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diff --git a/old/60486-0.txt b/old/60486-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1e69f9f..0000000 --- a/old/60486-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6548 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Idols in the Heart, 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: Idols in the Heart - A Tale - - -Author: A. L. O. E. - - - -Release Date: October 13, 2019 [eBook #60486] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IDOLS IN THE HEART*** - - -E-text prepared by Richard Hulse, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images -generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - - - -Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this - file which includes the original illustrations. - See 60486-h.htm or 60486-h.zip: - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/60486/60486-h/60486-h.htm) - or - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/60486/60486-h.zip) - - - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/idolsinhearttale00aloeiala - - -Transcriber’s note: - - Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). - - - - - -[Illustration: - - THE SICK-CHAMBER. - Page 131.] - - -IDOLS IN THE HEART. - -A Tale. - -by - -A. L. O. E., - -Author of “The Giant-Killer,” “Pride and His Prisoners,” -etc. etc. - - - - - -------------- - - “Keep yourselves from idols.” —1 John v. 21. - “Covetousness, which is idolatry.” —Col. iii. 5. - “Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth.” —Col. - iii. 2. - - -------------- - - - - - - -London: -T. Nelson and Sons, Paternoster Row. -Edinburgh; and New York. - -1883. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - Contents. - - --------------------- - - - I. THE ARRIVAL, 5 - - II. THE YOUNG BRIDE, 16 - - III. FIRST STEPS, 24 - - IV. CONSULTATION, 34 - - V. THE FIRST SKIRMISH, 43 - - VI. A DECIDED MOVE, 55 - - VII. THE DINNER PARTY, 67 - - VIII. A STORMY MORNING, 82 - - IX. OPPOSITION SIDE, 97 - - X. SOCIAL CONVERSE, 104 - - XI. POLICY AND POLITENESS, 113 - - XII. A PLUNGE, 120 - - XIII. THE CHAMBER OF SICKNESS, 130 - - XIV. THE EFFECT OF A WORD, 139 - - XV. A RAY OF LIGHT, 147 - - XVI. QUIET CONVERSE, 155 - - XVII. GATHERING CLOUDS, 162 - - XVIII. CALCULATIONS, 172 - - XIX. SACRIFICE, 182 - - XX. DECISION, 191 - - XXI. JEWELS AND THEIR WORTH, 200 - - XXII. COMING DOWN, 213 - - XXIII. COTTAGE LIFE, 224 - - XXIV. DARKNESS AND DANGER, 230 - - XXV. THE SEARCH, 240 - - XXVI. A CONTRAST, 251 - - XXVII. PASSING AWAY, 262 - - XXVIII. CONCLUSION 267 - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IDOLS IN THE HEART. - - --------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER I - - THE ARRIVAL. - - -“My dear girls, I can indeed enter into your feelings,” said Lady Selina -Mountjoy in a tone of sympathy; “it is trying to have to welcome a -stranger to your home, to see her take the place once occupied by your -dear departed mother.” - -“It is not so much that,” interrupted Arabella with some abruptness, -“but—” - -“I understand—I understand perfectly,” said Lady Selina, with an -expressive movement of the head; “if your dear papa had chosen -differently—some one whom you knew, valued, could confide in—some one, -in short, of your mother’s position in life, to whom you could look up -as to a second parent, it would have been very different; but the orphan -of a country doctor—so young, so inexperienced—to have her placed at the -head of an establishment like this, is—But I ought not to speak thus; of -course your dear papa has chosen very well, very wisely; no doubt Mrs. -Effingham is a very charming creature;” and the lady leaned back on her -cushioned chair, folded her hands, and looked into the fire with an air -of melancholy meditation. - -Vincent, the youngest of the party, a boy about eleven years of age, had -been sitting at the table with a book before him, but had never turned -over a leaf, drinking in eagerly every word uttered by his aunt on the -subject of the step-mother whose arrival with her husband was now hourly -expected in Belgrave Square. He was a bright, intelligent boy, in whose -blue eyes every passing emotion was mirrored as in a glass, whether the -feeling were good or evil. The expression of those eyes was neither kind -nor gentle as he said abruptly, “Didn’t you tell us that her grandmother -was a Frenchwoman? I do hate and detest everything French!” - -“Her own name—Clemence—is French,” observed Louisa, the younger of the -two girls who sat, with embroidery in their hands, before the fire, with -their feet resting on the bright fender for the sake of warmth, as the -month was November, and the weather cold. - -“Yes,” sighed Lady Selina, “it is true. Her grandmother was a French -refugee,—of course a Papist; and, no doubt, her descendant is tinctured -with Romish errors. No fault of hers, poor thing!” - -“She’s not a Roman Catholic,” said Vincent quickly. “Don’t you remember -that papa said that she was a great friend of the clergyman at Stoneby, -and helped him in the schools and with the poor? He would not have let a -Papist do that.” - -“My dear child,” replied Lady Selina, languidly stirring the fire, “I -never for a moment imagined that your papa would marry one who was -avowedly a Papist; but, depend upon it, there will be a leaning, a -dangerous leaning. We shall require to be on our guard, there is such a -natural tendency in the human heart towards idolatry. As to her having -helped Mr. Gray, that was very natural—very natural indeed. She was glad -to make friends, and the clergyman and his wife were probably her only -neighbours. Besides, in a dull country place there is such a lack of -occupation, that young ladies take to district visiting to save -themselves from dying of ennui.” - -“Oh!” exclaimed Louisa, “after such a dismal life, what a change it will -be to her to come to London! How she will delight in all its amusements! -I hope that she’ll be as mad after the opera as I am; and that from -week’s end to week’s end we may never have the penance of an evening at -home, except when we entertain company ourselves! I can forgive anything -in her but being dull, sober, and solemn.” - -“Giddy child!” lisped Lady Selina, with uplifted finger and affected -smile, “you sadly need some one to keep you in order—some one to hold -the rein with a firmer hand than your poor indulgent aunt ever has -done.” - -“Hold the rein!” repeated Arabella with indignant pride, the blood -mounting to her forehead as she spoke. “I hope that Mrs. Effingham will -make no attempt of that kind with us. There’s but five years’ difference -between her age and mine; and as regards knowledge of the world, I -suppose that the difference lies all the other way. I have no idea of -being governed by an apothecary’s daughter!” - -“Nor I!” exclaimed Louisa, shaking her pretty ringlets with a -contemptuous toss of the head. - -“Nor I!” echoed Vincent, shutting his book, and joining his sisters by -the fire. - -“Little rebels!—fy! fy!” said their aunt, with a smile on her lips that -contradicted her words. Lady Selina saw that she had succeeded in her -aim. She had prejudiced the minds of her sister’s children against the -young bride of their father; she had created a party against Clemence in -the home which she was about to enter as its mistress. Arabella, Louisa, -and their brother, would be on the watch to find out defects in the -character, manners, and education of their step-mother; they would -regard her rather in the light of a usurper, from whom any assertion of -power would be an encroachment on their rights, than as a friend united -to them by a close and tender tie. - -It was not, perhaps, surprising that Lady Selina should contemplate with -little satisfaction a marriage which dethroned her from the position in -Mr. Effingham’s house which she had held for seven years. Lady Selina -had enjoyed more of the luxuries of life and the pleasures of society in -the dwelling of her brother-in-law, than her small capital of ten -thousand pounds could have secured for her anywhere else. To Vincent -Effingham it had been a satisfaction to have at the head of his -household a lady of position and intelligence, who would take a general -super-intendence of the education of his three motherless children. How -far Lady Selina was fitted to do justice to the charge, is a different -question. She was one who passed well in the world when viewed only in -its candle-light glare—one to whom had been applied the various epithets -of “a sensible woman,” “an amiable creature,” and “a very desirable -acquaintance.” - -Lady Selina had acquired the reputation for _sense_, from those whose -opinions resembled her own, for her tact in steering clear of every -theological difficulty. Her religion, if religion it could be called, -was of the simplest and most easy description. To her the path to heaven -was so wide that its boundaries were scarcely visible. There was, of -course, a decent attendance to forms, for that the laws of society -demanded; nay more, Lady Selina had about half-a-dozen cut and dried -religious phrases, to be brought forward before clergymen and serious -visitors, and put back again immediately upon their departure: these -were, perhaps, satisfactory evidence to herself that her condition, as -regards spiritual things, was one of the most perfect security. -Enthusiasm on any subject regarding a future state appeared to the -“woman of sense” a weak and childish folly. She could understand a -politician’s strong interest in his party, a landlord’s in his estate, a -lady’s in raising her position by a single step in the social circle; -but the longing of an immortal soul for peace, pardon, and purity, was a -matter completely foreign to her experience, and beyond her -comprehension. Lady Selina wore her religion as she did her mantle; it -was becoming, fashionable, and commodious, and it could be laid aside at -a moment’s notice if it occasioned the slightest inconvenience. - -And Lady Selina was called “an amiable creature” by such as are easily -won by a polished manner and courteous address. She possessed the art of -being censorious without appearing so. She seldom openly expressed an -unfavourable opinion of any one; but conveyed more sarcastic meaning in -a word of faint praise or disparaging pity, a shake of the head, a -hesitating tone, or a soft, compassionating sigh, than might have been -expressed by severe vituperation. None of her strokes were direct -strokes—she never appeared to take aim; but her balls ever glanced off -at some delicate angle, and effected her object without visible effort -of her own. She had a secret pride in her power of influencing others, -never considering that her ingenuity simply consisted in the art of -gratifying malice at the expense of generosity and candour. - -Lady Selina was “a very desirable acquaintance” to those who only knew -her as an acquaintance. Her kindliness was as the blue tint on the -distant mountain, which vanishes as we approach nearer towards the -barren height. Whoever might rest upon her friendship, would lean, -indeed, upon a broken reed. But, in the exchange of ordinary courtesies, -in the art of simulating cordiality and sympathy, Lady Selina was a -perfect adept. Few left her presence without a feeling of -self-satisfaction and gratified vanity, which caused both the visit and -her to whom it had been made to be remembered with pleasure. - -The woman of the world’s ideas of education were the reflection and -counterpart of her views on religion. To her, the first object in life -was to shine in the world; and, accordingly, so far as young people were -trained to accomplish this object, so far she deemed their education -complete. Arabella and Louisa were provided with a French governess, and -the first masters in music and drawing; and their aunt, with the air of -one who feels that she has conscientiously performed an arduous duty, -spoke to her acquaintance of her anxious and indefatigable efforts to do -full justice to her motherless charge. It is true, that occasionally a -moral maxim or religious precept dropped from the lips of Lady Selina -for the benefit of her sister’s children; such was the caution against -the heart’s tendency to idolatry uttered in the preceding conversation. -The words had been lightly spoken, and their meaning weighed neither by -speaker nor listeners; but whether they might not with advantage have -been applied to the consciences of all, will be seen in the following -narrative. - -The marriage of Mr. Effingham with Clemence Fairburne, a young lady whom -he had met in Cornwall while on a visit to a clerical friend, was to -Lady Selina an unwelcome event. Notwithstanding, however, the complaint -that she rather insinuated than expressed to her numerous acquaintance, -that her wealthy brother-in-law had united himself to one possessing -neither fortune nor high position, it is probable that Lady Selina would -have been far more annoyed had his second wife been equal in rank to his -first. Clemence was young and unacquainted with the world. She would -probably enter into society with the diffidence of one to whom its -usages were not familiar. Lady Selina, like some astute politician of -old, foresaw an extension of her own regency under the minority of the -rightful sovereign. She determined that Clemence should be a mere cipher -in her own house, and follow instead of leading; she should occupy as -low a position as possible in the eyes of those over whom circumstances -had placed her. Artfully and successfully Lady Selina impressed the -family, and even the household, with the idea that Clemence was some -low-born, half-educated girl, whom Mr. Effingham had had the weakness to -marry, because she possessed a few personal attractions! On the few -hints thrown out by Lady Selina others enlarged—they filled up her -lightly sketched outlines. The French governess, Mademoiselle Lafleur, -shrugged her shoulders in the school-room, ventured to breathe the word -_mésalliance_ even in the presence of her pupils, and directed the flow -of her conversation perpetually on the theme of the miseries inflicted -by tyrannical step-mothers. Arabella and Louisa began almost to look -upon themselves in the light of injured parties, because their father, -still in the vigour of life, had sought to add to his domestic -happiness! Their prejudices would have been still more strong and bitter -but for the young wife’s letters, which reached them from time to time, -and which breathed such a kindly spirit, such a desire to know and to -love the children of her dear husband, that even Lady Selina’s -insinuations could scarcely destroy their effect. - -And now the day appointed for the first meeting of Clemence with her new -family had arrived; everything in the house was made ready for the -reception of the master and the lady of his choice. There was the bustle -of preparation in the lower regions of the dwelling; the harsh voice of -Mrs. Ventner, the housekeeper, was pitched to a sharper key than usual; -while in the drawing-room a restless sensation of expectation prevailed, -which prevented Lady Selina and her nieces from settling to any of their -usual occupations. The piano had been opened, but its keys were -untouched; the needle pressed the embroidery, but not a single -additional leaf gave sign of progress in the work. - -The short November day was darkening into twilight; the yellow lights -round the Square started one by one into view, faintly gleaming through -the cold white haze. A few snow-flakes fell noiselessly upon the -pavement, along which, at long intervals, a foot-passenger hurried, -wrapping his cloak tightly around him to fence out the piercing north -wind. Vincent took his station at the window to give earliest notice of -the arrival, while Lady Selina and his sisters chatted around the -blazing fire. - -“Here they are at last!” exclaimed Vincent, as a chariot dashed up to -the door, with dusty imperial and travel-soiled wheels, and horses from -whose heated sides the steam rose into the chill evening air. “Here they -are!” he repeated, and swinging himself down the stairs, he was at the -hall door almost before the powdered footmen who were there in waiting -had had time to open it. The ladies more slowly followed; but curiosity -with Louisa getting the better of dignity, she ran lightly down the long -broad flight of steps, and found Vincent returning the affectionate -embrace of her who longed to find in him indeed a son. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER II - - THE YOUNG BRIDE. - - -What were the sensations of the fair young bride when she crossed the -threshold of that lordly dwelling, when she entered the spacious and -luxurious apartments which she was thenceforth to call her own? Clemence -looked round her with admiration on the many beautiful things which -adorned her husband’s home. She who from childhood had known little of -luxury, saw, with the fresh pleasure of girlhood, inlaid tables spread -with elegant specimens of the arts of many lands—mosaics from Italy, -porcelain from Sevres, the delicate ivory carving of China. The -exquisite paintings on the panelled wall, the grand piano with the -graceful harp beside it, even the luxurious furniture, the crimson -drapery of the satin curtains, and the rich softness of the velvet -carpet, impressed Clemence’s mind with an idea of beauty and grandeur to -which a girl not quite one and twenty years of age could scarcely be -insensible. Frankly and artlessly the bride expressed her admiration, -knowing that to do so would gratify her husband, who listened with a -pleased smile; and yet her warm young heart was conscious of some -feeling of oppression, some sensation almost resembling that of fear! -The coldness with which her two step-daughters had received, not -returned her kindly kiss,—the frigid courtesy of Lady Selina,—had had -much the same effect upon Mrs. Effingham’s spirit as the cold November -mist upon nature. Clemence could not feel at her ease, though the -natural grace of her manner prevented her shyness from betraying her -into awkwardness. She could not but deem it a relief when at length she -could retire to her own apartment; and dismissing the maid, who pressed -forward with officious offers of assistance, Clemence seated herself -upon a sofa, and endeavoured to collect her scattered thoughts. - -“I wish that they had been younger!” was almost the first idea which -took definite shape in her mind; “little ones who would have nestled -into my heart, and who would have won and returned all my love! I am -afraid—but how foolish, how wrong it is to let a shadow of anxiety or -fear dim the brightness of a day which should be one of the happiest of -my life! We shall love one another; yes, we must—we shall! _His_ -children cannot but be dear to me, and I will earnestly try to gain -their affections; and if I am weak and inexperienced, and utterly -unequal to perform rightly the duties of this new, strange state of -life, is not my heavenly Father as near me here as when I was in the -dear old cottage?” Then, sinking on her knees, with clasped hands -Clemence returned fervent thanks for the boundless blessings which -Providence had lavished upon her, and implored for wisdom and aid, and -for favour in the sight of those with whom she was now so nearly -connected. - -Clemence rose from her devotions joyous and hopeful, and proceeded at -once to do that which she regarded rather as a pleasure than as a duty. -Unlocking her little travelling-case, she took out writing materials, -and hastily penned a note to her uncle, Captain Thistlewood, the -guardian of her orphaned youth, announcing her arrival at her home. -Clemence knew how impatiently the letter would be watched for, and how -eagerly welcomed by the old sailor; and as she placed within the -envelope an enclosure, addressed to the care of her former pastor, she -smiled to think how many hearths she would warm, how many boards she -would spread in Stoneby, and how many a family would bless her in the -village where she counted as many friends as there were poor. “Oh! this -is the luxury of being rich!” thought Clemence; and carrying the letter -in her hand, with a light step and light heart she descended the -staircase. The joy which she felt in sending her remittance was purer -and brighter than any which merely personal gratification could have -bestowed. - -“She’s no more French than I am!” muttered Vincent to himself, as he -gazed on her fair brow and clear blue eyes. His prejudices were fast -melting away beneath the spell of that sunny smile. - -The sound of the gong now summoned the family to a sumptuous repast. -Notwithstanding her disposition to be pleased with everything, Clemence, -at the head of the table loaded with plate and glittering with crystal, -felt her timid misgiving return. It was not so much that the young wife -found the unaccustomed presence of powdered servants oppressive, that -her new state was irksome to her, and that it seemed as if freedom were -exchanged for grandeur; but that, with intuitive perception, she had -become aware that her every word and movement were watched and -criticized, and that by no friendly eyes. Mr. Effingham was a silent -man—that evening he was more silent than usual; Arabella and Louisa sat -as if unable to open their lips; the chief burden of the conversation -fell upon the young timid woman, whose heart fluttered with the -excitement of her new position, and her anxiety to say nothing and do -nothing that could possibly shock or offend. Lady Selina, indeed, -repeatedly broke the silence which, notwithstanding the efforts of -Clemence, frequently fell on the circle; but, whether by design or not, -she so directed the conversation as to puzzle and embarrass the bride. - -“I think that the estates of the Marquis of Bardston lie near Stoneby.” - -“Very near to the village,” replied Clemence. - -“Does the picture of the old marchioness by Sir Joshua Reynolds deserve -its fame?” inquired Lady Selina. “I have often wished to see it; of -course, you have very frequently done so!” - -“I was never in the Castle,” answered Clemence; “it is not opened to the -public.” - -There was something disagreeable to the bride, though she scarcely knew -why, in the slight bend of the head and pursing of the lip with which -Lady Selina received her straightforward reply. The lady of fashion -seemed determined to discourse that evening upon no subject but that of -the various connections of persons of rank. Her memory appeared -unusually at fault. She could not remember whom Lord Greenallen’s sister -had married, or what had been the family name of the Duchess of -Dinorben, and was ever referring for information to poor Clemence, who -had never looked into a peerage in her life. Mrs. Effingham felt herself -painfully ignorant of everything that Lady Selina seemed to think it -quite necessary to know, and was heartily glad when, the tedious -ceremony of dinner being ended, the party adjourned to the drawing-room. - -Vincent was the only one of her new acquaintance with whom Clemence was -quite at ease, and she was heartily sorry to find that he was to return -to his school early on the morrow, having only come home in order to be -introduced to his step-mother. She could rest her hand on his shoulder, -and her kind and playful words would call up an answering smile on the -face of the boy; but his sisters’ monosyllabic replies to her questions, -the marked manner in which they always addressed her as “Mrs. -Effingham,” chilled and discouraged the young wife, while she felt an -increasing mistrust and almost dread of their polite and dignified aunt. -There was, likewise, something repellent to the frank and open nature of -Clemence in the flowery compliments, the exaggerated politeness, with -which Mademoiselle Lafleur, who joined the circle at tea, received her -courteous greeting. Clemence secretly reproached herself for foolish -prejudice, but could not shake off a sensation of repulsion. Weary with -her journey and the excitement of the meeting, Clemence rejoiced when -the long evening closed. She was startled at the sound of her own sigh, -as she sat listlessly before her toilet-table; and unconsciously raising -her eyes to her mirror, saw reflected there her own pale face, marked -with a thoughtful and anxious expression. - -“What a child I must be!” exclaimed Clemence half aloud, “to let such -trifles weigh upon me—I who have everything to enjoy, everything to be -thankful for!” and she struggled, and not unsuccessfully, to throw from -her spirit its burden, and to look upon the untried future before her -with cheerful confidence and hope. Had Clemence fully on that evening -realized the difficulties of her position, her heart would indeed have -sunk within her. A youthful servant of the Lord, she stood alone in a -house where faith in Him had hitherto been nothing but a name; she had -entered a family where every heart had a secret idol set up in its -inmost shrine. Clemence looked up to her husband as to one all wisdom -and goodness. Mr. Effingham bore in the world a spotless name; he was -liberal in his charities, and appeared earnest in his profession of -religion. His young wife, with loving, trusting confidence, had twined -her heart’s affections around him, as some fair creeper clasps with its -tendrils a stately forest tree. No suspicion crossed her mind that any -unworthy passion could have place in a heart that she deemed the abode -of every virtue—that the tree so goodly to the eye could nourish a -destroyer within. With different eyes would Clemence have surveyed all -the expensive luxuries of the banker’s mansion had she known—. But we -must not anticipate. Clemence was not the first woman, nor will be the -last, whose affections have blinded her judgment, whose fond credulity -has invested the object of her choice with the noblest and highest -qualities of man. Alas! when the cold touch of experience awakens the -loving spirit from such a blissful delusion! - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER III - - FIRST STEPS. - - -“Oh, Arabella!—mademoiselle!” exclaimed Louisa on the following day, as -she entered the school-room at a later hour than usual, “I have been so -much diverted—I have been enjoying such a rare treat!” and she threw -herself into an arm-chair, and gave way to a burst of merriment. - -“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” inquired the governess. - -“I have seen Mrs. Effingham’s trousseau!” cried Louisa. Arabella looked -up from her drawing, and the exclamation of mademoiselle expressed her -curiosity on a subject which is supposed to be one of some interest to -the fair sex. - -“I was passing the door of her dressing-room,” continued Louisa, “and as -it happened to be ajar she saw me, and called to me to come in.” - -“As one school-girl might another,” said Arabella contemptuously. - -“And there was the bride on her knees, herself unpacking her boxes!” - -“She has not been accustomed to many servants,” observed Arabella, “and -finds it most convenient to wait upon herself.” - -“And the trousseau de madame was magnifique, no doubt?” said -mademoiselle, with a little irony in her tone. - -“Beautiful simplicity!” laughed Louisa; “I suppose that Mrs. Effingham -has met somewhere with the line, ‘Beauty when unadorned adorned the -most,’ and has adopted it for her motto!” - -“Perhaps,” suggested mademoiselle, “the _marchande de modes_ at -Stoneby—” - -“Lived in the time of King Pharamond,” interrupted Louisa; “or the bride -played _marchande de modes_ herself; or, what is more probable still, -employed her school-girls to run up her dresses, and make them true -charity pattern! There’s not a flounce or a fringe in the whole set, -from the white silk wedding-dress to the neat cotton-print.” - -“Cotton-print! est-il possible!” exclaimed mademoiselle, lifting up her -hands. - -“And the dressing-case—oh!” cried Louisa, bursting into fresh laughter -at the recollection. - -“Quelque chose très-bizarre—very extraordinary!” - -“Ordinary, certainly, without the extra! Brushes, combs, all enclosed in -a simple _bag_, ingeniously made, with many pockets big and little, -quite a curiosity of art;—I believe it was one of her wedding presents!” - -Arabella and mademoiselle joined in the mirth which this idea inspired. - -“I should like to have seen _les cadeaux_,” observed the latter. - -“I saw everything—all her treasures,” cried Louisa; “I have a correct -inventory of them in my head. The diamond ring which Mrs. Effingham -wears is papa’s gift; so is the bracelet, and his miniature surrounded -with brilliants.” - -“Oh! but her own family—her own friends, what did they give?” asked -mademoiselle. - -“Her own family seems to consist of her old uncle, Captain Thistlewood, -who presented her with—let me see! an old-fashioned locket containing -her parents’ hair. It does not look like gold; I think that he must have -picked it up at a pawnbroker’s. Oh! and she has some distant lady -relations, who seem to enjoy a monopoly of making markers—red, pink, and -blue; and that she may have no lack of books to put them into, the -clergyman, Mr. Gray, has given her a Church-Service; and his wife—such a -present for a bridal! it would have been much more appropriate for a -funeral—Baxter’s ‘Saint’s Everlasting Rest’!” - -“Anything else?” inquired Arabella with a sneer. - -“The gem of the collection is to come. You should have seen Mrs. -Effingham unfolding it, and the look with which she surveyed it! A huge -patchwork table-cover all the colours of the rainbow. ‘My dear -school-girls’ present,’ said she, as tenderly as if each ugly patch had -been a love-token set in jewels!” - -“I hope that she’s not going to display it in our drawing-room,” -exclaimed Arabella. - -“I think that madame should wear it as a shawl—bring in a new _mode_,” -said Lafleur. - -“I wish that I’d thought of recommending that!” exclaimed Louisa, -clapping her hands; “she looks so unsophisticated and ready to believe. -I’d lay anything that were we to tell her that the hoods of opera-cloaks -are worn expressly as pockets to hold bits of bread for distribution to -beggars, that such is the approved method of being charitable in London, -she would say, with one of her gentle smiles, ‘What an admirable plan!’ -and adopt the fashion directly. I thought of passing something of the -kind upon her, but somehow I could not command my countenance when she -looked at me with her inquiring blue eyes!” - -“I suspect she’s sharper than you think,” said Arabella shortly. - -“Well, she is going to the milliner and dressmaker to-day—she saw the -necessity for that; and I’m going in the carriage with her, and Aunt -Selina also, I fancy.” - -“I wonder what pleasure you can find!” - -“Oh! it will be the rarest fun in the world! She is such a shy, timid -creature, I can see at a glance that she has an awe for my aunt, and is -afraid of the sound of her own voice when the earl’s daughter is -present; so what between Lady Selina, and chattering little Madame La -Voye, we’ll get Mrs. Effingham into such a whirlpool of fashion, we’ll -bewilder her so with our _nouveautes_, that she will order anything and -everything that we please, and come out into the world so gay that she -will not know herself when she looks in her glass!” - -The visits to the fashionable dressmaker and milliner were accomplished -that afternoon under the auspices of Lady Selina, who, in according her -undesired presence, contrived to make Clemence very sensibly feel that -she was performing an act of condescension. If Clemence was ignorant of -the intricacies of the peerage, she was also entirely at fault in the -mysteries of _la mode_; she scarcely knew _moire antique_ and _point -d’Alençon_ even by name, and the jargon of French terms which flowed so -glibly from the tongue of Madame La Voye, would have been scarcely more -unintelligible to Mrs. Effingham if uttered in the Japanese language. -This and that rich article of attire, to be adorned in some -incomprehensible style, was recommended as absolutely indispensable, and -in a manner which left the shy young wife scarcely the option of -refusal. If knowledge be power, ignorance is weakness; and Clemence, -dazzled, confused, painfully anxious to please, and shrinking from -exposing herself to ridicule, suffered her own taste and inclination to -be overborne by those of her fashionable companions. - -Clemence returned home with the disagreeable conviction that she had -been led into extravagance to an extent which she was unable to -calculate; for in the presence of Lady Selina she had not ventured to -ask the cost of anything. She felt that she had yielded with the -helplessness of a child to an influence which her judgment told her was -not an influence for good. - -“How exceedingly weakly I have acted to-day!” such was the mortifying -reflection of Clemence as soon as she had leisure for thought. “I fear -that I have abused the generosity and confidence of my dear husband, and -spent more in selfish indulgence in one hour than should have sufficed -me for a year. True, my situation in life has been changed, and some -things were really necessary; but I was carried away like a feather on -the breeze, afraid to say what I liked or disliked, afraid to show that -I thought money of any value except as a means of gratifying caprice. -What a strange, new existence this is! I seem to be breathing quite a -different atmosphere—to have entered a world where ideas of right and -wrong, important and trivial, are utterly unlike those to which I have -been accustomed from my childhood. Except my beloved husband, there is -no one here to whom I could speak the feelings of my heart, believing -that they would be even understood. I wonder if, as I become experienced -in the ways of the world, I shall gradually become like those around -me—if I shall ever resemble Lady Selina!” A smile passed across -Clemence’s face as the idea first suggested itself to her mind; but it -almost instantly faded away, and was succeeded by an expression of -serious thought. “I fear that I am very unfit to meet the temptations of -this new scene. The world appears to me like a petrifying stream. Some -spirits, like my noble Vincent’s, can drink of it uninjured, and then -rise above it on the strong wings of reason and faith; but I fear that I -shall be like some weak spray, gradually losing all inward life, and -growing harder and colder as the waters flow by it! These two days have -shown me more of weakness and folly, yes, and vanity too, in my own -heart, than I was ever sensible of before. I have felt as much ashamed -of my ignorance of that which I have never had an opportunity of -knowing, as if I had been charged with a serious fault. I have been -tempted to equivocation, and have more than once assented with my lips, -or by my silence, to that which in my heart I denied. I have felt my -vanity gratified even by the silly flattery of one who probably -considers flattery as a part of her trade. If I am thus on first -entering these scenes, fresh from the instructions of my pious friends, -full of the earnest resolutions made before God in my home, what shall I -be when time may have weakened the remembrance of those instructions, -the strength of those resolutions? If I stumble at the very first step, -how shall I walk steadily and faithfully along a path which I foresee -will for me be full of snares? O my God, help me, for I am a weak, -infirm child! Let me not forget Thy warning, _Love not the world, -neither the things that are in the world_. The difficulties which beset -me must make me more earnest in prayer, more diligent in -self-examination, more watchful over my deceitful heart!” - -[Illustration: - - MRS. EFFINGHAM.] - -Clemence slowly paced her apartment, and wingèd thought earned her back -to her childhood’s home. “How true are the words which I once -heard,—Every new change in the course of our lives, like a bend in a -river, brings before us new difficulties, new duties, and new dangers, -and shows us our own characters in a new light! I have hitherto been -gently gliding with the tide; and if the banks sometimes appeared a -little flat and dull, there was nothing in outward circumstances to shut -out from me the light of Heaven. In seeking to please God, I best -pleased the dear ones who regarded me with such partial affection. My -duties accorded with my inclinations. But now,—my duties, what are -they?” Clemence paused for some minutes and reflected. “I must learn to -be able to say ‘No’—a painful task, from which my cowardice shrinks; I -must be content sometimes _not_ to please, and yet in indifferent -matters be as careful—even more careful than ever—not to give offence or -cause displeasure. I must exercise the grave duties of a housewife, nor -from indolence or timidity shift upon others the responsibilities which -God made mine when I became a wife. Mine own Vincent!”—her eye rested on -the miniature of her husband—“would that I were more qualified to make -his home what that home ought to be! But he will cheer and encourage me -in the attempt to do so; he will have indulgence on my ignorance; he -will be my support, my guide, my example; and he will teach me to become -more worthy to be his wife!” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - CONSULTATION. - - - See how the orient dew, - Shed from the bosom of the morn - Into the blowing roses, - Yet careless of its mansion new, - For the clear region where ’twas born, - Round in itself encloses; - And in its little globe’s extent - Frames as it can its native element. - How it the purple flower does slight, - Scarce touching where it lies, - But gazing back upon the skies, - Shines with a mournful light. - Like its own tear; - Because so long divided from the sphere! - Restless it rolls, and insecure, - Trembling lest it grow impure! - - So the soul—that drop, that ray - Of the clear fountain of eternal day— - Could it within the _human flower_ be seen, - Remembering still its former height, - Shuns the sweet leaves and blossoms green, - And recollecting its own light, - Does in its pure and circling thoughts express - The greater heaven in a heaven less. - In how coy a figure wound, - Every way it turns away; - So the world excluding round, - Yet receiving in the day,— - Dark beneath, but bright above,— - Here disdaining, there in love: - How loose and easy hence to go! - How girt and ready to ascend!