had declined repeated invitations to pay -a long visit to Dashleigh Hall. Annabella, who was eager to show her new -possessions to the friend of her youth, was hurt at what appeared to her -to be coldness, if not unkindness. To be _easily offended_ is one of the -most indubitable marks of pride, and from this Annabella was certainly -not free. - -While the preceding conversation was proceeding in the drawing-room, -a horseman, attended by a groom, rode up to the entrance of Dashleigh -Hall. He was a man who had scarcely yet reached the meridian of life. -His figure was graceful, though affording small promise of physical -strength; his features well-formed, and of almost feminine delicacy, -though the prevailing expression which sat upon them was one of conscious -superiority,—now softening into condescension, now, at any real or -imagined affront, rising into that of offended dignity. - -Reginald, Earl of Dashleigh—for this was he—seemed, figuratively -speaking, never to be out of the cumbersome robes in which, on state -occasions, he appeared as a peer of the realm. Whether he mingled in -society, or conversed alone with his wife, proffered hospitality, -or received it, he appeared to feel the weight of a coronet always -encircling his brow. The question which he asked himself before entering -upon any line of action, was less whether it were right or wrong, prudent -or foolish, as whether it were worthy of Reginald, twelfth Earl of -Dashleigh. Pride had kept the young nobleman from many of the vices and -follies of his age; pride had prevented him from doing anything that -might injure his character in the eyes of the world, and had led him to -do many things which gained for him popular applause; but pride, at the -best, is but a miserable substitute for a higher principle of action; its -fruits may appear fair to the eye, but are dust and corruption within. - -The earl was not a remarkably skilful rider. Nature had not gifted him -with either muscular strength or iron nerve. At the moment that he -reached his own door his horsemanship was put to unpleasant proof. An -incident, ludicrous as that which Cowper has celebrated in his humorous -poem, proved that the same mishaps may overtake a peer of the realm, -and “a citizen of credit and renown.” The sudden, prolonged bray of a -donkey—most unwonted sound in that lordly place—startled the steed which -was ridden by the earl. Its sudden plunge unseated its rider, and the -illustrious aristocrat measured his length upon the road! The accident -was of no serious nature; the nobleman was in an instant again on his -feet, shaking the dust from his garments; nothing had suffered from the -fall but Reginald’s dignity, and, consequently, his temper. The accident -appeared absurd from its cause, and Dashleigh was more provoked at the -occurrence than he might have been had some grave evil befallen him. - -“How came that brute there?” he exclaimed to the servants, who -officiously crowded around him with proffers of assistance, which were -impatiently rejected by their master. “How came that brute there?” he -angrily repeated, looking indignantly at the animal which had drawn Dr. -Bardon’s humble conveyance, and which was now quietly feeding in the -luxuriant pasture of the park. - -“Please you, my lord, visitors to see her ladyship came in that chaise,” -replied a footman, scarcely able to suppress a smile. - -“Visitors!” said the earl sharply; “the milliner or the dressmaker, -I suppose. Tell Mills at the lodge never again to suffer such a -thing to enter the gate;” and without troubling himself with further -investigation, the nobleman entered into his house. As he did so, he -turned to his butler—“Let covers be laid for three,” he said, in a tone -of command; “and give the housekeeper notice that the Duke of Montleroy -is likely to be here at luncheon.” - -“Covers are laid already for four, by her ladyship’s order,” said the -butler. - -“Indeed! what guests are expected?” asked the earl. - -“The lady and gentleman, my lord, who came in the chaise, and who are now -in the drawing-room,” was the reply. - -The earl stalked into the library in a state, not only of high irritation -and annoyance, but also of considerable perplexity. Annabella had never -before appeared to him so utterly regardless of his wishes and feelings, -so completely destitute of a sense of what was due to her position. To -invite low people—for such, he thought, that her guests assuredly must -be—to share her meal, to be introduced to her husband, it was an offence -scarcely to be forgiven! And what was to be done on the present occasion? -Dashleigh had, on that morning, casually met and invited a duke! It would -be impossible to insult a man of his quality by making him sit at the -same table with such _canaille_! The idea of such a breach of etiquette -was abhorrent to the feelings of the aristocrat, and yet, how was the -reality to be avoided? Annabella had invited her own friends, and the -earl was too much of a gentleman to be willing to commit any decided -breach of courtesy towards his wife’s guests, even though they might -have come in a donkey conveyance. - -We talk of the _petty_ miseries of pride; to Dashleigh the misery was not -petty. It was with feelings of serious annoyance that he rang his library -bell, and bade the servant who answered it request his lady to speak with -the earl directly. - -The message was carried to Annabella while she was pursuing with the -doctor a playful argument on some literary question. - -“Is the earl aware that I am engaged with guests?” asked the incautious -countess. - -“His lordship knows who is here,” replied the servant. - -Annabella instantly perceived her mistake, for she saw the blood mount -to the cheek of the sensitive old Doctor. His pride was evidently on the -_qui vive_; and it served to awaken hers. The countess felt somewhat -disposed to return to her liege lord such an answer as Horatio received -from his widow. She had no inclination to play Griselda in the presence -of her early friends. She contented herself, however, with showing that -she was in no haste to obey the summons of her titled husband, and -finished her discussion before (after apologizing to the Bardons for a -brief absence) she proceeded to the library, where her indignant lord was -impatiently awaiting her. - -Dr. Bardon walked up to the window with his hands behind him, and waited -for a space in silence. Cecilia saw by the motion of his feet that a -storm was brewing in the air. Presently he turned suddenly round with the -question: “Do you suppose that this earl means to make his appearance?” - -“Ye-e-es,” replied Cecilia timidly. - -“No!” exclaimed the doctor fiercely. The two words, and the manner of -pronouncing them, were characteristic of father and daughter, and might -almost have been adopted as mottoes by the twain. “Yes” was very often -on Cecilia’s lips, but she appeared to feel the affirmation too short to -answer the full purpose of politeness, and always managed to drawl out -the monosyllable to the length of three. Bardon’s “No,” on the contrary, -came out short and sharp, like a bark. He seemed to concentrate into it -his haughty spirit of perpetual dissent from the opinions of the rest of -the world. - -“I should not wonder if the poor girl has got into a scrape for inviting -us,” was the doctor’s next observation. - -“Oh! dear papa!” exclaimed Cecilia, in an expostulatory tone, though the -same thought had just been passing through her own mind. - -“I’m not going to wait here like a lackey in a lobby!” said the doctor, -moving towards the door. Cecilia was in a tremour of apprehension. - -“Papa, papa! we can’t slip away without bidding the countess -good-bye,—without seeing the earl,—it would look so odd, so rude.” - -“What’s odd and rude is their leaving us here, without paying us common -civility! I’ll stand it no longer!” cried the irascible man; and opening -the door, he proceeded along the corridor which led to the hall, followed -by his expostulating daughter. - -Unfortunately, their course lay past the library; and more unfortunately -still, the library door happened to be very slightly ajar. - -“Can’t you manage some way of getting rid of these miserable Bardons?” -were the words, pronounced in an irritated tone, which struck like a -pistol-shot on the ears of the countess’s guests. - -It was as though that pistol-shot had exploded a mine of gunpowder! To -the earl’s amazement the library door was suddenly flung wide open, and, -quivering with irrepressible rage, the fiery old doctor stood before him. - -“Manage!” exclaimed Bardon, in a voice of thunder; “there is little -_management_ required in dismissing those who, had they known the -despicable pride which inhabits here, would never have stooped,—_never -have stooped_,” he repeated, “to degrade themselves by crossing your -threshold! You have dared to apply to us the epithet of _miserable_,” -continued Bardon, bringing out the word as with a convulsive effort, and -fixing his fierce eye upon the disconcerted peer; “I retort back the -opprobrious term! Who is miserable but the miserable slave of pride,—the -worshipper of rank, the gilded puppet of society, who claims from his -ancestors’ name the importance which attaches to nothing of his own? This -is the first time, sir, that I have visited you, and it shall be the -last,—the last time that you shall have the opportunity of insulting, -under your own roof, a gentleman whose pretensions to respect are, -at least, as well grounded as yours, and who would not exchange his -independence of spirit for all the pomp and pageantry which can never -give dignity to their possessor, nor avert from him merited contempt!” -With the last words on his lips, Bardon turned and departed; his loud, -tramping step echoing along the hall, before the earl had time to recover -his breath. - -Annabella, agitated and excited, appeared about to hurry after her -guests, but with an imperious gesture Dashleigh prevented his wife from -doing so. Bitterly mortified at what had occurred, irritated, wounded, -and offended, the countess burst into a flood of passionate tears. - -Pride reigned triumphant that day in the Hall. He had worked out his evil -will. He had steeped hearts in bitter gall; he had loosened the bond -between husband and wife; he had brought envy, hatred, malice, and all -uncharitableness, to rush in at the breach which he had insidiously made. - -The countess spent the rest of the day in her own apartment. She would -not appear at her husband’s table, nor entertain her husband’s guest. She -had not learned to bear or to forbear; least of all was she prepared -to submit her will to that of her imperious lord. Even when the breach -between them appeared to be healed, it left its visible scar behind; the -wound was ready to break out afresh, for the soft balm of meekness and -love had not been poured upon it, and what else can effectually cure the -hurt caused by the envenomed shaft of pride? - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -A BROTHER’S EFFORT. - - “Solicit not thy thoughts with matters hid, - Leave them to God above; him serve and fear. - ... Heaven is for thee too high - To know what passes there. Be lowly wise.” - - MILTON. - - “The calm philosopher may analyze - The elements that form a water-drop; - But will the faint and thirsty pilgrim stop - To scan its nature, ere the fount he tries? - - Thus, while the haughty soul God’s truth receives - With cold indifference, reasoning, doubting still,— - The poor in spirit from the sacred rill - Drinks life, and, ere he comprehends, believes.” - - -The red glow of sunset had ceased to light up the latticed windows of -the vicarage, or bathe its smooth lawn and thick shrubbery in a crimson -glow. The rosy tint of the sky had faded into grey, and the evening -mist had begun to rise, but still the vicar prolonged his walk on the -gravel path in front of his dwelling. Up and down he slowly paced, with -his hands behind him, his eyes bent on the ground, and an expression of -thought—painful thought—upon his benevolent face. Ida passed him on her -return from a class, but, contrary to his usual habit, he took no notice -of his daughter. Mabel tripped through the open window,—a mode of exit -which she usually preferred to the door,—and, running lightly up to her -father, locked her arm within his, with a playful remark on his solitary -mood. The remark did not call up an answering smile; Mr. Aumerle did not -appear even to have heard it, so Mabel, concluding from his manner that -he must be composing a funeral sermon, quietly left him to his grave -meditations. - -At length, with a little sigh, as if he had just arrived at the -conclusion of some painful line of reflection, the clergyman turned -towards the house, and entering at the door, made his way towards his own -little study. - -As he had expected, the room was not empty. His brother sat reading at -the table by the light of a lamp, which threw into strong relief the -classic outline of his handsome features. Aumerle saw not—no mortal could -see—the dim, dark form beside him, or mark the gigantic shadow cast over -the reader by the bat-like wing extended over him by Pride. - -Mr. Aumerle sat down near Augustine in silence. He surveyed his brother -some moments with a look of anxious tenderness, then gave a little cough, -as if to arouse his attention. - -Augustine glanced up from the volume of German philosophy which he had -been perusing. He had perhaps an idea that something unpleasant was -coming, for he did not choose to commence the conversation. - -“My dear Augustine,” began Lawrence Aumerle, after another uneasy little -cough, “I have been for some time wishing to speak to you on a subject of -great interest to us both. You must be aware,—you cannot but feel that -the light observation which escaped you to-day at dinner, was of a nature -to give me considerable pain.” - -“What I said about the Bible?” replied his brother. “Well, it was a -thoughtless observation, I own; but I certainly never intended to pain -you. Your good lady came down upon me so sharp, and gave me such an -oratorical cudgelling, that even Ida herself must have confessed that the -punishment exceeded the offence.” - -“Augustine, this is no jesting matter,” said his brother. - -“I own that I was indiscreet and wrong in talking after that fashion in -presence of the girls. Are you not satisfied with that frank confession?” - -“I am not satisfied; I cannot be satisfied while I remain in doubt as to -whether those careless words did not really express the opinion of my -brother. Ever since you have been here on this visit, Augustine, it has -seemed to me as if a change had passed over you; you are no longer what -you once were. There is not the frank interchange of thought between us -that there used to be in former years.” - -“I am no longer a boy,” replied Augustine, leaning carelessly back in his -chair. - -“When you were a boy,” continued Mr. Aumerle, “you used often to express -to me your desire to enter the ministry.” - -“Oh, that’s all over,” replied Augustine quickly; “my views on many -points have changed. I have discovered that there are many paths open -to speculative thought besides the dry beaten one which you and all the -pious world have been content for generations to tread.” - -“There is nothing,” murmured Pride, “so hateful to an exalted spirit as -travelling in a crowd.” - -“Is it well,” said Aumerle, “to wander from the narrow path, in which so -many have found happiness in life, and peace in death?” - -“There are stumbling-blocks in that path,” replied Augustine; -“difficulties which it would puzzle even a theologian like yourself to -remove, and over which the learned and the zealous have wrangled from -time immemorial. How can you explain to me this?” and the young man ran -over, with rapid eloquence, one after another of the difficult questions -which have for ages put human wisdom to fault. “How can you explain all -this?” he repeated, at the close of his argument. - -“These things are beyond the grasp of the human mind,” replied the -clergyman; “they are not contrary to reason, but above it.” - -“Reason is the guide allotted to intellectual man,” said Augustine; “I go -as far as she leads me, and no further.” - -“Reason is the guide that leads to the temple of revelation. There is -an overwhelming mass of evidence, external and internal, to convince -any unprejudiced mind that the Bible is the word of God. Prophecies -accomplished, types fulfilled, the divine Spirit breathed through the -pages, the unearthly perfection of One character there portrayed, with -superhuman knowledge of the frailties and requirements of man; the -devotion of the early witnesses to its truth, who sealed their testimony -with their blood; the standing miracles foretold in the Scriptures, of -the Jewish people scattered amongst all nations, and yet separate, and of -a Church which, rising in an obscure land from the tomb of its Founder, -has spread against the opposition of earth and hell, has swept away the -barriers raised against it by temporal power and spiritual idolatry, and -the natural opposition of every unregenerate heart, and which still goes -on conquering and to conquer;—is not all this sufficient to bring reason -to the position of the handmaid of religion, and make her, as I said at -the first, the guide to the temple of revelation?” - -“Granted,” said Augustine, after a pause; “but, when we enter that -temple, when we scrutinize the mysteries which it contains—” - -“Reason is no longer capable of guiding the soul; the appointed guardian -of these mysteries is faith.” - -“Who would lead us blindfold!” said Augustine impatiently. “Here it is -that I would make my stand, for I maintain that no man—” - -_Pride._—“Gifted, intellectual man—” - -_Augustine._—“Is bound to believe what he cannot understand!” - -_Aumerle._—“Augustine, Augustine, all nature refutes you! What do we -understand of the physical wonders that have environed man for thousands -of years? We note facts, but in what innumerable instances are we baffled -when we attempt to trace back effects to their causes! We hear the power -of electricity in the thunder-clap, see it in the flash of lightning, -nay, make it the servant of our will to unite distant continents -together; but who can say that he understands it? We give it a name, we -calculate its force, but reason grasps not its nature. Who can say how -the soul is united to the body? Who can say what the faculty of memory -may be, where it hoards up its life-accumulated treasures, and produces -on the moment from the mass the very idea which it requires? These are -not foreign subjects, they are subjects brought daily to the attention of -myriads of reasoning beings, and during sixty centuries what has reason -made of them? She is content to give up her place to faith; we believe, -but we _cannot_ understand. And can we expect that aught else should -be the case when a weak, helpless worm like man fixes his thoughts upon -the solemn mysteries of the invisible world,—when the finite attempts -to comprehend the infinite! Reason, your boasted reason, at once shows -the folly of such an expectation. On this earth we are in the infancy -of our existence. As little could the young child of a monarch, while -scarcely yet able to read, expect to grasp the difficult science of -administration, and make himself master of the details of the business of -an empire, as man, with his limited faculties, fathom the deep things of -God!” - -“In this your favourite simile,” said Augustine, “you must admit that -some children are more advanced than the rest.” - -“I believe that he is most advanced in spiritual knowledge,” replied -Aumerle, “who can adopt the language of the gifted warrior-king of -Israel.” He opened the Bible which lay on the table, and read aloud from -the 131st Psalm:— - -“_Lord, my heart is not haughty, nor mine eyes lofty: neither do I -exercise myself in great matters, or in things too high for me. Surely I -have behaved and quieted myself, as a child that is weaned of his mother: -my soul is even as a weaned child._” - -“One would almost think,” observed Augustine, “that you consider -intellect as rather a disqualification than a help in penetrating the -mysteries of religion.” - -“These mysteries are beyond the province allotted to human intellect,” -replied his brother. “The Bible assures us that _the natural man -receiveth not the things of God, for they are spiritually discerned_. -Our Lord thanked his Father that these things, being hidden _from the -wise and prudent_ (wise in the world’s wisdom, prudent in their own -eyes), were yet _revealed unto babes_. Depend upon it, my dear brother,” -continued the clergyman earnestly, “the true stumbling-block in our path -is our pride! Is it not written in the word, _The meek will he guide in -judgment, and the meek will he teach his way_?” - -“Do you mean to assert,” said Augustine, “that none of the meek and -devout have ever been troubled with difficulties and doubts?” - -“Not so; I believe that many of God’s best servants have been much -exercised with such spiritual trials. But it has been beautifully -written, ‘A sign is granted to the doubt of love which is not given to -the doubt of indifference.’ The meek are not left in darkness,—such are -not given up to the adversary. But it is because they oppose him, not in -the intellectual armour of subtle reasoning and metaphysical argument, -but armed with the sling of prayer, humble and persevering prayer. To -such the promise of the Comforter is given, whose office is to guide unto -all truth.’” - -_Augustine._—“You, doubtless, are amongst those spiritually enlightened, -though I suspect that you regard me as still in darkness. I should like -to know how far, with faith your infallible guide, you have penetrated -into such a mystery, for instance, as that of the origin of sin.” - -_Pride._—“Nail him with that difficulty; wrest his one weapon out of his -hand, and see how he comes off in the contest when your intellect fairly -grapples with his!” - -_Aumerle._—“I find it more profitable, my brother, to trace the effects -of sin in my own heart, than to dive into such a mystery. The existence -of sin within us concerns us more nearly than its origin.” - -_Augustine._—“Now own to me frankly, Lawrence, whether there be not -something conventional and strained in this perpetual talk—I had almost -said _cant_—about sin, which we hear from the best people in the world? -I look upon it as the affectation of humility, because without that -crowning virtue the most saintly character is not considered to be -absolutely perfect.” - -_Aumerle._—“Can you doubt the all-pervading influence of sin? _The -heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. All our -righteousnesses are as filthy rags. There is none that doeth good, no not -one_; this is the scriptural estimate of human nature.” - -_Augustine._—“Lay aside the Scriptures for a moment, and come to actual -facts as we see them around us. Look now at such a character as that of -Ida—pure, unworldly, self-denying, devoted; such a description of evil -cannot for a moment be applied to her.” - -_Aumerle._—“You see her, God be praised, as she is by grace, and not by -nature.” - -_Augustine._—“But she continues to regard herself as a sinner,—for aught -that I know as the chief of sinners, she is ever repenting of errors -which no one but herself can perceive.” - -_Aumerle._—“With faculties as limited as ours, our not perceiving errors -is no proof of their non-existence. What to the naked eye is so pure as -a crystal stream, or so glorious as the orb of day? yet the microscope -reveals to us impurities in the water, and the telescope—blots in the -sun.” - -_Augustine (smiling)._—“Leave to me the unassisted vision. I do not -wish to think ill of human nature. I believe that a man may walk serenely -through life, and find himself in heaven at the end of it, without this -incessant judging and condemning either himself or his fellow-creatures.” - -_Pride._—“Yes; one who is like yourself possesses an unblemished -character, and a high moral standard, and who seeks to benefit his kind, -without professions of superior sanctity.” - -_Aumerle._—“Augustine, I see but too clearly why your mind delights -to seek out only the difficulties and doubts in religion! You can sit -tranquilly as a judge, because you have never recognised your position -as a criminal. You are, with all your brilliant intellect, ignorant -of the very alphabet of spiritual knowledge. You do not know your own -weakness and sin.” - -_Pride._—“He imagines himself addressing one of the ignorant rustics of -his parish. His mind is narrowed by professional bigotry. It requires at -least the virtue of patience to listen to such illiberal cant.” - -_Augustine (smiling)._—“It seems, Lawrence, that you would have me -acknowledge myself not only a child, but a very naughty child.” - -_Aumerle._—“Augustine, this is no subject for trifling. The difference -between our ages long made me regard you rather as a beloved son than a -brother. In some points our relative positions may be reversed. You have -shown yourself to be possessed of talents to which I can lay no claim; I -cheerfully cede to you the palm in all that regards intellectual power. -But in one thing riper years still give me the advantage. Experience is -the natural growth of time; spiritual experience of self-examination and -prayer. I am persuaded that every step of the Christian’s life opens to -him a wider prospect of the evil of his sinful nature. He learns it not -only from the Bible, but by painful remembrance of broken resolutions, -neglected duties, and secret backslidings, even if the Almighty preserve -him from falls visible to others. Spiritual pride, nay, all pride, can be -but the offspring of ignorance, ignorance of the requirements of God’s -law, and of our failure in fulfilling that law,—ignorance of the infinite -holiness of the Creator, and of the infirmity and guilt of the creature!” - -Pride started at the words of Aumerle, and fiercely shook his sable wing. -The earnestness and tenderness of the clergyman’s manner might have made -some impression on his brother, but Pride threw himself between them, and -laid an iron grasp on his slave. Oh, how difficult is it to speak rebuke, -without arousing the demon of Pride, and arming his giant strength -against us! - -Augustine rose from his seat, and said coldly, “Lawrence, we have had -enough of this, and more than enough. Thanks for your well-meant sermon, -though it savours more of the musty volumes of old divinity, than the -enlightened systems of an age of progress. You and I will never look upon -these matters in the same light; let the subject be dropped henceforth -between us!” And so saying, and taking with him his philosophical book, -Augustine Aumerle quitted the study. - -The vicar remained behind, sad, disappointed, almost disheartened. His -words appeared to have had no effect but that of irritating his brother, -and weakening the bond between them. But Aumerle had another resource, -and he failed not to avail himself of it. While Augustine in the -drawing-room was amusing himself and delighting his nieces by a playful -critique upon Tennyson’s poetry (theology he had determined carefully to -avoid entering upon again at the vicarage), Lawrence was upon his knees -in his study, fervently imploring his heavenly Father to open the eyes of -one who appeared to be gifted with all knowledge except that which could -alone make him _wise unto salvation_! - -Perhaps the minister’s present failure was to himself a blessing. It was -sent to humble and prove him, to make him feel how powerless he was to -influence a single soul without the aid of God’s Holy Spirit. It made -him more earnest in prayer, more fervent in supplication. How many in a -better world may find that they have reason to thank God, not only for -their successes, but their failures, and see that the blessings which -they had invoked upon others, had been returned a hundred-fold into their -own bosoms! - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -DISAPPOINTMENT. - - “Bitterest to the lip of pride, - When hopes presumptuous fade and fall.” - - KEBLE. - - “Save me alike from foolish pride, - Or impious discontent - For what Thy wisdom hath denied, - Or what Thy goodness lent!” - - POPE. - - -The Countess of Dashleigh sat in her boudoir, surrounded by all the -luxuries which art can devise or wealth procure. But she paid little -attention to anything around her, for her thoughts were absorbed in her -occupation,—to a young authoress a very delightful occupation,—that of -revising the proof-sheets of her first romance. “Egeria” was now taking -a flight above the columns of a periodical; she was about to present to -the world a volume in violet and gold! How to give her ideas the richest -setting, how to display her talent to most advantage, was now the one -prevailing thought which occupied her mind from morning till night. -Annabella was like a mother rejoicing over a first-born child; and she -examined the rough proofs with the interest and delight which a young -parent might feel in surveying the little elegancies of the wardrobe of -her darling babe. - -“Egeria” smiled to herself as she imagined the various reviews of her -work which would doubtless appear in the papers and periodicals of the -day. She fancied what passages would be extracted, what characters -praised; what might possibly be censured, what must be admired. In the -midst of her enjoyment of this feast of imagination, she was interrupted -by the entrance of the earl. Alas! that the presence of a husband should -ever be felt unwelcome! - -“Annabella, my love, I have just received a letter, which I should be -obliged by your answering for me. I am glad to find you with a pen in -your hand.” - -“Presently, Reginald; I will answer it presently,” said the countess, a -slight frown of impatience passing over her brow; “I am most exceedingly -busy at present.” - -“What are you doing?” inquired the earl, who was not in the secret of his -lady’s occupation, though aware that she devoted much time to her pen. -“May I see?” he added, taking up one of the dirty proof-sheets which had -just received Annabella’s corrections. - -“Are you to be my first critic?” said the countess playfully; “if so, I -hope that you will be an indulgent one.” - -The earl looked for a few minutes a little embarrassed, as if a subject -had been suddenly brought before him on which he had not had time to -make up his mind. He then seated himself on the sofa, and twisting the -paper about in his fingers as he addressed his wife without looking at -her, he began in his somewhat formal style:—“It seems to me, Annabella, -that authorship is not what is most exactly suitable for one who holds -the position of a countess.” - -“Are countesses then supposed to be more stupid than other people?” asked -Annabella. - -The earl made no direct reply to a question which appeared to him rather -impertinent. He was desirous to avoid an argument, and rather to have -recourse to persuasion. “You have so many other resources,” he began, “so -many pleasures—” - -“Not one of them,—not all of them together to be compared to this!” -exclaimed Annabella with animation. “I value the smallest bay-leaf from -Parnassus more than the strawberry-leaves on a ducal coronet!” - -The Earl of Dashleigh was offended. “I am aware, madam,” he said stiffly, -“that you take a pride in disparaging the advantages of high social -standing. A lofty position has no charms for you.” - -“I have known the time, Dashleigh,” said his wife, laughing, but with -something of bitterness in her mirth, “when a lofty position had no -charms for you. When you stood upon a certain Swiss mountain, able -neither to get upwards nor downwards, and glad of the assistance of my -little hand—” - -“That has nothing on earth to do with the question!” cried the earl, -colouring and looking angry. - -“Oh! I beg your lordship’s pardon; I was going to draw an analogy, as -the learned say; I was going to make a metaphor of a fact. I looked at -snowy peaks, deep abysses, awful chasms, and was transported with a sense -of their grandeur, as you are with that of hereditary rank! Mont Blanc -seemed to me loftier—more sublime—than the woolsack appears to you! You, -on the contrary, grew a little dizzy,—you only considered the fatigue of -the climbing, and the danger—” - -“This is idle talk!” cried the earl impatiently. “I happened to be -taken with a fit of vertigo, and—and of course you have no intention of -publishing?” he inquired, making a very abrupt turn in the conversation. - -“Of course I have,” replied Annabella. - -“You do not mean to—to let me infer for a moment that you, the Countess -of Dashleigh, have ever dreamed of deriving any pecuniary advantage—” The -words appeared almost to choke him, so he left the sentence incomplete. - -“You do not suppose that I intend to make a present to the publisher of -the effusions of my genius,” said the lady. “No, I have the pleasure of -working for a good cause. The new gallery of our church is to be propped -up by this little pen!” and with some pride Annabella held upright on -the table the small instrument of her literary power. - -“Really, madam, you astonish me!” exclaimed the peer, rising in surprise -and indignation. “The Countess of Dashleigh to enter the lists with Grub -Street penny-a-liners,—the Countess of Dashleigh to receive payment from -a publisher, to earn a miserable pittance like any wretched mechanic—” - -“To do what Shakspeare, Milton, Johnson, did before her.” - -“They were not of the peerage,” interrupted Dashleigh. - -“No, they were something more!” exclaimed Annabella. “They were ‘below -the good how far; but _far above the great_!’ I should be only too proud -to follow in their steps!” - -“I tell you it is impossible,—utterly impossible,” repeated the earl. “My -wife to work for hire! I could never show my face again in the House of -Lords if I submitted to such a degradation!” - -Poor Annabella was like a child whose high-built house of cards has been -suddenly dashed to the ground. Her eyes filled fast with tears, but she -was too proud to let them overflow. - -The earl was not a hard man. He saw that he had given pain, and hastened -to smoothe down his young wife’s disappointment. - -“Since writing gives you such amusement,” he said, “I will not altogether -discourage it. You may print that work for private circulation—I have -no great objection to that—and as for the gallery of the church, I will -support that by a handsome donation.” - -Dashleigh thought that this concession must entirely satisfy Annabella, -but in this he showed little knowledge of the peculiar ambition -of his wife. What! was she never to see a review of her work in a -leading paper,—was she to limit its circulation,—were a few friends -and acquaintance alone to enjoy what she had expected would excite a -sensation throughout the literary world! This would be clipping the wings -of her Pegasus indeed, and making him the mere carriage-horse of a peer! - -“I would rather burn my volume at once,” she said pettishly, “than have -it merely printed for private circulation. I should be ashamed to send it -round like a begging-box to my acquaintance, with an understood petition -of ‘compliments thankfully received!’” - -“You could not endure to see your book hawked about, sold on miserable -stalls, thumbed in circulating libraries!” - -The idea was shocking to the earl, but very delightful to Annabella. “I -could endure it very well,” she said coldly; “I see no harm in the thing.” - -“But I see it, madam,” exclaimed Dashleigh, “and what’s more, I will not -suffer it to be done! Your dignity is connected with my own; it may be -nothing to you, but it is something to me. If my wishes have no effect, -you will at least listen to my commands.” - -“Tyrant!” whispered the demon Pride; and the heart of Annabella echoed -the treasonous word ‘tyrant!’ - -The earl was satisfied with having taken a step so decided. He had no -wish to prolong a discussion with his wife, in which, as he knew by -experience, she generally had the advantage. Having uttered his mandate -he quitted the room, leaving Annabella in a state of angry excitement. - -“Private circulation! I may print for private circulation! most -condescending concession from my lord!” she muttered to herself, as she -sat gloomily surveying the proofs which had lately afforded her such -keen delight. Then a thought seemed at once to strike the countess, her -over-cast countenance lighted up with a gleam as if of triumph. “Yes; -I will write something for private circulation,” she cried, “something -which my lord will find so very amusing, so highly diverting, that he -will be glad to compound for its suppression by letting me do what I like -with my book. Mine shall be a little romance in real life, an incident in -the life of a peer of the realm!” and, dashing the drops from her eyes, -Annabella at once sat down to her desk. - -She wrote in a fit of resentment, and what she penned naturally took -the colour of her feelings. The countess wrote a ludicrous account of a -little adventure which had occurred to the Earl of ——, the dash serving -as a transparent veil which every one could see through. She recounted -how the earl, accompanied by his wife, who was fired with the ambition -of emulating the feats which Albert Smith has rendered famous, ascended -part of the way up a Swiss mountain. She described how, long ere the -snowy region was reached, the nobleman had been seized with giddiness -and nervous fear; how he had stood on a steep slope, with a precipice on -either hand, clutching tremblingly at the rock-plants which gave way in -his grasp, calling out in alarm for aid, and thankful at last to catch -hold of the end of a boa which his more active and fearless partner -extended from the summit of a cliff. It was a relief to Annabella to -give vent to her anger and malice in this little, humorous sketch. She -wrote without any deliberate intention of ever showing it to a human eye; -her paper took to her the place of a female confidante, that too often -mischievous companion to a woman who is not happily married. - -Having finished her little piece the countess descended to the -drawing-room, to pass a sullen, uncomfortable evening in the society of -her aristocratic husband. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -ON THE WATCH. - - “Struggling in the world’s dark strife, - Man requires, ere parting thence, - Pardon for the holiest life, - For the purest—penitence. - - Helpless all—a Power above - Saving strength alone can give, - Sinners all,—a God of love - Only bids the guilty live! - From polluted works we flee, - Lord, to hide ourselves in Thee!” - - -It was a sunny afternoon in April. In a rustic arbour at the end of the -garden, garlanded with honeysuckle and clematis, through the interstices -of whose bright, young leaves came the smiling sunshine, and the soft -breath of Spring, sat Ida and Mabel Aumerle. This arbour was a favourite -retreat of the girls; thither they carried their books and their work; -and could the clustering shrubs around it have had a voice, much could -they have told of sweet converse held together by the sisters, and that -free interchange of thought which is one of the dearest privileges of -friendship. - -“Ida, dearest,” said Mabel, “shall I tell you what Uncle Augustine said -of you to-day when you left the room after prayers? He said, ‘Ida is a -noble girl, and has no fault except that of being too good.’ Papa smiled -and shook his head gently; Mrs. Aumerle gave her odious, little shrug!” - -“Uncle Augustine does not know my heart,” said Ida. - -“But I know it if any one does, and I am sure that uncle himself cannot -think more highly of you than I do.” - -“You are partial,” replied her sister with a smile. - -“I only wish that I were like you! I know I’m a proud, wayward girl, -and shall never reach heaven unless I am better. I often make good -resolutions, but somehow”—Mabel looked down sadly as she spoke,—“somehow -they break away like thread in the flame! I wonder if I shall ever be -really holy.” - -Ida laid down the muslin which she was working, and drawing closer to her -young sister, said in a gentle tone, “You speak, dearest, of being holy -and reaching heaven; of making good resolutions and not being able to -keep them,—as if the impression were on your mind that you have to form, -as it were, a ladder of good works, by which to reach a certain difficult -height, beyond which lie the regions of glory.” - -“That’s just it,” said Mabel sadly, “and I am discouraged because I -always find that my ladder is too short; that climb as I may, I never can -reach the height that you do.” - -“I threw away my ladder long ago,” said Ida clasping her hands; “I found -that every round in it was broken!” - -“O Ida, what do you mean? I am certain that you have never ceased to do -good works daily.” - -“I would no more use them,” exclaimed Ida, “as _a means of reaching -heaven_, than I would hope, by aid of yonder fragile clematis, to climb -to the bright sun or stars! No,” she continued, her lip trembling with -emotion as she spoke, “I would put those works which you call good, to -the only use for which they are fit; if the fire of love kindle the -broken, imperfect fragments, I may humbly offer upon them a sacrifice -of thanksgiving to Him through whom alone I have hope of reaching the -heavenly heights.” - -“But, Ida, I can hardly yet see how _every round_ on the ladder of good -works is broken. I am sure that some—at least of _yours_, must be very -pleasing to God.” - -“Let us examine them closely,” replied Ida, “let us fix upon what you -consider the very best of our works, and let us see if it could, even for -a moment, in itself support the weight of a soul.” - -Mabel considered for a little, and then said, “Perhaps the best of our -works is prayer.” - -“We shall not need much examination, I fear, to find that our prayers are -cold, wandering, insincere.” - -“Cold sometimes, yes,—but—” - -“And sadly wandering,” added Ida; “at least I am sure that I feel mine -to be so. O Mabel! I have often reflected that if an angel could write -down all the thoughts that flow through our minds while we kneel in -the attitude of prayer,—the foolish fancies, the idle dreams, the vain -selfish imaginations which mix with our earnest supplications, we should -be so shocked and disgusted at such a mockery of devotion, that with -penitence and shame we should implore that our prayers themselves should -be forgiven!” - -“Yes; they are cold and wandering,—but I am sure that mine are not -insincere.” - -“I am afraid that we sometimes ask for blessings which we have no earnest -desire to obtain. Do we not sometimes pray to be delivered from pride -and uncharitableness, when at the time we are fostering these enemies as -welcome guests in our hearts? Have we fully entered into the spirit of -that prayer which we have so often uttered:— - - ‘The dearest idol I have known, - Whate’er that idol be, - Help me to tear it from thy throne, - And worship only Thee?’ - -If we were quite certain that such prayers would be granted _directly_, -would we not sometimes be afraid to breathe them, and is there then no -insincerity in having them so frequently on our lips?” - -“O Ida!” exclaimed Mabel, with a sigh; “you look a great deal too closely -into the heart! If our very prayers be full of sin, what must our worldly -actions be? The most disagreeable duty in the world is this searching -for hidden evil, this dreadful self-examination! I am sure that a great -many good people never practise it, and are much happier for their -ignorance of themselves.” - -“What should we say, dear one, of a man of business who refused to look -into his books, lest he should find the balance against him? of the owner -of a dwelling who should be content to keep one room swept and cleansed, -leaving all the rest, with locked doors and closed shutters, to darkness -and pollution? what should we think of the governor of a castle, who -should pace proudly along the battlements, careless whether a lurking foe -had not penetrated to the heart of the fortress?” - -“I should certainly think the two first fools, and the third a traitor to -his trust,” replied Mabel. “But, Ida, this self-examination only makes us -miserable! If I find every round in my ladder broken, and have my fierce -enemy behind me, and before me the heights which I shall never be able to -reach,—what can I do but sit down and despair?” - -“You forget, you forget,” cried Ida, with animation, “the bright golden -cord which is let down to you from above. We cannot climb to heaven by -our good works; but faith, living, loving faith, can grasp the means -of salvation held out by a merciful Saviour. The more helpless we feel -ourselves, the more eagerly we cling to our only sure hope. Mabel, this -is the glory of the Gospel. It humbles the sinner, but exalts the -Saviour; it shows us that we can do nothing in ourselves, yet can do all -things through Him who loved and gave himself for us!” - -Mabel made no reply in words, but she drooped her head till it found -its resting-place on a sister’s bosom. An arm was gently drawn around -her, and Ida imprinted a silent kiss on her brow. The demon Pride stood -gloomily aloof; he felt himself baffled for a time, and dared not intrude -his presence on the sisters during the remainder of that peaceful day! - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -THE QUARREL. - - “A something light as air,—a look, - A word unkind, or wrongly taken, - Oh! love that tempests never shook - A breath, a touch like this hath shaken! - And ruder words will soon rush in - To spread the breach that words begin, - And eyes forget the gentle ray - They wore in courtship’s smiling day, - And voices lose the tone that shed - A tenderness o’er all they said;— - Till fast declining, one by one - The sweetnesses of love are gone, - And hearts, so lately mingled, seem - Like broken clouds, or like the stream - That smiling leaves the mountain’s brow, - As though its waters ne’er could sever, - Yet, ere it reach the plain below, - Breaks into floods, that part for ever!” - - MOORE. - - -The Earl and Countess of Dashleigh now found less enjoyment in the mutual -converse which had once made their days flow so pleasantly and swiftly, -and which had been especially appreciated by Dashleigh, whose reserve or -pride made him avoid much general society. When Annabella’s wit sparkled -before him, he had needed no other amusement, and in the first part of -her wedded life, she had required no other auditor than him who listened -with so partial an ear. But each now felt that a change had come, as -water penetrating the crevices of a rock, and then freezing, sometimes -by its sudden expansion bursts asunder the solid stone, and severs it -as effectually by silent power as a gunpowder blast could have done, so -secret pride in both hearts was gradually, fatally dividing those bound -to each other by the closest of earthly ties! There was yet, however, -no open quarrel; the world was not called in as a spectator of domestic -disunion. There was no appearance of want of harmony as, on the occasion -which I am about to relate, the husband and the wife sat together in -the countess’s luxurious boudoir, Annabella on a damask sofa, engaged -in German work, the earl at a writing-table, looking over a copy of the -_Times_. - -There had been a long silence between them. It was broken by a question -from Dashleigh. - -“Did you know, Annabella, that Augustine Aumerle was soon going to leave -the vicarage and return to Aspendale?” - -“I know little of what goes on at the vicarage,” replied Annabella, after -pausing to count stitches in her pattern; “I think that Ida must have cut -me, she so seldom comes to the hall.” - -“There are to be great doings at Aspendale,” resumed Dashleigh; “I saw -Augustine this morning during my ride, and he told me of his novel -arrangements. He expects soon a visit from Verdon, the well-known -æronaut; I wonder that he keeps up acquaintance with one who may be -regarded as a public exhibitor; but that is his business, not mine; it -seems that they were school-fellows together, and it is not easy to break -off old friendships.” - -“If there be such a thing as a _lofty_ profession it is Mr. Verdon’s, -without doubt,” said Annabella; “the aspirations of an æronaut must mount -higher than even those of a peer!” - -“It appears,” continued Dashleigh, without seeming to take notice of the -observation, “that Mr. Verdon is to give his new grand balloon a trial -trip from Augustine’s grounds.” - -“Oh, how I should like to be there!” cried the countess. - -“Augustine has invited us both,”—Annabella clapped her hands like a -child,—“but the difficulty is that he will not be able himself to do the -honours of his house, as he is to accompany Verdon in his upward flight.” - -“Is he?” exclaimed the young countess; “that will be charming! Such a -genius will mount up so high, that the silken ball will have no need of -hydrogen gas! He will but inflate it with poetical ideas, and it will -never stop short of the stars!” - -The earl smiled at the idea. “I should be well pleased to see the -ascent,” he observed; “but yet I am doubtful about accepting the -invitation. It would, you see, be awkward for those in our position of -life to be guests at the table of a man who was at the moment up in the -clouds.” - -[Illustration: Tearing the Manuscript. - -_Page 107._] - -Annabella burst into a girlish laugh. “You are afraid that he might look -down even upon us,” she cried. - -“I doubt whether etiquette would allow—” - -“Throw etiquette to the dogs!” exclaimed Annabella, heedless of her -husband’s look of disgust at such an audacious parody on Shakspeare. “I -must, will go to Aspendale! It will be such fun! I have half a mind to -ascend in the balloon myself!” - -“It would be very unsuitable for a lady,” began the earl,— - -“Unless her lord would accompany her,” said Annabella, archly; “we might -obtain as fine a view as from Mont Blanc, without all the trouble of -climbing.” - -The earl always winced under any allusion to his mountain adventure. - -“But then,” continued Annabella maliciously, “it would never do to get -giddy,—suspended between earth and sky,—there would be no hope of the -friendly intervention of a lady’s boa!” - -“I should not have the slightest objection, not the slightest,” repeated -the irritated earl, “to go in a balloon to-morrow; indeed, I think it -very probable that I shall make one of Augustine’s party.” - -Annabella was diverted to see that she had succeeded in putting her -haughty lord on his mettle. It seems an instinct with some natures to -delight in showing a power to tease, and it had become stronger with -the countess since her disappointment regarding her romance. She was -like a child playing with fire-arms, ignorant of their dangerous nature. -Annabella knew the weakness of her husband’s nerves, but not the full -strength of his pride. - -“I was reading yesterday a curious account of a balloon ascent,” -continued the earl, in a quieter tone; “and, by-the-bye, I have not quite -finished it. It is in the —— Magazine; have you seen the last number, -Annabella?” - -“I glanced over it,” replied the lady, carelessly; “I suppose that it is -lying on one of the tables.” - -The earl rose and looked around for the magazine. His wife was too busy -in arranging the shades for a withered rose-leaf to give him the least -assistance. She was too busy to notice that he at length extended his -search for the missing periodical to the drawer of her writing-table. -Into that drawer, with habitual carelessness, the countess had thrust a -little manuscript, to which, after hastily writing it, she had scarcely -given a thought. - -“What’s this?” exclaimed Dashleigh half aloud, as his gaze unwittingly -fell upon the title—“The Precipice and the Peer.” The first glance had -been purely accidental, for the earl was above petty curiosity, and -would never have touched either paper or drawer had he supposed them to -contain anything secret. But now an ungovernable impulse made him open -the leaves, and hastily run his eye over the contents. Annabella had just -succeeded in finding a missing shade of russet, when she was startled by -a sudden sound resembling a stamp; and looking up, she saw the earl with -his very temples crimsoned by rage, and her unfortunate burlesque in his -hand. - -“Lord Dashleigh!” exclaimed the countess, “that was never intended—” - -“Never intended for my eye!” thundered the earl, who was in a violent -passion; and tearing the manuscript into a hundred pieces, he trampled it -under his foot! - -“That is the action of a pettish child!” exclaimed Annabella, almost as -much irritated as her husband, her eyes flashing indignant fire. - -“Leave the room, insolent girl!” cried the earl; and turning round as he -spoke, he perceived to his surprise and inexpressible annoyance that he -had two unexpected auditors—his servant having a moment before opened the -door, to announce the Duke of Montleroy, who was following close behind! - -Dashleigh was so much confused—overwhelmed at being discovered by such -a person in such a position—that of a husband quarrelling with his own -wife, and giving way to a burst of passion degrading to any man, but most -of all to one of his exalted station—that he remained for some minutes -transfixed, totally unable to speak. Annabella, on the contrary, lost -none of her self-possession. She swept past the bewildered duke, with a -passing reverence which might have beseemed an empress, and proceeded -at once to her own chamber, without uttering a word. As soon as she had -reached it, she violently rang her bell. - -The maid who obeyed the summons found her mistress sitting at her -toilette table, calm, tearless, but pale with suppressed emotion. She was -selecting various articles of jewellery from a large mahogany box. - -“Bates, bid the coachman put the horses to directly, and do you prepare -to accompany me in the carriage,” was the countess’s brief command. - -The lady had, not an hour before, returned from a lengthened drive, and -the order surprised the maid. She ventured to say something about the -late hour and the appearance of coming rain. - -“Let it rain torrents—what matters it?” cried Annabella. “Bear my message -to Mullins, and return without delay to pack up the things which I shall -require. I shall sleep at the vicarage to-night.” - -The lady’s-maid hurried away to the servant’s hall, which she found in -a state of considerable excitement, for the news had already spread -like wild-fire through the house that my lord had quarrelled with my -lady, torn up her writings, ordered her out of the room—nay, as it was -rumoured, had actually struck her on the face. - -“Take my word for it,” cried the butler, with the air of one who can see -much further through a millstone than others,—“take my word for it this -has something to do with the odd couple as came here the other day,—the -fine lady, and the fierce old man with black brows and long white hair.” - -“Yes,” replied another servant, with a nod, “I’ve noticed that nothing -has gone right up stairs since them two drove off in the donkey-chaise, -and my lady shut herself up in her room, as if she’d had a down-right -set-down from my lord.” - -“Oh, for the matter of that,” laughed Bates, “she’d give as good as she -gets, any day. The earl has ordered her out of the room; but she’s going -a little further than may be he wished or expected. She has a spirit of -her own, has my lady!” - -In the meantime, Annabella was pacing up and down her apartment with a -heart full almost to bursting. “I will not stay here, no, not an hour!” -she exclaimed; “he shall find that he has no weak girl to deal with—no -slave to submit to his pride and caprice! I have borne much, but this I -will not bear. I will not endure to be trampled upon by a tyrant, even -though that tyrant be a husband. I will go to the vicarage at once. Mr. -Aumerle will not forget that my mother was the sister of the wife whom he -loved. He will not deny the shelter of his roof to an orphan, so cruelly -driven from her own. I will impose no burden upon my friends. I ask, -I need nothing from any one but the sympathy which my griefs, and the -justice which my wrongs demand.” - -Thus, asking counsel only of her own angry passions, casting aside all -higher considerations, and seeking but the gratification of her bitter -pride and resentment, the young Countess of Dashleigh prepared to take a -step which scarcely any circumstances could justify. Intoxicated as she -was with anger, the voice of reason and of conscience were alike unheard -or unheeded. Indignant at the errors of her husband, Annabella was -blinded to her own; and when she found her domestic happiness wrecked, -her youthful hopes scattered like leaves in a storm, she recognised not -the cause of the evil—she traced not in the desolation around her the -work of the demon Pride. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -THE UNEXPECTED GUEST. - - “Chill falls the rain, - Night-winds are blowing; - Dreary and dark is - The way thou’rt going!” - - MOORE. - - -On that evening, a small but cheerful party were assembled in the -sitting-room of the vicarage. Dr. Bardon and his daughter Cecilia, -oft-invited guests, had joined the circle of the Aumerles. A week never -passed without some little act of kindness being shown by the clergyman -or his family to the disinherited man. Bardon heartily esteemed, and -even felt a warm regard for the vicar. But let it not be supposed that -he was overburdened with a sense of gratitude for unwearying kindness -and attention. No, he was far too proud for that. The doctor was ever -keeping a balance in his mind between benefits received and benefits -conferred; and by means of that curious mental instrument, of which -Mabel had penetrated the secret, he managed always, in his own opinion, -to keep the balance weighed down in his favour. If the Aumerles showed -him hospitality, it was, he easily persuaded himself, because they were -really glad to have a little society. Bardon did them an actual favour -by so often eating their dinners! Volunteered advice upon diet and -medical subjects, though given to those whose health was perfect, the -doctor also regarded as obligations of no trivial nature; and he often -calculated how much the Aumerles owed to him in the shape of fees! - -On this evening the mind of Bardon was particularly easy, for he had -brought to the vicar the gift of a crystallized pebble, which he had -discovered in some ancient drawer, and which, he was perfectly assured, -must be a curious geological specimen. The Aumerles had sufficient of -that politeness which is “good-nature refined,” to humour the fancy of -their guest; and there was a discussion for nearly twenty minutes upon -the beauties, peculiarities, and supposed origin of the wonderful stone. - -A heavy rain is pattering without, and flashes of bright lightning -are occasionally reflected on the wall; but safe in the comfortable -dwelling, the party give little heed to the weather. In one corner sits -Dr. Bardon, engaged in a game of chess with Mrs. Aumerle. He considers -that he is giving her a lesson; she, having no particular desire to learn -the game, and finding no great amusement in an inevitable check-mate, -is good-humouredly submitting to be beaten for the gratification of -her guest. Cecilia, rather over-dressed, as usual, as if, as Mabel -once observed, she were always expecting a grand party, after much -persuasion, which she regards as the indispensable prelude to her -performance, has passed her pink ribbon over her neck, and is giving -her friends a song, to the accompaniment of the guitar. It is with her -music as with things more important, Cecilia, in her efforts to rise -above mediocrity, only manages to sink below it. She is not contented -with the soft middle tones, in which her voice shows considerable -sweetness; Cecilia must sing very high; and the painful result is, that -the strained organ cannot reach the prescribed point, falls flat, and -discord annoys the ear. Miss Bardon is not satisfied with simple ballads, -which she could sing with feeling and taste; she must show off her very -indifferent execution in difficult bravura airs. As her dress must be -that of a peeress, so her music must be that of a professor. Cecilia -aims not at giving pleasure, but at exciting admiration, and succeeds -in accomplishing neither object. Poor Ida, a distressed listener to the -flourishes in “Bel raggio lusinghier,” is meditating how she can contrive -to unite politeness with truthfulness; and in thanking Miss Bardon -for her song, neither violate sincerity nor hurt the feelings of her -sensitive friend. Mabel, who has kept up a low, whispered conversation -with her uncle at the very farthest end of the room, is impatiently -waiting till Cecilia’s cadenzas and appoggiaturas shall cease, to speak -to her father on a subject of which her mind is quite full. - -The last twang at length is given; Ida says, what she can say; if it -be a little less than the singer would have liked, it is a little more -than the speaker’s conscience could warrant. Mr. Aumerle’s simple thanks -have been uttered, and Mabel, released from the necessity of being -comparatively quiet, runs up to her father, and says, playfully leaning -on his arm; “O papa! I have such a favour, such a great favour to ask of -you!” - -“If it be anything reasonable.” - -“I don’t know if you’ll think it reasonable or not, but Uncle Augustine -sees no objections. He says that he will, if you only consent, take me up -with him in the balloon!” - -“My child!” exclaimed the vicar. - -“Bless the girl!” cried Mrs. Aumerle from her chess-board. Cecilia lifted -her hands in surprise, while Dr. Bardon laughed aloud. - -“O papa! what’s the harm? It is not as if a party of strangers were going -on the airy excursion,—people who did not know how to manage. Mr. Verdon -is so experienced, he has been up fourteen or fifteen times, and no -accident ever has happened. Uncle Augustine goes himself!” - -“But because Uncle Augustine chooses to risk his own neck sky-larking -amongst the clouds, I see no reason why he should carry my little girl -with him on a dangerous excursion.” - -“Shakspeare tells us,” said Augustine, coming towards the centre of the -room, “that - - ‘’Tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink,’ - -but the poet adds - - ‘Out of the nettle, danger, we pluck the flower, safety.’ - -When steam-vessels were first introduced it was thought an act of daring -to go in one,—when railroads were yet a novelty it was foolhardiness to -venture in a train.” - -“Perhaps,” joined in the eager Mabel, “balloons will some day become as -common as carriages!” - -“In that case,” observed the doctor, “perhaps Miss Mabel will not care to -enter one.” - -Mabel coloured and laughed. “I daresay,” she replied, “that there is -something in the excitement and danger,—_supposed_ danger I mean,—that -makes the thought of such a trip so delightful. I should like, I own, to -do something which no lady in the county ever has done before.” - -“That’s pride,” said her step-mother abruptly. - -Such a gush of fierce angry emotion rose in the heart of the young girl -at the word, opprobrious and yet so true, that Augustine, perceiving her -feelings in her face, and fearing that she might give them vent, thought -it as well to effect an immediate diversion. “I hope,” said he, turning -towards the doctor, “that you and Miss Bardon will honour Aspendale by -your presence on the day of the ascent of the _Eaglet_.” - -The doctor bowed, for his _sensitiveness_ was gratified by the respectful -terms in which the invitation was couched. - -“We shall not be a large, but a select party,” continued Augustine -Aumerle. “I met Reginald Dashleigh to-day, and I think that he and his -lady will come to witness the ascent.” - -“Do you mean to say that you expect the earl as one of your guests?” -exclaimed Bardon. - -“If nothing prevent, I think that you will meet him at my house.” - -“Something will prevent!” cried the old lion, shaking his white mane with -haughty disdain. “I am willing to meet at your table any one else whom -you may choose to invite;—I would sit down with farmer—ploughboy—pauper, -but not—not with Reginald Earl of Dashleigh!” - -An uncomfortable silence instantly fell like cold water over the circle; -the vicar, a peacemaker by nature as well as profession, was particularly -annoyed by this unexpected declaration of enmity against his niece’s -husband, made by one of his own oldest friends. He was in act to speak, -when Mabel suddenly exclaimed, “There is the sound of a carriage!” - -“You must be mistaken,” said Mrs. Aumerle, “no one would come at this -hour, and especially on so stormy an evening.” - -“But it is a carriage,” said Mabel, going to the window, “I see the red -liveries of the Dashleighs.” - -The sentence unconsciously escaped her lip, and she bit it with vexation -at having thoughtlessly uttered the name; for the doctor started up from -his seat so hastily, that he upset the chess-table before him. - -This created a little noise and confusion, in the midst of which -Annabella suddenly entered the room unannounced, looking so haggard and -ill, that her uncle involuntary exclaimed, “My dear Anna! has anything -happened?” - -“Might I speak with you for a moment alone,” said the countess assuming -with effort a forced calmness. The vicar, without reply, took her by the -trembling hand, and led her to his own little study. - -“Dear me! how ill the countess looks!” exclaimed Cecilia. - -“Something serious has occurred, depend upon it,” said Mrs. Aumerle; and -a variety of conjectures arose as to the cause of the lady’s strange -visit, though most of the party present had the prudence to keep these -conjectures to themselves. - -The vicar returned after rather a long absence, and his entrance caused -a dead silence in the room, while every eye rested on him with a look of -inquiry. He appeared very grave, and drawing his wife aside, said in a -low tone of voice, “My dear, do you think that Ida could arrange to share -Mabel’s apartment to-night, and give up her own to Annabella?” - -“Is the countess so unwell that she cannot return to her own home? The -weather seems to be clearing,” said the vicar’s wife in a voice much more -audible than that of her husband had been. - -“She does not wish to return,” replied Mr. Aumerle sadly; “we must all do -our best to make her comfortable here, at least for the present.” - -In a few minutes Ida had glided out of the room, and was in the study at -the side of her cousin, listening with wonder and pain to the passionate -outpourings of a wounded spirit. Cecilia who delighted in anything -mysterious, was endeavouring to draw from Mabel her opinion as to the -cause of the countess’s distress, and Mrs. Aumerle was bustling about to -“make things smooth,” as she said, in the household department, of which -the arrangements had been so suddenly disturbed by the unexpected arrival. - -“Something wrong with Dashleigh, I fear,” observed Augustine half aloud. - -“Something wrong—everything wrong, I should say!” exclaimed the doctor -who overheard him. “The case is clear enough to any one who has had -a glimpse behind the scenes as I have had. The poor little thing is -wretched at home, she has sold her happiness for a title, she has thrown -herself away on the most proud, selfish, domineering—” - -“Dashleigh is my friend,” interrupted Augustine sternly. - -“I’d rather have him for my enemy than my friend!” muttered Bardon -between his clenched teeth. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -THE FRIEND’S MISSION. - - “Oh, let the ungentle spirit learn from hence, - A small unkindness is a great offence!” - - HANNAH MORE. - - -“Don’t talk to me,” cried Mrs. Aumerle, in the tone of decision which to -her was habitual; “I say that a young wife does wrong, exceedingly wrong, -in leaving the home of her natural protector, and throwing herself back -upon her own family, just because she and her husband have chanced to -have some unpleasant words together.” - -The time was the afternoon of the day following that of Annabella’s -unexpected arrival; the scene was the sitting-room at the vicarage; the -auditor, Mabel Aumerle. - -“Unpleasant words!” repeated Mabel angrily; “why the earl tore her -writing to pieces, and ordered her out of the room, before her own -servant—only think of that, before her own liveried servant! No woman of -spirit could submit to that!” - -“Woman of spirit—nonsense!” cried the step-mother, “a woman’s spirit -ought to be one of submission.” - -“I would have done what she did!” said Mabel. - -“I daresay that you would,” answered Mrs. Aumerle, with a touch of -sarcasm in her manner; “but I happen to know a good deal more of life -than you do, and mind my word, Mabel, when a woman marries she takes her -husband for better for worse; she has made her choice and she must abide -by it; she only lowers herself by appealing to the world to arbitrate -between her and the man whom she has vowed to obey.” - -“How has Annabella appealed to the world?” asked Mabel, with but little -of respect in her tone. - -“By making herself the talk of the world. There’s not a house in Pelton, -no, nor much farther round, in which the flight of the countess and its -cause is not the subject of conversation. The gossips are feasting on the -news, and doubtless by to-morrow morning we shall have the whole affair, -with every kind of exaggeration, appearing in the county paper. I’ve -really no patience with the girl! And to mix us up with her folly! I feel -as if I were aiding and abetting a wife’s rebellion against her husband.” - -“Unfeeling creature!” thought Mabel, whose partiality for her cousin, -and high-flown spirit of romance, made her espouse the countess’s cause -with the chivalric devotion of a knight errant towards some fair and -persecuted damsel. - -“I am sure I hope that she does not intend to prolong her stay here,” -continued Mrs. Aumerle. “To say nothing, of the inconvenience of -accommodating herself and her fine maid, I think it an evil to have in -the house one who sets such an example of wilfulness and pride.” - -“Papa could never but welcome to his home the orphan niece of my own -beloved mother,” exclaimed Mabel, with flashing eyes, feeling as though -she were doing a lofty and generous action in defending the cause of the -oppressed. - -“A child of fifteen is no judge of these matters, and would show her good -sense best by her silence,” was the cold observation of Mrs. Aumerle. - -Mabel’s proud spirit was thoroughly roused by this remark. Her present -mood seemed strangely inconsistent with the softened humility which she -had shown, when in the arbour a few days previously, she had leant her -head on her sister’s bosom, feeling herself indeed to be a poor, helpless -sinner! But is not this a species of inconsistency which, by experience, -we know to be but too common in the heart? We prostrate ourselves before -God, but stand erect before our fellow-creatures: we own our infirmities -in the quiet hour when religion speaks to the soul, but start back with -angry indignation, if those weaknesses be touched upon by another. Pride -stands back when we, in solitude, or with one chosen friend, review our -past conduct and mourn over our faults, but springs forward if a rebuke, -however just, be not sweetened by flattery, or tempered by caution. - -Mabel disliked her stepmother, and did not care to hide that dislike -from its object. The feeling partly arose from a want of tenderness and -tact on the part of Mrs. Aumerle. That lady, with much common sense, -high principle, and warmth of heart, was quite devoid of that nice -apprehension of tender points, that delicacy in touching upon painful -subjects, which is morally, what _feelers_ are physically to some of the -insect creation. Mrs. Aumerle had no _feelers_, and she rather prided -herself on the want. She classed nerves, sensibility, timidity, romance, -under the one comprehensive title of “humbug;” things which, like -cobwebs, she would have thought too insignificant to be noticed, had they -not been, to the mental eye, too unsightly to be spared. Mrs. Aumerle’s -sympathies were quick and active in cases of what she regarded as real -distress. She was an eminently practical woman, and did much good in her -husband’s parish; but she had no pity for nervous complaints, no patience -for fanciful troubles. It may be imagined how little of congeniality -there could be between such a character and that of the refined sensitive -Ida, the romantic impulsive Mabel. - -But without congeniality there should have been, on the part of the -stepdaughters, a just appreciation of merit, meek submission to -authority, and due respect of manner. If Mabel, on all these points, was -by far the most open offender, Ida, on her part, was assuredly not free -from her share of blame. Her youngest sister looked up to her both as a -guide and example. Mabel’s highest ambition was to copy the character of -Ida, and like most young artists, she unintentionally exaggerated all the -defects of what she copied. Mabel seemed to have an intuitive perception -of the fact that Ida held her stepmother in low estimation, regarded -her advice as valueless, took her reproofs almost as wrongs. Ida, -unwittingly, was nurturing in her sister a spirit of proud independence, -much more congenial, alas! to the human heart, than the faith, humility, -and love which the young Christian earnestly sought to implant in her -young companion. Ida was to a certain degree counteracting the effects of -her own counsels, defeating the aim of her own prayers. - -Mabel, on the present occasion, was so much irritated by her stepmother’s -recommendation of silence, that she was about to utter an insolent reply, -when the conversation was fortunately interrupted by the entrance of her -father, whose presence ever acted as a check on any ebullition of temper. - -“Well, Lawrence,” said Mrs. Aumerle, coming forward to meet her husband, -“I hope that this unpleasant affair is to come to a speedy end.” - -“God grant it!” replied the clergyman. “Have you spoken to Annabella?” - -“I was beginning to tell her a little of my mind when she implored me -to leave the room. She has rather too much of the countess about her, -to care to listen to simple truth. She was in a highly excited state; I -should not wonder if she were in a fever to-morrow.” - -“Do you think that we should send for Dr. Bardon?” - -“He’ll come, sure enough, without our sending. We shall have no peace -as long as the countess remains here. All the idle, curious people in -the county will find some excuse for visiting the vicarage. The Greys, -Whitemans, and Barclays have been here to-day already. I have given Mary -orders to let in nobody but the Doctor.” - -“Is Ida with her cousin?” asked Aumerle. - -“She has hardly been out of her room from the first.” - -“That is well,” said the vicar; “my child will do her best to calm and to -soften.” - -“I think that it is the earl who must require to be calmed and softened,” -observed Mrs. Aumerle; “he has been very shamefully treated.” - -“Augustine has, as you are aware, undertaken a mission to him. I would -have gone myself, but my brother’s greater intimacy with Dashleigh, and -superior powers of persuasion, would, I felt, make him a more effectual -advocate for this poor misguided young creature. I thought that he would -have been back ere now. I await his return with great anxiety.” - -“Here comes my uncle!” exclaimed Mabel. - -Aumerle met his brother at the door. “Any good tidings?” he exclaimed. -Augustine shook his head doubtingly as they entered the sitting-room -together. - -“The earl is extremely indignant,” he said, removing the hat from his -heated brow; “I have been arguing with him for more than an hour, and I -have my doubts as to whether we have come to a satisfactory conclusion at -last.” - -“Oh, on what does he decide?” cried Mabel. - -“He consents at length to pardon the countess’s act of foolish petulance, -on condition that she ask his forgiveness, and return this very day to -her home.” - -“Reasonable terms!” said Mrs. Aumerle. - -“Yes,” assented the vicar, but the little furrow of anxious thought still -remained on his brow. “Augustine,” he said to his brother, “will you go -and communicate your message to Annabella?” - -“Nay, nay, I have done my part. If I have more influence with my old -college-companion, you have more power with your niece. I suspect that -your task will be at least as difficult as mine, notwithstanding your -gentle auxiliaries. I have so little expectation of your success, that I -have ordered a conveyance to take me to Aspendale an hour hence, that I -may leave your dwelling more free to accommodate its new guest.” - -“I hope,” said Mrs. Aumerle, “that the conveyance will rather be -required to take Annabella back to the home which she should never have -quitted.” - -“I hope so too,” observed Augustine with a smile; “but I own that I have -my doubts and my fears on the matter.” - -The vicar at once proceeded to the room in which Ida was endeavouring, -though with little effect, to soothe the irritated spirit of her cousin. -Annabella rose on the clergyman’s entrance, and Ida, from a feeling of -delicacy, silently left the apartment. - -Aumerle gently communicated to his impatient auditor the message which he -bore. - -“His pardon!” exclaimed Annabella, striking her little hand with -vehemence on a table which was beside her; “his pardon, forsooth! and for -what? Nay, then, I see the truth of the words— - - ‘Forgiveness to the injured doth belong, - He never pardons who hath done the wrong,’” - -and she laughed in the bitterness of her soul. - -“My dear niece,” said the vicar tenderly but gravely, “even by your own -account you had given just cause of displeasure to your husband, before -he spoke the hasty word which you find it so difficult to forgive. -Prejudice may blind you—” - -“Uncle, let me have no more of this; I can’t bear it!” exclaimed -Annabella, rising in nervous excitement. “If I am in your way—in -Mrs. Aumerle’s way, I will leave the house at once, go to London—an -hotel—anywhere—but I will not—” Her voice rose, and again she struck the -table as she repeated the words,—“I will not go and beg pardon of the -man who turned me out of my own room, and in the presence of a menial -servant.” - -“Annabella, this is the excitement of fever; you require—surely I hear -Bardon’s voice below!” said the vicar, who found it impossible to manage -his niece in her present mood, and who was almost alarmed at the wildness -of her manner. “Would you see the doctor?” added Mr. Aumerle. - -Annabella hesitated for a moment, then exclaimed, “Dr. Bardon! yes, I -will see him at once.” She remained in her standing position, rigid as a -statue, till the vicar, after a brief absence, introduced the physician -into the room, and then himself retired to another. