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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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