— - Moving but on a point below, - In all about does upward bend. - -How quaintly, yet how exquisitely, in these lines has the old poet -Marvell portrayed those who, _in the world_, are yet _not of the world_! -How few, alas! can read their own description in that of the pure bright -dew-drop! How many, instead of resting even on the flower, “loose and -easy hence to go,” waiting till the warm sun “exhales it back again,” -have dropped from leaf to leaf, lower and lower, till, sinking at length -to earth, and mingling with its dust, they are lost for evermore! - -About a week after her arrival in Belgrave Square we will glance again -at Clemence Effingham. She is in her husband’s quiet study—her favourite -retreat. The ruddy fire-light falls cheerfully on the shelves of the -well-filled book-case, which occupies almost an entire side of the small -but comfortable apartment. Cheerfully glances that light on the -expansive brow and handsome features of Mr. Effingham, cheerfully on the -locks of shaded gold of her who sits at his feet. Clemence, still -girlish in manner, and glad to throw off for a brief space the wearisome -formality of etiquette, has seated herself on a low footstool, and, -resting her clasped hands on her husband’s knee, is looking up into his -face with a look of earnest inquiry. - -“You see, my Vincent, that all is so new to me,—I am so fearful of -making mistakes, so conscious of my own inexperience. You must guide and -assist me, dearest. Ever since you told me what large sums—to me they -seem startling sums—are constantly passing through Mrs. Ventner’s hands, -I cannot help imagining that there must be strange waste in some -quarter.” - -“There always is waste in a large establishment; there is no necessity -that we should mark the expenditure of every shilling, or enter into the -details of every domestic arrangement.” - -“But supposing that there should be something even worse than waste,” -asked Clemence in a tone of hesitation, “ought we to place temptations -in the way of those who serve us, by exercising no watchfulness over -them, by placing such unbounded confidence in them as may be, as is -sometimes, abused?” - -“Well, my love,” replied Mr. Effingham, “exercise as vigorous a -superintendence as you will; keep the machinery in as perfect order as -you like.” - -“It is no question of liking with me,” cried Clemence, laughing a -little, but not merrily; “for bills and books—tradesmen’s books, I -mean—I have a horror; and, like Macbeth, I have to screw up my courage -to the sticking-point before I venture on a colloquy with Mrs. Ventner. -I never had a taste for governing, and the power intrusted to me is -almost too heavy a weight for these poor little hands to grasp. I really -need the support of my liege lord’s stronger arm! I am like a minister -of state who has to manage a troublesome House of Commons, and,” she -added, with a little hesitation, “rather a refractory House of Lords, -and who cannot command a majority in either!” Clemence spoke gaily and -lightly, but painful truth lay beneath the jest. - -“Refractory House of Lords! I see—I see!” said Mr. Effingham, with a -smile; “Louisa is a giddy child, and Arabella has a temper of her own. -But all will come right—all will come right, with a little patience and -firmness. I have the utmost confidence in your sense and judgment, my -love.” - -“I wish that others had,” replied Clemence, speaking at first playfully, -but her voice becoming earnest and almost agitated as she proceeded. “It -is doubtless my own fault, Vincent, or perhaps the fault of my youth, -but it seems to me that my wishes and opinions are of very little weight -in this house. I want to consult you on so many points, that I may know -whether I am right or wrong. Do you think it well that Louisa should be -so constantly out, especially in the society of those from whom it seems -to me, as far as I can judge, that she can only learn worldliness and -levity? Her studies are perpetually interrupted at an age when steady -application is most valuable; and exposure to the night air really -injures her health,—she could hardly sleep last night on account of her -cough.” - -“Forbid her, then, to go out again till she has lost it.” - -“O Vincent, I shall be a dreadfully unpopular premier!” exclaimed -Clemence. Then she added, drawing her husband’s hand within her own, “If -you, dearest—you, whose will should be law, to whose judgment all must -defer—would only say a few words yourself, both on this subject and—” - -“No, no!” interrupted Mr. Effingham quickly; “these trifles do not lie -within my province. I make it a rule never to interfere with these petty -domestic concerns. You will consult with Lady Selina, and then decide as -seems best to yourself.” - -“Lady Selina!” murmured Clemence, in a tone of disappointment; “oh, she -never assists me at all I should be rather inclined”—the young wife -looked up playfully but timidly as she spoke—“to call her the leader of -the Opposition!” - -A slight frown passed across the brow of Mr. Effingham. He was by no -means disposed to weaken, in any way, the connection of his family with -a lady of rank and fashion, whose title gave a certain _éclat_ to the -establishment over which she so long had presided. The first time that -the watchful eye of Clemence had ever perceived the slightest shade of -displeasure towards her on the face of her husband was as he replied to -her last observation,— - -“I think, Clemence, that you do her injustice. Lady Selina is a woman of -sense, and a great deal of experience in the world—one not in the least -likely to be influenced by petty jealousies. I consider myself to be -greatly indebted to her; and it is my wish that every member of my -family should regard her in the same light that I do myself. As for -little differences,” he continued, rising from his seat and standing -with his back to the fire, “the thousand trifles which make up the sum -of domestic life, I desire to hear nothing, know nothing, of them. My -mind is occupied with affairs more important, and in my own home, at -least, I look for peace and repose.” - -It is possible that Mr. Effingham observed by the fire-light something -like glistening moisture on the downcast lashes of his wife; for, laying -his hand kindly on her shoulder, he added in a gayer tone, “As long as -my watch goes well, Clemence, I do not care to examine the works. I give -you unlimited authority. Dissolve your whole House of Commons, if you -please it; visit your peers with fine or imprisonment; but don’t bring -up appeals to me. A little time—a little judgment—they are all that is -wanted; just act for the best, and take things easily.” - -_Act for the best, and take things easily!_ How many times Clemence -Effingham repeated to herself these oracular words! How long she -pondered over the possibility of reconciling with each other the two -clauses of the sentence! She had become the mistress of a mansion where -everything, beyond mere externals, was in a state of woeful neglect. -Petty dishonesty was but one of the many evils which prevailed amongst -the numerous members of the household; while, in the family, -selfishness, worldliness, and vanity reigned uncontrolled and scarcely -disguised. It was a Gordian knot, indeed, that the young wife was given -to untie, and she lacked strength to wield the conqueror’s sword! Into -the ear of her husband Clemence would have loved to have poured all her -difficulties and trials; his sympathy and counsel might have removed -many of the former, and cheered and encouraged her under the latter; -but, occupied by other cares, Mr. Effingham left his young partner to -bear her burden alone. Clemence made more than one attempt to avail -herself of the experience of Lady Selina; but the woman of the world was -cautious not to compromise herself, or in the slightest degree to share -the unpopularity which is the almost inevitable fate of reformers. Nor -was she inclined to own the existence of evils that had chiefly arisen -from her own neglect. Lady Selina, when consulted by Clemence, listened -to her with the cold, impassive smile which seemed the stereotyped -expression of her unuttered opinion, “You are such a poor, inexperienced -child!” Clemence was left to fight her battles quite alone. - -But was it not possible to “take things easily”—to close her eyes to -everything that it might be disagreeable to see; to follow the example -of Lady Selina, and let affairs take their own course; to enjoy the -luxury, and brightness, and gaiety of her life, without examining too -closely behind the scenes? Clemence was strongly tempted to do -so—strongly tempted to swim with the tide; to fling from herself the -burden of responsibility, and forget care in the pleasures of the hour. - -It was well for her that she had not received a kinder welcome into the -family. Had the path of Clemence been strewn with nothing but flowers, -it would have been a path much more fraught with peril. The unkindness -and coldness which daily wounded her affectionate and sensitive spirit, -were like thorny hedges which fenced her in from wandering from the -narrow way. Had the cup of life been all sweetness, it is too probable -that it might have intoxicated; Lady Selina and her nieces were -unconsciously mixing with it a bitter but salutary medicine. Safer, far -safer is it to have the worldly as enemies than as friends. Nothing, -perhaps, is more calculated to make a Christian walk carefully than the -_unavoidable_ companionship of those who dislike both himself and his -religion. He feels that he must not disgrace his profession—that he must -give no handle to the sharp blade of detraction, no occasion for the -enemy to blaspheme. His trials drive him to the footstool of grace; and -while his patience and spirit of forgiveness find constant exercise, the -evil from which he suffers makes him more keenly appreciate, more -earnestly desire, the harmony, holiness, and happiness of heaven! - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER V - - THE FIRST SKIRMISH. - - -The circle of Mr. Effingham’s acquaintance was large, and even in the -dull wintry season Clemence found that the claims of society took up -much of her time and attention. Knocks were frequent at her door; -numerous visitors came to introduce themselves to the young wife of the -wealthy banker. Clemence felt at first embarrassed, then amused, then -wearied by that which lost its charm with its novelty. She became tired -of ringing changes on the weather, the last new book, political -prospects, and the movements of the court, with a succession of wearers -of velvet bonnets and furred mantillas, whom she scarcely knew even by -name. Clemence had not as yet much of the small change of conversation, -and she had not the courage to produce her gold. Mrs. Effingham seldom -entered her carriage, which was usually at the disposal of Lady Selina; -Clemence being well pleased to purchase, by relinquishing the luxury of -a drive, a little respite from the oppressive companionship of the -earl’s daughter. - -At Mr. Effingham’s desire, Clemence, early in December, issued cards of -invitation for that most formal, and, to a young housewife, most -formidable of entertainments—a grand dinner party. She was almost -ashamed to find how much her thoughts were occupied by earthly cares, -how large a share of her anxious attention was given to preparations for -an event of such comparatively trivial importance. Lady Selina, indeed, -regarded such arrangements as part of the chief business of life, and -did her best to wind up to nervous anxiety Clemence’s desire to order -all things so as to do credit to her husband’s establishment. The -favourite topic of Lady Selina now appeared to be the strange mistakes, -the unpardonable blunders which had occurred within, and far beyond, the -limits of her experience, at parties given by the uninitiated. She also -delighted to expatiate on such qualities in the expected guests as might -render them formidable to their young hostess. Lord Vaughan was a -connoisseur in the culinary art, and paid an unheard-of salary to his -French cook; Lady Praed always detected at a glance the smallest error -in matters of form; Colonel Parsons and Sir William Page were keen -opponents in politics, and it would require much tact and management on -the part of Mrs. Effingham to ward off any unpleasant discussion. -Clemence listened, sighed, and heartily wished that the dreaded evening -were over. - -Then serious cares disturbed her. The more the young wife entered into -the details of her establishment, the more she became aware of the -difficulties which surrounded her at every step. Her servants appeared -in a combination to overreach and deceive her. Every effort to introduce -greater order and economy into her household was met with dogged -opposition, and Mrs. Ventner resented all interference on the part of -her mistress as a personal injury. The annoyance which Clemence had to -endure from the members of her family was of a more painful nature. -Arabella and Louisa never forgot—their aunt would never have suffered -them to forget—that if Mrs. Effingham was placed above them by marriage, -by birth she was not their equal. Clemence, inexperienced as she was, -had sufficient natural powers of observation to detect the radical -errors in the education of the daughters of her husband. But while she -perceived the evil, she sought in vain for its cure; and the joyous -hopes with which she had commenced her married life, like the fabled -wings of Icarus melting in the sultry beams of the sun, no longer bore -her buoyantly aloft! - -It is, perhaps, only those who have known little of common cares who can -smile on them as a trifling burden. To the young and the sensitive, who -have hitherto trodden earth almost as free from petty anxieties as the -bird on the wing, or the blossom on the tree, the sudden pressure of new -responsibilities is sometimes almost overwhelming. They could better -endure hardship and pain; human compassion might then bring them relief, -and they would more fully realize the blessed consolations of religion. -And yet, is the command which embodies a precious privilege—the command -to cast all our cares upon One who careth for us—limited only to that -class of trials which man recognizes as afflictions? All earthly events -in the sight of our Great Master must appear in themselves to be but -trifles; but when connected with their effects upon immortal beings, -when made a means to train and discipline souls, the merest trifles -assume weight and importance. A teacher’s anxieties, a housewife’s -cares, the responsibilities of the mistress of an establishment, seem of -too trivial and uninteresting a nature even for the light pages of a -fiction; but yet they, in the history of thousands and tens of -thousands, form “the sum of human things.” A decisive battle may be -fought even in the narrow limits of a home. Solomon prayed for wisdom -from above to direct aright the affairs of a kingdom; the same wisdom in -kind, though not in degree, is required by the humblest matron who would -rule her household in the fear of God; and where Solomon sought, she -must seek it. - -“I could wish that I were ten years older!” said Clemence to herself, -as, seated in a large arm-chair, she nervously awaited the appearance of -a servant whose conduct had given just subject for displeasure, and to -whom she felt it necessary to administer rebuke. “I almost think that -Vincent and I would enjoy life more in some country cottage, with just -one maid to attend on us, away from all this grandeur and state, -contented and happy in each other. Money does not seem worth all the -care and trouble that it brings. I was much merrier last Christmas time, -when, with my well-filled basket on my arm, I trod over the crisp snow -on my way from cottage to cottage, sure of a welcome everywhere from -lips that would not flatter and hearts that would not deceive! I have, -perhaps, larger means of usefulness here, but not of that kind of work -which would most warm and gladden my own spirit! It is pleasanter to -build up than to pull down—to do good than to oppose evil—to serve God -by winning blessings from man, than to serve Him by drawing on one’s -self the anger and dislike of others. But what is clear duty must be -done, whether it be painful or pleasant. We are not left to choose our -own work, but we must trust to be given strength to perform it bravely.” - -A few days before the one fixed upon for the party, Mr. Effingham left -Belgrave Square for a short period upon business. It was Clemence’s -first separation from her husband since their marriage, and she felt -that during his absence all the sunshine of her life would be gone. To -have been left quite alone would have been less painful; it was far -worse than solitude to be left with her step-daughters and Lady Selina. - -The haughty shyness which Arabella and Louisa had at first displayed -before Mrs. Effingham had entirely worn away. They rather now, at least -while their father was absent, made a parade of their perfect ease, and -on the evening preceding his return chatted together with Mademoiselle -Lafleur, as if scarcely aware of their step-mother’s presence. Clemence -sat quietly at her work, a pained listener to a flow of folly and -gossip. Lady Selina appeared to be dozing in her arm-chair before the -fire. - -At length the conversation turned upon the clergyman whose ministry the -family regularly attended—an earnest, good, but eccentric man. Arabella -began turning him into ridicule, to the great amusement of her sister -and governess, but the indignation of Mrs. Effingham. - -“He ought to be elected preacher to the blind,” laughed Louisa; “it -would be so much better not to be able to see him!” - -“They would make him over to the deaf and dumb,” rejoined her sister; -“for it would be better still not to be able to hear him!” - -Clemence felt that she should no longer keep silence—she felt that she -was bound to bear her witness to what was right in the presence of the -children of her husband; and yet, reluctant as she was to give pain or -offence, her reproof was couched in the mildest language, and uttered in -the most gentle tone. - -“Do you not think, dear Arabella,” said the step-mother, “that when we -listen to the preaching of the Word, it is rather upon the message than -the messenger that we should fix our earnest attention?” - -It was the first time that Clemence Effingham had ventured on anything -approaching to a rebuke to her step-daughters. Her words, so strongly -contrasting with the tone of the preceding conversation, had the effect -of instantaneously silencing it; and such an uncomfortable stillness -succeeded that Clemence at last felt herself forced to break it. - -“I think that I must propose a little sociable reading,” she said, “to -make the evenings pass pleasantly while my husband is away. It will give -us subjects to think of and talk over. I remember that my dear father -used often to say that it is far safer and better, as a general rule, to -converse about _things_ than about _persons_.” - -“Had his unfortunate patients to take his precepts as well as his -physic?” cried Arabella, with a pert insolence which was intended to -“put down” the first attempt of her step-mother to interfere with her -perfect freedom. - -If Lady Selina was asleep, her dreams must have been of a pleasing -nature, for they called up a smile on her face. Louisa and mademoiselle -glanced at each other, and then at Mrs. Effingham, to see how the insult -would be taken. - -A burning flush rose to the cheek of Clemence,—she had been touched in a -most tender part; not that she was so keenly sensible to the allusion to -her own humble parentage intended to be conveyed in the flippant remark, -but anything like disrespect to the memory of her venerated father stung -her to the quick. Her heart glowed with angry resentment; it was with a -painful effort that she repressed the expression of it. Clemence paused -for a few seconds till she could speak calmly, then, with a quiet -dignity, said, “Arabella Effingham, you appear scarcely to recollect -that you address yourself to the wife of your father.” - -Arabella started from her seat, and hastily left the room, shutting the -door violently behind her. Not another word was spoken for some time in -the drawing-room, and Louisa and her governess took the first -opportunity of quietly following Arabella, and leaving Mrs. Effingham to -that which was ever to her most depressing—a _tête-à-tête_ with Lady -Selina. - -“She has thrown down the gauntlet! she has chosen to commence the war!” -exclaimed Arabella, as, pacing up and down her room, with all her proud -spirit flashing from her eyes, she poured out her indignation to her -sister and mademoiselle. “If she expects that she’s to rule and dictate -here, she’ll find herself very much mistaken; the daughters of Lady -Arabella Effingham never will bow to the control of the orphan of an -apothecary!” - -“We must take care, though, that we do not bring ourselves to grief,” -said Louisa, who was, if not more cautious, yet less irritable by -nature; “she has papa’s ear, and may set him against us. I dare say -she’s as spiteful as a toad—those meek, sanctified creatures always -are!” - -Clemence went early to her own room, but it was very long before she -retired to rest. Her spirits were fluttered and agitated. In vain had -been all her efforts to conciliate, all her attempts to win for herself -the affections of her husband’s daughters. She saw stretching before -her, in endless perspective, a prospect of disunion and dissension, -proud insolence and malicious enmity. Clemence leaned her brow on her -clasped hands, and the hot tears trickled slowly down her cheeks, as she -repeated to herself the words of the wise king: _Better is a dinner of -herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith_. - -“And how will it all end?” she murmured. “Is it not hard that I, who -never willingly offended a human being, should be the object of such -determined dislike, should find hatred where I proffer love, and be -regarded as an enemy by those whom I would sacrifice much to serve? Is -it not hard?”—the words died upon her lips, a feeling of self-reproach -arose in the young wife’s breast. What was she, that she should look for -exemption from the common lot of her Master’s followers? Had she any -right to murmur under the pressure of a daily cross? _Hard!_—and had it -ever been promised that life should be all softness and enjoyment? Would -it not be folly to expect it? would it not be cowardice to desire it? If -the Christian, overlooking second causes, fix his thoughts on an -all-directing Providence, he will see how that Providence, working by -earthly means, makes even the unkindness that wounds, and the malice -that injures, important aids in forming the characters of the heirs of -glory. It was from the elements of chaos that God drew forth a world of -beauty; and some of His children’s fairest virtues spring, as it were, -from the evil around them. Patience could not have birth in heaven, nor -forgiveness in the society of angels; without opposition Christian -firmness could not appear, nor without trials be shown resignation. - -Clemence pondered over the words, _If ye love them which love you, what -reward have you? do not even the publicans the same?_ and a clearer -light than had ever been granted to her before fell on the command, -_Love your enemies_—that divine command, enforced by a divine Example, -and requiring divine aid to fulfil. Her hopes of overcoming the -prejudices of her husband’s family were now becoming faint; but a nobler -hope had succeeded—the hope of overcoming her own feelings of resentment -towards them, and of pleasing her heavenly Master by a meek endeavour to -fulfil His will. Were not the hearts of all in His hands? - -While Arabella and Louisa were revolving schemes of opposition, and -their aunt was secretly rejoicing in the disunion, which had chiefly -resulted from her own malicious efforts, Clemence knelt down and -earnestly, fervently prayed in the silence of her chamber. Nor prayed -she alone for herself, or the husband dearer than self, but separately -and by name for each of the members of her family. If the prayer was not -answered for all, was it not returned in blessings into her own -bosom—the blessing of that peace in the heart which is even more -priceless than peace in the home? - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - A DECIDED MOVE. - - -Arabella marked with secret satisfaction on the following morning the -weary looks of her youthful step-mother; she regarded them as a -favourable token of her own success in what she called “the war of -independence.” Following up what she considered to be her advantage, -Arabella treated Mrs. Effingham at breakfast with marked discourtesy and -neglect; would not even reply to her morning salutation, but preserved a -proud silence throughout the whole of the meal. Clemence was pained by -her manner, but outwardly took no notice of it. - -In the afternoon, to the joy of his wife, Mr. Effingham returned to his -home. The quick eye of affection soon detected that he looked graver, -more thoughtful and careworn, than before he had quitted London. -Doubtless he was wearied by his journey, and with tender consideration -Clemence attended to everything that might promote his comfort. “I will -vex him with none of my own little troubles,” was her inward resolution; -“if clouds will gather without, all must be sunshine for him at least -within his own little home-circle.” - -So, when they were alone together, Clemence again assumed the gaiety of -a child, and, shunning painful themes, amused her husband by a -description of the little housewifely devices and arrangements which she -had formed during his absence, especially in reference to her first -dinner party. She told him how she had planned this, and discovered -that, during long and serious colloquies with Mrs. Ventner; she made him -laugh at her own blunders and mistakes, but assured him of her resolve -that, in the face of all difficulties, her first entertainment should -prove “_un grand succès_!” - -“And yet, after all, Vincent,” she exclaimed, taking his hand within -both her own, “I do not think that I was ever intended to play a -distinguished part in the great world! All these elaborate preparations -for a few hours’ amusement seem, to my unsophisticated mind, like making -an iron strong-box to enclose a bubble. We take every precaution to -prevent accident—rack invention to make our pleasure secure—fasten it in -with golden padlock and key;—in a short space we look in to see what has -become of it, and lo! the bubble has vanished into thin air, or,” she -added, laughing, “been metamorphosed into a heap of ugly bills! If what -we seek in entertaining be simply to give enjoyment, a party of children -in a strawberry-bed will succeed much better, I suspect, in finding it, -than all our grandee guests to-morrow over their turtle, venison, and -champagne. I know that I, for one, would much rather lead the party -amongst the strawberries. I should hardly find courage to sit at the -head of that formidable table, between an erudite lord and a satirical -baronet, but for remembering who presides at the other end. O Vincent! -how little have outward circumstances to do with real, solid enjoyment! -Your presence gives an interest and zest to the pleasures which wealth -may procure; but that presence would suffice to make me happy even in -the midst of poverty.” - -The thoughts of Mr. Effingham had wandered while Clemence was speaking; -his eyes were fixed, not upon her, but upon the fire, as if watching the -little gas-jets which caught fire for a moment, burned vividly, and then -were suddenly extinguished in smoke. But the last word which his wife -had uttered struck his ear, and jarred like a discord upon it. - -“Poverty!” he repeated quickly, “you never will, never can know it. I -have just settled sixty thousand pounds on you, Clemence, in case—in -case of anything happening to me.” - -Clemence raised her head, and silently thanked him by a look of grateful -love, then pressed his hand to her lips. Could Mr. Effingham have read -the thought which passed through his young wife’s mind, he would have -seen it instinctively form itself into a prayer that she never might -survive her beloved husband to benefit by this new proof of his -affection. - -The long _tête-à-tête_ held in the study filled Arabella’s mind with -considerable alarm. Louisa’s warning recurred to her with unpleasant -vividness, and she dwelt on the idea until she became certain that her -step-mother would try to influence her father against her, and perhaps -act the part of the cuckoo nestling towards the unfortunate little -hedge-sparrows. - -Notwithstanding the pride which made her “defy the malice of any -low-born intruder,” Arabella’s relief was considerable when, on Mr. and -Mrs. Effingham rejoining the family, not even her jealous suspicion -could detect the slightest alteration in her father’s manner towards -her. “She has not complained of me, after all,” thought Arabella. “Well, -that is more than I expected.” She might have added, “More than I -deserved.” - -It was, perhaps, some slight feeling of obligation to Clemence for her -forbearance, or, more probably, a little natural prudence, that now -occasioned an improvement in the demeanour of the two girls towards Mrs. -Effingham, though Arabella never dreamed of stooping to offer an apology -for her former impertinence. Clemence rejoiced at the change, though she -doubted its motive, and, by cordial kindness and winning attention, -sought to follow up her advantage. After breakfast the next morning, -Clemence, laying her hand affectionately on the shoulder of Louisa, -proposed that she should accompany her to her Parnassus, as she -playfully called the school-room. Mademoiselle Lafleur had gone for a -few weeks to spend her Christmas holidays with some friends, and Mrs. -Effingham looked upon the time of her absence as a favourable -opportunity to draw her husband’s daughters more closely to her by -mingling more in their occupations and amusements. Clemence was also -anxious to be better acquainted with their usual routine of life; for -the more she had seen and known of their governess, the more she -distrusted her as a guide of youth. - -“I think that this room would be more comfortable with curtains,” -observed Clemence; “and you really require a nice little book-case on -this table. What a delightful piano!” and she ran her fingers lightly -over the keys. “Louisa, you and I must have many a duet together; I do -so delight in music.” - -Then the drawings of Arabella were examined; and if the praise of -Clemence was less profusely garnished with superlatives than that of -mademoiselle had been, it carried on it more of the stamp of sincerity. -Mrs. Effingham had a correct eye, and a taste for art, though she had -had little opportunity of cultivating it; and the pleasure and interest -with which she looked over the portfolio were gratifying to the haughty -Arabella. - -“And what may this beautiful book be?” inquired Clemence, laying her -hand upon a volume bound in pink and gold. - -“That is my album,” replied Louisa; “it is to be filled with original -poetry. I hope that you will write in it some day, Mrs. Effingham;” and -as Clemence smiled and shook her head, Louisa added, “You will at least -answer the three questions at the end of the book;” and she turned over -rapidly to the place where, at the head of three separate columns, were -written three sentences: WHAT IS HAPPINESS? WHAT IS MISERY? WHAT DO YOU -MUCH WISH FOR? - -Clemence glanced down the page with an amused eye, reading a most -heterogeneous collection of descriptions of the various pleasures and -pains of mankind. She needed not the initials at the end of each written -opinion to guess who had penned to the three questions the following -replies:— - - DISTINCTION; OBSCURITY; A NAME.—A. E. - A FANCY-BALL; SMALL-POX; AN OPERA-BOX.—L. E. - -“I must have you write, I am so curious to know what you think!” -exclaimed Louisa, dipping a pen in the bronze ink-stand which stood on -the table. - -Clemence had neither the affectation which requires urgent entreaties, -nor the vanity which refuses to do anything which it is not certain to -do well. She reflected for a few seconds, then under the questions—WHAT -IS HAPPINESS? WHAT IS MISERY? WHAT DO YOU MUCH WISH FOR? wrote,— - - UNISON; DISCORD; HARMONY. - -“I see little variety in unison and harmony,” said Arabella coldly; “it -is what papa would call a distinction without a difference.” - -“Does it seem so to you?” replied Mrs. Effingham. “I tried to condense -into three words the sentiment contained in the verse,— - - ‘Judge not thy differing brother, nor in aught - Condemn; his prayer and thine may rise above, - Though mingling not in _unison of thought_, - Yet blending in the harmony of love.’ - -We cannot have here below that perfect _unison_ in all things which will -form part of the happiness of heaven; but _harmony_, peace, concord may -exist even between those whose opinions and tastes are dissimilar; and -that,” she added, with a cordial smile, “is what I most ardently ‘wish -for.’” - -“Fire and water can never agree together,” muttered Arabella to herself, -in a tone too low to reach the ear of her step-mother, though Clemence -saw the expression on the proud girl’s face, which needed no words to -convey its meaning. Not choosing to take open notice of the look, Mrs. -Effingham turned to another part of the book, in which selections of -poetry were written in various hands. One brief piece arrested her eye -(it was written in the French language), and an unwonted shade of -displeasure passed over her countenance as she read it. - -“This is worse than levity,” observed Clemence very gravely; “how could -such lines have found entrance into your book?” And turning the leaf, -she marked the name “Antoinette Lafleur” at the end of the piece. - -“Oh! mademoiselle calls that a _jeu d’esprit!_ She thinks it remarkably -clever; but she did not compose it herself,” added Louisa quickly, for -she met Clemence’s glance of indignant surprise; “she copied it out of -this book; it is a book that she raves about.” - -“Have you ever read it?” inquired Mrs. Effingham. - -“Just parts of it. Mademoiselle only lent it to us last week; but she -says that it is the first book in the language.” - -“I have heard of it, though I have never perused it, never seen it -before,” said Clemence, retaining the volume in her grasp. She knew it -to be the work of a famous infidel writer, who so mingled wit with -blasphemy, that the brilliancy of his style, like the phosphorescent -light which sometimes gleams from corruption, gave strange attraction to -opinions repugnant alike to morality and religion. - -Clemence made no further observation to her step-daughters on the -subject while she remained in the school-room; but on quitting it she -descended at once, with the book in her hand, to Mr. Effingham’s study. -“This is no trifling matter,” she thought, “to be lightly passed over -and forgotten; this is no little personal concern which I should forbear -intruding on the attention of my husband. This unhappy woman may for -years have been undermining the principles of his daughters, and I -should wrong him were I to withhold from him the knowledge which I have -providentially obtained.” - -Mr. Effingham had not that morning gone, as was his wont, to his -banking-house in the city. Clemence found him in his study, and with a -few words to explain where and how she had discovered it, she placed the -poisonous work of the infidel author before him. - -Mr. Effingham had been a careless, although an affectionate father. With -his family, as with his household, he had been content to believe that -all was right, if he saw nothing very glaringly wrong. He had been -imbued deeply with the idea that making money was the main business of -man’s life; and the regulation of his establishment, the education of -his children, the training of immortal souls, he had quietly left to -others. He was, however, full of reverence for religion; he wished his -children to be brought up in the same, though his efforts to secure that -end had not gone far beyond the mere wish. He was as much startled at -the idea of infidel doctrines being instilled into the unsuspicious -minds of his young daughters, as if he had seen a serpent coiling beside -the pillow on which they were sleeping. He was more aware of the -perilous nature of the book than his wife could be, who had known it -only by report. Mr. Effingham’s usually placid nature was roused into -stern indignation. - -[Illustration: - - THE FRENCH BOOK.] - -“Never shall that woman set her foot across my threshold again!” he -exclaimed, striking his hand upon the volume. “I have never liked -her—never felt confidence in her; with her soft, cat-like manner, she -always gave me the impression of claws being concealed beneath the -velvet! Write to her at once, Clemence, and dismiss her; I will give you -a cheque to enclose. And send away that detestable book; the only fit -place for it is the back of the fire!” - -Clemence obeyed, and with a thankful heart. It seemed to her that by the -dismissal of Mademoiselle Lafleur, one of the heaviest obstructions in -her own path had been suddenly and unexpectedly removed. She had felt it -almost a hopeless endeavour to influence her step-daughters for good, -while her efforts were secretly, insidiously counteracted by one with -whom they were in daily familiar intercourse; yet without some definite -cause, some obvious reason, Clemence would have shrunk from dismissing -the governess chosen by Lady Selina, and favoured by her nieces. So bold -a step would be certain to raise such a storm! The imagination of the -youthful step-mother now rapidly built up for itself a bright castle in -the air, founded on the hope that mademoiselle’s place might be supplied -by some woman of high principles and sterling worth, who would go hand -in hand with herself in every plan for improvement. Clemence did not -blind her eyes to the fact that her own unpopularity would almost -assuredly be shared by any governess whom she might select; that Lady -Selina’s penetration would be certain to discover faults in an angel; -and that Arabella, if not Louisa also, would meet the stranger at first -with determined dislike. But at Clemence’s age hope is strong; and one -difficulty overcome seems an earnest that all others will be removed. -Young Vincent, too, was expected home the next day, and Clemence looked -forward with pleasure to a meeting with one in whom she saw the image of -his father. Her spirit felt lighter and more joyous than it had done -ever since her first cold reception in Belgrave Square. - -Mrs. Effingham despatched her letter to Mademoiselle Lafleur, after -showing it to her husband for his approval; but it was resolved, by his -advice, to say nothing on the subject to the family till the ordeal of -her grand entertainment should be over. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - THE DINNER PARTY. - - -It still wanted twenty minutes to the hour appointed in the cards of -invitation, but the toilet of Mrs. Effingham was already concluded, and -after a somewhat anxious examination into what her husband would have -termed “the machinery” of her establishment, now to be brought to its -first formidable test, she entered her superb drawing-room, there to -await her guests. The apartment was dimly lighted by a single pair of -candles at the further end; the crystal chandelier suspended from the -ceiling, the ormolu candelabra on the mantel-piece, had not yet been -kindled into sparkling constellations; but the arrangement of every -article of furniture was faultless, and the young mistress glanced -around her with a feeling of pleasure, not, perhaps, unmingled with a -little pride. - -“O Mrs. Effingham, I am so glad that you have come!” exclaimed Louisa, -advancing towards her with almost a dancing step, in a flutter of muslin -and lace. “Here is a little note which came for you about five minutes -ago; I dare say that it is an excuse from one of the guests.” - -Clemence broke the seal, and glanced over the contents. “You are right; -Dr. Howard has been suddenly summoned to see a patient in the country.” - -“Oh! then, dear Mrs. Effingham,” cried Louisa eagerly, laying her -white-gloved hand on the arm of her step-mother, “you know that some one -must fill his place; do—do let me go down to dinner!” - -“Arabella is the elder,” replied Clemence. - -“Arabella!” repeated Louisa, pettishly; “there is very little difference -between our ages, and I am the taller of the two; besides,” she added -more slowly, as if measuring her words as she spoke—“besides, after what -passed the day before yesterday, I should hardly have expected you to -favour Arabella.” - -“I should think it very wrong to favour either,” said Clemence gravely, -“and still more wrong to neglect either; for—” here she was suddenly -interrupted and startled by the sound of a loud knock at the door. - -“A guest already!” exclaimed Louisa, hurriedly attempting to pull on her -left-hand glove. - -“A guest already!” echoed Clemence, glancing uneasily at the unlighted -chandelier, and laying her hand on the bell-rope. - -In two minutes a loud voice was heard below in the hall. “Not see -me!