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -A FATAL STEP. - - “The arrow once discharged from this weak hand, - Can I arrest its flight in the free air? - Where will this course now lead me?” - - CAMOENS. BY H. S. G. TUCKER. - - -The countess advanced one step towards Bardon, and held out her hand. He -took it cordially, and looked at her bloodless face with mingled interest -and concern. - -“Do not suppose,” said Annabella, resuming her seat, and motioning to him -to take a chair beside her,—“do not suppose that I see you in order to -ask for your medical advice. You must know well that it is beyond your -power to ‘minister to a mind diseased,’ that my case is not one which the -whole pharmacopeia can cure. I see you as a friend,”—her lip quivered as -she spoke,—“as one who will understand my feelings, and not torment me -with well-meant advice which I would rather die than follow!” - -“You are a noble creature—a brave creature!” exclaimed Bardon; “I am -proud of the spirit which you have shown.” - -“Have you been far to-day?” asked the countess, colouring slightly at the -ill-merited praise. - -“I was at Pelton this morning on business, or I should have called upon -you earlier,” was the doctor’s reply. - -“You have been, doubtless, at many houses,”—Annabella seemed to -frame each sentence with difficulty,—“you have seen many people—have -heard—heard much that is—that must be said—and—.” She stopped, and looked -at the doctor, but he did not seem disposed to guess the meaning of her -unfinished sentence. - -“I wish to learn from you,” continued the countess, forcing herself to a -more explicit explanation; “it is important for me to know what the world -says of this—this unhappy affair.” - -“You care as little as I do for what the world says,” replied the doctor. - -But it was not so with Annabella. Popular distinction, the applause of -others, had been to her as the breath of life. Her pride was not the -pride of self-sufficiency; she was intensely desirous to know whether -public opinion were inclining to her side or that of her lord, and she -pressed the doctor for a more definite reply. - -“Of course,” he answered at last, “there are almost as many versions of -the story as there are narrators of it. No tale loses by the telling. -Some say this thing, some say that, some pity, and some blame. What is, -however, pretty universally received as the most authentic account is—” - -“Tell me!” cried the countess nervously, as the speaker paused. - -“Why, it is said that you had somehow got into the snares of the Papists. -That an old priest and a nun in disguise had made their way into -Dashleigh Hall; and, some affirm, had a private mass there. That the -earl discovered amongst your papers a prayer to the Virgin, or something -of that sort, and that he was so much disgusted by what he called your -apostasy, that tearing the paper into a thousand fragments, he turned you -out of the room.” - -“Did any one believe such a senseless tale?” cried Annabella. - -“It was said to come from the best authority, and is very generally -credited.” - -“Did you not give it indignant refutation?” - -“My dear lady, you forget that I am in utter darkness upon the subject -myself. I could stake my life that you had good cause for what you did, -but of that cause I know no more than this chair.” - -“Then you shall know all,” exclaimed Annabella, “that you may be able to -give an answer to such idle calumnies as these;” and with rapid utterance -she gave the doctor an account of what had occurred, her narrative -following truth in the main, though coloured by prejudice and passion. - -Bardon’s face showed gloomy satisfaction as he listened to the excited -speaker. “So then,” he exclaimed as she concluded, “your crime is having -drawn so faithful a portrait, that he who sat for it would not own it! -What a fool he was to quarrel with one who has him so completely at her -mercy!” - -“What do you mean?” said Annabella quickly. - -“You carried your desk with you, did you not?” said Bardon, with an -expressive glance at that on the table; “and you carried with you the wit -that can sting. Write out that paper again; give it to the public;—the -world will laugh, and the earl will wince. No one who reads but will -understand (I will do my best to enlighten dull comprehensions) _why_ -the peer was so angry with his wife—_why_ he who stood trembling on the -mountain was afraid of the wit of a woman.” - -“It would be retribution!” exclaimed Annabella. - -“It would be revenge!” cried the haughty old man. - -Little did the Aumerles divine that the physician whom they had admitted -in order that he might quiet a fevered pulse, was pouring venom into -a wound which he should rather have sought to heal; that he was doing -the work, obeying the hest of the demon Pride, and drawing further from -happiness and peace the young creature who had turned to him in her -distress. - -There was a strange, almost fierce satisfaction in the looks of Dr. -Bardon when he descended to the sitting-room, that was incomprehensible -to the Aumerles. - -“You will send her a sleeping draught?” said the vicar. - -“I have given her something _to compose_,” replied Bardon, a grim smile -relaxing his features. - -“You think her very feverish?” inquired Ida. - -“Oh, there’s nothing to alarm,” said the doctor; “she will be much -relieved by-and-bye.” - -As soon as he had quitted the vicarage, Ida went up to Annabella’s room, -and gently knocked at the door. - -“I wish to be alone!” said a voice from within, and Ida immediately -retired. - -When the carriage which had been ordered by Augustine Aumerle rolled up -to the front of the vicarage, Ida was sent again to try her powers of -persuasion, to induce the countess to avail herself of it to return to -her husband’s home. - -Ida felt the errand painful, and almost hopeless. She hesitated for -a moment ere she knocked, and heard within the sound of a pen moving -rapidly over the paper. - -“Annabella, my love,” began Ida, as she softly unclosed the door. - -The countess was bending over her desk, apparently absorbed in writing. -Her back was towards the door, but she started on the entrance of Ida, -and turning hastily round showed a countenance crimsoned to the temples -with a burning flush. - -“I can’t be disturbed!” she exclaimed in a voice strangely harsh and -impatient. - -“O dear cousin!” cried Ida, “if you would but listen for a moment—” - -“I will hear you to-morrow,” said Annabella, “let me feel that in this -room at least I am safe from unwelcome intrusion!” - -Intrusion! what a word—and from those lips! Ida Aumerle was deeply -hurt, not to say offended, and returned again to her family mortified -and dejected. The vicar breathed a weary sigh, and Mrs. Aumerle said -something about “a termagant,” which made Mabel extremely angry. - -“So then I must be off!” said Augustine. “I had so little hope of the -fair lady’s yielding, that, as you see, my travelling bag is all ready. -Farewell, Mrs. Aumerle; thanks for your hospitality. Lawrence, remember -that I expect you all at Aspendale on the 12th. I shall be glad if by -that time you think my friend Mabel sufficiently fledged to try a flight -in the blue empyrean!” - -After her uncle’s departure Ida retired with a heavy heart to the little -room which, since Annabella’s arrival, she had shared with her sister -Mabel. The gratitude which a woman feels towards one who has offered -to her his home and his heart, and the affection which Ida had from -childhood entertained for her cousin, rendered both the earl and the -countess objects of deep interest to the maiden. Family division jarred -on her soul, like discord on a musical ear, and Ida felt perhaps as -forcibly as her stepmother could, the evil of the course which Annabella -was wilfully pursuing. She was wounded by the words of impatience from -her cousin, which sensitiveness construed into actual unkindness, and -Ida could scarcely draw her thoughts sufficiently from the subject which -engrossed them, to write a letter in reply to some petition for relief -which she knew that it would be wrong to postpone. - -Ida lingered over her letter till she began to fear that it might be late -for the post, to which she proposed taking it herself. As she was putting -on her scarf, in preparation for her walk, Ida heard the countess’s -bell,—Annabella was ringing for her maid. When Ida left her apartment she -met the attendant in the passage, on her return from the room of the lady. - -“Is the countess feeling unwell?” inquired Ida. - -“Her ladyship only rang,” replied Bates, “to desire me to get ready to -carry her letters to the post.” - -“I am going thither myself,” said Ida; “I will take my cousin’s notes; I -think that you might be late.” - -“Thank you, miss,” replied the maid; “but my lady said expressly that I -was to post the letters myself, and not let them out of my hand till I -did so. Perhaps I might carry yours also, Miss Aumerle; I shall not be a -minute in dressing.” - -Ida thanked the maid for the offer, and gave the note into her charge. -But when Bates had hurried off to make her little preparations, Ida -stood motionless in thought. Her heart misgave her as to the nature of -the despatches which Annabella had evidently written with such nervous -haste, and was about to send off with such anxious precaution. Why should -the countess object to trust her letters to any one but her own menial -servant? did she fear that the eye of a loving relative should chance to -rest on the address? Was Annabella about to take some foolish step which -should further alienate her from her husband? Ida remembered with pain -the expression which she had last beheld on the countess’s face. - -“I had better go to her,—I may be in time to prevent some act which -Annabella would hereafter bitterly regret.” This was Ida’s first thought, -and under its impulse she almost laid her finger on the handle of her -cousin’s door. But another feeling made her pause and draw back. Had she -not already found her presence regarded as an unwelcome intrusion,—should -she subject herself again to repulse? “Back! back!” whispered Pride, -though so softly that his tones were not recognised; “force not your -society on one who does not desire it, your counsel on her who despises -it.” - -Ida hesitated—went away some few steps, and then returned to the door, as -if attracted towards her unhappy cousin by some invisible spell. Again -there was a moment’s reflection, again Pride recalled to her mind her -late discourteous reception by the countess, and with a sigh of doubt and -apprehension, Ida Aumerle returned to her own room. - -In the meantime Annabella with a trembling hand had sealed up two large -envelopes. The one contained “The Precipice and the Peer,” hastily but -vigorously written, and was directed to the editor of the magazine in -which the countess had, as before mentioned, occasionally written. The -other letter was addressed to her publisher in London, giving him her -free permission not only to complete the printing of her romance, but to -put the authoress’s name on the title-page, not as “Egeria,” but “the -Countess of Dashleigh.” - -“I will show my lord,” thought the proud, young authoress, “that I -can bring more dignity to the name by my pen, than he by his sounding -title. I shall make him envy the renown of the woman whom he thought -it condescension to marry! He has thought to humble—to subdue—to crush -me; I will prove to him that I can stand alone, ay, stand on a loftier -pedestal than any to which he ever had power to raise me! And _he_ will -be humbled, mortified! He would not have the world even guess that his -wife could join the throng of authors, or touch a publisher’s pay; he -will see that his wife glories in the talents which admit her among the -aristocracy of genius! I have now broken my chain, and can soar aloft -unfettered!” - -Thoughts like these animated the ambitious girl while actually engaged in -her work. Intoxicated by anger and pride, she gave no audience to reason -or conscience, but wrote as if writing for life. But when Annabella -had actually placed the two letters in the hands of her maid, when she -had heard the door close after Bates, there came a sudden revulsion of -feeling, and the countess was startled and alarmed at what she herself -had done. Was she not giving mortal offence to him whom she was bound to -honour? could she expose him to ridicule without bringing deeper disgrace -upon herself? Had not the church pronounced them to be one? Annabella’s -eye fell on the little circlet of gold which Reginald had placed on her -finger on the solemn occasion when, in the sight of men, and the presence -of God, she had taken him for her wedded husband, never to be divided -from him, as she then hoped and believed, until death itself should -them part! How many associations were linked with the sight of that -ring! If gratified pride had powerfully inclined Annabella to incline to -Reginald’s suit, that pride had once been closely linked with love. She -had once listened eagerly for his step, fondly gazed on his handwriting, -heard the tones of his voice with delight, and believed her heart to be -unalterably his! Annabella ran to her window which commanded a prospect -of the road which led to the village, with an undefined yet strong wish -to call back the messenger whom she had sent. She saw Bates walking -briskly from the house, but yet so near, that her mistress’s voice might -reach her. The countess called her, but faintly, for a feeling of shame -choked her voice. Bates did not hear, did not stop. But the sound reached -another ear, and Mabel, attired for a walk, came forth from the house, -and looked up to the window at which the countess now stood. The young -girl’s face was bright and kindly, and the light shining on her blue eyes -and auburn tresses, gave her, to the fancy of her cousin, the appearance -of pictured Hope. - -“Did you wish to call back Bates?” asked Mabel. “I will run and being her -back in a moment.” - -How important in life may be a single second, when on its little point -hangs a momentous decision! The countess almost pronounced the word -“yes!” but with the rapidity of lightning, Pride poured his suggestions -into her ear. Not only would the revocation of the order given appear -weak indecision to the maid, but Mabel would naturally carry back the -letters, while Bates proceeded to the post with Ida’s, and she could -hardly avoid seeing their addresses. She would then easily guess the -cause of their writer’s vacillation and change of purpose; she would -conclude that her cousin had penned that which she was afraid or ashamed -to send. These ideas took much less time in rushing through the brain of -Annabella, than they have done in passing before the eye of the reader, -and they silenced the assent which trembled on the lip of the irresolute -countess. - -“Shall I call back Bates?” asked Mabel again. - -“No,” answered Annabella from above; and retiring from the window the -miserable girl threw herself on a chair, and exclaiming, “It is too late -now,—too late! the irrevocable step is taken!” she covered her face with -her hands, as if by so doing she could shut out reflection. Yet, strange -to say, she yet clung to the shadow of a hope that Bates might find the -post-office closed, and bring back to her the fatal letters! - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -THE DESERTED HOME. - - “Thine honour is my life, both grow in one, - Take honour from me and my life is done!” - - SHAKSPEARE. - - -The Earl of Dashleigh had suffered more acutely from the departure of -his wife, than Annabella or the world believed. He missed her presence -in his home more painfully than even to himself he would own. The -nobleman was, as I have said, not of a hard disposition, and by nature -was of a sociable temperament. Pride had indeed drawn around him an icy -barrier which greatly shut him out from friendly intercourse with his -neighbours, but this very isolation made him the more dependent upon the -few with whom he could stoop to associate. Dashleigh had scarcely been -aware of how much pleasure he had derived from his wife’s wit and lively -conversation, till he found himself suddenly thrown on his own resources -which were limited, and his own reflections which were unpleasant. He -wandered listlessly through his long suite of apartments; their splendid -decorations made them but appear to their owner more empty, desolate, -and dull. Yet Dashleigh dared not quit them for more cheerful scenes, -for he felt, with the instinctive shrinking of a shy, proud, sensitive -man, that his domestic concerns were now the theme of a thousand tongues -and that he could appear in no place where he would not be an object of -observation and remark. Solitude was hateful to the peer, but society -would have been yet more distasteful. - -And Dashleigh was not satisfied with himself. The words of Augustine -Aumerle, pleading for an inexperienced girl doing a foolish thing from a -sudden ebullition of temper, often recurred to the mind of the husband. -A thousand times the questions would force themselves on his mind. “Have -I not been harsh to Annabella? might I not have overlooked a fault? -would not a little indulgence have touched a warm heart like hers, and -have made her destroy with her own hand what she knew must have given -me offence? Was not the entrance of the duke at that most unfortunate -moment when I myself had given way to passion, sufficient to irritate -beyond all power of self-control a woman—a wife—and a peeress!” There was -much of candour, much of generosity in the spirit of Dashleigh, and so -strong did his self-reproach become, that the earl felt greatly disposed -to pass a sponge over the past, and exchange mutual forgiveness with his -wife. But then the first advance must be on her side; Pride peremptorily -insisted on that. If Annabella were penitent, Reginald would be generous, -but never would he degrade himself by suing for reconciliation, however -fervently he might desire it. - -Thus day passed after day, each more intolerable than the last, Reginald -always hoping that the pride of his young partner might give way, and -yearning for the supplicating letter which might give him an excuse for -forgiving. - -One morning, as the Earl of Dashleigh sat at his solitary breakfast, he -listlessly took up the last number of the —— Magazine, which the footman -had, according to custom, placed beside the plate of his master. Light -reading was that to which the earl could alone now bend his attention, -and his thoughts often wandered as he glanced carelessly down the page. -He was however instantly attracted by the name “Dashleigh” in capital -letters on the sheet of advertisements, and read with a surprise which -almost mastered even his indignation,— - - _Now in the press._ - - THE FAIRY LAKE: A Romance. By the - COUNTESS OF DASHLEIGH. - -“This is indeed throwing away the scabbard; this is indeed making a -parade of insolent disregard of my wishes and commands! I hardly expected -this from Annabella!” Such was the nobleman’s muttered exclamation, as -he pushed back his chair from the table. But his feelings received a far -ruder shock when he examined the periodical more closely. He gazed on -“The Precipice and the Peer,” as it seemed to glare upon him from the -close-printed column, as if he scarcely could believe the evidence of -his senses! Could it be,—yes—the initial and the dash could not deceive -him, could deceive no one who knew him! Annabella had held him up to the -ridicule of the world, as a poor, nervous, spiritless wretch,—it was -revenge, mean, despicable revenge, a blow aimed at the most vulnerable -point! - -The earl did not tear the periodical, and scatter its fragments on the -wind, he knew that it was spreading at that hour through the halls and -even cottages of the land; that it was lying on the tradesman’s counter, -in the servant’s hall; that schoolboys were laughing over the peer’s -adventure during the intervals of more active sport! Dashleigh laid down -the magazine quietly, but with something resembling a groan! Bardon had -said that he would wince,—he did more, he actually writhed under the -torture inflicted by the hand of his wife! - -The servants, wondering at the delay of the accustomed ring, came at -length unsummoned, and bore away the untasted breakfast. Dashleigh felt -annoyed at the jingling sound, but scarcely comprehended its cause, and -only experienced a sense of relief when the room became silent again. His -reflections were bitter indeed; he was almost too wretched to be angry. -Was he not a disgraced, an insulted man?—did not his very rank make him -only a more prominent mark for ridicule? Could he ever show his face -again in circles which he had once deemed honoured by his presence? The -time-darkened portraits of deceased Earls of Dashleigh seemed to scowl -down from their heavy gilt frames on the first of the name who had ever -been branded with the imputation of fear! - -A servant brought a letter on a salver; the earl mechanically broke open -the seal. It was from the vicar, Lawrence Aumerle, and had been written -in the first impulse of his indignant surprise on the appearance of the -obnoxious article which he could not doubt had been written by his niece. - -The clergyman, with instinctive delicacy, avoided all direct reference -to the piece so indiscreetly composed by Annabella; but he expressed the -extreme distress felt by both his family and himself at the position in -which she had placed herself. He entreated her husband to believe that -if he gave the lady the protection of his home, it was not because he -sanctioned or even palliated her more than imprudent conduct, but that -he feared that harshness might drive her from a place where unceasing -efforts were made to bring her to a sense of her duty. - -“Lawrence Aumerle is a good man,” said the earl, passing his hand -across his brow, and leaning thoughtfully back in his chair. “Since all -connexion between me and her is broken now for ever—for ever, better -that the wretched girl should remain under the protection of her mother’s -relations. It were worse, far worse that her pride and folly should be -pampered by intercourse with the world,—that world to which she has -sacrificed her husband!” - -Dashleigh arose and paced slowly the length of the room, but returned -with a more rapid step. The name of Aumerle had suddenly suggested to -him a course by which he could fling from himself the opprobrium which -attaches to the name of a coward. He grasped at the new idea with the -energy of a drowning wretch. The world should have no cause to laugh -at the man whose nerves had failed him on the heights of a mountain; -he would do that which should from henceforth effectually silence such -reproach. Taking up writing materials, Dashleigh with rapid hand traced -the following note to Augustine:— - - “DEAR AUMERLE,—You mentioned to me that a balloon is to ascend - from your grounds on the 12th. I should feel greatly obliged - by your reserving a place for me in the car, as it is my - particular wish to make one in the excursion.—Ever yours, - - “DASHLEIGH.” - -The brief note written and despatched to Aspendale, the nobleman breathed -more freely. He could meet the eye of his fellow-men. Pride rendered -the effort needful; pride roused his spirit to make it, and Dashleigh -would not now pause to consider how great that effort might be to one -of his nervous frame. He felt that his honour was at stake. The earl -was somewhat in the position of the knight of old, whose lady flung her -glove into the arena where a fierce lion and tiger were contending, and -before a circle of noble spectators, bade him bring it back to her hand. -The knight dreaded the laugh of the audience more than the yells of the -furious beasts, and Dashleigh shrank from the sneer of the world more -than the untried perils of the air. Annabella had put her husband on his -mettle; she had incited him to wrestle down nature; but it remained to -be seen whether she had cause to triumph in the effect produced by her -satirical pen. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -PLEADING. - - “Then be the question asked, the answer given, - As in the presence of the God of heaven; - All prejudice subdued, all pride laid low,— - ‘Whence have I come, and whither will I go?’ - _Whence have I come?_ what wandering steps have led - To this the painful desert that I tread? - From what neglected duties have I fled - Am I the sufferer from others’ sin, - Or bear my most insidious foe within? - _And whither would I go?_ where have I sought - Refuge from secret gloom and bitter thought? - Deep in the barren wilderness of pride? - - Some crosses are from heaven sent, - And some we fashion of our own; - By envy, pride, and discontent - What thorns across our path are strown! - Not these the thorns that form the crown, - Not this the cross that lifts on high,— - Our sharpest trials we lay down - When sin and self we crucify!” - - -“I own it, dear Ida, I own it! I did wrong, very wrong. I felt that as -soon as the letter had passed from my hand; I must have been mad when I -sent it. I wrote to the London editor the next day to endeavour to stop -the publication, but the piece was already in type.” - -Such, after a painful conference, was the confession which conscience -wrung from the Countess of Dashleigh. - -Annabella was reclining on the sofa, her hair disordered, her eyes red -with weeping. Ida was kneeling beside her, and the magazine lay on the -floor. - -“O Anna, Anna! why not own all this to your husband; throw yourself on -his mercy, entreat his forgiveness—” - -“It would be of no use!” exclaimed Annabella; “that paper he never will -forgive. I have already merited his anger; I will not expose myself to -his contempt.” - -“We may be objects of contempt when we wander from the line of duty, but -never when we are struggling back to it again. When we are lost in a -thorny labyrinth, what wiser, what nobler course can we pursue, than to -retrace every step of the way?” - -“I can’t, I can’t,” gasped Annabella; “there is now a deep gulf between -me and my husband!” - -“Which is widening every moment; which delay may render impassable! -It is yet spanned by a slender bridge of hope; but that bridge is -trembling,—shaking,—Annabella, if you hold back now, it may sink before -your eyes, and for ever!” - -“What would you have me to do?” said the countess. - -“Write a letter to the earl full of the humblest submission; tell him -with what real grief and contrition—” - -“Ida, you do not know me!” cried Annabella, pushing the loose hair -impatiently back from her temples; “I cannot play the part of a penitent -child, begging pardon for having been naughty; I cannot cringe beneath -the rod, like a slave trembling before his master!” - -“Anna!” exclaimed Ida, fixing on her cousin the earnest gaze of her -expressive eyes, “must the slender bridge—your last hope—be broken down -beneath the weight of your pride?” - -“Pride,” observed the Countess, “has been termed the weakness of noble -natures.” - -“Pride,—what is it,” exclaimed Ida, “as mirrored in the word of God? -Is it not of _the world_,—that world that _passeth away_; doth not the -Lord resist _the proud_, while giving _grace unto the humble_? Doth not -inspired truth declare that _before destruction the heart of man is -haughty, and before honour is humility_? Is not the Saviour’s blessing on -_the meek_, and on such as are _poor in spirit_? Why should I multiply -quotations? Your own heart must tell you, dear Anna, that if one thing -more than another stands between man and his Maker, and darkens the light -of Heaven, it is the baneful spirit of pride!” - -“It is interwoven with my nature,” said the countess. - -“The life-long battle of the Christian is with his fallen nature, but -it is a struggle in which he is not left alone. Nay, _a new heart_, a -new nature is given to those who seek it in earnest prayer; a new heart -filled with the Spirit of God, a new nature conformed to the likeness of -Him who was _meek and lowly_ in spirit. What are the Bible emblems of -those who are the soldiers and saints of the Lord? The lamb, the dove, -the little child! Can such be fit types of one who struggles against -lawful authority, and recoils from the duty of submission?” - -Annabella was a little nettled. “I think,” she observed, with some -sarcasm in her tone, “that my saintly cousin is not yet herself so -perfect in this virtue of submission, as to entitle her so eloquently to -enforce it on another.” - -Ida glanced up in surprise. She had not been aware that the quick -observation of her cousin had detected in her the lurking enemy of whose -presence she herself was scarcely aware, and against whom she was hardly -on her guard. But she could not deny the truth of the accusation so -suddenly brought against her, and was too earnest in the cause which she -was advocating to be silenced by a personal remark. - -“Oh! my dear cousin!” she replied, her soft, dark eyes filling with -tears, “let not my errors be a stumbling-block in the way of those whom I -love. Look not at the miserable transcript, all stained and blotted with -human infirmity, but turn your eyes to the blessed Original which is set -before us, that we may copy its sacred features into our hearts and our -lives! What was the spirit of Christ? and hath not Truth declared that -_if any man hath not the Spirit of Christ he is none of His_? Was it not -a spirit patient under suffering, meek under insult, a spirit ever ready -to forgive? Did He not love his enemies, bless them that cursed Him, and -do good to them that persecuted Him? Look on Him, dearest, look on Him, -till in the brightness of His glory sin appear all the darker and more -hateful! There is no pride in heaven, Annabella; we must throw away the -chain ere we reach that bright place, or we never can enter therein! -It is pride that is now shutting you out of your earthly home, barring -against you a husband’s heart, changing domestic peace to misery. Oh, how -terrible the thought that pride has shut out multitudes from an eternal -home, made them aliens from a heavenly Father, rendered them sharers in -the fate of that terrible being, who lost a seraph’s crown through his -pride! God grant,—God grant that neither you nor I may ever be reckoned -amongst them!” - -The voice of Ida trembled with emotion, the large tears coursed down her -cheeks, and her hands were tight-clasped as if in earnest supplication. -It was a sister imploring a sister in danger to seek safety while safety -might be found, to tear from her heart the coiling serpent that was -lurking there only to destroy! Annabella could not be angry; she was -touched by that pleading look; the ice was beginning to thaw, and yet was -too strong readily to give way. What was she called upon to do? Not only -to forgive, but to entreat for forgiveness, to humble herself in the dust -before him to whom her proud spirit had never yet learned to bow! The -countess felt that it would be hardly possible so to stoop,—that even for -heaven itself she could scarcely sacrifice that which it would be hard to -part with, even as a right hand or a right eye! The momentary struggle -was fearful! Wringing her hands, Annabella exclaimed, “O Ida, you know -not how wretched you make me!” - -“And who deserves to be wretched,” said Mrs. Aumerle, who happened at -this time to enter the room, “if not she who chooses no guide but her own -temper and caprice, who will listen to no advice—not even that of her -uncle and her pastor, and who publicly insults the husband whom she is -bound in duty to honour? Rise, Ida, rise,” continued the lady, to whose -plain sense of right and wrong Annabella’s conduct appeared unpardonable; -“I am ashamed to see you on your knees beside a girl who, if she were -fifty times a countess, has forfeited claim to our respect.” - -Annabella sprang from her sofa, and with eyes wide open and lips apart, -stood listening, as her hostess, to Ida’s distress and dismay, finished -her rebuke to one whom she regarded as a spoiled, self-willed, obstinate -child. - -“There is only one excuse for you, Anna, and that is to be found in -the indulgence and flattery to which you have been accustomed from the -cradle. You have been unfitted to take your proper place either as a wife -or the mistress of a household. You have made everything subservient to -your humour. But it is time to have done with such childish follies; it -is time to renounce the petulant pride which makes your family blush -for you! Mr. Aumerle is so indulgent, so unwilling to treat any one -harshly, that you are hardly aware, I suspect, how strongly he feels on -the subject; but I can assure you that he views your late step in the -same light as I do, and he has written to the earl to express to him his -strong disapprobation of your conduct.” - -“Has he!” exclaimed the countess almost fiercely, “then this house is -no longer a place for me! I have stayed here too long already!” and -stretching out her hand to the bell-rope, she pulled it violently to -summon her maid. “I have been driven out of one home by unkindness, I -will not remain in another to be insulted by such language as you have -dared to address to me!” Again, with the force of passion, Annabella rang -the bell, and it was answered, not only by Bates but by Mabel, who ran -in alarmed by the second loud ring, and the sound of a voice raised in -anger. - -“Bates,” cried the countess, “bring me what I may require for walking, -and then pack up my boxes, and follow me as soon as possible to the -cottage in which Dr. Bardon resides.” - -“But—my lady—” - -“At once!” cried the impatient countess. - -“O Annabella, dearest Annabella, do not leave us!” exclaimed Mabel, -clinging to her cousin, while Ida, almost too much agitated to be -intelligible, joined her entreaties to those of her sister. - -“Wait—if it were only one day—one hour—only till papa should return!” - -But Annabella was inexorable. She had worked herself into that state -of passion in which remonstrance seems to have no effect but that of -adding fuel to the flame. The storm of anger was less intolerable to her -spirit than the state of doubt and self-reproach, which, like a chill, -dark mist was falling on her soul, when the words of Mrs. Aumerle roused -her from remorse to sudden resentment. The countess determined to seek -the dwelling of Bardon, where she felt assured of a welcome, and where -she would remain, as she declared, till she had formed arrangements -with friends in London. It was, perhaps, unfortunate that Annabella had -sufficient resources of her own to render her in pecuniary concerns quite -independent of others. She had just arrived at the age which gave her -free disposal of these resources, though it had certainly not proved, in -her case, to be an age of discretion. It was foreseeing the difficulties -and dangers that must beset the wealthy and wilful girl, whose vanity -would render her the ready dupe of interested flatterers, that had made -the vicar anxious to keep her beside him, until the kindly offices -of mutual friends should re-unite her to her husband. This was now -impossible. Annabella, closing her ears to remonstrance, and her heart to -tenderness, quitted the home of her uncle with an expressed determination -never to revisit it again. She would not even suffer her cousins to -accompany her, but with sullen resolution set out on her lonely walk. - -Ida watched her receding figure with a very heavy heart. “It might have -been so different,” she murmured to herself; “her heart was touched, -her pride was giving way, when—” and turning towards the spot where her -step-mother stood, Ida could not refrain from the exclamation, “it was -your coming that changed all!” Without lingering for a reply to the -hastily spoken word, Ida sought solitude in the quiet arbour where she -had, as we have seen, held converse with her sister upon subjects high -and holy. Ida’s only companions now were bitter meditations. She had -reproached her father’s wife, but was her own conscience clear even as -regarded Annabella? Ida recalled with deep distress her own misgivings on -the day on which the countess must have written her fatal paper. - -“If I had only spoken to her then,—if I had only pleaded with her then, -before the irrevocable step had been taken, oh! it would never have come -to this!” and with the anguish of unavailing regret, Ida Aumerle mourned -over her sin of omission. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -CONSCIENCE ASLEEP. - - “Those, however, who having no such plea to urge, are envious, - sour, discontented, irritable, uncharitable, have good ground - to suspect the genuineness of their Christianity. Grace - sweetens while it sanctifies.”—GUTHRIE. - - -How wide a difference do we find to exist between the consciences of -those who hold the same faith, and profess to be governed by the same -commandments! To some—sin appears like the speck on a bridal robe, a -disfiguring blot seen at a glance, which offends the eye, and to remove -which every means at once must be taken. To others—it is a thing as -little to be marked as the same speck on a dark, time-worn garment. The -possessor wears it with an easy mind, perhaps all unconscious of the -stain! - -Thus while Ida grieved at the recollection of that false delicacy or -hidden pride, that had made her shrink from intruding herself upon -her cousin at a time when her presence might have been of essential -service, Bardon felt not the least self-reproach for the evil counsel -which he had given to the countess. It was to him merely a subject of -pleasant speculation whether she would follow it or not, and he was -extremely impatient for the day when the appearance of the next number -of the —— Magazine would set all his doubts to rest. Bardon longed to -see a good home-thrust at the pride of Reginald, Earl of Dashleigh. The -mortification of the peer—his confusion—his indignation—was a subject -upon which the imagination of the doctor actually feasted, for he had -never forgotten or forgiven the words that he had overheard at the Hall. - -And yet Bardon was not considered a bad man nor was he such as the word -is commonly understood. He was an honest, upright man; a steady friend, -an earnest patriot, one who felt for the sufferings of the poor, though -he had little power to relieve them. And Bardon was to a certain extent -religious, at least in his own opinion. He read and venerated his Bible, -constantly attended his church, and had persecution arisen, would have -been a martyr of the cause of truth. - -But Bardon’s religion did not pervade his spirit, it did not leaven his -temper. It left him as jealous, irritable, and vindictive, as if he had -never heard of a gospel of peace! - - “In yonder vase replenished by the shower - Pour the rich wine; it spreads as it descends, - Pervades the whole, and with mysterious power - To every drop its hue and sweetness lends! - Thus should religion’s influence serene - Be felt in all our thoughts, in all our actions seen!” - -But it was not thus with Timon Bardon. He could repeat the Lord’s -prayer,—did repeat it twice every day, without once starting at the -thought, that he was in it constantly invoking a curse on his own -vindictive soul! Forgive us our trespasses, _as we forgive them that -trespass against us_! Was that a prayer for one who treasured up the -memory of a wrong far more jealously than that of a benefit? for one who -prided himself on being “a good hater;” and who spoke of “the sweetness -of revenge?” Bardon reprobated with indignation the mean vices of -covetousness, falsehood, or fraud,—he was ready to call down fire from -heaven on the tyrant, the traitor, or the thief; but he granted, in his -own person, a plenary indulgence, a perfect tolerance to pride, hatred, -malice, revenge—sins as destructive to the soul as the darkest of those -which he condemned. - -Bardon was too poor to be a subscriber to the —— Magazine; but he was -always allowed a reading of that which was taken in at the Vicarage, and, -indeed, Aumerle, though his friend little guessed the fact, subscribed -chiefly on account of the doctor. But Bardon was far too impatient to -know whether the countess had written in this Number, to endure waiting -for a second day’s reading. He did not choose to go to the Vicarage to -betray his eagerness there, but he resolved to walk the whole six miles -to Pelton, in order to purchase a copy for himself. - -“You must have pressing business indeed at the town, papa, to walk so -far in the sun on such a warm day as this!” cried Cecilia in a tone of -expostulation, as she fanned herself with a languid air. “I’m sure that -the heat will kill you.” - -“Not so easily killed,” said the doctor gaily; “there’s nothing like air -and exercise for keeping a man in health.” - -“You have received a call to some patient?” said Cecilia, encouraged by -his cheerfulness to venture upon a subject which was usually forbidden, -for Bardon’s patients were “few and far between.” - -“There’s one who won’t prove patient, I guess,” replied Bardon inwardly -chuckling at the joke. - -His mind was so full of his errand that, though the road was extremely -dusty, and the sun shot down fervid rays, Bardon was scarcely conscious -either of discomfort or fatigue. He walked on as briskly as if the frost -of December braced his nerves and rendered rapid motion necessary. Bardon -was glad, however, when his journey drew near its end, and he reached the -High Street of Pelton, with its rows of tidy shops, to one of which—the -library—he now bent his eager steps. He glanced rapidly over the window -in hopes to recognise the well-known cover of the —— Magazine amongst -prints, envelopes, and daily papers; it was not, however, to be seen, and -Bardon entered the library. - -There was at first no one sufficiently disengaged to be able to attend to -the doctor, and Bardon had to wait with what patience he could muster, -taking off his hat, and wiping his heated forehead, and looking around -him, but in vain, for the Number which he had walked so far to see. - -“Warm morning, sir,” said the librarian, turning to the doctor at last, -as a party of customers quitted the shop. - -“The last Number of the —— Magazine!” cried Bardon, waving superfluous -comment on the weather, and flinging down a coin on the counter. - -“Well, sir,” said the shopkeeper with a smile, “if you had called but -five minutes ago I could have accommodated you with a copy; but there’s -been such a run on the Magazine to-day, that really I have not one left. -You see, sir,” he added, “there’s an article in it that takes with the -public amazingly,—something that’s said to be a hit on one of the leading -men in the county; and,” here he lowered his voice, “people who are wiser -than their neighbours think that they’ve a pretty good guess as to the -pen that wrote it. Anything else this morning, sir?” - -Bardon uttered his emphatic “No!” and hurried out of the shop. “She’s -done it!” he muttered to himself; “I’d give anything to see her paper!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -THE MAGAZINE. - - “We must have satire, pungent, biting satire; - Such is the vile condition of our nature. - Such our depraved and vicious appetites, - No other food will suit our palsied taste.” - - CAMOENS, BY H. S. G. TUCKER. - - -At the corner of the street a baker’s boy and a gentleman’s page were -standing together, laughing at something which the latter held in his -hand, and which his companion was perusing over his shoulder. - -“Now, ain’t that good?” exclaimed he of the bread-basket, showing his -teeth from ear to ear. - -Bardon caught a glimpse of what they were reading. “My lads,” he cried, -“I’ll pay you for that; give the magazine to me,” and he held out the -price for the Number. - -“It’s my master’s,” said the page, as if awakened to a sudden sense of -the responsibility connected with green cloth and gilt buttons; and -rolling up the coveted Number, he hurried on his way to make up for the -time which he had lost. - -The doctor stopped and reflected. “Mrs. Clayton, the major’s blind widow, -she is likely to take in the —— Magazine. I have not called on the old -dame for years, but shell not take a visit amiss. I think that the house -with green blinds is hers, and I am certain to find her at home.” - -Dr. Bardon was not disappointed this time. The blind old lady, who lived -a dull and solitary life, was charmed to welcome an old acquaintance, and -her visitor was yet more pleased to behold the desired periodical on the -table half covered by the supplement of yesterday’s _Times_. - -After the first greetings were over, and inquiries after his “sweet child -Caroline,” (for the lady’s memory was not particularly clear as to the -name or age of Cecilia,) the doctor seated himself by the blind lady, -laughing loud to cover the rustle as he drew the Magazine from under the -paper, and then impatiently turned over the leaves. His object was to -read the article; Mrs. Clayton’s was to obtain a medical opinion gratis -upon the maladies with which she was, or fancied herself to be troubled. -She proceeded, therefore, quite uninterrupted by her supposed auditor, -with a long story of rheumatism and relaxed throat, the various remedies -which she had tried for these evils, and the dubious success of each -application; the eager reader giving an occasional grunt of assent, to -save appearances, until the invalid paused in her narration. - -“Indeed, doctor, I’m beginning to think that the air of Pelton don’t -agree with me; I begin to feel myself— - -“Hanging between earth and sky, like the fabled coffin of Mahomet!” -muttered the doctor, who in his interest in what he was perusing, had -almost forgotten the presence of her whose faint, complaining voice -sounded like a trickling rill in his ear. - -“What is he saying about coffins and hanging?” thought the poor invalid. -“It is very shocking to suggest such horrible ideas to a nervous creature -like me!” - -As the doctor did not seem disposed to add to his incomprehensible -communication, Mrs. Clayton proceeded on with her melancholy story. - -“Last winter my cough was so bad, that Mrs. Graham (you know Mrs. Graham, -her daughter married a Bagot), she recommended me to take cochlico -lozenges. I sent up all the way to London, there’s only one shop there -that sells them, in one particular street, and I got a parcel of them -down by the post. But I assure you, doctor, that they did me no good. -I think that I must have caught a chill by venturing out in March; you -know what the east winds are, doctor; I really had not a wink of sleep at -night,—I actually thought my cough would have torn me to pieces.” - -At this point the reader burst into an irrepressible chuckle of delight, -and as he closed the Magazine exclaimed, “Capital! capital!” to the no -small amazement of the sufferer. Her lengthened silence of surprise made -Bardon,—whose hand was now on the supplement of the _Times_, aware that -it was necessary to say something; and as he had a vague idea that her -talk had been a series of complaints, he cried, hap-hazard, as his eye -ran on the list of deaths, “Very bad! very bad! I’m certain that you -indulge in green tea!”— - -“Oh! well, I sometimes—” - -“Can it be!” muttered Bardon, gazing with stern interest at one of the -names which appeared in the gloomy column. - -“Do you think, doctor, that there is much harm?” - -“Death!” exclaimed Timon Bardon to himself. - -“Surely you don’t mean it,”—cried the old lady, and the doctor was again -recalled by her voice to what was passing around him. - -“If you drink green tea,” he cried, starting from his seat and pushing -the paper to the other end of the table, “I won’t answer for your living -out the year!” and with a very brief good-bye, Timon hurried away, -leaving the poor lady to complain to her next visitor, that Dr. Bardon -was so brusque and so odd that he was just like an east wind in March, -and that she was not in the least surprised that his practice was not -extensive, as if he did not kill his patients with his medicine, he was -likely to do so with his manner! - -What was it that Bardon had seen in the _Times_ that interested him as -strongly as even the article written by Annabella at his own suggestion? -He had seen the announcement of the death of “Mr. Auger, of —— Street -and Nettleby Tower,” of the man who had ruined his prospects—who had -wrested from the disinherited son the estate which his ancestors for -centuries had held. Death should still the emotion of hatred, hush the -voice of revenge; but it is to be feared that in this instance the -advertisement, casually seen, rather increased than diminished the stern -satisfaction felt by the vindictive old man. It seemed to Bardon as if -he were triumphing at once over a dead and a living foe. As he proceeded -on his long walk homewards, he certainly never questioned himself as to -his lack of the charity which _rejoiceth not in iniquity_, or he would -not have revelled as he did in the idea that it was he who had incited -the countess to take such petty revenge on her husband. Nor did Bardon, -as he reflected on the death of his hated supplanter, recall to mind the -warning of the royal Preacher, _Rejoice not when thine enemy falleth, and -let not thy heart be glad when he stumbleth_, or he would scarcely have -muttered to himself with a gloomy smile, that six feet of earth would be -now estate large enough for the late owner of Nettleby Tower. - -Notwithstanding the engrossing nature of his thoughts, the doctor on his -return to his home could not avoid feeling the way long and the weather -oppressive. He could scarcely drag on his weary limbs when at length he -reached the little gate of the garden which surrounded Mill Cottage. - -Cecilia ran out to meet him in a flutter of excitement and joy. - -“O! Papa! only guess who has come here while you were away!” - -“How can I tell!” said the tired man sharply. - -“The countess! the dear delightful countess herself, and she says—” but -Doctor Bardon waited to hear no more, and forgetful of fatigue, hurried -into the cottage. - -Annabella came forward to meet him, and in a few brief sentences -explained to him her situation, and her wish to remain no longer under -the roof of her uncle the vicar. As she had expected, the doctor gave -her a cordial welcome, and pressed her to remain at his home for as -long a period as might suit her convenience. He was proud to be able to -exercise hospitality, and though he would never have pleaded guilty to -the charge, was by no means insensible to the honour of entertaining a -woman distinguished both by her rank and her talents. Would it not also -be an additional mortification to the detested earl, to know that the -Countess of Dashleigh was the guest at a cottage scarcely larger than his -gamekeeper’s lodge! - -As for Cecilia, she was in ecstasies. The presence of a real countess -seemed to her actually to glorify the little abode, and her only misery -was the difficulty of providing suitable accommodation for such an -illustrious visitor. The cottage she had often termed “nothing but a -bandbox,” and though poor Miss Bardon was willing to put herself into -any straits, empty out all her drawers, squeeze herself and her wardrobe -into any corner, it required a wonderful amount of ingenuity to make the -titled guest and her maid tolerably comfortable in the tiny tenement. -Cecilia not only used every effort to stimulate to exertion her old deaf -domestic, but herself worked hard in secret to prepare her own room for -the countess. She ruthlessly sacrificed a white muslin robe for the -adornment of the toilette table, cut up her best bow to loop it up with -ribbon, and even ventured to invade her father’s garden to ornament the -apartment with flowers. - -Annabella had little idea of the amount of trouble and excitement which -she was causing, nor how heavily the expense of hospitality would press -on her proud but poor entertainers. While the countess was conversing -in the sitting room with the doctor, Bates arrived with her lady’s -boxes, and was ordered to carry them up to her apartment. The maid -surprised poor Cecilia on her knees, industriously stitching up a hole -in a worn-out drugget, her face flushed and heated with the unwonted -occupation. Miss Bardon started up in some confusion, her pride deeply -mortified at being found in a position, and engaged in an employment so -unbefitting a fine lady, which it was her ambition always to appear. - -[Illustration: An Unwelcome Surprise. - -_Page 168._] - -Bates looked round with wondering contempt on the miserable hovel, as -she deemed it, which her young mistress had chosen in preference to the -luxurious apartments of Dashleigh Hall. The lady’s maid had serious -doubts as to whether she could so compromise her own dignity as to remain -in a house where no “footman was kept.” To share a pigeon-hole seven feet -square with a deaf and stupid maid-of-all-work, who could not even listen -to her gossip,—did ever devoted lady’s maid submit to such hardship -before! Annabella, on her part, found fault with nothing, never appeared -to notice any difficulties, and accommodated herself to cottage life as -if she had been accustomed to it from her childhood. - -“There is not a particle of pride in her!” exclaimed the admiring -Cecilia, as she had done upon a previous occasion. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -EXPECTATION. - - “It is you - Hath blown this coal betwixt my lord and me.” - - SHAKSPEARE. - - -The announcement that our sovereign Lady herself had resolved to take -a bird’s-eye view of her dominions from the clouds, could hardly have -created a greater sensation in the county of Somersetshire, than the -rumour, presently confirmed “by authority,” that the Earl of Dashleigh -was to be one of the ærial travellers in the _Eaglet_. From the squire -to the swineherd, every one within a circuit of many miles was full of -the strange report. The nobleman’s motive for attempting the feat was -palpable to all who had read or heard of “The Precipice and the Peer;” -and speculation was rife, and heavy bets were exchanged as to whether the -hero of the Swiss adventure would ever summon up sufficient courage to -mount aloft in a balloon. - -The rumour reached the dwelling of the Bardons. The doctor elevated his -bushy black brows, and drew in his lips as if to whistle; while Cecilia -stole a glance at the countess to see the effect of the announcement -upon her. Annabella changed colour, but affected to believe the report -absurd, and dismissed the subject at once from her discourse if not from -her thoughts. But from that hour the young wife’s manner became reserved -and gloomy. She made no effort to keep up conversation, did not seem to -hear questions addressed to her, or if she heard, gave her replies at -random. She would scarcely touch at table the delicate food procured for -her with trouble and expense. Cecilia in vain taxed her brain to find -something that a peeress could eat, and the doctor brought vegetables -from his garden which he believed that Covent Garden could not equal, to -see them lie untasted on the plate of his silent guest. - -Under any other circumstances the temper of the old lion would have given -way, but the report of Dashleigh’s intended exploit had filled him with -malignant delight. Bardon felt assured that the spirit of the adventurous -peer would fail him when put to the proof, and so eager was the doctor -to enjoy this expected new source of humiliation to his foe, that he -resolved to accept Augustine’s invitation after all, and make one of the -spectators who should witness the ascent of the _Eaglet_. - -Poor Cecilia, however, who had no such secret source of satisfaction,—who -would, of course, be constrained to remain at home with her guest, and -see nothing of the gaiety at Aspendale, began to suspect that even the -honour of entertaining a peeress might be purchased at too high a price. -Annabella now took no pains to flatter the little vanity of her hostess; -never even glanced admiringly at her elaborate dress, never asked her to -touch the guitar, praised nothing, smiled at nothing, seemed really to -care for nothing; while the poor lady of the cottage scarcely dared to -think what her father would say when the tradesmen should send in their -formidable bills! - -Amongst those who were most startled by the news that Dashleigh had -decided on ascending with his friend, was the aspirant to the same -perilous distinction, the enthusiastic Mabel Aumerle. The warm champion -of the wife doubted at first whether she could consistently make one in a -party in which the tyrant husband was to appear. But Mabel did not long -waver in doubt. Her desire to share her uncle’s excursion was too intense -to be easily damped. - -“I need have nothing to say to the earl,” she observed, “even if sitting -in the car by his side. My uncle has a right to invite whom he pleases, -and I have none to find fault with his selection. Besides, I daresay when -it comes to the point, that the nervous earl will find some excuse for -not ascending at all.” - -Mabel might have added that late events had shown her that her admired -countess had not the right altogether on her side. With all her spirit -of partisanship, Mabel could not defend “The Precipice and the Peer,” -and she was hurt and almost offended at the abrupt manner in which her -cousin had quitted the vicarage. On the whole, therefore, Mabel decided -that no reason existed to prevent her doing her utmost to persuade her -indulgent father to permit her to join the æronauts in their excursion -through the realms of air. - -The vicar and his wife, on hearing of the earl’s intention to be -at Aspendale, at once relinquished their purpose of going thither -themselves. They felt that there would be an awkwardness in meeting him -in society after receiving his disobedient young wife into their house. -Ida, also, for more than one reason, declined her uncle’s invitation. -But to Mabel staying away upon such an occasion would have been a -disappointment which the whole amount of her philosophy would not have -enabled her to bear; and Augustine therefore arranged to drive over for -his youngest niece early on the morning of the eventful 12th of May. - -“Ida, dearest,” exclaimed Mabel on the evening preceding the long-desired -day, “do you know that at last, after coaxing,—such hard, such -persevering coaxing,—I have really managed to get a sort of consent from -Papa to my going up in the _Eaglet_! I took his arm as he was walking up -and down upon the lawn, and I was so persuasive, so irresistible, I told -him so much about Mr. Verdon, and how he could manage a balloon just as -easily as I manage a pony,—that at last convinced—” - -“Or tired out,” suggested Ida,— - -“He said to me, with his dear kind smile, ‘I don’t forbid your going, my -child, but you must ask your mother’s opinion about it.’ O Ida! I could -have danced for joy! What a kiss I gave him for the permission! There -never was so kind a father as he!” - -“But you had a condition to fulfil,” observed Ida, “which must have -moderated your delight.” - -“Yes; I am not fond of asking any one’s opinion, above all, that of—well, -don’t look so grave, dear Mentor, I won’t say anything to shock you; but -to think of Papa’s calling her my _mother_! Off I flew to Mrs. Aumerle, -eager as a bird on the wing. I found her in her store-room, measuring -out tea and sugar, soap and candles. ‘Mrs. Aumerle,’ I cried, without -waiting to get my breath, ‘Papa does not forbid my going up in the car -of the _Eaglet_ with my uncle, but he desires me to ask your—’ The old -horror did not even give me time to finish my sentence. ‘Mabel,’ she -said, looking as prim as that poker, ‘once for all, I tell you I will -never give my consent to your doing so ridiculous a thing;’ but she was -overshooting her mark,” continued Mabel, laughing gaily, “papa told me -to ask her _opinion_, and not her _consent_,—there’s a mighty difference -between the two.” - -“But, Mabel, when Mrs. Aumerle positively forbids you to go—” - -“She’s not my mother!” cried Mabel quickly; “I’m not bound to yield -obedience to her. You do not do so yourself. Did not Mrs. Aumerle tell -you to have nothing more to do with the woman at the toll, and yet you -gave her some tea and warm flannel the very next day!” - -“But, Mabel, I thought that the woman was misjudged and hardly treated, -and—” - -“She turned out to be a hypocrite, you know; but that is nothing to the -point. The question is,—whether you and I are to be lorded over by Mrs. -Aumerle? whether we are forced to obey any one but our own dear father?” - -Ida knew not what to reply; for had she counselled strict obedience to -her step-mother, she too well knew that her practice would contradict her -preaching. - -“Ah! you think just as I do,” cried Mabel; “we ought to be civil and -attentive to Mrs. Aumerle for the sake of peace, and to please Papa, but -we need not be ruled by her commands.” - -“In the present case,” said Ida, avoiding the point of discussion, “I -think that our step-mother may be right. I should not be easy if you were -to be exposed to the slightest danger.” - -“Danger! nonsense!” cried Mabel; “when this is Mr. Verdon’s fifteenth -ascent, and we are to come down in a couple of hours! Why, even the earl, -with his sensitive nerves, does not fear to ascend!” - -“And yet I cannot help dreading—” - -“Ida, Ida,” exclaimed Mabel, putting her hand playfully before the lips -of her sister, “you have no voice in the matter; Papa never told me to -ask your consent or even your opinion. If he see no danger, why should -you? You would never be so unkind, so dreadfully unkind, as to prevent my -having what would be to me the greatest enjoyment in the world!” - -Mabel said a great deal more which it is not necessary here to repeat, -to remove every lingering objection which might be felt by her sister. -Ida disliked the idea of the excursion, though half convinced by Mabel’s -arguments that there was no real cause for apprehension; but in her -opposition she did not take her stand on the only tenable ground,—that of -the duty of submission to lawful authority. Ida, with all her gentleness -and tenderness of conscience, felt as strong a repugnance as her sister -to bowing to the judgment of the woman to whom her sympathies so little -inclined. She constantly repeated to herself that their natures and their -spheres were different, and that the step-mother and step-daughters might -each pursue their own course of usefulness without interfering with one -another. Ida would be on the footing rather of a friendly ally than that -of a dependent subject of the mistress of her father’s house. Pride had -not lost his hold upon the gentle, self-sacrificing Christian. - -Mabel was very glad that during the evening the conversation of the -family circle turned rather upon Annabella and her husband than on her -own share in the morrow’s balloon expedition; she was so fearful lest -anything should be said to induce her father to revoke his extorted -permission to her to ascend in the car. - -When the young ladies had retired for the night, the vicar said to his -wife, “Did Mabel ask your consent, my dear, to the excursion on which her -heart is so greatly set?” (the father, it may be observed, did not draw -the nice distinction upon which Mabel had insisted between opinion and -consent.) - -“She did,” replied the lady, folding up her work, “and I put an -extinguisher at once upon the project.” - -“You did?” said the vicar thoughtfully; “well, I daresay, my love, you -were right.” - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -A SUNNY MORN. - - “Ay, those were days when life had wings, - And flew—ah! flew so wild a height, - That like the lark that sunward springs, - I was giddy with too much light!” - - MOORE. - - -It was with a sensation of delightful expectation that Mabel Aumerle -rose on the following morning. The sun rising over the distant hills -was scarcely so early as she. Mabel could hardly believe that the -long-expected day was actually come, on which her most delightful dream -of hope was to be fully realized! - -No one else in the vicarage was stirring when the young girl crept softly -from the house, for her spirit felt so blythe and elastic that it could -only expand in freedom under the open vault of heaven. How deliciously -fresh was the breath of morn! Mabel gazed at the light clouds above her, -and almost shouted for joy at the thought that in a few hours she would -be winging her way amongst them, no more chained down as a captive to -earth. She would no longer envy the little bird, pouring his carol down -from the sky—she would soar yet higher than he! - -Mabel lingered about the garden for nearly two hours, too much excited to -settle for a moment to any quiet occupation. She was troubled by nothing -but the fever of impatience, and the fear that something might occur to -stop her expected treat. She ever and anon looked anxiously towards the -house; as long as Mrs. Aumerle’s shutters were closed, Mabel retained a -feeling of security; but as soon as she saw them open, the eager girl -determined to go a little way on the road by which her uncle was to come, -“to meet him and prevent delay,” as she said to herself, but really to -give opportunity to no one to object to her ascent in the _Eaglet_. - -How quiet the road appeared! how thick lay the diamond dew on the sward -that fringed it! how bright and cheerful all nature looked to the -rejoicing eye of Mabel! Yet her uncle seemed to her to take a wearisome -time in coming. The minutes were terribly long, and the impatient girl -could scarcely believe the testimony of the village church clock when it -struck only the number eight. - -“I think that the morning will never end!” exclaimed Mabel; “I was -foolish to rise so early. But see,—see,—surely there is a gig coming at -last down the hill,—and that is my uncle driving; I should know Black -Prince miles off, he trots down at so dashing a pace! O uncle!” she -cried, running forward to meet him, “it seemed as if you never would -come!” - -“I’m not late,” said Augustine, reining up his horse, whose black hide -was flecked with foam; “we shall be back in good time for breakfast. Up -with you!” and Mabel, with eager pleasure, mounted to the seat at his -side. - -“Shall I just wish them good morning at the vicarage, and see if Ida has -changed her mind?” - -“Oh no! pray don’t,” said Mabel uneasily, “I am certain that Ida would -not come.” - -“Well, then we had better be off for Aspendale, and not keep Verdon -waiting for breakfast,” cried Augustine, backing his horse up to the -hedge to turn his head round on the narrow road. - -“How good you are to come all this way for me!” said Mabel. “And so Mr. -Verdon has really arrived, and the balloon, is it all right—all ready?” - -“It will be ready by the time that our guests arrive,” replied her uncle, -lightly shaking the rein, and touching his steed with the whip, “Have you -leave to ascend with us, Mabel?” - -“Yes; Papa’s leave, at least,” she replied. “Oh! how delightful it is to -go driving on at this pace; but it will be far more delightful still to -go scudding aloft before the breeze!” - -“Is not that Bardon’s cottage?” asked Augustine, as they dashed past a -little tenement. Mabel gave an affirmative reply. - -“I had had some thought,” observed her uncle, “of calling for Dr. Bardon; -but I confess that, after what has past, I feel somewhat disgusted at -his coming at all. There is a singular want of good taste in his showing -himself at this time to Dashleigh.” - -“Surely the doctor is not going in the balloon!” exclaimed Mabel. - -“No, no, not quite so bad as that,” answered Augustine with a smile; “I -could not undertake to carry up lion and bear in one car, even with my -fair niece to help me to keep the peace between them.” - -“But do you believe,” asked Mabel, “that the earl will really ascend?” - -Augustine’s handsome countenance became grave. “He must do something, -poor fellow,” he observed, “to efface from the minds of men the -remembrance of that mischievous squib.” - -“But if he be really so timid—” - -“Reginald has no want of courage,” said Augustine Aumerle, with unusual -warmth in his manner; “I have seen him plunge into a rapid stream to save -a drowning child; and when we were boys together, I have known him fight -a bully who was twice as strong as himself. Certainly he never could -climb a tree,” added the friend in a more thoughtful tone. - -“And he played a poor figure on the mountain, according to ‘The Precipice -and the Peer,’” said Mabel. - -“There was a great deal of exaggeration in that piece; any one could see -that,” replied Augustine. “It contained the very essence of malicious -satire. I don’t know what could have possessed the countess to write it.” - -“Pride, I suppose,” answered Mabel. - -“Detestable pride!” muttered her uncle. - -“But do you not think that they will be one day reconciled to each other? -Annabella has so much that is noble in her; she is so generous and -affectionate,—and you seem to have a good opinion of the earl.” - -“The mischief is,” replied Augustine, “that he is as proud as she. No, I -fear that neither will ever yield, and that this grievous separation will -last as long as their lives.” - -Mabel and her uncle soon arrived at Aspendale Lodge, a lonely but -comfortable dwelling, picturesquely situated on the slope of a wooded -hill, with a large meadow spangled with daisies and buttercups behind it, -from which the ascent was to take place. - -Augustine helped Mabel to alight, and then leading her into his house, -introduced her to Mr. Verdon, a small, lightly-built man, with sharp -features, and an appearance of remarkable intelligence in his keen grey -eyes. Mabel was so eager to see the balloon that she could not wait until -she had partaken of the breakfast to which her drive and early rising had -disposed her to do full justice, but hurried into the back field. - -The huge ball was not yet inflated, but Mabel looked with interest on -the inert mass, which was so soon to rise as if instinct with life, and -was full of eager questions, which the goodnatured æronaut, himself an -enthusiast on the subject, took a pleasure in answering. - -The breakfast was a very cheerful meal. Augustine had such a vast -intellectual store always at his command, and Vernon was so completely -master of the theme then most interesting to Mabel, that she listened, -and occasionally joined in the conversation with the most keen delight. -Then when the breakfast was concluded, and preparations were begun for -inflating the balloon with gas, Mabel joyously flitted from meadow to -hall, from hall to meadow, now watching Mr. Verdon’s operations, now -superintending those of the housekeeper, busy in laying out the elegant -collation which Augustine had ordered for his guests. Mabel was in her -element, in her glory! She was to do the honours of her uncle’s house, -receive her uncle’s guests; and this to a lively girl of fifteen was a -dignity of no common order! - -As carriage after carriage arrived, Mabel welcomed every new comer, -imitating Ida’s manner as well as her overflowing spirits would let her. -It was her chief pleasure to tell every friend whom she knew, that she -herself was to go in the balloon, to hear this one marvel at her courage, -and that one envy her rare fortune,—to feel herself something of a -heroine, an object of attention to those around her. - -Dr. Bardon was one of the earliest arrivals at Aspendale Lodge. His first -question was, “Has the earl come?” - -Mabel replied, “Not yet;” and he gave a malicious smile. - -“What does the countess say to this?” inquired Mabel; “did she know that -you were coming to the Lodge?” - -“I can scarcely make out what she knows or does not know, what she likes -or does not like,” said the doctor gruffly; “but I suspect she’ll look -out for the balloon. The wind, I see, is from the east; ’twill bear you -in the direction of Mill Cottage.” - -The circle of guests would now have been complete, but for the -non-arrival of one. That one was most eagerly watched for. The -oft-repeated question, “Has the earl come?” was now exchanged for -another, “Will the earl come?” and jests were made, and bets were laid, -while every minute that elapsed added to the impatience of the party. - -A large concourse of people had gathered in a neighbouring field, drawn -from a circuit of many miles to see the ascent of the _Eaglet_. Ayrton -had sent its labourers, Pelton its shopboys and mechanics; the ploughman -had left his team, and merry farmers’ wives had forsaken their dairies, -and come with their children and grandchildren to witness the wonderful -sight. The hedge which surrounded Augustine’s meadow was lined and -double lined with the eager heads of such spectators as these, while -around the balloon itself gathered a brilliant circle of gaily-dressed -guests, privileged to occupy a nearer place. - -The great striped ball had now been swelled to its utmost dimensions, and -swayed gently to and fro, as if luxuriating in the sense of power, only -restrained by a number of strong ropes from bursting upwards towards the -skies. - -“It is like swollen pride,” observed Mabel, “impatient to mount aloft.” - -“And puffed out with the idea of its importance, like the fools of this -world,” added the doctor; “but,” he continued with a sardonic sneer, -“good strong cords of prudence will keep the most aspiring down!” - -Augustine was annoyed at the sarcasm, and the pretty general remark -now occasioned by the non-arrival of Dashleigh. Mr. Verdon had quite -completed his preparations. In the gaily painted wicker car, ornamented -with little fluttering flags, the ballast had been carefully placed, -together with the grappling irons, a case of instruments to be used -by Augustine for scientific purposes, and “last, not least,” a basket -containing some refreshments, and two bottles of sparkling champagne. - -Mabel was becoming almost wild with impatience, when suddenly the heads -of the outside spectators were turned round in an opposite direction from -that of the balloon, and then hats and handkerchiefs waved in the air, -and cheer after cheer from the rural crowd announced to the more select -circle that the long-expected was coming at last. Presently a chariot, -with servants in red liveries, and a coronet on the panel, dashed up -the hill to Aspendale Lodge! Mabel could not refrain from clapping her -hands. “He is come! he is come!” the murmur ran through the crowd, and -the guests assembled in the meadow simultaneously directed their gaze -towards the house. Augustine, with a sense of relief, hurried in to greet -his illustrious guest at the front entrance. After the lapse of some -minutes he emerged from the dwelling, and crossed his back garden on his -way to the meadow; while at his side, pale and silent as a corpse, walked -Reginald, Earl of Dashleigh. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -THE ASCENT. - - “The brave man is not he who feels no fear - For that were stupid and unnatural; - But he whose spirit triumphs o’er his fear, - And boldly dares the danger Nature shrinks from.” - - JOANNA BAILLIE. - - -Has the reader ever pictured to himself what, at the time of the Reign of -Terror, must have been the emotions of some noble victim borne towards -the fatal guillotine? Imagine the sensations of some nobleman, fostered -in the lap of luxury, accustomed to every indulgence, full of the pride -of birth, when the rolling death-cart brings him suddenly in view of the -horrible engine of destruction, and the dense crowd of eager spectators -assembled to witness his cruel end! A sense of personal dignity struggles -with that of mortal fear. He must not show the inward agony that chills -his shuddering frame; he must be firm and calm before the gaze of those -thousand curious eyes; and yet the horror of that hour almost overcomes -his self-command, and he fears that his resolution may give way in the -fiery trial! - -He who can realize to himself this picture, will be able to enter into -the sensations of the unhappy earl, when from his carriage window he -first beheld the huge globe, towering high above the surrounding crowd, -and heard the sound of the cheers which greeted his own tardy appearance -on the spot. The vain hopes which he had clung to vanished in a moment -from his mind. Mr. Verdon had not disappointed his friend,—no accident -had marred the balloon in its transit to Augustine’s house; no, there -it was ready, quivering as if with eager joy to welcome its victim! How -Dashleigh would have blessed any mischievous urchin who should, by fire -or steel, have clipped for ever the wings of the _Eaglet_! - -Let it not be supposed, however, that the Earl of Dashleigh was a coward. -The testimony borne by Augustine Aumerle had been simply just. As a -soldier the earl would have done his duty, and earned an honourable name; -he would not have blenched on a field of battle, and if wounded, would -have endured in silence the anguish caused by the probe or the knife. But -his physical constitution was such that he could hardly look down from -the height of an ordinary wall without a giddy sensation. His head seemed -to turn round on the brink of a chasm, and the horror of falling down a -precipice haunted him even in his dreams! It was not to be wondered at -that to such a man the idea of gazing down thousands of feet from the -clouds was fraught with unutterable terror; and the earl looked so ill -when Augustine Aumerle came forth from the door to meet him, that his -friend involuntarily exclaimed, “Dashleigh! you are not fit to ascend!” - -“I must, I must,” was the muttered reply, as with an ice-cold hand the -earl returned the grasp of his host. - -“Come first into the house and refresh yourself; I am certain that you -are not well;” and so saying, Augustine led the way into a room where a -cold collation had been spread out for his guests. - -The earl walked up to the table, poured out a quantity of wine into a -tumbler, and took it off at a draught. Augustine feared that there might -be some risk that his friend would dull his intellect in the hope of -strengthening his nerves. - -The two then proceeded, as we have seen, through the garden into the -meadow. The earl acknowledged the salutations of his acquaintance by -stiffly bending his head, but never uttered a word. - -“Will you go back?” whispered Augustine, who began to feel uneasy as to -the result of the experiment before him. - -The earl hesitated for an instant, only an instant; he caught sight -of Dr. Bardon, watching him with a sarcastic smile on his face, which -stung the proud noble like a scorpion; pushing forward with a determined -effort, Reginald sprung into the car in which Mabel, with girlish -impatience, had already taken her place. - -“Now we only want Verdon,” observed Augustine, more leisurely following -his companion; “he is busy giving last orders, but he will be with us in -a minute.” - -“And then, skyward ho!” exclaimed Mabel, whose heart beat high with -excitement and pleasure, which was only heightened by a slight touch of -feminine fear. - -Whether it were the effect of her words, or of the somewhat rocking -motion given to the car, even while resting on the grass, by the swaying -of the huge ball above it,—or whether the wine too hastily taken had -risen into the brain of the earl, was a point never clearly decided; but -at this moment the nervousness of Dashleigh suddenly rose to a pitch -which entirely mastered his judgment. Rising from his seat with an -agitated air, he attempted to push past Augustine, in order to get out -of the car. His friend, extremely annoyed at the thought of so public an -exhibition of weakness, laid his hand on the arm of the earl; but this -slight action seemed only to rouse the miserable man to frenzy. - -“Let go!” exclaimed Dashleigh, in a voice so loud that it resounded -to the utmost edges of the crowd; “Let go!” echoed a thousand voices, -believing it to be the signal for ascent! The men who were grasping the -ropes instantly obeyed the word, and almost with the sudden effect of -an explosion, the immense balloon darted upwards to the sky, shrinking -before the upturned eyes of the breathless spectators, till its vast -globe gradually dwindled to the apparent size of the plaything of a child! - -There were deafening cheers from the crowd beyond the hedge; “Bravo! -bravo! off she goes!” shouted stentorian voices; but on the faces -of the nearest spectators were painted fear and dismay, as Mr. -Verdon—interrupted in the midst of hurried directions by the sudden cry -and shout, stretched out his hands wildly towards the receding balloon, -and exclaimed in a tone of anguish,—“Merciful Heaven! they are lost!” - -“Lost! what do you mean, man?” exclaimed Bardon, coming forward in his -blunt manner to give a voice to the fears of the rest. “And how does it -happen that you are not in the car?” - -“The signal was given too soon!” cried Verdon, his nervous accents -betraying his emotion. “I was just questioning my assistant as to the -working of the valve, for I thought that something seemed wrong with the -rope, when a voice shouted out, ‘Let go!’ and the idiots took that for -the signal.” - -“But you do not apprehend danger?” cried a gentleman near. - -“Danger!” repeated Verdon impatiently; “why, Aumerle knows no more of the -management of a balloon than a child;—Heaven only knows if we shall ever -look on their faces again!” - -Terror, wonder, compassion, now spread rapidly through the assembled -throng; lip after lip repeating the tale with its own comments and -exaggerations. Exclamations of pity and grief resounded on all sides, as -straining eyes attempted to pierce the cloud which soon hid the _Eaglet_ -from view. Once it was visible for a few minutes, and little dim specks -could be distinguished in the car, which were known to be the living -human beings who had so lately been standing in health and strength on -that very spot! It was a sickening reflection that they were now utterly -beyond reach of man’s aid, drifting away at the mercy of the winds, -perhaps to some terrible fate which might be guessed at, but never known. -None, perhaps, felt the revulsion more terribly than Timon Bardon. He who -had exulted in revenge, found the cup which he had grasped so eagerly, -and deemed so sweet, suddenly changed to a burning poison. His fierce, -strong nature made his sense of suffering peculiarly acute. “How shall -I tell this to Annabella?” was the distracting thought uppermost in his -mind, as throwing himself on a horse which had been lent to him for the -occasion, he dashed wildly along the road which led to his little home. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -IN THE CLOUDS. - - “How fearful - And dizzy ’tis to cast one’s eyes so low! - ... I’ll look no more - Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight - Topple down headlong!” - - SHAKSPEARE. - - -“Oh, how delightful!” was the first exclamation of Mabel, as the -_Eaglet_ shot upwards, swiftly, but with a motion so smooth that its -speed was only made known by the earth and the spectators appearing to -sink down—down—ever growing less and less, while the cheers sounded -fainter and fainter, as rising up from a distance. “How delightful!” she -repeated, waving a little flag as her farewell to those below. - -But when the smiling Mabel turned to look at her companions, she was -somewhat startled to mark that the countenance of her uncle was of the -same ashen hue as that of the earl. - -“How is it that Mr. Verdon is not with us?” exclaimed Mabel in some -surprise. - -Augustine silenced her by a warning look. His grasp on the arm of -Dashleigh had grown heavier and tighter; but for that grasp it is -possible that the nobleman, in the first excitement of fear, would -have flung himself out of the car. Augustine’s first thought was for -his companion, for he felt that the unhappy Dashleigh was trembling -convulsively under his hand. - -“Well, my friends,” said he, in a tone so cheerful that it completely -deceived his niece; “Verdon will think it a shame if we do not go back -for him directly; I propose, therefore, that we descend.” - -“Yes, descend!” cried Dashleigh wildly; and a strange faint echo from the -far earth repeated the word, “Descend!” - -Augustine was almost afraid to loosen his hold on the arm of the earl; -it was, however, necessary that he should try some means of bringing the -_Eaglet_ to the ground. He was, of course, aware that this means must be -to let out the gas which inflated the ball, but ignorant as he was of -the practical working of a balloon, however easily he might grasp its -theory, Augustine was left to guess the way in which this effect might be -produced. Mabel, who had perfect confidence in the power of her gifted -uncle to master any difficulty, and who saw no change in his countenance -except the paleness which overspread his handsome features, had no idea -of the anxious fear which now perplexed his mind. - -Augustine laid hold of a rope which seemed to him to be the one most -probably attached to the valve at the top of the ball, and in this his -reason had not misled him. The valve was constructed to open inwardly, -so that the pressure of the gas within might keep it constantly closed, -except when mechanical means were applied to counteract that pressure. -But Mr. Verdon’s misgiving had not been without foundation; there was -some hitch with the valve which prevented its working properly under an -inexperienced hand. As Augustine pulled the rope, the balloon entered -into a cloud, and the travellers suddenly found themselves enveloped in a -dense, damp, chilly mist. - -“Are we ascending or descending?” asked Mabel, “for the balloon is so -steady that it does not seem to be moving at all.” - -Her uncle, who, with far greater anxiety, had been asking himself the -same question, replied in a voice still perfectly calm, “throw down some -pieces of paper, and we shall ascertain that fact directly.” - -Wondering that he should not know it without having recourse to -experiment, Mabel immediately obeyed. “The bits seem to fall, not like -paper, but like lead!” she exclaimed. - -“Then we must be ascending rapidly still,” muttered Augustine; and he -pulled the rope with such desperate force that it snapped in his hand, -and all communication with the all-important valve was broken off for -ever. - -“God have mercy upon us!” was Augustine’s instinctive prayer, not -uttered aloud from the fear of alarming his companions. The thick mist -prevented Mabel from having any clear idea of what her uncle was doing, -but she thought him strangely silent, and a damping chill came over her -young spirit like the fog which enwrapped her form. Augustine looked up -almost in despair at the huge indistinct mass looming as a dark cloud -above him. Oh! that there were but any means of tearing open a passage -for the gas! The wicker car, suspended by ropes, hung too low beneath the -ball for it to be possible for Aumerle’s extended arm to reach the silken -globe, or his penknife would have at once offered an easy solution of the -difficulty. A light, agile sea-boy might possibly have climbed one of the -ropes, and so have reached the inflated ball; but the brain of Augustine -turned dizzy at the very thought of attempting to clamber at the awful -height to which he knew that he must now have attained. His frame was -remarkable for strength as well as for manly beauty, but was altogether -unfitted for a perilous feat like this. To have attempted it must have -been inevitably to fall and perish. - -Suddenly, to Mabel’s relief, the balloon emerged from its misty shroud, -and burst again into the brightness of day. The scene was one never to be -forgotten, but Mabel was the only one of the travellers whose mind was -sufficiently at ease to enjoy its sublime and awful beauty. - -Above was the sky—deeply, intensely blue, such as in Italy meets the -enchanted gaze. Below was a floor of pure white cloud, spread out, as it -appeared to Mabel, like a vast sea of cotton, on which lay piled here and -there vast masses, or islands of snow. Some of these masses were floating -beneath them with a slow and majestic motion, impelled by currents of -wind which did not reach the strata of air to which the balloon had -ascended. Presently the white floor seemed gradually to part on either -side, and an opening appeared through which a strange panoramic view of -the earth burst on the wondering eye. It lay—Oh! how far beneath! There -was no distinction of mountain or plain, a dim blue hue tinted all. In -the words of a former æronaut,—“The whole appeared a perfect plain, the -highest building having no apparent height, but reduced all to the same -level, and the whole terrestrial prospect seemed like a coloured map.” -There lay Dashleigh Hall, the seat of ancestral pride, shrunk to the -appearance of a tiny toy,—a mere nothing viewed from that awful height, -even as all earth’s pomps and grandeur must appear to those who survey -them from heaven. For the first time since he had worn his honours, -Dashleigh felt them no cause for pride. He was in his own eyes no peer, -no lofty aristocrat, but a poor, weak child of man, with every nerve -unstrung, and an undefined horror hanging over him. Gladly would he then -have exchanged places with the poorest peasant standing on solid ground, -though not possessing a single foot of it. - -“Look upwards—upwards—not downwards!” cried Augustine, alarmed at the -wild expression on the haggard face of his friend. “Lie down, Dashleigh, -at the bottom of the car, and fix your gaze on the sky above!” - -“Uncle!” exclaimed Mabel, “how strange your voice sounds—like what one -might hear in a dream; and my own, too, seems quite different from what -it was when we were on the ground.” - -“This is the effect of the rarified air upon the ear.” - -“Uncle, the objects below us grow smaller and smaller, we must be rising -higher and higher; I thought that you meant to descend.” - -Augustine’s only reply was a look which in an instant, as by a lightning -flash, revealed to the young girl the full danger of their situation. - -“You cannot descend!” she gasped forth, clasping her hands in terror. - -“Remember _him_,” said Augustine in a very low voice; “if he knew our -helpless condition, I believe that it would turn his brain.” - -“But cannot you tell how to let out the gas?” - -“I cannot—” - -“You who know everything—” - -“I do not know this.” - -Mabel sank back upon the seat from which she had half risen while -addressing her uncle, who, holding firmly by a rope, was standing upright -in the car. She was a brave girl, and acted as such; she neither uttered -cry nor shed tear, but she turned very pale and cold, and shivered as if -mantled in ice. It gave her now a sickening oppression to gaze below. -Was she never, never to return to that earth which lay beneath her—never -again to be pressed to her father’s heart—never to meet the smile of her -sister! Was she to float on in these dreary regions never before visited -by man, buoyed up in a moving coffin, till— - -The awful, deathlike stillness was suddenly broken by a sharp report, -sounding to the startled ears of the travellers something like that of a -pistol! It was but a cork in the refreshment basket going off from the -diminished pressure of the atmosphere causing the wine in the bottle to -expand, but the explosion of a cannon could hardly have produced a more -startling effect than a noise so sudden and so unexpected. Dashleigh -sprang like a maniac from the bottom of the car, in which he had been -quietly lying, and made a frantic attempt to throw himself out of the -car. Augustine had to struggle and wrestle to keep him down, as one -engaged in a contest for life; and the _Eaglet_, at the same time, -passing into a violent current of air, rocked and shook, and swung to -such an extent, that Mabel had to grasp tight hold of the wicker-work to -prevent herself from being flung down into the clouds which again had -closed beneath them. - -The whirlwind grew yet more tremendous, tossing to and fro the enormous -balloon as if it had been a bubble on the current, actually turning it -round and round, and making the car describe a wide swinging circuit -below it. - -It was a very awful moment—a moment in which the heart almost ceases to -beat, and the only utterance of the soul can be a cry to the God that -made it! It seemed as in answer to that instinctive prayer to the ear -that is never closed, that the whirlwind soon appeared to lessen its -violence, the motion of the balloon abated, the frightful swinging of the -car ceased, and Augustine uttered a faint “thank God!” while Dashleigh -sank senseless at his feet! - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -REGRETS. - - There is no wretchedness where guilt is not; - Religion can relieve the sharpest woes, - All—save remorse, be softened or forgot! - But where can she—the hopeless, find repose - Whose anguish from her own transgression flows! - My pride—my folly—bade a husband die, - His life embittered, hastened on its close! - Yes, weep, ye who can weep,—but I—but I— - My heart weeps tears of blood,—and yet my eyes are dry! - - -The mind of Ida was not quite satisfied that it was right in her -sister to ascend in the _Eaglet_, contrary to the direct and positive -prohibition of her step-mother. Ida could not help suspecting that she -herself had not proved altogether a safe guide for her younger sister; -she feared that while discouraging the expedition on the plea of danger, -she had not sufficiently done so on the score of duty. The more Ida -reflected on the subject, the more conscience reproached her for rather -nurturing than repressing the spirit of independence which proudly rose -against the control of Mrs. Aumerle, both in Mabel’s heart and her own. - -Ida was not one to deaden conscience by refusing to listen to its voice, -and she arose on the morning of the 12th resolved to use her strongest -persuasions to induce Mabel to give up her project. She went to the room -of her sister, but found it already empty; and then proceeded to the -garden, but Mabel had left it some minutes before. - -Ida felt that it was too late for her to undo any mischief which might -have been done, and made no mention at the breakfast table of Mabel’s -intention to ascend, not wishing to be the first to draw upon her sister -the displeasure of Mrs. Aumerle. - -“Perhaps,” thought Ida, “reflection has had the same effect upon Mabel -that it has had upon myself; she may have come to the like conclusion -that it would be wrong to go in the car. I earnestly hope that it may -be so, for I feel a strange uneasiness at the thought of her venturing -aloft. Yet there can be no real danger, or my uncle would never have -wished to take Mabel with him, nor my dear father have half consented to -her going up in the balloon. If she only come back in safety I shall feel -a weight taken off my heart, and I shall in future more earnestly try to -lead her aright in all things.” - -About the hour of noon, as the vicar was writing in his study, he was -interrupted by the entrance of Ida. - -“Dearest Papa,” said she, gently approaching him, and seating herself at -his feet, “forgive me for disturbing you when you are busy, but I want -your permission to go and see Annabella again.” - -The vicar looked grave, but made no reply. - -“When I last went to Mill Cottage with Mabel, and our cousin refused to -see us, you said that it was your desire that we should leave her to -herself for the present; but it is to-day, as you know, that her husband -is to go up in the _Eaglet_, and I cannot help imagining how anxious and -unhappy Annabella must be, because—” - -“Because she has goaded him to the step,” said the vicar. - -“Somehow I am so restless to-day—I can neither read nor work,—and my -heart draws me towards Annabella. I fancy—it may be presumption, but I -fancy that her spirit may be softened just now, and that some word might -be spoken which might make it more easy to reconcile her to her husband. -Have I your consent to my going?” - -“I will go with you, my child,” said the vicar putting up his papers and -locking his desk. “I believe that anything that we may say to that poor -misguided girl will be likely to have more effect during the absence of -Dr. Bardon. Whatever may be the cause for his dislike, it is evident that -he nourishes a strong prejudice against the Earl of Dashleigh.” - -It was not long before the father and daughter, bound on their errand of -love, reached the cottage in which the countess had chosen to take up her -abode. They were ushered into the sitting-room where they found Cecilia -bending pensively over a piece of embroidery, and the countess with a -book in her hand, which she had, however, only taken up as a device for -silencing conversation, as during the last half-hour she had not turned -over a leaf. - -Miss Bardon welcomed her guests with smiles; Annabella with a stiff -politeness, which said as distinctly as manner could convey meaning, -“There must be no entering upon any disagreeable subject of conversation; -the parson must not preach, nor the friend attempt to persuade.” - -Ida’s heart yearned over her cousin, but she had not courage to break -through that formidable barrier of reserve. The vicar saw that the first -sentence bordering upon reproof would be the signal for his niece to -quit the apartment. Disappointed, but not yet disheartened, the good -man inwardly prayed that He who can alone order the unruly wills and -affections of his sinful creatures, would bend the proud spirit of the -haughty girl, and open her eyes to her error. Little did he dream of the -manner in which that prayer would be answered! - -As might be imagined, under the circumstances the conversation was -constrained; Miss Bardon principally sustained it, for she was the only -one present who could talk at ease on all the trifling topics of the day. - -“Hark!” exclaimed Cecilia suddenly, “there is a horse running away!” and -her words seemed confirmed by so rapid a clatter of hoofs, that not only -Ida, but Aumerle and the countess followed her quickly to the open door -to see if some rider were not in peril. - -The alarm was in one sense a false one; the horse that came gallopping on -was impelled to furious speed by the whip and the spur of its rider, as -if— - - “Headlong haste or deadly fear - Urged the precipitate career;” - -and the party saw with surprise that this rider was Dr. Bardon. He reined -up so suddenly at the garden-gate that the panting steed was thrown -violently back on its haunches. The doctor flung himself quickly from the -saddle, and without even pausing to throw the rein round a post, advanced -to the party at the door. His long white hair streamed wildly back from -his excited face. - -“Something has happened!” exclaimed Ida; Annabella’s tongue seemed to -cleave to the roof of her mouth! - -“The balloon!” cried Cecilia; “tell us, oh! tell us, has some accident -befallen the balloon?” - -The gesture of Bardon was one which might well have beseemed a prophet of -desolation, as raising his arm he exclaimed, “Lost! lost! past recovery!” - -“How lost?—what would you have us believe?—remember in whose presence you -speak!” cried Lawrence Aumerle almost sternly. - -“I cannot mince my tale,” was the gloomy reply, “nor deal out poison by -drops. By some fatal mistake the balloon was let off before the car had -been entered by the only man who could guide it. We are never likely to -hear anything more of it, or the unfortunate beings within it!” - -“Who were in it?” exclaimed the Aumerles in one breath. “Who were in it?” -echoed the countess in a sepulchral voice, fixing upon Bardon an eye -which sought to read in his face a sentence of life or death. - -“Augustine Aumerle was there—and Mabel—” - -The father uttered an exclamation of anguish, and Ida staggered -backwards, closing her eyes, as if a poniard had stuck her. - -“And—and—the Earl of Dashleigh!” - -Annabella gave such a piercing cry as agony might wring from a wretch -upon the rack, and would have sunk on the earth but for the support of -her uncle. - -“There may be hope yet,—God is merciful,—He will have compassion on -us,—let us pray, let us pray!” exclaimed the vicar, in the sight of the -misery of another seeming half to forget his own. - -“See—see!” exclaimed Cecilia, suddenly pointing towards the sky. - -There was breathless silence in a moment, and every eye was eagerly -turned in the same direction. A small dark object appeared aloft, -floating far, far higher than wing of bird ever could soar! Who can -describe the intensity of the agonizing gaze fixed by father—sister—wife, -upon that little distant ball? Arms were wildly stretched towards it, -but not a word was uttered, scarce a breath was drawn while it yet -remained in sight. Even when it had disappeared, the upwards-gazing -group seemed almost as if transfixed into stone; till Bardon, with rough -kindness, attempted to draw Annabella back into the cottage, muttering, -“I feel for you, from my soul I do!” - -“Feel for me!” exclaimed the countess, shrinking from his touch with an -expression of horror, her pent-up anguish finding vent in passionate -upbraiding; “you who led me to this abyss of misery, you who roused up my -accursed pride, you who made me write words which I would now only too -gladly blot out with my heart’s blood! But for you I might have listened -to truth; but for you I might never have left the true friends to whom I -turn in my agony now! Oh, may God forgive you,” she added wildly,—“God -help me to forgive you, but never, never enter my presence—never let me -behold you again!” - -And so they parted, the tempter and the tempted—the countess to return to -the vicarage with her almost heart-broken companions, Dr. Bardon to brood -in his solitary cottage over deep, unavailing regrets! - -In the dark abode of endless woe thus may bitter recrimination deepen the -anguish of the lost, when some wretched soul recognises the author of his -misery in one called on earth his friend, who had stirred up his evil -passions, and pampered his fatal pride! - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -SOARING ABOVE PRIDE. - - “By grace divine my heart towards Thee draw, - By due afflictions check presumptuous pride, - With hope and love turn fell despair aside, - And make my chief delight Thy holy law!” - - ROBERT TUDOR TUCKER. - - -The great red sun, like a huge globe of fire, was sinking in the west,—I -would have said the horizon, but that word gives the idea of a point -nearly level with the eye, while the orb appeared far beneath them to -the travellers in the _Eaglet_. The red light tinted with a fiery glow -the lower hemisphere of the balloon, which was all that met the eye of -the earl, for he had cautiously abstained for many hours from glancing -downwards towards the earth. - -Dashleigh was now perfectly calm, though silent and thoughtful. That -one fearful day had effected upon the young nobleman the work of years. -Deeply solemn were his reflections. With a conscience neither dead nor -unenlightened, the earl had needed no prophet to decipher for him the -fiery “letters on the wall” of affliction. Heavily and yet more heavily -had descended on him the Almighty’s chastening hand, and every blow had -evidently been aimed at his pride! Had he not been humiliated in the -presence of his friend,—satirized by his wife, ridiculed by the world, -and had he not now by an unconquerable weakness, which a girl would have -blushed to betray, been the actual cause of the fearful position in -which he and his companions appeared! Bitter, bitter was the humiliation -of the proud man! Had he been destitute of the faith which supports, -and the hope which cheers, Dashleigh would have been utterly crushed by -the successive strokes laid upon him. But in him there was much of the -gold, which beneath the hammer “does not break, but extend.” Dashleigh -resembled less the son of Kish whom trial drove into fierce despair, -than the haughty Assyrian king who, having endured that most humbling -degradation which was the appointed punishment for pride, “lifted up” his -“eyes unto heaven,” and “blessed the most High,” with a spirit subdued. - -Strangely had passed the day; as light as the feather down, the balloon -floated in the ocean of air. The party in the car had partaken of the -slight refreshment which had been provided, in little expectation that -even that would be required during a two hours’ expedition. Beverage -there was none, for the wine had exploded both the bottles from the cause -mentioned in a preceding chapter. The lips of each of the sufferers was -parched and dry, and a painful sensation of thirst was added to the -trials of the hour. - -Augustine and Mabel had exhausted all their inventive powers in -contriving means to cut an opening in the ball of the balloon. Several -attempts had been made, but all had ended in disappointment. The knife, -flung upwards with a steady hand, had glanced back from the varnished -silk, and fallen through depths which the mind shuddered to calculate. -Every effort but strengthened the conviction that all effort was -unavailing. - -There had been silence for a long time in the car,—silence of which -dwellers upon earth can scarcely form a conception. There was here no -rustling leaf, no buzz of an insect’s wing to break the awful stillness! -Motion itself was impalpable, being unaccompanied by the slightest sound! - -“Augustine,” said the earl, raising himself on his elbow, for he still in -a reclining posture occupied the lower part of the car, “do you believe -that you can hide from me the fact that you have no power over the -balloon; that our condition is hopeless?” - -“Nay,” replied his friend, “let us never despair. The gas may yet find -some vent. There was never yet balloon made so air-tight that it would -not leak in the course of time.” - -Mabel thought that she had never seen the pale, delicate features of the -earl invested with such true dignity, as when with low, but distinct -utterance he made his reply: “I would rather look the danger in the face. -My brain is not dizzy now,—none are dizzy who look above rather than -below them. I have a presentiment that we shall never reach the ground -alive.” - -Not a word was uttered in contradiction or reply, and the earl continued -in the same calm, deliberate tone: “Death is a great preacher, Augustine; -he tells us startling truths! He tarnishes with a touch the gilding on -objects that once appeared to us bright! He levels the prince and the -peasant. He has been preaching to me a soul-searching sermon, and from a -very solemn text.” - -“What is the text?” inquired Augustine, while Mabel bent forward to -listen. - -“_The loftiness of man shall be bowed down and the haughtiness of man -shall be laid low, and the Lord alone shall be exalted in that day._” - -Again there was solemn, deathlike silence! Perhaps, as Mabel and her -uncle sat watching the last edge of the sun’s disc disappear, and the sky -gradually darken into night, the self-reliant genius, the high-spirited -girl, were secretly applying to themselves the sublime words of the -prophet of Judah. - -While twilight still lingered, a thought struck Mabel. She remembered -that she had brought with her an envelope ready directed to her sister, -with a sheet of blank paper enclosed, for her fancy had been pleased -with the idea of dating a letter from “the clouds.” Making a table of -her seat in the car, Mabel knelt down, and with a pencil wrote a sad -and touching farewell to the parent and sister so tenderly loved. Many -names were kindly remembered in that note, for the proud spirit of Mabel -was softened and subdued by the pressure of trial, and no one was then -recalled to her mind but with a feeling of kindness. To her step-mother -Mabel sent a long message. She confessed her fault with frank regret, -and asked the pardon of Mrs. Aumerle, not only for the last act of open -disobedience which was now so fearfully punished, but for a long course -of petty provocations, for sullen looks, and proud retorts, and bitter -words spoken against her; Mabel entreated forgiveness for all. Her tears -dropped fast upon the sheet—the first tears which she had shed on that -day, but she dashed them hastily from her eyes. Mabel then folded the -note and kissed it, as if believing that the paper might bear to her -home the impress of that last token of love; then she dropped her letter -over the side of the car, watching it as it descended, and picturing to -herself the grief and tenderness with which it would be received, and -read, and treasured up as a mournful memorial of her of whose fate it -might be the only record. - -Dashleigh had watched the action of his young companion, and now drew -from his vest a small but very elegant pocket-book, which bore on one -side an embossed gold shield, on which his name was engraved, surmounted -by his coronet. This was the first gift of affection which the young -nobleman had received from his affianced bride. It had been his constant -companion since the hour when he had received it from her hand. Dashleigh -opened the book, and gazed for some moments on the inscription written -on the fly-leaf, though the thickening darkness would have rendered it -difficult to decipher, had he not known every syllable by heart. The -earl then, rather by feeling than sight, traced two words on one of the -blank pages, reclasped the book, and gave it to Mabel with an expressive -movement of the hand. Sadly and silently she dropped into the dark abyss -the love token of the unhappy Annabella. - -More than an hour elapsed before the silence again was broken. The thin -air of these upper regions had become intensely cold, and Mabel shivered -in her spring attire. The balloon was drifting steadily on before the -night breeze, as was marked by its dark globe appearing to blot out one -constellation after another from the sky as it swept on, the sole object -that broke the immense expanse of the star-lit heavens. - -“I think,” observed Mabel with a heavy sigh, “that all in my father’s -house must now be met together for evening prayers.” She paused, as fancy -brought before her eye the warm lighted room, the curtains drawn, the -lamp-light falling on so many dear familiar faces! Mabel thought how her -father’s voice would tremble as he uttered his fervent supplications for -those in such awful peril, and how Ida would try to smother her bursting -sobs, that she might not unnerve him by the sound of her distress. -“They will be praying for us,” continued Mabel; “should we not pray -together—even here?” - -“None have more need of prayer,” murmured the earl; Augustine’s head was -bowed in assent. - -“God is with us—even in this awful, awful height where no human being can -approach us,” faltered Mabel. - -“Augustine Aumerle,” said Lord Dashleigh, “do you lead our evening -devotion.” - -“Any one rather than me!” exclaimed Augustine; “none so unfit—so -unworthy—so incapable!” - -And there was truth in these strange words. To the gifted scholar, the -eloquent orator, the language of prayer was not familiar, the spirit of -prayer had long, alas! been unknown! Augustine had indeed, during his -visit to his brother, usually joined in the family devotions, but he had -done so from courtesy to man, not from reverence for God. Unconvinced -of the weakness or sinfulness of his own nature, he had sought neither -pardon nor aid; he had felt no need of a divine sustaining power, for -he had contentedly rested on his own. Augustine had made an idol of -Intellect, with Pride for its priest, under the much abused name of -Reason. What marvel that with all his knowledge Augustine knew not how to -pray! - -The earl felt the difficulty almost as strongly as his friend, though -from a different cause. He had never been disturbed by a doubt on the -subject of religion, and had from his earliest youth regarded revealed -truth with reverence, and acts of worship with respect; but he had -carried even into his devotion the cold formality which naturally -followed an overweening sense of personal dignity. Dashleigh had been -a regular attendant at church; but with the shy reserve of his nature, -it would have seemed to him, till that night, impossible to have poured -forth in the hearing of man an extempore prayer to his God. But where -Pride is humbled, the spirit of supplication may rest. Never had the peer -so felt before the littleness of personal distinctions; never, therefore, -before had his heart been so attuned to simple prayer. As Augustine -shrank from leading the devotions, which each one present felt would be -at once the source of comfort and the fulfilment of duty, the nobleman, -with folded hands, repeated aloud the first petitions in the Litany -which instinct rather than memory suggested to his mind. Augustine and -his young niece in low and earnest tones echoed the cry for mercy upon -miserable sinners; and when it was followed by the comprehensive prayer, -“in all time of our tribulation, in all time of our wealth, in the hour -of death, and in the day of judgment—_Lord, deliver us!_” arose in solemn -unison from three voices and three hearts. Never had the supplication -been more earnestly, more fervently breathed. - -The Lord’s Prayer concluded the brief service, which for the time made -that little car appear as a floating temple. The chill cloudy solitude -seemed less terrible when the name of the Giver of all good, the Fount of -all blessings, had sounded within it. Those who had prayed together, felt -their souls more knit together, and more prepared to meet with firmness -whatever the dark, drear night might bring. Philosophy had brought no -comfort, earthly rank no relief, but the sense of the presence of a -heavenly Father was as balm to the suffering sinking soul. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -A BROKEN CHAIN. - - In the world’s battle-field, - Though the strife may be glorious, - The Tempter may yield, - And our Faith be victorious; - In the deep soul alone - Can the last stroke be given, - To God only known - And the angels of heaven. - - -The grief of Annabella and of Ida partook of the nature of their several -characters; one was violent and passionate, the other quiet and deep. -In the strong revulsion of feeling and anguish of remorse, the countess -could scarcely remember a fault in him whom she had lately stigmatised -as tyrannical, and satirized as weak. The earl’s tragical fate seemed to -throw a halo around him, and his wife remembered him but as the tender -wooer, the affectionate husband, the dignified, yet courteous nobleman, -graceful in person, lofty in principle—who had sought and won the heart -of a girl whose pride, petulance, and passion, had destroyed the man whom -she loved! Annabella tore her beautiful hair, and struck her bosom, as if -she would have wreaked vengeance on herself for the fearful ruin that -her folly had wrought! - -Ida found that her presence could afford no consolation to her cousin; -and then, not till then, she hastened up to Mabel’s little room, now -again to become her own, and falling on her knees by the bedside, -buried her face in her hands, and poured forth an agonized prayer. She -remained long in the same position, and then arose trembling and pale. -Every object in the room seemed to awaken a fresh burst of sorrow. There -was Ida’s own likeness on the wall, sketched by the hand of Mabel,—a -rough, unfinished drawing, indeed, but yet a labour of love. There were -fragrant lilac blossoms from the favourite bush which Mabel always called -her “Ida,” and there on the toilette table lay a small Bible, Mabel’s -birthday gift from her sister, where many a mark and double mark showed -that it had at least been perused with interest and attention. This Bible -now afforded the most soothing consolation to the aching heart of Ida. - -Mrs. Aumerle had been far more astonished than pleased at the unexpected -return of the countess, until she learned its sad cause. Her feelings -then became of a very mingled nature. The danger of the party in the -balloon, and the grief of those left behind, excited her heartfelt pity; -but her soul vibrated between that emotion, and indignation at the -conduct which had occasioned the tragic event. When the lady thought of -the countess’s pride, or the wilful disobedience of Mabel, she could not -shut out from her mind the reflection that they had brought all their -trouble upon themselves. Mrs. Aumerle’s predominating sensation, however, -was sympathy with her afflicted husband, and she did everything that lay -in her power to inspire him with the cheering hopes that were strong -within her own bosom. - -“Nay, Lawrence, give not way to despair; this agrees neither with -reason nor religion. Depend upon it everything will turn out far better -than you could expect. The balloon will come down quietly to earth as -other balloons have done, and we shall have the whole party sitting -here—perhaps to-morrow, talking over their adventures, and smiling -at our alarm. Don’t tell me that your brother knows nothing about -guiding a balloon—he is so wonderfully clever that he knows everything -by intuition. He will find some method of getting safely out of the -difficulty; my mind always grows easier when I think what a genius he is!” - -Aumerle was walking up and down in his study, as if motion could relieve -his mental distress, at each turn pausing at the window to look anxiously -out upon the sky. He stopped short as his wife concluded her last -sentence, and murmured, “My poor, poor brother! the bitterest trial of -all is the fear that he is unprepared for the awful change!” - -“This very trial may be sent to prepare him for it, to make him think -more than he has ever yet done of the one thing that is needful. And our -poor wilful Mabel—” - -“Oh! blame not her—blame not her!” exclaimed Ida, who had entered as Mrs. -Aumerle was speaking, and who now bent at her stepmother’s feet in a -posture of humiliation as well as of grief; “you and my dear father must -learn how much of her fault rests with me. It is a bitter confession, -but I can find no peace till it is made. Dear Mabel came to me yesterday -evening, and told me that Papa had given a kind of permission to her to -ascend in the _Eaglet_, bidding her at the same time consult you—” - -“I positively forbade her,” interrupted the lady. - -“I know it—she told me all—and had I done my duty,” continued Ida, her -voice hardly articulate through sobs, “I would have told her that your -refusal was sufficient—that she should submit and obey. But somehow—I -can scarcely recall in what way—a chord of pride was touched in my own -sinful heart; I felt it difficult to urge on her a duty which I had so -often neglected myself, and I can now scarcely hope for my father’s -forgiveness, or yours, or my own—” - -The last words were sobbed forth on the bosom of Mrs. Aumerle, for -Ida’s lowly confession had made her step-mother forget everything but -the sister’s grief and repentance, and no parent could more kindly -have strained to her heart a beloved and penitent child, than the hard, -severe, practical Barbara Aumerle embraced the daughter of her husband. -Her tones were those of maternal tenderness and sympathy for the sorrower -as she said, “Don’t reproach yourself, darling,—don’t reproach yourself, -I believe there were faults on both sides!” - -The vicar, with moist eyes and a thankful heart, saw for the first time -cordial sympathy between two beings whom he dearly loved; and Pride fled -in gloomy disappointment from the scene, for he knew that the chain of -his captive was broken! - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -THE AWFUL CRISIS. - - “Oh! how sweet to feel and know - E’en in this hour of dread, that dear to Thee - Is the confiding spirit!” - - E. TAYLOR. - - “Henceforth I learn that to obey is best, - And love with fear the only God; to walk - As in His presence; ever to observe - His providence, and on Him sole depend, - Merciful over all His works, with good - Still overcoming evil, and by small - Accomplishing great things, by things deemed weak - Subverting worldly strong, and worldly wise - By simply meek!” - - MILTON. - - -It is the darkest hour of night, that hour which precedes the dawn. A -thousand stars are spangling the deep azure of the sky, looking down, -like angels’ eyes, on a world of sin and sorrow. Augustine’s gaze is -fixed upon one beauteous planet, which, in its calm light, outshines the -tremulous glory of the constellations. Mabel has wearily fallen asleep -where she sits, resting her head on her arm, the piercing cold of the -upper air making her slumber the deeper. The earl, still stretched at the -bottom of the car, is also finding a short oblivion of woe, and in dreams -is wandering again upon the warm, bright, joyous earth, with Annabella at -his side. - -Augustine, on his dizzy height, in the stillness of the hour, feels -himself alone with his God. The conversation held at the vicarage with -his brother now recurs to his mind with a deep and solemn effect. -Augustine draws a mental parallel between his own present awful position -and that in which his soul has for so long unfearingly remained. Has he -not been, as it were, floating between earth and heaven, carried up by -his pride, full inflated as that swollen ball which is at this moment -bearing him onward perhaps to destruction! Has he any reason to rejoice -that he has risen high above the mass of his fellow-creatures, if his -very exaltation prove the means of his deeper fall! - -“Yes, fool that I was! I believed my intellect formed to pierce through -the mists, to rise above the clouds, to find for itself a path that -no mortal had discovered before! With proud presumption I refused the -guidance of Faith in those regions to which Faith alone has access. I -trusted to reason—philosophy—genius!—what have they done for me here? I -have proved unequal even to the task of regulating the motions of this -silken machine, yet I feared not to steer my own way through the vast -mysteries of spiritual knowledge! As regards the soul as well as its -mortal tenement, I have been the sport of the changing winds, enwrapt in -the seething mist, struggling on through thickening darkness—and to what -point now have I reached? I see the calm, still stars above me, shining -like the eternal truths which audacious Pride once dared to question; I -view the orbs which for ages unnumbered have kept their steady course -through infinite space, upheld by the Power and Wisdom whose mysteries -I vainly sought to fathom; earth’s lights have all faded and gone, -the brightest illumine no more, the clearest throw no ray on this -darkness,—the gems of the firmament alone, unchanged and unapproachable -by man, are glittering over me still! - -“Yes, I feel myself an atom in the vast universe which is filled by -God! And yet man’s moral responsibility—the awful trust of an immortal, -an accountable soul—give a fearful dignity to him still! Am I fit to -appear in the presence of Him before whose throne I so soon may stand? -Is there anything in myself to which I can cling for support in the day -of judgment? Can I plead my merits—my virtues—my works? No; the truth -is forced upon me here, which mortal presumption so long refused to -acknowledge. As well might I fling myself from this car, and falling a -thousand fathoms hope to reach the earth uninjured, as trust to find -safety for a guilty and sentenced soul without the one sacrifice for sin, -the atonement provided for those who with child-like faith rest upon it, -and it only!” - -As Augustine pursued his solemn meditations, gradually the stars -became dimmer at the approach of the dawn, even as the heavenly lights -vouchsafed to guide us here, will pale in the radiance of a more perfect -knowledge of a more glorious day; the deep blue sky assumed a somewhat -lighter hue, and the looming outline of the balloon was seen more -distinctly against it. - -“Do my eyes deceive me,” thought Augustine, “or is the curve of that -outline less bold than it appeared in the light of the setting sun? -It may be but fancy, but it seems as though the ball were less fully -inflated; I could imagine that I even perceive what resembles a wrinkle -in the silk. God in mercy grant that this new hope be not an illusion!” -As he spoke, something like the smoke-wreath from the mouth of a -discharged cannon floated upwards not far from the car, then another and -another, all ascending lightly from beneath, and mounting high above the -balloon. - -“The clouds appear to rise!” exclaimed Augustine eagerly; “a sure sign -that we ourselves are descending!” He started from his seat, and grasping -a rope, looked over into the abyss. - -The dim grey twilight scarcely yet sufficed to show objects distinctly, -though not a single cloud now obscured the wide spreading prospect below. -Augustine strained his eyes with gazing for several minutes before he -became fully assured of the nature of what lay beneath him. One long -faint streak of red at length clearly defined the line where the sky met -the rounded horizon; there was no object, not the smallest, to break -that hard sharp line which separated misty blue from deepening crimson; -nor swelling hill, nor rising mountain was there; Augustine’s pulse -beat quicker and he gasped as for breath, for he was now convinced of -two facts, each of thrilling importance,—that the _Eaglet_ was quickly -descending, and that it was descending into the sea! - -“The breeze must have borne us above the Channel, and may bear us across -it, if for but one or two hours we can keep the balloon aloft! But the -gas is evidently fast escaping, and unless I lighten the car, we shall -soon be precipitated into the wide waste of waters beneath!” - -With almost the rapidity of thought, Augustine caught up the large bag of -ballast and flung it out of the car. In the lapse of—as it seemed—two or -three minutes, a splashing sound distinctly came from below, the first -noise exterior to the car which had reached the ear of Augustine for many -a weary hour. Slight as it was, it seemed sufficient to startle the earl -from his sleep; he opened his eyes, and gave a little start of horror at -the sight of the vast ball above him, which in an instant brought back to -him the consciousness of what had occurred. - -“Still this living death!” he exclaimed, and his voice awakened Mabel. - -“It is very, very cold,” she murmured drowsily; “and is the night really -gone, and the beautiful morning breaking? These soft rosy clouds are -above us now, perhaps we may see—” - -“Do not look down, Mabel!” cried her uncle. - -But the word came too late,—the trembling girl was already surveying the -broad, smooth ocean plain. - -“Where can we be going?” she exclaimed; “it is one flat blue expanse -below, and there is a scent as if from the sea!” - -“We must be over the Channel,” said Dashleigh; “Augustine Aumerle, what -are you doing?” - -His friend had lifted up his box of instruments and flung it over the -side; the basket then followed. Augustine laid his hand on the grappling -irons, but paused, till, at a shorter interval than before, the splash -was heard from the sea. - -“Are we sinking down?” exclaimed Mabel and Dashleigh as if with one -breath. - -Augustine nodded an assent, and threw over the grappling irons. Nothing -remained in the car which could be flung away to lighten the balloon. - -“Oh! what will become of us?—what will become of us?” exclaimed Mabel, -clasping her hands in terror, as death in a new form stared her in the -face. - -“Nothing will keep the balloon up,” said Augustine Aumerle; “we must -commend our souls to a merciful God.” - -“Can you see no ship?” cried the earl; “no object moving on the waters?” -and starting up in the eagerness of hope, he himself looked over the side -of the car, but almost sickening at the dizzy prospect, sank back again -to his place. - -How gloriously burst the bright rays streaming from the eastern horizon! -how splendidly rose the sun as a monarch rejoicing in his might, -crimsoning the floating clouds, and casting across the waters a path -of quivering gold! It struck the trembling Mabel with a sense of awful -beauty, as nearer and nearer the _Eaglet_ dropped toward ocean’s liquid -grave! Again the coloured stripes of the ball shone bright in the light -of day, but it was with something of horror that the travellers now -regarded that which Mabel had once playfully spoken of as an emblem of -swollen pride. It had carried them aloft through the clouds to dreary, -deathlike isolation, but failed to support them now in the hour of peril -and distress. - -Down—down—down—yet with more rapid and breathless descent, not in -perpendicular fall, but borne sideways by the freshening sea breeze, sank -the once towering _Eaglet_. The white crests of the billows could now be -distinguished, and even the fin of a porpoise that flashed in the sunbeam. - -“Might not the car float?” exclaimed Mabel; “it is so buoyant and light!” - -“It possibly might for a time,” replied Augustine, “were it not attached -to this frightful incumbrance. Dashleigh,” he asked suddenly, “have you a -knife? I parted yesterday with mine.” - -“For what use?” inquired the earl, as he gave a large one which he -happened to have on his person. - -There is no time for reply, the _Eaglet_ is nearing the sea; -down—down—down—till with a violent shock which splashes the spray many -feet into the air, the car strikes the waves and rebounds again, its -dripping, gasping occupants clinging hard to prevent themselves from -being flung out into the sea. - -Down again—still with terrific violence; it is a frightful scene! The -spirit of a demon appears to animate the balloon,—a spirit that delights -in torturing its miserable victims, as it goes sweeping, dashing, -whirling on, now skimming at some height above the surface of the waters, -now suddenly dipping so low that the half uttered shriek of Mabel is -stifled in the gasping sob of suffocation! No wretch fastened to a wild -horse plunging, rearing, bounding on its way, with steaming nostril and -foaming breath, ever endured the horrors of those dragged onward by that -terrific engine of death, while the half submerged car leaves a long -white bubbling track on the ocean! - -Augustine alone loses not his presence of mind in this crisis of -unutterable horror. Though the violent, plunging, unsteady motion of -the partly exhausted balloon makes it difficult for his half drowned -companions to keep their seats, he manages to retain his footing without -clinging, for both his hands are engaged in a desperate effort to cut -asunder the cords of the balloon. It is their only chance of life,—a -miserable chance indeed, but better even to sink at once in the watery -depths, than to be thus given again and again a horrible taste of death, -to be snatched away from it for a moment, only to be precipitated -downwards once more! With the energy of despair the drowning man wields -the flashing knife, one after another the ropes are cut, each that -gives way rendering more fearful the danger of the party—for at length -the horizontal position of the car is actually reversed, the wicker is -suspended by a single cord, and it is only by clasping and clinging with -strained muscles and desperate grasp, that the terrified ones can retain -hold of this, the one frail barrier between themselves and destruction! - -Augustine awaits the moment when the lower end of the car just touches -the waves, and then the last cord is severed! In an instant the light -frame is dashed on the billows, the waves splashing around and over it -and the three who almost miraculously have retained their places within -it. The car of wicker work lined with oil-skin is not ill calculated on -an emergency to act the part of a boat, but it is nearly full of water, -and it is only by almost superhuman efforts in baling out the brine with -Mabel’s straw hat and Dashleigh’s beaver (Augustine’s is floating far on -the waves) that the little shell can be kept afloat. - -In the meantime the balloon, released from the weight of the car, bursts -upwards like a bird of prey soaring from a field of blood; or, to repeat -my former figure, as if the demon of pride, baffled and wounded like -Apollyon in his conflict with Christian, had “spread his dark wings on -the blast, and fled away to his own habitation!” A wild sensation of joy, -even in the midst of her terror, flashed across the mind of Mabel, as she -saw that terrible minister of destruction borne far away—and for ever! - -Perilous as was the situation of the voyagers in their fragile boat, -drenched as they were with salt water, hungry, exhausted, their throats -and lips parched with burning thirst, they seemed but to have exchanged -one form of misery for another. And yet the change from their late -frightful position brought with it some sense of relief. They were -touching, though not solid earth, yet some portion of their native -sphere; they were no longer floating in an ocean of air, cut off by an -impassable gulf from the faintest hope of human assistance. There was -comfort in the sight of the lank brown sea-weed borne on the floating -waves, comfort in the sight of the white winged birds that dipped in the -flashing brine! - -But as the day advanced endurance was sorely tried. Without rudder to -steer the little car, or oar to propel, the sufferers could not shut out -the prospect before them of almost certain death. The perpetual baling -out of the water which leaked into their crazy boat, became an exhausting -effort which their fainting frames could not for many hours sustain. Even -Augustine’s features began to acquire the rigid sternness of despair; and -the earl, in silent supplication, commended a young widow to God. - -Suddenly Mabel exclaimed with wild transport: “A sail, a sail in the -horizon!” - -“But a sea-gull floating on the waves,” replied Augustine, shading his -eyes with his hand from the glare of a meridian sun. - -The earl stretched out his blue corpse-like fingers in the direction -indicated by Mabel, and then, raising his hand on high, exclaimed, “It is -a sail—help is near—God be praised! God be praised!” - -Then followed a time of intense, almost maddening excitement. Augustine -stood erect in the car, his tall form raised to its utmost height, as he -waved again and again a kerchief as a signal of distress. - -“Oh, if they should not see it!” exclaimed Mabel - -“Or seeing, disregard it,” murmured the earl. - -Again and again a shrill cry for help sounded over the blue expanse. If -the freshening breeze bore back that cry, so that it reached not the ears -for which it was intended, that same breeze was filling the canvas and -bringing near and more near the wished for,—the prayed for relief! - -“I think that they see us!” cried Augustine, for the first time during -that terrible day a gleam of joy relaxing his features. - -“Oh, my beloved father—my own Ida—shall I behold you again!” exclaimed -Mabel. - -“We must not relax our efforts,” said her uncle, “or we shall perish even -in the view of safety.” - -She speeds on,—the gallant bark,—dashing onwards “like a thing of life;” -the figure of the steersman is now distinctly visible at her prow, his -rough hail rings clear over the water,—was ever sight so welcome, was -ever sound so sweet! Joy in that never-to-be-forgotten moment proves -more overpowering even than terror, and the firmness which had stood -the strain of most intense anxiety and fear gives way in the rebound of -rapturous thanksgiving and delight! - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -TIDINGS. - - “But rise, let us on more contend, nor blame - Each other, blamed enough elsewhere, but strive - In offices of love, how we may lighten - Each other’s burden, in our share of woe.” - - MILTON. - - -On the eventful night which had been passed by the earl and his -companions above the clouds, the mourners in the vicarage had known but -little of repose. If oblivion came, it was in brief troubled snatches -of slumber, from which the fevered sleeper awakes with a start to feel -an icy oppression on the mind,—slumber which has in it nothing of -refreshment. - -All arose very early, with a vague yearning hope that tidings might -come with the morning light, and the eager greeting when two of that -anxious household met together was always, “Have you heard?—are there any -tidings?” - -Annabella would not appear at the breakfast table. Ida, pale as -sculptured marble, scarcely able to swallow the nourishment of which -she partook as a duty, sat beside her father, every sense absorbed in -anxious listening. She heard the postman’s step before she could see his -form, and eagerly sprang forward to meet him, for it was possible—just -possible—that he might be the bearer of news! - -The man shook his head sadly when questioned; he had brought nothing but -a parcel for the Countess of Dashleigh with the London post-mark upon it; -and, with a sickening sense of disappointment, Ida bore it to the room of -her cousin. - -A strange gleam of hope flashed in the countess’s large hollow eyes, -as, without noticing the post-mark, she tore open the little packet; it -was followed by a strange revulsion of feeling. There lay before her, -beautiful in its fanciful binding of violet and gold, its glittering -edges bright from the hand of the gilder, “_THE FAIRY LAKE, by the -COUNTESS OF DASHLEIGH_.” - -There was a time when the youthful authoress would have gazed on the -volume with delight, and turned over its pages with eager curiosity -and pleasure! But now—there seemed written upon each a tale of wilful -rebellion and insolent pride! Annabella flung her first book from her -with an exclamation of anguish, for was it not connected in her mind with -the fearful fate of her husband! - -Then, with a sudden resolution, she rose from her seat, and hastily -opened that desk at which she had penned her fatal article for the —— -Magazine. Annabella would make some reparation, such reparation as yet -was possible, for the deed so deeply repented of. The countess wrote, -with a hand that shook so that she could scarcely form the letters, a -note to her publisher in London, bidding him at once cancel the whole -edition of her romance, prohibiting him from selling a single copy -of the work which he had been hurrying through the press, and making -herself responsible for his losses, whatever they might be. No earthly -consideration would have induced the miserable wife to delay, even for -an hour, the act by which she crushed the bud of hope, so long eagerly -fostered, at the very moment when it burst into blossom! The young -authoress, once soaring so high in the pride of literary ambition, was -cutting the cords of her balloon! - -Almost every family in the neighbourhood, whether rich or poor, called -at the vicarage that day, impelled by friendship, curiosity, or pity, -to inquire if any tidings of the lost balloon had reached the family -of the Aumerles. No visitors, however, were admitted, as soon as it -was ascertained that they had come to receive information, and not to -give it. The sound of wheels, and of frequent rings at the gate, almost -drove Annabella to distraction! Ida and her father spent much of the -time together in fervent prayer, but the miserable Countess of Dashleigh -seemed too restless—too wretched to pray! - -It was now the afternoon of one of the loveliest days in the loveliest -of seasons. The soft tinkling of the distant sheep-bell, the low of the -cattle in the meadow, and the monotonous hum of the bee, came softly -blended together to the ear. The bright mantle of sunshine fell on -fruit-trees laden with blossom,—the hawthorn white with May’s perfumed -snow, the fragrant lilac, the laburnum dropping its showers of gold! -Annabella gazed from the open casement of her apartment upon a lovely and -varied prospect, but she had not the slightest perception of what lay -directly before her eye. - -Another loud ring! The countess turned her head with quick impatience. -A man was standing at the gate. Was there something in his manner that -announced the eager bearer of tidings, or did the wife intuitively grasp -the fact that he brought her news of her husband? Ida seemed to have -had the same perception, for, with the breeze waving back her long dark -tresses, she was at the gate almost before the tongue of the bell ceased -to vibrate. Annabella saw her start, caught the uttered exclamation, and -springing from her room, clearing the stairs almost at a bound, in less -than a minute was at the side of her cousin. She was quickly followed by -the vicar and Mrs. Aumerle, and every member of the household. - -A telegraphic message had arrived from Augustine; yes, there was the -precious little leaf, which, like the touch of a magician’s wand, changed -the face of everything around, and flooded the dry, haggard cheek of -sorrow with a torrent of grateful tears. - - CLIFF COTTAGE, B——, DEVON. - - “Safe, thank God! I shall send M—— home to-morrow. I remain - here with the earl, who is attacked by brain fever. I have - telegraphed to Exeter for Dr. G—— and a nurse.—A. A.” - -“Brain fever!” exclaimed the countess with a gasp. - -“Temporary illness, I trust,—only temporary,” said the vicar, from whose -heart the weight of a mountain seemed removed. “Augustine, thoughtful as -he ever is, has already taken every human means to insure recovery.” - -“My Reginald shall be left to no nurse; no, no, none shall rob me of one -privilege,” cried Annabella. “I will be at B—— beside him to-night.” - -“I will be your escort,” said Lawrence Aumerle. - -“Oh, take me too!” exclaimed Ida, her dark eyes swimming in tears at the -thought of seeing her sister. - -“No, no,” interrupted Mrs. Aumerle, “numbers are by no means desirable -where a man in brain fever is concerned. It is bad enough for your -father to have to undertake a long journey, without the whole family -hurrying off. You will stay here with me, my dear, and welcome back Mabel -to-morrow.” - -A short time before Ida would have rebelled against a decision so much at -variance with her inclinations,—would have remonstrated, or at least have -murmured; but she had received too severe a lesson for its impression to -be speedily effaced, and reproaching herself for the sigh which alone -betrayed her disappointment, she hastened up-stairs to prepare a little -parcel of necessaries to be taken to Mabel. - -As Ida was putting up, with other articles, the Bible which she knew that -her sister would especially welcome, she was unexpectedly joined by Mrs. -Aumerle. - -“You may leave that business to me,” said the lady, with more real -kindness of intention than tenderness of manner; “your father says that -it would be hard not to let you make one of the party, so you had better -get ready for the journey at once.” - -Joyful at the permission, Ida hastened to make her little preparations; -and Mrs. Aumerle, as she packed Mabel’s parcel, informed her -step-daughter of the arrangements which she had herself made for -the convenience of all. A messenger had been promptly despatched to -the nearest neighbour who kept a carriage, to ask the loan of the -conveyance to carry the travellers to the nearest railway station. -Nothing that could insure the comfort of the vicar was forgotten when -his carpet-bag was packed by the hands of his careful wife; Ida received -sundry injunctions to watch over the health of her father, and the good -housewife took care that the travellers should not fast on the way. - -When the carriage drove away from the door of the vicarage, with its -eager, anxious occupants, Mrs. Aumerle, following it to the gate, -watched it from thence till it disappeared in a turn of the road. And -thus the woman of sense soliloquised on events, past, present, and -future:— - -“How much trouble and misery has been caused by one act of selfish folly! -Because Augustine—too great a genius, I suppose, to judge like a sensible -man—fancies to roam through the clouds, and take with him a wilful, -disobedient child, while a petulant girl eggs on her husband to follow -so absurd an example, a whole family must be plunged into terror, grief, -and alarm! I felt convinced from the first that all would end happily -enough. Augustine has easily guided the balloon; it has floated quietly -down at its leisure to some quiet meadow in Devon; and but for the poor -earl’s shaken nerves, the whole affair to those most concerned has been -nothing but a party of pleasure! It is we who have had to suffer for the -senseless folly of others. There’s Ida has been looking like a spectre; -and my dear, excellent husband is first almost crushed with sorrow, and -then hurried off, at half-an-hour’s notice, to escort that half frantic -countess to a husband who will probably refuse to see her! Well, well, I -believe that of all senses common sense is the most uncommon!” and with -a soothing conviction that a portion, at least, of the rare gift had -been bestowed upon herself, Mrs. Aumerle quietly returned to her usual -avocations. - -It was fortunate for Mabel that the morrow’s post brought to her -stepmother’s hands the letter which the young girl had dropped from the -balloon. Ida had left a request, that notes addressed to her might in -her absence be opened by Mrs. Aumerle, and thus it was that that lady -first became aware of some of the perils through which the travellers had -passed. Mabel’s letter had been picked up in a field and posted by the -farmer who had found it, and the touching lines of love and penitence -which she had penned in the near prospect of a terrible death, softened -in a very great degree the feelings of her step-mother towards her. - -“She has had her share of suffering after all,” observed the lady, “and -we must not be severe upon the poor child. She has had punishment enough -for her fault, so I’m content to ‘let bygones be bygones.’” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -THE WHEEL TURNS - - “Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead, - By heaping coals of fire upon its head.” - - GOLDSMITH. - - -When the Countess of Dashleigh, with bitter words of reproach, had -departed from the cottage of Bardon, she left her late entertainers in -a state of mind little to be envied. The unfortunate Cecilia was for -the rest of the day much in the position of one who, with hands tied, -is caged up with a large hornet which has been irritated, and which -goes about buzzing with evident determination to find or to make a foe. -Everything went wrong with the doctor, and his daughter was the only -being within reach of the hornet’s sting! - -Bardon’s temper broke out especially at dinner, where every little luxury -which had been prepared for Annabella served as a provocation to her -irritated host. The unfortunate chicken (a delicacy till lately almost -unknown at the little cottage), could not have been more denounced as -tough, tasteless, and uneatable, if it had been a roasted owl. The -tartlets (made surreptitiously by poor Cecilia in the absence of Mrs. -Bates) roused such an angry storm against all the inventors, makers, and -eaters of such abominable trash, that Cecilia silently resolved that they -should never appear on the table again; she would rather throw them into -the road! Miss Bardon’s gaily tinted bubble of grandeur had broken, and -left behind nothing but bitterness and—bills! - -The fact was that Dr. Bardon was angry with himself, though a great deal -too proud to own it. He was haunted by the countenance of the unfortunate -Dashleigh as he last had seen it in the car, and had a strong persuasion -on his mind that the earl, in a fit of frenzy, would fling himself out -of the balloon, and be dashed to pieces in the fall! The subject of the -ascent of the _Eaglet_ was one so painful to Bardon that he would endure -no allusion to it; and Cecilia soon discovered that there was no method -of raising a storm so certain, as that of uttering aloud the conjectures -and apprehensions to which such an event naturally gave rise. Silence, -particularly on so interesting a subject, was a cruel penance to the poor -lady, to whom gossip was one of the few remaining pleasures of life, but -to that penance she was obliged to submit as being the lesser of two -evils. - -The anxious vicar himself had not passed a more disturbed night with -the images of his child and his brother breaking his rest, than did the -proud old doctor. Conscience had at length made him miserable, although -it had not made him meek. He was no longer stormy, but he was sullen; and -he did not even choose to communicate to his daughter his intention of -calling on the Aumerles as soon as his breakfast should be concluded, in -order to inquire whether anything had been heard of the missing balloon. - -The postman, who had just left at the vicarage “The Fairy Lake” for -the Countess of Dashleigh, now called at the cottage with a letter. -The doctor’s correspondents were so very few in number that such an -event was sufficiently rare to excite attention; and Bardon’s mind was -so pre-occupied with the idea of coming misfortune and death, that he -turned pale on seeing that the epistle directed to him was sealed and -deep-bordered with black. - -Cecilia, who had her full allowance of natural curiosity, watched the -countenance of her father as he broke open and perused the letter. -She saw his colour return, while his eye-brows were elevated as if in -surprise; he read the epistle twice without comment, and then silently -handed it over to his daughter. - -The letter was a formal notification from the executors of the late -Thomas Auger, Esq., that that gentleman had, by a will executed but a few -days previous to his decease, given and bequeathed the dwelling-house -called Nettleby Tower, and the land appertaining thereto, to Timon -Bardon, M.D., the only surviving son of their former proprietor; and that -he willed also that the said Timon Bardon should be paid from his estate -a sum equal to that which had been expended by him in his lawsuit with -the testator for the property above mentioned. - -Cecilia, almost as much delighted as she was surprised, glanced up -eagerly at her father. She read no exultation in his countenance, but -rather a thoughtful sorrow, which his daughter could scarcely understand. -Could she have penetrated his reflections, they would have appeared -somewhat like the following: “Such, then, was the last act of the man -whom I hated, over the announcement of whose death I gloated with -malignant triumph! He remembered me on his death-bed; while struggling -with the last enemy, he sought to make reparation for a wrong committed -years ago, but never forgotten or forgiven by me. Through his sense of -justice, I am at length restored to the home and estate of my fathers. -Prosperity is sent to me, but through a channel so unexpected, and at a -moment so painful, that I scarcely know how to welcome it, for I feel as -though I did not deserve it.” - -“Papa,” cried Cecilia, “do you not rejoice?” - -Bardon turned silently away. To compare greater things with less, his -were something of the emotions of a child who has justly incurred a -parent’s displeasure, and who, while awaiting in a spirit of sullen -rebellion a further manifestation of wrath, is surprised by a sudden -token of love, unexpected as unmerited. The child, if a spark of -generous feeling be left in his nature, is more pained by the kindness -of his offended parent than he would have been by a sign of anger. His -heart is melted; his conscience is touched. Timon Bardon had hardened -his heart in adversity; he had girt on the panoply of pride; he had -gloried in his powers of endurance, as one ready to do battle with the -world, and to trample down all its frivolous distinctions. He had been -ever trying to conceal the fact that he was a sad and disappointed -man, both from himself and others, by affecting a contempt for all the -worldly advantages which Providence had seen fit to deny; but to have -these advantages suddenly restored to him, and at a period when he was -conscious,—could not but be conscious,—that he had merited a Father’s -chastening rod, had a much more softening effect upon him than would have -been produced by adversity’s heaviest stroke. The tidings which came in -the evening of the safety of the travellers in the _Eaglet_, gave a much -keener sense of pleasure to Bardon than had been produced by the news of -the morning. - -And now we will return to the countess and her companions. The horses -of their carriage were urged to speed, yet were they barely in time to -catch the train, and the party had scarcely taken their seats before it -began to move on. Oh, how Annabella longed to give the wings of her own -impatience to the lagging engine! How her yearning spirit realized the -complaint,— - - “Miles interminably spread, - Seem lengthening as I go!” - -Night had closed around before the travellers reached the little station -which was nearest to the place of their destination,—a small, lonely post -at which the train merely stopped for two minutes to suffer the party to -alight. - -“Can any conveyance be procured here?” asked Aumerle of the solitary -station official who was assisting to put down their luggage. - -“No, sir,” was the unsatisfactory reply. “There was a chaise sent here -two hours ago for a gentleman who came by last train; nothing of the kind -is to be had here, unless it’s ordered aforehand from the town.” - -“Is that chaise likely to return hither?” - -“Can’t say, sir,” answered the man. “I believe that it took a doctor and -nurse to a place where a nobleman’s lying ill, who was picked up to-day -from the sea.” - -“The sea!” echoed the astonished listeners. - -“Fallen out of a balloon, as I understand,” said the man. “There was a -party of three, and they were all saved by one of our fishing-smacks that -was just coming in from a cruise.” - -“Oh, guide us to the place where they are!” exclaimed the countess. - -“Can’t leave the station, ma’am,” replied the official, looking with some -curiosity and interest on the pale, eager face on which the light of the -gas-lamp fell; “besides, I’ve not been long at this place, and don’t know -exactly where the cottage lies.” - -“What are we to do?” exclaimed Ida. - -“Now I think on it,” said the station-man, slowly, “the doctor asked me -when the last train would go back to Exeter to-night. I take it he’s -likely to return; and you could have the chaise that brings him.” - -“When does that train pass?” inquired the vicar. - -“Within an hour,” replied the man, glancing round at the large clock -behind him. “Will not the ladies walk into the waiting-room?—it is better -than standing out here on the platform.” - -“It appears our best course,” said the vicar, addressing the countess, -“to await here the return of the doctor, and avail ourselves of the only -conveyance that seems likely to call here to-night.” - -“Oh no, no!” exclaimed Annabella, wildly; “every minute of delay is an -age in purgatory! The doctor may never come. Augustine will not suffer -him to quit Dashleigh for an hour! I wait for no one; I will try to find -my way to the cottage;—I go at once, even if I go alone!” - -As Annabella remained firm in her resolution, the party, after gleaning -such scanty information as the man at the station could give, and -procuring from him a lantern, set out on their dreary way. Perfect -darkness is seldom known in Devon on a night in May, but clouds and the -absence of the moon rendered the atmosphere unusually obscure. Strange -and phantom-like looked the black shadows of their own forms to the -travellers, as the glare of the lantern cast them on the chalky cliffs -that bordered their road. The path was rough and steep, strewn with stone -boulders here and there, which seemed to have rolled down from the rocky -heights above. - -After a long, toilsome struggle up a gorge, where the countess much -needed the aid of the vicar’s arm, the party emerged on the summit of a -hill, whence in daylight they would have commanded an extensive prospect. -Now faint gleams of summer light alone revealed to them by glimpses what -appeared to be a wild, rocky valley, sloping down on the left to the sea, -the mournful murmur of whose billows came upon the sighing breeze. Viewed -by the imperfect light, the scene was very desolate and drear, and in its -gloomy sublimity struck a chill to the heart of Annabella. - -“It is like the valley of the shadow of death!” she whispered to Ida -Aumerle. - -“Even were it so, dearest,” was the reply, “is it not beyond the dark -valley that the land of promise lies?” - -“To those who are sure of a welcome,” faltered forth the unhappy countess. - -“I think that I hear the sound of wheels,” observed the vicar; “yes,—some -vehicle is evidently slowly ascending the steep hill before us.” - -“Surely that of Dr. G—— upon its return,” suggested Ida. - -The idea made all quicken their steps. Ida’s guess had been partially -correct; in front was the expected chaise, moving as if towards the -station. - -As soon as the vehicle was sufficiently near, Mr. Aumerle hailed the -driver:— - -“Whence do you come, my friend?” - -“From Cliff Cottage,” replied a rough voice through the darkness, and -then the panting of a horse was heard. - -“Is it the doctor?” exclaimed Annabella, pressing eagerly forward. - -“No,” replied the voice. “A gentleman is ill; the doctor is staying the -night; I’m to return for him in the morning;” and the speaker cracked his -whip as a signal to the weary horse to move forward. - -Arrangements were speedily made with the driver by Mr. Aumerle; the -conveyance was turned round at the first convenient spot, and in it the -ladies and the vicar were soon on their way to the cottage in which the -Earl of Dashleigh lay ill. - -Few words were interchanged as the travellers descended the rough, and -almost precipitous road; indeed, the violent jolting would, under any -circumstances, have rendered conversation impossible. Progress was -necessarily slow, and it was some time before the party reached a lonely, -shingle-built cottage belonging to a fisherman, which stood almost on the -margin of the sea. - -There was no need to knock at the low, rude door, for a quick ear within -had caught the sound of wheels, most unusual in that lonely spot, and the -vicar had scarcely had time to alight, before Mabel was in the arms of -her father! - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -TWO WORDS. - - “Teach me to love and to forgive, - Exact my own defects to scan, - What others are to feel,—and know myself a man!” - - GRAY. - - “To lose thee! oh! to lose thee,—to live on - And see the sun, not thee! will the sun shine— - Will the birds sing—flowers bloom, when thou art gone? - Desolate! desolate!” - - BULWER’S KING ARTHUR. - - -“Oh, I was sure that you would come,—quite sure! And Ida—my own precious -Ida!” The poor young girl clung to her sister as if they had been parted -for years. - -“My husband!” exclaimed Annabella, trembling lest terrible news should -await her. - -“He is much the same, but—” - -“Where is he—I will fly to him; I—” - -“My dear madam,” said the low voice of a stranger, as a tall, bald -gentleman in black came forth from the interior of the cottage, with his -finger raised to his lip, “may I request that no sound be uttered—my -patient is in a state of high fever.” - -“I will quietly glide up to his room—” - -“If, as I suppose, I have the honour of addressing the Countess of -Dashleigh, I trust that she will pardon my strictly forbidding any one -but Mr. Aumerle and the nurse from entering the chamber of the earl.” - -“I am his wife!” murmured Annabella hoarsely. - -“It is impossible,” said Dr. G——, “that you should meet without a degree -of excitement which might endanger the life or the reason of my patient. -The earl is in excellent hands; his friend, and the skilful attendant -whom I have provided, will watch him night and day. If any new face were -to be seen, I would not be answerable for the consequences.” - -Dr. G—— had, of course, read “The Precipice and the Peer,” and naturally -concluded that its authoress was the last person who could with impunity -be admitted into the sick-room of the excited and fevered patient. From -the physician’s decision there was no appeal, though to Annabella it -appeared an intolerable sentence of banishment from the place to which -both duty and affection called her. Always ready to rush to a conclusion, -the unhappy wife was convinced that it was the just resentment of -Dashleigh against her, that rendered her of all beings in the world the -one whose presence he could not endure. Utterly prostrate and helpless -in her sorrow, the countess left to Ida all care for the arrangements of -the night. To herself it was nothing where she slept, or whether she ever -should sleep again; she was like a flower so crushed and bruised that it -will never more unfold its petals to the sun. - -The rude cottage of the fisherman offered wretched accommodation for so -large a party. The earl occupied one of the two little bed-rooms which -were reached by a ladder-like staircase; in the other—an apartment not -ten feet square, with bare rafters, sloping roof, and single-paned window -engrained with dust and sea salt, and incapable of being opened—the -countess and her cousins passed the night. The gentlemen had to content -themselves with the bare floor of the kitchen below, redolent of the -scent of fish, and garlanded with nets and tackle,—an accommodation which -they shared with their rough, weather-beaten, but hospitable host. - -Annabella and Ida were so much exhausted by previous excitement, fatigue, -and want of rest, that even in the miserable hovel they might have -slept deeply and long, had it not been for the sounds from the next -room, almost as distinctly heard through the slight partition as if the -apartments had been one. It was agony to the countess to hear the moans -of the fevered sufferer, or the wild words uttered in delirium. Ida -passed the night in vain endeavours to soothe and calm a wounded spirit, -while the weary Mabel peacefully slumbered beside them, unconscious of -what was passing around. It was almost as great a relief to Ida as to her -afflicted cousin when the morning broke at length, and welcome silence on -the other side of the partition told that the sufferer had sunk to rest. - -Augustine Aumerle, after watching for hours at the bedside of the earl, -whom he alone had any power to soothe in the paroxysms of his terrible -malady, now resigned his post to the nurse, and descending the steep, -narrow staircase, went forth to calm and refresh his spirit by a brief -walk on the shore of the sea,—that sea in which he had so lately expected -to find a grave. As he stood gazing on the bright expanse of waters, and -enjoying the fresh morning breeze that, as it rippled the surface of the -sea, also brought back the hue of health to his pale and careworn cheek, -he was joined by Lawrence Aumerle. - -Kindly greeting was exchanged between the brothers; questions were -asked and replies were given, and then a silence succeeded. Something -seemed pressing on the heart of each, to which the lip would not give -ready utterance. Augustine was the first to speak, but he did so without -looking at his brother; he rather seemed to be watching the sea-bird that -lightly floated on the wave. - -“Lawrence, you remember the evening when we conversed together in your -study?” - -“I have often thought of it since.” - -“And so have I,” said Augustine; “I thought of it when I believed -that there was but one step between me and death,—when I expected in -a brief space to be in that world where we shall know even as we -are known,—where ours will not be the wild guess, but the absolute -certainty,—not the wild grasping at the shadow, but the laying hold on -the substance of truth.” - -Lawrence fixed his eyes anxiously upon his brother, but did not interrupt -him by a word. - -“You said that experience is the growth of time. Lawrence, I have, then, -lived an age in the last forty hours. A wide view of both heaven and -earth is gained from the terrible height that I reached!” - -“Common experience is the growth of time,” said the vicar; “but spiritual -experience—” - -“Give it in the words of inspiration,” interrupted Augustine; “I shall -no longer ask you to put aside that solemn evidence, even for a moment. -_Tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience._” - -“_And experience, hope_;” cried the vicar. “Oh, my brother!