—going to have company! Trash and nonsense, man! she’ll see me at any -hour, and in any company!” and a heavy, tramping step immediately -sounded on the stair, while Clemence exclaimed, with mingled pleasure, -surprise, and vexation, “Oh! can it be my dear Uncle Thistlewood?” and -hastening down the long room, she met him just as he flung the door wide -open. - -In a moment she was in his arms! The old sea-captain kissed his niece -heartily, again and again, each time making the room resound. Louisa, -extremely diverted, perhaps a little maliciously so, at what she -considered the inopportune appearance of one of Mrs. Effingham’s vulgar -relations, advanced towards the door to have a nearer view of the -meeting, and so came in for her share of it. - -“Ah! one of your daughters, Clemence?” cried her old uncle, and he -immediately bestowed on the astonished Louisa a fatherly salute. “Fine, -well-grown girl,” he continued in his loud, cheerful voice; “must make -you feel quite old, my darling, to have children as tall as yourself! -But let us have a little of the fire, for it’s blowing great guns -to-night, and I’ve had my feet half frozen off on the top of the -omnibus!” And marching up to the grate at the end of the room, the -captain spread out his coarse red hands to the warmth, after having -stirred the fire to a roaring blaze, and stamped on the rug to warm his -feet, leaving the impression of his boots on the velvet. “And now, let -me have a better look of your sweet face, blessings on it!” cried the -sea-man, turning towards Clemence, and taking hold of both her hands, -while he fixed on her a gaze of fond admiration. Very lovely, indeed, -looked Mrs. Effingham, with the flush of excitement on her cheek, and -the sparkle of affection in her eye. Captain Thistlewood was evidently -pleased with his survey, though he said,— - -“You seem to me a little older and thinner than when we parted, -May-blossom, and you looked just as well in your good russet gown as in -that dainty blue velvet with the sparklers; but you’ll do very well—do -very well! And now I dare say that you want to know what brought the old -man gadding here.” He threw himself into an arm-chair to converse more -at ease, perfectly regardless of the presence of the servants, now -engaged in illuminating the room. - -“You see, ever since you left us, Stoneby’s grown as dull as -ditch-water—all the life seems gone out of it. Parson’s always busy as -usual—too busy to have much time to give to a little social gossip; and -his wife’s sick, and keeps her room in the cold weather. There’s nothing -stirring in the village, or for ten miles round—the very windmill seems -to have gone to sleep; and the robins, to my mind, don’t chirp and sing -as they used to do. Susan has taken it into her silly head to marry, -like her mistress, and the new girl don’t suit me—breaks my crockery, -and over-roasts my mutton. The long and short of it is, that home is not -home without my May-blossom. I bore it as long as I could—lonely -evenings and all. At last says I to myself, ‘I’ll put up my bundle and -be off to London. I know there’s some one there will be glad to see the -old man; let him arrive when he may, he won’t be unwelcome!’” - -Clemence felt indignant with herself for not being able more fully and -cordially to respond to her uncle’s assurance. “The world must indeed -have already exercised its corrupting influence over me,” was her silent -reflection, “when I can experience anything but joy at the sound of that -dear familiar voice! But what will my husband say?” As the thought -crossed her mind, the door opened, and Mr. Effingham entered the room. - -A greater contrast could scarcely be imagined than that between the -tall, dignified, handsome gentleman, with his polished manner and -graceful address, and the short, square-built, jovial old captain, with -a face much of the shape and colouring, without the smoothness, of a -rosy-cheeked apple. Mr. Effingham was aware of the arrival of -Thistlewood—indeed, no one in the house, not afflicted with deafness, -was likely to be altogether ignorant of it; he was therefore quite -prepared for the meeting. To the unspeakable relief of Clemence, Mr. -Effingham cordially held out his hand to the sailor, who shook it as he -might have worked a pump handle, and then said in a kindly voice, “I am -glad to see you, captain; you must take up your quarters with us.” - -Thistlewood nodded in acquiescence, as one who felt an invitation to be -quite an unnecessary form; but Clemence’s expressive eyes were turned on -her husband with a look of gratitude, which told how much it was -appreciated by her. - -“We expect company this evening,” continued Mr. Effingham. - -“Ay, so the white-headed chap with the gold cable told me.” - -“It does not want a quarter of an hour to dinner-time,” said the -gentleman, taking out his watch. - -“Dinner-time! I should rather call it supper-time. Ha! ha! ha! I dined -before one, but my long journey has made me rather peckish. A beefsteak -wouldn’t come anyways amiss.” - -“You may like to make some little alteration in your dress,” observed -Mr. Effingham, glancing at the pea-jacket and muddy boots of his guest; -“my servant will show you your apartment.” - -The question of toilet was evidently one of supreme indifference to the -honest captain; a dress good enough to walk in seemed to him to be good -enough to eat in; but he made no difficulty about compliance. He was -just about to quit the room, when it was entered by Arabella. - -The young lady stared at the rough-looking stranger with an air of -haughty inquiry which would have abashed a sensitive man; but Captain -Thistlewood was as little troubled with shyness as with hypochondria—his -nerves were weather-proof, as well as his constitution—his perceptions -were blunt to ridicule or insult, if only directed against himself. - -“Ha! another fine daughter!” he exclaimed; “we must not meet as -strangers, my dear;” and he would have greeted Arabella in the same -paternal style as her sister, but for the backward step and the -indignant look, which might have beseemed an empress. - -“Who is this man?” she exclaimed. - -“Mrs. Effingham’s uncle and my friend,” was her father’s reply, uttered -in a tone which effectually repressed for the time any further -expression of Arabella’s scorn. - -The two girls retired to the back drawing-room to converse together, -Louisa full of mirth, Arabella of indignation; while Clemence, glad to -be a few minutes alone with her husband, laid her hand fondly on his -arm, and murmured, “How good you have been to me, Vincent!” - -“I could wish that your uncle had not arrived till to-morrow,” said Mr. -Effingham; “but I could not but treat with courtesy and kindness him -from whose hand I received my wife. Will there be room at the table?” - -“Yes; Dr. Howard has declined.” - -“To which lady would you introduce Captain Thistlewood?” - -“Let me consider,” said Clemence, thoughtfully; “who is most -good-natured and quiet? Uncle sometimes says such strange things.” - -“What say you to Miss Mildmay?” - -“She would show no rudeness at least, but—” here the conversation was -interrupted by the entrance of servants. - -When the little captain re-appeared in the drawing-room, radiant in blue -coat, buff waistcoat and brass buttons, most of the guests had arrived. -That semicircle of ladies had been formed which presents to the eye of a -hostess as formidable a front as the unbroken square of infantry, -bristling with steel, does to an opposing general. Mrs. Effingham was, -as yet, entirely unskilled in the art of mixing together the various -materials of society. With a shy, anxious air, she glided from one guest -to another to accomplish the necessary form of introduction,—to her a -serious undertaking, especially as some of her visitors were strangers -to her. Clemence tried to forget that the cold, criticizing eye of Lady -Selina was watching her every movement, and sought to remember only, -that even in the arrangement of a party she might please her husband, -and do credit to him. The entrance of Captain Thistlewood had -considerable effect in breaking the ice of formality which lies like a -crust upon London society, though in a manner that astonished the -guests, and embarrassed the master and mistress of the house. The jovial -sailor was as much at his ease in the polished circle as amidst -shipmates round a cuddy table; and his loud voice and merry laugh, as he -stood with his thumbs in his pockets, chatting with Louisa, created an -unusual sensation. - -“Who may that lively old gentleman be?” inquired Lord Vaughan of Lady -Selina. - -“One of Mrs. Effingham’s near relations,” was her distinctly audible -reply. - -Clemence hastened to introduce the captain to Miss Mildmay, in hopes -that that lady’s opposite qualities might serve as a kind of -compensation balance, to moderate her uncle’s boisterous mirth. Miss -Mildmay was a sallow lady on the shady side of forty, attired in a pale -sea-green silk, with long, lank sprays of artificial leaves drooping low -on each side of her head. She was a mild, inanimate sample of gentility, -whose very eyes seemed to have had the colour washed out of them, and -whose prim, pursed-up lips rarely unclosed to speak, and still more -rarely to smile. Miss Mildmay was one of the dead-weights of society, -and was, therefore, judiciously coupled with the little, noisy, bustling -captain, who, like some steam locomotive, would sturdily puff straight -on his way, regardless of obstacles, unconscious of observation, ready -to go over or through an obstruction, but never to turn aside for it, -let it be what it might. - -As Captain Thistlewood wanted nothing but a listener, he dashed bravely -along the railway of conversation, choosing, of course, his own -lines—now on country subjects, now on sea—turnips and tornadoes, calves -and Cape wines,—till, on dinner being announced, he gallantly handed -down his partner, and in his simplicity took his seat near the top of -the table, in order to be, as he said, “within hail of my niece.” - -Miss Mildmay languidly drew off her gloves; there was a pause of a few -minutes in the conversation, for Captain Thistlewood, bending forward, -was looking with curious eyes down the length of the table, decked out -in the magnificence of modern taste. He had never seen anything like it -before. - -“I say!” he burst out at length, “do you call this a dinner? Nothing on -the table but fruit, and flowers, and sweat-meats, that wouldn’t furnish -a meal for a sparrow!” - -The sailor’s exclamation overcame the gravity of several of those who -sat near him; even Miss Mildmay put up her feather-tipped fan to her -lips,—it is possible that it might be to conceal a smile. - -“But what’s that on the dish before us?” continued the captain, -surveying it with curious surprise. “Peaches in December! I never heard -of such a thing!” And determined to investigate the phenomenon more -closely, he suddenly plunged his fork into the nearest peach, and -carried it off to his plate. In a moment his knife had divided the -sugared cake into halves. “It’s all a sham!” he cried, pushing it from -him; “no more a peach than I am!”—and then, for the first time in the -experience of man, a little laugh was actually heard from Miss Mildmay, -in which Clemence herself, who had seen the proceeding, could not -refrain from joining. The captain laughed loudest of all, quite -unconscious that anything excited mirth except the “sham” of the -peaches. - -“I did not know, Clemence,” he cried, “that you would have been up to -such dodges!” and the exclamation set his end of the table in a roar. -Such a merry party had perhaps never before assembled round the mahogany -in Belgrave Square. - -Notwithstanding the prognostications of Lady Selina, nothing glaringly -wrong appeared in the arrangements of the banquet. Perhaps the sharp eye -of malice detected here and there some token of inexperience in the -mistress of the feast, but few were disposed to criticize harshly. Lord -Vaughan did not regret the absence of his French cook; and Colonel -Parsons and Sir William Page sat as contentedly on the same side of the -table, as if they had never occupied opposite benches in “The House.” -All would have proceeded in the most approved routine of formality and -regularity, but for the presence of the merry old captain, who cut his -jokes, and told his stories, and pledged his niece in a loud, jovial -tone, to the great amusement of the guests, but the embarrassment of -Mrs. Effingham. - -Arabella and Louisa awaited the ladies in the drawing-room, where they -were joined by Thistlewood and the other gentlemen. The stiff semicircle -was again dashingly broken by the brave old captain, who chatted merrily -with the laughing Louisa, proposed a country dance or a reel, and -engaged her as his partner. But nothing so informally lively as an -impromptu dance after dinner was to be thought of in Belgrave Square. -The grand piano, indeed, was opened; but it was that a succession of -ladies, after a due amount of declining and pressing, might give the -company the benefit of their music. - -Captain Thistlewood was extremely fond of music, and therefore at once -planted himself by the piano, beating time like a conductor. The concert -opened with a bravura song from Miss Praed, to which he listened with -much of the feeling which Johnson expressed when asked if a lady’s -performance were not wonderful: “Wonderful!—would it were _impossible_!” -Then followed a languid “_morceau_” from Miss Mildmay, which the -composer must have designed for a soporific; and then Arabella seated -herself before the instrument. Her forte was rapid execution; hers was a -hurry-skurry style of playing, hand over hand, the right suddenly -plunging into the bass, then the left unexpectedly flourishing away in -the treble—each seeming bent on invading the province of the other, and -causing as much noise there as possible. As the performer finished with -a crashing chord, the captain, who had been watching her fingers with -great diversion, clapped Arabella on the shoulder. “Well done, my lass!” -he exclaimed; “that’s what I should call a thunder-and-lightning piece, -stunning in both senses of the word! But still, for my part, I like a -little quiet tune;—did you ever hear your mother sing ‘Nelly Bly’?” - -Arabella looked daggers as she withdrew from the piano. To be so -treated, as if she were a child—she, an earl’s grand-daughter—before so -many guests, and by _him_, the vulgar little brother-in-law of an -apothecary; it was more than her proud spirit could endure! Mrs. -Effingham should pay dearly for the insult! - -Nothing further occurred to vary the monotony of the fashionable London -entertainment. The evening wore on, much after the usual style of such -evenings, till, one after another, the guests took leave of their young -bright hostess; and there was cloaking in the ante-room, and bustle in -the hall, and rolling of carriages from the door—till at length the -lights in the drawing-room were darkened, silence settled down even on -the servants’ hall, the grand entertainment was concluded, the laborious -trifle ended, and that which had cost so much thought and anxious care, -to say nothing of trouble and expense, passed quietly into the mass of -nothings, once important, which Memory, when she takes inventory of her -possessions, throws aside for ever as mere tarnished tinsel not worth -the preserving. - -“I am so glad that it is over!” thought Clemence. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - A STORMY MORNING. - - -Mr. Effingham was always an early riser. The next morning he was earlier -than usual, and had not only commenced his breakfast, but concluded it, -and gone off to his business eastward, before any of the ladies, except -his wife, had made their appearance in the breakfast-room. Want of -punctuality in her step-daughters was one of the evils which Clemence -longed, though in vain, to reform. Lady Selina’s example not only -excused it, but rendered it in a certain degree fashionable in the -family. “It is for slaves to be tied down to hours!” exclaimed Arabella, -on a gentle hint being once ventured by Clemence; “only dull mechanics, -whose time is their bread, count their minutes as they would count their -coppers!” - -Clemence was not, however, Mr. Effingham’s only companion at his early -meal. The jovial captain, full of merriment and good-humour, and -disposed to do full justice to the ham and an unlimited number of eggs, -performed his part at the table. His niece would have been extremely -diverted by his _naïve_ observations on the events of the previous -evening—observations which showed at once natural shrewdness and the -most absolute ignorance of fashionable life—had she not feared that his -boisterous heartiness of manner might be disagreeable to her husband. -Mr. Effingham was perfectly polite, but did not look disposed to be -amused. He appeared hardly to hear the jokes of the captain, and hurried -over his breakfast with a thoughtful, pre-occupied air. - -Clemence’s own mind was often wandering to the subject of Mademoiselle -Lafleur, and she contemplated with some uneasiness and fear the effect -which would be produced on her circle by the announcement of that lady’s -dismissal. She also felt anxious as to the footing on which her dear old -relative would stand in the proud family to which she had been united by -marriage. In him a new and very vulnerable point seemed presented to the -shafts of malice which were constantly levelled at herself. His very -simplicity and unconsciousness of insult made her doubly sensitive on -his account, and many a plan Clemence turned over in her mind for -guarding him from the well-bred rudeness which none knew better than -Lady Selina how to show to one whom she despised. Mrs. Effingham’s -reflections made her more silent and grave than had been her wont. “She -is not such a good talker as she used to be,” thought the old uncle; -“nor such a good listener neither, for the matter of that!” - -Captain Thistlewood found, however, both a ready talker and listener -when Louisa entered the room. The young lady, if the truth must be -confessed, regarded the merry old sailor as rather an acquisition to the -circle. He noticed her much, and Louisa would rather have been censured -than unnoticed; he amused her, and love of amusement was one of her -ruling passions. She could laugh _with_ him when he was present, and -_at_ him when he was absent. Louisa imagined herself a wit; and what so -needful to a wit as a butt! Her morning greeting to him was given with -an air of coquettish levity, which contrasted with Arabella’s sullen -silence, and Lady Selina’s frigid politeness. - -“And what did you think of our party, Captain Thistlewood?” inquired -Louisa, as the old sailor gallantly handed to her the cup of chocolate -which Clemence had prepared. - -“Well, it was good enough in its way, only too many kickshaws handed -about, and too many lackeys behind the table to whip off the plate from -before you, if you chanced to look round at a neighbour. I must say that -your London society is a stiff, formal sort of thing. It reminds one of -those swindling pieces of goods which tradesmen pass off on the -unwary—all _dress_, you see, just stiffened and smoothed to sell, and -not to wear. Only give the gentility a good hearty pull, and the powder -flies up in your face!” - -“I suppose that yesterday was the first time that he ever sat at a -gentleman’s table!” muttered Arabella inaudibly to herself; but the -thought expressed itself in her face. - -“If there’s any powder about that young lass it’s _gunpowder_!” thought -the captain; “we may look out for an explosion by-and-by—I see she’s -primed for a volley. But I’ll try a little conciliation for -May-blossom’s sake—hang out a flag of truce. No wonder that my poor -child looks grave and pale;—a pretty life she must have of it here, with -an iceberg on the one side and a volcano on the other!” All the more -determined to draw Arabella into conversation, from marking her haughty -reserve, Captain Thistlewood rested his knife and fork perpendicularly -on either side of his plate, and addressed her across the table. - -“We’re coming near to Christmas now. I like the merry old season, and I -shall be glad to see for once how Christmas is kept in London. I noticed -many a jolly dinner hanging up in the butchers’ and poulterers’ shops as -I passed along in the ’bus; quite a sight they are, those shops—turkeys -strung on long lines, as though they were so many larks; and huge joints -of beef, that, for their size, might have been cut from elephants! -Glorious they look in the flaring gas-light, decked out with whole -shrubberies of holly! Then the pretty little Christmas-trees, hung with -tapers and gim-cracks—they pleased me mightily too; for, thinks I, -there’ll be plenty of harmless fun, plenty of laughing young faces round -those trees, when the tapers are lighted! I love to see children happy, -and ’specially the children of the poor. Shall I tell you my notion of a -good Christmas-tree?” Arabella looked as though she did not care to hear -it, but the captain took it for granted that she did. “I’d have a tree -as big as the biggest of those yonder in the Square, and invite all the -ragged little urchins far and near to the lighting of the same. I’d have -it hung, not with sparkling thing-a-bobs, or sugar trash in funny -shapes, not even with sham peaches,” he added, laughing, “but with good -solid joints of meat for blossoms, and warm winter jackets for leaves; -and I’ll be bound that every child would think my tree the very finest -that he ever had seen in his life. Don’t you call that uniting the -ornamental with the useful?” - -“The idea shows so much elegance, so much refinement of taste,” replied -Arabella, with satirical emphasis, “that it will doubtless be instantly -carried out by Mrs. Effingham.” - -There was something in the tone in which the name was pronounced which -stung the old sailor as no personal rudeness to himself could have done. -As a single word will sometimes suffice to rouse a whole train of -associations, startle a host of ideas into life, the name “Mrs. -Effingham,” so pronounced by her step-daughter, conjured up before the -warm-hearted old man a picture coloured indeed, by fancy, but not -without an outline of truth. His sweet Clemence was not loved and valued -in her home; she, his darling, his heart’s delight, was looked down upon -by those who should have deemed it an honour to sun themselves in her -smile! Such was the suspicion which flashed out into words of sudden -indignation. - -“Mrs. Effingham! and pray who may she be? I see here my niece, your -father’s wife, your mother by marriage; but no one whom you or I can -either speak or think of as ‘Mrs. Effingham!’” - -The most insolent in temper are usually those who have least courage to -back their insolence. Those who delight in wounding the sensitive and -brow-beating the timid, when they find their weapon crossed by another, -when they become aware that their shafts may be returned on themselves, -often are the first to draw back from the contest so wantonly provoked. -Arabella was startled into a momentary confusion; and her opponent, who -carried “anger as the flint bears fire,” at once recovered his usual -temper. The captain was aware that he had given way to a burst that had -been scarcely called for by anything actually uttered; he had, perhaps, -been too ready to imagine an affront where no such thing was intended. - -“Forgive an old man’s vehemence,” he said frankly; “I got my ideas in -the last century, and they may by this time be quite old-fashioned. -There are many, I take it, who scarcely know what to call a step-mother -at first, especially one so young. For once I think that the French have -hit on a better title than our own. It must sound odd enough applied to -many; but here is a case where _belle-mère_ is quite appropriate,”—he -glanced fondly at his niece; then added, bowing gallantly to Louisa, -“and also the title of _belle-fille_.” - -The thunder-cloud only gathered blacker on the brow of Arabella, but -Louisa tittered and gaily replied, “I have often wondered why our French -neighbours should make such a spell of marriage—to turn connections on -both sides into beauties, brothers, old fathers, and all! I’ll ask -mademoiselle for the derivation of the term. By-the-by,” added Louisa, -addressing Clemence, “on what day does mademoiselle come back?” - -It was an unfortunate question at that moment. The flush which rose to -the cheek of Clemence, her little pause before she replied, fixed every -eye upon her. The young wife felt like one about to fire a train, when -she answered, “Mademoiselle is not coming back at all.” - -“Not coming back!” exclaimed both girls at once. “Not coming back!” -echoed Lady Selina, in accents of unfeigned surprise. Clemence knew that -some explanation was required, and she gave it, in a tone as firm as she -could command. “Mr. Effingham and I have, after due reflection, decided -on making a change. We have very sufficient reasons, and I trust—” - -But the train had been fired indeed, and before Clemence could finish -her sentence there was an unmistakable explosion! Not that the -governess had in reality attached to herself any one present, or that -her pupils actually looked upon her dismissal as a personal -misfortune; but a good handle was suddenly offered to the hand of -malice,—“the war of independence” had required its watchword and its -martyr, and the maligned, persecuted mademoiselle served at once for -both. Arabella’s smothered indignation could now creditably boil over -in wrath, and a torrent of invective burst forth, swelled by Louisa’s -passionate exclamations. But most formidable was the awful dignity -with which Lady Selina rose from her seat, adding her broken sentences -of calm indignation: “Strange, mysterious, incomprehensible -proceeding!”—“Personal insult to myself!”—“One who had selected that -lady on the highest recommendations, who for years had reposed the -utmost confidence in that lady, and who had ever found her more than -justify that trust, not to be consulted on a step so important!” The -very dress of Lady Selina seemed to rustle and tremble with offended -pride. How could the timid, sensitive Clemence stand her ground -against such an overwhelming avalanche of opposition? - -She had but one ally present, and her dread was lest he should come to -her aid. The veins on the captain’s forehead were growing very large and -his cheek very red; he glanced hurriedly, and almost fiercely, from one -assailant to the other, as a lion might when encompassed by the hounds, -only doubting in which quarter to make his spring. But none of the enemy -awaited the attack; Lady Selina and her nieces all quitted the -apartment, to excite each other to fiercer wrath against the household -tyrant, who had dared, by such an unwarrantable act of independence, to -bid defiance to the clique! - -“If ever I heard anything like this!” exclaimed Captain Thistlewood, -striking the table with vehemence; “the insolence, the audacity of these -young shrews!—the malice of that cantankerous old dame! You must be -protected from them, Clemence. I’ll after and tell them—” - -“O uncle, dear uncle, let them go!” exclaimed Clemence, holding the -captain’s arm to prevent his sudden exit from the room; “you cannot help -me, indeed you cannot; it will blow over, it will—” - -“Blow over!” thundered the veteran, trying to extricate himself from her -hold; “such a tornado may blow over indeed, but it will first blow you -out of your senses! I’m glad I came here—I’m heartily glad. I’ll not -have you exposed to this; I’ll—” - -“Uncle!” cried Clemence nervously, “any movement on your part would only -make matters a thousand times worse. For my sake be calm—be composed. -There is nothing from which I so shrink as quarrels and dissensions in -the house. Let us have peace—” - -“Peace!” exclaimed the indignant captain; “lay down our arms—strike our -flag to such viragoes as these! No; if your husband has not the spirit -to keep these termagants in order—” - -“If you would not make me miserable,” cried Clemence, “leave me and Mr. -Effingham to smooth and settle things by ourselves. You cannot imagine -the evil that might arise from the interference even of one so kind, and -good, and loving as yourself! Be persuaded, dear uncle, be persuaded; -take no notice of what has occurred.” - -It was with considerable difficulty that Clemence succeeded to a certain -degree in quieting the old man’s excitement. She persuaded him at length -to leave the house for a few hours, in order to visit some London -sights, knowing well that the sailor’s anger, though it might be warm, -was never enduring. It was with a sense of real relief that she heard -the hall door close behind him; and she earnestly hoped that he might -find so much amusement that he would not return until Mr. Effingham had -come back from his business in the city. - -[Illustration: - - CAPTAIN THISTLEWOOD. - Page 91.] - -Before Clemence had had breathing time in which to recover from the -excitement of the last painful scene, one of her footmen entered the -room, with two envelopes on a silver salver. As Mrs. Effingham -mechanically took them up, he informed her that Mrs. Ventner wished to -speak to her for a few minutes. - -The interview it is unnecessary to describe. From the first hour that -the housekeeper had discovered that she had not a mere puppet to deal -with, that her mistress could overlook accounts and detect inaccuracies, -from that hour she had made up her mind that the same house could not -hold them both. Mrs. Ventner had plundered enough from her master, -during Lady Selina’s careless reign, to make her, as she believed, -independent; and, knowing that her books would not bear the close -scrutiny which had probably been only postponed till the party should be -over, and perhaps alarmed by the tidings which had now spread through -the house that mademoiselle had been dismissed at a moment’s notice, she -resolved to avoid sharing the same fate by anticipating it, and gave her -young mistress warning. - -Clemence received the communication, to outward appearance, with great -composure, but her spirits were fluttered and her mind oppressed; and -when she had sought the quiet of her own room, she sat for some time in -an attitude of listless thought, before remembering to examine the -contents of the envelopes which she had carried unopened in her hand. - -Only bills—uninteresting bills; and yet not so uninteresting neither, or -there would not be that slight tremble in the fingers that grasp them, -or that faint line on the fair brow so smooth but a minute before. These -are the milliner’s and dressmaker’s bills; and the courage of Clemence -is failing her, as she glances down the long line, and sums up the -amount again and again, with ever-lessening hope that there may be some -error in the calculation. Clemence had no fixed allowance assigned her; -but her husband, soon after their marriage, had replenished her slender -purse with a sum so large, that it had appeared to her almost -inexhaustible. Clemence had a generous heart, and loved to give with a -liberal hand. She had expended money very freely upon others, before -becoming aware how much her personal expenses were now likely to exceed -the narrow limits within which they had hitherto been restrained. She -had, however, reserved what she had hoped would be sufficient to defray -the two bills now before her, the only ones yet unpaid. But the young -girl, brought up in rural seclusion and ignorance of the fashionable -world, had formed a most incorrect estimate of rich velvet dresses, and -mantillas trimmed with costly fur, handkerchiefs edged with the delicate -productions of Mechlin or Brussels—beautiful trifles, upon which luxury -lavishes her gold so freely, and which yet contribute so little to -actual enjoyment. Clemence had little more than sufficient money left to -clear her debt to the milliner; Madame La Voye’s heavy bill lay before -her, a weight upon her conscience as well as her spirits. - -“What will Vincent think—my noble, generous-hearted husband—when he -knows of my folly and selfish extravagance? Not three months married, -and already in debt, deeply in debt—in debt for the mere vanities of -dress! Oh! he never would have deemed his wife capable of acting so -unworthy a part. How shall I confess to him that his liberality has led -me into such extravagance—that his trusting love has met with such a -return! And he has been looking anxious and careworn of late; the -thought has even crossed my mind that business concerns may not be -prospering—that he may be uneasy as regards his affairs. Oh! if it -should be so, and if I—vain, weak, thoughtless—should have added, to his -cares instead of lightening them!” The idea was to Clemence almost -unbearable; bitter self-reproach added its keen pang to those of anxious -care and wounded feeling; and it was some time before she could calm her -agitated spirits, or look her difficulties fairly in the face. - -When Clemence quitted her apartment, she was suddenly met on the -staircase by young Vincent, who had reached home about an hour -previously, though, absorbed in her own painful reflections, she had not -noticed the sound of an arrival. A joyful exclamation of welcome was on -her lips, but her first glance at the face of the boy was sufficient to -check its utterance. Giving her a look, in which dislike, scorn, and -defiance were mingled, Vincent brushed past his step-mother without -saying a word. And this was the son whom her heart had learned already -to love—the son on whom she had built such hopes—in whose countenance -she had traced such a resemblance to his father—who bore his name, and, -as she trusted, would bear his character—the only member of her -husband’s family who had given her anything approaching to a welcome. -The disappointment came at a moment when the spirit of Clemence was -wounded by unkindness and depressed by self-reproach. This last drop of -bitterness made her cup overflow. She returned to her own room with a -hurried step, and throwing herself on her sofa, buried her face in her -hands, and gave way to a burst of tears. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - OPPOSITION SIDE. - - -“Well, Vincent, you have returned to a strange house; strange doings -have there been during your absence.” Such were the words with which -Arabella had greeted her young brother, when, on his first arrival, he -had burst into the drawing-room, with all the impatient joy of a boy -just emancipated from school. - -“You’ll hardly believe what has happened,” said Louisa. - -“Why, what’s the matter?” exclaimed Vincent, looking in surprise from -the one to the other. - -“We none of us can tell where we may find ourselves in another month,” -continued Louisa. “I foretell that I shall be finishing my education in -Jersey, and Arabella in the Isle of Man.” - -“What has happened?” cried Vincent impatiently; “anything in which our -pretty step-mother is concerned?” - -“_Pretty_ step-mother, indeed!” exclaimed Arabella. “She has begun to -change and overturn everything in the house. Nothing is free from her -meddling. She has turned off Mademoiselle Lafleur without so much as the -shadow of a reason.” - -“Turned off mademoiselle!” cried Vincent. “Well, I don’t break my heart -about that; but it was a bold stroke for a beginning.” - -“Then Mrs. Ventner.” - -“Mrs. Ventner!” echoed Vincent in amazement. “I should have as soon -expected to hear of her moving the Monument of London!” - -“It won’t end here,” said Lady Selina oracularly, pursing in her thin -lips, as if to restrain them from uttering some dread prognostication. - -“Is it really Mrs. Effingham who is turning everything topsy-turvy?” -cried the schoolboy; “why, she looked as gentle as a dove!” - -“A dove!—she’s a vulture,” said Louisa. - -“A vampire!” muttered her sister. - -“What I cannot bear,” observed Lady Selina, “is the art with which she -conceals her designs. Smooth above, false beneath—wearing a mask of such -perfect innocence, that she would take in any one who was unaccustomed -to the ways of the world. I confess,” she added, in a tone of -self-depreciation, “that I was deceived myself by her manner.” - -“Oh! if she’s artful, I shall hate her,” exclaimed Vincent; “I can’t -endure anything sly.” - -“And so hypocritical,” chimed in Louisa; “she would pass herself off for -such a saint. I believe that poor dear mademoiselle’s grand offence was -liking a French book that was a little witty—a book which Mrs. Effingham -unluckily hit upon when she came spying into our school-room in her -fawning, hypocritical manner.” - -“And to bring in such an ally to support her, before she dared let us -know what she had done.” - -“Yes,” said Lady Selina, “I am perfectly convinced—and I am one not -often mistaken—that the arrival of Captain Thistlewood was a -preconcerted arrangement.” - -“Captain Thistlewood—who may he be?” inquired Vincent. - -“Mrs. Effingham’s uncle,” replied Louisa. “The funniest old quiz—” - -“The most blustering savage—” - -“A low, vulgar fellow,” joined in Lady Selina; “one who thinks that he -may swagger in a gentleman’s house as if he were on the deck of a -whaler.” - -“And does papa suffer it?” exclaimed Vincent. - -“Mr. Effingham is infatuated, quite infatuated,” said the lady, -apparently addressing the fire and not any one present, and speaking so -low, that Vincent had to lean forward in order to catch her accents. “I -do not know why it should be—I do not pretend to guess, but he certainly -has not been like the same man ever since his second marriage.” - -“Papa has grown much graver,” observed Louisa. - -“And sadder,” joined in Arabella. - -Lady Selina only uttered an “Ah!” with a slight jerk of the head; but -what a world of meaning was condensed into the brief exclamation! -Compassion for the infatuated husband, contempt for the manœuvring wife, -sympathy with the persecuted children. It was the sigh of wisdom and -experience over what was wrong in the world in general, and in the -Effingham family in particular. - -It is no wonder that Vincent was not proof against the contagion of -prejudice, hatred, and malice, when entering the scene where they all -were rife. He threw himself, heart and soul, into the cause of the -insurgents, in the war of independence; and determined, with all the -vehemence of boyhood, to oppose his step-mother in everything, and not -to be daunted by the “swaggering bully,” whom she had so cunningly -brought to London to aid her in tyrannizing over his sisters, and -altering all the good old customs of the house. - -Clemence sat lonely and heavy-hearted in her own room, her eyelids -swollen with weeping. She felt so unwilling to face the family at the -approaching meal, that twice her hand was on the bell-rope, to summon a -servant to convey the message that, having a severe headache, she would -not come down to luncheon. The excuse would have been a true one, for -her temples throbbed painfully, and a weight seemed to press on her -brain; but a little reflection induced Clemence to change her intention. -When a trial is to be faced, the sooner and the more boldly that it is -faced the better; the nettle-leaves grasped by a firm hand are less -likely to sting than when touched by a timid and shrinking finger. There -would be moral cowardice in secluding herself from envious eyes and -bitter tongues, which would only serve to encourage malice. But -Clemence’s strongest incentive was consideration for her uncle, who -might return early, and who must not be left to face the enemy alone; so -she washed all trace of tears from her eyes, and descended at the -summons of the gong. Clemence was glad to find that Captain Thistlewood -was yet out on his exploring expedition. - -Lady Selina did not please to appear at table. Mrs. Effingham breathed -more freely in her absence. But the meal was a very uncomfortable one, -as must ever be the case where hatred and strife are guests at the -board. Hardly a word was spoken _to_ Clemence, but many were spoken _at_ -her; every effort which she made to commence conversation ended in -making her more painfully aware of her position in regard to her -husband’s children. Even her meek and quiet spirit might have been -roused to anger, had not the recollection of her debt, of the confession -of extravagance to be made to Mr. Effingham, rendered her too much -dissatisfied with herself to be easily stirred up to indignation against -others. - -Clemence would willingly have taken an airing in her carriage during the -brief hours of the winter’s afternoon—the rapid motion, the freedom from -vexatious interruptions, would have been welcome to her harassed mind; -but Lady Selina was certain to require a drive, and, as usual, it was -yielded up to her by Mrs. Effingham, rather as a matter of right than of -courtesy. Clemence contented herself with a rapid, solitary walk in the -square. - -The air was intensely cold, but its freshness braced and invigorated her -spirits, and helped to restore them to their wonted healthy tone. The -dark clouds which flitted across the sky, the leafless trees whose dark -branches waved in the gale, in their very wintry dreariness spoke to the -young heart of hope. Those clouds would soon be succeeded by sunshine. -Spring would clothe those bare boughs with beauty, the piercing blast -would change to the soft zephyr beneath the genial influence of a milder -season! And were not bright days in store for herself! Clemence -struggled to throw off her depression, made earnest resolutions, -breathed silent prayers, and determined not yet to despair even of -conquering hatred by the power of gentleness, and prejudice by the -strength of patience. - -“There goes one of Fortune’s favourites!” remarked Lady Praed to her -daughter, as, driving through Belgrave Square, she recognized Mrs. -Effingham; “young, lovely, rich, with good health, good establishment, -good position—she has everything that the world can give. I should think -that Mrs. Effingham must be one of the happiest beings to be found on -the face of the earth!” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER X - - SOCIAL CONVERSE. - - -“You cannot, dearest, blame my folly, or wonder at my extravagance, more -than I do myself,” were the concluding words of Clemence, as, with the -timidity of a child acknowledging a fault, she laid on the desk before -her husband the heavy bill of Madame La Voye. - -Mr. Effingham opened it in silence. If his young wife had ventured to -raise her downcast eyes to his face, she would have viewed there, not -anger, not sorrow, but a peculiar and unpleasing expression which -flitted across it for a moment, as a bat wheels suddenly between us and -the twilight sky, visible for a space so brief that we can hardly say -that we have seen it. As it was, Clemence only heard the words of her -husband, as he folded the paper, and placed it in his desk, “Fifty -pounds more or less—what matters it! you may leave this for me to -settle.” - -Not one syllable of reproach, not even a hint of displeasure! What -intense gratitude glowed in the heart of Clemence, deepening, if -possible, the fervour of her love for the most noble, the most generous -of men! But when she attempted to express something of what she felt, -Mr. Effingham suddenly changed the subject; it appeared to be irksome, -almost irritating to him to receive the grateful thanks of his wife. - -The evening closed far more joyously to Clemence than the morning had -begun. Her husband’s presence, as usual, sufficiently protected her from -insolence on the part of his family. A pert reply from Vincent to a -question asked by his step-mother, drew upon him such a stern reproof -from Mr. Effingham, that the boy was for the time effectually silenced. -Captain Thistlewood had walked off all his fierce indignation, and -finding that the domestic tempest had subsided into an apparent calm, he -made no attempt to stir up the sleeping elements of discord, but, on the -contrary, exerted himself to spread around him the atmosphere of -good-humour in which he himself habitually lived. His flow of -conversation was almost incessant. Having on that day ascended to the -ball of St. Paul’s, and explored the depths of the Thames Tunnel, he was -equally primed, as he termed it, for the highest or the deepest -subjects. He had been wandering over a great part of London, from the -stately squares of the West End to the crowded thoroughfares of the -East; he had seen skating on the Serpentine, horses sliding and -struggling up Holborn Hill, and described all with the same minuteness -and zest with which he might have portrayed peculiarities in the manners -and customs of some island of our antipodes. - -“This merry old sailor must be as deceitful as Mrs. Effingham herself,” -thought Vincent. “If I had not heard that he was a bully and a savage, I -should have thought him an uncommonly jolly old chap!” - -“I took an omnibus back,” said Captain Thistlewood; “for what with the -‘getting up stairs’ at St. Paul’s, and the walking about for hours in -the streets, I found myself tolerably well tired. That reminds me,” he -turned towards Vincent,—“that reminds me of the riddle, ‘What is always -tired, yet always goes on?’ Will you guess it? Bad hand at riddles—eh? -It is a _wheel_, to be sure; so that brings me back to my omnibus. - -“We were a pretty full party in it, now one dropping in, then another -out,—men of business from the city, clerks from the bank; one I noticed -with a broad-brimmed hat, another with a smart new tile, cocked -roguishly on the side of the head. They talk” (here he addressed himself -to Louisa) “of telling the character of a man by the bumps on his head: -I think that one might tell something by the style of his hat; he has a -choice in one thing, and not in the other. Well, presently the man who -stands on the door-step puts his head into the conveyance. ‘Gentlemen -and ladies,’ says he, ‘have a care of your purses; there’s two of the -swell-mob in the ’bus.’ So, as you may imagine, we gen’lmen and ladies -(the ladies consisting of one good fat old dame opposite me, with a -well-stuffed bag on her arm, or rather on her knee) looked awkwardly -round on our companions, half smiling, as if to say, ‘Which of us are -the thieves?’ I thought that the fat dame opposite kept rather a -suspicious eye upon me, and held her hand tight over the opening of her -big bag, afraid that some one should feloniously make off with her -sandwiches or sausages. Presently the man with the new hat, dashing -neck-tie, sparkling pin, and diamond studs to match, puts his hand into -his pocket: ‘I’ve a large sum about me,’ he mutters half to himself, -half as if apologizing to us for depriving us of the pleasure of his -society, and out he pops with all convenient speed. Then he in the -broad-brim gives signs of following; he was at the very inner end of the -omnibus, and had to push past us all to get out. ‘I’ve a thousand pounds -on my person,’ says he, and so gets down, off, and away! I could not -help saying to my old lady, ‘There are more purses than two the safer -for the discretion of these good gentleman: depend on’t, we’ve now -nothing more to fear from the two dangerous members of the swell -society!’” - -“’Tis conscience that makes cowards of us all,” observed Mr. Effingham -with a smile. - -“It reminds me,” said Clemence, “of an Eastern tale of a merchant, who, -having been robbed of a large quantity of cotton, and entertaining -suspicions of the honesty of several of his acquaintance, invited all -whom he doubted to a social meal. In the midst of his entertainment he -suddenly exclaimed, with affected indignation, ‘Why, what audacious -rogues are these, to steal my cotton, and then every one come to my -house with a bit of it sticking to his beard!’ In a moment several hands -were raised, each thief laid hold of his own beard, and the merchant, by -this involuntary confession, was enabled to single out those who had -robbed him.” - -“We leave all that sort of work to the detective police,” observed Lady -Selina. - -“Yes, in old England,” replied Captain Thistlewood; “it is a different -matter in some other countries that I have heard of, where the -constables and the highwaymen form a kind of joint-stock company,—the -robbers the active managers, the police the _sleeping partners_—ha! ha! -ha! What was the book, Clemence, in which we read that good story of the -Englishman in Rome?” The eyes of Vincent brightened at the idea of a -story; he unconsciously edged his chair nearer to that of the captain. - -“I do not recollect the story,” replied Clemence; “let us by all means -have it.” - -“An Englishman was on a visit to the city of Rome, and he had been told -that bandits were plentiful there as blackberries, and that a man there -thought as little of cutting a throat as he would in France of cutting a -caper, or a joke in the Emerald Isle. John Bull had, therefore, been -advised by no means to take his constitutionals after the sun had set. - -“Our friend, however, once received an invitation to an evening party, -which he had a mind to accept; and, thinks he, ‘A stout heart and a good -crab-tree cudgel will make me a match for any brigand that breathes!’ So -he went to his party, took a cheerful glass (maybe did not confine -himself to one), and then set out in the darkness to return to his -lodging in Rome. Now, our Englishman was a bold fellow, but that night -he could not help thinking a little of what he had heard of stilettoes, -and stabbing, and all that sort of thing. Suddenly a man coming in an -opposite direction knocked right up against him, and then hurried on -with rapid step. Our friend clapped his hand on his watch-pocket—never a -watch was there!” - -“The man must have robbed him!” exclaimed Vincent. - -“So thought our Englishman, and he was not one to part with his property -lightly. Turning round sharp, he rushed after the fellow, overtook him, -seized him by the throat, shouted, ‘Oriuolo!—watch!’ in the best Italian -that he could muster, and was well rewarded when a watch was thrust into -his hand by the half-throttled, gasping Roman!” - -“The robber had caught a Tartar!” exclaimed Vincent. - -“The Englishman went home in triumph. He could not help boasting a -little of his exploit when he and his family met round the -breakfast-table. ‘Well, it is odd enough,’ said his sister, ‘but I could -have been sure that I saw your watch hanging up in your room last -evening after you had gone to your party.’ The Englishman stared for a -moment, clapped his hand to his forehead to catch the thought which -suddenly darted across it, pulled out from his pocket the watch which he -had taken from the Italian—and lo! it was no more his than the clock at -the Horse-Guards! He recollected that he had left his own watch at home, -as a measure of precaution. So, instead of having been attacked, as he -had imagined, by a brigand, he had played the brigand himself, and had -actually robbed a poor fellow of his property, under the idea of -recovering his own!” - -Vincent could not help laughing. “It is the first time,” he exclaimed, -“that an English gentleman ever acted as a thief!” - -“I wish that I could say as much, my boy,” observed Captain Thistlewood, -slowly sipping his glass of port. “I’m sorry to say that I’ve met with -pickpockets, even in the higher ranks of life, quite as dangerous as the -gentlemen of the swell-mob in my omnibus. I’ve known a man, and one who -drove his cabriolet too, go to a shop and order goods to the amount of -hundreds of pounds, aware all the time that he had as little chance of -paying for them as of discharging the national debt. I’ve met with -another, looked upon as a man of honour, who built up a grand -establishment upon the fortunes and credulity of others, who ate his -turtle, and drank his claret,—ay, and asked his friends to share in the -feast,—knowing all the time that he was spending the money of those who -had confided their all to his care. Such men are, in my eyes, -pickpockets—heartless pickpockets—for they not only violate honesty, but -abuse a trust, and add hypocrisy to theft!” - -“Let us adjourn to the drawing-room,” said Mr. Effingham abruptly, -pushing back his chair from the table. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - POLICY AND POLITENESS. - - -“I heard there was glorious skating on the Serpentine yesterday!” cried -Vincent. “I’ll be off there this fine morning, and see the fun!” - -“I’ll go with you,” said Louisa; “I’m sick to death of both books and -work. Belgrave Square is as dull as a city of the dead; I want to go -where a little life is stirring!” - -“Pray, on no account venture on the ice,” cried Clemence; “the weather -is so much milder to-day, that I feel sure that there must be a thaw.” - -“I suppose,” said Louisa very pertly, “that I may use my own judgment in -the matter. I happen to possess a little common sense, and have not the -slightest wish to be drowned.” - -“I am sure that you are greatly indebted to Mrs. Effingham for her -tender anxiety on your account,” said Lady Selina very ironically, -glancing up from the last number of _Punch_. - -“That old mischief-maker!” thought Captain Thistlewood; “we should all -get on well enough but for her! What a blessing it would be to Clemence -if the proud dame could once be got out of the house.—Well, young folk!” -he said aloud, “if you want some one to see that you don’t make ducks -and drakes of yourselves, I’m your man; I’ll go to the park with you -myself!” - -“We don’t want your company,” said the schoolboy rudely; “I can take -care of my sister.” - -“A footman will follow us,” added Louisa superciliously; “I may meet -friends in the park, and it would cause too great a sensation amongst -them if I were to be seen escorted by Captain Thistlewood!” and so -saying, with a mock reverence she quitted the room, and was followed by -Vincent whistling. - -The old sailor did not appear to understand the implied satire, or to be -aware that an earl’s granddaughter could possibly be ashamed to be seen -with an unfashionable companion. But if his simplicity warded the insult -from himself, it glanced off from him to wound the more sensitive spirit -of his niece. - -“You will escort me, dear uncle,” said Clemence; “it will be such a -pleasure to walk with you again!” - -“Presently, my dear,” replied the captain, seating himself on the sofa, -of which the greater part was occupied by the stiff silk flounces of -Lady Selina. - -“I will put on my bonnet—” - -“Do not hurry yourself,” was the sailor’s quiet reply. The truth is, -that he had resolved upon having a _tête-à-tête_ with Clemence’s arch -tormentor, and was revolving in his honest mind how best to make it -clear to her apprehension, without showing discourtesy to a lady, that -as two suns cannot shine in one sphere, no more can two mistresses bear -rule in one dwelling. Captain Thistlewood had sufficient observation to -perceive that Lady Selina’s influence lay at the root of all the -bitterness and unkindness which Clemence was called on to endure, and he -considered that it would be a master-stroke of diplomacy, could he -induce the grand lady voluntarily to resign a position which he could -not think that she had any right to hold in the house of his niece. - -Lady Selina was also meditating, though her eyes appeared to be riveted -upon _Punch_. She was pondering how Mrs. Effingham’s new and strange -ally, formidable from the straightforward vehemence of his manner, and -his invulnerability to personal insult, could best be coaxed, since he -could not be chased from the field. These were strange opponents left to -face each other alone,—Simplicity _versus_ Art—the warm-hearted, honest -old sailor, _versus_ the cold, calculating woman of the world! - -Lady Selina was the first to commence the conversation. She laid her -paper down upon the cushion beside her, and turning towards her auditor, -observed with an air of affected indifference, as if merely fulfilling -an office of common courtesy to a guest, “You must greatly miss, Captain -Thistlewood, the delightful serenity of the country. I dare say that, -after a life spent in charming seclusion, you find London a sad, noisy, -bustling place.” - -“I like it—I like it,” replied the old sailor good-humouredly; “there -was never anything of the hermit about me. I was knocked about the world -for many a long year, and rather like to live in a bustle, and see -plenty of my fellow-creatures about me. No babbling stream pleases my -old eyes so much as the stream of people down Oxford Street.” - -Lady Selina was instantly upon another tack. “I perfectly agree with -you,” she said; “and I must own” (here she lowered her voice -confidentially) “that Belgrave Square is a great deal too dull and out -of the way for my taste.” - -“Is it?” cried the captain eagerly. - -“So far from the best shops, all the exhibitions—from everything, in -short, that gives its charm to the great metropolis.” - -“So it is—the dullest spot in all London,” was the hearty rejoinder. -“She’s really preparing for a removal,” thought the exulting captain. - -“Now, there are a great many excellent lodgings a great deal nearer to -the centre of the city—reasonable, too,” pursued Lady Selina, imagining -that her fish was approaching the bait, and that, by a little delicate -management, she could land him in some convenient spot well removed from -the Effingham mansion. “I should say, now, that Bloomsbury Square is a -very centrical situation.” - -“I’ve no doubt of it—no doubt of it at all!” cried the captain, who had -not the faintest idea of the locality, but caught something rural in the -sound of the name. - -“And you see, Captain Thistlewood,” continued Lady Selina, feeling her -line with dexterity and caution,—“you see that there is a freedom to be -enjoyed in a life of independence, which must necessarily be resigned by -any one forming a member of a large establishment. One is not tied down -to hours—one can indulge little fancies and tastes without encroaching -upon the comfort of others.” She paused and glanced at her auditor, to -see whether she might venture on a little stronger pull. - -The face of the captain was becoming quite radiant. “You feel and think -exactly as I do, ma’am,” he exclaimed. - -“It must be so painful to a refined mind,” pursued the lady, “to -contemplate the possibility of being a little in the way of causing any -inconvenience,—any disturbance of arrangements,—any—” - -“Any bickerings in the family, you would say,” eagerly joined in the -captain; “yes, yes, you express my very thoughts. It does not do to have -many wills in one house,—one pulling this way, another that. It is far -better to meet now and then as good friends, than to live under one roof -with perpetual jarring.” - -“Then, perhaps, you perceive the advisability of soon looking out—” - -“Looking out for lodgings?” interrupted the old gentleman. “I’ll do so -with the greatest pleasure in life! I’m quite at your ladyship’s -service. I’ll hunt half London over, but I will get a place to suit -you!” - -“To suit _me_!” exclaimed the astonished lady. As the words were upon -her lips Clemence re-entered the room, and her uncle, too full of his -success to keep it to himself, cried out as he got up to meet her, “Had -we not better put off our walk, Clemence? I’m going off at once to look -for lodgings for Lady Selina in Bloomsbury Square.” - -Clemence’s blue eyes opened wide in astonishment; she turned them -inquiringly towards Lady Selina, who rose from her seat with the dignity -of which even surprise and anger could not deprive her. “There are some -people,” she said bitterly, “who mistake impertinence for wit, and pride -themselves on their talent for raising a laugh, even if it be at their -own expense. Captain Thistlewood is an adept in the art; but he may -learn that under my brother-in-law’s roof such jesting may be carried -too far;” and she swept out of the room without vouchsafing a single -word of explanation to the wondering Clemence. - -The captain remained perfectly silent until the rustle of the lady’s -silk was heard no more on the staircase, and then burst into a loud fit -of uncontrollable mirth. “A regular Irish blunder!” he exclaimed, as -soon as he could command his voice; “Politeness and Policy bowing each -other so ceremoniously out of the house, that they knocked their heads -together at the door!” and he laughed and chuckled over his own mistake, -and that of the astute Lady Selina, long after he and Clemence had -quitted Belgrave Square on their way to the scene of the skating. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - A PLUNGE. - - -The park presented a gay and animated appearance. Crowds of pedestrians -were sauntering to and fro on the shores of the Serpentine to watch the -rapid and graceful evolutions of the skaters. Rings of spectators were -formed on the ice itself around the most practised proficients; while -without these exclusive circles little ragged urchins, some without -jackets, some minus hats or caps, amused themselves by gliding along -extensive slides—their cheeks glowing with the exercise, their faces -looking as full of enjoyment as that of the most aristocratic skater who -cut the figure S on the ice. - -Clemence and her companion were much amused by the scene, though the -lady did not fail to remark in how many spots the warning post, marked -“Dangerous,” had been inserted, and to notice that the circles of -spectators on the Serpentine were beginning to be rapidly thinned, while -a very large majority of persons preferred _terra firma_ to the ice. The -wind had shifted to the west, the air had become sensibly milder, the -icicles which had hung from the trees were dripping to the earth like -tears, and the round, red sun, glowing like a fiery ball in the sky, was -making his influence to be felt. - -It was some time before Clemence discovered those for whom her eye was -seeking amongst the crowds. She saw them at last on the frozen -Serpentine, walking together, their young countenances rosy with the -cold. Vincent was laughing and talking to his sister, imitating the -awkward movements of some skater whom he had seen making his _debût_ on -the ice, when he caught the eye of his step-mother, towards whom he -happened at the time to be approaching. - -“I say, Loo, there’s that woman and her tame bear come to hunt after us, -as if we could not be safe unless tied to her apron-strings! I vote we -turn round sharp and cut them!” - -“I think that I see some of my friends at the other side of the -Serpentine,” said Louisa; “I wish that we could get across to them,—but -only—did you not fancy that the ice just now gave a crack!” and she -grasped the boy’s arm in a little alarm. - -“Oh, nonsense!” exclaimed Vincent; “the ice is as hard as a rock!” - -A loud, clear halloo came ringing to them across the ice. - -“I say, I won’t stand that; I am not accustomed to be hallooed to, as if -I were a cab-driver on a stand—” - -“Or a dog,” suggested Louisa: “just look how the vulgar old man is -making signs to us to come off the ice.” - -“He may shout himself hoarse, and flourish away till his arms ache,” -said Vincent, “we’ll stop here as long as we choose. Just come along -this way, Louisa.” - -Again, as the young Effinghams turned their steps towards the further -shore of the Serpentine, again came that loud, warning halloo. It was -not unheard, but it was unheeded. Then Louisa stopped short, trembling -violently—there was a sudden crash—shriek—splash—and on the spot where -Clemence had a moment before beheld the two well-known forms on the -surface, with horror she could distinguish nothing but a black pool of -water, with an ill-defined margin of broken, jagged ice around it! - -Her cry of anguish mingled with the short, stifled scream of the -miserable Louisa. Captain Thistlewood uttered no exclamation; before his -niece could realize what was passing beside her, he had flung his -great-coat at her feet, and, with the instinct of generous humanity, was -darting across the ice to the place where the Effinghams had -disappeared! He reached it while the air-bubbles were yet floating on -the surface of the fatal pool, and plunged in without an instant’s -hesitation. Clemence’s cries for help were bringing speedy assistance, -but they seemed to be unconsciously uttered. Almost petrified with -terror, she stood on the shore, watching with straining eyes and -blanched cheek that dark spot fraught with such fearful interest. - -There is a hand grasping the ice!—yes!—no! the brittle substance has -broken under the drowning grasp—yet there it is again! and now—oh, thank -Heaven! a dripping head emerges!—then another!—a boy, supported by a -strong arm, his hair hanging in wet strands over his face, is clinging, -scrambling, on to the surface of the ice! Clemence stretches out her -arms, and, impelled by an irresistible impulse, springs forward several -paces on the frozen Serpentine, but is stayed by the firm grasp of one -of the spectators. - -“He has dived again!—fine fellow! he is saving the lady!” cried many -voices. “Where are the officers of the Humane Society? Ah, here they -come! here they come! God speed them!” and, with a rumbling, rushing -sound, the machine on skates, invented by ingenious humanity to rescue -the drowning from death, is pushed rapidly on to the spot, and plunged -into the dark hole on whose brink, in an agony of apprehension, now -stands the shivering, gasping, dripping Vincent. - -Moments appear hours to Clemence—all power of uttering a sound is -gone—the voices around her seem rather as if heard in the confusion of a -horrible dream, than as if actually striking upon her waking sense. Oh, -that it were but a dream! - -“They can’t find ’em!—they must have floated under the ice,—got -entangled in the weeds!—’twill be too late—too late to save them!” Then -suddenly a loud, glad cheer burst from the excited spectators, as a -senseless form, with its wet garments clinging closely around it, and -long, clotted tresses streaming unconfined by the crushed and dripping -bonnet, was lifted triumphantly out of the water. - -“She’s saved! she’s saved!” shouted a hundred voices; “but the brave -fellow!—the gallant old man!—they’ll never recover him alive!” - -Clemence remained as if rooted to the spot, her lips parted, her hands -clasped, her soul gushing forth in one inarticulate prayer. Louisa was -carried to the society’s receiving-house, a large crowd accompanying her -to the door; but Clemence was not in the crowd. Vincent, likewise, would -not stir from the spot while the officers were redoubling their efforts -to find the body of the captain. Wringing his hands, the boy, with -passionate entreaties, promises, even tears, sought to stimulate the -exertions of any one and every one who could lend a hand to rescue his -brave preserver! After a space—a space, alas! how fearfully long—the ice -having been broken in various directions, and the drag let down again -and again, a heavy body was raised to the surface. There was not the -faintest sign of life in it, though the cold hand yet firmly grasped a -fragment of a black lace veil, such as Louisa had worn on that fatal -morning! Clemence read no hope on the faces of the experienced men who -lifted the body on the ice; but in that terrible moment she neither -trembled nor wept. Grasping eagerly at the last chance of restoring life -to the inanimate frame, struggling to keep down the feeling of despair -which was wrestling in her heart, she hastened with the bearers of the -body to the receiving-house, which was not far distant. Clemence was met -on the way by her own servant, the one who had followed Vincent and his -sister to the park. - -“Miss Louisa has been brought back to life, ma’am,” said the man -eagerly; but even such good tidings fell dulled on the ear of Clemence -Effingham,—it seemed as if at that moment she could think of no one but -her uncle. - -“Take her and your young master home at once,” was all that she could -say, as she hurried on, absorbed in anxiety so agonizing that the peril -of Louisa was half forgotten. - -The servant touched his hat, and proceeded to obey; but nothing would -induce Vincent to return to his home while the fate of his preserver -hung in the balance. Louisa was conveyed to Belgrave Square in a cab; -but wet and half frozen as he was, the boy clung to the side of his -step-mother. - -“They will restore him!—the warmth will restore him!—he will—oh! he -must!—he shall recover!” cried Vincent in an agony of grief. - -“Every means will be tried,” said Clemence faintly; “we, Vincent,—we can -do nothing now but pray!” - -Every means was indeed tried, every resource of science was exhausted, -but the vital spark had fled, and all was in vain! The pulse had -entirely ceased to beat,—not the faintest breath stirred the lungs—the -brave heart was stilled for ever! The death of the gallant old sailor -had been a fitting close for a life of active benevolence. Death had -come to him suddenly, but it had found him not unprepared; it had found -him in the path of duty; it had found him pressing onward toward heaven, -with his pilgrim staff in his hand—faith, hope, and charity in his -heart. He was taken away before the infirmities of age had dulled his -senses, bowed his frame, or chilled the warm affections of his heart; -and he was taken away in the very act of risking his life to save that -of a fellow-creature! Is there nothing enviable in such a departure? - -Dark, heavy clouds had blotted out the sun from the sky, when Clemence -returned with Vincent to her home, a lifeless corpse in the vehicle -beside her. Her own calmness appeared strange to herself, but it was the -stunning effect of a terrible shock, which for a while had almost -paralyzed feeling. She was met in the hall by Arabella, who looked pale, -and whose manner betrayed considerable excitement. - -“Louisa is very ill,—goes from one faint into another,—Aunt Selina has -sent for Dr. Howard!” - -But not one word of sympathy to the bereaved Clemence—not one word of -regret for the brave old man! Arabella averted her eyes almost with a -shudder as the body was borne into the house. Clemence and Vincent saw -it reverently placed on the bed in the room which the captain had -occupied on the preceding night, and then, when the servants had quitted -the apartment, both sank on their knees beside it and wept. - -Clemence’s burst of sorrow was violent, but brief; she folded her -step-son in her arms, drew him close and closer to her heart, and it was -like balm to her bleeding spirit to feel the boy’s tears on her neck. - -“Oh!” cried Vincent passionately, “if I had not treated him so ill!—if I -had not laughed at him, mocked him, insulted him! And he will never know -how sorry I am! But he did not die saving me! no, no,—his life was not -lost for me!” the boy’s voice was choked in his sobs. - -“My Vincent—it was God’s will—we must not murmur! We must think on the -happiness which we trust one day to share with him who has gone before -us. My care must now be for you—_he_ is beyond our aid! You must have -rest, and warmth, and dry clothes instantly, my Vincent; your hands are -cold as ice, your very lips colourless and white,—come with me at once -to your own room—your comfort must be my first thought now.” - -And then, with the tenderness of a mother, Clemence tended her boy. She -insisted on Vincent’s at once retiring to rest, prepared a warm beverage -to restore circulation to his chilled and shivering frame, chafed his -numbed hands within her own, and spoke to him soothing words of -tenderness and love. Clemence left him at last dropping into slumber, -and then bent her rapid steps towards the apartment of Louisa, about -whom she had felt less anxiety, as knowing her to be under the care of -her sister and aunt. - -Mrs. Effingham met Dr. Howard quitting the room, accompanied by Lady -Selina. The countenance of the physician was grave. - -“The shock to so delicate a constitution has been very severe,” he said -in reply to a question from Clemence; “an increase of fever is to be -apprehended. I should certainly recommend that some one should sit up -with Miss Effingham during the night.” - -“I will watch beside her,” said Clemence. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - THE CHAMBER OF SICKNESS. - - -Fiercely raged the wind through that night; angrily it shook the -casements, howled in the chimneys, dashed the winter-shower against the -panes! One pale watcher sat listening to the storm beside the couch on -which lay stretched a restless, fevered form: Clemence held her vigils -in the chamber of sickness. Weary and exhausted though she was, sleep -would have fled her eyelids on that night, even had she had no reason -for watching. The events of the preceding day had been to Clemence as a -terrible vision, and she was thankful for some hours of solitude and -comparative stillness in which to collect her thoughts, calm her -agitated mind, and cast the burden of her grief at the feet of her -Master. The faintest sound from the restless invalid brought Clemence to -her side, moving with noiseless step, like a ministering spirit, to -bathe the fevered brow, administer the cooling draught, smooth the -pillow of the suffering Louisa. During the intervals between such gentle -services the step-mother sat quietly at a little table, where the -dim-burning taper threw its faint light on the leaves of her Bible. -Clemence read little—her mind during that night had scarcely power to -follow any consecutive train of thought; but every now and then her eye -rested on the page, and her soul drew richer comfort from a single -verse, pondered over, dwelt upon, turned into prayer, than to a careless -reader the whole of the sacred volume might have afforded. Clemence -thought much upon her uncle; and even in these first hours of -bereavement her meditation on him was sweet. For him she could no longer -pray, but she could praise! She thought on Vincent also—of the warm gush -of generous emotion which had broken through the ice of reserve. Fondly -Clemence thought on the boy, and every thought linked itself with a -fervent petition for him to the throne of mercy. Nor was the sufferer -beside her forgotten. As Clemence gazed on the poor girl’s pallid face, -and heard her restless moans, no feeling towards her step-daughter -remained but that of tender, sympathizing compassion. The heart of -Clemence was softened by sorrow—quiet, submissive, holy sorrow; and -there seemed to be no room left in it now for any bitter, resentful -emotion. - -These were solemn, peaceful hours to Clemence, though a tempest raged -without the dwelling, and sickness was within, and in one of the lower -apartments lay the lifeless remains of one who had been very dear. The -Almighty can give His children “songs in the night;” His presence can -brighten even the chamber of sickness, even the couch of death. - -The winter’s sun was just rising when Arabella softly entered the room; -and as Louisa had at length sunk into a quiet slumber, Clemence resigned -for a while her watch over the invalid to her sister. Mrs. Effingham -then hastened to her husband to relieve his mind regarding his daughter. -She had hardly seen him since the accident, and gladly now sought the -comfort of his sympathy and affection. Her next thought was for Vincent. -She went to his room—it was empty; to the public apartments—he was not -there. She found the boy in the darkened chamber in which lay the -captain’s remains, gazing earnestly on the features of the dead, as -though a lingering hope had yet remained that life might return to them -once more. Clemence pressed a fervent kiss upon her step-son’s brow, and -left her tear upon his cheek. - -Clemence felt herself too much exhausted both in body and mind to appear -in the breakfast-room that morning; she feared that she could not -restrain before her husband emotion that might distress him, and she -shrank from meeting the cold, unsympathizing gaze of Lady Selina. Her -eyelids were heavy with watching and weeping, and, retiring to her own -apartment, Clemence threw herself on her sofa; and her head had scarcely -rested on the cushion before she fell into a deep, untroubled slumber, -which lasted for several hours. - -Vincent hurried over his breakfast, feeling as if every morsel would -choke him, and soon left his father and aunt to conclude their cheerless -meal together. Arabella was still keeping watch beside her sister. - -“Clemence appears much relieved on Louisa’s account,” remarked Mr. -Effingham, after rather a long pause in conversation. - -Something approaching towards a smile slightly curled the lip of the -lady—slightly, indeed, but sufficiently to fix upon her the attention of -her companion. - -“Dear Mrs. Effingham is at that happy age when anxieties do not press -very heavily upon the mind,” said Lady Selina; “at least, it is evident -that she apprehended no serious consequences from the accident to -Louisa, or she would never have sent her home in a public conveyance, -almost sinking from exhaustion and terror, just rescued from a terrible -death, with no attendant but a hired menial.” - -The brow of Mr. Effingham darkened, but he made no reply, and Lady -Selina continued in an apologetic manner: “But dear Mrs. Effingham was -not aware how much Louisa was suffering from the effects of long -immersion in the icy water; she did not see her before sending her home, -so was, of course, less able to judge of her condition. Mrs. Effingham -was so entirely engrossed with regret for her good old uncle that -everything else was entirely forgotten!” - -The irritable cough of Mr. Effingham encouraged the lady to proceed, -which she did, after sipping a little of her chocolate, with a -meditative, melancholy air. - -“It is perfectly natural, perfectly right, that a warmer degree of -interest should be inspired by an aged relative, no doubt a very -estimable, valuable creature, with whom your dear lady had associated -for years, than for a connection, however near, known for a time -comparatively so brief. I must not judge of Mrs. Effingham’s feelings by -my own—I who have watched my dear sister’s orphans from their birth, and -bear towards them the affection of a mother! I own that _I_ could not -have been an hour in the house before visiting the sick-bed of the -precious sufferer; but then, I know the extreme delicacy of Louisa’s -constitution. I have long regarded her as a fragile flower, one to be -reared like a tender exotic, almost too fair for this world!” Lady -Selina softly sighed; Mr. Effingham rose from the table. - -_Blessed are the peacemakers._ Have we ever realized how fearful must be -the reverse of that benediction? Of whom can they _be called the -children_ whose delight is in sowing suspicion, awakening mistrust—they -who would rob the innocent of a treasure dearer than life, the -confidence and affection of those whom they love? Lady Selina rejoiced -in the secret hope that she had done something that morning to loosen -Clemence’s strong hold on the affections of her husband; that she had -with some skill employed paternal love as a lever to shake that perfect -confidence in which lay the young wife’s power. Lady Selina saw Mr. -Effingham depart for the city, his brow clouded, and his manner -abstracted, with feelings, perhaps, in some degree resembling those of -the Tempter when he had succeeded in bringing misery into the abode of -peace. She little considered _whose_ work she was doing, whose example -following; not the slightest shadow of self-reproach lay on the -conscience of the woman of the world. - -In the meantime the weary Clemence slept sweetly, and at length awoke -refreshed. Sorrow, however, returned with consciousness; and, springing -up like one who fears that some duty may have been neglected, Clemence -hastened towards the room of Louisa, which was upon the same floor as -her own. She was met in the corridor by her maid. - -“Oh, ma’am! Miss Louisa is so dreadfully ill! Lady Selina has sent for -another doctor besides Dr. Howard.” - -“Why was I not awakened?” exclaimed Clemence; and as she spoke, a knock -at the outer door announced the arrival of one of the medical men. - -Louisa was, indeed, alarmingly ill. Lady Selina had had cause for her -fear. With a throbbing heart Clemence awaited the decision of the -doctors, who, after seeing their patient, remained together in -consultation. It was a time when she would naturally have felt her soul -drawn towards Lady Selina by a common dread. But an icy barrier appeared -to be between the ladies; and the aunt tacitly treated the young -step-mother as one who affected an anxiety which she did not feel,—one -who was only adding hypocrisy to heartless indifference. Never are we -more acutely sensitive to unkindness than when the heart is lacerated by -sorrow; and never had Lady Selina inflicted a keener pang than she did -in that interval of anxious suspense. - -“Miss Effingham is in a very precarious state,” was the opinion at -length given by one of the medical men, addressing himself to Clemence. - -“We must be prepared, I fear, for the worst,” rejoined Dr. Howard, -“though the patient’s youth is greatly in her favour.” - -“Prepared for the worst,” faintly repeated Clemence, as the doctors -quitted the house. The words brought with painful force before her mind -the thought how totally _unprepared_ the unhappy girl was for the awful -change which might be so near. She who had lived only for pleasure,—she -who had put religion aside as a tedious, gloomy thing, profitable only -for the sick and the aged,—charity itself, which _thinketh no evil_, -could not have regarded her as prepared; and now but a few days or hours -might remain of a life hitherto wasted and thrown away,—precious days or -hours, if given to God. “Louisa ought to know her danger,” said Clemence -gravely and thoughtfully to Lady Selina. - -“Goodness me!” exclaimed the aunt in indignant surprise, “you would not -kill the poor child outright by talking to her about dying! I know well -your sentiments towards her, Mrs. Effingham; but this would be carrying -them a little too far.” - -“God guide me!” murmured Clemence, as, turning sadly away, she glided -noiselessly into the sick-room. - -“She’s a heartless hypocrite—a canting bigot,” said Lady Selina, when -she joined Arabella in the boudoir. “She’s going to frighten the little -remaining life out of our suffering darling by her terrible warnings and -denunciations!” - -“I would not let her enter the room,” exclaimed Arabella, almost -fiercely. - -“My love, she’s the mistress here—the absolute mistress. Mrs. -Effingham takes particular care that we should all be made fully aware -of that fact. We have no power to protect your poor sister against her -fanatical cruelty, for so I must call it; and the end is to crown the -beginning. Little has our Louisa had for which to thank her -step-mother—hypocritical smiles, plenty of soft words, but not a -single act of real kindness.” - -“Mrs. Effingham sat up with her all last night,” observed Arabella, with -perhaps a latent sense of justice. - -“A sop to her conscience!” exclaimed Lady Selina indignantly; “a -heathen, a savage could have done no less after yesterday’s horrible -neglect. To send her home dripping and dying—it makes me shudder to -think of it. After such treatment of the dear girl, no one on earth -would ever persuade me that Mrs. Effingham possesses a heart.