—that blessed -hope shed abroad in the heart by the knowledge that Christ _died for the -ungodly_, that hope that alone _maketh not ashamed_, is it—oh! is it your -own?” - -Augustine silently pressed the hand that had been unconsciously extended -towards him; it was his only reply to the question. Without another -sentence being uttered the brothers turned their steps in the direction -of the cottage. But while pacing the shingley beach, Augustine was -mentally subscribing to the confession of one of the brightest geniuses -of earth,—that he had hitherto been but as a child gathering pebbles -on the shore of the great ocean of truth; while the vicar was raising -to God, from the depths of a grateful heart, a thanksgiving for prayer -answered at the very time when, and through the very trial by which his -earthly happiness had appeared crushed and destroyed! He was proving, as -so many saints have proved, that— - - “God’s purposes will ripen fast, - Unfolding every hour; - The bud may have a bitter taste, - But sweet will be the flower!” - -As no object could be answered by the prolonged stay of Mr. Aumerle and -Mabel in the over-crowded cottage, they departed on that day for their -home. The countess could not endure to quit the spot, and Ida remained -to bear her company, while Augustine resumed his watch by his suffering -friend. - -Day after day the once proud Earl of Dashleigh lay on a pallet-bed in -the fisherman’s rude hovel, mind and body alike prostrated by the fever -induced by the fearful trials which he had endured. He was passing indeed -through a burning fiery furnace, but its flame was consuming the dross -which had largely mixed with a nobler metal. When the powers of good and -evil contend together for the dominion over a human soul, it is as in the -battles of earth; dark and painful traces are often left behind of the -conflict, conquest is not attained without suffering. Never, perhaps, is -the strife more painful than when the enemy to be subdued is pride! Then -how often a merciful Providence sends humiliation, anguish, disgrace, -first to rouse the soul to a sense of its danger, and then to aid it in -the perilous war! From how much of suffering is exempted the _meek and -quiet spirit_ that has calmly laid down the shackles of pride, not left -them till some loving yet terrible dispensation should wrench them away -from the bleeding soul! - -Annabella was deeply humbled; there was some danger that depression -might with her sink into hopeless despondency. Her ardent and volatile -disposition was ever prone to extremes, and she could not believe it -possible that her proud lord could ever forgive one who had wounded his -dignity so deeply,—one whose indiscretion had so nearly cost him his -life! The forced inaction to which she had to submit greatly increased -the trial to Annabella. If it had been possible for her to have done or -suffered anything in order to repair the evil that she had wrought, she -would have contemplated its effects with less overwhelming remorse. Had -the countess belonged to the Church of Rome, she would have wasted her -strength with fasting, lacerated her flesh by the scourge, or gone on -some painful pilgrimage in the hope of redeeming her fault. As it was, -she had to sit still—useless, helpless, receiving from time to time -tidings of her husband’s varying state from the lips of ministering -strangers! Annabella’s spirit might have altogether sunk under the -lengthened trial, but for the support of Ida’s calmer and more chastened -spirit, which had itself found its stay on the Rock of Ages. - -On the sixth day of Dashleigh’s illness, his wife received from her -home a small packet, containing the little pocket-book which had been -her own earliest gift to her betrothed. The beautiful remembrance had -been accidentally discovered at no great distance from the letter which -Mabel had dropped; but its comparative weight had made it fall with an -impetus that had half imbedded it in the sod. Easily identified by the -coronet and name upon the shield, which marked it as the property of the -unfortunate nobleman, with whose fate the county was ringing, it had been -forwarded to Dashleigh Hall, and thence—still stained and clotted with -dust and mud—it had been sent on by her servants to the countess. - -Annabella gazed on the book for some moments without daring to unfasten -the clasp. The sight of that little gift brought with it a crowd of -recollections of the time when wedded life had lain before fancy’s eye as -a bright, golden-clasped book, on whose yet blank pages hope, pleasure, -and love, would trace nothing but sentences of joy! Why was it that the -leaves of that life had been blistered and blotted with tears,—that the -gold had been tarnished, the beauty marred, and that the once joyous -bride now dreaded even to look upon what that book might contain! - -“Open it for me, Ida, dearest,” murmured Annabella faintly; “I tremble -to behold what his fingers may have traced in that terrible hour!” - -Ida silently obeyed, kneeling at the side of her unhappy cousin, whose -cold hand rested upon her shoulder. Ida turned slowly leaf after leaf. -There were various memoranda in the book, evidently written at an earlier -period—addresses of friends, names of books, engagements for days long -passed. Little of interest or importance could attach to entries such -as these. But almost at the end of the book, on a page otherwise blank, -appeared two words in pencil, traced evidently by a hand that had shaken -from weakness, excitement, or emotion. The words were barely legible, but -such as they were Ida with tremulous eagerness pointed them out to her -friend. Annabella caught the book from her hand, pressed it convulsively -to her lips, and while her eyes overflowed with tears and her heart with -thanksgiving, repeated again and again the two blessed words which spoke -_forgiveness_ and _peace_! - -Even while the young wife’s tears were still flowing, a gentle tap was -heard at the door. Ida went and unclosed it; there was a low whispering -sound, and then the maiden returned to her cousin with a gentle smile on -her face as she said, laying her hand on that of the countess, “It is my -uncle, dearest; he comes to bring you good tidings. The earl is greatly -better,—has been speaking to him,—has been questioning him of you; he -knows—” - -“Knows that I am here!” exclaimed Annabella, starting eagerly from her -seat. - -“Yes, and wishes to see you,—nay, dearest, nay, you must be calm,—for his -sake you must still this wild excitement! Remember that he is still very -weak,—remember the danger of a relapse!” - -“I am quite calm,” replied the young countess, collecting herself by a -strong effort, though her quivering voice still betrayed her emotion; “I -will do nothing to agitate my lord,—he shall not even hear a word from -my lips,—but oh! the bliss if I may once—but once hear from his those -precious words, _forgiveness_ and _peace_!” - -With soft, noiseless step she glided to the low rough-hewn door which -opened into the room of her husband. Gently Annabella pushed it ajar, -and entered with a throbbing heart, and a mien as reverential and timid -as if she were approaching some solemn fane. That low dark room, with -uncarpeted floor, unpapered walls, furniture coarse and scanty contained -what she now felt was all the world to her. - -No human friend intruded his presence on the sacredness of that scene -which ever after, to the memory of Annabella, hallowed that fisherman’s -hut. When the penitent wife knelt in lowly contrition by the pallet of -a husband so narrowly rescued from the jaws of the grave, and listened -breathlessly to the feeble accents which told her that the past was -cancelled,—that she was dear as ever to him still, angels may have looked -on rejoicing as upon a prodigal’s return, for no looming shadow darkened -the holy radiance of returning peace and love, no discord jarred on the -harmony of wedded souls,—the demon of pride was not there! - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -THE SPIRIT LAID. - - “From Nature’s weeping earth more fair appears, - So should good works succeed repentant tears!” - - -Gloriously poured down the fervid rays of a July sun, colouring the -peach on the wall, swelling the rich fig under its clustering leaves, -ripening the purple grape, and over the corn fields throwing a mantle of -gold! No longer in the fisherman’s hovel, but reclining on a sofa in the -countess’s splendid boudoir, we find the Earl of Dashleigh, yet pale from -recent illness; the outline of the sunken cheek, the violet tint beneath -the eyes, the whiteness of the transparent skin, tell of suffering severe -and protracted, but health and strength are returning to his frame, while -to the restored invalid lately released from the confinement of a sick -room— - - “The common air, the earth, the skies, - To him are opening paradise!” - -By the softened light which steals in through the green venetians, -the earl has been whiling away the languid, luxurious hour of noon by -perusing a volume of light literature, in which he has found great -amusement; that volume, bound in violet and gold, is now lying on the -sofa beside him; we recognise in it “THE FAIRY LAKE,” written by the -Countess of Dashleigh. - -Annabella is seated on a low ottoman beside her lord. She has been -listening with pleased attention to his remarks and comments upon her -work. - -“Perhaps, after all,” observes Dashleigh, laying his hand on the book, -“it _is_ hard to restrict to a few that which might afford pleasure to -the many, and to deprive the young authoress of the praise and the fame -which publication would bring her.” - -“O Reginald!” replies his wife with glistening eyes, “your praise to me -outweighs that of the world, and empty fame is nothing in comparison to a -husband’s heart! It would pain me if any eye but yours should ever look -on that which I must ever regard as a monument of my own disobedience.” - -Annabella’s manner towards her husband has undergone a change since -their re-union in the fisherman’s cottage. She is gradually resuming her -playfulness of conversation, and the wit in which the earl delights still -sparkles for his amusement; but there is more, far more of submission to -his authority, and of deference to his wishes in her demeanour; Annabella -no longer desires to forget that her vow was not only to love, but to -obey. - -This change is chiefly owing to that which has passed over the earl -himself. His spirit by intense suffering has been purified, exalted, -refined. That respect which he once claimed on account of his rank is -yielded readily on account of his character. Annabella had been disposed -to ridicule a dignity that rested on an empty title; her spirit of -opposition had been roused, and she had gloried in showing herself -above the meanness of aristocratic pride, conscious of a loftier claim -to the world’s regard than a coronet or a pedigree could give. But -if the countess still knows herself to be superior to her husband in -intellectual attainments, in moral qualifications she now feels herself -far his inferior. Annabella has a quick perception of character, an -intuitive reverence for what is solid and real; when she sees beneficence -free from ostentation, purity of language and life adopted, not because -the reverse would disgrace a peer, but because it would be unworthy of -a Christian, she renders the natural homage of an ingenuous heart to -virtue, and obedience and tender affection follow in the track of respect. - -The conversation has taken a new turn. The earl and his wife have fallen -into a train of discourse on some of the occurrences which have been -related in preceding chapters. Annabella has now no concealment from her -husband, and his gentleness invites her confidence. - -“It appears, my love,” remarked Dashleigh, “that you quitted the home of -the Bardons with scant ceremony and little courtesy.” - -“He had deserved none,” replied Annabella, with something of her old -haughtiness in her tone, for very bitter were the memories connected with -Timon Bardon. - -“There is but one man,” pursued the earl, “who, as far as I know, -entertains any feeling of resentment against me, or has any just cause to -do so. That man is Dr. Bardon.” - -“It is you who have just cause for resentment against him,” said the -countess. - -“His pride and mine clashed together, and like the collision of flint -and steel produced the angry spark which set his spirit in a flame. -But, Annabella, I now desire to be at peace with all men. I have never -returned the doctor’s visit,—you and I will do so to-day.” - -Annabella opened her large eyes so wide at a proposition so unexpected, -as to raise a smile on the lips of the earl. - -“You think that I am still too proud to let the red liveries of the -Dashleighs be seen at the door of Mill Cottage?” - -“If you were to invade that little nest,” said the countess, “you would -find that the birds had flown. Do you not remember that Dr. Bardon is now -the proprietor of Nettleby Tower?” - -“Ah! I recollect—by Auger’s will, was it not?” replied Dashleigh, raising -his thin hand to his brow. “But this need make no difference in our -arrangement for a visit. We will order the carriage in the cool of the -eve, and drive over to wish the old man and his daughter joy on their -return to the family mansion.” - -Annabella turned upon her husband a look of admiration and love. She knew -how much it must cost him to make the first step towards reconciliation -with a man who had wronged, hated, and insulted him. Never, even in the -earliest days of their union, had Dashleigh possessed such influence -over the affections of his young wife, as he gained by the simple, -unostentatious act which marked a conquest over Pride and self. - -The sun was sloping towards the west, bathing earth and sky in the rich -glory of his streaming rays, changing the clouds into floating islands of -roses, and lighting up a little river which flowed through the landscape, -till it glittered like a thread of gold, as Timon Bardon led a party of -guests, comprising all the family of the Aumerles, to the summit of his -grey old tower, to survey the extensive and beautiful prospect. - -Many a word of admiration was spoken as the vicar and his party moved -from one spot to another, finding new beauties wherever they gazed. -Cecilia, elegantly dressed as became the lady of the mansion, appeared -in her glory, doing the honours of the place to her guests. If anything -tended in the least degree to damp her delight, it was her perception -that the practical eye of Mrs. Aumerle (notwithstanding sundry -improvements in the dwelling wrought out under Miss Bardon’s direction), -had detected many an unsightly heap of rubbish, many an unfurnished and -dreary chamber, many a defaced cornice and broken pane, at variance with -the notions of comfort and neatness entertained by the vicar’s wife. - -Ida and Mabel, who had more poetry in their nature than had fallen to -the lot of Mrs. Aumerle, and who delighted in whatever recalled to -their minds grand images of the days of chivalry, saw in the marks of -dilapidation but the footprints of ages gone by, and in imagination -peopled the grass-grown court and the mouldering battlements with mailed -knights, bold archers, and the fair maidens whose charms had been sung by -minstrel and bard in the time of the old Plantagenets. - -“That little grey dot yonder, is it not—” Mabel began, and paused, for -Cecilia, whom she was addressing, looked as if she did not wish to see it. - -“Yes, that is Mill Cottage,” said the doctor in a tone more loud and -decided even than usual; “the place where the master of Nettleby Tower -dug out his own potatoes in his garden, and the lady—” - -“And that must be Dashleigh Hall,” interrupted Mabel, wishing to effect -a diversion, for it was evident that while the doctor’s pride made him -rather glory in his late poverty, that of Miss Bardon rendered her -desirous to forget the days of her humiliation. - -But Mabel’s diversion was very ill-chosen. At the mention of the -name “Dashleigh,” the doctor’s countenance, which had been wearing -an expression far more complacent than that habitual to his leonine -features, changed to one dark and louring, the index of the gloomy -passions that reigned within. Mabel saw not the change, for her eyes were -fixed upon the distant prospect, but it was witnessed by Augustine and -Ida, who exchanged glances with each other,—the gentle girl’s significant -of regret, the uncle’s of indignation. “Is not the black drop wrung out -from that proud heart yet?” was the mental comment of Augustine. - -“Has not this house the repute of being haunted?” asked Ida, in order to -turn the doctor’s thoughts into a different channel. - -“Old women and young fools say that it is so still,” replied Timon Bardon -gruffly. - -“O! Papa,” lisped Cecilia, who had no inclination to acknowledge herself -as coming under either of these denominations, “you know what strange -noises are heard every night!” - -“Creaking of doors, cracking of old timber, the wind whistling away in -the chimneys!” - -“Well, I confess,” said Cecilia, with a little affected laugh, “that -delightful as the tower is on a summer’s day like this, I shall not care -to wander much through its long echoing corridors on a dark winter’s -night. Mr. Aumerle,” she continued, addressing Augustine, who was -leaning on the stone parapet, and gazing down with an abstracted air, -“you who know everything, do you know of no charm to lay the bad spirits -that are said to haunt ancient houses?” - -“I am afraid,” replied Augustine gravely, “that such spirits are wont to -haunt new houses as well as old ones, and that it needs more knowledge -than philosophy can teach to give us the power to lay them.” - -Cecilia looked puzzled at the enigmatical reply, but before she had time -to ask for a solution, Mabel interrupted the conversation by suddenly -exclaiming, “Surely that is the Dashleigh’s carriage that has just turned -the corner of the hill!” - -“We have stayed long enough on this tower,” said the doctor, averting -his eyes from the direction in which those of Mabel were turned; “let us -descend to the court.” - -His suggestion, which sounded like a command, was followed at once by his -guests; poor Cecilia heaved a sigh at the thought that once she might -have indulged a hope that the gay carriage with its dashing bays might be -bound for Nettleby Tower. “After all that has happened,” she reflected -sadly, “that is impossible now!” - -The descent of the long winding stairs, whose steep, rude, age-worn -steps were only dimly lighted by narrow slits cut here and there in the -massive stone wall, required both caution and time. Ere Bardon, who was -the last of the party, had emerged from the low-browed door which opened -into the courtyard, the bridge across the moat had been crossed, and the -Earl and Countess of Dashleigh were already exchanging kindly greetings -with the foremost of the Aumerles. - -The stern old doctor was more startled by the unexpected appearance at -his threshold of visitors such as these, than he could have been by any -apparition in his old haunted tower. Mingled feelings of surprise, shame, -remorse, and gratified pride struggled together in his bosom, as his eye -met that of the nobleman from whose house he had turned with emotions of -such vindictive wrath—words of such fiery passion! Had Bardon’s newly -recovered estate depended upon his making such an effort, the proud -man could not have bowed his spirit to the humiliation of visiting the -earl; and yet the nobleman had come to him,—to him who had so meanly, so -cruelly avenged one slighting sentence accidentally overheard! - -Dashleigh saw the surprise, the embarrassment written on the face of the -haughty Bardon,—he felt the delicacy of his own position, and resolutely -breaking through what would once have been the inseparable barrier of -reserve, he advanced two or three steps towards the doctor, and while a -painful flush mantled over his wasted features, frankly held out his -hand. That hand was grasped—was wrung—but in silence; the proud man felt -himself conquered; and from that hour the evil spirit of enmity between -the two opponents was laid for ever! - - * * * * * - -Can I add that the dark tyrant Pride had for ever yielded up his empire, -that he never again whispered his evil suggestions to those who so long -had worn his chain? - -Alas! I dare not thus violate probability, or sacrifice the great truth -of which this fiction is the fanciful vehicle. The contest against -Pride is a life-long campaign. From the time when he breathed ambition -to Eve in the words, _Ye shall be as gods_, or roused in the heart of -the first murderer the hatred which stained his hand with the blood of -a more favoured brother, the influence of pride over our fallen race -has been fearful, too often fatal! I have but sketched him in some of -his forms,—of how many have I not even attempted to trace the outline! -Pride of purse, Pride of person, family Pride, national Pride, the Pride -that draws the trigger of the duellist, that tightens the grasp of the -oppressor, and, perhaps worst of all, spiritual Pride, which brings Satan -before even the saintly in the guise of an angel of light! Let some more -powerful pencil draw these, till conscience start at the portrait of the -demon who seeks the house that is _cleansed and garnished_, nor comes -alone, but brings with him ambition, dissension, jealousy, hatred, and -other dark ministers of death. - -Reader! have you recognised Pride as an evil, have you struggled with -him as a foe? Look to your soul and see if it bear not the mark of his -galling chain. If the fetter be on it still, oh! with the strength of -faith and the energy of prayer, burst it, even as Samson burst the -green withes with which a secret enemy had bound him! Or, to change the -metaphor, if you feel the proud spirit within, like the inflated sphere -of the æronaut, ready to bear you aloft to a cloudy and perilous height, -whence you will look down on your fellow-creatures, stop not to dally -with danger, persuade not yourself that the peril is unreal, but resolute -as one who knows that life and more than life is at stake, clip the -soaring wing of the _Eaglet_,—cut the cords of your balloon! - - Proud,—and of what? poor, vain, and helpless worm, - Crawling in weakness through thy life’s brief term, - Yet filled with thoughts presumptuous, bold, and high, - As though thy grovelling soul could scan the sky,— - As though thy wisdom, which cannot foreshow - What _one_ day brings of coming weal or woe, - Could pierce the depths of far futurity, - And all the winged shafts of fate defy! - - Art proud of riches? of the glittering dust - Each day _may_ rob thee of, and one day _must_; - When mines of wealth will purchase no delay, - When dust to dust must turn, and clay to clay, - And nought remain to thee, of all possessed, - Save one dark cell in earth’s unconscious breast? - Or proud of power? on this little ball - Some petty tract may thee its master call, - Some fellow-mortals, bending lowly down, - Bask in thy smile, or tremble at thy frown - Great in the world’s eyes, in thine own more great, - How swells thy breast with conscious pride elate! - - And art thou great? lift up—lift up thine eyes, - Survey the heavens, gaze into the skies; - View the fair worlds that glitter o’er thy head, - Orb above orb in bright succession spread, - Beyond the reach of sight, the power of thought:— - Then turn thy gaze to earth, and thou art—nought? - The globe itself a speck—an atom; thou— - Oh! child of dust, shall pride exalt thee now? - In one thing only thou mayst glory still, - And let exulting joy thy bosom fill; - Glory in this,—and what is all beside, - That for this worm, this atom,—Jesus died. - - Does conscious genius fire thy haughty mind, - Genius that raises man above his kind,— - The lofty soul that soars on wing of fire, - While crowds at distance marvel and admire? - Oh! while the charmed world pays her homage just. - Remember, every _talent_ is a _trust_, - A treasure God doth to thy care confide, - A cause for gratitude, but none for pride! - If thou that precious talent misapply - To spread the power of infidelity, - To strew with flowers the path which sinners tread, - To hide one treacherous snare by Satan spread, - How blest—how great compared to thee—that man - Whose life obscurely ends as it began. - To whose meek soul no knowledge e’er was given, - Save that, of all most high,—that guides to heaven - Far as the sun’s pure radiance, streaming bright, - Transcends the glow-worm’s dim and fading light, - The wisdom to his soul vouchsafed from high - Exceeds the earth-born fires that flash—and die! - - Oh! where shall pride securely harbour then, - Where urge his claims to rule the minds of men? - Blest Eden knew him not,—where all was fair— - Where all was faultless—pride abode not there! - The glorious angels are above his sway, - Their bliss to minister—to serve—obey; - We, only we, poor children of a day, - Tread haughtily the ground for our sakes curst, - And wear with pride the chains our Surety burst! - - Would that the world could know and truly prize - That which is great in the Creator’s eyes! - The poor man, bending o’er his scanty store, - Who, with God’s presence blest, desires no more, - Who feels his sins—his weakness,—though his ways - Be just and pure beyond all _human_ praise; - Whose humble thoughts well with his prayer accord, - “Have mercy upon me, a sinner, Lord!” - Who, heir of an eternal, heavenly throne, - Rests all his hopes on Christ, and Christ alone! - Wisest of men—for he alone is wise.— - Richest of men—secure his treasure lies.— - Greatest of men—his mansion is on high. - His father—God,—his rest—Eternity! - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pride and His Prisoners, by A. 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L. O. E. - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Pride and His Prisoners - -Author: A. L. O. E. - -Release Date: August 21, 2019 [EBook #60149] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRIDE AND HIS PRISONERS *** - - - - -Produced by Richard Hulse and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<p class="titlepage larger">PRIDE AND HIS PRISONERS</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 420px;" id="illus1"> -<img src="images/illus1.jpg" width="420" height="650" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">A Terrible Danger.</p> -<p class="caption-r"><a href="#Page_230"><i>Page 230.</i></a></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> - -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" height="700" alt="" /> - -<p class="hanging larger"><span class="smcap red">Pride and his<br /> -prisoners</span> <span class="smaller">BY<br /> -<span class="fts">A. L. O. E.</span></span></p> - -<p class="noindent">LONDON, EDINBURGH,<br /> -AND NEW YORK</p> - -<p class="noindent red">THOMAS NELSON<br /> -AND SONS</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>CONTENTS</i></h2> - -<table summary="Contents"> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>I.</i></td> - <td><i>The Haunted Dwelling</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">5</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>II.</i></td> - <td><i>Resisted, yet Returning</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">16</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>III.</i></td> - <td><i>Snares</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">26</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>IV.</i></td> - <td><i>A Glance into the Cottage</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">33</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>V.</i></td> - <td><i>Both Sides</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">43</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>VI.</i></td> - <td><i>The Visit to the Hall</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">51</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>VII.</i></td> - <td><i>A Misadventure</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">60</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>VIII.</i></td> - <td><i>A Brother’s Effort</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">75</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>IX.</i></td> - <td><i>Disappointment</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">88</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>X.</i></td> - <td><i>On the Watch</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">96</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>XI.</i></td> - <td><i>The Quarrel</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">102</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>XII.</i></td> - <td><i>The Unexpected Guest</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">111</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>XIII.</i></td> - <td><i>The Friend’s Mission</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">119</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>XIV.</i></td> - <td><i>A Fatal Step</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">128</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>XV.</i></td> - <td><i>The Deserted Home</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">140</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>XVI.</i></td> - <td><i>Pleading</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">147</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>XVII.</i></td> - <td><i>Conscience Asleep</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">157</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span><i>XVIII.</i></td> - <td><i>The Magazine</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">162</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>XIX.</i></td> - <td><i>Expectation</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">170</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>XX.</i></td> - <td><i>A Sunny Morn</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">178</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>XXI.</i></td> - <td><i>The Ascent</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">187</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>XXII.</i></td> - <td><i>In the Clouds</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">193</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>XXIII.</i></td> - <td><i>Regrets</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">201</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>XXIV.</i></td> - <td><i>Soaring above Pride</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">208</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>XXV.</i></td> - <td><i>A Broken Chain</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">217</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>XXVI.</i></td> - <td><i>The Awful Crisis</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">222</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>XXVII.</i></td> - <td><i>Tidings</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">234</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>XXVIII.</i></td> - <td><i>The Wheel Turns</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">242</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>XXIX.</i></td> - <td><i>Two Words</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">252</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><i>XXX.</i></td> - <td><i>The Spirit Laid</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">263</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</i></h2> - -<table summary="List of illustrations"> - <tr> - <td><i>A Terrible Danger</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus1"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><i>Her greeting to Dr. and Miss Bardon was most gracious and cordial</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus2">57</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><i>Tearing the Manuscript</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus3">107</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><i>An Unwelcome Surprise</i></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus4">168</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> - -<h1>PRIDE AND HIS PRISONERS.</h1> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE HAUNTED DWELLING.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent2">“He who envies now thy state,</div> -<div class="verse">Who now is plotting how he may seduce</div> -<div class="verse">Thee also from obedience; that with him,</div> -<div class="verse">Bereaved of happiness, thou mayst partake</div> -<div class="verse">His punishment,—eternal misery!”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Milton.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Bright and joyous was the aspect of nature on a -spring morning in the beautiful county of Somersetshire. -The budding green on the trees was yet so -light, that, like a transparent veil, it showed the outlines -of every twig; but on the lowlier hedges it lay -like a rich mantle of foliage, and clusters of primroses -nestled below, while the air was perfumed with -violets. Already was heard the hum of some adventurous -bee in search of early sweets, the distant low -of cattle from the pasture, the mellow note of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> -cuckoo from the grove,—every sight and sound told -of enjoyment on that sunny Sabbath morn.</p> - -<p>Yet let me make an exception. There was one -spot which reserved to itself the unenviable privilege -of looking gloomy all the year round. Nettleby -Tower, a venerable edifice, stood on the highest summit -of a hill, like some stern guardian of the fair -country that smiled around it. The tower had been -raised in the time of the Normans, and had then -been the robber-hold of a succession of fierce barons, -who, from their strong position, had defied the power -of king or law. The iron age had passed away. -The moat had been dried, and the useless portcullis -had rusted over the gate. The loop-holes, whence -archers had pointed their shafts, were half filled up -with the rubbish accumulated by time. Lichens had -mantled the grey stone till its original hue was almost -undistinguishable; silent and deserted was the courtyard -which had so often echoed to the clatter of -hoofs, or the ringing clank of armour.</p> - -<p>Silent and deserted—yes! It was not time alone -that had wrought the desolation. Nettleby Tower -had stood a siege in the time of the Commonwealth, -and the marks of bullets might still be traced on its -walls; but the injuries which had been inflicted by -the slow march of centuries, or the more rapid visitation -of war, were slight compared to those which had -been wrought by litigation and family dissension. -The property had been for years the subject of a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>vexatious -lawsuit, which had half ruined the unsuccessful -party, and the present owner of Nettleby Tower had -not cared to take personal possession of the gloomy -pile. Perhaps Mr. Auger knew that the feeling of -the neighbourhood would be against him, as the -sympathies of all would be enlisted on the side of -the descendant of that ancient family which had for -centuries dwelt in the Tower, who had been deprived -of his birthright by the will of a proud and intemperate -father.</p> - -<p>The old fortress had thus been suffered to fall into -decay. Grass grew in the courtyard; the wallflower -clung to the battlements; the winter snow and the -summer rain made their way through the broken -casements, and no hand had removed the mass of -wreck which lay where a furious storm had thrown -down one of the ancient chimneys. Parties of tourists -occasionally visited the gloomy place, trod the long, -dreary corridors, and heard from a wrinkled woman -accounts of the moth-eaten tapestry, and the time-darkened -family portraits that grimly frowned from -the walls. They heard tales of the last Mr. Bardon, -the proud owner of the pile; how he had been wont -to sit long and late over his bottle, carousing with -jovial companions, till the hall resounded with their -oaths and their songs; and how, more than thirty -years back, he had disinherited his only son for -marrying a farmer’s daughter. Then the old woman -would, after slowly showing the way up the worn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -stone steps which led round and round till they -opened on the summit of the tower, direct her -listener’s attention to a small grey speck in the wide-spreading -landscape below, and tell them that Dr. -Bardon lived there in needy circumstances, in actual -sight of the place where, if every man had his right, -he would now be dwelling as his fathers had dwelt. -And the visitors would sigh, shake their heads, and -moralize on the strange changes in human fortunes.</p> - -<p>The old woman who showed strangers over -Nettleby Tower lived in a cottage hard by; neither -she nor any other person was ever to be found in the -old halls after the sun had set. The place had the -repute of being haunted, and was left after dark to -the sole possession of the rooks, the owls, and the -bats. I must tax the faith of my readers to believe -that the old tower <em>was</em> actually haunted; not by -the ghosts of the dead, but by the spirits of evil that -are ever moving amongst the living. I must attempt -with a bold hand to draw aside the mysterious -veil which divides the invisible from the visible world, -and though I must invoke imagination to my aid, it -is imagination fluttering on the confines of truth. -Bear with me, then, while I personify the spirits of -Pride and Intemperance, and represent them as -lingering yet in the pile in which for centuries they -had borne sway over human hearts.</p> - -<p>Standing on the battlements of the grey tower, -behold two dim, but gigantic forms, like dark clouds,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -that to the eye of fancy have assumed a mortal -shape. The little rock-plant that has found a -cradle between the crumbling stones bends not -beneath their weight,—and yet how many deep-rooted -hopes have they crushed! Their unsubstantial -shapes cast no shadow on the wall, and yet have -darkened myriads of homes! The natural sense -cannot recognise their presence; the eye beholds them -not, the human ear cannot catch the low thunder of -their speech; and yet there they stand, terrible -<em>realities</em>,—known, like the invisible plague, by their -effects upon those whom they destroy!</p> - -<p>There is a wild light in the eyes of Intemperance, -not caught from the glad sunbeams that are bathing -the world in glory; it is like a red meteor playing -over some deep morass, and though there is often -mirth in his tone, it is such mirth as jars upon the -shuddering soul like the laugh of a raving maniac! -Pride is of more lofty stature than his companion, -perhaps of yet darker hue, and his voice is lower and -deeper. His features are stamped with the impress -of all that piety abhors and conscience shrinks from, -for we behold him without his veil. Human infirmity -may devise soft names for cherished sins, and -even invest them with a specious glory which deceives -the dazzled eye; but who could endure to see -in all their bare deformity those two arch soul-destroyers, -Intemperance and Pride?</p> - -<p>“Nay, it was I who wrought this ruin!” exclaimed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -the former, stretching his shadowy hand over the -desolated dwelling. “Think you that had Hugh -Bardon possessed his senses unclouded by my spell, he -would ever have driven forth from his home his own—his -only son?”</p> - -<p>“Was it not I,” replied Pride, “who ever stood -beside him, counting up the long line of his ancestry, -inflaming his soul with legends of the past, making -him look upon his own blood as something different -from that which flows in the veins of ordinary mortals, -till he learned to regard a union with one of lower -rank as a crime beyond forgiveness?”</p> - -<p>“I,” cried Intemperance, “intoxicated his brain”—</p> - -<p>“I,” interrupted Pride, “intoxicated his spirit. -You fill your deep cup with fermented beverage; the -fermentation which I cause is within the soul, and -it varies according to the different natures that receive -it. There is the <em>vinous</em> fermentation, that -which man calls high spirit, and the world hails with -applause, whether it sparkle up into courage, or -effervesce into hasty resentment. There is the <em>acid</em> -fermentation; the sourness of a spirit brooding over -wrongs and disappointments, irritated against its -fellow-man, and regarding his acts with suspicion. -This the world views with a kind of compassionate -scorn, or perhaps tolerates as something that may -occasionally correct the insipidity of social intercourse. -And there is the third, the last stage of fermentation, -when hating and hated of all, wrapt up in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -his own self-worship, and poisoning the atmosphere -around with the exhalations of rebellion and unbelief, -my slave becomes, even to his fellow-bondsmen, an -object of aversion and disgust. Such was my power -over the spirit of Hugh Bardon. I quenched the -parent’s yearning over his son; I kept watch even -by his bed of death; and when holy words of warning -were spoken, I made him turn a deaf ear to the -charmer, and hardened his soul to destruction!”</p> - -<p>“I yield this point to you,” said Intemperance, -“I grant that your black badge was rivetted on the -miserable Bardon even more firmly than mine. And -yet, what are your scattered conquests to those which -I hourly achieve! Do I not drive my thousands and -tens of thousands down the steep descent of folly, -misery, disgrace, till they perish in the gulf of ruin? -Count the gin-palaces dedicated to me in this professedly -Christian land; are they not crowded with -my victims? Who can boast a power to injure that -is to be compared to mine?”</p> - -<p>“Your power is great,” replied Pride, “but it is a -power that has limits, nay, limits that become narrower -and narrower as civilization and religion gain -ground. You have been driven from many a stately -abode, where once Intemperance was a welcome guest, -and have to cower amongst the lowest of the low, -and seek your slaves amongst the vilest of the vile. -Seest thou yon church,” continued Pride, pointing to -the spire of a small, but beautiful edifice, embowered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -amongst elms and beeches; “hast thou ever dared -so much as to touch one clod of the turf on which -falls the shadow of that building?”</p> - -<p>“It is, as you well know, forbidden ground,” replied -Intemperance.</p> - -<p>“To you—to you, but not to me!” exclaimed -Pride, his form dilating with exultation. “I enter -it unseen with the worshippers, my voice blends with -the hymn of praise; nay, I sometimes mount the -pulpit with the preacher,<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> and while a rapt audience -hang upon his words, infuse my secret poison into -his soul! When offerings are collected for the poor, -how much of the silver and the gold is tarnished and -tainted by my breath! The very monuments raised -to the dead often bear the print of my touch; I fix -the escutcheon, write the false epitaph, and hang my -banner boldly even over the Christian’s tomb!”</p> - -<p>“Your power also has limits,” quoth Intemperance. -“There is an antidote in the inspired Book -for every poison that you can instil.”</p> - -<p>“I know it, I know it,” exclaimed Pride, “and -marks it not the extent of my influence and the -depth of the deceptions that I practise, that against -no spirit, except that of Idolatry, are so many warnings -given in that Book as against the spirit of Pride? -For every denunciation against Intemperance, how<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -many may be found against me! Not only religion -and morality are your mortal opponents, but self-interest -and self-respect unite to weaken the might -of Intemperance; <em>I</em> have but one foe that I fear, one -that singles me out for conflict! As David with his -sling to Goliath, so to Pride is the Spirit of the -Gospel!”</p> - -<p>“How is it, then,” inquired Intemperance, “that -so many believers in the Gospel fall under your sway?”</p> - -<p>“It is because I have so many arts, such subtle -devices, I can change myself into so many different -shapes; I steal in so softly that I waken not the -sentinel Conscience to give an alarm to the soul! <em>You</em> -throw one broad net into the sea where you see a shoal -within your reach; <em>I</em> angle for my prey with skill, -hiding my hook with the bait most suited to the -taste of each of my victims. <em>You</em> pursue your quarry -openly before man; <em>I</em> dig the deep hidden pit-fall -for mine. <em>You</em> disgust even those whom you enslave; -<em>I</em> assume forms that rather please than offend. -Sometimes I am ‘a pardonable weakness,’ sometimes -‘a natural instinct,’ sometimes,” and here Pride curled -his lip with a mocking smile, “I am welcomed as -a generous virtue!”</p> - -<p>“It is in this shape,” said Intemperance angrily, -“that you have sometimes even taken a part against -me! You have taught my slaves to despise and -break from my yoke!”</p> - -<p>“Pass over that,” replied Pride; “or balance against<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -it the many times when I have done you a service, -encouraging men to be <em>mighty to mingle strong -drink</em>.”</p> - -<p>“Nay, you must acknowledge,” said Intemperance, -“that we now seldom work together.”</p> - -<p>“We have different spheres,” answered Pride. -“You keep multitudes from ever even attempting -to enter the fold; I put my manacles upon tens of -thousands who deem that they already have entered. -I doubt whether there be one goodly dwelling -amongst all those that dot yonder wide prospect, -where one, if not all of the inmates, wears not my -invisible band round the arm.”</p> - -<p>“You will except the pastor’s, at least,” said Intemperance. -“Yonder, on the path that leads to -the school, I see his gentle daughter. She has -warned many against me; and with her words, her -persuasions, her prayers, has driven me from more -than one home. I shrink from the glance of that -soft, dark eye, as if it carried the power of Ithuriel’s -spear. Ida seems to me to be purity itself; upon -her, at least, you can have no hold.”</p> - -<p>“Were we nearer,” laughed the malignant spirit, -“you would see my dark badge on the saint! Since -her childhood I have been striving and struggling -to make Ida Aumerle my own. Sometimes she has -snapped my chain, and I am ofttimes in fear that -she will break away from my bondage for ever. -But methinks I have a firm hold over her now.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Her pride must be spiritual pride,” observed -Intemperance.</p> - -<p>“Not so,” replied his evil companion; “I tried -that spell, but my efforts failed. While with sweet -voice and winning persuasion Ida is now guiding -her class to Truth, and warning her little flock -against us both, would you wish to hearken to the -story of the maiden, and hear all that I have done -to win entrance into a heart which the grace of God -has cleansed?”</p> - -<p>“Tell me her history,” said Intemperance; “she -seems to me like the snowdrop that lifts its head -above the sod, pure as a flake from the skies.”</p> - -<p>“Even the snowdrop has its roots in the earth,” -was the sardonic answer of Pride.</p> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> “What a beautiful sermon you gave us to-day!” exclaimed a lady to her pastor. -“The devil told me the very same thing while I was in the pulpit,” was his quaint, -but comprehensive reply.</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.<br /> -<span class="smaller">RESISTED, YET RETURNING.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Mount up, for heaven is won by prayer;</div> -<div class="verse">Be sober—for thou art not there!”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Keble.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“The sacred pages of God’s own book</div> -<div class="verse">Shall be the spring, the eternal brook,</div> -<div class="verse">In whose holy mirror, night and day,</div> -<div class="verse">Thou’lt study heaven’s reflected ray.</div> -<div class="verse">And should the foes of virtue dare</div> -<div class="verse">With gloomy wing to seek thee there,</div> -<div class="verse">Thou will see how dark their shadows lie,</div> -<div class="verse">Between heaven and thee, and trembling fly.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Moore.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“Ida Aumerle,” began the dark narrator, “at the -age of twelve had the misfortune to lose her mother, -and was left, with a sister several years younger -than herself, to the sole care of a tender and indulgent -father. Ever on the watch to strengthen my interests -amongst the children of men, I sounded the -dispositions of the sisters, to know what chance I -possessed of making them prisoners of Pride. Mabel, -clever, impulsive, fearless in character, with a mind -ready to receive every impression, and a spirit full -of energy and emulation, I knew to be one who was -likely readily to come under the power of my spell. -Ida was less easily won; she was a more thoughtful, -contemplative girl, her temper was less quick, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -passions were less easily roused, and I long doubted -where lay the weak point of character on which -Pride might successfully work.</p> - -<p>“As Ida grew towards womanhood my doubts -were gradually dispelled. I marked that the fair -maiden loved to linger opposite the mirror which -reflected her tall, slight, graceful form, and that the -gazelle eyes rested upon it with secret satisfaction. -There was much time given to braiding the hair and -adorning the person; and the fashion of a dress, the -tint of a ribbon, became a subject for grave consideration. -There are thousands of girls enslaved by -the pride of beauty with far less cause than Ida -Aumerle.”</p> - -<p>“But this folly,” observed Intemperance, “was -likely to give you but temporary power. Beauty is -merely skin-deep, and passes away like a flower!”</p> - -<p>“But often leaves the pride of it behind,” replied -his companion. “There is many a wrinkled woman -who can never forget that she once was fair,—nay, -who seems fondly to imagine that she can never -cease to be fair; and who makes herself the laughing-stock -of the world by assuming in age the attire -and graces of youth. It will never be thus with -Ida Aumerle.</p> - -<p>“I thought that my chain was firmly fixed upon -her, when one evening I found it suddenly torn -from her wrist, and trampled beneath her feet! The -household at the Vicarage had retired to rest; Ida<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> -had received her father’s nightly blessing, and was -sitting alone in her own little room. The lamp-light -fell upon a form and face that might have been -thought to excuse some pride, but Ida’s reflections -at that moment had nothing in common with me. -She was bending eagerly over that Book which condemns, -and would destroy me,—a book which she -had ofttimes perused before, but never with the -earnest devotion which was then swelling her heart. -Her hands were clasped, her dark eyes swimming -in joyful tears, and her lips sometimes moved in -prayer,—not cold, formal prayer, such as I myself -might prompt, but the outpouring of a spirit overflowing -with grateful love. That was the birthday -of a soul! I stood gloomily apart; I dared not -approach one first conscious of her immortal destiny, -first communing in spirit with her God!”</p> - -<p>“You gave up your designs, then, in despair?”</p> - -<p>“You would have done so,” answered Pride with -haughtiness; “I do not despair, I only delay. I -found that pride of beauty had indeed given way to -a nobler, more exalting feeling. Ida had drunk at -the fountain of purity, and the petty rill of personal -vanity had become to her insipid and distasteful. -She was putting away the childish things which -amuse the frivolous soul. Ida’s time was now too -well filled up with a succession of pious and charitable -occupations, to leave a superfluous share to the -toilette. The maiden’s dress became simple, because<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -the luxury which she now esteemed was that of -assisting the needy. Many of her trinkets were -laid aside, not because she deemed it a sin to wear -them, but because her mind was engrossed by higher -things. One whose first object and desire is to please -a heavenly Master by performing angels’ offices -below, is hardly likely to dwell much on the consideration -that her face and her figure are comely.”</p> - -<p>“Ida is, I know, reckoned a model of every -feminine virtue,” said Intemperance. “I can conceive -that your grand design was now to make her -think herself as perfect as all the rest of the world -thought her.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, ay; to involve her in spiritual pride! But -the maiden was too much on her knees, examined -her own heart too closely, tried herself by too lofty -a standard for that. When the faintest shadow of -that temptation fell upon her, she started as though -she had seen the viper lurking under the flowers, -and cast it from her with abhorrence! ‘A sinner, -a weak, helpless sinner, saved only by the mercy, -trusting only in the strength of a higher power;’ -this Ida Aumerle not only calls herself, but actually -feels herself to be. The power of Grace in her heart -is too strong on that point for Pride.”</p> - -<p>“And yet you hope to subject her to your sway?</p> - -<p>“About two years after the night which I have -mentioned,” resumed Pride, “after Ida had attained -the age of eighteen, she resided for some time at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> -Aspendale, the home of her uncle, Augustine Aumerle.”</p> - -<p>“One of your prisoners?” inquired Intemperance.</p> - -<p>“Of him anon,” replied the dark one, “our present -subject is his niece. At his dwelling Ida met with -one who had been Augustine’s college companion, -Reginald, Earl of Dashleigh. You can just discern -the towers of his mansion faint in the blue distance -yonder.”</p> - -<p>“I know it,” replied Intemperance; “I frequented -the place in his grandfather’s time. The -present earl, as I understand, is your votary rather -than mine.”</p> - -<p>“Puffed up with pride of rank,” said the stern -spirit; “but pride of rank could not withstand a -stronger passion, or prevent him from laying his fortune -and title at the feet of Ida Aumerle.”</p> - -<p>“An opportunity for you!” suggested Intemperance.</p> - -<p>“A golden opportunity I deemed it. What -woman is not dazzled by a coronet? what girl is insensible -to the flattering attentions of him who owns -one, even if he possess no other recommendation, -which, with Dashleigh, is far from being the case? -There was a struggle in the mind of Ida. I whispered -to her of all those gilded baubles for which -numbers have eagerly bartered happiness here, and -forfeited happiness hereafter. I set before her grand -images of earthly greatness, the pomp and trappings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> -of state, the homage paid by the world to station. -I strove to inflame her mind with ambition. But -here Ida sought counsel of the All-wise, and she saw -through my glittering snare. The earl, though of -character unblemished in the eyes of man, and far -from indifferent to religion, is not one whom a heaven-bound -pilgrim like Ida would choose as a companion -for life. Dashleigh’s spirit is too much clogged with -earth; he is too much divided in his service; he -wears too openly my chain, as if he deemed it an -ornament or distinction. Ida prayed, reflected, and -then resolved. She declined the addresses of her -uncle’s guest, and returned home at once to her -father.”</p> - -<p>“The wound which she inflicted was not a deep -one,” remarked Intemperance. “Dashleigh was -speedily consoled, without even seeking comfort from -me.”</p> - -<p>“I poisoned his wound,” exclaimed Pride, “and -drove him to seek instant cure. Dashleigh’s rejection -aroused in his breast as much indignation as -grief; and I made the disappointed and irritated man -at once offer his hand to one who was not likely -to decline it, Annabella, the young cousin of Ida.”</p> - -<p>“And what said the high-souled Ida to the sudden -change in the object of his devotion?”</p> - -<p>“I breathed in her ear,” answered Pride, “the -suggestion, ‘He might have waited a little longer.’ -I called up a flush to the maiden’s cheek when she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -received tidings of the hasty engagement. But still -I met with little but repulse. With maidenly reserve -Ida concealed even from her own family a secret -which pride might have led her to reveal, and -none more affectionately congratulated the young -countess on her engagement, than she who might -have worn the honours which now devolved upon -another.”</p> - -<p>“Ida Aumerle appears to be gifted with such a -power of resisting your influence and repelling your -temptations, that I can scarcely imagine,” quoth Intemperance, -“upon what you can ground your assurance -that you hold her captive at length. Pride -of beauty, pride of conquest, pride of ambition, she -has subdued; to spiritual pride she never has yielded. -What dart remains in your quiver when so many -have swerved from the mark?”</p> - -<p>“Or rather, have fallen blunted from the shield of -faith,” gloomily interrupted Pride. “Ida’s real danger -began when she thought the dart too feeble to -render it needful to lift the shield against it. -Ida, on her return home, found her father on the -point of contracting a second marriage with a lady -who had been one of his principal assistants in arranging -and keeping in order the machinery of his -parish. Miss Lambert, by her activity and energy, -seemed a most fitting help-meet for a pastor. She -was Aumerle’s equal in fortune and birth, and not -many years his junior in age. She had been always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> -on good terms with his family, and the connection -appeared one of the most suitable that under the -circumstances could have been formed. And so -it might have proved,” continued Pride, “but for -me!”</p> - -<p>“Is Mrs. Aumerle, then, under your control?”</p> - -<p>“She is somewhat proud of her good management, -of her clear common sense, of her knowledge -of the world,” was the dark one’s reply; “and this -is one cause of the coldness between her and the -daughters of her husband. Ida, from childhood, had -been accustomed to govern her own actions and -direct her own pursuits. Steady and persevering -in character, she had not only pursued a course of -education by herself, but had superintended that of -her more impetuous sister. Since her mother’s -death Ida had been subject to no sensible control, -for her father looked upon her as perfection, and left -her a degree of freedom which to most girls might -have been highly dangerous. Thus her spirit had -become more independent, and her opinions more -formed than is usual in those of her age. On her -father’s marriage Ida found herself dethroned from -the position which she so long had held. She was -second where she had been first,—second in the -house, second in the parish, second in the affections -of a parent whom she almost idolatrously loved. I -saw that the moment had come for inflicting a pang; -you will believe that the opportunity was not trifled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -away! Ida had been accustomed to lead rather -than to follow. She exercised almost boundless influence -over her sister Mabel, and was regarded as -an oracle by the poor. Another was now taking -her place, and another whose views on many subjects -materially differed from her own, who saw various -duties in a different light, and whose character disposed -her to act in petty matters the part of a zealous -reformer. I marked Ida’s annoyance at changes -proposed, improvements resolved on, and I silently -pushed my advantage. I have now placed Ida in -the position of an independent state, armed to resist -encroachments from, and owning no allegiance to a -powerful neighbour. There is indeed no open war; -decency, piety, and regard for the feelings of a husband -and father alike forbid all approach to that; -but there is secret, ceaseless, determined opposition. -I never suffer Ida to forget that her own tastes are -more refined, her ideas more elevated than those of -her step-mother; and I will not let her perceive that -in many of the affairs of domestic life, Mrs. Aumerle, -as she had wider experience, has also clearer judgment -than herself. I represent advice from a step-mother -as interference, reproof from a step-mother -as persecution, and draw Ida to seek a sphere of her -own as distinct as possible from that of the woman -whom her father has chosen for his wife.”</p> - -<p>“Doubtless you occasionally remind the fair -maid,” suggested Intemperance, “that but for her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -own heroic unworldliness she might have been a -peeress of the realm.”</p> - -<p>“I neglect nothing,” answered Pride, “that can -serve to elevate the spirit of one whom I seek to -enslave. I have need of caution and reserve, though -hitherto I have met with success, for it is no easy -task thoroughly to blind a conscience once enlightened -like that of Ida. She does even now in hours of -self-examination reproach herself for a feeling towards -Mrs. Aumerle which almost approaches dislike. -She feels that her own peace is disturbed; for the -lightest breath of sin can cloud the bright mirror -of such a soul. But in such hours I hover near. -I draw the penitent’s attention from her own faults -to those of the woman she loves not, till I make her -pity herself where she should blame, and account the -burden which <em>I</em> have laid upon her as a cross appointed -by Heaven.”</p> - -<p>“O Pride, Pride!” exclaimed Intemperance with -a burst of admiration, “I am a child in artifice -compared with you!”</p> - -<p>“Rest assured that when any young mortal is disposed -to look down upon one placed above her by the -will of a higher power, that pride is lingering near.”</p> - -<p>“And by what name may you be known in this particular -phase of your being?” inquired Intemperance.</p> - -<p>“The pride of self-will in the language of truth; -but Ida would call me <em>sensitiveness</em>,” replied the -dark spirit with a gloomy smile.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.<br /> -<span class="smaller">SNARES.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“But what are sun and moon, and this revolving ball</div> -<div class="verse">Compared with <em>Him</em> who thus supports them all;</div> -<div class="verse">Whose attributes, all-infinite, transcend</div> -<div class="verse">Whate’er the mind can reach, or mortal apprehend!</div> -<div class="verse">Whose words drew light from chaos drear and dark,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Whose goodness smoothes this state of toil and trouble,</div> -<div class="verse">Compared with it—the sun is as a spark—</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The boundless ocean a mere empty bubble!”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Henry St. George Tucker.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“The pastor and his wife I see approaching the -church,” observed Intemperance, glancing down in -the direction of the path along which advanced a -rather stout lady, with large features and high complexion, -who was leaning on the arm of a tall, handsome, -but rather heavily-built man, in whose mild, -dark eyes might be traced a resemblance to those of -his daughter.</p> - -<p>“They come early,” said Pride; “he, to prepare for -service; his wife, to hear the school children rehearse -the hymns appointed for the day. This was once -Ida’s weekly care; she is far more qualified for the -charge than her step-mother, and the music has -suffered from the change.”</p> - -<p>“Ida showed humility, at least, in yielding up that -charge,” remarked Intemperance.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Humility,” exclaimed Pride, an expression of -ineffable scorn convulsing his shadowy features as -the word was pronounced. “I should not marvel -if Ida thought so; but hear the real state of the -case. The maiden had taken extreme pains to teach -her choir a beautiful anthem, in which a trio is introduced, -which she instructed three of the girls who -had the finest voices and the most perfect taste to -sing. Mrs. Aumerle, on hearing the anthem, at once -condemned it. It was time wasted, she averred, to -teach cottage-children to sing like choristers in a -cathedral; and to make a whole congregation cease -singing in order to listen to the voices of three, was -to turn the heads of the girls, and make them fancy -themselves far above the homely duties of the state -in which Providence had been pleased to place them. -There was common sense in the observations; but -Ida saw in it simply want of taste, and at my suggestion,—<em>at -my suggestion</em>,” repeated Pride in triumph, -“she gave up charge of the music altogether, because -she was offended at any fault having been found in -it by one who knew so little of the subject.”</p> - -<p>“Is the minister himself a good man?” inquired -Intemperance.</p> - -<p>“Good! yes, good, if any of the worms of earth -can be called so,” replied Pride, with gloomy bitterness, -“for he does not regard himself as good. -Naturally weak and corrupt are the best of mortals, -prone to fall, and liable to sin, yet I succeed in persuading<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -many that the gold which is intrusted to -their keeping imparts some intrinsic merit to the clay -vessel which contains it; that the cinder, glowing -bright from the fire which pervades it, is in itself a -brilliant and beautiful thing!”</p> - -<p>“But Lawrence Aumerle was never your captive?”</p> - -<p>“I thought once that he would be so,” replied -Pride, his features darkening at the recollection of -disappointment and failure. “Aumerle had been a -singularly prosperous man—his life had appeared one -uninterrupted course of success. Easy in circumstances, -cherished in his family, a favourite in society, -beloved by the poor, with a disposition easy and -tranquil, disturbed by no violent passion,—the lot of -Aumerle was one which might well render him a -subject of envy. In the pleasantness of that lot lay -its peril. Aumerle was not the first saint who in -prosperity has thought that he should never be -moved, who has been tempted to regard earthly -blessings as tokens of Heaven’s peculiar favour. He -knew little of the burden and heat of the day, still -less of the strife and the struggle. Self-satisfaction -was beginning to creep over his soul, as vegetation -mantles a standing pool over which the rough winds -never sweep. ‘He is mine!’ I thought, ‘mine -until death, and indolence and apathy shall soon add -their links to the chain forged by pride of prosperity.’ -But mine was not the only eye that was watching -the Vicar of Ayrley. There is an ever-wakeful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -Wisdom which ofttimes defeats my most subtle -schemes, leading the blind by a way they know not, -drawing back wandering souls to the orbit of duty, -even as that same Wisdom hangs the round world -upon nothing, and guides the stars in their courses! -My chain was suddenly snapped asunder by a blow -which came from a hand of love, but which, in its -needful force, laid prostrate the soul which it saved. -Aumerle’s loved partner was smitten with sickness, -smitten unto death, and the doating husband wrestled -in agonizing prayer for her who was dearer to him -than life. The prayer was not granted, for the -wings of the saint were fledged. She escaped, like -a freed bird, from the power of temptation, for ever! -Her husband remained behind,—Lawrence Aumerle -was an altered man. Earth had lost for him its -alluring charm, and enchained his affections no more. -He was softened—humbled,” continued Pride, with -the bitterness of one who records his own defeat, -“and in another world he will reckon as the most -signal mercy of his life the tempest which scattered -his joys, and dashed his hopes to the ground! Let -us not speak of him more,” continued the fierce spirit -with impatience; “his younger brother, the stately -Augustine, will not shake off my yoke so lightly.”</p> - -<p>“His pride may well be personal pride,” said -Intemperance, following the direction of the glance -of his stern companion, “if that be he who, with -the rest of the congregation, is now obeying the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -summons of the church bells. Mine eyes never -rested on a more goodly man.”</p> - -<p>“<em>Personal</em> pride!” repeated the dark one with a -mocking laugh, “Augustine Aumerle is by far too -proud for that. He would not stoop to so childish -a weakness. No, his is the pride of intellect, the -pride of conscious genius, the pride to mortals, perhaps, -the most perilous of all, which trusts its own -power to explore impenetrable mystery, and thereby -involves in a hopeless labyrinth; that seeks to sound -unfathomable depths, and may sink for ever in the -attempt.”</p> - -<p>“Is he then a sceptic?” inquired Intemperance.</p> - -<p>“No, not yet, <em>not yet</em>,” murmured the tempter; -“but I am leading him in the way to become one. -I am leading him as I have before led some of the -most brilliant sons of genius. I have made them -trust their own waxen wings, rely on the strength -of their own reason, and the higher they have risen -in their flight, the deeper and darker has been their -fall.” A gleam of savage triumph, like a flash from a -dark cloud, passed over the evil spirit as he spoke.</p> - -<p>“Who is he with the long white hair,” asked -his companion, “who even now glanced up at these -old towers with an expression so stern and so sad?”</p> - -<p>“He who was once their heir,” replied Pride. -“You see Timon Bardon, whom you and I disinherited -through the power which we possessed over -his father.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Have you not thereby lost the son?” asked Intemperance. -“Would not the pride of wealth—”</p> - -<p>He was rudely interrupted by his associate—“Know -you not that there is also a pride of poverty?” -he cried. “Have you forgotten that there is the acid -fermentation as well as the vinous? Ha! ha! my -influence is recognised over the rich and the great; -but who knows—who knows,” he repeated, clenching -his shadowy hand, “in how heavy a grasp I can hold -down the poor! But I can no longer linger here,” -continued Pride; “I must mingle with yon crowd -of worshippers, even as they enter the house of -prayer. Unless I keep close at the side of each, they -may derive some benefit from the sermon, from forgetting -to criticise the preacher.”</p> - -<p>“And I,” exclaimed Intemperance, “must now -away to do my work of death amongst such as never -enter a house of prayer.”</p> - -<p>And so the two evil spirits parted, each on his -own dark errand. My tale deals only with Pride, and -rather as his influence is seen in the actions and -characters of the human beings to whom the preceding -conversation related, than as possessing any -distinct existence of his own. Let these three first -chapters be regarded as a preface in dialogue, explaining -the design of my little volume; or as a -glimpse of the hidden clockwork which, itself unseen, -directs the movements of everyday life. Most -thankful should I be if such a glimpse could induce<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -my reader to look nearer at home; if, when ubiquitous -Pride speaks to the various characters in -this tale, the reader should ask himself whether there -be not something familiar in the tone of that voice, -and with a searching glance examine whether his -own soul be clogged with no link of the tyrant’s -chain,—whether he himself be not a prisoner of -Pride.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.<br /> -<span class="smaller">A GLANCE INTO THE COTTAGE.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Where’s he for honest poverty</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Wha hangs his head, and a’ that,</div> -<div class="verse">The coward slave, we pass him by,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">We dare be poor for a’ that.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Burns.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The “small grey speck” just visible from the summit -of Nettleby Tower, on nearer approach expands -into a stone cottage, which, excepting that it has -two storeys instead of one, and can boast an iron -knocker to the door, and an apology for a verandah -round the window, has little that could serve to distinguish -it from the dwelling of a common labourer.</p> - -<p>We will not pause in the little garden, even to -look at the bed of polyanthus in which its possessor -takes great pride; we will at once enter the single -sitting-room which occupies almost the whole of the -ground floor, and after taking a glance at the apartment, -give a little attention to its occupants.</p> - -<p>It is evident, even on the most superficial survey, -that different tastes have been concerned in the -fitting up of the cottage. Most of the furniture is -plain, even to coarseness; the table is of deal, and -so are the chairs, but over the first a delicate cover<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> -has been thrown, and the latter—to the annoyance -of the master of the house—are adorned with a -variety of tidies, which too often form themselves -into superfluous articles of dress for those who -chance to occupy the seats. The wall is merely -white-washed, but there has been an attempt to -make it look gay, by hanging on it pale watercolour -drawings of flowers, bearing but an imperfect -resemblance to nature. One end of the room is devoted -to the arts, and bears unmistakable evidence -of the presence of woman in the dwelling. A green -guitar-box, from which peeps a broad pink ribbon, -occupies a place in the corner, half hidden by a little -table, on which, most carefully arranged, appear -several small articles of vertu. A tiny, round -mirror occupies the centre, attached to an ornamental -receptacle for cards; two or three miniatures in -morocco cases, diminutive cups and saucers of porcelain, -and a pair of china figures which have suffered -from time, the one wanting an arm and the other a -head,—these form the chief treasures of the collection, -if I except a few gaily bound books, which are -so disposed as to add to the general effect.</p> - -<p>At this end of the room sits a lady engaged in -cutting out a tissue paper ornament for the grate; -for though the weather is cold, no chilliness of atmosphere -would be thought to justify a fire in that -room from the 1st of April to that of November. -The lady, who is the only surviving member of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> -family of Timon Bardon and his late wife the -farmer’s daughter, seems to have numbered between -thirty and forty years of age,—it would be difficult -to say to which date the truth inclines, for Cecilia -herself would never throw light on the subject. Miss -Bardon’s complexion is sallow; her tresses light, the -eye-lashes lighter, and the brows but faintly defined. -There is a general appearance of whity brown about -the face, which is scarcely redeemed from insipidity -by the lustre of a pair of mild, grey eyes.</p> - -<p>But if there be a want of colour in the countenance, -the same fault cannot be found in the attire, -which is not only studiously tasteful and neat, but -richer in texture, and more fashionable in style, than -might have been expected in the occupant of so poor -a cottage. The fact is, that Cecilia Bardon’s pride -and passion is dress; it has been her weakness since -the days of her childhood, when a silly mother delighted -to deck out her first-born in all the extravagance -of fashion. It is this pride which makes -the struggle with poverty more severe, and which is -the source of the selfishness which occasionally surprises -her friends in one, on all other points, the -most kindly and considerate of women. Cecilia -would rather go without a meal than wear cotton -gloves, and a silk dress affords her more delight than -any intellectual feast. She had a sore struggle in -her mind whether to expend the little savings of her -allowance on a much-needed curtain to the window<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -to keep out draughts in winter and glare in summer, -a subscription to the village school, or a pair of -fawn-coloured kid boots, which had greatly taken -her fancy. Prudence, Charity, Vanity, contended together, -but the fawn-coloured boots carried the day! -One of them is now resting on a footstool, shewing -off as neat a little foot as ever trod on a Brussels -carpet,—at least, such is the opinion of its possessor. -Grim Pride must have laughed when he framed his -fetters of such flimsy follies as these!</p> - -<p>Opposite to Cecilia sits her father, whose appearance, -as well as character, offers a strong contrast to -that of his daughter. Dr. Bardon is a man who, -though his dress be of the commonest description, -could hardly be passed in a crowd without notice. -His dark eyes flash under thick, beetling, black -brows with all the fire of youth; and but for the -long white hair which falls almost as low as his -shoulders, and furrows on each side of the mouth, -caused by a trick of frequently drawing the corners -downwards, Timon Bardon would appear almost too -young to be the father of Cecilia. There is something -leonine in the whole cast of his countenance, -something that conveys an impression that he holds -the world at bay, will shake his white mane at its -darts, and make it feel the power of his claws. The -doctor’s occupation, however, at present is of the -quietest description,—he is reading an old volume of -theology, and his mind is absorbed in his subject.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -Presently a muttered “Good!” shows that he is -satisfied with his author, and Bardon, after vainly -searching his pockets, rises to look for a pencil to -mark the passage that he approves.</p> - -<p>He saunters up to Cecilia’s show-table, and examines -the ornamental card-rack attached to the tiny -round mirror.</p> - -<p>“Never find anything useful here!” he growls to -himself; then, addressing his daughter, “Why don’t -you throw away these dirty cards, I’m sick of the -very sight of them!”</p> - -<p>Cecilia half rises in alarm, which occasions a -shower of little pink paper cuttings to flutter from -her knee to the floor. “O papa! don’t, don’t -throw them away; they’re the countess’s wedding -cards!”</p> - -<p>Down went the corners of the lips. “Were they -a duchess’s,” said Dr. Bardon, “there would be no -reason for sticking them there for years.”</p> - -<p>“Only one year and ten months since Annabella -married,” timidly interposed Cecilia.</p> - -<p>“What is it to me if it be twenty!” said the -doctor, walking up and down the room as he spoke; -“she’s nothing to us, and we’re nothing to her!”</p> - -<p>“O papa! you used always to like Annabella.”</p> - -<p>“I liked Annabella well enough, but I don’t care -a straw for the countess; and if she had cared for -me, she’d have managed to come four miles to see -me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> - -<p>“She has been abroad for some time, and—”</p> - -<p>“And she has done with little people like us,” said -the doctor, drawing himself up to his full height, and -looking as if he did not feel himself to be little at -all. “I force my acquaintance on no one, and would -not give one flower from my garden for the cards of -all the peerage.”</p> - -<p>Cecilia felt the conversation unpleasant, and did -not care to keep it up. She bent down, and picked -up one by one the scraps of pink paper which she -had scattered. Something like a sigh escaped from -her lips.</p> - -<p>Dr. Bardon was the first to speak.</p> - -<p>“I saw Augustine Aumerle yesterday at church; -I suppose he’s on a visit to his brother the vicar.”</p> - -<p>“How very, very handsome he is!” remarked -Cecilia.</p> - -<p>“You women are such fools,” said the doctor, “you -think of nothing but looks.”</p> - -<p>“But he’s so clever too, so wonderfully clever! -They say he carried off all the honours at Cambridge.”</p> - -<p>“Much good they will do him,” growled the -doctor, throwing himself down on his chair; “I got -honours too when I was at college, and I might -better have been sowing turnips for any advantage -I’ve had out of them. It’s the fool that gets on in -the world!”</p> - -<p>This, by the way, was a favourite axiom of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -Bardon’s, first adopted at the suggestion of Pride, as -being highly consolatory to one who had never -managed to get on in the world.</p> - -<p>“I think that I see Ida and Mabel Aumerle crossing -the road,” said Cecilia, glancing out of the window. -“How beautiful Ida is, and so charming! I -declare I think she’s an angel!”</p> - -<p>“She’s well enough,” replied the doctor, in a tone -which said that she was that, but nothing more.</p> - -<p>In a short time a little tap was heard at the door, -and the vicar’s daughters were admitted. Ida indeed -looked lovely; a rapid walk in a cold wind -had brought a brilliant rose to her cheek, and as -she laid on the table a large paper parcel which she -and her sister had carried by turns, her eyes beamed -with benevolent pleasure. Mabel was far less attractive -in appearance than her sister, a small upturned -nose robbing her face of all pretensions to -beauty beyond what youth and good-humour might -give; but she also looked bright and happy, for the -girl’s errand was one of kindness. The want of a -curtain in Bardon’s cold room had been noticed by -others than Cecilia, and the parcel contained a crimson -one made up by the young ladies themselves.</p> - -<p>“Oh! what a beauty! what a love!” exclaimed -Cecilia, in the enthusiasm of grateful admiration. -“Papa, only see what a splendid curtain dear Ida -and Mabel have brought us!”</p> - -<p>The doctor was not half so enthusiastic. It has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> -been said that there are four arts difficult of attainment,—<em>how -to give reproof, how to take reproof, how -to give a present, and how to receive one</em>. This -difficulty is chiefly owing to pride. Timon Bardon -was more annoyed at a want having been perceived, -than gratified at its having been removed. He -would gladly enough have obliged the daughters of -his pastor, but to be under even a small obligation -to them was a burden to his sensitive spirit. He -could hardly thank his young friends; and a stranger -might have judged from his manner that the -Aumerles were depriving him of something that he -valued, rather than adding to his comforts. But -Ida knew Bardon’s character well, and made allowance -for the temper of a peevish, disappointed man. -She seated herself by Cecilia, and began at once on a -different topic.</p> - -<p>“I have a message for you, Miss Bardon. I saw -Annabella on Saturday.”</p> - -<p>“The countess!” cried the expectant Cecilia.</p> - -<p>“She was at our house, and regretted that the -threatening weather prevented her driving on here.”</p> - -<p>“I’d have been so delighted!” interrupted -Cecilia, while the doctor muttered to himself some -inaudible remark.</p> - -<p>“But she desired me to say, with her love, how -much pleasure it would give her if you and her old -friend the doctor (these were her words) would -come to see her at Dashleigh Hall.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> - -<p>The grey eyes of Miss Bardon lighted up with -irrepressible pleasure, and even the gruff old doctor -uttered a rather complacent grunt.</p> - -<p>“She begged,” said Mabel, “that you would -drive over some morning and take luncheon, and let -her show you over the garden and park.”</p> - -<p>“Then she’s not changed, dear creature!” exclaimed -Cecilia.</p> - -<p>“And she hopes before long,” continued Mabel, -“to find herself again at Milton Cottage.”</p> - -<p>“Mill Cottage,” said the doctor gruffly; for the -name of his tenement had for many years been a -disputed subject between him and his daughter -Cecilia;—“there’s common sense in that name: -Mill Cottage, because it was once connected with a -mill. To turn it into ‘Milton’ is pure nonsense -and affectation. A fine title would hang about as -well on this place as knee-buckles and ruff on a -ploughman!” And having thus given his oracular -opinion, Dr. Bardon strolled out into his garden, -leaving the young ladies to pursue uninterrupted -conversation together, none the less agreeable for his -absence.</p> - -<p>“You will excuse papa,” said Cecilia, feeling that -some apology was required for her father’s abrupt -departure.</p> - -<p>Dr. Bardon’s manner was far rougher and less -courteous than it would have been had he appeared -as the lord of Nettleby Tower, instead of a poor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -surgeon with indifferent practice. Whether it were -that he was soured by disappointment, or that his -pride shrank from the idea of appearing to cringe to -those more favoured by fortune than himself, it -would be perhaps difficult to determine; he appeared -to consider that true dignity consisted in despising -those outward advantages which he would probably -have overvalued had he himself possessed them. -Thus, while Cecilia’s pride led her to make the best -possible appearance, and catch any reflected gleam -of grandeur from opulent or titled acquaintance, Dr. -Bardon rather gloried in the meanness of his home, -never cared to hide the patch upon his coat, and -considered himself equal in his poverty to any peer -who wore the garter and the George.</p> - -<p>The doctor appeared to have walked off his ill-humour, -for when Ida and Mabel bade adieu to Miss -Bardon, they found him ready to escort them to his -gate. With not ungraceful courtesy he presented -the young ladies with a nosegay of his choicest -hyacinths, and even condescended to say that he -valued their present for the sake of the fair hands -that had worked it! There was something of the -“fine old English gentleman” lingering yet about -the disinherited man.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.<br /> -<span class="smaller">BOTH SIDES.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“From idle words, that restless throng</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And haunt our hearts when we would pray;</div> -<div class="verse">From pride’s false chain, and jarring wrong,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Seal Thou my lips, and guard the way.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Keble.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“Now the doctor’s happy! he has got rid of his -gratitude! I knew how it would be!” laughed -Mabel, as soon as the girls had walked beyond reach -of hearing.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?” asked Ida.</p> - -<p>“Did you not see how uncomfortable the poor -man was under the weight of even such a little -obligation? It was steam high pressure with him, -till he opened a safety-valve, and off flew all his -debt discharged in the shape of a bunch of hyacinths!”