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - THE EFFECT OF A WORD. - - -“Why were two doctors sent for? Did they say I am ill, _very_ ill?” -exclaimed Louisa with feverish excitement, fixing her hollow eyes -anxiously upon the face of her step-mother. - -“Lady Selina wished to try every means to make you quite well, dear -one,” replied Clemence quietly, “and thought it best, therefore, to ask -the advice of an additional physician.” - -“And they think that I’ll be quite well soon?” The nervous quiver in the -poor girl’s voice betrayed her own doubt on the subject. - -“You must keep very quiet, and not excite yourself, if you wish to be -quite well,” said Clemence evasively. - -“But what did they say? I wish to know.” Louisa made a vain effort to -raise herself in the bed. - -“They said,—Dr. Howard said, that your youth was greatly in your -favour.” - -“But he did not, he did not think me very ill?” - -“He thought you ill, dear Louisa”—as Clemence spoke, she gently laid her -hand on that of the sufferer; “but—” - -“But not dying—not dying!” The agitated tongue could scarcely articulate -the words, while the gaze of the glassy eye became yet more -distressingly intense. - -Clemence felt the moment exceedingly painful. She dared not deceive a -soul which was now, perhaps, on the point of being launched into the -unfathomable sea; and yet, her dread lest she should by one word hasten -the event which she dreaded, almost overcame her courage. “We will pray -that your life may be long spared, dear Louisa,” was her reply; “all is -in the hands of our merciful Lord; He can restore you to health, and -make even this trial a blessing.” - -“I can’t pray,” said Louisa, gloomily. “I never thought much upon God in -my health—I cannot, dare not think of Him now. It is so terrible, so -terrible to die!” She grasped Clemence’s hand convulsively. - -“And yet some have found it sweet to die.” - -“Ah! yes,—some; the religious—the good.” - -“_There is none good save one, that is God_,” whispered Clemence, gently -bending over the sufferer. “If only the righteous had hope in their -death, there would be no human being who could meet it, as many can and -have done, not only with submission, but joy.” - -“What do you mean?” said Louisa faintly. - -Then Clemence, in few, brief words, spoke of the sinner’s only stay, of -pardon offered to penitence, forgiveness unlimited and free. She -scarcely knew whether Louisa understood her, though her language was -simple as that in which a little child might have been addressed. It was -a comfort, however, to feel the nervous grasp of the fevered hand relax, -to see the eye lose its excited glare, and, when she paused, to hear the -voice feebly murmur, “Pray for me; I can’t pray for myself.” - -Clemence sank on her knees, and prayed aloud—prayed from the very -depths of her soul. She addressed the Almighty as the Father of mercies, -the God of all comfort; she recommended a feeble lamb to the care of the -heavenly Shepherd. Not by the terrors of the law, but the strong cords -of love, she sought to draw a wandering soul to her God. Louisa turned -her face to the wall, a few quiet tears dropped on her pillow; as she -listened, her spirit was calmed, her excitement subsided,—it was -soothing to hear one of the servants of God pleading for her before the -throne. - -When Clemence arose from her knees, Louisa was perfectly still, thanked -her by a gentle pressure of the hand, and, closing her eyes, looked -disposed to sleep. Clemence was thankful that the first step was -over—that the sick, perhaps dying girl knew her peril, and might, -through that knowledge, be led to seek better joys than those which she -might now be quitting for ever. Her fever had not increased; it had -appeared to be a solace to have one to whom she could lay open her -doubts and fears—one who would intercede for her with her offended -Maker. And how immeasurably precious might be the time still left to her -who had been brought up in total ignorance, not of the forms, but of the -vital power of religion! Louisa had never thought of herself as a -creature responsible to God, as a sinner condemned in his sight, till -the veil between her and the invisible world seemed about to be -withdrawn by death, and her soul trembled at the prospect of the unknown -terrors that might lie beyond that veil. - -Clemence was silently revolving in her mind how words of peace and -consolation could be spoken without sacrificing truth or lulling -conscience to sleep—how this, her first opportunity of speaking to the -heart of her step-daughter, might be most wisely and most gently -improved, when Vincent, with the thoughtlessness of a child, suddenly -opened the door. - -“Oh, come, if you wish to see him again!” said the boy in a loud -agitated whisper to Clemence; “the men have brought the coffin already!” - -There was enough in the intimation itself to touch a painful chord in -the bosom of Clemence, regarding her uncle, as she had done, with -mingled gratitude and affection; but her thoughts were instantly turned -from her own regrets, by alarm at the effect on Louisa of the -inconsiderate words which had reached her in her dreamy, half conscious -state. Clemence had endeavoured, and not without success, to lead the -mind of the poor girl beyond death itself, to the great and merciful -Being who has rendered it to His faithful servants only the passage to -life eternal. But the sentence, so thoughtlessly uttered by Vincent, and -not half understood by the fevered patient, from whom Clemence had kept -the captain’s death carefully concealed, brought fearfully before her at -once all the array of the king of terrors. The hearse, with its nodding -plumes, the black pall, the coffin, the shroud—these were the least -frightful of the images which flashed through Louisa’s burning brain. -With a shriek she sprang up in her bed, rolling her eyes in frantic -terror, and clinging to Clemence, as if for life, implored her wildly to -save her! Vincent, alarmed at the condition in which he beheld his -sister, and unconscious that he himself had been the cause of it, -hurried to call in the assistance of Lady Selina and Arabella. A -messenger was despatched to Dr. Howard, another to the city to summon -Mr. Effingham—all was excitement and alarm. - -Lady Selina went to the room of her unhappy niece, who was now raving in -fearful delirium, but did not remain in it long. Her nerves, she said, -could not stand such a scene; and she found her only solace in repeating -again and again, “I knew that it would be so—I warned Mrs. Effingham of -what would ensue; her cruel, fanatical folly has driven the poor child -mad!” - -Before Mr. Effingham’s arrival, Louisa, exhausted with her own frantic -terrors, had fallen into a state of insensibility. Her parched hand yet -clasped that of Clemence in a grasp so firm, that the young step-mother -stood by the bed-side for hours, afraid to stir or change her position, -lest by doing so she should arouse the miserable sufferer to another -paroxysm of delirium. - -While Clemence remained in her standing posture, till she almost fainted -with fatigue and the reaction of her overwrought nerves, Lady Selina, -with characteristic tact, availed herself of the vantage-ground left to -her by a rival’s absence, to place every occurrence before Mr. Effingham -in her own peculiar light. As the anxious father restlessly paced the -drawing-room, listening for any sound from the apartment above, Lady -Selina described to him his child’s most distressing symptoms, and gave -her own version of their cause. She rather pitied than blamed Mrs. -Effingham, gave her conduct no harsher name than that of indiscretion, -yet contrived to make it appear such as might have beseemed some -familiar of the Inquisition, whose ears were deafened by ruthless -bigotry to the cries of his tortured victim. - -Mr. Effingham was at length, and for the first time in his life, much -irritated against his wife; and when, late in the evening, Clemence, -with tears of thankfulness glistening in her eyes, came to tell him that -the sufferer breathed more calmly, and that the fever seemed to have -abated, he received her with a cold sternness which struck like a dagger -into her heart. - -“I shall watch by Louisa again to-night,” said Clemence, struggling to -keep down the emotion which almost choked her utterance. - -“You had better leave such watching to the nurse whom Lady Selina has -considerately procured,” replied her husband with some asperity; “she -has experience and judgment, and the arrangement will be better upon -every account.” - -Not one word of tenderness after all that she had suffered,—not one look -of kindness to repay her for her devoted nursing of his child during -that sleepless night, that miserable day! A sensation of dizziness came -over Clemence,—a sinking at the heart,—a sense of overpowering weariness -both of body and mind. She doubted not that she owed her husband’s -displeasure to the offices of Lady Selina, but had neither spirit nor -strength to defend herself from charges which she rather guessed at than -understood. With a slow, languid step, Clemence returned to the chamber -of sickness, to arrange for the night in compliance with the will of her -husband; but she found such compliance impracticable. Louisa, whose -state varied from fits of wild excitement to nervous depression, could -not endure the sight of a stranger, and with such agonized earnestness -implored her step-mother not to leave her, that Clemence again spent the -night alone with the suffering girl. The sound of her voice, the touch -of her hand, the soft notes of a low warbled hymn, seemed to have more -power to soothe the invalid than all the medical art. Louisa, who, in -the time of health, had despised and disliked her step-mother, appeared -now to look upon her as a protecting angel, whose presence could guard -her pillow from the frightful phantoms conjured up by imagination. She -could scarcely bear that Clemence should quit her side for an instant. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - A RAY OF LIGHT. - - -It was a bright Christmas morn. The sound of the sweet church bells -ringing for service reached the dull, darkened chamber in which -Clemence sat beside her slumbering charge. She had seen Mr. Effingham -and Lady Selina, accompanied by Vincent and his sister, set out in the -joyous sunlight on their way to the nearest church. It was sadly that -Clemence had watched their departure; she had once looked forward to -so happy a Christmas, and now trials seemed to shut her out from -enjoyment, even as the half-closed shutter and heavy curtain excluded -from the room in which she sat the sparkling rays which shone so -brightly on all beside! The tongue that had been wont to give cordial -greeting on a day like this lay cold and silent in the coffin below—no -other season could remind Clemence so forcibly of her blyth, kindly, -warm-hearted guardian, as the joyous season of Christmas. The lively -Louisa, once gay as the butterfly sporting its silken wings in the -sunshine, was stretched beside her on a bed of sickness; and though -the apprehensions entertained on the sufferer’s account were now of a -less alarming nature, her recovery was still precarious. Beneath these -sources of sorrow lay one deeper—so deep that even to herself Clemence -would not acknowledge its existence. Not for a moment would she -entertain the thought that it was possible to find disappointment -where hope had been sweetest; any doubt of her husband being indeed -the noblest, best of men, she would have repudiated as treason. But it -_was_ possible that he might be disappointed in her; her weakness, her -extravagance, her inferiority in everything to himself—thus pensively -mused the young wife—might by this time have become apparent to one -whose judgment was quick and discerning. He was amongst those who -would cast no veil over her failings—those who would make no allowance -for her inexperience—those who might even misrepresent her motives, -and place her actions before him in a light not only unfavourable but -false. Was not his manner changing towards her—had he not become -silent, reserved, even stern? - -Such reflections were exquisitely painful to Clemence, whose mind was -perhaps rendered morbid by fatigue and want of natural rest. It is when -the frame is weary, and the nervous system unhinged, that fancy conjures -up phantoms of dangers perhaps altogether unreal, and seems bent on -accumulating causes of pain and regret to brood over in silent gloom. It -is an unhealthy state of mind—one of the many forms of sickness to which -that most delicate and mysterious part of our constitution is subject. -Religion alone can offer for such mental malady a cure—religion, which -whispers to the burdened spirit, that though _heaviness may endure for a -night_, yet _joy cometh in the morning_. - -Clemence was trying to raise her thoughts from earthly fears to -contemplation of that great event which was upon that day celebrated—to -open her soul to the sunshine from heaven, and in its genial warmth -forget the shadows that lay on her path, when a gentle sigh breathed -beside her told that Louisa had awakened from her sleep, and turning, -Clemence saw the invalid, pale indeed, and with traces of suffering on -her features, but with a calm expression of countenance, which showed -that the fever had departed. - -“You are better, my love?” said the step-mother tenderly. - -“Much better, only—so weak!” was the feeble reply. “Why are the church -bells ringing?” - -“It is Christmas-day; and such a bright clear morning! Your father and -the rest of our party have gone to church.” - -“And you—you have stayed to take care of me here! How good you are! I -have not deserved it!” - -Few words, and faintly uttered; but how sweetly they fell on the heart -of Clemence! They resembled one sunny ray which, straight and bright, -had forced its way through the opening of the shutters, and striking on -a crystal drop which hung from a mantel-piece ornament, not only gave to -the opposing glass the brilliancy of the diamond, but itself breaking in -the encounter, painted the wall beyond with all the tints of the -rainbow. - -“Is Captain Thistlewood in church too?” inquired Louisa. - -It was well for Clemence that the darkness of the room enabled her to -conceal the unbidden tears which rose to her eyes at the question, but -to reply to it was at that moment impossible. Louisa, however, scarcely -waited for an answer, following the current of her own wandering -thoughts. - -“I have behaved very ill to him,” she murmured; “do you think that he -too will forgive me?” - -“He never harboured a resentful feeling against you or any one,” replied -Clemence with an effort. - -“I shall see him again?” inquired Louisa. - -“I hope—trust—one day,” faltered Clemence, her tears fast overflowing, -while her lips formed the unuttered words—“one day—in a better world.” - -“When I am well I will lead a very different life from what I have -hitherto done. I will think much more of religion and duty. I would not -for worlds go again through all the misery of a time like this! O Mrs. -Effingham, if you only knew the horror of that plunge, the icy cold -water gurgling over my head, and the thoughts rushing into my mind; and -then I fancied that some one caught hold of me to save me, and there was -a moment’s hope, and then—” - -“You must not dwell on these things—indeed you must not!” cried -Clemence, who dreaded a return of the fever; but Louisa was not to be -silenced. - -“I have had such horrible, horrible dreams,” she said, passing her thin -hand across her eyes. “I was drowning, but it was in a fiery sea, all -burning and glowing around me; and I fancied that you laid hold of -me—and that my dress gave way in your hand—and I plunged down—down—” - -“Hush, dear one, hush!” said the young step-mother anxiously; “you must -not let your mind recall these terrors. There are such sweet, peaceful, -holy subjects to rest upon—an immovable Rock to cling to, one over which -the waters never can break. I was going to open the Bible; have you -strength to hear a few verses read aloud?” - -“I should like it—and then—you will pray,” murmured Louisa faintly. - -There was joy in that gloomy chamber—joy in the soul of the pale -watcher, the joy of hope, and gratitude, and love! If there be pure -happiness on earth, it is when a mortal is permitted to share the -rejoicings of angels over a wandering sheep found, an erring soul -brought to its God. Clemence had never thought the words of Holy Writ so -beautiful as she did now, where every verse, as it flowed from her lips, -was turned almost unconsciously into a supplication for the poor young -listener at her side. She could not have experienced deeper peace even -kneeling in the house of prayer with her husband, or joining with the -congregation in the hymn of joyful adoration. - -On the following morning the remains of Captain Thistlewood were -consigned to the grave, Mr. Effingham and Vincent, at his own request, -following the hearse as mourners. The day had not concluded ere the -sound of the harp, touched by the hand of Arabella, and accompanied by -her powerful voice, jarred painfully on the ear of the sorrowing -Clemence. Disrespect to the memory of the dead, disregard to the -feelings of the living, breathed in the lively Italian air sung in a -house from whose door the dark funeral had so lately departed. - -It was not till now that to Louisa—the doctors having pronounced her -entirely out of danger—the fact of the death of Captain Thistlewood was -gently broken by Clemence, who then assumed her own mourning garb. -Louisa was startled and shocked; the reflection, “If I had been the one -summoned instead of him, where, oh, where would my soul have been now?” -impressed more forcibly on her mind the solemn lesson taught to her by -her own illness. - -But would the impression last? Would that light and volatile mind retain -the form into which circumstances had moulded it, when these -circumstances themselves should be altered? Would the holy resolutions -made on a sick-bed stand when brought to the trial by worldly society, -vain pleasures, and evil influence? A clergyman, who had laboured for a -great number of years, once recorded his melancholy experience, that, -out of _two thousand_ whom he had known to give signs of repentance when -prostrated by sickness, only _two_ individuals evidenced by their -conduct after recovery that their repentance had been sincere. Let all -who would postpone the solemn work till they are stretched upon a -death-bed, ponder well this alarming testimony. Friends may eagerly mark -the cry for mercy, wrung by fear of approaching judgment, as evidence -that a broken and contrite heart has been touched by the Spirit of -grace; but the Omniscient alone can know whether repentance is indeed -unto salvation, or only as the dew that vanisheth, as the morning cloud -that passeth away. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - QUIET CONVERSE. - - -“I think that Sunday is the dullest day in the week,” exclaimed Vincent, -stretching himself with a weary yawn; “and a wet Sunday is the worst of -all.” - -Clemence put down the book which she had been reading, and joined -Vincent at the window, where he was drearily watching the raindrops -plashing on the brown pavement, making circles in the muddy pools, and -coursing each other slowly down the panes. She seated herself beside -him, resting her arm on the back of his chair. - -“Some people speak of enjoying Sunday,” pursued Vincent. “I’m certain it -is nothing but talk. I know Aunt Selina said that she did so one day -when our clergyman was making a call. I know that what she does on -Sunday is to notice the dress of everybody at church, and find fault -with the sermon, and talk over all the plans for the week. I don’t see -much enjoyment in that.” Nor did Clemence; but she thought it better not -to express her opinion. - -“Do you enjoy Sunday?” asked Vincent, turning round, so that he could -look his step-mother in the face. - -“Yes; especially Sundays in the country.” - -“Where’s the difference between Sundays in London and Sundays in the -country?” asked Vincent. - -Here was an opening for pleasant, familiar converse, and Clemence was -not slow in availing herself of it. She talked of her school at Stoneby; -gave interesting anecdotes of her girls; told of an aged, bed-ridden -woman, who loved to receive a call every Sunday afternoon, always -expecting that her visitor would repeat to her the leading points in the -morning’s sermon. Greatly had Clemence missed her accustomed Sabbath -labours of love, her husband having decidedly objected to her -undertaking any such in the great metropolis. It was sweet to her now to -recall them; and in Vincent, who was thoroughly weary of his own -society, she found a willing listener. - -“I can fancy that it must be pleasant going to the cottages, where every -one is glad to see you,” said the boy; “but then there are the long, -tiresome evenings, especially during the winter; how did you manage to -get over them?” - -“I sang hymns, and read a good deal.” - -“Oh, but Sunday books are so dull.” - -“Do you think so? I find some so interesting.” - -“I never saw one yet which did not set me yawning before I had got -through half a page.” - -Clemence went to the book-case without replying, and returning with a -volume of the “History of the Reformation,” resumed her seat by Vincent. -“Would you like to hear a story?” she said, after turning to an -interesting passage in the life of Luther. - -“A story, yes; but I don’t want a sermon.” - -Clemence read with animation and expression, and Vincent speedily became -interested. The history naturally led to questions from the intelligent -boy, which his step-mother readily answered. He was unconsciously -drinking in information upon one of the most important of subjects. - -“How odd it is,” exclaimed Vincent suddenly, “that I should ever have -taken you for a Papist!” - -“A Papist!” repeated Clemence in a little surprise. - -“Why, Aunt Selina told us that your grandmother was a Frenchwoman.” - -“And so she was, but not a Romanist.” - -Vincent’s countenance fell. “So you’re partly French, after all,” cried -he; “I’m sorry for that, for I hate the French.” - -“Should we hate anything but sin?” said Clemence softly. - -“I’m a regular John Bull!” cried Vincent, “and I don’t care if all the -world knew it! Britannia for ever, say I!” - -“You cannot love old England better than I do,” said Clemence; “but -patriotism is one thing, and prejudice another.” - -“What do you call prejudice?” asked Vincent. - -“The determination to dislike some one or something before judgment has -had time to decide whether it merit your dislike or not. Surely this is -neither reasonable nor right!” - -“I think that we were prejudiced against you,” said Vincent -thoughtfully—“that is, before we knew you, and perhaps some of us after -we had known you. We did not wish to like you; only, you see, we really -could not help ourselves,” and the boy looked up archly into the blue -eyes that met his gaze so kindly. - -“Prejudice,” observed Clemence, “prevents our seeing objects as they -actually are.” - -“I see, I see,” said Vincent quickly; “prejudices are like the knots in -the glass of one of our windows at school. They alter the shape of -everything that we choose to look at through them; they make straight -things crooked, and nothing distinct—even your face would look quite -ugly only seen through that glass.” - -“One would not wish to have one’s mind full of such knots,” said -Clemence, smiling at the schoolboy’s smile. - -“I think that _your_ glass is all rosy-coloured!” cried Vincent, “and -that makes you look at every one kindly. But Aunt Selina don’t deserve -it of you. Do you know what she said of you once?” - -“I have no wish to hear it, dear Vincent.” - -“Something about idolatry, which was not at all true; and she said—I did -not believe a word of it!—that there is a natural leaning in our hearts -toward idolatry. That was downright nonsense, I know. Nobody has idols -in England.” - -“I wish that I could think so,” replied Clemence. - -“What! do you believe that there are any in this country?” - -“I fear that there is scarcely a house in it that is really without one. -Idols, dear Vincent, are not merely lifeless figures of silver or gold, -such as the poor heathen worship; anything, everything that takes the -place of God in the heart,—anything, everything that is loved more than -Him is an idol, and brings on us the sin of idolatry.” - -Vincent sat for a space very silent, revolving his step-mother’s words -in his mind, then said, “If that be the case, I think that there are -idols in this very house. Bella’s idol is Pride, Louisa’s is Pleasure, -Aunt Selina’s—” - -“Hush!” said Clemence gravely, laying her hand on the arm of Vincent; -“it is worse than useless to find out the idols of our neighbours; our -duty is to search for our own. The same volume in which we read, _Judge -yourselves, brethren_, also bids us, in respect to others, _Judge not, -that ye be not judged_.” - -“I don’t think that I have any idol,” said Vincent, after another pause -for reflection. Clemence Effingham remained silent. - -“Do you think that I have?” said the boy. - -“Are you willing to know, dear Vincent, or will you be vexed if I tell -you the truth?” - -“I wish to know it,” replied Vincent. - -“Then it appears to me, dear boy, as though you had hitherto made an -idol of Self-will. It appears to me that when any duty presents itself, -‘What do I like to do?’ not ‘What ought I to do?’ is usually your first -consideration. You are ready for any kind, generous, noble act, if it -accord with your own inclination; but if it run counter to that, duty is -sacrificed at once. Is not this putting Self-will in the place of the -law of God? is not this bowing to an idol that usurps the authority of -God?” - -“I never had it put to me in that way before,” replied Vincent. “I -suppose that it was thinking of what _I liked_, instead of _what I ought -to do_, that made me disobey you by going on the ice, and cost that -noble old captain——but I do not like to speak of that,” said Vincent, -interrupting himself, “and it makes you look so sad. I wonder,” he cried -in an altered tone, “if you have an idol too, and if you try hard to put -it away?” - -Before Clemence had time to reply to the bright-eyed boy, the door -opened, and Mr. Effingham entered. If the heart of Clemence enshrined an -idol—if there were one being whose love was almost more precious to her -than celestial hopes, whose approbation was almost more fondly sought -for than that of her Lord, that idol was before her now! - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - GATHERING CLOUDS. - - -Day by day Louisa regained her strength, and day by day old tastes and -impressions revived, and she more eagerly anticipated the time when she -should be able to plunge again into a vortex of light amusements. She -was still, indeed, courteous, almost affectionate to Clemence, retaining -a grateful sense of the kindness which had so tenderly nursed her -through a distressing illness. A pretty token of remembrance was -received by her step-mother on the anniversary of Clemence’s birth-day, -accompanied by a few lines expressive of grateful regard. But Lady -Selina was gradually resuming her influence over the convalescent; and -Arabella was her constant companion. The secession of Louisa to “the -enemy’s side” was an event not to be suffered by either. Arabella spoke -bitterly against Clemence in the presence of her sister, not altogether -sparing even the memory of Captain Thistlewood; but this had no effect -beyond that of annoying Louisa. Lady Selina worked more cautiously and -surely. Gradually she commenced raising anew the wall of prejudice, -which had been swept away as by a flood from the mind of her niece. She -did not deny Clemence’s merit, but she depreciated it—praised her -kindness, but cast suspicion on its motives; and by many a covert -allusion to “Mrs. Effingham’s extraordinary conduct on the day of the -accident,” tried to convert the gratitude of Louisa into a totally -opposite feeling. - -The world, from which the young girl had for a time been separated by -her illness, like a magnet possessed more and more attraction the nearer -she approached to it again. The Bible, though not entirely neglected, -was often laid aside for the novel; and gossip about the fashions, a new -dress, or a new acquaintance, was readily welcomed by Louisa as a -substitute for serious thought. Her conscience was no longer dead, but -its voice was drowned in other sounds; the terrors which had oppressed -her were melting away like a dark, dissolving view, into new bright -tints; and when the sick-room was exchanged for the drawing-room, Louisa -seemed to have left behind her most of the serious resolves and solemn -impressions which had owed their birth only to fear. - -Not contented with her insidious endeavours to alienate from Clemence -the affection which she had won, Lady Selina employed all her art in -throwing difficulties in the way of replacing Mademoiselle Lafleur. Her -own education, though not more solid, had been conducted on more -fashionable principles than that of Mrs. Effingham; and Lady Selina had -little difficulty in making it appear even to her brother-in-law that -she was far better qualified than the youthful step-mother to choose an -instructress for his children. If Clemence deemed that she had met with -a lady whose high character, experience, and knowledge were likely to -render her services valuable, Lady Selina at once detected some defect -of manner, education, or age, which would render it perfectly out of the -question to receive her as governess in Belgrave Square. The earl’s -daughter appeared, by Mr. Effingham’s tacit consent, to reserve to -herself a power of negativing every proposition which did not please -her; and it was evident to Clemence that this power would never lie -dormant in her hands. The young wife, too timid to court opposition, too -diffident to maintain her own opinion boldly, except in cases where -conscience was concerned, gave great advantage to an adversary well -versed in the tactics of the world, and by no means scrupulous in making -use of its weapons. - -The small property of Captain Thistlewood, amounting, clear of needful -expenses, to less than a hundred pounds per annum, had by his death -reverted to his niece; but the money would not for some months be -available, and in the meantime Clemence, the wife of the opulent banker, -was annoyed by petty pecuniary embarrassments. Her expenses had been -regulated with the strictest economy since her first and only visit to -Madame La Voye; but necessary expenditure on mourning, however simple, -had involved her again in difficulties, which harassed without seriously -distressing. Clemence shrank with invincible reluctance from applying -for money to her husband, who had so recently generously taken upon -himself the debt which she had so thoughtlessly incurred. Nor could -Clemence conscientiously apply to her own private use even a fraction of -the large sums appropriated to household expenses; she looked upon -herself as her husband’s steward, and scrupulously acted as such. It -thus happened that, in the midst of luxury and plenty, the young -mistress of that superb mansion found her purse drained of its last -shilling. The consequences of her excessive liberality and thoughtless -expenditure on first coming to London clung to her still; and it did not -lessen her chagrin to suspect that Lady Selina was aware of her little -difficulties, and secretly rejoiced in the embarrassments into which she -herself had helped to lead an inexperienced girl. - -One afternoon towards the end of January, Mr. Marsden, the clergyman of -the parish, paid a visit in Belgrave Square. He was a man who laboured -faithfully in his vocation; and though his manner might be ridiculed, -and his sermons criticised, his character always commanded respect. Lady -Selina usually brought out for his benefit her most choice religious -phrases. When he feelingly congratulated the pale Louisa on her -deliverance from danger and her recovery from illness, her aunt chimed -in with such admirable observations on the uncertainty of life and the -necessity for constant readiness for death, as raised the lady in the -eyes of the clergyman. He was proportionately disappointed to mark -Clemence’s apparent coldness on the subject; for her truthful nature -could not show approval of sentiments, however true, which she knew to -be uttered by the lip of hypocrisy. - -The object of Mr. Marsden’s visit was to lay before his rich -parishioners the pressing necessities of his poor. The winter was a very -severe one. Behind the magnificent mansions of the aristocracy, want -pined and sickness languished. He had come from the garret of the widow, -the loathsome crowded dwellings of the indigent; he pleaded the cause of -the orphan, and of those who had no certain shelter from the piercing -cold, even in a season so inclement. - -Lady Selina shook her head mournfully at the clergyman’s description of -prevailing poverty, sighed, drew forth her purse, and taking from it the -smallest gold coin of the realm, gave it with some excellent comments on -the privilege of assisting the poor, and the necessity of supporting all -the numerous valuable institutions springing up on all sides for their -relief! - -Mr. Marsden bowed, and turned towards Mrs. Effingham. Clemence’s -sympathy for her suffering brethren had been strongly called forth by -his appeal; but what could she do to prove it? The mistress of that -stately mansion, in her own luxurious apartment, could plead no -disability to give. Young Vincent’s eyes were fastened upon her; -Clemence knew that he expected that the liberality of one who had often -spoken to him of the poor, and of the duties of the rich in regard to -them, should be in accordance with her principles. There was a short, -awkward pause, and Clemence was about to promise to lay the appeal -before Mr. Effingham, when Lady Selina drew forth a bank-note from the -porte-monnaie which she still held in her hand. - -“If your purse is not here, Mrs. Effingham, I shall be most happy to -accommodate you,” she said with a smile; and there being no time for -reflection, the note was hesitatingly received by Clemence, and -transferred to the clergyman, who shortly afterwards quitted the house, -leaving the young wife the consciousness of having performed not a -liberal, but a foolish act—of being, not the benefactress of the poor, -but a plaything in the hands of Lady Selina. - -“Shall I never acquire the power of saying ‘No,’ and lose my childish -fear of offending or disappointing?” thought Clemence, greatly -discontented with herself. “I am actually in debt to Lady Selina; but I -will not be so beyond this evening. I will speak to my husband frankly, -and ask him to advance me some of the interest that will be due to me in -June. I will try to be much more prudent and watchful over my -expenditure in future, divide my several items of expense, and -appropriate a fixed sum to each, so that vanity may never encroach on -benevolence, or thoughtless folly leave me again without the means of -assisting the poor. I see that economy is not required alone by those -whose means are narrow; true is the saying, that every man, whatever be -his wealth, is poor, if he spend a shilling more than he possesses!” - -[Illustration: - - ILL NEWS.] - -More impatiently than usual Clemence on this evening awaited her -husband’s return from the city. That return was delayed far beyond the -usual hour. Clemence felt, however, at first no uneasiness at his -absence. He had had some unusual press of business, or had been delayed -by seeing some friend. Twilight deepened into night, the shutters were -closed, the lamp was lighted on the table, and many observations were -exchanged as to the cause of Mr. Effingham’s lateness. - -“Papa’s watch must have gone backwards,” observed Louisa, who, wrapped -up in shawl and fur cloak, occupied an invalid’s place on the sofa. - -“If he were as hungry as I am,” cried Vincent, “he’d have no need of a -watch! Well, there’s no use in watching and waiting; who’ll have a game -of draughts with me to while away the time?” - -“Not I,” said Louisa wearily; “there is no use in commencing anything -which we may have to leave off in a minute.” - -“Draughts is the most tiresome game in the world, and only fit for -children,” added Arabella. - -“Set the pieces, Vincent, and I’ll try if I cannot beat you,” said -Clemence, putting aside her work. Vincent readily obeyed, and a game was -commenced. Lady Selina took out her watch. - -“Really I am becoming uneasy,” she said, resolved that Clemence at least -should be so. “Mr. Effingham is always so punctual; I trust that nothing -serious is the matter!” - -“How ill papa has been looking lately,” observed Arabella. - -Vincent found that his partner was paying very little attention to her -game. - -“This is the third time that you have been huffed!” he exclaimed; “if -you do not take care I shall carry off every one of your men!” - -“Mr. Effingham is very much changed; I am distressed to perceive it,” -pursued Lady Selina. “Six months ago he was the youngest man of his age -that ever I saw,—you might have really taken him for thirty,—and now!” - -“I was noticing yesterday a streak of grey in his hair,” observed -Arabella, glancing maliciously towards Mrs. Effingham. - -“Won’t you move?” cried Vincent rather impatiently to his abstracted -partner. Clemence mechanically placed her piece. - -“I dare say that papa is worried by business,” said Lousia, resuming the -thread of the conversation. - -“There’s a carriage at last!” exclaimed Vincent; but the quick, -listening ear of Clemence had caught the sound before he could hear it, -and hastily rising, she quitted the room. - -“The game’s up!” cried Vincent, making a clean sweep of the board, and -tossing black and white promiscuously into the box; “it’s a shame, for I -had much the best of it.” - -“Papa must have been taking a long drive,” observed Louisa. - -“One can judge of that in a minute by the horses,” cried Vincent, -sauntering up to a window, and opening a leaf of the shutters that he -might look out into the night. “Why, that’s not our carriage at all, it -has only one horse; I know whose it is, it’s Mr. Mark’s,—papa’s man of -business; what on earth brings him here at this hour?” - -“That’s not papa’s voice in the hall,” said Arabella. - -“I fear that something is indeed the matter!” exclaimed Louisa, starting -from her seat. - -Her suspicion was soon confirmed by the sound of the study-bell -violently rung; then they heard the door open, and Mr. Mark’s voice -below, calling for water for Mrs. Effingham. - -“Something terrible has happened,” cried Lady Selina, and the next -moment the drawing-room was vacated by all. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - CALCULATIONS. - - -“Bankrupt! stopped payment!” exclaimed Lady Selina, as Mr. Mark repeated -to her the substance of the tidings, which, like a sudden blow, had -prostrated the spirit of Clemence. The lady and the man of business were -conversing alone, Clemence having been removed to her room in a fainting -state, attended by Louisa and Vincent. - -“Is there no hope—no means of rallying—of struggling through the -difficulty?” continued Lady Selina. - -Mr. Mark looked very grave, and shook his head. - -“I fear that this has been no thing of yesterday. The firm must have -been for some time in a tottering state, though appearances were so -carefully kept up that the crash took every one by surprise.” - -“The strangest thing of all,” said Lady Selina, “is, that Mr. Effingham -himself should, as you tell me, have disappeared—not have ventured to -face his creditors!” - -“It is strange,” observed the lawyer almost sternly; for he was an -honest, straightforward man, who had not learned to regard all things as -fair in the way of business. “It is strange!” he repeated more slowly: -“when the affairs of the firm are wound up, we shall be better able to -account for such a step on his part. It was this disappearance which -touched Mrs. Effingham so nearly; she bore the news of the failure with -a degree of firmness which, I own, surprised me; but when I informed her -that her husband had fled, she was struck down at once; I was seriously -alarmed for the consequences.” - -“Oh! she is subject to hysterical fits; they do not alarm those who know -her,” said the lady, whose malice would glance forth even at a time like -this. “Of course Mrs. Effingham must feel the change in her fortunes; -none shrink from poverty more than those who have once experienced its -trials.” - -“Mrs. Effingham is secured from anything approaching to poverty,” said -the lawyer; “ample provision has been made for her comfort. Sixty -thousand pounds were settled upon her not long after her marriage.” - -“Sixty thousand pounds! and settled upon Mrs. Effingham!” exclaimed Lady -Selina; “and what becomes of the rest of the family?” - -“As you are aware, madam, the dowry of the late Lady Arabella Effingham, -amounting to ten thousand pounds, was, by her will, divided share and -share alike between her two surviving daughters. That is safe—invested -in Government securities; for the rest, everything—house, furniture, -estate—will, doubtless, be seized and disposed of for the benefit of the -creditors.” - -“But the sixty thousand pounds that you mentioned?” - -“That sum is settled on Mrs. Effingham; no one will be able to deprive -her of that.” Mr. Mark’s manner was cold and dry, and he soon afterwards -closed the interview, leaving Lady Selina in a state of no small -excitement and perplexity. - -“Clever man of the world, Mr. Effingham,” she said to herself, as soon -as she found herself alone; “I should hardly have given him credit for -the tact to save such a sum out of the wreck. And all settled upon Mrs. -Effingham!”—she bit her lip with vexation. “I wish that it had been -disposed of in any other manner. Sixty thousand pounds! The interest of -that will be—let me see—enough to keep a good house, a carriage. It is -much more than she had ever a right to expect. We must not part company, -after all. The weak little creature will never be able to manage by -herself; and it will suit my convenience better for the family to keep -together. Yes,” soliloquized the earl’s daughter, resting her chin on -her hand in an attitude of thought, “it would be folly under these -circumstances to part. I must change my tactics a little. I must make -her feel me necessary; there must be no division. If I had ever had a -suspicion of the turn which affairs would take, I would have played my -cards very differently with Clemence Effingham.” - -Regard for self-interest was striving against prejudice and pride, and, -as often happens in hostilities of a more extended nature, the war was -ended by a compromise, or rather a treaty of alliance. In a few minutes -Lady Selina was gently tapping at Mrs. Effingham’s door. - -Clemence appeared seated at her little writing-table, pale but tearless. -Louisa was weeping beside her. Vincent, standing a little apart, was -repeating to himself half aloud, “Poverty is no disgrace,” as one who is -determined to face the enemy with resolution. It is possible, however, -that poverty presented itself to the mind of the boy as little beyond -exemption from going to school, and was, therefore, no great trial of -his youthful philosophy. Lady Selina motioned to Louisa and her brother -to quit the room, and then seating herself on the sofa close to -Clemence, with strange, unwonted show of tenderness, laid her hand on -that of the young wife, which lay cold and impassive on the cushion -beside her. - -“Dear Mrs. Effingham, we are truly partners in sorrow; for, believe me, -my share in this trial is no light one,” and the lady heaved a deep -sigh. - -Clemence remained silent. That Lady Selina grieved for her she could not -for a moment believe; but it was possible that even that cold, worldly -heart might cherish a regard for her husband. How could it indeed be -otherwise, after such long, intimate acquaintance with one who possessed -such power to attract to himself the affections of all who knew him? -Such a thought was quite sufficient to prevent the gentle wife from -repelling the sympathy, such as it might be, even of her who had -hitherto acted the part of an enemy. It would, however, have been -hypocrisy to have accepted it with any warmth of gratitude. The pressure -of Lady Selina’s thin fingers was not returned, and the eyes of Clemence -remained bent upon the floor. - -“But, dear Mrs. Effingham,” resumed Lady Selina, “this trial has -alleviations—great alleviations.” - -In an instant the blue eyes were riveted on the countenance of the -speaker with an expression of hope. “Alleviations! Then you know where -he is,—you have tidings—” - -“None, none,” replied the lady sadly; “but is it not a comfort to think -that your beloved husband, even under the heavy pressure of adversity, -thought and cared for his family with a foresight which does him such -honour? Mr. Mark, of course, informed you that the sixty thousand pounds -settled upon you by Mr. Effingham are safe; the creditors cannot lay a -finger upon them.” - -Lady Selina watched the effect of her words. A bright flush suffused the -countenance of Clemence, rising even to her temples, and then suddenly -retreating, left it even more pallid than before. - -“I did not hear about money—could not think about money,” she replied -hoarsely, withdrawing her hand from Lady Selina’s. - -“Your delicacy of feeling, your disregard of worldly considerations is -noble—is quite in character,” said that lady, with a little touch of -sarcasm in her tone; “nevertheless, it must be a great relief to your -mind to find that everything is not lost—that, though on a smaller -scale, you can still maintain a suitable establishment, still offer a -home to those who have dwelt together under this roof.” - -Clemence pressed her aching brow with both her hands. “Lady Selina, I -cannot think, I cannot realize what has happened, far less form plans -for an uncertain future. I must hear from my husband, I must learn our -actual position, know the full extent of the ruin which has come upon -our house. Of one thing I am certain—_certain_,” she repeated more -earnestly, rising from the sofa as she spoke, “my husband would be the -last man to claim or to desire an exemption from the sufferings which -may, I fear, fall upon some of his creditors. I feel assured that, when -he settled a fortune upon his wife, it was in perfect ignorance of the -crash which was so near. Unforeseen events have brought on a crisis, and -he will meet it, like himself, with firm courage, unblemished honour, -and a conscience free from reproach.” - -“She is a greater fool than I thought her,” was Lady Selina’s mental -reflection, as she relieved Clemence from her unwelcome presence. - -Clemence, notwithstanding her fearless declaration, felt strangely -uneasy and anxious. Vincent’s childish words recurred again and again to -her mind, “Poverty is no disgrace.” Why should such words give her pain? -She feared to question her own heart as to the reason. Clemence wrote a -long letter to her friend Mr. Gray, the faithful counsellor of her -youth, detailing to him what had occurred, as far as her own knowledge -extended, mentioning to him the words of Lady Selina, and asking him, in -the absence of her best and dearest guide, to say whether he thought -that she could conscientiously avail herself of resources so -considerately provided for her before the day of adversity had arrived. -Clemence touched tenderly on the subject. Doing so, even in the gentlest -manner, pained her like pressure upon a wound. She shrank from writing a -word which, even in the most remote way, could convey the slightest -imputation upon the conduct of her husband. - -The wings of Time sometimes appear to be clogged with lead. How wearily -move the hours when anxious sorrow watches the shadow on the dial! -Clemence’s prevailing feeling was an intense desire for tidings from her -absent lord. If uneasy doubts would arise in her mind, a letter, she -felt assured, would remove them. Her husband would make all clear. -Whatever had occurred, no fault could rest with him; her loving faith in -him was unshaken. Clemence started at every post-knock, and trembled -when her room was hastily entered, so nervously was her mind on the -watch for tidings. - -Louisa was in a state of great depression. The first breath of -misfortune was sufficient to lay low the fragile reed, which had no firm -support to counterbalance its own weakness. Perhaps there was a secret -painful impression on the young girl’s mind that, since God’s first -visitation had failed to produce lasting effects, one yet more terrible -might be coming upon her. Louisa refused to listen to words of comfort -or hope, persisted in viewing everything in the darkest light, and by -her tears, complaints, and forebodings, irritated the prouder and firmer -spirit of her sister, which was struggling to tread misfortunes under -foot, and rise triumphant above them. - -On the following day, which was Sunday, neither Lady Selina nor her -nieces quitted their dwelling. Those who had attended divine service -only _to be seen of men_, naturally absented themselves from the house -of prayer when observation would be painful. But to Clemence, weary and -heavy-laden, social worship was a privilege not to be lightly foregone. -In the solemn exercises of prayer and praise, she trusted to be raised -for a while above the cares and the grief that oppressed her; the jarred -and strained chords of her heart could yet be tuned to swell the -church’s hymn of thanksgiving. Avoiding mixing with the stream of the -congregation of which she had been lately a member, Clemence, -accompanied only by Vincent, attended a more distant church. - -The preacher’s sermon appeared as if addressed expressly to herself, so -closely did Clemence apply it. He spoke of the blessedness of that home -which sin and sorrow never can enter, and of the boundless riches of -God’s grace, so unlike to the treasures of earth which take to -themselves wings and flee away. He dwelt on the glories of the heavenly -city, till clouds of present affliction seemed to reflect its distant -brightness. He then described the heaven in the heart, which may be -experienced by the believer while yet a sojourner in a world of trial, -yea, even when plunged into the seven-fold heated furnace of _great -tribulation_,—the consciousness of the presence of an Almighty Friend, -of the support of the everlasting arm, of the possession of that -unspeakable love which passeth knowledge, and _is stronger than death_! -Tears, but not tears of grief, flowed from the eyes of Clemence as she -listened, and her heart seemed able to echo the words of the poet, with -which the preacher concluded his address— - - “Give what Thou canst, without Thee we are poor— - And with Thee rich, take what Thou wilt away.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - SACRIFICE. - - -Monday came, and with it a letter from Mr. Effingham, bearing the Dover -postmark. How eagerly was it received and torn open! The note was a very -brief one, and communicated but a vague idea of the position or feelings -of its writer. He was on the point of crossing over to France,—hoped -that his stay there might be a brief one,—that necessary forms having -been complied with, he might soon be able to return to her who was ever -in his thoughts. He trusted that her health had not suffered from the -shock of receiving tidings which he had not had the courage to -communicate to her himself; and he desired his wife, in the conduct of -her affairs, to place implicit confidence in Mr. Mark, and to be guided -by the judgment of a man of such experience and worth. This was all,—not -even an address given; but such as it was, the letter was a great relief -to Clemence. Her mind had formed dark forebodings; she had dreaded that -sudden illness might have been the result of Mr. Effingham’s distress of -mind, and the cause of his not coming forward personally to meet those -whose interests had been confided to his care. She now felt able to -enter his study again, that little room consecrated by so many dear -recollections, to gather up and arrange any stray papers that might have -been left there, that her husband, on his return to England, might find -that nothing was missing. - -How little that room was altered! The fire blazing brightly as ever, the -familiar tomes ranged in their accustomed places, the morning’s _Times_ -laid on the table, the book beside the desk with half its leaves yet -uncut, and the paper-knife marking the place where Mr. Effingham had -lately been reading! Clemence tried by an effort of imagination to blot -out all remembrance of the last few days, to look upon what had passed -as a dream, and to listen for that well-known step which would never be -heard on that threshold again! She would not occupy the arm-chair which -she had seen so often filled by her husband. One thing was changed—but -one; the clock on the mantel-piece, which Mr. Effingham had suffered no -one to touch but himself, which had belonged to his father before him, -that clock which he had regularly wound on each Saturday night, stood -silent, with motionless pendulum,—an emblem of the fortunes of the -house. - -Vincent followed his step-mother to the study. The boy was restless and -sought companionship, but Louisa was too melancholy, and Arabella too -irritable to make their society congenial to their brother. Clemence -would at that time have greatly preferred being left alone with her own -sad musings, but she would not, even by a hint to that effect, drive -from her side the only being who clung to her in her sorrow. Vincent was -therefore allowed to sit beside her, endeavouring to glean amusement -from the _Times_, while she slowly and sadly pursued her occupation of -collecting scattered papers. One struck her eye—its appearance seemed -familiar to her; upon examination it proved to be the bill of Madame La -Voye—that bill which had cost her such painful self-reproach. It had -surely been paid long ago;—no! unreceipted, it lay amongst others! -Clemence bit her lip, but at the moment was startled by a vehement -exclamation from Vincent. - -“What a shame! how dare they write so of papa!” - -Clemence caught the paper from his hand. Vincent pointed to one of the -leading paragraphs; it commenced thus:— - - “We have again to record a great crash in the commercial world, - attended with circumstances which force upon our attention the - fact that the laws of bankruptcy, as at present constituted, are - inadequate to protect the property of the subject.” - -Clemence read on, every sentence falling like a drop of glowing metal on -her heart; she saw the name most dear to her coupled with duplicity, -craft, dishonour! - - “We hear on undoubted authority,” said the _Times_, “that Mr. - Effingham has settled a large fortune upon his wife, with whom - the _bankrupt_ doubtless looks forward to enjoying in luxurious - retirement the spoils of the widow and the orphan. These - evasions of law and equity have been of late of such frequent - occurrence, that we have learned complacently to behold the - giant offender rolling in his carriage, while the meaner felon - is consigned to a jail.” - -The paper dropped from the hand of the miserable wife. Vincent sprang to -her side. “It is not true!” he exclaimed passionately; “it is all -nonsense and lies!—it is!—oh, say that it is!” - -“Leave me, Vincent! leave me!” gasped Clemence; with an imploring -gesture she motioned to the door, and, as soon as her command had been -obeyed, threw herself down upon the floor and writhed, as if in -convulsions of bodily pain! What physical torture could have equalled -the agony of that hour! The anguish caused to a loving and conscientious -spirit by the errors of the being most beloved, resembles in nature, and -is scarcely exceeded in intensity by that of remorse! To Clemence, her -husband’s disgrace was her disgrace; his transgressions seemed even as -her own. So closely was she joined to him in heart, that the -consciousness of personal blamelessness brought her no comfort—the -shadow which had fallen on him enveloped her also in its blackness! - -“What am I called upon to endure!” was a thought ere long superseded by -another: “What am I called upon to do?” A gulf of misery was yawning -before the bankrupt’s wife—could no personal sacrifice close it? -Clemence started to her feet, took the writing materials which lay on -the table, and hastily penned to Mr. Mark a scarcely legible note, -praying him to come to her as soon as was possible, as she needed his -assistance and advice. This done, and the letter despatched, Clemence -could breathe a little more freely. She declined seeing any one until -after his arrival, and as that was delayed for several hours, the -unhappy wife had time to become more calm, and to revolve in her mind -what course of duty lay before her. Yet the sound of the long waited-for -knock at the door which announced the man of business, was to her much -as that of the hammer-stroke on a scaffold might be to one doomed to -suffer thereon. - -Mr. Mark entered with apologies for delay, of which Clemence understood -not one word. With tremulous hand she pointed to the _Times_, and could -scarcely articulate, “You have seen it?” - -Mr. Mark gravely inclined his head. - -“And is there any—” Clemence stopped short—she could not endure to put -the question in such a form. “Is it not all cruel calumny?” she -faltered. - -Mr. Mark hesitated. “The language is harsh and strong,” was his guarded -reply: it was too well comprehended by the miserable Clemence. - -“When that—that money was settled,” she stammered forth, without daring -to look at her listener, “the house was safe, secure—there was no -prospect of the ruin that followed?” - -“I believed so when I followed Mr. Effingham’s directions. I, for one, -had not the slightest doubt at that time of the solvency of the firm.” - -“And he—” - -There was a long, painful silence; Clemence heard nothing but the -throbbing of her own heart. When the lady spoke again her tone was -strangely altered; there was in it no more of tremulous earnestness, but -the calm resolution of despair. - -“Mr. Mark, let me ask one more question. Is that money entirely at my -own disposal?” - -“It is so by the terms of the settlement.” - -“Then I request you, acting in my name, to place the whole of it in the -hands of the creditors.” - -“My dear madam—” - -“My resolution is quite fixed,” said Clemence, compressing her bloodless -lips. - -“But consider your position, that of the family—” - -“I have resources of my own,” replied Clemence firmly; “and my -step-daughters are already provided for.” - -“You have resources?” repeated the lawyer doubtfully; “and the boy?” - -“Shares whatever I have,” answered Clemence. - -“Perhaps a partial sacrifice,” began Mr. Mark, but the lady interrupted -him. - -“All—all—I will give up all!” - -“Not without reflection, dear madam, not on the impulse of the moment, -not without consulting your friends.” - -“I consult you, the friend and adviser of my husband. Would not the act -be a just one?” - -“Just, perhaps, but—” and he paused. - -“I have also consulted another friend, one who has been to me as a -father—the Reverend Mr. Gray of Stoneby.” - -“And he advises this step?” - -“I have not yet had time to receive his reply.” - -“Wait for it then,” said the lawyer; “do nothing without beforehand -weighing the consequences, or it is possible that you may regret even -the noble and generous act, the thought of which does you honour.” - -After some further conversation, it was settled that Clemence should -delay her decision until Mr. Gray’s letter should be received, and then -convey her final decision in writing to the man of business. Mr. Mark -left her with a mingled sentiment of compassion and respect, which -softened his usually abrupt manner to that of almost paternal -tenderness. - -“She has much to suffer, but she will suffer bravely,” thought he, as he -stepped into his brougham. - -Clemence heaved a deep sigh when she found herself left alone. The -spirit which had supported her through that painful interview now seemed -to fail her. Very repugnant was it to her feelings to consult any one -before her husband, on a point which concerned his honour so nearly. -Could she not learn his will ere making so momentous a decision? To do -so was the instinct of her heart, but not the judgment of her reason. -No; even had she the means of communicating with Mr. Effingham, how -could she seek guidance from him on the very path from which he had -wandered? how ask him if it were her duty to counteract his own schemes, -and clear, as far as possible, his character from a stain which he had -deliberately contracted? It was, perhaps, better that a cloud of doubt -should rest on what Mr. Effingham’s ultimate wishes might be, and that -Clemence should not behold in actual opposition her obedience to her -husband and her duty to her God. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - DECISION. - - -Mr. Gray, as Clemence expected, viewed the subject of retaining or -relinquishing the fortune in the same light that she did herself. He -had, before answering her letter, seen the article in the _Times_ which -had so deeply wounded the young wife, and he had anticipated the -resolution that she would form. The ideas of the simple-minded pastor -were drawn, not from the maxims or example of the world, of which he -indeed knew little, but from the pure, written Word of God. He read and -believed that _the love of money_ is _the root of all evil_; he read and -believed that it is impossible _to serve God and Mammon_; and he had -imbibed the spirit of that most solemn question, _What shall it profit a -man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul; or what shall a -man give in exchange for his soul?_ - -The clergyman’s letter was a very tender one, full of pious consolation, -and concluded by offering to the bankrupt’s wife a home in the vicarage, -where his dear partner, as well as himself, would ever regard her as a -cherished daughter. - -The good man’s words were as balm to Clemence’s wounded spirit, though -she felt that her duty to her husband’s family might render it -impossible to accept an invitation which would otherwise have opened a -harbour of refuge to her weary, storm-tossed soul. Clemence, without -further delay, wrote her final decision to Mr. Mark. Never had she more -impatiently despatched a letter than that which stripped her at once of -the wealth which lay like a mountain’s weight upon her conscience. Then, -ringing the bell of the study—the room which she now almost exclusively -occupied—Mrs. Effingham summoned, one after another, every member of her -numerous household, and gave warning to all, without exception. It was a -painful duty to the young mistress, but Clemence had nerved herself to -its performance, and uttered a sigh of relief as the last of the -servants quitted her presence. After all, it was easier to act than to -think; the necessity for exertion was perhaps in itself a blessing. - -Clemence, since reading the article in the _Times_, had secluded herself -much from the family; she could not, in the first hours of her anguish, -have endured the sight of familiar faces—the torture of being harassed -with questions; she shrank even from the idea of sympathy, and could -scarcely bear to look upon Vincent, the breathing image of one whom she -thought of with grief, only exceeded by her love. Clemence felt it now, -however, necessary to communicate with those whose interests were -closely linked with her own, and to ascertain the views and feelings of -her step-children before replying to the letter of Mr. Gray. With this -view, mastering a strong sensation of repugnance, she ascended to the -drawing-room, and found herself, on opening the door, in the presence of -the assembled family. - -Lady Selina was standing near the fire-place in earnest conference with -Arabella; Vincent had stretched himself on the velvet rug, leaning upon -his crossed arms in an attitude of thought, but he started up on his -step-mother’s entrance; Louisa lay on the sofa, her hand pressed over -her eyes. There was a sudden break in the conversation when Clemence’s -form appeared, and Lady Selina, with a slow and stately air, advanced -forward a few steps to meet her. - -“Mrs. Effingham,” she commenced, in tones even more cold and formal than -usual, “I have been much surprised, greatly astonished to find that you -have at once, without consulting any one, dismissed the whole of your -husband’s establishment! May I presume to ask your reason for so -extraordinary a step?” - -“I cannot now afford to keep any such servants,” replied Clemence, -gently but firmly. - -“Not afford!—really, Mrs. Effingham, your language is incomprehensible! -Not afford, with sixty thousand pounds of your own in the funds!” - -Clemence leaned on the table for support as she answered, “I will never -touch a farthing of that money. I have given up all to the creditors, -without reserve.” - -“That’s right!” was the hearty exclamation of Vincent. Lady Selina stood -for a moment actually speechless! Had she seen Clemence deliberately put -an end to her own existence, the lady’s amazement and horror could not -have been greater. - -“You have done such an insane thing!” she exclaimed at length. - -“I have done it!” was the reply of Clemence. - -“Then, madam, you have qualified yourself for Bedlam!” cried Lady -Selina, condensed fury flashing from her eyes, all sense of what is due -from one lady to another lost in the torrent of furious passion. “You -have reduced your family to beggary; you have subscribed to the -condemnation of your own husband; you have confirmed the opinion which I -formed of you from the day when Mr. Effingham had the infatuation to -throw himself away on a child—an idiot such as you!” - -“Aunt, you must not, you shall not—” cried Vincent; but there was no -staying the rushing flow of bitter words. Clemence endured them as the -tree, whose leafy honours have been struck down by the woodman’s axe, -endures the pelting rain upon its prostrate form. It has felt the cold -steel dividing its very core; the sharp blow, the heavy fall, have been -its fate; the furious shower may now do its worst, it cannot lay it -lower, any more than it has power to restore life to the withered -foliage! But when Lady Selina paused at length, mortified, perhaps, to -find that her fiercest invectives could awake no answering flash of -angry retort, Clemence quietly expressed her hope that she might be -enabled so to economize as to live upon her limited resources without -incurring debt. - -“Resources!” exclaimed Lady Selina with ineffable contempt; “the paltry -interest of two or three thousand pounds, of which an hospital has the -reversion! If you can reduce yourself, madam, to such pauper allowance -for the future, how extricate yourself from the meshes of present -difficulties? You speak of avoiding debt—you are in debt at the present -moment to myself!” - -Clemence unclasped the massive bracelet on her arm, and silently laid it -on the table. It was her only reply. She then turned and quitted the -apartment. - -“I wish that she had flung it at aunt’s head!” was Vincent’s muttered -comment on the scene. - -A servant met Clemence as she was about to ascend the staircase. -“Please, ma’am, Madame La Voye is at the door, and says that she must -see you directly.” - -“Send her away,” began Clemence, who felt as though her patience had -already been tried to its utmost power of endurance; but as the man -hesitated before again attempting a task in which he had already failed, -she altered her resolution. “No; let her be shown into my room. Better -meet this difficulty at once, and end it,” murmured Clemence to herself, -as the footman turned to obey. - -Madame La Voye had, like all the rest of the world, heard of the -bankruptcy of Mr. Effingham, and trembled for her unpaid bill. Her -indignation had been inflamed to a high pitch by the article in the -_Times_. Mr. Effingham she had denounced, and loudly, as a swindler, a -cheat, and a felon; and she resolved, come what might, to have justice -done to herself. She called at his house on Monday, and heard that Mrs. -Effingham refused to see any one. Driven with difficulty from the door, -the dressmaker repeated her call on the next day, with yet more fixed -resolution to assert her claim. She would not be one of the miserable -creditors who suffered themselves to be quietly robbed; she would not -leave the house till she had received her money! Madame La Voye had -worked herself up to an effervescence of indignation very unlike, -indeed, to the smooth-tongued politeness with which she had received -Mrs. Effingham into her show-apartments. - -The Frenchwoman entered the house prepared to do battle for her rights, -and the first words which she addressed to Clemence were abrupt almost -to rudeness; but even she was in some degree awed by that pale, meek -face, stamped with such deep impression of sorrow, and the first gentle -tones of the silvery voice stilled her anger as if by a charm. - -Clemence owned her debt and her inability to pay it (“Was all false, -then, about the fortune?” thought La Voye); “But”—the lady hesitated and -glanced at her wardrobe—“perhaps;” the Frenchwoman was not slow in -comprehension—she spared the lady the humiliation of an explanation. - -Pride was not Mrs. Effingham’s besetting sin; but, in one form or other, -perhaps no human heart is entirely free from it. It was painful to the -lady to hear the value of her wardrobe estimated in her -presence—repugnant to her feelings to hear this mantle depreciated as no -longer _à la mode_—that dress, because the folds of the velvet had been -slightly ruffled in wearing. Madame La Voye was not without a heart, and -her anger had subsided into pity; but the coarseness of her nature -appeared even in what she intended for kindness, and in her compassion -for the reduced lady she never for an instant forgot self-interest. -Balancing, doubting, chaffering, making a parade of “a wish to oblige,” -forming a shrewd calculation that a beautiful Indian shawl, “thrown into -the lot, would make all even between them,” for almost an hour Madame La -Voye made her victim do bitter penance for a day’s extravagance. The -mortifying interview, however, ended at last; the Frenchwoman, well -satisfied with her bargain, quitted the house, and Clemence held in her -hand, receipted, that bill which had been the cause of so much -annoyance. - -A sleepless night was passed in forming plans for the future. There had -been only too much truth in Lady Selina’s words—how could the bankrupt’s -wife find means to extricate herself from present difficulties? -Clemence’s purse was empty. The first instalment of her income, -miserable pittance as it appeared, was not due to her for months; she -had none to whom to apply for assistance—none from whom she could hope -for relief. Again and again Clemence thought of her jewels, but they -were all, with the exception of her watch, and a few trifles of little -or no intrinsic worth, the gifts of her husband, and she regarded them -almost as one in the Dark Ages might have regarded precious -relics,—things far too valuable to be parted with, except with life. Yet -there seemed to be no other resource, and Clemence now felt that in -resigning all her fortune she had made a sacrifice indeed. - -She rose sad and unrefreshed from her sleepless pillow, and yet a spirit -of submission was shed into her heart. The iron had entered into her -soul, but the wound was not poisoned by rebellious unbelief. Clemence -was able to pray hopefully for her husband, and to trust that even the -trials of his condition might be a means of drawing him nearer to his -God. Surely the Almighty had judged his errors less severely than the -harsh, unfeeling world? Had not those errors arisen from the very -tenderness of his affection towards his wife? The temptations of -prosperity had raised a mist around him; the blast of misfortune had -dispersed that mist, and the blue heaven would again smile above him! -Thus mused the young wife, her mind ever recurring to her absent lord as -the centre of all its earthly thoughts. She could not see him, write to -him, cheer him; but she could still pour out her soul for him in prayer, -and was there not sweet comfort in that? - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - JEWELS AND THEIR WORTH. - - -“I think it right to lay before the children of my dear husband the -course which I intend to pursue; their welfare is very near to my heart, -and I cannot separate their interests from my own.” Such were the words -addressed by Clemence to Vincent and his sisters, while Lady Selina sat -listening near, her face wearing a smile of cold scorn. - -“I propose,” continued Clemence, “to rent a cottage, a very small -cottage in Cornwall, my native county, where necessary expenses can be -reduced to a very narrow scale, unless I should receive directions from -my husband which would induce me to alter my arrangements. If any of his -family will share that humble abode, it will be my heart’s desire to -make them as—;” the word “happy” would not come, it died on the -trembling lip, and a sigh concluded the broken sentence. - -Arabella slightly elevated her brow and her shoulders; Louisa looked -uneasily at her aunt. - -“Such is your offer, madam; now listen to mine,” said Lady Selina, -folding her hands with the air of one about to give a proof of -magnanimous self-denial. “I need not speak of the fervent affection -which I have ever borne to my sister’s children. My dear nieces have -always looked to me as to the representative of a cherished mother, and -in the hour of adversity I shall be the last to desert them. To my home, -wherever that may be, most freely do I bid them welcome. With Vincent -the case is different; though my love for him is the same, I cannot, as -doubtless Mrs. Effingham will do, undertake the expenses of his -education, or give to my dear nephew the advantages which are -indispensable to a boy of his age.” - -Doubtless the affectionate aunt had not forgotten that whereas Vincent -was absolutely penniless, the united incomes of her nieces, moderate as -they were, would exactly double her own. Few of those who knew the lady -intimately would have given her credit for disinterested kindness; but -whatever might be her motive for the offer, Arabella was not slow to -accept it. - -“As, after what has occurred,” said the proud girl, drawing herself up -to her full height, “I should have declined sharing a palace with Mrs. -Effingham, her society would scarcely allure me to the hovel which she -chooses as her place of abode. I shall certainly remain with my aunt.” - -But the choice of Louisa was not so readily made. Her heart was drawn -towards her step-mother, so gentle and patient in her sorrow; she felt -for Clemence’s loneliness and desolation. Louisa could not quite forget -the tenderness with which she had been tended through her illness; she -could not quite forget how, in the long dreary nights, a gentle watcher -had bathed her fevered brow, offered the cooling draught, and spoken -words of holy comfort and hope. Her step-mother was connected in her -mind with all that her conscience approved as right, her regret for past -errors, her resolutions of amendment, her thoughts on religion and -heaven. Louisa had sufficient intelligence to see the difference of -character between Clemence and her aunt. She could neither love nor -trust Lady Selina, as she could the pure-minded and unselfish woman whom -her father had chosen as his wife. But if Mrs. Effingham stood in the -mind of Louisa as the emblem and the representative of quiet piety, her -aunt, on the other hand, seemed that of the world and all its tempting -delights. Lady Selina would doubtless remain in London; to stay with her -was to partake of its pleasures, to enjoy its dazzling scenes,—to dance, -to shine, to see and to be seen. Oh! what magic images of glittering -splendour were conjured up before the mind’s eye of Louisa, by the name -of a “London season!” And could she give up all this? could she endure -to bury herself in dreary Cornwall, with no gaiety, no amusement, no -admirers, like some flower doomed to— - - “Blush unseen, - And waste its sweetness on the desert air?” - -The idea was intolerable! Not gratitude, esteem, pity, conscience, were -sufficient to fortify the poor girl against its terrors. She loved the -world—she was of the world. Her idol had been shaken—but destroyed, -never! It was resuming its old supremacy in a heart which, though -apparently cleansed for a while, had been found empty of that divine -faith which _overcometh the world_! Louisa hesitated, indeed, but not -for long. Avoiding looking at her step-mother as she spoke, in a low, -faltering voice, she said, “I think—I would rather—remain in London—like -my sister.” - -Lady Selina cast a triumphant glance at Clemence, and going up to her -nieces, embraced them both with many tender expressions, of which they, -perhaps, guessed the real value. Mrs. Effingham quietly quitted the -room, feeling very desolate and low, and thinking that for her the most -welcome home would be one much narrower and much quieter than any -cottage dwelling. Just as she was entering