</p> - -<p>“How you talk!” said her sister with a smile; -“he intended these poor little flowers as a mark of -attention; they were no return for our present.”</p> - -<p>“O Ida, how little you know! Why, Dr. -Bardon does not think that there are hyacinths -in the world that can bear comparison with his. -He thinks them worth any money. He carries<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -a mental glass of very singular construction, patented -by the maker, Pride. Look through the one end, -everything is small; look through the other, everything -is big! He turns the magnifier to what he -does himself, the diminisher to what others do for -him; and it is wonderful how he thus manages to -economize gratitude, and keep himself out of debt to -his friends. Depend upon it, seen through his glass, -his hyacinths swelled to the size of hollyhocks, -and our curtain diminished to that of a sampler!”</p> - -<p>“You are a sad satirical girl!” said Ida.</p> - -<p>“Not I, I’ve only practised the ‘vigilance of -observation and accuracy of distinction, which neither -books nor precepts can teach,’ which the famous Mr. -Jenkins used to recommend to papa when he was -young. I am merely distinguishing between the -kindnesses which a man does to please a friend, and -those which he does to gratify his own pride. Dr. -Bardon, in spite of his poverty, is as proud as the -Earl of Dashleigh can be.”</p> - -<p>“But he is one who deserves much indulgence.”</p> - -<p>“I am not saying anything against him,” interrupted -Mabel; “I rather like a dash of pride in -a character; I know I have plenty of it myself.”</p> - -<p>“Mabel—”</p> - -<p>“Why, darling, I’m proud of you!” exclaimed -Mabel, turning her eyes affectionately on her sister; -“and I’m proud of my excellent father, proud of my -glorious uncle, but I am not proud,”—here Mabel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -laughed,—“I’m not proud of my step-mother at -all.”</p> - -<p>“Mabel, dearest—”</p> - -<p>“I’m convinced that the world may be divided -into two classes—those made of porcelain, and those -of crockery. There seems such a wonderful difference -in the nature of minds, into whatever shape -education may twist them! Now, my father, uncle, -and you, are made of real Sevres porcelain, and Mrs. -Aumerle—”</p> - -<p>“Really, Mabel, you do wrong to speak thus of -her.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I won’t if you don’t like it, darling, but -she’s so intensely common-place and matter-of-fact! -I don’t believe that she understands or could enter -into our feelings any more than if we had been born -in different planets!”</p> - -<p>Ida sighed. “It is our appointed trial,” she -replied; and these few words, though well intended, -did more to impress upon her young sister the hardship -of having an uncongenial stepmother, than open -complaint might have done. Mabel regarded her -gentle sister as a suffering saint, and had no idea -that there might be two sides even to such a question -as this.</p> - -<p>Ida’s conscience warned her that the preceding -conversation had been unprofitable, to say the least -of it, and she knew well what Scripture saith against -<em>every idle word</em>. She therefore turned the channel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> -of discourse, and told Mabel of her new plan of having -a class for farm-boys, which she intended herself -to conduct.</p> - -<p>“You can’t manage more upon Sundays, Ida; you -have two classes already, you know.”</p> - -<p>“True; this must be on the Saturday evening, -when the lads have left off work.”</p> - -<p>“You can’t have the school-room, then; that’s -Mrs. Aumerle’s time for the mother’s class.”</p> - -<p>“I have been thinking about that,” said Ida, -gravely; “but there is really no other hour that will -be suitable at all for mine. I must ask Mrs. -Aumerle to have her women a little earlier in the -afternoon.”</p> - -<p>“I would not ask a favour of her!” said Mabel -proudly.</p> - -<p>“It is never pleasant to ask favours,” replied Ida; -“but it is sometimes our duty to do so.”</p> - -<p>It was growing dark before the sisters reached -their home. They found Mrs. Aumerle busily engaged -in cutting out clothes for the poor, wielding -her large, bright scissors with quick hand, and directing -its operations with an experienced eye. She -looked up from her occupation as Ida and Mabel -entered the room.</p> - -<p>“What has made you so late?” asked the lady.</p> - -<p>“Oh! we have had a nice, long chat with Cecily -Bardon,” replied Mabel; “we never thought of the -hour.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I hope that you will think of it another time,” -said Mrs. Aumerle, resuming her cutting and clipping; -“it is not proper for young ladies to be crossing the -fields after sunset without an escort.”</p> - -<p>“Not proper!” repeated Mabel half aloud, her -cheek suffused with an angry flush.</p> - -<p>“We have been always accustomed,” said Ida -more calmly, “to walk whither and at what hour we -pleased, and we have never found the smallest inconvenience -arise from so doing.”</p> - -<p>“Your having done so is no reason why you -should do so,” said the lady firmly; “you have been -too much left to yourselves, and it is well that you -have now some one of a little experience to judge -what is suitable or unsuitable for two young girls of -your age.”</p> - -<p>Mabel turned down the corners of her mouth after -the fashion of Dr. Bardon; happily Mrs. Aumerle -was too busy with a jacket-sleeve to look at her step-daughter’s -face. Ida seated herself without reply; -but Pride stole up at that moment and whispered in -her ear, “You can manage quite as well for yourself -as the meddling dame can manage for you. She -might be content to let well alone, and confine herself -to her own affairs.”</p> - -<p>Ida now entered upon the subject of the class for -farmers’ boys and labouring lads, and explained the -necessity for holding it on the particular day and -hour on which the mothers’ meeting usually took<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -place. She dwelt with gentle eloquence upon the -difficulties and temptations of the youths who would -be benefited by the new arrangement; but it tried -her patience not a little to hear the snip-snip of the -scissors all the time that she was speaking.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll consider the matter,” said Mrs. Aumerle, -stopping at length in her occupation; “it will cause -me a little inconvenience, but I think that the thing -may be managed. But,” she continued, as Ida, -having gained her point, was about to leave the -apartment, “but we have not thought of the most -important thing—who is to conduct the class?”</p> - -<p>“I had thought of it,” replied Ida; “I am going -to conduct it myself.”</p> - -<p>“You!” exclaimed Mrs. Aumerle, turning towards -Ida a face whose naturally high colour was heightened -by stooping over her cutting; “you! the thing is -not to be dreamed of! Your father’s daughter to be -teaching and preaching to a set of hulking farm lads, -as if they were a parcel of little schoolboys! It -would not become a young lady like you.”</p> - -<p>“I have yet to learn what can become a lady, be -she old or young, better than teaching the ignorant -and helping the poor,” said Ida with forced calmness, -but great constraint and coldness of manner.</p> - -<p>“Oh! that’s very fine talking, my dear; the -thing may be a very good thing in itself, but we -must choose different instruments for different kinds -of work. One would not mend quills with scissors,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> -or cut out flannel with a penknife. I can’t hear of -your holding such a class.”</p> - -<p>Commanding herself sufficiently not to reply, but -with an angry and swelling heart Ida sought her -own room, followed by the indignant Mabel. No -sooner had they reached it than Mabel threw her -arms around Ida, and exclaimed, “My own darling, -angel sister! how dared she speak so to you!”</p> - -<p>“She will grieve one day,” said Ida, struggling -to keep down tears, “that she has put any stumbling-block -in the way of such a work. Mabel, we must -pity and pray for her!”</p> - -<p>“And never let yourselves be led by her,” suggested -Pride.</p> - -<p>“That girl wants somebody to guide her;” such -were the reflections of Mrs. Aumerle, as she went on -with her work for the poor. “There’s a great deal -of good in her, but she wants ballast,—she wants -common-sense. She is spoilt by being so long without -the control of a mother, and needs, almost as -much as saucy Mabel, a good firm hand over her. -With all Ida’s gentleness and meekness, there’s in -her a world of obstinacy and pride. I wish that I -had brought one verse to her recollection, which she -seems to leave out when she reads the Bible—<em>Likewise -ye younger, submit yourselves unto the -elder; yea, all of you be subject one to another, and -be clothed with humility; for God resisteth the proud, -and giveth grace to the humble.</em> Ida has a wonderful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> -conceit of her own opinion, as most inexperienced -young people have; and it’s almost impossible to -convince her that she ever can be wrong. She is not -wrong, however, about the duty of having a class for -these poor farm lads; I must consult Lawrence as to -how it can be done.” The lady went on with her -cogitations upon the subject. “We could not expect -our schoolmaster to undertake such an addition to -his labours. The clerk, Ashby—no, no, he’s not fitted -for it; he’d set the young fellows yawning,—no one -would come twice for his teaching. Perhaps the -best plan would be for me to take the lads myself, -and give up my mother’s meeting to Ida. It would -be far more suitable for a pretty young creature like -her. But I must keep the cutting out and shaping -of the poor-clothes still, for clever as she is in reading -and talking, that is a business which poor Ida -never could manage with all the goodwill in the -world.”</p> - -<p>And so the plain, practical stepmother settled the -matter in her own mind; and only Pride could suggest -that her plan was inconvenient, inconsiderate, -or unkind. It was ultimately adopted by Ida, but -with a reluctance and coldness which deprived both -ladies of the encouragement and pleasure which they -would have derived from cheerful, hearty, co-operation -with each other in labours of love.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE VISIT TO THE HALL.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“The tulip and the butterfly</div> -<div class="verse">Appear in gayer coats than I;</div> -<div class="verse">Let me be dressed fine as I will,</div> -<div class="verse">Flies, flowers, and worms excel me still.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Watts.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The visit of the sisters Aumerle, or rather the -message which they had brought, had caused great -excitement in the mind of Cecilia Bardon. One -thought was now uppermost there, thrusting itself -forward at all times, interfering with domestic duties, -taking her attention even from her prayers; that -thought was—how should she persuade her father to -pay a visit to Dashleigh Hall!</p> - -<p>Dr. Bardon held out against entreaties for two -days; on the third he yielded, having probably all -along only made show of fight to avoid seeming -eagerly to catch at an invitation from a titled -acquaintance.</p> - -<p>The next question was—How was the visit to be -paid? Four miles was a distance too great to be -traversed on foot by Cecilia Bardon.</p> - -<p>“We could get a neat clarence from Pelton,” suggested -the lady.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Pelton!” exclaimed the doctor,—“why, Pelton is -six miles off! You’ll not find me paying for a -clarence to go twenty miles to carry me to a place -to which I could walk any fine morning. I’ve not -money to fling away after that fashion.”</p> - -<p>“If only the Aumerles kept a carriage!” sighed -Cecilia.</p> - -<p>“If they kept fifty I’d not ask for the loan of -one,” said the doctor, with all the pride of poverty.</p> - -<p>“Dear me! how shall we ever get to Dashleigh -Hall!” cried Cecilia.</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you what, I’ll hire our neighbour the -farmer’s donkey-chaise,—that won’t ruin even a poor -man like me.”</p> - -<p>“A donkey-chaise!” exclaimed Miss Bardon in -horror.</p> - -<p>“Why, you’ve been glad enough of it before now -to carry you over to Pelton, when you had shopping -to do in the town.”</p> - -<p>“Pelton,—why, yes,—shopping,—but to call on -a countess!”</p> - -<p>“A countess, I suppose, is made of flesh and blood -like other people; if she’s such an idiot as to care -whether her friends come to her in chariots or -donkey-chaises, the less we have to do with her the -better, say I.”</p> - -<p>“But to drive through the park—to go up to the -grand hall, to—to—to be seen by all the fine -liveried servants—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> - -<p>The doctor actually stamped with impatience. -“What is it to us,” he cried, “if all the lackeys in -Christendom were to see us? We’re doing nothing -wrong—nothing to be ashamed of. I should be as -much a gentleman in a chaise, or a cart, drawn by a -donkey or a dog, as if I’d fifty racers in my stables, -and a handle a mile long to my name.”</p> - -<p>The pride of the father and the daughter were at -variance, but it was the same passion that worked in -both. Cecilia sought dignity in accessories, Dr. Bardon -found it in self. She would climb up to distinction -in the world by grasping at every advantage held -out by the rank and wealth of her friends; he would -rise also, but by trampling under foot rank and wealth -as things to be despised. The pride of the daughter -was most ridiculous—that of the father most deadly. -Reader, do you know nothing of either?</p> - -<p>One of the things on which Bardon prided himself -was on being master in his own house—no very -difficult matter, as his subjects consisted but of one -gentle-tempered daughter, and one old deaf domestic. -On the present occasion Cecilia soon found that she -must go to Dashleigh Hall in a donkey-carriage, if -she intended to go at all; and after a longer -struggle than usual, which ended in something like -tears, she yielded to the pressure of circumstances, -and consented to accompany her father the next day -in the ignoble vehicle which he had selected. This -point settled, her mind was free to give itself to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> -darling subject of dress. Half the day was devoted -to touching and retouching last summer’s bonnet, -which looked rather the worse for wear, and selecting -such articles of attire as might give a distinguished -and fashionable air to the lady of Milton -Cottage. Cecilia was not unsuccessful. Never, -perhaps, had a more elegantly dressed woman -stepped into a donkey-chaise before. Her flounced -silk dress expanded to such fashionable dimensions as -scarcely to leave space in the humble conveyance for -the accommodation of the doctor.</p> - -<p>If her dress was an object of triumph to Miss Bardon, -it was also one of solicitude and care. Never, -surely, were roads so dusty, and never was dust more -annoying. Her nervous anxiety and precautions -irritated the temper of the doctor, who found more -than enough to try it in the obstinacy of the animal -that he drove, without further provocation from his -companion. Both father and daughter were well -pleased when they at length reached the ornamental -lodge of Dashleigh Park.</p> - -<p>“Papa,” suggested Cecilia timidly, “could we not -leave the donkey to graze in the lane, and go through -the grounds on foot?”</p> - -<p>“Leave the hired donkey to be carried off by any -party of tramping gipsies! I’m not such a fool,” said -the doctor.</p> - -<p>The lodge-keeper obeyed the summons of the bell, -which was rung with more force than was needful;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -he stood still, however, without opening the gate, to -inquire what the occupants of the donkey-chaise -wanted.</p> - -<p>“Open the gate, will you?” cried the doctor, in -his rough, domineering manner.</p> - -<p>“For Dr. and Miss Bardon, of Milton Cottage, -friends of the countess,” said Cecilia nervously, feeling -very uncomfortable at her own position.</p> - -<p>The gate-keeper looked hesitatingly at the lady, -then at the chaise, then at the lady again. It is -possible that her appearance decided his doubts, or -that the impatience of the doctor overbore them, for -the gate slowly rolled back on its hinges, and the -donkey-chaise entered the park.</p> - -<p>Cecilia could scarcely find any charm in the beautiful -drive, magnificent timber, verdant glades, broad -avenues affording glimpses of distant prospects, sunny -knolls on which grazed the light-footed deer. She -could not, however, refrain from an exclamation of -delight as a sudden bend in the road brought her unexpectedly -in sight of the lordly Hall.</p> - -<p>Dr. Bardon surveyed the splendid building before -him with a gloomy, dissatisfied eye. What was it -compared to Nettleby Tower, in the mind of the disinherited -man? “Mere gingerbread! mere gingerbread!” -he muttered to himself, as he drew up at the -lofty entrance. He saw more beauty in a ruined buttress -of the ancient home of his fathers than in all the -florid decorations of the countess’s magnificent abode.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> - -<p>Cecilia Bardon was well-nigh overpowered by the -sense of the grandeur before her. The presence of -three or four of the earl’s powdered footmen was -enough in itself to make her seat in the donkey-chaise -almost intolerable to the lady.</p> - -<p>“Lady Dashleigh at home?” inquired the doctor -from his low seat, in a tone that would have sounded -haughty from a prince.</p> - -<p>The countess was happily at home; and Cecilia, -hastily descending, breathed more freely when no -longer in contact with the odious conveyance. She -felt something as a prisoner may feel when he has -left the jail behind, his connection with which he -desires to forget, wishing that all others could do -so likewise. Dr. Bardon flung the rein on the neck of -the donkey, and followed his daughter into the Hall.</p> - -<p>They were introduced into a splendid apartment, -fitted up with magnificence and taste. Poor Cecilia, -as she there awaited the countess, painfully contrasted -the room with its glittering mirrors and -gilded ceiling, painted panels and velvet cushions, -with the homeliness of her own humble abode. -Pride, who revels in human misery, would not -omit the opportunity of inflicting an envious pang. -But his barbed dart went deeper—far deeper into -the heart of the unhappy Bardon—the man who -would have scornfully laughed at the idea of the -possibility of such as he envying any mortal in the -world.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 420px;" id="illus2"> -<img src="images/illus2.jpg" width="420" height="650" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">Her greeting to Dr. and Miss Bardon was most gracious -and cordial.</p> -<p class="caption-r"><a href="#Page_57"><i>Page 57.</i></a></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> - -<p>Cecilia had scarcely time to gaze around her, -shake out her dusty flounces, and glance in a mirror -to see if her scarf fell gracefully, when Annabella herself -appeared from an inner apartment.</p> - -<p>The appearance of the youthful countess was rather -attractive than striking. Her figure was below the -middle height, and so light and delicate in its proportions -as to have earned for Annabella in girlhood the -title of Titania, queen of the fairies. Her complexion -had not the purity of that of her cousin Ida; -but any emotion or excitement suffused her cheek -with a beautiful crimson, and lit up the vivacious -dark eyes, which were the only decidedly pretty -feature in a face whose chief charm lay in its ever-varying -expression. The irregular outline of the -countess’s profile deprived her countenance of all -claim to absolute beauty, but no one when under -the spell of her winning conversation, could -pause to criticise or even notice defects where the -general effect was so pleasing. The dress of the -countess was not such as might have been expected -in one of her rank. It was picturesque rather than -costly, fanciful rather than fashionable. Annabella -had just been bending over her desk, busy with a -romance which she was writing; her tresses were -slightly disordered, and a small ink stain actually -soiled the whiteness of one little delicate finger.</p> - -<p>Her greeting to Dr. and Miss Bardon was most -gracious and cordial. She came forward with both<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> -hands extended, and welcomed her old friends to -Dashleigh Hall with a frank kindliness which at once -set Cecilia at her ease. “She is not changed in the -least; she is the same fascinating being as ever,” was -the reflection of the gratified guest.</p> - -<p>Dr. Bardon was not so easily won. He was out -of temper with himself and all the world. The touch -of pride had turned indeed his wine of life into a -concentrated acid. Annabella could not but notice -the hardness of his manner, but she was neither surprised -nor offended, for she knew the character of -the man. “I will conquer the old lion!” thought -she, and she exerted all her powers to do so. How -thoughtfully attentive the countess became, how she -humoured her guest’s little fancies, how she avoided -jarring upon his prejudices, and talked of old times, -old scenes, old friends, till she fairly beat down, one -after another, every barrier behind which ill-humour -could lurk!</p> - -<p>Annabella took the arm of the doctor, and with -Cecilia at her side, sauntered down the marble terrace -into the garden. She consulted Timon Bardon -about the disposition of her flower-beds, asked advice -concerning the management of plants, and finally -overcame the old lion altogether by begging for a -slip from his Venice Sumach. The moment that -the doctor found that he could confer a favour instead -of accepting one, all his equanimity returned; -and when the party re-entered the beautiful drawing-room,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> -the only shadow on the enjoyment of any of -the three was Cecilia’s consciousness that the gravel-walks -had impaired the beauty of her fawn-coloured -boots.</p> - -<p>“What a sweet creature the countess is!” was -Miss Bardon’s silent reflection; “prosperity has -done her no harm; she has not a particle of -pride!”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.<br /> -<span class="smaller">A MISADVENTURE.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Where pride and passion frame the nuptial chain,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Time must the gilding from the fetter wear;</div> -<div class="verse">Love’s golden links alone unchanged remain,</div> -<div class="verse">Hallowed by faith, to be renewed in heaven again.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“She has not a particle of pride!” Such may be -the judgment of the world, which looks not below -the surface, but the recording angel may give a -very different account. Let us examine a little more -closely into the character of the countess, and see if -she may fairly be ranked amongst the <em>poor in spirit</em>, -of whom is the <em>kingdom of heaven</em>.</p> - -<p>Annabella had been an orphan almost from her -birth, and had been brought up by a tender grandmother, -since deceased, who had made an idol of her -little darling, the heiress to all her wealth. As soon -as the child had power to frame a sentence, that sentence -was law to the household. Annabella, the -fairy queen, acquired a habit of ruling, which gave a -permanent cast to her mind. Gifted with joyous -spirits, a sweet temper, and a strong desire to please, -her pride was seldom offensive. Annabella’s subjects -were willing, for the sovereign was beloved.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> - -<p>As the child grew into the woman, her views began -to expand; she desired a wider sway. Annabella -was not contented to rule merely in a household, to -influence only a small circle of friends. Like those -who cut their names on a pyramid, she was ambitious -of leaving her mark on the world. The only -instrument by which it seemed possible to accomplish -this object of ambition was the pen. If “the press” is -the fourth power in the state, Annabella resolved to -have a share in that power. She had a lively fancy, -a ready wit, and, to her transporting delight, her first -essay was successful. The young lady’s contributions -to a monthly periodical were indeed sent under a -<i lang="fr">nom de guerre</i>, but Annabella’s darling hope was to -make that adopted title of “Egeria” famous throughout -the land.</p> - -<p>It was at this point of her history that the Earl -of Dashleigh, smarting under the sting of mortified -pride, and casually thrown much into the charming -society of Annabella, made her the offer of his hand. -The eye of the young heiress had not, like that of -her cousin Ida, been fixed upon objects so high that -the glare of earthly grandeur died away before it -like the sparkles of fireworks below. Annabella was -completely dazzled by the idea of such a brilliant -alliance. Her imagination immediately invested the -young earl with every great and glorious quality. -Love threw a halo around him, and the maiden fancied -that she saw realized in her noble suitor every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -poetical dream of her girlhood. Nor was love the -only chord that vibrated to rapture in the heart of -Dashleigh’s young bride. Did not this elevation to -rank and dignity offer at once a wider sphere to her -eager ambition? From the rapidity of her conquest, -Annabella deemed that her power over the earl -would be unbounded, little imagining how much that -conquest was owing to the effect of his pride and -pique.</p> - -<p>Marriage soon undeceived Annabella. She found -herself united to a man at least as proud as herself, -though his pride took a different form. As long as -the bride was contented simply to please, there was -domestic harmony; Annabella was happy in her -husband, and he thought that no companion could be -so agreeable as his witty and lively wife. But the -moment that the countess attempted to rule, the -elements of discord began to work. The earl, who -never lost consciousness of high birth and distinguished -rank, was aware that he had married one -who, though of good family, was yet considerably -below himself in social position. This, however, -would have mattered little, had Annabella readily -accommodated herself to the new circumstances in -which she was placed. The nobleman, in the famous -old tale, had deigned to wed even the humble Griselda; -he had had no reason to regret his choice, but -then there was a difference, wide as north from south, -between Griselda and Annabella! As soon as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> -young countess became aware that her husband felt -that he had stooped a little when he raised her to -share his rank, all her pride at once rose in arms. -She was more determined than ever to assert the -independence which she regarded as the right of her -sex.</p> - -<p>The bond which pride had first helped to form -was ill fitted to bear the daily strain which was now -put upon it. Annabella, all the romance of courtship -over, saw her idol without its gilding, the halo -of fancy faded away, and he over whom its lustre had -been thrown, appeared but as an ordinary mortal. -In a thousand little ways, scarcely apparent to any -but the parties immediately concerned, the habits -and wishes of the ill-assorted couple jarred painfully -on each other. Pride revelled in his work of mischief -as he glided from the one to the other.</p> - -<p>“Your wife,” he would whisper to the earl, “with -all her talents, and all her charms, is ill fitted for the -station which she holds. She has not the dignity, -the stateliness of mien which would beseem the lady -of Dashleigh Hall. She has vulgar tastes, vulgar -friends, vulgar amusements. Her very dress is not -such as becomes the wife of a peer of the realm. She -is giddy, fantastic, and vain, and altogether devoid -of a due sense of your condescension in placing her -at the head of your splendid establishment. Your -choice has been a mistake.”</p> - -<p>Then the spirit of mischief would breathe out his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -treason to Annabella: “Your husband, if superior -to you in descent, you have now discovered to be so -in no single other point. He has neither your wit -nor your spirit. He is rather a weak, though an -obstinate man, and thinks much more than common-sense -warrants of what has been called ‘the accident -of birth.’ Have you not much more reason to exult -in belonging to the aristocracy of talent, than that of -mere rank like him? Do you glory in the name of -Countess as you do in that of ‘Egeria,’ by which -alone you are known to reading thousands?”</p> - -<p>Having thus given my readers a glimpse of “the -skeleton in the house” where all appears outwardly -so full of enjoyment, I will take up my thread where -I laid it down, and return to the drawing-room of -Dashleigh Hall.</p> - -<p>Dr. Bardon, as we have seen, had been restored to -good humour by the tact and attentions of the countess, -and Cecilia exhausted all her superlatives in -admiration of everything that she saw. The conversation -flowed pleasantly between Annabella and -the doctor, for Bardon was a well read and intelligent -man, and literature was the countess’s passion. -Cecilia, however, found the discourse assuming too -much of the character of a <i lang="fr">tête-a-tête</i>, and not being -content to remain exclusively a listener, watched -eagerly for an opportunity to drop in her little contribution -to “the feast of reason and the flow of soul.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, the world is much like a library,” said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -Annabella, in reply to an observation from the doctor, -“but most persons enter it rather to give a -superficial glance at the binding of the books, than -to make themselves masters of the contents.”</p> - -<p>“They are satisfied if the gilding lie thick enough -on the backs of the tomes,” said the doctor.</p> - -<p>“But what a deep, what a curious study would every -character be, if we could read it through from beginning -to end (skipping the preface, of course, for -school-boys and school-girls are objects of natural -aversion). What romances would some lives disclose—while -others would offer the most forcible sermons -that ever were written. What exquisite beauty, -what touching poetry we might find in the daily -course of some whom now we regard with little -attention!”</p> - -<p>“Your lovely Cousin Ida, for instance,” chimed -in Cecilia, trying to catch the tone of the conversation, -“I always think of her as a living poem!”</p> - -<p>“If Ida be a poem,” said Annabella rather coldly, -“she is certainly one in blank verse,—a new version -of ‘Young’s Night Thoughts,’ exceedingly admirable -and sublime!”</p> - -<p>The countess had always professed herself attached -to her cousin, with whom she had from childhood -interchanged a thousand little tokens of affection. -She would have done much to promote the happiness -of Ida, or to avert from her any real sorrow, and yet—strange -contradiction—Annabella never liked to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -hear warm praise of her friend. It almost appeared -as though the countess considered the admiration -accorded to her beautiful cousin as so much subtracted -from herself. When just commendation of -another excites an uneasy sensation in our minds, we -need no supernatural power to recognise in it the -fretting jar of the jealous chain which pride has fixed -on our souls.</p> - -<p>Annabella was also at this time a little displeased -with her cousin. Ida Aumerle, from motives of -delicacy which the reader will understand though -the countess could not, had declined repeated invitations -to pay a long visit to Dashleigh Hall. Annabella, -who was eager to show her new possessions to -the friend of her youth, was hurt at what appeared -to her to be coldness, if not unkindness. To be -<em>easily offended</em> is one of the most indubitable marks of -pride, and from this Annabella was certainly not free.</p> - -<p>While the preceding conversation was proceeding -in the drawing-room, a horseman, attended by a -groom, rode up to the entrance of Dashleigh Hall. -He was a man who had scarcely yet reached the -meridian of life. His figure was graceful, though -affording small promise of physical strength; his -features well-formed, and of almost feminine delicacy, -though the prevailing expression which sat upon -them was one of conscious superiority,—now softening -into condescension, now, at any real or imagined -affront, rising into that of offended dignity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> - -<p>Reginald, Earl of Dashleigh—for this was he—seemed, -figuratively speaking, never to be out of the -cumbersome robes in which, on state occasions, he -appeared as a peer of the realm. Whether he -mingled in society, or conversed alone with his wife, -proffered hospitality, or received it, he appeared to -feel the weight of a coronet always encircling his -brow. The question which he asked himself before -entering upon any line of action, was less whether it -were right or wrong, prudent or foolish, as whether -it were worthy of Reginald, twelfth Earl of Dashleigh. -Pride had kept the young nobleman from -many of the vices and follies of his age; pride had -prevented him from doing anything that might -injure his character in the eyes of the world, and -had led him to do many things which gained for -him popular applause; but pride, at the best, is but -a miserable substitute for a higher principle of -action; its fruits may appear fair to the eye, but -are dust and corruption within.</p> - -<p>The earl was not a remarkably skilful rider. -Nature had not gifted him with either muscular -strength or iron nerve. At the moment that he -reached his own door his horsemanship was put to -unpleasant proof. An incident, ludicrous as that -which Cowper has celebrated in his humorous poem, -proved that the same mishaps may overtake a peer -of the realm, and “a citizen of credit and renown.” -The sudden, prolonged bray of a donkey—most unwonted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> -sound in that lordly place—startled the steed -which was ridden by the earl. Its sudden plunge -unseated its rider, and the illustrious aristocrat -measured his length upon the road! The accident -was of no serious nature; the nobleman was in an -instant again on his feet, shaking the dust from his -garments; nothing had suffered from the fall but -Reginald’s dignity, and, consequently, his temper. -The accident appeared absurd from its cause, and -Dashleigh was more provoked at the occurrence -than he might have been had some grave evil befallen -him.</p> - -<p>“How came that brute there?” he exclaimed to -the servants, who officiously crowded around him -with proffers of assistance, which were impatiently -rejected by their master. “How came that brute -there?” he angrily repeated, looking indignantly at -the animal which had drawn Dr. Bardon’s humble -conveyance, and which was now quietly feeding in -the luxuriant pasture of the park.</p> - -<p>“Please you, my lord, visitors to see her ladyship -came in that chaise,” replied a footman, scarcely -able to suppress a smile.</p> - -<p>“Visitors!” said the earl sharply; “the milliner -or the dressmaker, I suppose. Tell Mills at the -lodge never again to suffer such a thing to enter the -gate;” and without troubling himself with further -investigation, the nobleman entered into his house. -As he did so, he turned to his butler—“Let covers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> -be laid for three,” he said, in a tone of command; -“and give the housekeeper notice that the Duke of -Montleroy is likely to be here at luncheon.”</p> - -<p>“Covers are laid already for four, by her ladyship’s -order,” said the butler.</p> - -<p>“Indeed! what guests are expected?” asked the -earl.</p> - -<p>“The lady and gentleman, my lord, who came in -the chaise, and who are now in the drawing-room,” -was the reply.</p> - -<p>The earl stalked into the library in a state, not -only of high irritation and annoyance, but also of -considerable perplexity. Annabella had never before -appeared to him so utterly regardless of his wishes -and feelings, so completely destitute of a sense of -what was due to her position. To invite low -people—for such, he thought, that her guests assuredly -must be—to share her meal, to be introduced -to her husband, it was an offence scarcely to -be forgiven! And what was to be done on the -present occasion? Dashleigh had, on that morning, -casually met and invited a duke! It would be impossible -to insult a man of his quality by making -him sit at the same table with such <i lang="fr">canaille</i>! The -idea of such a breach of etiquette was abhorrent to -the feelings of the aristocrat, and yet, how was the -reality to be avoided? Annabella had invited her -own friends, and the earl was too much of a gentleman -to be willing to commit any decided breach of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -courtesy towards his wife’s guests, even though they -might have come in a donkey conveyance.</p> - -<p>We talk of the <em>petty</em> miseries of pride; to Dashleigh -the misery was not petty. It was with feelings -of serious annoyance that he rang his library bell, -and bade the servant who answered it request his -lady to speak with the earl directly.</p> - -<p>The message was carried to Annabella while she -was pursuing with the doctor a playful argument on -some literary question.</p> - -<p>“Is the earl aware that I am engaged with guests?” -asked the incautious countess.</p> - -<p>“His lordship knows who is here,” replied the -servant.</p> - -<p>Annabella instantly perceived her mistake, for she -saw the blood mount to the cheek of the sensitive -old Doctor. His pride was evidently on the <i lang="fr">qui vive</i>; -and it served to awaken hers. The countess felt -somewhat disposed to return to her liege lord such -an answer as Horatio received from his widow. She -had no inclination to play Griselda in the presence of -her early friends. She contented herself, however, -with showing that she was in no haste to obey the -summons of her titled husband, and finished her discussion -before (after apologizing to the Bardons for -a brief absence) she proceeded to the library, where -her indignant lord was impatiently awaiting her.</p> - -<p>Dr. Bardon walked up to the window with his -hands behind him, and waited for a space in silence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -Cecilia saw by the motion of his feet that a storm -was brewing in the air. Presently he turned -suddenly round with the question: “Do you suppose -that this earl means to make his appearance?”</p> - -<p>“Ye-e-es,” replied Cecilia timidly.</p> - -<p>“No!” exclaimed the doctor fiercely. The two -words, and the manner of pronouncing them, were -characteristic of father and daughter, and might -almost have been adopted as mottoes by the twain. -“Yes” was very often on Cecilia’s lips, but she appeared -to feel the affirmation too short to answer the -full purpose of politeness, and always managed to -drawl out the monosyllable to the length of three. -Bardon’s “No,” on the contrary, came out short and -sharp, like a bark. He seemed to concentrate into -it his haughty spirit of perpetual dissent from the -opinions of the rest of the world.</p> - -<p>“I should not wonder if the poor girl has got -into a scrape for inviting us,” was the doctor’s next -observation.</p> - -<p>“Oh! dear papa!” exclaimed Cecilia, in an expostulatory -tone, though the same thought had just been -passing through her own mind.</p> - -<p>“I’m not going to wait here like a lackey in a -lobby!” said the doctor, moving towards the door. -Cecilia was in a tremour of apprehension.</p> - -<p>“Papa, papa! we can’t slip away without bidding -the countess good-bye,—without seeing the earl,—it -would look so odd, so rude.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What’s odd and rude is their leaving us here, -without paying us common civility! I’ll stand it no -longer!” cried the irascible man; and opening the -door, he proceeded along the corridor which led to -the hall, followed by his expostulating daughter.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately, their course lay past the library; -and more unfortunately still, the library door happened -to be very slightly ajar.</p> - -<p>“Can’t you manage some way of getting rid of -these miserable Bardons?” were the words, pronounced -in an irritated tone, which struck like a -pistol-shot on the ears of the countess’s guests.</p> - -<p>It was as though that pistol-shot had exploded a -mine of gunpowder! To the earl’s amazement the -library door was suddenly flung wide open, and, -quivering with irrepressible rage, the fiery old doctor -stood before him.</p> - -<p>“Manage!” exclaimed Bardon, in a voice of -thunder; “there is little <em>management</em> required in -dismissing those who, had they known the despicable -pride which inhabits here, would never have stooped,—<em>never -have stooped</em>,” he repeated, “to degrade -themselves by crossing your threshold! You have -dared to apply to us the epithet of <em>miserable</em>,” continued -Bardon, bringing out the word as with a -convulsive effort, and fixing his fierce eye upon the -disconcerted peer; “I retort back the opprobrious -term! Who is miserable but the miserable slave of -pride,—the worshipper of rank, the gilded puppet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -of society, who claims from his ancestors’ name the -importance which attaches to nothing of his own? -This is the first time, sir, that I have visited you, -and it shall be the last,—the last time that you shall -have the opportunity of insulting, under your own -roof, a gentleman whose pretensions to respect are, -at least, as well grounded as yours, and who would -not exchange his independence of spirit for all the -pomp and pageantry which can never give dignity -to their possessor, nor avert from him merited contempt!” -With the last words on his lips, Bardon -turned and departed; his loud, tramping step -echoing along the hall, before the earl had time to -recover his breath.</p> - -<p>Annabella, agitated and excited, appeared about -to hurry after her guests, but with an imperious -gesture Dashleigh prevented his wife from doing so. -Bitterly mortified at what had occurred, irritated, -wounded, and offended, the countess burst into a -flood of passionate tears.</p> - -<p>Pride reigned triumphant that day in the Hall. -He had worked out his evil will. He had steeped -hearts in bitter gall; he had loosened the bond -between husband and wife; he had brought envy, -hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness, to rush in at -the breach which he had insidiously made.</p> - -<p>The countess spent the rest of the day in her own -apartment. She would not appear at her husband’s -table, nor entertain her husband’s guest. She had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -not learned to bear or to forbear; least of all was -she prepared to submit her will to that of her imperious -lord. Even when the breach between them -appeared to be healed, it left its visible scar behind; -the wound was ready to break out afresh, for the -soft balm of meekness and love had not been poured -upon it, and what else can effectually cure the hurt -caused by the envenomed shaft of pride?</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.<br /> -<span class="smaller">A BROTHER’S EFFORT.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Solicit not thy thoughts with matters hid,</div> -<div class="verse">Leave them to God above; him serve and fear.</div> -<div class="verse">... Heaven is for thee too high</div> -<div class="verse">To know what passes there. Be lowly wise.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Milton.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“The calm philosopher may analyze</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The elements that form a water-drop;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">But will the faint and thirsty pilgrim stop</div> -<div class="verse">To scan its nature, ere the fount he tries?</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Thus, while the haughty soul God’s truth receives</div> -<div class="verse indent1">With cold indifference, reasoning, doubting still,—</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The poor in spirit from the sacred rill</div> -<div class="verse">Drinks life, and, ere he comprehends, believes.”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The red glow of sunset had ceased to light up the -latticed windows of the vicarage, or bathe its smooth -lawn and thick shrubbery in a crimson glow. The -rosy tint of the sky had faded into grey, and the -evening mist had begun to rise, but still the vicar -prolonged his walk on the gravel path in front of his -dwelling. Up and down he slowly paced, with his -hands behind him, his eyes bent on the ground, and -an expression of thought—painful thought—upon -his benevolent face. Ida passed him on her return -from a class, but, contrary to his usual habit, he -took no notice of his daughter. Mabel tripped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -through the open window,—a mode of exit which she -usually preferred to the door,—and, running lightly up -to her father, locked her arm within his, with a playful -remark on his solitary mood. The remark did not -call up an answering smile; Mr. Aumerle did not -appear even to have heard it, so Mabel, concluding -from his manner that he must be composing a -funeral sermon, quietly left him to his grave meditations.</p> - -<p>At length, with a little sigh, as if he had just -arrived at the conclusion of some painful line of -reflection, the clergyman turned towards the house, -and entering at the door, made his way towards his -own little study.</p> - -<p>As he had expected, the room was not empty. -His brother sat reading at the table by the light of -a lamp, which threw into strong relief the classic -outline of his handsome features. Aumerle saw not—no -mortal could see—the dim, dark form beside -him, or mark the gigantic shadow cast over the -reader by the bat-like wing extended over him by -Pride.</p> - -<p>Mr. Aumerle sat down near Augustine in silence. -He surveyed his brother some moments with a look -of anxious tenderness, then gave a little cough, as if -to arouse his attention.</p> - -<p>Augustine glanced up from the volume of German -philosophy which he had been perusing. He had -perhaps an idea that something unpleasant was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> -coming, for he did not choose to commence the conversation.</p> - -<p>“My dear Augustine,” began Lawrence Aumerle, -after another uneasy little cough, “I have been for -some time wishing to speak to you on a subject of -great interest to us both. You must be aware,—you -cannot but feel that the light observation which -escaped you to-day at dinner, was of a nature to -give me considerable pain.”</p> - -<p>“What I said about the Bible?” replied his -brother. “Well, it was a thoughtless observation, I -own; but I certainly never intended to pain you. -Your good lady came down upon me so sharp, and -gave me such an oratorical cudgelling, that even Ida -herself must have confessed that the punishment -exceeded the offence.”</p> - -<p>“Augustine, this is no jesting matter,” said his -brother.</p> - -<p>“I own that I was indiscreet and wrong in talking -after that fashion in presence of the girls. Are you -not satisfied with that frank confession?”</p> - -<p>“I am not satisfied; I cannot be satisfied while I -remain in doubt as to whether those careless words -did not really express the opinion of my brother. -Ever since you have been here on this visit, Augustine, -it has seemed to me as if a change had passed -over you; you are no longer what you once were. -There is not the frank interchange of thought between -us that there used to be in former years.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I am no longer a boy,” replied Augustine, leaning -carelessly back in his chair.</p> - -<p>“When you were a boy,” continued Mr. Aumerle, -“you used often to express to me your desire to -enter the ministry.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’s all over,” replied Augustine quickly; -“my views on many points have changed. I have -discovered that there are many paths open to speculative -thought besides the dry beaten one which you -and all the pious world have been content for generations -to tread.”</p> - -<p>“There is nothing,” murmured Pride, “so hateful -to an exalted spirit as travelling in a crowd.”</p> - -<p>“Is it well,” said Aumerle, “to wander from the -narrow path, in which so many have found happiness -in life, and peace in death?”</p> - -<p>“There are stumbling-blocks in that path,” replied -Augustine; “difficulties which it would puzzle even -a theologian like yourself to remove, and over which -the learned and the zealous have wrangled from time -immemorial. How can you explain to me this?” -and the young man ran over, with rapid eloquence, -one after another of the difficult questions which -have for ages put human wisdom to fault. “How -can you explain all this?” he repeated, at the close -of his argument.</p> - -<p>“These things are beyond the grasp of the human -mind,” replied the clergyman; “they are not contrary -to reason, but above it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Reason is the guide allotted to intellectual -man,” said Augustine; “I go as far as she leads me, -and no further.”</p> - -<p>“Reason is the guide that leads to the temple of -revelation. There is an overwhelming mass of -evidence, external and internal, to convince any unprejudiced -mind that the Bible is the word of God. -Prophecies accomplished, types fulfilled, the divine -Spirit breathed through the pages, the unearthly -perfection of One character there portrayed, with -superhuman knowledge of the frailties and requirements -of man; the devotion of the early witnesses -to its truth, who sealed their testimony with their -blood; the standing miracles foretold in the Scriptures, -of the Jewish people scattered amongst all -nations, and yet separate, and of a Church which, -rising in an obscure land from the tomb of its -Founder, has spread against the opposition of earth -and hell, has swept away the barriers raised against -it by temporal power and spiritual idolatry, and the -natural opposition of every unregenerate heart, and -which still goes on conquering and to conquer;—is -not all this sufficient to bring reason to the position -of the handmaid of religion, and make her, as I -said at the first, the guide to the temple of revelation?”</p> - -<p>“Granted,” said Augustine, after a pause; “but, -when we enter that temple, when we scrutinize the -mysteries which it contains—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Reason is no longer capable of guiding the soul; -the appointed guardian of these mysteries is faith.”</p> - -<p>“Who would lead us blindfold!” said Augustine -impatiently. “Here it is that I would make my -stand, for I maintain that no man—”</p> - -<p><i>Pride.</i>—“Gifted, intellectual man—”</p> - -<p><i>Augustine.</i>—“Is bound to believe what he cannot -understand!”</p> - -<p><i>Aumerle.</i>—“Augustine, Augustine, all nature refutes -you! What do we understand of the physical -wonders that have environed man for thousands of -years? We note facts, but in what innumerable instances -are we baffled when we attempt to trace back -effects to their causes! We hear the power of -electricity in the thunder-clap, see it in the flash of -lightning, nay, make it the servant of our will to -unite distant continents together; but who can say -that he understands it? We give it a name, we calculate -its force, but reason grasps not its nature. -Who can say how the soul is united to the body? -Who can say what the faculty of memory may be, -where it hoards up its life-accumulated treasures, and -produces on the moment from the mass the very -idea which it requires? These are not foreign subjects, -they are subjects brought daily to the attention -of myriads of reasoning beings, and during sixty -centuries what has reason made of them? She is content -to give up her place to faith; we believe, but we -<em>cannot</em> understand. And can we expect that aught<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> -else should be the case when a weak, helpless worm -like man fixes his thoughts upon the solemn mysteries -of the invisible world,—when the finite attempts -to comprehend the infinite! Reason, your boasted -reason, at once shows the folly of such an expectation. -On this earth we are in the infancy of our -existence. As little could the young child of a monarch, -while scarcely yet able to read, expect to grasp -the difficult science of administration, and make himself -master of the details of the business of an empire, -as man, with his limited faculties, fathom the -deep things of God!”</p> - -<p>“In this your favourite simile,” said Augustine, -“you must admit that some children are more advanced -than the rest.”</p> - -<p>“I believe that he is most advanced in spiritual -knowledge,” replied Aumerle, “who can adopt the -language of the gifted warrior-king of Israel.” He -opened the Bible which lay on the table, and read -aloud from the 131st Psalm:—</p> - -<p>“<em>Lord, my heart is not haughty, nor mine eyes -lofty: neither do I exercise myself in great matters, -or in things too high for me. Surely I have behaved -and quieted myself, as a child that is weaned -of his mother: my soul is even as a weaned child.</em>”</p> - -<p>“One would almost think,” observed Augustine, -“that you consider intellect as rather a disqualification -than a help in penetrating the mysteries of religion.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> - -<p>“These mysteries are beyond the province allotted -to human intellect,” replied his brother. “The Bible -assures us that <em>the natural man receiveth not the -things of God, for they are spiritually discerned</em>. -Our Lord thanked his Father that these things, being -hidden <em>from the wise and prudent</em> (wise in the -world’s wisdom, prudent in their own eyes), were yet -<em>revealed unto babes</em>. Depend upon it, my dear -brother,” continued the clergyman earnestly, “the -true stumbling-block in our path is our pride! Is it -not written in the word, <em>The meek will he guide in -judgment, and the meek will he teach his way</em>?”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to assert,” said Augustine, “that -none of the meek and devout have ever been troubled -with difficulties and doubts?”</p> - -<p>“Not so; I believe that many of God’s best servants -have been much exercised with such spiritual -trials. But it has been beautifully written, ‘A sign -is granted to the doubt of love which is not given to -the doubt of indifference.’ The meek are not left -in darkness,—such are not given up to the adversary. -But it is because they oppose him, not in the -intellectual armour of subtle reasoning and metaphysical -argument, but armed with the sling of prayer, -humble and persevering prayer. To such the promise -of the Comforter is given, whose office is to -guide unto all truth.’”</p> - -<p><i>Augustine.</i>—“You, doubtless, are amongst those -spiritually enlightened, though I suspect that you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -regard me as still in darkness. I should like to -know how far, with faith your infallible guide, you -have penetrated into such a mystery, for instance, as -that of the origin of sin.”</p> - -<p><i>Pride.</i>—“Nail him with that difficulty; wrest his -one weapon out of his hand, and see how he comes -off in the contest when your intellect fairly grapples -with his!”</p> - -<p><i>Aumerle.</i>—“I find it more profitable, my brother, -to trace the effects of sin in my own heart, than to -dive into such a mystery. The existence of sin within -us concerns us more nearly than its origin.”</p> - -<p><i>Augustine.</i>—“Now own to me frankly, Lawrence, -whether there be not something conventional and -strained in this perpetual talk—I had almost said -<em>cant</em>—about sin, which we hear from the best people -in the world? I look upon it as the affectation of -humility, because without that crowning virtue the -most saintly character is not considered to be absolutely -perfect.”</p> - -<p><i>Aumerle.</i>—“Can you doubt the all-pervading influence -of sin? <em>The heart is deceitful above all -things and desperately wicked. All our righteousnesses -are as filthy rags. There is none that doeth -good, no not one</em>; this is the scriptural estimate of -human nature.”</p> - -<p><i>Augustine.</i>—“Lay aside the Scriptures for a -moment, and come to actual facts as we see them -around us. Look now at such a character as that of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -Ida—pure, unworldly, self-denying, devoted; such a -description of evil cannot for a moment be applied -to her.”</p> - -<p><i>Aumerle.</i>—“You see her, God be praised, as she is -by grace, and not by nature.”</p> - -<p><i>Augustine.</i>—“But she continues to regard herself -as a sinner,—for aught that I know as the chief of -sinners, she is ever repenting of errors which no one -but herself can perceive.”</p> - -<p><i>Aumerle.</i>—“With faculties as limited as ours, our -not perceiving errors is no proof of their non-existence. -What to the naked eye is so pure as a crystal -stream, or so glorious as the orb of day? yet the microscope -reveals to us impurities in the water, and the -telescope—blots in the sun.”</p> - -<p><i>Augustine (smiling).</i>—“Leave to me the unassisted -vision. I do not wish to think ill of human nature. -I believe that a man may walk serenely through life, -and find himself in heaven at the end of it, without -this incessant judging and condemning either himself -or his fellow-creatures.”</p> - -<p><i>Pride.</i>—“Yes; one who is like yourself possesses -an unblemished character, and a high moral standard, -and who seeks to benefit his kind, without professions -of superior sanctity.”</p> - -<p><i>Aumerle.</i>—“Augustine, I see but too clearly why -your mind delights to seek out only the difficulties -and doubts in religion! You can sit tranquilly as a -judge, because you have never recognised your position<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -as a criminal. You are, with all your brilliant -intellect, ignorant of the very alphabet of spiritual -knowledge. You do not know your own weakness -and sin.”</p> - -<p><i>Pride.</i>—“He imagines himself addressing one of -the ignorant rustics of his parish. His mind is narrowed -by professional bigotry. It requires at least -the virtue of patience to listen to such illiberal cant.”</p> - -<p><i>Augustine (smiling).</i>—“It seems, Lawrence, that -you would have me acknowledge myself not only a -child, but a very naughty child.”</p> - -<p><i>Aumerle.</i>—“Augustine, this is no subject for trifling. -The difference between our ages long made me -regard you rather as a beloved son than a brother. -In some points our relative positions may be reversed. -You have shown yourself to be possessed of talents to -which I can lay no claim; I cheerfully cede to you -the palm in all that regards intellectual power. But -in one thing riper years still give me the advantage. -Experience is the natural growth of time; spiritual -experience of self-examination and prayer. I am -persuaded that every step of the Christian’s life -opens to him a wider prospect of the evil of his sinful -nature. He learns it not only from the Bible, -but by painful remembrance of broken resolutions, -neglected duties, and secret backslidings, even if the -Almighty preserve him from falls visible to others. -Spiritual pride, nay, all pride, can be but the offspring -of ignorance, ignorance of the requirements of God’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -law, and of our failure in fulfilling that law,—ignorance -of the infinite holiness of the Creator, and of -the infirmity and guilt of the creature!”</p> - -<p>Pride started at the words of Aumerle, and fiercely -shook his sable wing. The earnestness and tenderness -of the clergyman’s manner might have made -some impression on his brother, but Pride threw -himself between them, and laid an iron grasp on his -slave. Oh, how difficult is it to speak rebuke, without -arousing the demon of Pride, and arming his giant -strength against us!</p> - -<p>Augustine rose from his seat, and said coldly, -“Lawrence, we have had enough of this, and more -than enough. Thanks for your well-meant sermon, -though it savours more of the musty volumes of old -divinity, than the enlightened systems of an age of -progress. You and I will never look upon these -matters in the same light; let the subject be dropped -henceforth between us!” And so saying, and taking -with him his philosophical book, Augustine Aumerle -quitted the study.</p> - -<p>The vicar remained behind, sad, disappointed, -almost disheartened. His words appeared to have -had no effect but that of irritating his brother, and -weakening the bond between them. But Aumerle -had another resource, and he failed not to avail -himself of it. While Augustine in the drawing-room -was amusing himself and delighting his nieces -by a playful critique upon Tennyson’s poetry (theology<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> -he had determined carefully to avoid entering upon -again at the vicarage), Lawrence was upon his knees -in his study, fervently imploring his heavenly Father -to open the eyes of one who appeared to be gifted -with all knowledge except that which could alone -make him <em>wise unto salvation</em>!</p> - -<p>Perhaps the minister’s present failure was to -himself a blessing. It was sent to humble and prove -him, to make him feel how powerless he was to -influence a single soul without the aid of God’s Holy -Spirit. It made him more earnest in prayer, more -fervent in supplication. How many in a better -world may find that they have reason to thank God, -not only for their successes, but their failures, and -see that the blessings which they had invoked upon -others, had been returned a hundred-fold into their -own bosoms!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.<br /> -<span class="smaller">DISAPPOINTMENT.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent1">“Bitterest to the lip of pride,</div> -<div class="verse">When hopes presumptuous fade and fall.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Keble.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Save me alike from foolish pride,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Or impious discontent</div> -<div class="verse">For what Thy wisdom hath denied,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Or what Thy goodness lent!”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Pope.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The Countess of Dashleigh sat in her boudoir, -surrounded by all the luxuries which art can devise -or wealth procure. But she paid little attention to -anything around her, for her thoughts were absorbed -in her occupation,—to a young authoress a very -delightful occupation,—that of revising the proof-sheets -of her first romance. “Egeria” was now -taking a flight above the columns of a periodical; -she was about to present to the world a volume in -violet and gold! How to give her ideas the richest -setting, how to display her talent to most advantage, -was now the one prevailing thought which occupied -her mind from morning till night. Annabella was -like a mother rejoicing over a first-born child; and -she examined the rough proofs with the interest and -delight which a young parent might feel in surveying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> -the little elegancies of the wardrobe of her darling -babe.</p> - -<p>“Egeria” smiled to herself as she imagined the -various reviews of her work which would doubtless -appear in the papers and periodicals of the day. -She fancied what passages would be extracted, what -characters praised; what might possibly be censured, -what must be admired. In the midst of her enjoyment -of this feast of imagination, she was interrupted -by the entrance of the earl. Alas! that the presence -of a husband should ever be felt unwelcome!</p> - -<p>“Annabella, my love, I have just received a letter, -which I should be obliged by your answering for me. -I am glad to find you with a pen in your hand.”</p> - -<p>“Presently, Reginald; I will answer it presently,” -said the countess, a slight frown of impatience passing -over her brow; “I am most exceedingly busy at -present.”</p> - -<p>“What are you doing?” inquired the earl, who -was not in the secret of his lady’s occupation, though -aware that she devoted much time to her pen. -“May I see?” he added, taking up one of the dirty -proof-sheets which had just received Annabella’s -corrections.</p> - -<p>“Are you to be my first critic?” said the countess -playfully; “if so, I hope that you will be an indulgent -one.”</p> - -<p>The earl looked for a few minutes a little embarrassed, -as if a subject had been suddenly brought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -before him on which he had not had time to make -up his mind. He then seated himself on the sofa, -and twisting the paper about in his fingers as he -addressed his wife without looking at her, he began -in his somewhat formal style:—“It seems to me, -Annabella, that authorship is not what is most -exactly suitable for one who holds the position of a -countess.”</p> - -<p>“Are countesses then supposed to be more stupid -than other people?” asked Annabella.</p> - -<p>The earl made no direct reply to a question which -appeared to him rather impertinent. He was -desirous to avoid an argument, and rather to have -recourse to persuasion. “You have so many other -resources,” he began, “so many pleasures—”</p> - -<p>“Not one of them,—not all of them together to be -compared to this!” exclaimed Annabella with animation. -“I value the smallest bay-leaf from Parnassus -more than the strawberry-leaves on a ducal coronet!”</p> - -<p>The Earl of Dashleigh was offended. “I am -aware, madam,” he said stiffly, “that you take a -pride in disparaging the advantages of high social -standing. A lofty position has no charms for you.”</p> - -<p>“I have known the time, Dashleigh,” said his -wife, laughing, but with something of bitterness in -her mirth, “when a lofty position had no charms for -you. When you stood upon a certain Swiss mountain, -able neither to get upwards nor downwards, -and glad of the assistance of my little hand—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> - -<p>“That has nothing on earth to do with the -question!” cried the earl, colouring and looking -angry.</p> - -<p>“Oh! I beg your lordship’s pardon; I was going -to draw an analogy, as the learned say; I was going -to make a metaphor of a fact. I looked at snowy -peaks, deep abysses, awful chasms, and was transported -with a sense of their grandeur, as you are -with that of hereditary rank! Mont Blanc seemed -to me loftier—more sublime—than the woolsack -appears to you! You, on the contrary, grew a little -dizzy,—you only considered the fatigue of the climbing, -and the danger—”</p> - -<p>“This is idle talk!” cried the earl impatiently. -“I happened to be taken with a fit of vertigo, and—and -of course you have no intention of publishing?” -he inquired, making a very abrupt turn in -the conversation.</p> - -<p>“Of course I have,” replied Annabella.</p> - -<p>“You do not mean to—to let me infer for a -moment that you, the Countess of Dashleigh, have -ever dreamed of deriving any pecuniary advantage—” -The words appeared almost to choke him, so he left -the sentence incomplete.</p> - -<p>“You do not suppose that I intend to make a -present to the publisher of the effusions of my -genius,” said the lady. “No, I have the pleasure -of working for a good cause. The new gallery of -our church is to be propped up by this little pen!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> -and with some pride Annabella held upright on the -table the small instrument of her literary power.</p> - -<p>“Really, madam, you astonish me!” exclaimed -the peer, rising in surprise and indignation. “The -Countess of Dashleigh to enter the lists with Grub -Street penny-a-liners,—the Countess of Dashleigh -to receive payment from a publisher, to earn a -miserable pittance like any wretched mechanic—”</p> - -<p>“To do what Shakspeare, Milton, Johnson, did -before her.”</p> - -<p>“They were not of the peerage,” interrupted -Dashleigh.</p> - -<p>“No, they were something more!” exclaimed -Annabella. “They were ‘below the good how far; -but <em>far above the great</em>!’ I should be only too -proud to follow in their steps!”</p> - -<p>“I tell you it is impossible,—utterly impossible,” -repeated the earl. “My wife to work for hire! I -could never show my face again in the House of -Lords if I submitted to such a degradation!”</p> - -<p>Poor Annabella was like a child whose high-built -house of cards has been suddenly dashed to the -ground. Her eyes filled fast with tears, but she -was too proud to let them overflow.</p> - -<p>The earl was not a hard man. He saw that he -had given pain, and hastened to smoothe down his -young wife’s disappointment.</p> - -<p>“Since writing gives you such amusement,” he -said, “I will not altogether discourage it. You may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> -print that work for private circulation—I have no -great objection to that—and as for the gallery of the -church, I will support that by a handsome donation.”</p> - -<p>Dashleigh thought that this concession must -entirely satisfy Annabella, but in this he showed -little knowledge of the peculiar ambition of his wife. -What! was she never to see a review of her work -in a leading paper,—was she to limit its circulation,—were -a few friends and acquaintance alone to -enjoy what she had expected would excite a sensation -throughout the literary world! This would be -clipping the wings of her Pegasus indeed, and making -him the mere carriage-horse of a peer!</p> - -<p>“I would rather burn my volume at once,” she -said pettishly, “than have it merely printed for private -circulation. I should be ashamed to send it -round like a begging-box to my acquaintance, with -an understood petition of ‘compliments thankfully -received!’”</p> - -<p>“You could not endure to see your book hawked -about, sold on miserable stalls, thumbed in circulating -libraries!”</p> - -<p>The idea was shocking to the earl, but very delightful -to Annabella. “I could endure it very -well,” she said coldly; “I see no harm in the thing.”</p> - -<p>“But I see it, madam,” exclaimed Dashleigh, “and -what’s more, I will not suffer it to be done! Your -dignity is connected with my own; it may be nothing -to you, but it is something to me. If my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> -wishes have no effect, you will at least listen to my -commands.”</p> - -<p>“Tyrant!” whispered the demon Pride; and the -heart of Annabella echoed the treasonous word -‘tyrant!’</p> - -<p>The earl was satisfied with having taken a step -so decided. He had no wish to prolong a discussion -with his wife, in which, as he knew by experience, -she generally had the advantage. Having uttered -his mandate he quitted the room, leaving Annabella -in a state of angry excitement.</p> - -<p>“Private circulation! I may print for private circulation! -most condescending concession from my -lord!” she muttered to herself, as she sat gloomily -surveying the proofs which had lately afforded her -such keen delight. Then a thought seemed at once -to strike the countess, her over-cast countenance -lighted up with a gleam as if of triumph. “Yes; I -will write something for private circulation,” she -cried, “something which my lord will find so very -amusing, so highly diverting, that he will be glad to -compound for its suppression by letting me do what -I like with my book. Mine shall be a little romance -in real life, an incident in the life of a peer of the -realm!” and, dashing the drops from her eyes, Annabella -at once sat down to her desk.</p> - -<p>She wrote in a fit of resentment, and what she -penned naturally took the colour of her feelings. -The countess wrote a ludicrous account of a little adventure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> -which had occurred to the Earl of ——, the -dash serving as a transparent veil which every one -could see through. She recounted how the earl, accompanied -by his wife, who was fired with the ambition -of emulating the feats which Albert Smith has -rendered famous, ascended part of the way up a -Swiss mountain. She described how, long ere the -snowy region was reached, the nobleman had been -seized with giddiness and nervous fear; how he had -stood on a steep slope, with a precipice on either -hand, clutching tremblingly at the rock-plants which -gave way in his grasp, calling out in alarm for aid, -and thankful at last to catch hold of the end of a -boa which his more active and fearless partner extended -from the summit of a cliff. It was a relief -to Annabella to give vent to her anger and malice -in this little, humorous sketch. She wrote without -any deliberate intention of ever showing it to a -human eye; her paper took to her the place of a -female confidante, that too often mischievous companion -to a woman who is not happily married.</p> - -<p>Having finished her little piece the countess descended -to the drawing-room, to pass a sullen, uncomfortable -evening in the society of her aristocratic -husband.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.<br /> -<span class="smaller">ON THE WATCH.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Struggling in the world’s dark strife,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Man requires, ere parting thence,</div> -<div class="verse">Pardon for the holiest life,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">For the purest—penitence.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Helpless all—a Power above</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Saving strength alone can give,</div> -<div class="verse">Sinners all,—a God of love</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Only bids the guilty live!</div> -<div class="verse">From polluted works we flee,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Lord, to hide ourselves in Thee!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>It was a sunny afternoon in April. In a rustic arbour -at the end of the garden, garlanded with honeysuckle -and clematis, through the interstices of whose -bright, young leaves came the smiling sunshine, and -the soft breath of Spring, sat Ida and Mabel Aumerle. -This arbour was a favourite retreat of the girls; -thither they carried their books and their work; -and could the clustering shrubs around it have had -a voice, much could they have told of sweet converse -held together by the sisters, and that free interchange -of thought which is one of the dearest privileges of -friendship.</p> - -<p>“Ida, dearest,” said Mabel, “shall I tell you what -Uncle Augustine said of you to-day when you left<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -the room after prayers? He said, ‘Ida is a noble -girl, and has no fault except that of being too good.’ -Papa smiled and shook his head gently; Mrs. Aumerle -gave her odious, little shrug!”</p> - -<p>“Uncle Augustine does not know my heart,” said -Ida.</p> - -<p>“But I know it if any one does, and I am sure -that uncle himself cannot think more highly of you -than I do.”</p> - -<p>“You are partial,” replied her sister with a smile.</p> - -<p>“I only wish that I were like you! I know I’m -a proud, wayward girl, and shall never reach heaven -unless I am better. I often make good resolutions, -but somehow”—Mabel looked down sadly as she -spoke,—“somehow they break away like thread in -the flame! I wonder if I shall ever be really holy.”</p> - -<p>Ida laid down the muslin which she was working, -and drawing closer to her young sister, said in a -gentle tone, “You speak, dearest, of being holy and -reaching heaven; of making good resolutions and not -being able to keep them,—as if the impression were -on your mind that you have to form, as it were, a -ladder of good works, by which to reach a certain -difficult height, beyond which lie the regions of -glory.”</p> - -<p>“That’s just it,” said Mabel sadly, “and I am discouraged -because I always find that my ladder is too -short; that climb as I may, I never can reach the -height that you do.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I threw away my ladder long ago,” said Ida -clasping her hands; “I found that every round in it -was broken!”</p> - -<p>“O Ida, what do you mean? I am certain that -you have never ceased to do good works daily.”</p> - -<p>“I would no more use them,” exclaimed Ida, “as <em>a -means of reaching heaven</em>, than I would hope, by aid -of yonder fragile clematis, to climb to the bright sun -or stars! No,” she continued, her lip trembling with -emotion as she spoke, “I would put those works which -you call good, to the only use for which they are fit; -if the fire of love kindle the broken, imperfect fragments, -I may humbly offer upon them a sacrifice of -thanksgiving to Him through whom alone I have -hope of reaching the heavenly heights.”</p> - -<p>“But, Ida, I can hardly yet see how <em>every round</em> -on the ladder of good works is broken. I am sure -that some—at least of <em>yours</em>, must be very pleasing -to God.”</p> - -<p>“Let us examine them closely,” replied Ida, “let -us fix upon what you consider the very best of our -works, and let us see if it could, even for a moment, -in itself support the weight of a soul.”</p> - -<p>Mabel considered for a little, and then said, “Perhaps -the best of our works is prayer.”</p> - -<p>“We shall not need much examination, I fear, to -find that our prayers are cold, wandering, insincere.”</p> - -<p>“Cold sometimes, yes,—but—”</p> - -<p>“And sadly wandering,” added Ida; “at least I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> -am sure that I feel mine to be so. O Mabel! I have -often reflected that if an angel could write down all -the thoughts that flow through our minds while we -kneel in the attitude of prayer,—the foolish fancies, -the idle dreams, the vain selfish imaginations which -mix with our earnest supplications, we should be so -shocked and disgusted at such a mockery of devotion, -that with penitence and shame we should implore -that our prayers themselves should be forgiven!”</p> - -<p>“Yes; they are cold and wandering,—but I am -sure that mine are not insincere.”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid that we sometimes ask for blessings -which we have no earnest desire to obtain. Do we -not sometimes pray to be delivered from pride and -uncharitableness, when at the time we are fostering -these enemies as welcome guests in our hearts? -Have we fully entered into the spirit of that prayer -which we have so often uttered:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">‘The dearest idol I have known,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Whate’er that idol be,</div> -<div class="verse">Help me to tear it from thy throne,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And worship only Thee?’</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>If we were quite certain that such prayers would -be granted <em>directly</em>, would we not sometimes be -afraid to breathe them, and is there then no insincerity -in having them so frequently on our lips?”</p> - -<p>“O Ida!” exclaimed Mabel, with a sigh; “you -look a great deal too closely into the heart! If our -very prayers be full of sin, what must our worldly -actions be? The most disagreeable duty in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -world is this searching for hidden evil, this dreadful -self-examination! I am sure that a great many -good people never practise it, and are much happier -for their ignorance of themselves.”</p> - -<p>“What should we say, dear one, of a man of business -who refused to look into his books, lest he -should find the balance against him? of the owner -of a dwelling who should be content to keep one -room swept and cleansed, leaving all the rest, with -locked doors and closed shutters, to darkness and pollution? -what should we think of the governor of a -castle, who should pace proudly along the battlements, -careless whether a lurking foe had not penetrated -to the heart of the fortress?”</p> - -<p>“I should certainly think the two first fools, and -the third a traitor to his trust,” replied Mabel. “But, -Ida, this self-examination only makes us miserable! -If I find every round in my ladder broken, and have -my fierce enemy behind me, and before me the -heights which I shall never be able to reach,—what -can I do but sit down and despair?”</p> - -<p>“You forget, you forget,” cried Ida, with animation, -“the bright golden cord which is let down to -you from above. We cannot climb to heaven by our -good works; but faith, living, loving faith, can grasp -the means of salvation held out by a merciful -Saviour. The more helpless we feel ourselves, the -more eagerly we cling to our only sure hope. Mabel, -this is the glory of the Gospel. It humbles the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> -sinner, but exalts the Saviour; it shows us that we -can do nothing in ourselves, yet can do all things -through Him who loved and gave himself for us!”</p> - -<p>Mabel made no reply in words, but she drooped -her head till it found its resting-place on a sister’s -bosom. An arm was gently drawn around her, -and Ida imprinted a silent kiss on her brow. -The demon Pride stood gloomily aloof; he felt himself -baffled for a time, and dared not intrude his -presence on the sisters during the remainder of that -peaceful day!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE QUARREL.