her own apartment, Vincent, -who had been an excited though silent listener to the preceding -conversation, rushed after and overtook her. The boy flung his arms -tightly around her neck, exclaiming, “Mother! you and I will stick -together through thick and thin!” - -Clemence returned the embrace with fervour; she clasped the boy to her -aching heart as if she would have pressed him into it, and wept aloud in -passionate grief, till almost choked by her convulsive sobs. It was even -as the accumulated masses of Alpine snows, melting under the warm -sunshine, burst through the barriers which restrain them, and pour their -swelling floods into the valleys below. Vincent was almost alarmed at -the sudden violence of emotion in one usually so quiet and gentle; but, -oh! what a weight of sorrow had been pent up in that burdened heart! - -Clemence was relieved by the burst of tears, and, when again alone, -seated herself before her desk, and, resting her brow upon her hand, -gave herself up to thought. Yes, she had something to live for! That -boy, that son of her heart, to him would she devote her life, while the -painful separation from his father should last. What Lady Selina had -said on the subject of Vincent’s education, now pondered over in -solitude, wrought some change in the plans of Clemence. She must give up -the idea of renting a cottage at Stoneby, where she could again enjoy -the society of dear friends, and return to the occupations which she -loved. Clemence could not, with justice to Vincent, undertake his -tuition herself, and Mr. Gray was far too busily engaged in his -extensive parish to do so. There was a market-town about ten miles from -the village, where Clemence well knew that excellent daily tuition at an -academy might be secured at a very trifling expense. This determined her -course; personal comfort and inclination should not for a moment be -weighed against that which might be of such importance to the future -prospects of her step-son. Clemence dipped her pen, and wrote an answer -to the letter of Mr. Gray. She told him briefly of the part which she -had taken in regard to the fortune; declined with deep gratitude his -offer of a home; and entreated him, as soon as possible, to secure for -her a cottage within walking distance of the academy of M——. Clemence -limited the annual rent to a sum which would scarcely have paid for one -of the dresses which she had worn in the days of her wealth, and -requested that one of the girls from her Sunday school might be engaged -as her solitary servant. - -The descent into poverty is most painful when one slow step after -another is reluctantly taken down the road of humiliation,—at each some -cherished comfort mournfully laid aside! Better far to calculate at once -the full amount of what must be resigned, put away every superfluity, -and resolutely make the plunge! Clemence ended her letter by a -reiterated entreaty that her friend might engage the cottage at his -earliest convenience, as she yearned to quit London, where every moment -brought with it some bitter pang of remembrance. - -And now one other task remained to be performed—a task intensely -painful. Most thankfully would Clemence have avoided it, or, if it must -be fulfilled, have deputed its execution to another. But to whom could -the young wife intrust the delicate office of disposing of her jewels? -Was it absolutely necessary to part with them at all? Would none of her -friends, her numerous acquaintances, assist her at least with a loan? -Clemence was sorely tempted to try, and more than once commenced a note -to one whom she knew had the means to aid, and whom she hoped might have -also the heart; but she never got beyond the first line. Would it be -honest to borrow money, which she could hardly hope ever to repay? would -it be right, while she was in possession of valuables which might be -converted into gold? After all, she could look on the meditated -sacrifice as made for her son, her Vincent, the child of her beloved -husband, and that would give her courage to make it. - -With a sickening heart Clemence removed from her jewel-box her husband’s -miniature, her mother’s wedding-ring, and the little locket containing -her parents’ hair, which had been her bridal-gift from her uncle,—these, -at least, she must ever retain; and after a hasty preparation, as if -fearful that her resolution might fail her if she should delay, even for -an hour, the accomplishment of her design, Clemence glided out of her -house with her jewel-case under her cloak. - -Rapidly she walked through the streets, like one who dreads observation, -drawing her thick black veil closely before her face. The shops in one -of the principal thoroughfares of London, which it was her object to -visit, were distant from Belgrave Square, and Mrs. Effingham had never -before attempted to reach them on foot. She had repeatedly to inquire -the road to them, and she did so with a shrinking timidity, which made -more than one of her informants watch with an eye of instinctive pity -her slight, fragile form, clad in its mourning garb, as it hurried on -its onward way. - -At length the gay, bright street was reached, noisy with carriages, -thronged with pedestrians, offering in its thousand decorated windows -temptations for every eye. Clemence had often driven down that street in -her own carriage, one of the fairest, the most admired, the most envied -of the throng. Now, the bankrupt’s wife dreaded the recognition of any -familiar face, as, weary and faint, she entered a magnificent shop, -which she had often noticed, in passing, for the brilliant display of -jewellery behind its plate glass. - -There were several customers in the shop, and Clemence, whose courage -was failing her, was almost upon the point of retreating, when the -jeweller requested her to take a seat, she should be served in an -instant; and Clemence sank wearily upon the proffered chair. She had -some time to wait. A young betrothed couple were choosing ornaments at -the counter. At another time, the sight of their happiness would have -only called forth emotions of pleasure; but the painful contrast between -their errand and her own—they coming to purchase, she to part with -pledges of tender affection—was so overcoming to Clemence, that when the -jeweller at length, after smilingly bowing out his customers, turned to -inquire her pleasure, she could scarcely command her voice sufficiently -to make her wishes intelligible. - -[Illustration: - - GOING TO SELL THE JEWELS.] - -The man’s face at once lost its smiling expression. “We sometimes -exchange jewels,” said he coldly “but never make purchases in that way.” -Like a fluttered bird, Clemence made her escape out of the shop. - -Must she try another? Yes, that one on the opposite side of the street. -So engaged in her own thoughts was Mrs. Effingham, so abstracted from -all that was passing around her, that as she crossed the road she -narrowly escaped being thrown down by a passing vehicle. Once more -summoning all her resolution, she entered the shop. Here she was at -least attended to without delay. A tall, hard-visaged man in spectacles, -was ready to receive the lady’s commands. Clemence did not seat herself, -but resting her trembling hand on the counter, told her errand, and -produced her jewels. The man opened the case, and examined one article -after the other, as if mentally calculating its value. That precious -guard-ring, first gift of affection; that chain which loved hands had -placed round her neck; the diamond brooch selected by her husband; the -watch, by which she had counted so many blissful hours,—it seemed to -Clemence almost like desecration to see them in the hand of a stranger! -It was really a relief to her that a sum so much below their actual -value was offered by the jeweller, that she could, without -self-reproach, bear her treasures away from the place. - -And yet they must—they must be sold! She must not return to her home -without success! A third time the drooping, heart-sick Clemence crossed -the threshold of a shop, where everything spoke of luxury and wealth. -This visit was the most trying of all! The dapper little tradesman -behind the counter eyed with a quick and penetrating glance, not only -the jewels, but their owner. Clemence read in his curious look, “How -came you possessed of such things as these?” The bare idea of suspicion -covered the pallid countenance of the youthful lady with a burning glow. -It seemed to her as if the first words from the tradesman might be a -question as to her own right to the property of which she wished to -dispose. He spoke, but to Clemence’s relief it was only to mention terms -of purchase. Clemence, who had been tried almost beyond what she could -bear, hastily closed with his offer, and again had to encounter that -curious, scrutinizing look. Glad, most glad was she to leave the shop -and the street, with their bustle and grandeur, far behind her, though -the sum which she bore with her as the price of her jewels was less than -one-third of what they had originally cost! - -“But is the sacrifice sufficient?” Such was the question which Clemence -asked herself as, almost sinking from fatigue, she at length regained -the well-known precincts of Belgrave Square, and wearily remounted the -steps of her magnificent mansion. “Is the sacrifice sufficient?” she -repeated, as, hastily throwing off the cloak, whose weight even in that -wintry day oppressed her, she sank on the sofa in her own apartment. -Could she on so trifling a sum travel to Cornwall, and support Vincent -and herself until she could draw her interest in June? It was barely -possible that, by the severest economy, she might procure the -necessaries of life, but Vincent’s schooling, small as would be its -expense—it would be idle to think of that! And was he, of whose talents -and progress his father had been so proud, to lose by months of idleness -all that he had gained during years of application? Clemence opened her -desk, and drew from it her most precious possession—the miniature of her -husband. Its diamond setting was even as the admiration and praise of -the world which had once gathered around the original of that portrait, -whom the same world now scorned and condemned. Would the picture be less -precious without it, to her who valued every feature in the likeness -beyond all the jewels in Peru? And yet fast fell the tears of the -unhappy wife, as she removed from its sparkling encirclement the ivory -from which her husband’s eyes seemed to be looking upon her, calm and -bright, as in the first happy days of their love! Could such a -countenance deceive? Could dishonour ever sit on such a brow? Fervently -Clemence pressed to her lips again and again the lifeless miniature, -divested of outward adornment, but to its possessor even dearer than -ever. Dearer, because there was nothing now but itself to give it value; -dearer, because by man it would now be regarded as a worthless -thing!—was it not an emblem of the beloved one whose image it bore? - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - COMING DOWN. - - -We will now change our scene, and pass over the events of more than a -fortnight—a most weary fortnight to Clemence, who pined in vain for -another letter from Mr. Effingham, and who dreaded that, by obeying what -she considered to be the call of justice and conscience, she had drawn -upon herself the displeasure of him whom she most desired to please. - -The creditors, grateful for the noble disinterestedness which had -preserved to them something from the wreck of their fortunes, were -disposed to treat the bankrupt’s wife with consideration and indulgence. -She might remain in her present dwelling as long as it should suit her -convenience to do so. But to Clemence, Belgrave Square was now a more -intolerable abode than the wastes of Spitzbergen might have proved; to -escape from it was to quit a prison, and she hastened her departure -accordingly. - -Lady Selina was also on the look-out for another abode, and spent the -greater part of her time in house-hunting with Arabella; Louisa was -seldom of the party, as she shrank from exertion, and considered herself -yet too delicate to be exposed to the wintry air. During the fortnight -before Clemence left London, Louisa was often her companion, and many a -gentle word of counsel from the step-mother, whose misfortunes had -rendered her dearer, sank into the poor girl’s heart. Lady Selina, whose -pride was now undergoing perpetual mortifications—whose present -occupation made her more bitterly feel the change in her fortunes, and -more bitterly hate “the scrupulous idiot whose folly had plunged her -whole family into distress,” was so irritable and peevish, that Louisa -sometimes asked herself whether, even in a worldly point of view, her -choice had been a wise one. She parted from Clemence with many tears, -and with many promises of remembrance;—like Orpah, she could weep for -her Naomi,—but, like Orpah, she turned back to her idols. - -It is a bright wintry evening. The orb of the sun is just resting on a -distant hill, and his reflected beams are lighting up the windows of a -small cottage with a ruddy gleam; the abode itself, however, has a -lonely and rather desolate air. It stands on an embankment which -overlooks a railway whose straight dark lines form no picturesque object -to the view, disappearing in the blackness of a tunnel which pierces a -hill to the left. That hill, with its bare outline, entirely shuts out -from sight the town of M——, distant about a mile from the spot. There is -no appearance of any human habitation near, except this solitary little -brick cottage, perched like a sentinel on the embankment, but turning -its back to the railway, its front to the road, like one who prefers old -friends to new, having probably been erected before the line was -projected. The lone abode has a small, uncultivated garden in front, -surrounded by a straggling fence, through whose sundry gaps an active -child could easily force his way—from which a foot-path, seldom trodden, -and green with moss, runs into the narrow road which leads to the town -of M——. - -There is, certainly, little to attract in the outward appearance of the -dwelling, and within we shall find it furnished in the most plain and -homely style. No carpet adorns the floor, no curtain breaks the straight -line of the windows; but the floor itself is spotlessly clean, the -bright windows exclude none of the sunbeams, and a cheerful fire -diffuses kindly warmth through the little white-washed parlour. The deal -table is spread with a snowy cloth, and heaped with little -dainties—nuts, oranges, and apples—brought by Mr. Gray in a hamper -carefully packed by his wife. A rosy-cheeked girl, about fifteen years -old, is for the third time this day busily dusting the rush seats of the -chairs, and altering their positions, so as to show them off to the best -advantage. She stops in her employment every few minutes to run into the -miniature kitchen and watch whether the chicken, likewise provided by -Mrs. Gray, duly revolves before the fire. There are eggs, bacon, and -cheese on the dresser, all produced from the Stoneby hamper, and the -young servant looks with admiration on her own preparations for the -feast. - -A proud, rich, and happy girl Martha Jones feels herself this day to be! -Is it not wondrous promotion to be sole servant to such a lady as Mrs. -Effingham,—to take the place of so many footmen dressed more dashingly -than militia officers,—a housekeeper who, as she has heard, looks much -grander than Mrs. Gray—and a bevy of fine London maids! And a whole -sovereign every quarter! is not that wealth to one who has never touched -a gold piece in her life? Can any service be more delightful than that -of sweet, gentle “Miss Clemence,” who has always a kind word for every -one, and never willingly gives trouble or pain! Martha envies the lot of -no queen as she cheerfully goes about her work, the joyousness of her -blithe young heart often breaking forth into song. - -R-r-r-r-r! with a roar a train rushes past, and vanishes into the dark -chasm of the tunnel, before the cottage has ceased to tremble or the -windows to rattle with the vibration! Martha, unaccustomed to the sound, -starts as if she were shot, then bursts into a merry laugh. - -“How it makes one jump! I thought as how the house would come down! I’d -as lief not live quite so near a railway! But I’ll get used to it, no -doubt; and they say, as the trains come in so reg’lar, they’ll serve -instead of a clock. Missus must be a-travelling by that train; she’ll -get to the town in no time. She’ll be gladsome to find Mr. Gray at the -station, all ready to welcome her back. They say, poor dear lady, she’s -had a deal of trouble since that merry day of the wedding, when we had -such a feast on the green. First there was the good old captain drowned, -and she was the light of his eyes—I guess there was no love lost atween -them; then her money ran away. How it went at once I can’t make out. Mr. -Effingham seemed to have no end of it when he married! Had we not each -of us a warm winter’s cloak, and Mr. Gray a silver inkstand! and did not -Mr. Effingham’s gentleman tell the clerk as how his master was wondrous -rich, and lived in a palace in Lunnon, whose very stables were bigger -than the parsonage, and that he would spend as much at one dinner as -would build us a new church-tower! It’ll be a mighty change to Miss -Clemence,” soliloquized the girl, her merry, good-humoured face assuming -a graver expression as she looked around her; “certain, things are very -different here from what they was even in the captain’s cottage. She -made everything so pretty around her! But so she will here; we shan’t -know the place when she’s been here a month!” quoth the light-hearted -Martha, as she arranged for the last time in a saucer of white crockery -some six or seven early violets discovered after much search by the -school-children at Stoneby, and sent as tokens of affection to their -former dear young teacher. Surely the perfume of those wild-flowers -would not have been sweeter had they been placed in a vase of Sèvres -china! - -The sun had now entirely disappeared, though a red glow remained on the -horizon. Martha became more and more impatient. Even at the hazard of -spoiling the dinner, she could not help running to the little broken -gate at the end of the garden, to see if any one were coming up the -road. - -“Surely they’ll take the evening coach; Mr. Gray must return in it to -Stoneby, or he’ll not get back to-night. ’Twill drop ’em just at the -gate. Was not that the sound of wheels? Yes! surely! and there’s the -coach turning the corner!—and—I’ve never cut the bacon ready for frying, -and the chicken will be burned to a coal!” - -Back flew the little maid to her post of duty, busy, bustling and happy -as a bee in a clump of heather; and she returned to the gate just in -time to see Mr. Gray bending from the top of the coach to give a last -word and blessing to Clemence, while Vincent assisted, with more -good-will than strength, to haul down a corded box and portmanteau. - -Clemence stood for some moments with clasped hands and swimming eyes, -watching the coach as in the darkening twilight it rattled away, bearing -from her the only friend upon earth who had given her ready assistance -and counsel in this her time of adversity and trial. How gladly would -she have accompanied the pastor to the dear village where her happy -childhood had been spent! Vincent was too busy to watch his step-mother. -He felt as self-important in charge of the luggage as if all the wealth -that his father had ever possessed had been intrusted to his sole care. - -“Here, you—what’s your name, little girl!” he cried to Martha, “just -help me in with this box. Is not the servant there to uncord it?” -Clemence turned at the sound of his voice, and her kindly greeting to -the smiling, curtsying Martha, first announced to Vincent that the -“little girl” was actually the servant who was to comprise in herself -all the establishment of Willow Cottage. - -Vincent was young and merry-hearted, and as he helped to drag the -portmanteau into the cottage, and looked at its white-washed walls and -bare floor, so unlike everything to which he had been accustomed, the -idea of actually dwelling in such a place struck him as irresistibly -comic. - -“I say, mamma!” he exclaimed with a laugh, “are we really to live in -this nut-shell? How amazed Aunt Selina would be could she see it! It’s -just like a gardener’s cottage!” - -“As we can’t turn the cottage into a palace to suit Master Vincent,” -said Clemence, with a desperate attempt at cheerfulness, “suppose that -Master Vincent turn into a gardener to suit the cottage?” - -“I think that I must turn into a great many other things besides—cook, -for instance,” he added, as Martha placed the roasted chicken upon the -table; “I think that we must call that a _black cock_!” - -Clemence silenced the boy by a glance till the poor girl had quitted the -room, and then Vincent laughingly exclaimed, “Why, I was making game of -the chicken, and not of the cook! but could we not give her a hint not -to roast a poor fowl to a cinder next time?” - -Clemence thought, “It will be long enough before we have another fowl to -roast!” - -Notwithstanding the inexperience of the cook, Vincent, whose appetite -was sharpened by fatigue and cold, did ample justice to the feast which -Mrs. Gray had provided, and ate half of the chicken himself, to say -nothing of bacon and eggs. He vainly endeavoured to induce his -step-mother to follow his example. - -“I say,” observed Vincent, busy with a wing, “that girl is a capital -servant, I dare say, and Mrs. Ventner is not fit to hold a candle to -her; but I wish that she knew how to hold a candle to us! Just see!—she -has forgotten to bring us any, and has left her own tallow dip, to ‘make -darkness visible,’ as papa would say.” - -“My dear boy,” replied Clemence quietly, “we must not look for better -light here, till we have the sun himself as our candle.” - -“A _dip_ into poverty; but we’ll _make light of it_!” cried Vincent, the -pun reconciling him to the privation. Whether exhilarated by change of -air, or desirous to cheer his companion, the boy seemed disposed to make -a jest of every discomfort. There was in him a buoyancy of spirit, an -energy of will, which had never appeared to such advantage in the -pampered child of the wealthy banker. - -“But, I say, we must make ourselves a little more comfortable!” cried -Vincent; “the wind blows through that window like a gale, and Martha has -forgotten to close the shutters!” Up he sprang to remedy her negligence. -“Why, there’s not a bit of a shutter!” he exclaimed in surprise; -“nothing at all to keep the wind out!” - -“I think that you will have to make some,” said Clemence. - -“Make shutters!” exclaimed Vincent, look doubtful at first whether to be -pleased or disgusted, but deciding at last on the former. “Well, it’s -lucky I brought my tool-box. I never did anything but spoil wood as yet, -but maybe I’ll turn out a capital carpenter, if I mayn’t be a cook. I’ll -saw away at my shutters in the evening when I come back from my -studies.” Then in a softer tone Vincent went on: “Won’t you be very dull -here all alone during the day? what will you do to amuse yourself here?” - -“I have provided myself, dear boy, with plenty of occupation. I found, -before we left London, that you required new shirts, so I have brought a -supply of the material with me that I may make them myself.” - -“You make my shirts!” exclaimed Vincent with feeling; “well, I shall -like them better than any that ever I wore. I’m growing quite proud, you -see, now that I’ve such a lady for my needlewoman!” - -“And I quite grand,” replied Clemence, with a smile, “when I’ve such a -gentleman for my carpenter!” - -With such light conversation the weary, heart-stricken wife strove to -beguile the first evening in Willow Cottage. Whatever her own secret -sorrows might be, she was resolved that they should not sadden her -intercourse with Vincent. It was a pleasure to her to see the brave -cheerfulness with which he was preparing to do battle with difficulties. -With his bright eyes and ringing laugh, Vincent was to his step-mother -the impersonification of Hope. And never had Clemence with more fervent -thankfulness pronounced the grace after meals, than in that small, cold, -and comfortless cottage, for which she had exchanged all the luxuries of -her splendid mansion. She had resigned those luxuries for the dearer one -of eating her bread in peace, and with a quiet mind, conscious of -wronging none; and sweeter, oh! how much sweeter, would be the poorest -crust partaken of thus, than all the dainties of a board at which it -were mockery to ask a blessing! - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - COTTAGE LIFE. - - -Vincent was much too weary that night to notice whether his bed were -soft, and slept in luxurious repose till the morning light awoke him. -Dressing quickly, he entered the little parlour where Clemence was -preparing the breakfast. She greeted him with a cheerful smile. “We have -not the fatigue of stairs here,” she observed. - -“And we’ve the advantage of hearing at one end of the house everything -that passes at the other,” said Vincent;—“while I was dressing I did not -lose a note of the song that Martha was singing in the kitchen. I think -that there was an earthquake last night, or else I dreamed that I felt -one.” - -“It was a train passing,” said Clemence; “it was too dark yesterday when -we arrived for us to notice how close to our house the line runs.” - -“So half-a-dozen times a day we’ll have the earthquake of Lisbon, -without paying our shilling—so much to treat the ear; and as for the -eye—is there anything in the Royal Academy brighter than that famous -patch-work table-cover, which I see displayed in all its glory? I’m sure -that you are determined to make our cottage gay with every colour of the -rainbow!” - -The mind of Clemence was wandering to graver subjects. How the anxious -wife pined for a letter with the foreign post-mark! It came not, and her -heart was full of uneasy forebodings, which she struggled, however, to -hide from her young companion. Clemence even chatted merrily with the -boy, as, after herself putting up the dinner which he was to carry with -him to M——, she accompanied him to the town, to introduce him to his new -master. Clemence was not aware that an entrance fee had been required, -still less that it had been already paid from the slender purse of her -friend, Mr. Gray. - -In quiet routine sped the lives of Clemence and Vincent; the simple -meal, the social prayer, the reading the Word of consolation, ever -preceding hours of busy study to the one—to the other a long day of -quiet occupation and anxious thought. The evening was always cheerful; -Vincent returned home full of all that had happened either to himself or -his companions, and made his step-mother laugh at his tales out of -school. She knew all the fun that the boys had had at football, and the -hopes of a famous cricket-match to come off between M—— and B——. With -pleasant converse and plenty of occupation, no wonder that Vincent cared -not that the evening meal was but a basin of porridge. The pressure of -poverty, indeed, fell far more heavily on the lady, whose health had -been much shaken by sorrows, and who required the comforts which a rigid -sense of duty induced her to deny herself. All her ingenuity was taxed -to prevent Vincent from feeling its weight. Little did he dream that the -fire which blazed so merrily in the evening was never kept in during the -day, that the small stock of fuel might be husbanded; and that when the -chill of the parlour was no more to be endured, Mrs. Effingham carried -her work to the kitchen for the sake of its kindly warmth. Little did he -dream how different the meal which was packed up so neatly for him every -morning, was from that which his kind provider reserved for herself in -the cottage, till one day Vincent unexpectedly made his appearance in -the parlour two or three hours earlier than usual. - -“The academy’s broken up!” he cried, as he entered, “and when we shall -meet again no one can say. There are three cases of scarlet fever -amongst the boys!” - -“Not alarming ones, I trust?” said Clemence. - -Vincent went on without appearing to notice the question. “So I’d better -begin the profession of gardener at once, and learn about English roots -instead of Greek ones. As I knew I’d be back in time for dinner, I gave -my sandwiches away to a beggar—I prefer something hot in such weather as -this! But how’s this?” he continued, seating himself at the table: -“you’ve come to your cheese-course already!” - -“Did you consider meat as a matter of course?” said Mrs. Effingham -playfully, as she cut a slice of bread for her unexpected guest. - -“You don’t mean to say that you are going to dine upon nothing but bread -and cheese?” - -Clemence only smiled in reply. - -“And what was your dinner yesterday?” - -“Nay, I am not going to let you into the secrets of my establishment,” -Mrs. Effingham gaily answered. - -“And the fire’s out!” - -“We shall try your skill in re-lighting it, dear Vincent,” said his -mother. - -The boy gazed thoughtfully into her pale thin face, and for the first -time since he had come to Willow Cottage, Vincent heaved a sigh. -“Poverty is a trial—a great trial,” was his silent reflection; “but when -I am old enough to earn my own living and hers, she shall never know its -bitterness more.” - -Clemence regretted less the pause in her step-son’s attendance at -school, as the weather had become unusually severe. Winter, who for a -few days had seemed on the point of yielding up his empire to his -smiling successor, now with fiercer fury than ever resumed his iron -sway. Standing-water froze even within the cottage, the windows were dim -with frost, the little garden was one sheet of snow, and even the -postman made his way with difficulty along the road. It was seldom that -he stopped at the gate of Willow Cottage, and he never did so without -sending a thrill of hope, not unmingled with fear, through the bosom of -Clemence Effingham. The morning after the breaking up of the academy he -brought a letter for Vincent. - -“It is Louisa’s hand,” called out the boy, as he tramped back through -the snow to the cottage door, at which Clemence was impatiently waiting; -“I’m glad that she has answered my note at last. She is such a lazy girl -with her pen!” - -“Come and read it comfortably by the fire,” said his step-mother, -concealing her own disappointment. - -“_Pro bono publico_, I suppose, you and I being all the public at hand.” -Vincent threw himself down in front of the cheerful blaze. “Now for a -young lady’s epistle—written on dainty pink paper and perfumed—to be -given with sundry notes and annotations by the learned Vincent -Effingham:— - - “MY DEAR VINCENT, - - “You ask me how I like our new house. What a question! - Beaumont Street after Belgrave Square! I feel as if I were - imprisoned in a band-box! [I wish she could see our cottage!] - Our grand piano blocks up half our sitting-room—a miserable - relic of grandeur, which only serves to incommode us, since none - of us have the heart to touch it. The furniture of the house is - wretched—fancy chintz-covered chairs and a horse-hair sofa! - [Fancy rush-bottomed chairs, and no sofa at all!] Aunt Selina is - in shocking spirits [_alias_ temper], has not appetite for food - [while we have not food for our appetite], and is always - painfully recurring to the past. Our horse—you know we have now - only one—has fallen lame [a misfortune which can’t happen to - us]; and, as Arabella says that she detests walking, I am quite - shut up in the house. It is dull work looking out of the window, - with nothing for view but the brick houses on the opposite side - of the street, scarce anything passing but those wretched - grinding organs which murder my favourite opera airs! It is - strange how our friends seem to have forgotten us: we have - hardly a visitor here. I suppose that this is caused by the - change in our position—which gives one a very bad opinion of the - world. But I hope that things may look brighter when this long, - miserable winter is past, and the London season commences. - - “Pray give my love to dear Mrs. Effingham. I miss both her and - you very much. I am sure that she will let me know if she - receives any tidings of papa.” - - * * * * * - -“Well!” exclaimed Vincent, as he folded up the note, and replaced it in -its rose-tinted envelope, “I would rather leave the world as we have -done, than find out that the world was leaving me!” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - DARKNESS AND DANGER. - - -As Martha on the next morning took in the breakfast, she told her -mistress with a look of alarm that she had just heard from the baker -that the scarlet fever was making rapid progress in M——. Many had died -from its effects; amongst them two of the boys who had been attending -classes in the academy. - -As Martha retailed her tidings, Clemence noticed that Vincent turned -pale. - -“Did you hear the boys’ names?” he asked hastily. - -“I think, sir, as one was the curate’s eldest son.” - -“Ah, poor Wilson!” exclaimed Vincent with feeling; “and to think that -but three days ago he was sitting at my side, laughing and joking, as -strong and as merry as any boy in the school!” - -“They says,” observed Martha, always glad of an opportunity to -gossip,—“they says that the fever be raging in a terrible way. There’s -been three children carried off in one house, and now the mother’s -a-sickening. The baker says ’tis just like the plague; people die a’most -before they’ve time to know they be ill!” - -“I wonder if my turn will come next,” said Vincent, as Martha quitted -the little parlour. “I had the place next to Wilson in the class, and we -were wrestling together on the green. Oh, don’t look so frightened,” he -added more cheerfully, “there’s nothing the matter with me now.” - -He walked to the window and looked out, having scarcely tasted his -breakfast. “Did you ever see such a day!” he exclaimed; “the snow falls, -not in flakes, but in masses! I don’t believe that the coach will be -able to run. There were three horses to it yesterday; they could -scarcely drag it along, and snow has been falling ever since. One would -be glad of a little sunshine. I think that this winter never will end!” - -Vincent remained so long listlessly watching the snow, that Clemence at -last suggested that he should read to her a little, while she would go -on with her work. Vincent, with a yawn, consented; but though the book -had been selected for its power of entertaining, this day it did not -seem to amuse. Vincent did not read with his wonted spirit, and soon -handed over the volume to Clemence. - -Mrs. Effingham read a few pages, and then suddenly stopping, looked -uneasily at her boy. He was leaning his brow on his hand, and closing -his eyes as if in thought or in pain. - -“You are unwell, my Vincent!” she exclaimed. - -“Oh, I’m all right,” was the nonchalant reply. - -“The death of his young companion has naturally saddened his spirits. -God grant that this depression have no other cause!” was the silent -thought of the step-mother. - -She read a little longer, and stopped again. “Indeed, my son, you do not -look well!” Clemence rose and laid her hand upon his forehead—it was -feverish and hot to the touch. - -“Well, I do not feel quite as usual,” owned Vincent, scarcely raising -his heavy eyelids. “I’ve such a burning feeling in my throat.” - -Clemence’s heart sank within her; she knew the symptom too well. -Trembling with an agonizing dread lest another fearful trial of -submissive faith might be before her, she yet commanded herself -sufficiently to say, in a tone that was almost cheerful, “I see that I -must exert my authority, and order you off to bed.” - -“Do you think that I have taken the fever?” said Vincent, rising as if -with effort. - -“Whether you have taken it or not, you can be none the worse for a -little precaution, and a little motherly nursing,” she added, putting -her arm fondly around the boy. - -As soon as Clemence had seen Vincent in his room, she flew with anxious -haste to the kitchen. “Martha!” she cried, but in a voice too low to -reach the ear of her step-son, “you must go directly to M—— for Dr. -Baird. He lives in the white house on the right, next the church. Beg -him to come without a minute’s delay; I fear that Master Vincent has -caught the fever! Go—no time must be lost!” - -The kind-hearted girl appeared almost as anxious, and looked more -alarmed than her mistress. Having repeated her directions, Clemence -returned to the small apartment of Vincent. He was sitting on the side -of his little bed, one arm freed from his jacket, but apparently with -too little energy to draw the other out of its sleeve. His head was -heavy and drooping, and an unnatural flush burned on his cheek. He -passively yielded himself up to his step-mother’s care, and soon was -laid in his bed. Before an hour had elapsed Vincent was in the delirium -of fever, the scarlet sign of his terrible malady overspreading every -feature! - -How helpless Clemence felt in her loneliness then! Not a human being -near to suggest a remedy or whisper a hope! She waited and watched for -the doctor, till impatience worked itself up to torture. Why did he -delay, oh, why did he delay, when life and death might hang on his -coming! A train passed, and Clemence started, though by this time well -accustomed to the sound. Amongst all the human beings—living, loving -human beings—who passed in it so close to her cottage, there was not one -to pity or to help—not one who could even guess the anguish and danger -overshadowing the lone little dwelling! - -Clemence’s only comfort was to weep and to pray by the bed-side of her -suffering boy. He could neither mark her tears nor hear her prayers; he -lay all unconscious of the love of her who would so gladly have -purchased his life with her own. - -At last hope came; there was a sound at the door! With rapid but -noiseless step Clemence glided from Vincent’s room to meet the doctor so -anxiously expected. Martha stood at the threshold, stamping off the snow -which hung in masses to her shoes. Bonnet, cloak, and dress were all -whitened with the storm; but notwithstanding the bitter cold, heat-drops -stood on the brow of the girl. - -“Is he coming?” gasped Clemence. - -Martha burst into tears. “O ma’am, I’ve done all that I could. I’ve been -battling against it this hour! I’m sure I thought I’d be buried in the -snow!” - -“The doctor!