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“A something light as air,—a look,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">A word unkind, or wrongly taken,</div> -<div class="verse">Oh! love that tempests never shook</div> -<div class="verse indent1">A breath, a touch like this hath shaken!</div> -<div class="verse">And ruder words will soon rush in</div> -<div class="verse">To spread the breach that words begin,</div> -<div class="verse">And eyes forget the gentle ray</div> -<div class="verse">They wore in courtship’s smiling day,</div> -<div class="verse">And voices lose the tone that shed</div> -<div class="verse">A tenderness o’er all they said;—</div> -<div class="verse">Till fast declining, one by one</div> -<div class="verse">The sweetnesses of love are gone,</div> -<div class="verse">And hearts, so lately mingled, seem</div> -<div class="verse">Like broken clouds, or like the stream</div> -<div class="verse">That smiling leaves the mountain’s brow,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">As though its waters ne’er could sever,</div> -<div class="verse">Yet, ere it reach the plain below,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Breaks into floods, that part for ever!”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Moore.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The Earl and Countess of Dashleigh now found less -enjoyment in the mutual converse which had once -made their days flow so pleasantly and swiftly, and -which had been especially appreciated by Dashleigh, -whose reserve or pride made him avoid much general -society. When Annabella’s wit sparkled before him, -he had needed no other amusement, and in the first -part of her wedded life, she had required no other -auditor than him who listened with so partial an ear. -But each now felt that a change had come, as water<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> -penetrating the crevices of a rock, and then freezing, -sometimes by its sudden expansion bursts asunder -the solid stone, and severs it as effectually by silent -power as a gunpowder blast could have done, so -secret pride in both hearts was gradually, fatally -dividing those bound to each other by the closest of -earthly ties! There was yet, however, no open -quarrel; the world was not called in as a spectator of -domestic disunion. There was no appearance of want -of harmony as, on the occasion which I am about to -relate, the husband and the wife sat together in the -countess’s luxurious boudoir, Annabella on a damask -sofa, engaged in German work, the earl at a writing-table, -looking over a copy of the <cite>Times</cite>.</p> - -<p>There had been a long silence between them. It -was broken by a question from Dashleigh.</p> - -<p>“Did you know, Annabella, that Augustine Aumerle -was soon going to leave the vicarage and return -to Aspendale?”</p> - -<p>“I know little of what goes on at the vicarage,” -replied Annabella, after pausing to count stitches in -her pattern; “I think that Ida must have cut me, -she so seldom comes to the hall.”</p> - -<p>“There are to be great doings at Aspendale,” resumed -Dashleigh; “I saw Augustine this morning -during my ride, and he told me of his novel arrangements. -He expects soon a visit from Verdon, the -well-known æronaut; I wonder that he keeps up -acquaintance with one who may be regarded as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> -public exhibitor; but that is his business, not mine; -it seems that they were school-fellows together, and -it is not easy to break off old friendships.”</p> - -<p>“If there be such a thing as a <em>lofty</em> profession it is -Mr. Verdon’s, without doubt,” said Annabella; “the -aspirations of an æronaut must mount higher than -even those of a peer!”</p> - -<p>“It appears,” continued Dashleigh, without seeming -to take notice of the observation, “that Mr. Verdon -is to give his new grand balloon a trial trip from -Augustine’s grounds.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, how I should like to be there!” cried the -countess.</p> - -<p>“Augustine has invited us both,”—Annabella -clapped her hands like a child,—“but the difficulty -is that he will not be able himself to do the honours -of his house, as he is to accompany Verdon in his -upward flight.”</p> - -<p>“Is he?” exclaimed the young countess; “that -will be charming! Such a genius will mount up so -high, that the silken ball will have no need of hydrogen -gas! He will but inflate it with poetical ideas, -and it will never stop short of the stars!”</p> - -<p>The earl smiled at the idea. “I should be well -pleased to see the ascent,” he observed; “but yet I -am doubtful about accepting the invitation. It -would, you see, be awkward for those in our position -of life to be guests at the table of a man who -was at the moment up in the clouds.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 420px;" id="illus3"> -<img src="images/illus3.jpg" width="420" height="650" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">Tearing the Manuscript.</p> -<p class="caption-r"><a href="#Page_107"><i>Page 107.</i></a></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> - -<p>Annabella burst into a girlish laugh. “You are -afraid that he might look down even upon us,” she -cried.</p> - -<p>“I doubt whether etiquette would allow—”</p> - -<p>“Throw etiquette to the dogs!” exclaimed Annabella, -heedless of her husband’s look of disgust at -such an audacious parody on Shakspeare. “I -must, will go to Aspendale! It will be such -fun! I have half a mind to ascend in the balloon -myself!”</p> - -<p>“It would be very unsuitable for a lady,” began -the earl,—</p> - -<p>“Unless her lord would accompany her,” said -Annabella, archly; “we might obtain as fine a view -as from Mont Blanc, without all the trouble of -climbing.”</p> - -<p>The earl always winced under any allusion to his -mountain adventure.</p> - -<p>“But then,” continued Annabella maliciously, “it -would never do to get giddy,—suspended between -earth and sky,—there would be no hope of the -friendly intervention of a lady’s boa!”</p> - -<p>“I should not have the slightest objection, not -the slightest,” repeated the irritated earl, “to go -in a balloon to-morrow; indeed, I think it very -probable that I shall make one of Augustine’s -party.”</p> - -<p>Annabella was diverted to see that she had succeeded -in putting her haughty lord on his mettle.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> -It seems an instinct with some natures to delight in -showing a power to tease, and it had become stronger -with the countess since her disappointment regarding -her romance. She was like a child playing with -fire-arms, ignorant of their dangerous nature. Annabella -knew the weakness of her husband’s nerves, but -not the full strength of his pride.</p> - -<p>“I was reading yesterday a curious account of a -balloon ascent,” continued the earl, in a quieter tone; -“and, by-the-bye, I have not quite finished it. It -is in the —— Magazine; have you seen the last -number, Annabella?”</p> - -<p>“I glanced over it,” replied the lady, carelessly; -“I suppose that it is lying on one of the tables.”</p> - -<p>The earl rose and looked around for the magazine. -His wife was too busy in arranging the -shades for a withered rose-leaf to give him the least -assistance. She was too busy to notice that he at -length extended his search for the missing periodical -to the drawer of her writing-table. Into that drawer, -with habitual carelessness, the countess had thrust a -little manuscript, to which, after hastily writing it, -she had scarcely given a thought.</p> - -<p>“What’s this?” exclaimed Dashleigh half aloud, -as his gaze unwittingly fell upon the title—“The -Precipice and the Peer.” The first glance had been -purely accidental, for the earl was above petty curiosity, -and would never have touched either paper or -drawer had he supposed them to contain anything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -secret. But now an ungovernable impulse made -him open the leaves, and hastily run his eye over -the contents. Annabella had just succeeded in finding -a missing shade of russet, when she was startled -by a sudden sound resembling a stamp; and looking -up, she saw the earl with his very temples crimsoned -by rage, and her unfortunate burlesque in his -hand.</p> - -<p>“Lord Dashleigh!” exclaimed the countess, “that -was never intended—”</p> - -<p>“Never intended for my eye!” thundered the -earl, who was in a violent passion; and tearing the -manuscript into a hundred pieces, he trampled it -under his foot!</p> - -<p>“That is the action of a pettish child!” exclaimed -Annabella, almost as much irritated as her husband, -her eyes flashing indignant fire.</p> - -<p>“Leave the room, insolent girl!” cried the earl; -and turning round as he spoke, he perceived to his -surprise and inexpressible annoyance that he had two -unexpected auditors—his servant having a moment -before opened the door, to announce the Duke of -Montleroy, who was following close behind!</p> - -<p>Dashleigh was so much confused—overwhelmed -at being discovered by such a person in such a position—that -of a husband quarrelling with his own -wife, and giving way to a burst of passion degrading -to any man, but most of all to one of his exalted -station—that he remained for some minutes transfixed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> -totally unable to speak. Annabella, on the contrary, -lost none of her self-possession. She swept -past the bewildered duke, with a passing reverence -which might have beseemed an empress, and proceeded -at once to her own chamber, without uttering -a word. As soon as she had reached it, she violently -rang her bell.</p> - -<p>The maid who obeyed the summons found her -mistress sitting at her toilette table, calm, tearless, -but pale with suppressed emotion. She was selecting -various articles of jewellery from a large mahogany -box.</p> - -<p>“Bates, bid the coachman put the horses to -directly, and do you prepare to accompany me in -the carriage,” was the countess’s brief command.</p> - -<p>The lady had, not an hour before, returned from -a lengthened drive, and the order surprised the maid. -She ventured to say something about the late hour -and the appearance of coming rain.</p> - -<p>“Let it rain torrents—what matters it?” cried -Annabella. “Bear my message to Mullins, and return -without delay to pack up the things which I -shall require. I shall sleep at the vicarage to-night.”</p> - -<p>The lady’s-maid hurried away to the servant’s -hall, which she found in a state of considerable excitement, -for the news had already spread like wild-fire -through the house that my lord had quarrelled -with my lady, torn up her writings, ordered her out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> -of the room—nay, as it was rumoured, had actually -struck her on the face.</p> - -<p>“Take my word for it,” cried the butler, with the -air of one who can see much further through a millstone -than others,—“take my word for it this has -something to do with the odd couple as came here -the other day,—the fine lady, and the fierce old man -with black brows and long white hair.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” replied another servant, with a nod, “I’ve -noticed that nothing has gone right up stairs since -them two drove off in the donkey-chaise, and my -lady shut herself up in her room, as if she’d had a -down-right set-down from my lord.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, for the matter of that,” laughed Bates, “she’d -give as good as she gets, any day. The earl has -ordered her out of the room; but she’s going a little -further than may be he wished or expected. She -has a spirit of her own, has my lady!”</p> - -<p>In the meantime, Annabella was pacing up and -down her apartment with a heart full almost to -bursting. “I will not stay here, no, not an hour!” -she exclaimed; “he shall find that he has no weak -girl to deal with—no slave to submit to his pride -and caprice! I have borne much, but this I will -not bear. I will not endure to be trampled upon -by a tyrant, even though that tyrant be a husband. -I will go to the vicarage at once. Mr. Aumerle will -not forget that my mother was the sister of the wife -whom he loved. He will not deny the shelter of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> -his roof to an orphan, so cruelly driven from her -own. I will impose no burden upon my friends. I -ask, I need nothing from any one but the sympathy -which my griefs, and the justice which my wrongs -demand.”</p> - -<p>Thus, asking counsel only of her own angry passions, -casting aside all higher considerations, and -seeking but the gratification of her bitter pride and -resentment, the young Countess of Dashleigh prepared -to take a step which scarcely any circumstances -could justify. Intoxicated as she was with -anger, the voice of reason and of conscience were -alike unheard or unheeded. Indignant at the errors -of her husband, Annabella was blinded to her own; -and when she found her domestic happiness wrecked, -her youthful hopes scattered like leaves in a storm, -she recognised not the cause of the evil—she traced -not in the desolation around her the work of the -demon Pride.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE UNEXPECTED GUEST.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Chill falls the rain,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Night-winds are blowing;</div> -<div class="verse">Dreary and dark is</div> -<div class="verse indent1">The way thou’rt going!”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Moore.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>On that evening, a small but cheerful party were -assembled in the sitting-room of the vicarage. Dr. Bardon -and his daughter Cecilia, oft-invited guests, had -joined the circle of the Aumerles. A week never passed -without some little act of kindness being shown by -the clergyman or his family to the disinherited man. -Bardon heartily esteemed, and even felt a warm regard -for the vicar. But let it not be supposed that -he was overburdened with a sense of gratitude for -unwearying kindness and attention. No, he was far -too proud for that. The doctor was ever keeping a -balance in his mind between benefits received and -benefits conferred; and by means of that curious -mental instrument, of which Mabel had penetrated -the secret, he managed always, in his own opinion, -to keep the balance weighed down in his favour. If -the Aumerles showed him hospitality, it was, he -easily persuaded himself, because they were really<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> -glad to have a little society. Bardon did them an -actual favour by so often eating their dinners! -Volunteered advice upon diet and medical subjects, -though given to those whose health was perfect, the -doctor also regarded as obligations of no trivial nature; -and he often calculated how much the Aumerles -owed to him in the shape of fees!</p> - -<p>On this evening the mind of Bardon was particularly -easy, for he had brought to the vicar the gift -of a crystallized pebble, which he had discovered in -some ancient drawer, and which, he was perfectly -assured, must be a curious geological specimen. The -Aumerles had sufficient of that politeness which is -“good-nature refined,” to humour the fancy of their -guest; and there was a discussion for nearly twenty -minutes upon the beauties, peculiarities, and supposed -origin of the wonderful stone.</p> - -<p>A heavy rain is pattering without, and flashes of -bright lightning are occasionally reflected on the -wall; but safe in the comfortable dwelling, the party -give little heed to the weather. In one corner sits -Dr. Bardon, engaged in a game of chess with Mrs. -Aumerle. He considers that he is giving her a lesson; -she, having no particular desire to learn the game, -and finding no great amusement in an inevitable -check-mate, is good-humouredly submitting to be -beaten for the gratification of her guest. Cecilia, -rather over-dressed, as usual, as if, as Mabel once -observed, she were always expecting a grand party,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> -after much persuasion, which she regards as the indispensable -prelude to her performance, has passed -her pink ribbon over her neck, and is giving her -friends a song, to the accompaniment of the guitar. -It is with her music as with things more important, -Cecilia, in her efforts to rise above mediocrity, only -manages to sink below it. She is not contented with -the soft middle tones, in which her voice shows considerable -sweetness; Cecilia must sing very high; -and the painful result is, that the strained organ cannot -reach the prescribed point, falls flat, and discord -annoys the ear. Miss Bardon is not satisfied with -simple ballads, which she could sing with feeling and -taste; she must show off her very indifferent execution -in difficult bravura airs. As her dress must be -that of a peeress, so her music must be that of a professor. -Cecilia aims not at giving pleasure, but at -exciting admiration, and succeeds in accomplishing -neither object. Poor Ida, a distressed listener to the -flourishes in “Bel raggio lusinghier,” is meditating -how she can contrive to unite politeness with truthfulness; -and in thanking Miss Bardon for her song, -neither violate sincerity nor hurt the feelings of her -sensitive friend. Mabel, who has kept up a low, -whispered conversation with her uncle at the very -farthest end of the room, is impatiently waiting till -Cecilia’s cadenzas and appoggiaturas shall cease, to -speak to her father on a subject of which her mind -is quite full.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> - -<p>The last twang at length is given; Ida says, what -she can say; if it be a little less than the singer -would have liked, it is a little more than the speaker’s -conscience could warrant. Mr. Aumerle’s simple -thanks have been uttered, and Mabel, released from -the necessity of being comparatively quiet, runs up to -her father, and says, playfully leaning on his arm; “O -papa! I have such a favour, such a great favour to ask -of you!”</p> - -<p>“If it be anything reasonable.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know if you’ll think it reasonable or not, -but Uncle Augustine sees no objections. He says that -he will, if you only consent, take me up with him -in the balloon!”</p> - -<p>“My child!” exclaimed the vicar.</p> - -<p>“Bless the girl!” cried Mrs. Aumerle from her -chess-board. Cecilia lifted her hands in surprise, -while Dr. Bardon laughed aloud.</p> - -<p>“O papa! what’s the harm? It is not as -if a party of strangers were going on the airy -excursion,—people who did not know how to -manage. Mr. Verdon is so experienced, he has -been up fourteen or fifteen times, and no accident -ever has happened. Uncle Augustine goes -himself!”</p> - -<p>“But because Uncle Augustine chooses to risk his -own neck sky-larking amongst the clouds, I see no -reason why he should carry my little girl with him -on a dangerous excursion.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Shakspeare tells us,” said Augustine, coming -towards the centre of the room, “that</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">‘’Tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink,’</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>but the poet adds</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">‘Out of the nettle, danger, we pluck the flower, safety.’</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>When steam-vessels were first introduced it was -thought an act of daring to go in one,—when railroads -were yet a novelty it was foolhardiness to venture -in a train.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps,” joined in the eager Mabel, “balloons -will some day become as common as carriages!”</p> - -<p>“In that case,” observed the doctor, “perhaps Miss -Mabel will not care to enter one.”</p> - -<p>Mabel coloured and laughed. “I daresay,” she -replied, “that there is something in the excitement -and danger,—<em>supposed</em> danger I mean,—that makes -the thought of such a trip so delightful. I should -like, I own, to do something which no lady in the -county ever has done before.”</p> - -<p>“That’s pride,” said her step-mother abruptly.</p> - -<p>Such a gush of fierce angry emotion rose in the -heart of the young girl at the word, opprobrious and -yet so true, that Augustine, perceiving her feelings in -her face, and fearing that she might give them vent, -thought it as well to effect an immediate diversion. -“I hope,” said he, turning towards the doctor, “that -you and Miss Bardon will honour Aspendale by your -presence on the day of the ascent of the <i>Eaglet</i>.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> - -<p>The doctor bowed, for his <em>sensitiveness</em> was gratified -by the respectful terms in which the invitation -was couched.</p> - -<p>“We shall not be a large, but a select party,” continued -Augustine Aumerle. “I met Reginald Dashleigh -to-day, and I think that he and his lady will -come to witness the ascent.”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to say that you expect the earl as -one of your guests?” exclaimed Bardon.</p> - -<p>“If nothing prevent, I think that you will meet -him at my house.”</p> - -<p>“Something will prevent!” cried the old lion, -shaking his white mane with haughty disdain. “I -am willing to meet at your table any one else whom -you may choose to invite;—I would sit down with -farmer—ploughboy—pauper, but not—not with -Reginald Earl of Dashleigh!”</p> - -<p>An uncomfortable silence instantly fell like cold -water over the circle; the vicar, a peacemaker by -nature as well as profession, was particularly annoyed -by this unexpected declaration of enmity against his -niece’s husband, made by one of his own oldest friends. -He was in act to speak, when Mabel suddenly exclaimed, -“There is the sound of a carriage!”</p> - -<p>“You must be mistaken,” said Mrs. Aumerle, “no -one would come at this hour, and especially on so -stormy an evening.”</p> - -<p>“But it is a carriage,” said Mabel, going to the -window, “I see the red liveries of the Dashleighs.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> - -<p>The sentence unconsciously escaped her lip, and -she bit it with vexation at having thoughtlessly -uttered the name; for the doctor started up from his -seat so hastily, that he upset the chess-table before -him.</p> - -<p>This created a little noise and confusion, in the -midst of which Annabella suddenly entered the room -unannounced, looking so haggard and ill, that her -uncle involuntary exclaimed, “My dear Anna! has -anything happened?”</p> - -<p>“Might I speak with you for a moment alone,” -said the countess assuming with effort a forced calmness. -The vicar, without reply, took her by the -trembling hand, and led her to his own little study.</p> - -<p>“Dear me! how ill the countess looks!” exclaimed -Cecilia.</p> - -<p>“Something serious has occurred, depend upon it,” -said Mrs. Aumerle; and a variety of conjectures arose -as to the cause of the lady’s strange visit, though -most of the party present had the prudence to keep -these conjectures to themselves.</p> - -<p>The vicar returned after rather a long absence, and -his entrance caused a dead silence in the room, while -every eye rested on him with a look of inquiry. -He appeared very grave, and drawing his wife aside, -said in a low tone of voice, “My dear, do you think -that Ida could arrange to share Mabel’s apartment -to-night, and give up her own to Annabella?”</p> - -<p>“Is the countess so unwell that she cannot return<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -to her own home? The weather seems to be clearing,” -said the vicar’s wife in a voice much more -audible than that of her husband had been.</p> - -<p>“She does not wish to return,” replied Mr. Aumerle -sadly; “we must all do our best to make her comfortable -here, at least for the present.”</p> - -<p>In a few minutes Ida had glided out of the room, -and was in the study at the side of her cousin, listening -with wonder and pain to the passionate outpourings -of a wounded spirit. Cecilia who delighted in -anything mysterious, was endeavouring to draw from -Mabel her opinion as to the cause of the countess’s -distress, and Mrs. Aumerle was bustling about to -“make things smooth,” as she said, in the household -department, of which the arrangements had been so -suddenly disturbed by the unexpected arrival.</p> - -<p>“Something wrong with Dashleigh, I fear,” observed -Augustine half aloud.</p> - -<p>“Something wrong—everything wrong, I should -say!” exclaimed the doctor who overheard him. -“The case is clear enough to any one who has had -a glimpse behind the scenes as I have had. The -poor little thing is wretched at home, she has sold -her happiness for a title, she has thrown herself away -on the most proud, selfish, domineering—”</p> - -<p>“Dashleigh is my friend,” interrupted Augustine -sternly.</p> - -<p>“I’d rather have him for my enemy than my friend!” -muttered Bardon between his clenched teeth.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE FRIEND’S MISSION.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Oh, let the ungentle spirit learn from hence,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">A small unkindness is a great offence!”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Hannah More.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“Don’t talk to me,” cried Mrs. Aumerle, in the tone -of decision which to her was habitual; “I say that -a young wife does wrong, exceedingly wrong, in leaving -the home of her natural protector, and throwing -herself back upon her own family, just because she and -her husband have chanced to have some unpleasant -words together.”</p> - -<p>The time was the afternoon of the day following -that of Annabella’s unexpected arrival; the scene was -the sitting-room at the vicarage; the auditor, Mabel -Aumerle.</p> - -<p>“Unpleasant words!” repeated Mabel angrily; -“why the earl tore her writing to pieces, and ordered -her out of the room, before her own servant—only -think of that, before her own liveried servant! No -woman of spirit could submit to that!”</p> - -<p>“Woman of spirit—nonsense!” cried the step-mother, -“a woman’s spirit ought to be one of submission.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I would have done what she did!” said Mabel.</p> - -<p>“I daresay that you would,” answered Mrs. -Aumerle, with a touch of sarcasm in her manner; -“but I happen to know a good deal more of life than -you do, and mind my word, Mabel, when a woman -marries she takes her husband for better for worse; -she has made her choice and she must abide by it; -she only lowers herself by appealing to the world to -arbitrate between her and the man whom she has -vowed to obey.”</p> - -<p>“How has Annabella appealed to the world?” -asked Mabel, with but little of respect in her tone.</p> - -<p>“By making herself the talk of the world. -There’s not a house in Pelton, no, nor much farther -round, in which the flight of the countess and -its cause is not the subject of conversation. The -gossips are feasting on the news, and doubtless by -to-morrow morning we shall have the whole affair, -with every kind of exaggeration, appearing in the -county paper. I’ve really no patience with the -girl! And to mix us up with her folly! I feel as -if I were aiding and abetting a wife’s rebellion -against her husband.”</p> - -<p>“Unfeeling creature!” thought Mabel, whose partiality -for her cousin, and high-flown spirit of romance, -made her espouse the countess’s cause with -the chivalric devotion of a knight errant towards -some fair and persecuted damsel.</p> - -<p>“I am sure I hope that she does not intend to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> -prolong her stay here,” continued Mrs. Aumerle. -“To say nothing, of the inconvenience of accommodating -herself and her fine maid, I think it an evil to -have in the house one who sets such an example of -wilfulness and pride.”</p> - -<p>“Papa could never but welcome to his home the -orphan niece of my own beloved mother,” exclaimed -Mabel, with flashing eyes, feeling as though she were -doing a lofty and generous action in defending the -cause of the oppressed.</p> - -<p>“A child of fifteen is no judge of these matters, -and would show her good sense best by her silence,” -was the cold observation of Mrs. Aumerle.</p> - -<p>Mabel’s proud spirit was thoroughly roused by -this remark. Her present mood seemed strangely -inconsistent with the softened humility which she -had shown, when in the arbour a few days previously, -she had leant her head on her sister’s bosom, feeling -herself indeed to be a poor, helpless sinner! -But is not this a species of inconsistency which, by -experience, we know to be but too common in the -heart? We prostrate ourselves before God, but -stand erect before our fellow-creatures: we own our -infirmities in the quiet hour when religion speaks to -the soul, but start back with angry indignation, -if those weaknesses be touched upon by another. -Pride stands back when we, in solitude, or with one -chosen friend, review our past conduct and mourn -over our faults, but springs forward if a rebuke,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -however just, be not sweetened by flattery, or tempered -by caution.</p> - -<p>Mabel disliked her stepmother, and did not care -to hide that dislike from its object. The feeling -partly arose from a want of tenderness and tact on -the part of Mrs. Aumerle. That lady, with much -common sense, high principle, and warmth of heart, -was quite devoid of that nice apprehension of tender -points, that delicacy in touching upon painful subjects, -which is morally, what <em>feelers</em> are physically to some -of the insect creation. Mrs. Aumerle had no <em>feelers</em>, -and she rather prided herself on the want. She -classed nerves, sensibility, timidity, romance, under -the one comprehensive title of “humbug;” things -which, like cobwebs, she would have thought too insignificant -to be noticed, had they not been, to the -mental eye, too unsightly to be spared. Mrs. -Aumerle’s sympathies were quick and active in cases -of what she regarded as real distress. She was an -eminently practical woman, and did much good in -her husband’s parish; but she had no pity for nervous -complaints, no patience for fanciful troubles. -It may be imagined how little of congeniality there -could be between such a character and that of the -refined sensitive Ida, the romantic impulsive Mabel.</p> - -<p>But without congeniality there should have been, -on the part of the stepdaughters, a just appreciation -of merit, meek submission to authority, and due -respect of manner. If Mabel, on all these points,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> -was by far the most open offender, Ida, on her part, -was assuredly not free from her share of blame. -Her youngest sister looked up to her both as a guide -and example. Mabel’s highest ambition was to copy -the character of Ida, and like most young artists, she -unintentionally exaggerated all the defects of what -she copied. Mabel seemed to have an intuitive perception -of the fact that Ida held her stepmother in -low estimation, regarded her advice as valueless, -took her reproofs almost as wrongs. Ida, unwittingly, -was nurturing in her sister a spirit of proud independence, -much more congenial, alas! to the human -heart, than the faith, humility, and love which the -young Christian earnestly sought to implant in her -young companion. Ida was to a certain degree -counteracting the effects of her own counsels, defeating -the aim of her own prayers.</p> - -<p>Mabel, on the present occasion, was so much irritated -by her stepmother’s recommendation of silence, -that she was about to utter an insolent reply, when -the conversation was fortunately interrupted by the -entrance of her father, whose presence ever acted as -a check on any ebullition of temper.</p> - -<p>“Well, Lawrence,” said Mrs. Aumerle, coming forward -to meet her husband, “I hope that this unpleasant -affair is to come to a speedy end.”</p> - -<p>“God grant it!” replied the clergyman. “Have -you spoken to Annabella?”</p> - -<p>“I was beginning to tell her a little of my mind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> -when she implored me to leave the room. She has -rather too much of the countess about her, to care to -listen to simple truth. She was in a highly excited -state; I should not wonder if she were in a fever -to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think that we should send for Dr. -Bardon?”</p> - -<p>“He’ll come, sure enough, without our sending. -We shall have no peace as long as the countess remains -here. All the idle, curious people in the -county will find some excuse for visiting the vicarage. -The Greys, Whitemans, and Barclays have -been here to-day already. I have given Mary orders -to let in nobody but the Doctor.”</p> - -<p>“Is Ida with her cousin?” asked Aumerle.</p> - -<p>“She has hardly been out of her room from the -first.”</p> - -<p>“That is well,” said the vicar; “my child will -do her best to calm and to soften.”</p> - -<p>“I think that it is the earl who must require to -be calmed and softened,” observed Mrs. Aumerle; -“he has been very shamefully treated.”</p> - -<p>“Augustine has, as you are aware, undertaken a -mission to him. I would have gone myself, but my -brother’s greater intimacy with Dashleigh, and superior -powers of persuasion, would, I felt, make him -a more effectual advocate for this poor misguided -young creature. I thought that he would have been -back ere now. I await his return with great anxiety.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Here comes my uncle!” exclaimed Mabel.</p> - -<p>Aumerle met his brother at the door. “Any -good tidings?” he exclaimed. Augustine shook his -head doubtingly as they entered the sitting-room -together.</p> - -<p>“The earl is extremely indignant,” he said, removing -the hat from his heated brow; “I have been -arguing with him for more than an hour, and I -have my doubts as to whether we have come to a -satisfactory conclusion at last.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, on what does he decide?” cried Mabel.</p> - -<p>“He consents at length to pardon the countess’s -act of foolish petulance, on condition that she ask his -forgiveness, and return this very day to her home.”</p> - -<p>“Reasonable terms!” said Mrs. Aumerle.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” assented the vicar, but the little furrow of -anxious thought still remained on his brow. “Augustine,” -he said to his brother, “will you go and communicate -your message to Annabella?”</p> - -<p>“Nay, nay, I have done my part. If I have more -influence with my old college-companion, you have -more power with your niece. I suspect that your -task will be at least as difficult as mine, notwithstanding -your gentle auxiliaries. I have so little expectation -of your success, that I have ordered a conveyance -to take me to Aspendale an hour hence, that -I may leave your dwelling more free to accommodate -its new guest.”</p> - -<p>“I hope,” said Mrs. Aumerle, “that the conveyance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> -will rather be required to take Annabella -back to the home which she should never have -quitted.”</p> - -<p>“I hope so too,” observed Augustine with a smile; -“but I own that I have my doubts and my fears on -the matter.”</p> - -<p>The vicar at once proceeded to the room in which -Ida was endeavouring, though with little effect, to -soothe the irritated spirit of her cousin. Annabella -rose on the clergyman’s entrance, and Ida, from -a feeling of delicacy, silently left the apartment.</p> - -<p>Aumerle gently communicated to his impatient -auditor the message which he bore.</p> - -<p>“His pardon!” exclaimed Annabella, striking -her little hand with vehemence on a table which was -beside her; “his pardon, forsooth! and for what? -Nay, then, I see the truth of the words—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">‘Forgiveness to the injured doth belong,</div> -<div class="verse">He never pardons who hath done the wrong,’”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>and she laughed in the bitterness of her soul.</p> - -<p>“My dear niece,” said the vicar tenderly but -gravely, “even by your own account you had given -just cause of displeasure to your husband, before he -spoke the hasty word which you find it so difficult to -forgive. Prejudice may blind you—”</p> - -<p>“Uncle, let me have no more of this; I can’t bear -it!” exclaimed Annabella, rising in nervous excitement. -“If I am in your way—in Mrs. Aumerle’s -way, I will leave the house at once, go to London—an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -hotel—anywhere—but I will not—” Her -voice rose, and again she struck the table as she repeated -the words,—“I will not go and beg pardon -of the man who turned me out of my own room, and -in the presence of a menial servant.”</p> - -<p>“Annabella, this is the excitement of fever; you -require—surely I hear Bardon’s voice below!” said -the vicar, who found it impossible to manage his niece -in her present mood, and who was almost alarmed at -the wildness of her manner. “Would you see the -doctor?” added Mr. Aumerle.</p> - -<p>Annabella hesitated for a moment, then exclaimed, -“Dr. Bardon! yes, I will see him at once.” She remained -in her standing position, rigid as a statue, till -the vicar, after a brief absence, introduced the physician -into the room, and then himself retired to -another.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.<br /> -<span class="smaller">A FATAL STEP.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“The arrow once discharged from this weak hand,</div> -<div class="verse">Can I arrest its flight in the free air?</div> -<div class="verse">Where will this course now lead me?”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Camoens. By H. S. G. Tucker.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The countess advanced one step towards Bardon, -and held out her hand. He took it cordially, and -looked at her bloodless face with mingled interest and -concern.</p> - -<p>“Do not suppose,” said Annabella, resuming her -seat, and motioning to him to take a chair beside her,—“do -not suppose that I see you in order to ask for -your medical advice. You must know well that it -is beyond your power to ‘minister to a mind diseased,’ -that my case is not one which the whole -pharmacopeia can cure. I see you as a friend,”—her -lip quivered as she spoke,—“as one who will -understand my feelings, and not torment me with -well-meant advice which I would rather die than -follow!”</p> - -<p>“You are a noble creature—a brave creature!” -exclaimed Bardon; “I am proud of the spirit which -you have shown.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Have you been far to-day?” asked the countess, -colouring slightly at the ill-merited praise.</p> - -<p>“I was at Pelton this morning on business, or I -should have called upon you earlier,” was the doctor’s -reply.</p> - -<p>“You have been, doubtless, at many houses,”—Annabella -seemed to frame each sentence with -difficulty,—“you have seen many people—have -heard—heard much that is—that must be said—and—.” -She stopped, and looked at the doctor, but -he did not seem disposed to guess the meaning of -her unfinished sentence.</p> - -<p>“I wish to learn from you,” continued the -countess, forcing herself to a more explicit explanation; -“it is important for me to know what the -world says of this—this unhappy affair.”</p> - -<p>“You care as little as I do for what the world -says,” replied the doctor.</p> - -<p>But it was not so with Annabella. Popular distinction, -the applause of others, had been to her as -the breath of life. Her pride was not the pride of -self-sufficiency; she was intensely desirous to know -whether public opinion were inclining to her side or -that of her lord, and she pressed the doctor for a -more definite reply.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” he answered at last, “there are almost -as many versions of the story as there are narrators -of it. No tale loses by the telling. Some say -this thing, some say that, some pity, and some blame.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -What is, however, pretty universally received as the -most authentic account is—”</p> - -<p>“Tell me!” cried the countess nervously, as the -speaker paused.</p> - -<p>“Why, it is said that you had somehow got into -the snares of the Papists. That an old priest and a -nun in disguise had made their way into Dashleigh -Hall; and, some affirm, had a private mass there. -That the earl discovered amongst your papers a -prayer to the Virgin, or something of that sort, and -that he was so much disgusted by what he called your -apostasy, that tearing the paper into a thousand -fragments, he turned you out of the room.”</p> - -<p>“Did any one believe such a senseless tale?” cried -Annabella.</p> - -<p>“It was said to come from the best authority, and -is very generally credited.”</p> - -<p>“Did you not give it indignant refutation?”</p> - -<p>“My dear lady, you forget that I am in utter -darkness upon the subject myself. I could stake my -life that you had good cause for what you did, but of -that cause I know no more than this chair.”</p> - -<p>“Then you shall know all,” exclaimed Annabella, -“that you may be able to give an answer to such idle -calumnies as these;” and with rapid utterance she -gave the doctor an account of what had occurred, her -narrative following truth in the main, though -coloured by prejudice and passion.</p> - -<p>Bardon’s face showed gloomy satisfaction as he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> -listened to the excited speaker. “So then,” he exclaimed -as she concluded, “your crime is having -drawn so faithful a portrait, that he who sat for it -would not own it! What a fool he was to quarrel -with one who has him so completely at her mercy!”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?” said Annabella quickly.</p> - -<p>“You carried your desk with you, did you not?” -said Bardon, with an expressive glance at that on the -table; “and you carried with you the wit that can -sting. Write out that paper again; give it to the -public;—the world will laugh, and the earl will -wince. No one who reads but will understand (I -will do my best to enlighten dull comprehensions) -<em>why</em> the peer was so angry with his wife—<em>why</em> he -who stood trembling on the mountain was afraid of -the wit of a woman.”</p> - -<p>“It would be retribution!” exclaimed Annabella.</p> - -<p>“It would be revenge!” cried the haughty old -man.</p> - -<p>Little did the Aumerles divine that the physician -whom they had admitted in order that he might -quiet a fevered pulse, was pouring venom into a -wound which he should rather have sought to heal; -that he was doing the work, obeying the hest of the -demon Pride, and drawing further from happiness and -peace the young creature who had turned to him in -her distress.</p> - -<p>There was a strange, almost fierce satisfaction in -the looks of Dr. Bardon when he descended to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -sitting-room, that was incomprehensible to the Aumerles.</p> - -<p>“You will send her a sleeping draught?” said the -vicar.</p> - -<p>“I have given her something <em>to compose</em>,” replied -Bardon, a grim smile relaxing his features.</p> - -<p>“You think her very feverish?” inquired Ida.</p> - -<p>“Oh, there’s nothing to alarm,” said the doctor; -“she will be much relieved by-and-bye.”</p> - -<p>As soon as he had quitted the vicarage, Ida went up -to Annabella’s room, and gently knocked at the door.</p> - -<p>“I wish to be alone!” said a voice from within, -and Ida immediately retired.</p> - -<p>When the carriage which had been ordered by -Augustine Aumerle rolled up to the front of the -vicarage, Ida was sent again to try her powers of -persuasion, to induce the countess to avail herself of -it to return to her husband’s home.</p> - -<p>Ida felt the errand painful, and almost hopeless. -She hesitated for a moment ere she knocked, and -heard within the sound of a pen moving rapidly over -the paper.</p> - -<p>“Annabella, my love,” began Ida, as she softly unclosed -the door.</p> - -<p>The countess was bending over her desk, apparently -absorbed in writing. Her back was towards -the door, but she started on the entrance of Ida, and -turning hastily round showed a countenance crimsoned -to the temples with a burning flush.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I can’t be disturbed!” she exclaimed in a voice -strangely harsh and impatient.</p> - -<p>“O dear cousin!” cried Ida, “if you would but -listen for a moment—”</p> - -<p>“I will hear you to-morrow,” said Annabella, “let -me feel that in this room at least I am safe from unwelcome -intrusion!”</p> - -<p>Intrusion! what a word—and from those -lips! Ida Aumerle was deeply hurt, not to say -offended, and returned again to her family mortified -and dejected. The vicar breathed a weary sigh, and -Mrs. Aumerle said something about “a termagant,” -which made Mabel extremely angry.</p> - -<p>“So then I must be off!” said Augustine. “I -had so little hope of the fair lady’s yielding, that, -as you see, my travelling bag is all ready. Farewell, -Mrs. Aumerle; thanks for your hospitality. Lawrence, -remember that I expect you all at Aspendale -on the 12th. I shall be glad if by that time you -think my friend Mabel sufficiently fledged to try a -flight in the blue empyrean!”</p> - -<p>After her uncle’s departure Ida retired with a -heavy heart to the little room which, since Annabella’s -arrival, she had shared with her sister Mabel. -The gratitude which a woman feels towards one who -has offered to her his home and his heart, and the affection -which Ida had from childhood entertained for -her cousin, rendered both the earl and the countess -objects of deep interest to the maiden. Family division<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> -jarred on her soul, like discord on a musical ear, -and Ida felt perhaps as forcibly as her stepmother -could, the evil of the course which Annabella was -wilfully pursuing. She was wounded by the words -of impatience from her cousin, which sensitiveness -construed into actual unkindness, and Ida could -scarcely draw her thoughts sufficiently from the subject -which engrossed them, to write a letter in reply -to some petition for relief which she knew that it -would be wrong to postpone.</p> - -<p>Ida lingered over her letter till she began to fear -that it might be late for the post, to which she proposed -taking it herself. As she was putting on her -scarf, in preparation for her walk, Ida heard the -countess’s bell,—Annabella was ringing for her -maid. When Ida left her apartment she met the -attendant in the passage, on her return from the -room of the lady.</p> - -<p>“Is the countess feeling unwell?” inquired Ida.</p> - -<p>“Her ladyship only rang,” replied Bates, “to -desire me to get ready to carry her letters to the -post.”</p> - -<p>“I am going thither myself,” said Ida; “I will take -my cousin’s notes; I think that you might be late.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, miss,” replied the maid; “but my -lady said expressly that I was to post the letters myself, -and not let them out of my hand till I did so. -Perhaps I might carry yours also, Miss Aumerle; I -shall not be a minute in dressing.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> - -<p>Ida thanked the maid for the offer, and gave the -note into her charge. But when Bates had hurried -off to make her little preparations, Ida stood motionless -in thought. Her heart misgave her as to the -nature of the despatches which Annabella had evidently -written with such nervous haste, and was -about to send off with such anxious precaution. -Why should the countess object to trust her letters -to any one but her own menial servant? did she -fear that the eye of a loving relative should chance -to rest on the address? Was Annabella about to -take some foolish step which should further alienate -her from her husband? Ida remembered with pain -the expression which she had last beheld on the -countess’s face.</p> - -<p>“I had better go to her,—I may be in time to -prevent some act which Annabella would hereafter -bitterly regret.” This was Ida’s first thought, and -under its impulse she almost laid her finger on the -handle of her cousin’s door. But another feeling -made her pause and draw back. Had she not already -found her presence regarded as an unwelcome -intrusion,—should she subject herself again to repulse? -“Back! back!” whispered Pride, though so -softly that his tones were not recognised; “force not -your society on one who does not desire it, your counsel -on her who despises it.”</p> - -<p>Ida hesitated—went away some few steps, and -then returned to the door, as if attracted towards her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -unhappy cousin by some invisible spell. Again -there was a moment’s reflection, again Pride recalled -to her mind her late discourteous reception by the -countess, and with a sigh of doubt and apprehension, -Ida Aumerle returned to her own room.</p> - -<p>In the meantime Annabella with a trembling hand -had sealed up two large envelopes. The one contained -“The Precipice and the Peer,” hastily but -vigorously written, and was directed to the editor -of the magazine in which the countess had, as before -mentioned, occasionally written. The other letter -was addressed to her publisher in London, giving -him her free permission not only to complete the -printing of her romance, but to put the authoress’s -name on the title-page, not as “Egeria,” but “the -Countess of Dashleigh.”</p> - -<p>“I will show my lord,” thought the proud, young -authoress, “that I can bring more dignity to the -name by my pen, than he by his sounding title. I -shall make him envy the renown of the woman whom -he thought it condescension to marry! He has thought -to humble—to subdue—to crush me; I will prove -to him that I can stand alone, ay, stand on a loftier -pedestal than any to which he ever had power to -raise me! And <em>he</em> will be humbled, mortified! He -would not have the world even guess that his wife -could join the throng of authors, or touch a publisher’s -pay; he will see that his wife glories in the -talents which admit her among the aristocracy of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> -genius! I have now broken my chain, and can soar -aloft unfettered!”</p> - -<p>Thoughts like these animated the ambitious girl -while actually engaged in her work. Intoxicated by -anger and pride, she gave no audience to reason or -conscience, but wrote as if writing for life. But when -Annabella had actually placed the two letters in the -hands of her maid, when she had heard the door -close after Bates, there came a sudden revulsion of -feeling, and the countess was startled and alarmed at -what she herself had done. Was she not giving -mortal offence to him whom she was bound to honour? -could she expose him to ridicule without bringing -deeper disgrace upon herself? Had not the -church pronounced them to be one? Annabella’s -eye fell on the little circlet of gold which Reginald -had placed on her finger on the solemn occasion when, -in the sight of men, and the presence of God, she -had taken him for her wedded husband, never to be -divided from him, as she then hoped and believed, -until death itself should them part! How many -associations were linked with the sight of that ring! -If gratified pride had powerfully inclined Annabella -to incline to Reginald’s suit, that pride had once been -closely linked with love. She had once listened -eagerly for his step, fondly gazed on his handwriting, -heard the tones of his voice with delight, and believed -her heart to be unalterably his! Annabella -ran to her window which commanded a prospect of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -the road which led to the village, with an undefined -yet strong wish to call back the messenger whom -she had sent. She saw Bates walking briskly from -the house, but yet so near, that her mistress’s voice -might reach her. The countess called her, but faintly, -for a feeling of shame choked her voice. Bates did -not hear, did not stop. But the sound reached another -ear, and Mabel, attired for a walk, came forth -from the house, and looked up to the window at -which the countess now stood. The young girl’s -face was bright and kindly, and the light shining on -her blue eyes and auburn tresses, gave her, to the -fancy of her cousin, the appearance of pictured Hope.</p> - -<p>“Did you wish to call back Bates?” asked Mabel. -“I will run and being her back in a moment.”</p> - -<p>How important in life may be a single second, -when on its little point hangs a momentous decision! -The countess almost pronounced the word “yes!” -but with the rapidity of lightning, Pride poured his -suggestions into her ear. Not only would the revocation -of the order given appear weak indecision to -the maid, but Mabel would naturally carry back the -letters, while Bates proceeded to the post with Ida’s, -and she could hardly avoid seeing their addresses. She -would then easily guess the cause of their writer’s -vacillation and change of purpose; she would conclude -that her cousin had penned that which she was afraid -or ashamed to send. These ideas took much less -time in rushing through the brain of Annabella, than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -they have done in passing before the eye of the -reader, and they silenced the assent which trembled -on the lip of the irresolute countess.</p> - -<p>“Shall I call back Bates?” asked Mabel again.</p> - -<p>“No,” answered Annabella from above; and retiring -from the window the miserable girl threw herself -on a chair, and exclaiming, “It is too late now,—too -late! the irrevocable step is taken!” she -covered her face with her hands, as if by so doing -she could shut out reflection. Yet, strange to say, -she yet clung to the shadow of a hope that Bates -might find the post-office closed, and bring back to -her the fatal letters!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE DESERTED HOME.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Thine honour is my life, both grow in one,</div> -<div class="verse">Take honour from me and my life is done!”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Shakspeare.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The Earl of Dashleigh had suffered more acutely -from the departure of his wife, than Annabella or -the world believed. He missed her presence in his -home more painfully than even to himself he would -own. The nobleman was, as I have said, not of a -hard disposition, and by nature was of a sociable -temperament. Pride had indeed drawn around him -an icy barrier which greatly shut him out from -friendly intercourse with his neighbours, but this very -isolation made him the more dependent upon the few -with whom he could stoop to associate. Dashleigh -had scarcely been aware of how much pleasure he -had derived from his wife’s wit and lively conversation, -till he found himself suddenly thrown on his -own resources which were limited, and his own reflections -which were unpleasant. He wandered -listlessly through his long suite of apartments; their -splendid decorations made them but appear to their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> -owner more empty, desolate, and dull. Yet Dashleigh -dared not quit them for more cheerful scenes, -for he felt, with the instinctive shrinking of a shy, -proud, sensitive man, that his domestic concerns were -now the theme of a thousand tongues and that he -could appear in no place where he would not be an -object of observation and remark. Solitude was -hateful to the peer, but society would have been yet -more distasteful.</p> - -<p>And Dashleigh was not satisfied with himself. -The words of Augustine Aumerle, pleading for an -inexperienced girl doing a foolish thing from a sudden -ebullition of temper, often recurred to the mind of -the husband. A thousand times the questions would -force themselves on his mind. “Have I not been -harsh to Annabella? might I not have overlooked a -fault? would not a little indulgence have touched -a warm heart like hers, and have made her destroy -with her own hand what she knew must have given -me offence? Was not the entrance of the duke at -that most unfortunate moment when I myself had -given way to passion, sufficient to irritate beyond all -power of self-control a woman—a wife—and a -peeress!” There was much of candour, much of -generosity in the spirit of Dashleigh, and so strong -did his self-reproach become, that the earl felt -greatly disposed to pass a sponge over the past, and -exchange mutual forgiveness with his wife. But -then the first advance must be on her side; Pride<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -peremptorily insisted on that. If Annabella were -penitent, Reginald would be generous, but never -would he degrade himself by suing for reconciliation, -however fervently he might desire it.</p> - -<p>Thus day passed after day, each more intolerable -than the last, Reginald always hoping that the -pride of his young partner might give way, and -yearning for the supplicating letter which might give -him an excuse for forgiving.</p> - -<p>One morning, as the Earl of Dashleigh sat at his -solitary breakfast, he listlessly took up the last number -of the —— Magazine, which the footman had, according -to custom, placed beside the plate of his -master. Light reading was that to which the earl -could alone now bend his attention, and his thoughts -often wandered as he glanced carelessly down the -page. He was however instantly attracted by the -name “Dashleigh” in capital letters on the sheet of -advertisements, and read with a surprise which almost -mastered even his indignation,—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p><i>Now in the press.</i></p> - -<p class="hanging"><span class="larger">THE FAIRY LAKE:</span> A Romance. By the<br /> -<span class="smcap">Countess of Dashleigh</span>.</p> - -</div> - -<p>“This is indeed throwing away the scabbard; this -is indeed making a parade of insolent disregard of -my wishes and commands! I hardly expected this -from Annabella!” Such was the nobleman’s muttered -exclamation, as he pushed back his chair from the -table. But his feelings received a far ruder shock<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -when he examined the periodical more closely. He -gazed on “The Precipice and the Peer,” as it seemed -to glare upon him from the close-printed column, as -if he scarcely could believe the evidence of his senses! -Could it be,—yes—the initial and the dash could not -deceive him, could deceive no one who knew him! -Annabella had held him up to the ridicule of the -world, as a poor, nervous, spiritless wretch,—it was -revenge, mean, despicable revenge, a blow aimed at -the most vulnerable point!</p> - -<p>The earl did not tear the periodical, and scatter its -fragments on the wind, he knew that it was spreading -at that hour through the halls and even cottages of -the land; that it was lying on the tradesman’s -counter, in the servant’s hall; that schoolboys were -laughing over the peer’s adventure during the intervals -of more active sport! Dashleigh laid down the -magazine quietly, but with something resembling a -groan! Bardon had said that he would wince,—he -did more, he actually writhed under the torture inflicted -by the hand of his wife!</p> - -<p>The servants, wondering at the delay of the accustomed -ring, came at length unsummoned, and bore -away the untasted breakfast. Dashleigh felt annoyed -at the jingling sound, but scarcely comprehended its -cause, and only experienced a sense of relief when -the room became silent again. His reflections were -bitter indeed; he was almost too wretched to be -angry. Was he not a disgraced, an insulted man?—did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> -not his very rank make him only a more prominent -mark for ridicule? Could he ever show his face -again in circles which he had once deemed honoured -by his presence? The time-darkened portraits of -deceased Earls of Dashleigh seemed to scowl down -from their heavy gilt frames on the first of the -name who had ever been branded with the imputation -of fear!</p> - -<p>A servant brought a letter on a salver; the earl -mechanically broke open the seal. It was from the -vicar, Lawrence Aumerle, and had been written in -the first impulse of his indignant surprise on the appearance -of the obnoxious article which he could not -doubt had been written by his niece.</p> - -<p>The clergyman, with instinctive delicacy, avoided -all direct reference to the piece so indiscreetly composed -by Annabella; but he expressed the extreme -distress felt by both his family and himself at the -position in which she had placed herself. He entreated -her husband to believe that if he gave the -lady the protection of his home, it was not because -he sanctioned or even palliated her more than imprudent -conduct, but that he feared that harshness might -drive her from a place where unceasing efforts were -made to bring her to a sense of her duty.</p> - -<p>“Lawrence Aumerle is a good man,” said the -earl, passing his hand across his brow, and leaning -thoughtfully back in his chair. “Since all connexion -between me and her is broken now for ever—for ever,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -better that the wretched girl should remain under -the protection of her mother’s relations. It were -worse, far worse that her pride and folly should be -pampered by intercourse with the world,—that world -to which she has sacrificed her husband!”</p> - -<p>Dashleigh arose and paced slowly the length of -the room, but returned with a more rapid step. -The name of Aumerle had suddenly suggested to -him a course by which he could fling from himself -the opprobrium which attaches to the name of a -coward. He grasped at the new idea with the -energy of a drowning wretch. The world should -have no cause to laugh at the man whose nerves had -failed him on the heights of a mountain; he would -do that which should from henceforth effectually -silence such reproach. Taking up writing materials, -Dashleigh with rapid hand traced the following note -to Augustine:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Aumerle</span>,—You mentioned to me that a balloon is to -ascend from your grounds on the 12th. I should feel greatly -obliged by your reserving a place for me in the car, as it is my particular -wish to make one in the excursion.—Ever yours,</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Dashleigh</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>The brief note written and despatched to Aspendale, -the nobleman breathed more freely. He could -meet the eye of his fellow-men. Pride rendered -the effort needful; pride roused his spirit to make -it, and Dashleigh would not now pause to consider -how great that effort might be to one of his nervous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> -frame. He felt that his honour was at stake. The -earl was somewhat in the position of the knight of -old, whose lady flung her glove into the arena where -a fierce lion and tiger were contending, and before a -circle of noble spectators, bade him bring it back to -her hand. The knight dreaded the laugh of the -audience more than the yells of the furious beasts, -and Dashleigh shrank from the sneer of the world -more than the untried perils of the air. Annabella -had put her husband on his mettle; she had incited -him to wrestle down nature; but it remained to be -seen whether she had cause to triumph in the effect -produced by her satirical pen.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.<br /> -<span class="smaller">PLEADING.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Then be the question asked, the answer given,</div> -<div class="verse">As in the presence of the God of heaven;</div> -<div class="verse">All prejudice subdued, all pride laid low,—</div> -<div class="verse">‘Whence have I come, and whither will I go?’</div> -<div class="verse"><em>Whence have I come?</em> what wandering steps have led</div> -<div class="verse">To this the painful desert that I tread?</div> -<div class="verse">From what neglected duties have I fled</div> -<div class="verse">Am I the sufferer from others’ sin,</div> -<div class="verse">Or bear my most insidious foe within?</div> -<div class="verse"><em>And whither would I go?</em> where have I sought</div> -<div class="verse">Refuge from secret gloom and bitter thought?</div> -<div class="verse">Deep in the barren wilderness of pride?</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent2">Some crosses are from heaven sent,</div> -<div class="verse indent3">And some we fashion of our own;</div> -<div class="verse indent2">By envy, pride, and discontent</div> -<div class="verse indent3">What thorns across our path are strown!</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Not these the thorns that form the crown,</div> -<div class="verse indent3">Not this the cross that lifts on high,—</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Our sharpest trials we lay down</div> -<div class="verse indent3">When sin and self we crucify!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“I own it, dear Ida, I own it! I did wrong, very -wrong. I felt that as soon as the letter had passed -from my hand; I must have been mad when I sent -it. I wrote to the London editor the next day to -endeavour to stop the publication, but the piece was -already in type.”</p> - -<p>Such, after a painful conference, was the confession -which conscience wrung from the Countess of -Dashleigh.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> - -<p>Annabella was reclining on the sofa, her hair -disordered, her eyes red with weeping. Ida was -kneeling beside her, and the magazine lay on the -floor.</p> - -<p>“O Anna, Anna! why not own all this to your -husband; throw yourself on his mercy, entreat his -forgiveness—”</p> - -<p>“It would be of no use!” exclaimed Annabella; -“that paper he never will forgive. I have already -merited his anger; I will not expose myself to his -contempt.”</p> - -<p>“We may be objects of contempt when we -wander from the line of duty, but never when we -are struggling back to it again. When we are lost -in a thorny labyrinth, what wiser, what nobler -course can we pursue, than to retrace every step of -the way?”</p> - -<p>“I can’t, I can’t,” gasped Annabella; “there is -now a deep gulf between me and my husband!”</p> - -<p>“Which is widening every moment; which delay -may render impassable! It is yet spanned by a -slender bridge of hope; but that bridge is trembling,—shaking,—Annabella, -if you hold back now, it -may sink before your eyes, and for ever!”</p> - -<p>“What would you have me to do?” said the -countess.</p> - -<p>“Write a letter to the earl full of the humblest -submission; tell him with what real grief and contrition—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ida, you do not know me!” cried Annabella, -pushing the loose hair impatiently back from her -temples; “I cannot play the part of a penitent -child, begging pardon for having been naughty; I -cannot cringe beneath the rod, like a slave trembling -before his master!”</p> - -<p>“Anna!” exclaimed Ida, fixing on her cousin -the earnest gaze of her expressive eyes, “must the -slender bridge—your last hope—be broken down -beneath the weight of your pride?”</p> - -<p>“Pride,” observed the Countess, “has been termed -the weakness of noble natures.”</p> - -<p>“Pride,—what is it,” exclaimed Ida, “as mirrored -in the word of God? Is it not of <em>the world</em>,—that -world that <em>passeth away</em>; doth not the Lord resist -<em>the proud</em>, while giving <em>grace unto the humble</em>? -Doth not inspired truth declare that <em>before destruction -the heart of man is haughty, and before honour -is humility</em>? Is not the Saviour’s blessing on <em>the -meek</em>, and on such as are <em>poor in spirit</em>? Why -should I multiply quotations? Your own heart -must tell you, dear Anna, that if one thing more -than another stands between man and his Maker, -and darkens the light of Heaven, it is the baneful -spirit of pride!”</p> - -<p>“It is interwoven with my nature,” said the -countess.</p> - -<p>“The life-long battle of the Christian is with his -fallen nature, but it is a struggle in which he is not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -left alone. Nay, <em>a new heart</em>, a new nature is given -to those who seek it in earnest prayer; a new heart -filled with the Spirit of God, a new nature conformed -to the likeness of Him who was <em>meek and -lowly</em> in spirit. What are the Bible emblems of -those who are the soldiers and saints of the Lord? -The lamb, the dove, the little child! Can such be -fit types of one who struggles against lawful -authority, and recoils from the duty of submission?”</p> - -<p>Annabella was a little nettled. “I think,” she -observed, with some sarcasm in her tone, “that my -saintly cousin is not yet herself so perfect in this -virtue of submission, as to entitle her so eloquently -to enforce it on another.”</p> - -<p>Ida glanced up in surprise. She had not been -aware that the quick observation of her cousin had -detected in her the lurking enemy of whose presence -she herself was scarcely aware, and against whom -she was hardly on her guard. But she could not -deny the truth of the accusation so suddenly brought -against her, and was too earnest in the cause which -she was advocating to be silenced by a personal -remark.</p> - -<p>“Oh! my dear cousin!” she replied, her soft, dark -eyes filling with tears, “let not my errors be a -stumbling-block in the way of those whom I love. -Look not at the miserable transcript, all stained and -blotted with human infirmity, but turn your eyes to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> -the blessed Original which is set before us, that we -may copy its sacred features into our hearts and our -lives! What was the spirit of Christ? and hath -not Truth declared that <em>if any man hath not the -Spirit of Christ he is none of His</em>? Was it not a -spirit patient under suffering, meek under insult, a -spirit ever ready to forgive? Did He not love his -enemies, bless them that cursed Him, and do good to -them that persecuted Him? Look on Him, dearest, -look on Him, till in the brightness of His glory sin -appear all the darker and more hateful! There is -no pride in heaven, Annabella; we must throw away -the chain ere we reach that bright place, or we -never can enter therein! It is pride that is now -shutting you out of your earthly home, barring -against you a husband’s heart, changing domestic -peace to misery. Oh, how terrible the thought -that pride has shut out multitudes from an eternal -home, made them aliens from a heavenly Father, -rendered them sharers in the fate of that terrible -being, who lost a seraph’s crown through his pride! -God grant,—God grant that neither you nor I may -ever be reckoned amongst them!”</p> - -<p>The voice of Ida trembled with emotion, the large -tears coursed down her cheeks, and her hands were -tight-clasped as if in earnest supplication. It was a -sister imploring a sister in danger to seek safety -while safety might be found, to tear from her heart -the coiling serpent that was lurking there only to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> -destroy! Annabella could not be angry; she was -touched by that pleading look; the ice was beginning -to thaw, and yet was too strong readily to give way. -What was she called upon to do? Not only to forgive, -but to entreat for forgiveness, to humble herself -in the dust before him to whom her proud spirit -had never yet learned to bow! The countess felt -that it would be hardly possible so to stoop,—that -even for heaven itself she could scarcely sacrifice -that which it would be hard to part with, even as a -right hand or a right eye! The momentary struggle -was fearful! Wringing her hands, Annabella exclaimed, -“O Ida, you know not how wretched you -make me!”</p> - -<p>“And who deserves to be wretched,” said Mrs. -Aumerle, who happened at this time to enter the -room, “if not she who chooses no guide but her -own temper and caprice, who will listen to no advice—not -even that of her uncle and her pastor, and -who publicly insults the husband whom she is bound -in duty to honour? Rise, Ida, rise,” continued the -lady, to whose plain sense of right and wrong Annabella’s -conduct appeared unpardonable; “I am -ashamed to see you on your knees beside a girl who, -if she were fifty times a countess, has forfeited claim -to our respect.”</p> - -<p>Annabella sprang from her sofa, and with eyes -wide open and lips apart, stood listening, as her -hostess, to Ida’s distress and dismay, finished her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -rebuke to one whom she regarded as a spoiled, self-willed, -obstinate child.</p> - -<p>“There is only one excuse for you, Anna, and -that is to be found in the indulgence and flattery to -which you have been accustomed from the cradle. -You have been unfitted to take your proper place -either as a wife or the mistress of a household. -You have made everything subservient to your -humour. But it is time to have done with such -childish follies; it is time to renounce the petulant -pride which makes your family blush for you! Mr. -Aumerle is so indulgent, so unwilling to treat any -one harshly, that you are hardly aware, I suspect, -how strongly he feels on the subject; but I can assure -you that he views your late step in the same light -as I do, and he has written to the earl to express to -him his strong disapprobation of your conduct.”</p> - -<p>“Has he!” exclaimed the countess almost fiercely, -“then this house is no longer a place for me! I -have stayed here too long already!” and stretching -out her hand to the bell-rope, she pulled it violently -to summon her maid. “I have been driven out of -one home by unkindness, I will not remain in -another to be insulted by such language as you have -dared to address to me!” Again, with the force of -passion, Annabella rang the bell, and it was answered, -not only by Bates but by Mabel, who ran in alarmed -by the second loud ring, and the sound of a voice -raised in anger.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Bates,” cried the countess, “bring me what I -may require for walking, and then pack up my -boxes, and follow me as soon as possible to the -cottage in which Dr. Bardon resides.”</p> - -<p>“But—my lady—”</p> - -<p>“At once!” cried the impatient countess.</p> - -<p>“O Annabella, dearest Annabella, do not leave -us!” exclaimed Mabel, clinging to her cousin, while -Ida, almost too much agitated to be intelligible, -joined her entreaties to those of her sister.</p> - -<p>“Wait—if it were only one day—one hour—only -till papa should return!”</p> - -<p>But Annabella was inexorable. She had worked -herself into that state of passion in which remonstrance -seems to have no effect but that of adding -fuel to the flame. The storm of anger was less -intolerable to her spirit than the state of doubt and -self-reproach, which, like a chill, dark mist was -falling on her soul, when the words of Mrs. Aumerle -roused her from remorse to sudden resentment. The -countess determined to seek the dwelling of Bardon, -where she felt assured of a welcome, and where she -would remain, as she declared, till she had formed -arrangements with friends in London. It was, perhaps, -unfortunate that Annabella had sufficient -resources of her own to render her in pecuniary concerns -quite independent of others. She had just -arrived at the age which gave her free disposal of -these resources, though it had certainly not proved,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -in her case, to be an age of discretion. It was foreseeing -the difficulties and dangers that must beset -the wealthy and wilful girl, whose vanity would -render her the ready dupe of interested flatterers, -that had made the vicar anxious to keep her beside -him, until the kindly offices of mutual friends should -re-unite her to her husband. This was now impossible. -Annabella, closing her ears to remonstrance, -and her heart to tenderness, quitted the home of her -uncle with an expressed determination never to -revisit it again. She would not even suffer her -cousins to accompany her, but with sullen resolution -set out on her lonely walk.</p> - -<p>Ida watched her receding figure with a very heavy -heart. “It might have been so different,” she murmured -to herself; “her heart was touched, her pride -was giving way, when—” and turning towards the -spot where her step-mother stood, Ida could not -refrain from the exclamation, “it was your coming -that changed all!” Without lingering for a reply -to the hastily spoken word, Ida sought solitude in -the quiet arbour where she had, as we have seen, -held converse with her sister upon subjects high and -holy. Ida’s only companions now were bitter meditations. -She had reproached her father’s wife, but -was her own conscience clear even as regarded Annabella? -Ida recalled with deep distress her own misgivings -on the day on which the countess must have -written her fatal paper.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> - -<p>“If I had only spoken to her then,—if I had -only pleaded with her then, before the irrevocable -step had been taken, oh! it would never have come -to this!” and with the anguish of unavailing regret, -Ida Aumerle mourned over her sin of omission.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.<br /> -<span class="smaller">CONSCIENCE ASLEEP.</span></h2> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Those, however, who having no such plea to urge, are envious, sour, discontented, -irritable, uncharitable, have good ground to suspect the genuineness of -their Christianity. Grace sweetens while it sanctifies.”—<span class="smcap">Guthrie.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p>How wide a difference do we find to exist between -the consciences of those who hold the same faith, -and profess to be governed by the same commandments! -To some—sin appears like the speck on a -bridal robe, a disfiguring blot seen at a glance, which -offends the eye, and to remove which every means -at once must be taken. To others—it is a thing as -little to be marked as the same speck on a dark, -time-worn garment. The possessor wears it with -an easy mind, perhaps all unconscious of the stain!</p> - -<p>Thus while Ida grieved at the recollection of that -false delicacy or hidden pride, that had made her -shrink from intruding herself upon her cousin at a -time when her presence might have been of essential -service, Bardon felt not the least self-reproach for -the evil counsel which he had given to the countess. -It was to him merely a subject of pleasant speculation -whether she would follow it or not, and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> -was extremely impatient for the day when the -appearance of the next number of the —— Magazine -would set all his doubts to rest. Bardon longed to -see a good home-thrust at the pride of Reginald, -Earl of Dashleigh. The mortification of the peer—his -confusion—his indignation—was a subject upon -which the imagination of the doctor actually feasted, -for he had never forgotten or forgiven the words -that he had overheard at the Hall.</p> - -<p>And yet Bardon was not considered a bad man -nor was he such as the word is commonly understood. -He was an honest, upright man; a steady -friend, an earnest patriot, one who felt for the sufferings -of the poor, though he had little power to -relieve them. And Bardon was to a certain extent -religious, at least in his own opinion. He read and -venerated his Bible, constantly attended his church, -and had persecution arisen, would have been a -martyr of the cause of truth.</p> - -<p>But Bardon’s religion did not pervade his spirit, -it did not leaven his temper. It left him as jealous, -irritable, and vindictive, as if he had never heard of -a gospel of peace!</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“In yonder vase replenished by the shower</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Pour the rich wine; it spreads as it descends,</div> -<div class="verse">Pervades the whole, and with mysterious power</div> -<div class="verse indent1">To every drop its hue and sweetness lends!</div> -<div class="verse">Thus should religion’s influence serene</div> -<div class="verse">Be felt in all our thoughts, in all our actions seen!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>But it was not thus with Timon Bardon. He could -repeat the Lord’s prayer,—did repeat it twice every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -day, without once starting at the thought, that he -was in it constantly invoking a curse on his own -vindictive soul! Forgive us our trespasses, <em>as we -forgive them that trespass against us</em>! Was that a -prayer for one who treasured up the memory of a -wrong far more jealously than that of a benefit? for -one who prided himself on being “a good hater;” -and who spoke of “the sweetness of revenge?” -Bardon reprobated with indignation the mean vices -of covetousness, falsehood, or fraud,—he was ready -to call down fire from heaven on the tyrant, the -traitor, or the thief; but he granted, in his own -person, a plenary indulgence, a perfect tolerance to -pride, hatred, malice, revenge—sins as destructive -to the soul as the darkest of those which he condemned.</p> - -<p>Bardon was too poor to be a subscriber to the -—— Magazine; but he was always allowed a -reading of that which was taken in at the Vicarage, -and, indeed, Aumerle, though his friend little guessed -the fact, subscribed chiefly on account of the doctor. -But Bardon was far too impatient to know whether -the countess had written in this Number, to endure -waiting for a second day’s reading. He did not -choose to go to the Vicarage to betray his eagerness -there, but he resolved to walk the whole six -miles to Pelton, in order to purchase a copy for -himself.</p> - -<p>“You must have pressing business indeed at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> -town, papa, to walk so far in the sun on such a warm -day as this!” cried Cecilia in a tone of expostulation, -as she fanned herself with a languid air. “I’m -sure that the heat will kill you.”</p> - -<p>“Not so easily killed,” said the doctor gaily; -“there’s nothing like air and exercise for keeping a -man in health.”</p> - -<p>“You have received a call to some patient?” said -Cecilia, encouraged by his cheerfulness to venture -upon a subject which was usually forbidden, for -Bardon’s patients were “few and far between.”