—the doctor!” cried Clemence, impatiently. - -“I could not get as far as M——. The way’s blocked up with the snow. -Sure, ma’am, I did my best.” - -Clemence clasped her hands almost in despair. Then her resolution was -taken. “Watch by my son; do not quit him for an instant. I will go for -the doctor myself.” - -“It’s impossible! quite impossible!” cried the girl. “I sank up to the -knee every step. You’ll be lost, oh, you’ll be lost in the snow!” Her -last words were unheard by Clemence, who had already commenced her brief -preparations for encountering the storm. - -Can love, strong as death, enable that slight, fragile form to force its -way through the piled heaps of snow which block up and almost obliterate -the path? Can it give power to the young, delicate woman to face such a -blast as strips the forest trees of their branches, and levels the young -pines with the sod? For a short space Clemence struggles on, the fervour -of her spirit supplying the deficiency in physical strength; but every -yard is gained by such an effort, that she feels that her powers must -soon give way. She could as well try to reach London as M——. In her -agony she cries aloud—“O my God! my God! have pity upon me!” and when -was such a cry, wrung from an almost breaking and yet trusting heart -uttered to the Father of mercies in vain? - -Clemence cast a wild gaze around her. Almost parallel with the road, and -at no great distance from it, a long break in the wide dreary waste of -snow marked the course of the railway. Clemence turned to the right, by -instinct rather than reflection, made her difficult way to the top of -the bank, and gazed down on the cutting below. Snow there was on it, -indeed, but the line of communication was too important for it to be -suffered to accumulate there in such heaps as on the comparatively -unfrequented road. Within the tunnel itself all would, of course, be -clear. A desperate thought flashed on the soul of Clemence. One way was -open to her still,—a way dark and full of terrors, but one by which M—— -might yet be gained, and assistance brought to her suffering boy! She -gave herself no time for reflection, but scrambling, stumbling, slipping -down the bank, soon found herself on the side of the line, half buried -by the snow carried with her in her descent. - -[Illustration: - - ENTERING THE TUNNEL. - Page 237.] - -Clemence made a few steps, and then paused and shuddered. Before her was -the opening of the tunnel—dark, dreadful as a yawning grave. Could she -venture to enter its depths—perhaps to be there crushed beneath the next -passing train? Were any trains expected at this time? Clemence pressed -her forehead, and tried to remember. One she had heard within the -hour—of that at least she was certain—the up-train to London, she -believed. But the state of the railway had delayed all traffic; and it -was impossible for Clemence to calculate exactly the chances of a coming -train. The idea of being met or overtaken by one was too terrible for -the mind to dwell on. The risk was too great to be run. Clemence, -marvelling at her own temerity in having entertained the thought for a -moment, turned round to go back to her home. But the sight of her own -lone cottage on the summit of the bank made her hesitate once more. -Before her mind floated the image of her beloved boy dying for want of -that assistance which it might be in her power to bring; then that of -her husband in the anguish of his grief for his own—his only son! Again -Clemence turned, her face almost as white as the snow falling fast -around her. Clasping her hands in prayer, with her eyes raised for a -moment to the lowering sky above, she faintly murmured the words, -“_Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no -evil, for Thou art with me_;” then rousing all her courage for the -desperate attempt, she entered the gloomy tunnel. - -No lingering step there—no doubting, hesitating heart! as with the -painful duties which conscience had before imposed upon her shrinking -nature, Clemence felt a necessity to _go through_, and through as -quickly as possible. She hastened on as rapidly as the darkness would -permit, guiding herself by the wall, and the daylight at the end, which -gleamed before her like a large, pale star. The timid woman wished to -place, as soon as might be, such a distance between herself and the spot -where she had entered, that she might feel it as dangerous to return as -to proceed. She sped on her way, scarcely daring to think, keeping her -eye on that increasing star, till it was needful to pause to take -breath. The air was thick, clammy, and unwholesome—Clemence felt it like -a shroud around her, as she stood in that living grave. “Oh, shall I -ever be in daylight again?” she exclaimed, with the horror of darkness -upon her. Her foot was on one of the iron lines; she thought that she -felt a vibration—was it not the wild fancy of her excited brain? It was -sufficient to make the very blood seem to curdle in her veins, and to -absorb all her senses in the one act of listening. - -Yes!—yes!—yes!—the low, distant rumble that she knows too well,—it comes -from behind, from the London down-train; the horror of death is to -Clemence concentrated in each terrible moment, as, almost petrified with -fear, she turns round to gaze! A fiery red eye gleams through the -darkness; the light from the entrance is almost blocked out; the rumble -becomes a hollow roar, ever growing louder and louder; and, with a wild -shriek of terror, Clemence falls senseless to the earth! - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - - THE SEARCH. - - -Three gentlemen are travelling from London on that dreary wintry day. -They occupy the same carriage in the train, but are personally unknown -to each other. Two of them, a lawyer and a railway director, soon break -through the cold reserve which marks an English traveller. A proffered -newspaper, a remark on the weather, and they have launched into the full -tide of conversation on railway speculations, foreign politics, and the -future prospects of the nation. - -The third passenger, a grave and silent man, sits in a corner of the -carriage with his hat drawn low over his brow, keeping company only with -his own thoughts, which seem to be of no agreeable nature. The mind of -Effingham—for it is he—is in harmony with the gloomy, wintry scenes -through which he is passing. He has but yesterday arrived from France, -his case having been carried through the bankruptcy court during his -absence. He has this morning had an interview in London with his -daughters and Lady Selina. - -Clemence’s decision in regard to the fortune so carefully secured to her -by her husband at the expense of honour and conscience, had wakened a -wild tumult of feeling in the breast of the unhappy bankrupt. Anger, -shame, surprise, not unmingled with secret approbation, had struggled -together in Effingham’s soul. Early impressions had been revived -there—impressions made when his young heart had been guileless as his -son’s was now, when he would have shrunk from dishonour as from a viper, -and have as lief touched glowing metal as a coin not lawfully his own! -It had needed a long apprenticeship to the world to efface these early -impressions, or rather, to render them illegible, by writing above them -the maxims of that wisdom which is foolishness with God. Effingham was -perhaps the more irritated against his wife, because he had sufficient -conscience left to have a secret persuasion that she had only done what -was right—returned that to its lawful possessors which never ought to -have been hers. The difficulty, rather the shame, which he felt in -expressing his feelings on the subject, had prevented him from writing -at all. - -It was while still enduring this mental conflict—now accusing Clemence -of romantic folly, now condemning himself on more serious grounds—that -Effingham, on his return from France, had a meeting with Lady Selina. A -visit to Beaumont Street, under existing circumstances, was little -likely to soothe the proud man’s irritated feelings. Lady Selina -neglected nothing that could make him more painfully aware of the change -in the circumstances of his family. She artfully sought to revenge -herself upon Clemence, by bringing that change before the eyes of her -husband, not as the result of his own wild speculations, but as caused -by the obstinate folly of one who presumed to be more scrupulous than -her lord, and who followed her own romantic fancies rather than the -advice of experienced friends. Arabella followed in the track of her -aunt; while Louisa’s drooping looks and tearful eyes did more, perhaps, -than the words of either, to increase Effingham’s displeasure towards -his wife. He set out on his long journey to Cornwall full of bitterness -of spirit, attempting to turn the turbid tide of emotion into any -channel rather than that of self-condemnation. - -Effingham remained, therefore, moody and abstracted, while his -companions chatted freely together on subjects of common interest, till -the entrance of the train into a tunnel caused that pause in -conversation which a change from light to sudden darkness usually -produces. - -“What was that sound!” exclaimed Effingham. - -“The whistle,” shortly replied his next neighbour, immediately resuming -his discourse with the gentleman opposite, while Effingham relapsed into -silence. - -“We must be nearly an hour behind time!” observed the lawyer, looking at -his watch by the light of the lamp. - -“Impossible to keep to it—state of the roads—never knew such a season!” -was the director’s reply. “You saw the signal as we passed; the rest of -the trains will be stopped; no more travelling till the lines are -cleared.” - -“I hear that a stage-coach in the north had actually to be dug out of -the snow,” said the other. - -As the observation was uttered, the train burst again into the open -daylight, and in a few minutes more the black, hissing engine was -letting out its steam at the station of M——. - -Effingham sprang out of the carriage, and proceeded immediately to make -inquiries as to the direction of Willow Cottage. Hearing that the -distance was not great, and judging that it would be less difficult to -make his way over the snow on foot than in any conveyance, he left his -portmanteau, with directions that it should be forwarded after him, and -set out at once for the cottage. - -The snow-shower had ceased, and the wind was on his back, therefore, -though sinking deep at every step, the strong man made his way through -the obstacles which had proved insurmountable to Clemence. His thoughts -were so painfully engaged, that those obstacles were scarcely heeded. On -he pressed with gloomy resolution, making, however, extremely slow -progress, till, on passing a bend of the road, he came in sight of the -little lone cottage. - -“It is impossible that Clemence can be living in that miserable hovel; -and yet, by the description, the cottage can be none other than this!” -exclaimed Effingham, surveying the tenement with mingled surprise and -displeasure. - -At this point the snow lay so thick on the path, that Effingham found it -very difficult to proceed; but the goal was near, and by main strength -he forced his way over and through the drifted heaps. Suddenly an object -on the road before him arrested his attention. Almost close to -Clemence’s little gate, a horse, which had fallen floundering amongst -the heavy masses, was struggling to his feet; and his rider, whose -shaggy great-coat, almost covered with snow gave him the appearance of a -Siberian bear, was encouraging the efforts of the animal both by voice -and rein. Effingham redoubled his exertions, in order to give aid to the -stranger; but before he could reach the spot, horse and horseman had -risen from the snow. - -“Thank you, sir; no harm done!” said the rider to Effingham, patting the -neck of his panting steed. “No danger of broken bones with such a soft -bed to receive us. But I don’t see how I’m ever to get back to M——. It’s -unlucky, for I’ve plenty of patients there anxious enough to see me. I -was sent for in great haste this morning by an old gentleman who lives -some way off. I expected to find him in extremity, and it turned out to -be nothing worse than a fit of the gout! I wish that I’d prescribed him -a three miles’ ride through the snow!” The doctor shook his broad -shoulders and laughed. - -“What will you do now?” said Effingham. - -“Do! I can neither get backward nor forward, so I suppose I must stay -where I am. Lucky there’s that cottage so near; for though there’s no -sign up that I can see, doubtless I shall find in my extremity ‘good -entertainment for man and beast.’” - -“The cottage, sir, is mine,” said Effingham stiffly; then added, with -his natural graceful politeness, “I am sure that whatever accommodation -it may afford will be very much at your service.” - -Before the doctor had time to reply to one whose appearance and -demeanour so little corresponded with that of his dwelling, Martha came -running breathlessly to the gate. “O sir, I’m so thankful to see you!” -she exclaimed; “but haven’t you brought back my mistress with you?” - -“Here’s a riddle to read!” cried the doctor gaily, turning with a smile -to Effingham; but the husband had caught alarm from the anxious, excited -face of the servant. - -“What’s the matter?” he sternly exclaimed. - -“Master Vincent is bad with the fever, and mistress—surely, sir, she -sent you here?” added Martha, turning anxiously towards the doctor. - -“No, my good girl, I’ve seen no lady.” - -“Oh! mercy! mercy!” cried Martha, wringing her hands; “then maybe she -never got through the tunnel!” - -“The tunnel!” exclaimed Effingham, with a start of horror; “for mercy’s -sake, girl, explain yourself!” - -“Master Vincent is ill, and mistress went herself for the doctor,” -replied the trembling Martha, terrified both by his tone and his eye. -“She could not get on through the snow; I saw her slide down the bank -there; I saw her go into the tunnel.” - -The words seemed to sear Effingham’s brain. Without waiting to hear -more, with the gesture of a madman he rushed forward, as if impelled by -irresistible impulse, to fly to the succour of his wife. Then he -suddenly stopped, and called loudly for a torch. - -“There’s no torch, but,—but a lantern.” - -“Bring it, for the love of Heaven!” cried the miserable husband. The -girl flew to obey, while he stood almost stamping with fierce -impatience, as if every moment of delay were spent on the rack. - -“My dear sir,” began the compassionate doctor,— - -He was interrupted by Effingham, who said, in a hoarse, excited tone, -“My boy, she says, is ill. Providence has brought you here; see to -him—save him! I—I have a more terrible mission to perform! O God! -preserve my brain from distraction!” - -Martha brought the lantern after a brief absence, which seemed to the -husband interminable. He snatched it from her hand, with the question, -which his bloodless lips had hardly the power to articulate, “Did any -train pass after she left this place?” - -“Yes; _one_!” - -Without uttering another word Effingham sprang forward on his fearful -quest. - -The snow displaced on the top of the bank and down its side, and the -scattered flakes on the cutting below, served but as too sure guides. To -plunge down the steep descent was the work of a moment. Effingham was -now upon the line where not two hours previously Clemence had stood and -trembled. The blackness of the opening before him recalled to him, with -a sense of unutterable horror, the cry which had pierced his ear in the -tunnel. Effingham loved his young wife—fondly, passionately loved. If -any emotion of displeasure towards her were remembered in that awful -hour, it was but to intensify the anguish of remorse. He felt himself to -be a wretch marked by the justice of Heaven for the keenest torment that -mortal can bear and live. Loss of fortune, friends, fame—what was all -that to the misery which he might now be doomed to endure! He might find -her—his loved, his beautiful Clemence, the pride of his life, the -treasure of his heart—oh, how he might find her he dared not think. On -he pressed, the dim light from his lantern gleaming on the cold iron -below, the stony walls, the damp, dripping roof; but there was yet no -sign of a human form. - -Effingham called aloud. The dreary arches resounded with the much-loved -name; their hollow echoes were the only reply. There! surely there is -some object dimly seen through the gloom,—a dark mass lying straight -before him! With one bound Effingham is beside it, on his knees, -trembling like an aspen, then sobbing like a child! That is no crushed -and mangled form that he clasps; cold, indeed, and still, it lies in his -arms, but there is breath on the lip and pulsation in the heart. “She -lives! God be praised, she lives!” - -Yes, she lives; but the miseries and terrors of the past have shattered -the health of Clemence Effingham. Borne by her husband back to the -cottage, for weeks she remains helpless, unconscious, hovering on the -brink of eternity—while the lesson of penitence, submission, humility, -is branded as by fire on the heart of her lord. It is now that the world -appears to Effingham, even as it may appear to us all in the light of -the last great day:—its treasures, dross; its distinctions, bubbles; its -pleasures, a vanishing dream. Now, by the side of his suffering wife, -Effingham prays as he prayed when a boy over the grave of a cherished -parent; he bows at the foot of the Cross, even as the publican bent in -the Temple, feeling himself unworthy so much as to lift up his eyes unto -heaven. Dare he ask that a wife so precious may be spared,—that his -guardian angel may delay her upward flight, to linger yet in a vale of -tears, that she may trace with him, through that dark vale, the strait -path to a promised heaven? The heart of the once proud Effingham is -broken and contrite now; like the lost coin in the parable, that which -was once hidden in the defiling dust of earth is raised again to the -light, and the image and superscription of a heavenly King is found to -be stamped upon it still. - -When Clemence awoke from her state of lethargic unconsciousness, the -soft breath of spring came wooingly through the casement, sweet with the -perfume of violets, and musical with the song of birds. Young Vincent, -pale from recent illness, sat at the foot of her bed, watching, with a -face radiant with delight, the first sign of recognition. And whose was -the countenance that bent over her with joy more still, but even more -intense? whose hand so tenderly clasped hers? whose voice breathed her -name in tones of the deepest love? That was a moment whose exquisite -bliss repaid the anguish of the past. The darkness of night had indeed -rolled away,—the dreary winter was ended; Clemence was beginning, even -upon earth, to reap the harvest of light and gladness sown for the -upright in heart, who have not chosen their portion here. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - - A CONTRAST. - - -Seven years have flowed on their silent course since the events recorded -in the last chapter took place, and we will again glance at Clemence -Effingham in the same humble abode. Its aspect, however, is so greatly -altered, that at first we shall scarcely recognize it. Its size has been -enlarged, though not considerably, and the rich blossoming creepers have -mantled it even to the roof, reversing the image of the poet, by “making -the _red_ one _green_,” and rendering the dwelling an object of beauty -to the eye of every passing traveller. The little garden is one bed of -flowers, radiant with the fairest productions of the spring. If we enter -the fairy abode, we find ourselves in a sitting-room which, though -small, is the picture of neatness and comfort. A refined taste is -everywhere apparent; and there are so many little elegant tokens of -affection—framed pictures, worked cushions, and vases filled with bright -and beautiful flowers—that we could rather fancy that one of earth’s -great ones, weary of state, had chosen this for a rural retreat, than -that stern misfortune had driven hither a bankrupt and his ruined -family. - -Clemence, looking scarcely older than when she left her first, splendid -abode—for peace and joy seem sometimes to have power to arrest the -changing touch of Time—is seated at the open door. Perhaps she sits -there to enjoy the soft evening breeze which so gently plays amongst her -silky tresses, or she is watching for the return of her husband and -Vincent from their daily visit to M——. Effingham, through the exertions -of Mr. Gray, has procured a small office in the town—one which, some -years ago, he would have rejected with contempt, but the duties of which -he now steadily performs, thankful to be able, by honest effort, to earn -an independence, however humble. Vincent still pursues his studies at -the academy, paying his own expenses by private tuition, and is regarded -as the most gifted scholar that M—— has ever been able to boast of. - -Clemence is not alone—a lovely little golden-haired girl is beside her, -helping, or seeming to help her mother to fasten white satin bows upon a -delicate piece of work, so light and fragile in fabric that it might -have appeared woven by fairies. It is a wedding gift for Louisa, and -will be dearly valued by the bride. - -“And, mamma dear,” said the child, looking up into the smiling face of -Clemence, “is there not something that I could send to sister too?” - -“The wild-flowers which you gathered this morning, my darling, in the -meadow.” - -“Oh, but won’t they all die on the way?” - -“We will press them in a book first, to dry them, and then they will -look lovely for years.” - -“Poor flowers—all crushed down!” sighed little Grace. - -“Only preserved,” said Clemence; and her words carried a deeper meaning -to herself than that which reached the mind of the child. - -“I wish I were rich—very rich!” cried little Grace, after a silent -pause. - -“And what would my May-blossom do with her riches?” - -“I would send a cake—such a cake—to sister!” replied Grace, opening her -little arms wide to give an idea of its size; “and it should be sugared -all over!” - -“Anything else?” inquired Clemence. - -“I’d make dear Vincy happy—quite happy. He wants so much to go to -college and be a clergyman, like Mr. Gray, and teach all the people to -be good; but he says that he has not the money. Mamma, don’t you wish -you had plenty of money?” - -“No, my love,” replied Clemence, more gravely, parting the golden locks -on the brow of her little daughter. - -“Martha told me,” said Grace, with the air of one in possession of an -important secret—“Martha told me that once you had a grand house, and a -carriage, and horses, and servants, and dresses—oh, such fine dresses to -wear!” - -“Long, long ago,” replied Clemence. - -“Was it when you lived with your dear old uncle, who gave you the pretty -little locket which always hangs round your neck?” - -“No; I lived very happily with him in a cottage not much larger than -this.” - -Little Grace remained for some moments twirling the white ribbon round -her tiny fingers, with a look of thought on her innocent face; then she -said reverently,— - -“Mamma, did God take away your money?” - -“Yes, dearest; in wisdom and love.” - -“But if you asked Him—if you prayed very hard—would He not give it all -back to you again?” - -“I should not dare to pray for it, my Grace; I should not dare even to -_wish_ for it again. I have been given blessings so much dearer, so much -sweeter”—and she stooped to press a kiss on the soft, fair brow of her -child. “God has taught me that what makes His people happy is not -wealth, but religion and peace and love. I have had more real joy in -this little cottage than I ever knew in my large and beautiful home. -But, see! there are your father and brother! Quick, quick—run forward to -meet them, or the first kiss will not be yours!” - - * * * * * - -We turn from the sunshine of Willow Cottage to the shady side of the -narrow street in which Lady Selina and her nieces for years have made -their abode. How have those years sped with the woman of the world? - -They have sped in the constant pursuit of pleasure, grasping at shadows, -seeking satisfying joys where such are never to be found; in straining -to “keep up appearances,” efforts to dress as well, entertain as well as -those whose fortunes greatly exceeded her own; in paying by the -self-denial of a month for the ostentatious display of a night; in -exchanging rounds of formal visits with acquaintance who would not shed -a tear, or forego an hour’s mirth, were she to-morrow laid in her grave. -Lady Selina feels her strength decaying, but by artificial aids she -attempts to hide the change from others—by wilful delusion from herself. -She would ignore sickness, ignore trial, ignore death! And yet, in hours -of solitude and weakness, truth, however unwelcome, will sometimes force -its way; and those whose _all_ is contained within the hour-glass of -Time are constrained to watch the sands ever flowing, to see below the -accumulating heap of infirmities, troubles, and cares, and mark above -the hollow, inverted cone of ever-lessening pleasures. How miserable, -then, is the reflection, that no mortal hand can restore a single grain, -and that, when the last runs out, nothing will remain but the grave, and -the dark, awful future beyond it. - -But Lady Selina spares no effort to banish such reflections. It is but -recently that she has even mustered courage sufficient for the -performance of the necessary duty of making her will, leaving her small -property to her nephew, Vincent; perhaps as a salve to her conscience -for utterly neglecting him during her lifetime. Lady Selina is less -willing than she ever was before to fix her meditations on death or the -grave. She will struggle on to the last, laden with the vanity which -distracts, the prejudice which distorts, the malice which corrodes the -mind. Her temper has become very irritable, for which her infirmities -may offer some excuse; but her peevish nervousness serves to imbitter -the lives of the two sisters who have chosen her dwelling as their own. - -The haughty Arabella has suffered not less acutely, though more silently -than her aunt, from the change in their outward circumstances; but she -wraps herself up in selfishness and pride, and though she often finds -her present life painful and mortifying, deems it more tolerable than -one spent in a cottage, with Clemence Effingham for a companion. - -The case is somewhat different with her sister. There have been times -when, wearied with a round of amusements, longing for gentle sympathy -and affection, wounded by the peevishness of her aunt, or the selfish -indifference of Arabella, Louisa has felt almost disposed to accept -reiterated invitations to Willow Cottage, and has half resolved to cast -in her lot with those nearest and dearest to her heart. But she is like -some fluttering insect, caught in the double web of her own habitual -love of pleasure and the influence of worldly relatives. Lady Selina -ever represents Cornwall as an English Siberia, a desolate wild, in -which existence would be perfect stagnation. She paints the gloom which -must surround the dwelling of a ruined, disappointed man, till Louisa -actually regards her indulgent father with feelings approaching to fear. -Arabella is indignant if her sister even alludes to the subject of any -change in her arrangements; so, enchained by indolence, folly, and fear, -Louisa quietly resigns herself to a position which is often painful as -well as unnatural. Her father’s kindness permits her a choice; her -choice is to remain where pleasure may be found. Her longing for -happiness is unsatisfied still, but it is at the world’s broken cisterns -that she seeks to quench the thirst of an immortal soul. - -Lady Selina’s ambition is now concentrating itself on one object. Her -nieces must form brilliant alliances—they must be united to men of -fortune and rank, and in their homes she must find once more the luxury, -grandeur, and importance which she once enjoyed in that of their father. -The wish so long indulged, and scarcely concealed, appears now to be on -the point of partial fulfilment. Sir Mordaunt Strange has offered his -hand to Louisa; it has been, after some hesitation, accepted, and every -letter to the cottage from Lady Selina is full of encomiums on the -character, manner, and appearance of the “Intended,” and of -felicitations on the happy prospects opening before the young bride -elect. - -Mr. Effingham and his son are to be present at the wedding. Clemence -would fain accompany them to London, for her heart yearns over Louisa, -and the very praise so lavishly bestowed upon Sir Mordaunt by Lady -Selina excites misgivings in the step-mother’s breast. Prudential -motives and other obstacles, however, prevent Clemence from -accomplishing her wish. - -We shall glance for a moment at Louisa, as she stands before a -pier-glass in the drawing-room of her aunt, trying on her bridal veil -and wreath of white orange-blossoms. A milliner is adjusting the spray -which is to fall on the fair girl’s graceful neck. - -“Stay for a moment,” says Lady Selina, walking towards the bride with a -feeble step (for she is infirm, though she will not own it, and was more -fit for her couch last night than for the gay assembly at which she -appeared); “Sir Mordaunt’s beautiful diamond spray will make the -_coiffure_ complete,” and she draws from its case a sparkling ornament, -which she places upon the brow of her niece. “Look, Arabella, could -anything be more charming? The dear child is _mise à peindre_!” - -Louisa glances into the mirror with a smile and a blush. It is chiefly -by working upon her vanity that her aunt has obtained such influence -over her weak and ill-regulated mind. It is an hour of pride to the -maiden. About to change her name for a title—her present small abode for -a luxurious house of her own—receiving congratulations from every -quarter—her table covered with splendid gifts—rich jewels glittering on -her fair brow—her childish heart is elated, and for the instant she -believes herself happy. But why, while the blush heightens on her cheek, -has the smile entirely disappeared? Why is the feeling of momentary -elation succeeded by misgiving and gloom? The door has opened, and the -bride elect sees reflected in the mirror beside her own image that of -another. She sees a face, not plain, but unpleasing—not coarse in its -outlines, but hard in its expression; she sees him whom she is about to -pledge herself to love, honour, and obey yet whom she regards with -indifference—happy if indifference be not one day exchanged for fear, -mistrust, and aversion! Louisa Effingham has for the second time made -the world her deliberate choice. House, carriage, title, jewels, -estate,—for such baubles as these will she, a few days hence, in the -presence of God and man, bind herself to one whom she loves not, whom -she never can learn to love! Slave to a proud and capricious tyrant, her -home will be but a luxurious prison, and the unhappy wife will bitterly -rue the day when she sold herself to a bondage more intolerable than -that under which the poor African groans! - -This is the crowning sacrifice to which the world dooms its willing -slaves. The poor victim goes crowned to the altar; friends smile, -relations congratulate, and admiring spectators applaud. Who would then -whisper of a galling yoke, a wounded spirit, a breaking heart; who would -whisper that the gold circlet on the finger may be but the first link in -a heavy chain? Moloch’s shrieking victims were soon destroyed in the -flames;—more wretched the fate of those whose slow-consuming pangs make -life itself one long sacrifice of woe! - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII - - PASSING AWAY. - - -Lady Selina had succeeded in making “a most eligible marriage” for one -of her nieces, but she speedily discovered that she had by no means -effected her chief object, that of securing a home for herself. “I am -married to Louisa, and not to her family,” said Sir Mordaunt, not long -after the wedding, and his conduct to his wife’s relations accorded with -the spirit of his words. - -Lady Selina was bitterly disappointed and deeply wounded. The failure of -her most cherished project preyed on her spirits, and probably shortened -her life. The base ingratitude of mankind, the emptiness of all earthly -hopes, became the constant topic of her conversation. But though she -could rail against the world in her hours of depression, it was still -her most cherished idol. Dagon might be broken, its fair proportion and -beauty all destroyed, but the mutilated stump was enthroned on its -pedestal of pride, to be honoured and worshipped still! - -“Arabella, my dear,” said Lady Selina, as one morning she appeared in -the breakfast-room at a late hour, wrapped in her dressing-gown, and -shivering as if with cold—“Arabella, my dear, I feel so ill, that I wish -that you would write and ask the doctor to call.” - -Arabella was seated at her desk. She had not risen on the entrance of -her aunt, nor did she think it in the least necessary to bear her -company at her lonely meal. Lady Selina, with a shaking hand, helped -herself to some tea, but left the cup unemptied, its contents were so -bitter and cold. - -“I suppose,” said Arabella carelessly, without looking up from her -writing, “that you’ll not go to the countess’s to-night?” - -“I fear I am not equal to the effort, though I was very anxious to be -there.” - -“Then, when the note goes to the doctor, William can take one at the -same time to Lady Praed, to ask her to chaperon me to the concert.” - -“If you wish it,” replied the lady faintly. “Would you be so good, my -dear, as to close that window? the cold seems to pierce through my -frame.” - -“Cold! nonsense, aunt! How can you talk of cold on such a grilling -morning as this? If I were to keep the window shut we should be stifled, -there’s not a breath of air in this hot, narrow street.” - -Lady Selina was too weak and languid to dispute the point with her -niece; she only sighed, shivered, and drew her wrapper closer around -her. - -The day was a long, weary one to Lady Selina; she spent it chiefly in -peevish complainings, to which the only listeners were her medical man -and her maid. Towards evening, however, she rallied; and Arabella was -surprised on descending to the drawing-room, to await the arrival of -Lady Praed, to find Lady Selina there, also ready attired for the -concert. What mocking brilliancy appeared in the diamonds which gleamed -beside those ghastly and withered features! How ill the robe of amber -satin beseemed the shrunken form that wore it! The painful incongruity, -however, did not attract the attention of Arabella. - -“I wish, aunt, that you knew your own mind,” she said impatiently to -Lady Selina; “if you were determined to go yourself, there was no need -to ask a favour of Lady Praed. I really don’t see now how we are to -manage; we have not ordered our own carriage, and there will not be room -in hers for three. My new dress will be crushed to a mummy!” and the -young lady shook out the rustling folds with a very dissatisfied air. - -Whether in consideration to Arabella’s _moire antique_, or (as is more -probable) from feeling herself, when the moment for decision arrived, -quite unable to go to the party, Lady Selina, on Lady Praed’s calling -for her niece, finally determined on remaining behind. Arabella did not -conceal her satisfaction, and passed her evening gaily amongst a -fashionable throng, without giving even a thought to the poor invalid, -except when inquiries concerning her health were made as a necessary -form, and answered with careless unconcern. - -It was midnight when Arabella returned. The servant, as she entered the -house of her aunt, addressed her with the words, “Her ladyship has not -yet gone to her room.” - -“Not gone to rest yet! that’s strange!” cried Arabella; and with rather -a quickened step she proceeded at once to the room in which she had left -Lady Selina. - -The candles had burned down to their sockets; the light of one had died -out, and only a curling line of dark smoke issued from the fallen wick; -the other cast around its dull, yellow light, revealing to the eye of -Arabella a scene which even her proud, cold spirit could not contemplate -without a sensation of horror. - -A form still sat upright in its high-backed, cushioned chair,—a form -attired in amber satin, and adorned with magnificent gems; but the -ghastly hue of death was on the brow, the glaze of death on the dull, -fixed eye, the hand hung down motionless and stiff. Arabella uttered a -faint cry, for the first glance was sufficient to reveal to her the -terrible truth—she was gazing on the corpse of Lady Selina! - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII - - CONCLUSION. - - -Once again we will pass over seven years—their lights and shades, their -joys and their sorrows—and join on their path over the fresh -green-sward, bright with dew-drops that glitter in the sunshine, a party -on their way to an ivy-mantled church. We recognize at a glance the -tall, manly form of Effingham, though there are now deeper lines on his -features, and broader streaks of silver in his hair. Perhaps we may also -trace in his countenance an expression of thought more subdued and -earnest,—the expression of one who has known much of the trials of life, -but who has had the strength to rise above them,—an expression -brightening into cheerfulness whenever his gaze is bent on the gentle -partner who rests on his arm. - -The face of Clemence can never lose its charm, for it wears _the beauty -of holiness_,—that beauty which time has no power to wither, and -eternity itself can but perfect. Grace is at her mother’s side, a bright -and blooming girl, whose type may be found in the fragrant blush-rose -which she has culled in passing from the spray. - -But whose is the drooping form, clad in widow’s attire, which Mr. -Effingham supports with the gentle tenderness of compassion? It is a -bruised reed, a withered blossom,—one over which the harrow has -passed—one which the rude foot has trodden down. Louisa, broken-spirited -and weary of the world, has come to seek rest in her father’s home, as a -wandering bird, pierced by the shaft of the fowler, with quivering wing -and ruffled down flies back to the shelter of its nest. - -“Mother!” exclaimed Grace, “you once told me that you had but one great -earthly wish unfulfilled, and that was to see our dear Vincent in the -pulpit, preaching the gospel of peace. That last wish will be gratified -to-day, mother; are you now quite happy?” - -“As happy, I believe, as a mortal can be on this side heaven,” replied -Clemence; and the beaming sunshine in her blue eyes, as she raised them -for a moment towards the calm sky, expressed more even than her words. - -“That Vincent should ever have devoted himself to the ministry, giving -his whole heart to its duties, is mainly owing, I believe,” said Mr. -Effingham, “to the influence of your mother.” - -“Oh! Vincent always says,” exclaimed Grace, “that he was the most -wayward and wilful of boys, and that any good that he may ever do in -this world is owing to her prayers and example.” - -Effingham bent down his head, so that his voice should reach the ear of -his wife alone,—“Vincent’s father has yet more cause,” he murmured, “to -bless those prayers and that example.” - -Clemence entered the church with a heart so full of gratitude, peace, -and love, that there seemed left in it no room for a worldly care or an -earthly regret. Through infirmity, weakness, and sorrow, she had humbly -endeavoured to follow her Lord, and He had led her from darkness to -light,—He had turned even her trials into blessings. Had she resigned -wealth in obedience to His will? He had made poverty itself the channel -by which the riches of His grace had been freely poured into her bosom. -In poverty her husband’s affection had deepened,—that affection which, -for the sake of conscience, she had hazarded to weaken or to lose; in -poverty her son, removed from evil influence, had learned lessons of -self-denial, faith, and love, which would make him her _joy and crown_ -through the ages of a blissful eternity; in poverty her own character -had been strengthened,—she had learned more fully, more submissively to -trust the love of her heavenly Father: and now her cup overflowed with -blessings,—blessings which she need not fear freely to enjoy; for it was -the smile of her Lord that had changed the waters of bitterness to the -wine of gladness; it was from His hand that she had received her -treasures—and those treasures were _not_ her idols. - - Whatever comes between the soul and Christ, the Fount of Light - Must cast a shadow on the soul, how fair soe’er it seem. - Yet need we not resign earth’s choicest blessings,—all is bright - When what we love _obstructs not_ but _reflects_ the heavenly beam. - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - -Transcriber’s note: - - ○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected. - - ○ Typographical errors were silently corrected. - - ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only - when a predominant form was found in this book. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IDOLS IN THE HEART*** - - -******* This file should be named 60486-0.txt or 60486-0.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/0/4/8/60486 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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