</p> - -<p>“There’s one who won’t prove patient, I guess,” -replied Bardon inwardly chuckling at the joke.</p> - -<p>His mind was so full of his errand that, though -the road was extremely dusty, and the sun shot down -fervid rays, Bardon was scarcely conscious either of -discomfort or fatigue. He walked on as briskly as -if the frost of December braced his nerves and -rendered rapid motion necessary. Bardon was glad, -however, when his journey drew near its end, and -he reached the High Street of Pelton, with its rows -of tidy shops, to one of which—the library—he now -bent his eager steps. He glanced rapidly over the -window in hopes to recognise the well-known cover -of the —— Magazine amongst prints, envelopes, -and daily papers; it was not, however, to be seen, -and Bardon entered the library.</p> - -<p>There was at first no one sufficiently disengaged -to be able to attend to the doctor, and Bardon had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> -to wait with what patience he could muster, taking -off his hat, and wiping his heated forehead, and looking -around him, but in vain, for the Number which -he had walked so far to see.</p> - -<p>“Warm morning, sir,” said the librarian, turning -to the doctor at last, as a party of customers quitted -the shop.</p> - -<p>“The last Number of the —— Magazine!” cried -Bardon, waving superfluous comment on the weather, -and flinging down a coin on the counter.</p> - -<p>“Well, sir,” said the shopkeeper with a smile, “if -you had called but five minutes ago I could have -accommodated you with a copy; but there’s been -such a run on the Magazine to-day, that really I -have not one left. You see, sir,” he added, “there’s an -article in it that takes with the public amazingly,—something -that’s said to be a hit on one of the leading -men in the county; and,” here he lowered his -voice, “people who are wiser than their neighbours -think that they’ve a pretty good guess as to the pen -that wrote it. Anything else this morning, sir?”</p> - -<p>Bardon uttered his emphatic “No!” and hurried -out of the shop. “She’s done it!” he muttered to -himself; “I’d give anything to see her paper!”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE MAGAZINE.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“We must have satire, pungent, biting satire;</div> -<div class="verse">Such is the vile condition of our nature.</div> -<div class="verse">Such our depraved and vicious appetites,</div> -<div class="verse">No other food will suit our palsied taste.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Camoens, by H. S. G. Tucker.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>At the corner of the street a baker’s boy and a gentleman’s -page were standing together, laughing at -something which the latter held in his hand, and -which his companion was perusing over his shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Now, ain’t that good?” exclaimed he of the -bread-basket, showing his teeth from ear to ear.</p> - -<p>Bardon caught a glimpse of what they were reading. -“My lads,” he cried, “I’ll pay you for that; -give the magazine to me,” and he held out the price -for the Number.</p> - -<p>“It’s my master’s,” said the page, as if awakened -to a sudden sense of the responsibility connected -with green cloth and gilt buttons; and rolling up the -coveted Number, he hurried on his way to make up -for the time which he had lost.</p> - -<p>The doctor stopped and reflected. “Mrs. Clayton, -the major’s blind widow, she is likely to take<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> -in the —— Magazine. I have not called on the -old dame for years, but shell not take a visit amiss. -I think that the house with green blinds is hers, and -I am certain to find her at home.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Bardon was not disappointed this time. The -blind old lady, who lived a dull and solitary life, was -charmed to welcome an old acquaintance, and her -visitor was yet more pleased to behold the desired -periodical on the table half covered by the supplement -of yesterday’s <cite>Times</cite>.</p> - -<p>After the first greetings were over, and inquiries -after his “sweet child Caroline,” (for the lady’s memory -was not particularly clear as to the name or age -of Cecilia,) the doctor seated himself by the blind -lady, laughing loud to cover the rustle as he drew -the Magazine from under the paper, and then impatiently -turned over the leaves. His object was to -read the article; Mrs. Clayton’s was to obtain a medical -opinion gratis upon the maladies with which she -was, or fancied herself to be troubled. She proceeded, -therefore, quite uninterrupted by her supposed -auditor, with a long story of rheumatism and relaxed -throat, the various remedies which she had tried -for these evils, and the dubious success of each application; -the eager reader giving an occasional grunt -of assent, to save appearances, until the invalid -paused in her narration.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, doctor, I’m beginning to think that the air -of Pelton don’t agree with me; I begin to feel myself—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Hanging between earth and sky, like the fabled -coffin of Mahomet!” muttered the doctor, who in -his interest in what he was perusing, had almost forgotten -the presence of her whose faint, complaining -voice sounded like a trickling rill in his ear.</p> - -<p>“What is he saying about coffins and hanging?” -thought the poor invalid. “It is very shocking to -suggest such horrible ideas to a nervous creature like -me!”</p> - -<p>As the doctor did not seem disposed to add to his -incomprehensible communication, Mrs. Clayton proceeded -on with her melancholy story.</p> - -<p>“Last winter my cough was so bad, that Mrs. -Graham (you know Mrs. Graham, her daughter -married a Bagot), she recommended me to take cochlico -lozenges. I sent up all the way to London, -there’s only one shop there that sells them, in one -particular street, and I got a parcel of them down by -the post. But I assure you, doctor, that they did -me no good. I think that I must have caught a -chill by venturing out in March; you know what the -east winds are, doctor; I really had not a wink of -sleep at night,—I actually thought my cough would -have torn me to pieces.”</p> - -<p>At this point the reader burst into an irrepressible -chuckle of delight, and as he closed the Magazine -exclaimed, “Capital! capital!” to the no small -amazement of the sufferer. Her lengthened silence -of surprise made Bardon,—whose hand was now on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -the supplement of the <cite>Times</cite>, aware that it was necessary -to say something; and as he had a vague idea -that her talk had been a series of complaints, he -cried, hap-hazard, as his eye ran on the list of deaths, -“Very bad! very bad! I’m certain that you indulge -in green tea!”—</p> - -<p>“Oh! well, I sometimes—”</p> - -<p>“Can it be!” muttered Bardon, gazing with stern -interest at one of the names which appeared in the -gloomy column.</p> - -<p>“Do you think, doctor, that there is much -harm?”</p> - -<p>“Death!” exclaimed Timon Bardon to himself.</p> - -<p>“Surely you don’t mean it,”—cried the old lady, -and the doctor was again recalled by her voice to -what was passing around him.</p> - -<p>“If you drink green tea,” he cried, starting from his -seat and pushing the paper to the other end of the -table, “I won’t answer for your living out the -year!” and with a very brief good-bye, Timon -hurried away, leaving the poor lady to complain to -her next visitor, that Dr. Bardon was so brusque -and so odd that he was just like an east wind in -March, and that she was not in the least surprised -that his practice was not extensive, as if he did not -kill his patients with his medicine, he was likely to -do so with his manner!</p> - -<p>What was it that Bardon had seen in the <cite>Times</cite><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> -that interested him as strongly as even the article -written by Annabella at his own suggestion? He -had seen the announcement of the death of “Mr. -Auger, of —— Street and Nettleby Tower,” of the -man who had ruined his prospects—who had -wrested from the disinherited son the estate which his -ancestors for centuries had held. Death should still -the emotion of hatred, hush the voice of revenge; but -it is to be feared that in this instance the advertisement, -casually seen, rather increased than diminished -the stern satisfaction felt by the vindictive old man. -It seemed to Bardon as if he were triumphing at -once over a dead and a living foe. As he proceeded -on his long walk homewards, he certainly never -questioned himself as to his lack of the charity which -<em>rejoiceth not in iniquity</em>, or he would not have -revelled as he did in the idea that it was he who -had incited the countess to take such petty revenge -on her husband. Nor did Bardon, as he reflected on -the death of his hated supplanter, recall to mind the -warning of the royal Preacher, <em>Rejoice not when thine -enemy falleth, and let not thy heart be glad when he -stumbleth</em>, or he would scarcely have muttered to -himself with a gloomy smile, that six feet of earth -would be now estate large enough for the late owner -of Nettleby Tower.</p> - -<p>Notwithstanding the engrossing nature of his -thoughts, the doctor on his return to his home could -not avoid feeling the way long and the weather<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -oppressive. He could scarcely drag on his weary -limbs when at length he reached the little gate of -the garden which surrounded Mill Cottage.</p> - -<p>Cecilia ran out to meet him in a flutter of excitement -and joy.</p> - -<p>“O! Papa! only guess who has come here while -you were away!”</p> - -<p>“How can I tell!” said the tired man sharply.</p> - -<p>“The countess! the dear delightful countess herself, -and she says—” but Doctor Bardon waited to -hear no more, and forgetful of fatigue, hurried into -the cottage.</p> - -<p>Annabella came forward to meet him, and in a few -brief sentences explained to him her situation, and -her wish to remain no longer under the roof of her -uncle the vicar. As she had expected, the doctor -gave her a cordial welcome, and pressed her to -remain at his home for as long a period as might -suit her convenience. He was proud to be able to -exercise hospitality, and though he would never have -pleaded guilty to the charge, was by no means insensible -to the honour of entertaining a woman distinguished -both by her rank and her talents. Would -it not also be an additional mortification to the -detested earl, to know that the Countess of Dashleigh -was the guest at a cottage scarcely larger than -his gamekeeper’s lodge!</p> - -<p>As for Cecilia, she was in ecstasies. The presence -of a real countess seemed to her actually to glorify<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -the little abode, and her only misery was the difficulty -of providing suitable accommodation for such an -illustrious visitor. The cottage she had often termed -“nothing but a bandbox,” and though poor Miss -Bardon was willing to put herself into any straits, -empty out all her drawers, squeeze herself and her -wardrobe into any corner, it required a wonderful -amount of ingenuity to make the titled guest and -her maid tolerably comfortable in the tiny tenement. -Cecilia not only used every effort to stimulate to -exertion her old deaf domestic, but herself worked -hard in secret to prepare her own room for the -countess. She ruthlessly sacrificed a white muslin -robe for the adornment of the toilette table, cut up -her best bow to loop it up with ribbon, and even -ventured to invade her father’s garden to ornament -the apartment with flowers.</p> - -<p>Annabella had little idea of the amount of trouble -and excitement which she was causing, nor how -heavily the expense of hospitality would press on -her proud but poor entertainers. While the countess -was conversing in the sitting room with the -doctor, Bates arrived with her lady’s boxes, and was -ordered to carry them up to her apartment. The -maid surprised poor Cecilia on her knees, industriously -stitching up a hole in a worn-out drugget, -her face flushed and heated with the unwonted occupation. -Miss Bardon started up in some confusion, -her pride deeply mortified at being found in a position,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> -and engaged in an employment so unbefitting a -fine lady, which it was her ambition always to appear.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 420px;" id="illus4"> -<img src="images/illus4.jpg" width="420" height="650" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">An Unwelcome Surprise.</p> -<p class="caption-r"><a href="#Page_168"><i>Page 168.</i></a></p> -</div> - -<p>Bates looked round with wondering contempt on -the miserable hovel, as she deemed it, which her -young mistress had chosen in preference to the -luxurious apartments of Dashleigh Hall. The lady’s -maid had serious doubts as to whether she could so -compromise her own dignity as to remain in a house -where no “footman was kept.” To share a pigeon-hole -seven feet square with a deaf and stupid maid-of-all-work, -who could not even listen to her -gossip,—did ever devoted lady’s maid submit to such -hardship before! Annabella, on her part, found -fault with nothing, never appeared to notice any -difficulties, and accommodated herself to cottage life -as if she had been accustomed to it from her childhood.</p> - -<p>“There is not a particle of pride in her!” exclaimed -the admiring Cecilia, as she had done upon a -previous occasion.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.<br /> -<span class="smaller">EXPECTATION.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent15">“It is you</div> -<div class="verse">Hath blown this coal betwixt my lord and me.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Shakspeare.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The announcement that our sovereign Lady herself -had resolved to take a bird’s-eye view of her dominions -from the clouds, could hardly have created a greater -sensation in the county of Somersetshire, than the -rumour, presently confirmed “by authority,” that the -Earl of Dashleigh was to be one of the ærial travellers -in the <i>Eaglet</i>. From the squire to the swineherd, -every one within a circuit of many miles was full of -the strange report. The nobleman’s motive for attempting -the feat was palpable to all who had read -or heard of “The Precipice and the Peer;” and speculation -was rife, and heavy bets were exchanged as to -whether the hero of the Swiss adventure would ever -summon up sufficient courage to mount aloft in a -balloon.</p> - -<p>The rumour reached the dwelling of the Bardons. -The doctor elevated his bushy black brows, and drew -in his lips as if to whistle; while Cecilia stole a -glance at the countess to see the effect of the announcement<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> -upon her. Annabella changed colour, -but affected to believe the report absurd, and dismissed -the subject at once from her discourse if not -from her thoughts. But from that hour the young -wife’s manner became reserved and gloomy. She -made no effort to keep up conversation, did not seem -to hear questions addressed to her, or if she heard, -gave her replies at random. She would scarcely -touch at table the delicate food procured for her with -trouble and expense. Cecilia in vain taxed her brain -to find something that a peeress could eat, and the -doctor brought vegetables from his garden which he -believed that Covent Garden could not equal, to see -them lie untasted on the plate of his silent guest.</p> - -<p>Under any other circumstances the temper of the -old lion would have given way, but the report of -Dashleigh’s intended exploit had filled him with -malignant delight. Bardon felt assured that the -spirit of the adventurous peer would fail him when -put to the proof, and so eager was the doctor to -enjoy this expected new source of humiliation to his -foe, that he resolved to accept Augustine’s invitation -after all, and make one of the spectators who should -witness the ascent of the <i>Eaglet</i>.</p> - -<p>Poor Cecilia, however, who had no such secret -source of satisfaction,—who would, of course, be constrained -to remain at home with her guest, and see -nothing of the gaiety at Aspendale, began to suspect -that even the honour of entertaining a peeress might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> -be purchased at too high a price. Annabella now -took no pains to flatter the little vanity of her -hostess; never even glanced admiringly at her elaborate -dress, never asked her to touch the guitar, praised -nothing, smiled at nothing, seemed really to care for -nothing; while the poor lady of the cottage scarcely -dared to think what her father would say when the -tradesmen should send in their formidable bills!</p> - -<p>Amongst those who were most startled by the -news that Dashleigh had decided on ascending with -his friend, was the aspirant to the same perilous distinction, -the enthusiastic Mabel Aumerle. The warm -champion of the wife doubted at first whether she -could consistently make one in a party in which the -tyrant husband was to appear. But Mabel did not -long waver in doubt. Her desire to share her uncle’s -excursion was too intense to be easily damped.</p> - -<p>“I need have nothing to say to the earl,” she -observed, “even if sitting in the car by his side. -My uncle has a right to invite whom he pleases, and -I have none to find fault with his selection. Besides, -I daresay when it comes to the point, that the nervous -earl will find some excuse for not ascending at -all.”</p> - -<p>Mabel might have added that late events had -shown her that her admired countess had not the -right altogether on her side. With all her spirit of -partisanship, Mabel could not defend “The Precipice -and the Peer,” and she was hurt and almost offended<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> -at the abrupt manner in which her cousin had quitted -the vicarage. On the whole, therefore, Mabel decided -that no reason existed to prevent her doing her -utmost to persuade her indulgent father to permit -her to join the æronauts in their excursion through -the realms of air.</p> - -<p>The vicar and his wife, on hearing of the earl’s -intention to be at Aspendale, at once relinquished -their purpose of going thither themselves. They -felt that there would be an awkwardness in meeting -him in society after receiving his disobedient young -wife into their house. Ida, also, for more than one -reason, declined her uncle’s invitation. But to Mabel -staying away upon such an occasion would have been -a disappointment which the whole amount of her -philosophy would not have enabled her to bear; and -Augustine therefore arranged to drive over for his -youngest niece early on the morning of the eventful -12th of May.</p> - -<p>“Ida, dearest,” exclaimed Mabel on the evening -preceding the long-desired day, “do you know that -at last, after coaxing,—such hard, such persevering -coaxing,—I have really managed to get a sort of -consent from Papa to my going up in the <i>Eaglet</i>! I -took his arm as he was walking up and down upon -the lawn, and I was so persuasive, so irresistible, I -told him so much about Mr. Verdon, and how he -could manage a balloon just as easily as I manage a -pony,—that at last convinced—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Or tired out,” suggested Ida,—</p> - -<p>“He said to me, with his dear kind smile, ‘I don’t -forbid your going, my child, but you must ask your -mother’s opinion about it.’ O Ida! I could have -danced for joy! What a kiss I gave him for the -permission! There never was so kind a father as he!”</p> - -<p>“But you had a condition to fulfil,” observed Ida, -“which must have moderated your delight.”</p> - -<p>“Yes; I am not fond of asking any one’s opinion, -above all, that of—well, don’t look so grave, dear -Mentor, I won’t say anything to shock you; but to -think of Papa’s calling her my <em>mother</em>! Off I flew -to Mrs. Aumerle, eager as a bird on the wing. I -found her in her store-room, measuring out tea and -sugar, soap and candles. ‘Mrs. Aumerle,’ I cried, -without waiting to get my breath, ‘Papa does not -forbid my going up in the car of the <i>Eaglet</i> with my -uncle, but he desires me to ask your—’ The old -horror did not even give me time to finish my sentence. -‘Mabel,’ she said, looking as prim as that -poker, ‘once for all, I tell you I will never give my -consent to your doing so ridiculous a thing;’ but -she was overshooting her mark,” continued Mabel, -laughing gaily, “papa told me to ask her <em>opinion</em>, -and not her <em>consent</em>,—there’s a mighty difference -between the two.”</p> - -<p>“But, Mabel, when Mrs. Aumerle positively forbids -you to go—”</p> - -<p>“She’s not my mother!” cried Mabel quickly;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> -“I’m not bound to yield obedience to her. You do -not do so yourself. Did not Mrs. Aumerle tell you -to have nothing more to do with the woman at the -toll, and yet you gave her some tea and warm flannel -the very next day!”</p> - -<p>“But, Mabel, I thought that the woman was misjudged -and hardly treated, and—”</p> - -<p>“She turned out to be a hypocrite, you know; -but that is nothing to the point. The question is,—whether -you and I are to be lorded over by Mrs. -Aumerle? whether we are forced to obey any one -but our own dear father?”</p> - -<p>Ida knew not what to reply; for had she counselled -strict obedience to her step-mother, she too well -knew that her practice would contradict her preaching.</p> - -<p>“Ah! you think just as I do,” cried Mabel; “we -ought to be civil and attentive to Mrs. Aumerle for -the sake of peace, and to please Papa, but we need -not be ruled by her commands.”</p> - -<p>“In the present case,” said Ida, avoiding the point -of discussion, “I think that our step-mother may be -right. I should not be easy if you were to be exposed -to the slightest danger.”</p> - -<p>“Danger! nonsense!” cried Mabel; “when this -is Mr. Verdon’s fifteenth ascent, and we are to come -down in a couple of hours! Why, even the earl, -with his sensitive nerves, does not fear to ascend!”</p> - -<p>“And yet I cannot help dreading—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ida, Ida,” exclaimed Mabel, putting her hand playfully -before the lips of her sister, “you have no voice -in the matter; Papa never told me to ask your consent -or even your opinion. If he see no danger, -why should you? You would never be so unkind, so -dreadfully unkind, as to prevent my having what -would be to me the greatest enjoyment in the world!”</p> - -<p>Mabel said a great deal more which it is not -necessary here to repeat, to remove every lingering -objection which might be felt by her sister. Ida -disliked the idea of the excursion, though half convinced -by Mabel’s arguments that there was no real -cause for apprehension; but in her opposition she -did not take her stand on the only tenable ground,—that -of the duty of submission to lawful authority. -Ida, with all her gentleness and tenderness of conscience, -felt as strong a repugnance as her sister to -bowing to the judgment of the woman to whom her -sympathies so little inclined. She constantly repeated -to herself that their natures and their spheres were -different, and that the step-mother and step-daughters -might each pursue their own course of usefulness -without interfering with one another. Ida would -be on the footing rather of a friendly ally than that -of a dependent subject of the mistress of her father’s -house. Pride had not lost his hold upon the gentle, -self-sacrificing Christian.</p> - -<p>Mabel was very glad that during the evening the -conversation of the family circle turned rather upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> -Annabella and her husband than on her own share -in the morrow’s balloon expedition; she was so fearful -lest anything should be said to induce her father to -revoke his extorted permission to her to ascend in -the car.</p> - -<p>When the young ladies had retired for the night, -the vicar said to his wife, “Did Mabel ask your consent, -my dear, to the excursion on which her heart -is so greatly set?” (the father, it may be observed, -did not draw the nice distinction upon which Mabel -had insisted between opinion and consent.)</p> - -<p>“She did,” replied the lady, folding up her work, -“and I put an extinguisher at once upon the project.”</p> - -<p>“You did?” said the vicar thoughtfully; “well, I -daresay, my love, you were right.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.<br /> -<span class="smaller">A SUNNY MORN.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Ay, those were days when life had wings,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And flew—ah! flew so wild a height,</div> -<div class="verse">That like the lark that sunward springs,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">I was giddy with too much light!”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Moore.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>It was with a sensation of delightful expectation -that Mabel Aumerle rose on the following morning. -The sun rising over the distant hills was scarcely so -early as she. Mabel could hardly believe that the -long-expected day was actually come, on which her -most delightful dream of hope was to be fully -realized!</p> - -<p>No one else in the vicarage was stirring when the -young girl crept softly from the house, for her spirit -felt so blythe and elastic that it could only expand in -freedom under the open vault of heaven. How -deliciously fresh was the breath of morn! Mabel -gazed at the light clouds above her, and almost -shouted for joy at the thought that in a few hours -she would be winging her way amongst them, no -more chained down as a captive to earth. She would -no longer envy the little bird, pouring his carol down -from the sky—she would soar yet higher than he!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mabel lingered about the garden for nearly two -hours, too much excited to settle for a moment to -any quiet occupation. She was troubled by nothing -but the fever of impatience, and the fear that something -might occur to stop her expected treat. She -ever and anon looked anxiously towards the house; -as long as Mrs. Aumerle’s shutters were closed, Mabel -retained a feeling of security; but as soon as she saw -them open, the eager girl determined to go a little -way on the road by which her uncle was to come, -“to meet him and prevent delay,” as she said to -herself, but really to give opportunity to no one to -object to her ascent in the <i>Eaglet</i>.</p> - -<p>How quiet the road appeared! how thick lay the -diamond dew on the sward that fringed it! how -bright and cheerful all nature looked to the rejoicing -eye of Mabel! Yet her uncle seemed to her to take -a wearisome time in coming. The minutes were -terribly long, and the impatient girl could scarcely -believe the testimony of the village church clock -when it struck only the number eight.</p> - -<p>“I think that the morning will never end!” exclaimed -Mabel; “I was foolish to rise so early. But -see,—see,—surely there is a gig coming at last down -the hill,—and that is my uncle driving; I should -know Black Prince miles off, he trots down at so -dashing a pace! O uncle!” she cried, running -forward to meet him, “it seemed as if you never -would come!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’m not late,” said Augustine, reining up his -horse, whose black hide was flecked with foam; “we -shall be back in good time for breakfast. Up with -you!” and Mabel, with eager pleasure, mounted to -the seat at his side.</p> - -<p>“Shall I just wish them good morning at the -vicarage, and see if Ida has changed her mind?”</p> - -<p>“Oh no! pray don’t,” said Mabel uneasily, “I am -certain that Ida would not come.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then we had better be off for Aspendale, -and not keep Verdon waiting for breakfast,” cried -Augustine, backing his horse up to the hedge to turn -his head round on the narrow road.</p> - -<p>“How good you are to come all this way for me!” -said Mabel. “And so Mr. Verdon has really arrived, -and the balloon, is it all right—all ready?”</p> - -<p>“It will be ready by the time that our guests -arrive,” replied her uncle, lightly shaking the rein, -and touching his steed with the whip, “Have you -leave to ascend with us, Mabel?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; Papa’s leave, at least,” she replied. “Oh! -how delightful it is to go driving on at this pace; -but it will be far more delightful still to go scudding -aloft before the breeze!”</p> - -<p>“Is not that Bardon’s cottage?” asked Augustine, -as they dashed past a little tenement. Mabel gave -an affirmative reply.</p> - -<p>“I had had some thought,” observed her uncle, -“of calling for Dr. Bardon; but I confess that, after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -what has past, I feel somewhat disgusted at his -coming at all. There is a singular want of good -taste in his showing himself at this time to Dashleigh.”</p> - -<p>“Surely the doctor is not going in the balloon!” -exclaimed Mabel.</p> - -<p>“No, no, not quite so bad as that,” answered -Augustine with a smile; “I could not undertake to -carry up lion and bear in one car, even with my fair -niece to help me to keep the peace between them.”</p> - -<p>“But do you believe,” asked Mabel, “that the -earl will really ascend?”</p> - -<p>Augustine’s handsome countenance became grave. -“He must do something, poor fellow,” he observed, -“to efface from the minds of men the remembrance -of that mischievous squib.”</p> - -<p>“But if he be really so timid—”</p> - -<p>“Reginald has no want of courage,” said Augustine -Aumerle, with unusual warmth in his manner; -“I have seen him plunge into a rapid stream to save -a drowning child; and when we were boys together, -I have known him fight a bully who was twice as -strong as himself. Certainly he never could climb a -tree,” added the friend in a more thoughtful tone.</p> - -<p>“And he played a poor figure on the mountain, -according to ‘The Precipice and the Peer,’” said -Mabel.</p> - -<p>“There was a great deal of exaggeration in that -piece; any one could see that,” replied Augustine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> -“It contained the very essence of malicious satire. -I don’t know what could have possessed the countess -to write it.”</p> - -<p>“Pride, I suppose,” answered Mabel.</p> - -<p>“Detestable pride!” muttered her uncle.</p> - -<p>“But do you not think that they will be one day -reconciled to each other? Annabella has so much -that is noble in her; she is so generous and affectionate,—and -you seem to have a good opinion of -the earl.”</p> - -<p>“The mischief is,” replied Augustine, “that he is -as proud as she. No, I fear that neither will ever -yield, and that this grievous separation will last as -long as their lives.”</p> - -<p>Mabel and her uncle soon arrived at Aspendale -Lodge, a lonely but comfortable dwelling, picturesquely -situated on the slope of a wooded hill, with -a large meadow spangled with daisies and buttercups -behind it, from which the ascent was to take place.</p> - -<p>Augustine helped Mabel to alight, and then leading -her into his house, introduced her to Mr. Verdon, -a small, lightly-built man, with sharp features, and -an appearance of remarkable intelligence in his keen -grey eyes. Mabel was so eager to see the balloon -that she could not wait until she had partaken of -the breakfast to which her drive and early rising -had disposed her to do full justice, but hurried into -the back field.</p> - -<p>The huge ball was not yet inflated, but Mabel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> -looked with interest on the inert mass, which was so -soon to rise as if instinct with life, and was full of -eager questions, which the goodnatured æronaut, himself -an enthusiast on the subject, took a pleasure in -answering.</p> - -<p>The breakfast was a very cheerful meal. Augustine -had such a vast intellectual store always at his -command, and Vernon was so completely master of -the theme then most interesting to Mabel, that she -listened, and occasionally joined in the conversation -with the most keen delight. Then when the breakfast -was concluded, and preparations were begun for -inflating the balloon with gas, Mabel joyously flitted -from meadow to hall, from hall to meadow, now -watching Mr. Verdon’s operations, now superintending -those of the housekeeper, busy in laying out the -elegant collation which Augustine had ordered for -his guests. Mabel was in her element, in her glory! -She was to do the honours of her uncle’s house, receive -her uncle’s guests; and this to a lively girl of -fifteen was a dignity of no common order!</p> - -<p>As carriage after carriage arrived, Mabel welcomed -every new comer, imitating Ida’s manner as well as -her overflowing spirits would let her. It was her -chief pleasure to tell every friend whom she knew, -that she herself was to go in the balloon, to hear this -one marvel at her courage, and that one envy her -rare fortune,—to feel herself something of a heroine, -an object of attention to those around her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> - -<p>Dr. Bardon was one of the earliest arrivals at -Aspendale Lodge. His first question was, “Has the -earl come?”</p> - -<p>Mabel replied, “Not yet;” and he gave a malicious -smile.</p> - -<p>“What does the countess say to this?” inquired -Mabel; “did she know that you were coming to the -Lodge?”</p> - -<p>“I can scarcely make out what she knows or -does not know, what she likes or does not like,” -said the doctor gruffly; “but I suspect she’ll look -out for the balloon. The wind, I see, is from the -east; ’twill bear you in the direction of Mill -Cottage.”</p> - -<p>The circle of guests would now have been complete, -but for the non-arrival of one. That one was -most eagerly watched for. The oft-repeated question, -“Has the earl come?” was now exchanged for -another, “Will the earl come?” and jests were made, -and bets were laid, while every minute that elapsed -added to the impatience of the party.</p> - -<p>A large concourse of people had gathered in a -neighbouring field, drawn from a circuit of many -miles to see the ascent of the <i>Eaglet</i>. Ayrton had -sent its labourers, Pelton its shopboys and mechanics; -the ploughman had left his team, and merry farmers’ -wives had forsaken their dairies, and come with their -children and grandchildren to witness the wonderful -sight. The hedge which surrounded Augustine’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> -meadow was lined and double lined with the eager -heads of such spectators as these, while around the -balloon itself gathered a brilliant circle of gaily-dressed -guests, privileged to occupy a nearer place.</p> - -<p>The great striped ball had now been swelled to -its utmost dimensions, and swayed gently to and fro, -as if luxuriating in the sense of power, only restrained -by a number of strong ropes from bursting upwards -towards the skies.</p> - -<p>“It is like swollen pride,” observed Mabel, “impatient -to mount aloft.”</p> - -<p>“And puffed out with the idea of its importance, -like the fools of this world,” added the doctor; “but,” -he continued with a sardonic sneer, “good strong cords -of prudence will keep the most aspiring down!”</p> - -<p>Augustine was annoyed at the sarcasm, and the -pretty general remark now occasioned by the non-arrival -of Dashleigh. Mr. Verdon had quite completed -his preparations. In the gaily painted wicker -car, ornamented with little fluttering flags, the ballast -had been carefully placed, together with the -grappling irons, a case of instruments to be used by -Augustine for scientific purposes, and “last, not least,” -a basket containing some refreshments, and two -bottles of sparkling champagne.</p> - -<p>Mabel was becoming almost wild with impatience, -when suddenly the heads of the outside spectators -were turned round in an opposite direction from that -of the balloon, and then hats and handkerchiefs waved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> -in the air, and cheer after cheer from the rural crowd -announced to the more select circle that the long-expected -was coming at last. Presently a chariot, -with servants in red liveries, and a coronet on the -panel, dashed up the hill to Aspendale Lodge! Mabel -could not refrain from clapping her hands. “He is -come! he is come!” the murmur ran through the -crowd, and the guests assembled in the meadow -simultaneously directed their gaze towards the house. -Augustine, with a sense of relief, hurried in to greet -his illustrious guest at the front entrance. After the -lapse of some minutes he emerged from the dwelling, -and crossed his back garden on his way to the -meadow; while at his side, pale and silent as a -corpse, walked Reginald, Earl of Dashleigh.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE ASCENT.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“The brave man is not he who feels no fear</div> -<div class="verse">For that were stupid and unnatural;</div> -<div class="verse">But he whose spirit triumphs o’er his fear,</div> -<div class="verse">And boldly dares the danger Nature shrinks from.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Joanna Baillie.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Has the reader ever pictured to himself what, at the -time of the Reign of Terror, must have been the -emotions of some noble victim borne towards the -fatal guillotine? Imagine the sensations of some -nobleman, fostered in the lap of luxury, accustomed -to every indulgence, full of the pride of birth, when -the rolling death-cart brings him suddenly in view -of the horrible engine of destruction, and the dense -crowd of eager spectators assembled to witness his -cruel end! A sense of personal dignity struggles -with that of mortal fear. He must not show the -inward agony that chills his shuddering frame; he -must be firm and calm before the gaze of those -thousand curious eyes; and yet the horror of that -hour almost overcomes his self-command, and he -fears that his resolution may give way in the fiery -trial!</p> - -<p>He who can realize to himself this picture, will be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -able to enter into the sensations of the unhappy -earl, when from his carriage window he first beheld -the huge globe, towering high above the surrounding -crowd, and heard the sound of the cheers which -greeted his own tardy appearance on the spot. The -vain hopes which he had clung to vanished in a -moment from his mind. Mr. Verdon had not disappointed -his friend,—no accident had marred the -balloon in its transit to Augustine’s house; no, there -it was ready, quivering as if with eager joy to welcome -its victim! How Dashleigh would have blessed -any mischievous urchin who should, by fire or steel, -have clipped for ever the wings of the <i>Eaglet</i>!</p> - -<p>Let it not be supposed, however, that the Earl of -Dashleigh was a coward. The testimony borne by -Augustine Aumerle had been simply just. As a -soldier the earl would have done his duty, and earned -an honourable name; he would not have blenched -on a field of battle, and if wounded, would have endured -in silence the anguish caused by the probe or -the knife. But his physical constitution was such -that he could hardly look down from the height of -an ordinary wall without a giddy sensation. His -head seemed to turn round on the brink of a chasm, -and the horror of falling down a precipice haunted -him even in his dreams! It was not to be wondered -at that to such a man the idea of gazing down thousands -of feet from the clouds was fraught with unutterable -terror; and the earl looked so ill when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -Augustine Aumerle came forth from the door to -meet him, that his friend involuntarily exclaimed, -“Dashleigh! you are not fit to ascend!”</p> - -<p>“I must, I must,” was the muttered reply, as with -an ice-cold hand the earl returned the grasp of his -host.</p> - -<p>“Come first into the house and refresh yourself; I -am certain that you are not well;” and so saying, -Augustine led the way into a room where a cold collation -had been spread out for his guests.</p> - -<p>The earl walked up to the table, poured out a -quantity of wine into a tumbler, and took it off at a -draught. Augustine feared that there might be some -risk that his friend would dull his intellect in the -hope of strengthening his nerves.</p> - -<p>The two then proceeded, as we have seen, through -the garden into the meadow. The earl acknowledged -the salutations of his acquaintance by stiffly bending -his head, but never uttered a word.</p> - -<p>“Will you go back?” whispered Augustine, who -began to feel uneasy as to the result of the experiment -before him.</p> - -<p>The earl hesitated for an instant, only an instant; -he caught sight of Dr. Bardon, watching him with a -sarcastic smile on his face, which stung the proud -noble like a scorpion; pushing forward with a determined -effort, Reginald sprung into the car in which -Mabel, with girlish impatience, had already taken -her place.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Now we only want Verdon,” observed Augustine, -more leisurely following his companion; “he is busy -giving last orders, but he will be with us in a -minute.”</p> - -<p>“And then, skyward ho!” exclaimed Mabel, whose -heart beat high with excitement and pleasure, which -was only heightened by a slight touch of feminine -fear.</p> - -<p>Whether it were the effect of her words, or of the -somewhat rocking motion given to the car, even -while resting on the grass, by the swaying of the -huge ball above it,—or whether the wine too hastily -taken had risen into the brain of the earl, was a -point never clearly decided; but at this moment the -nervousness of Dashleigh suddenly rose to a pitch -which entirely mastered his judgment. Rising from -his seat with an agitated air, he attempted to push -past Augustine, in order to get out of the car. His -friend, extremely annoyed at the thought of so public -an exhibition of weakness, laid his hand on the arm -of the earl; but this slight action seemed only to -rouse the miserable man to frenzy.</p> - -<p>“Let go!” exclaimed Dashleigh, in a voice so loud -that it resounded to the utmost edges of the crowd; -“Let go!” echoed a thousand voices, believing it to -be the signal for ascent! The men who were grasping -the ropes instantly obeyed the word, and almost -with the sudden effect of an explosion, the immense -balloon darted upwards to the sky, shrinking before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> -the upturned eyes of the breathless spectators, till -its vast globe gradually dwindled to the apparent -size of the plaything of a child!</p> - -<p>There were deafening cheers from the crowd -beyond the hedge; “Bravo! bravo! off she goes!” -shouted stentorian voices; but on the faces of the -nearest spectators were painted fear and dismay, as -Mr. Verdon—interrupted in the midst of hurried -directions by the sudden cry and shout, stretched -out his hands wildly towards the receding balloon, -and exclaimed in a tone of anguish,—“Merciful -Heaven! they are lost!”</p> - -<p>“Lost! what do you mean, man?” exclaimed -Bardon, coming forward in his blunt manner to give -a voice to the fears of the rest. “And how does it -happen that you are not in the car?”</p> - -<p>“The signal was given too soon!” cried Verdon, -his nervous accents betraying his emotion. “I was -just questioning my assistant as to the working of -the valve, for I thought that something seemed -wrong with the rope, when a voice shouted out, -‘Let go!’ and the idiots took that for the signal.”</p> - -<p>“But you do not apprehend danger?” cried a -gentleman near.</p> - -<p>“Danger!” repeated Verdon impatiently; “why, -Aumerle knows no more of the management of a -balloon than a child;—Heaven only knows if we -shall ever look on their faces again!”</p> - -<p>Terror, wonder, compassion, now spread rapidly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> -through the assembled throng; lip after lip repeating -the tale with its own comments and exaggerations. -Exclamations of pity and grief resounded on all -sides, as straining eyes attempted to pierce the cloud -which soon hid the <i>Eaglet</i> from view. Once it was -visible for a few minutes, and little dim specks -could be distinguished in the car, which were known -to be the living human beings who had so lately -been standing in health and strength on that very -spot! It was a sickening reflection that they were -now utterly beyond reach of man’s aid, drifting -away at the mercy of the winds, perhaps to some -terrible fate which might be guessed at, but never -known. None, perhaps, felt the revulsion more -terribly than Timon Bardon. He who had exulted -in revenge, found the cup which he had grasped -so eagerly, and deemed so sweet, suddenly changed -to a burning poison. His fierce, strong nature made -his sense of suffering peculiarly acute. “How shall -I tell this to Annabella?” was the distracting thought -uppermost in his mind, as throwing himself on a -horse which had been lent to him for the occasion, -he dashed wildly along the road which led to his -little home.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.<br /> -<span class="smaller">IN THE CLOUDS.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse indent8">“How fearful</div> -<div class="verse">And dizzy ’tis to cast one’s eyes so low!</div> -<div class="verse indent8">... I’ll look no more</div> -<div class="verse">Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight</div> -<div class="verse">Topple down headlong!”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Shakspeare.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“Oh, how delightful!” was the first exclamation of -Mabel, as the <i>Eaglet</i> shot upwards, swiftly, but -with a motion so smooth that its speed was only -made known by the earth and the spectators appearing -to sink down—down—ever growing less and less, -while the cheers sounded fainter and fainter, as -rising up from a distance. “How delightful!” she -repeated, waving a little flag as her farewell to those -below.</p> - -<p>But when the smiling Mabel turned to look at -her companions, she was somewhat startled to mark -that the countenance of her uncle was of the same -ashen hue as that of the earl.</p> - -<p>“How is it that Mr. Verdon is not with us?” -exclaimed Mabel in some surprise.</p> - -<p>Augustine silenced her by a warning look. His -grasp on the arm of Dashleigh had grown heavier<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -and tighter; but for that grasp it is possible that the -nobleman, in the first excitement of fear, would -have flung himself out of the car. Augustine’s first -thought was for his companion, for he felt that the -unhappy Dashleigh was trembling convulsively under -his hand.</p> - -<p>“Well, my friends,” said he, in a tone so cheerful -that it completely deceived his niece; “Verdon will -think it a shame if we do not go back for him -directly; I propose, therefore, that we descend.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, descend!” cried Dashleigh wildly; and a -strange faint echo from the far earth repeated the -word, “Descend!”</p> - -<p>Augustine was almost afraid to loosen his hold -on the arm of the earl; it was, however, necessary -that he should try some means of bringing the -<i>Eaglet</i> to the ground. He was, of course, aware -that this means must be to let out the gas which inflated -the ball, but ignorant as he was of the practical -working of a balloon, however easily he might grasp -its theory, Augustine was left to guess the way in -which this effect might be produced. Mabel, who -had perfect confidence in the power of her gifted -uncle to master any difficulty, and who saw no -change in his countenance except the paleness which -overspread his handsome features, had no idea of the -anxious fear which now perplexed his mind.</p> - -<p>Augustine laid hold of a rope which seemed to -him to be the one most probably attached to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> -valve at the top of the ball, and in this his reason -had not misled him. The valve was constructed to -open inwardly, so that the pressure of the gas within -might keep it constantly closed, except when mechanical -means were applied to counteract that -pressure. But Mr. Verdon’s misgiving had not been -without foundation; there was some hitch with the -valve which prevented its working properly under -an inexperienced hand. As Augustine pulled the -rope, the balloon entered into a cloud, and the travellers -suddenly found themselves enveloped in a -dense, damp, chilly mist.</p> - -<p>“Are we ascending or descending?” asked Mabel, -“for the balloon is so steady that it does not seem -to be moving at all.”</p> - -<p>Her uncle, who, with far greater anxiety, had -been asking himself the same question, replied in a -voice still perfectly calm, “throw down some pieces -of paper, and we shall ascertain that fact directly.”</p> - -<p>Wondering that he should not know it without -having recourse to experiment, Mabel immediately -obeyed. “The bits seem to fall, not like paper, but -like lead!” she exclaimed.</p> - -<p>“Then we must be ascending rapidly still,” -muttered Augustine; and he pulled the rope with -such desperate force that it snapped in his hand, and -all communication with the all-important valve was -broken off for ever.</p> - -<p>“God have mercy upon us!” was Augustine’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> -instinctive prayer, not uttered aloud from the fear of -alarming his companions. The thick mist prevented -Mabel from having any clear idea of what her uncle -was doing, but she thought him strangely silent, and -a damping chill came over her young spirit like the -fog which enwrapped her form. Augustine looked -up almost in despair at the huge indistinct mass -looming as a dark cloud above him. Oh! that there -were but any means of tearing open a passage for the -gas! The wicker car, suspended by ropes, hung too -low beneath the ball for it to be possible for -Aumerle’s extended arm to reach the silken globe, -or his penknife would have at once offered an easy -solution of the difficulty. A light, agile sea-boy -might possibly have climbed one of the ropes, and -so have reached the inflated ball; but the brain of -Augustine turned dizzy at the very thought of -attempting to clamber at the awful height to which -he knew that he must now have attained. His -frame was remarkable for strength as well as for -manly beauty, but was altogether unfitted for a -perilous feat like this. To have attempted it must -have been inevitably to fall and perish.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, to Mabel’s relief, the balloon emerged -from its misty shroud, and burst again into the -brightness of day. The scene was one never to be -forgotten, but Mabel was the only one of the travellers -whose mind was sufficiently at ease to enjoy -its sublime and awful beauty.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> - -<p>Above was the sky—deeply, intensely blue, such -as in Italy meets the enchanted gaze. Below was a -floor of pure white cloud, spread out, as it appeared -to Mabel, like a vast sea of cotton, on which lay -piled here and there vast masses, or islands of snow. -Some of these masses were floating beneath them -with a slow and majestic motion, impelled by currents -of wind which did not reach the strata of air -to which the balloon had ascended. Presently the -white floor seemed gradually to part on either side, -and an opening appeared through which a strange -panoramic view of the earth burst on the wondering -eye. It lay—Oh! how far beneath! There was no -distinction of mountain or plain, a dim blue hue -tinted all. In the words of a former æronaut,—“The -whole appeared a perfect plain, the highest -building having no apparent height, but reduced all -to the same level, and the whole terrestrial prospect -seemed like a coloured map.” There lay Dashleigh -Hall, the seat of ancestral pride, shrunk to the appearance -of a tiny toy,—a mere nothing viewed -from that awful height, even as all earth’s pomps -and grandeur must appear to those who survey them -from heaven. For the first time since he had worn -his honours, Dashleigh felt them no cause for pride. -He was in his own eyes no peer, no lofty aristocrat, -but a poor, weak child of man, with every nerve unstrung, -and an undefined horror hanging over him. -Gladly would he then have exchanged places with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> -the poorest peasant standing on solid ground, though -not possessing a single foot of it.</p> - -<p>“Look upwards—upwards—not downwards!” -cried Augustine, alarmed at the wild expression on -the haggard face of his friend. “Lie down, Dashleigh, -at the bottom of the car, and fix your gaze on -the sky above!”</p> - -<p>“Uncle!” exclaimed Mabel, “how strange your -voice sounds—like what one might hear in a dream; -and my own, too, seems quite different from what it -was when we were on the ground.”</p> - -<p>“This is the effect of the rarified air upon the -ear.”</p> - -<p>“Uncle, the objects below us grow smaller and -smaller, we must be rising higher and higher; I -thought that you meant to descend.”</p> - -<p>Augustine’s only reply was a look which in an -instant, as by a lightning flash, revealed to the -young girl the full danger of their situation.</p> - -<p>“You cannot descend!” she gasped forth, clasping -her hands in terror.</p> - -<p>“Remember <em>him</em>,” said Augustine in a very low -voice; “if he knew our helpless condition, I believe -that it would turn his brain.”</p> - -<p>“But cannot you tell how to let out the gas?”</p> - -<p>“I cannot—”</p> - -<p>“You who know everything—”</p> - -<p>“I do not know this.”</p> - -<p>Mabel sank back upon the seat from which she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> -had half risen while addressing her uncle, who, -holding firmly by a rope, was standing upright in -the car. She was a brave girl, and acted as such; -she neither uttered cry nor shed tear, but she turned -very pale and cold, and shivered as if mantled in ice. -It gave her now a sickening oppression to gaze -below. Was she never, never to return to that -earth which lay beneath her—never again to be -pressed to her father’s heart—never to meet the -smile of her sister! Was she to float on in these -dreary regions never before visited by man, buoyed -up in a moving coffin, till—</p> - -<p>The awful, deathlike stillness was suddenly broken -by a sharp report, sounding to the startled ears of -the travellers something like that of a pistol! It -was but a cork in the refreshment basket going off -from the diminished pressure of the atmosphere -causing the wine in the bottle to expand, but the -explosion of a cannon could hardly have produced a -more startling effect than a noise so sudden and so -unexpected. Dashleigh sprang like a maniac from -the bottom of the car, in which he had been quietly -lying, and made a frantic attempt to throw himself -out of the car. Augustine had to struggle and -wrestle to keep him down, as one engaged in a contest -for life; and the <i>Eaglet</i>, at the same time, -passing into a violent current of air, rocked and -shook, and swung to such an extent, that Mabel had -to grasp tight hold of the wicker-work to prevent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> -herself from being flung down into the clouds which -again had closed beneath them.</p> - -<p>The whirlwind grew yet more tremendous, tossing -to and fro the enormous balloon as if it had been a -bubble on the current, actually turning it round and -round, and making the car describe a wide swinging -circuit below it.</p> - -<p>It was a very awful moment—a moment in which -the heart almost ceases to beat, and the only utterance -of the soul can be a cry to the God that made -it! It seemed as in answer to that instinctive -prayer to the ear that is never closed, that the -whirlwind soon appeared to lessen its violence, the -motion of the balloon abated, the frightful swinging -of the car ceased, and Augustine uttered a faint -“thank God!” while Dashleigh sank senseless at -his feet!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.<br /> -<span class="smaller">REGRETS.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">There is no wretchedness where guilt is not;</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Religion can relieve the sharpest woes,</div> -<div class="verse">All—save remorse, be softened or forgot!</div> -<div class="verse indent1">But where can she—the hopeless, find repose</div> -<div class="verse">Whose anguish from her own transgression flows!</div> -<div class="verse indent1">My pride—my folly—bade a husband die,</div> -<div class="verse">His life embittered, hastened on its close!</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Yes, weep, ye who can weep,—but I—but I—</div> -<div class="verse">My heart weeps tears of blood,—and yet my eyes are dry!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The mind of Ida was not quite satisfied that it was -right in her sister to ascend in the <i>Eaglet</i>, contrary -to the direct and positive prohibition of her step-mother. -Ida could not help suspecting that she herself -had not proved altogether a safe guide for her -younger sister; she feared that while discouraging -the expedition on the plea of danger, she had not -sufficiently done so on the score of duty. The more -Ida reflected on the subject, the more conscience reproached -her for rather nurturing than repressing the -spirit of independence which proudly rose against -the control of Mrs. Aumerle, both in Mabel’s heart -and her own.</p> - -<p>Ida was not one to deaden conscience by refusing -to listen to its voice, and she arose on the morning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -of the 12th resolved to use her strongest persuasions -to induce Mabel to give up her project. She went -to the room of her sister, but found it already empty; -and then proceeded to the garden, but Mabel had -left it some minutes before.</p> - -<p>Ida felt that it was too late for her to undo any -mischief which might have been done, and made no -mention at the breakfast table of Mabel’s intention -to ascend, not wishing to be the first to draw upon -her sister the displeasure of Mrs. Aumerle.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps,” thought Ida, “reflection has had the -same effect upon Mabel that it has had upon myself; -she may have come to the like conclusion that it -would be wrong to go in the car. I earnestly hope -that it may be so, for I feel a strange uneasiness at -the thought of her venturing aloft. Yet there can -be no real danger, or my uncle would never have -wished to take Mabel with him, nor my dear father -have half consented to her going up in the balloon. -If she only come back in safety I shall feel a weight -taken off my heart, and I shall in future more earnestly -try to lead her aright in all things.”</p> - -<p>About the hour of noon, as the vicar was writing -in his study, he was interrupted by the entrance of -Ida.</p> - -<p>“Dearest Papa,” said she, gently approaching him, -and seating herself at his feet, “forgive me for disturbing -you when you are busy, but I want your -permission to go and see Annabella again.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> - -<p>The vicar looked grave, but made no reply.</p> - -<p>“When I last went to Mill Cottage with Mabel, -and our cousin refused to see us, you said that it was -your desire that we should leave her to herself for -the present; but it is to-day, as you know, that her -husband is to go up in the <i>Eaglet</i>, and I cannot help -imagining how anxious and unhappy Annabella must -be, because—”</p> - -<p>“Because she has goaded him to the step,” said -the vicar.</p> - -<p>“Somehow I am so restless to-day—I can neither -read nor work,—and my heart draws me towards -Annabella. I fancy—it may be presumption, but I -fancy that her spirit may be softened just now, and -that some word might be spoken which might make -it more easy to reconcile her to her husband. Have -I your consent to my going?”</p> - -<p>“I will go with you, my child,” said the vicar -putting up his papers and locking his desk. “I believe -that anything that we may say to that poor -misguided girl will be likely to have more effect -during the absence of Dr. Bardon. Whatever may -be the cause for his dislike, it is evident that he -nourishes a strong prejudice against the Earl of -Dashleigh.”</p> - -<p>It was not long before the father and daughter, -bound on their errand of love, reached the cottage -in which the countess had chosen to take up her -abode. They were ushered into the sitting-room<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> -where they found Cecilia bending pensively over a -piece of embroidery, and the countess with a book in -her hand, which she had, however, only taken up as -a device for silencing conversation, as during the last -half-hour she had not turned over a leaf.</p> - -<p>Miss Bardon welcomed her guests with smiles; -Annabella with a stiff politeness, which said as distinctly -as manner could convey meaning, “There must -be no entering upon any disagreeable subject of conversation; -the parson must not preach, nor the friend -attempt to persuade.”</p> - -<p>Ida’s heart yearned over her cousin, but she had -not courage to break through that formidable barrier -of reserve. The vicar saw that the first sentence -bordering upon reproof would be the signal for his -niece to quit the apartment. Disappointed, but not -yet disheartened, the good man inwardly prayed that -He who can alone order the unruly wills and affections -of his sinful creatures, would bend the proud -spirit of the haughty girl, and open her eyes to her -error. Little did he dream of the manner in which -that prayer would be answered!</p> - -<p>As might be imagined, under the circumstances the -conversation was constrained; Miss Bardon principally -sustained it, for she was the only one present -who could talk at ease on all the trifling topics of -the day.</p> - -<p>“Hark!” exclaimed Cecilia suddenly, “there is a -horse running away!” and her words seemed confirmed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> -by so rapid a clatter of hoofs, that not only -Ida, but Aumerle and the countess followed her -quickly to the open door to see if some rider were -not in peril.</p> - -<p>The alarm was in one sense a false one; the horse -that came gallopping on was impelled to furious speed -by the whip and the spur of its rider, as if—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Headlong haste or deadly fear</div> -<div class="verse">Urged the precipitate career;”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>and the party saw with surprise that this rider was -Dr. Bardon. He reined up so suddenly at the garden-gate -that the panting steed was thrown violently -back on its haunches. The doctor flung himself -quickly from the saddle, and without even pausing -to throw the rein round a post, advanced to the party -at the door. His long white hair streamed wildly -back from his excited face.</p> - -<p>“Something has happened!” exclaimed Ida; Annabella’s -tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of her -mouth!</p> - -<p>“The balloon!” cried Cecilia; “tell us, oh! tell us, -has some accident befallen the balloon?”</p> - -<p>The gesture of Bardon was one which might well -have beseemed a prophet of desolation, as raising his -arm he exclaimed, “Lost! lost! past recovery!”</p> - -<p>“How lost?—what would you have us believe?—remember -in whose presence you speak!” cried Lawrence -Aumerle almost sternly.</p> - -<p>“I cannot mince my tale,” was the gloomy reply,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> -“nor deal out poison by drops. By some fatal mistake -the balloon was let off before the car had been -entered by the only man who could guide it. We -are never likely to hear anything more of it, or the -unfortunate beings within it!”</p> - -<p>“Who were in it?” exclaimed the Aumerles in one -breath. “Who were in it?” echoed the countess in a -sepulchral voice, fixing upon Bardon an eye which -sought to read in his face a sentence of life or death.</p> - -<p>“Augustine Aumerle was there—and Mabel—”</p> - -<p>The father uttered an exclamation of anguish, and -Ida staggered backwards, closing her eyes, as if a -poniard had stuck her.</p> - -<p>“And—and—the Earl of Dashleigh!”</p> - -<p>Annabella gave such a piercing cry as agony might -wring from a wretch upon the rack, and would have -sunk on the earth but for the support of her uncle.</p> - -<p>“There may be hope yet,—God is merciful,—He -will have compassion on us,—let us pray, let us pray!” -exclaimed the vicar, in the sight of the misery of -another seeming half to forget his own.</p> - -<p>“See—see!” exclaimed Cecilia, suddenly pointing -towards the sky.</p> - -<p>There was breathless silence in a moment, and -every eye was eagerly turned in the same direction. -A small dark object appeared aloft, floating far, far -higher than wing of bird ever could soar! Who -can describe the intensity of the agonizing gaze fixed -by father—sister—wife, upon that little distant ball?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> -Arms were wildly stretched towards it, but not a -word was uttered, scarce a breath was drawn while -it yet remained in sight. Even when it had disappeared, -the upwards-gazing group seemed almost -as if transfixed into stone; till Bardon, with rough -kindness, attempted to draw Annabella back into the -cottage, muttering, “I feel for you, from my soul I -do!”</p> - -<p>“Feel for me!” exclaimed the countess, shrinking -from his touch with an expression of horror, her pent-up -anguish finding vent in passionate upbraiding; -“you who led me to this abyss of misery, you who -roused up my accursed pride, you who made me write -words which I would now only too gladly blot out -with my heart’s blood! But for you I might have -listened to truth; but for you I might never have left -the true friends to whom I turn in my agony now! -Oh, may God forgive you,” she added wildly,—“God -help me to forgive you, but never, never enter my -presence—never let me behold you again!”</p> - -<p>And so they parted, the tempter and the tempted—the -countess to return to the vicarage with her almost -heart-broken companions, Dr. Bardon to brood -in his solitary cottage over deep, unavailing regrets!</p> - -<p>In the dark abode of endless woe thus may bitter -recrimination deepen the anguish of the lost, when -some wretched soul recognises the author of his misery -in one called on earth his friend, who had stirred up -his evil passions, and pampered his fatal pride!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.<br /> -<span class="smaller">SOARING ABOVE PRIDE.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“By grace divine my heart towards Thee draw,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">By due afflictions check presumptuous pride,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">With hope and love turn fell despair aside,</div> -<div class="verse">And make my chief delight Thy holy law!”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Robert Tudor Tucker.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The great red sun, like a huge globe of fire, was sinking -in the west,—I would have said the horizon, but -that word gives the idea of a point nearly level with -the eye, while the orb appeared far beneath them to -the travellers in the <i>Eaglet</i>. The red light tinted -with a fiery glow the lower hemisphere of the balloon, -which was all that met the eye of the earl, for he -had cautiously abstained for many hours from glancing -downwards towards the earth.</p> - -<p>Dashleigh was now perfectly calm, though silent -and thoughtful. That one fearful day had effected -upon the young nobleman the work of years. Deeply -solemn were his reflections. With a conscience -neither dead nor unenlightened, the earl had needed -no prophet to decipher for him the fiery “letters on -the wall” of affliction. Heavily and yet more heavily -had descended on him the Almighty’s chastening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> -hand, and every blow had evidently been aimed at -his pride! Had he not been humiliated in the -presence of his friend,—satirized by his wife, ridiculed -by the world, and had he not now by an unconquerable -weakness, which a girl would have blushed to -betray, been the actual cause of the fearful position -in which he and his companions appeared! Bitter, -bitter was the humiliation of the proud man! Had -he been destitute of the faith which supports, and -the hope which cheers, Dashleigh would have been -utterly crushed by the successive strokes laid upon him. -But in him there was much of the gold, which beneath -the hammer “does not break, but extend.” Dashleigh -resembled less the son of Kish whom trial drove -into fierce despair, than the haughty Assyrian king -who, having endured that most humbling degradation -which was the appointed punishment for pride, -“lifted up” his “eyes unto heaven,” and “blessed -the most High,” with a spirit subdued.</p> - -<p>Strangely had passed the day; as light as the -feather down, the balloon floated in the ocean of air. -The party in the car had partaken of the slight refreshment -which had been provided, in little expectation -that even that would be required during a two -hours’ expedition. Beverage there was none, for the -wine had exploded both the bottles from the cause -mentioned in a preceding chapter. The lips of each -of the sufferers was parched and dry, and a painful -sensation of thirst was added to the trials of the hour.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> - -<p>Augustine and Mabel had exhausted all their inventive -powers in contriving means to cut an opening -in the ball of the balloon. Several attempts had -been made, but all had ended in disappointment. -The knife, flung upwards with a steady hand, had -glanced back from the varnished silk, and fallen -through depths which the mind shuddered to calculate. -Every effort but strengthened the conviction -that all effort was unavailing.</p> - -<p>There had been silence for a long time in the car,—silence -of which dwellers upon earth can scarcely -form a conception. There was here no rustling leaf, -no buzz of an insect’s wing to break the awful stillness! -Motion itself was impalpable, being unaccompanied -by the slightest sound!</p> - -<p>“Augustine,” said the earl, raising himself on his -elbow, for he still in a reclining posture occupied the -lower part of the car, “do you believe that you can -hide from me the fact that you have no power over -the balloon; that our condition is hopeless?”</p> - -<p>“Nay,” replied his friend, “let us never despair. -The gas may yet find some vent. There was never -yet balloon made so air-tight that it would not leak -in the course of time.”</p> - -<p>Mabel thought that she had never seen the pale, -delicate features of the earl invested with such true -dignity, as when with low, but distinct utterance he -made his reply: “I would rather look the danger -in the face. My brain is not dizzy now,—none are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> -dizzy who look above rather than below them. I -have a presentiment that we shall never reach the -ground alive.”</p> - -<p>Not a word was uttered in contradiction or reply, -and the earl continued in the same calm, deliberate -tone: “Death is a great preacher, Augustine; he -tells us startling truths! He tarnishes with a touch -the gilding on objects that once appeared to us -bright! He levels the prince and the peasant. He -has been preaching to me a soul-searching sermon, -and from a very solemn text.”</p> - -<p>“What is the text?” inquired Augustine, while -Mabel bent forward to listen.</p> - -<p>“<em>The loftiness of man shall be bowed down and -the haughtiness of man shall be laid low, and the -Lord alone shall be exalted in that day.</em>”</p> - -<p>Again there was solemn, deathlike silence! Perhaps, -as Mabel and her uncle sat watching the last -edge of the sun’s disc disappear, and the sky gradually -darken into night, the self-reliant genius, the -high-spirited girl, were secretly applying to themselves -the sublime words of the prophet of Judah.</p> - -<p>While twilight still lingered, a thought struck -Mabel. She remembered that she had brought with -her an envelope ready directed to her sister, with a -sheet of blank paper enclosed, for her fancy had been -pleased with the idea of dating a letter from “the -clouds.” Making a table of her seat in the car, -Mabel knelt down, and with a pencil wrote a sad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> -and touching farewell to the parent and sister so -tenderly loved. Many names were kindly remembered -in that note, for the proud spirit of Mabel was -softened and subdued by the pressure of trial, and -no one was then recalled to her mind but with a -feeling of kindness. To her step-mother Mabel sent -a long message. She confessed her fault with frank -regret, and asked the pardon of Mrs. Aumerle, not -only for the last act of open disobedience which was -now so fearfully punished, but for a long course of -petty provocations, for sullen looks, and proud retorts, -and bitter words spoken against her; Mabel entreated -forgiveness for all. Her tears dropped fast upon -the sheet—the first tears which she had shed on -that day, but she dashed them hastily from her eyes. -Mabel then folded the note and kissed it, as if -believing that the paper might bear to her home -the impress of that last token of love; then she -dropped her letter over the side of the car, watching -it as it descended, and picturing to herself the grief -and tenderness with which it would be received, and -read, and treasured up as a mournful memorial of -her of whose fate it might be the only record.</p> - -<p>Dashleigh had watched the action of his young -companion, and now drew from his vest a small but -very elegant pocket-book, which bore on one side an -embossed gold shield, on which his name was engraved, -surmounted by his coronet. This was the -first gift of affection which the young nobleman had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -received from his affianced bride. It had been his -constant companion since the hour when he had -received it from her hand. Dashleigh opened the -book, and gazed for some moments on the inscription -written on the fly-leaf, though the thickening darkness -would have rendered it difficult to decipher, had -he not known every syllable by heart. The earl -then, rather by feeling than sight, traced two words -on one of the blank pages, reclasped the book, and -gave it to Mabel with an expressive movement of -the hand. Sadly and silently she dropped into the -dark abyss the love token of the unhappy Annabella.</p> - -<p>More than an hour elapsed before the silence -again was broken. The thin air of these upper -regions had become intensely cold, and Mabel shivered -in her spring attire. The balloon was drifting -steadily on before the night breeze, as was marked -by its dark globe appearing to blot out one constellation -after another from the sky as it swept on, -the sole object that broke the immense expanse of -the star-lit heavens.</p> - -<p>“I think,” observed Mabel with a heavy sigh, -“that all in my father’s house must now be met -together for evening prayers.” She paused, as fancy -brought before her eye the warm lighted room, the -curtains drawn, the lamp-light falling on so many -dear familiar faces! Mabel thought how her father’s -voice would tremble as he uttered his fervent supplications<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> -for those in such awful peril, and how Ida -would try to smother her bursting sobs, that she -might not unnerve him by the sound of her distress. -“They will be praying for us,” continued Mabel; -“should we not pray together—even here?”</p> - -<p>“None have more need of prayer,” murmured the -earl; Augustine’s head was bowed in assent.</p> - -<p>“God is with us—even in this awful, awful -height where no human being can approach us,” -faltered Mabel.</p> - -<p>“Augustine Aumerle,” said Lord Dashleigh, “do -you lead our evening devotion.”</p> - -<p>“Any one rather than me!” exclaimed Augustine; -“none so unfit—so unworthy—so incapable!”</p> - -<p>And there was truth in these strange words. To -the gifted scholar, the eloquent orator, the language -of prayer was not familiar, the spirit of prayer had -long, alas! been unknown! Augustine had indeed, -during his visit to his brother, usually joined in the -family devotions, but he had done so from courtesy -to man, not from reverence for God. Unconvinced -of the weakness or sinfulness of his own nature, he -had sought neither pardon nor aid; he had felt no -need of a divine sustaining power, for he had contentedly -rested on his own. Augustine had made -an idol of Intellect, with Pride for its priest, under -the much abused name of Reason. What marvel -that with all his knowledge Augustine knew not -how to pray!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p> - -<p>The earl felt the difficulty almost as strongly as -his friend, though from a different cause. He had -never been disturbed by a doubt on the subject of -religion, and had from his earliest youth regarded -revealed truth with reverence, and acts of worship -with respect; but he had carried even into his -devotion the cold formality which naturally followed -an overweening sense of personal dignity. Dashleigh -had been a regular attendant at church; but with -the shy reserve of his nature, it would have seemed -to him, till that night, impossible to have poured -forth in the hearing of man an extempore prayer to -his God. But where Pride is humbled, the spirit of -supplication may rest. Never had the peer so felt -before the littleness of personal distinctions; never, -therefore, before had his heart been so attuned to -simple prayer. As Augustine shrank from leading -the devotions, which each one present felt would be -at once the source of comfort and the fulfilment of -duty, the nobleman, with folded hands, repeated -aloud the first petitions in the Litany which instinct -rather than memory suggested to his mind. Augustine -and his young niece in low and earnest tones -echoed the cry for mercy upon miserable sinners; -and when it was followed by the comprehensive -prayer, “in all time of our tribulation, in all time -of our wealth, in the hour of death, and in the day -of judgment—<em>Lord, deliver us!</em>” arose in solemn -unison from three voices and three hearts. Never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> -had the supplication been more earnestly, more fervently -breathed.</p> - -<p>The Lord’s Prayer concluded the brief service, -which for the time made that little car appear as a -floating temple. The chill cloudy solitude seemed -less terrible when the name of the Giver of all good, -the Fount of all blessings, had sounded within it. -Those who had prayed together, felt their souls more -knit together, and more prepared to meet with firmness -whatever the dark, drear night might bring. -Philosophy had brought no comfort, earthly rank -no relief, but the sense of the presence of a heavenly -Father was as balm to the suffering sinking soul.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.<br /> -<span class="smaller">A BROKEN CHAIN.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">In the world’s battle-field,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Though the strife may be glorious,</div> -<div class="verse">The Tempter may yield,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And our Faith be victorious;</div> -<div class="verse">In the deep soul alone</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Can the last stroke be given,</div> -<div class="verse">To God only known</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And the angels of heaven.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The grief of Annabella and of Ida partook of the -nature of their several characters; one was violent -and passionate, the other quiet and deep. In the -strong revulsion of feeling and anguish of remorse, -the countess could scarcely remember a fault in him -whom she had lately stigmatised as tyrannical, and -satirized as weak. The earl’s tragical fate seemed -to throw a halo around him, and his wife remembered -him but as the tender wooer, the affectionate husband, -the dignified, yet courteous nobleman, graceful -in person, lofty in principle—who had sought and -won the heart of a girl whose pride, petulance, and -passion, had destroyed the man whom she loved! -Annabella tore her beautiful hair, and struck her -bosom, as if she would have wreaked vengeance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> -on herself for the fearful ruin that her folly had -wrought!</p> - -<p>Ida found that her presence could afford no consolation -to her cousin; and then, not till then, she -hastened up to Mabel’s little room, now again to -become her own, and falling on her knees by the -bedside, buried her face in her hands, and poured -forth an agonized prayer. She remained long in the -same position, and then arose trembling and pale. -Every object in the room seemed to awaken a fresh -burst of sorrow. There was Ida’s own likeness on -the wall, sketched by the hand of Mabel,—a rough, -unfinished drawing, indeed, but yet a labour of love. -There were fragrant lilac blossoms from the favourite -bush which Mabel always called her “Ida,” and -there on the toilette table lay a small Bible, Mabel’s -birthday gift from her sister, where many a mark -and double mark showed that it had at least been -perused with interest and attention. This Bible -now afforded the most soothing consolation to the -aching heart of Ida.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Aumerle had been far more astonished than -pleased at the unexpected return of the countess, -until she learned its sad cause. Her feelings then -became of a very mingled nature. The danger of -the party in the balloon, and the grief of those left -behind, excited her heartfelt pity; but her soul -vibrated between that emotion, and indignation at -the conduct which had occasioned the tragic event.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -When the lady thought of the countess’s pride, or -the wilful disobedience of Mabel, she could not shut -out from her mind the reflection that they had -brought all their trouble upon themselves. Mrs. -Aumerle’s predominating sensation, however, was -sympathy with her afflicted husband, and she did -everything that lay in her power to inspire him -with the cheering hopes that were strong within her -own bosom.</p> - -<p>“Nay, Lawrence, give not way to despair; this -agrees neither with reason nor religion. Depend -upon it everything will turn out far better than you -could expect. The balloon will come down quietly -to earth as other balloons have done, and we shall -have the whole party sitting here—perhaps to-morrow, -talking over their adventures, and smiling -at our alarm. Don’t tell me that your brother -knows nothing about guiding a balloon—he is so -wonderfully clever that he knows everything by -intuition. He will find some method of getting -safely out of the difficulty; my mind always grows -easier when I think what a genius he is!”</p> - -<p>Aumerle was walking up and down in his study, -as if motion could relieve his mental distress, at each -turn pausing at the window to look anxiously out -upon the sky. He stopped short as his wife concluded -her last sentence, and murmured, “My poor, -poor brother! the bitterest trial of all is the fear -that he is unprepared for the awful change!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> - -<p>“This very trial may be sent to prepare him for -it, to make him think more than he has ever yet -done of the one thing that is needful. And our poor -wilful Mabel—”</p> - -<p>“Oh! blame not her—blame not her!” exclaimed -Ida, who had entered as Mrs. Aumerle was speaking, -and who now bent at her stepmother’s feet in a -posture of humiliation as well as of grief; “you and -my dear father must learn how much of her fault -rests with me. It is a bitter confession, but I can -find no peace till it is made. Dear Mabel came to -me yesterday evening, and told me that Papa had -given a kind of permission to her to ascend in the -<i>Eaglet</i>, bidding her at the same time consult you—”</p> - -<p>“I positively forbade her,” interrupted the lady.</p> - -<p>“I know it—she told me all—and had I done -my duty,” continued Ida, her voice hardly articulate -through sobs, “I would have told her that your -refusal was sufficient—that she should submit and -obey. But somehow—I can scarcely recall in what -way—a chord of pride was touched in my own -sinful heart; I felt it difficult to urge on her a duty -which I had so often neglected myself, and I can -now scarcely hope for my father’s forgiveness, or -yours, or my own—”</p> - -<p>The last words were sobbed forth on the bosom -of Mrs. Aumerle, for Ida’s lowly confession had -made her step-mother forget everything but the -sister’s grief and repentance, and no parent could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> -more kindly have strained to her heart a beloved -and penitent child, than the hard, severe, practical -Barbara Aumerle embraced the daughter of her husband. -Her tones were those of maternal tenderness -and sympathy for the sorrower as she said, “Don’t -reproach yourself, darling,—don’t reproach yourself, I -believe there were faults on both sides!”</p> - -<p>The vicar, with moist eyes and a thankful heart, -saw for the first time cordial sympathy between two -beings whom he dearly loved; and Pride fled in -gloomy disappointment from the scene, for he knew -that the chain of his captive was broken!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE AWFUL CRISIS.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Oh! how sweet to feel and know</div> -<div class="verse">E’en in this hour of dread, that dear to Thee</div> -<div class="verse">Is the confiding spirit!”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">E. Taylor.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Henceforth I learn that to obey is best,</div> -<div class="verse">And love with fear the only God; to walk</div> -<div class="verse">As in His presence; ever to observe</div> -<div class="verse">His providence, and on Him sole depend,</div> -<div class="verse">Merciful over all His works, with good</div> -<div class="verse">Still overcoming evil, and by small</div> -<div class="verse">Accomplishing great things, by things deemed weak</div> -<div class="verse">Subverting worldly strong, and worldly wise</div> -<div class="verse">By simply meek!”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Milton.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>It is the darkest hour of night, that hour which -precedes the dawn. A thousand stars are spangling -the deep azure of the sky, looking down, like angels’ -eyes, on a world of sin and sorrow. Augustine’s -gaze is fixed upon one beauteous planet, which, in -its calm light, outshines the tremulous glory of the -constellations. Mabel has wearily fallen asleep -where she sits, resting her head on her arm, the -piercing cold of the upper air making her slumber -the deeper. The earl, still stretched at the bottom -of the car, is also finding a short oblivion of woe, -and in dreams is wandering again upon the warm, -bright, joyous earth, with Annabella at his side.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p> - -<p>Augustine, on his dizzy height, in the stillness of -the hour, feels himself alone with his God. The -conversation held at the vicarage with his brother -now recurs to his mind with a deep and solemn -effect. Augustine draws a mental parallel between -his own present awful position and that in which -his soul has for so long unfearingly remained. Has -he not been, as it were, floating between earth and -heaven, carried up by his pride, full inflated as that -swollen ball which is at this moment bearing him -onward perhaps to destruction! Has he any reason -to rejoice that he has risen high above the mass of -his fellow-creatures, if his very exaltation prove the -means of his deeper fall!</p> - -<p>“Yes, fool that I was! I believed my intellect -formed to pierce through the mists, to rise above the -clouds, to find for itself a path that no mortal had -discovered before! With proud presumption I -refused the guidance of Faith in those regions to -which Faith alone has access. I trusted to reason—philosophy—genius!—what -have they done for -me here? I have proved unequal even to the task -of regulating the motions of this silken machine, yet -I feared not to steer my own way through the vast -mysteries of spiritual knowledge! As regards the -soul as well as its mortal tenement, I have been the -sport of the changing winds, enwrapt in the seething -mist, struggling on through thickening darkness—and -to what point now have I reached? I see the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> -calm, still stars above me, shining like the eternal -truths which audacious Pride once dared to question; -I view the orbs which for ages unnumbered have -kept their steady course through infinite space, -upheld by the Power and Wisdom whose mysteries -I vainly sought to fathom; earth’s lights have all -faded and gone, the brightest illumine no more, the -clearest throw no ray on this darkness,—the gems -of the firmament alone, unchanged and unapproachable -by man, are glittering over me still!</p> - -<p>“Yes, I feel myself an atom in the vast universe -which is filled by God! And yet man’s moral -responsibility—the awful trust of an immortal, an -accountable soul—give a fearful dignity to him still! -Am I fit to appear in the presence of Him before -whose throne I so soon may stand? Is there anything -in myself to which I can cling for support in -the day of judgment? Can I plead my merits—my -virtues—my works? No; the truth is forced upon -me here, which mortal presumption so long refused -to acknowledge. As well might I fling myself from -this car, and falling a thousand fathoms hope to -reach the earth uninjured, as trust to find safety for -a guilty and sentenced soul without the one sacrifice -for sin, the atonement provided for those who with -child-like faith rest upon it, and it only!”</p> - -<p>As Augustine pursued his solemn meditations, -gradually the stars became dimmer at the approach -of the dawn, even as the heavenly lights vouchsafed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> -to guide us here, will pale in the radiance of a more -perfect knowledge of a more glorious day; the deep -blue sky assumed a somewhat lighter hue, and the -looming outline of the balloon was seen more distinctly -against it.</p> - -<p>“Do my eyes deceive me,” thought Augustine, -“or is the curve of that outline less bold than it -appeared in the light of the setting sun? It may -be but fancy, but it seems as though the ball were -less fully inflated; I could imagine that I even perceive -what resembles a wrinkle in the silk. God in -mercy grant that this new hope be not an illusion!” -As he spoke, something like the smoke-wreath from -the mouth of a discharged cannon floated upwards -not far from the car, then another and another, all -ascending lightly from beneath, and mounting high -above the balloon.</p> - -<p>“The clouds appear to rise!” exclaimed Augustine -eagerly; “a sure sign that we ourselves are descending!” -He started from his seat, and grasping a -rope, looked over into the abyss.</p> - -<p>The dim grey twilight scarcely yet sufficed to show -objects distinctly, though not a single cloud now -obscured the wide spreading prospect below. Augustine -strained his eyes with gazing for several -minutes before he became fully assured of the nature -of what lay beneath him. One long faint streak of -red at length clearly defined the line where the sky -met the rounded horizon; there was no object, not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> -the smallest, to break that hard sharp line which -separated misty blue from deepening crimson; nor -swelling hill, nor rising mountain was there; Augustine’s -pulse beat quicker and he gasped as for breath, -for he was now convinced of two facts, each of -thrilling importance,—that the <i>Eaglet</i> was quickly -descending, and that it was descending into the -sea!</p> - -<p>“The breeze must have borne us above the -Channel, and may bear us across it, if for but one -or two hours we can keep the balloon aloft! But -the gas is evidently fast escaping, and unless I -lighten the car, we shall soon be precipitated into -the wide waste of waters beneath!”</p> - -<p>With almost the rapidity of thought, Augustine -caught up the large bag of ballast and flung it out -of the car. In the lapse of—as it seemed—two or -three minutes, a splashing sound distinctly came from -below, the first noise exterior to the car which had -reached the ear of Augustine for many a weary -hour. Slight as it was, it seemed sufficient to startle -the earl from his sleep; he opened his eyes, and gave -a little start of horror at the sight of the vast -ball above him, which in an instant brought back -to him the consciousness of what had occurred.</p> - -<p>“Still this living death!” he exclaimed, and his -voice awakened Mabel.</p> - -<p>“It is very, very cold,” she murmured drowsily; -“and is the night really gone, and the beautiful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> -morning breaking? These soft rosy clouds are above -us now, perhaps we may see—”</p> - -<p>“Do not look down, Mabel!” cried her uncle.</p> - -<p>But the word came too late,—the trembling -girl was already surveying the broad, smooth ocean -plain.</p> - -<p>“Where can we be going?” she exclaimed; “it is -one flat blue expanse below, and there is a scent as -if from the sea!”</p> - -<p>“We must be over the Channel,” said Dashleigh; -“Augustine Aumerle, what are you doing?”</p> - -<p>His friend had lifted up his box of instruments -and flung it over the side; the basket then followed. -Augustine laid his hand on the grappling irons, but -paused, till, at a shorter interval than before, the -splash was heard from the sea.</p> - -<p>“Are we sinking down?” exclaimed Mabel and -Dashleigh as if with one breath.</p> - -<p>Augustine nodded an assent, and threw over the -grappling irons. Nothing remained in the car -which could be flung away to lighten the balloon.</p> - -<p>“Oh! what will become of us?—what will become -of us?” exclaimed Mabel, clasping her hands in -terror, as death in a new form stared her in the -face.</p> - -<p>“Nothing will keep the balloon up,” said Augustine -Aumerle; “we must commend our souls to a -merciful God.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Can you see no ship?” cried the earl; “no -object moving on the waters?” and starting up -in the eagerness of hope, he himself looked over -the side of the car, but almost sickening at the -dizzy prospect, sank back again to his place.</p> - -<p>How gloriously burst the bright rays streaming -from the eastern horizon! how splendidly rose the -sun as a monarch rejoicing in his might, crimsoning -the floating clouds, and casting across the waters a -path of quivering gold! It struck the trembling -Mabel with a sense of awful beauty, as nearer and -nearer the <i>Eaglet</i> dropped toward ocean’s liquid -grave! Again the coloured stripes of the ball shone -bright in the light of day, but it was with something -of horror that the travellers now regarded that which -Mabel had once playfully spoken of as an emblem of -swollen pride. It had carried them aloft through -the clouds to dreary, deathlike isolation, but failed -to support them now in the hour of peril and distress.</p> - -<p>Down—down—down—yet with more rapid and -breathless descent, not in perpendicular fall, but -borne sideways by the freshening sea breeze, sank -the once towering <i>Eaglet</i>. The white crests of the -billows could now be distinguished, and even the fin -of a porpoise that flashed in the sunbeam.</p> - -<p>“Might not the car float?” exclaimed Mabel; “it -is so buoyant and light!”</p> - -<p>“It possibly might for a time,” replied Augustine,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> -“were it not attached to this frightful incumbrance. -Dashleigh,” he asked suddenly, “have you a knife? -I parted yesterday with mine.”</p> - -<p>“For what use?” inquired the earl, as he gave -a large one which he happened to have on his -person.</p> - -<p>There is no time for reply, the <i>Eaglet</i> is nearing -the sea; down—down—down—till with a violent -shock which splashes the spray many feet into the -air, the car strikes the waves and rebounds again, its -dripping, gasping occupants clinging hard to prevent -themselves from being flung out into the -sea.</p> - -<p>Down again—still with terrific violence; it is a -frightful scene! The spirit of a demon appears to -animate the balloon,—a spirit that delights in torturing -its miserable victims, as it goes sweeping, dashing, -whirling on, now skimming at some height above -the surface of the waters, now suddenly dipping so -low that the half uttered shriek of Mabel is stifled in -the gasping sob of suffocation! No wretch fastened -to a wild horse plunging, rearing, bounding on its -way, with steaming nostril and foaming breath, ever -endured the horrors of those dragged onward by that -terrific engine of death, while the half submerged -car leaves a long white bubbling track on the -ocean!</p> - -<p>Augustine alone loses not his presence of mind in -this crisis of unutterable horror. Though the violent,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -plunging, unsteady motion of the partly exhausted -balloon makes it difficult for his half drowned companions -to keep their seats, he manages to retain his -footing without clinging, for both his hands are -engaged in a desperate effort to cut asunder the -cords of the balloon. It is their only chance of -life,—a miserable chance indeed, but better even to -sink at once in the watery depths, than to be thus -given again and again a horrible taste of death, to -be snatched away from it for a moment, only to be -precipitated downwards once more! With the -energy of despair the drowning man wields the -flashing knife, one after another the ropes are cut, -each that gives way rendering more fearful the -danger of the party—for at length the horizontal -position of the car is actually reversed, the wicker -is suspended by a single cord, and it is only by -clasping and clinging with strained muscles and -desperate grasp, that the terrified ones can retain -hold of this, the one frail barrier between themselves -and destruction!</p> - -<p>Augustine awaits the moment when the lower end -of the car just touches the waves, and then the last -cord is severed! In an instant the light frame is -dashed on the billows, the waves splashing around -and over it and the three who almost miraculously -have retained their places within it. The car of -wicker work lined with oil-skin is not ill calculated -on an emergency to act the part of a boat, but it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -nearly full of water, and it is only by almost superhuman -efforts in baling out the brine with Mabel’s -straw hat and Dashleigh’s beaver (Augustine’s is -floating far on the waves) that the little shell can be -kept afloat.</p> - -<p>In the meantime the balloon, released from the -weight of the car, bursts upwards like a bird of -prey soaring from a field of blood; or, to repeat -my former figure, as if the demon of pride, baffled -and wounded like Apollyon in his conflict with -Christian, had “spread his dark wings on the blast, -and fled away to his own habitation!” A wild -sensation of joy, even in the midst of her terror, -flashed across the mind of Mabel, as she saw that -terrible minister of destruction borne far away—and -for ever!</p> - -<p>Perilous as was the situation of the voyagers in -their fragile boat, drenched as they were with salt -water, hungry, exhausted, their throats and lips -parched with burning thirst, they seemed but to -have exchanged one form of misery for another. -And yet the change from their late frightful position -brought with it some sense of relief. They were -touching, though not solid earth, yet some portion of -their native sphere; they were no longer floating in -an ocean of air, cut off by an impassable gulf from -the faintest hope of human assistance. There was -comfort in the sight of the lank brown sea-weed -borne on the floating waves, comfort in the sight of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> -the white winged birds that dipped in the flashing -brine!</p> - -<p>But as the day advanced endurance was sorely -tried. Without rudder to steer the little car, or -oar to propel, the sufferers could not shut out the -prospect before them of almost certain death. The -perpetual baling out of the water which leaked into -their crazy boat, became an exhausting effort which -their fainting frames could not for many hours -sustain. Even Augustine’s features began to acquire -the rigid sternness of despair; and the earl, in -silent supplication, commended a young widow to -God.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Mabel exclaimed with wild transport: -“A sail, a sail in the horizon!”</p> - -<p>“But a sea-gull floating on the waves,” replied -Augustine, shading his eyes with his hand from the -glare of a meridian sun.</p> - -<p>The earl stretched out his blue corpse-like fingers -in the direction indicated by Mabel, and then, -raising his hand on high, exclaimed, “It is a sail—help -is near—God be praised! God be praised!”</p> - -<p>Then followed a time of intense, almost maddening -excitement. Augustine stood erect in the car, -his tall form raised to its utmost height, as he waved -again and again a kerchief as a signal of distress.</p> - -<p>“Oh, if they should not see it!” exclaimed Mabel</p> - -<p>“Or seeing, disregard it,” murmured the earl.</p> - -<p>Again and again a shrill cry for help sounded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> -over the blue expanse. If the freshening breeze -bore back that cry, so that it reached not the ears -for which it was intended, that same breeze was -filling the canvas and bringing near and more near -the wished for,—the prayed for relief!</p> - -<p>“I think that they see us!” cried Augustine, for -the first time during that terrible day a gleam of -joy relaxing his features.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my beloved father—my own Ida—shall I -behold you again!” exclaimed Mabel.</p> - -<p>“We must not relax our efforts,” said her uncle, -“or we shall perish even in the view of safety.”</p> - -<p>She speeds on,—the gallant bark,—dashing onwards -“like a thing of life;” the figure of the -steersman is now distinctly visible at her prow, his -rough hail rings clear over the water,—was ever -sight so welcome, was ever sound so sweet! Joy -in that never-to-be-forgotten moment proves more -overpowering even than terror, and the firmness -which had stood the strain of most intense anxiety -and fear gives way in the rebound of rapturous -thanksgiving and delight!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.<br /> -<span class="smaller">TIDINGS.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“But rise, let us on more contend, nor blame</div> -<div class="verse">Each other, blamed enough elsewhere, but strive</div> -<div class="verse">In offices of love, how we may lighten</div> -<div class="verse">Each other’s burden, in our share of woe.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Milton.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>On the eventful night which had been passed by -the earl and his companions above the clouds, the -mourners in the vicarage had known but little of -repose. If oblivion came, it was in brief troubled -snatches of slumber, from which the fevered sleeper -awakes with a start to feel an icy oppression on the -mind,—slumber which has in it nothing of refreshment.</p> - -<p>All arose very early, with a vague yearning hope -that tidings might come with the morning light, -and the eager greeting when two of that anxious -household met together was always, “Have you -heard?—are there any tidings?”</p> - -<p>Annabella would not appear at the breakfast -table. Ida, pale as sculptured marble, scarcely able -to swallow the nourishment of which she partook as -a duty, sat beside her father, every sense absorbed -in anxious listening. She heard the postman’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> -step before she could see his form, and eagerly sprang -forward to meet him, for it was possible—just -possible—that he might be the bearer of news!</p> - -<p>The man shook his head sadly when questioned; -he had brought nothing but a parcel for the -Countess of Dashleigh with the London post-mark -upon it; and, with a sickening sense of disappointment, -Ida bore it to the room of her cousin.</p> - -<p>A strange gleam of hope flashed in the countess’s -large hollow eyes, as, without noticing the post-mark, -she tore open the little packet; it was followed by a -strange revulsion of feeling. There lay before her, -beautiful in its fanciful binding of violet and gold, -its glittering edges bright from the hand of the -gilder, “<i><span class="smcap">The Fairy Lake</span>, by the <span class="smcap">Countess of -Dashleigh</span></i>.”</p> - -<p>There was a time when the youthful authoress -would have gazed on the volume with delight, and -turned over its pages with eager curiosity and -pleasure! But now—there seemed written upon -each a tale of wilful rebellion and insolent pride! -Annabella flung her first book from her with an -exclamation of anguish, for was it not connected in -her mind with the fearful fate of her husband!</p> - -<p>Then, with a sudden resolution, she rose from her -seat, and hastily opened that desk at which she had -penned her fatal article for the —— Magazine. -Annabella would make some reparation, such reparation -as yet was possible, for the deed so deeply<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> -repented of. The countess wrote, with a hand that -shook so that she could scarcely form the letters, a -note to her publisher in London, bidding him at once -cancel the whole edition of her romance, prohibiting -him from selling a single copy of the work which he -had been hurrying through the press, and making -herself responsible for his losses, whatever they might -be. No earthly consideration would have induced -the miserable wife to delay, even for an hour, the -act by which she crushed the bud of hope, so long -eagerly fostered, at the very moment when it burst -into blossom! The young authoress, once soaring so -high in the pride of literary ambition, was cutting -the cords of her balloon!</p> - -<p>Almost every family in the neighbourhood, whether -rich or poor, called at the vicarage that day, impelled -by friendship, curiosity, or pity, to inquire if -any tidings of the lost balloon had reached the -family of the Aumerles. No visitors, however, were -admitted, as soon as it was ascertained that they had -come to receive information, and not to give it. -The sound of wheels, and of frequent rings at the -gate, almost drove Annabella to distraction! Ida -and her father spent much of the time together in -fervent prayer, but the miserable Countess of Dashleigh -seemed too restless—too wretched to pray!</p> - -<p>It was now the afternoon of one of the loveliest -days in the loveliest of seasons. The soft tinkling -of the distant sheep-bell, the low of the cattle in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -meadow, and the monotonous hum of the bee, came -softly blended together to the ear. The bright -mantle of sunshine fell on fruit-trees laden with -blossom,—the hawthorn white with May’s perfumed -snow, the fragrant lilac, the laburnum dropping its -showers of gold! Annabella gazed from the open -casement of her apartment upon a lovely and varied -prospect, but she had not the slightest perception of -what lay directly before her eye.</p> - -<p>Another loud ring! The countess turned her -head with quick impatience. A man was standing -at the gate. Was there something in his manner -that announced the eager bearer of tidings, or did -the wife intuitively grasp the fact that he brought -her news of her husband? Ida seemed to have had -the same perception, for, with the breeze waving -back her long dark tresses, she was at the gate -almost before the tongue of the bell ceased to -vibrate. Annabella saw her start, caught the -uttered exclamation, and springing from her room, -clearing the stairs almost at a bound, in less than a -minute was at the side of her cousin. She was -quickly followed by the vicar and Mrs. Aumerle, and -every member of the household.</p> - -<p>A telegraphic message had arrived from Augustine; -yes, there was the precious little leaf, which, like the -touch of a magician’s wand, changed the face of -everything around, and flooded the dry, haggard -cheek of sorrow with a torrent of grateful tears.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Cliff Cottage, B——, Devon.</span></p> - -<p>“Safe, thank God! I shall send M—— home to-morrow. I -remain here with the earl, who is attacked by brain fever. I have -telegraphed to Exeter for Dr. G—— and a nurse.—A. A.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>“Brain fever!” exclaimed the countess with a -gasp.</p> - -<p>“Temporary illness, I trust,—only temporary,” -said the vicar, from whose heart the weight of a -mountain seemed removed. “Augustine, thoughtful -as he ever is, has already taken every human means -to insure recovery.”</p> - -<p>“My Reginald shall be left to no nurse; no, no, -none shall rob me of one privilege,” cried Annabella. -“I will be at B—— beside him to-night.”</p> - -<p>“I will be your escort,” said Lawrence Aumerle.</p> - -<p>“Oh, take me too!” exclaimed Ida, her dark -eyes swimming in tears at the thought of seeing her -sister.</p> - -<p>“No, no,” interrupted Mrs. Aumerle, “numbers are -by no means desirable where a man in brain fever is -concerned. It is bad enough for your father to have -to undertake a long journey, without the whole -family hurrying off. You will stay here with me, -my dear, and welcome back Mabel to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>A short time before Ida would have rebelled -against a decision so much at variance with her -inclinations,—would have remonstrated, or at least -have murmured; but she had received too severe a -lesson for its impression to be speedily effaced, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> -reproaching herself for the sigh which alone betrayed -her disappointment, she hastened up-stairs to prepare -a little parcel of necessaries to be taken to Mabel.</p> - -<p>As Ida was putting up, with other articles, the -Bible which she knew that her sister would especially -welcome, she was unexpectedly joined by Mrs. -Aumerle.</p> - -<p>“You may leave that business to me,” said the -lady, with more real kindness of intention than -tenderness of manner; “your father says that it -would be hard not to let you make one of the -party, so you had better get ready for the journey -at once.”</p> - -<p>Joyful at the permission, Ida hastened to make -her little preparations; and Mrs. Aumerle, as she -packed Mabel’s parcel, informed her step-daughter -of the arrangements which she had herself made for -the convenience of all. A messenger had been -promptly despatched to the nearest neighbour who -kept a carriage, to ask the loan of the conveyance to -carry the travellers to the nearest railway station. -Nothing that could insure the comfort of the vicar -was forgotten when his carpet-bag was packed by -the hands of his careful wife; Ida received sundry -injunctions to watch over the health of her father, -and the good housewife took care that the travellers -should not fast on the way.</p> - -<p>When the carriage drove away from the door of -the vicarage, with its eager, anxious occupants, Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> -Aumerle, following it to the gate, watched it from -thence till it disappeared in a turn of the road. And -thus the woman of sense soliloquised on events, past, -present, and future:—</p> - -<p>“How much trouble and misery has been caused -by one act of selfish folly! Because Augustine—too -great a genius, I suppose, to judge like a sensible -man—fancies to roam through the clouds, and take -with him a wilful, disobedient child, while a petulant -girl eggs on her husband to follow so absurd -an example, a whole family must be plunged into -terror, grief, and alarm! I felt convinced from the -first that all would end happily enough. Augustine -has easily guided the balloon; it has floated quietly -down at its leisure to some quiet meadow in Devon; -and but for the poor earl’s shaken nerves, the whole -affair to those most concerned has been nothing but -a party of pleasure! It is we who have had to -suffer for the senseless folly of others. There’s Ida -has been looking like a spectre; and my dear, -excellent husband is first almost crushed with sorrow, -and then hurried off, at half-an-hour’s notice, to -escort that half frantic countess to a husband who -will probably refuse to see her! Well, well, I -believe that of all senses common sense is the most -uncommon!” and with a soothing conviction that a -portion, at least, of the rare gift had been bestowed -upon herself, Mrs. Aumerle quietly returned to her -usual avocations.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p> - -<p>It was fortunate for Mabel that the morrow’s -post brought to her stepmother’s hands the letter -which the young girl had dropped from the balloon. -Ida had left a request, that notes addressed to her -might in her absence be opened by Mrs. Aumerle, -and thus it was that that lady first became aware -of some of the perils through which the travellers -had passed. Mabel’s letter had been picked up in -a field and posted by the farmer who had found it, -and the touching lines of love and penitence which -she had penned in the near prospect of a terrible -death, softened in a very great degree the feelings of -her step-mother towards her.</p> - -<p>“She has had her share of suffering after all,” -observed the lady, “and we must not be severe -upon the poor child. She has had punishment -enough for her fault, so I’m content to ‘let bygones -be bygones.’”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE WHEEL TURNS</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead,</div> -<div class="verse">By heaping coals of fire upon its head.”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Goldsmith.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>When the Countess of Dashleigh, with bitter words -of reproach, had departed from the cottage of Bardon, -she left her late entertainers in a state of mind little -to be envied. The unfortunate Cecilia was for the -rest of the day much in the position of one who, -with hands tied, is caged up with a large hornet -which has been irritated, and which goes about -buzzing with evident determination to find or to -make a foe. Everything went wrong with the -doctor, and his daughter was the only being within -reach of the hornet’s sting!</p> - -<p>Bardon’s temper broke out especially at dinner, -where every little luxury which had been prepared -for Annabella served as a provocation to her irritated -host. The unfortunate chicken (a delicacy till lately -almost unknown at the little cottage), could not -have been more denounced as tough, tasteless, and -uneatable, if it had been a roasted owl. The tartlets -(made surreptitiously by poor Cecilia in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> -absence of Mrs. Bates) roused such an angry storm -against all the inventors, makers, and eaters of such -abominable trash, that Cecilia silently resolved that -they should never appear on the table again; she -would rather throw them into the road! Miss -Bardon’s gaily tinted bubble of grandeur had -broken, and left behind nothing but bitterness and—bills!</p> - -<p>The fact was that Dr. Bardon was angry with -himself, though a great deal too proud to own it. -He was haunted by the countenance of the unfortunate -Dashleigh as he last had seen it in the car, and -had a strong persuasion on his mind that the earl, -in a fit of frenzy, would fling himself out of the -balloon, and be dashed to pieces in the fall! The -subject of the ascent of the <i>Eaglet</i> was one so painful -to Bardon that he would endure no allusion to -it; and Cecilia soon discovered that there was no -method of raising a storm so certain, as that of -uttering aloud the conjectures and apprehensions to -which such an event naturally gave rise. Silence, -particularly on so interesting a subject, was a cruel -penance to the poor lady, to whom gossip was one -of the few remaining pleasures of life, but to that -penance she was obliged to submit as being the -lesser of two evils.</p> - -<p>The anxious vicar himself had not passed a more -disturbed night with the images of his child and -his brother breaking his rest, than did the proud<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> -old doctor. Conscience had at length made him -miserable, although it had not made him meek. He -was no longer stormy, but he was sullen; and he -did not even choose to communicate to his daughter -his intention of calling on the Aumerles as soon as -his breakfast should be concluded, in order to inquire -whether anything had been heard of the missing -balloon.</p> - -<p>The postman, who had just left at the vicarage -“The Fairy Lake” for the Countess of Dashleigh, -now called at the cottage with a letter. The doctor’s -correspondents were so very few in number that -such an event was sufficiently rare to excite attention; -and Bardon’s mind was so pre-occupied with -the idea of coming misfortune and death, that he -turned pale on seeing that the epistle directed to -him was sealed and deep-bordered with black.</p> - -<p>Cecilia, who had her full allowance of natural -curiosity, watched the countenance of her father as -he broke open and perused the letter. She saw his -colour return, while his eye-brows were elevated as -if in surprise; he read the epistle twice without -comment, and then silently handed it over to his -daughter.</p> - -<p>The letter was a formal notification from the -executors of the late Thomas Auger, Esq., that that -gentleman had, by a will executed but a few days -previous to his decease, given and bequeathed the -dwelling-house called Nettleby Tower, and the land<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> -appertaining thereto, to Timon Bardon, M.D., the -only surviving son of their former proprietor; and -that he willed also that the said Timon Bardon -should be paid from his estate a sum equal to that -which had been expended by him in his lawsuit -with the testator for the property above mentioned.</p> - -<p>Cecilia, almost as much delighted as she was surprised, -glanced up eagerly at her father. She read -no exultation in his countenance, but rather a -thoughtful sorrow, which his daughter could scarcely -understand. Could she have penetrated his reflections, -they would have appeared somewhat like the -following: “Such, then, was the last act of the man -whom I hated, over the announcement of whose -death I gloated with malignant triumph! He -remembered me on his death-bed; while struggling -with the last enemy, he sought to make reparation -for a wrong committed years ago, but never forgotten -or forgiven by me. Through his sense of justice, I -am at length restored to the home and estate of my -fathers. Prosperity is sent to me, but through a -channel so unexpected, and at a moment so painful, -that I scarcely know how to welcome it, for I feel -as though I did not deserve it.”</p> - -<p>“Papa,” cried Cecilia, “do you not rejoice?”</p> - -<p>Bardon turned silently away. To compare -greater things with less, his were something of the -emotions of a child who has justly incurred a -parent’s displeasure, and who, while awaiting in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> -spirit of sullen rebellion a further manifestation of -wrath, is surprised by a sudden token of love, unexpected -as unmerited. The child, if a spark of generous -feeling be left in his nature, is more pained by the -kindness of his offended parent than he would have -been by a sign of anger. His heart is melted; his -conscience is touched. Timon Bardon had hardened -his heart in adversity; he had girt on the panoply -of pride; he had gloried in his powers of endurance, -as one ready to do battle with the world, and to -trample down all its frivolous distinctions. He had -been ever trying to conceal the fact that he was a -sad and disappointed man, both from himself and -others, by affecting a contempt for all the worldly -advantages which Providence had seen fit to deny; -but to have these advantages suddenly restored to -him, and at a period when he was conscious,—could -not but be conscious,—that he had merited a -Father’s chastening rod, had a much more softening -effect upon him than would have been produced by -adversity’s heaviest stroke. The tidings which -came in the evening of the safety of the travellers -in the <i>Eaglet</i>, gave a much keener sense of pleasure -to Bardon than had been produced by the news of -the morning.</p> - -<p>And now we will return to the countess and her -companions. The horses of their carriage were -urged to speed, yet were they barely in time to -catch the train, and the party had scarcely taken<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> -their seats before it began to move on. Oh, how -Annabella longed to give the wings of her own impatience -to the lagging engine! How her yearning -spirit realized the complaint,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Miles interminably spread,</div> -<div class="verse">Seem lengthening as I go!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Night had closed around before the travellers -reached the little station which was nearest to -the place of their destination,—a small, lonely post at -which the train merely stopped for two minutes to -suffer the party to alight.</p> - -<p>“Can any conveyance be procured here?” asked -Aumerle of the solitary station official who was -assisting to put down their luggage.</p> - -<p>“No, sir,” was the unsatisfactory reply. “There -was a chaise sent here two hours ago for a gentleman -who came by last train; nothing of the kind -is to be had here, unless it’s ordered aforehand from -the town.”</p> - -<p>“Is that chaise likely to return hither?”</p> - -<p>“Can’t say, sir,” answered the man. “I believe -that it took a doctor and nurse to a place where a -nobleman’s lying ill, who was picked up to-day from -the sea.”</p> - -<p>“The sea!” echoed the astonished listeners.</p> - -<p>“Fallen out of a balloon, as I understand,” said -the man. “There was a party of three, and they -were all saved by one of our fishing-smacks that was -just coming in from a cruise.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, guide us to the place where they are!” exclaimed -the countess.</p> - -<p>“Can’t leave the station, ma’am,” replied the -official, looking with some curiosity and interest on -the pale, eager face on which the light of the gas-lamp -fell; “besides, I’ve not been long at this -place, and don’t know exactly where the cottage lies.”</p> - -<p>“What are we to do?” exclaimed Ida.</p> - -<p>“Now I think on it,” said the station-man, -slowly, “the doctor asked me when the last train -would go back to Exeter to-night. I take it he’s -likely to return; and you could have the chaise that -brings him.”</p> - -<p>“When does that train pass?” inquired the vicar.</p> - -<p>“Within an hour,” replied the man, glancing -round at the large clock behind him. “Will not the -ladies walk into the waiting-room?—it is better than -standing out here on the platform.”</p> - -<p>“It appears our best course,” said the vicar, addressing -the countess, “to await here the return of -the doctor, and avail ourselves of the only conveyance -that seems likely to call here to-night.”</p> - -<p>“Oh no, no!” exclaimed Annabella, wildly; -“every minute of delay is an age in purgatory! -The doctor may never come. Augustine will not -suffer him to quit Dashleigh for an hour! I wait -for no one; I will try to find my way to the -cottage;—I go at once, even if I go alone!”</p> - -<p>As Annabella remained firm in her resolution, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> -party, after gleaning such scanty information as the -man at the station could give, and procuring from -him a lantern, set out on their dreary way. Perfect -darkness is seldom known in Devon on a night in -May, but clouds and the absence of the moon rendered -the atmosphere unusually obscure. Strange and -phantom-like looked the black shadows of their -own forms to the travellers, as the glare of the -lantern cast them on the chalky cliffs that bordered -their road. The path was rough and steep, strewn -with stone boulders here and there, which seemed to -have rolled down from the rocky heights above.</p> - -<p>After a long, toilsome struggle up a gorge, where -the countess much needed the aid of the vicar’s arm, -the party emerged on the summit of a hill, whence -in daylight they would have commanded an extensive -prospect. Now faint gleams of summer light alone -revealed to them by glimpses what appeared to be -a wild, rocky valley, sloping down on the left to the -sea, the mournful murmur of whose billows came -upon the sighing breeze. Viewed by the imperfect -light, the scene was very desolate and drear, and in -its gloomy sublimity struck a chill to the heart of -Annabella.</p> - -<p>“It is like the valley of the shadow of death!” -she whispered to Ida Aumerle.</p> - -<p>“Even were it so, dearest,” was the reply, “is it -not beyond the dark valley that the land of promise -lies?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p> - -<p>“To those who are sure of a welcome,” faltered -forth the unhappy countess.</p> - -<p>“I think that I hear the sound of wheels,” observed -the vicar; “yes,—some vehicle is evidently -slowly ascending the steep hill before us.”</p> - -<p>“Surely that of Dr. G—— upon its return,” suggested -Ida.</p> - -<p>The idea made all quicken their steps. Ida’s -guess had been partially correct; in front was the -expected chaise, moving as if towards the station.</p> - -<p>As soon as the vehicle was sufficiently near, Mr. -Aumerle hailed the driver:—</p> - -<p>“Whence do you come, my friend?”</p> - -<p>“From Cliff Cottage,” replied a rough voice -through the darkness, and then the panting of a horse -was heard.</p> - -<p>“Is it the doctor?” exclaimed Annabella, pressing -eagerly forward.</p> - -<p>“No,” replied the voice. “A gentleman is ill; -the doctor is staying the night; I’m to return for -him in the morning;” and the speaker cracked his -whip as a signal to the weary horse to move forward.</p> - -<p>Arrangements were speedily made with the driver -by Mr. Aumerle; the conveyance was turned round -at the first convenient spot, and in it the ladies and -the vicar were soon on their way to the cottage in -which the Earl of Dashleigh lay ill.</p> - -<p>Few words were interchanged as the travellers -descended the rough, and almost precipitous road;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> -indeed, the violent jolting would, under any circumstances, -have rendered conversation impossible. Progress -was necessarily slow, and it was some time -before the party reached a lonely, shingle-built -cottage belonging to a fisherman, which stood almost -on the margin of the sea.</p> - -<p>There was no need to knock at the low, rude door, -for a quick ear within had caught the sound of -wheels, most unusual in that lonely spot, and the -vicar had scarcely had time to alight, before Mabel -was in the arms of her father!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX.<br /> -<span class="smaller">TWO WORDS.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“Teach me to love and to forgive,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Exact my own defects to scan,</div> -<div class="verse">What others are to feel,—and know myself a man!”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Gray.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“To lose thee! oh! to lose thee,—to live on</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And see the sun, not thee! will the sun shine—</div> -<div class="verse">Will the birds sing—flowers bloom, when thou art gone?</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Desolate! desolate!”</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="attr"><span class="smcap">Bulwer’s King Arthur.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“Oh, I was sure that you would come,—quite sure! -And Ida—my own precious Ida!” The poor young -girl clung to her sister as if they had been parted -for years.</p> - -<p>“My husband!” exclaimed Annabella, trembling -lest terrible news should await her.</p> - -<p>“He is much the same, but—”</p> - -<p>“Where is he—I will fly to him; I—”</p> - -<p>“My dear madam,” said the low voice of a -stranger, as a tall, bald gentleman in black came -forth from the interior of the cottage, with his finger -raised to his lip, “may I request that no sound be -uttered—my patient is in a state of high fever.”</p> - -<p>“I will quietly glide up to his room—”</p> - -<p>“If, as I suppose, I have the honour of addressing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> -the Countess of Dashleigh, I trust that she will -pardon my strictly forbidding any one but Mr. -Aumerle and the nurse from entering the chamber -of the earl.”</p> - -<p>“I am his wife!” murmured Annabella hoarsely.</p> - -<p>“It is impossible,” said Dr. G——, “that you should -meet without a degree of excitement which might -endanger the life or the reason of my patient. The -earl is in excellent hands; his friend, and the skilful -attendant whom I have provided, will watch him -night and day. If any new face were to be -seen, I would not be answerable for the consequences.”</p> - -<p>Dr. G—— had, of course, read “The Precipice and the -Peer,” and naturally concluded that its authoress was -the last person who could with impunity be admitted -into the sick-room of the excited and fevered patient. -From the physician’s decision there was no appeal, -though to Annabella it appeared an intolerable sentence -of banishment from the place to which both -duty and affection called her. Always ready to rush -to a conclusion, the unhappy wife was convinced -that it was the just resentment of Dashleigh against -her, that rendered her of all beings in the world -the one whose presence he could not endure. -Utterly prostrate and helpless in her sorrow, the -countess left to Ida all care for the arrangements of -the night. To herself it was nothing where she -slept, or whether she ever should sleep again; she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> -was like a flower so crushed and bruised that it will -never more unfold its petals to the sun.</p> - -<p>The rude cottage of the fisherman offered wretched -accommodation for so large a party. The earl occupied -one of the two little bed-rooms which were reached -by a ladder-like staircase; in the other—an apartment -not ten feet square, with bare rafters, sloping -roof, and single-paned window engrained with dust -and sea salt, and incapable of being opened—the countess -and her cousins passed the night. The gentlemen -had to content themselves with the bare floor of -the kitchen below, redolent of the scent of fish, and -garlanded with nets and tackle,—an accommodation -which they shared with their rough, weather-beaten, -but hospitable host.</p> - -<p>Annabella and Ida were so much exhausted by -previous excitement, fatigue, and want of rest, that -even in the miserable hovel they might have slept -deeply and long, had it not been for the sounds from -the next room, almost as distinctly heard through -the slight partition as if the apartments had been one. -It was agony to the countess to hear the moans of -the fevered sufferer, or the wild words uttered in -delirium. Ida passed the night in vain endeavours -to soothe and calm a wounded spirit, while the weary -Mabel peacefully slumbered beside them, unconscious -of what was passing around. It was almost as great -a relief to Ida as to her afflicted cousin when the -morning broke at length, and welcome silence on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> -other side of the partition told that the sufferer had -sunk to rest.</p> - -<p>Augustine Aumerle, after watching for hours at -the bedside of the earl, whom he alone had any -power to soothe in the paroxysms of his terrible -malady, now resigned his post to the nurse, and descending -the steep, narrow staircase, went forth to -calm and refresh his spirit by a brief walk on the -shore of the sea,—that sea in which he had so lately -expected to find a grave. As he stood gazing on -the bright expanse of waters, and enjoying the fresh -morning breeze that, as it rippled the surface of the -sea, also brought back the hue of health to his pale and -careworn cheek, he was joined by Lawrence Aumerle.</p> - -<p>Kindly greeting was exchanged between the -brothers; questions were asked and replies were -given, and then a silence succeeded. Something -seemed pressing on the heart of each, to which the -lip would not give ready utterance. Augustine was -the first to speak, but he did so without looking at -his brother; he rather seemed to be watching the -sea-bird that lightly floated on the wave.</p> - -<p>“Lawrence, you remember the evening when we -conversed together in your study?”</p> - -<p>“I have often thought of it since.”</p> - -<p>“And so have I,” said Augustine; “I thought of -it when I believed that there was but one step between -me and death,—when I expected in a brief -space to be in that world where we shall know even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> -as we are known,—where ours will not be the wild -guess, but the absolute certainty,—not the wild -grasping at the shadow, but the laying hold on the -substance of truth.”</p> - -<p>Lawrence fixed his eyes anxiously upon his -brother, but did not interrupt him by a word.</p> - -<p>“You said that experience is the growth of time. -Lawrence, I have, then, lived an age in the last forty -hours. A wide view of both heaven and earth is -gained from the terrible height that I reached!”</p> - -<p>“Common experience is the growth of time,” said -the vicar; “but spiritual experience—”</p> - -<p>“Give it in the words of inspiration,” interrupted -Augustine; “I shall no longer ask you to put aside -that solemn evidence, even for a moment. <em>Tribulation -worketh patience; and patience, experience.</em>”</p> - -<p>“<em>And experience, hope</em>;” cried the vicar. “Oh, -my brother!—that blessed hope shed abroad in the -heart by the knowledge that Christ <em>died for the -ungodly</em>, that hope that alone <em>maketh not ashamed</em>, -is it—oh! is it your own?”</p> - -<p>Augustine silently pressed the hand that had been -unconsciously extended towards him; it was his only -reply to the question. Without another sentence -being uttered the brothers turned their steps in the -direction of the cottage. But while pacing the -shingley beach, Augustine was mentally subscribing -to the confession of one of the brightest geniuses -of earth,—that he had hitherto been but as a child<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> -gathering pebbles on the shore of the great ocean of -truth; while the vicar was raising to God, from the -depths of a grateful heart, a thanksgiving for prayer -answered at the very time when, and through the -very trial by which his earthly happiness had appeared -crushed and destroyed! He was proving, as -so many saints have proved, that—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“God’s purposes will ripen fast,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Unfolding every hour;</div> -<div class="verse">The bud may have a bitter taste,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">But sweet will be the flower!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>As no object could be answered by the prolonged -stay of Mr. Aumerle and Mabel in the over-crowded -cottage, they departed on that day for their home. -The countess could not endure to quit the spot, and -Ida remained to bear her company, while Augustine -resumed his watch by his suffering friend.</p> - -<p>Day after day the once proud Earl of Dashleigh -lay on a pallet-bed in the fisherman’s rude hovel, -mind and body alike prostrated by the fever induced -by the fearful trials which he had endured. He was -passing indeed through a burning fiery furnace, but -its flame was consuming the dross which had largely -mixed with a nobler metal. When the powers of -good and evil contend together for the dominion over -a human soul, it is as in the battles of earth; dark -and painful traces are often left behind of the conflict, -conquest is not attained without suffering. -Never, perhaps, is the strife more painful than when -the enemy to be subdued is pride! Then how often<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> -a merciful Providence sends humiliation, anguish, disgrace, -first to rouse the soul to a sense of its danger, -and then to aid it in the perilous war! From how -much of suffering is exempted the <em>meek and quiet -spirit</em> that has calmly laid down the shackles of -pride, not left them till some loving yet terrible dispensation -should wrench them away from the bleeding -soul!</p> - -<p>Annabella was deeply humbled; there was some -danger that depression might with her sink into -hopeless despondency. Her ardent and volatile disposition -was ever prone to extremes, and she could -not believe it possible that her proud lord could ever -forgive one who had wounded his dignity so deeply,—one -whose indiscretion had so nearly cost him his -life! The forced inaction to which she had to submit -greatly increased the trial to Annabella. If it -had been possible for her to have done or suffered -anything in order to repair the evil that she had -wrought, she would have contemplated its effects -with less overwhelming remorse. Had the countess -belonged to the Church of Rome, she would have -wasted her strength with fasting, lacerated her flesh -by the scourge, or gone on some painful pilgrimage -in the hope of redeeming her fault. As it was, she -had to sit still—useless, helpless, receiving from time -to time tidings of her husband’s varying state from -the lips of ministering strangers! Annabella’s spirit -might have altogether sunk under the lengthened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> -trial, but for the support of Ida’s calmer and more -chastened spirit, which had itself found its stay on -the Rock of Ages.</p> - -<p>On the sixth day of Dashleigh’s illness, his wife -received from her home a small packet, containing -the little pocket-book which had been her own earliest -gift to her betrothed. The beautiful remembrance -had been accidentally discovered at no great distance -from the letter which Mabel had dropped; but its -comparative weight had made it fall with an impetus -that had half imbedded it in the sod. Easily identified -by the coronet and name upon the shield, which -marked it as the property of the unfortunate nobleman, -with whose fate the county was ringing, it had -been forwarded to Dashleigh Hall, and thence—still -stained and clotted with dust and mud—it had been -sent on by her servants to the countess.</p> - -<p>Annabella gazed on the book for some moments -without daring to unfasten the clasp. The sight of -that little gift brought with it a crowd of recollections -of the time when wedded life had lain before -fancy’s eye as a bright, golden-clasped book, on whose -yet blank pages hope, pleasure, and love, would trace -nothing but sentences of joy! Why was it that the -leaves of that life had been blistered and blotted with -tears,—that the gold had been tarnished, the beauty -marred, and that the once joyous bride now dreaded -even to look upon what that book might contain!</p> - -<p>“Open it for me, Ida, dearest,” murmured Annabella<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> -faintly; “I tremble to behold what his fingers -may have traced in that terrible hour!”</p> - -<p>Ida silently obeyed, kneeling at the side of her -unhappy cousin, whose cold hand rested upon her -shoulder. Ida turned slowly leaf after leaf. There -were various memoranda in the book, evidently -written at an earlier period—addresses of friends, -names of books, engagements for days long passed. -Little of interest or importance could attach to entries -such as these. But almost at the end of the book, -on a page otherwise blank, appeared two words in -pencil, traced evidently by a hand that had shaken -from weakness, excitement, or emotion. The words -were barely legible, but such as they were Ida with -tremulous eagerness pointed them out to her friend. -Annabella caught the book from her hand, pressed it -convulsively to her lips, and while her eyes overflowed -with tears and her heart with thanksgiving, -repeated again and again the two blessed words which -spoke <em>forgiveness</em> and <em>peace</em>!</p> - -<p>Even while the young wife’s tears were still flowing, -a gentle tap was heard at the door. Ida went -and unclosed it; there was a low whispering sound, -and then the maiden returned to her cousin with a -gentle smile on her face as she said, laying her hand -on that of the countess, “It is my uncle, dearest; he -comes to bring you good tidings. The earl is greatly -better,—has been speaking to him,—has been questioning -him of you; he knows—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Knows that I am here!” exclaimed Annabella, -starting eagerly from her seat.</p> - -<p>“Yes, and wishes to see you,—nay, dearest, nay, -you must be calm,—for his sake you must still this -wild excitement! Remember that he is still very -weak,—remember the danger of a relapse!”</p> - -<p>“I am quite calm,” replied the young countess, -collecting herself by a strong effort, though her -quivering voice still betrayed her emotion; “I will -do nothing to agitate my lord,—he shall not even -hear a word from my lips,—but oh! the bliss if I may -once—but once hear from his those precious words, -<em>forgiveness</em> and <em>peace</em>!”</p> - -<p>With soft, noiseless step she glided to the low -rough-hewn door which opened into the room of her -husband. Gently Annabella pushed it ajar, and -entered with a throbbing heart, and a mien as reverential -and timid as if she were approaching some -solemn fane. That low dark room, with uncarpeted -floor, unpapered walls, furniture coarse and scanty -contained what she now felt was all the world to -her.</p> - -<p>No human friend intruded his presence on the -sacredness of that scene which ever after, to the -memory of Annabella, hallowed that fisherman’s hut. -When the penitent wife knelt in lowly contrition by -the pallet of a husband so narrowly rescued from the -jaws of the grave, and listened breathlessly to the -feeble accents which told her that the past was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> -cancelled,—that she was dear as ever to him still, angels -may have looked on rejoicing as upon a prodigal’s return, -for no looming shadow darkened the holy -radiance of returning peace and love, no discord jarred -on the harmony of wedded souls,—the demon of pride -was not there!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX.<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE SPIRIT LAID.</span></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“From Nature’s weeping earth more fair appears,</div> -<div class="verse">So should good works succeed repentant tears!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Gloriously poured down the fervid rays of a July -sun, colouring the peach on the wall, swelling the rich -fig under its clustering leaves, ripening the purple -grape, and over the corn fields throwing a mantle of -gold! No longer in the fisherman’s hovel, but reclining -on a sofa in the countess’s splendid boudoir, -we find the Earl of Dashleigh, yet pale from recent -illness; the outline of the sunken cheek, the violet -tint beneath the eyes, the whiteness of the transparent -skin, tell of suffering severe and protracted, but -health and strength are returning to his frame, while -to the restored invalid lately released from the confinement -of a sick room—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">“The common air, the earth, the skies,</div> -<div class="verse">To him are opening paradise!”</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>By the softened light which steals in through the -green venetians, the earl has been whiling away the -languid, luxurious hour of noon by perusing a volume -of light literature, in which he has found great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> -amusement; that volume, bound in violet and gold, -is now lying on the sofa beside him; we recognise in -it “<span class="smcap">The Fairy Lake</span>,” written by the Countess of -Dashleigh.</p> - -<p>Annabella is seated on a low ottoman beside her -lord. She has been listening with pleased attention -to his remarks and comments upon her work.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps, after all,” observes Dashleigh, laying his -hand on the book, “it <em>is</em> hard to restrict to a few -that which might afford pleasure to the many, and -to deprive the young authoress of the praise and the -fame which publication would bring her.”</p> - -<p>“O Reginald!” replies his wife with glistening -eyes, “your praise to me outweighs that of the world, -and empty fame is nothing in comparison to a husband’s -heart! It would pain me if any eye but yours -should ever look on that which I must ever regard -as a monument of my own disobedience.”</p> - -<p>Annabella’s manner towards her husband has -undergone a change since their re-union in the fisherman’s -cottage. She is gradually resuming her playfulness -of conversation, and the wit in which the earl -delights still sparkles for his amusement; but there is -more, far more of submission to his authority, and of -deference to his wishes in her demeanour; Annabella no -longer desires to forget that her vow was not only -to love, but to obey.</p> - -<p>This change is chiefly owing to that which has -passed over the earl himself. His spirit by intense<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> -suffering has been purified, exalted, refined. That -respect which he once claimed on account of his rank -is yielded readily on account of his character. Annabella -had been disposed to ridicule a dignity that -rested on an empty title; her spirit of opposition had -been roused, and she had gloried in showing herself -above the meanness of aristocratic pride, conscious -of a loftier claim to the world’s regard than a coronet -or a pedigree could give. But if the countess still -knows herself to be superior to her husband in intellectual -attainments, in moral qualifications she now -feels herself far his inferior. Annabella has a quick -perception of character, an intuitive reverence for what -is solid and real; when she sees beneficence free from -ostentation, purity of language and life adopted, not -because the reverse would disgrace a peer, but because -it would be unworthy of a Christian, she renders -the natural homage of an ingenuous heart to virtue, -and obedience and tender affection follow in the track -of respect.</p> - -<p>The conversation has taken a new turn. The earl -and his wife have fallen into a train of discourse on -some of the occurrences which have been related in -preceding chapters. Annabella has now no concealment -from her husband, and his gentleness invites -her confidence.</p> - -<p>“It appears, my love,” remarked Dashleigh, “that -you quitted the home of the Bardons with scant -ceremony and little courtesy.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p> - -<p>“He had deserved none,” replied Annabella, with -something of her old haughtiness in her tone, for -very bitter were the memories connected with Timon -Bardon.</p> - -<p>“There is but one man,” pursued the earl, “who, -as far as I know, entertains any feeling of resentment -against me, or has any just cause to do so. That -man is Dr. Bardon.”</p> - -<p>“It is you who have just cause for resentment -against him,” said the countess.</p> - -<p>“His pride and mine clashed together, and like the -collision of flint and steel produced the angry spark -which set his spirit in a flame. But, Annabella, I -now desire to be at peace with all men. I have never -returned the doctor’s visit,—you and I will do so to-day.”</p> - -<p>Annabella opened her large eyes so wide at a proposition -so unexpected, as to raise a smile on the lips -of the earl.</p> - -<p>“You think that I am still too proud to let the -red liveries of the Dashleighs be seen at the door of -Mill Cottage?”</p> - -<p>“If you were to invade that little nest,” said the -countess, “you would find that the birds had flown. -Do you not remember that Dr. Bardon is now the -proprietor of Nettleby Tower?”</p> - -<p>“Ah! I recollect—by Auger’s will, was it not?” -replied Dashleigh, raising his thin hand to his brow. -“But this need make no difference in our arrangement<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> -for a visit. We will order the carriage in the -cool of the eve, and drive over to wish the old man -and his daughter joy on their return to the family -mansion.”</p> - -<p>Annabella turned upon her husband a look of admiration -and love. She knew how much it must -cost him to make the first step towards reconciliation -with a man who had wronged, hated, and insulted -him. Never, even in the earliest days of their union, -had Dashleigh possessed such influence over the affections -of his young wife, as he gained by the simple, -unostentatious act which marked a conquest over -Pride and self.</p> - -<p>The sun was sloping towards the west, bathing -earth and sky in the rich glory of his streaming rays, -changing the clouds into floating islands of roses, and -lighting up a little river which flowed through the -landscape, till it glittered like a thread of gold, as -Timon Bardon led a party of guests, comprising all -the family of the Aumerles, to the summit of his grey -old tower, to survey the extensive and beautiful -prospect.</p> - -<p>Many a word of admiration was spoken as the -vicar and his party moved from one spot to another, -finding new beauties wherever they gazed. Cecilia, -elegantly dressed as became the lady of the mansion, -appeared in her glory, doing the honours of the -place to her guests. If anything tended in the least -degree to damp her delight, it was her perception<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> -that the practical eye of Mrs. Aumerle (notwithstanding -sundry improvements in the dwelling -wrought out under Miss Bardon’s direction), had -detected many an unsightly heap of rubbish, many -an unfurnished and dreary chamber, many a defaced -cornice and broken pane, at variance with the notions -of comfort and neatness entertained by the vicar’s wife.</p> - -<p>Ida and Mabel, who had more poetry in their -nature than had fallen to the lot of Mrs. Aumerle, -and who delighted in whatever recalled to their -minds grand images of the days of chivalry, saw in -the marks of dilapidation but the footprints of ages -gone by, and in imagination peopled the grass-grown -court and the mouldering battlements with mailed -knights, bold archers, and the fair maidens whose -charms had been sung by minstrel and bard in the -time of the old Plantagenets.</p> - -<p>“That little grey dot yonder, is it not—” Mabel -began, and paused, for Cecilia, whom she was addressing, -looked as if she did not wish to see it.</p> - -<p>“Yes, that is Mill Cottage,” said the doctor in -a tone more loud and decided even than usual; -“the place where the master of Nettleby Tower dug -out his own potatoes in his garden, and the lady—”</p> - -<p>“And that must be Dashleigh Hall,” interrupted -Mabel, wishing to effect a diversion, for it was evident -that while the doctor’s pride made him rather glory -in his late poverty, that of Miss Bardon rendered -her desirous to forget the days of her humiliation.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span></p> - -<p>But Mabel’s diversion was very ill-chosen. At -the mention of the name “Dashleigh,” the doctor’s -countenance, which had been wearing an expression -far more complacent than that habitual to his leonine -features, changed to one dark and louring, the index -of the gloomy passions that reigned within. Mabel -saw not the change, for her eyes were fixed upon -the distant prospect, but it was witnessed by Augustine -and Ida, who exchanged glances with each -other,—the gentle girl’s significant of regret, the -uncle’s of indignation. “Is not the black drop wrung -out from that proud heart yet?” was the mental -comment of Augustine.</p> - -<p>“Has not this house the repute of being haunted?” -asked Ida, in order to turn the doctor’s thoughts -into a different channel.</p> - -<p>“Old women and young fools say that it is so -still,” replied Timon Bardon gruffly.</p> - -<p>“O! Papa,” lisped Cecilia, who had no inclination -to acknowledge herself as coming under either -of these denominations, “you know what strange -noises are heard every night!”</p> - -<p>“Creaking of doors, cracking of old timber, the -wind whistling away in the chimneys!”</p> - -<p>“Well, I confess,” said Cecilia, with a little -affected laugh, “that delightful as the tower is on a -summer’s day like this, I shall not care to wander -much through its long echoing corridors on a dark -winter’s night. Mr. Aumerle,” she continued, addressing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> -Augustine, who was leaning on the stone -parapet, and gazing down with an abstracted air, -“you who know everything, do you know of no -charm to lay the bad spirits that are said to haunt -ancient houses?”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid,” replied Augustine gravely, “that -such spirits are wont to haunt new houses as well -as old ones, and that it needs more knowledge than -philosophy can teach to give us the power to lay -them.”</p> - -<p>Cecilia looked puzzled at the enigmatical reply, -but before she had time to ask for a solution, Mabel -interrupted the conversation by suddenly exclaiming, -“Surely that is the Dashleigh’s carriage that has -just turned the corner of the hill!”</p> - -<p>“We have stayed long enough on this tower,” said -the doctor, averting his eyes from the direction in -which those of Mabel were turned; “let us descend -to the court.”</p> - -<p>His suggestion, which sounded like a command, -was followed at once by his guests; poor Cecilia -heaved a sigh at the thought that once she might -have indulged a hope that the gay carriage with its -dashing bays might be bound for Nettleby Tower. -“After all that has happened,” she reflected sadly, -“that is impossible now!”</p> - -<p>The descent of the long winding stairs, whose -steep, rude, age-worn steps were only dimly lighted -by narrow slits cut here and there in the massive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> -stone wall, required both caution and time. Ere -Bardon, who was the last of the party, had emerged -from the low-browed door which opened into the -courtyard, the bridge across the moat had been -crossed, and the Earl and Countess of Dashleigh -were already exchanging kindly greetings with the -foremost of the Aumerles.</p> - -<p>The stern old doctor was more startled by the -unexpected appearance at his threshold of visitors -such as these, than he could have been by any apparition -in his old haunted tower. Mingled feelings -of surprise, shame, remorse, and gratified pride -struggled together in his bosom, as his eye met that -of the nobleman from whose house he had turned -with emotions of such vindictive wrath—words of -such fiery passion! Had Bardon’s newly recovered -estate depended upon his making such an effort, the -proud man could not have bowed his spirit to the -humiliation of visiting the earl; and yet the nobleman -had come to him,—to him who had so meanly, -so cruelly avenged one slighting sentence accidentally -overheard!</p> - -<p>Dashleigh saw the surprise, the embarrassment -written on the face of the haughty Bardon,—he felt -the delicacy of his own position, and resolutely -breaking through what would once have been the -inseparable barrier of reserve, he advanced two or -three steps towards the doctor, and while a painful -flush mantled over his wasted features, frankly held<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> -out his hand. That hand was grasped—was wrung—but -in silence; the proud man felt himself conquered; -and from that hour the evil spirit of enmity -between the two opponents was laid for ever!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Can I add that the dark tyrant Pride had for -ever yielded up his empire, that he never again -whispered his evil suggestions to those who so long -had worn his chain?</p> - -<p>Alas! I dare not thus violate probability, or sacrifice -the great truth of which this fiction is the -fanciful vehicle. The contest against Pride is a -life-long campaign. From the time when he breathed -ambition to Eve in the words, <em>Ye shall be as gods</em>, or -roused in the heart of the first murderer the hatred -which stained his hand with the blood of a more -favoured brother, the influence of pride over our -fallen race has been fearful, too often fatal! I have -but sketched him in some of his forms,—of how -many have I not even attempted to trace the outline! -Pride of purse, Pride of person, family Pride, -national Pride, the Pride that draws the trigger of -the duellist, that tightens the grasp of the oppressor, -and, perhaps worst of all, spiritual Pride, which -brings Satan before even the saintly in the guise of -an angel of light! Let some more powerful pencil -draw these, till conscience start at the portrait of -the demon who seeks the house that is <em>cleansed and -garnished</em>, nor comes alone, but brings with him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> -ambition, dissension, jealousy, hatred, and other dark -ministers of death.</p> - -<p>Reader! have you recognised Pride as an evil, -have you struggled with him as a foe? Look to -your soul and see if it bear not the mark of his -galling chain. If the fetter be on it still, oh! with -the strength of faith and the energy of prayer, burst -it, even as Samson burst the green withes with -which a secret enemy had bound him! Or, to -change the metaphor, if you feel the proud spirit -within, like the inflated sphere of the æronaut, ready -to bear you aloft to a cloudy and perilous height, -whence you will look down on your fellow-creatures, -stop not to dally with danger, persuade not yourself -that the peril is unreal, but resolute as one who -knows that life and more than life is at stake, clip -the soaring wing of the <i>Eaglet</i>,—cut the cords of -your balloon!</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Proud,—and of what? poor, vain, and helpless worm,</div> -<div class="verse">Crawling in weakness through thy life’s brief term,</div> -<div class="verse">Yet filled with thoughts presumptuous, bold, and high,</div> -<div class="verse">As though thy grovelling soul could scan the sky,—</div> -<div class="verse">As though thy wisdom, which cannot foreshow</div> -<div class="verse">What <em>one</em> day brings of coming weal or woe,</div> -<div class="verse">Could pierce the depths of far futurity,</div> -<div class="verse">And all the winged shafts of fate defy!</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Art proud of riches? of the glittering dust</div> -<div class="verse">Each day <em>may</em> rob thee of, and one day <em>must</em>;</div> -<div class="verse">When mines of wealth will purchase no delay,</div> -<div class="verse">When dust to dust must turn, and clay to clay,</div> -<div class="verse">And nought remain to thee, of all possessed,</div> -<div class="verse">Save one dark cell in earth’s unconscious breast?</div> -<div class="verse">Or proud of power? on this little ball</div> -<div class="verse">Some petty tract may thee its master call,</div> -<div class="verse">Some fellow-mortals, bending lowly down,</div> -<div class="verse">Bask in thy smile, or tremble at thy frown</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> -<div class="verse">Great in the world’s eyes, in thine own more great,</div> -<div class="verse">How swells thy breast with conscious pride elate!</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">And art thou great? lift up—lift up thine eyes,</div> -<div class="verse">Survey the heavens, gaze into the skies;</div> -<div class="verse">View the fair worlds that glitter o’er thy head,</div> -<div class="verse">Orb above orb in bright succession spread,</div> -<div class="verse">Beyond the reach of sight, the power of thought:—</div> -<div class="verse">Then turn thy gaze to earth, and thou art—nought?</div> -<div class="verse">The globe itself a speck—an atom; thou—</div> -<div class="verse">Oh! child of dust, shall pride exalt thee now?</div> -<div class="verse">In one thing only thou mayst glory still,</div> -<div class="verse">And let exulting joy thy bosom fill;</div> -<div class="verse">Glory in this,—and what is all beside,</div> -<div class="verse">That for this worm, this atom,—Jesus died.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Does conscious genius fire thy haughty mind,</div> -<div class="verse">Genius that raises man above his kind,—</div> -<div class="verse">The lofty soul that soars on wing of fire,</div> -<div class="verse">While crowds at distance marvel and admire?</div> -<div class="verse">Oh! while the charmed world pays her homage just.</div> -<div class="verse">Remember, every <em>talent</em> is a <em>trust</em>,</div> -<div class="verse">A treasure God doth to thy care confide,</div> -<div class="verse">A cause for gratitude, but none for pride!</div> -<div class="verse">If thou that precious talent misapply</div> -<div class="verse">To spread the power of infidelity,</div> -<div class="verse">To strew with flowers the path which sinners tread,</div> -<div class="verse">To hide one treacherous snare by Satan spread,</div> -<div class="verse">How blest—how great compared to thee—that man</div> -<div class="verse">Whose life obscurely ends as it began.</div> -<div class="verse">To whose meek soul no knowledge e’er was given,</div> -<div class="verse">Save that, of all most high,—that guides to heaven</div> -<div class="verse">Far as the sun’s pure radiance, streaming bright,</div> -<div class="verse">Transcends the glow-worm’s dim and fading light,</div> -<div class="verse">The wisdom to his soul vouchsafed from high</div> -<div class="verse">Exceeds the earth-born fires that flash—and die!</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Oh! where shall pride securely harbour then,</div> -<div class="verse">Where urge his claims to rule the minds of men?</div> -<div class="verse">Blest Eden knew him not,—where all was fair—</div> -<div class="verse">Where all was faultless—pride abode not there!</div> -<div class="verse">The glorious angels are above his sway,</div> -<div class="verse">Their bliss to minister—to serve—obey;</div> -<div class="verse">We, only we, poor children of a day,</div> -<div class="verse">Tread haughtily the ground for our sakes curst,</div> -<div class="verse">And wear with pride the chains our Surety burst!</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Would that the world could know and truly prize</div> -<div class="verse">That which is great in the Creator’s eyes!</div> -<div class="verse">The poor man, bending o’er his scanty store,</div> -<div class="verse">Who, with God’s presence blest, desires no more,</div> -<div class="verse">Who feels his sins—his weakness,—though his ways</div> -<div class="verse">Be just and pure beyond all <em>human</em> praise;</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> -<div class="verse">Whose humble thoughts well with his prayer accord,</div> -<div class="verse">“Have mercy upon me, a sinner, Lord!”</div> -<div class="verse">Who, heir of an eternal, heavenly throne,</div> -<div class="verse">Rests all his hopes on Christ, and Christ alone!</div> -<div class="verse">Wisest of men—for he alone is wise.—</div> -<div class="verse">Richest of men—secure his treasure lies.—</div> -<div class="verse">Greatest of men—his mansion is on high.</div> -<div class="verse">His father—God,—his rest—Eternity!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pride and His Prisoners, by A. 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